The Skande subway was a horrific place to be in the height of summer. Loud, hot, and smelly; all things Miles would rather stay a more than safe distance away given the opportunity. But Skande had recently banned private vehicles within the city limits as part of its green initiative — which, don't get Miles wrong, he was more than supportive of, except…
Except the city government clearly hadn't got round to the bit of actually making public transport a desirable option.
So here he was, pressed up against the old Soviet-era carriage along with all the other sweaty, stuffy bodies that would stick themselves on and peel themselves off the chipped metal framework with each transit stop.
"You know, Dad..." Sebastian started beside him in weather-appropriate short sleeves and cotton slacks, but Miles' train of thought was still running, cursing the government, cursing the commuters, cursing the organisers: I mean, I have no authority dictating conference schedules but why in the middle of summer, in the middle of a blistering heatwave—
"You know, Dad, if you weren't so insolent— sorry, insistent on wearing your suit everywhere, you wouldn't be complaining about this weather."
Miles' train of thought came to a screeching halt.
Above, the PA announcement droned out of the tinny speakers; "Please stand clear of the doors," it mumbled in soporific Borginian.
"Yeah, Dad!" Kay chimed in.
Miles shifted; tugged at his starchy lapel. Kay had managed to get a seat, and she was now adding to the stench of the carriage by sharing her breakfast with Sebastian. Well, no, that wasn't quite fair to her; cheese pies and iced lemonade hardly made for odorous foodstuffs (breakfast for him meanwhile had been a cup of tea and half a buttered slice of toast).
"...I didn't say anything."
The two of them shrugged. It was quite amusing really how they'd come to mirror and mimic each other so well in the last two years. Like boisterous twins would do, practically attached at the hip as they were.
Miles frowned, though the corners of his lips were turned up in a light smile. "And I don't recall inviting you, Kay."
Kay grinned. "Hey, at least I told you I was coming beforehand, unlike someone we know!"
Miles grimaced; still, every now and then, he would find traces of glitter in his suitcase.
"And anyway," Kay continued. "Even if I didn't get invited, I decided to come of my own— Sebby, what's that big word Dad uses again?"
"Volatilisation?"
"Volition," Miles interjected, shaking his head. Still, he was smiling. "Honestly, you two."
"Yep, volition! That was it, yeah, I came of my own volition because conferences give me some great ideas!"
"To stick your nose in other people's business?" Miles offered.
"Hm...nope!"
The train belched out another load of passengers, and they watched as a trio of tired army lads, purple berets slipping over their blonde brows, magnifying the deep circles under their eyes, slotted into the seats closest to the doors.
"Oh!" Sebastian sprung up. "I've got it — stealing trade secrets!"
"Pipe down!" Miles hushed, side-stepping to accommodate a rather portly businessman, sweat liberally dripping down his brow.
Kay shook her head. "Well you know me and industrial espionage, so I'll give you a half-point for that, but nope!"
Sebastian popped the last of his cheese pie in his mouth.
"Conferences help me realise what you old fogeys could improve on, technologically speaking!"
"You're not spending more time with Ema, are you?" Miles commented, fixing his glasses. "You're starting to sound like her."
Kay smiled bashfully; opened her mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by the PA: "Next stop: Mieru Conference Centre. Exit on the left."
Clearly this was a conversation to be continued at the dinner table.
They grabbed their belongings, joining the gaggle of university students by the doors. And as Miles stepped into the oppressive station, Kay and Sebastian starting a fresh war of words close behind him, he thought to himself:
Perhaps, with some company, the Skande subway wasn't so bad after all.
