Day 05: "Spacing"
Byron put down his pipe long enough to point at me, eyes a blaze of blue in his weathered face. "—and that's when I looked the warlord in the eye and said, 'You, my good man, and what army?'"
I laughed, because his anecdote was indeed funny (and because in the context of the story, a literal army had indeed been standing behind the warlord). Pleased his punchline had landed, Byron sat back in his chair with a satisfied grin. Most of Byron's stories were similarly amusing, tales of derring-do and globe-trotting adventure told with pipe clenched between his teeth, fragrant tobacco smoke perfuming the air with every word. I still hadn't quite sussed out what Byron did for a living. "A businessman with fingers in many pies," was what he usually said on the matter before launching into another story.
His most recent anecdote involved his visit to a hidden holy site in the depths of a South American jungle, where he was unexpectedly kidnapped by a local warlord (or freedom fighter; he wasn't certain). Exciting though the story was, it struck me as rather colonial… but then again, he was a Brit, so perhaps that was to be expected. At least he wasn't actively trying to colonize or gentrify the place. Byron was more like a risk-seeking sightseer who gravitated toward dangerous, beautiful places he wasn't technically supposed to travel. Or something like that, anyway. At least he didn't bring a tour group along with him…
Despite my misgivings, typically I found myself quite enthralled by Byron's many exploits, of which he appeared exceedingly proud. Normally I'd listen with rapt attention, or at least listen closely enough to prepare a lecture about the importance of respecting the boundaries of indigenous cultures (lectures he tolerated with a twinkle in his eyes). Today, however, while sitting with the loquacious Byron on the porch of our usual café, I just felt… drowsy. Drowsy and perhaps detached, staring over Byron's shoulder at the sakura tree blooming overhead, breathing deeply as its perfume turned the air both sleepy and sweet. With a fork I picked at my slice of fluffy matcha cheesecake, watching as rich blue sky peeked through petals of palest pink, branches swaying on the breeze, tracing the path of a petal with my eyes as it floated through the air and landed on Byron's creamy linen lapel…
"—eiko?" Byron leaned toward me, handlebar mustache twitching as he frowned. "Keiko, my girl. Is anything the matter?"
I flinched, inadvertently stabbing my cake. "Hmm?"
"I said, is anything the matter?" Byron repeated, frown deepening.
"No." A big bite of cake, rich flavor gluing my mouth momentarily shut. "Why do you ask?"
"You looked miles away, darling," he said, accent as breezy as the sakura petal on his coat. "Whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing, I promise. Sorry for spacing out." There was no easy way to tell him what was wrong—the tarot cards that predicted my demise, the hurt feelings of my friends, the weight of the secrets I still somehow kept—so I simply smiled. "I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."
Byron looked positively scandalized. "How terribly dull of me, in that case—prattling on without a care in the world while you bear the weight of the world on your shoulders."
"No, no—it's fine," I assured him. "I like your stories."
And this was true, of course—because if his stories provided anything, it was a break from my problems, and that was a welcome reprieve indeed.
So before NQK collapses in chapter 114, there are some signs that things are getting a bit weird with her. Mostly she's not hungry (I lack appetite when I'm ill), she sometimes gets spacey/day-dreamy, trails off a lot when talking, etc. This is another of those moments, but one I never quite found a spot for in LC itself. Nice to be able to finally write the scene, though, especially because we get a bit more Byron, who is quite fun to write.
Big thanks to all who came out to support chapter 4! C S Stars, ladyofchaos, cestlavie, cezarina, Kaiya Azure, xenocanaan and guests.