Chương 107: CHAPTER 104 – Drunk at Heart

The savoury fumes of alcohol stained the last cold air of the year. The room resounded with laughter, little shrieks, and the clatter of heels on the smooth floor. Not a single hall was free of the sound of celebration. The entire island was beginning to deck itself out and prepare for the end of one almanac and the birth of the next. Through the snowy forests spread a vermilion light, at times lively, at times soft, reflected in the white blanket.

The waves of the sea carried with them little pillars of crystalline ice, piling them on the sand along with seaweed and the few marine species that bred in this season. The moon danced among the clouds, finally full of its splendour and wrapped in a shawl of multicoloured stars. The employees of the Hangars danced as they argued over control of the bronze record player. Not a trace of anger on the various faces. They danced among the vehicles, holding brooms and pencils.

Some exchanged gifts, others apologies, some confessions and even jokes. The blueprints were a dance floor, moving to the rhythm of a fast, relentless melody. Instead of clapping, the beating of chests crowned the sequence. In the middle of the forest, in small iron enclosures, groups of sleek machines gathered around the fire. The sizzle of meat and seasoning accompanied other music, this time light and elegant.

Flower garlands and radiant flags fluttered in the freezing current, both inside and outside the buildings. Everyone was celebrating. Not a soul had failed to free themselves from their duties just to enjoy the preparations of the day before. The joy of preparation had finally matured, instead of fading.

"Come on, pour more! New year, new life!" Laughed an albino man, urging a young woman in a black skirt to pour him another half pint of golden liquor. Despite her sighs, he laughed, swaying his glass dangerously. In the dimly lit room, a faint female song echoed, coming from the chestnut-haired figure passed out on the wide white sofa. Drops of wine hung from her glass, still clutched in her fingers, its rim touching the cold floor.

"He always says that, and yet every year is a new milestone for an alcoholic…" Arte sighed tiredly, sitting primly on the greenish armchair near the sofa. Her legs were together, her side lightly resting against the armrest as she sipped from her glass. On the table beside her, a couple of completely emptied bottles lay. Near her, sitting on a wooden chair, Lance finished his glass with a last sip of the blood-red liquid.

"This one was definitely my favourite!" He smiled, resting the glass between his legs while smiling at Arte.

"Was this the one glass to settle your opinion?! You have almost two bottles behind you." Strangely, her serious face had contracted into a smile. Normally she was always closed up in that old, slightly worn uniform, but seeing her in that long moss-coloured skirt and thick shirt with black buttons filled Lance with a strange sense of familiarity.

"Yet I don't feel drunk at all…" Lance cleared his throat, deciding to set down the glass and get comfortable. The air was filling with visceral sounds and strange distant vowels.

"Normally Meta metabolise most poisons so efficiently that getting drunk is almost impossible. Lucas and Maverick modified the formula to make the liquors here dozens of times stronger! But it doesn't work on everyone…" With a veil of disappointment, she stared at the bottle, sighing.

"Not that I cared about an altered state of mind. I already have enough cats to skin here!" They laughed together, looking like a pair of schoolchildren.

"Many would argue with you, you know? When the mind is altered, it reaches the highest epiphany!" They joked together, with Lance shaking his head and hand simultaneously.

"I think the fumes of the alcohol end up manifesting in your thoughts too, never mind metaphors." Arte laughed heartily, like a girl at a ball. Lance felt a doubt, no, a need, form in his mind.

"Arte… Would you tell me a bit about yourself?" The laughter stopped, leaving two little eyes fixed on his face.

"Why do you ask?" Lance threw himself back, sinking slightly into the chair.

"I think it's only fair, that's all." Arte laughed again, shrugging. She gestured for him to come closer, while she forcibly moved the armchair she was sitting on.

"You know, I'm a foreigner! I come from the borders of Northest, in the far outskirts of the empire. I think I had an accident, since I've lost a good deal of my memory. I only remember being hungry. Lucas found me lost in the winter snow and brought me here." She unbuttoned the button at her belly, taking Lance's hand.

"Look here." His trembling fingers brushed her icy skin. The hand guiding him was warm, yet that particular spot seemed lifeless and strangely rough. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed dark spots, like scars.

"Forgive me if I make you uncomfortable, but I'm not interested in men or women, so you can relax. What you feel is a wound that never healed, which is why Lucas calls me 'incomplete,' since I can't use Frequency as well as you all." Lance pulled his hand back, coughing, while she innocently rebuttoned herself.

"So Lucas adopted you?" he asked, smiling, trying to shake off the cold he felt on his fingertips.

"I don't remember life in the empire or my family, so I consider Lucas a father. He's not my real one, but that doesn't make his affection any less genuine!" Lance unconsciously stroked her head, nodding.

"You're absolutely right! A father is the one who raises you." He leaned back, searching for something else to pour at the smooth, pale wooden counter. The veins followed the shadow of his fingers as he grabbed an oblong, misshapen bottle full of orange liquid.

"You're opening a whole one without us?!" Behind him, two voices rang out like twins. Lance turned, smiling at the sight of Noel and Hoku. The first was dressed in a very tight white polo shirt decorated with various crests and buckles. Hoku, on the other hand, wore a river-blue jacket matched with gold buttons and a very long braided straw hat whose brim extended into a visor.

"No… I was just getting the glasses." From his shoulders appeared red and black tentacles that quickly grabbed the glass cups, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. The two gave an admiring nod, while Arte offered a very quick round of applause.

"That stuff is new." Noel smiled, sitting on the stool, almost sinking into it.

"Training has borne fruit, even though Lautre is far too violent… Last time he threw Jeanne at me, and while I was distracted, he kicked me into the ceiling!" Lance shook his head at the mere thought, pouring the citrus-scented liquor.

"Don't tell us! Sometimes he grabs me and throws me with his ability… Terrifying." Hoku complained, immediately putting his lips to the rim of the glass, filled to the brim. Noel nodded quickly, not even daring to remember. The trio stared at him in silence, trembling in unison.

"How did the last singularities go for you two?" Lance asked, pouring himself a second glass.

"The last one was in a cave in Sector II. Hel had mutated a colony of giant spiders… Never again." Noel laughed, slamming his colossal mechanical fist on the wood.

"Hoku was nailed to the wall by slime and couldn't get down! I've never laughed so hard in my life! I should have brought a drawing board!" A pulsing vein appeared on the forehead of the person in question, victim of the spiders.

"I ate the spiders… They're not bad!" Lance smiled, drawing deep disgust from the two.

"Really, they're not that bad!" Both shook their heads in unison, silencing his arguments.

"In any case… I went to a minor singularity in Bayork, near the port. Horrible. They were mutated together with the harpoons used to hunt grey whales. Truly horrid beyond measure. I'm only sorry Round had to handle the sanitisation." They exchanged those little chats colleagues share, between one glass and the next.

"You know, Lance… My father was an illegal immigrant. I come from Turgnevet. That's why my skin is so dark. The people there are different, either too pale or like me. The climate is strange, too. Some areas are desert while others have lush forests. I ended up here to escape my country's disaster." Lance listened to the chatter while keeping Hoku, passed out on the counter, safe.

"Once Hoku told me a saying from his land…

'No matter where you come from or who you are, as long as you bleed, you are a child of the Earth!' with exactly that intonation. Honestly, it's a good phrase, and I agree with it." Noel nodded at those words, rising from the stool, almost freeing it from a torment.

"He said it to me too, when we met here. Frankly, he's right, but not everyone understands." He waved to Arte, also at the threshold, and smiled as he hoisted Hoku onto his shoulders.

"Anyway, you didn't tell me what kind of man your father was." Lance smiled, immediately silenced by a single glance from him. It almost seemed as if all the alcohol's intoxication had vanished, revealing a dark lucidity.

"He was… Not a good person." He smiled, slipping away with Arte and Hoku.

"I'm not angry with you, you know. That tone wasn't meant for you." His big face reappeared at the door, waving goodbye with red cheeks. Lance nodded, wishing him well with his hand. Lance was left alone, or almost, counting the two passed out on the furniture. He finished the bottle, brooding in apparent solitude.

"I should read my file again. I did so much to get it, but now I don't feel the need. Angel did burn the true one too! I have too many questions in my head…" Lance ran his finger along the edge of the counter, pushing himself away to change seats. While heading to the armchair, he lost his balance, falling face-first onto the floor. He turned, noticing the outstretched leg of a white-haired man. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"So… You're leaving without talking to yours truly? And to think I saved the last bottle for myself…" Lautre spoke in a disappointed tone, pointing with his shoe at the chair in front of him. Lance got up quickly, receiving a glass as soon as he sat down. The liquid had a strong, almost warm smell. Lautre finished it in a few moments, smiling. Lance did the same, feeling the liquid burn down his throat.

"You know… Looking at you, you remind me of myself when I was younger. Fortunately, the character isn't the same!" He laughed, wiping the drops of liquor from his lips. Lance relaxed in the chair, resting one elbow on the armrest.

"Did you see the outbreak of the war?" He nodded, placing the glass on the low table.

"You see, in the ports of Andimica the situation has always been tragic except for Bayork. Just because the Dedalus gets all the attention now doesn't mean other places didn't suffer! I was born in Solfaccordio, in the southeast of the archipelago. At least I think so, since I was abandoned there." Although that story didn't have even the smallest comedic part, Lautre told it with such a good-natured smile that it disturbed Lance.

"Don't make that face! By now my parents are dead, and I have a century of life behind me. Lautre Clerc isn't even my real name! It's the name of an old bar in the town. An old woman took care of me there before I turned to crime. Too many brawls here and too many petty thefts there, and I ended up getting her in trouble. Despite having such a weak body and barely being able to see, I still managed to cause disasters with my shitty personality."

Lautre snapped his fingers, trying to cheer Lance up, whose face was slowly turning more and more grim.

"And then? What did you do, not knowing where to go?" The boy asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Unlike you, going into business wasn't for me, and too many rumours had spread by then. I wandered through the cities of Sector II for a while until I settled in a… Pleasure City." Lance turned his head, drawing a sigh from his interlocutor.

"In short, like Arden Ring before it became Arden Ring. A place where you could have fun cheaply, even though it was a nice place and strangely safe." Lautre looked at the bottle of liquor, shaking his head and resuming the story.

"The war broke out, and I was the usual idiotic, violent brat. Normally I kept myself alive by stealing, often from the military. You have no idea how many beatings I took and how many bones I felt break inside me. In the distance, at night, I heard the bombs, and every so often the horizon turned yellow and red, ignoring the possibility that one day that colour wouldn't remain forever painting that horizon." Lance quickly swallowed the last drops of alcohol in his glass, staring at him with attentive eyes.

"From the way you're telling it, I believe something happened after your arrests?" Lance nodded, raising his thumb in satisfaction.

"You're the kind of conversationalist I like talking to! Few questions, but good ones!" They exchanged a laugh, perhaps a little nervous on the young man's side.

"My illness was worsening, and the same could be said for my eyesight, but the world didn't seem much different to me. It was always dark and pervaded by that disgusting smell of smoke and iron. Maybe I picked up the habit of drinking to distract myself from that mass of acrid wind I felt everywhere. In any case, that wasn't the problem. One night, while looking for a dry place to sleep, I heard screams and a cart of violet light disappear into the woods.

Moved by stupidity, I thought I might find some gems to sell. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case." He pointed to his chest, directly at the mediastinum.

"That night, something changed in the air, becoming a heavy miasma. With what little my sight allowed me at the time, I saw smoky, dark figures wrapped in violet slime mauling people in uniform. Those watching from above the crater were smiling, grabbing some people by the hair to throw them to the beasts. Frankly, I didn't care much about those people until I saw a girl being taken to be thrown. Even today I have no explanation for my actions, but I don't regret them." Lautre half closed his eyes, smiling.

"I picked up a stone and hit the officer's head. I heard his stars slide with a clink into the crater, followed by the macabre sound of bones shattering under teeth. There was a general shootout, and one of the bullets hit my side along with a violet shard. From then on, only black." Lance didn't say a word, but kept squeezing the armrest with his fingers, at times making the chair tremble.

"What happened to that woman afterwards?" For the first time, Lautre Clerc smiled, but not in his usual way, but with a veil of anger on his lips, regretting having reached that point.

"I fell in love with her. She was an escort, not a prostitute. She wasn't noble, but she was more educated than anyone else I'd ever met. I courted her day and night. The only thing I got was a smile and a rejection, but I never gave up… Or rather, I had to." He rose from the chair, approaching the woman on the sofa. He gently uncovered her forehead while her lips still moved with notes. Lance followed him with his neck, turning to pose his final question.

Lautre, without looking at him, sighed and spoke in a tone never heard before.

"She died. I couldn't save her. Even though I had gained power, I didn't know how to use it. Now only an echo remains." He smiled, fixing his white hair. He bent toward Jeanne, caressing her face.

"You have a beautiful voice… Make sure it reaches the people you love at every moment." For an instant, his face grew younger, shedding the years of blood behind him. He stood up elegantly, straightening his shoulders and showing the hardened body beneath the jacket.

"Lance… All people are destined to change, to renounce their morals or alter their dreams. It's a key piece of life, just like a change of rhythm. At first, people will rage at the sudden change, but then they'll come to love it." He headed to the door, like a ghost passing through a wall in stories, without a sound.

"Don't forget it, and don't forget to love while you can." Lance nodded, his eyes full of vigour.

"You've grown a lot… I'm glad to have met you." Lautre smiled, waving his fingers before vanishing into the crowd of agents in the corridor, once again roused. Lance stood up, pacing in circles as he reflected. A sense of bitterness had frozen in his throat, burning him worse than the alcohol. He leaned his back against the counter, sighing as he stared at the lights beyond the window.

"Every year the ordeal begins again, pain repeats just as affections do. No one knows only hate or only love. Who knows if there will ever be a curtain." He unconsciously stroked Lachesi. Thinking of that child playing in the sand, of his sister, of Eve, of Tux, of August, of Monica, of Jeanne, of Dirac, of Lexa, of Winoc, of Rea, of Clerc, of Sai, of Noel, of Arte, of Lucas, of Ross, of the people of his city, of that strange Jack, of Eifibes, of the statues, of Elise, of the white coats, and of a new name: Nyx.

"Somehow I'm connected to it… I want my answers." He turned, startled when he noticed a figure in a green coat coming toward him in a rush. The figure grabbed him by the collar, pushing him almost behind the counter.

"YOU…" He was followed through the door by a tall scientist with a pink-painted mask and a maid stained with paint, one hand occupied by a little girl's paintbrush. The girl wore a white dress, a black scarf around her neck, and green shoes. Lance recognised his attacker as Maliard, only with his face completely streaked with crimson stripes.

"Forgive him, Lance. Monica forced him to drink with her and… You know how it goes." Lucas's voice, calm and strangely musical, reached his ears as he tried to pry the drunk off himself. Rea closed her eyes from laughter, absentmindedly hitting herself with the brush.

"Hey Rea! How are you today?" Lance smiled, now pinned to the wall by Maliard. Both were gripping the other's neck until Maliard let go, staggering.

"Hey Lance… You really are a great person! I'm happy to have a friend like you. Just don't get yourself killed before me; I couldn't bear it." Maliard smiled kindly with his green eyes, then dropped like a stone onto the floor. Lucas and Arte helped him up, while Lance offered a handkerchief to Rea.

"How's studying going?" The girl smiled, ignoring the ever-spreading pink stain on her dress.

"Lucas is an excellent teacher! I love living here; I can do whatever I want." Hearing those bright words, Lance let out a sigh of relief and gave her a pat on the head. The unlikely group hoisted Maliard onto their shoulders and vanished. By now the festive atmosphere was beginning to fade. The three chimes struck. The night had halved, and dawn was near. One by one, the bonfires went out along with the colourful lights, leaving what little remained of home to the shadows.

"What a macabre comment…" He smiled back at Maliard's words, smiling. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion crossed his limbs, making him stagger.

"I'm tired… I think I need to sleep too." Lance made to leave the room, heading toward the light switch, when he noticed Jeanne's hair slowly sliding off the sofa. He saw her lying there, in a long black dress, a red lace choker at her neck, and the brooch he had given her. Her chestnut hair was scattered over her neck, with red heels occasionally slipping from her feet. Lance gently slid his hands under her back, lifting her. A delicate scent of lavender and cherry rose from her nape, with a faint hint of alcohol.

"She's certainly heavier than she looks…" He smiled, making his way through the empty corridors dimly lit by the night light. After about ten metres, her lips began to move, emitting a faint song. Lance didn't recognise the language. Perhaps it was the speech of Termìe, but that was only a hypothesis. Come to think of it, Jeanne was in some way an inhabitant of that empire, but he had never asked.

"After everything that had happened, have I ever looked at Jeanne as anything other than a victim to save?" That doubt pierced his skull from side to side, stopping him while he still held her.

"Forgive me… Forgive me… Forgive me." Jeanne's song died, changing into a lament. Her fingers were trembling, and Lance began to feel the imbalance. He stared at her with tight eyes and a grimace on his face. Even in sleep, that voice was on the verge of breaking.

"Then no one will want me, and you…Will be happy." Those words came out with a disgusting smile on her face, her trembling more and more. Lance was now a few steps from the room, holding her tightly. His thumb slipped over her belly, and she blushed in her slumber.

"He… Is too much for me." The door opened quickly, letting the echo of the mechanism hiss into the empty corridor. Fatigue and intoxication were beginning to weigh on him. The constant training had piled up, slowly undermining the little stamina he had left for the party.

"Jeanne… doesn't deserve… anything." Lance lay her silently on the sofa, kneeling beside her. He caressed her cheek, smiling as he moved the hair from her damp forehead. The smile on his face slowly became more sincere. He too felt a slight warmth in his cheeks, now exhausted.

"You are more than perfect…" Those words escaped his lips in a whisper, surprising even him. His vision was blurring, alternating between lucidity and waking.

"Perhaps, when I'm less of a coward…" He crouched at the foot of the sofa, brushing her leg as he slid away. All his limbs felt liquid, and his mind was starting to shut down.

"I'll be able to tell you how much I love you… Jeanne." His eyes closed, abandoning him to the comforting, trembling spectacle of the first lights of one in the morning of the new year.