Aver Brand
Mercicle
In the time that had passed since that lost bet, Aver Brand had somehow managed to avoid becoming an estranged daughter: she’d dropped by the diner not once, not twice, but a whole five times.
It would’ve been historic if not for the mundane nature of their lunchtime conversations. Between the stains on them both, there wasn’t a single head they could turn. Lenda with the apron and Aver as casual as Nadir had ever seen her – grease-monkey overalls and a bandolier of tools slung over her shoulder.
She’d sprung for that penthouse after all.
The itch to take things apart with her hands (and not people, for once) had followed her to Thral, four months down the line. It didn’t help that she’d brought down several walls, embedded new agrinium meshes, replaced the glass with solarium glasteel, or installed a whole sub-floor for Shai and Dhaladii to tire themselves out.
So here she was, sweating like a pig even in the afternoon sun, plastered red mane tied up in a hasty ponytail, and a hydrospanner between her teeth. That was also the only reason her curses weren’t echoing all the way down to the treehome.
It was just as well – Qui needed all the rest she could get, even if it was strung together from stolen cat naps. More often than not these days, Aver went to sleep before her and still woke up long enough after her mate that her side of the bed was already cold.
Aver didn’t pry. She tried not to, anyway; it wasn’t always easy to stand against the waves of anger, sadness, or grief that washed across the connection between them. Even if it woke her up sometimes – there were worse places to pull on a t-shirt at four in the morning to go count the constellations winking above a whispering canopy.
When (if) she wanted to, Des would share whatever was troubling her nights, and Ygdris would listen.
Until then, her itch served as a welcome distraction. She’d already knocked out the holonet antenna atop a nearby peak in her first week on Thral. The next one was spent fixing up the smaller things around and inside the growing treehome; putting off the bigger challenge on the horizon, really.
When the third week found her with nothing else to do without new supplies, it was time to bite the bullet and march up the mountain to install the hydrogenerator.
The icy rush of the stream around her bare legs was a small reprieve against the heat bearing down on her back where she was bent over the machinery, but it was better than nothing. If there was any justice at all in the galaxy, she’d be done by this evening anyway, and then never have to open another assembly booklet for a decade or so.
Also, apparently, Aver tanned like burnished gold.
It would’ve been historic if not for the mundane nature of their lunchtime conversations. Between the stains on them both, there wasn’t a single head they could turn. Lenda with the apron and Aver as casual as Nadir had ever seen her – grease-monkey overalls and a bandolier of tools slung over her shoulder.
She’d sprung for that penthouse after all.
The itch to take things apart with her hands (and not people, for once) had followed her to Thral, four months down the line. It didn’t help that she’d brought down several walls, embedded new agrinium meshes, replaced the glass with solarium glasteel, or installed a whole sub-floor for Shai and Dhaladii to tire themselves out.
So here she was, sweating like a pig even in the afternoon sun, plastered red mane tied up in a hasty ponytail, and a hydrospanner between her teeth. That was also the only reason her curses weren’t echoing all the way down to the treehome.
It was just as well – Qui needed all the rest she could get, even if it was strung together from stolen cat naps. More often than not these days, Aver went to sleep before her and still woke up long enough after her mate that her side of the bed was already cold.
Aver didn’t pry. She tried not to, anyway; it wasn’t always easy to stand against the waves of anger, sadness, or grief that washed across the connection between them. Even if it woke her up sometimes – there were worse places to pull on a t-shirt at four in the morning to go count the constellations winking above a whispering canopy.
When (if) she wanted to, Des would share whatever was troubling her nights, and Ygdris would listen.
Until then, her itch served as a welcome distraction. She’d already knocked out the holonet antenna atop a nearby peak in her first week on Thral. The next one was spent fixing up the smaller things around and inside the growing treehome; putting off the bigger challenge on the horizon, really.
When the third week found her with nothing else to do without new supplies, it was time to bite the bullet and march up the mountain to install the hydrogenerator.
The icy rush of the stream around her bare legs was a small reprieve against the heat bearing down on her back where she was bent over the machinery, but it was better than nothing. If there was any justice at all in the galaxy, she’d be done by this evening anyway, and then never have to open another assembly booklet for a decade or so.
Also, apparently, Aver tanned like burnished gold.
Last edited: