///
Cleve enjoys a quiet evening with his rifle and his shimmerfly. He dismantles the gun completely, cleans each of the pieces, reapplies cosmoline as needed, and then reassembles everything. This does mean a flashlight is no longer taped to the barrel, but that was only a temporary solution, anyway. He’ll need to acquire one actually designed for that purpose, with the right balance. That might be something he can do here in the Garden of Chiron, if he can get someone to take chili powder in trade. The final step of maintenance is to attach a strap to the rifle. Once that is done, he sets the weapon aside.
Dinner leftovers are still on the table, and he is curious whether Bella will eat any of it. At the thought of her, the shimmerfly makes her presence known. Cleve holds out little bits of food to her, which she either rejects or delicate nibbles at. The fish-type creature is a no-go, but the plants and fungus are all fine. The kelp in particular seems popular. A rainbow of colors flash across her wings as she eats it, whereas the fish is turned down with a bright red. Cleve is pleased to have some better understanding of her body language.
He’d be happy to talk farming with Marina, but she has been focused on getting notes ready for tomorrow. Occasionally she shuffles papers around or jots down a new idea. Sometimes she looks at the window, though it has long since become too dark to see out it. Finally, she sighs and addresses Cleve, “What are we going to say? How are we going to convince Deirdre? Mariah knows her personally, so that’s going to help, right?”
“You mean to get her vote?” Cleve asks.
“Yeah.”
Cleve has no idea what the nature of Mariah and Deirdre’s relationship is. And as far as he can tell, Marina knows Deirdre too. He shrugs. “I’ve never met her.”
“How long of a walk does Mariah like to take? The suns have set.”
“It is dark,” Cleve agrees. “Hope he didn’t get mugged or something.”
“I’d be really surprised if he got mugged,” Marina says. That’s just not something that really happens in the Garden of Chiron.
Cleve agrees, “You’re right, he’s a pretty big guy.” Mariah has shown he can take care of himself in a fight.
“He wouldn’t get lost, though, right? He knows where this apartment is…”
Cleve reflects for a moment on what might keep a fit and good-looking guy out late. If it weren’t for Mariah’s bashfulness regarding whatever that was with Fritz… “I don’t think he’s the type who would just go home with somebody,” Cleve opines.
Marina definitely wasn’t expecting a comment like that. “Oh, I, um, hadn’t thought of that.” She looks away from Cleve, grabbing at a stack of papers to needlessly straighten, trying not to think about the warmth of every touch from Mariah today. “No, uh, you don’t think he’d actually do that, right?” she asks with forced casualness. She feels like her cheeks and ears are on fire, but apparently Cleve hasn’t noticed.
Cleve raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so,” he reiterates. “I mean, he’s very people-oriented, but I don’t think in quite that direction.”
“He must have gone to the pub,” Marina decides. “I’ll go find him there.” She stands up abruptly.
Cleve does too. “All right, we can go to the pub.” He might have chosen to spend his evening there if he’d known it existed. It’s been a hundred thirty years since he’s had a beer, and he wouldn’t mind a taste of whatever passes for one around here. He gestures for Bella to follow. Maybe she likes beer, too.
Marina guides Cleve through the town, headed to the Mushroom Grove down by the docks. It’s not the only pub in town, but it is the most lively. As they near it, Cleve returns to the earlier possibility. “I mean, maybe he is that type. I don’t think so, but I’ve only known him for a couple months, same as you.”
“You said he’s social. He just hasn’t had a chance to get out much. Did he meet anyone in the Morgan domes?”
“We weren’t inside there overnight,” Cleve tells her.
“Okay, so this is the first chance he’s had to overnight somewhere. He does often hang out in the common area in Data Haven…”
“Yeah, just socializing, that seems up his alley. I don’t think going to the pub is going to get us killed.”
“No, no, the pub’s fine,” Marina says, now used to Cleve’s grumbling after a weeklong road trip together. “It’s not that kind of pub.”
///