Tales from the Former Universe

42. Recourse

ARLAION PULLED A FORCE ON ROYYEGA AND DRAGGED HER DOWN FROM EVER REACHING THE LIGHT. There was nowhere for Royyega left to run, but for Feerst determined for the path, she faced firmly at Arlaion, for Arlaion to halt, slowly deteriorating by Royyega's bravery—except, one of them thought they had made a mistake.

"Apologies, too natural and shrieking, my death screaming was?" Arlaion worried.

"None, none at all, maybe decrease the volume, speakers, remember?" Royyega said. "Was I, facing the woman, firm enough?"

"Maybe a little bit of eyebrow work," Arlaion said. "Look in the mirror, do that again," he ordered. "Now, mellow, you were, not rageful, a sharp straight down, you try and keep," he showed. "There you go!"

"And cut!" Royyega finished.

They rested by the couch.

"To visit another, it's nice we habit," Arlaion complimented. "Such household we live in, huh?"

"It was never an option for me and grandpa—as years go by, house prices go up," Royyega responded.

"And as legacy material goes, buildings only become incommodious living in mine," Arlaion responded. "Just because something's a size, apparent matters, doesn't mean there are inside it."

"Agreed," Royyega agreed.

Arlaion then recalled, "The tell we apply, the show we express... to integrate, it may be difficult effectively."

"Not difficult effectively, I believe," Royyega said. "If anything... uniting something with one another... it's natural, not because it is hard to integrate, but because it works well with one another."

Arlaion smiled, "Just like us?"

Royyega placed her arms on Arlaion's shoulder, looking at him straight in the eye, closely: "Just like us."

Royyega leaned and kissed Arlaion's lips down the couch, where Arlaion pulled for brief and long smooches, truly and slowly as parlance brought in their truce.

Walbode entered: "Oh my..."

"Grandpa Walbode,"

"Mister, we're..."

"It's, it's alright," Walbode tolerated. "You could have warned, the least."

Walbode walked to the kitchen, preparing a very procedural and accustomed making for an office meal he once created. First, he poured the ingredients into the bowl, and then he crumbled the staple for cooking. He nevertheless added a few supermarket ingredients to make the food more homely.

"What are you making, mister?" Arlaion wondered.

"Stirred egg oats, food of mine, when I worked at the Department of Defense," Walbode said. "Four years, I did."

"I thought seven years, half a month?" Royyega thought.

"That's funny, who told you that?" Walbode confused.

"You," Royyega simply said.

"Hmm," he rethought. "Nah, it can't be, government can't be too specific."

"I thought they are, formally," Royyega thought.

"Meh, I don't remember—least I am done with the work," Walbode said.

"What ended your work?" Arlaion wondered.

"Contract, and of course tight supervision every mile away in work," Walbode alluded and coughed after smelling too many tablespoons.

"Walbode, let us help," Royyega sought.

"It's fine—guests, you both are," Walbode responded.

"We are willing for it," Arlaion welcomed.