Sincerely, Vintage

Part 3

Hrida

The sound of a familiar set of footsteps drew Hrida's attention away from the mug between her hands. She shifted slightly in her seat, turning her head so that one ear faced the door.

It's him.

One of Hrida's many quirks was the collection of signatures she kept in her mind. Every person had something that distinguished them from the rest. Vintage had a mechanical whirring constantly accompanying him because of whatever tech he had in his pockets. Hrida could hear Tracey a block away from the cans of spray paint in her book bag, and Derrick...

She stood up and turned to face him, making sure only a hint of a smile showed on her face. Derrick returned the smile as he crossed the room to their table.

"Hey, guys."

Tracey looked up from whatever she was carving into the table and elbowed Vintage to get his attention. To his credit, Vintage at least nodded in Derrick's direction before going back to fiddling with the lump of plastic and wires in front of him.

"You want anything, Derrick?" Tracey asked.

Hrida didn't hear his answer. The room went muted for a moment as Tracey nodded and walked off. Vintage stayed where he was, still lost in his work, and Derrick slid into the seat next to her, fidgeting with a loose thread on one of his gloves.

Hrida took a sip of her coffee and kept her hands wrapped loosely around the mug.

"Nice outfit."

Derrick gave her a soft smile.

"Thank you. I wanted to try a different spin on the usual today."

"You succeeded, then. You look very stylish for an apocalypse."

He chuckled softly, but the smile faded off his face much faster than before. He looked sad and hollow sitting there in his olive coat, well-put-together yet ready to fall apart.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, don't apologize." Derrick put one hand to his forehead and sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. The rest of you act like this is just a normal day, like we're just a bunch of college kids meeting here after classes." He gestured to the rest of the cafe then his hand fell flat on the table. "But none of this is normal."

For once, Hrida couldn't think of a graceful response. A city with monsters stalking the streets at night and everyone ready to turn on one another certainly wasn't the standard. The Breach had divided them all, almost like cliques in high school. If you didn't have a group, it was only a matter of time before the streets swallowed you and you didn't come back.

Tracey returned with Derrick's coffee and got back to finishing her carving. Vintage snuck his hand across the table to steal a sip of Hrida's latte. Hrida swatted at him, glaring, but deep down, she didn't mind.

Ever since all of this had started, the four of them had gradually grown closer until they'd become like a family. Hrida glanced around the table over the rim of her cup.

In their small galaxy, Vintage was the sun: the light and warmth that held their group together. His tinkering made him a bit absent, but he was the only reason the rest of them stayed sane.

Tracey. Hrida smiled and shook her head. Tracey's personality didn't fit in a brief handful of words. She resembled her art in many ways, mostly her boldness and unpredictability. Hrida had come to learn that Tracey's pastel exterior was less of a fashion choice than a front to throw people off.

And Derrick? Hrida had a distance to go in figuring him out. He somehow managed to be both tough and gentle, persuasive and reserved, and he kept most things close to his chest. Hrida found that annoying and intriguing at the same time.

Vintage finally surfaced from wherever he went when he tinkered. When he'd cleared his project off the table, he gently cleared his throat. Everyone else immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke.

"We've got a problem."