Fall of the Spectrum

Chapter Eleven, Part Two

Forneus stared across the table, traces of bright green and orange reflecting off the untouched glass of concentrated ether in Phenex's hands. He turned it idly between his fingers, staring moodily into its lilac-coloured depths. The sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversation stirred all around them, broken occasionally by a muttered curse or bout of laughter. The Lounge was busier than usual, more so than Forneus had seen in quite some time, and something he was sure didn't improve his companion's mood.

The room was large, forming an elongated 'S' from the entrance to the den on the farthest side. Everywhere in-between was filled with an assortment of glass tables, cushioned chairs, stools, and globular lamps that hung low over the sitting areas; each one stained-glass with its own unique pattern. Both the walls and the floor were a mixture of agate infused with jet, black flecks accentuating the whorls of red, white, and brown. Half of the left-hand wall alone served as the bar, ether condensed and distributed from the many dispensers fixed to the wall behind it, allowing the patrons to choose the form of ether they preferred.

Taking a sip of his own ethereal wine, Forneus observed Phenex for a moment longer before setting his chalice down again, the soft clinking of glass against glass drawing the other's attention.

"So, how long are you going to keep this up?" he asked, leaning back to drape one arm over the back of his chair.

"Keep what up?" Phenex replied sourly, eyes narrowing as he rotated the cup between his fingers.

"This," Forneus emphasized with a wave of his hand. "Being mad at Gwen. She is sorry, you know. You must have realized that by now."

"Of course she is," Phenex countered, pulling his hands back from the glass and leaning back in his chair. "She's always sorry."

Despite his surly demeanour, Forneus knew better. Phenex was just hurt by Gwen's reaction, and this was the only way he knew how to express it—even if he'd never admit it out loud.

Still, Forneus attempted to reason with him. "She didn't mean—"

"Let her stew in her regret for another day or two," Phenex cut him off. "Maybe then she'll be more mindful of what she says."

Forneus sighed. "She's just a child, Phenex..."

"No, worse. She's a teenager," Phenex said stubbornly. "Forneus, I've been observing this generation of humanity a great deal—earlier than that, since your guardianship started—and I'm telling you, they require a firmer hand than most small children. Trust me, time to reflect on what she's done will do her some good."

"Ah, so you're the expert on youth now, are you?" Forneus remarked dryly. "You may have been studying them, but I was watching over her, and trust me, old friend—there is no one in the entire Spectrum who knows Gwen better than I do."

"You missed eight out of fifteen years," Phenex pointed out, hastily adding, "not to rub salt in the wound. But it's true."

Forneus chuckled at this. "Be that as it may, she hasn't changed very much in that time. I still know her, and now so do you." He leaned forward, lips quirking into a knowing grin. "Come on, Phenex. You can't tell me that after all the time we've spent with her, you actually believe she meant what she said back there."

Phenex looked as though he intended to argue, his mouth opening, only to close again. Instead, he stared into the depths of his drink, eyebrows drawn together as though deep in thought. Forneus knew the look well. It was the same look he wore whenever he was particularly conflicted about something, the same look that had come up more often after his second incarnation had ended in tragedy.