The Young Woman and You (the Drone)

Epilogue

The sky above is blue, the sun gracing the ferry and the lake below with sunlight. The grey storm clouds are still visible but disappearing far into the distance. In this cool morning air, there is a serene quiet where only the splashes of the lake's waves knocking against the boat interrupt. In short, it is-

"A nice morning, isn't it?!" A high-pitched voice finishes Scana's thought and it isn't the first time she's wondered if the person behind the drone is privy to the inside of her head after all.

Scana takes a look at the drone now, hovering near the back of the ferry, and it's spinning circles like it can't get enough of the crystal clear lake water, the pine trees lining the shores, or the bright blue sky. Scana takes a few seconds to come up with a reply but the drone pauses in its sight-seeing to turn toward Scana.

"Oh, I didn't have time to ask because we were running late," they start, still light-hearted and energetic, "but did you have a good sleep?"

Scana takes another second to think over her answer and decides to tease the drone a little. "Better after I closed the doors."

Theor response is immediate: a thunking sound like they hit their head on their desk before they rush to say, "Ah, I'm sorry! I was going to leave out the balcony but I didn't expect you to fall asleep so soon..."

Their voice is sheepish and sincere. Of course Scana already forgave them but now that they mention it, she feels a little embarrassed that she *had* fallen asleep so quickly. It isn't often that she speaks to so many people in a day. It was more tiring than she expected to traverse across the whole town... and keeping an eye on someone else too.

No, the right way to say it would be "feeling self-conscious and worried about the other at the same time."

...anyways.

"It's alright. I didn't mind that part," Scana finally says. "I was more worried about- no. Nevermind."

She cuts herself off. If they don't get it, it's better not to say it.

Scana doesn't let the silence that descends worry her. It's such a beautiful morning that it would be a waste to do so. Even the occasional spray from when the breeze hits the splashing water is refreshing. Besides, the drone is still facing her. They must be thinking of how to say what they want to say next.

"Hey, Scana, what does Quoran tea tastes like?"

Their question is surprisingly casual and normal. Even if it does bring up bittersweet memories. An image of her sister mischeviously 'requesting' her to brew some flashes through her mind, small hands wrapped around a blue porcelain mug. It takes Scana a devastating self-control not to clench her fist.

"...It's warm with a spicy aftertaste like cinnamon."

"Where is Quoran grown?"

Are they taking a rapid-fire approach? Why would they bother- unless they're trying to feel out where Scana is most uncomfortable? Pushing the limit does seem to be a tendency.