Shawn froze at this proposal.

  A woman was here. From another world. With a bottle of wine in her hand. And, showing some concern for him and Cire. This was an imminent freak-out moment.

  Seriously you dunce, tell her she can come in. Your beak is gaping.

  It is not!

  Shawn had to muster his composure to ignore Halsey’s reprimand and beckon Regia inside. “Uh, sure, come on in.”

  “Why, thank you! I see that nasty beast we heard about earlier didn’t turn you into a meal,” she added, tapping him on the beak. He frowned as she brushed past him, and twirled on her cws before setting the bottle on the table, and calling out. “Yo, Varrick! Get your feathered arse down here, I need drinking buddies! It’s been a shit few days, and you make decent company!”

  “I hope you didn’t take that from Telga’s stores. She’ll fry you good if you did,” Varrick retorted. He hopped down from the nding, and nded with a cushioning fp of his wings, bending stiffly at his knees. He winced and rubbed his back. “Damn it, I hate getting old.”

  “You’re not old, you just act old, for the sake of the rest of us!” Regia sang and hugged him. Cire approached from the guest quarters, trying to tidy her hair up with a scrunchie before the cheerful avian also hugged her. “Looking good, dear! A few more weeks of harrowing escapes and shooting giant monsters, you’ll be able to face down the scariest things this pnet has to offer!”

  “Oh! Um, okay, you get cozy,” Cire offered awkwardly, before Regia danced back to a small storage area, grabbing some simple, but functional tankards to pce on the table.

  Shawn didn’t notice it until he heard the cck of cws on the porch, and Garrett appeared, in a more casual tunic that accented his green and red feathers, and he gave a welcoming hug to him, smiling. “Hey, my favorite crack shot is camped out here? Sorry, we didn’t catch up earlier. I had to put the green-feathered new guys to work. We’re busy getting the militia up to speed.”

  “Not that I know Aveeran culture, but–” Shawn protested, but Garrett had already let go, and he pointed at the bottle on the table.

  “Shush! You’ll learn it as you go. Now, I don’t know what Earth is like, but here in Remaria? It’s a tradition for good friends to blow off steam after a few bad days and have a drink. Before you ask, yes, Cire can drink this,” he added before tapping the bottle for emphasis, his cw clinking on the gss.

  “Uh…okay. I’ll have a go. What are we celebrating?”

  Garrett let out a cck of his beak. “Well, survival is a good start. We also have a memorial tomorrow, for those who…didn’t make it off the ptform. We toast, to celebrate the fallen. We try to view them for their accomplishments and bravery, not what we lost.”

  Shawn nodded, and brought over an extra set of chairs from the small dining table Varrick had set up in the guest quarters. Everyone gathered and sat down–with Regia plunking down next to him, on the wide bench seat. “So uh…like I said…it’s been a few interesting days, to put it mildly.”

  “That’s Remaria in an eggshell,” Regia replied, eying the bottle with fascination. “This is a small treat I stashed away a few years ago in my locker in the barracks. It feels like a good day to open it.”

  What Shawn found fascinating was her using a single sharpened cw to gouge into the cork at the top, and pulled it out with one swift motion; it made a distinct thunk sound. She gave it a light swirl, and he could smell something rich from the bottle–tannins, something fruity but unfamiliar to him, reminding him of raspberries, but with a sharper, more tart scent. He also noted a small relief in the tankard shape, molded for…

  He tapped his beak gently while he studied the mug, and thought about it. A tankard for an Aveeran. That’s handy. He realized his beak protruded further than the rest of his face, so, a relief would keep him from spilling. Regia poured the dark purple wine into the five tankards, and slid them to each of them.

  “Now this one here is Rousant, 1992 blend. So it’s aged about…five orbits or so. It should be a treat! Now, before we start…a toast, to the fallen. I know we were up against some dangerous foes, but…losing anyone sucks,” she added in a lower tone, the song in her voice temporarily gone.

  “Yeah. I uh…I just did what I thought was right,” Shawn offered awkwardly.

  “What you thought was right? Shawn, without your stupid bravery, I think all of us would be dead, between you and Cire. She’s a sharpshooter. I saw her clip a few of those bastards trying to sughter everyone.”

  “I prefer not thinking of a body count,” Cire countered, arms folded gently. “Preserving lives is the only way I can justify ending others when given no alternative. And those guys that charged at us? Yeah. Peace talks were never an option.”

  “Everyone’s first time is the worst.” Regia tipped back her drink, her beak clinking ever so softly on the tankard. He took that as his cue and took a sip, taking care not to clip his beak into the side. “Well, maybe you can sample something a little more worthy of remembrance, then.”

  Aside from some water he’d intermittently grabbed throughout the day, he realized he had not sampled much of the local food. But this wine–it was tart, dark, and rich. And potent–the alcohol content seemed to be a touch stronger than he was used to, and he slowly lowered it, sampling this fvor. Like one of the best currants he’d ever tasted, and a hint of sweetness like raspberries. Everyone else had followed suit, and Cire had taken a liking to it, he noted.

  “Oh, this is…goodness, I don’t have words for this,” Cire said, a faint smile crossing her face. “Forgive me for asking, but, does your body–”

  “Metabolize alcohol? It does. Probably quicker than a human, though,” Garrett said, nudging Regia from his seat on the other side of her. “Watch out for this one. She’ll drink you under the table, and be singing bawdy songs while doing it.”

  “That’s so not true,” Regia scoffed, before tipping back a sip and wagging a cw at him. “I don't sing bawdy songs, that’s Telga. She’ll deny it, till the day she dies.” He couldn’t help but notice a mischievous smile across her beak as she said it.

  The probability of truth…about ninety-eight percent.

  You don’t actually know that number, Halsey. Wait. Do you?

  Haha. The number, no. The intuition, based on my scant interactions over the past two days? It’s a good chance.

  Shawn masked his chuckle to be timed with everyone else's. Varrick sat back in his seat, looking on thoughtfully before giving Regia a nod. “Yeah, it’s true. Damn radiant drank me to a draw once. And she gets more bawdy as the night goes on. A curator of rich culture there, that one,” he added with a crease of his beak. Garrett couldn’t stop a hearty ugh.

  “Hah! I knew it. She should be here, but she’s been talking to the council, keeping busy all day. I keep one of the militia guys near her when myself and Regia aren’t there. I know she’s hurting. Just wish she’d say it so she could go to the grieving part,” he finished in a quieter tone, now settling back down.

  “She’s tougher than the rest of us combined, Garrett,” Varrick pushed back. “If I was truly worried, I’d be there right now. As it were, I might go swing on by. It’s not that te, yet.”

  “She’d appreciate it. Anyway, I think we should focus our attention on our new arrivals.” Garrett gestured to him and Cire. “Shawn, we didn’t have much chance to talk, with everything going on. Regia told me you had some motivation to put the would-be overlord out of commission.”

  “Yeah. Deal with him, somehow not die in the process, and find my sister. Easy enough.” The wine in his cup gave him a little more courage to say that, without his voice wavering. The logical side of him that told him that it was going to be a long, difficult path.

  “He’s our noble knight!” Regia added as she pyfully elbowed him in the ribs. Her wing kept having this tendency to want to curl around his back. “Say, What did you do before this? I mean, both of you?”

  “Honestly, there isn't much,” Cire answered, her tone brighter now. “Well, he had a shit childhood, it got better, then his sister drowned. Well, what he believed at the time. Then, he and I went to the same college. He needed a lot of work," she added in a sincere tone. He took no offense to it. "My primary vocation is chemistry and chemical processing."

  "Specifically?" Regia prodded gently, sounding intrigued.

  “For my primary job, I did chemical processing for various industrial applications. Lubricants, refrigerants, caustics, cleaning products! You name it, get me the right precursors and the right equipment, and I can mix up a lot of cool stuff! And explosives, but don’t let that one circute,” she added with a shrug.

  “Hey, explosives might be a good choice. We have foes that can cast magical barriers that eat rifle rounds,” Shawn countered. “I can even build the weapons that make it possible.”

  "Such as?" Garrett asked.

  Shawn quickly grabbed a pen and sketched something on a loose pad of paper Varrick kept tucked away, and showed the rudimentary sketch of the grenades he'd seen used. Then, he showed them what he had pnned for improving effectiveness. "The explosive is fine. But you want to have split points so those fragments receive the maximum energy. Frangible points of weakness. The debris will do more damage to monsters, with higher penetration. In theory. It's about maximizing your potential energy."

  Garrett frowned as he tapped the sketch. "That...is interesting. Wouldn't have thought of that."

  "Same principle for the rifles. Maximize your energy efficiency," he emphasized. "Those rounds we fired at the Jabberyowls seemed ineffective, the Bandersnatches too. I suspect the rounds aren't optimized, or monsters are tougher to kill than I ever imagined."

  “Pfft. That's the wine talking,” Cire added while tousling his feathers, much to his annoyance. Her cup was already empty, he noticed. “Or the birb part of you.”

  “Becoming a birb–I mean bird,” he added with a roll of his eyes, “Didn’t change my knowledge base or my memories. I think. The point is, that I have theories on why the weapons are inefficient. The alchemical rounds are low power, the burn isn’t complete, or the tolerances are too loose. I’ve narrowed it down to a few things. The rounds themselves could also use some work, and be made more aerodynamic–”

  “Shush, no work talk,” Cire interjected again while tapping his beak. Regia giggled at this motion, and while he had feathers, he let out a sigh of protest. “Don’t let Shawn talk science or math, or designing crazy shit. Once you let him get started, he will never shut up about it.”

  “Oy, when did this become a roast?” he protested, while Cire ughed.

  “When you grew a morbid fear of rotisserie ovens,” she added with an evil smile.

  “Go add some cesium to water, why don’t you,” he added with a hoot–and then he grasped his beak, embarrassed that that had happened, while Regia cpped him on the shoulder, ughing.

  “You two are something else. What a package deal we got! Condolences, though, on whoever you left behind.”

  “My house pnts are toast,” Shawn sighed. “Mom will think I’m ignoring her. At least the cat has a doorway. I told the waitress to go to my apartment before I bolted into the portal...I hope Simba is okay."

  “Telga got us here. I’m sure there’s a way back,” Cire assured him, then wrinkled her brow. “Ah, crap. Mandi is gonna think I stood her up on that date. Of all the priorities…”

  “It might be possible to get you back home. Telga or the other Radiants would know best, but, I can’t think of an instance where someone wanted to go back, the few I know about personally,” Varrick grunted. “You liked it, there?”

  Shawn answered with a slow dip of his beak. “I was more at home at my job in a mechanical b, or going camping in the wilderness, hunting. I’d hunt my own game–sometimes a bow, sometimes a rifle, simir to the ones you have on hand,” he added, and air gestured, pretending he held a rifle in hand. “I was good at it, but I only took what I needed to eat. Then, when I was done, it was back to the city. Not quite as high stakes as out here, though."

  That crunch of bone, of someone dying within sight of the town on that first night, still echoed in his head. He needed to do better, build better weapons, and get stronger, so that events like that, didn't happen again.

  “And yet here you are, now having to start from very different circumstances.” Varrick folded his hands at the table, leaning in, and peering at the two of them intensely. “Regia, I didn’t have much of a chance to talk, and I prefer to ask with said subjects present. Can he walk the walk? Garrett?”

  “To survive and help us endure what's coming? Both of them can.” Regia sat up, wing draped over his, her eyes focused on him, Cire, then back at him. “Can you build other stuff, like she can? I saw you practicing your gestalt.”

  “I can measure stuff. And, I think I have some ideas on how to use it. But I still have a lot to learn.” As a demonstration, he focused on his core, and put out a shimmering golden barrier around the cws of his hand, flexing it gently. She leaned in with interest.

  “Interesting. So it protects against…deadly stuff, as we observed.”

  “That’s not all.” He smiled as he gestured to the tankard. “I don’t want to waste the wine. Varrick, a cup with water?”

  “Oh? Got an idea?”

  “Yeah.” He formed the barrier and with a few quick motions, started wrapping it around a bowl sitting on the table, feeling the slight resistance as the barrier contoured to the shape, almost like a pstic wrap over a casserole dish. He focused on that trickle of energy, feeling the electrical current as he finished replicating the bowl, and then, lifted the bowl out gently with his free hand, focusing on keeping the shape of the imprint.

  “Okay. So, you can replicate object forms?” Cire asked.

  “Better.” He motioned for Varrick to pour the water, after a low protest about making a mess. But, to their surprise, the force barrier retained the water. The barrier hummed a little more agitatedly when in contact with the fluid.

  “Okay, I’m mildly impressed. It’s not a solid…its energy, given form,” Cire breathed. She dipped a finger in the water, sending ripples across the surface. “But, how’s this help?”

  “Now, the part I haven’t worked on, yet. Can you pick up that bowl, Varrick?”

  “I better not get soaked,” he grumbled. He frowned as he ran his fingers over the shimmering hexagon mesh, but was able to lift the barrier. The water sloshed around zily, and the barrier didn’t disperse.

  Shawn felt a mental ‘catch’ now that he’d focused on the shape, in its finality, akin to setting a ratchet on a socket wrench. Varrick moved it away, slowly. “Now, keep walking till I tell you to stop. Can you go to the far end of the room?”

  “Aye.” He followed, carrying the force-fueled object, while Shawn felt a mental tether to it–like he could picture it, feel it, even at a distance. But, the further Varrick walked away, the more fuzzy that picture felt, he couldn’t feel the surface, or feel the texture of the barrier.

  “Okay, stop.” Varrick froze, and turned around, a crease of his beak emerging.

  “So, whatcha thinking, son?”

  “I think we can, indeed, make castings and forgings,” Shawn concluded. "The reason I say that is it didn't conduct heat. Or, it has an immense thermal resistance. I might have to practice a lot, or make an investment negative to work from. But this is our first step to getting better weapons, armor, and equipment. I call it my force mold.”

  He let out a small thrust of his cws into the air in triumph–and lost his connection to the mold. The water instantly dropped and spshed onto Varrick’s trousers, and he let out a warbling sound of anger.

  “Damn it, Shawn! I knew that was gonna dun happen!” he shouted with a smoldering gre aimed at him.

  “Work in progress, and sorry,” he added hastily before grabbing a dish rag from the kitchen. Garrett and Regia were hooting with ughter, and Cire tried not to giggle at the unintended spectacle.

  “Oh shut it, you mockingbirds,” Varrick shot at them with a snap of his beak, but he accepted the dish cloth and tried to dry off. "Yeah, if you drop that on someone working with molten metals, it'll do worse than leave me in a bad mood." Regia cpped Shawn on the back, bright blue eyes peering at him with amusement.

  “Better build a containment area, then! I get first dibs, Shawn! You’re building me more rifles!” she beamed, in an awkwardly close moment, while Varrick fumed behind them.

  Shawn smiled faintly. “Well, better rifles, too.” He felt a spark of different energy, and put out his free hand, to get a small wisp of fme going for emphasis. “But now, we have to work on step two. And probably work on making step one a little less messy.”