Birthday with the Boss. (Centurion)

[Anonymous]

Today Vin's father and mother woke up early and lit the candle in the little alcove they kept for family worship.  They set out the earth, water, and plant matter they needed, the miniature sacrifice for remembrance.  Vin had always thought it kind of sad and silly and really... angering and upsetting, all at once, that they had to pay so much for some dirt from Edanith, and some real planet-grown fig leaves.  Technically, it should be Earth.  Well, good luck with that.  God damn Eddies.  

The candle burned down by lunchtime, and they didn't relight it, only gathered to say the mourner's prayer.  It wasn't really a special day.  They all did the things they had to do.  The only difference was Vin came home when he took lunch and put a hand on his mother's back while she cleared some of the dishes, then went back to D&O.  They all missed Beri, but he had school, or so Vin's father hoped; Vin could see the skepticism in his eyes.  Oh, Beri.  They weren't going to make him do anything, but damn, where did he get it from?  Vin supposed his family could put on the pressure, and maybe Beri just couldn't take it.

Today--June 22--was Uncle Emory's birthday.  He'd been dead for ten years, since just before Vin had decided to enlist.  Beri had been quite young, just six; he didn't really remember his uncle, but Vin did, intensely, and he never liked these days.  They made him thoughtful.  They were having a family dinner with Admiral Tarn, who'd known Uncle Em, always spoke well of him.  He'd been on command when they'd run into a big bug nest, probably Eddie-funded, near Aedolian space.

Vin didn't stop off at his own apartment to change after he got off work, though he did, as usual, take the time to check on the 1903.  Instead, he stayed in uniform and walked home the long way, all around the base block.  He got some synthetic flowers for the table, his mother would like that.  When he got in, he handed them to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hi, mom."

She gave him a peck back and patted him on the bicep.  "Thanks, Vinnie."  

He caught a noise from the other room, the sharp admonitory sound of his father's 'advice voice.'  That just never worked.  Now, if Emory had taught him the Drill Sergeant Special...  Vin exchanged glances with his mother, who fought down a tiny smile.   "Your brother came home smelling like that spray stuff again, Dad thinks..."

"I'll kill Nil if he let him in again."  

Mirat shook her head and hefted the flowers in her free hand.  Vin helped her set the table and put them in a vase; as they finished, the door to the living room banged opened and Beri stormed out, swiping at his face.  Vin's dad followed, jaw set tensely, as it always was when he got upset.  Vin knew he didn't like rebuking anyone, and, frankly, it wasn't the most effective method of Berinu-handling, but he always had a point.  It had worked better on Vin.  Beri took it too much to heart.  

When he saw his wife and elder son, Dazhik relaxed, working his jaw back and forth, getting out the tension.  "Varen, son."  It was one of the Coraite words for welcoming or peace.  Vin clapped his father in a one-armed hug and shook him; he was starting to look his age, graying, and while he was a few inches taller than Vin, Vin knew he was now larger, more muscular.  

"Varen, dad.  He'll come around."  

"I hope by the time he's thirty."  Vin's father's mouth went down on one side, but he didn't seem as upset any longer.  "I sent him to change."  

"I put the black shirt and pants on his bed," Mirat said, nodding to her husband.

"You're talking about me."  Beri crashed into the kitchen, newly dressed.  Though his face was pink and he looked like he'd been crying, he seemed in much better spirits.  Sometimes he had to just take the rebuke and the tension between himself and dad would break like a fever.  Not that the problem was solved, but... it wasn't the day for it.

"Shee, kid," Vin said, grabbing him around the neck and giving him a quick noogie.  It was getting harder to reach high enough to do that.  "You think everythin's about you."

Beri huffed and squirmed free.  "Everything is--"  

The doorbell rang, and Vin checked the panel that showed a quick flat hologram of the Admiral standing outside their front door, palm pressed to the scanner.  His father pressed the button that would let him in, and Vin walked around to welcome him, just a pace behind his mother.  His mother knew him better than Vin did, though he'd spent enough time around his uncle as a kid that he'd gotten used to the round little figure of the Admiral.  Strange to be under his command now, and he didn't want to assume too much familiarity; he hadn't really seen him socially in years, apart from the June 22 dinners, but he knew he had tea with his mother sometimes.  

She opened the door, and Vin had to resist the lingering impulse to snap to attention.  He did give a quick, informal salute.  Beri hung back, looking grumpy and shy, obviously uncomfortable.  Intimidated.  His father was pleased to see the Admiral.  While their stations were different, Vin knew Dazhik didn't feel any jealousy, simply respect for him as a man.

"Welcome, Danneth."  Mirat took his hand briefly, then stepped back to let Vin's father and Beri greet him, which they did quickly.  Vin nodded at the Admiral of the Bastion.  He had noticed his mother talked a little differently around him, just a little more formally.  Still friendly, but more... polished.  "Have a glass of wine, you can put something on the altar if you like."  

She came back with wine for everyone, though Beri tucked himself in a corner once again.  Vin's father wasn't ever talkative.  Vin settled onto the couch and poured for the Admiral, then himself.  He glanced up.  "How are you, Admiral?"  

Man, he was glad he hadn't worn a silly t-shirt today.  Admiral Tarn could be friendly, but he had a nose for the correct.  Still... Vin was glad he was over.  He'd ask for stories of his uncle later.

[Anonymous]

Danneth sat at the edge of his cot, and stared down at the perfectly pressed crease of his dark blue dress trousers. Along the side of the trousers, running from hem to hip, was a refractive, almost translucent silver stripe. It seemed to absorb light from the florescent lamps recessed in the ceiling and then spit it back out in an eerie, almost radioactive glow. Danneth had no idea what the material was, but he had always resented it; it had always seemed too gaudy to be part of a military uniform. Today, however, the resentment was replaced by a quiet, contemplative grief. They called it a blood stripe, despite the color, and it was meant to symbolize the men and women who had died in defense of Libra.

 It always made him think of Emory.

He pushed himself off the cot and pulled the dress coat off of its hook. He had prepared everything the night before, but gave the jacket one last examination. Every decoration was in order, every badge in place. The stars on his shoulder-straps shimmered as brightly as the blood stripe. This was one of the rare occasions where Danneth didn't feel ostentatious for wearing his dress uniform. He didn't know if Emory would want people fussing over him every year, but it certainly made Danneth feel better about the anniversary. He left his quarters without ever looking up, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground a few feet ahead—one of the perks of being an Admiral was that any one lower in rank automatically threw themselves out of your path.

Libra was bustling. The news of Aedolis's declaration didn't seem to have dampened too many spirits, instead, people were filled with a sudden, manic energy. The shops and restaurants were crowded, advertisements flashed in the girders of the promenades. It was just the sort of celebratory mood that Emory always seemed to evoke in people.

 As he walked, Danneth realized that his eyes had grown moist.  

It seemed strange that Danneth should still be troubled by Emory's death. Not strange in that he still remembered, still felt a tingle of grief, but strange that this day could have such a power over him. He had lost other friends, and yet his memory of them was less poignant somehow. Perhaps they had simply been closer. Emory and he had been at the academy together, in the same squad—Danneth had been the lieutenant in command on Emory's last mission.

Whatever the reason for the grief, it was always made less by sharing dinner with Emory's family. It was a religious custom for them, Danneth knew, and it certainly seemed to soothe the soul. He stopped suddenly, realizing that the Oskari house was looming in front of him. He stepped to the door and touched the entrance pad. A moment passed and the door slid open. The family was there to greet him. He smiled and stepped inside, returning their nods and greetings. He clasped Mirat's arms in a sort of awkward half-hug—the greatest concession to endearment Danneth felt he could make. He nodded back to Dazhik, returned Vin's salute and raised a hand in greeting to Beri.

“Welcome, Danneth. Have a glass of wine, you can put something on the altar if you like.”

“Thank-you for your hospitality,” his voice was grave, but he grinned back. “I still can't understand how you put up with a sentimental old fool like me.

Mirat waved away his comment and ushered him over to the altar. He smiled at the holo-pic of Emory and fumbled his coat pocket. He fished out the memento he had chosen for this year: one of the gravitronic compasses that were issued to young pilots. “Wherever your are, my friend, keep flying straight.” He nodded to the picture and joined the rest of the family in the living room. Mirat returned with the wine and Danneth took the glass that she offered.

“How are you, Admiral?”

He turned from the altar to Vin. The young gunner was tucked into a couch so Danneth took a seat across from him. This was always the most awkward part of the evening—Danneth was never sure exactly how to act around the enlisted man. He liked Vin, certainly, and thought him an excellent soldier, if somewhat...bohemian . The trouble was rank, and Danneth had a hell of a time leaving work at work. “Doing well enough. You and your friends are certainly keeping me busy with the paperwork. I trust you're keeping yourself busy?”

[Anonymous]

Vin sat forward, feet flat on the floor, elbows on knees, turning his wine slowly in one hand.  They didn't usually drink it; the good kind was expensive, so it became part of the ritual trappings surrounding the holidays or occasions like this one.  That was probably why he preferred beer, and, for that matter, Uncle Em had too.  Sometimes Vin wondered if it was possible to copy a preference like taste, or whether they actually had as much in common as his mother claimed.  Uncle Em had been very energetic, with an easy sense of humor, all business when he had to be, though he was better than Vin's father at putting you in your place without making you feel belittled.

He had been short, too, though not as small as the Admiral.    

"Very busy," Vin said, stopping before he Admiral'd him.  Instead he let himself smile crookedly.  "Always somethin' to do in the Fleet, and I like to give my ship plenty of TLC.  You?  How's the Bastion?"  They hadn't deployed since the Aedolian incident.

He slid over to make room on the couch for his mother, who'd followed the wine with a tray of little snack crackers and cheese.  She liked to do that sometimes, she had always put out classier-looking food than many of his friends' parents, even if they were always on a budget.  He grabbed a cracker sandwich for himself and munched.  His dad took a seat on the far end of the Admiral's couch, balancing the room, except for Beri, who hid himself in a chair in the corner and fiddled with one of the necklaces he was wearing.  

"Dinner in a half hour," Mirat said, handing Vin's father a glass of wine and taking a cracker for herself.  She put a hand on Vin's shoulder.  He remembered that when he was... what, thirteen?  He'd been embarrassed when she'd shown him affection in front of the then-Lieutenant, but Uncle Em had said You goddamn jerk, there are better things to be embarrassed about than your mother loves ya.

"I hope Vin's not giving you too much trouble."