And so, Dahlia and the Beast Hunters made their way to a diner-tavern in the Central District.
A horde of forty or so Beast Hunters invaded the third floor of the slightly timeworn establishment. Everyone must’ve had their usual seats—they split themselves up between the different tables. The warm glow of the magical lantern bathed a fresh sight: knights out of their uniforms.
“How about sharing some juice, sparkling water, and a few bites—is that okay? You can order your own booze, but let’s not drink too too much tonight.”
“Shall we raise a toast?”
Unfortunately, Grato had been obliged to stay behind at the castle to finish up a bit of work; in his place was the man sitting across from Dahlia, Griswald. “To a successful day of field training! Cheers!”
Everyone raised their drinks of juice or sparkling water. “To everyone’s safe return! Cheers!” Dahlia washed down the sting of those words with a sip of her juice.
“Whoa!” After Dorino clinked his drink against his squadmates’, his grasp slipped on the wet glass. His reflexes were good enough that he caught it with his other hand, but a splash struck him in the face. “Gah! My eyes! Someone—a handkerchief!”
“You have one in your breast pocket.”
“That’s a first love-handkerchief, a keepsake; I won’t—I can’t use it.”
“Then you ought to carry another one.” Despite the banter, Randolph lent his friend the handkerchief in his pocket; Dorino gave his thanks and then dabbed around his eyes.
“You’re finally a big boy now, eh, Dorino?”
“Sir Dorino, did you receive your handkerchief from your girlfriend?”
“It’s from the love in my heart, Fabiola from the House of Twilight.” Dorino got all quiet, and so did everybody else.
“Oh, a mass-produced handkerchief of first love, I see.”
“Poor guy...”
Dahlia couldn’t understand why everyone was expressing pity for Dorino, and she looked to Volf beside her. His brow was all scrunched up, and when he noticed her looking his way, he seemed even more uncomfortable. “Ladies of the night, um, hand out those handkerchiefs to all their clients.”
One of the knights at another table leaned over. “First loves are fleeting moments, so the ladies give embroidered hankies to their male clients; to their female clients, they hand out cheap hair accessories and stationery in their color. All it means is ‘Please come again.’” Dahlia had learned a few things: that the House of Twilight was almost certainly the name of a brothel and that clients of different genders got different gifts.
“I never knew women received stationery.”
“When I was in primary school, kids who were dating would trade pens and pencil cases and the like. Was that a thing for you, Master Dahlia?”
She shook her head at the green-haired youth’s question. “I don’t think so. But I did trade hair ties and ribbons with other girls.”
“With Ms. Lucia, I assume?”
“We would go to Irma’s place, and the three of us would give each other matching braids.”
“Hmm...” Volf smiled at what must’ve been his mental image of the three of them with their hair tied up.
“Dorino, maybe you should consider finding someone to give a bejeweled bracelet to.”
“Thank you for your concern, sir, but I’m plenty happy as I am currently.” Dorino reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his white silk handkerchief by a bit.
Dahlia caught only a glimpse of it, but the embroidery seemed to be finely done in beautiful gold thread. “It looks like it’s the real deal to me...”
Like as not, only the people at the same table had heard her mumbling, Griswald being one of them. He looked at her as though he were interacting with a young child. “I understand that you wish the best for him, Master Dahlia. However, know that for Fabiola, Dorino is not the only ‘only one for me.’” That was most likely the truth, wasn’t it?
“Dorino, as someone who’s had more experience in life, listen to me when I tell you not to get too deep into this kind of thing.”
“Will do, sir.” His navy eyes did not waver; he knew better than to object.
“Speaking of which, I bet you’ve received a whole wagonload of embroidered handkerchiefs, Volfred.”
“Hey, cut it out—Master Dahlia’s here.”
“It’s no problem, as I have never received one.” Everything delivered to Volf was processed by his family’s people and then promptly returned, regardless of whom it was from. It couldn’t have felt good for the sender, but he had no choice.
“As if we would believe that, Volfred.”
“False humility’s a nasty thing, Volf.”
“Honestly, I have never accepted a single one. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense to accept a handkerchief from someone you don’t recognize or whose name you don’t remember, right? Even if I did recognize the name on the parcel, I had my family reseal it and send it back.”
“Oh? How resolute of you.” The senior knight seemed rather surprised by his actions.
Volf seemed less than comfortable with the attention everyone was giving him, and he, in turn, looked toward Dahlia. He really had it rough, she thought, as he sighed to himself.
“Okay, maybe not the handkerchiefs, but there had to be other things people gave you during your college days, right? If not bracelets, maybe stuff like decorative cords and ties, then?”
Exchanging engagement bracelets wasn’t a particularly common practice among people in college; a thin cord tied into a knot was plenty between people who were dating at that age. Dahlia had also heard people would inscribe their partners’ names on the insides of their neckties. She was sure that Volf, unlike her, had received many decorative cords.
“Come on, Volf, tell us the truth.”
“If they were ordinary cords, they went into an old shoebox, but I never personally accepted or put on any of those things.”
“Hm? What do you mean by ‘ordinary’? That implies the existence of extraordinary ones.”
“I’ve been handed cords with jewels or ones made of monster leather, but I rejected those.”
“Musta been expensive.”
“Those girls probably dreamed of engagement bracelets...” Kirk’s words only became clear after Dahlia had ruminated on them for a bit. She would have been worried about putting a gemstone on a cord—one little tug or a little snip, and the pretty rock was gone.
“Well, uh, rather than count or value, what’s the most memorable present you’ve gotten?”
“Something memorable? Hmm...” Volf’s eyes looked dead. “There were worn hair ties and scarves, braided cords made of hair, a necktie with the sender’s name written in blood on the back...”
“Godsdamn. Yeah, that’s memorable in a way, all right.”
“There were also hair or fingernail clippings in glass bottle pendants. Oh, and how can I forget about the times when they tried to put cords on me that had anesthetic effects, or paralytic scarves made of monster silk?”
“What the—! This was serious shit!”
“Those are crimes, my man!” The Beast Hunters shrieked in unison—something that didn’t even happen when there were incoming monsters.
“You’ve got me quaking...”
Those gifts were indeed terrifying; Dahlia, too, was chilled to learn all that had happened to Volf.
“I thought you’d be buried in riches with all the presents you got, but... Damn, Volfred...”
“I mean, now I can see why you were so cold toward women...”
“It ain’t just hard being so popular, it’s dangerous...” There was no envy anymore, just sympathy.
A veteran asked, “This stuff persisted after you joined the squad, didn’t it, Volf?”
“It, uh, became less frequent, sir.”
“You should’ve told us! If shit happens to you, you gotta come to us for help; don’t act brave and try to shoulder it all yourself.”
“He’s right, Volf. We all look out for each other here, so please come to us for help next time.”
The shower of support seemed to make Volf feel a little self conscious. “Thank you, I’ll remember to do so. I’m sure age will do its thing and make this face of mine a little more forgettable and inconspicuous.”
That was wishful thinking as far as Dahlia was concerned. With the fairy glass glasses, daily life went a lot smoother for Volf, and she would modify or make him another pair should he need it.
“All of a sudden, I’m not jealous of Volf whatsoever anymore.”
“To think that I’d been making fun of you all this time...”
They whispered among themselves; it was good that they finally understood more of Volf, though it had become somewhat of a literal pity party. Dahlia also wasn’t sure if they expected her to say something, but she wished that they would stop glancing over from Volf to her.
“Say, Master Dahlia, did you ever embroider a handkerchief in your college days?”
“Actually, I did one before entering college.”
“You were an early bloomer! Did you give it to your childhood sweetheart?” The fact that Kirk asked that so innocently made it hurt even more. Her answer would undoubtedly disappoint him, though.