vs. Zorro [4]

I pull the door closed. We must have left it open. 

“No wonder it was so drafty,” I say. We’ve use the washbasin and change clothes - it’s time to rest.

I switch the gas lamp off, and draw the window-curtains. Zorro pulls me, and we fall together into bed.

“Now, this is comfort!” She says, as she burrows into my chest. “Much more than a tent or the ground.”

The bed’s stuffed with ragged feathering. I sink into it easily, but awkward stems poke into my back. I wonder if Zorro’s talking about the mattress or something else. 

She presses against me more. When she's armorless, she's unexpectedly light; yet it’s still a presence I can’t ignore. I wrap her in my arms.

I don’t think it’s right to consider every friend I make as someone to romance.

But thinking back on the past few days, and with Zorro’s nuzzling, and I can no longer deny it - or, at least I have to ask.

Holding hands, headpats, cuddling in bed-

“-Zorro. This isn’t how friends act with one another.”

“Shhhhhhh.” She says, and puts her finger on my lips. “Shhh… if you put a name on a bond, then that bond can be easily broken. Something could happen, and then we’d yell at one another - ‘that’s not what a friend does!’ ‘that’s not what I want from a partner!’ ‘that’s not what I want from a lover! and then we’d fall into hate.

So why can’t we just be what we are? Maru and Zorro, two people who just happen to be traveling in the same way.”

“Titles are important exactly because they tell people what to expect from one another.” I reply. “I like being a ‘knight’ because it means people know they can depend on me. If I call myself your friend, it means I’ll support you best I can - if I call myself your boyfriend then that means I’ll think about how to support you for forever.

If you’re not sure about your feelings, then it’s much better for me to push you away.”

And I gently do.

“No, I like you.” says Zorro. “I like you far too much; that’s why I’m afraid. I know it sounds like a cop out, so let me prove it.”

She’s above me, her two arms just above my shoulders, holding herself up on the bed. I’m underneath, her hair and her clothes hang low, and she looks sleepy, as though she’s having a dream, a good dream, where her emotions are just muted enough that she doesn’t feel embarrassed but bright enough to where I can sense an overwhelming affection-

“Ahem.” says a familiar voice.

“F-f-flaming sword!”

Zorro cuts through the corner from where she heard the voice, and a kameleon morphs into view. It’s Guillaime, the merchant, bartender, unwelcome intruder. His scales are a different color than I remember, however - he’s head to toe a blushy pink.

“I wonder how much exp a kameleon gives if we kill him,” I murmur, but Guillaime raises his claws in the air in surrender.

“I come as a warning. Ganeleon has sold you out.” Guillaime says.

“Sold us?’ says Zorro. She hustles to slip into armor, and I stretch to shake off any trace of drowsing.

“Ganeleon left the premises,” says Guillaime. “I followed him - and he met with a young lady who was part of the Imperia, Violeta, and told her you remained at the inn.”

“T-thanks Guillaime. But uh… how long were you in this room?” Zorro’s stammering, but I put it to him bluntly: “You should’ve told us right away.”

“...I was tallying up the balance of shall we say, our relationship. You two ate my merchandise and look at me as if I’m some money-grubbing bird. But you while you two are idiots, you’re not without lizardity -”

“...do you mean, humanity?”

“Idiots!” hisses Guillaime. “But yes, you did me a favor clearing the ale cellar. Ganeleon would have sent me to kill the rats had you failed. And…”

“...and?” I say, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and contempt.

“When you were killing rats in the basement, two ruffians came to the bar, and asked your whereabouts. I told them of your stay.” Guillaime says. “Thieves deserve thieves; but I while you’re stupid, I no longer believe you're malicious… I can only apologize.”

When Guillaime had first interrupted us, Zorro’s face had turned rose. Now it’s slowly flushing red of a different shade, with angry blotch-like spots.

Zorro points her sword at Guillaime’s nape, and his flickered tongue emerges like a helpless worm.

“You’d be inhuman if you were human - but you don’t deserve to be a kameleon either. Your debt has yet to be repaid.” Zorro says. “I can’t believe it… betrayed in Kameleon Town! No one else here would stand that!”

“While that may be true in the Kameleon Town of your memories…” Guillaime says. “It’s been thirteen years. To be honest, I’m not sure if anyone cares about you except as a business prospect. Eight emp to rent those weapons is a fair price, but it’s hardly a discount.”

“Guillaime…!” And that’s all that Zorro can say. “Guillaime…!” She sits on the bed and puts her hands over her eyes. When she removes her palms, they’re damp, and she stares at the weapons-stack.

“Come, Zorro. We need to leave.” I tug at her.

“But, but,” Zorro says. “We’ve got to - I mean, we’ve got to see Bertie - and then, the weapons, we’ve got to return them too - and… we can’t… I can’t…

…I guess this is what I get for thinking of Kameleon Town as ‘home’,” Zorro says. I reach for her hand, but she turns away.

“Guillaime. We’ll talk more later...” I say.

His face is upturned, but his expression is not unkind. He morphs and slinks off.

“... and Zorro, we’ve got to move.” I say, and she stands.

“Lead the way Maru.”

We fly out the door, down the hall, down the steps to the lobby tavern and bar.

No one’s there. People should be drinking, dancing, carousing til the late hours in the evening. But they’re all gone; no one’s left to down the glasses left half-filled on the bartop except for ghosts.

“Let’s go back-” I pull. “We’ll go out the inn-room window. This is too strange-”

Someone bursts through the batwing doors.