Epilogue
Robin
Among those truths that should be universally acknowledged about people, Robin decided for neither the first nor last time, was that fae were idiots.
Not in the ‘how do I use a search bar’ way–which, kill him if he had to have that conversation with a grown-ass adult again, thanks–but more like how CEOs always thought they knew the inner workings of their businesses, decades after they stopped pushing paper.
Fae had… vision. Mostly. Charm. Ish. Some veneer of finesse that Robin put good money on not being worth a damn when tempers got hot.
Big ideas and noble goals, or that’s what they said when it wasn’t ‘take down the man’.
Everyone wanted to think themself the hero.
Some even had a concept of putting things in order first, when it came to Plan A, B, and Z.
Cool. Great. Awesome for them.
But, all in all, the nitty gritty of their organizational prowess, outside of Houses with a capital H and Council with a capital C, was nonexistent.
“There will be several of us there,” Declan said when Robin asked him who was going to keep records straight on who said what and where. “Fae don’t lie. There’s no need.”
“You suck at this,” Robin told him, wholly unimpressed. He took the scroll Declan offered him anyway. “You show me a fae who remembers exactly what everyone said at all times with full accuracy, and I show you a fae with a gun to their head as soon as one was invented.”
Declan laughed, all crocodile teeth and streaks of gray-purple spiderwebbing over his jaw and temple. He didn’t bother with the whole ‘passing for human’ thing anymore. Not since he and Antonio had dumped the Council like a bad date.
Dude had bone wings. And those weird kintsugi cracks that got darker every time Robin saw him.
Creepy. And who’d have guessed Antonio would be a monster fucker?
(Robin, that’s who. Robin had slammed that bet down as soon as he’d heard Bo talk about him bonding a sluagh. He’d been on the internet too long to not know a setup for monster fucking when he saw one.)
“What do you propose?” Declan asked.
“Minutes. Notes. Someone holding people accountable,” Robin answered, because really, this shouldn’t be that hard.
Before he had a chance to say more, Antonio showed up, slinging an arm over Declan’s shoulder and pulling the man into an utterly shameless kiss. Talia made gagging noises from his side but offered Robin an enthusiastic wave.
Robin waved back from his little egg seat off in the corner of the porch.
He liked watching people, even besotted ones.
Like Declan, combat-boot-wearing 90s-punk throwback, leaning toward a guy who, if he’d put on a leather jacket and slicked his hair, could’ve passed for a 60s greaser with that car of his.
An equally tit-over-teakettle fallen-for-a-nightmare metalhead type of greaser.
“Hey, Robin. We gotta jet, Murderpunk,” Antonio said. “Dulce will kill me if her favorite uncle isn’t waiting for her when she gets to the house.”
“I’m only her favorite uncle because you’re her Tio Tio.”
“You’re her favorite uncle because you agree to pancakes for dinner. You ready?”
“Mm. I suppose.” Declan smiled up at Antonio. “Robin feels we’ve neglected to plan to keep a record of the coming meeting.”
“I mean, there’ll be plenty of people there.”
Robin did, in fact, roll his eyes. Apparently, it wasn’t only fae that sucked at this. “Someone needs to write shit down. Keep people on task.”
“Great, you want the job?”
Robin scoffed.
“Better than trusting one of you to do it.”
“You’re hired.” Antonio tossed a smirk in his direction, then kissed the obscenely sharp line of Declan’s gray-lined cheek. “See you there.”
Idiots. Robin was surrounded by them. This particular pair offered a wave as they turned to go.
“Don’t have too much fun planning destruction and mayhem,” he called out and got a laugh and a one-armed shrug from the aforementioned greaser for his trouble.
“May I have a little more light?” Robin asked the air, rather than watch the two of them be disgusting.
(He waved to Talia again, when the Gate offered each a hand to take them back.) Faerie lights twinkled through the ivy, slow and soft, to give Robin a bit more light to read by.
“Thanks. This ‘forever sunset’ thing is rough on the eyes.”
He glanced up for one last look at the couple and his hoodied niece as they disappeared. Then Robin curled up tighter, tucked the scroll gently between vines and his notepad, and went back to his book about the overlap of corporate hostile takeovers and guerrilla warfare.
Someone had to keep track of whatever dumb things they said when planning their big world-altering things. It might as well be him.
There were worse ways to spend some long overdue PTO.
Thank you for reading An Embrace of Smoke & Steel.