Every Little Thing She Does #2
Bowser is waiting outside the voice studio, and I smile at him as I approach.
The quokka is hard to miss, not because he’s big, but because he vibrates with a barely contained readiness that gives the surrounding air a static charge.
He wears his usual knife belt and the faux-hawk is up today, dyed in stripes of iridescent green.
He’s pacing, but when he sees me, he stops immediately, bounces once, and then plants himself with arms crossed.
“Good morning, most glorious gargoyle,” he says, and even though his face is the picture of professional blankness, his nose twitches with excitement. “The Captain did not tell me you were assigned to the queen for this period. I thought it was my turn.”
“He didn’t know I was coming,” I reply easily.
“I am here for more than one reason, though, my friend. I want you to inform the Captain that I will have some photographs that I need him to get to his friend in Scotland, if the elder agrees. I believe that someone in that clan will know how to decipher them, and they will give us more weapons against those who are trying to harm us.”
His posture goes still despite the smile not leaving his face. “I can do that for you, glorious one! I am honored to accept your quest, in fact. Are you staying to escort your mate or should I do this important errand immediately after I get her to the next location?”
They’re all so serious that I have to stop myself from chuckling at their enthusiasm because of their size.
“I will take ma petite for now, Bowser. You are relieved to find your boss and relay what I said.”
Bowser doesn’t even blink, but he salutes. “Understood! You will hear at the earliest possible moment. Over and out!”
“Tell the Captain I’ll need to speak with him about timelines and which pages are the most urgent. He can find me during my next class in the tower after lunch.”
The quokka nods and salutes again, scurrying off so fast that I can’t believe his feet are still on the ground.
I smile as he runs, leaning against the wall opposite the studio.
Even through the door, I can make out the professor’s barked commands, then Dolly’s notes, clear and held with the determination of someone who has something to prove.
Alexandre interrupts her again, sharper this time, and there’s a silence that feels ominous.
It’s followed by a short, clipped response, and the process repeats.
I don’t like it, but I also cannot interfere with her class if I don’t think the woman is being abusive.
One minute after eleven, the studio door opens.
Dolly moves with the slow, careful steps of someone whose muscles are on the verge of mutiny.
Her hair is up in a rainbow clip, but most of it has escaped, and there’s a faint flush across her cheekbones that tells me her morning routine was brutal.
She has a reusable water bottle in hand and is draining it with the dogged focus of a runner at the finish line.
I watch the transformation of her face when she sees me waiting for her.
The exhausted, neutral face lifts first in the eyes, then in the set of her jaw, and last in the tiniest upward curve of her lips.
The change isn’t showy—there’s no bounce or audible squeal—but her whole body language shifts.
Angling towards me, I see the line of her shoulders relax as she approaches.
“Rennie,” she says, and I’m right—she’s surprised. Her voice is a little hoarse, the way it gets when she’s been pushing herself, but it’s relieved.
“You did not expect me,” I say, keeping my tone dry and a little arch.
“No, I figured one of the crew would be here.” She steps into my personal space, just shy of contact, and looks up at me with fondness. “You smell like dirt and… is that basil?”
“Night-blooming basil. It’s the only thing that can vie with the dragon’s sweat after a hard morning.” I whisper it, just for her, and I see the light in her eyes flicker, then steady.
“I miss you guys during the day,” she says so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “I miss how easy our little family is and how much laughter there is.”
“As I miss you, ma petite.” I reach up to tidy the worst of her loosened hairs, then rest my hand lightly at the back of her head for a moment. She closes her eyes, and her breathing slows. There is no urgency to this—it’s just the comfort of knowing someone else is here, present and invested.
We stand in the corridor like that, silent, for a handful of breaths. I hear a few other students pass behind us, but they don’t stop or gawk. Dolly finally opens her eyes and grins, wide and irrepressible.
“I need food and then maybe a hug—but mostly food.” She cocks her head at me curiously. “Did you just know I’d need rescue or did someone tip you off?”
“I had a feeling,” I say. “Also, you left your banana bread on the counter again, and Fitz would have eaten it if I hadn’t rescued it first. Chess packed you an extra.”
She makes a face, but it's a fond annoyance. “He’s a fiend. I’ll eat it before we even get to the library, I bet.”
“That’s the plan,” I reply. “We have a table waiting there for your break. I can tell you about the garden.”
She slips her hand into mine, then leads me toward the exit. “Now that’s a lunch I can get behind,” she murmurs. “Food, flora, and my Frenchman. C’est magnifique*!"
We head out into the late morning, the sun finally burning away the grey, the corridor behind us echoing with the sound of lessons ending.
Sometimes I think the sun actually follows her because who the hell wouldn’t?
* It’s magnificent.