Though overall, the Cerinthe Rebellion ended up retreating, there’s something to retreat to now. They took the city. They took Trinity. The shock of it, the relief stuns Cloud enough to space out through most of her mother’s outrage upon her return.

After a while, though, it starts to break through Cloud’s mental bubble. Her mother’s emotions are contagious; they always have been. Cloud’s not the focus of her mother’s rage tonight, so it’s fine. It doesn’t burn either, so she also learns her mother’s anger has to be with Cloud for it to hurt. Even with the solace of the new information, Cloud's still in a sour mood by the time she drags herself to her bedroom. Her new lady in waiting helps her get ready for bed before excusing herself for the night. Just in case, Cloud quickly checks her hiding spot for notes before heading to sleep. Lo and behold, there's a note. 

Maybe they have another request for specific information. Cloud unfolds it. Getting better at reading the code by the day, it doesn't take too long to decipher. It reads: "Thank you for everything. We are celebrating tonight. You are welcome to come along, but we understand if you cannot. Should you be able to, I would recommend some sort of disguise." After that is an address and Red's signature that's specific to notes for her. It seems like a bad idea to include addresses, but they are encoded. It's hard to decode things like names of streets if you don't know the cipher. She copies the address onto a separate sheet of paper and burns the original note with a snap of her fingers. She turns to the clock beside her door. Ten o'clock. Well, it's not like she can ever sleep before three-ish anyway. A disguise though, huh? She contemplates what she could do as she steps over to her door, hands glowing.

Cloud sets up her usual locks. Though her mother never hints to it, Cloud knows she tries to get someone to check on her in the middle of the night. She's caught them before, a year or two ago, though she never spoke up about it. Nobody commented on her suddenly using magic locks on her door. It's one of her and her mother's unspoken agreements. As long as Cloud sets up a nightly defense, there isn't a need for a checkup. It made more sense for when she was an incapable child, and the fact it persisted makes her, well… uncomfortable, to say the least. It’s probably because of the, um, incident when she was fourteen. But again, if the locks are up, it means Cloud is alive. So.

Cloud turns from the door to face her mirror. She combs her waist-length hair absentmindedly, eying her single grayish-white streak. That's pretty identifiable. Summer could change her whole head of hair to a completely opposing color, no problem. She taught Cloud a little bit, just to show off. Cloud should be able to turn this one silver part green… Maybe a few other subtle tweaks here and there. It’d be easier to just cover her face. Does she still have that one thin scarf?

✦✦✦

It's loud. It's muffled from outside, but she can tell. Light shines out from the slits between the curtains and under the door. Glancing at the address, she confirms this is the place. It looks to be some sort of pub. With a snap, the paper singes away. Wooden, rustic, not too large: it seems nice. This is square in the center of Trinity, so she'd expected something bigger, but smaller is better. Less people. She brushes a loose hair behind her ear before cracking the door open. A bell chimes as she steps inside, alerting the man behind the bar-

"Gushiken?" She questions before he can greet her.

"Good evening," He smiles while Cloud steps around a couple soldiers, weaving her way over to him. The counter stretches the length of the main room, and there are a couple more bartenders along with him.

"What're you doing? Already find a new job?" Gushiken chuckles.

"No, this is a friend's place, I just stepped back here to help for a minute. After all, it's my fault there are so many people here," he explains. "It looks like everyone's got a drink for now, though." He steps out from behind the bar to approach Cloud. "Anyway. Welcome! I'm glad you could make it. I like the look."

"Oh, thanks," Cloud replies, straightening her Heiwanese-style shirt. Once again, the trousers return! "Do I look different enough?"

"In my opinion, yes," Gushiken nods. "Most people haven't met you up close, you're not wearing much makeup, and your voice sounds different when you’re away from home. You'll be fine, especially with that wrap covering half your face." Her voice sounds different? Really? Odd. She hasn’t noticed.

"That was the idea," Cloud responds, tugging it up and over her nose. Though it’s summer, it’s not odd to see someone covering their face when they have a cold or something. It was already a custom in some countries before the plague but became internationally commonplace after.

Just then, Nicolas appears from nowhere over Sake's shoulder. He grins down at Cloud. “Hi!” Gushiken turns to meet his eyes.

“Weren’t you with the kids?”

"'The kids,'" he scoffs, "you sound like an old man, sir."

"You're only three years younger than me," Gushiken retorts, swatting his arm. "Give it time, you'll start saying stuff like that, too."

"The horror," Farrow shudders. He dead weights his hand on Cloud's shoulder, causing her to jolt a little bit. "Cherish your youth. It is fleeting." 

Red joins them, drink in hand. "Aren't you only, like, thirty?" He asks Nicolas with narrowed eyes.

"Thirty-two," Gushiken provides. Farrow punches his arm half-heartedly.

"Hey! You're supposed to say I'm twenty-nine!" He chides in Paixian. Cloud huffs a small laugh through her nose. Red's turns to her before his eyebrows shoot up. Gushiken shoots him a disapproving look, which he does not see.

"Holy shit, I thought you were a dude!" He remarks. Farrow snorts at the blunt admission.

"Huh, I figured the pants fit me better than that," she responds in quite the smart-ass tone, shoving her hands in her pockets to further her point. Red's face turns a slight shade of pink, embarrassed. Cloud smiles behind the scarf. Red can see it in her eyes, though. His brows knit together, unsure if he should feel remorseful or mocked. Feeling merciful, Cloud adds, "Wood, it's fine. I don't care. You said to come in disguise, so I did."

"It works," he grumbles, barely audible above the room's buzzing chatter. He recovers quickly to request, "By the way, can you call me Red? I'm not trying to advertise my family name."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Cloud agrees, making a side note for herself. 

"Before I forget, Tailor has something for you. Brought it in case you came. Also, the same goes for her, just her first name for now."

"What about you two?" Cloud asks, turning her attention back to Gushiken and Farrow. "I don't know Farrows rank or how exactly to address Gushiken."

"Doesn't matter for now, you're not visibly military," Gushiken says. "Though, if it feels strange, you can just toss a 'sir' in every now and then."

"And I do not care either," Farrow answers. "I have very few ties with those loyal to the queen, so my given names are okay. Simply call me sir. Commander Gushiken is correct, you look civilian, so you can get away with not using titles. Thank you for asking."

"Yeah, of course, sirs," Cloud smiles. "I'm gonna go find Tailor, if that's alright."

"It is your body, take it wherever you want," Farrow replies. Cloud chuckles at the phrasing, turning back to Red.

"So, where is she?"

"I'll just go with you," he says. "It'll give the lovebirds some time to themselves-" Farrow flicks Red in the side of his head. "Ow!"

"Imp," Farrow half-heartedly scolds. "We both outrank you, speak nice." Red simply grumbles to himself and rubs his head. Farrow’s stronger than he looks.

"C'mon." Red gestures to Cloud as he spins around to storm off. Cloud decides not to call out his pouting; his ego's suffered enough in the past five minutes. "Tailor!" He announces as they near the table she's sat down at. Her daisy-yellow eyes perk up at her name whilst the two twist through the tables and people. "I found Crown!" Oh, right. Crown Flash. 

"Crown! So glad you could make it," Tailor greets, warm like the pub itself. Red pulls out a chair, and Cloud follows suit.

"Yeah, well," Cloud groans, "I needed some celebration to cancel out my mother's temper tantrum." Tailor's smile strains in understanding. Red outright cringes. The only tantrums of the queen that he knows of are things that hurt the general public: wars, hangings, financial ruin. Y'know, the usual.

"Sorry about that. Well, whatever, you deserve some celebration," Tailor declares. She lowers her voice, "After all, a good chunk of our success, this time, was due to your intel. Sure, they had to pull back, but we won the city."

"So, what I gave you was useful?" Cloud's eyes sparkle as she turns to Red. He seems to mull it over before agreeing:

"Yes. However, I don't want you to think we blindly trusted you. It'd be irresponsible to stake so much on intel from a new source like that. Based on our other info, what you gave us seemed good. Today, it proved true. You've established yourself as a reliable source," he claims. "For now," he adds, still not completely trusting of her. 

"Red," Tailor rebukes.

"If it helped at all, I'm glad," Cloud responds, something soft in her words. Red tilts his head as Tailor straightens.

"Oh, that reminds me!" She bends to pick up something beside her chair, a paper bag, and holds it out to Cloud. "I wanted to give you this." 

"What is it?" Cloud asks, taking the bag. It's less a question of "what's in the bag" than "why are you giving me something?"

"See if you know when you take it out," Talior answers cryptically. Suspicious, Cloud peers down to investigate. It looks like some kind of dark fabric. As if it's porcelain, she extracts the item and holds it out before her. It appears to be a haori-inspired jacket with a red, flowery pattern. She thinks it's black, but the lighting in here is dim, so it could be a deep blue. There's something about it… it looks familiar.

"It's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but why are you giving me this? I haven't done anything worthy of a gift. Thank you very much, but I—I can't accept this," Cloud stutters. 

"Oh, come on, take it! I made it for you," Tailor giggles. 

"You made this? For—for me?" Cloud sputters, flushing under her scarf as she lowers the jacket to stare at her, shocked. 

"Mhm," Tailor hums. "The pattern on the fabric is similar to something you wanted in the past. I don't know why, but when I saw you last, something in my heart just begged me to finally make it," Tailor explains.

"Is that what you were making a couple weeks ago?" Red questions, recalling her sewing it while lounging at his place and berating him. Tailor nods. Cloud stares down at the jacket, running her fingers along the seams. Thanks to her fingerless gloves, she can feel how fine the fabric is. It's thin, but sturdy, amazing work. She's received many gifts in her time, too many to count, but this somehow feels so different. Some happy little bird flaps around in her stomach. She stares, deep in thought. 

“You said something I wanted in the past,” Cloud recalls. “Did you work for me before?”

“Mm, sort of,” she shrugs. “Your mother hired my dad, and I tagged along to be his assistant. It was a long time ago.”

“Huh,” Cloud utters. She made this for her; it’d be rude to continue refusing if that’s the case. “Um, what… What are some things you like?” Tailor raises an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“I don’t…” Cloud’s eyes drift down to the table. “I don’t know you well, I don’t-”

“-Dude,” Tailor interrupts, “you don’t owe me anything. Just take it.”

“... But-”

“-Hey, if it really bothers you that much, just accept it as a late birthday present,” Tailor offers, “I insist. Okay?”

Cloud quietly runs her hands over the smooth fabric again. Red watches, confused. That’s not the response someone would expect of a royal receiving a gift. “It's stunning craftsmanship. I can’t thank you enough,” Cloud responds, not sure what else to say. So, instead, she slips it on and ties it at her waist. These things aren’t supposed to fit tight, but considering Tailor never measured her, it’s scary accurate how well it fits. 

“Don’t even worry about it,” Tailor replies, beaming at the final product on its muse. “I take up side projects all the time. There’s no way I could make them all for myself at this point.” Red rolls his eyes with an exasperated smile. Tailor ignores him. They seem like good friends. Cloud thinks she gets Red now. On some level. He’s comparable to Summer, both quite like the country’s flower. The Judgment Rose is thorned, but only in defense, and it only gets unbearable when the other party’s hostile. Still, Red seems to be somewhat better at managing his reactions than Summer, less volatile. Tailor was pretty quiet the last time Cloud met her, understandably so, but now that they’ve all recovered some, Cloud can tell she’s a woman of amiability and generosity. Cloud can see why Tulip would be friends with them.

For the first time since Tulip’s death, a thought like that makes Cloud smile instead of droop. She repeats, “Thank you.” It’s delayed but carries more weight. Tailor picks up on it.

“You’re welcome,” She replies, affability in her voice.