"Come, Get Up, My Baby..." (Day 6 - Morning)

For Marisol, the sight of Dorian in the company of a pretty woman was not unusual.

As they rode toward each other, recognition dawned. This was that Companion he’d apparently found chained…Yazmina, if memory served. The whole story sounded like the opening plot to one of Keller’s movies…but given the “bad heist movie” nature of her breakfast meeting with General Kau’li and his quiet little friend, Marisol wasn’t in a position to weigh anyone’s narrative. She raised a hand in greeting. “I thought Lunar Veil was moving out today.”

“It is,” Dorian’s big Chestnut gelding strolled next to Flyer, the little Mustang she’d grown deeply fond of since the search and rescue of Haddie and Gill. “Miss Yazmina had some business in town…an’ Ah needed tah pick up a few essentials.” He gestured toward the box that lay strapped to the back of his saddle. “One of ‘em bein’ yahself.”

Marisol gave a resigned smile at that. “Captain beat you to it last night.”

Adler’s chin lifted, along with his brows. “Is that so?” the medic was genuinely surprised. “Here Ah was, all prepared tah wave tha Alliance Maritime regs in their faces tah force yah back on.”

“Hmmph,” she chuckled mirthlessly. “Nice to know there’s a Plan B. I conjure the Captain won’t remember a thing when he wakes up.”

“So, yah comin’ then?” His expression was hopeful. The Companion watched her, deeply interested.

“Already said I would,” Marisol nodded. “I’m headed to the Cabaret…pick up my stuff and say ‘goodbye.”

“We’ll be glad tah accompany,” Dorian nodded.

The pair waited outside as she collected her things. As inevitable sadness formed within her, Marisol slung the duffel over her shoulder. She took one last look at the bedroom that had seemed more home than her life on the boat she was set to rejoin. *All good things,* she thought, hefting her tool bag to exit.

Remy stood there. “Can we make a counter offer?”

“I’d love that,” Marisol shook her head with a rueful smile. “But I’ve really got to go.”

“That captain,” he observed. “The drunkard. You sorted things out?”

“Here’s hoping.”

“Marisol,” the showman followed her from the apartment into the darkened cabaret, “Arturo and I ran the numbers. We had a great Solstice…we’re simply knocked out by the receipts. Aurora Creek’s a nice place to live…”

“He’s right.” Arturo brushed the fresh snow from his shoulders as he hurried back in. “I was just talking with your friends outside. The nomadic lifestyle has its’ allures,” he nodded understanding, “but what we’re building here is a community. You’ve been welcomed…you are welcome. Stay with us.”

“Buddha, but I’d love that.” She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. Yet now, as the tears began to well, Marisol again found herself torn by the very heart between her choices. She wiped her eyes with the free hand. “I’ve got obligations,” she offered the sad excuse. “There are promises I must keep.”

Remy opened the door, before shivering at the rush of cold air and fresh snow. “Then we want to give you something.” He held a coin purse in his open palm. “To help you on your way.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Marisol shook her head. “Remy, this week…I don’t even have words.”

“Sure you do,” he smiled as he took her into a fond embrace. “Don’t let me hear you say life’s taking you nowhere,” he sang softly.

“Angel!” Marisol joined in, their comic high pitches inspiring a tearful laughter. “I miss you right now,” she sobbed into the lapel of his jacket.

“Then you must come back,” Arturo said gently. “Marrrisol,” he over rolled the R, one of the many running gags they’d played at for Solstice week. He stroked her hair affectionately as she moved to embrace him. “Go fly away…but return to us for next year’s Solstice.”

Her tears fought a winning battle with the sleeve of her coat. “I won’t miss it,” Marisol nodded her head as she clung tightly. “I’ll be here.”

Arturo kissed her forehead. “I’ll call that a promise,” he smiled down upon her as their hug reluctantly ended. “Now go do what you must.”

Her breath came in short bursts, puffing the snowy air as she secured her kit. Marisol fought back fresh tears as she swung up into Flyer’s saddle.

“Y’alright?” Dorian asked.

“Let’s go.”

Adler tipped his hat toward her friends. As the three horses cantered up the street, she cast a final, despairing glance over her shoulder. Arturo had placed an arm around his husband, and both lifted a hand in farewell. Though La Cabaret de Montagne’s face was still marred by hate, the two men who were its’ heart stood arm in arm, proudly together. She wouldn’t forget.