Solo Log: Cleone's Twenty-Second Birthday

**Winter 18, 501 AOV**

"Happy birthday!"

Serena's eyes are bright with warmth as she offers Cleone a muffin, out of a basket containing more muffins than the entire second floor of the Flint RHC could possibly eat. "We just missed your birthday last year, so I'm glad we could catch you this time. And here's to a year and a half of having you with us!"

There's a round of scattered but polite congratulations from around the office they're sitting in, and twice as much enthusiasm for free celebratory muffins. Carlao comes up to stiffly but frankly offer her well wishes, though it's just as much an excuse to stick around his teammate. As an afterthought he adds, "So how old are you now, anyway?"

Cleone opens her mouth and blanks on a number. She's twenty-two now (or five hundred and two, depending on how she counts it), but neither Carlao nor Serena know she's–

"It's rude to ask a woman her age, you know," Serena interrupts teasingly. "Be polite."

"I *was* being polite!"

Cleone laughs, taking the out where it's offered. "I do appreciate it. I'm old enough for you two to make me feel old, how about that?" Which is true. At their age (relatively) she'd been at university in Gagneux, having sleepovers with Florette in each others' dorms or giving competitive grins to Lloyd when their project ideas coincided, again.

It's been over a decade, but the memories were still close in her heart when she first came overseas to Risur. A year and a half later the same memories feel as distant as her first days in Terenz, finding her feet in Charles' smithy as he gently stoked her curiosity to survive the town's prevailing attitudes about new technologies from the outside.

It's a bad train of thought to go down right now, and she realizes it too late only when a tide of homesickness breaks and washes over her. Serena is distracted bantering with Carlao, so Cleone grabs another muffin and tries not to drown.

Serena might have noticed anyway, because she gives Cleone a long hug before she heads out to hand out more muffins. "Don't forget we love you here, all right?"

"Yeah. I know." The hug works, and Cleone gives her a smile that's tired but not forced. "Give Delft an extra muffin, all right? He probably needs it."

"Sure thing!"

She heads home early at around two o'clock, partially to prepare for the mission and partially because she does want to take a little more of just this one day to herself. Serena presses the basket of remaining muffins - roughly a dozen - into her hands and won't let Cleone leave without it. "Let yourself have a treat," she says firmly.

Cleone still can't eat that many muffins in the few days before she leaves for the missions, so she drops by Lainey's on her way home. Lainey's wife is out but the woman herself is in to take a few muffins off of Cleone's hands while she's at it. Cleone shows off Floyd as usual, Lainey shows off her latest sculpture, and Cleone heads back to her house humming.

She falters when she reaches the house. There's been mail delivered, a reminder of letters unopened and letters she can't send.

She brings her mail in to sort, and lays the offending ones out in front of her together with the other unopened mail. Packages from Lloyd and Manon. Three letters from other friends back in Gagneux. One from Charles, which is a bit easier to bear.

(There’s no letter from Florette, and they both know why.)

It takes her three full minutes of staring to start opening the first envelope.

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Dear Cleone,

Happy birthday! If my old age hasn't failed me, you're a sprightly twenty-two now.

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Thanks for visiting last spring, and I hope you'll have time to come again soon.

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I know you've been occupied and knighthood seems like no joke, but I hope you have enough time to enjoy yourself a bit. Let us know you're alive.

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Risur is treating you well, isn't it? Don't tell me I have to get everyone together and sail over to storm your headquarters and tell your boss to stop overworking you.

Your boss is the king, isn't he? That doesn't matter. I'd still do it.

```

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I and the others still miss you. Please write back soon if you can. We all know you're busy, but three months without any word has made a lot of people concerned. Manon's been talking about taking a "vacation" to Risur to "see where you work." Even Florette says she hasn't heard from you, though she said to leave you alone. I don't know what's going on, but I truly hope you're all right and in good health.

```

Cleone sits there, reading and rereading the letters.

Fights off the urge to reach for a pen.

Grabs a pen, because she doesn't have to actually send…

She stands up and leaves the house. Then doubles back and grabs the basket of muffins, because she may as well.

She doesn't feel like crying anymore by the time she reaches the Cloudwood, which is good because she doesn't want to lose her composure in front of Alexander's children. Maeve isn't back yet but one of her children is, and from there she's handing out more muffins to the family and to Alexander.

The boys don't eat food, but they are hungry for lessons about whatever topic has caught their interest of late. Today it's simulacra: Alexander's told them about Floyd from the other day, and they're curious to know more.

"You built him, right?"

"Yes, Colin." Floyd is in her lap as they sit outside, and she strokes him affectionately. "I built him…goodness, it must be twelve years ago now. I was attending university at the time, and I wanted to build a modular contraption that could be easily reassembled into different shapes."

"That's why he looks different sometimes, right?"

"Right. Sometimes I reshape Floyd according to what I want to do with him, or just for a bit of fun. That's not true of all simulacra - I'm not the only one who's built one. Some are assistants meant to stay in one place and help with work of some sort, others are meant more as pets or display pieces - like artwork. Every one is different."

Linus frowns. "But what if they don't want to keep doing the same thing? Or what if they don't like being artwork?"

Cleone has to think about what to say for this one. The boys certainly have a unique perspective here, and she doesn't have all the answers they're looking for. "Well…not all simulacra are alive, at least not that I or anyone else know. Until recently, I thought Floyd was pure machinery - although that didn't make me love him any less." She hurries to add that part for the boys as well as Floyd, whether or not he understands what she's saying right now.

"Then how come Floyd is?"

And ah, that is the question. Cleone tilts her head, wondering at the matter herself. "You know, I don't know? I'm no expert when it comes to magic or souls. I'm certainly not your father. But he believes that it's because I've poured twelve years of love into him."

Silence, as the boys mull that over. "Is love like magic?" Colin asks.

Cleone laughs. "Maybe it is! I wouldn't know, I've never been able to use magic myself."

"Um, Miss Weld?" This is the first time Hunting has spoken since the lesson started, but he holds himself with a quiet focus. "What did *you* make Floyd for? Was he supposed to be artwork?"

"Hmmm." Another hard one; Cleone traces a circle around the top of Floyd's head, and he twitches slightly in response. "I suppose…I built him to see if I could, at first. It was a challenge, and one I had to complete for my schooling. But he became precious to me as I worked on him, because I was proud of what I was making and because my time building him was also time I spent among my friends working on their capstones, working out ideas and sharing them. And since then, he's been…my companion, you could say. He's been through everything with me."

The boys are quiet again as they absorb that. Then it's Colin who speaks up next. "If Floyd didn't have a soul until now, how could he move before?"

That one is easier. "That's also something that will vary based on the individual simulacrum! In places like Risur, it often involves a magical connection between the simulacrum and its creator. In places like Danor…"

The lesson ends only when Maeve returns home and they're all roped into dinner. One of Maeve's children start singing a birthday song, at which point everyone learns Hunting has a naturally good singing voice for someone who's only done it once or twice. Cleone makes her goodbyes afterward, and heads for one last stop.

She offers two of the remaining three muffins to Madame Andromeda, who takes one and refuses the other when she hears their origin. "You ought to take it," she insists. "Enjoy the treat and go see your friend."

The day has long since darkened to night, and Nathan is naturally at work camped out under the stars. His cheeks are just slightly flushed from the night's mild chill but he's clearly cozy where he is, and his eyes light up in surprise when Cleone comes outside bearing two re-warmed muffins on separate plates. They seat themselves at the table set up in Madame Andromeda's backyard for a snack.

"I didn't think I'd see you again until after your next mission. Did you make these yourself?" he asks before biting into his, and Cleone cackles.

"They wouldn't be this good if I did. No, one of my coworkers did - not one of the ones you know, another one at the RHC. She made an astounding number to celebrate my birthday, and made sure I took the leftovers. I'm not sure how she expected me to eat them alI."

"Well, tell her your friends thank her. And…happy birthday." Nathan takes another bite before scribbling something in a notebook, and they sit in comfortable silence as they eat. Cleone didn't bring any of her own work, so afterward Nathan takes the opportunity to show her his instruments and teach her how to see the stars the way he does.

In moments like these, Cleone understands Hoya's drive to consume every kind of knowledge she comes across. Nathan isn't an experienced teacher, and occasionally she has to ask for repeats or clarifications. But his passion shines through like a ray of light and tonight Cleone sees the sky as he does: infinite and secret, but whispering in a language that could be acquired and picked apart like a boundless puzzle.

It's fascinating, she thinks as she concedes Nathan's telescope back to him so he can do some proper observations. She's grateful to have gotten to know him.

It occurs to her as she drags a chair over to watch Nathan work that she's grateful for a lot of people in her life. Her squad, of course, but also Nathan and Serena and Lainey and Alexander and - and her friends in Danor, even if reaching out to them is too dangerous on multiple levels. She loves them all.

She just hates how much she can't say.

Carlao's question rings in her head: *So how old are you now, anyway?* Even a question as simple as that, she couldn't answer honestly. And that's her own decision, but…

Nathan is scratching away at his notebook again, or he's just finished because he's putting down his pen to stretch.

Cleone sees him, and for the first time that day–

Gives in to her impulses.

"Today's my twenty-second birthday, you know."

Nathan looks at her. Nods. Turns back to his telescope, then does a double take.

"Twenty-second?"

"Twenty-second." Cleone leans back into her chair and meets his eyes. "I looked to be in my late teens or early twenties when I was born. Got a job as a blacksmith in the nearest village a few days later, and that led me to where I am today. That's how things go when a deva reincarnates."

"Oh." She can see Nathan processing, turning the facts over in my head. "I didn't know."

"It's not a fact I advertise. Even some of my friends don't know. But you're not…" She thinks of a dagger in her (his) chest, and takes a shaky breath. "You're not the only one hiding from something."

She can see the moment something clicks. "You mentioned the other month that you were anticipating seeing someone you didn't want to meet."

"Yeah." Cleone ducks her head and looks away, examining the telescope's smooth metal. "In my past life…if things were different, he–I–might have been working with your cousins. There's someone who'd take me back in, if he could."

She tries not to tremble as she lets that statement sit. She feels exposed, the same kind of bone-deep nakedness she felt a year and a half ago when she realized her makeup would never stand up to an entire ocean. Nathan is quiet, sorting facts and feelings in his head judging by the expressions flitting across his face. Cleone waits for him to come to his conclusion, and after a full minute of fighting the urge to excuse herself and never return to the Cloudwood (that impulse won't do anything) he straightens and nods.

"I'm glad you're you now. That is how it works, right?" His face scrunches. "Please excuse my ignorance, I've never known much about devas."

Cleone's sigh of relief turns into a sharp laugh. "Yeah. That's how it works, all right. At least for me. I've never met any other devas myself, besides a short meeting with the governor here. And he's…an exception." She's pretty sure. Roland Stanfield is a strange one.

Nathan puts a tentative hand on her shoulder, so light it's practically hovering. "I'm glad that you're you, Cleone Weld, and you're here, and you're alive. And…thank you for telling me this." He gives her shoulder a little squeeze, then retracts his hand quickly. "Um, I know that can't have been easy to say."

Cleone shrugs, more nonchalant than she feels. "Thank you for…thank you for seeing me."

Another hour of watching the stars and Cleone eventually realizes she needs to head home before it gets too late. She and Nathan hug before she grabs their plates and heads back, and he calls her name just before she steps back in.

"Cleone!"

She glances in his direction, and he grins.

"Happy twenty-second birthday."