anniversary

[dark_light]

Time passes. Canada is cooperative about portals and now there's one each in Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver, on a second floor of the hub with customs agents Isabella is tolerating for the time being as long as they're well-behaved. Japan and Australia and the UK all follow suit at roughly the same time, so then there are portals in their big cities, too, a couple new ones per week. Other nations are slated to trickle in as they handle their red tape to deal with sudden new national borders that don't have the built-in delay of airplanes. Some of the parking garages are being replaced with custom-built installations. Isabella pays off her loan, renegotiates for the continued use of her shiny credit card, and has reason to be grateful for her retained law firm, which is kept busy by frivolous lawsuits by airline companies. She's not appreciably cutting into their traffic yet - sure, the price point is dropping, but they're still competitive. They can just smell their own demise coming from a mile away.

Five witches besides Isabella ward the colony site. Robots guard the site of the portal, obligingly letting colonists through during scheduled trips and reporting to Isabella by mirror if anybody else shows up. Other robots help the colonists with setting up their farms and houses in the warded area. It'll hold a city, no problem, although another transfer of silks and bags to pay for warding a second site is going to be called for before they get literally everyone across, since in addition to city they need farmland, and since they can't build vertically as effectively as fully industrialized Earthlings or the deceased aliens.

One day:

"It's been exactly a year now since you crashed my picnic. Let's go to a fancy restaurant and celebrate."

Comments

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin laughs. "Fancy restaurant, sure. Is there some specific brand of restaurant you'd like, or just the fanciest?"

[dark_light]

"Oh, let's look up something ridiculous in Manhattan with Michelin stars."

[prodigal_miser]

"Fanciest, understood."

He goes and looks one up. While cuddling, because he now has a fancy phone and has internet access on it.

"Found one." He shows her his phone, it has the restaurant's website pulled up. "Shall we, then?"

[dark_light]

"Yes."

So they portal to Manhattan and they stroll into the restaurant and they really ought to have made reservations, but Isabella manages to trade a few round-trip vouchers for them to resell in exchange for a cancelled table.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin's delighted with her. Has he mentioned that, lately? It's quite true.

Off they go to sit. It's a very nice restaurant.

"Do you know if we have the infrastructure set up to do the glass bauble thing? It seems like it would be appropriate."

[dark_light]

"We could get some kind of floating candle holder, I am certain," says Isabella. "Whether it would look like what you have in mind I don't know, the colonists have had non-glass-related priorities."

[prodigal_miser]

"Some kind of floating candle holder, then. Later we can get the proper kind, but for now we can just do something cute."

[dark_light]

"Yes. But first fantastic dinner." She picks an appetizer and an entrée and anticipates wanting a soufflé so she puts that order in too, since they're make-ahead. An excruciatingly professional waiter collects these desires.

[prodigal_miser]

"Yes," agrees Adarin. He'll share her appetizer, orders an entrée, and is amused with the excruciatingly professional waiter.

"I do have to say that this is one of the most eventful years I've ever had. Also easily the nicest."

[dark_light]

"It has its valleys as well as its peaks. But I approve on the whole."

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin snorts a little. "That too. I was politely ignoring the valleys, though. You have a cloud-pine."

[dark_light]

"That is a terrible joke, I love you."

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin giggles. "I love you, too. I couldn't resist. At least it wasn't a pun."

[dark_light]

"It was a play on words, even if not exactly a pun, but I will allow it. I'm nice like that."

[prodigal_miser]

"A play on words is wit, my dear, not a pun. I do agree that you are nice like that."

[dark_light]

"I am nice, you are witty, we fight crime. Indirectly with economics."

[prodigal_miser]

He giggles. "Yes. There will be a TV show about us and the people who play us will spend six seasons never getting together and viewers everywhere will throw popcorn every time we almost kiss."

Adarin's gotten far more comfortable with the culture, in a year.

[dark_light]

Isabella laughs and seizes his hand and pulls it across the table so she can kiss it, because she doesn't want to test the fireproofing of their outfits right now with the candle by leaning over to kiss him properly. "I can completely see that, there would be moments like the dipping followed by the thrice-damned doorbell in half the season finales..."

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin laughs, pleased with hand-kisses. "Yeah, it'll be terrible. But it'll also make millions. Our backup plan in case portal-capitalism fails?"

[dark_light]

"Maybe when we've fixed all the things and get bored we can go into TV."

[prodigal_miser]

"Sure, though I'd rather hire actors to play us, since the TV show would involve lots of us almost kissing. It would get dull."

[dark_light]

"Well, when the cameras turned off you could actually kiss me to make up for it. I would let you."

[prodigal_miser]

"I would be extremely surprised if I went to kiss you and you didn't let me. Also sad. Perhaps also a touch broken hearted."

[dark_light]

"But what if I had morning breath? Maybe I wouldn't let you kiss me if I had morning breath. You don't know. You sleep a lot later than I do."

[prodigal_miser]

"Would you not let me kiss you if you had morning breath? If so, I am extremely glad that I do, because that is terrible."

He takes her hand and kisses her fingertips, just as demonstration.