Riggs listened to Lizbeth's story with a tight stillness, something unreadable in his expression softening with each word that spilled gently from her lips. The sincerity, the quiet dignity with which she honored her past, tugged at something inside him that he'd long since abandoned. He watched the candle drift gently out onto the water, its reflection rippling as if carrying her story further than her voice ever could.
His thumb traced the rim of his empty glass again, restless and hesitant. Lizbeth's vulnerability had cracked open the night, setting a strange kind of permission floating alongside her candle. Riggs exhaled slowly, eyes flicking from the doe's thoughtful figure back down to the sand beneath his boots. Quietly, almost without deciding to move, he stepped closer, just enough to be noticed. His voice, when it came, was meant for him and the wind rather than the gathered crowd.
"Alright, I suppose it's only fair I put someone out there too," he rasped, gaze fixed firmly on the water rather than anyone present. "This one's for Cooper. He was the first guy I ever trusted on the job, and probably the last. Big damn bear, had a laugh that could shake the dust from the ceiling. We were tailing a suspect one night, middle of winter, colder than a witch's heart. Cooper swore he had eyes on our guy, rushed the alley, slipped on a patch of ice and landed flat on his ass in front of an entire street of witnesses. Took a good three minutes to roll himself upright again." Riggs paused, his jaw working slowly as if trying not to smile. "Never let him live it down... and neither did he. Told the story himself louder and funnier every damn time."
Riggs took a candle in a coconut shell from the sand, lighting it with steady fingers despite the roughness in his voice. He crouched slowly, knees creaking, and placed the glowing memory gently onto the lake's surface. Watching it float out after Lizbeth's, he murmured low, mostly to himself, "Here's hoping wherever he is, the ice ain't so slippery."
His thumb traced the rim of his empty glass again, restless and hesitant. Lizbeth's vulnerability had cracked open the night, setting a strange kind of permission floating alongside her candle. Riggs exhaled slowly, eyes flicking from the doe's thoughtful figure back down to the sand beneath his boots. Quietly, almost without deciding to move, he stepped closer, just enough to be noticed. His voice, when it came, was meant for him and the wind rather than the gathered crowd.
"Alright, I suppose it's only fair I put someone out there too," he rasped, gaze fixed firmly on the water rather than anyone present. "This one's for Cooper. He was the first guy I ever trusted on the job, and probably the last. Big damn bear, had a laugh that could shake the dust from the ceiling. We were tailing a suspect one night, middle of winter, colder than a witch's heart. Cooper swore he had eyes on our guy, rushed the alley, slipped on a patch of ice and landed flat on his ass in front of an entire street of witnesses. Took a good three minutes to roll himself upright again." Riggs paused, his jaw working slowly as if trying not to smile. "Never let him live it down... and neither did he. Told the story himself louder and funnier every damn time."
Riggs took a candle in a coconut shell from the sand, lighting it with steady fingers despite the roughness in his voice. He crouched slowly, knees creaking, and placed the glowing memory gently onto the lake's surface. Watching it float out after Lizbeth's, he murmured low, mostly to himself, "Here's hoping wherever he is, the ice ain't so slippery."
The guitar keeps silence for a moment and leans against the entrance of the bigger canopy. Max takes the chance to participate on Lizbeth’s ceremony.
He walks over to Riggs, still smiling about some slippery story, “That rear must have ached three following day, I believe,” he winks with a grin and the ‘torch’ is passed to that horse.
Max takes another coconut and starts almost laughing already before he could speak. “Oh man, Albion, my dear colleague, this is the story how you got your nickname. We were dragging logs near the river, and you were stupid enough to climb over the fallen trees as the chopper laid another down”, Max shakes his head with a mocking smirk, “the timber knocked on that tree you were climbing over, lifting you up in the air, and throw you in a high bow into the water. I can still see those struggling hooves of yours and that plunge you made on your back, ooch that smacked, but you were unharmed and called ‘Pegasus’ since then”
The shell is pushed onto the lake, joining playfully shaking the others. “Gosh Pegasus, hope you’re pulling the girls now” he laughs with his dark and quite rough voice, nevertheless a moist shimmer in his eyes.
Gently he passes that lighter to Marge, the herbalist, that panda that brought all the different teas to Lizbeth’s soirée.
He walks over to Riggs, still smiling about some slippery story, “That rear must have ached three following day, I believe,” he winks with a grin and the ‘torch’ is passed to that horse.
Max takes another coconut and starts almost laughing already before he could speak. “Oh man, Albion, my dear colleague, this is the story how you got your nickname. We were dragging logs near the river, and you were stupid enough to climb over the fallen trees as the chopper laid another down”, Max shakes his head with a mocking smirk, “the timber knocked on that tree you were climbing over, lifting you up in the air, and throw you in a high bow into the water. I can still see those struggling hooves of yours and that plunge you made on your back, ooch that smacked, but you were unharmed and called ‘Pegasus’ since then”
The shell is pushed onto the lake, joining playfully shaking the others. “Gosh Pegasus, hope you’re pulling the girls now” he laughs with his dark and quite rough voice, nevertheless a moist shimmer in his eyes.
Gently he passes that lighter to Marge, the herbalist, that panda that brought all the different teas to Lizbeth’s soirée.
Marge nods gratefully to that big horse. The panda diffuses serenity and wisdom while she walks slowly to the border of the lake, one of these shells is waiting for her, waiting to cup her story, her funny anecdote of the past.
That bear holds for a moment, as if she had to choose between a thousand of different stories to tell, she had always one up when Lizbeth comes to visit her, that doe took the time to listen to any of her tells.
But one she had never told, not even to her best friend the doe.
She starts slowly, her voice full of experience, but she promised to Lizbeth to keep it short.
“I think it’s time I talk about my sifu Lānà Zhǐlǎohǔ, my KungFu Master. Even with that name she was a fighter that didn’t give up, she could beat up Max using only one finger and an arm attached to her back. There were once four armored turtles trying to mess up our home village, that lean tiger was alone against those four, they were so arrogant and thought this ‘Paper’tiger wouldn’t stand a chance against them. The scene was quite violent but in the end, those four were crying like little babies stuck in a bamboo field, every one of them, well, eh, a bamboo stick up their”, she scratches the back of her head and points at her own rear, her little bear tail wiggling playfully, “…their bum… I think that one hurt like Cooper’s.”
The bear chuckles softly and pushes her shell onto the lake. “Lana, I always think about you, sifu”.
All who want can do same, at any time of the night.
That bear holds for a moment, as if she had to choose between a thousand of different stories to tell, she had always one up when Lizbeth comes to visit her, that doe took the time to listen to any of her tells.
But one she had never told, not even to her best friend the doe.
She starts slowly, her voice full of experience, but she promised to Lizbeth to keep it short.
“I think it’s time I talk about my sifu Lānà Zhǐlǎohǔ, my KungFu Master. Even with that name she was a fighter that didn’t give up, she could beat up Max using only one finger and an arm attached to her back. There were once four armored turtles trying to mess up our home village, that lean tiger was alone against those four, they were so arrogant and thought this ‘Paper’tiger wouldn’t stand a chance against them. The scene was quite violent but in the end, those four were crying like little babies stuck in a bamboo field, every one of them, well, eh, a bamboo stick up their”, she scratches the back of her head and points at her own rear, her little bear tail wiggling playfully, “…their bum… I think that one hurt like Cooper’s.”
The bear chuckles softly and pushes her shell onto the lake. “Lana, I always think about you, sifu”.
All who want can do same, at any time of the night.
Riggs remained crouched for a moment longer, watching the flickering shell as it drifted further out, shoulders hunched beneath the loose fold of his coat. He didn't look up when Max approached, but the big horse's comment earned a quiet snort, one corner of the wolf's mouth twitching upward. "Yeah," he muttered, dryly, " sounded like a watermelon hitting the pavement." The shared grin that passed between them was brief, but genuine, like the spark of camaraderie that only old bruises and older stories could kindle.
As Max and then Marge stepped forward to share their memories, Riggs slowly rose to his feet, brushing the sand from his knee with a slow, methodical sweep of his hand. He didn't retreat, didn't slink back to the shadows, but stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the flickering shells multiply across the water like little fragments of the past, finding a place to float. The laughter, the shared glances, the way each voice seemed to tug the night a little closer together, it was disarming. Not in the way danger could be, but in the way softness could creep in when you weren't guarding against it.
His gaze drifted back to Lizbeth, catching her just beyond the firelight, her form silhouetted against the silver sheen of the lake. He didn't speak. Didn't wave. But his chin dipped once, just enough to be seen, just enough to be felt. Whatever he was thinking didn't reach his lips, but the set of his shoulders had changed, just slightly looser now. He wouldn't admit it, not aloud, but for the first time in a long while, Francis Riggs wasn't looking for the exit.
As Max and then Marge stepped forward to share their memories, Riggs slowly rose to his feet, brushing the sand from his knee with a slow, methodical sweep of his hand. He didn't retreat, didn't slink back to the shadows, but stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the flickering shells multiply across the water like little fragments of the past, finding a place to float. The laughter, the shared glances, the way each voice seemed to tug the night a little closer together, it was disarming. Not in the way danger could be, but in the way softness could creep in when you weren't guarding against it.
His gaze drifted back to Lizbeth, catching her just beyond the firelight, her form silhouetted against the silver sheen of the lake. He didn't speak. Didn't wave. But his chin dipped once, just enough to be seen, just enough to be felt. Whatever he was thinking didn't reach his lips, but the set of his shoulders had changed, just slightly looser now. He wouldn't admit it, not aloud, but for the first time in a long while, Francis Riggs wasn't looking for the exit.
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