Regan snorted.

“Interesting’s a word for it,” She said, still blushing a little as she reached for the swiftly emptying bottle. “He’s…well, yeah, he’s usually like that. But you get used to it.” That much was true. Despite the fact he was a foul-mouthed hellion, Othello had a habit of growing on you like a nasty rash or a fungus between your toes.

“You should see him in action though,” Regan said, shaking her head, “He’s got power, I’ll give him that. Just gotta get him to channel it.” She realized then that the bottle was empty but she was still holding it in her hand. “Sorry,” Regan said, clinking it back on the table, “Thinkin’ out loud, I guess.”

“Well, he’s memorable,” Ber said. “Guess that’s not a bad thing if he’s supposed to be Champion of Nevermere.” Whatever that meant. It occurred to him that Regan would likely know, because she was training the Lorendaler-Coheedsman-apparent-Nevermerean to fill said role, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk ruining the camaraderie that had fallen between them by pestering her about work. So instead, he just shrugged and observed, “Didn’t know we needed one.” And if he had, he would not have expected it to be someone like Othello.

But if he was good enough in battle to impress the Huntsman, then maybe the rest could be forgiven. Ber had little doubt as to the man’s strength, though he thought that trying to rein him in seemed like quite the challenge. He supposed someone had to do it, if they were to have a champion for something, and it was better Regan than him. “No problem,” He shrugged in response to her apology. “Don’t know how much I can help but if you want to bounce ideas off me…“ Ber could offer very little help, if any at all, he predicted, shrugging again. “Not much else to do ‘round here.” In the mess hall, in the dead of night.

“Something like that,” Regan said with a grin and an eye roll, “Right now he’s just a big pain in the ass.” It was obvious this was said with affection. Othello was a foul creature, but a surprisingly endearing one. And if his rough edges could be smoothed out, she had no doubt he’d become an asset to Nevermere. She didn’t comment on the need for a champion. She knew what was to come and knew they’d need all the help they could get.

“I just…need to get him integrated. Get him thinking and acting like a Nevermerean soldier. Help him make…friends, I guess,” Regan sighed, shrugging, “I’m hardly a social butterfly, so I’m not much help in that department.”

“You could go stick him with the twelve year olds,” He proposed, the accompanying grin making it clear that it was hardly a serious suggestion. The mental imagine of a giant Othello surrounded by a group of tiny, bright-eyed kids was amusing though. “They probably don’t deserve that though.” Still, it was that rigorous and uniform training, followed by their mandatory service, that made street rats and nobles alike into an ultimately cohesive unit of Nevermerean soldiers. They thought and acted the same as their peers because they’d all been taught to do so together.

Ber considered this for a second before shrugging. “I guess, it’s hard to fit in when you’re different.” He paused. That had sounded more intelligent in his head. “It’s harder to tell where we’re from ‘cause we’re all just soldiers. There’s always people that stand out.” He gestured in her direction, referencing some combination of her rank, the rumors, and her inhuman strength. “And he’s gonna be one of them.” If only for his hair color, and his tattoos, and the way he spoke, and everything else about him. “But at the end of the day, we’re all eating the same food and doing the same drills.” Patrolling the same streets. Getting shouted at by the same people. Weathering the same punishments.

The joys of shared experiences.

Another shrug. “Maybe the more he does stuff like that with the rest of us, the more he’ll start thinking like one of us?” As for Othello making friends? Well, nothing forged the bonds of friendship quite like the mutual hardships that drove them to complain about their superiors when the officers had their backs turned.

Regan snorted, relishing the image of a bunch of kids running around the Othello as he barked jovial profanities at them. No, Othello was not a kid-friendly kind of guy, which was fine. Regan wasn’t really either. She dropped her chin into her hand, propping it up on an elbow with a sigh.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” That’s why they both were here, wasn’t it? Because the military was a level playing field, one that judged you on your merits, not your wealth and station. Regan went through the wringer in mandated training—skinny, scarred, bristly thing that she was—but as soon as she showed her worth the snarky comments and bullying started to fade away.

“Well,” Regan sighed, dismounting the bench and picking up the empty bottle, “Speaking of Othello, I should probably be off. But hey…” Regan added, suddenly awkward, “Maybe we can get together sometime. A little social outing for the big lug.”

Regan really was a glorified babysitter.

Ber watched as Regan got to her feet. Briefly, he considered returning to the barracks now that his hunger had been satiated, but he was comfortable where he sat, leaning against the wall. Talking, certainly, was fine, but walking felt like an expenditure of effort that he was not currently inclined to give. Though eventually he’d have to go back to his bunk, that could - and would - be a later problem.

“Good luck,” He said instead of moving to join her, the words genuine. He did not envy her the task of trying to wrangle Othello into a proper Nevermerean soldier, but he also figured she’d been assigned it for a reason. Presumably, the king thought if anyone could make the man shape up, it would be her. When she awkwardly extended the offer of an outing, he shrugged but found a small smile on his face a moment later. Nodding, he agreed, “Yeah, sure. That’d be nice.” At least, hanging out with Regan probably would be; he was pleasantly surprised by how easy it had been to talk to her tonight. “I owe you a drink anyway. Just let me know when.”

“Good. Uh, yeah. Sounds good.” Though she’d been comfortable thus far, Regan’s awkwardness was starting to kick in. She didn’t do this a lot — talk to people, certainly not about the past — but after sitting with Ber, she felt lighter somehow. Like she’d been holding her breath underwater and finally, finally had gotten some air.

“I’ll see you around,” Regan said, turning to leave and go to her room. A couple of steps in she slowed and turned back to Ber. There was something strange in her face—a mixture of pain and longing and regret that all were crashing against each other.

“I know how people can be,” she said, eyes intense, “If anyone gives you any trouble—anyone at all—you let me know and I’ll deal with it myself. Understand?” Because however egalitarian the military might people, people could still be cruel to kids like Ber. She knew that as well as anyone.

An agreement to hang out again sometime and the typical parting words of strangers who had come together to find, with some surprise, that they might have just discovered a friend. With as little fanfare as it had at the start, their conversation drew to a close. Ber nodded. “Yeah. See you later.”

He had not expected her to pause and turn around with such vulnerability written across her face. When she spoke, he understood: no one thought to offer such protection unless they themselves had gone without. Touched far more deeply than he could hope to put to words, Ber could feel his expression doing something strange in turn, and he glanced to the side, suddenly unable to hold her gaze under the onslaught of emotions welling up within him.

“Yeah,” He said, looking back at her a moment later when he felt like he could speak around the knot that had wedged itself in his throat. “Thanks.” A pause. “You too. If you ever need help with, um, anything.” Ber didn’t know what he could give back to a woman who outmatched him in every meaningful way. Armed with both more authority and more strength, she hardly needed him to come to her defense in the same way she could for him, but street rats like them stuck together. He would watch her back just like she did his.