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[Ariadne's gotten good enough with her Omni that the feed only wobbles a little bit when she turns it on. That's progress! No one's getting sea sick. Hopefully.

She's standing on the threshold, between her building and her garden, moonlight lighting up her silhouette. She's wearing her gold gown, clearly eager to make a good impression. Her long hair is unbound, falling nearly to her calves in rolling waves. It gives her the look of some kind of forest spirit (but she's not one, Maul, shut up).

Arrayed behind her is Serenity Garden. Which would look a bit more impressive in sunlight, but Ariadne's done her best to arrange lanterns to illuminate everything. She does, however, continually cast a concerned glance over her shoulder. You can't trust fire, you can't turn your back on it.]

Well, it's April. So I was planning to announce the opening of Serenity Garden to the public. It's just meant to be a nice place where you can sit, meditate, talk with a friend, court your lover. Just be in nature. All are welcome, but no violence against the other guests or the trees.

...hopefully the sun will be back soon so you can enjoy seeing it in the daylight.

[But it's Trench, so that may not be a sure thing. She can only hope.

Although, on the subject of hope:]

Also, the anniversary of my birth is at the end of the month. Does that mean I should expect some kind of mysterious gift? Any thoughts on what that might be? Just so I can...prepare myself.

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Well, as long as you're confident...

[It would be nice, for once, not to feel like her blood is completely useless.

That's what the natives say about Warmbloods, isn't it? Wasted potential.

Saving someone's life is hardly a waste.]

I have to ask, what is your Blood type? It doesn't change my interest or need, but simply to stay informed. Some type have interesting effects on me, or so I've discovered. No serious effects, mind you, nothing more intense the effects of a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

Oh, just a Warmblood.

Nothing special.

[He scoffs lightly, but without a trace of mockery or cruelty.]

Don't let anyone tell you that. Warmblood has its own properties, which may lack the flash of the other types but it balances that: anyone can receive Warmblood without any ill effect and it can and does treat anyone of any type. For my needs, I've found it's one of the more nourishing and satisfying types, like a meal of meat and greens.

The natives sometimes call us a "waste of potential."

[Really, of all the things she's been called in her life, this is considerably mild. It shouldn't bother her.

So why does it?]

But I guess that would make me...greens?

If it's any consolation, they're biased toward the flashier Blood types, Coldblood in particular, which is absurd to say the least. Every Blood type has its specialities, with no one better than the other, though some may be better at one specialization than another.

[He pauses, then a rare genuine smile crosses his face.]

That one's on me. It's either a terrible pun or a very fitting one.

Well, I don’t know much about puns, but I don’t see why it can’t be both.

[And she flashes him a painfully sweet smile.]

Both works, in that case. [What humor he has often manifests in truly dreadful if fitting puns.]

Might I come around to visit your grove later this... well, I suppose right now, its always evening. In several hours, then? [How does one phrase normal times when the moon decided to take the place of the sun?]

Of course.

[She bows her head.]

In fact, I think it would be tragic if I announced the grand opening and no one came.

I'll be along then, once my shift ends. Till then... [He reaches in and cuts the transmission.]

* * *

[It might be several hours later, well toward what passes for late evening, when she might hear soft, even footsteps on the cobblestones outside and a precise knock at the door.]

[When she opens the door, she'll find him there, a basket of pomegranates under his arm.]

It seemed proper to bring along a gift: a branch of pomegranates grew out of my wall, so I've been gathering them as they come close to ripening.

[Ariadne answers the door in her leathers, having spent more of the day trying to set up lights than enjoying the fruits of her labors. Still, when she sees him, her face splits into a genuine smile.

And that's even before she notices the basket.]

Pomegranates! I can't remember the last time I saw one of those!

[She rushes forward to give him a gentle hug.]

Thank you!

They aren't common, but they seem to favor my corner of the town. I couldn't help but share.

[He might stiffen just a bit at the sudden hug - and we imagine hugging him is a bit like hugging a tree trunk - but he relaxes and returns the hug with his free arm.]

My pleasure. Perhaps you can cultivate some of the seeds, along with savoring them.

[Sometimes, Ariadne forgets. She forgets that Humans are funny about hugs.

But Albert's always seemed incline to break the unspoken rules of physical space. So maybe she just surprised him. That happens, sometimes.

With a small smile, she steps back, taking the basket.]

Raleigh and I have been talking about trying to get a greenhouse going. Considering how rough the climate seems to be.

[He lets her take the basket, stepping back ever so slightly, though he still might lean a little toward her, his arms folded at-rest style, at the small of his back. He can't quite figure, either, where he stands with her, though the part of his heart which stubbornly remains human, wants to give itself to her, though the part affected by Progenitor wants to hold back.]

Ahh, I think I'd spoken briefly with him, in Sodder's Dream. A young man of principles, but a fair one, if I'm not mistaken? You might have a job of it, but this place could use some more greenery and a safe place to house it.

That sounds like Raleigh.

[She steps back from the doorframe, gesturing him inside. There are candles glowing all over, giving a soft warmth to the place, despite the inky darkness outside.

It could almost be called homey.

Almost.]

He's quite invested in the food supply. And we've got a friend who's agreed to help us, named Luke.

[She smiles fondly.]

Now all we need are the supplies, I suppose. I have to admit, I don't know much about making glass.

[He'll follow her, peering around them, the candlelight softening his features, or perhaps being near her brings out the rarely seen softer side.]

There's a glassblower in Willful Machine who might be of assistance. I'd treated her apprentice for some painful cuts, so she owes me a favor. Tell her you know Dr. Winters and he sends his regards that Zeeman's hand has healed.

[A flicker of something like puzzlement ticks through his face.]

Hmmm, not a name which I've heard before, though there's likely dozens of Sleepers I've not met before. I do need to get out of the lab more.

You do.

[She says with a laugh. It's just that there are so many wonderful people. That's by far her favorite thing about Trench--all the people she gets to meet.

Ariadne carefully sets down the basket, before turning back to him, her hands folded behind her back.]

I'm not sure I understand why you still go by two names, Albert.

I used to say as much to a research partner when I'd clock out for the night and he was still hunched over his work top. [He might actually sound wryly amused, though inwardly, there might be the tiniest pang of regret.]

[Unwittingly mirroring her a bit, he clasps his hands behind the small of his back, at-ease style.]

I suppose the simplest explanation is that one is my work name, the other is my own, or at least the one which I used for so long that it has become as a true name. There's also still some Sleepers who remember me by that name, thus their memory keeps it cogent.

I used other names, sometimes. As part of my work with the resistance.

They were never really me though. Not really.

[Much fancier. She pops her hip to one side, rolling her wrist, fingers splayed.]

Lady Orly Bertram and Dowager Countess Catalina Laura.

Since we're exchanging pseudonyms, though my causes may not have been as worthy, at least to my adversaries...

[He straightens up slightly.]

Adrian Winters... Albert Wesker... Abraham Johnson... [A pause, then as if the words taste terrible in his mouth] ...Project W Subject 013.

[She wrinkles her nose at that last one. It feels a bit impersonal. Not that she's going to judge another culture's naming conventions.

...not much, anyway.]

I haven't heard those last two before. You've certainly got a collection.

What's your favorite?

I have to admit, I'm most fond of the first two. The third was one of the necessary pseudonyms I'd taken on during my travels. The last... I don't have to tell you is a designation, a label, rather than a name.

I figured it was something like that.

[She gestures to one of the side doors of the great room, leading out to the garden.]

Would you care to walk? Albert?

[He bows his head toward her, almost lordly, but only just.]

Lead the way, Milady. I trust your grove awaits us.

[Immediately, instinctually, Ariadne dips into a curtsy. She knows a proper curtsy well enough.

That's what comes with pretending to be nobility, on occasion.

Except she's smiling a little too much for a courtier.]

I would be honored, my lord.

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