Lingering Blue Skies

By Debora Hellinga

There is always tomorrow.
Before Morgan sets her eyes on vengeance and Zack looks to the future, Sanne welcomes Jolon to Groningen. There, the ex-soldiers attempt to live like regular 20-something-year-old students. But as people go missing and events are covered up, civilian life turns sour. On top of that, the weather conditions deteriorate, while tensions rise.
No longer certain of their safety, the new empire seems to promise more security than any European government. Jolon prays for the best, meanwhile Sanne keeps her head held high, not willing to betray her home just yet.
When promises are broken and riots break loose, Sanne decides it is time to leave and drags Jolon through Europe in the hope of finding a better tomorrow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528981422

Debora Hellinga

Besides her study (English Language and Culture after three years of Social Work), Debora (b.1994) loves to be occupied with tea, books, fun with friends and films. She is always looking for something to amaze her and for new adventures, however big or small, as much as she likes to get lost in her own world.

Book preview

Lingering Blue Skies

Debora Hellinga

Austin Macauley Publishers

Lingering Blue Skies

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Acknowledgement

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

About the Author

Besides her daily work, Debora (b. 1994) loves to busy herself with tea, books, films, and fun with friends. She is always looking for something to amaze her and for new adventures, however big or small. More often than not, she’ll be a little lost in her own world or the big outside world.

Dedication

To those who reminded me of tomorrow, those who brought me to tomorrow, and those who I celebrated tomorrow with – keep shining.

Copyright Information ©

Debora Hellinga 2022

The right of Debora Hellinga to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528981415 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528981422 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

My thanks to those who believed in me, dreamed with me, and debated wild theories about humans with me.

History abounds in miracles

call upon your hundreds –

your thousands of faceless ancestors

and hear their echoes

explain

how the world was

built

Chapter

I

***

The genesis of the day was still fresh in the air and smelled of cucumber, oranges, and gunpowder. And Jolon realised he was happy. Along with the early hours, he was on the verge of a new start. Leaving his friends and family for the coming year, Jolon hoped it would give him some space to breathe, some space to unwind. He was happy, for sure, but merely knowing you’re happy and feeling happy are two separate things. Jolon had prayed something would change, something would happen and drag him into life again. He knew what a gun felt like in his hand and he could tell you exactly what its barrel tasted like in his mouth. But who knew, if time abroad had caused the unrest, then maybe some time abroad could fix it.

One can always hope.

Trying not to look back, Jolon gathered all his strength and entered the airport. High above him, white clouds stretched out over the blue sea and the air was filled with the rumbling sounds of busses and the twittering people. He left it all behind, as he entered the large building with sloping white halls and shops like a marketplace. The only difference was that here the shop owners did not yell and scream, and here you paid at least three times as much. It had to be worth it, though. Jolon could find no other explanation as to why the people sipping the apparently liquid golden coffee for that price. Maybe it was the illusion; they were pricey but worth the experience. Or maybe the shop had put something in there which calmed the people down to a mellow bystander. It was a 50/50 chance.

Jolon had said his goodbyes almost seventeen hours ago when he got on the bus. His friends and family had hugged him and wished him the best, and he had wished them the same. They knew he needed this and had even helped him pay for his ticket, and they were happy for him.

The very least he could do after years of absence and awkward few months at home was pretend he was a normal student studying abroad for a year. After that, he would see. Jolon wasn’t expecting to fall in love with studying. No, he could think of a lot of other things he’d rather do than be between four walls the entire day with a lot of other people. Besides, if all else failed, there was always the family garage back home.

Ignoring the guns and uniforms as much as he could, Jolon dragged his luggage and hoisted his backpack to the terminal. A quick check with a thermometer and a cotton swab confirmed that he was clean and in good health. He dropped his luggage after he had checked in and went on to border patrol where a sturdy man with a head full of curls took a good look at Jolon’s photo. The little book told him all he needed to know about Master Corporal Jolon Pillip Greystoke. From his pearl-grey eyes to his 6' 4" and his origin from a small town near the Cloud Lake area. He’d had all his vaccines and had a fresh doctor’s note proving perfect health. The stamps told the sturdy man that the 26-year-old Master Corporal had seen quite the dangerous places: Bolivia, Kenia, Italy, Australia, Russia, briefly the Colonies, and even Portugal and Nepal. Some were quite safe by now, some were still dangerous, others were no more.

Here you go, son, be safe. The man handed Jolon his passport and moved on to the next in line. Checking his watch, Jolon decided to grab a coffee, hit the loo, and head to his gate.

An hour later, Jolon buckled down and took a deep breath. Flying was dreadful. His mother used to tell him that it is the dark that makes the monster scary, not the beast itself. But he had been to hell and he had seen what beasts crawl in the dark.

Hell is just a word; it comes nowhere near the actual agony deep in your bones and howling demons that wear down your tired heart. Yet Jolon had seen that the road to Heaven led through miles and miles of scorching darkness. He should’ve asked how his mum knew.

Nervous? A smirking old lady, her white hair braided with much care, sat down beside Jolon. Now don’t you worry, old Alasie has been flying so many times the birds know me around here! she continued before Jolon could reply, "You see, the first time I flew, I had to be around five years old and we were going home, and I’ve been flying a lot ever since. The world isn’t all that big as it used to be, sadly, if you’d ask me, very sad. But it has made it possible to see a lot, I mean, not as much nowadays, but still a lot.

So don’t you worry, son. It’s absolutely normal to be nervous, but it isn’t necessary for one single inch. Understandable, but please don’t waste your energy on it. There are better things that deserve our energy. Oh, listen to me, chatting on and on. I’m sorry, dear, I’ll shut up now. Do know that I’ll be here to talk and to listen when you need me.

As he made the holy sign of protection while the plane moved into the sky, old Alasie patted his knee in encouragement and gave him a wink.

And Jolon whispered, Goodbye.

Chapter

II

***

The landing was horrible, just dreadful and Jolon only felt his throat reopen and his stomach settle down when he was out of the plane, out of the tube, and walking towards his luggage on decent solid ground again. The flight attendee had given him a rather strong sedative which had made the nine-hour flight close to bearable. He was drained by the many hours of travelling nevertheless, and could not wait to hit a pillow or anything close to it. He reminded himself that the cotton swab and thermometer test were just something he had to go through to reach that sweet softness of a pillow.

Waiting on his luggage, Jolon looked at the Dutch airport. Though thus far a mostly neutral party in the global mess, there was plenty of military visible in the white-greyish halls without any windows. There were numerous different people; families, business people, couples, friends, singles – the refugees were carefully kept out of sight. Some passengers were flaunting their status, some were nervous, others were just having a good time. Old Alasie had soon found some people she knew and had, after she had patted him on the back, gone to greet her friends cheerfully. The Dutch had a specific way of looking. Besides, of course, the no-eye-contact they made as they kept a close eye on everyone. Perhaps it was a rooted kind of pride, Jolon wondered, rooted deep in survival.

The belt began to move, which was about time after twenty minutes, and after a few more minutes, Jolon had everything he needed and left the hall. He passed three metal gates with several people staring at screens and at him, and he repeated the breathing exercise he had been doing on the plane. Neutral though the Netherlands might be, they were never dumb and ever careful.

Following a Taiwanese family of eight, Jolon walked through the sliding doors and turned up his music when he saw the dozens and dozens of people, shops, lights, bright moving ads, and soldiers. He slowly inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, just as the psychologist had taught him. Cautiously, he lifted his gaze from the light-coloured floor and looked for the Canadian flag amongst the crowd – and found it to the left. His mind set on leaving the crowd as soon as he could, though he had to be careful not to draw too much attention. Jolon took an even firmer hold on his luggage and pushed his way through the crowd of hugging and crying people.

Master Corporal Greystoke? a small fellow with blond hair raised his hand with a smile that infected Jolon. Shaking hands or any type of physical contact had been limited to those with who you were close since the 2020s.

The ex-soldier gave a small nod. Just Jolon is fine.

Nice to meet you, I’m Jeroen. How was your flight? Here let me take your luggage – no really, let me! If we hurry, we can still catch the train! as fast as he spoke, Jeroen moved. And before Jolon realised it, he was sipping orange juice on a train. Jeroen had understood the hint when Jolon looked outside and had turned silent. It was a sweltering summer day and luckily, the train had decent working air-conditioning. Though the train was a screaming yellow and navy-blue colour on the outside, the inside was calmer with browns and blues. Every twenty minutes, two armed conductors passed them and the train ride passed without any trouble.

Leaving the airport, big cities popped up every now and then, as they travelled north. Between the rebuilt cities in the proud style of their Golden Age, there was green flat land all around. There were small villages and towns, of which only a few looked alive. Jolon wondered if he had ever seen so many farms and cows in almost three hours. The Netherlands had grown into an import-export country, diverting from their farmer’s origin even more. Apparently, there were still farmers and Jolon wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by it.

As the world got flatter and wider, they finally arrived at Groningen, capital of the province Groningen.

The air was stuffy and, though the sun was setting, it was still scorching warm. Jolon already longed back to the cold of Canada or at least the air conditioning from the train. As Jolon followed Jeroen, he looked around. The station was filled with yellow-blue trains and several shops. The iron construction and the red bricks echoed the sturdy and strong-headed people of the province, Jeroen told him giggling. Jeroen made no comment on the renewed design surrounding the red bricks and Jolon decided to leave it.

The few people who walked around in their summer clothes, aside from the police in their uniforms, paid little attention to the two guys. Chatting a variation of Dutch Jolon had not heard in years, they seemed to ignore the trouble of the world and focus only on laughter and ice creams. Jolon ran a quick hand through his hair and wondered if he perhaps had made a mistake after all, though he could just be really tired as well. Walking through a hall with renaissance and gothic elements, light crawled in through the stained glass and cast a mystical light on the tile panel with the staring women. Jolon passed through the large, wooden doors and against the soft colours of sunset two flags gently waved in the calm wind. The Dutch red-white-and-blue and the Groningse red-white-blue-and-green flag, which breathed the City and De Ommelanden, peacefully hung side by side.

In the distance, ancient bells rang over the city; singing the song of the people and proclaiming their strength and perpetual presence. It was a good day to be in the city and the song was happy.

Jeroen led him to the bus station, which basically was thirteen lanes lying next to the train station for the buses to stop and pick up people, as he continued telling Jolon about the city and the country. Apparently, the station had been remodelled, moving the busses and to the other side, but after the bombings of 20 years ago, they had been moved back. Supposedly temporarily, though so far no new plans had been made. Then again, the dykes were more of a priority for the foreseeable future. Stubborn like a true Dutchman, Jeroen carried most of Jolon’s luggage.

And see that statue of that man next to the white horse and farmer? That’s Berend, he led the Groningers to stand against the Italians when they tried to attack, and thus prevented them to invade the rest of the country, the pride was clear in his voice. "This way, we’re actually walking over a parking place for bikes, just so you know. See that bridge across the street? It’s actually still used. The yellow building is connected to that green building and used to be a museum. And that church in the distant is just one of the many.

OK, about the busses: numbers zero to twelve are within the city, the others are for the rest of the province and some even go to other provinces. But I’m sure your roommate will tell you all you need to know and else, just ask at uni, Jeroen kept talking, as he led Jolon past high buildings of red bricks towards the deep-blue busses. He raised his hands and shouted something to one of the busses and began to run. Guessing that was the bus they had to catch, Jolon followed him and hopped on board while Jeroen made a witty joke in Dutch, making the bus driver smirk and shake his head.

Had Jolon thought the heat in the open air was bad, he longed for it when he sat in the bus that almost gave him flashbacks to the unbearable furnaces of deserts. Jolon quickly looked outside and focussed on the city, as he slowly inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

The houses seemed smaller and higher than the houses from his hometown, with small streets and narrow alleys everywhere. Cyclist flew like swarms of locust, and Jeroen told him cars, those who were rich enough to have them, were outside of the dense and old centre. Yet despite the numerous cyclists, some even carrying big bags or two people at the same time, the bus driver drove around like he was the only one on the road. Keeping a firm grip on his luggage, Jolon wondered what he would prefer: inside the dessert killing machine or flying over the concrete like prey.

With a few minutes, Jeroen told Jolon it was time to get out and walked like a seasoned sailor to the door, whereas Jolon waddled like a landlubber in a storm.

"Dankjewel," Jeroen waved to the bus driver when he stopped and opened the door located halfway down the bus. Jolon lifted his hand in greeted and quickly placed his feet on solid ground. The sun was low and a deep orange glow shone through the street, as old bells sang a happy tune in the distance.

High, old houses welcomed Jolon in silent. They all looked different; in size, in height, in colour, though they all had a collection of bikes parked in front of them. Almost all of them were worn down and painted in different colours. There were no front yards but there were some benches and bushes between the bikes and a patch of green in the distance.

Here it is! After a short walk, Jeroen walked up narrow stairs between two big windows. Above the stairs, was a golden smear, something which had once been between a curl and an ampersand. The red bricks formed the sturdy building consisting of four homes and had big windows with white window stills. Even in this small almost claustrophobically narrow street, there were numerous bikes. The tall houses were huddled close together and the windows were directly opposite of each other, meaning one could easily enjoy the daily life of the neighbours across the streets. Even here, there were a few trees and bushes.

Hopping up the narrow stone stairs like a goat, Jeroen explained how this was one house. He chuckled it was because of taxes, and that appeared to be enough of an explanation. Jolon followed up the stone stairs; the tiles on the wall had once been bright white and green.

So, in total, there’ll be seven people living here, Jeroen said, as he climbed up the stairs. Harm and Anneke from flat A have a three-year-old son Dirk. Sylvia and Robin in B are both busy becoming a nurse, and Mr Jansen from D will be your neighbour and is retired. But you’ll get to see them soon enough. Nice people. Never cause any trouble, don’t interfere with business that’s not theirs, you know.

Muffled noises from behind the windows made Jolon wonder who the people were and what their lives were like. Before he could actually pick up on something, he followed Jeroen up the stairs and his ears were drawn to the noises from the upper floor. Soft melodies of classical music crept below the wooden door and over the blank doormat of flat D. The age difference between the two flats was already audible as pumping rock music ran over the puny doormat of flat C. However, the matching big plants standing in between the doors indicated comradery between the neighbours.

So, here it is. Welcome to your new home! Jeroen opened the door and stepped inside, shouting a loud hallo! And leaving Jolon to look around. To his right was a wall with two doors and dozens of photos between them, to his far left was another room. Straight ahead of him was the living room area and the round table to the left indicated the dining area in front of the kitchen, which was hidden behind the room.

A young woman, strawberry blonde hair wet from a shower and dressed in something between comfortable clothes and pyjamas, turned down the music and looked at Jeroen. Speaking sharply in Dutch, she made it clear she was not pleased. Jeroen shrugged and replied in Dutch.

As they spoke, Jolon looked around. The walls were a calm off-white, except for the wall with the front door, which was a soft, blue-grey. There were two dark-grey couches with colourful pillows in the living room area and a blue chair with grey pillows. On both sides of the TV cabinet, stood large plants in grey pots underneath shelves filled with books and the wooden coffee table was mostly empty apart from the laptop which blasted music through the TV’s speakers. The kitchen had the same wooden floor as the rest of the old but decent flat and the many attributes at least made it look like it was used often. Five different chairs stood around the oaken dinner table and were in a much better state than the ancient table itself, and in front of the tall windows in the kitchen hung white curtains. Jolon placed his bags beside the cabinet to his left, beside the door, and looked at the pictures.

Jeroen chuckled and tried to explain something but was wrong to chuckle about it as the girl’s attitude changed dangerously. Had the girl with the strawberry blonde hair looked familiar to Jolon before, the pictures confirmed it. She was still talking to Jeroen and Jolon tried not to stare too intensely as he tried to remember her. She was not only Dutch but a Groninger as well, meaning she was tall and build well against the strong winds that ever blew in the province. Her forest-green eyes quickly flashed over when she noticed his glance but returned to Jeroen, as she tried to make a point. Because of her shorts, Jolon could clearly see the scar caused by a grenade on her right leg and foot. Now, blue flowers decorated the scars as if they were hanging from a branch. Her left arm showed the same blue flowers tattooed on it, with the words ‘astra inclinant sed non obligant’ in a straight line on her lower arm, while a small tattoo on her right wrist said ‘cura te ipsum’. It was kind of funny to Jolon because the girl with the big, green eyes seemed the definition of friendliness at first. But he had seen her other side as well, he knew there was more.

OK, so anyway, Jeroen cleared his throat, grasping Jolon’s attention, as he switched to English, Jolon, this is your new roommate: S—

Sanne, Jolon placed his hand on his heart. The forest green glistened and a wide smile appeared on the kind face.

Her voice came close to giggling, Jolon you-better-not-steal-my-food-once-more-or-I’ll-throw-you-to-the-other-side Greystoke!

So, you do know each other! Jeroen smiled.

Yeah, Sanne nodded. He was one of the officers during my conscription, and we both served back in Portugal…when it was still there.

What, that must have been like three years ago, Jeroen snorted. Guess they made a good deal for you guys to get you together again. Well, I best be going again. Sanne has my number, should you need anything. And for now: goodbye, and welcome.

Jolon nodded, Thank you.

Bye, Jeroen, Sanne waved and closed the door behind the small blond fellow. She took a deep breath and turned to Jolon with a smile.

Sorry about all that. A small blush appeared on her cheeks, as she walked to the kitchen. I thought you’d come tomorrow, not today, so that was the little chat I had with Jeroen. Would you like something to drink?

Just water.

How was your flight? Did you come all the way from Canada? Sanne got them a drink and walked to the round table where she placed the glass, You hate flying, don’t you?

It was fine. Long, but fine, he shrugged. Sanne looked into his grey eyes and gave him a friendly smile.

It’s good to see you, Jolon, she said sincerely. I didn’t think it would actually happen.

It’s good to see you too, Sanne, he said, always struggling with the correct pronunciation of her name. Forcing his tired body to move, he walked to the table and drank the cold water.

OK, well let me show you around! Sanne clapped her hands and her twinkling smile widened. "This here is our lovely kitchen. It’s all finally working again, so please don’t break anything. It’s fine. Sometimes, I have friends over for dinner but don’t worry, I’ll almost always give you a heads up because we do share this house. Uh, let’s see. TV and stuff over there, books and DVDs are mine but feel free to use them and put yours next to it. There are some amazing thrift shops here, literally everything here is thrifted.

This… she walked through the room and opened the door closest to the front door as Jolon followed her. Is the bathroom; shower, toilet, washbasin or how do you call it, and a cabinet with towels and such. Laundry is done elsewhere, cause space and lack thereof. And over here, without showing her own bedroom, Sanne passed Jolon and opened the door of the room next to the kitchen, we have your room!

All right, Jolon nodded. It was smaller than his room in Canada but it had everything he needed: a bed, a desk, a closet and a cabinet. The walls were white with a hint of blue in them, calm and serene. Two large windows provided plenty of light, which he instantly liked, and had soft grey curtains in front of it.

The street isn’t too busy, Sanne joined him in his room, as she saw Jolon glaring outside, It’s a quiet neighbourhood overall, nothing big ever really happens around here. The neighbours sometimes do have sex in the living room but you can always just close your curtains. Oh, shoot!

He looked at her in surprise, What?

I haven’t made your bed, yet! Sanne quickly walked to the bathroom and returned with bedsheets.

Oh, you don’t… Jolon tried unsuccessfully while Sanne began making his bed.

So, tell me, she said, trying to reach the ends. How are you? I mean, it’s been three years.

I’m fine, he replied, as always.

You’re here for university, I heard? she looked at him and he knew what she was actually asking. Conscription, though usually referred to as ‘serving’, was mandatory but he had joined the army after his time and been a professional soldier for some years.

Jolon nodded, still very aware of the walls and every item within them, Yeah, you had such big stories about studying, thought I’d give it a try.

Sure you did, she grinned, as she laid his sheets on his bed. You can put your things in the closets if you want. Shall I pour you another to drink?

Yeah, sure, thanks, he nodded again and awkwardly made his way to get his things.

Sanne finished the bed, walked to the laptop on the coffee table, put some other music on and went to the kitchen.

Jolon laid his clothes in the closet opposite of his door, his two books in the cabinet beside his bed and set his cologne on the desk along with his grandfather’s lighter. There were some good things about his ranks, he had to admit that, else he would never have been able to bring this lighter. Though he knew that at the same time, it was his rank that would get him into trouble in other countries.

Outside, some people were walking in the darkening evening, giggling like the world was a film and all was well. Leaning against the windowsill for a moment, Jolon looked at them and hoped they were not hiding from reality.

Here you go, Sanne placed a big glass of iced tea together with a big pack of stroopwafels, the Dutch cookies from Heaven, on the dark table. She nestled herself on the blue chair and sipped her iced tea as her big eyes studied him.

You have hardly changed, Jolon, she concluded and he knew she was lying.

Neither have you, he said and he told the truth. She smirked and looked down at the scars on her leg. Then her eyes shot up and pierced his look, and for a moment, all the childlike kindness which normally decorated her face was gone. Jolon lowered his guard as well and the two wounded fighters spoke openly without words.

They had seen Death, brought Death, and had been Death. They had fled from it, hid from it, and at some moments, they had prayed Death would come for them. The cold claws of death were all too familiar to all above the age of 17 and lived beyond their service. Its icy grasp and its rotten smell used to be something only read about in books and shown in films, nowadays it was an invisible grey scarf. Everyone who had done their national service wore it, no one spoke of it, of course, but the scarves were everywhere. Some clear and big, others were hidden and tucked away. Even though the grey scarves were everywhere and everyone had come in contact with its coldness, no one really knew what had caused all the unrest, what had caused the necessity of young people to fight a fight they did not understand; an ever brewing fear of a possible threat that was carried on like lullabies.

From the heart of the city, the bell tower rang.

I’m happy you’re my new roommate. The childlike innocence of kindness lit up Sanne’s face, making her green eyes sparkle, We’ll have fun. Just like in Portugal, you’ll see.

***

The next morning, Jolon nearly drifted out of his bed because of the heat. The sun was already high and scorching and for a moment, Jolon wondered if taking a shower would even be worth the trouble. Then again, giving it a try was better than beginning the hot day completely soaked in his sweat. The alarm clock told him it was 9:37. He tried to remember the last time he had slept this long. Then it came back, crushing over him like thunder.

After the Incident, he had been sent home with an honourable discharge. Due to the state of chaos in the Colonies, the road back was long and exhausting and the psychologists travelling with them took every chance they could to work on the returning soldiers. When Jolon had finally reached his home again, he had hugged his younger sister and little brother, embraced his father, kissed his mother’s cheek, and had gone to bed for nearly twenty hours. The walls were closing in on him again and Jolon Jumped up to escape.

Good morning. Sitting on the floor in a lotus position, Sanne was eating her breakfast and smiled at him as he left the shower. The news was on and she attempted to document it with the notebook on her lap.

Jolon rubbed his eyes and yawned shamelessly, Morning.

Did you sleep well?

Fine. Anything good on TV?

Always! she winked. If you like theatrical drama and lies sprinkled all over it. Get yourself some breakfast; you look like you can use it.

Preparing some toast and picking some fruit from the bowl, Jolon heard the buzzing city noises faintly in the distance while the TV talked in Gronings. Despite the stern tone, Jolon found it soothing to not understand a word of it.

There’s some oat-milk in the fridge and there’s fresh coffee in the pot, Sanne told him, mouth half-full. Opening the fridge, Jolon saw it wasn’t all too bad here. The fridge wasn’t loaded, but there was fresh food and there was enough for a few days.

Did I wake you this morning?

No, why? He poured himself some coffee and lifted the pot in offering. Want some as well?

Yes, thanks. I was hunting those damned fruit flies. My goodness, I hate them so much. Like, why are they even alive?

Jolon chuckled, All right, girl.

As he walked back to the couch and sat down, Jolon balanced his breakfast, his mug, and the coffee pot in one trip to the small, dark table in front of the couch. Sanne looked at him with raised eyebrows as she held her tongue. As he carefully put everything down one by one, without spilling or breaking anything, Jolon poured Sanne her coffee with a small smirk. She