The Manhunt/Chapter 2

Bastion Fanfarinet did not like the feeling of regret.

Which, of course, was why he always sought out to live life with a plan. With conversations rehearsed in the shower, with an armada of small talk prepared in the event of social interaction, with cue cards in his blazer pockets.

A feeling of regret was gnawing on him right now. If only he hadn’t engaged in conversation with Airmid Valerian, and talking about predecessors, out of all things! Through that discussion, did Bastion briefly bring up how interesting it might be to find out something more outside the Storybook, to discover what information they had been denied.

He did not expect the future physician to come up with a spur of the moment idea – to trace their predecessors paths through Europe. On a trip. In an attempt to discover new information and to solidify their friendship.

Friendship? As if.

That was implying that Bastion Fanfarinet had friends.

No one tolerated him for very long. He remembered when he was younger, people were very good at excluding them from their conversation and groups. Even his childhood friend, Pythia Adalinda, grew distant from him during highschool, the two only talking during debate meetings now.

Perhaps, that had been for the best.

People at Ever After rarely did like to make friends with those born to die. You’ll get attached, they said. It’ll be tragic.

Being forced to follow a predetermined path was tragedy enough.

“This feels entirely unprecedented,” he said in attempt to talk Airmid out of the idea.

“You have such a lack of appreciation for uncertainty,” had been the physician’s reply. “But to accommodate you and for efficiency, I will make an itinerary! "

This sort of determination would be Airmid’s doom, Bastion realised.

He watched the physician pull a lighter out of their pocket. Airmid Valerian struck the metal gears, clung onto the button holder, and held the flame up to nothing in particular. They let go, then struck the metal gears again, and so the cycle continued.

It was oddly mesmerising – the flame flickering, dying, flickering, dying, flicke–

“An itinerary…” Bastion repeated. “Purely theoretical, I hope?"

Airmid stifled a snicker. “Theoretical. Bastion, my man, you dismiss truth like a climate change denier."

"Like how a climate change denier does, you mean," Bastion corrected. "At least use proper grammar; it'll make you seem at most respectable."

"Semantics."

"This is grammar, not semantics! You're misrelating your clauses."

"If you have to make derisive remarks at my grammar, then you've already lost the argument."

"This was not an argument. Nor a debate, for the matter. That would require a degree of order and balance."

The flame of the lighter snapped out, and Airmid with it. "Bastion Fanfarinet, you sit on the fence between my respect and my disdain."

He spoke without thinking. "As if either of those are worth anything."

That off-handed comment – yet another evidence that speaking out-of-turn did not end well. Either he would end up forced on a friendship-building adventure, or he would have to suffer Airmid’s inevitable disappointment.

Bastion didn’t understand why the physician insisted on being amicable. Surely they had better things to do – research projects and papers or something.

“Must I really go with you?” he said. “Don’t you think I’ll be wasting your time?”

“If you think that way, then you’re wasting your life,” Airmid switched the lighter off, and threw it haphazardly into their pocket. “Not that you had much of one in the first place.”

Airmid respected Bastion – honestly. But to the physician, criticising him was perhaps the only way they could convince him to come with them.

“Bastion.” Airmid’s voice turned sharp and stern. There was a dramatic pause as the physician debated whether “you are pathetic” was a remark that would be suitable in a pep talk. “You are, uh– you inspire a mild and unfortunate level of pathos.” (You need to get a life, they mentally added). “You should probably reconsider every choice you have ever made.”

Harsh, Bastion thought, but did not flinch at Airmid’s words.

“Look, maybe some change is evident. Things rarely happen when one’s environment is stable.”

“So, I’ve got an ingenious idea.”

“Surely not another that would cause an explosion in the science labs again?”

“You have no faith in me!” Airmid said. “Look, I was thinking about Darling and Apple, like half of the school. Well, consider this. If destiny is real, then the world has gotten the wrong ‘prince’ for Snow White. The fact that this happened to literally the most famous fairytale in this world means that the possibility of this happening for other destinies is incredibly high.”

"Mm."

"It's not just an isolated incident! That Farrah girl -- she got promoted to Cedar's Blue Fairy, despite just being Cinderella's Fairy Godmother."

“Are you implying you’re not actually Death’s physician?”

“On the contrary. I’m implying that we can find you an alternative Ambassador Fanfarinet.”

“… what.”

“Two weeks, a wealth of databases and possibly the most brilliant pre-med student in the world. We’ve got this.”

Bastion bit his tongue. He dared not make a derisive comment about the sort of determination Airmid had. It would change nothing – except cause him to be more aware of his envy over the physician’s characteristics.

“And what precisely do you mean by two weeks?” he said instead.

Airmid looked at him as if he said the daftest thing. “Our trip. The one across Germany and France.”

“Theoretical,”

“You lie.”

“No, I simply hope you're only speaking theoretically.”

“This conversation makes no sense to me,” Airmid Valerian shook their head, and sighed. “Look, we’re digressing. Your life sucks, and on the account of my brilliance, I think I can fix it.”

“You know, when something is utterly wrecked, it might be more logical to replace it, rather than fix it.”

“So you do agree!”

Bastion shook his head and took a step back. “What, no? I was simply making a sensible statement."

Without warning, Airmid continued with their stream of thoughts. “See, you’re the nephew of Ambassador Fanfarinet. The role is traditionally passed onto sons. Yet, your uncle never claimed any.”

“Doubtless, he would have had some.”

“Exactly. We are going to hunt those kids down, and you’re going to give one of them your destiny.”

He looked doubtful. “Isn’t that rather forceful?”

“Isn’t that what the world did to us?”

And we were on the side opposing that, Airmid! he wanted to say. “Don’t you actually enjoy your destiny?”

“What– what is that word you French say? Touché, isn’t it? Well, then, Bastion Fanfarinet, tou-fucking-ché."

He wanted to roll his eyes. He didn’t; Airmid Valerian was not worth the effort. “I don’t think we can understand each other.”

“Or are you unwilling to understand me?”

“I think I understand enough.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Hmm.”

The “hmm”ing continued for a good deal of time before the two realised it was getting them utterly nowhere.

“Nevertheless,” Airmid finally stopped ‘hmm’ing, “I still think my idea is ingenious.”

“Risky, though.”

“What is genius without risk? How does one seek knowledge without stepping outside their predetermined comfort zone? Do you think humanity advanced by spending their time staying in caves, painting mammoths all day?”

“Your point is compelling and your tone is disturbing."

Airmid Valerian paid no heed to Bastion’s comment. Instead, they looked slightly above the once-future ambassador’s head in what they thought to be a pensive gaze. “What are you scared of?”

The future. The possibility of everything he knew breaking down into pieces around him. The loss of the one certainty he had: his destined death.

Still, this was his one chance to potentially better himself. When else might another opportunity like this arise?

“Nothing."

“I am a genius,” Airmid had said. Without warning, they followed that phrase with the slamming of a briefcase right on top of a table.

“This is a library!”

“Doesn’t change the fact I’m a genius. Look.” With one swift motion, the physician opened up the case.

The equipment changed inside was too technological and specific for Bastion to even comprehend. He looked nervously at the contents, without a single clue whether it was safe or not, then looked nervously around, to check if the two weren’t going to get told on by the evil step-librarians.

Airmid Valerian seemed to care little for who was watching, or for Bas’ concerned facial expression. “Everything needed for PCR, gel electrophoresis, basically everything necessary to analyse short tandem repeats. Works at a rate of roughly one person per hour,” the physician was almost glowing with pride. “I had to bribe a few wizards to get that rate. This thing would work faster if I managed to incorporate fairy magic, but I feel wizardry is more stable.”

“That’s lovely, Airmid. But what is it?”

“A portable paternity test. It could also be used to analyse crime scenes. Of course, the former is more applicable in this situation.”

“Now, you can’t be serious about this, are you?” Bastion shook his head. “I meant it lightly. As a jab. As something…”

“Theoretical?”

“Theoretical.”

And with that, Airmid smiled, in that overconfident, self-aware way, the type mildly tinged with arrogance. “Let me tell you about theories. They don’t mean shit unless you can apply them.”

They paused.

“Or prove them. One or the other. I’m a scientist, not a philosopher of science, for Grimm’s sake.”

What assuredness they spoke with. Bastion hated that.

“Now, I need your Legacy Day outfit. No, that would have been cleaned, and any trace of DNA removed."

Bastion arched an eyebrow, and leaned back. That was the best thing one could do when Airmid Valerian started rambling. No point in interrupting, no point in asking any questions. It was simply best to listen to them speak, and try to keep up with their racing mind.

“Wait, what about Mayblossom’s knife? I know some people don’t clean their weaponry. There’s some pride you get from carrying around the blood of enemies, apparently.”

“That’s gross,”

“Well, it happens. The world is a terrifying place, Fanfarinet,” Airmid crossed off yet another item in their mental list. “Another common sample used in analysis is s– wait, upon reflection, I’ll rather not.”

Had this been The Office, Bastion Fanfarinet would have been looking into the camera right now. In the name of D’Aulnoy, he hated being reminded of this man, his crimes and his existence.

“Wait, new brilliant idea,” Airmid’s eyes widened. “Bastion, I must ask, how did your uncle deal with being a villain?”

“My mother told me he embraced it.”

“Brilliant. Okay, did he do anything villainous outside of his destiny? Something such as–“ Airmid gestured, trying to find a way to delicately word their thoughts, “Theft? Murder? Tax evasion?”

“Apologies, I have no clue.”

“What’s to say an investigation firm, or some forensic place, or the Police, even, don’t have a copy of his?”

He paused, and nodded in a mildly approving manner. “That’s… that’s actually quite a reasonable suggestion.”

“Thank you. Now, let me tell you about the time I accidentally set in the Che-myth-sy Lab on fire in Freedom Year and failed to impress Griselle Damgaard."

At that, Bastion Fanfarinet simply and bluntly got up and left.