Chapter Text
Leif smiled at the cameras the small crowd brought out to record the event. His family stood to one side, a united front supporting him despite misgivings he knew they felt. There was no need to seek out the signs, strained smiles, a nervous twitch under his mother’s eye. Their concerns were his, after all.
On the other side stood Yidderman, literally standing head and shoulders above the security detail Wesson’s group had provided. The centaur’s daughters stood at his side, Alynette and Sophette bearing formal garb, what looked to be German-make side arms holstered at their sides. Leif felt a little surprised at that; did not the centaurs carry bows? Chiron had been famous for his archery skills – but if they knew how to operate modern technology, why would he be surprised at modernized combat skills?
Unlike her sisters, Roanette stood nearby, the representative for her people. In the background, Leif could make out the presence of more liminals, beings he had not yet fully seen before. A humanoid dog – kobold – stood in full regalia, tail wagging from beneath her skirt, whilst a diminutive young woman with green hair nodded every few moments. Dryads they called themselves, Leif remembered. There were more, a massive female – something, larger than his home’s doorway could permit stood with them, as well as an assortment of furred, scaled and smooth-skinned people that couldn’t stop talking and laughing.
Leif had to turn away, letting the wind spill across his face. The hum of their chatter grew no less, but familiar sights helped calm his mind.
A hand touched his shoulder.
“Milord,” Roanette bent slightly, the better to speak quietly near his ear. “I apologize for the crowd.”
He managed a half-smile, tapping her fingers with his own. “Cost of doing business.”
The warm hand fell away as Wesson stepped forwards, teeth gleaming in the sun-filled day. “Gentlemen, ladies, thank you. We’re almost ready, if Mister Larsen would kindly step behind the table with Miss Yidderman? Yes, thank you. Very good. A few moments, let the photographers take a few shots. Good. Now, Miss Aldottir? If you would be so kind –“
Leif felt an urge to run. On his land, there would be no stopping him. Folks thought the area where that explorer Steven Foster vanished was difficult; they’d never tried finding someone in what the deadly terrain Montana could offer.
A comforting presence moved beside him. Without touching, Roanette shifted closer, blocking the sight of the crowd on his right side.
Below the tablecloth, Leif allowed himself one grateful touch, fingers stroking a brief acknowledgement of his thanks on her forelimb. With his attention turned forwards, maintaining an even expression, he failed to notice the pleased look on her face, if only for a moment.
Another liminal, the kobold, came in on Leif’s left, smiling and waving at the photographers. One large hand nearly swiped Leif’s hair, before she noticed. “Sorry fella, a bit excited here. Isn’t this great? We’re going to finally do it! Thank you sooo much for helping us out here, I didn’t want to build a whole new city block out in Las Vegas, they’re crazy out there!”
He blinked in response. The next best offer came from Nevada? Big money out there meant banks and casinos – and Leif could only imagine the trades required from ‘Sin City’. All of a sudden, he felt a mild surge of happiness at his decision.
“Thank you, yes. And now in the back, good. Do we have the neko representative? Good? Thank you Miss Chievious, you may put down the harpy representative now. Miss Chauin, please do not move. Just look this way, and everyone: big smile please!”
After what felt like hours, the paper-covered table finally became the center of attention. An ornate pen was pushed into Leif’s hand, made of fancy material covered in gold filigree, and covered by enough patriotic symbols to decorate a Veteran’s Day parade. The pen scarce had time to finish making the third letter in his name before it was snatched away by Wesson’s deft fingers, an identical writing implement handed back in an eyeblink.
Fighting back the urge to roll his eyes, Leif continued writing, receiving a new pen every few letters. Then it was the representatives turn, brushing close, adding their own signatures to the paper. By the time the last graceful line – or scrawl in the case of the harpy – began to dry, nearly two dozen pens rested in Wesson’s pockets, mere fractions of their reservoirs used.
“Excellent! Thank you everyone! Please, would you shake hands for the cameras? This is a historic moment!” Wesson seemed to be everywhere at once, directing new angles, heading off an overzealous reporter, resembling nothing more than a human sheepdog, in Leif’s opinion.
Practice from deals made face-to-face kept a pleasant look on Leif’s face. Each liminal seemed enthusiastic, seizing his appendage and shaking it with nigh fervent intensity. Even the harpy shook – wings? Hands? – Leif filed the thought under future questions, then noted her wing structure. It clicked; there had been an oversized avian flying overhead at his friend’s ranch. Liminals really were everywhere.
Another hand shook his; soft and yielding, but cables of hardened steel sliding beneath the skin. Leif kept his eyes up, focused on the snake-woman’s slit-pupils while she gave a low bow. The cut on her blouse would have made anyone blush; the saucy wink she gave him gave the impression of playfulness. Good. Nothing serious.
“Milord.” Roanette gracefully bowed her head, a firm grip holding his hand for a moment. As the last representative, she held on a few moments longer for the cameras, flashing a brilliant smile. The smile remained even as the other representatives began their departure, returning to the large vehicles that had brought them. “Well done.”
Leif exhaled, shoulders clad in tailored finery slumping. “You don’t have to say that you know. I’m nobody’s lord, Roanette. Just a farmer. Just … Leif. Especially since you’ll be around a lot these days, if your old man’s right.”
A pensive look crossed her face as the last dignitary filed past, a cat-eared individual with bright eyes and long tail, following the others into a series of large black vans. The massive vehicles stood out against the autumn-set countryside; pure black against the fading glory of browns and gold. Doors slammed, powerful engines throbbing to life. The sound alone inspired respect – unless the listener heard tractors boom awake on a regular basis.
Roanette remained at his side, facing the same direction, silent.
“Well bro, you did it.” A tall man, over six feet but rail thin approached. “Nice job with the – liminals, did you call them?”
“Erik,” Leif relaxed. “Seemed to be a good thing. Roanette, this is my brother Erik. Erik, Roanette Yidderman.”
“A pleasure,” his brother shook hands with the sable-haired centauride. “I guess you’ll be one of the first tenants?”
Roanette blushed. “Well, I –“
“Leif!”
Leif turned back. His father, supported on each side by cane and wife, powered over the ground like a threshing machine. His taciturn nature carried through, saying nothing in front of relative strangers. But he radiated understanding to Leif’s eyes; everything needing to be said rested in the eyes. Pride, glinting like a lighthouse over deep oceans of hard-won wisdom.
Wordless, Leif shook his father’s hand. A wealth of information passed through the simple act. Approval, in the firm grip accompanied by the slow double shake. Concern was present as well, evident in the long moment before letting go.
“Bit o’ responsibility you’re taking,” he rumbled. Years of work piled depth on his voice, but showed no evidence in the keen glance aimed at the centauride standing nearby. “Hope you have a little help?”
“Lord and Lady Larsen,” Roanette spoke up. “I and my family will be granting as much aid as we may.”
Leif’s mind took an aborted leap, failing as the full power of his father’s attention fell on the young woman. “Never mind that Lord stuff. You are Miss Yidderman, yes? Oldest daughter from your family?”
“Partially correct,” Roanette somehow missed seeing Leif’s warning glance. “My elder sisters are already married back home, save Alynette over there. The three of us came in order to better learn, and have the greatest aptitude for the Exchange goals.”
“Ah.” Comprehension, curiosity, and an underlying level of appreciation filled the single utterance. A small jerk of the head included the centauride and her family, standing further back. “Why don’t you and your crew come in for a talk? We don’t get up here much these days, but we could talk things over. See what help we could give.”
Enthusiasm almost crackled as Roanette beamed a wide smile. “Of course! I will summon my father, he would love to speak with you and Master Leif!”
Leif opened his mouth to speak, but the attractive centauride had already crossed half the distance between themselves and her father. Sighing, he shook his head, a touch of fondness in the motion. out of the corner of his eye, Gustav, his eldest brother raised an eyebrow at him. Master? His lips moved without making a sound.
Leif turned his gaze skyward, searching the light blue skies for guidance. The harpy darted overhead, being chased by the same hawk he’d noticed earlier. One messed with the Ferruginous at their own peril. Turning his eyes to the hills, he could see a slow train of construction vehicles inching towards the agreed site, tiny billows of smoke staining the clean sky. Down by the orchard, he could hear more representatives exclaiming over the fruit – there had been a standing invitation that he might regret soon. Finally, he looked back at his brother. There was only one answer possible.
“It’s a long story.”