[Hermes]

Hermes strecthed from his spot laying on the bar. He smiled, and opened his eyes slightly, crossing his arms behind his head. He thought again of the Taskal War. He remembered the night he met his first comrade, he remembered the conversation he had with the man, how they got drunk that night and made a mess of things, and were made to clean them up the next day, despite their hangovers. That man was his best friend up until the day he was taken by the icy claws of death.

He remembered the first time he saw Taiye on a battlefield, how she had inspired him. He remembered fashioning something like her gunblade after that, though not truly functional as a gun anymore. He knew his would never be as good as hers, or even like it, but he was proud to hold it.

He remembered waking up in the hospice 3 weeks after his near-fatal encounter with Pontus, and seeing flowers, pictures, notes, cards, and memorabilia left by his comrades-in-arms. He remembered the news of Taiye's death, too, written in one of the notes.

He remembered waking to a new, different world, and being considered something of a relic already, despite his youth. He remembered wandering the streets, alone, until an old friend found him, covered in mud, laying in a back alley. He had taken him in, given him a shelter, and Hermes had risen from there.

He remembered the first business they opened together, and the friend staying there when Hermes expanded. It brought Hermes great joy to have supplied his friend with a good life, after he had done the same for him.

He remembered opening this shack of a bar, just to serve those who needed solace. Hell, there was a wounded woman sleeping in the back at this very moment, a Loyalist, and he would nary speak a word of it to any soul that came through. For all they knew, there -was no- "underneath" the bar.

He closed his eyes again, and hummed a tune from his childhood.