Bittenfeld bit his lip, waiting in the late, cool afternoon. It had been about 3 months since he had made his visits to the dog park a regular occurrence, and he was currently waiting for a certain individual. After the continued mauling of his lips, he felt a sharp, burning sensation permeate and he tasted a hint of iron.
“Ow!” He keeled over, pressing a few fingers to his mouth. Soft footsteps approached the bench, along with the panting of a content dog. He pulled away his hand, discovering blood at the fingertips.
A disconcerted sigh alerted him to the newcomer. A very familiar newcomer that was clad in warm overcoat and grey scarf.
“Good afternoon, Bittenfeld.” Oberstein said. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to his friend.
Bittenfeld stared at the white cloth, with it’s delicate embroidery of the owner’s name. He shook his head.
“There’s no way I’m getting blood on that thing!”
Oberstein sat down, and then pushed the cloth into Bittenfeld’s face, wiping the blood off of his visage.
“Handkerchiefs were made to be spoiled, regardless of what color they start out as.”
Bittenfeld rolled his eyes, but let him do as he pleased. After a few moments in silence, Oberstein spoke again. “Where is Frigga?”
The red haired man shrugged his shoulders. “Frigga somehow caught a doggy cold, so she’s resting at home.”
Oberstein posed the obvious question. “What are you doing at the dog park without a dog?”
“Hey! I came to invite you to dinner at my house.”
“What a sudden invitation.”
“Well I would have called ahead but we never actually shared phone numbers!”
A few minutes passed in amiable silence before Bittenfeld grew restless. “So are you gonna-”
“I accept your invitation.”
Bittenfeld exclaimed “Great!” loudly, and hopped to his feet. “We should get going now then, cause dinner is probably already waiting for us.” His stomach grumbled and he licked his lips before realizing that he shouldn’t have. Bittenfeld winced at the sharp stinging sensation, immediately regretting his habit of biting his lip whenever he was thinking about something.
Faust pawed at Bittenfeld, sensing that his owner’s friend was in some sort of vague distress. Oberstein stood up elegantly and walked past him.
“I assume you’re not too poor to own chapstick.”
Bittenfeld’s face grew red. “Shut up! It just makes it worse.” He followed behind.
“I’m curious, why?” Oberstein said. Faust walked contently in front of his owner while Bittenfeld caught up to his side.
“Well if you really want to know, it’s because my lips aren’t chapped. I was biting them out of habit. So flavored chapstick would only make the habit worse.”
They walked side by side in the cool, autumn afternoon. The sidewalk was barely wide enough for the two of them, so they often drifted into each other’s personal space.
Mecklinger had decided to go out for a jog and some fresh air this afternoon because today’s desk work had been exceedingly stressful. Phezzan was a much greener planet than Odin was, so he decided to take advantage of it’s natural beauty. Just as he turned around the corner, he noticed a familiar red-headed male on the opposite side of the street. Mecklinger nearly called out to his friend before he noticed who he was with. What was Bittenfeld doing with Oberstein? Most importantly, what was Bittenfeld doing talking to Oberstein in such a companionable way? It was well understood among all the top ranking officers that Oberstein was an isolated, friendless man. He made no efforts to be friendly with other people, nor seemed to enjoy the company of others.
Yet here was that isolated man not only taking an amiable walk, but doing so with one of the most rambunctious admirals in the empire. Mecklinger could hardly believe his eyes. He stopped jogging, pretended to be tired, and then crossed the street behind them discreetly. If there was anything about Ernest Mecklinger, it was the fact that he wouldn’t miss such a great opportunity to see a rare sight. They turned the corner near Bittenfeld’s home, so Mecklinger waited behind the corner in order to over hear their conversation. Thankfully, Bittenfeld was talking loudly as usual so he had no trouble.
“I’m not lying, this idiot put the wrong number on the supply order and we got TEN times the amount of ammunition we were supposed to receive!” Bittenfeld laughed openly, and even Oberstein’s shoulders shook a little.
“I’m surprised that one of our officers cannot even count. The Empire will be troubled if left in the hands of such people.” Oberstein said with a tinge of humor. Bittenfeld’s laughter grew even more apparent. Mecklinger peeked around the corner, and saw that there were even tears in his eyes from what seemed to be an extremely funny joke between the two.
Most shockingly of all, on September 3rd, 800 U.C., High Admiral witnessed a historic event. On that day, he saw the Chief Minister of Military Affairs, a man infamous for being stoic, smile earnestly.
Mecklinger’s jaw dropped and he stood there awestruck while his friend escorted Oberstein inside his home.
End Notes:
I’ve had this chapter forever but decided to post it now because there’s no point in keeping it to myself!