Gwynt found, fairly quickly, that having his Instructor know about his particular gifts was far more a blessing than a curse. Most pilots learned aerodynamics indirectly, learning to feel what was workable and what wasn't from an intellectual rather than physical standpoint. Gwynt could see the flows of air around him, sensing them directly. Cho soon found that this meant Gwynt saw flying itself in a fundamentally different way, and it meant that his instinctive reactions in emergency situations - such as the spin training - were far from usual or predictable. They talked about it, around and among other events - generally during his night watch in the Hangar, which afforded them both relative privacy and life-sized models on the ground to use as visual aids. Cho found it fascinating, the things Gwynt could tell her - that he hadn't dared to mention with other Instructors, because one thing he didn't know was what other people could see, smell, or hear.

"You could always make something up, you know," Cho pointed out one night. "If you know there's a leaking tube because you can smell the contents, maybe you could tell your Instructor you see a discoloration or a drip stain?"

"In midair?" Gwynt shook his head, frowning. "Things are funny, up there. Sometimes I know, sometimes I don't. Depends on the plane, on the winds, how bad the problem is..." he sighed, shrugging. "But I can't hand over signs I don't know are there. I tried. Just a godawful liar, I guess. S'why I prefer the solo flights, even if I gotta go through seventeen hoops to get up there. Solo, I don't gotta make excuses for anything. I can just say what I know."

"You can say what you know anyway," Cho pointed out. "Not everyone has the same sense of hearing, or smell. It's not like you're trying to tell him you can see problems in the airflow over the wings."

Gwynt sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets, his eyes shifting in annoyance - not that he worried about that particular effect when only Cho was around to see it. "Can't take the risk. You know, an' that's risk enough 'cos if Seifer ever thinks to look here you're the first one he'd come to." He held up his hand as Cho started to protest. "Don't say you'll lie for me, even if you think you will, okay? Seifer's no goddamn joke. He's the worst sort o' nutcase, because people don't know he's nuts until it's too late. If he thinks you're lyin' to him, Cho..." he shrugged. "You better hope I'm around, is all I can say. He can't do worse to me than he's already plannin' to, I'm sure. I got nothin' to lose if he finds me. You just dive for cover an' hope he don't come after you."

"You do have things to lose," Cho murmured, indicating the tied down aircraft all around them. "These, and the right to fly them." But Gwynt didn't answer the comment, and there were other, more important, things to talk over - Gwynt had more in the way of immediate information available to him than any other pilot, but far less in the way of experience needed to interpret it accurately. Cho worked to give Gwynt the basis of knowledge he needed to make the most effective use of his gift with an aircraft - and of course, she worked on teaching him how not to use it. She would only be his Instructor during the emergency training - after that, Gwynt had to get his instrument rating and his commercial pilot training, and those would be with a different Instructor. Gwynt needed to know how to do everything without his power as well as with it, because he couldn't afford to have his strangeness become well known in the Airstation. If he was going to bend the rules it would be in an emergency, but he needed to know when it was a necessity and when ordinary means would suffice.

His constant association with Cho - 'constant' being defined as 'any minute not actually working' - did not go unremarked, of course. Gwynt had picked up a reputation as a confirmed bachelor, given that no one had ever seen him in the company of women he wasn't hiring by the hour, and Cho's near monastic reclusiveness from other pilots - and her refusal to date any of them - had earned her a reputation for frigidity that in particularly envious men was attributed to homosexuality and/or simply being a noble's daughter.

That Cho was now quite plainly with Gwynt provided enough fuel for the rumor mills to last all year; comments ranged everywhere from Gwynt having hired Cho to boost his own ego (an accusation that got leveled exactly once before Kakeru had to pry Gwynt off of the offending gossip by force) to Cho secretly being a Sorceress who had enthralled a promising student for her own ends. (Gwynt found that rumor particularly funny, but would never explain why even to Cho.) Most settled on Gwynt somehow worming his way into Cho's bed to speed his journey to fully licensed pilot.

That rumor angered Cho more than Gwynt, but both of them agreed that the best possible retaliation was for Gwynt to pass his tests with flying colors - the tests for each level of license were administered and graded by impartial parties, and would reflect as much on Cho's teaching (and the teaching of his other Instructors) as it would on Gwynt's ability to learn. For this reason, a lot of what time they had together was given over to studying - though other topics always intruded, generally later in the night when most of Esthar was sleeping.

"It's only been a few weeks, but it feels like I've known you much longer than that," Cho said all at once, as though voicing the tail end of an internal monologue. "Does it ever bother you, how fast things have gone?"

Gwynt, who'd been mentally running over some coursework he was trying to commit to memory, blinked. "Have they?" he asked. "Wouldn't know. S'not like I can just grab a girl at random an' ask her to share the undying excitement of a shut-down Hangar at half past one in the morning."

Cho smiled. "They don't know what they're missing, then," she laughed. "But really - not to make it a joke, but it's been kind of a whirlwind so far. I've only known you a few weeks and we've done so much..."

Gwynt laughed, and called a breeze. "Whirlwinds are sorta stock in trade," he teased. "You want hot n' sweaty you gotta look elsewhere. Me I like to enjoy myself."

Cho's smile turned teasing. "So if I got a hot tub then..."

Gwynt pulled her into his arms, grinning. "That'd get you 'hot'. Though I c'n think of better things to do that..."

Cho managed to poke him in the chest, her eyebrow raised. "Not when you've got instrument flying tomorrow."

"Today," Gwynt corrected. "Past midnight. An' if you keep breathin' on my neck like that it can take a hike." All at once he laughed, and shook his head as if to clear it. "Damn, you've screwed any chance I've got of getting this memorized tonight. How the hell'm I supposed to study when you've just taken 'cockpit' and given it a whole new meaning?"

"A pilot should be able to concentrate on his job no matter what the distraction," Cho teased, holding back a laugh herself and murmuring her words lightly into his neck exactly as he'd said not to do, and he shivered. She'd learned very quickly that he had very sensitive skin, and that nothing turned him on quite as much as warm puffs of breath. She listened to his own breath catch as she exhaled gently on the skin at the base of his throat, and his arms tightened reflexively around her.

"A pilot," Gwynt managed to retort, "should damn well be able to tell the diff'rence between bein' on the ground and bein' in a plane..." and then the deep purr in his chest silenced any further comment. At least on his part; Cho's mouth was silenced when he caught it in a kiss.

The purr had been a bit of a surprise - it was a genuine purr, a feline rumble deep in Gwynt's throat and chest that only sounded when he was thoroughly aroused. Cho brought it out of him on a regular basis, and though he'd been with other women it had never happened then. He couldn't talk when he purred, but Cho didn't seem to mind. The sound of the bass rumble melted her more effectively than words could anyway. And Gwynt had a very accurate mental catalog of every single comfortable place in the Airstation, though events often progressed too quickly for them to get that far.

* * * * * *

Instrument training turned out to be even harder on Gwynt than emergency training - and Cho could only help him with a tiny section of it. Even normal people had a hard time with learning instrument flying; their bodies would tell him they were turning when he might well be flying straight, or descending when they weren't, or falling when actually they were rising. Pilots had to learn to ignore the input of their bodies to rely on the not-completely-reliable input of the instrument panels. They had to have absolute faith in their aircraft. The training was conducted in clear weather, by putting a special hood over the pilot's head so that all they could see was the instruments.

In addition to the normal disorientation, though, Gwynt had the added problem of his own special perceptions. Without the clear input of a good view through the cockpit his powers became impossible to ignore. The usual subliminal awareness of winds and air currents became the equivalent of a loud din or bright light - no longer something easily put aside. It was just too easy to become distracted by the corkscrew of air generated by a prop, or the vortices shedding off the wings and tail and forget to check each of the instruments and gauges before him in the proper order and time sequence. The next thing he'd notice would be the gurgling airflow of an incipient stall bubbling off the back of the wing or the rising scream of a spiral dive that, uncorrected, would have the plane drilling itself into the ground. Time and again the instrument instructor would take over, telling Gwynt "You just died, you just succeeded in killing all aboard and taking out an apartment building on the ground. Take it back up another 2,000 feet and do it better this time". And all that time Gwynt would be biting back a sharp reply, struggling to keep his shifted eyes from being noticed by his Instructor, and all too aware of the sweat trickling down his back and under his arms. He'd heard it was often disorienting - to the point of nausea, so he fasted before starting just to be on the safe side, sticking to saltine crackers and ginger snaps that would hopefully keep his stomach settled. It turned out to be a wise precaution - for him it was disorienting in the extreme, and he had to fight down sickness. And all the while his Instructor was calmly informing him that the motto was always fly the plane. Learning to fly when your stomach hated you and your head was whirling with disorientation was part of the job. So was knowing when you couldn't fly with those disabilities - knowing what your limits were.

Cho couldn't teach him instrument flying on a regular basis, only the emergency techniques that everyone was supposed to know, but he was still glad it was her he got the initial problems solved with, and not another Instructor. Those first few initial times, when he lost control and grabbed the winds - she knew the moment he took control of the air and spoke to him in a calm voice to let go of the wind, to let the airplane fly, to trust the airplane to fly. And he trusted her enough to do just that, let go of the winds and yes, the airplane did fly, it flew quite well. She flew a few rolls and spins for him, to show him that even though the plane might momentarily lose its grip on the air it would catch itself again, like a gymnast dropping from one bar to another, letting gravity rule for a few moments before grasping and halting the downward fall. Cho taught him to make the airplane dance and flirt with gravity then defy it once again. He began to understand the give-and-take of forces in a new way, and understood why she called flying aerobatics "making love to the sky". It was still a major exercise in trust and self-control though, to believe lines on a screen over his own body, and trust came about as easily to Gwynt as breathing water. Particularly when he was keenly aware that if he trusted the instruments and was wrong, even his power wouldn't be able to save him - he'd be heading to the ground too quickly and wouldn't have the time.

When he took the UA/RT test, he did of course pass with a perfect score. Though it meant he would not have Cho as his Instructor, and wouldn't therefore be flying with her until he got his license, he needed to prove to the Airstation pilots that he wasn't simply trying to sleep his way to a license, and that Cho wasn't especially favoring him. At least not when it came to flying.

Which just left getting his instrument rating, and his commercial training to take care of - and he could and did take both at once.  It meant flying every day, which while highly desirable was also very expensive,  especially since he was now going on longer, more distant flights - outside Esthar City to the other places of note on the continent; the Lunatic Pandora Research Laboratory, and the Lunar Gate.  And larger planes, cargo planes which could be and often were converted to passenger carriers, weren't cheaply rented. He made deals with his professors at the university to just grab his work and go - because when he wasn't flying, he was working to pay for everything. Sleep became something grabbed in bits and snatches, fifteen minute cat naps caught between shifts or between flights or whenever he had a few moments that weren't otherwise claimed. Cho became someone he could catch briefly sometimes on the runway, or in the Hangar, and they mostly communicated by notes quickly jotted down and left in agreed-on places. The contents of those notes were often schedules, with a few personal comments thrown in. But she made it clear that she understood, that she, too, had been through this rite of passage where all the energy and thought a body could generate was focused on the one goal of passing the test, of proving oneself worthy, and he didn't worry that the sudden distance would drive her away. They both knew that when it came down to it, they weren't a couple - they were a threesome, with the third lover being the wind and sky, and there would be times when each of them would have to refrain from being jealous.

He wanted to fly, damnit. And ideally be paid for it instead of the other way around. He could cut a month and more off the total training time by combining the last two courses and buckling down and doing it - so he did. And by mid May he was deemed ready to take the final barrage of tests - written, oral, and practical. He submitted to a pat-down search to prove he wasn't carrying any electronic or written cheat sheets, handed over his new sunglasses, and proved that he wasn't concealing anything that might aid him in taking the test.

Although he didn't expect much trouble with the written part of the exam (memorization, common sense, and things drummed into his head from day one from all sides) it was best to be cautious. In stressful situations his eyes were prone to shifting, and he certainly didn't need a video record of that happening. He'd asked questions - everyone did, after all - and the video cameras were aimed over the students' shoulders, to see what they saw and not to record their faces during the tests. That would have to be good enough to hide his secret. At least he didn't have long to wait for results. When he'd finished it, he fed the test into the electronic reader and got his score once he was outside the testing room - and was relieved to see a perfect score. The test was pass/fail, but although you could pass with a less than perfect score it would mean problem areas to focus on. Flying was a stricter pass/fail than any test - you could fail exactly once. A perfect score was vindication.

The oral section was easy for him - problems, scenarios, questions fired rapidly. The idea was to see how quickly and accurately you could problem solve under stress - such as when your plane is out of control and heading downward. To Gwynt it was more like his father's way of teaching; Squall took the view that if you couldn't solve a problem when hanging onto your self-control by your teeth, you had no business being allowed to walk around loose. Here, too, he passed perfectly - and he owed Cho for that; it was very hard to study for that section alone. Now that he was taking the test, the habit all his instructors had of firing random questions at him that might or might not have had anything to do with the task at hand suddenly made sense. It had been a constant study drill for this from day one, to get him in the habit of having certain facts always ready at his command.

The practical section was actually flying, and it covered everything he'd had to learn. But not one at a time; the test combined methods whenever possible, to cover all the ground in as practical and accurate a way as possible. He forewent trying any tricks or stunts or fancy maneuvers; the point of the whole thing was to prove that he was a responsible flyer and not a danger to other pilots. He labored, therefore, to do everything asked of him with perfect precision - and added the challenge of not using his power to make things easier.  Nor did he make the mistake of assuming the test was over when the wheels touched ground - he waited until the engine was off to turn to his examiner, and was intensely grateful that for this section he was allowed to wear his sunglasses, because he felt pretty well wrung out.

His examiner put on a stern face and glared at him for a moment, then grinned and held out his hand. "Looks like we've got another pilot," he said in a pleased tone, and Gwynt grinned back and took the offered hand in his own brand of 'crushing grip'. Not hard enough to literally crush bones, but certainly hard enough to make clear it was an option. Gwynt hated shaking hands.

"Damn straight," he replied, but without his usual cockiness. After all, he wasn't officially passed until his examiner handed in the scores and got the temporary license written up. He got out of the plane and made his way to the lounge - where Cho was waiting by the large windows that overlooked the airfield - and he was so tired and wrung out from a day and half of tests that even the elation he felt welling up inside couldn't make his feet move faster than an exhausted shuffle.

"How'd you do?" she asked with a smile. "You realize if you didn't pass, after all the work I've put in on you, I'm going to have to hurt you."

"You tell me," Gwynt replied with a lopsided grin. "Don't you even try tellin' me you weren't watching." He indicated the rather-more-occupied-than-usual lounge. "Hell, half the Airstation must've been watching."

"Not every day someone takes the final tests," Cho commented, and made a display of considering "Well, you're here and not with the examiner, so my guess would have to be 'no'."

Gwynt grinned and pointed behind her, where the examiner was coming towards them. "Cho, hon, you an' me have been gossip item numero uno in the Hangar for weeks now," he told her. "The guy knew you'd be watchin' from here, an' he knew I'd come to you first."

"Before getting your piece of cardboard?" Cho grinned. "I'm flattered."

"Why?" Gwynt asked. "This's all just formality. I solo'd months ago. An' you've been grounded all mornin' waitin' for me."

"Here's your scores, Gwynt," said the examiner, handing them over. "Knew I'd find you here. She that good a lay, you'll take her over flying?"

Cho blinked, and looked well on her way to turning red - with embarrassment or outrage, but currently the contest was almost even. Gwynt only laughed.

"Quit talkin' shit, man," he grinned. "I'm onna ground anyway waitin' for the scores and the right bit o' paper." He waved the sheets at the man. "Which, now I've got the prereqs, I'm gonna go pick up. You comin', Cho?"

Cho cocked her head. "Maybe I should go flying," she teased.

"Better than stayin' on the ground," Gwynt agreed affably, setting off - forcing Cho to catch up or stalk off. "But if ya wait for me, I'll go for lunch at the Ruby Dragon."

Cho blinked. The restaurant he'd just named was literally on the other side of the city - and nearly a hundred miles away. But it was also within walking distance of a small airfield, which meant in practical terms it was less than an hour's flight. And the place did phenomenal things to meat. Cho caught up to Gwynt and laced her fingers with his, matching his pace. "Sounds good," she agreed. "And you treat."

"Whatever," Gwynt shrugged, but didn't move to unlace his fingers - and that gave Cho the answer she was looking for.

It was just a small formality - Gwynt presented Kakeru with the officially stamped test scores, and Kakeru slotted them into a reader that was only accessible from this room. It verified their authenticity, and five minutes later a plain card was spat out, embossed with the symbol of Esthar in circuit-ink on the lower right hand corner. The rest of the card detailed what Gwynt was licensed to fly, and under what conditions. Kakeru picked it up, ran it by a reader to check that it worked, and handed it to Gwynt held between his first and second fingers. "Here you go," he said with a slight smile. "Happy birthday. You taking the day off?"

Cho, who had stood quietly by, startled a bit - but Gwynt ignored the remark. "Yeah," he said. "Had to anyway, but yeah I'll take the night too." He cocked his head at the Airstation manager. "Keep an ear out for work for me?" he asked. "I'll fly anything but people, anywhere you want. People if I have to, though."

Kakeru shrugged. "People are still slower than computers. It'll take a few days before someone wants to take a chance on a new pilot for cargo. I'll keep an ear out."

"A few days?" Gwynt asked, then shrugged. "Okay."

Kakeru fished in his desk and came out with a small cell phone, which he tossed to Gwynt. "Number's on the card inside," he said. "I call, you've got one hour to show or I hand a job to someone else."

"Gotcha," Gwynt replied, then tucked the card into his wallet and left the office - Cho right at his side.

"What did he mean, 'happy birthday'?" she asked him. "He didn't say that when I got my license. Is it really your birthday?"

Gwynt shrugged, not slowing his pace and not really interested, apparently. "Dunno."

Cho grabbed his forearm - a move which earned her a stern look, but Gwynt paused his walk. "What do you mean, 'dunno'?" she demanded. "Everyone knows their birthday."

Gwynt blinked. "I don't," he said. "No more'n my brothers and sisters do. I just stuck May 15 on the ID 'cos that's the day we count. I don't think any of us were actually born on it. It just sounded 'bout right." He blinked at her. "Look, does it really matter? It's just a day. I'm hungry."

Cho looked stunned, as one might who'd been driving merrily along and suddenly seen a brick wall on the road ahead. "Just a day?" she repeated. "Didn't you do anything differently?"

Gwynt was completely puzzled by her attitude, and showed it. "Fight less, maybe," he offered.

It wasn't the answer she was looking for, apparently. She was evidently having trouble wrapping her head around the idea. "Your parents?" she asked weakly. "Surely they did something different? Just a little bit?"

Puzzlement was starting to fade into annoyance. The past didn't matter, but he didn't like the feeling he was getting off of her - as though he were some pitiable thing because he hadn't had what she apparently considered vital to a family. "Dad didn't give a shit, Detmer didn't give a shit, and I think Mom tried to set up games sometimes but hell I thought that was just Mom. She did funky things like that. Can we drop this now? It's just a day. It's nothing important unless you're talking legal ages and insurance rates."

Cho's expression took on the thin-lipped cast he was coming to recognize meant 'you're dead wrong, but I'm not going to argue about it right now.' She started walking, and after a moment he sighed and followed her. Of all the damn fool things to get worked up about! Getting his license was a lot more important. Celebrating that was worthwhile. Birthdays could take a flying leap.

"We'll take my plane," she said as they entered the Hangar. "Saves on renting."

Gwynt just shrugged. "Halves for fuel?" he offered, and Cho gave him a half-stern, half exasperated look.

"It's your birthday," she said, as if it meant something. Gwynt let out a sigh that didn't disguise the growl building in his throat.

"It's a day, Cho," he snapped. "Probably the wrong one, it's just a guess. Maybe a one in thirty, one in sixty of being right. I named the place, I'm treating, and I'll at least go halves on the fuel if you're flying and not me."

But Cho's jaw set in the cast that told him he was going to end up with a fight over this if he didn't give somewhere, and frankly he just wasn't in the mood for it today. The only thing he was accustomed to on this particular day was a general attitude of 'give it a rest already'. It was hitting him rather hard, now he was pushed to it, that this was the first time he wasn't around his family for this particular event (or non-event, as Cho might have it). He made a sour face, and gave in as much as he was prepared to. "Tell you what," he offered. "Let me do the flying, and I'll pick something while we're there and you can pay for it. But I ain't havin' you cover the costs for the food or the flyin' when I made the suggestion. Okay?"

It never ceased to amaze him how she managed to make blue-green eyes (which he would never have found the slightest bit dangerous if asked) give expression to the sort of look generally described as 'piercing'. Maybe they taught it to all the Instructors - she was certainly giving him quite a good example. "Something you really want," she said sternly. "Not something you see after five minutes in a store window just to get it over with. Deal?"

He blinked. She really did know him pretty well, didn't she. "I promise," he said slowly. "Something I'd'a bought myself. Okay? Can we fly now?"

To his surprise, she laughed. "Big pilot doesn't think he has to preflight now he's got his license? Oh, you are so lucky I'm the only one that caught that."

Gwynt's lips thinned, on the edge of losing his temper completely and just saying 'the hell with it' - but on this she was completely right, so he just let it go with a sigh that clearly said what he thought of being teased, and when they got to Cho's Aerobat he made sure all was properly in order as carefully as if he were still a student before getting clearance to take off. Well - it was Cho's plane after all. And he wouldn't want to have to deal with her if he damaged it - remote as the possibility might be.

And once back in the air, he couldn't say it wasn't worth it.

* * * * * *

The food was definitely worth the flight - it was one of those little family-owned restaurants tucked away in what had once been its own little town before the capital swallowed it up, and little-known outside its own neighborhood. The specialty was monsterflesh, which was why it had the name it did - its best dishes involved the meat of ruby dragons, hard to find and harder to kill.

And one thing that Gwynt knew for a fact couldn't be well known - all day, and all night, while patrons waited for their food, on little screens built into the walls and into the freestanding tables, movies were played that featured ruby dragons. The reason he knew it wasn't well known was that the first time he'd come here he'd nearly choked on his drink when he heard his grandfather's voice. Laguna was dead, of course. Ten years dead, and he'd spent many a pleasant afternoon in the man's house assembling and disassembling his gun collection in eternity. He'd been lucky only Cho had been with him, and luckier that he could come up with a plausible reason for his startlement that wasn't false - the grill had sizzled rather loudly from the kitchen just then.

The movie had been The Sorceress' Knight, and Gwynt had never seen anything more hilarious in his life than seeing his grandfather waving a gunblade at a ruby dragon, in armor he knew his father wouldn't touch with a twenty foot pole. The movie was long out of print, of course. It was deemed disrespectful to the memory of a great President to keep what Gwynt would freely admit was a very bad movie in circulation. This place was far from the center of town, and a thematic restaurant, and the movie was one of many on its closed loop. That was probably the only way the place could've gotten away with it.

And it was just starting when he and Cho were shown to their seats. There were gods after all, and they were smiling.

Cho noticed his good humor, of course, as they ordered and waited for their lunch. "What's gotten into you?"

"Good day," he grinned. And the fact that if my grandfather could see you watching this piece of tripe you'd hear his squeaking even in eternity. There was always that to consider. He knew he wasn't visible - Griever had not made Tokens so that it could see him and his siblings in the realm of time. But it had been several months since he'd seen his grandfather - over a year now, wasn't it? - and hearing his voice from the tinny restaurant speakers was...good, in a way. Odd that he looked (crazy armor aside) the same in the film as he did in eternity, and sounded the same too. Hadn't he been - old, or something, when he died?

He mulled that over as they ate - Cho knowing better by now than to get between Gwynt and Real Food, since she'd learned that the only time he ate more than the bare minimum to keep alive was when he was with her. The rest of the time he lived as he'd told her he lived - on what he could beat out of snack machines after hours, and on whatever the Airstation personnel had laid out in the lobby. But ruby dragon steak done rare was very tasty, and worth the flight. Laguna had still looked older than his father Squall, though not by much - and older than Grandma Raine as well. What was the rule for how people looked when they died? Was there one?

"Well?" Cho's voice intruded on his thinking. "You want to take a walk around here, for your present? Or do you want to head back now?"

Gwynt blinked. Honestly, it didn't matter to him at all. But the Esthar City Mall, with its press of people and its noise, repelled him on too many levels to count. "Here, I guess," he said. "Hang on, I'll pay the bill."

That taken care of, they walked out of the restaurant to find it a rather pleasant afternoon. Gwynt sniffed the air, glanced around and risked a brief eyeshift, but said nothing. This was a different game, and one Cho enjoyed playing.

Sure enough, after a moment she ventured, "Clear all day?" and Gwynt nodded.

"Clear all day, for certain," he agreed. "Wind's wrong for clouds."

"So you've got till...oh, an hour before sunset to choose your gift," Cho smiled. "Pick a direction, I guess."

"That way, then," Gwynt said, pointing more or less at random. He'd never really explored the area himself. But walking along with Cho was not unpleasant, with the weather just beginning to touch the full heat that was summer and the bright sunshine that made him quite relieved to have new sunglasses, and this part of town had a rather interestingly rustic look to it - slate roofs and shutters and brick facades, where in the heart of the city it was all bluesteel and plexiglass.

"Any idea what you want?" Cho asked, looking around. "There's all sorts of shops."

Back to that - and really, he did need to decide. He'd promised it would be something he would buy for himself, but by Pandemona's tail he really had no idea what he'd want. All his will had been focused on getting his license, and now would be focused on getting the cash for his own plane, his degree, and his mechanic's certification - not to mention an airship pilot's license, where serious money could be made. But Cho couldn't give him any of those things as a gift; aside from the sheer expense, none of those could be given they all had to be earned and earned fairly - which was why even nameless orphans and noblemen's children could achieve equal status as pilots. It was one area where bribery just didn't work, even short term.

And there it was. Right in a shop window, in the classic 'descending from the heavens' pose. Pandemona, its windbag-tail wrapped beltlike around its waist, the wings on its ankles, its red-clawed hands crossed over its chest and stomach. Pandemona, Guardian Force of Wind - Guardian Force of pilots and all other aviators.

Guardian Force of his own Gift. He turned Cho around and pointed at the picture. "That. Think we can do that?"

Cho blinked at the shop, and at the picture. "You want a tattoo?" she asked, surprised.

Gwynt nodded. "Something more permanent than a piece of cardboard," he told her. "But I'll need to keep the sunglasses on in case my eyes go weird. Think you'd be willin' to check the colors for me, make sure they're right?"

"Which colors?" Cho asked. "The ones in this picture, or the ones in your eyes?"

Gwynt snorted. "The ones in my eyes're the right ones," he said. "You've seen that often enough. Long's the tat doesn't clash, it doesn't have to be a perfect match for that though. Don't want the guy needin' a ref."

"True," Cho admitted, then eyed the picture. "Shift for me, please?" she asked. "I'd like to compare."

Gwynt obligingly raised his sunglasses and let his eyes shift, occupying himself watching the local airflows as Cho looked from his face to the picture and back again.

"Okay," Cho said. "If they stick to the picture it should be all right."

"Works for me," Gwynt said. "And you're hangin' around," he told her. "Give me somethin' to think about while the guy's busy."

Cho smiled wryly. "Oh, I think I can do that," she said cheerfully, and led the way inside.

Gwynt did a quick double take when he saw how much what he wanted would cost, but Cho grabbed his forearm before he could turn around. "I didn't give you a price limit," she said sternly. "I just said you had to want it. You want it, right?"

Gwynt briefly wished there was a bone in his body capable of lying, but he was stuck for it. "Yeah," he admitted. "But damn me if I'd'a not found something else if I'd known it'd set you back."

"I know," Cho grinned. "Let me give this to you, okay? It's not like you'll get one every year." She cocked her head, curious. "Or will you?"

"Nah," Gwynt denied. "Just the one."

"Well, then," replied Cho, "We're set."

They negotiated size, placement, color and cost, and soon enough Gwynt was lying shirtless and nearly flat in an artist's chair - and Cho was behind his head, seated so that her head was nearly level with his. At the moment she was quite content with the view this offered - and the effect she knew her breath on his skin was having.

He'd wondered whether this was something that would take, and whether it would hurt a lot or a little. His body rejected any sort of 'poison', after all, meaning any sort of chemical alteration from aspirin to alcohol. Would ink even take, or just fade away? And although he knew he healed much more quickly than Cho might of any injury, he didn't know whether his sensitivity to her breath would mean he would also be sensitive to pain. This wouldn't be combat pain after all. It'd very much be sit-there-and-take-it pain.

And then the needle descended, and it definitely hurt. His breath caught, but he didn't dare grip the chair arms or Cho's hands or anything else for fear of damaging it or breaking it. His vision changed, and he knew his eyes had shifted and were probably whirling crazily already. Focus, focus, listen to sounds other than the artist at his work. The May breeze outside, the sound of Cho's breath and heartbeat nearby...

Cho heard his breath catch, and started combing her fingers through his curls - an activity he never tired of, and that usually set him purring. He focused on that, exclusively on that, and found the pain lessened to well within a bearable range. Of course, when they got out of here he'd be far too wired to focus on flying properly, but hey - she'd wanted to give him a present. And it wasn't as if she couldn't tell she was having an effect - he even heard the tattoo artist chuckle a bit as he worked. Gwynt was just happy he wouldn't have to sit up for a while. And that there was enough pain from the needle to keep him from actually purring, which would have been awkward to explain even if he could have spoken.

They were there for the rest of the day, and the artist was surprised to find Gwynt willing to get the whole thing done in one go, as Cho combed through his curls (an activity she enjoyed quite a bit herself, and generally didn't get to do as much as she liked because of its tendency to arouse) and occasionally exchanged a few idle words with him.

And then it was over - the artist swiped away blood with a potion-dipped cloth, and Gwynt had a hand-high tattoo of Pandemona Descending in the center of his upper chest, the creature's yellow-eyed purple head perhaps two inches below the collarbone, the purple-green of its feathery mohawk just brushing the base of his neck on the right hand side. He listened carefully as the artist told him what to do - and what not to - to keep the image permanent, and hoped that it would be permanent. He went outside to wait as Cho paid the man, though. It was supposed to be a gift, after all, and he didn't want to know how much it would cost her in the end, with tips and all.

It was night. If Cho flew, they'd be flying on instruments. He nodded to her as she came out, and she laughed.

"Not going to put the shirt back on?" she asked.

"Nah," Gwynt replied. "That cloth just stopped the bleeding, hon. Still stings a bit. The air's good for it." He looked up at the star-strewn sky. "Missed yer deadline," he commented. "Trust me to fly her home?"

"I think so," Cho grinned, with an evil look in her eye. "I didn't get you to purr once, all afternoon."

"An' you wanna try that while I'm flyin' your plane?" Gwynt asked, surprised.

"A pilot must be able to retain control of the situation regardless of any distraction," Cho teased. "And since you won't try it on the ground..."

Gwynt chuckled. "If you think you're yankin' me outta the cockpit by the balls, hon, you've got a lot more thinkin' to do. But once that engine stops there is gonna be payback."

"I'm counting on it," Cho purred.