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I don't even remember telling anyone. It's not the kind of thing we're supposed to share. I'm not sure if there's a rule against it, but we just don't.
I guess I must have let it slip at some point, because when I get back from the lab, my room is full of people.
"SURPRISE!!!"
Oh my god!
Abel jumps up and hugs me.
"Happy birthday, Ethos!"
Four other Navigators are sitting on the floor, plus two on my Fighter's bottom bunk and Deimos observing us all warily from my top bunk. It's crowded, but Abel tells everyone to "Scoot over for the birthday boy!" as he tiptoes through the middle of them and hops up on the dresser.
Mozart holds up a cone-shaped plastic thing with a string hanging off it, points it upwards, and yanks the string.
BANG!
EEEK!!
Confetti lands everywhere as most of us start laughing. Deimos slides a knife back into his sleeve, fixing Mozart with a look that could make a statue flinch. Mozart doesn't notice because Porthos is telling him off about how annoying those things are.
Mozart grins and sets off another one. Porthos jumps about a foot in the air.
"Quit it!" Abel yelps. "You almost made him step on the cake!"
"I'll be right back, guys," I say, and head to the bathroom. Just as I close the door, there's another BANG and Porthos yells, "Son of a BITCH, Puck!"
I guess it's mean, but I can't help laughing a little since Porthos usually seems so tough.
After I wash my hands, I try to slick my hair down, but it stays poofy and messy as ever. Oh well. It's not like my friends care.
Suddenly everyone stops talking. I stick my head out of the bathroom to see what's going on, and there's Praxis standing in the door to the hallway with his mouth hanging open. He stares at Abel for a few seconds, then looks around at the rest of us like he has no idea what's going on. Which, of course, he doesn't.
"Uh...what...the fuck?"
Everyone starts talking again at once.
"We're having a party for Ethos!"
"It's his birthday!"
"Didn't you know?!"
Praxis scowls. "No, I didn't. Can I just get to the bathroom?"
I hurry out and Porthos pulls Mozart out of the way. Praxis goes in and shuts the door.
"Well, let's not all listen to him pee!" says Puck. Loudly.
We laugh a bit awkwardly as Socrates elbows Puck in the ribs. I try to restart conversation with "Abel, didn't you say something about cake?"
"Oh! Yes!" says Abel, beaming. He reaches under the bottom bunk and pulls out what looks like one of the artificial logs my family uses for our fireplace, except smaller and more squashed.
"We couldn't get frosting, but Deimos stole some sugar from the kitchen."
I look up at Deimos, who is still sitting on my top bunk with my blanket wrapped around him, eyeing the crowd of Navigators suspiciously. He gives me one of his little smiles.
In the momentary lull, I can hear a clatter and cursing from the bathroom. What is my Fighter even doing in there? A moment later, he comes out, almost trips over Mozart, awkwardly searches for places to put his big feet without stepping on anything or anyone, and makes for the dresser.
"Excuse me. Can I just...get..."
I realize we're all staring at him again, which is pretty rude.
"That looks great, Abel!" I say. "What kind of cake is it?"
"It's, um..." Abel trails off as he jumps off the dresser to get out of Praxis's way. Praxis opens a drawer on his side, nearly hitting Orion in the head with it, then starts rummaging around.
"Uh, it's...I don't fucking know. It's Ethos's birthday cake," says Porthos. "The one and only. Secret recipe that Abel and I totally DIDN'T pull out of our asses as we went along. Just fucking eat some already."
That man has the worst potty mouth of any Navigator I've ever met, but it was really nice of him to help make me cake.
Abel hands me a fork. I take a bite. It's a bit odd but not bad. Tough at the edges and a little gooey in the middle, but pretty good, actually.
"It's great!" I tell everyone. "Thank you!"
Abel passes out forks and I put the cake plate in the center of the floor where almost everyone can reach, then hand a piece up to Deimos.
Praxis opens a different drawer, drops a pair of socks on Puck's head, mutters an apology, and keeps digging around. I can't get away with checking out his butt with so many other people around, so I offer him a piece of cake instead. That startles him for some reason. He spins around and looks at me like he's never seen me before.
"Uh! No. No thanks. Sorry. I'll be out of here in a minute."
He tucks something under his arm and grabs his boots off the floor. Porthos and Mozart move over to make a clear path to the bathroom. Praxis goes back in there and shuts the door.
We all stay quiet for a moment, then go back to eating cake and chatting.
"Ethos," says Puck after a couple minutes, "your Fighter is so weird."
"Pffft! And yours is normal?" asks Socrates.
"I don't think Fighters come in normal," says Abel. "Oh!"
Praxis is back and he looks really irritated. And of course we all stare at him again.
"Look, just get out of my fucking way one more time and then I'll be gone!" he snaps.
A clear path quickly appears between the bathroom and the door. Praxis stomps down it, then turns and tosses something at me. It lands in my lap and he mutters, "Happy birthday, kid," as the door slides shut behind him.
"Yep. Totally weird," says Puck. "Cute, though."
"Not too bad for a Fighter, I guess," Orion remarks. "Shame about the eye."
I hope I'm not blushing as much as it feels like I am.
"Eh, not my type. What did he give you?" Socrates asks me.
Glad of the change of topic, I examine the little bundle Praxis threw to me. It's slightly bigger than my hand, wrapped in white cloth and tied with a boot lace. When I undo the bow and unroll it, the cloth turns out to be a t-shirt that says "Dionysus Bar & Casino" on the back and "SECURITY" on the front, wrapped around a crisp white bar of soap with purple flecks.
"Oh!" says Abel. "I use that brand too. It's good stuff! Is that lavender?"
I hand it over and he smells it. "Yes, lavender! Nice!"
"Where the hell did a Fighter get that?" Porthos wants to know. "Here, open mine next."
Porthos's gift is a large bottle of whiskey and a dozen plastic shot glasses. He opens the bottle for me and I pour shots for everyone, take a sip of my own, and cough.
Porthos snickers, not unkindly. "No, you're doing it wrong. Knock it back in one."
He demonstrates. I try it and cough more.
"Here," says Mozart, handing me a package wrapped in bright blue paper. "Maybe this will help."
"No, wait!" Puck interrupts. "Open mine!"
I look back and forth between them, then laugh and open their gifts at the same time, one with each hand. It takes a couple minutes and I have to hold one down with my knee a few times, but nine years of piano lessons have made me pretty dexterous, and everyone seems to find it entertaining.
Mozart's gift is a bag of mints.
"They're soothing but all natural so you can just eat them as candy too."
Puck's is...balloons?
"Really, Puck?" says Abel, rolling his eyes. "Rainbow condoms?"
"Yeah, they're great! Oberon ordered too many for us, and Ethos's Fighter is a hottie...soooo...hee hee..."
Ack! I don't even want to know how badly I'm blushing now!
Porthos hands me another shot of whiskey. I swallow it all at once like he showed me and manage not to cough too much.
Socrates swats Puck on the arm. "Perv! Here, Ethos. Porthos sort of beat me to it, I guess."
It's another bottle, with writing in a language I only vaguely recognize and rich red solidified wax coating and dripping down from the cap. It's so pretty I don't want to mess it up by opening the bottle.
"Fuck, that's a lot nicer than this piss!" Porthos exclaims, gesturing toward the whiskey. "Where did you get it?"
"My aunt and uncle gave it to me when I shipped out," Socrates replies with a shrug. "I don't drink, so it's just been sitting around. Go on, Ethos, open it."
I try, but it's hard to get a grip on the smooth wax and I'm not quite as dexterous now as I was before the whiskey, so Porthos offers help me. Why is he being so nice? And am I imagining it, or does he deliberately make eye contact and brush the back of my hand as he reaches for the bottle?
"Tch!"
I look up to find the source of the noise and see Deimos. I forgot all about him! I start to say something, but he shushes me with a finger against his lips and smiles again. Then he hops down, makes quick work of the wax seal with a knife, pours me a shot, and squeezes in between me and Porthos.
Everyone's stopped talking again to stare at him. He glares around defiantly, the tips of his ears turning red.
"It's rude to stare!" I snap.
They stare at me instead, looking as surprised as I feel. Should I apologize?
Then Abel smiles. "You're right. Sorry, Deimos. I think most of us forgot you were there."
Deimos nods and hands Abel a shot.
Things blur together after that. I open a few more presents from my friends and family. Clothes, food, a book and a game for my tablet. Deimos goes back to the top bunk. Puck blows up one of the "balloons" and starts batting it around. We finish the cake. It gets late. Orion has a bit too much alcohol and junk food and has to run to the bathroom.
"That's it," Abel declares. "When someone throws up, the party's over. And anyway it's...whoa! We ALL need to get to bed!"
Everyone files out, wishing me a happy birthday again. I thank them all again for their gifts. Porthos lingers for a moment, then glances at the upper bunk, scowls, and leaves.
I've forgotten Deimos again. He drops to the floor silently, catlike, and closes the distance between us surprisingly quickly.
I don't realize I'm backing up until I hit the wall. He just smiles at me and reaches out a hand holding a small object.
I take it. It's a cute little carved wooden dog.
"Oh! Did you make this?" I ask him.
He smiles and nods, then leans even closer.
"Th-thank y..."
He smooths his hand over my hair and kisses me gently. I freeze, then start to put my arms around him, but he's already on his way out the door.
It's half an hour to midnight when Praxis returns, smelling like alcohol and smoke. He tries to be quiet but almost immediately trips over some crackly wrapping paper in the dark. Oops, I forgot to clean up! He curses softly and there's the sloshing of a bottle. I feel and hear him lie down below me, then a cap being unscrewed. I don't know what he's drinking, but the fumes alone are making my eyes water.
"Praxis?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for the soap."
"Sure."
"Where did you get it?"
"Won it. Poker."
"Oh. Well, my last bar was almost gone and the regulation soap gives me dry skin. So. I really like it."
"Good."
He flops over with a grunt and kicks around until he gets his blanket how he wants. I wish I could tell him how it shakes my bunk when he does that, but that's nothing compared to when he has nightmares and starts fighting with nothing. And it's not like he can help that, so there's no point in making him feel bad about it.
"Praxis?"
"Yeah?"
"Is the shirt part of the gift too?"
"Yeah, sure. It's tight on me. Keep the boot lace too if you want."
"Oh. OK. Thank you."
It's too long for my boots, but I can always cut a bit off.
"Praxis?"
"What, kid?"
He sounds a little annoyed. Well, so am I. I forget what I was going to ask and tell him, "I'm not a kid!"
Which sounds completely childish.
Praxis snorts. "Yeah? How old are you? 18? 19?"
"Oh. Yes. 19."
There's the sound of sudden movement and a thump on the underside of my bunk.
"Ow, shit! Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously! I skipped a grade and joined up right after high school. Why, how old are you?"
He gives a little bark of laughter.
"What day is it in Europa Colony 4?"
What?
"If you don't want to tell me, you can just say so," I tell him.
"No, really, look it up."
Confused, I do.
"Um, it's May 20th. Like it is here."
"Then I'm 26."
It takes a second for me to get it.
"Oh my god! Happy birthday! Hang on, I have to give you something!"
As I climb down the ladder, he groans and flops back down.
"Urgh. No you don't. Go to sleep!"
I ignore that and dig through the mess my guests left on the floor until I find a medium-sized square tin and open it.
Praxis is still complaining.
"Ethos, really, I don't need a gift! Just let me slee..."
He trails off and inhales sharply.
"Is tha--"
Rustle. Thump!
"Ow! Dammit! Is that gingerbread?!"
I smile and turn the light on. He grimaces and shields his eyes. Eye.
"Sorry. Yes, it's gingerbread! I hate ginger but my great-grandpa always makes it for everyone. Do you...do you like it?"
He stares at the tin for a moment, then takes it from me almost reverently, closing his eye as he breathes in the scent.
I realize he's not wearing his eye patch a second before he does. I get just a glimpse before he swears again, turns away hurriedly, and reaches for the patch on the edge of the dresser.
Then he stops, barks out another laugh, and draws his hand back.
"Fuck it. Go on, kid. Have a look."
He pulls his bangs out of the way and I do. It's not as gross as I expected. There's only one small scar just below the socket. Closed, it looks almost normal. Open, it's just a hollow of dark red.
I try to think of something kind or at least intelligent to say. Instead I come out with, "When did it happen? Does it hurt? Is it--"
Then I put my hand over my mouth before I can be even more of a rude pest.
"Heh. A while ago. Only hurts when I get hit in it. And yes, I like gingerbread."
He pauses, then adds, "My dad used to make it."
Without thinking, I ask, "Used to?"
Jeez, Ethos, way to be nosy. Maybe I should tape my mouth shut until I sober up.
But Praxis doesn't get mad. He just answers, matter-of-factly, "Yeah. Died when I was 10."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
He looks embarrassed now.
"Not your fault. Get some sleep."
I nod, turn the light back off, and climb back into my bunk, which feels like it's floating on gentle waves.
I hear the bottle slosh again, a soft thunk as he sets it on the floor, and then, "Ethos?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Good night."
"'Night."
He's gone when I wake up, and so is the box of gingerbread. I don't see him all day or the next morning, but when I wake up again, there's a new bottle of hair conditioner on my side of the dresser.