The Chronicles of Ether Drive 12

 Chapter 12: Inspiration in a Cone

After Aura’s departure, the House of Winds shone with cleanliness. Order had been established everywhere: every fork, plate, pen, paper, book, reading glasses, slippers, outdoor shoes, reading glasses again, trinkets, and—once more—reading glasses. To put it simply, every little thing now had its place in a house of winds that no longer deserved its name. It looked more like a house prepared for an exhibition or a viewing for potential tenants.

With his laptop placed on a round, perfectly polished table in the kitchen, Anemo felt awkward, clumsy, and as if encased in a 19th-century ballroom gown. He would have written, he would have paced from one end of the ground floor to the other, he would have settled comfortably on the sofa in a position natural only to him—but nothing was familiar. The house was no longer his home, and a story does not come to a mind terrified by order. The cats, equally awkward in their shiny fur, were lined up like plush sentinels by the back yard door, masking the presence of Aeolus, who was stuck like a sticker to the milk-white plinth. Over all that unnatural order and cleanliness, a dome of silence had settled, interrupted only by the rhythmic, somewhat muffled ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hallway.

“I never thought I could miss that tufted Fleur,” Mistral mused only in his mind. “Even I, a refined and mannered being, feel like I’m in the wrong movie. How can I meditate, sleep, or take my siesta in such a suspicious silence? With all these changes, Anemo is capable of going back to that Shadow Thief or who knows what other sterile, flavorless nonsense!”

“A-are we being punished? No one moves, no one says a thing. But look how beautifully my fur reflects in the shine of the tiles. I’m actually handsome... not quite like Mistral, who is super-duper elegant and ‘classy,’ but I’m good-looking,” Sirocco mused in turn, out of necessity.

“A coffee bean would be just right now, but how can I steal it with all this silence? And the glasses? Mrs. Aura-Durga-Chaos-Tamer could have left at least one pair... I’m inclined to think the ginger one was right... Anemo is broken! Any moment now, Crossbow will call demanding material, but this man hasn't typed a single letter... Not even one! And I haven't gotten to see what he’s working on... if he’s chasing shadows and pipe dreams again... I’m leaving him. With all due regret, I’m going to Noel’s, or to Remi Storm,” thought Aeolus, integrating himself into the silence of the house.

Suddenly, the door burst open as if by a gust of wind, and carrying three large cones of assorted ice cream in her cupped hands, Fleur rushed into the kitchen. This girl brought the sun and the whole of spring with her.

— “Mister Anemo! I’ve brought inspiration in a cone! For us and for the furry ones—the most delicious flavors and, and chocolate syru...”

The tiles, polished to a perfect mirror, were not meant for the girl’s ballet flats. She went into a long slide and lost her balance, throwing her hands with the three ice cream cones above her head in a desperate attempt to save them. But her arms seemed to have their own saving logic; as her torso tilted backward,they spread out, flapping like wings, projecting the colorful, tempting ice cream across the entire "skating rink" of tiles.

Startled by all that intricate ballet, the cats jumped like true circus acrobats onto the table, demolishing the entire stack of papers neatly ordered by Mrs. Aura and the cup full of pens, pencils, and markers. Only the laptop with the heart-shaped sticker was saved at the last second by Anemo, who this time had an extraordinary catching reflex. Aeolus remained in place—not out of cold blood or presence of mind, but because he had simply frozen in surprise and terror... it didn't even matter anymore that he was exposed to Anemo’s eyes.

— “I-I think we’re getting back to normal!” the writer said with half a smile, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Fleur, laughing from ear to ear, was now on the floor, partially covered in ice cream. Mistral (completely forgetting he was a blasé Parisian), alongside Sirocco, was busy cleaning the tiles, but also the girl’s bare hands and feet, of the sticky, cold... divine disaster.

— “I like this pistachio one... and vanilla!” Sirocco said.

— “This chocolate one is truly divine, mon petit!” added Mistral, "working" hard to restore the cleanliness left by Anemo’s Mother Lady.

— “You’re right, it is divine!” Aeolus agreed, totally forgetting he was supposed to be invisible to adult eyes.

With the perfect combination of ice cream and chocolate syrup on his index finger, licking the cold, sweet dose of inspiration without the slightest hint of good manners, Anemo pretended not to see the tiny rodent infiltrated among his official furry friends. “The House of Winds must not be just a personality-less still frame. Winds blow things about; they don't pose for fashion magazines!”

With his heart back in its place and rhythm after the unusual festival, Anemo was meticulously washing his hands, preparing to resume his writing, when his phone, with Banderas’s voice, announced a new intervention from the man responsible for his “grounding,” Archibald Peter Stone.

— “You can answer it, tufted one! I trust you know how to get rid of him in no time!”

Taking on her role of the well-behaved little old lady again, Fleur answered like a true professional:

— “Hello, Mister Arba... Archibald? Anemo is possessed by a writing fever; he hears and sees nothing around him... Yes! Yes, how could he forget? He has total faith in me. A surprise? Tomorrow morning!... A good evening to you too, sir!”