#theory that kane just bought the cake for her because they happened be in the city at the same time

[blackasteriia]

Apparently it is a birthday. Apparently that means they must celebrate. (People are weird.) Kane will make her a cake. And Taker... well. He'll finish what he stared pre-burial. Surprise?

Hap Birth–

Three weeks ago Xion buried George Dalton. A middling-age tax accountant that died of terminal pancreatic cancer. When he was twenty-five he won a major cycling tour and never did anything interesting after. He had thinning white hair and his family wanted him dressed in a black suit. Except for having to trim his mustache, the man was unmemorable to Xion. Despite being afflicted with a boring life George was a man of generosity. The visitors at his viewing talked about him with genuine admiration, respect, and tears in their eyes. One-hundred-and-three people visited George Dalton before Xion stuck him in a box somewhere out in a Western plot of the yard. Shoulder-to-shoulder, chattering, eating the catering food while she did homework in the kitchen. It was the most alive the funeral home had been in months. In a few hours it was as hallow as George’s chest cavity. 

Xion shouldered open the backdoor. She stomped-out the dust in her boots and emerged into the dark, empty kitchen. She had cleaned-out the signs of all those people weeks ago– trash in the garbage can, swept, disinfected, reorganized the furniture, and removed an orange juice stain from the carpet. The house settled on its frame with a low groan. Birds chirped outside the windows. No foot steps or distant voices. However, breakfast dishes piled beside the sink and there was a pan on the cold stove. A chair pulled-out from the kitchen table. Despite it just being her and the dead bodies in the fridge, it looked lived on. Xion washed the plate and pan, left both on the drying rack. She dried her hands on the dish towel and left the way she came. 

Encouraged by the Spring rains, grass sprouted in the yard. Dandelions made a serious contention for flourishing despite the threat of the lawnmower. With a little extra water and warmer winds, the bushes flowered. Not a cloud in the sky and the arid scent of the sands promised a heated day. Xion walked along the side of the house, shoes dampened by the morning dew. The doors to the workshop were left open to let in light and fresh air. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped inside. Xion blinked as her vision adjusted to the low light. 

“‘Taker?” She called, glancing over the power tools, tables, and bikes. Movement near the back drew her gaze. He knelt beside a bike, hair tied back, and hands covered in grease. Xion wandered into the workshop. “I’m going to Laredo today to run some errands and get those cosmetics you need for the Holler fami– Holy shit?!”

Xion’s train of thought derailed, crashed and burned. ‘Taker worked on a medium-size motorcycle with the repurposed and repainted frame of a Harley sportster. For the past two months Xion had ordered and scavenged the parts needed for the design. Stuff a sleek Harley design with a Japanese engine for more power and efficiency. Alter the wheel and chain for more torque. Lower the seat for better balance and control. Following the notes and ideas ‘Taker outlined before his death. Left on his night stand for her to find by accident. He never got to build it, so she might as well. It was a design too cool to never realize. And admittedly, in the excitement of ‘Taker-isn’t-dead-anymore’ she forgot about it. 

The real twist was that ‘Taker got to finish it after all.

“When did you–” Xion circled around the bike. In her mind she compared the notes and the sketches to the real thing. Saw all the ways his vision differed from hers, how the idea never compared to the execution. “You built this in two weeks?”

“After I finally found the notes you stole,” ‘Taker pushed to his feet. He wiped the grease off his hands with a rag. 

“I didn’t steal them, I found them and you weren’t there to stop me,” Xion muttered. She knelt beside the bike and inspected the engine. That was the part she was most uncertain of: making an entire bike out of spare parts. She’d have misplaced something and the damn thing wouldn’t start. Made her wish she was here to see him do it. Xion glanced-up, ‘Taker lifted an eyebrow. “Also you were dead and someone had to do your laundry. This looks incredible, I don’t know what to say.”

“You gonna try it our or what?” ‘Taker asked, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me when I’m admiring your handiwork,” Xion grumbled. She reached for the handle bars, leaning her balance on the front of the bike. Xion swung her leg over the back and settled into the seat. “I think the most impressive part is you were able to build this bike and get eight hours of sleep a night. That’s really impressive, daddy.”

“I took naps,” ‘Taker said. He smoothed his hand over his jaw. Contemplation read in the furrow of his brow. 

“Dirt nap doesn’t count,” Xion quipped.

“You got taller,” he noted. Xion flashed him a grin, all teeth. ‘Taker knelt beside her right knee and fiddled with the pedal under her foot. “Length good? You can reach the ground alright?”

“I ain’t that short,” Xion drawled. It was his turn to grin, suppressed with a roll of his lip between his teeth. “It’s fine daddy– let’s go ahead and run it. I wanna hear what the engine sounds like.”

‘Taker unhooked a carabiner with a bike key looped through it from his front belt loop. Dangling off his finger he dropped the key into her waiting palm. Xion kicked the bike up into neutral and turned the ignition. The engine caught and then rolled to life. Low and clean, it purred; mirroring with the laughter building in her chest. Gentle and slow, she revved the engine, rolling back the throttle and feeding it a little gas. Quick and responsive, biting but not too loud. Xion put the brake on and removed the key to turn it back off. 

“That good enough for you?” ‘Taker asked. He ruffled her hair, sliding his hand down between her shoulders. 

“It’s perfect,” Xion said. “Better than I imagined, thank you--”

“Once you’ve tried it out proper, you can thank me and tell me how good it is,” ‘Taker cut her off. “It’s your bike, you can do whatever you like with it. After you ride to Laredo today we can make any adjustments you think it needs. Make sure it suits you like it should.”

“I was going to ask if you need anything besides the cosmetics,” Xion asked. She dismounted the bike. ‘Taker took one side of the handlebars and she the other. Together they pushed the bike out of the workshop. A brush of wind struck her cheeks and played with their hair. 

“Nah, you just be careful,” ‘Taker told her. “Lemme know when you’re on your way back.”

“Will do,” Xion promised, she leaned over the bike to hug him. “See you in a couple hours.”

In twenty minutes Xion cruised down the highway just over the speed limit, headed West. Between gears Xion coasted down flattened hills and tested the acceleration on the straight-aways. Cows lifted their head as she passed their pastures and stared her down while she idled at stoplights. The horizon was a long line, broken by farm houses and stands of trees meeting with the sky. Strips of sand, palm trees, and risen desert outcrops dotted the landscape.

Laredo arose in the hills. A sprawling border city of concrete and asphalt cut in half by the Rio Grande. Sparse trees grew out of the concrete, the streets warmed with the cloistering of buildings and bodies. On a Monday morning few wandered the sidewalks. Xion ran her errands, picked-up the cosmetics from the beauty store and the few things Aeleus needed. As noon approached the sun arced overhead and wind rushed the city streets. The bell jingled as Xion entered the bookstore, hidden in the shade of a side street. The clerk procured the textbooks Xion ordered. After perusing the aisles but making no other purchases, Xion emerged back out onto the sidewalk. 

She stepped off the curb and approached where she parked her bike beneath a popular tree. A small white box rested on the seat of the bike. Xion shifted her burden from her hands, securing the bags in the rear compartment. She picked-up the box, felt its weight. Xion popped the lid. Inside was a cake for one, covered in smooth white frosting, chocolate shavings, and adorned with a card.’Red velvet,’ it read. Xion looked-up and down the street. She closed the lid, corners of her mouth pulling into a grin.

Daddy built her bike and she got a cake for her birthday after all.