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Zandrel

Mate Match Transcript: S24 E6 INTERVIEW 9

Contestant: Zandrel|Producer: Sella

S: How are you feeling today, Zandrel?

Z: I’m feeling fine.

S: That’s all you’re going to give me?

Z: Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear?

S: Can you tell us what you’re expecting from tonight’s date?

Z: No. They didn’t give us any details.

S: You’re killing me, Zandrel. I mean, with Roslyn. What does this date mean for your relationship?

Z: [inaudible]

S: Pardon? Could you say that again?

Z: I hope… I hope we’ll be able to enjoy some time to be… us. Away from the bungalow and off the beach, just the two of us. I look forward to having her all to myself.

Late in the afternoon the day after Ros and I received the comms message announcing our date, I’m alone in the bungalow.

Roslyn was kidnapped hours ago.

Well. That’s what it seemed like to me.

Juni showed up like a heat-seeking missile and whisked Roslyn away before she could protest, the two of them retreating to Juni’s bungalow where she’s no doubt employing her considerable skill to get Roslyn ready for our date.

The production team pulled me in for an excruciating half-hour of interviews, but once that nightmare was over, I’ve had the rest of the day to myself.

It’s left me here, in front of the mirror in our bathroom, giving more attention to my appearance than I’ve ever done in my life.

I could try to tell myself it’s for the cameras, but I know that would be at least half a lie.

As I comb my hair into something more presentable than the unkempt tangle I’ve let it grow into while I didn’t need to concern myself with Aux-dictated appearance standards, it’s not the cameras’ eyes I’m imagining myself through.

Roslyn knows what I look like.

She’s had to look at me pretty much constantly for the last couple weeks and hasn’t seemed to find me entirely repulsive. Besides, even if she did find me repulsive, it wouldn’t make a damn difference for what we’re trying to achieve here.

And yet…

I turn this way and that in the mirror, examining the small braids I’ve added to the tamed mass of my hair. It’s decorated with a few silver ornaments the production team was able to supply when I described what I wanted. Though not entirely authentic, the braids and shiny baubles are a Revexoran fashion. They were reserved for special occasions, though I can barely remember those occasions from when I was a child.

Sentimental. Ridiculous.

For a moment, I consider dismantling the style completely and wearing my hair loose like I normally do.

Would Roslyn prefer it that way?

If she were here, I could ask, and for about the hundredth time since her kidnapping, I wish she was. I wish I could ask her. I wish the two of us could talk strategy while we get ready, both for the date and for our excursion outside the production zone tomorrow. It’s too quiet without her, and for the first time in a long, long time, I find myself actively wishing for another’s company.

Not to mention, if she were here I could probably have stolen a few minutes, tugged her into the bedroom, gotten her sprawled out on the mattress, and confirmed for myself she’s just as delicious as I remember. I swear I can still taste her on my lips, even though it’s been more than a day since I had my mouth on her.

Despite our agreement that this thing between us is just temporary, just fun, we were… wary with each other last night.

After a smaller, more intimate bonfire on the beach with Juni and her trio of lovers, we came back to the bungalow late. We got ready for bed side by side in the bathroom. We crawled beneath the sheets together.

But Roslyn didn’t reach for me. She didn’t ask me to help her blow off any more steam. She gave no sign she wanted anything more than a good night’s sleep.

Maybe it was the looming spectre of our impending date, or maybe she was feeling the same intangible thing I was. Something different, something shifted between us despite all our efforts to the contrary.

And even while I lay there, acutely aware of her presence beside me in the dark and aching to touch her, I held back.

I don’t know what this is, what it’s going to be, what it should be, and caution seems the wiser course. The two of us still need to trust each other. We’re depending on each other. Adding sex into that mix seems more likely to end in disaster than anything.

So we kept our distance, went to sleep, chose the safer course.

Only to wake up entwined with one another again.

Roslyn, sprawled across my chest. My face buried in the sweet warmth of her hair. Sheets tangled around us.

Unlike yesterday, I woke first, and for the life of me, I couldn’t make myself move.

I couldn’t make myself let her go.

Not until she stirred, and even then, it was an effort to remind myself it’s better this way. It’s better if we stay focused on our endgame, on all the reasons we’re doing this.

Roslyn’s mission to find her sister.

My ticket back to the Aux.

I didn’t want to believe in Marva’s promises, didn’t want to let my hopes rise any higher than need be, lest I wind up broken and bruised when they eventually shatter. But the proof is undeniable. Signed off on by Commander Riddik himself, the Chair of the Aux’s governing council.

A full reinstatement.

The insubordination charge expunged from my record, though it never should have been there in the first place.

Veren will be livid.

The thought gives me a bit of grim satisfaction while I continue getting ready, imagining the look on my old commander’s face when he hears the news.

It’s not all I imagine.

He’ll know I’m coming for him again, and he’ll know I’ll be smarter about it next time. Wherever he is, I hope he’s burning with it—that dread, that terrible anticipation.

I hope he’s ready for me, because when I get my next chance to expose him and everything he’s done, to dismantle the power he’s built on the suffering of innocents, I won’t show him any mercy.

Those happy thoughts carry me through the rest of the afternoon. They keep me company as the sun sinks low behind the distant mountains, until the faint chime of the comms screen by the door announces the incoming hover that will take us to our date.

Dressed in all black evening attire—still fancier than anything I own, but closer to something I might voluntarily choose to wear—I step out onto the porch.

I’m about to head over to Juni’s to fetch my date, when I catch sight of her on the beach.

My heart stutters a beat, and the breath I’ve just taken catches in my chest.

Roslyn’s wearing a dress that looks like starlight. Shifting and shimmering and perfectly tailored to her frame, it plunges deep in the front to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage while still including a pair of loose, flowing sleeves that keep her scars covered.

She carries the hem of the gown in one hand to keep it from dragging in the sand as she approaches, but when she reaches the foot of the stairs, she lets it drop and strikes a pose. She props one hip to the side and rests a hand on it, raises an eyebrow and smirks, like she’s waiting for me to offer some bit of snark.

There couldn’t be anything further from my mind.

I clear my throat to buy myself a few seconds, but it’s a losing effort. All it does is give me more time to admire her.

Roslyn’s hair hangs loose and wavy, save for two braided sections pulled away from her face and fastened at the back of her head so she wears them like a crown. Her eyes are lined with something soft and slightly shimmery, emphasizing their emerald sparkle. Her full lips are painted red, lush and delectable.

“You look…” Roslyn starts, some of the bravado in her expression fading as she takes in my attire. “You, uh, clean up good.”

Color creeps up her cheeks and down her neck. Unfortunately, before I can press her to elaborate on exactly how well I clean up, Sella arrives, bright and chipper and beaming at her contestants.

“Alright, you two,” she says. “We’re sending you on a leisure cruise over the jungle. Nice and easy, with some sparkling wine to enjoy and a bit of time for yourselves.”

“That’s it?” Roslyn asks, looking at me like she needs to double-check she heard Sella correctly. “What’s the catch?”

Her suspicion isn’t unfounded. Mate Match is well-known for the outlandish situations they put their contestants in—all in the name of romance, of course.

Scenic hikes that turn into all-day treks through muggy jungle. Up-close encounters with the gigantic insects that call this planet home. Some fatesforsaken activity called bungee-jumping that they swiped from the humans with the rest of the inspiration they took for the show.

In comparison, a peaceful nighttime cruise over the lush Eritin rainforest seems too good to be true.

“No catch,” Sella says brightly. “We’d just like more footage of the two of you interacting. Talking. Letting the audience get to know you better.”

Oh.

There’s the catch.

Conversation for the cameras isn’t exactly our strong suit.

And maybe it’s not a surprise we’ve given production so little to work with, considering we’re only just starting to open up to each other privately. We’re certainly not being saved by my interviews, and as highly as I think of Roslyn, I doubt she’s doing much better.

“Perfect,” Roslyn mutters. “Sounds great.”

I share the sentiment completely.

With a few last words of encouragement, Sella leaves, no doubt off to monitor the date from wherever production will be stationed tonight. Just a few seconds later, a small autonomous hover appears from up the beach, drifting our way until it glides to a smooth stop in front of the bungalow.

A trio of hovercams descend and I reach for Roslyn’s elbow, giving her a steadying hand as she steps up to the hover’s platform. In the last few seconds of privacy we have for the evening, I lean in to murmur into her ear.

“You don’t have to share any more than you want to.” I slide my hand from her elbow, down her arm, and give her fingers a quick squeeze. “Lie, if you have to, I don’t mind.”

Steady on the hover, Roslyn turns to face me. With the step up from the beach, it puts her almost level to my face. I would only need to lean in a couple of inches to kiss the small, wry smile that turns up the corners of her lips.

She raises a hand and runs it through the tamed length of my hair, fingers brushing gently over a few of the beads I wove into it.

“Alright,” she whispers back, leaning in close. “But I’ve never been a good liar.”

I follow her up onto the hover. It’s nothing more than a stabilized, oval-shaped platform, with a waist-high railing that closes behind us and encircles the perimeter, giving us something to hold on to as it gently lifts off from the beach.

Ros steps to the front of the craft, and I’m right behind her, crowding in close and resting my hands on the railing on either side of her.

I’m sure the hover’s got plenty of integrated safety features to prevent falls or other accidents, but I’m not taking that chance.

Not with her.

Making myself an anchor, I let out a low, approving hum when she leans back against me, resting her back against my chest and glancing up with one brow arched like she knows exactly how protective I’m feeling right now.

Well, that, or she assumes it’s all part of the act, all for the cameras.

And maybe that’s what it should be as two more cams appear to join the first three, setting up an orchestrated orbit to capture our big romantic evening from every conceivable angle.

My skin prickles, and my muscles ache to wrap even more securely around her, shield her from their view, keep all those prying eyes away.

But that’s not why we’re here.

We’re here to put on a show.

To give all these cameras and all the billions who’ll be watching something to remember.

Only, I’ve got nothing. No pretty words, no grand declarations, nothing to endear us to a universe of viewers.

Sella may as well have asked me to sprout wings and fly.

I’m still wracking my brain for something charming to say as the hover climbs higher, and Roslyn sucks in a soft gasp at the change in view.

With the sun setting over the distant mountains, the lush expanse of Eritin jungle stretching wide before us, the deep blue twilight sea behind, I pull her closer and admire that view right alongside her, all thoughts of strategy forgotten for the moment.

Ros’s eyes are wide as she takes it all in, their emerald wonder even more brilliant than the trees.

As far as Mate Match dates go, I suppose we could have done worse.

With a soft hydraulic whoosh, a compartment on the floor of the hover opens and a small pillar table rises beside us. From it, another hidden door opens and two glasses of the promised sparkling wine rise from inside.

Roslyn huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Fancy.”

I take one and hand it to her before reaching for my own. A soft clink, and we both take a sip, the bright, tart, fizzing taste of it a perfect complement to the splendor of the evening.

A few more minutes pass while we sip and cruise in companionable silence, and I can’t think of a single damn thing to say that would improve that silence at all. As far as I’m concerned, just being here, with her, constitutes everything I could ask for in a date, even while the cameras continue to circle and I can imagine the disappointed look on Sella’s face as we give them absolutely nothing.

That prickling feeling is back, the cloying need to salvage this, and I open my mouth—about to say something inane and idiotic, most likely—when Roslyn speaks.

“Sometimes…” she begins, and I nearly sigh with relief that she has the courage to go first. “Sometimes this place reminds me of Earth.”

“Do you remember it well?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. I left when I was just a kid. But I remember it having a lot of trees.”

Despite my offer of lying our way through this conversation, I somehow know she’s not. And I don’t like it, not one bit.

Not the fact that I suspect she’s telling the truth, but who she’s telling it to.

The memory of that night in the bungalow—the one where she finally told me what brought her here—is a shadow at the edge of my mind. Roslyn’s honesty. Her tears. Her devastation.

She didn’t owe me her vulnerability then, and she doesn’t owe it to the rest of the universe now.

But there’s no way to snatch the words out of the air and hoard them for myself. There’s nothing to do but trust her and tighten my arms around her.

“Washington,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the jungle below, though distant and slightly unfocused in memory. “That was the name of the place where I lived. The state. Not the city. Although… I suppose it doesn’t really matter now that it’s all abandoned.”

I place my hand over hers on the railing and squeeze. “Of course it matters.”

Roslyn relaxes into me. Overhead, the first evening stars wink to life in the sky, and a sea breeze catches the soft strands of her hair as we float above the jungle.

“We lived on an island and had to take a ferry back and forth to the mainland. And even when the rest of the world was going up in flames, our little corner of it stayed untouched almost until the end.”

Roslyn talks a little more about her home, this place called Washington, and what it was like to leave it.

In return, I tell her what little I can about Revexor. I tell her about the stark cliffs my childhood home was built on, the wild winds from an even wilder sea, the rough-hewn beauty of it all that I can only recall in vague, time-blurred vignettes of memory.

The conversation isn’t filled with the sweeping declarations or passionate promises so trite and familiar to Mate Match viewers, but I couldn’t care less. The production team will air it, or they won’t, and it’s not for me to worry about now.

The hover banks left, charting a course into a deep valley between two mountain peaks. The jungle below grows even denser, the canopy reaching up over a dozen meters from the valley floor.

And from those trees, an aquamarine glow.

Brighter and brighter as we get closer, the glow gilds the leaves and shines from the wings of night insects and butterflies flitting through the jungle. As the evening grows deeper around us, it casts Roslyn and I in earthbound starlight, a breathless, awed silence falling between us.

The hover dips even further, until we’re nearly brushing the treetops, and Roslyn lets out a soft gasp. She leans over the railing to trail a hand along the glowing leaves, and I steady my hold on her, making sure she doesn’t go toppling into the sea of light below.

“I wonder what makes them glow like that,” I murmur, though in truth, I’m more consumed by watching her than looking at the scenery.

“It’s a type of organism similar to the bacteria that once lived on Earth,” she explains, wonder in her voice. “It’s not harmful to touch, and it makes its host glow with bioluminescence. Here, in the canopy, and even in bodies of water scattered across the planet, it really is—”

She stops speaking abruptly, glancing first at me, then at the cameras as a slow flush spreads over her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I’m rambling. I don’t want to bore you or—”

“Tell me more. You’re not boring me at all.”

I’m not one for scientific study—beyond what I might need to get me through a mission—and can’t pretend I fully understand what she means about plants and bacteria and all the complicated mechanics of the living world around us.

But if it puts that light in her eyes? That wonder in her voice?

I’ll listen to Roslyn talk about it all night.

Still, the color doesn’t fade from her cheeks, so I lean in closer and speak low into her ear, hoping the cameras above won’t pick it up.

“Tell me more,” I say again. “I’d like to hear about it.”

She laughs softly and murmurs her reply, nodding at the cameras. “I don’t think me going on about plants really makes an entertaining conversation for… well, you know.”

“Do you think I care if they’re entertained?”

Another laugh, this one with the huff of sarcasm I know so well, and she falls back into the conversation, cameras be damned. She tells me more about the bacteria, the plants, the wonder of their symbiosis.

While she speaks, the hover drifts over another section of the forest. The trees here are taller, and crowned in clusters of flowers that glow more magnificently than anything around them. Instead of just coating the leaves and petals, the glow seems to come from within, lighting them from their very core.

They’re all around us as the hover slows to a stop. A glowing meadow beneath a sea of stars.

“This is a passion of yours?” I ask, voice a hush in the surrounding night, and I almost regret breaking the silence. “Botany? The study of plants?”

Roslyn shrugs. “Kind of. And not really in any formal capacity. It’s more of a hobby. One that I hope…”

She trails off, and I can’t help myself.

“What do you hope, Roslyn?”

For a few moments, I think she won’t answer, that it’s another secret I haven’t earned. Something she’d rather keep to herself than have the entire universe know.

But, like I should have already come to expect, Roslyn surprises me.

“I’d like to open a greenhouse one day.”

I give her a perplexed look as my translator tries to make sense of the word, and Ros laughs softly.

“A plant store. Somewhere I could grow things and sell them to people. The place I grew up on Earth… well, from what little I can remember of it, was so green, so alive with plants. One of the last green places.”

Her eyes go distant for a moment in memory, and I don’t know what to say. An old familiar ache kicks up in the center of my chest. The knowledge that sometimes you can’t ever go back, that the place in this universe which feels most like home will forever be lost to you.

It’s an ache Ros likely knows just as well, and I squeeze her hand softly. As if that one touch might communicate the depth of loss and understanding.

“I’d like to give that to people,” she murmurs. “I’d like to bring a little life into wherever it is I go after this. A little growth. A little green.”

She cups a blossom in her other hand, touch feather-light, staring at it for a few wondrous moments before she turns her face up to meet my gaze.

Her smile is brighter than all the blooms around us.

Brighter than the sea of stars above, brighter than any dawn or any blazing sunset, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.

It’s different than the smiles I’ve seen from her before.

No brittle humor and no edge of defeat, no half-formed expression meant to mask a pain she doesn’t want me to see.

Unrestrained and unguarded, offered to me like the fates themselves have called me to stand before them for their blessing. For a few heartbeats, it’s like looking into the bright living center of the universe.

I can’t stop myself from leaning down to taste all that sparkling light for myself.

Ros drops the flower, turns in my arms, and leans into the kiss. Though the faint whir of the hovercams is a reminder that this moment isn’t just ours, it hardly matters.

I’d live in it, if I could. In this achingly tender piece of eternity.

In all the effervescence of it, in the simple, uncomplicated beauty, so much more terribly delicate than anything I’ve known. Fragile, so fragile, like one false move might shatter it around us.

But my Ros doesn’t shatter as she pulls me closer, opens her lips for me and groans when I deepen the kiss. She’s solid as the bedrock of the mountain beneath us in the grip she places on my neck, my shoulders, grasping tightly enough for me to catch her intent and lift her against me.

She wraps her legs around my waist, nips at my lips, and I open to her silent command, letting her direct the kiss just how she wants. Tangle her hands in my hair and tug at my horns just how she wants. Fit every sweet curve of her body against mine just how she wants.

I’d give her anything she wants.

Any request, spoken or unspoken, it’s hers.

As I kiss her beneath the stars, as I lose myself in the warmth of her, the passion of her, I know that truth to my very marrow.

I’d give Roslyn anything she asked of me. Foolish or not, temporary or not, there’s no force in the entire universe that could make me turn away now.