Impromptu

You're fiddling away at a particularly stubborn actuator when Alita bursts into the workshop with a look on her face that tells you the night is about to turn one way or another. A twinge of surprise in your fingers knocks one of the springs out of alignment, but you keep the annoyance to yourself for the time being; if she asks why her skates are taking so long to fix you know where you're pinning the blame.

"Finally find something interesting? You've been shacked up in the study all evening."

She hardly gives you time to finish before blurting out.

"A campout! I want to have a campout!"

You push yourself away from the bench and let your chair drift across the hardwood floor. One of the wheels is still creaking something awful and you make a note to replace it when you find the time.

"Didn't even know I had a book about camping -- must be ancient. It's not a bad idea, but the curfew's up and I don't think we're smuggling a bunch of camping equipment past the cordon. Maybe another day?"

"We could do it on the roof!"

Before you can rise to protest, she flings a great big bag into the room, which lands with an awful clang of metal.

"I've got most everything we'll need: a frame and fabric for the tent, plus a few cots I borrowed from your closet. All that's missing is some firewood."

You were hoping to get some work done on the gear before bedtime; Alita's next Motorball match is only a few days away and you don't want her rolling on cheap replacements. But she's smitten with the campout idea and you know well enough by now there's no chance of talking her out of anything when she's smitten. If anything, you're starting to talk yourself into it.

"You've put some legwork into this, huh? Well, we're short more than just firewood if you want to stage a proper campout, so what do you say we hit the market and see what we can find? You skates are starting to mock me, anyway."

She smacks a fist to her palm and lets out a joyous "woo!" as she makes for the front door. You scrounge up a fistful of coins from the workshop bench and start thinking about where the hell you're going to find firewood in Iron City.

***

As you muscle your way through the throngs of the night market, you begin to wonder if this would have been a good time to turn Alita down for once; the humidity has your shirt gripped wet to your back and the rumble of an unusually busy evening sets your ears ringing. You can't help but feel a touch of relief when the two of you return to your apartment with a ramshackle assortment of goods: a few pieces of broken-down old furniture to burn in place of the firewood that proved elusive, an oil lamp with cracked glass chimney plus a pocket canister of oil to fuel it, and some cheap snacks you left it to Alita to pick out, which she did with her customary vigor. You were hoping to introduce her to s'mores, but marshmallows are about as common as gold bullion in Iron City and tonight isn't your lucky one. Not yet, anyway.

With neither an instruction manual nor any experience with such things, the two of you struggle to put together a respectable tent. The metal rods Alita had produced from who-knows-where are all different sizes and lengths — getting them to form any kind of shape at all requires more brainpower than the temperature permits. Eventually you settle on something that resembles a crooked lean-to more so than a tent, tucked against the stairwell entryway right near the rooftop's edge. It looks tragic, like the decor of a slum or a war-torn city. But that's alright. Alita gives the fabric one last fastening tug and dusts her hands.

"I like it."

"You can't possibly mean that."

You try to pack as much levity into your voice as possible, but the sparkle in her eyes tells you she's serious.

"I think it looks kinda cozy. Really! Give it a try while I start the fire."

You do as she asks, dropping down onto the cot and letting all the tensions in your body flutter away. She may be right, even if you do feel more vagrant than outdoorsman. In the periphery you see a blue flicker, and soon the crackle of fire reaches your ears. That strange feature of hers is endlessly useful.

Alita joins you under the lean-to with a bag of chips in her hand and a big stupid smile on her face that forces the same out of you. The stars are hiding tonight so you gaze out upon the city instead, taking in all its little idiosyncrasies: you spot a few kids Motorballing in the northside aqueduct, while Alita points out a Hunter-Warrior prowling around on a balcony a few blocks down. A busker sets up shop across the street and begins to play something soulful on what sounds like a brass instrument but looks like an old truck exhaust. Far off in the distance, Zalem deposits another ton of trash on the pile, and a nearby puff of smoke tells you one of the scavenger crews is working late tonight.

Through it all, Alita sits snug up against you, chomping away at her chips and commenting on anything and everything with a heartwarming curiosity. Despite its foibles, you can't deny you live in quite the interesting place. And there's no one you would rather share it with.