She felt the other officer’s approach, smoke and sea salt and churning bone and dark water and gunpowder and blood, and hurried to scoop the energy spheres up and shove them into her pockets. She’d make up the deficit somehow, if it meant begging Natron for more time, or… Or something. Melanite couldn’t - he couldn’t know that she was picking up his slack. He’d be terribly angry with her, she imagined…
One of the little spheres slipped through her grasp and rolled away, catching a slant in the pavement. Astrophyllite scrambled after it, and perhaps comically (if not for how deadly serious the situation was), her lunge left her at Melanite’s feet.
She wrapped her fingers around the little energy sphere and tucked it back into her pocket as she stood. “Good evening, Melanite,” she said nervously.
Shibrogane
“Dobriy vyecher,” said Melanite, and he offered her a hand up. He’d never really gotten over his affection for the younger Captain, not even when he’d been a Lieutenant to her Captain. He imagined that she would always be his favored patrol partner--though when he had started considering the Negaverse a long-term thing was puzzling, and it frightened him to think of it. Lately, though, she had begun to look ragged. He didn’t pretend to understand just why, though; their patrolling always seemed to be rather calm, and he wasn’t sure if Captains simply had more routes, or…
Once, he was angry at her promotion. Not from envy, but from a moralist’s standpoint… Astrophyllite was not, and never would be, ready to lead. She was too sweet. Too easy to mold into whatever others wanted her to be, unless what they wanted her to be was normal, and safe. Now, he hardly remembered why. Couldn’t muster up the rancor that he’d felt once, for the General-Sovereign who had thrust a hand into her chest and brought her up the ranks. He accepted it--mutely. Without question. The anger was merely an echo, and that frightened him.
He smiled at her, hoping his doubts weren’t visible. No part of him imagined that Astrophyllite would report him to SpecOps, but the specter of Zircon’s hand in his chest… “It is a lovely evening,” he said in English. He had tried to teach her bits of Russian, but it had gone over poorly. “But you haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”
Once, he was angry at her promotion. Not from envy, but from a moralist’s standpoint… Astrophyllite was not, and never would be, ready to lead. She was too sweet. Too easy to mold into whatever others wanted her to be, unless what they wanted her to be was normal, and safe. Now, he hardly remembered why. Couldn’t muster up the rancor that he’d felt once, for the General-Sovereign who had thrust a hand into her chest and brought her up the ranks. He accepted it--mutely. Without question. The anger was merely an echo, and that frightened him.
He smiled at her, hoping his doubts weren’t visible. No part of him imagined that Astrophyllite would report him to SpecOps, but the specter of Zircon’s hand in his chest… “It is a lovely evening,” he said in English. He had tried to teach her bits of Russian, but it had gone over poorly. “But you haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”
Astrophyllite shook her head - she couldn’t lie to Melanite, not when he was so kind to her. But kindness could turn cruel in an instant, she reminded herself, or else was a mask for things that had been cruel all along. Beatrice had taught her that. “I’m working very hard,” she said, and tried her best to parrot his greeting back at him: “Dobriy vyecher.” Her accent was off. It was hopeless, she thought. She’d never speak Russian as beautifully as he wanted her to.
“A lot is expected of us,” she said quietly, not quite meeting his eye. “Now that we’re captains.” It had been far easier to meet both their quotas as lieutenants - but she couldn’t tell him that, he’d be angry, and so she bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. “You know,” she shrugged after a moment, feeling a sob growing at the base of her throat that she desperately didn’t want to let loose. “Lots to do.” Except you don’t know.
There it was, that darker impulse. The impulse that had wanted Bischofite to suffer as he died. The impulse that wanted terrible things to happen and wanted them more, and more, and more. The impulse that made her scared of who she was and who she was becoming. “I - I still need to get more energy. I’m sorry, I should go, I know you don’t like to watch.”
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“Yes,” he said. “I imagine so.” But he had been ignoring it, as he ever had. Who knew how he’d come into this promotion, anyway? Her accent was terrible, and irritation spiked up his spine--it was only coordinated effort that prevented him from clenching his hands and demanding she practice more with him, right then.
She was going to cry. That pissed him off even more. “I cannot imagine that you are low,” he said. He could sense the energy she carried on her person--and it was much and more than he’d been told he was responsible for as a Captain. Perhaps half again as much as he had been told to collect. Were her requirements more stringent than his, since she was unspecialized? He was too valuable to ever truly be turned into a youma, and he thought the requirement upon him probably reflected that value. “You are tired,” he said. “The Negaverse ought to care more about your health than their quotas. Please. Let me get you something to eat.”
She was going to cry. That pissed him off even more. “I cannot imagine that you are low,” he said. He could sense the energy she carried on her person--and it was much and more than he’d been told he was responsible for as a Captain. Perhaps half again as much as he had been told to collect. Were her requirements more stringent than his, since she was unspecialized? He was too valuable to ever truly be turned into a youma, and he thought the requirement upon him probably reflected that value. “You are tired,” he said. “The Negaverse ought to care more about your health than their quotas. Please. Let me get you something to eat.”
How - how could he not understand what she was doing for him? Astrophyllite stared, her hands trembling from the effort it was taking to keep from crying (oh, he would hate her for that. He would hate her for so many things but he would hate her for that most obviously and immediately, he’d scowl and he’d chide her for being a baby and- and- it would be awful). “I’m not low,” she stammered. There wasn’t a drop of energy on him, not even enough to fill a thimble, and for a brief moment, she hated him for that. Stupid girl, doing so much for a boy who doesn’t even notice you, who doesn’t even care to help himself.
“I would like a bubble tea,” she said, concentrating on his suggestion and feeling very foolish for her momentary outburst. Perhaps she could make him forget it. “With extra tapioca. And some of the squid tempura they sell at the 24-Hour Asian Market on Cherry Street. And mallowmars.” Those would take them at least half an hour to get. Maybe he’d forget that she was upset, or that he was angry with her for feeling that way. And if he still remembered, then she’d just have to make him forget again.
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If she wasn’t low, then what was she doing with that much energy?... He frowned, but put a fraternal hand on her shoulder and steered her towards Cherry Street. “Bubble tea, tempura, and mallowmars,” he agreed. She was upset--he would use this time to find out why--it mattered to him. Everything about the Negaverse seemed to matter to him, more and more, and while he’d already cared for Astrophyllite, he wasn’t sure why the welfare of the Generals suddenly struck him as dear to his heart.
“I am concerned for you,” he said. “I heard you have not specialized, and now you appear… ill. Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I am concerned for you,” he said. “I heard you have not specialized, and now you appear… ill. Is there something I can assist you with?”
She had specialized, thought Astrophyllite defensively - it was just that she had specialized as GenOps and if thought there was anything wrong with that then he could just… do something not very nice that girls at school were fond of describing happening to teachers who gave them bad grades. His offer to help was nice, but she knew it was empty, the way so many offers that came her way were. Melanite could help her by doing his own job - but she knew that even if she asked that of him, he would refuse. It’s barbaric, the way you Americans carry on with your quotas and your senshi problem and all those damn cats, he would say, and that didn’t even get her started on Beatrice. Knowing him, he would tell her to go to Boston and be done with it and not worry about being a bad person.
Astrophyllite stared at her shoes. “You won’t like it,” she said. “So no, I’m okay. I can take care of myself.” Quartz had taught her how to kick people where it hurt, just to make sure that she was extra prepared.
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“I do not need to like it, sestra moya,” he said, dryly. “I know that you can take care of yourself. That does not mean I do not want to help you, or that you should not accept help.” In the back of his mind, pieces of something were falling into place, and he wasn’t sure he liked where those pieces were leading him. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to: “Astrophyllite,” he said. “Are you the one filling my energy quota?”
He wanted her to say no, but she wouldn’t.
He wanted her to say no, but she wouldn’t.
It sure took him long enough to get it, thought Astrophyllite, feeling her face flush red hot. He was going to be angry. He already sounded angry, as much as he ever sounded anything - she just tended to assume that people were angry with her. “Well, you weren’t going to do it!” she exclaimed. “I was just - I was just trying to be good! And do something nice for you! And now - now you’re mad at me, and- and--”
She stopped herself, sucked in her cheeks so she could bite down on them, and tried very, very hard not to cry. He was mad at her already, she was sure of it, and if she cried - if she cried, then he’d hate her for sure! Maybe - maybe it wasn’t her help that he’d wanted? The girls at school had told her all the ways to make a boy like you like you.
“Did you want something else from me instead?” she asked. “Because - I’ve never - I’ve never done those things? But I could. If it would make you happy? You’re so angry all the time. I don’t want you to be angry at me.”
She could practically hear Beatrice’s voice at the back of her head, spitting, dumb whore.
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Melanite went a little light-headed at Astrophyllite’s shout, and he put his fingers to his temples to steady himself. s**t, ********, being right about this was cruel, he hadn’t even wanted this promotion and she’d gone and--damn it. Now she was offering, offering, he didn’t want to hear what she was saying because it made him feel grimy, from tops to toes. The Negaverse hadn’t just taken his ability to think, it’d turned him into one of those men who hired the underage whores in the worse parts of St. Petersburg. “You did do something nice,” he said, dropping his hands to her shoulders, because it seemed like the only safe place he could touch her. “I appreciate your help very much, Astrophyllite.” But you shouldn’t have done it, he thought. This wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone else.
“All I want from you,” he said, “is for you to be happy--I am not angry, not at you.” Something clawed unhappily at the insides of his ribs, something that might have been anger, maybe, or disgust--he hated her for being upset, loved her for her goodness--he didn’t know which impulse was rising higher in him and didn’t want to know. “I do not want you that way. You are my sister, do you understand? What we are is not like that, and if someone has been asking that of you, I will--” kill them, he finished, and it was that rage-fueled thought that stopped him cold.
He closed his eyes, took a deep calming breath, and opened them again. “I appreciate all you have done,” he said. “But it is hurting you, and I want you to stop now. I know what I am doing, and I will be okay. Yes, Astrophyllite?”
“All I want from you,” he said, “is for you to be happy--I am not angry, not at you.” Something clawed unhappily at the insides of his ribs, something that might have been anger, maybe, or disgust--he hated her for being upset, loved her for her goodness--he didn’t know which impulse was rising higher in him and didn’t want to know. “I do not want you that way. You are my sister, do you understand? What we are is not like that, and if someone has been asking that of you, I will--” kill them, he finished, and it was that rage-fueled thought that stopped him cold.
He closed his eyes, took a deep calming breath, and opened them again. “I appreciate all you have done,” he said. “But it is hurting you, and I want you to stop now. I know what I am doing, and I will be okay. Yes, Astrophyllite?”
He didn’t - he didn’t want anything from her? Astrophyllite blinked a few times, utterly confused by this revelation. “I…” she began, and trailed off, because really, what was there to say to that? Perhaps - perhaps she needed to clarify. “No one asks me to do that stuff,” she said quietly. “I just thought… the girls at school say that’s how you make men happy, and you’re a man, so…” It had seemed like sound logic, if somewhat circular.
“If you don’t do your energy quotas,” she said, thinking about Hvergelmir chained up in the funhouse, about Zircon’s fury, about Bischofite’s eager blades, “You’ll get in trouble. You’ll be punished - and they do really bad things to people when they punish them. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
The scar on her shoulder still stung sometimes.
Frowning, Astrophyllite asked, “Can I still have that tempura? And the tea?”
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“You will tell me if anyone does,” he said. He wasn’t sure he’d ever ordered her around before, or used his years of experience as a human being to make her do something she didn’t want to do. This was important. He couldn’t have helped Jana, but he would help Astrophyllite. “The girls at your school are wrong,” he continued, softer now. “Good men will care more for how they can make you happy.” He wasn’t even sure men like that existed. He certainly wasn’t one of them.
He straightened up, and offered her his hand. Safe enough. They’d done it before. “There is only so much they can do to me,” he said. “There are so many worse things than pain.”
As they walked, he said, “Of course. And the mallowmar. And then I will walk you home, and you will rest. We will not have this conversation again.”
He straightened up, and offered her his hand. Safe enough. They’d done it before. “There is only so much they can do to me,” he said. “There are so many worse things than pain.”
As they walked, he said, “Of course. And the mallowmar. And then I will walk you home, and you will rest. We will not have this conversation again.”
“Mallowmars,” Astrophyllite corrected, glancing shyly down at their linked hands. “Plural. You can’t buy just one of them.” Maybe he’d never even had one, she thought. Oh, that was just tragic! She’d have to make him eat one.
“Please be careful,” she added quietly. “You might think that, but… there’s always more they can do to you.” But that was something to worry about another night.
