Quote:
Backdated to mid November.
Though Sinope had known from the beginning that the life of a runaway was nowhere near as glamorous as movies and books made them out to be, he hadn’t been as prepared to rough it on his own as he’d originally thought. He spent the first few hours of his narrow escape aimlessly wandering about in Mirrorspace to reduce the risk of his being immediately spotted again in Destiny City. The loss of his wallet hit him hard within the first few hours as the growl of his stomach significantly dampened his triumph, so he did his best to distract himself trying to assess the damage done to his body by the accident. However, his pleading hunger soon forced him to leave the ever-changing sanctuary. He already stole energy on a regular basis, so how much more different would it have been to steal food?
As it turned out, the practices varied vastly. For one thing, meals weren’t as easily replenished as energy. Even fast food took time and trouble to prepare which was why they were regularly exchanged for a monetary value. So although Sinope attempted to behave in favor of amorality or at least moral ambiguity, guilt still nipped at him when he stole sustenance regardless of what justification he struggled to fend it off with. He may have been selfish, but he didn’t like owing people. And try as he might, he couldn’t completely banish his agitated conscience. It was all he could do to reason that if he didn’t steal, he wouldn’t eat, and if he didn’t eat, he couldn’t live. Therefore, he had to steal to live.
Aside from the moral dilemmas involved in his new focus of thievery, there was the difficulty of the deeds themselves. With mirrorwraiths to go out and steal energy for him, Sinope hadn’t had to lift a finger aside from summoning them from their shards. When it came to stealing a more solid form like a hamburger, however, the senshi couldn’t rely on the creatures for much more than causing a distraction. The super sailor scout was quite a distraction himself with his eared hoodie and bright accent colors, so that made enough of a challenge to draw attention away from rather than toward him, especially because it took some time for the wraiths to be noticed. What he suspected were cracked ribs, a bruised hip, and other minor wounds hindered him even worse, but Sinope managed to get by. He suspected the only reason he wasn’t caught was his enhanced speed and strength as a powered being.
He gradually took up a sort of residence at a mall; snagging sustenance from the food court and sundry vendors when he could while making an effort not to concentrate his efforts too much on any particular area. Thanks to his ability to renew his garments by powering down and up again, Sinope didn’t have to concern himself too much with laundry. However, he became desperate for a bath or even a shower when he was reduced to scrubbing his limbs, hair, and face with soap and water in public restrooms to maintain some level of personal hygiene. Eventually he caved in to stealing a toothbrush and toothpaste as ‘essentials’ because he couldn’t stand the stale taste in his mouth that no amount of water alone would rinse out.
In many ways it was similar to living in Altea’s castle, but at least there they had been given their own rooms. Sailor Sinope spent his nights locked in one of the mall’s many stores when he could successfully evade cameras and security guards. Otherwise he spent his nights on the rooftop of the building, curled up and powered down to keep his energy signature from being seen. The threat of being discovered by a youma or another Negaverse agent loomed over him on those occasions, though, and even with a stolen blanket or two to keep warm, he didn’t sleep well.
I can’t keep this up forever, he brooded miserably on the evening of his third day, watching his wraiths gorge themselves in the crowds below as he munched on a stale pretzel that he had managed to swipe that morning. He perched on the edge of the roof, a blanket clutched tight about him, as he tried to decide if he was hungry enough to get his full wraiths to assist him in procuring his dinner. Most irritatingly, yet no longer surprisingly, his thoughts turned to Elex.
Is this what it was like for him when he had to disappear from home? No...it must have been worse because he was used to a more cushy lifestyle, Sinope thought. But he had a general to turn to, didn’t he? Would a Negaverse superior help him? Thick brows furrowed as something else occurred to him for the first time. I guess I could ask someone in the Dark Mirror Court to help. Avior’s offer in particular came to mind. But then he shook his head. No. I can do this on my own. I’ve managed well enough so far. The last thing I need now is for anyone to think I can’t handle a mess I got myself into.
His mother's hoarse voice dipped into him once, twice, thrice. It replayed and ricocheted off every thought, every motion. He agonized himself over it. Reveled in and reviled the sweet, methodical self-torture that it wrought. What did it mean to make his mother scream? Did it mean anything at all but for a single, dissonant sound over placid indifference? Faustite wondered.
He wondered and he roved, taking with him all his circumscribed considerations. Wandering out from rooftop to rooftop formed its own syncopated rhythm over the daggers of the city -- over devilish chimneys and dark parapets and desolate, storied steeples. The city pushed its dust into his mouth. It spread its fingers through passage and thought, distancing him, disconcerting him until he was half-sweating with adrenaline. The moon stared down all potential battlefields with an impure thought, as it hung like a gunshot wound in a dead, dead sky. He wondered if he started to prefer the dull, dirty doldrums of Negaspace instead.
But aura seldom left room to wander in his own cerebrum. Chaos of an unkind kind roiled and spat where it sat. Looming like a gargoyle, Faustite sighted the figure. Light cast half the shadow of the rooftop access over them with a blanket of pitch. He closed, if only to test the flavor of the day from lips unchecked.
The Dark Mirror Court left no great impression, after all. Partaking meant a sip without an aftertaste cloying his mouth.
Smoke cast from his back like ink in water as he climbed over the lip of the building, the lip of their world. The stale air attacked his nose with dirtied fists. He sniffed, and tasted no grand presence on the air. Only a senshi was left to him -- nothing royal. Nothing grandiose or bellicose or varicose with the gorge of its own power. Pity that; he wanted to be moved tonight.
"Senshi," he called cooly, before the moon lifted its blanket from pale legs. Faustite recognized telltale triangles on a too-large hood first. "Sinope," he added, as the flavor became real.
Copper and moonstone. Sinope could taste the familiar scents on the air before four syllables - two comprising what he was and the following two his powered name - drifted to him like autumn leaves. The familiar voice caused his heart to leap into his throat, but he forced himself to turn slowly. When he caught sight of Elex, the memory of the last time he did so and what he’d said came rushing back and he abruptly faced forward again. He paid for his briskness with a sharp pain from his cracked ribs, but his spirits weren’t dampened.
“Agent,” he answered, mimicking the captain’s tone and doing his very best not to smile right after. He failed. Even if Elex couldn’t see, it tinted Sinope’s voice as he continued, watching the multitude of people below. “Elex. Am I encroaching upon your territory as a Negaverse Captain?” Discarding his blanket atop another neatly-folded one, he stretched his limbs and neck, flinching every so often at the reminders of his injuries, before walking along the edge of the roof. He surveyed his wraiths below, attempting to determine how much longer it would be before they sought to return to their shards. Simultaneously, he entertained other worries.
s**t, he saw me wrapped up in a blanket like a little kid! Or a hobo! Is he laughing? No, he wouldn’t laugh; he’d just silently look down on me. Well, what the hell do I care? It’s cold out here!
“There’s plenty of energy to go around and I only have two wraiths who are practically done. I won’t stand in your way.” He spread his arm in a grand gesture, bowing playfully at the waist. “All yours.” His bruised body protested the actions, but he refused to allow his expression to betray his pain.
Our borders aren't minted in city streets and districts. He waited, his breath hung in the air like an empty frame while Sinope twisted about. The boy clawed his way through another burly blanket until he emerged, a bundle of bruised bones. He moved in the way that dancers did when they mimicked cold machine. The stars glittered down in the soft folds of his whispering overlay. A dissonant scene, Faustite realized.
But Sinope soke a taboo name into the free air, and its fingernail realization pierced his throat. He frowned against the hole in his plans. "Faustite," he corrected at long last. The word felt heavy and overdue. "Don't use my other name like this.
"You look trussed up to sit in front of a fire." What does it mean to be cold anymore? How long has it been since I felt winter n** through my skin? That was back when I had eyes. When I had dreams and futures and an irresponsible penchant for boredom. He approached, hs wedge heels slipping rarely over loose gravel. They crunched like teeth under the weight of his aspirations. Faustite waited only when a gust brought Sinope's sent to him, and he rankled at chemical clean public hand soap. "You smell like public bathroom."
Sinope's life remained a mystery — he knew not if the Mirror senshi indulged in afternoon teas, or starved his way through a public school. Maybe he lived the middle class life with a pair of siblings, a mom that sometimes loved him, and a dad that was sometimes sober. Maybe he was led by the throat as his knives-and-smiles executive father raised him through the veiny, bulbous corporate network. Maybe he lived on his own by now, emancipated to the other side of the tracks where crime sated an ever-present itch under the skin. Maybe it chafed him to power down at all. Maybe the whole of his dull moilings sucked his vitality dry, and left a too-bright corpse to wander the streets until daylight.
Maybe he'd say if he was spoken to about it, but Faustite never cared to ask.
He crowned the parapet's obsequious shelf with his booted heel. A passing, searching glance picked shadows out of shadows, dark and brooding as they cast about in sallow lighting. One became a hole in his view of the earth, ripe and bloated with energy. The more he spied their forms, the more an insidious disgust for the wraiths tainted his chilled heart. "I'm not here for energy. We have more duties than that."
The teen’s dark brows peaked at the demand and his delighted smile was painted over with mischief. “Ooh, is someone worried about his real name getting out? I think a certain corrupt senshi mentioned a Faustite to me once, but I don’t know any Faustite. Do you?”
Oblivious to Elex’s thoughts, Sinope was thoroughly enjoying the potential opportunity to get under the captain’s skin when the comment about looking trussed up caused his grin to flicker. The mention of his smelling like a public bathroom extinguished it completely. “How kind of you to notice. Do you like it? I put it on specifically with you in mind.”
Despite his taunts, the super senshi sulked, discouraged to have given Elex yet another reason to have thought less of him. Worse yet was the fact that it was as Sinope he had been caught as rather than Jack, so he couldn’t just add it to his pile of civilian shortcomings. If he wasn’t careful, the captain would soon view Sinope as no better than his normal, middle-class self, worthless for anything except siphoning energy from. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Yeah? Then what are you here for?” he wanted to know, gingerly crossing his arms over his chest. He grit his teeth against the agony that the action provoked. “Spying on more hot guys in the name of curiosity?” The comment almost made him smile again. In my case, though, I don’t do it because he’s hot. That’s just a coincidence. I only noticed after.
"It was a mistake to tell you who I am." Faustite admitted it freely; Sinope clenched all the power in his hands, embedded into white-knuckled fists. "It's up to you, now. What will you do with that knowledge, I wonder?" Would you shout my name from every church steeple until all the world knows my fate? Or would you bide it in the dark of your heart? Would you save it for a rain-stricken day when you're feeling bitter and petty?
You can be so sour when you choose to be, Sinope.
He shook his head at the muted night air when Sinope voiced his deflection. He so often reached for that reaction — that burning affirmation that he meant something, that he had power. That he had presence, that he could fit his teeth in the neat spaces between a person's heart valves and tug until he heard a tear. Until he tasted blood. That was the kind of person Sinope wanted to be, he supposed. The kind always living in fear of his own lack of worth, always building it up in others and measuring obsessively by how much they fight back. Would it burn him not to hear an answer? Some people fell in love with the things that could destroy them; was Sinope looking for such an ending? "It suits you," he added dryly.
At this, Sinope pointed knives to himself. Minute stars sat aglitter in the sky, looking down in all their perfection, at the lone boy who wanted to self-destruct with all the lack of purpose he could manage. Sinope was good at that, he figured. Sinope knew what hurt himself the most and chased it down with a hidden resilience that he may not himself know.
But who was he to turn down someone else's road-rashed death? "I might be." The streets yawned silent into the dark interstices of the city, however, and seldom admitted a man here or a car there. Headlights chased shadows until they wrapped back around to chase the light. And in that moment, their tawdry little street felt the perfect metaphor for an endless, circuitous war. But the delight in him shriveled, rotted, and fell from the tips of his fingers as his hands found home in the crooks of his arms.
Black eyes fell on him. "You look like you're in pain. Did someone give you the rise you always wanted?"
The statement about Elex’s mistake drew a small smirk across Sinope’s lips, but he sighed and closed his eyes, bowing his head until his chin touched his chest. “You’re no fun, Pipes. What could I do with it? It’s not like people would believe me; you said so yourself. They hardly put stock in the idea of monsters even when they’re attacked by them. Why would they entertain the concept that someone might be able to turn into one except as a fascinating bedtime story?”
Lifting his face, he opened his eyes once more to gaze upon the fantastical appearance of the half-youma Negaverse officer. He knew better than to voice his opinion this time, but it remained the same. The young man stood there with his own smoke providing a dreamy atmosphere, adding to the unreal quality of the scene. Sinope ripped his sight away from it with reluctance. If he stared too long, Elex would get suspicious.
Three words. Three syllables was all it took to tear him down the first time. It never would have mattered before or with anyone else, but to hear it from the Yorke boy’s mouth crushed him like nothing else. He couldn’t understand it. The insult wasn’t even that awful or sophisticated. Did it just hurt to be thought of badly by him no matter in what way or to what extent?
Elex’s next three single-syllable words prodded an entirely different wound, though Sinope realized he had been responsible for the setup of this one. He hadn’t expected the answer he received, however, so while he was attempting to decipher whether he’d been given it out of spite, honesty, or both, he didn’t quite register the meaning of what Elex had gone on to say.
At first, he mistakenly assumed that by looking like he was in pain, the half-youma was referring to the inner turmoil that had resulted from Elex’s jeers. Sinope was horrified until he straightened, stiffening, and felt his broken ribs press up against his chest. A sharp gasp acknowledged the reminder that there were other kinds of pain for his countenance to betray.
“Heh...were you always this observant?” he murmured, brief spurts of false start smiles tugging his lips. “Probably were. Maybe just not this vocal about what you observed. But since you ask, yes. Yes they did.” One of the false starts finally sparked the ignition. “Nearly choked the life out of me giving it, too. Not to mention being unable to tell if I was being burned from the inside or drowned.” The super senshi waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “That was a while ago, though. Nothing a little time couldn’t heal.”
So you assume none of them would have a second life like you and I. How special do you really think you are, Sinope? How unique are you, Dark Mirror Senshi, that you leap for any chance to hurt yourself? It's starting to bore me. Faustite sighed through his nose, the gesture clean of sooty discharge. "You must be right." He drawled languidly.
A silence hung, and Sinope's gasp punctured it. He looked on for the blood of the why, and found nothing more than pain cutting lines into his face. Faustite stepped away from his parapet perch, hands frozen in lock-step knuckles behind his back. He paced to the back of the other boy and spied changes in posture, little tips of the neck, syllables missing their voice.
He wasn't going to say. You're hemorrhaging your favor. How long until you bleed its sticky little pearls over the side of this building? Into the streets?
How long until you're just another enemy?
"I see," he began with a snort. "Then I'm wasting my time." Boots struck grabel as he paced back toward the building's middle, the teeth-chatter of gravel chasing every step. Copper, moondust, salt. He wished he could smell blood on the air past the smell of his own corruption. The city pushed its dust into his mouth.
This must be how mother felt — in part.[/color[]
You know that isn’t true, the redhead thought, pondering if Elex was simply too weary of his antics to give any more of a retort than that. Perhaps he really thought Sinope so dense as to believe his own words and didn’t feel like correcting him. Or maybe he hoped for him to believe them so that the senshi was blind to whatever merits there were to be gained from spreading around the captain’s identity. He heard Elex come to a halt behind him and pivoted on his heel, wincing momentarily at the motion. “I’m sorry. I won’t tell anyone,” he assured his peer in all seriousness, regretting his former comments. “Were you worried about someone overhearing?”
And all at once, the officer was walking away from him. Desperation caught in Sinope’s throat and he reached out for the receding back billowing smoke in his face. “Wait! El - Faustite, don’t go,” he pleaded, hating the weakness saturating his request. He snatched for the other teen’s arm; clung to it like a cherished memory. Still he couldn’t bring himself to meet those liquid black depths and turned his head aside as he spoke.
“I was in a traffic accident. It was a few days ago. My parents were already pissed that I had gotten hurt so much from fighting as a senshi and they were livid when I disappeared during that Mirrorspace thing. Naturally they don’t know why these things keep happening, so they must have thought I was doing stuff to myself. The accident was the last straw. They were going to send me somewhere else and I wouldn’t have been able to escape, so I had to leave while I could.”
He should have let go. He was telling too much in the strength of his grip and the ferocity with which he kept it. Instead he wanted to hug him tighter, hold him closer, regardless of his body’s sore complaints. Sinope dared not do that either, however, in case Elex learned more about his body’s state of being than he cared to make known. Nevertheless, there was a reason he exuded enough warmth now to have afforded to abandon his blanket. “I missed you.”
Faustite felt a hand vex itself into his uniform. Like a bruising wound, it wormed into his awareness. It demanded his attention. He halted, if not for the meager voice carried on the wind, then for the broiling need clasped over his muscles. Still, Faustite would not look at him. The black mirrors of his eyes stared out to catch a thousand fleeing stars. He wanted to cast himself away from here. Away from now.
Away from the bitter desperation at his back, which intermingled with smoke. Sinope spoke of a traffic accident from the raw hollow of his throat. The lines of his muscles breathed their corroboration. Cold steel and road tar left their marks on him, captured him, and kissed his face in a hundred cuts and bruises. They mouthed misfortune over his bones. And now he projected that meager helplessness onto Faustite, onto the braced arm that he held so dearly. Sinope explained the transgressions pressed on him, indelibly forced into his skin. His parents thought him weak and self-injurious. He thought himself above the incarceration. They so seldom met in the middle — much like his own parents. Like his own vapid, festering life.
Confidence eludes you, my dear Sinope.
How long had he passed out here then, while huddling under the cloudless sky? Odorous chemical soaps and faint body odor suggested longer than a few hours. Maybe a day, maybe more. Maybe a week. Sinope missed their last meeting in the way that men often do when they lose interest; maybe that was when Sinope was first taken in. It wasn't long — and Faustite made his own brushes with traffic since then, hadn't he? Coincidence weighed heavy on his tongue. He would not yet speak of it — not with the other teen so desperate for him.
"And now you're here, hanging your life over the streets like a length of fishing line. Did you think they were wrong about you?"
He’s so warm, the senshi thought, the pleasant heat almost threatening to numb his brain. Was he like this before? The last time he had gotten so close, his mind had been blank for other reasons and he hadn’t had the chance to register Elex’s body temperature. Against the chilly evening air, however, the contrast was stark. Perhaps it had to do with his half-youma aspects.
The captain’s spoken response earned a sneer from Sinope. “What poetry,” he remarked. “You’re right, though. I guess I have been putting myself in a lot of life-threatening situations recently.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not that it’s ever been my intention to die.”
An appropriate window of time to let go had long since come and gone. Even so, like an infant with separation anxiety, Sinope couldn’t peel himself away. It’s just because he’s so warm, he insisted to his silent, internal self-inquiries. I’ll let go soon enough. He took a moment to consider how soon ‘soon enough’ was. He’ll make me, eventually.
“I did think they were wrong. Right up until you reminded me of what I’ve been doing as a senshi lately,” the redhead confessed. “They’re only partly informed, so I didn’t think it was likely they could come to a correct assumption without all the facts.”
At the sound of Sinope's derision, Faustite slipped his arm from its captor. A step, and he half-turned through a wave of his own smoke to face their conversation. Thought trickled down into meaning trickled down into words, and the tone leaving the other boy's mouth tasted of soot. So you admit that you've been hurting yourself. How does that sound to you? His gaze probed the other boy's face for answers, yet only found a perpetual, dopey grin looking back at him. He felt, at first, insulted.
What am I to do with someone like you? Capitulation is so boring. Always giving in to my answers, always telling me I'm right. Are you trying to lead me into a trap, Sinope? Are you trying to drive me off by following my lead so closely? Should I be surprised that you want nothing to do with making choices for yourself? I've seen where that road leads. I've seen it in the hours spent as human furniture. That's the life you aim for.
I can't be surprised. He looked past perplexed brown eyes to the cast of gravel on the floor, scattered like the meager scraps of their broken lives. This is what I should expect as a captain. Some lieutenants will want to please so desperately that they lose all flavor of themselves. But the world needs grunts — the world needs people like Sinope, who will follow the one who holds the leash. Energy gathering is better left to these types. The sick doldrums of grunt work suits them. No wonder my mother looked at me the way she did — she was losing her collared child to independent thought.
Faustite busied himself with the straightening of his sleeves, each nailed touch feather-light until he worked his cuff lengths. "How long have you been out here?" He looked to Sinope once more. "Where have you been staying?" Nothing but blankets lounged nearby to give an answer.
For a horrifying fraction of a second, the hooded sailor scout thought his actions and words might have persuaded the officer to be on his way as Elex removed his arm. He was also loathe to note that the loss of his heat source wasn’t the largest contributing factor to his dread. Shortly after this revelation, though, he discovered his fears were unwarranted and was all the more ashamed for his initial emotions.
Sinope stared off to one side and stuck his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t keen on answering, but he was even less keen on risking the agent’s departure by once more withholding requested information. “A few days,” he answered, kicking restlessly at an imaginary pebble. “And I’ve been staying in different stores in the mall for the most part. Once in a while I come out here. I feel less trapped that way. Why do you ask?”
He chanced a sidelong glance at his peer. “It’s been great. No homework, no parents, no one to tell me when curfew is or what to eat at what time. Pure freedom. And when I want something, I just take it. I should have done this ages ago.” The high schooler was about to raise his arms in order to fold them behind his head, but he accidentally nudged his ribs in the process and instantly discontinued.
It just goes to show how badly I’ve succumbed to this sickness that I would let something like that slip out, Sinope thought darkly. ’I missed you.’ How much more sappy can you get? Not that anyone wouldn’t have been able to tell by my flinging myself at him… I should have just let him go. “Sorry if I missed our last meeting. I lost track of the days.” Got too caught up in my oh-so-fabulous new taste of freedom - and the huge-a** cost it’s tagged with. “Is there a reason you didn’t answer my earlier question?”
Some questions aren't worth answering. "So I should answer every question asked of me? How boring." He shifted, his restlessness taking hold and snaking its way into his narrow heels. He would not press further on the subject.
"Pure freedom," he echoed, knowing the full venom of the words. He experienced that freedom just as intimately -- with all the tattered holes punched through his sense of structure. Freedom had a habit of teething through every scrap of expectation until nothing remained but its flavorless bones. Not even gristle still clung to the corpse. But that was the way of it -- freedom was an all-consuming hunger with little difference from Metallia's wildfire brand of chaos. The way it soaked into his very core and fumed like gasoline, mouthing hot over its victims until something caught its interest -- was there really a difference? Or was the gunmetal taste in his mouth at the world alone owing to addiction?
Maybe they weren't exclusive. Wouldn't that be a trick?
"Pure freedom hasn't done you many favors, my dear Sinope." The twitch of shoulders went fully noted and he cast himself into a pendulous pace. You're too proud to admit your fault, aren't you? Too proud and too independent to ask for any help I could give. And where did this pride come from? Where do you think you earned it?
"Look at you." Faustite's narrow chin dipped toward the senshi. "Your hair's a mess. You smell like mall bathrooms and body odor. You have bags under your eyes that are bigger than my mother's purses — even the ones that are out of style by now. Don't lie to me so blatantly; you insult us both." He breathed a vaporous sigh through his nose, one ensconced in smoke. "But that's where you choose to spend your cleverness, isn't it? In insult. In defamation. Better to watch others bleed than have to smell your own wounds."
Bone-rattle whispers creaked through his chest before he held out a single devilish hand. "I'll give you a choice. Stay here or don't. Feed off the bilgewater from the bowels of this city, or grow fat on borrowed opulence. Make your choice."
The line of the redhead’s mouth twisted bitterly as he was appraised and critiqued like a piece of secondhand furniture. His arms lifted again with the intention of folding themselves over his chest before pain once more protested the action. Growling in frustration, he finally allowed them to fall to fists at his sides. Why had he bothered spouting such overt nonsense? He thought he might have been half sarcastic, but half of him had wanted to try to convince himself as much as Elex that he meant those words.
Of course his logic had made it clear from the start that he had no chance in succeeding, but he hadn’t bothered heeding it much as of late. After that embarrassingly sentimental admission that had escaped him, he had been less inclined to risk further damage to the remains of his dignity by openly exposing the truth, obvious though it was. It had been a tepid attempt at best and now he was more ashamed than ever to have even bothered with it at all.
Sinope’s shame combined with fatigue and hunger to make for a very cross sailor scout. He stared the Negaverse captain down with narrowed eyes, contemplating how difficult it was to discern where Elex was looking when his sclera was indistinguishable from his pupils and irises. The palm extended to the senshi reestablished the direction of his attention.
“I’m not lying,” he uttered, glancing at the blackened hand. He pondered if that had been the one he’d felt at his back as Jack when his energy had been drained. It had certainly had a part in tossing him into the path of the Prius. “Not technically. But okay, so I’ve been roughing it a little. I figure it’s better than what they had in store for me, in any case. Not all of us have a billion dollars to just sneak out from under their parents’ noses when they decide to disappear for a while…”
Aw, s**t. There he went proving Elex’s point about insulting others. Like so many things the captain said about him, it wasn’t wrong. Sinope just sorely disliked having such facts shoved in his face. He wasn’t going to get anywhere this way, though. Exhaling his pride in an extensive sigh, he reconsidered the choice offered to him and tempered himself to make the decision aloud.
“Neither option sounds especially fantastic,” the teen answered dourly. “But if you’ve got an alternative to this,” he said, giving a vague wave toward his blanket pile, “I’m all ears.” Especially if it involves a bath.
Faustite's brows rose in venomous surprise. Oh, so you got to choose your fate. Bully for you, Sinope. Is that a perk of being completely human? Does it pair well with situational irony? It should, for how obvious you were in ignoring who you talked to. He could not stifle hurt's intrusion into his expression, nor its copulation with resentment. A chill crept in his tone, like fingers of morning frost clutched tight over a swollen throat. "You're right. Not all of us have money. Not all of us have choices, either."
What do you think about when you're standing in front of me? It isn't me — not always. Not how I see me. Right now, you must be thinking of yourself. Reflecting over all the hardships you endured like badges of honor. Like notches in a bedpost. Or are they more like flogs of a whip to you? I know how much you detest having your autonomy taken away. You confessed as much.
But you've lost perspective. You're not useful like this. You're not interesting. All huddled up in ratty, filthy blankets like you're waiting for a plague… Like you're waiting for someone to wrest you from your fate.
Like you chose to be saved, not save yourself.
His hand dropped, empty. His motions knew a smoothness that Sinope's body couldn't afford. Faustite knew this well, and settled into a slow pace toward the used blankets. The last autumn leaves clawed their way into them belligerently, embedding flakes of themselves long after their season ended. He nudged one with his boot. "My father owned a fishing boat for as long as I can remember. It's filled with all his expectations — a hull to fit three people, all the standard amenities, gold trimming on the gunwales. The name of a past lover painted coyly on the back." Maybe he's still loving her. "He's had it for years and used it twice. But the winter months give him all the reason he needs to stay off the deck. It sits in a dock now, waiting for summer.
"No one will use it between then and now. No one will know you're there if you used it. You would have to keep up the gas for the generators, but I'm sure that's not a problem for someone like you." His gaze cast out toward the city while his fingers remained threaded at his back.
"You could use it." Faustite turned, his eyes finding Sinope once again. With the same leisurely pace, he made his way toward the other teen. "But I'll ask you to do something for me."
The turbulent series of changes in Elex’s countenance astounded Sinope and his concept of his peer’s vulnerability was refreshed. He must have assumed somewhere along the way that the half-youma teen had developed an immunity to his provocations, but there was also the chance that he had unintentionally struck a nerve. Riffling back through his most recent remarks, the senshi attempted to pinpoint the cause. Not all of us have choices? Did it have something to do with the enigmatic circumstances under which Elex had left home in the first place? Perhaps he had been abducted or something similar as Jack had first suspected when he learned of the youngest Yorke’s disappearance.
Not like he’d tell me if I asked, he thought. But then he realized he was assuming again.
“You shape an imperfect picture of me because you don't want to ask the necessary questions.”
Very well, then. “So what choices were you denied, Captain?” he prompted. He had considered saving the inquiry for a later time, but that look on Elex’s face was a crack in his mask of composure that Sinope wasn’t about to allow to seal up again without further investigation. “Does it have to do with how you became half-youma?”
If he so chose, the ebony-eyed young man could simply ignore the invasive queries as he had the senshi’s others. At least until said senshi decided to prod him with them once more, because he would. If Elex was going to bring up such subjects, Sinope didn’t intend to let them drop entirely until the officer explained himself.
The sailor scout watched the stained hand fall and wondered if its owner had expected him to actually take it. He had wanted to, of course - more than just take it, even - but if it turned out that Elex had simply been gesturing to emphasize his offer, the mistake would have erred on the side of sentimentality. Sinope didn’t think he could stand any more mortification just then resulting from betraying that particular brand of weakness.
Still...it gave him a curiously warm and pleasant sensation to think the Negaverse agent might have been accepting of the physical contact after all despite Sinope’s prior embarrassing outburst. True, Elex had permitted and even initiated such contact in the past, but that had seemed an age ago and things changed. It was difficult to say how much, but finally having been ordered to call the other teen by his Negaverse name gave the redhead the sense of having been distanced. As someone who had maintained minimal interest in interpersonal relationships previously, though, he could only speculate.
The seasons cold began to manifest as an ache in Sinope’s battered and broken bones, but he refused to reach for the filthy pile of folds he had so readily abandoned earlier. He was immersed in the Negaverse agent’s elaboration of the opulence he proposed, finding it curious that among the practical descriptions, a more intimate detail was slipped in. It could have been nothing, of course, but the senshi of slyness was rarely willing to dismiss it as that, especially when it came to Elex whom he felt he was endlessly trying to puzzle out. He stowed that question away among his arsenal of others for a near-future occasion, but for now there were more immediate matters to discuss.
“‘Someone like me’, huh?” he repeated, watching the smoke-billowing back with a crooked half-smile. It was ambiguous enough that it could have been taken as either an insult or compliment, though Sinope guessed he knew which was more likely to have been meant. Even so, he wondered if Elex would bother clarifying.
Sinope’s gaze had been steadily trickling down the captain’s pipe-studded backside to his neatly interlocked hands and then drifting further south until it rested on an attribute that he found oddly enticing to study. Only when the other teen turned to face him once more did he readjust his sight, migrating it to more appropriate regions with a speed that nearly made him dizzy.
The heat when the captain moved near was so delicious it prompted the senshi to remind himself yet again the many reasons why he wasn’t to touch the half-youma unless contact was first initiated by Elex himself. Even if he forbid himself from moving closer, though, he definitely wasn’t about to move away.
He flung his peer an incredulous look. “I know you don’t think much of me, El, but even I wouldn’t accept something for nothing. I dislike owing people.” It reminded him of how Elex seemed to have to make sure that something was offered in exchange for a request. This was all strictly business. Somehow, though, that concept made him more comfortable with the idea of accepting.
Aside from his parents, Sinope wasn’t keen on relying on anyone else. At least his mom and dad were his family, so he had taken for granted that there would be countless opportunities to repay them down the road once he had reached adulthood and become self-sufficient. With others, long-term debts insinuated long-term associations, which the young man endeavored to avoid if at all possible.
In this case, though, he didn’t know how long his and Elex’s association would last. It had already been lengthened far beyond the senshi’s usual relations, so it seemed pointless to dwell on that concern. If Elex - Faustite - had uses for him, then he couldn’t see much more reason to refuse so long as he was able to meet the captain’s expectations. Furthermore, if he had this excuse to keep tabs on Elex, it saved him the trouble of constantly seeking him out. Sinope wouldn’t have had to raise suspicion nor explain his motives in wanting to monitor the half-youma’s well-being.
“If, by my standards, the work you have for me isn’t sufficient enough to repay you, I’m declining,” the scout stated. “I’m hoping you had more than just one ‘something’ in mind or that it entails more than just one task. Because if you don’t keep me busy enough, I’m going to get bored and I’m not going to stand for that ‘growing fat on borrowed opulence’ s**t.” He had had enough time on his own to dwell on his regrets and shortcomings. If he wasn’t able to attend school or do homework, he was going to require more, hopefully productive undertakings to occupy himself than simply sending his mirrorwraiths out to collect energy. “If you think I could be frequently, adequately useful and there’s something at least resembling mutual benefit here, then sure, I’ll do it. But I don’t want you pitying or looking down on me any more than you already are. I don’t want your charity.”
"So what choices were you denied, Captain?"
Faustite snorted, his gaze dropped low. The chill in the air spoke its indecencies between them. "The choice to be a teenager, to finish school, to graduate, to move out when I'm eighteen, to hold a job, to have friends, to join the Negaverse." His gaze found Sinope, sharp as the weather and armed with bitter certainty. "The choice to be human." He turned to start his pacing a new and dumped his breath into the deep night. Thickly it fogged and furled and curled until it meant nothing — showed nothing — over the dark horizon.
Faustite hated feeling what he felt. He hated the helplessness of it, of how he faced such incongruous injustice. Rage and dejection boiled together beneath his skin. His throat clutched tight with all the instinct he could manage to shutter those words. They tasted like venom and sour bile. They tasted like all the ashen dreams burnt up by his youmafication. Did Sinope bother to think about what he asked? Or did he just take and take and take and take and take like any self-entitled teenaged boy?
He was a fool to expect otherwise.
But that thread of conversation found a grateful grave as Sinope marched on, ever motivated to enunciate his own hatred for charity cases. Faustite smiled into the dark where only alleyways could look upon him. Up there on the parapet, on the rooftop for the mall, they cut their sordid little figures with conversation and cleverness. They carved their indelible names into the air with coy wit, caustic words, and teenaged carelessness. He wondered if he could clutch that moment in his fists — if he could cage the bittersweet feeling burning in his chest and freeze that frame of time as an indelible memory. That hope felt too heavy in its expectations, so he let it all go. Out into the night air came another breath.
"How expectant," Faustite observed while he wound his thoughts and feelings back together. His nails traced the cufflinks of his dress shirt. "But what I ask is important." To my work, to my livelihood. But you don't worry about these things, do you?
"I need you to spy on people. Different people. Sometimes no one in particular." He looked out to the dark stretch of city teeth. It all felt so impervious to the cold. "Sometimes I'll give you names and descriptions. Sometimes I won't. There will be civilians, Negaverse agents, White Moon senshi, Knights, and sometimes other members of your Court," he finished, half-spitting the word. "Sometimes I'll ask you to break into houses, or find their families, or test them somehow. I want you to make every observation you can, write it all down, then give it to me. Do you understand?"
Sinope met the captain’s obsidian depths and acerbic reply with pensive repose until Elex began his pacing anew. So, it really hadn’t been his choice to join the Negaverse, then. Whose, then, though? And how had that eventually led to his partial youmafication? Had that also been the will of another, or an accident? And if Faustite had had those choices, what would he have chosen? There were too many questions for right now.
If not making spoken assumptions, the redhead knew he was prone to asking a lot of inquiries, as Elex had stated once before. And since the captain seemed to prefer keeping his thoughts to himself, the senshi doubted he would be getting any sort of answer right then if he probed, let alone a proper one. Deterred by the raven-haired youth’s dismissal of his queries before, he kept his mouth shut about them and returned his attention to the more immediate topic at hand.
Elex had assured him that the tasks he would ask of him were vital. And why is it so important? the hazel-eyed teen wondered, studying his peer’s gait and the rhythm of his footfalls. Sounds like Negaverse work...but for what reason do you serve them if it wasn’t your choice? What are your goals now, Faustite, with your prior ones robbed from you?
“Roger that,” Sinope answered, waving his mirrorwraiths toward him so that they could return to Mirrorspace through the portals of his mirror shards. Even if he had still wanted to utilize their assistance in procuring dinner, he didn’t think he had the energy to do so anymore. His success in temporarily shooing away fatigue had waned considerably since Elex had shown up. Expensive efforts of false bravado, the ache of his injuries, and a strain of keeping his emotions in check had burned right through his meager stores of vigor. When Elex moved away, the blanket pile beckoned to him worse than before, but he shunned its enticements in favor of seating himself right where he was with a quiet grunt.
“Spying I can do. You know how naturally nosy I am.” Being a Dark Mirror Senshi had its advantages too, he thought, since even in situations where stealth wasn’t an option, none of the factions really had all that much of a reason to suspect him or his court of being a threat. Breaking into houses might have been a bit trickier, but they had already done that once and it had seemed simple enough then. Finding families brought to mind his experience in tracking down Elex previously, so he was confident he could accomplish tasks of those kind. And testing them...that would be a special pleasure.
“Already take notes for Acubens on our court, so this shouldn’t be much different.” It reminded him of the historians whose books he had so enjoyed comparing in his freetime. Being a spy and recording his observations coincided with his hobby of spectating quite well, he thought, though perhaps that had to do with why Elex thought to assign such work to him in the first place.
Acubens? It isn't a mineral name. Is Acubens a senshi of their court? Of the White Moon? The thought did not linger long.
Sinope sank with exhaustion, yet Faustite thrummed with more energy than when they started. An implacable rush swept through him, motivated him, and left him wanting for action. For motion. For a fleck of conflict in this husk of the city. Yet all fell silent beneath the building, with passing cars yearning to fill the silence. Sometimes he could nearly hear the way the other teen inspired his pain and expired false pretense. When will you stop lying? Pain is written into your every move. You're fooling no one, Sinope — not even yourself.
You're defeating your own reliability. How can I trust any information that comes from you?
"You'll have a lot of work on your hands. I want you to watch Chrysocolla and Arsenopyrite. A lieutenant named Hopeite. Be aware in your own Court for talk against the Negaverse. I want the names of everyone who speaks ill of us. I want to know who you know as a civilian and I want you to keep tabs on them. Watch them for sudden bruises, learn their routines for sudden disappearances. Don't be idle." Arms that were once crossed over chest then dropped, and Faustite stepped into a restless pace again. He cast his skeptic's eye at his exhausted company, and all the pain write over his youthful face. How much did his Court expect of him, if anything at all? Sinope looked more lithe than built, to his disappointment. He looked like he lived a life of whimsy and luxury.
The irony never escaped him, rending a wry smirk that struggled to stay afloat. "Your dishonesty hinders you, Sinope. You'll need to be watched." He approached the seated senshi, then pinched a finger and thumb around the width of Sinope's bicep. Straightening, he voiced his disapproval. "I don't know that independent work suits you. Arms like that belong to spoiled athletes, not star players. You'll know when you're underperforming. I'll make sure of it.
"I want weekly reports for everything you've learned, so take a lot of notes. Take notes on yourself if you have to. And don't worry about meeting times — I'll know where you live.
"If you're done making demands for sufficient work, we have somewhere to be." At last he opened his hand out to Sinope again, and this time, he would not be refused.
Examining the gleaming copper of his arm brace, the super senshi filed away the names of the people he was to observe and relevant details of additional information that Elex wished to obtain. It certainly sounded like a full schedule, which he was grateful for. The harder he worked, the less his pride would prickle him for relying on Elex’s generosity. Furthermore, the ventures would keep his mind occupied in place of boredom or useless thoughts.
There wasn’t much to distract him from the latter at the moment, however. He had already learned of Chrysocolla, but why did Elex want to watch her? Was he concerned she would act against him? Did he have some other interest in her? Well if it was that sort of interest, it wasn’t Sinope’s business any more than Rowan was. Same with whoever this Arsenopyrite. If the sailor scout happened to find out an answer or two to his own questions during his investigating, though, it wasn’t as if he could be condemned for it.
Argh, since when did I get so interested in finding out who all these people are when they have nothing to do with me? he agonized. Tch...it’s because of Elex. If they pertain to him, they pertain to me. Well, whatever. The more invested I am in learning about them, the better I’ll do this job. He jerked his head up sharply as he slipped from his pondering into the sudden awareness that Elex was scrutinizing him - and smirking. He was so unnerved by the sight that the pain of his brisk action was easily disregarded.
Agitation manifested as vexation when he was once more accused of dishonesty. Sinope wanted to stand so he was level with his peer, but in addition to his weariness, there was the fact that captain’s contact with his arm would have been broken. He detested the ludicrous amount of pleasure his body was able to derive from such a minor, meaningless touch, but worse was the fact that he had not the will to reject it. Unvoiced points of protest, shaped by hot anger, melted into smooth, liquid bliss. The area of contact was still decently distant from his more sensitive injuries, so as long as Elex remained ignorant of his internal responses and suppressed urges, maybe it would be okay to indulge a little. Even if the half-youma was insulting him.
“Right...watch, listen, learn, notate, and develop thicker muscles. The last one isn’t exactly a personal preference of mine, but I guess if you like brawn so much, it can’t be helped.” He offered another feeble twitch of his shoulders and a wan smile. “I better make sure I please my benefactor if I don’t want to be thrown out.” Meeting times would still be appreciated so I’d know when to expect you, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.
Sinope blinked and his eyes narrowed. ’We.’ It was cause for internal beration with how that single, one-syllable word caused his stomach to clench. While it was deciding to give him problems, he figured he might as well get all the awkward sensations over with at once and clasped Elex’s palm the moment it was shown to him. He gripped it hard and tugged himself to his feet. His utilization of the other teen to haul his weight up served as his excuse to hold tight and pull close, even if only for an instant.
The behavior caused part of him to burn with shame at himself, the heat of which reforged the pricks of resentment he again longed to stick Elex with. “Demands for work, yes. Talking, no,” he spoke close to an ear mostly concealed by long locks of night. His grasp on the other’s hand did not let up. “You keep claiming that I’m being dishonest no matter what I say. But when exactly have I lied? Did it ever occur to you that I might be telling the truth and you might actually be wrong?”
So he has enough basic listening skills to recall what I said. It's a start.
Faustite stilled, and Sinope's tug on his arm drew him forward a touch. He hadn't yet released his grip on the senshi's hand. Brows furrowed at Sinope's comment; was he so unaware of himself? I'm not wasting my time on this. Not now.
His grip on Sinope tightened for a moment as his gaze shut to the world. He recalled the old familiarity of the boat, its perpetual mustiness, and the cramped cabins and aisles that marked a staunch stand against the handicapped. The smell of his mother's rose perfume clung to the memory for how she often clouded out the hull, sitting as she did at the lone eatery table. Most of all, he remembered his own stretch of space where his bed folded out from the wall, and the window stuck outward just enough to perch an airplant terrarium. And in that moment, in that imagining of sunlight reaching the globe, they vanished.
Strickenized
