Chapter Text
Queequeg almost bit into her tongue upon waking up.
Wait.
Her tongue?
She screams, probably, in a voice that isn’t her own.
“Calm down.” A very familiar voice rings in her ears. “Not good. Freaking out. In my body.”
This time, she most definitely screams.
***
For some unknown reason, Queequeg lives in Gregor’s body now, and vice versa. It isn’t just them, at least. The other Sinners all got swapped with each other too: Heathcliff with Sinclair; Faust with Quixote; Hong Lu with Ryōshū; Meursault with Rodya; and Yi Sang with Outis. It looks like a bigger problem: everyone’s souls wandering in bodies that aren’t theirs — but if this predicament isn’t exclusive to Queequeg, she secretly feels a tad…less afraid.
“If you. Then okay.” Queequeg looks up to see herself leaning on the seat next to hers. She’s still not that used to looking up at others yet. “Calm, usually, don’t you?”
She blinks twice, less bewildered at the situation than at the expression her face is capable of making. It’s so…relaxed?
“Ah, um. Yes, of course.” She finally remembers to reply. “The arm would go out of control if I lost my cool…”
“Good.” Gregor couldn’t maintain the smile on that always-too-grave face for long. The body collapsed on the nearest seat, leaving its inhabitant gasping for air. “Tiring. Just speak.”
“Yes, quite.” Queequeg averts her eyes: she can’t help but feel a slight bit guilty. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Nevermind.” Gregor takes a cigarette out of seemingly thin air and puts it in her mouth. “How, the hand?”
“…I’m actually more bothered by the back sore. Are you okay, Gregor?”
No, in reality, what really bothers Queequeg most about all this is how Gregor is about to smoke in her body. Burdening him in her body, she’s not brazen enough to order him around: especially when she remembers how she had ordered him to deliver her a cigarette that one time, nor is she suddenly pretending to care about her lungs. Starting to smoke at the tender age of thirteen/fourteen, she knew they had been ruined long ago. It’s just…a cigarette on that face looks so right that it feels wrong.
She quit smoking right after she quit the Middle — just another feeble attempt to distance herself from them. Still, she couldn’t resist the temptation sometimes, and the Pequod didn’t lack smokers, only those who were frugal about sharing theirs.
Seeing Ishmael’s sour expression when she smoked in bed was actually a more effective way to quit cigarettes. Besides, the younger woman seems more willing to kiss Queequeg when she’s stopped smoking…
“Greg!”
“Rod…Rodya…”
The man— her colleague grabs Queequeg by the bug arm. “My, my~ It is so funny seeing such a serious expression on Greg’s face. Like, Queg, look into a mirror. It doesn’t fit him at all!”
Speaking of the ill-fitted expression, Meursault’s face is creeping Queequeg out.
“Hehe, what's happened's happened. I think it could be pretty nice to just live on like thi—”
That's Hong…Ryōshū speaking, to most of the Sinners’ objections.
“Oi, no way, nope. I ain't living in some sheltered lad's scrawny body.”
“Let's K.E and turn the clock.”
However, in another corner, Meursault still looks awfully cheerful.
“Mm~ I'll go with Ryōshū.”
“I have a feeling I know the answer to this already,” Queequeg mumbles in Gregor’s voice, “but… which one?”
“The one who's Ryōshū right now, 'course~ Can't we just stay like this for a little longer? Kinda feels like a breath of fresh air, don't it…?”
“Figured.”
Queequeg hasn't spent that much time thinking about it, too busy freaking out about the whole ordeal, but now that she has totally calmed down…
Am I okay with this?
Outside of the sore back…and arms…and the entire body in general, Queequeg wasn't that uncomfortable in Gregor’s body. She doesn't really mind the bug arm that much: she had been accustomed to even grosser stuff, and always having a weapon on hand without the trouble attaching and detaching it is actually pretty convenient. Besides, she does miss being able to properly taste.
“Ro— Meursault, do you have anything to eat right now?”
She deliberately speaks as quietly as possible, thinking none but Rodya would catch that. Maybe Faust is close enough to listen in, but Faust would never comment on such inane things.
But that wasn't Faust.
“Hoh? Did mineth ears deceive me? Young Queequeg, of all people, asked for food?”
Queequeg can feel her face turning bright red.
“Mrs. Queequeg, I don't think this is the time…”
It's Sinclair. It's Sinclair. Queequeg reminds herself, but her blood can't help but boil hearing that man's voice.
“I just want to be able to properly taste food for once, alright!!!”
Ah…She shouldn’t have shouted. Even when it isn’t exactly her body that is the object of everyone’s attention, it is still incredibly uncomfortable having all those eyes at her direction.
Ryō…shū is the first to break off the uncomfortable silence. “Mm~ Didn’t we just drive past a BBQ restaurant a moment ago?”
“NO WAY IN BLOODY HELL I’M GOING OUTSIDE AS THIS SISSY!”
“Sissy…"
<Guys, guys!> Dante only narrowly stopped the bus from erupting into chaos. They look exhausted, more so than any other Sinners, and Queequeg does feel for them, but she still remembers this is at least partially their fault. <Let’s sit in silence for a moment while I wait for Vergilius, okay? I— I mean some of you are okay with the body you’re in, so… haha .>
Dante trails off, so the Sinners have no other option but to consider their laughter a sufficient full stop for now. They have neglected to acknowledge that the majority of the Sinners were very upset with their current bodies, which is a bit irresponsible, especially when this happened because of them in the first place.
“Staying in the swapped bodies requires a mutually collaborative understanding and consent with the switched individual.” That sweet voice speaks in a tone that Queequeg had never heard from her before.
“Huh? What, don'tcha like my body, Meur?” The man leans over to his companion and — No, Queequeg can’t stand to watch it. It looks too wrong— “Ooh~ Or do I call ya Rodya? Gosh, this is so much fun!”
“Consent, huh…”
Queequeg looks over to…herself. The cigarette is still unlit, only hanging between the teeth of the woman like so.
“Not too bad. Can stand it. For a bit.”
Queequeg isn’t one to look at or after herself often. Mirrors, bodies of water, glasses, she typically avoids all of those. Unlike Yi Sang, she loathes and loathes the person inside the mirror. The tattoos on her face almost seem to glow purple if she stares into the mirror for too long. Hence, it would only be natural if she never noticed how her eyes could look so kind…
“No, I can’t stand it. At least, I can’t allow this to go on for long.”
Looking at her own bemused expression, Queequeg adds.
“I won’t be having the chance to speak my mind as freely as I do now, so please listen to me.” She speaks quickly and frantically, but, for once, she does not need to catch her breath. “My body is my business, my fate, and my burden. It wouldn’t be fair if the Middle chases you to the end of the Earth, Gregor. I must suffer for my own decision, and without the punishment for my past sins, I would never be able to atone. That’s why I need to get that body — the body that had enacted so many cruelties, the body of the cherished prodigal daughter of the Middle, yet so dearly loved by her — back. It’s simply unconscionable for me to be punished in your body, or you in mine.”
The kind brown eyes linger on her for a long while: concerned and curious.
“Okay…truly?”
“Yes, it is truly okay.”
“No, you.” The braids shake slightly. The familiar voice bears just the faintest trace of irritation. “You, okay?”
It takes Queequeg some time to answer.
“…Yes. I am truly okay.” She adjusts the glasses with her flesh hand, looking away as a habit. “I mean, I’m glad, at least, to see myself being able to exist beyond my flesh. Turned out, without my flesh, there still existed a Queequeg with her own distresses and desires, even when those desires are still incredibly shallow and simple.”
The two of them fall into silence for some time, as Mephistopheles slowly descends into another chaos.
“Hey.” Queequeg feels an arm nudging her. “Inside coat. A candy. Rodya gave.”
There is indeed a singular piece of lemon candy in the pocket of Gregor’s coat. Queequeg hesitates a bit, but folds quickly, seeing her own encouraging smile.
…
“Candy…when?” Ominously asked the Colour Fixer.
Queequeg should have hesitated a bit more.
Oh well, she still loves so dearly that sweetness lingering on her tongue, and even the slightly tangy and bitter aftertaste.