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“There is more dancing than there is slaying in this episode,” AuDy says, sounding vaguely disgruntled.
At least, Cass thinks that they sound disgruntled. It’s hard to tell, with AuDy—not because they're a robot with no facial expressions with which to convey emotion, but because disgruntled seems to be more of a resting state for AuDy than a distinct mood.
Later, Cass will learn that discontent is a far better descriptor of Liberty and Discovery at rest. But, for now, Cass only looks at the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode that they’re watching and shrugs.
“It’s a musical episode,” Cass explains. “Kind of comes with the territory.”
AuDy sighs. “Useless.”
Cass isn’t sure whether that comment is directed toward the idea of musicals or Cass themselves. Cass likes to think it’s not the latter, but at the same time, they can’t really wrap their mind around the former. Even robots have to like musicals, right?
“Have you ever danced before, AuDy?” Cass asks.
“No.”
“But you know why people do it, right?”
“In this particular episode, singing and dancing are being used as narrative devices to get characters to display emotions that they otherwise wouldn’t have.”
“Well, yeah, but…” Cass sighs. How do you explain the point of dancing to someone who’s never danced before--who's never even had the urge to dance? “It’s also just fun, right? Dancing doesn’t just express feelings, it…it kind of is a feeling all its own.”
AuDy tilts their head, obviously confused—and how could they not be, with the word garbage that just fell out of Cass’ mouth. But AuDy nonetheless continues to listen.
Of course they do, Cass thinks—while AuDy normally isn’t interested in the nuances of human behavior, in the context of Buffy, their curiosity can always be coaxed out of hiding.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Cass says, standing up. AuDy joins them after a long pause.
“I suspect this lesson will be irrelevant to me,” AuDy says. “Additionally, if you ask me to do the robot, I will drop you off this ship.”
“Nobody’s done the robot in centuries,” Cass says. “I think it’d be in poor taste these days, considering all the sentient robots that people think are worth worshiping.”
“You really don’t think much of Divines.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you why,” Cass mutters, pulling out their phone and putting on some music. “Why, what do you think about them?”
AuDy doesn’t answer right away. Cass doesn’t take offense—it’s just another AuDy thing. On Cass’ more pensive days, they wonder if AuDy’s silence in the face of conversation starters stems from the fact that so few people have even bothered to ask AuDy questions that they’ve had no practice at answering them.
Most of the time, though, Cass just assumes that AuDy is ignoring them.
Cass shakes their head and begins showing AuDy the steps of a dance that Sokrates taught them when they were both young. The dance is hopelessly outdated and out of fashion by now, but the movements are easy to teach: simple, yet bold and fast, full of a flare that always struck Cass as more manic than appropriately regal.
How very Sokrates.
Of course, AuDy’s movements are more mechanical than they are manic, but they still pick up the moves quickly. As always, Cass can’t tell what AuDy is thinking—their screen is as blank as ever—but for the first time in the past hour, their attention is fully focused on Cass—on the dance—rather than the episode.
“I think,” AuDy finally answers, “that I could never understand a robot that would tie themselves to one person like that.”
Cass wants to laugh, but the sound lingers, dry and stuck, at the back of their throat. Jesus, are they and AuDy different. Cass tied themselves to an entire empire before that whole clusterfuck backfired. It’s painfully easy for Cass to understand the Divines’ urge: an urge that still throbs and seizes in Cass' chest no matter how far they travel from Apostolos’ shores.
“People are weird,” Cass says. They cross their arms and slide their feet to show AuDy the next part of the dance. “I guess that means the robots we make have to be weird too though, right? We all do weird things, like tie ourselves down to the people we feel a connection to.”
“And you demonstrate those ties by dancing,” AuDy observes.
“Uh, yeah. I do, at least.”
Cass twirls their hands in the manner that they remember Sokrates doing—the flapping motion feels arrhythmic on Cass’ body, but it still matches the step of their feet.
AuDy’s servers whir in thought as they mimic Cass. Their movements never quite capture the ease of Cass' own, but AuDy's blunt and efficient steps capture an elegance of their own, their body moving not out of instinct, but because that is what it is designed to do.
And then, all at once, AuDy stops moving and sits back down.
“I would like to finish the episode.”
Cass blinks. “Yeah. Sure.”
Though AuDy doesn’t speak for the rest of the episode, Cass likes to imagine that they’re more receptive to it now. Now there’s some wistful thinking, Cass thinks, shaking their head at themselves.
Or--maybe not. Because, during a mission at a club a month later, it’s actually AuDy who manages to throw off their tail by pretending to be a dancer robot in the middle of the crowd.
Mako immediately loses his shit. Aria shrieks in delight. Cass just gives a small smile before getting back to the plan.
***
Cass had never seen an Aria Joie show before today. They hadn’t been keen on the music, considering that it originated from the company that razed Apotine to the ground and built it anew in gaudy neon.
Cass has since warmed up to Aria Joie’s songs—or, at least, to Aria Joie herself. Cass figures that everyone in the Chime has a shitty origin story; those beginnings might as well be a connecting force between them rather than a divisive one. Besides, it’s hard not to warm up to Aria, even when her idealism regularly threatens to get them all killed.
And damn it if that idealism doesn't shine through in her dancing just as much as it does in her fighting.
She performs for Cass in an empty hanger bay, her smile shining with the promise of a better tomorrow—or whatever it is that she sings about. As she curls her arm toward the ceiling, the Brilliance’s follows effortlessly, a shiny, green beacon in the grey halls of The Kingdom Come. Aria and the Brilliance's movements are fluid, flowing seamlessly as they—
No, Cass thinks, shaking their head, The way they move is nothing like water. It’s like fire: flaring and sparking with unpredictable and sometimes even violent energy.
After they finish their routine, Aria and the Brilliance give a bow, and Cass’ claps echo throughout the hanger bay.
“Amazing,” Cass says. “I had no idea a mech could even do that, frankly.”
“Oh, the Brilliance can do anything,” Aria says. She pats her mech's leg. “You should know that; you’ve seen her in action before.”
“Yeah, but only when we're trying not to die. Kind of hard to show off when you’re busy dodging missiles.”
“Maybe for you it is,” Aria says playfully, and Cass laughs.
“Apostolosian tech is built to endure, not to dance.”
To Cass, the statement is a simple truth, but to Aria, it must mean something more. For, when Cass shifts their gaze from the Brilliance to Aria, Aria’s eyes are shining with something determined, something fierce: a vision for the world that has now set its sight on Cass.
“...What?” Cass says uneasily.
“Well,” Aria says, crossing her arms, “I put on a show for you; aren’t you going to do one for me? I bet the Megalophile has some moves.”
Cass chuckles. “Its moves are mostly of the shooting variety.”
When Aria continues to look at them expectantly, Cass fumbles for words to explain how ridiculous this is. But how do you even explain the concept of ridiculousness to a stubborn pop-star-turned-smuggler-turned-revolutionary? Cass has been on the losing side of enough wars to recognize where they stand in that argument. Their words may be precise, but precision can't touch a force like Aria Joie. Still, Cass has to try.
“That’s not what mechs are for,” Cass manages.
“It’s what my mech is for.”
“You’ve seen the Megalophile, right? It’s a war machine.”
“That was a long time ago," Aria says. "Now it can be whatever you want. The Brilliance wasn’t always a fighter, Cass. Things are more versatile than they appear to be.”
“Some things are more versatile than they appear to be,” Cass corrects. “The huge, heavy robot with a gun on its shoulder? That’s a fighter, Aria, not a dancer.”
“Are the two really so different?”
Cass laughs again. Oh, Aria. If you’re being kind, Cass could be described as worn and bitter, lost and exhausted after years of exile—and yet, even they cannot help but delight in the glow of Aria Joie: in how so very Aria she is at all times.
“I can’t believe I’m thinking about this,” Cass says, and Aria claps her hands in glee. “I can’t believe I’m this easy.”
“Yess,” Aria says, beaming.
Cass begins putting on their regalia, but they can't help but shift awkwardly under Aria's gaze. After years of lying low, Cass is out of practice at being the center of attention: at having someone's complete focus all on them.
“Just…don’t tell Mako or AuDy about this, okay?” Cass says. “I’d never hear the end of it.”
“It’ll be our secret.”
Thank god for that, because Cass is bad at this. Despite Aria and Mako's insistence that Cass' moves are about ten years out of date, Cass likes to think of themselves as a decent dancer. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re basically dancing with a tank right now. Cass and the Megalophile may move in time, but their steps are clumsy as Cass tries to translate them into something that is stylish rather than destructive, playful rather than defensive.
Cass isn’t sure whether they succeed, but the attempt forces a giggle out of Aria that reminds Cass of the bells of Apostolosian religious services. Cass’ regalia shines as they and the Megalophile move in time with that laughter.
After the song ends, Cass and their mech take a sweeping bow, Aria applauds, and the sounds of their snorting laughter echo throughout the hanger bay.
Cass and Aria will share a great many dances and a great many fights over the next five years—but Cass will always remember this one the most fondly.
***
Cass squints at the graffiti that lines the walls of the mesh. It’s instantly recognizable as Mako’s style—those colorful, swooping lines are just as chaotic as they were back on September—but there’s something…off about them now, something strangely refined. For some reason, that refinement twists at Cass’ gut in a way that they can’t quite catalogue...
“Hey,” Mako says, nudging Cass’ arm. “Dig my new art? Lazer Ted always thought I could’ve gone pro with my installations.”
“Lazer Ted thinks a lot of things: most of them ridiculous,” Cass says. They glower. “He’s not here, right?”
“What? No, obviously, he’s-” Mako takes a deep breath. “No.”
Cass nods absently as they find themselves turning back to that weird graffiti.
“Where are we?” Cass asks.
“We’re in the mesh,” Mako says. “Duh, you know that. Man, can you believe that it took the Rapid Evening this long to finally give me some more mesh real estate to work with? First order of business with it: making some sweet digs. It’s pretty nice right? I figure I can hang out here, do some work, or-”
“There’s music playing,” Cass says, though their mouth twists into a frown as soon as they speak. They…don’t usually interrupt people like that.
“Yeah! You know, for dancing. You like dancing, right?”
“I do…” Cass says. Their head bops automatically to the music, but then...nothing comes afterward. Cass furrows their brow, trying to remember the rest of the dance…
But nothing is there. Cass has a deep knowledge of ballroom dancing and Apostolosian hip hop, but when they try to recall the exact steps of those dances, it’s like their mind becomes a skipping record. Everything just feels…hazy.
“Oh,” Cass realizes with a start. “This…isn’t real. I’m not real, I'm just...a copy you made in the mesh. That’s…that’s deeply upsetting, you know that, right?”
“Well, yeah...but it’s not like you were supposed to figure it out.”
Cass groans.
“Mako! I’m dead. I died because I knew you and Aria weren’t willing to make that sacrifice. Fuck, we only saw each other, like, what? Once a year after the September Incident? You can’t act like you’re so broken up about me that you would create some facsimile of me in the mesh to have a dance party with!”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t feel!” Mako says. “Shit, I got your shitty temper right on point, huh? Okay, first of all, you have no idea what I sacrificed that day; sorry if we didn’t all fly into the sun with Rigor, but some of us were helping in other ways. Second of all, you’re not real, so morally I think I’m okay?” Cass groans again, but Mako still continues. “And third of all, so what if I want to have a dance party with my dead friend?”
“You don’t even like dancing!”
“So what? You like dancing, you liked it when we were all together and did dumb shit like dance or eat shitty spaghetti. You thought-”
“-that it was all easier then,” Cass says, not sure if they’re finishing their own thought or Mako’s—not really sure if there’s even a distinction between the two in the mesh.
And that’s when they see it: the inky black strands of tar that streak across Mako’s graffiti designs. It was the black lines that brought the refinement—the precision—into Mako’s art.
The whole thing combines into a work that would have been quite the rigorous undertaking.
Cass’ anger catches in their throat, though technically, they have neither throat nor any physical form here. Cass hates that. Whether through their surgical tools, their mech, or their dance, Cass has always done their work through the realm of the material.
But, well—they are dead. Might as well try to learn some new tricks.
Cass tilts their head, and, on cue, the music changes into an approximation of the ballroom dance ballad that played during the auction ball. They offer a hand to Mako and, after a moment’s hesitation, Mako takes it.
The dance isn’t elegant at all—all of the steps are being filtered through how Mako thinks Cass used to dance, resulting in half-remembered turns and awkward twists as the two of them try to get their footing. But while the dance may be clumsy, it’s still material—and that’s something with which Cass can work.
“Why me?” Cass says, giving Mako a twirl—they’re not sure if they’re actually supposed to twirl Mako here, but Mako’s memory seems to think that that’s the case, so they roll with it. “Why not Aria? I can’t know anything you don’t already know.”
“Aria tries to help, but it’s hard to explain everything that’s…going on in my head. It’s something you have to see,” Mako says, gesturing to the mesh with one hand, the other still resting on Cass’ back. He shrugs. “And, I dunno, you were always kind of the leader of the group. Or at least the most anal—I thought that even a copy of you would probably have some kind of plan for this, right?”
“Oh, so I'm the leader now?” Cass says with a smirk, “See, I remember a certain someone saying that they were always the one giving me guidance.”
“It went both ways!” Mako insists. “I kept your life on track, you helped me once in a while—it was reciprocal. Besides, you know you needed it. You were a god damn mess before you were Apokine.”
“Mmhm,” Cass hums noncommittally. “And you were a mess even before Rigor.”
“We were all messes. That’s why we were terrorists togeth-" Mako hisses as he stumbles against Cass’ mistimed steps. They stop for a moment, shifting their hands and feet so that there’s more space between them.
As they start anew, Cass says, “Just ask what you want to ask, Mako.”
Mako sighs. “Cass, how…how are you supposed to plan for what’s next when everything—when your own brain—could just get fucked at any moment?”
“Wow, that’s—you really weren’t paying attention during our missions, huh? Didn’t you ever notice how my plans always went to shit?”
“Yeah, they really sucked sometimes. You actually died in the last one.”
Cass rolls their eyes. They nudge Mako back into position from where he’d started to slouch.
“Yeah, well. Shit happens. Most of the time you happened, actually,” Cass says pointedly. “But being a strategist isn’t all the paperwork that Orth makes it out to be, you know.”
“Oh, thank god for that.”
Cass laughs.
“Mako,” they say. “This is how a plan works—this is really all it is: you think it through, you do your best to prepare yourself, and then—you just go.”
Cass twirls Mako again, and even though neither of them has the memory to know it for sure, this time it feels right.
***
Integrity does not follow Sokrates into the afterlife, and, for that, Cass is relieved. For the first time since their sibling became a candidate, Cass sees Sokrates and Sokrates alone as they lean casually against a pillar in the halls of their forefathers: waiting for Cass to catch up, as always.
“Thank god you got rid of that ugly robot on your neck,” Cass says.
Sokrates grins. “I don’t know, I think I pulled it off.”
“Sure you did, buddy.”
Cass’ footsteps echo throughout the hall as they approach Sokrates. Cass trails their fingers across the marble columns that they pass, marveling at the intricate etchings of their family history that are captured in the stone. But this fascination can only hold Cass’ attention for a moment before their eyes are drawn back to Sokrates, to Sokrates’ neck: as clean and healthy and tanned as it’d been in childhood.
“I…I’m really glad that the Divines didn’t follow us here,” Cass confesses.
It is only once they speak the words aloud that Cass realizes how long that fear had lingered in their gut, hot and heavy like tar. Cass had spent their entire life with the weight of Divines upon them, upon their people, upon Aria and Mako and AuDy and Sokrates. The thought of an afterlife that they couldn’t touch had seemed impossible.
“Yeah, well, we’ve got our own divines to contend with here: always have,” Socrates says, rubbing the side of their neck. They shoot Cass a crooked smile. “Can’t say I don’t miss mine though.”
“The machine itself may not enter these halls, but you will always carry Integrity with you, Sokrates,” Cass says, laying a hand on their sibling’s shoulder. “You…you always kind of have.”
Sokrates raises an eyebrow. “So…does that mean that you’re finally admitting that I was right about the Golden War?”
“Not on your life.”
Sokrates laughs, and Cass suddenly remembers where they are: how silly a phrase like not on your life becomes in these halls.
“So, what now?” Cass asks. “What happens next? What do we do now that…”
“Still need the plan even when you’re dead, huh?” Sokrates teases. “Come on, isn’t it obvious? Why, we throw a big party for the return of the Apokine. We drink, we dance-”
At this, Sokrates demonstrates by—god, waving their arms in an Apostolosian dance move that's outdated even by Cass’ standards.
“Oh god,” Cass says, voice muffled as they bury their face in their hands. “Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing me even in the afterlife.”
“What are older siblings for?” Sokrates says. “Besides, you can’t deny that these moves hold up.”
“I will deny everything and anything.”
Sokrates wiggles over to Cass and nudges their shoulder. “Come on, Cassander, when was the last time we danced together?”
Probably when Sokrates showed Cass the dance that Cass later taught to AuDy. Or, maybe it was during some boring ballroom function when they were teenagers. Cass has no idea. Hell, Cass doesn’t even know the last time that Sokrates danced. Given everything that Sokrates has done with the Demarchy, it’s quite possible that they haven’t had time to dance until now: until they'd finally sacrificed enough to show up in these sacred halls.
Cass sighs and begins to dance, pointedly moving their hips in a more modern version of the Apostolosian hip hop that Sokrates is trying to mimic.
“Show off,” Sokrates says, though they smile warmly and begin mirroring Cass’ movements.
“Thought I’d take a turn, for once,” Cass quips.
“I think you already did, the way you went out down there.”
Cass’ chest seizes as a memory that already feels decades old creeps to the surface of their mind. All at once, Cass sees the hours they spent upon the ruins of September: sees the thin sands of the wasted planet, sees the bloodied spear that held all the might of Apostolos, and sees the eyes of the first and most deadly Divine.
“Maybe so,” Cass breathes. They close their eyes. “I…I died in the desert, Sokrates.”
Sokrates’ dancing slows. They sigh deeply, and Cass suddenly remembers that they, too, had been exiled from Apostolos. They, too, know the dry, all-consuming ache that throbs in time with every mile that separates an Apostolosian from the cool, blue oceans of their homeland. To die away from that land—to die on the sand rather than near the sea—is…unthinkable.
“I’m sorry, Cassander,” Sokrates says, as solemn as Cass has ever seen them. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Cass says, wiping their eyes.
Sokrates places a hand on Cass’ shoulder, easily returning the comfort that Cass had given them only minutes before.
“May the high tide find you during times of conflict-”
“-so that at last it can carry you home,” Cass finishes. The motto of their house had lost its shine to Cass after they’d been exiled, but, well—they’ve had reason to grow more fond of it recently. “I guess I made it here either way.”
“That you did,” Sokrates says. They grin. “And it’s about damn time, too—I think the dancing is about to start.”
Yes—Cass can hear the music. They smile and put their hand over Sokrates’ own.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Lead the way.”