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It takes a village to brainwash a child.
The ship is quiet when Devo stirs. It’s not uncommon for adolescents to wake up suddenly from sleep, to sleep poorly, or sometimes not at all - but not for Devo. At the Church, Devotion slept peacefully knowing that tomorrow he would awaken with a duty. He does not jolt up from the Captain’s chair, which he’s taken to sleeping in, and he does not clutch his heart in panic. Instead, he surfaces from a shallow sleep with guilt in his stomach and the sensation of quickly cooling sweat. He is somehow too hot and too cold at the same time, and he knows without checking that the back of his shirt is also damp, that the hair at the nape of his neck is tangled and sweaty.
He moves to stand, to shake off whatever remnants of a now-forgotten nightmare, but immediately regrets it. When posed with a threat, the general reaction is to fight or to flee, and Devo fled. Is fleeing. He feels that same anxious energy now, sitting at the mouth of the ship overlooking the inside of the Trash Hole. His footing feels unsteady, his heart unrested. Somewhere, closer than he’d like, Orlean is near.
At the Church he felt comforted by his tutors, they had all supposedly shared a similar passion, similar beliefs; but, as Devo now knew, it takes a village to brainwash a child. No one tells you that good things can also feel wrong, and the guilt of an apparent sin hurts just as much as an absolute one. The malice in his words feels justified when he speaks to her, to Guidance, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You can hate someone and still miss them.
“What’s eatin’ you?” A sudden voice calls behind him, and Devo knows better than to be surprised. Amber would never knock to announce herself.
He doesn’t answer.
“You know you’re sittin’ in my chair right?” She walks toward Devo and props herself against a directional nav station. She is, Devo thinks, intentionally obscuring his vision of the view screen, and in essence, Orlean.
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, but finally grins halfheartedly and says, “It was empty.”
Amber nods. “Y’know you can talk to us, right? I am your Captain, I guess I could pull rank, but I’m not entirely sure how that works.” She brings a hand up to scratch the back of her neck, a rare nervous gesture.
This draws Devo back in. He leans his head on the back of the chair, bites the inside of his lip as he deliberates. Amber would never make him say anything he didn’t want to, he could brush her off, tell her that the climate down here is why he’s so shaky. However, he finds that he doesn’t want to. Amber for all her bluster and playful disrespect, has been nothing but kind to him.
“You know, considering that we are in the Ethersea, the Parish should have taught us to swim, hm?” He begins, his accent only heightened by exhaustion. “But they did not always have us children at the front of their minds. She, Guidance, took an interest in me, you see? Some things were just not as important.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just lets that sit in the space between them for a while. There’s something to be said here, he thinks, about the way adults treat children. He should have been given options, given context, given an education that allowed question. He should have been taught to swim.
In some ways, Devo isn’t even mad. He can see that small child, clinging desperately to the skirt of the Church, of Guidance. He can see that kid, he can see that feeling when he realized, that betrayal, the anger, but he cannot touch it. The emotions have been locked away, so far removed from who he is now - and he knows that, if he ever reached for it, gave them an even an inch , he wouldn’t be able to break free.
It takes a village to brainwash a child . This is what Brother Seldom told him when he first arrived. Devo arrived on his doorstep in a calm so quiet it was shocking. He hadn’t intended to leave the Church then, but he knew that in being with Seldom at all it was too late. Seldom’s broadcast was not something widely listened to, for obvious reasons, at the Parish. Instead, Devo heard bits and pieces, whispers and rumors.
“Amber,” he begins again. “I know why I left the Church. I am not asking you to understand, but Amber, please be wary.”
Amber leans forward, two hands on her hips, two ethereal hands crossed at her stomach. “I got news for you bud,” and she grins. “I’ve always been wary.” She pauses and then says lamentedly, “Why ‘on’t you get some rest? The sign says ‘No Boys Allowed’, but I guess I can make an exception for ya tonight.”
Devo hesitates.
He doesn’t want to leave, not because of his restless sleep habits, but because he feels a need to watch over the ship. He needs to be here, ready to pilot them away if Orlean does anything. And he knows that this is a ridiculous notion, there is nothing that Orlean could do to them without it being detrimental to himself, but this does nothing to ease his worries. Devo feels the need to be, if he cannot be in control, in a constant state of observance.
Amber must notice this, because when Devo makes no move to stand, she pushes herself up and stands in front of him. Taking an ethereal hand, she pushes on Devo’s hair, ruffling it in a way that is perhaps just a little too rough. He bows his head slightly, the way a child might when being admonished.
“I’ll take watch. Go get some rest - or shower, you’re sweatin’ more than most of the finners I teach.”
He laughs. “Thank you, Amber.”