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Vacation. Shared by the beastmen almost six years ago, it’s a word still novel in its human execution. Spirals, as it turns out, don’t often pause once they’ve begun to turn. Only now is the concept beginning to catch on.
Only now, six months after the loss of so many spirals to the cosmos.
Kinon was the first among the government to take a ‘vacation.’ Initially, Rossiu hesitated to document it as such — a period of mourning and familial reconnection seemed more somber than what the beastmen described — but when she returned, her eyes shone brighter than they had in years.
So what does Rossiu know, anyway? Bringing it up around Kinon only turns the sentiment back on himself. After all, Rossiu’s the one leaving the city and ongoing galactic outreach efforts in her capable hands and using his own vacation to take care of matters more… intimate.
As intimate as things get, for him.
꩜
His friendship with Viral is somehow more bizarre than Rossiu expected.
“You can take Gurren, if you’re up for it,” Viral throws over his shoulder as Rossiu’s bidding him farewell. Offhandedly, as though he thinks there’s a chance the offer won’t spark in the dry forest of Rossiu’s brain.
Because… Rossiu has piloted Gurren before. To limited success, sure, but he remembers — all those years back, in the light reflected off their traitorous moon — making uneasy eye contact with Viral from Gurren’s cockpit. They both know how that gunman works.
If it receives insufficient spiral power, it will run on electricity.
Rossiu keeps Viral’s words — ‘overflowing with spiral energy’ — in a pocket between his ribs, beside his heart. To not believe them would be rude. But there is a difference between possessing something and knowing how to wield it.
So the offer is part of Viral’s kindness, Rossiu concludes. Maybe he’s trying to reinforce his pep talk by allowing Rossiu to believe that he can pilot Gurren even without Simon. Maybe Viral, too, remembers that moment between the teeth of Teppelin’s crown and the scared eyes of a beaten-down kid.
… or maybe he’s just not using Gurren as often, because he’s busy with his own kids. The new class of Graperl cadets can’t get enough of him; Viral’s all sharp edges and sneer and prickly demeanor, but children are dumb, and sometimes they run through rose bushes with the intent to get caught on the brambles. An outing to Yoko’s school would’ve likely doubled their numbers.
It makes Viral happy. And that, in turn, makes Rossiu so happy that Guinble’s stopped not-so-discreetly slipping the business card of a local therapist into his paperwork. That second part is something Rossiu tries not to think too hard about.
But the first part is what keeps him grounded. Most of his vacation will be spent in solitude, yet he’s not leaving Viral behind. They work in tandem, each carving paths towards their own happiness.
Almost as if they’re piloting Gurren Lagann together.
If those paths are big enough, some of those children who make Viral so happy will have room to follow them. And if that happens, it means Rossiu and Viral will have left behind a world in better shape; with pits to live in that actually feel like home.
The first person Rossiu needs behind him, though, is Yoko. He doesn’t expect her to follow him down the tunnels, but she’ll make sure they don’t collapse into themselves, as the earth is wont to do around Rossiu. She’s the best there is at watching all of their backs, after all.
Rossiu doesn’t take Gurren.
꩜
“I’m sorry,” Yoko says, and it sounds nothing like an apology. “You want me to do what?”
The accusation should calm his nerves — it’s the response he expects — but it doesn’t. “Nothing, yet,” he tells her. “I just want to know how you explain spiral power to your students.”
Yoko huffs, and slouches in her chair. It doesn’t look much more comfortable than the one Rossiu’s sitting on, across her desk. “I explain it how Ron explained it to us the first time. Fighting spirit driving evolution.”
That’s good. Fighting spirit is in focus, which is a relief to Rossiu. Perhaps only in his own mind do the parts of spiral power inaccessible to him overshadow the rest.
But he’s not quite done. “That’s good. Evolution, then? How do you explain that?”
“What is this, an interrogation?” When Rossiu doesn’t answer, Yoko finally concedes, and adds a few hand gestures for emphasis. “People and animals changing over time into something better. It’s a biological thing: when two people love each other and have children, those children have more spiral power, since that helps them survive and prosper.”
When they love each other. When they have children. Not ‘if.’ When.
Well, that’s why Rossiu’s here.
He does need to tread carefully; he’s been told that tact is one of the many — many — departments in which he’s lacking. “In that case, I respectfully ask you — as a friend — to consider incorporating some additional examples into your explanations.”
Yoko eyes him, then, and Rossiu is reminded that she’s always been Team Dai-Gurren’s surest shot. She landed a bullet on the anti-spirals’ homeworld; right between the eyes of a being more powerful than God. There doesn’t need to be a rifle between them for Rossiu to feel her taking aim.
“Don’t tell me this is about Simon,” she says, gaze still narrowed.
Rossiu blinks. That… is not what he expected. “Simon?” he clarifies. Maybe she’s talking about a different Simon?
Then she pulls the trigger. “I don’t know if you’re still… jealous, or whatever, of Simon for having more spiral power than you. But if you’re trying to keep me from teaching my kids about how it works, you can go ahead and leave this island for good. We didn’t defeat the anti-spiral for you to start taking notes.”
In his years of running the government, Rossiu’s learned to bury reactionary feelings beneath layers of composure. But if Simon’s taught him anything, it’s that nothing forced under the surface stays there forever.
So he frowns.
And once he finds the words to refute Yoko’s claim, he answers. “That’s not it. I’m not jealous of Simon, and I’m not trying to force you into anything. All I ask is that you consider your students. What about the ones who don’t want to fall in love, or have kids of their own?”
Yoko’s proud — rightly so, for all she’s survived — but she always softens when it comes to her kids. Offhand, Rossiu thinks she’s rather like Viral in that regard. “That’s… what?”
“Perhaps some of the kids in your class don’t want any of that. Would you say they’re any less capable of producing spiral power?”
“I… well, I haven’t actually thought about it.”
I have, Rossiu doesn’t say aloud.
“Do you think people like that actually exist?”
Rossiu swallows. “I know they do, actually. And we have words to describe ourselves.”
It happened mostly on accident. Rossiu’s never been fond of using the dictionary definition — ‘I don’t feel attracted to anyone and I don’t want to be in a relationship’ is a clunky phrase even on his best days — and Viral’s never been fond of the elaborate metaphors Rossiu makes about Laganns and core drills to talk around the subject. It’s a compromise, but a useful one.
There’s a reason Yoko’s a teacher, and it flashes across her face as recognition as Rossiu passes her a slip of paper. That recognition only grows more pronounced as she unfolds it and reads his careful handwriting.
アロマンティック
aromantic
アセクシャル
asexual
(It’s funny, almost. He’d written them out beforehand, unsure of his ability to remember their spelling; to shape the words right. But now — though Yoko’s holding the paper towards herself — he can envision the syllabic katakana clear as day.
Viral uses only the second to mean what Rossiu feels he needs both to capture. They differ even in their sameness. Rossiu expected that to be painful, but it’s not.)
Yoko reads them a few times over. She’s smart, and she’s got a strong grasp on language; Rossiu doesn’t need to explain. Her mind likely parses their meanings the same way he and Viral drew them up: by borrowing roots from Simon’s own bisexual and prefixes from Leeron’s agender.
Eventually, she raises her eyes from the paper; Rossiu doesn’t let her get much further than that. “You’re right,” he starts. “Children are often better than those who came before them. But that’s not a direct result of love and childbirth.”
Yoko’s patient; unreadable. Rossiu allows a mix of determination and frustration to slip into his features — underneath the desk, he clutches one hand into a fist.
“The kids at this school aren’t yours, biologically. Viral’s trainees weren’t born to him, either. And yet you’re both guiding the next generation. There are many ways to utilize spiral power; the way you’ve described is merely one of them.”
It’s a bold statement coming from Rossiu. But he has to make it — for Viral and for anyone else who may benefit. Keeping them in mind pushes him forward; provides him with the sureness he needs to fight for their future.
… and maybe his own, too.
Before Rossiu’s finished, Yoko opens her mouth. Rossiu doesn’t cut her off this time, but he does straighten in his chair.
For a moment, Yoko hesitates.
And suddenly, something shifts. Yoko’s eyes widen, as if she’s finally remembering where she’s met Rossiu before. Finally recognizing him — or at least some part of him. “Okay,” she agrees.
Rossiu blinks. “You’re… certain?”
Yoko nods, like this is any other day for her. “Yes, I am. I’ll make sure to include more examples in my future lessons. Thanks, Rossiu.”
Then Yoko smiles, and something inside Rossiu clicks into place. Nothing has ever come to him so easy as this moment.
Is this… the result of spiral power?
He lacks any other way to describe how he’s feeling. Perhaps it’s — once again — something so alien from the rest of humanity that he’ll need to make up a new word to even begin to talk about it. But that’s okay; it means Yoko’s kids won’t have to do the same.
Viral claims Rossiu is overflowing with spiral energy. It’s a generous lie.
But finally, Rossiu is aware of its existence. It’s there. Weak, and quiet, but present.
꩜
“You’re awfully cheery,” Viral accuses, the next time they meet.
In lieu of an explanation, Rossiu offers, “Things went well.”
“That’s good,” Viral says, and Rossiu knows it’s a challenge, “because it’s just step one.”
Rossiu looks at Viral. Viral — and Yoko — teach their children to be smarter; stronger; more advanced than themselves. How to grow beyond what fate has laid out for them.
What Rossiu’s done is small in comparison, just like his cache of spiral energy. And yet, even with a few words as its trigger, he can’t get enough of the feeling.
“I know,” he eventually says, to Viral’s sharpening smile. “But I’m ready for the next one.”