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“Hey, babe.”
—Gregor almost sailing to the faraway land when the sweet, bell-like voice of a lady with thick, unfamiliar accent forcefully dragged him back to the land of the living. A loud shrill pierced the air as a golden coin was tossed up to the air, where it would ultimately land on the back of her hand with a slap to cover the state of the coin.
“Guess.” she instructs him, then, of which he replied with a shrug. Her eyes still twinkling like a child, playful and full of life, her grin stretched wide from ear-to-ear, as if she had nothing to put her mind into uneasiness that came in term with their job. “Head or tail?”
Absentmindedly, he told her, “Head.”
Before he could go back to doze off, the lady gasped as she peeks at the back of her hand to confirm an answer.
“Well, you’re the first to guess correctly.” She told him in a sing-song tone, “Maybe luck is on your side today.”
He almost—almost, clicked his tongue in disdain at that. Maybe luck is on your side today—implies luck never was on his side. Gregor knew she did not mean it like that, but he can’t stop himself from interpreting that sentence in that manner. He had all the luck in the world—but he exhausted it a long time ago when he deserted his post and let all of his comrades suffer the price.
There is nothing left of his luck.
He tried to muster a friendly smile, “Listen, eh... what’s your name? Roda, right?”
The lady pouted.
“It’s Rodion, but you’re my comrades here, so call me Rodya.”
“Aight, Rodya.” He sighed, eyes casting a sideways glance at Yuri (along with Sinclair) who still attempting to taught Charon to read a map. He saved the empty spot next to him for her, but guess there are more pressing matter to attend to since the woman was looking pretty restless since she went aboard Memphistoteles—wait, no, it was since Charon openly, shamelessly admitted to everyone that she can’t read a map.
“Wake me up when we arrived, yeah? ‘m really tired.”
Please leave me alone for a while, hope she gets that.
After a few seconds of silence, Rodya playfully slapped his hip as she stood up, leaving him while muttering, “Hmm... sure thing, Greg. I’ll tell everyone to pipe down too. Princess needs his beauty sleep, after all.”
He snickers at that.
Not long after that, another coin was tossed with a shrilling noise, stirring him up from his light sleep. Yet this time, Yi Sang—Rodya’s new victim—caught it with his clenched fist before the head-or-tail could land on Rodya’s hand.
The young researcher’s empty gaze stared right at the woman, ruminating still.
“Fortune favors the brave.” he told her, with his quiet, courteous tone, “As of right now, there is no need to tempt fortune.”
He was left with an almost too wide grin at that statement.
When they walked down the old, abandoned corridor of the former L-corp facility, watching their steps carefully as to not upset the swarms of cockroaches on the floor, Ishmael sighed loudly.
“Dirtier than the old deck I used to work at.” she spats, “Just my luck.”
“Well, at least we don’t have to clean it up.” he managed to smile at Ishmael, “C’mon now, look at the bright side of things.”
They’re still alive—well, Dante is still alive, their lifelines still alright, so that means they would be alright. Nothing could bruise them too badly. Hopkins, Aya, and Yuri still thread the path with extreme caution, valuing their life to utmost value, while the sinners—again, their lifelines still alright, despite some of them grumbles and murmuring with ire regarding the situation they’re in.
Ishmael sighed louder, with the sole of her shoes, she began to stomp on the cockroaches, annoyed.
They’re lucky they’re still alive.
“I don’t really feel like it.”
With that, their conversation ceased.
He can feel his throat choking with his own blood as he watched Hopkins turned his back on them, berating Yuri as he leave them to their own device. He seated himself next to Yuri, casually handing her the gas mask he took from Aya as a keepsake—the blood dripping down from his nose, mouth, and ears forming a puddle between his shoes as he tried to keep his own consciousness intact as long as possible.
He’s focusing his mind on the pool of blood, seeking the calmness of the red liquid as a way to soothe his nerves that went into panic as his own body began struggling to properly function. Just like Faust had instructed them.
This isn’t the first time he died, yet he can’t say he’s used to the sensation.
Beside him, Yuri cried. He can no longer hear her; his own brain is shutting down, unable to respond to any stimulus after his body began to sweat uncontrollably. He is dying—is his thought before he passed away, eyes casted upward to stare right at the face of the ticking clock, as if mocking his dead-beat luck.
He knew Dante is not the kind of person to do that, but he can’t stop himself from thinking that way.
When the clock rewind back the time—he’s still not used to the procedure—he watched Rodya flip her golden coin, faint, small smile forming on her lips as she witnessed it flipped mid-air and landed on the back of her hand.
“Hey, Ms. Former Corporate Slave.” She called upon Yuri, who quick to spare her a glance, “Head or tail?”
The lady clears her throat, still sore due to the residue she inhales before Gregor spare her the gas mask.
“Um... head, I guess...?”
—Rodya flip the coin again after she peek a little at the first flip result.
“Wow, you’re one lucky beast.” she told Yuri, her faux-amazement is very obvious in her expression.
She did not show Yuri the result of the coin flip, despite her coming forward to her general position. Gregor watched her axe on Sinclair’s person, who currently struggling to handle two heavy weapons on both of his hand. She gave her coin to Yuri’s open palm.
“You can have it.”
“E-eh, but I don’t really... need it....”
“It’s a lucky coin, you see.” her tone still jovial and kind, voice soft like a mother lecturing her own child as she elaborates, “You know, that coin managed to save my life twice, that’s why I called it my lucky coin. As long you have it with you, you will be alright.”
“But what about—”
“Me?” Rodya cuts her half-sentence, grinning with stars twinkling in her blue eyes—it was hope hidden underneath her poker face; the thing that fuels her, “Nah, we have Dante. People like us—we don’t really need luck anymore. You’re the odd one out on our team, Yuri, that’s why I think you need aaaaall the luck you can get to survive.”
She turns to Gregor.
“Isn’t that right, Mr. Gregor, sir?”
He blinked, then hastily replied, “O-oh, yeah. Right, that.”
Murmuring, Gregor asked Rodya, “Hey, what’s up with all the luck talk?”
Rodya shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Greg.”
They walked past a lot of containment unit, and with each step, Gregor can see Yuri’s shoulder hunched forward to make her existence seem smaller. She’s extremely agitated still, even more apparent after witnessing the clay doll her former colleagues has become after her absent—became worsened after Faust opened her mouth to speculate.
“I mean—how can you tell other people’s luck with a coin toss?”
Finally, she glanced at him.
“Ahh, Greg. It’s an old superstition Sonya taught me. If you can tell whether it’s head or tail, means lady luck is with you. It’s that simple.”
“And if I guess wrong?”
“Hmm... what’s the opposite of lucky? Kinda forgot....” she rubs the back of her head.
While Yi Sang and the others decimating whatever abnormalities gets in their way to the Golden Bough, Yuri slowly approached them.
“Um, Miss Rodya... you can have it back.”
Yuri then presents her the gold coin, thin smile veiling her woes after witnessing everything that happened in the span of—less than six hours since they arrived here.
“I don’t want to lose it.”
But Rodya shook her head, hand gesturing shoo to make Yuri leave. Despite so, the woman did not budge, but instead clutching the gold coin close to her chest.
“It’s fine, keep it until we made it out, okay?”
“But what if I lose it!” she exclaimed, stressed with the sudden menial responsibility handed over to her.
“C’mon, Yuri. Believe in yourself for once.” Rodya told her, patting her shoulder in understanding as she walked past her, following the other as they clear the way, slowly but surely.
“But—”
“There’s no point in arguing with her, just take it with you, Miss Yuri.” Greg told her before pull her right next to him, smiling as he indulges in Rodya’s silly superstition to make Yuri feel less distressed regarding her task.
Yuri yelped, surprised when his finger touched her, hand grabbing her own to drag her hesitating step alongside him, “Stay right next to me, okay? I’ll make sure you won’t lose the coin.”
(—or let anything happened to you, really left unsaid.)
Faintly, she replied with small smile and a reassuring whisper only audible to Gregor, “Okay....”
Nonchalantly, the others left, head hung, disappointed as they failed their first labor, leaving Gregor alone with his own, messy thoughts. Yuri’s headless, mangled body is what was left of her, despite him surviving.
He’s lucky he’s still alive.
—he doesn’t feel like it.
Lucky.
Perhaps he did exhaust his luck on that fateful day.
He was the last one to leave the facility—thankfully, Dante was kind enough to wait for him to gather his thought inside undisturbed, with Rodya tossing her coin way high on the air next to their manager, casually talking. When she noticed him, she gave him a bitter yet understanding smile before pocketing her coin and climb onboard of Memphistoteles.
After he marched down the Memphistoteles’s aisle to get on his seat, he sat down, quietly listen to Vergilius insulting their competence on their first-ever mission. Next to him, Rodya was toying with her silver coin between her callous fingers, as if performing a magic trick.
“Your superstition is shit.” He uttered, eyes casted outside the window, watching the scenery passing by as Charon sped up Memphistoteles to reach their next destination quicker.
Despite the insult, Rodya let a thin smile formed on her thin lips.
“It’s called superstition, Greg, not divine intervention.” She told him. She’s still tossing the coin up with the flick of her finger, and when it landed on the back of her hand, she showed it to him, began asking the same old question, “C’mon, head or tail?”
“Whatever.” he told her, off.
“Aw, lighten up a little, babe.”
It’s easier said than done.
“Did you know?”
Few second passed without so much of a noise.
“Know what?”
Her face genuinely showed a cluelessness—a poker face, a gambler’s best feature.
“Is that why you gave her the coin?”
“No.” she said, still smiling, but Gregor can’t help but noticed a hint of sadness from the spark of her eyes. “She needed someone to comfort her about—well, after everything. Figured I gave her some lucky charm to make her feel confident in herself.”
What came out from her lips next is a hollow, empty laugh, “I wish I just hug her instead.”
If she just stayed behind them all....
“Rodya....”
Then, Rodya’s guilt that was obvious on her somber expression went away in an instant—she then put her mask back on and smiling widely as she said, “No use to cry over spilled milk, anyway. So, head or tail?”
It's better to just forget.
“...head.” he told her, defeated.
—it wasn’t until they departed from Memphistoteles much, much later—Gregor noticed a gold coin tucked neatly inside his pocket. He knew it wasn’t his.
It was Rodya’s lucky charm.
....