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The nigh endless violence was routine to her at this point. Getting attacked, maiming the assailants, and using them to fuel their monster of a bus was just a part of the normal tedium of life for Ishmael. It was as typical as getting dressed in the morning.
But, tedious and expected as it was, it still grated on her.
Violence was expected (even encouraged) in the City, but it didn’t quite numb the reality of it as well as one would think. Day in and day out she would witness people die, most times by her hand. The ragtag group that consisted of her and her coworkers had no such immunity to this, and it while it wasn’t quite as common as before, seeing those she was beginning to form a bond with get routinely ripped to shreds, smashed to bits, corrupted and annihilated did have its effect on her. The feeling of her body being decimated, the sensation of being put back together, enduring the same pain twice, hearing her manager scream and wail as they carried the burden of keeping her (keeping them all) alive, was enough to weigh on her. Their search for the Golden Boughs, the stress that it brought, and the lingering fact that it would force her to lay things bare, confront things about the others and the world, got to her. Managing the other identities and their lingering memories, their lingering feelings, their lingering hopes and dreams and despairs, was enough to chip at her mental fortitude. It was enough, and as strong willed as Ishmael typically was, there were always days that were worse than others.
So when she suddenly went rigid in the aftermath of a battle, her hands gripping onto her mace and shield so tightly that her knuckles seemed to turn white, she wasn’t all that surprised. Well, she was surprised at her behavior, but not surprised that it had happened. She was at the end of her rope, on the brink of a breakdown, and she could feel something trying to take advantage of that. She’s never been very good at staving off corrosion. While there were others that would corrode more often than her (her thoughts briefly turn to Sinclair with a bitter hum), the times in which she was close to corrosion often ended up with her being engulfed by it. Today was no different, with a small, gentle voice poking and prodding at her to “Put me on!” She doesn’t really want to listen, but her walls are down and she’s so exhausted, giving into that voice would be a dream.
“-hmael? Did you hear me?”
The voice brings her out of her own head. Ishmael turns slightly, her eyes trailing upwards to the face of her company.
“Everyone is carrying the bodies back to the bus.” Hong Lu smiles at her, the same clueless smile he’s always worn. “We have enough fuel to depart now.”
Ishmael nods at that and grits her teeth. She tries to process the information fully, use it as a way to anchor herself, but she’s too caught up staring at the man in front of her. Her eyes trail over his hair, noting how long and well kept it seemed despite their situation. She traces the outline of his jaw with her eyes, down to the curve of his neck and the slight view of his figure underneath his coat. When she stares back up to his face he blinks, cocking his head to the side in a way reminiscent of a puppy. There’s an overwhelming urge in her to envelop him. She wants to take him and wrap around him from head to toe in a beautiful mess of pink ribbons.
Her grip on her mace and shield loosen immediately, and instead her hands find their way to his coat. Ishmael pulls Hong Lu close to her with an agitated grunt, watching as his eyes widen and he stumbles to remain upright. The voice in her head was babbling excitedly now, demanding she grab him tighter, embrace him closer, wrap him up in unending pleasure, and Ishmael has to audibly groan in order to clear her thoughts for even a moment. Hong Lu furrows his brows at that, his free hand gently grabbing one of hers in an attempt to free himself, when Ishmael tugs him closer and grumbles. “Help me.”
He blinks, realization slowly coming to his features. He lets out a small chuckle, playfully waving his guandao.
“Are you corroding?” He asks.
“Yes,” she grinds out. “Help me.”
“Well~? Which E.G.O is it? I know you have two.”
“The…” Ishmael sighs in agitation. “The shoes.”
“Oooh…” Something flashes on his face, but she can’t tell what. Hong Lu quirks his lip. “At least it’s the one I’m familiar with.”
Something about him mentioning familiarity sets off the voice in her head again. Ishmael grips his coat tighter, anchoring her thoughts in how it felt in her grip, and how she was stunned that the edges hadn’t frayed yet. She can hear Hong Lu breathe out another laugh, and for some reason it sounds like the most pleasing thing in the world to her. She looks down at her hands, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. This damn corrosion was messing with her head something fierce today.
“You’ve gotta kill me,” she chokes out. This only makes him laugh more.
“Mm, I don’t think so. I can handle this one.” He stands up straighter, unceremoniously dropping his guandao on the ground. “Are you comfortable with being touched, Ishmael?”
“Touched?” The voice was practically tittering in approval. Ishmael shakes him lightly. “I’m– yes. Whatever. Don’t do anything weird to me.”
“My, I wasn’t planning on being vulgar. I think it would be counterproductive, all things considered. I just wanted to make sure it was alright. Don’t startle, please.”
Before she can respond, she feels his hands grab her waist firmly. Ishmael freezes, her grip becoming like iron as her eyes snap towards his face. He was still smiling at her, although there was a more gentle quality to it than before. He nudges her away from him, and to her surprise, her body actually complies and takes a step back. Hong Lu makes a noise of contemplation, his gaze drifting upwards as he recalls something, before one of the hands on her waist comes up to her back. He gives her a gentle pat before rubbing a few small circles. She flinches with a choked noise.
“Thhhat’s– That’s distracting.” She’s embarrassed that she feels breathless. “Don’t do that.”
Hong Lu tuts. “Oh. I thought you were closer to sanity than that. I’m sorry.”
He moves the hand back to her waist and stares at her, tilting his head in his signature way. He then grabs her face in between his thumb and index finger, gently tilting her head at different angles as if he was looking for something. Ishmael is silent during it, not wanting her concentration to be broken and for her to lunge at him, but she had to admit that she was bewildered. She doesn’t know why he insists on holding her at her waist, nor does she know why he was looking at her face right now. And he looks so serious about it too, as if he was studying her instead of trying to keep her from fully corroding. His smile had fallen, and was instead replaced by a serious, inquisitive look that she would expect on someone like Faust than an airhead like him.
“I find your freckles endearing,” he says suddenly. “You have so many of them.”
Her freckles? What a weird compliment. “Th.. thank you?”
He doesn’t respond, and instead tilts her head so that she’s fully facing him again. There’s a moment of silence between the two, and she’s about to ask him what he was doing, when he gently leans forward.
Ishmael shoves him.
“What the hell?” She barks, hands roughly hitting him in the shoulders. Hong Lu yelps and stumbles back, quickly releasing both her waist and her face. “What are you doing?!”
He blinks at her, shock painted on his face, before breaking out into a huge grin. “Did it work?”
“Did– what?”
“Your corrosion!” His eyes were practically sparkling. In fact, one eye was sparkling. “Is it gone?”
“I–” Her gaze hardens as her brows furrow. It was true that she didn’t hear that voice anymore. In fact, she doesn’t remember when she stopped hearing it. “I… guess?”
“So it did work!” Hong Lu claps his hands together, pleased. “Thank goodness!”
“Hold on a second, you’re not getting off that easy!” Ishmael fumes, grabbing him by his coat again. This time, Hong Lu giggles. “ What was that stunt you were trying to pull? I said don’t do anything weird.”
“I wasn’t going to!” He retorts.
“Then why the hell were you leaning forward?”
“Oh. That?” His casual smile returns to his face. “I got distracted.”
He was starting to piss her off. “Distracted how?”
There was a noticeable shift in his demeanor at the question. Hong Lu chuckles again, although this time there was an edge of sheepishness to it that she’s never heard from him before. The man looks to the side, the twinkling of his left eye beginning to die down.
“Your eyes are quite pretty, Ishmael. I lost sight of my objective for a moment.”
Silence.
Did she hear that correctly? He forgot what he was doing because he got lost in her eyes? Was he serious? How could he say such a nauseatingly cringey line to her like that with complete sincerity? Was he flirting with her? Was Hong Lu flirting with her right now?
She can feel the way her cheeks were flushing at the admittance. Ishmael shoves Hong Lu back, grumbling to herself as she walks over to pick up her discarded mace and shield. Maybe she should hit him over the head. It’d be extremely discourteous considering he just stopped her from corroding, but clearly something was wrong with him.
“Why’d you get all touchy, anyway,” she asks, still not facing him. She would know for sure if she would have to swing afterwards.
“Oh? Well, Faust helped me in a similar way before.” She can hear him pick up his weapon off the ground. “She said since we’re not close enough to comfort each other, a harmless surprise would work just as well in bringing us out of our own heads.”
“And she grabbed you? Like that?”
“She did! It surprised me so much that I snapped out of it right away.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “I thought it might work on you as well, since it was the same E.G.O and all.”
Ishmael turns to Hong Lu, her brows still creased. “It could have backfired, you know.”
“Oh, I know. But it didn’t~! We got lucky.”
There’s another beat of silence between the two before Ishmael sighs. She can’t tell if he was being sly or genuine, and frankly, she’s too tired to try and figure it out. Ishmael looks to the side, towards Mephistopheles, where she can already see Dante and Outis approaching them. No doubt the two of them were about to be scolded for not returning to the bus in a timely manner, but a brief explanation should be enough to take care of it. Ishmael gestures to the duo approaching them.
“Come on. Let’s go back.”
“Alright~”
He hums, and Ishmael wouldn’t admit it, but it was a pleasant sort of noise. One she wouldn’t mind hearing from time to time.
Maybe the corrosion wasn’t messing with her as much as she thought.