Work Text:
The midnight oil drips in a steady rhythm that beats in time with every tick of the clock past midnight. It oozes as the seconds slow to a crawl with the blank canvas of night taunting those who shun sleep. A new moon ushers in a dull sky and city lights shame the stars into hiding. Miorine holds a sigh within her until it abates, arms crossed as she takes in the view from the tall sheet of glass serving as her office window. Down below, the streets are still abuzz with life, traffic speeding through the veins of the metropolis, engines humming like a pulse.
Every night, she banishes rest in favor of protecting this view. If the city can still stir at this late hour, it will live to see another day. Dull neon light and halogen bulbs twinkle like false stars. Good. Nothing is ablaze tonight. Quelling protesters is a constant worry, and there’s no telling how the crowd will roar. Of late, anti-GUND-ARM Inc sentiment is at an all-time high; fuelled by remnants of the Benerit Group infiltrating picket lines and instigating violence. On more than one occasion, Sabina and her security team have had to drag her out of harm’s way, shoving her into an armored car.
Now and again, she has to wonder if it's all worth it. Standing at the forefront of GUND-ARM, it's her job to keep disaster at bay. Press cons and photo ops grant her recognition but it's not what she yearns for. Besides, the public is a fickle beast. They can go from singing your praises to calling for your head on a spike in one news cycle. Yet somehow, it feels wrong to be weary. Though the public may not recognize it yet, GUND will pave the way toward a new future where those wounded by war might flourish again.
Miorine fidgets with the silvery band on her finger.
“It’s from Mercury but it’s not mercury!” babbles Suletta, hands shaking as she slips the ring onto Miorine’s finger. “That would be toxic and liquid and- Well, I had this lying around from the last time Aerial had maintenance. Chuchu got me in touch with a smith so… here you go!”
“Idiot,” sighs Miorine, twisting the ring over and over with a slight smile.
A knock at her door almost makes her jump out of her skin. She considers who could be coming to call at this late hour. Someone looking to cash in a favor?
“Come in,” she mutters, irritated.
There’s a shuffle to the steps walking in the door, someone dragging their feet against the carpet. Miorine whirls around, quick to recognize the slow shuffle of her wife barging in without crutches. “Suletta, what are you doing here?”
Miorine is aghast that Suletta would make her way out to the city without an escort. She rushes to Suletta’s side, grabbing her to offer support. In response, Suletta offers a honeyed chuckle, grinning wide. “Surprise? I wanted to bring you something. Just a little treat.”
“Eh?”
Miorine’s gaze drifts to Suletta’s hand, noting the paper bag clutched in it. “Suletta, home is 300 miles from here.”
“I took the train! Everyone was super helpful on the way.”
“That’s not the-”
Taking a deep breath, Miorine holds her tongue and guides Suletta into a seat. She knows there’s no point arguing when Suletta sets her mind to doing something. Besides, the last thing she wants is to make Suletta feel like her war injuries are an impediment to doing anything she sets her mind to.
Resigned, Miorine takes the bag from Suletta, laying it on the desk before sitting on the office chair behind it. “Was this something on your list?”
Suletta beams, nodding with enthusiasm. Miorine is stricken, unable to scold her wife when all she can think of is the way the Permet scars on Suletta’s face resemble whiskers, complementing her smile and making her look like some mischievous cat that got the cream. Suletta radiates warmth, pulling a drink holder out of the bag. The two tall plastic cups in the holder are dripping with condensate, sloshing with a translucent red liquid diluted by melted ice. A rosemary sprig floats in the ghost of a fizz that the beverage may have once had. Suletta’s face falls as she lays the cups on the desk, pulling out straws to puncture the lids. “I swear they looked better when I left!”
Without hesitation, Miorine grabs her drink and sips. It is vile. Lukewarm tomato soda gone flat. The hint of rosemary reminds her of poultry seasoning. At least, the melted ice helps to dull the flavor. Deadpan, she takes steady sips. “It’s wonderful.”
“O-oh, is it?! I’m so glad!”
Suletta swipes her own drink off the desk, taking a hearty pull before sputtering. With the back of her hand, she wipes the tomato soda streaming from her nose. “Just choked a bit. Yes, it’s good.”
Liar.
Miorine chooses to change the subject, wondering what exactly would lead Suletta to travel hundreds of miles for the sake of pretentious tomato soup. “So which one is this on the list?”
“Number #72: Grab some drinks after work!”
“Suletta, I don’t get off work until tomorrow.”
“Well, yeah. But I figured maybe...for the list, y’know?”
Rolling her eyes, Miorine relents and grabs her purse out from under her desk. “There’s a 24-hour convenience store down the street. Let’s go.”