Chapter Text
There are very few places in the city you could go in the last few years without hearing the names Angela or Ayin Kether somewhere along the way. Not quite ghost stories but just as haunting, every reporter or station worth their salt has covered the damn thing. Nigh famed scientist couple Carmen and Ayin Kether— though reportedly, Ayin’s gone by more than a few aliases and pen names over the years for various reasons— and their partner Benjamin; Carmen dies, the method still unknown because her autopsy has never been released, and the couple’s nine year old daughter suffers the consequences of her father losing his mind. It’s been repeated over and over and over again, to the point where Roland nearly knows it by heart. You can’t escape the damn thing, whether it’s gossip, theories, coverage, people wondering where the family’s survivors even are and just what the mysteries that lie behind Carmen’s death are. And it doesn’t help that Carmen was well known, too. People in the city far and wide well and truly loved her, and her death was nearly foundation-shaking.
So all in all, the Kether case has been inescapable even before Ayin went to jail. That’s normal. And Roland, who’s spent his fair share in juvie, under house arrest, and in a court risking a full prison sentence as a teenager for being at the scene of Angelica’s death, has heard it all a million times. It’s commonplace, and often referred to as the City’s most infamous case.
That’s normal. ‘Infamous’ means very little, the longer you spend in the City.
But what is strange is the day that Angela Kether, after years of radio silence, after nigh disappearing off the face of the Earth entirely, begins to attend Roland’s new public school.
He’s still under monitorization of the authorities, but good behavior has worked to his benefit in the last 6 months and has earned him enough leniency to return to school. With his parents gone and his reputation tattered to bits thanks to all the coverage of his own case, they would only accept him going to a public school, as opposed to his old, stuffy private school. Add onto that that his benefits from his grandmother seemed stable enough long as they didn’t realize she was long gone from Roland’s life and probably out suntanning in another country coupled with the fact that he’s a minor. For all the unfortunate events that have happened to him in the last year alone, it’s miraculous that he’s not out on the streets yet. And if he was, it’s likely enough that Argalia and his gang of freaks would tail him eventually.
So, now, he’s here.
The little study hall classroom nearly explodes into a cloud of quiet, intense whispering between students and their friends as the young Mrs. Kether stands at the door of the classroom with a full entourage, blank faced and emotionless, and so unnaturally pale that you wouldn’t even think her human. At the teacher’s command, the class snaps itself into silence, and the entourage at the front of the class around her begins to converse quietly. Behind Angela, with a hand on her shoulder, stands Binah, smoothly surveying the class with a similarly blank expression. They make eye contact for a moment, and Binah’s smile upticks at the corner just slightly before the eye contact is broken and she focuses back onto Angela and the teachers around her.
He knows Binah. And clearly, Binah remembers him. The gracious lady Garion was well involved with many at his old private school before she suddenly left with not even a note to explain her departure. Moved from A. Corp’s territory, and now, seemingly, resided here.
Great.
Another man quietly steps in, hair grey. His eyes are green, sharp and observant but intelligent and kind; the wrinkles on his face are deep enough that it makes Roland unsure of how old he is.
“Mr. Kether,” the teacher greets quietly. Angela doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to look at him, but he notices the minute tensing of Angela’s shoulder under Binah’s hand just for the shortest of moments.
“Hokma,” the man corrects. His voice is soft. “Mr. Hokma, please.” The teacher nods. Binah’s sharp eyes flick to him, and he backs up slightly until he’s standing in the doorway. “Ah… I’ll, go. I trust you to take good care of her… Binah.”
“Of course,” she replies smoothly, voice like silk, but her casualness isn’t beguiling enough to distract from the danger in her voice like that of a rattlesnake hissing to make itself known. The man nods tensely in response, and leaves the classroom quickly. Benjamin, then. He’d been well known, but after years of radio silence, it must be strange for him to be launched into the spotlight once again. A few seats in front of him, a student quickly drops their phone after taking a picture of the scene in front of them before Benjamin leaves. Roland just leans back in his chair and watches the scene. The class’ whispers continue excitedly only for a few moments before one of the teachers spins to shush them aggressively, and then turns back to continue their private, quiet conversation. The silence is enforced by Binah’s pervading stare before she turns back to Angela.
As the teachers speak, Binah leans down slightly to speak into Angela’s ear as the girl herself stares ahead blankly; “I will stay if you wish.”
In response, Angela’s golden eyes flick back coldly. “I’m fine, Binah. You have your own work to do.” Her hands are folded properly in front of her, leaving her every picture the prim and proper lady that would fit just perfectly back in his old school’s upper classes; the ones who were too good to get their shoes and their hands dirty with the violence the others did simply for fun, encouraged by the freedom and protection of their parents and their community.
“Mm,” Binah hums. She stands back up to her full height. “Then I will leave you be. You have my contact.”
“I can take care of myself,” the younger girl bites back coldly. Binah seems unrebuffed, taking the girl’s responses with the unshakeable grace characteristic of A. Corp’s Binah Garion. With a pat on the shoulder of her clean, neat blazer and that familiar smug smile, Binah departs, exiting the study hall swiftly. As she leaves, one of the teachers takes Angela’s bag out of her hands.
“The security guards don’t need to stay here,” one of the teachers says tersely. Roland feels his own eyebrows raise to his hairline. “Miss K— Angela, you can go sit down…”
Angela nods primly and turns her frosty gaze to the class, hardly even blinking as she wanders to the back and sits down. She’s two seats back and left to Roland.
It takes another agonizing few minutes, but eventually, the other teachers who had accompanied Angela finally depart, alongside the security guards who must be sitting just outside. Before the teacher sits down, he sighs out a rough “I expect silence,” before sitting back down and returning to whatever he had been doing previously. The students glance around each other, a few glancing at Roland and then at Angela, gazes flickering over the two of them for very similar reasons. As they finally turn back around and return to their own work quietly, Roland glances back at Angela.
She’s sitting silently in her seat, hands folded properly in her lap and eyes fixed on nothing in particular, glassy as she stares straight ahead.
None of the students dare to approach either of them, both for good reason. Roland is still on the precinct’s watchlist and everyone knows his name if not his face
She actually blinks for the first time, as far as he noticed, when Roland sits down at the desk in front of her and spins the chair to face her. As he props his elbows up on the front of her desk, she watches him silently, regarding him with only the slightest hint of confusion wrought into the furrow of her eyebrows.
“Good to meet you, Ms… Angela, they said? Roland, at your service,” he grins. He sticks his hand out for a handshake. She glances down at his gloves in response. Ah. He’d nearly forgotten he was wearing them.
He’s about to apologize for intruding at all, put off by the cold silence surrounding her, but before he can even drop his hand, she reaches out with her own to grab him.
“Ah—!” It’s embarrassing how he jumps in his seat and how his voice goes high pitched when she grabs his hand and brings it close to her face. He freezes. Her own eyes narrow, cold like liquid nitrogen.
Her hands cradle his own delicately, white gloves look stark against the black of his— no, Angelica’s gloves. She inspects the gloves carefully, with a sort of reverence.
“Full grain,” she says suddenly. “High quality leather. Expensive.” One of her thumbs runs down his pointer finger while her other hand grabs his wrist and twists his hand towards her slightly, moving him like a doll for her inspection. Her thumb stops at the juncture between his thumb and his pointer, pressing down into the loose skin between his fingers. “This is much thinner skinned. It must have been cut very carefully.”
Roland stares at her, eyes flicking rapidly between her face and her hands.
“The junctures where your fingers move, as well,” she continues, perfectly oblivious to anything else that’s going on, like whatever Roland’s expression might be doing at the moment. “They’re stitched very carefully to allow for easy movement, as full-grain leather is heavier and not suited for accessories like gloves unless they’re for heavy-duty outside work. Whoever made these, they are made with movement and capability in mind.”
He yanks his hand away. They both stare at each other, wide eyed. Angela blinks, and there is just slight color to her cheeks from the exertion of her monologue, and the slight shock in her expression before it’s carefully schooled down is almost refreshing.
Angela speaks first. “I… apologize.”
“Um—uh. Yeah. It’s… it’s fine. Just, don’t touch people without their permission, yeah?” He feels tense. Without even thinking about it, he shoves both his hands into the pockets of his pants as deep as they can go. What a way for introductions, then. “Well, I mean… just a handshake. Don’t go… grabbing people’s hands like that.”
Angela nods primly, eyebrows furrowing slightly as though she’s making a particular note in her mind about it. “Of course. Roland, you said?”
“Ah… yeah.”
He approached her, why is he the one feeling nervous?
There is something about Angela that unsettles him. Multiple somethings, perhaps. The fact that she’s so well put together, even compared to the people he was involved with before. Unlike the suits of his older days, she is proper in a way that feels robotic and detached. And it’s not even the first time he’s dealt with people like that, no; it’s just… there’s something that feels so wrong. He surveys her briefly. Maybe it lies in the inhuman paleness of her skin, or the way she stares at people, or the association with the mysterious Kether case and those infamous years of dead silence in the wake of Carmen’s death and soon after, Ayin’s arrest.
Across from him, Angela nods. “It’s good to meet you, Roland,” she says softly, breaking him out of his stupor.
Perhaps there’s something that unnerves him, perhaps there’s multiple somethings. But Angela regards him with a soft, unjudging face underneath the coldness, and as the one who approached her, the least he can do is to return it, one outcast to another.
“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “It’s nice to meet you too.”