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It had been mere minutes since those chains were unlocked, and the ghost of its weight still bore down on your leaden arms and aching neck. The brand keened, singing and stinging pain, it hasn’t really healed properly ever since then. At the cells you were kept in, you’ve heard the others bemoan how a mark like that had no means of ever being removed unless one was desperate enough to flay the skin off, though even then there would still be signs.
You’ve considered it. Only the absence of a proper knife stayed your decision. You wondered if they would let you get away with it now. After all, you’ve seemed to have only succeeded in trading your rusty iron chains for gilded ones instead.
The tables turned on you every now and then, that was how gambles went, but always it led you to places where you were better off, in the grand scheme of things. Only you.
This was not how you envisioned getting out of a death sentence, but you’d take it.
Ever destiny’s prisoner, it’s favored plaything, stumbling you along gilded paths only for yourself, all on your lonesome. Now you wondered, how would you chart your way out of this one? If at all.
You didn’t even know exactly what that lady, Jade, had in store for you, save for the few select words.
Wealth, status, power, and more.
Sister had always said that the Katicans were the greedy ones, and you wonder what she might say if she witnessed how Jade’s words lit the kindling in you.
“You and your games, Kakavasha,” she chided, in that fond manner, her warm smile always eroded the chill brought about by the too-thin clothes that could not fully cover your skin. “You shouldn’t waste the luck Gaiathra Triclops gave you.”
“But Sister, when you have so little you have to bet what little you have to get more,” even as a child you understood that very basic principle.
She laughed at that, and combed through your hair with her hands affectionately.
“You have to be willing to lose what you bet, and some things are just far too precious,” she said, and you remembered her smile, the only good thing left in your world and how your chest swelled with your love for her, wishing you could give her—
More. The overwhelming material desire that burned in you made you shiver. You’ve seen glimpses of the grandiosity that the IPC could afford, the thought that it could be yours, not just to obtain but to command made your hackles rise in excitement, in anger.
What manner of ill-fate it was, to have everything you ever implored the stars for as you slept on a bed made of rocks, now when fate deigned to give you the chance, the reasons for which you wanted them in the first place were out of reach forever.
The supreme cruelty was in the end there was no choice but to take it. The anger in you dissipated with that resolve. Nowhere to go but forward.
The room where they brought you was large, compared to the prison cells you’ve been shoved into, its opulence was incomprehensible. A long hall-like room that looked like a lounge of sorts with low tables and plush chairs. You wouldn’t really know, having spent most of your childhood outdoors. There, you were shown where to wash yourself.
Alone in the bathroom, you allowed yourself a few moments of peace, and the luxury of hot water, again incomprehensible how seemingly endless it was, when you have many memories of having to crawl through caves to collect drops of moisture from rough rocky walls.
When you emerged from your shower and dried yourself, ignoring the stinging from the fresh bruises and the scratches on your skin, you took the chance to survey yourself in the mirror. A gaunt figure whose face you felt uncannily unfamiliar with looked back, eyes so colorful they might have been mistaken to glow but held no light peered through sunken sockets. Your hair fell into frizzled shaggy curtains to frame your head, as dull and lifeless as you feel deep inside. You pushed the hair back from your head, combing through it with your fingers and somehow managed to tame it somewhat into something a little more respectable.
You felt nervous. You had little idea what was in store for you. Though the thought that, in a matter of perhaps a few more days, the young man in the mirror would no longer be Kakavasha, but someone else, someone new, brought some semblance of perverse comfort.
It was not as if you could easily leave all those things behind, but you could pretend. You did not resent it at all. Better for the last remaining shreds of yourself to be buried, never again to be misshapen by the unmerciful hands of fate. Someone else could emerge from all that, much stronger, much better.
You managed a small smile. For all you had to endure, for all you had to do to get there, you only looked half-dead, and not yet truly dead. You wished you were, a lot of times.
When you dressed, you draped yourself in the clothes you’ve haphazardly chosen, having only the vaguest sense of what matched. It had to match—the colors and the shapes. You knew this much. You’ve seen how rich folk dressed, but could not imagine yourself donning such things. No image came to mind of how you might look with it all. You have little idea what you’ve chosen, except they were likely more fine than anything you’ve ever seen. Even the shoes you’ve chosen (plain and black) were in the finest leather you’ve ever touched. Yet underneath all of that, you tucked the ragged white shirt behind your back. You hoped the jacket would conceal it.
When you stepped outside, the thin veneer of calm eroded easily at the sight of Madam Jade, who awaited you. The way her eyes scanned over you, you realized a little too late it might have been better to take some more thought to how you appeared. You’ve let your guard down. A mistake. You’d let the meager triumph of getting close to what you wanted dull the sharpened knife of your instincts.
You braced for the impact of such failure. Your body tensed when she smiled, it was made very apparent then, to both of you, that you were lacking. The nerves crept up to you, drumming underneath your skin in an anxious rhythm, but you refused to submit to it.
You expected contempt. But her eyes narrow, crinkle even, with a lukewarm smile. She sat on one of the lounge chairs by the window where the view of the endless stars languidly scrolled by, a long and slender cigarette holder in her hand. Her shoulders slanted in outward diagonals—relaxed, though the rigidity in the straightness of her back communicated some manner of guard.
“Not bad. It won’t do any other time, of course, since we couldn’t get your exact size, but from what you picked, it isn’t an inadequate try,” she said.
Relief spread through you, but you still wondered what she meant.
Something in her demeanor made you take a few steps forward to approach her, perhaps you should have asked, the expectations upon you have yet to be set, and you told yourself you should have calculated all of this earlier.
You wondered how much she could read from your face, because you could barely read hers. You eased your own shoulders, very slowly, hoping she wouldn’t notice the shift.
She tilted her head at you as she gave you another once over.
“I was not aware that choosing my clothes was a test,” you managed to keep the tone neutral, leaning towards a light admonishment of yourself. A test, like a game. You could do games, even if you did better on gambles.
Jade’s smile widened as she set the cigarette holder down, and rose to her feet. She closed the distance between the both of you, a little too close for comfort. Her perfume cloyed at your senses, that hint of powder in it tickled your senses and made you want to sneeze. You managed not to.
“It is, in a way. From now on, everything will be a test,” she said. The words bore down on you, hammering home the uncomfortable truth of your situation. It wasn’t as if you didn’t walk into this willingly; it was a high risk, high reward game. A long game. You knew this from the beginning, you just wished it wasn’t true. You wanted dearly for a brief respite. It would not be found, it seemed.
“Though some tests are easier than others,” she said, and looked you in the eye with some manner of mild amusement. The same look from earlier, at your mockery of a trial. You could make out some friendliness from it, but you knew not to give in and fully trust in that. “From here on out, you shall be a new person, with a new name, you can hardly afford not to know how you should look and act, for starters.”
She pointed to the tie and then the buttons in the middle of the coat you’re wearing.
Shame burned in you, kneading on your shoulders as if to make you seem smaller. You resisted it. You had little to no idea how the tie would go, but you’ve seen how it should look on the rich men you’ve gambled with, and made an approximation. A good one. As for the buttons, you’ve fastened them all, with the assumption that it would all look neat and tidy. Honestly, there was no denying the ensemble looked shabby on you. Too fine and a little too big for your scrawniness.
“This color suits you, a deep gray, not quite black, leaning towards blue,” she began her assessment. The complement surprised you, as you expected the opposite. “The tie is just a little crooked, but I’m surprised you managed it.”
“It’s a decorative knot, supposed to look one particular way. It’s not too hard to pick up,” you explain, again keeping a neutral tone, and her eyes shifted, just slightly, she looked intrigued, but motioned towards the buttons.
“So, did you ever notice the proper way these are supposed to be done?” she asked and laughed—not unkindly—when your face made a visible expression of confusion.
“They are buttons—meant to be buttoned,” you spoke ahead of gathering your thoughts.
The harsh winds of Sigonia’s deserts brought blasts of abrasive sand against your exposed skin. You couldn’t stand the beating any longer so your small hands tried and failed to button the thick jacket you wore.
Clumsy fingers that lacked proper strength struggled. For one the jacket was getting a little too small for you, and you just couldn’t hold it tight enough to keep it in place to properly shut it. A gust of wind blew across your face and you lost your grip, and the jacket flew wide open.
Frustration rose, rough granules scoured the edges of your eyes, a headache began on the sides of your head. You had to grow up much faster, become less helpless sooner, but bigger, stronger hands caught the folds of the clothes and pulled them shut.
Your sister offered a chiding, yet fond smile as she buttoned your jacket shut and pulled the hood over your head.
You squeezed her hand in silent gratitude. Neither of you could speak unless you wanted a mouthful of sand. She squeezed back with those calloused, rough hands of hers, and you could remember the hope that blazed in your chest to one day manage to be able to afford some proper clothes—and proper shelter—for the both of you.
Jade’s small chortle brought you back from the memory, and you could not help the swell of emotions that welled in you.
“Sometimes some things aren’t so obvious are they? Others who have been given more opportunities than you miss these rules too,” she said. “For a three buttoned suit, only the middle button is fastened, sometimes and only if it looks just a little better on you, the top one will be closed too, but the bottom-most button is never done. When you are seated, you will always undo all the buttons.”
“And who makes these rules?” You asked as annoyance began to rise in you. You stamped it down, just as quickly, steadying your hands as you unfasten the first and the last buttons, leaving only the middle as she instructed. The suit still hung from your body in awkwardness regardless.
Jade took a step back and made towards another part of the hall, where the tables became ones more suited to dining.
She approached a table, where plates, glasses, and all manner of utensils were laid out as she spoke. “No one made them, and yet everyone who matters agrees upon them,” she said. “You must know the rules first to navigate them, after all, and then to bend them.”
Or to break them , you thought to yourself.
“You will learn soon enough,” she said softly, as Jade approached the chair, you casually pulled the seat for her, to which she could not hide her genuine, if mild, surprise as she sat down.
You knew better than to make a big deal about it. To appear as if all was natural, all was calm underneath, the bluff had won you your games and your gambles. You wondered how effective it was, it didn’t always work in the tables you’ve played. This was far more high stakes than you’re used to.
You sat down in front of her and you smoothed your expression into a neutral one as you followed her example and took the napkin in front of you and unfolded it over your lap. You wondered if a smile would be a better expression to wear. You felt increasingly off-balanced, but you have not forgotten what she just had instructed you. You unbuttoned your jacket and sat up straight.
She motioned wordlessly to a nearby attendant as you sat and the overwhelming sight of things placed right before you. Exhaustion began to seep into your very bones, and this complicated set-up that promised food made you hungry on top of it.
“Is there anything you would like to know?” Jade inquired as a bottle of white wine was brought to her. The bottle was opened by the server, who poured a little bit on a rounded clear glass, which you have noticed was often used for wines. You observed as she swirled the golden liquid, wondered what she searched for as clear liquid stayed on the sides of the glass, dragging down more slowly while the rest of the wine settled at the bottom. She finally took a sip, and nodded, allowing the server to pour some more into her glass, and then to yours.
While you observed all of that, you pondered on her question. You’d like to know many things, but questions were dangerous. It could inform the lady of your priorities, your insecurities. The chance to glean a few things though, that was too good a chance to be passed up. So, you allow yourself just one question.
“Am I to be an IPC employee now?” you asked.
“Yes, you’ll be hired as an intern for the Strategic Investment Department, you’ll go through it all just as if you aren’t in any special circumstances,” she said, taking a sip of the wine. “Under an assumed identity, which you can choose later.”
“Won’t the commodity code give me away?” you mentioned, and you could not help the way you did, coloring it with hope that it would be an avenue to petition to get it removed.
But Jade only smiled. “Your eyes would too,” she pointed out. “It would be interesting to see how you deal with it.”
Next time, you made a mental note that next time, you should learn to hide your intentions better. You held off from pushing any further.
The food started arriving, though you weren’t sure what you expected, it certainly wasn't what was presented in front of you.
A rather tiny square of something, with a dollop of swirling white and green sauce and bright round globes of something you weren’t sure what. The incredulity of it showed in your face for sure, but you just managed to make it into a smile. Jade said this was a test, that everything was, and it was easy enough to surmise what she wanted to see.
You had no idea how to eat this thing, and you had an inkling you were going to make a fool of yourself regardless, you might as well let Jade play her hand first.
Jade watched you for a moment, her expression an unreadable smile, and you stalled for time, taking the filled rounded glass of wine. You hadn’t had anything substantial to eat in the last few hours, and alcohol was going to burn your stomach, so you only pretended to take a sip.
A small amused chuckle emanated from Jade, who picked up the outermost utensils—a dainty fork and knife—and used it to pick up the tiny piece of food. The effortlessness of how she ate it lent you nothing in the way of learning how to manage by yourself.
Though the method to how had been revealed, the exact execution of how to eat the tiny thing also relied on you having some command over using utensils. You always were good with your hands, but without practice you had little hope.
You picked it up with the fork with the help of the knife. You might not be so well-versed in table manners, but you did know the knife wasn’t for anything but to cut the food with, and resisted the urge to use the flat of the knife to make a stable base to lift the tricky dish up. As you lifted it all up, the inevitable way the entire thing fell with a pathetic splat face down not on your plate but on your lap made you grimace. That was what that napkin on your lap was for, in hindsight. At least it didn’t ruin your suit.
A failure. You took the loss and tried again to lift up the tiny ensemble to your mouth. You succeeded, rather terribly, but all that mattered was you didn’t waste the food. It tasted terrible, but it tasted like something, unlike the nutrient slop you ate in captivity. You could not decide which you preferred.
Jade looked on, her smile did not change.
The next dish was a single golden deep-fried ball of something, the size of half of your palm, which, when it was laid out in front of you, had been done so with quite the amount of finesse that it did not move at all on the wide plate it was served on. However, with your clumsy employment of these fancy utensils, it only rolled to one corner of the plate, nearly on the table, which you caught with the fork, when you tried to spear it.
You had your head bowed slightly, gazing at the uncooperative, insubstantial bite you couldn’t just pick up with your fingers to eat. This was a lesson, you reminded yourself, learning the rules, playing by them, and eventually being able to bend and break them. You gazed up without angling your neck, watching as Jade used the flat side of her knife to stop the ball from rolling as it was speared and cut it neatly in half.
So damn simple, yet it eluded you. The hunger, the exhaustion dimmed the sharpness of your mind. It felt deliberate, and if it felt like it then it likely was. You summoned what little was left of your strength and followed Jade’s example, cutting the ball in half. Thick cream-like sauce oozed from it, and with a bout of greed born from hunger you popped one into your mouth, only to be rewarded with the scorching sensation on your tongue.
Another miscalculation. Tears stung the edges of your eyes as you fought to keep that thing causing you pain in your mouth, chewing before finally swallowing. You knew better, at least, to chase it down with wine, and went for the ice cold water instead.
Jade watched on, seemingly unable to help a single chortle to escape her throat, which she covertly converted into a lady-like cough.
You ignored her. You did not even bother to make any manner of self-aware self-deprecation to lighten the mood, other things occupied your mind as you went for the next, and last bite, cooled now from being exposed to the air. The savory crunch and following ooze of fragrant cream, and succulent mushrooms filled your mouth, dulled a little by the stinging surface of your tongue, but it was the first thoroughly pleasant experience of the encounter and it ended far too soon.
Vaguely, as you set the utensils on the plate in a neat parallel to its proper clock position as you’ve observed Jade had done, you wondered what sort of scenarios Jade anticipated from this entire ordeal. Scenarios flitted by your tired mind, you weighed the merits of calling the game for what it is, to end it. Though you were weary, you decided there was little benefit to do so, and so the game continued.
The next dish did not inspire any reaction in you but resignation. You anticipated something terribly complicated to eat and came upon a plate of snails, cooked in their shells.
You had to look for Jade’s example once more to know which utensils to employ, but you took a guess, as well, to assess how closely you could discern the pattern. A pair of tongs came on the left side of your plate. You were proven correct, when you thought to take the outermost fork to your right, as she did and began working through the dish, again with well-practiced elegance. She paid more attention to the food now, rather than you, perhaps because of its complexity, but also perhaps she had discerned enough from you.
Her guard was down. There was a thought at the back of your mind. This was an opening, it whispered to you. The idea of simply knifing Madam Jade surfaced. There were, after all, several weapons laid out in front of you, and you are no longer so unfamiliar with such a manner of violence. Yet the thought of being on the run from an organization like the IPC whose reach extended to nearly every corner of every galaxy did not tantalize you one bit.
You went back to attempt your bout with the snails. Belatedly you reminded yourself that such an easy shift of one’s guard might have been a trap as well, one you may have just side-stepped. It had been rather too easy.
Using the tongs, you clipped one of the snail shells and attempted to wrangle the meat inside free with a fork. A mild application of force did not separate meat from shell. You wrenched it harder and the excess of force catapulted the wet, slimy meat onto your face with the second splat of the occasion, before it fell back on your plate.
The tiniest whisper of a sound came from Jade. It was a laugh, and at your expense once more. You could also hear the suppressed snicker from a server nearby.
Something in you, perhaps it was the rather deliberately difficult way it had all been arranged, could decipher exactly now, the intent behind this. A banal lunch meeting, not only meant to discern the level of your table manners and overall bearing, but also to gauge your tolerance for games, vague humiliation, and how you could adapt to new things, revealing the most pertinent aspects of your character as a potential employee.
You just about had enough, really, and ready to call it quits. And yet the way Jade laughed, she looked genuinely amused, without much of the unkindness you’ve come to know from those around you, and so you were momentarily, uncomfortably, reminded of your sister again.
An unfair and unwelcomed comparison, Madam Jade was just the first person in a while not to treat you like some savage, or just some slave. She also happened to have long hair, reminding you in some mix of vague sense and strong impression of your sister, who had been proud of her long hair, the only luxury she ever afforded herself in your difficult lives. Your sweet sister, whose ghost you saw a little in Jade’s in the shadow of the way she smiled at you. A delusion, emerging from how you so dearly wanted her at that moment, your dear sister, to help you wipe your face and encourage you, as you’ve only ever had yourself to lean on for years.
But she was gone. She was long, long gone, and though Jade looked nothing like her, the thought of how Jade was also the very picture of how Sister could have been as pretty, as well-dressed and elegant, if only fate had dealt them a better hand. And those thoughts, they wrenched at you from all sides when you could scarcely afford to unravel.
And so, as the tumult of emotions surged within, you froze over that plate, trying to keep tears from spilling. You could feel them, just beneath your eyes, lodging at your throat. You swallowed, all the while willing your limbs to go and move. At the very least, to wipe the sauce on your face.
You had to keep on going. You were the only one who remembered them now, your mother, your sister, your people. And those memories, they weighed so heavy, but you carried it all the same, for the love of them all, with hopes that someday you can lay these memories down somewhere in peace, to rest. But you would not find such means today, nor tomorrow, but someday.
You had to keep on going, so you picked up your soiled napkin over your lap, using a clean corner to rub it all off. Somehow, your blunders have not made a mess of your clothes. Part of your endless lucky streak, perhaps.
The laughter faded, and Jade spoke up.
“My apologies,” she offered, the tone was casual and yet the words surprised you, unpleasantly so. You didn’t need to look up to hear the sincerity of her words as it only served to knead the barbs further into your chest. You knew better than to believe in the kindness shown, and thought it would have been more expected to have been reprimanded. How strange it was for you to want for cruelty, as spite served you best. Spite, more than anything, had brought you here.
It seemed it would not serve you as much any longer.
“It’s alright,” you said as a sense of false serenity overcame you. With a laugh, injected with just enough mirth, and you asked her, “Have you observed me enough, or is there another dish I have to wrangle with to convince you I am not yet that good at table manners?”
You picked up the fallen piece of snail from your plate with a fork, and popped it in your mouth. It tasted vaguely sweet, but the texture was terrible. You chewed and swallowed anyway.
“It’s enough,” Jade made a wry, almost apologetic smile as she continued to work with the dish. “You’re a clever one, you already know this wasn’t only about your manner of dress and dining etiquette.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to reveal my cards to you,” you said and had no other recourse but to continue trying to eat the snails, much as you didn’t like it.
“Funny,” Jade remarked without looking up at you. “You already showed me everything with the expressions on your face.”
You could not stop the way your eyes widened in surprise as you tried to grasp for a retort. There wasn’t much defending yourself in that regard.
Jade looked up before you could find one. She offered a little crooked smile now, with a little less finesse and elegance. “That works just fine as it’s allowed me to get a good grasp of you, though you might want to work on it soon.”
She bowed her head again slightly, as she continued to eat and something about the way she looked as if she relaxed, just a little, in the way her shoulders eased and her back no longer held that rigidity from earlier communicated to you a modicum amount of trust.
“I see now, how you’ve made it this far, but it’s clear when it’s not a game you’ve orchestrated, or you're comfortable with, you flounder,” she said, she no longer was quite looking at you too, content to eat and looked as though she felt secure enough to do so. “That’s only natural, I suppose, though you should try and work on controlling the faces you make.”
She turned her head up again. “Let me give you some advice. Possibly the only one I can give. In our line of business, a smile works best. It hides many, many things,” she said. “You already know this, but I suppose a reminder wouldn’t hurt.”
Somehow, that was a cue. You didn’t feel like doing so, but the corners of your lips turned up into a smile.
Jade looked pleased, and made a soft chuckle. “You are really lucky,” she murmured, and you wondered what that meant, in which context, but she refused to elaborate. “You’re not quite there yet, but there’s a great potential. You will learn.”
“Sister, what are you doing?” you asked, placing your chin on her shoulder to answer your question for yourself. You could barely come up to her shoulders, even while she was seated on the rocky desert ground.
Beautiful silken threads of gold, teal, and purple pooled at her lap, as well as a handful of turquoise meteorites shimmering under the light of the sun. Her rough, deft hands worked with those colorful threads with a careful rhythm.
“These are for the Kakava,” she explained, looking up briefly to smile at you. “A small tribute to Mama Fenge, for a little extra luck for you and me.”
You grinned at her. “I wanna help too!”
She laughed, and brought a strong arm to wind around your tiny frame in a half embrace and tickled your sides. You burst out laughing and thrashed, finding your way onto her lap, threads and stones tangling in your hair.
“See if you can do it then,” she said when she let you go, plucking the stones and the thread from your thick hair. You excitedly sat down beside her.
With patience, she showed you and as she did she explained, “You know, weaving and scheming are the same, you have to know where each and every thread is from, where it will go, make sure it’s all directed to where you want it to be, to form that pattern that you want,” she said.
You struggled with the braiding, and making the knots with your clumsy, too stubby and too small hands, but she let you finish one. It didn’t look anywhere near as skillfully made as hers, but she praised you all the same.
“One day you’ll get better at it,” she said, looking at your efforts proudly, holding it up to the fading sunlight, bits of string stuck out where you weren’t able to pull too tightly, but you made quite a simple, but eye-catching pattern and managed to secure a turquoise in place. “You might just be even the best at it.”
When you had enough of all the snails, you expected another sorry excuse for a dish to be served to you. You’ve mentally prepared for it. Being served only enough sustenance only to whet the appetite further was not a casual form of cruelty novel to you, and so you were not quite ready to process the sight of what was in front of you.
A really simple looking meal, of heaping generous slices of grilled white meat—which you recognized as fish—vegetables, and fluffy grain. Jade dug into hers without ceremony, using the next set of the outermost utensils from your plate.
She looked up, just very briefly, and made another one of her little lopsided smiles. It felt like she was giving you some manner of reprieve, for the meantime. You returned it, and surveyed your proper meal.
The emotions that welled in you felt less bitter as they rose from your chest. You again thought of your sister, whose favorite had been an off-world import you only ever managed to get less than five times when you were growing up, when she was still alive.
You carefully cut through the soft flesh of the fish on your plate and ate.