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It started with a rebellious uprising in the pit of her stomach. Before the soles of her feet could even hit the floor in the morning the feeling came, as a tilting sort of suspension in reality threatening to spill over each time the alarm would go off. But Seri was in control of her own body and through years of training she could will her breaths to steady and force down the riotous burning at the back of her throat. Lukewarm tea helped too.
Then, there was something missing. Not that it was anything to be immediately concerned about. Careful marks on a calendar couldn’t hope to compete with Mother Nature. This sort of thing happened all the time for a multitude of reasons. Stress, anxiety, low body weight, too much exercise, and even, quite simply, for no reason at all. So the fleeting concern gets pushed away.
It was nothing short of ridiculous really she was made of tougher stuff than this. It wasn’t as if the words weren’t true or hadn’t been said before. Usually they wouldn’t have bothered her. Just work palace banter between subordinates. But she refused to let them see her falter. A quick rebuttal and she’s spinning on her heel, making quick strides towards the female locker room. Even with her chin tilted stubbornly the water trickles from the corner of her eye. Sitting down hard on the padded bench where she pulled her boots on every morning Seri orders herself to get it together as reality dawns with the clarity of a ringing bell.
Her favorite thing gave her away in the end a betrayal, in every sense of the word. Starting with the bartender’s coquettish grin when he asks if she will be having her ‘usual’ is the same. But the thought of red bean paste has her stomach clenching and even the simple imagining of the smell is enough to have her eyes watering. Angling her face away in order to keep sunglass adorned eyes from seeing. She stares at the egg figurine displayed on the bar’s pristine wooden surface. Suddenly interested in the little trinket she’s seen so many times before. But she knows he notices does anyway. This man who comprehends her all too well recognizes the difference.
“I’ll pass this time, just some tonic please.”
She can feel the atmosphere in the room shift as recognition dawns. The highball slips from the bartender’s fingers shattering against the floorboards with a piercing shriek of glass. She’s been found out. A warm hand closes over hers drawing her attention up to a pair of hazel eyes tight with questions and concern. But it’s the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that has her shoulders finally relaxing from their rigid posture.
“Really?” Is all he can manage which she confirms with a brief nod of her blonde head. Fingers close tighter around hers squeezing in a show of support.
Surprisingly the third in command is the next to notice. After a particularly strenuous arrest of some riotous strains Seri is slow to get to her feet. The piercing eyes of her fellow clansman are questioning as he grips her forearm just below the elbow and helps her to her feet. The concern she reads there is enough to make her feel uneasy as she quickly squares her shoulders.
“It’s nothing.” She answers his silent question.
“I’m only human we all get tired sometimes. I want the report on my desk in a timely manner this time.” The lieutenant demands before striding with purposeful steps. She doesn’t miss the click of annoyance as he follows behind making their way towards the scepter 4 transportation units.
The uniform finally gives her away. The reinforced waist band begins to stretch across her lower abdomen until it becomes a nuisance. At first she can simply pull the garment lower around her hips to accommodate the change but eventually that’s not enough. The cut of her jacket will soon do nothing to help camouflage the swelling bump and she must seize the changing of seasons as an opportunity to make the necessary changes.
Expelling a nervous breath the Lieutenant knocks on her Captain’s door with three succinct raps of her index knuckle. Answering the muffled permission to enter promptly Seri makes sure to push the door closed, the click of it’s latch snapping sharply in her ears, before crossing the expanse towards the Captain’s impressive desk. The blue haired man looks at her with a mix of questioning and amusement as he laces his fingers together and leans forward.
“Awashima,” He acknowledges, a beam of sunlight catches the reflective surface of his glasses making them shine. “To what pleasure do I owe this spontaneous visit?” To which the blonde launches into the advantages of having uniforms made in this new material that is more absorbent and also has the added benefit of being super stretchy all while maintaining a pristinely unwrinkled crisp appearance. She hands over a series of sketches rendered with exactly three possible designs for a more forgiving cut and silhouette.
“I’ll just need a signature on your preference and I can have the prototypes in production without delay.” With a swish of a handy ink pen the Blue King initials the page before sliding it back towards her. But his gaze is so full of unspoken questions that there is no way she can possibly not tell him. It would have been the equivalent of lying to her superior. Tightening her limbs to stand at a stiff attention she confesses all the while reassuring that it will change nothing about her effectiveness. The forcefulness of her belief spills out through a diatribe of solutions and amendments that can be made in order to remain useful. By the end her shoulders are shaking slightly with the effort of her one sided debate. It flows over the Blue King who is shocked at first but doubtless in his second in commands abilities. In a motion that surprises her, he stands traversing around the corner of his desk and clasps the blonde on the shoulder.
“Congratulations.”
Hiding her protruding belly under layers of flowy fabric Seri crosses the threshold of the familiar bar. She’s surprised to find it more occupied than during her usual trips, though she really shouldn’t be. The door falls shut behind her in a resounding thud punctuated but the sudden stillness that falls over the room. For the expanse of a few heartbeats no one speaks until.
“Well if it isn’t the Snow Queen.”
It shouldn’t have hurt she was made of much tougher things and quite frankly had been called much worse. And even though the tilt of her chin rose up in indifference the retort died squarely on her tongue. The noise that escaped instead was a wretched sob strained by the shear force the woman trying to hold it back unsuccessfully. The cork popped off every emotion she’d carefully stowed away spilling the entirety of its content at once in large salty tears. It was unclear who was surprised most by sudden outburst not that she heard anything past the redhead’s exclamation due to the probably merciful buzzing in her ears.
“Oi, oi oi!”
A small hand closes around her fingers. Seri isn’t sure if that’s better or worse than being left alone in her outburst. Gentle but demanding pressure guides the blonde over to the couch tugging her down to sit before releasing her trebling hand in favor of simple closeness. She isn’t sure how much time passes that way with her shoulders hunched over hands pressed firmly against her damp face in an attempt to catch the falling tears. She is unaware of the comings and goings of the HOMRA members left in attendance or when the person she was seeking returns.
The next thing the Lieutenant is aware of is the subtle sweet scent of tobacco and expensive liquor. Strong arms scoop her up; one behind her quaking shoulders and the other under her knees careful to keep the billowy fabric from slipping sliding down too far as he presses her into his chest. She’s wetting the fabric of the ascot he always wears but, then, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Seri-chan”
They are in an upstairs room she didn’t know existed. He’s gathered her into his lap in an oversized arm chair and there is quiet. The room is a hazy sort of red that speaks to lazy afternoons and long nights spent talking about nothing over sake and cigars. She tucks her feet up more securely in the space between the chair’s cushions and sags against him. Hesitantly they begin a conversation about the future. It’s full of false starts and stops, miss directions and simple embarrassment but it’s a beginning.