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Shadows dance on the walls of the parlor car; thrown by a sole lamp standing by a red velvet seat occupied by the Express' navigator with book in hand. Sweet notes from the phonograph to her right dance through the air, creating a pleasant atmosphere in the car.
It was just Himeko on the train; Stelle, March, and Welt had long since left for the Xianzhou Loufu, and Dan Heng's avoidance of the ships eventually relented in favor of his concern for his fellow Trailblazers' safety.
The perfect time for a good book and a good tune.
The train's door slides open, the redheaded navigator glancing up with a rehearsed smile that quickly fades at the sight before her.
Well, it would have been the perfect time for a good book.
She stands with a start, conflicted by the sight of a certain woman before her; limping towards Himeko with one hand clutching her side and the other hanging loosely, gun still in hand- Kafka, covered in blood that Himeko can't discern the owner of. She crosses her arms, masking a feeling of concern bubbling up in her chest. Golden eyes dart to the floor as the navigator notices red stains being left with each step the Stellaron Hunter takes towards her.
"Kafka. You're tracking blood onto the Express."
Kafka manages a weak grin, clearly pained by the injuries she's sustained.
"Sorry about that, darling. I'll clean it, promise."
Kafka's pained voice delivers a promise they both know to be empty. The woman stumbles on her injured leg, falling forward and allowing Himeko to catch her in her arms. With a sigh, the navigator grabs onto Kafka's wrist, using it to sling an arm over her shoulder for support, Himeko's own snaking around the spider's waist.
"Awfully forward tonight, aren't we?"
Himeko sneers, rolling her eyes as she starts towards her room. She's no doctor, but she'd picked up a few things on her path; it would have to do.
"Save it for when you're not bleeding on my dress."
"Mm."
Kafka just hums, allowing Himeko to take her to a room that smells like coffee of questionable quality. The redhead sets Kafka down to sit at the edge of her bed before spinning around and grabbing the first-aid kit she's always kept in her room just in case Stelle or March- or more likely, Stelle and March -hurt themselves. When Himeko turns back to Kafka, reality begins to set in, and one burning question ignites in her mind.
"Why me?"
"Why wouldn't it be you?"
Himeko scowls- never a straight answer from this one. She slips the coat from Kafka's shoulders, moving her slender fingers to the buttons at the front of her shirt. She expects some sort of smug or vulgar comment from the woman as button-after-button is undone, but one never comes.
"In case you forgot, Kafka, we aren't exactly cooperators."
"Aw, is that so? Too bad for me, I suppose."
A final button is undone, and the shirt- now more red than white -is tugged from her body, sticking ever so slightly to scarred, bloody skin. Himeko's eyes are glued to the injury just above Kafka's hip. A stab wound still leaking blood.
The two don't talk anymore- and that's even more worrying to Himeko than all the viscera that covers the spider's body. Kafka sits still, allowing Himeko to patch her up without a single remark. Perhaps she's too worn out to come up with anything. That's what Himeko settles on.
Himeko decides to go about this practically as opposed to safely; cauterizing the stab wound before stitching it up. After examining her patient's body, the navigator's earlier question is eventually answered. The blood that stains clothes and skin alike- at least, most of it -is not Kafka's. Her only other injury that she can clearly identify is a broken leg, but Himeko doesn't have the know-how nor the equipment to mend bone. She is once again conflicted; this time by the relief she feels knowing that Kafka's life isn't in danger.
"I've done all I can. Let's get you cleaned up before you go."
Himeko once again supports Kafka, taking the strain from her broken bone as she methodically brings the Stellaron Hunter into her restroom, slowly setting her down to sit on the edge of the bathtub. The faux doctor wets a cloth with cold water before bringing it up to Kafka's stained face. Of all things, the water is what makes her flinch.
"It's cold."
"You'll make it."
"Mm."
It's quiet again as Himeko wipes the blood from the pink-eyed woman's features. Their eyes meet, and Himeko freezes for but a moment. She's never once seen Kafka look so tired in all their countless meetings. She recovers a second later, wringing blood from the cloth into the bathtub. She hopes it won't stain the porcelain crimson.
Tens of minutes pass in silence, the ever-stoic Stellaron Hunter quietly and obediently sitting as she allows Himeko to purge her skin of gore and rinse her hair of the deep red fluid. After a while, Himeko drops her arm to her side, mostly satisfied with the state of the other woman. She stares, mind racing.
Why was she here? Why come to the Astral Express and not the other Stellaron Hunters? Or better yet, a doctor? Why Himeko? What even happened to her?
Despite all the questions she has, Himeko keeps them all to herself, knowing Kafka wouldn't permit her the answers even if she were to voice them. The navigator sighs before standing from her kneel.
"I've done what I can. You should go, Kafka."
"Aww, already? Can't I stay for a while longer, darling?"
Himeko sideeyes the Stellaron Hunter, noting the grin that graces her countenance lacking its usual mirth.
"You shouldn't."
"Shouldn't, not can't?"
Ever the perceptive one, Kafka is.
"I won't deny an injured woman her rest."
"My, what would your crew think? Harboring a Stellaron Hunter like this?"
Himeko scowls. She likes it better when Kafka isn't talking, she decides.
"What happened to being quiet?"
"I'm not bleeding on your dress anymore, am I?"
An exasperated huff leaves Himeko's nostrils as she extends a hand to Kafka, who takes the offer, allowing Himeko to once again support her as she takes the spider back into her bedchambers. Himeko once again sets her down on the bed. Silently, the navigator grabs a plain white shirt and a pair of black shorts from her wardrobe, offering them to the spider who casually sits upon a bed that doesn't belong to her. Himeko hates that she doesn't even look out of place.
"If you're staying, I don't want you getting my furniture any bloodier than they already are."
"Your wish is my command, princess."
The clothes are taken from Himeko's grip. She watches Kafka's hands gracefully reach around her back before turning away from the woman.
"Would it kill you to do that in private?"
"Thought I'd give you a little show as a reward~. You've been so kind to me, after all."
'Frustrating' is the word that most aptly describes Himeko's view of Kafka, but 'shameless' is another good one.
"Who, exactly, is supposed to be rewarded by that?"
"Ouch. A lot of people would kill to see me undress, I'll have you know."
Himeko believes her, but she won't admit that. Instead, she stays silent. A few seconds of rustling cloth and a satisfied sigh later, Himeko turns back around to take Kafka's ruined clothes from her. At least the coat is salvageable, but the tights, shorts, and especially the shirt are ruined, so she tosses them into the trash bin placed by her desk. Her arms are crossed when she meets Kafka's eyes.
"How long?"
"A few days at most."
Himeko takes a moment, running through the possible situations this could inspire to occur within the Astral Express. But, even so, she can't deny an injured woman her rest. That's what she tells herself.
"Fine. But you don't leave this room, got it?"
"Mm-hmm. I won't leave your side, princess."
Himeko sighs for the umpteenth time tonight, turning her back on Kafka and towards the door to her room, briefly turning her head over her shoulders.
"There's clean sheets in a box under the bed."
"Where are you going?"
Himeko falters, caught off guard by the question. Kafka has never sounded so desperate- so... afraid; though Himeko knows that couldn't be it.
"To clean the mess that someone made of my train. I'll be right back."
"I said I would clean it, pet. Allow me."
Himeko fully turns around, arms crossed as she shakes her head, watching Kafka try to stand from her spot on the bed.
"Absolutely not. Just sit down and rest, Kafka."
"But-"
"Sit."
"...Alright."
The mess isn't quite as bad as Himeko had thought. Most of the blood, as it turns out, was tracked off in Kafka's first few steps aboard the Express. Cleaning it isn't the easiest, but she'd rather do it now than be questioned by Welt- or worse, Pom-Pom. The time away from her impromptu patient gives the Express' navigator time to think, though it doesn't do her much good. Speculating on why Kafka came to her isn't going to reveal the answer, but neither will asking the ever-elusive woman herself.
After finally scrubbing the crimson from the floor, Himeko returns to her bedroom. Kafka did actually change the sheets, much to Himeko's delight. Now, the Stellaron Hunter sits against the headboard with a book in her hands, now contactless pink eyes gliding across the words scrawled onto the bound parchment.
"Didn't take you for the romance novel type, pet."
"I'm not, but March insisted I give it a shot."
"Mm. How is the little popsicle these days?"
Idle chitchat, that's all it is. Himeko knows that Kafka doesn't care. Why would she, after all?
"She has her hands full with Stelle, usually. They make quite the pair."
Kafka smiles, and Himeko can tell that unlike her usual sly grin, this one is a genuine smile. Her eyes give her away. Himeko sits down on the foot of her bed. As far away from Kafka as possible- a detail not lost on either of them.
"And the raccoon? How is she?"
How Kafka had heard of Stelle's dumpster diving habit is lost on Himeko, but she decides to ignore that for now and engage in the small talk.
"She's mostly adjusted to this path, thanks to March and Dan Heng. I believe she's already quite the Trailblazer."
"Is she happy here?"
Another subversive question, but Himeko doesn't falter this time, for she's thought about this herself.
"I think she is."
"Mm."
The two fall into silence again. Perhaps deliberate, or perhaps they've already run out of topics. Himeko doesn't mind either way. Kafka takes a breath, as if preparing to say something, but no sound passes her lips before they're sealed. Moments pass in quietude before she finally speaks.
"Thank you, Himeko."
It's strange to hear Kafka utter her name after countless instances of the Stellaron Hunter solely using pet names. Himeko loathes to admit that she doesn't hate the sound.