Chapter Text
Hotel Goethe was quiet at this hour despite the bustling traffic outside. Although it was nothing in comparison to the Reverie, he found the dark wood and high windows to be charming and homey. The staff were attentive but mindful and despite the blue sky and high sun, an attendant always saw to it that no one left without their coat. A holdover from the Stellaron days, undoubtedly.
He’d been prepared, of course. He dressed as he always did, with meticulous care and consideration. Some things would never change and Sunday took solace in fixing the sash pinned at his chest and smoothing his lapels. How anyone could simply present themselves to the rest of the world while their clothes were wrinkled and their eyes were laden with sleep was beyond him. How would anyone take another seriously if they appeared to have rolled out of bed?
The notion of arriving to the museum only to give this contact the first impression that the Crew was not detail-oriented and dedicated did nothing to settle the tightness in his chest. Belobog and Jarilo-VI were only just finding their feet again under the leadership of Lady Bronya Rand and with the assistance of the Astral Express. Sunday was acutely aware of the gravity that circled such circumstances and liked to think that, for once, his preference for procedure and order won out.
This meeting was his first time representing the Express on his own. Ms. Himeko and Mr. Yang must have seen something in this particular request, else they would have sent the younger members. The trio always uncovered something through their wanderings or re-connecting with old friends. He wasn’t quite suited to it, not yet at any rate, and he still had much to learn.
All of this over a painting of Nanook. Strange tales of Destruction in its wake. Never surfacing on public auction lists.
The air was cold, refreshingly so compared to Penacony; the Hours that offered activities such as skiing or snow-tubing were still nothing more than the impression of the environments and relied on pre-existing notions to make the visitors feel as if they were chilled. Sunday tucked his wings in closer beneath the scarf around his neck, strategically placed to both hide his wings and keep him warm. It was humbling to feel the stone beneath his boots and see the bustle of the morning. Employees on their way to work, the remnants of checkpoints without Silvermane Guards.
Penacony practically shook with energy while Belobog offered a steadfast hum. From the way the Trailblazer spoke of the planet, it was almost provincial in some areas, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Recovery was apparent, prosperity close at hand, all without the IPC’s interference.
A sentiment he shared with Lady Bronya. It could have been Penacony’s Path, too. Perhaps it still would be.
The halovian closed his eyes to escape the rush of people and cars around him and listened as he stood on the curb. Even now, his mind yearned for Ena’s frequency, the presence of others, the way the notes used to dance alongside Xipe’s tune in a subtle resonance that no one ever noticed. In much the same way that there were those who never picked up on a harmony or a melody in a song, plenty of individuals might never have known the difference between Ena and Xipe.
The crowd around him stirred and someone jostled him from behind. He barely had time to think before he felt himself falling forward---
Wind rushed around him as a blanket of stars gave way to a bright, new dawn cresting over the horizon. He felt no warmth from the vibrant star painting the sky with a pink so soft, it might as well have been fine-spun cotton sugar.
Brother...the dream is over.
Once, her embraces were comforting, a counterbalance to re-center himself. Before his halo grew too heavy. He could only feel echoes of it now, an itching at the back of his skull that crawled down his spine. His body remembered what his heart was unable to bear.
Darkness grew ever closer and drew him deeper into its embrace. What was the point of it all? Living only meant unending sorrow, constant cycles of existence that never promised anything more than the same exact suffering as the day before. People came to Penacony to dream, to have a taste of a fleeting moment that made all the pain worth it.
It was better that way, was it not? To be supported, promised a better life, entrusted to another to provide?
Sunday’s heart pounded in his chest, a raucous Charmony Dove protesting in its cage, as he felt a force on his jacket yank him backwards just as a car whizzed past, horn blaring. He blinked, breathing heavily, observing his surroundings as he tried to steady himself, pushing away the thoughts about torn seams or wrinkles when the hand on his jacket relented. Before he could identify the owner, the crowd moved properly and he was once again lost in a sea of people.
An arm brushed his and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of ashen brown hair and a cable-knit scarf, soft ochre against a long beige coat. As if sensing him, the stranger’s head turned just enough to flick up hazel eyes and offer a ghost of a smile, before blending into the crowd again.
They succeeded, for as soon as Sunday blinked, he was unable to spot them.
Maybe the stranger was a dream. An invention of his mind to protect himself and he’d truly caught himself all along.
We all must wake up at some point. If we are asleep, too lost in our dreams, we miss what it means to live, were the words that accompanied an invitation and a way forward.
Those words etched themselves in his mind and came alive every daybreak. It didn’t matter whether there was a sun to be seen. They greeted him the way Ena had. Like clockwork, his body was attuned to the start of the new day and another beginning in which he would swallow the guilt and pretend it ever properly settled in his stomach.
Perhaps today, it might sit in his chest, heavy and leaden. Or it would crawl up his spine, claw at his mind, and leave him a little light-headed.
Regardless, he was certain they would now be accompanied by a face without a name, and he was so tired of being haunted.