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They both were never good at feelings. Of course, growing up with no real parents in an obedience farm does that to you. Sonetto always looks like she has something to say, and yet chooses not to.
Vertin quetly sips her tea, watching her endlessly scribling reports. Without missing any detail, no doubt. Vertin uncomfortably shifts and tries to take a glance. Something-something Tuesday, 13:27, an attack by Manus Vindictae.
She retreats, fixing her top hat, even though they were in a cafe and every polite gentleman was expected to take off their hat while inside.
She wasn't a gentleman, nor was she polite.
She kept on drowning the tea. The sound of rustle and pen continues. It marches on, Sonetto having such dedication that if it weren't for paper, she would have covered the walls with reports by now.
"Maybe you can get that done when we return to the Foundation," Vertin suggests, hopefully.
"I have to write down the details while they are still fresh in my mind," Sonetto retorts, her voice quiet. After some seconds, the pen starts moving again.
Vertin gulps down a sigh and orders some more tea. The rainy evening outside is exhausting. Was it so cloudy a few minutes ago? You can never tell with Britain.
At last, her eyes return to Sonetto. They always do. There is such an unbearable distance between them, even if the table is only a few inches in diameter.
A childhood friend. A person with strict morals. A loyal dog. A shy teenager. A soldier. A girl.
A regular girl.
Vertin couldn't help but think of all the layers that get superimposed. They've got themselves in a very strange situation indeed.
"Don't ever disappear," Vertin mutters.
"Huh?" Sonetto finally looks up with her eyebrows knit. "It's not like I'm going to."
"You never know when somebody will disappear. When you have someone's last conversation or hug."
"You are quite sentimental today," Sonetto concludes warily. Vertin looks out the window. The streets seem cold, even from there. It's all a gloomy illusion, a gnawing reality.
"...Maybe you're in need of another somnambulism session?" Sonetto genuinely tries to offer her advice, but Vertin has to hide the laughs behind the coughs. Yeah, another coma-inducing hospital visit is exactly what she needs.
She waves in the air as if swatting some annoying fly. "I'll think about that."
She won't. Sonetto may be even aware of that, though she doesn't show it.
"That's good."
The thick silence continues on. Starting with a small drop, the rain hits the window in waves, seemingly trying to break through the glass walls. A nasty, nasty weather indeed.
Outside people scatter in different directions, running away from the plague. This cafe is a safe haven, of course. An island of serenity in the midst of chaos.
"Do you think we will ever reach a point where our language becomes useless?" Sonetto starts suddenly. "I've had people bring me ancient verses. Many of them were in Latin; I mean, we had to learn Latin, of course, so it was okay. But some were in Spanish, Portuguese, or even French! How can you mix up Italian with French?"
Vertin pauses.
"Was it Matilda?"
"Thankfully not."
The air changes. It starts reeking of dust. Soon even this island in time will sink.
"It's coming."
Sonetto sends her a sharp look, almost dropping the papers to the floor. She quickly and without another word starts collecting the blanks.
"As for your question..." "I hope that in the future we'll still be able to understand one another."
***
One second after the Storm. They always call it some other word that can't fully convey the absurdity that is this phenomenon. Words that aren't meant to encompass such an illogical event that goes against everything man believed was true.
Sonetto was standing on a staircase, pale. From her palm flowed thick red blood. The river of drops disappeared into a nothingness of the inner walls of the magical suitcase.
Vertin was holding Sonetto's shoulder tightly, seeing visions of what could have been. The image of Sonetto dissolving before her. She then looks at the place where her index finger should be, and there is nothing but a chunk of red. A dreadful clean cut, something that only the supernatural could achieve.
Vertin looked at it the same way as the person looks at the newspaper with the words "war" plastered all over the front page. Oblivious at first. Then frightened, bevildered, and still at the prospects of tomorrow.
At some point Sonetto starts screaming, and they rush downstairs, where a quick bandage is put.
"This is not how you treat a missing body part," Sonetto chokes out. She puts away Vertin's shaking hands and tries to perform everything herself. She is holding small tears in her eyes, not ready to dirty the wound with them.
At last, the storm passes. The weather inside the suitcase is mercifully sunny, and Vertin takes in the familiar scent of the wooden interior to calm herself down. Her hands are not ready to let go of Sonetto, almost definitely leaving bruises on her soft skin.
"Is it stopping?" Is what stopping? The blood, the rain, everything - the nightmare that continues to stalk them day by day? When will it stop?
"I hope it is."
The blood does, indeed, stop. Sonetto looks like a ghost, sitting on a floor like this. Vertin's hat has also flew somewhere in the room.
"At least it's your left arm," Vertin spews out thoughtlessly, just saying the first thing that comes to mind.
"I can write with both."
"Of course you can..." Vertin smiles sadly.
She leans in, kissing the fire-colored hair against the soaked white clothes, and Sonetto gasps quietly. The whole place shakes as if reverberating.
God, please, just this one thing.
Vertin moves very slowly and determinedly, borring her steel gaze into Sonetto's surprised expression. She then places a soft kiss on her lips. It's as if she cements Sonetto's existence as a fact in the reality itself.
Having touched her so gently, as far as she lives, she wouldn't let the world forget.
"What..?" Sonetto moves back, touching her lips, eyes round as two marbles.
"I've said," Vertin reminds her almost angrily, "Don't ever disappear."
And then a rain of kisses comes. It washes over Sonetto, making her burn with red.
After all, the girl can do nothing but brave this storm, too.