Work Text:
“What are you doing here?”
Kafka smiled at the voice coming from the depths of the workshop.
Wouldn’t you like to know…
“I thought ‘Neverwinter’ was open to all.” She replied calmly, a mysterious smirk finding residence on her face.
A soft grumble preceded the sudden appearance of Serval, a beautiful scowl on her face, conflicting emotions emanating from her entire being. Kafka took her all in. Arms crossed protectively in front of her chest, a wrench in each, oil smeared on her left cheek, a loose bun of golden locks haphazardly tied with a pair of screwdrivers.
“Where is your guitar? Do you have it here?” Kafka continued, face still a mask of almost neutrality.
“You did not answer my question,” Serval pressed on. “And I so much hate repeating myself.”
Kafka’s face cracked into a fleeting smile. A barely audible laugh escaped her luscious lips. She was tired. It might be worth being forthcoming… just this time. Just this time…
She took a deep breath and fixed Serval’s blue blue eyes with a piercing gaze.
“I had a dream… A dream that brought me through different realms… Through moments of despair and triumph. A dream so precarious, it could shatter to millions upon millions of pieces in the wrong hands. A dream of beauty so ethereal, so pure, so divine, it could blaze a path to worlds we have dared not even imagine.”
Kafka fell silent, her eyes lost in the distance, drowned in the far-away imagery of her dreams. Serval silently observed the woman across from her. There was something intriguing and fascinating about her. Even more so about what she spoke about. The mechanic did not even understand when she had lowered her hands and made a few daring steps towards the door, closing the distance between them.
“That dream,” Kafka continued, “after searching high and low, after travelling from one end of the realm to the other, had brought me here. To Belobog, to ‘Neverwinter’, to you. Only your rebellious tune, it seems, could lead me to what happens next. Only you would be able to help me unlock the path to true beauty…”
Serval could not look away. She was drowning into Kafka’s deep eyes and that mysterious piercing gaze was practically freezing her where she stood. Yet still, she was enthralled. She wanted to know more. It was as Kafka’s words were playing on the deepest strings of her soul. And while her higher reasoning was screaming caution, her entire being was abuzz with lightning. Oh she knew well who Kafka was and what she was rumoured to be able to do… Yet, there was a part of her that was screaming “go” !
A wicked smile bloomed on Serval’s lips, her mind made up. There was no turning back but her rebellious nature laughed in the face of the unknown.
Kafka’s eyes mirrored the mechanic’s excitement, shining strong as if throwing lightning bolts across the small space. Her lips remained poised in a barely there smile, not betraying her usual stoic demeanour.
“So… Do you have your guitar here? Won’t you play a little for me?” Kafka beckoned.
Serval simply nodded and disappeared into the recess of the workshop, only to emerge seconds later with an enormous black electric guitar, having also traded her overalls for a short blue dress.
It did not take much to plug in the instrument and with wonder Kafka realised the small front room of the workshop was an amplifier in itself. But then again, she should not have doubted Serval’s ingenuity and mechanical prowess.
“So what do I play? Anything specific in mind?” Serval asked as she was tuning the guitar.
“No… Just open your heart and play what is in your soul. The dream will guide you.” Kafka said cryptically as she found a space on the ground opposite Serval.
The mechanic paused for a second, puzzled by the request. Or lack thereof. But then Serval closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let her energy flow, reaching to every nook and cranny in ‘Neverwinter’. And then beyond its walls, through the streets of Belobog and its perpetual cold. She let herself go and started strumming. At first gentle and slow, and then stronger and stronger, louder, more raw.
As lightning sparks ran from Serval’s fingertips, filling the space with electricity, Kafka’s face broke in a decadent smile, ecstasy dripping from every pore. She gently closed her eyes and let herself drift with each note and each riff of Serval’s guitar… Reaching, searching, dreaming of the divine path to beauty.