Chapter Text
Dusk has already fallen over District 14. The marble-clad streets and infinitely stretching ebony skyscrapers never let the night get properly dark; thus, much like on a silent snowy Christmas Eve, N.Corp. researchers were scattering away towards their dorms under a sky of murky, chocolaty brown. Elevators all over the facilities worked their gears to death, filling in the parking lots with hurried footsteps and steady engine hums. Most, like any sensible individual, strove to clock out around 5 p.m., although N.Corp. did encourage overtime – they weren't a charity after all. The New League of the Nine Litterateurs (currently capped at 7, but they're working on it) were not, however, sensible individuals; they were the genii, the Nest's creme de la creme. It was common for Director Hermann's closest associates to spend the nights on couches in the lab, not to set some kind of pewny example, they just had shit to do. Experiments to complete, tabs to keep track of; bones to break and lives to ruin; training goals to reach.
A lone woman stood at the gym, facing the entrance to the men's showers. She was forced to restrain herself on the arsenal, opting to keep only what she could hide under her coat and skirts. The target she kept meticulous track of over the course of several weeks was scheduled to leave the showers after his evening training simulation, tired and a little dizzy from the heat. A surge of excited anxiety overcame her; the giddiness of one's plan finally falling into place. Nelly tightened the grip on the cake knife in her pocket; just some fifteen minutes, and she'll be spreading that son of a bitch like foie grass.
A set of unaccounted combat boots echoed against the tiled floor. “Y’know it's creepy for a lady to just hover over the men's showers at night like that, right?”
She put on her most inconspicuous smile, fingers ever so slightly running across the cutlery in her pocket, making sure she brought enough for two. “Sonya! What brings you here so late?”
“Same goes to you; I thought you left hours ago.”
“Just had some unfinished business to take care of; I'll be leaving in a jiffy, don't worry.”
Sonya sighed and shook his head. “I don't think you understand… I really do love you, Nelly.”
“Mutual,” she nodded. The Saint sometimes spoke in a rather roundabout way that tended to get an unprepared listener flustered.
“This is why I'm giving you this final warning. Drop whatever it is you're doing and I won't take this to HR,” he tapped insistently on the handle of his sword. “Hell, if you explain yourself, I might even cover you for Director Hermann.”
“I see,” the woman gave him a solemn smile. “Unfortunate.”
Forks flew across the gym like shooting stars.
“Please, refrain from getting in my way any further.”
A blade whistled through the air with a dangerous glimmer; Nelly dodged it with an uncomfortable amount of ease, sliding along the floor, almost stumbling right into a… Pointed harpoon.
“Lousy bitch!”
“You too?” Nelly somersaulted past Ahab, right onto a front pull-down machine. Now she knew what this out-of-place tobacco smell was all about. “What is this?!”
“An intervention,” Sonya pushed the blade through the machine's metal bars, nearly avoiding being hit by a shifting weight.
“Intervention for what?!”
“From the director herself.”
“The… Director?”
“You didn't think you were going under the radar, didja? Snooping around like the mole you are… She saw right through you!” Ahab swung at her and was immediately set rolling across the rubber carpet along with a whole shelf’s worth of dumbbells.
Sonya's sword bounced off pleasantly against a weightless bar Nelly found on the floor. She was disappointed with how easily she was found out.
“She doesn't- I thought…” She was getting closer and closer to a wall with every step away from the armed saint. She poked him in the stomach, and he curled in on himself like a wilting flower. “You wouldn't understand. I'm doing this for everyone.”
“Who in tarnation is ‘everyone'?!” Ahab called out from under her dumbbell prison.
“Shut your gob! Why are you even here?!”
“Ellen, please. Don’t listen to her, listen to me,” Sonya put on his most convincing tone, the one he used to talk down rats in the backstreet alleys. “Stop this, let us talk.”
For a moment, it even seemed that the saint’s words touched the chief butler's faltering heart. Right until, in one swooping circular motion, she swung the bar at his head, only interrupted by the old sailor grabbing at her from the back. Nelly's improvised weapon rang pitifully as it hit the ground.
“Let me go!”
“Hush down first, you barnacle!”
“Nelly, please, stop this-”
“There's still time-”
“Hey, where'd ya get that-”
“Ahab, take the knife from her!”
“I will save everyone…”
“Yeowch!”
“Oh my God…”
“Does anyone care to explain what all this ruckus is about?!”
The three of them froze, limbs all over each other in a scene worthy of the District 16 Renaissance. In the entryway to the showers, signature jian in hand, stood a red-faced Jia Huan, gym bag over his shoulder, hair still slightly damp. Paradoxically, he seemed almost out of place.
“Oh, nothing, Mr Jia, sir!” Nelly had gone limp in Ahab's grasp, legs swinging side-to-side helplessly. “We were, uh- just- sparring!”
“Sparring…?” Jia Huan didn’t seem suspicious right up until now.
“Naturally,” Sonya chimed in, smoothly. “Ahab wanted to teach us some melee techniques that proved invaluable on her ship.”
“Can't let those pirates get to ya’! Or… Somth'n.”
Sonya threw in a little pirate-like “Arr!” for good measure.
Jia Huan sheathed his jian, “Well, god dammit, can't you do it quieter? I was mentally preparing to walk naked into an Abnormality Breach! And does it have to be at 6 p.m.? Can you plebeians not afford a Netflix subscription, or is there just nothing else to do?”
“Apologies, dear fellow,” Nelly chuckled, butter-smooth. “I believe we were just about to leave.”
Ahab and Sonya felt something clicking in each other's heads.
“Whatever. I'm going home.”
Three pairs of eyes watched him make his way across the gym. Ahab finally set Nelly back on solid ground. Nobody made a peep.
“Oh, by the way,” Huan turned back right in the doorway, “do any of you know where Gubo is?”
“Left an hour or so ago,” Sonya did a little uncertain handwave. “Why?”
“Nothing.” Something in his tone seemed to change slightly. “See you tomorrow.”
With that, he turned away. The hair at the back of Sonya's neck spiked up along with an unforeseen tremor in the atmosphere. The two peacemakers grabbed for her, but they were too late: Nelly's one last desperate fork was shot straight for the man's neck. Right where he had been just two seconds ago, it sprang uselessly against the sliding door. With that, the woman fell onto the floor, fist slamming ripples against the rubber carpet.
“You've ruined it! It's gone! Two months of preparations, all gone! And now we're all doomed! I've tried… Tell director Hermann that I tried!”
The wretched saboteurs found themselves second-guessing their next step: their supposedly treacherous coworker now seemed to be in genuine distress. Finally, the ever-benevolent saint lowered himself to gently stroke her back, eventually coaxing her up onto her feet, arm over his shoulder.
“So. I suppose this ain't a crisis averted, ey?” Ahab scratched a fresh dumbbell bruise. “I was just hoping to get a beer after this, and…”
Sonya interrupted his soothing whispers to give Ahab a truly indescribable look.
“Gotcha,” she took Nelly's arm from Sonya. “But just so you know, lil man, pirates don't do that.”
***
Every three or so seconds, upon completing a cycle, the wheel of the humming centrifuge let out a click, as if changing the slides of a movie projector. Under a dim examination lamp, as if under a satellite, the foiled maid quietly sobbed. Sonya kept a sympathetic eye on her and a less sympathetic hand on the hilt of his sword. Ahab was digging around the labelled boxes, tossing pieces of valuable equipment back and forth. The owner of the laboratory beheld the comical scene in silent bewilderment.
Aseah was humbly regarded as one of the New League's less striking personalities. Unlike even the single-minded Gubo, who he knew to sometimes be arrogant and boastful, Aseah's only real devotion was his research. Not even a particular truth to be uncovered, but the act of research itself. The process leading up to a discovery was the means to all his ends, and he could flourish anywhere he could get his hands on some test tubes. A jellyfish his friend used to call him: floating aimlessly through the vast expanse of the sea, only ever letting roots where there was sustenance, only giving back what he had to give and moving on once there was nothing more to be had. Among dear compatriots or vile criminals, he remained loyal to himself and his creed.
N.Corp. proved to be his most fruitful soil yet: the new Litterateurs were neither tea party-throwing idealists like the Old League, nor zealous fanatics like The Ring. Not to mention that they paid him actual money and did not, under normal circumstances, hold researchers hostage (admittedly, it was more of a “him” thing). As long as they didn't bite the hand that fed them, his comrades were mostly just doing their own thing under no false pretences of shared goals or bonds of friendship. Thus, he spent his days working away at his unreachable grand discovery in the confines of the laboratory he was given, occasionally floating where the current of the director's order took him, neither friend nor foe to those he met along the way. That self-serving nature granted him an aloof personality that people tended to enjoy from a distance. Thus, he has become popular among his coworkers: junior researchers often approach him for guidance, and his fellow Literati would share their lunch breaks with him. As long as they were not interfering with his work, he gladly entertained anyone and everyone, even making a habit of pouring them a cup of tea. Sometimes, he even allowed himself to fancy the idea of some of the bonds formed at this job not being entirely disingenuous.
Aseah the jellyfish was forced to reconsider his ways when, at 7:30 p.m. on a random weekday, Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladova, like some sort of traffic warden, directed Captain Ahab to drag a kicking, screaming Nelly into his very expensive lab. “Perhaps, I had miscalculated. They don't just think I'm a good listener anymore, they take me for a tool,” he thought as he washed three more teacups. Such was the Tuesday night of Aseah, a man of many hats.
Ahab clicked a tourniquet in a way that made everyone think back to their fathers, “Let's tie her up.”
“With my equipment?”
“There's no need.”
“Thank you, Sonya. Tell her that-”
“Jia Huan's not here. Without a target, I doubt she will attack us after already failing her objective.”
“Excuse me?”
“Besides, she just seems…” Sonya once again regarded the chief butler's trembling form as he chose words. “Out of sorts. I don't think she's in the condition to fight.”
“That's right! That's why we tie her up before she gets back into the sorts!” Ahab was clearly just itching to show off her knotting techniques. “She's one slippery mackerel, even mopey she can go a long way!”
“Can anyone please just-”
Nelly's laboured sobbing finally started turning into words. “It's… Alright… I won't fight anymore… We're all doomed anyway…”
“Fellows, fellows, stop! What is going on?!”
“Oh, nothing,” the Saint waved Aseah away. “Could you get me that chamomile tea you made before?”
“I can, but-”
“Ooh, and do ya’ still got that stuff with the little… Fruit chunks?” Ahab tapped the researcher on the shoulder.
Aseah pulled at the sides of his spiky bangs. “That's it! None of you are getting tea until I learn what's going on! Why were you fighting, why is Nelly saying we're all doomed, and what does Jia Huan have to do with any of this?!”
“That's the thing, pipsqueak,” the captain shrugged, “We don't really know.”
“Then figure it out! Or take your wild goose chase out of my laboratorium! And I only have one french press, so stop your selection at something, I'm not making 10 different teas!”
All three turned to Ellen.
“I…” she mustered up between the last few sobs, “I'd… Like a coffee, honestly...”
***
Nelly fiddled with the cup of creamy coffee; the sepia tones of her rippling reflection reminded her of home. Aseah went through the trouble of making her cup extra-sugary. “As some of you may know, I used to live and work in District 20. My entire lineage, as far as I had known them, were butlers of the manor of Wuthering Heights.”
“Yes, Nelly, that was two months ago,” Sonya had his coffee in dignified small sips. “Does not explain trying to kill Jia Huan.”
“She did what..?” Aseah was still not entirely filled in on the situation.
“Don't getcha hopes up, we saved ‘em.” A tiny coffee cup looked silly in Ahab's huge calloused hands.
Nelly coughed. “As I was saying, a couple of months ago, my life's calling went up in flames. The mistress of the house I'd gladly die for was consumed by her affection for a common man, one that, as we found out, has dragged the estate down with her numerous times all across the numerous Mirror Worlds.”
“Rough,” the captain remarked, face covered in cookie crumbs.
“I loved them both like my own children, I did everything for them, but giving up everything me, my family and my fellow butlers worked on over some flight of childish fancy was just… Unacceptable. So, on Director Hermann's orders and with the assistance of our researcher friends,” upon meeting her eyes, Aseah gave Nelly an understanding nod, “I helped to push her over the edge. There was a whole bunch of Pecattula, the Red Gaze, an evil multidimensional horse man leading an army of the undead, the LCB were involved… As they usually are...” the maid trailed off.
She was clearly struggling with recounting the relatively recent story, not only because it was convoluted, but because it brought her a great deal of pain. Aseah was the only one present besides the Chief Butler herself to be familiar with the project at Wuthering Heights, but even he wasn't exactly aware of all the hardships Nelly had endured that led her to betray the only calling she had known. Sonya placed a soothing hand on the woman's fidgeting fingers and proceeded to draw pretend circles in her palms; she slid their fingers together and gave him a strong, reassuring grip. “I got my way in the end. Wuthering Heights has fallen, with me as its last standing inhabitant. I had long secured that everything there was and everything that would remain of the manor was to go to my benefactor, Lady Hermann, and I had joined her cause in the aftermath. I am now a free woman; free to choose my own mistress and, under her leadership, follow my own pursuits.”
It was a tale so powerful that even Ahab, who had been listening with a sour scowl, had allowed a single tear to run down her cheek. “Andcha did allat to… What, become a corporate pencil pusher? For another woman's grand plan?”
“W-well, at least this time I chose the dead-end job! And it's an honour for me to work under Lady Hermann!”
“The first dead-end job to swim right up your harbour… You didn't choose Lady Hermann; she just happened to you. She doesn't care about you-” Ahab uncomfortably scratched a patch of pallid skin on her left arm, “Us. That ain't what a captain's for.”
Nelly failed to come up with a clever rebuttal, mainly because nobody present had any sound objections to voice. No New League member was entirely indifferent towards Lady Hermann, their respective first encounters with her taking them back to some of the most turbulent times in their lives. They all understood the kind of person she was: not even necessarily a manipulator, just someone with enough power to spare that sharing it paid off more often than not. Yet it was inevitable that some of them would regard her with a degree of uncalled-for sentimentality.
“What I am saying is that – this?” she grabbed at her N.Corp. ID badge, “I've earned it. I've gambled with my life and won it back, and I will go to great lengths to preserve the fruits of my labour. This body is mine to yield, and if it will go down in battle, it shall be for a cause of my choosing, not as collateral for someone else's follies.”
“Which brings us to the matter at hand,” the saint brought the conversation back on track. “Why were you trying to kill Jia Huan?”
Aseah didn't even say anything anymore. Ahab sensed his agitation and gave him an affectionate elbow push, “Yep. And on a Tuesday, no less.”
“No, I think that part checks out.” Sonya was deep in thought, “If I were attempting murder, that would also be on a Tuesday.”
“Tuesday was the most convenient according to his schedule, but, personally, I would opt for Thursday.”
“Right on!” Ahab swung her coffee cap as if it were a tot of rum, “Thursdays are the worst!”
Aseah chimed in, “Statistically, most crimes take place on Friday or the night from Saturday to Sunday.”
Sonya’s eyelid twitched. “Director Hermann has noticed you display erratic behaviour and has asked me to check up on you.”
“She did that…?”
“Yes. My ability to get through to people is, I believe, the reason she recruited me in the first place, and she often entrusts me with keeping our various… charismatic personalities, so to say, in check.”
“Wait, just you? What about her…?” Nelly pointed to Ahab.
“Oh. She just tagged along.”
Ahab almost choked on a cookie. “N-no shady sardines can run around plannin’ murder on my watch! You don’t become a captain by letting cabin boys do whatever they please behind your back!”
“Anyways,” Sonya was beginning to sound irritated, “do you believe Jia Huan poses some sort of danger to you?”
The gravest of expressions has overtaken the maid's face, “Yes. I am under the assumption that, if left unaccounted for, Jia Huan has the potential to not only interfere with our operations, but bring us all serious harm.”
A heavy silence has hit the lab like an electric shock.
“Then, do you suppose he could be a traitor?” Sonya anxiously tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, burrowing his nose in his scarf.
“I suppose it's within the realm of possibility, and yet…” Out of everyone present, Aseah had known him the longest – when Gubo finally convinced him to join the New League, Jia Huan had already been on the team.
The New League were not friends, but they weren't exactly strangers either: some of them have been living, sharing meals, working and, most importantly, fighting together for multiple years now. With that kind of proximity, one may accidentally find themselves getting used to someone, or worse, properly acquainted. Everyone present has now been revisiting their memories of the supercilious slasher, and not only were they feeling betrayed, they were beginning to feel really, really stupid.
“What big cheese d’ya think he's working for?”
“I don't believe we have any significant enemies in Hongyuan,” the researcher mused. “Isn't his brother employed by Limbus Company?”
“I believe the most sensible assumption is that he's gathering information directly for the Jia family,” Sonya suggested.
“...Guys, I did not call him a spy, please, calm down.”
The three of them collectively let out a bewildered little “Oh!”.
“I'm afraid it's worse than him being a regular mole. No…” the maid loudly slapped the table. “He's a traitor to our ideals!”
Ahab slid next to the woman and gave her a condescending pat on the shoulder, “Nelly, my sweet lil’ sea monkey, I must hold your hand when I say this, we ain't-”
Sonya gestured for her to stop, “Let her explain.”
“See, my dear fellows, I am very knowledgeable on the matter at hand: I have observed enough dreamy sighs and wistful gazes in my time working at the manor,” Ellen continued with a slight tremble in her voice. “Thus, I believe my observations are enough to propose the hypothesis that Jia Huan… Has found himself with one-sided feelings for Gubo.”
Ahab spat her coffee out in a little fountain right onto Sonya's white coat.
“...That conclusion seems to be based on a lot of presumptions,” Aseah scratched his chin. “They've known each other for, what… Two years now? Running on three? They always seemed quite close to me.”
“See, that was my initial assumption. However, the evidence is overwhelming. Whenever Jia Huan enters a room with multiple people in it, the first person he talks to is usually Gubo.”
Sonya painfully pinched his nosebridge. “Nelly, do you not have friends…?”
“Whenever there are seating options, be it at lunch or at board meetings, Jia Huan always strives to take the seat next to Gubo,” Nelly counted on her fingers. “Not only do they train together, but they also often share lunch breaks.”
“They smoke together!” Ahab added. “Often share cigs, almost always share a lighter. Quite the sight!”
“...And they do spend a good bit of time together off work,” the saint seemed to be thinking about something intently. He would know about Jia Huan's weekend whereabouts on account of them sharing a dorm room.
“Jia Huan also has a tendency to seek out Gubo with his eyes!” Nelly was having a Eureka moment. “Oh my Head… It's worse than I thought…”
“...Well, let's say Jia Huan has feelings for someone,” Sonya was now irritated for good. “What about that is a betrayal, exactly?"
“Betrayal of good taste, maybe!” Ahab wiped the saliva off her lips – she's just had the laugh of her life. “And you decided to kill ‘em for that? Just makin’ sure.”
Suddenly, without a hint of hyperbole, Nelly slammed her hands against the table, sending the various lab vessels rattling back and forth. “You don't understand! First, he develops feelings, then he gets rejected! He mopes around for a year, maybe five and then bwam! Before you know it, he's building a laboratory to commit multiversal suicide! Or riding a headless horse and leading a ghost army!”
Aseah finally put the pieces together. “Are you afraid that Jia Huan will trigger an event similar to the downfall of Wuthering Heights?”
Nelly didn't respond. The researcher covered her hand with his soothingly. “The best of everyone present, you, Ms Dean, must be aware of just how much effort this project took from everyone involved. Even with all our resources at his disposal, with the way everything is accounted for, it is impossible for Jia Huan to do anything behind the company's back. Although theoretically not impossible, a scenario of the magnitude you had witnessed is entirely out of the question.” His words did seem to reassure her.
“We still have a problem on our hands, though. Considering the…” Sonya's expression briefly soured, “Personalities of the characters at hand, I wouldn't expect them to figure things out by themselves. More workplace tension is a given, and Head knows we've already been having enough.”
“I mean, it's a couple of lovesick youths, what's the worst that could happen?”
“Ms Ahab, you know they're both in their-”
Nelly jumped in her seat. “Multiverse horse undead army?!”
“Well, no… But a serious physical altercation is entirely within the realm of possibility. Maybe even a distortion.”
“Do you truly believe that our dear fellows could possibly distort over a mere miscommunication?” Finishing the sentence was all it took for Aseah to find his answer; he was then visibly overtaken by gloom.
“I suggest we return to my initial course of action.”
“Nelly, we're not killing Jia Huan.” Sonya groaned. “...Yet.” The ongoing chaos seemed to be distracting him from some kind of contemplation.
“I think you're all a bunch’a overreacting pansies. Let them figure it out, or one of them kills the other, and it's all good; worked wonders on my ship. B'sides, why'd ya’ think it was one-sided in the first place? Maybe they'll stick.”
“I hoped so at first; initially, I even found the prospect endearing. However, Gubo is, more often than not, rather difficult to read for me. In the weeks that I've observed them, nothing in his behaviour directly suggested that the feelings were reciprocated,” Nelly shook her head.
“I'm forced to agree with Ms Dean here,” Aseah stepped in, arms crossed. “I've known our bespectacled companion for what I believe is a significant amount of time. I don't take him for someone who easily gets carried away by flights of fancy. In fact, I always thought him a one-man's man.”
The latter addition seemed to bring some agitation to the group. “Really, that gu-” Sonya quickly cut himself off. “You mean, Gubo? Our Gubo?”
The researcher nodded. “He was always somewhat of an outlier in our circle, which was never all that tightly tethered to begin with. He was neither an idealist, like the core of the Old League, nor was he brought up against the wall by our shared circumstances as some of our less fortunate compatriots. It was a consensus that, while there were few extraordinary things about him, out of all of us, Gubo would go the furthest serving, say, a Wing. He didn't have a single distant dream he strove to reach, nor was he desperate for the company of like-minded individuals – Head forbid there exists another person quite like him. The only thing forcing him to choose our progressively more dangerous operation was the loyalty he held for one of our founding members.
Truth be told, many of us always perceived Gubo as the man's plus-one – I believe he was initially introduced to us as that man’s old friend. When he wasn't running leaps around him like a guard dog, Gubo would keep the man in his sight from a distance, and those were some of the only times he seemed to be truly taken by something other than himself. If I recall correctly, they even lived together for a brief period of time; I remember being genuinely surprised when I found out they weren't married. To be entirely honest, it was quite the irritant: Gubo's overbearingness brought out in Yi Sang a helplessness that wasn't entirely natural to him, and Gubo's utter disinterest in any matter that didn't concern the two of them made him all the more difficult to talk to.
Gubo's endless pursuit of the other man's brilliance came to an end along with the Old League. I'm aware he tried everything within his power and most things within reason to keep him by his side, but alas, all his efforts turned futile, and his beloved flew away. I've been told that their relationship, which Gubo himself described to me in his intoxicated state as ‘more distant than he desired’, had fully turned sour after that. He hasn't spoken of the matter in many details, but…” Aseah furrowed his brows, “I'm afraid for someone like Gubo, whatever it was, it's too difficult to let go. His heart must still, in great part, be occupied by that man.”
Silence settled in the laboratory as everyone fell into contemplation. That tale of days long gone was so unlike everything they knew of Gubo, as if it might as well have been about a different person entirely. “We're all done for,” Nelly concluded, then slid one final butter knife out of her sleeve and stretched it out in front of her, blade facing inward. “It was a pleasure working wi-” And without a word, Sonya slapped the utensil out of her hands.
Ahab was already dozing off in her chair, “So, like, d'you still have the guy's number or somethn’? Maybe we could give him a ring and, y’know, ask him for some Gubo advice? Something that would make it easier for our princess to woo him… Or some nasty secret we could tell him that would kill his appetite forever!”
“I believe this course of action to be impossible, for not only have I lost his number, but that individual is also currently working under Limbus Company.”
…And there it was. Contacting a member of a rival organisation could be taken as conspiring with the enemy, and could get everyone present into very real, actual trouble. “Bummer. Let's return to mackerel's plan, then. Skewer the bitch.”
“You do make a sound suggestion.”
“Hell yeah I do son!” Ahab raised her harpoon.
“No, not that,” Sonya carefully pushed the weapon away from his face. “What you said before: if possible miscommunications pose us dangers, all we have to do is eliminate the miscommunications. Basically, what we can do before murder is to try and get them together. The four of us make up more than half of the New League; our only possible intervening factor is Director Hermann, and she most likely has no stakes in the matter. If the four of us were to purposefully create situations where the two of them ended up alone, it would make their relationship develop more quickly. At the end of the day, all of his… Peculiarities aside, Gubo is just a man; I’ve seen them fall over way less.”
“And what if forcing them to spend time together will make the situation worse?” Nelly asked. “What if Jia Huan notices, well… The Gubo and turn disillusioned?”
“I suppose Jia Huan’s feelings quietly withering away is also to our benefit.”
“And what if it won’t be quiet? What if it only makes things worse?”
The saint sighed, “Then I suppose we’ll be back to plan A. Skewer the bitch, as Ahab put it.”
Everyone took time to digest the proposition. “I believe this is the most reasonable course of action we could possibly take,” Nelly has concluded. “Way better than mine; frankly, I’m now a bit embarrassed that I didn’t think of this sooner…”
Sonya turned her way, “Even if the others won’t participate, I’ll help. I know it might come off as… A bit of an overreaction, but I have my reasons to be worried for them, and, more urgently, I’m worried for you. Director Hermann entrusted me with upholding the balance among our members, and it is my duty to see this affair through. I won’t leave you alone with this.”
“I ought to join your endeavour too," Aseah said. “It seems to me that the ordeal I paid no mind to for many years has brought both of my fellows a great deal of pain, possibly even contributed to multiple deaths. If we are to work hand in hand with him for even longer, I wish to save my friend the suffering. If he were to fall for another, he’d be free; or, at the very least, anchored to someone once again.”
The three of them turned to Ahab. She looked around, as if trying to find what it is they're searching for. “I mean, sure, you don't become a captain by ignoring the needs of your crew. Ahab's in,” with both of her arms, she grabbed Aseah and Sonya by the shoulders and gave them a powerful squeeze. “B'sides, if everything fails, I'd like to be present for the hunt!”
For the first time in her thirty-five years of life, Ellen Dean was almost brought to tears by joy. It wasn't really for her sake, sure, but the fact of the matter was that nobody had ever done anything like that for her.
Ahab proudly took a battle stance, “Ahem! As your captain, I thus order that the operation-”
“...Why are you the captain?” It was now almost 9 p.m., and Sonya desperately needed a break.
“Does the operation really need a title?” Aseah cocked his head.
“...Operation Do We Need A Title shall commence!”
The saint sighed; tomorrow was shaping up to be a long day.
***
Shoes went flying off alongside the gym bag and the papers from his open briefcase. His roommate would be upset, and that's okay, nobody's perfect. He was going to be coping with it alone because Jia Huan was planning to pass out cold as soon as his head hit the pillow. Skin care wasn't really skincaring tonight, but he did it anyway because he had a reputation to uphold. His half of the apartment was a mess; it was supposed to be last Saturday's Jia Huan's problem, and he didn't deal with it, thus it was to be transferred to this Saturday's Jia Huan, with possible interference from Thursday's Jia Huan if luck would have it. His fridge shelf only greeted him with a half-eaten tub of yoghurt; he didn't want that in particular, but last time he took something out of his leftovers without asking Sonya genuinely gave him a shitty time, thus the plan was to starve till tomorrow's lunch. Putting on his Good Pajamas normally seemed to help, but this particular night, it was helping less than it usually did.
He put his work coat back on to go smoke on the balcony. Then, with the same lighter, he lit the new incense on his makeshift altar. The portrait of the person whose shadow he was living in welcomed him as warmly as it had for the past fifteen years. He regarded it with the same inexplicable reverence. Long gone are the days when he did this every night; now he only had his odd archaic little ritual bi-weekly at best. The comfort it brought him never seemed to change; maybe that's why, for the past couple of months, he's been doing it a bit more often. The cold air and the sandalwood fragrance finally put him at some semblance of ease. With that, he plopped onto the messy bed; fifteen minutes of soulless screentime, and his eyelids were already closing.
Right until he heard it from behind the wall. Thud, thud. The sound of something dropping to the floor. Thud, thud. Again. Thud, thud, crash – the sound of breaking glass. Huan checked the time: 11 p.m. It's not even the sound that's distracting; it's the sign of life going on right behind his bedroom wall.
N.Corp. is about as generous with its Feathers as most Wings are, which is to say not much. The New League did, however, enjoy a position of notable privilege, which included corporate housing. Not like the repugnant cramped barracks of the inquisitors who lived marinating in their own filth like sardines in a can; actual, small but rather comfortable apartments. Three rooms – one shared lounge area and two bedrooms. Kitchen, bathroom: stuff many would kill for. Jia Huan was way more appreciative of it at first – he was used to having an entire house for himself, a pointless expanse of space that nobody in their right mind could ever dream of truly talking up. He's been getting fed up with it lately, though: it was crammed, didn't clean itself like his house at Daguanyuan did, and, worst of all, he was forced to live with a white cloak-wearing communist. He's been considering renting his own apartment again, but one does not stay rich by mindlessly swiping the credit card over their problems. The more cost-effective the solution was, the worse his theoretical daily commute became. Most importantly, Jia Huan was, truth be told, not fully committed to the job yet, and he hasn't been for three years now.
Someone always had it worse, of course – the apartment to their right, for one, was shared by Ahab and Nelly, the latter of whom Jia Huan felt nothing but pity for. The one to their left was meant to be shared by the first two researchers recruited by Director Hermann. However, Aseah chose to spend most nights at his laboratory – Huan stayed in late once and walked in on the lunatic making a bed on a dissection table. He used his half of the apartment as a storage room, and only ever showed up there to get his stuff in and out. Thus, the entire apartment was largely taken up by only Gubo. As he found out, the wall he was presently positioned against separated his bedroom from Gubo's living room. This was convenient because otherwise Sonya would have heard the exact ways Jia Huan discovered that little tidbit.
He hesitated a bit before picking up the phone. The dial tone seemed to mock him. “The hell are you doing in there?! Did you get boycotted by clocks? Are they not showing you the time?!
Yeah. Yeah right, sure. Do whatever, honestly, shoot all the cans that you want. Did I just hear you… Break a window or something?
Right.
Yeah, no, I get it. Can't help you with that, though. I don't have a gun license.
For real though, that E.G.O. training is… Dammit, how do I put it… It's been getting to me, too.
Don't you smartass me now; I'm pissed as hell. Honestly, more pissed that I should be, I think…
Yeah, you're right, must be the equipment.
Y'know, I ran into the dyke delegation on my way out. They were beating the shit out of Sonya or something.
Yeah, apparently they were sparring? I hoped they'd kill him, but he's actually been back for a while. Just my luck I guess.
They only made a bit of noise while I was in the shower, but it just made me so angry for some reason… Seriously not normal.
Oh. Oh, no.
No, ew. Not today. I'm half-dead anyway, and I've already showered.
Oh my God, you're so gross.
Why do I even put up with you…?
No, I'll bring back your tupperware tomorrow. At least let me wash it first!
Oh god dammit, bitch, you just won't let that go! Choke on a dick, and quit making all that noise, some of us actually want to sleep six hours!”
He slammed the end call button without letting Gubo finish his “Good night”. Huan felt compelled to throw the thing out the window, but instead, he just plugged in the charger. He then turned to face the blank wall.
He listened intently, but the walls were actually decently thick, so he only heard some distant shuffling. Then, like an idiot, Jia Huan stretched out his hand, caressing the chalky plaster, feeling its texture in the tips of his fingers. His nails clicked against it like summer rain outside the window. He wondered if Gubo could hear him, but the wall did not grace him with a response.
He hated it. Every second of it, how pathetic it made him feel. The way his hair clung to his body and made every inch of his skin itch. The vulgar, out-of-place proposition; the song-and-dance they've already been doing for months now. The way Gubo was always so gross about it: somehow too vague and startlingly direct simultaneously. The fact that even now, Jia Huan wanted to get up and knock on his door. Go to him. Smash that stupid wall into a billion dust particles.
Instead, he turned away. Curled in on himself, making a mental note to add “wash Gubo's tupperware” to the chore list. Lost himself to a deep, sticky, restless dream that was sure to leave him exhausted in the morning. He was coming to terms with the fact that the circumstances he found himself in were not shaping up into a love story at all.