Chapter Text
Sometimes I remember how little I know about the Sinners.
Take Meursault, for example. Solid. Stalwart as an ox. A practically mechanistic execution of orders and similarly as reliable. But, if I were to ask him to express something out from his own desires, inherent and uncoerced… well, we’d be at an impasse.
Faust… well, she had been Faust, until I found out that she was also “Faust”. And herself, an individual who believes in uncertainty.
Don Quixote had turned out to be a gosh-darned Second Kindred.
And, most recently… Hong Lu – during the Family Hierarch Evaluation. That placid smile that up till then had been like fluffy white clouds, floating by unbothered on a summer’s day, before the sunlight. Until that expression had passed, wavered – and was willing to shine down that warm kindness on this imperfect City for his sister, Jia Xichun.
But, right now…
Χαχα, ναι, η Πηνελόπη και εσύ ήσασταν «απλά φίλοι», όπως ο Αχιλλέας και ο Πάτροκλος ήταν «απλά κολλητοί»~
(Haha, oh yeah, Penelope and you were “just friends” like Achilles and Patroclus were “just besties”~)
Σ-σιωπή! Θα σε αναφέρω στον Διευθύνοντα Σύμβουλο για τέτοια αντιεπαγγελματική συμπεριφορά!!
(S-silence! I will report you to the Executive Manager for such unprofessional conduct!!)
Outis was blushing furiously. Though I didn’t get the sense they were flirting, or anything like that – it wasn’t her usual righteous indignation, either. Something closer to… being teased.
Το γεγονός ότι δεν έχετε επιστρέψει στο Common δείχνει ότι δεν έχετε καμία πρόθεση να το κάνετε!
(The fact you haven't switched back to Common says you have no intention of doing such a thing!)
Orpheus. Sinner #14. Did I feel left out with them speaking a language I didn’t understand? Maybe a little. On the other hand, it was nice that it gave the Sinners something to bond through. Sinclair and Gregor did the same thing occasionally, and they had stopped taking it as an invitation when Faust murmured something to herself.
The young man’s eyes twinkle with mirth – green like a verdant field, the beauty mark by the left eye crinkling with amusement. The kind of pretty that made one want to touch it or crush it, or… so I’d heard. Back at U Corp. when Faust was being hit on by that female sailor – Orpheus, similarly, had charmingly sidestepped the advances of a group of drunk girls, referencing “prior commitments”. Smee – First Mate – just a little while later suggested “keeping” him as an arrangement, though Ishmael had had none of it. Not exactly out of concern for him. But anyway.
What did I know about Orpheus…? He brushes a hand back through raven black hair, paled in the afternoon sunbeams. It seemed like he enjoyed being able to reduce the stern Sinner #12 to such a state. I thought:
Surprisingly bad on the sea. Despite having been familiar with the Great Lake beforehand on whatever the Argo was, mainly in the role of bard, according to him – had thrown up only somewhat less than Yi Sang had. Still, he’d pointed out the constellations of Carina, Vela and Puppis one night on Mephistopheles’ boat/bus deck (to Faust’s nigh imperceptible surprise), and sang a tale of Mermaids, Golden Fleeces as opposed to Boughs, and Fixers that lit up Don Quixote’s eyes like the stars above. His lyre had regretfully been rather less effective on the Mermaids we encountered compared to the ones he had come across before, apparently.
Apparently had been happier then, too. Despite everything had spoken of that voyage with fondness. There was an odd anti-parallel with Ishmael in that sense; she in an unfulfilling desk job at a Nest, and, a subsequent wanderlust which ended in disaster… followed by eventual triumph. He, voyaging in successful adventure, and coming home to… what?
He seemed familiar enough with Nest life, at the very least – knew his way around paperwork where it came to fill out documentation for the other departments. Vague allusions to the sailor about the monotony of office work. Yet had left things hazy, too, about that part of his life; waved it off with an easy smile and an offer of a song or a poem, or simply retreated to his room – silently, gracefully, politely even. More than once I’d caught him gazing out of the window of Mephistopheles as the City passed by, let the other Sinners’ chatter wash over him like static when he wasn’t pretending to be engaged – wistfully, almost, reminiscing of days bygone and yet more proximal and warm…
… Sometimes I wonder if my connection with the Sinners allows me to sense things, or if I’m only projecting. Unlike the other Sinners who’d had their “turns”, I hadn’t seen into his memories or anything yet. Strangely enough he’d been gentler with Heathcliff after Wuthering Heights – not saying anything in so many words, but that he could “see the lines in your eyes”. Heathcliff had simply told him to sod off sans venom.
Outis sulks, and Orpheus sits back in his seat on Mephistopheles. Looks out of the window. The voyage continues and the mirth of the lingering moment fades. He looks sad, when he thinks no-one sees it.
~~~~~
… Why was it forbidden merely to turn my head and witness you?
Why was I not able to embrace your suffering?
I longed to be able to accept it, and I do not say I have not tried:
Love won.