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A heavy sigh left Rodion’s lips. It’s been a week, and Gregor was still recovering under a strict no-visitation rule.
It was a change of scenery, alright, here at the LCE branch. But the melancholy of the Spider House lingered, sticking to Rodya’s skin. Ugh. Like she hadn’t had enough to deal with. Her feelings towards what happened with the Roach Emperor were… complicated, to say the least, and the last thing she wanted to do right now is to untangle whatever hidden fear, resentment, jealousy and self-loathing decided to nest in her stomach. So she shoved it down, down, down, until all she felt of it was a dull gnawing that can be pushed away. Pushed away, but not without some effort.
She sighed again. At least Dante kept her busy as usual. Not now, though.
A little balcony overlooking an eternity of stairs leading down; an open window, providing coldness of the fresh air. It's a perfect place for a smoke break - but mostly empty at this hour. The irony wasn’t really lost on Rodya: this is the sort of a place she would ambush poor Greg and annoy him to no end, a limp attempt to alleviate both of their moods. But there was no Greg and no smokers to distract her with meaningless banter.
Well, not exactly, as an unbidden click of the door reminded her. Albeit a terrible conversationalist, Ryoshu was smoker. When she entered, cigarette already lit (was that even allowed inside LCE hallways?), Rodya offered her a glance and a weak smile of acknowledgement. Ryoshu nodded, her expression undecipherable.
Rodya looked at the swordswoman's stoical face - and suddenly felt sick of herself. Here she was, wallowing in self-pity, when in front of her stood a woman who traded a thousand deaths in exchange for something she couldn’t now remember. Rodya’s smile wavered and she swiftly turned her head away, but Ryoshu noticed nonetheless.
“Why the L.F.?” Ryoshu asked, one of her brows shooting upwards.
“Ah~... You know, Dante is both making me help out at the LCE and sending me out on errands,” she made her tone as childishly whiny as she could, pretending to be upset at something that wasn’t ever an issue. It didn’t work. Ryoshu answered with a silent drag on her cigarette and a piercing stare Rodya could feel in her spine. A sound of an exhale filled the room, the bitter smell of smoke now as acute as Ryoshu’s awareness of Rodya's lie.
The silence was uncomfortable. Rodya tapped her fingers on the railing, her thoughts shifting towards how embarrassingly empty her head was: Ryoushu was never up for small talk, and now Rodya’s aura of misery became a centerpiece of their non-conversation.
Ryoshu stepped towards the railing Rodya leaned on, trying to meet her gaze, but sinner number nine just looked away again. Ryoshu scoffed, sounding half-annoyed and half-amused, and stubbed out her cigarette. From anyone else you could expect a comment or a lecture, but the swordswoman stayed silent, reaching with a practiced movement towards a pocket where she kept her pack of smokes. For a while, her rummaging was the only sound, and Rodya almost tuned it out.
But the next thing Rodya registered was a sharp prick of fingers digging into her jaw, and a demanding, forceful tug of her face towards Ryoshu. Rodya yelped: a sting of fear before the wave of agitation.
“What the hell are you?!-”
“S.U.” Ryoshu spoke, as unconcerned as ever. “I’m not even hurting you. Open.”
Despite the heat of anger building in her chest, Rodya decided to not protest. Ryoshu tended to get what she wanted - precisely because her expressed desires were so few and far between - so it was easier to play along. Rodya opened her mouth, and Ryoshu’s gloved hand pushed something inside it, before forcefully closing Rodion’s mouth shut.
Rodya winced, red with indignation, expecting something nasty - until a wave of sweetness hit her tongue. A candy: an artificial taste of strawberry, no less. Rodya’s face softened in confusion and realization.
“Cheer up. I. L. Y. B. W. Y. S.” Ryoshu released Rodya’s face from her grip before reaching for another cig.
What? What did she say? Rodya could maybe deduce the first part - and her face burned - but this clearly wasn’t a confession. Where’s Sinclair when you need him? A chaotic train of thought, stopped by another touch, much gentler this time. A hand, patting her head, as if she was a child. There wasn’t a strike from the swordswoman that would stun Rodion as much as this soft caress, as much as fingers tangling her hair. And when Ryoshu's touch left her, too soon for Rodion's frozen heart, Rodya laughed - out of the absurdity of it, out of surprise, out of disbelief, but she still laughed.
As laughter faded with an echo, Ryoshu leaned back on the railing, her almost-smile hidden behind a cigarette before melting away into her usual neutral expression. There was still a silence, still awkward in its own way, but now... it wasn’t half as heavy as before.
A ginger head popped out from behind the door. Ishmael, disappointed as always, carrying a box of tools.
“… Hey, you, slackers. Smoke break’s over. Come on, we’ve got facilities to repair.”
Ah, back to work. A pleasant aftertaste of strawberry is twice as sweet on Rodya's tongue.