Chapter Text
“You two have become quite close, haven’t you?” Steris observed from behind her. “Friendship is such a wonderful thing.”
“Yes,” MeLaan said faintly as the two of them began following Marasi up the steps. “Wonderful."
“Hm?” Steris glanced up at MeLaan, only to find her staring after her sister. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She hummed happily.
“What?” MeLaan asked belatedly, whipping her head around. “What do you mean, ‘I see’, all smug like that?”
“That was not ‘smug’, that was ‘satisfied’.” Steris frowned. “Or, it was intended to be. Hm. What would you say made it smug rather than satisfied?”
“Well, it was mostly the high pitch and the almost sing-song quality- wait, no, that’s not the point! What are you talking about, Steris?”
“Oh, it’s only that I do believe I’ve failed my duties as a sister - not specifically as a sister, I suppose, but as a family member in general. I’m quite unused to the role, you see, and these things take time for me.”
“Steris,” MeLaan said cautiously, “what duties.”
“Ahem.” Steris cleared her throat, then turned to make eye contact with MeLaan. “What are your intentions towards my sister?”
MeLaan froze, one foot still in the air above the next step. Steris obligingly matched her, one step above her, bringing their eyes level. “...sorry,” MeLaan said slowly, “I think I must have misheard you.”
“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Steris said. “You’ve evinced rather exceptional hearing quite a few times now. But, if you insist, I asked what your intentions were towards my sister.”
Slowly, deliberately, MeLaan set her foot down, face carefully blank. “...I’m sorry, is this… are you giving me the shotgun speech?”
Steris frowned, rifling through her mental index. “The... 'shotgun speech'?” After a few moments, she managed to summon up an old joke her father had told, fuzzy and half-remembered, from the years before it had all started to fall apart. “Oh, as in threatening a potential suitor if they should treat the suitee poorly? Archetypically, with a shotgun as the manner of threat?"
"...yeah, that's basically it."
"Oh, I do like that. Brutish, but quite evocative." Steris nodded, satisfied. "Then yes, this is the shotgun speech. I can ask Lord Waxillium to borrow one of his, if the physical instrument itself is a requirement?"
"No, that's not-" MeLaan sighed. "Look, Steris, I really think you've gotten the wrong impression here. I think of Marasi as a friend-"
"No," Steris interrupted sternly, "you do not.” She paused for a second. “Oh, I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me. Nevertheless, you are clearly engaged in some kind of elaborate and bizarre courtship dance with my sister, and as such, as her only living family member I believe it necessary to take upon the duty of ensuring that your intentions are honest.”
MeLaan held up both hands, palms out. Steris was unsure if it was meant to convey ‘stop’, ‘you caught me’, or something else entirely. “What do you want me to say, Steris?”
“Well, ideally, you would say that you intend to do right by her. Then I could threaten you if you treated her poorly, and you can make some comment about how you’d have earned it if you did.” She tapped the cover of her notebook a few times. “At least, that’s the general formula that I’ve gathered.”
“Okay, leaving aside this… theory of yours, you’re not… I don’t know, mad? You and her are both Survivorists, aren’t you? I got the impression they weren’t, y’know, cool with that.”
“Oh,” Steris agreed, “they are not. I’ve just never been a particularly devout believer. Survivorism, in case you weren’t aware, considers people like me ‘hereditary dead-ends’, and more fundamentalist denominations think we should be outright sterilised to avoid passing on our mental deformities to a new generation.” The words were said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Hardly surprising that I shouldn’t align too closely with the philosophy.”
MeLaan sighed. “...I wish I were more surprised by that, to be honest. I’m sorry, Steris, that sounds like a hard situation to grow up in.”
“It was. Thank you, regardless. I’ve always been rather… well, bullheaded, to be honest.” MeLaan opened her mouth to offer some token protest, and Steris waved her down. “No, no, I’m well aware. I don’t even consider it a particularly negative trait. It helped me, after all; pushed me towards digging my heels in rather than accepting the rhetoric.” She sighed. “My sister has always been more… eager to please. Or, no, not please, exactly. She strives to avoid attention and conflict, to be what other people want her to be. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, she’s rather bad at it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Here.” Steris flipped through her ever-present notebook until she found what she was looking for, then turned it around so MeLaan could see. It was a list of observations by date and time, all of which had to do with…
“Steris,” MeLaan asked slowly. “Did… did you make a list of evidence that supports your sister being gay?!”
“I make lists of evidence for everything,” Steris said. “It’s not specific to this.”
MeLaan quickly averted her eyes. “Okay, that is… entirely too personal. Listen, if I say that if there was anything going on, I would never try and intentionally harm Marasi, would that be enough to escape this conversation?”
“That would be sufficient, yes,” Steris agreed, closing her notebook.
“Great.” MeLaan frowned as a thought struck her. “Hey, Steris. You... don’t have those lists for anyone else, right?”
“Of course not,” Steris lied.