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Kafka doesn’t think much of Blade when she first meets him. She goes where Elio sends her, does what he tells her. If Elio says that this angry, tempestuous and pained man is the right fit for the organization, then who is she to contradict him? She lets Sam take the blows while she manages to talk him down. Blade joins them readily enough when she makes the offer, just as Elio said he would.
She isn't much surprised when Elio announces that she’ll be working with Blade from now on. It makes sense, Blade is in need of a tether, someone to keep him in check when the Mara becomes too much. Spirit whisperer lets her do that with ease. The ability she used to curse as a child becoming a lifeline for someone else is a tad too ironic for her taste.
Parting ways with Sam is a bit disappointing, the automaton was amusing. Full of good humor and a general thrill for life. Blade is quiet, overly reserved and tends to spend most of their downtime looking out of the small port window in their cramped ship. At least he doesn’t protest much when she decides to drag him somewhere, whether it be a small cafe with a live band or a large concert hall.
She does miss Sam’s commentary, talking to Blade is a bit like talking to a wall. He’ll nod, give out yes or no’s but never anything more. When she asks him what he thinks of a composer she’d put on, or a street musician they passed by; he, at most, gives a simple ‘it was fine’ or ‘I’ve heard better’. A far cry from Sam’s flowery and intricate prose, something Kafka had used to find over contrived but now missed just a little.
Still, she doesn’t have much to complain about.
She calls him Bladie for the first time when they are sitting quietly in the galley. She is busy looking over some sheet music Sam had sent over the other day. It is a delightful piano piece, chock full of intriguing chord progressions and alternating time signatures. Unfortunately, the symphony playing in her head was frequently getting interrupted by the sound of whetstone hitting metal.
The fourteenth time it happened, just as she was getting to the surge from mezzo-piano to forte, she finally decided to do something about it.
“Blade.” She set down the sheet music and looked towards her brooding companion.
He didn’t answer, his red-tinted eyes fixed on the movement of his arm as it ran down the length of his sword.
Kafka huffed before trying again, “Oooh Bladie.” She sang, standing up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind doing that somewhere else?”
To her amusement he looks slightly startled, his brow furrowing and mouth falling every so slightly open.
“I’m sorry?” It’s a question, not an apology.That much is clear.
“I can’t hear myself think.” Kafka picks up the sheet music from off the table and shakes it in the air.
He removed the sword from his lap, forcing Kafka back a few steps as he walks past her and makes his way up the stairs. She feels ready to return to her music when she hears him pause and turn back to look at her.
“What did you call me?” His voice is slightly muffled, as though the words are fighting against being let out.
“Bladie.” She clarifies as she sits down once more. “It’s a nickname, I have decided you ought to have one.”
He stares at her incredulously for a moment, “right... Why do I need a nickname?”
“Because it’s fun.” She shrugged.
He sighs before shutting the door to the galley and leaving her to her music.
She sets it down and considers the exchange for a few moments. Perhaps he could be a bit fun, she just had to find which buttons to press to get a reaction out of him. This could be fun.
That’s the thing about plans always working out, about everything falling into place perfectly like a well coordinated orchestra with a masterful maestro. Never a false note played or an out-of-tune instrument to hear. You start forgetting how to act when things suddenly don’t go as planned, start to lose your edge.
Kafka tried to catch herself on the ledge as she went spinning into the open air below. Her fingers momentarily grasped it, sliding past the rough concrete before she tumbled down once more. She had lost track of Blade when the floor collapsed underneath them but he would be fine no matter what outcome. The same could not be said about her, she lived longer than most but was as fragile as them.
Worry about yourself. She cursed as she bounced off the side of another ledge, tried to twist around to grab ahold of it and failed. That had probably broken a few of her ribs.
It had started off so well, they had met the seller Elio had sent their way without a hitch. Some big shot looking to make easy money selling an artifact Elio insisted they needed. Only the seller had changed the location on them at the last minute. From a crowded bar on the ground of Perun-VII to one of the numerous skyscrapers that adorn its smoke-filled skies. It had smelt like a trap but Kafka hadn’t been worried. They could deal with whatever some backwater smuggler had prepared for them.
She hadn’t been worried all the way up until the point that the idiot had detonated rigged explosives right into the foundation of the skyscraper and sent them falling into the void. The idiot hadn’t considered that he too would be impacted by this brilliant decision. She couldn’t stand people that didn’t think past the present moment, so little foresight.
She spun around in the air, keeping her back to the ground as she clipped the grappling hook to her arm and looked for a place to fire it off to. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and pressing the button on the top of it to release the hook. She watched with bated breath as it spun through the air before hitting the side of the building and bouncing off.
“Well, that’s just unfortunate.” She says aloud as the grappling hook retracts back into its device. If she had known how the day was going to end, Kafka would’ve brought a parachute. They were about two hundred meters from the ground, even if the grappling hook did catch her, the momentum of the fall would probably break her arm or tear it off completely.
Let it be said that Kafka of Pteruges-V died doing what she loved. Risking it all for something so very small.
She wondered if they would’ve written a Eulogy about her back in New Babylon.
Or maybe the devils would have celebrated, launched fireworks and anything else they could scrape up for the event.
Here lies Kafka of New Babylon, she tried to stop the Devils, tried to use Spirit whisperer for something more than control. She joined destiny’s slaves and made an enemy of the whole universe in the name of stopping Nanook. She died at the hand of some fumbling fool of a smuggler whose skull was too large for his brain.
At least the legion had spared her from the possibility of a terrible eulogy.
She shielded her face as she felt the distance close in. Was it worse to have the time to contemplate your imminent death? At least her life was not flashing behind her eyes, all those terrible moments were not at the forefront of her mind as she breathed her final moment.
This is a bit of an embarrassing way to go, she thought as she watched the sky get wider and wider, oh well, it’s not like I’ll be around for the fallout.
She let her arms fall to the side and closed her eyes, determined to enjoy a last moment of tranquility before her end. Instead, she felt her stomach turn as something roughly shoved her into the sky.
A wind gust of some kind, it encircled her, wrapping her in half-formed limbs and making her fall come to a rough stop. She floated there for a moment, humming as the wind deposited her gently to the ground before coming to a standstill.
Blade appeared atop of her, his face frowning down as he crossed his arms, “So you lived.”
“It seems that destiny still has a use for me.” Kafka smiled up at him.
“I saved you, not destiny.”
“Of course, Bladie.” Kafka threw her legs up and leaped to her feet. “I would not dare discredit your valiant effort.”
“Hah.” He shook his head. “Sure.”
Kafka brushed some of the dust off of her coat before looking for their half witted betrayer. She found him easily enough, just a few steps away from her. He had shattered most of the bones in his body, a pool of blood already coagulating beneath him.
“Well,” she crossed her arms, “Guess he really didn’t have an escape plan, how witless. Do you see the artifact?”
Blade pointed to a leather suitcase smashed against the ground, only a few feet away from the smuggler. She steps over the body, carefully pulling it open and removing remnants of the data disk. It had turned into a dilapidated mess of wires and broken plastic, it would take a genius to piece it back together from its current state.
“How unfortunate, it seems this was all for waste.” She dropped the broken disk to the ground and stood up to look her companion in the eyes. “Should we leave, Bladie, I don’t think this place is to my taste after all.”
He nudged his head to his body, “Just want to leave him then?”
“The rats will get to him, it’s not our concern.”
“No. I guess it’s not.” He followed her as she walked back to the elevator that would take them back to the crowded streets below the crust of the earth.
“Thank you.” She finally managed to say as the sliding doors closed, “I do think I would’ve died if you hadn’t intervened.”
“That’s not easy for you to admit, is it?”
She might’ve gotten better at reading Blade’s varied moods but that meant the reverse was true as well.
“Oh Bladie, don’t you know to let such things rest. I am thankful, that’s all that matters.”
His eyes had the barest hint of amusement as he whispered back, “you’re welcome.”
“Oh Bladie-” She tapped his shoulder as they pushed through another wave of people, “Are you sure you can’t tell me where we are going.”
“It’s a surprise.” He answered as he had a hundred times before, “Are you so eager to ruin it.”
“Hmm.” She leaned back, scrapping her boots against the wet tiles. It always rained on Prudence, the clouds would never again leave the sky such was the will of the aeon that had claimed the planet. “Is there an occasion for such a thing?”
“We have been working together for two years.” Blade turned at a large intersection, paying no mind to the vehicles that halted as he walked by. “Last year, you gave me a glass spider-lily to mark the occasion. It would seem to be my turn to give something.”
A lovely trinket she’d picked up from a pawn shop, some sort of lost family relic. It reminded her of him. She hadn’t meant to start a tradition with it.
“Did I? I don’t remember doing that.”
“Liar.”
She chuckled, pulling the hood of her jacket up as the rainfall intensified. Blade seemed bothered by it, the droplets bouncing off his shoulders and plastering his hair against his brow. It gave him the look of a disgruntled cat that had just been dunked into a bath for the first time. She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just grabbed an umbrella, a moment of forgetfulness perhaps.
It was a Cabaret, the nightclub stood in the middle of the street like a beacon of light. Its neon sign depicted a tall woman holding a monocle in one hand and a top hat in another. Kafka tried the best to hide her bewilderment as Blade nudged her to the entrance. The host was waiting for them, apparently Blade had a reservation. They took their coats, did a song and dance around them to explain the program for the night.
They were led up a pair of stairs hidden behind a star-covered curtain to a small box that overlooked a circular stage. Kafka leaned over the edge, watching the various men and women below be led to their tables. A bottle of champagne and accoutrement of various cheeses, saucisson and olives plated for them. Blade popped the bottle open and poured out two cups for them as Kafka sat back on the plush chair.
“Bladie.” Kafka said as he handed her the cup, “this is... very unexpected.”
“I was told the best live music in the city was here.”
Kafka had been too busy trying to work out the mission Elio had given them to think about seeking out any entertainment. She’d started getting overly cautious ever since Perun-VII, something she was now trying to work back from. Being such a serious person did not suit her one bit, it was best to leave that to Blade.
“We’ll see about that.” She hummed as she tasted the champagne, “Are you sure you’ll be able to withstand it.”
“I can enjoy music.”
“This is not just music, Bladie.” She smiled at him as she watched a couple in front of them take their seats in their box. The woman was wearing an outrageously tall hat that had been shaped to resemble a fox. The fashion on Prudence never ceased to amuse her, she needed to pick up a coat before leaving. “This is cabaret, a combination of dance, comedy, it’s like-”
“Opera?” He interrupted her.
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin, “No, it’s not a book show. Do you like Opera, Bladie?”
“I used to.” He set his glass of champagne down. That was a familiar thread with him; he used to enjoy strolling by the pier, he used to like playing mahjong, he used to read poetry before going to sleep. Everything had stopped after the Mara, after whatever betrayal he had suffered. “The Luofu had many famous Opera’s, I used to go to them with...” He frowned, his face momentarily twisting in pain as he hunched over.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, “need a hand.”
“Yes.” He grunted, clutching at the side of his head.
She leaned in close to whisper into his ear, “Blade, Listen: Do not let the Mara take you, calm down, don’t think about it.”
The anguish in his face fled at once, he took a deep breath before downing his champagne and pouring himself another cup.
“Sorry.” He muttered as Kafka removed her hand and swiped a piece of cheese off the table between them.
“You don’t need to apologize, that is why I am here.” Her gaze was drawn by a short man walking up to the stage, the spotlight following him dutifully. He raised his hand, removed the top hat on his head and bowed to the audience. The maître de cérémonie was here and the show was beginning.
The pit band had truly been the star of the show, Kafka had spent most of the time leaning over the balcony to get a glimpse at them. The saxophone solo was still ringing in her mind as they walked back out into the dimly lit streets. She hummed it below her breath as Blade pushed open the door to their dingy hotel room. They shared a room for security purposes, not that there had been much of a risk on Prudence. The whole planet had a sleepy quality to it, the cabaret was the most alive she had seen it so far.
Kafka pushed open the window and took a seat on it, letting one of her legs hang in the open sky. Blade had removed his coat and was busy unwrapping one of the bandages on his arm. The injuries he had sustained from their previous fight were still puffy but they had healed over quite a bit.
“That was nice.” She observed as he pulled out a fresh roll of gauze, “thank you.”
“The comedy was a bit unbearable but the band was good.” He tucked the gauze under his chin and started running it around his arm.
“Here,” she stood up, swiping the gauze as she went to stand behind him, “let me.”
He leaned back against her as she quickly wrapped his wounds, starting from his wrist and working her way up. She avoided brushing up against the angry scars, doing her best to not harm him anymore. He always chased it in a sense so she could do her best to keep it away from him. Just this once.
The room had gone still, only the sound of their breathing shattering the atmosphere as Kafka pinned the bandage in place with a safety pin.
“There.” She ran her fingers down his shoulder before moving away, “you ought to take better care of your wounds, Bladie. They look almost infected.”
“It hardly matters.” He snorted, as Kafka went to free a bottle of whisky from the complementary mini-fridge.
“Drink with me.” She pulled out two shot glasses and slid them on the low table that had been nestled next to two wiry-looking armchairs. She poured the shots as Blade fell back against his chair, the back creaking loudly as though protesting the added weight.
“I wonder how people can stand to live here.” Blade mused as Kafka handed him the shot glass.
“Home is home.” Kafka shrugged, “and everyone here has already accepted their fate. The finality will have its way. It’s a kinder end then they would’ve gotten from Nanook in any case.”
Prudence was fated to drown, for the rain to finally catch up to its fleeing people. They had built their cities upon the corpse of countless other cities, always climbing up. A few had tried to adapt to the water, to build domes underground, large ships to navigate the undercurrents. But it ended the same way each time, they could not survive the violence of the sea. So instead they climbed, raised the levels of their homes, flooded the streets with concrete and built tunnels upon tunnels to force the water elsewhere.
Each prediction was worse than the last, Elio had claimed the planet would fall in three-hundred and four years.
A shame they didn’t think to look up instead of down for an escape, she considered as she sipped the whisky, then their cabaret might’ve made it to the stars. She had recorded some of the music for her own use later, she’d add it to Elio’s archive and gain assurance that some of it, at least, would be preserved.
“Is it? I would say that a slow death is worse than a quick one.” Blade frowned, “Look at me.”
“You aren’t really dying, now are you, Bladie? You’re living, that’s the issue.”
“Ha.” He deadpanned.
“Perhaps you should go out there and plead your case to Terminus. They might be open to giving you the end you so wish.”
“This is not where I meet my end. Unless Elio told you something he failed to mention to me?”
“Nope.” Kafka shook her head, “sorry, you’re stuck with me for quite a bit more.”
He laughed surprisingly enough, a low throaty laugh, it almost shocked her out of her chair. “So be it.” He downed his glass, “there are worse fates.”
“Is that your way of saying you enjoy my company?”
“What about you Kafka?” He ignored the question, “Elio promised you fear did he not? You could use a healthy fear of death, I think.”
“Why do people only talk about Death when they speak of fear?”
“Because that is the one that matters.”
“Is it? And yet you don’t fear death, you fear a continued existence.” She pointed out, “I’ve never been afraid of anything, so death doesn’t seem that spectacular for me. I doubt it ever will be.”
“Fear of death gives people a healthy amount of caution. Something you lack, Kafka.”
“I’m cautious.” She protested lightly.
“About everything except for your own safety.”
“Are you worried for me, Bladie?”
“Elio still needs you for his plan.”
She laughed, “Is that why?”
“Should there be any other reason?” His face was a stone wall, whatever other hidden meaning might be hidden behind it, she could not discern. And here she thought she knew him so well, guess there are some things he still wants to keep hidden.
“No, I suppose the script is all that matters in the end.”
“Was this part of the script?” He asks her as they hang over the precipice.
His grip on her wrist was painful, his fingers digging into her bone as he alone held them aloft from falling to yet another gruesome death. Kafka felt distracted by the beauty of the scenery, the birds trailing along wind gusts, the rivers snaking beneath them like veins on skin. A vestige of the Beauty, Cymbeline-III was one of the most magnificent places Elio had sent them too.
So it was a shame when the glass floor of the city had collapsed under the weight of the legion soldiers crashing onto it.
“The legion was meant to attack, but Elio said nothing about it being any danger to us.” Kafka half-whispered.
A gust of wind blew through them, the metal pole Blade was hanging onto shifted slightly with a wince. It looked ready to dislodge from its precarious position and Blade could not pull himself up so long as he held on to her. The choice seemed obvious.
“Bladie, I think it might be time to let me go.” She admitted as Blade adjusted his grip on the pole.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He said, his grip slipping slightly before tightening once more.
"Let me go.” She insisted.
“Are you scared?”
She clicked her teeth, “Of course not.”
“Then I won’t let you go, it’s not your time.”
“Ah wrong answer.” She looked down at the void, it wasn’t like she didn’t have a plan. “Blade, listen : Let me go.”
His grip loosened and she slipped out just like that, her stomach catching itself in her throat. She thought she heard him shout, but soon she could hear nothing but air rushing past her ears.
Let’s see if this works. She looked around and spotted her targets with ease, a flock of golden birds sweeping the land underneath her. She closed her eyes, imagining a great web connecting her to the flock, and whispered.
Listen: catch me and bring me back up to the city.
She opened her eyes in time to see the birds change their trajectory, their wings glittering in the sun. they grabbed a hold of the edge of her clothing and hauled her upwards rather brusquely.
They dropped her over an intact railing, she landed on one knee, wincing slightly as the sharp grate dug into her kneepad. She brought her other foot up and pushed herself onto the fence to catch her breath, Blade would have no doubt managed to pull himself up by now.
I can’t believe that worked, she laughed as she let herself hang over the railing and looked into the open sky once more. Spirit whisperer usually needed vocal commands to work but if she could use it like that... the possibilities were endless.
Time to find Bladie, she considered as she placed her hands on the rail and looked around.
He found her.
Leaping over the railing from some passageway beneath it, his sword unsheathed and lightly glowing. She could see blood running down his hand, his eyes partially hidden by his hair, his mouth twisted downwards.
“Bladie.” She greeted him, “did you see that?”
The point of his sword stopped at her throat, “Never do that again.”
She scoffed, using the back of her hand to smack the sword out of her face. Blade moved forward in one step, pressing her back against the railing to get into her face.
“Never do that again.” He repeated, she could see his face now and he did not look pleased.
“Oh please.” She looked away, her eyes drawn to the golden birds passing underneath them.
“Do you think I am joking, Kafka?” He whispered straight into her ear. “You do not do that to me.”
“We would’ve both fallen if I hadn’t.” She answered, looking down at his bloodied hand still gripping his sword. “Don’t take it too seriously, Blade.”
“You are my tether but this goes both ways. You do not control me when I don’t ask you to. There is supposed to be trust between us.”
“Bladie...”
“Promise me.” He had always had an uncompromising side to him but still...
“Alright, I promise to not use spirit whisperer on you without your explicit permission.” She brought a hand up to his chest and pushed him away, “but you also need to trust that I have a plan in situations like these.”
“Your lack of fear makes you unreliable when it comes to matters of life or death.”
“You don’t fear death either.” She shook her head as he moved away, his back firmly pointed in her way.
Two months later and Blade was still upset with her. He took his meals in his room, refused to join her on any excursions outside of missions and spoke nary a word in her presence. Kafka had figured she would just wait it out, but it was getting a bit tiresome even for her.
They had stopped on Jarillo-VI, a planet going through a slow death via stellaron. An icy landscape that perfectly fit the mood between the two of them. Elio had said that Jarilo-VI would play an important role in their future plans but for now they were on a simple scouting trip.
Kafka picked at her reheated meal, cooking had never been her forte, she had never had any reason to learn. New Babylon was a city of excess, delightful food and drink offered up freely at every street corner. Now that she found herself at the mercy of packaged space-farers meals she wished she had at least tried to learn.
Blade, as she had learned early on, was quite skilled at cooking. He mostly cooked xianzhou dishes but each of them was always excellent. She had found herself weaseling her way into his meals when they had first started working together. As time passed he had started making enough for two, Kafka paid him back by cleaning the galley on nights he cooked.
She was now certain his spite had taken on a new level as the scent of pork and scallions floated in from the kitchen of their rented apartment. As of late he would cook in front of her before walking back into his room without a word and locking the door. Leaving her with the delicious odor, messy kitchen and none of the food that was a result of it.
She scarfed down the rest of her meal, tossed it into the trash and slipped into her warmest coat. Belobog had to have some passably good food or at least somewhere warm to drink. The cold air hit her face as she slipped out into the lacklusterly heated streets of the underworld, ice crystals grew on some of the tops of buildings. They definitely missed some spots for the heating system compared to the richer neighborhoods of the overworld.
She followed the sound of voices in the main thoroughfare up ahead, pulling her jacket closer as she slipped into the busy street.
She found what she was looking for at the end of the street where the crowds had mostly thinned out. A small bar with a half-hanging sign and metal crates set up in front to serve as tables. A young blond woman looking to be about in her early twenties was sitting at one of them, a cigarette between her fingers as she flipped through a newspaper.
“Have a spare one?” Kafka pointed at her as she slipped into the seat in front of her.
“Yeah, hold on.” The woman shuffled through her pockets before pulling out a small package, “I think I’m supposed to tell you this is bad for your health.”
“I've had a shit day.” Kafka said in response as she grabbed one of them and let the blonde woman light it.
“You too huh.”
She would enjoy hearing someone else’s problem for once. “What is it for you?”
“A quarrel with a friend,” the woman shrugged, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Kafka.”
“I’m Serval. Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I’m new to town.” Kafka said vaguely, there was no way anyone here would believe the truth. “What happened with your friend?”
“Let’s just say we have a difference of opinion on a project we’re both involved in.” Serval closed her newspaper, “and you? What plagues you?”
“A fight with my partner, he’s stonewalling me at the moment.”
“What kind of fight?”
Kafka took a drag of the cigarette, she wasn’t one to indulge in such things but she needed it at the moment. “I- made a decision for him that he did not like.”
Serval laughed for a moment before looking at Kafka inquisitively, “It’s almost like we’re at opposite sides of the same argument.”
“Oh really?”
“My partner suddenly flipped the direction of our project. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to force me out of it as well.” Serval explained, “and what of you, what did you do?”
“Forced him to leave me behind.” Kafka scrambled for a half-believable background. “We’re prospectors, you see, sometimes it can get a bit dangerous. Anyways, a cave-in seemed imminent so I forced him into a minecart while I stayed behind to grab some last minute samples.”
Serval whistled, “Risky.”
“I knew I’d be fine but he didn’t appreciate it.”
“Sounds like he was just worried about you.”
That was perhaps part of it but she knew it was mostly that he had stopped trusting her. She hadn’t imagined her unauthorized use of spirit whisperer would upset him so much but she supposed she had struck a nerve. Nonetheless, she couldn’t allow it to continue as it had, getting along was key to completing the script efficiently.
“In part but I suspect it is more to do that I made the decision without asking.” Kafka shrugged.
“I take it you haven’t apologized?”
Kafka shook her head, “Haven’t found the... words, I guess. He’s a bit of a delicate soul, I’m afraid anything I say might make it worse.”
“Worse than it is right now?”
Kafka clicked her teeth, “No, I guess not.”
“You should try it then.” Serval rolled her knuckles against the table, “I’d probably forgive her if she apologized, if she just spoke with me.”
“I take it this project must be pretty important.”
“It is, well, I don’t know. It was important and now I feel like it’s... gone off the edge.”
“She’s pushing you away and changing the direction of your project.” Kafka gathered from the young woman’s tidy clothing that she was an overworlder come to relieve her troubles in the underground. “Seems like it might be time for you to force her into a conversation or at least figure out why she’s alienating you.”
“If only it was as simple as that.” Serval sighed, her open coat shifting slightly to the left and giving Kafka a glimpse at the pin hidden beneath it. A bastardization of the form of Qliphoth, the Preservation. The sort of symbol only worn by someone associated with the architects. There was more than met the eye to this young woman.
Kafka rolled her fingers over the table and considered her once more. A young woman working on a project with the architects. A project that was rapidly changing its course. Whoever this friend was, they had enough authority to attempt carving Serval out of it. Elio had warned them that the supreme guardian of Belobog was falling under the influence of the Stellaron and that they were to avoid her at all cost. So could it be...
“This project...” She bit her lip, ignoring Elio’s advice was usually unwise but she couldn’t help but ask. “It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the architects, would it?”
Serval’s hand fell like a vise on her coat, bringing it across her chest in one hurried move. “Uhh.”
“You gave yourself away with that move.” Kafka laughed as she stood up, “Don’t worry, I don’t mean you any harm.”
“Who are you, really?”
“An intrigued third party,” Kafka crushed the cigarette against the bowl. “If you want any last minute advice, Serval. I’d get away from that project, it’s not going to end well.”
“Wait, what do you-”
Kafka had already vanished around a street corner. If there was one thing she had learned from her time with the stellaron hunters it was how to make a quick getaway.
She threw her coat off and slumped back on the springy couch in their rented accommodation.
Two options, she considered as she hung her head back on the couch. Keep this stalemate going until he cracks, which will happen... never. Or swallow that pride of yours and admit you may have made a mistake.
None of the options sounded good to her which meant she had to go with the one that would end the problem faster.
She rolled her shoulders, cleared her throat and hopped back onto her feet. Time to face the music.
She found herself faltering in front of his door, the apartment was so quiet she could hear every ring of whetstone hitting metal coming from his room. She tapped her foot twice before quickly bringing her hand up and knocking sharply a few times.
The noise stopped suddenly and his voice rang out, “Yes?” He sounded annoyed, not good.
“Bladie, can I come in for a second.” She adjusted her glove and brushed some strands of hair out of her face. “I’d like to talk to you.”
She heard the sound of Blade getting up and the door unlocking before the ringing sound moved through the air once more. He had moved back to his sword rather quickly.
Kafka sighed before twisting the doorknob and poking her head into the room. Blade was sitting against the windowsill, the light from an outside lantern shining on half his face giving him a very dramatic look.
She shut the door behind her, looking around for a place to sit and settling back on the commode tucked in the corner. Blade was still not facing her.
She tapped her fingers along the top of the commode, blowing air through her lips and looking around the room. He had kept it very bare, the bed was half-made, his suitcase shoved in the corner and coat hanging off the door.
She turned her eyes back to him, admiring the curve of his arm as he deftly sharpened his blade. If there was one thing to applaud about Blade, it was his utmost dedication to any task he undertook. It also made him wilful and uncompromising at times.
“I believe I owe you an apology.” She started, pausing to glimpse his reaction.
Nothing.
She sighed, “We had an agreement and I broke it. I’m sorry, alright?”
Still nothing.
She huffed, hanging her head slightly. “You don’t make things easy, do you? One mistake and I’m in your bad books forever, is that it?”
The ringing stopped, Kafka looked at him out of the corner of the eye as he set the whetstone aside.
“What you did,” his voice was a whisper, “was more than a little mistake.”
“Oh please-”
“No, Kafka.” He cut her off, “you don’t get to sweet talk your way out of this.”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“You did. But I wonder if you’ll hold it. Or will you just break it the moment it is convenient for you.”
“Bladie...”
“I’m asking, Kafka?”
She pushed herself off of the commode, walking up to him and placing her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shake her off, his face tilting down towards hers.
“Do I need to cut my hand and swear a blood oath?” She teased, “Will that fix the trust between us?”
“I don’t know if it can be fixed.”
Kafka trailed her hand up his own, slipping underneath his coat and snatching the small blade he kept hidden. She brought her own hand up and slit the palm open, squeezing her fist and letting some of the blood hit the floor.
His eyes did not leave hers.
“I am at times a selfish person,” Kafka admitted, “I have a hard time... I don’t know, being considerate. But you are my partner and I should’ve known better than breaking our agreement. So for that, I am sorry.”
His eyes flicked down to her bleeding hand. He reached back and grabbed a roll of gauze resting on the window sill. Kafka didn’t move as he turned her hand around and started wrapping it tightly.
“You didn’t need to cut your hand.”
"Ah but you see, now you’re taking me seriously.”
“You are impossible.” He tied the bandage off, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Do you know what I really want, Kafka?”
“No, I don’t. You are inscrutable.”
“I want us to be honest with each other.” he dropped her hand before pushing past her to go sit on his bed.
“Have we not been?”
He shook his head, “Elio trusts you more than me. That’s fine. But it needs to be different between us. What happened back on Cymbeline-III, if you had told me you had a plan-”
“I didn’t.” Kafka admitted, “I didn’t have a plan. An idea but no plan. I took a chance.”
“Then why?”
“You know why.” She placed her hands on her hips, “you couldn’t pull yourself up as long as you held on to me.”
“I cannot die, Kafka.” He crossed his arms, “even if my grip had failed, I would not have died when we hit the ground. But you would have.”
“Yes, but I can gather it wouldn't have been very comfortable and you would’ve had a hard time getting out of the situation.”
“That doesn’t matter. Kafka, I am a blade. My role is to fight and take the blows that would kill an ordinary person in your place. Why do you keep resisting this?”
“Do you really see yourself that way?” She tilted her head to the side, “just a tool to be used.”
“It is better that way.”
“Don’t you see the contradiction in that Bladie.” She snorted, “either you are a weapon or you are my partner. Either I can use you as I please or I have to listen to your opinion. Can’t have it both ways.”
That seemed to make him pause, his blood-coloured eyes narrowing for a moment before a drawn-out sigh was pulled from his lips.
“Fine.” He stood up, “I am your partner and I want my opinions to be heard.”
She smiled, “good. I will never use spirit whisperer without your permission but you need to trust that I can make decisions for myself as well. My lack of fear doesn’t turn me into some reckless fool.”
“Fine, I can accept that.” He stood up and opened the door, “I’m making Mapo tofu, do you want any?”
Kafka let out a relieved sigh, “Please, I fear I will actually die if I eat more powdered mash potatoes.”
“Then come on, it’s about time you learn something new.”
I’ll indulge him , she thought as she followed him to the kitchen. She felt light now at least, the weight of his anger had finally been lifted off her shoulders. It is better to be friendly, after all.
Kafka had never considered herself to be much of a swordmaster. She had picked up the skill as a necessity on Pteruges-V, but it was never much of a passion. She was more fond of her twin submachine guns, there was a certain elegance to them. Which meant that despite considering herself to be pretty good, she had been no match for one such as Jingliu of the Xianzhou, former swordmaster of the Luofu. Blade had held his ground pretty well after she had been felled, a cut through her side and down her sword arm. She had released the leash as she collapsed onto the ground and watched from the ground as they traded blows at an impressive speed.
Kafka had used their intense focus to weave a web in the background, trapping Jingliu in a whisper and giving Blade a moment to escape. To her relief, he had seized it readily enough, moving back from Jingliu with a snarl and snatching her off of the ground.
He was still seething more than three hours later, fussing over the broken relic with an intensity she had never seen in him.
Kafka had been able to piece together that this Jingliu had known Blade and that Blade knew her, something unlike him. He didn’t remember anyone. All the time she had pried, he had claimed his memory was a blur. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that he despised the woman, his mind had tunneled in on her so quickly Kafka had wondered if she had been forgotten.
She heard the sound of something clanking against the ground as Blade slammed his fist to the wall.
“Dammit!” He cursed, his hand crisping up once more, “this is supposed to be easy for me, my hands-”
“Bladie.” She shifted slightly and winced as lacing pain ran up her side. “I’ve told you before, the relic is lost. There is no point in trying to fix it, unless you are some kind of master craftsman.”
He laughed at that for some reason, a pained, guttural laugh. “No.” He buried his face into his hands, “No, I’m not. I’m-” She could feel the heat of the abundance radiating off of him, Blade was always most vulnerable right after unleashing the Mara. It was like ripping open old stitches, it bled through him for hours after.
She placed a hand over the cut on her side, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling over to him. She wasn’t sure what came over her in that moment, maybe the blood loss had finally gotten to her. She fell onto him, wrapping her arms around his stomach and tucking her chin over his shoulder.
He went completely still but he didn’t try to move away, didn’t push her back.
She leaned in close to his ear, “You knew her, didn’t you?”
She felt him sigh, “Yes.”
“What did she do to you, Bladie?”
His head tilted ever so slightly towards her, his eyes meeting her own. They were angry, she could feel the storm stirring in them. Kafka knew Blade had some kind of vendetta that Elio had promised he would be able to complete. But this was the first time she witnessed the hold it had on him. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
“Of five people, three must pay the price.” He whispered, “she is one of them.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“I know.” He placed a hand over her own, “it is a complicated story and I am missing a lot of parts.”
“Then tell me what you remember.”
He sighed again, “She is the... reason I am like this now. The reason my hands are unsteady, that I have so many scars. She broke me, Kafka. Pushed me to the very end of what I was capable of and then abandoned me.”
“She is the one who taught you to fight then?” Their movement had been extraordinary in sync, not a step out of place. It would’ve been a marvelous sight had her life not been bleeding out of her as it happened.
“Taught is a strong word.”
“Hmm.” Kafka moved back, grabbing his hands in the process and spinning him around so he was facing her. He let her do so without any resistance. Blade had yet to put a shirt back on, she traced her hand over the scar running down the center of his chest.
“She did this?” She asked as she tapped a finger against it.
He nodded silently.
She ran her hand over the scar on his left bicep, a smooth cut delivered by a deft hand. “And this one.”
“Yes.”
She pressed her finger to the small cut on the side of his neck, a nick compared to the others. “And this?”
He caught her hand, “Most of them are from her hand, Kafka.”
“Hmm,” she sang slightly, “how cruel.”
“Cruelty is all that is left of us.”
“Did you know her before?”
“She knew me.” Blade answered while lowering her hand to the side, “that is why she decided to torment me. But I have no memory of her apart from-” He flinched, his hand going to the side of her head to massage his temple.
Kafka pressed a hand against the side of his cheek, “need a hand.”
“Please.”
“Blade, Listen to me : you are safe, she cannot reach you here, stop thinking about her.”
He shut his eyes for a moment before opening them once more, the pain in his gaze had lessened just a bit.
“I think I’ve probably picked up a scar from her, too.” Kafka laughed as she pressed a hand to her wounded side.
“I’m sorry. I was not quick enough to stop her.”
“I don’t need an apology.” She shook her head, “maybe a few lessons, I’ve become rusty with the way of the sword, I’m afraid.”
“I can do that.” He nodded before pausing to add, “you don’t have many scars.”
“I heal well.” Kafka shrugged before unbuttoning her shirt slightly and pulling it to the side. She had stared at the scar enough that it was imprinted into her mind. A small hole right under her left clavicle. It hadn’t healed well, the skin slightly raised and discolored. “Well, in most cases.”
She shivered slightly as Blade pressed the palm of his hand over it as if willing it to disappear.
“My sister and I didn’t get along.” Kafka explained despite the stuck feeling in her throat, “She was one of the devils, fully immersed in the abuse and excess of our world. She left me this,” Kafka placed her hand over his, “as a token of her thanks for all the work I was doing trying to save New Babylon, to stop people like her from... eating it.”
“You’ve never mentioned her before.”
“You never mentioned Jingliu.” Kafka felt herself smile despite it all. “ Anyways, there isn’t much to mention. The stellaron has reduced Pteruges-V to a ruin, Iphigenia with it. It amplified the Hunger’s desire, it was a rather gruesome end and Iphigenia welcomed it.”
“Did you hate her?”
“I loved her, I think I would’ve died for her.” Kafka leaned forward to rest her brow on his shoulder. “But I had a choice to make and love... only goes so far. I would’ve died for her but I could not ask other people to do the same.”
His hand went around her waist, his fingers lightly tapping along it. “You should be grateful to have someone to love.”
“Are you saying you don’t?” Kafka spoke against his shoulder.
“I don’t remember, I think there was someone but I- I only remember the pain he caused me.”
“Not much to love in a corpse.” Kafka tried not to think about Iphigenia if she could help it. Tried not to think of her sister’s body floating in the water, her face turned away. To not think about the blade she had held on to so tightly or the hand that had rested on her shoulder in false comfort afterwards.
“No.” Blade placed a finger under her chin and lifted it. “But the memory is enough, is it not?”
“I think the memory is worse.” Kafka answered as she wrapped an arm around his back, pulling him closer. “Better to have not loved her, than to live with the fact that she is gone.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Kafka brought her face closer to his, “either way, why don’t we do something.”
He frowned slightly, his eyes dipping down, “do what?”
“You want someone to love? You can love me and I can love you.” Kafka murmured, “I’ll stay with you till the end.”
“Will you?” Blade’s nose bumped hers, “Can you, Kafka?”
She smiled, “I think so.”
“I don’t think this is part of the script.” His voice ghosted over her lips.
“It doesn’t need to be, this is all us.” She held her breath as his hand slipped to the back of her head and he pulled her in.
Kafka smiled against his lips, opening her mouth slightly as she pushed him onto the couch and straddled him. His hand settled on her waist as she pressed kisses down the side of his jaw before capturing his lips once more. They stayed like that for a bit, their brows pressed together as the clock ticked on.
“Kafka.” Blade said her name with a surprising softness.
“Blade.” She repeated back to him as his hand traced the path up her spine.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes, Bladie.” She kissed his cheek, “do you want it?”
“I almost dare not to.” He answered while nuzzling his face into her neck, “but eternal suffering can get lonely.”
“Is it really suffering if you are with me?” Kafka laughed.
It drew a snort out of him, a sound unlike any she had heard from him. She could feel her heart fluttering slightly, trying to break out of her ribcage. That wasn’t right, he was the one meant to get flustered, not her.
Oh well, she brushed some of his hair out of his face, dragging her finger around the curve of his cheek. He did have the loveliest of eyes, the kind that seemed to pierce through her very heart. This is much better than being alone.