Clare (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
demisemidemon) wrote2012-08-01 07:54 pm
demisemidemon) wrote2012-08-01 07:54 pm
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Traveling with Raki is weird. Clare's forgotten so much about human limitations -- or, well, not exactly forgotten, but she forgets that it's relevant. She knows that humans need to eat regularly, but she's startled again every few hours when she realizes he needs to eat, again.
Is this what it was like for Teresa?
Teresa's on her mind a lot. But then, she always is. It's different today, though, with a human child trailing in Clare's wake, earnest and cheerful and oblivious to so much.
She doesn't change her path for him, even when it cuts across the wasteland that nearly killed him before, but she does slow down a little. Raki's stubborn, though. He doesn't complain. She kills him a lizard, and he beams as if she's given him a present, which in a way she has. His joy does something funny to Clare's chest.
She makes camp for Raki earlier than she would have -- before the sun sets, even, so he can cook his lizard and eat sooner. She lets him make a fire, which she rarely bothers with.
He spits the lizard on a stick, sets up other sticks to support it, fetches water and gathers more firewood. Clare strips the armor off her arms and legs, plants her sword in the ground so she can sit, and then settles down. He can work if he likes. This food is for him, and the fire too, and anyway she told him he would be the cook. Let him cook.
"It looks awful, but it tastes pretty good!" he chirps, bringing her an entire leg of the lizard. "Here's yours." It's far too much; the thought of eating half that turns her stomach. But she accepts it, listening to Raki ramble about how he's going to dry the rest of the meat over the fire so it'll keep. She guesses he does know what he's doing with cooking.
She eats a couple of bites. It's more than she needs, but it's all she can manage. When she's stuffed, she turns her attention to Raki.
He's alternating between huge bites of meat and swigs of water, chewing noisily and gulping it down with gusto. There's so much vitality in him. So much youth and life. It bewilders Clare. The organization's warriors are trained until every move is deliberate; the human mind must rule the yoma-tainted body, so that not even a muscle twitches except by choice and permission. But Raki is human, and astonishingly innocent at that. He flails, gulps, gesticulates, drips grease all over his hands. He lives without worrying about the fact that he does.
Raki looks up when half his meal is demolished, and sees her looking. He stills, his face drawing down into a troubled frown. "Are you done? Was it that bad?"
"Hmm?" Oh. "No," she explains. "I'm full. our bodies need very little. We eat once every couple of days. We can easily go a week without food and water. It's enough just watching you eat like that." Raki is staring at her. Clare isn't sure what he's feeling, but she can see part of it; he's realizing again what he keeps forgetting, that Clare isn't human. Well, she isn't, and he needs to remember what the creatures called Claymores are. "I'm a little envious, really," she admits, because to her surprise it's true. "I guess that's what it's like to be human."
She's never regretted her choice. But sometimes -- sometimes there are things she misses.
Raki's face hasn't settled down yet -- into his usual cheer, or into anything else -- when Clare hears a sound, off in the forest beyond human hearing. A familiar throat-clearing. She stands.
Raki sputters questions, of course. "Don't follow me," Clare orders, and leaves.
It's Rubel, as she'd known. "Over here," he grins from the shadow of a tree. He's leaning there, hands in his pockets, the picture of indolent amusement. "Well, well, well." Clare waits, and she doesn't have to wait long. "How impulsive. Why did you bring the child with you? He'll just get in the way.
Clare knew this was coming. Might as well get his baiting over with -- though it's not as if she has a choice. She's thrown her lot in with the organization, and for as long as they own her, she's accountable to her handler.
"He's just the cook," she says, turning away. She doesn't have to be polite to Rubel, or pretend to human conversational niceties. "He won't be in the way."
"Oh, you have a cook now?" Rubel's voice is light and mocking. Clare doesn't care. All his mockery is right, and the links to her history are obvious. But she's made her choice, and she doesn't care about Rubel's opinion of it. "Sounds like something a human would do. Or maybe he reminds you of someone from your past. How sentimental."
Clare's tired of this. It has nothing to do with the job. "What did you bring me?"
Rubel reaches behind to the pack that was leaning against the tree, and pulls out a bundle of pale fabric and gleaming metal. It hits the ground by Clare's feet with a clang. Another outfit, and pauldrons and gardbraces to go with it. "Here. It's a brand-new one."
Clare strips, obediently, and changes. Rubel tells her to pause, and examines her wound from where the yoma impaled her. He confirms what she already knows: dangerously close to a vital spot, but nothing more, and it's already well healed. "I wonder what the boy would think," he muses mock-idly as she fastens her shoulder armor, "if he saw you like that?" Clare ignores him. He'd be disgusted, of course -- the process that makes a half-yoma warrior leaves a mark that's stomach-turning to anyone not hardened to it -- but she has no intention of showing Raki that. She hears Rubel start to walk away. "You shouldn't be so impulsive," he says over his shoulder. "Get attached to him, and you'll be the one who gets hurt." She can hear the smile when he adds, "Oh -- I have something else for you."
Something else? She has money, she has new armor; it has to be a job, but he's phrased it as if it's an object. Clare turns to look.
Rubel flips up something dark, displaying it between two fingers.
A square of thick black paper, folded around itself. A black card.
Clare's stepped forward, the motion half-conscious and shocked -- sloppy, but she can't care. "A black card?" The words are tugged out of her. No, no, not that-- "It can't be! Why me?"
She's the weakest of the full-fledged warriors, and a loner. Who would choose her? Why?
"It had to be you," Rubel says, smug and unsympathetic. "She asked specifically for you." He tosses the card backwards, and Clare catches it without looking. "Check the contents for yourself."
He's gone before Clare can bring herself to look at the black card inside its black envelope.
The only thing on the card is a symbol in white ink. Elena's symbol.
Of course it's Elena. Her one friend.
Why Elena? Why so soon?
Clare doesn't track how long she spends staring at the card, and remembering. But there's nothing to be done. Elena asked for her. Clare knows her duty to a friend. If Elena wants Clare to be the friend that kills her...
At last, she tucks the card and its envelope away in her cloak. Raki's waiting. She has to go back sooner or later, and reality won't change no matter where she goes.
Except that, when she walks between two trees, Milliways has other ideas.
Is this what it was like for Teresa?
Teresa's on her mind a lot. But then, she always is. It's different today, though, with a human child trailing in Clare's wake, earnest and cheerful and oblivious to so much.
She doesn't change her path for him, even when it cuts across the wasteland that nearly killed him before, but she does slow down a little. Raki's stubborn, though. He doesn't complain. She kills him a lizard, and he beams as if she's given him a present, which in a way she has. His joy does something funny to Clare's chest.
She makes camp for Raki earlier than she would have -- before the sun sets, even, so he can cook his lizard and eat sooner. She lets him make a fire, which she rarely bothers with.
He spits the lizard on a stick, sets up other sticks to support it, fetches water and gathers more firewood. Clare strips the armor off her arms and legs, plants her sword in the ground so she can sit, and then settles down. He can work if he likes. This food is for him, and the fire too, and anyway she told him he would be the cook. Let him cook.
"It looks awful, but it tastes pretty good!" he chirps, bringing her an entire leg of the lizard. "Here's yours." It's far too much; the thought of eating half that turns her stomach. But she accepts it, listening to Raki ramble about how he's going to dry the rest of the meat over the fire so it'll keep. She guesses he does know what he's doing with cooking.
She eats a couple of bites. It's more than she needs, but it's all she can manage. When she's stuffed, she turns her attention to Raki.
He's alternating between huge bites of meat and swigs of water, chewing noisily and gulping it down with gusto. There's so much vitality in him. So much youth and life. It bewilders Clare. The organization's warriors are trained until every move is deliberate; the human mind must rule the yoma-tainted body, so that not even a muscle twitches except by choice and permission. But Raki is human, and astonishingly innocent at that. He flails, gulps, gesticulates, drips grease all over his hands. He lives without worrying about the fact that he does.
Raki looks up when half his meal is demolished, and sees her looking. He stills, his face drawing down into a troubled frown. "Are you done? Was it that bad?"
"Hmm?" Oh. "No," she explains. "I'm full. our bodies need very little. We eat once every couple of days. We can easily go a week without food and water. It's enough just watching you eat like that." Raki is staring at her. Clare isn't sure what he's feeling, but she can see part of it; he's realizing again what he keeps forgetting, that Clare isn't human. Well, she isn't, and he needs to remember what the creatures called Claymores are. "I'm a little envious, really," she admits, because to her surprise it's true. "I guess that's what it's like to be human."
She's never regretted her choice. But sometimes -- sometimes there are things she misses.
Raki's face hasn't settled down yet -- into his usual cheer, or into anything else -- when Clare hears a sound, off in the forest beyond human hearing. A familiar throat-clearing. She stands.
Raki sputters questions, of course. "Don't follow me," Clare orders, and leaves.
It's Rubel, as she'd known. "Over here," he grins from the shadow of a tree. He's leaning there, hands in his pockets, the picture of indolent amusement. "Well, well, well." Clare waits, and she doesn't have to wait long. "How impulsive. Why did you bring the child with you? He'll just get in the way.
Clare knew this was coming. Might as well get his baiting over with -- though it's not as if she has a choice. She's thrown her lot in with the organization, and for as long as they own her, she's accountable to her handler.
"He's just the cook," she says, turning away. She doesn't have to be polite to Rubel, or pretend to human conversational niceties. "He won't be in the way."
"Oh, you have a cook now?" Rubel's voice is light and mocking. Clare doesn't care. All his mockery is right, and the links to her history are obvious. But she's made her choice, and she doesn't care about Rubel's opinion of it. "Sounds like something a human would do. Or maybe he reminds you of someone from your past. How sentimental."
Clare's tired of this. It has nothing to do with the job. "What did you bring me?"
Rubel reaches behind to the pack that was leaning against the tree, and pulls out a bundle of pale fabric and gleaming metal. It hits the ground by Clare's feet with a clang. Another outfit, and pauldrons and gardbraces to go with it. "Here. It's a brand-new one."
Clare strips, obediently, and changes. Rubel tells her to pause, and examines her wound from where the yoma impaled her. He confirms what she already knows: dangerously close to a vital spot, but nothing more, and it's already well healed. "I wonder what the boy would think," he muses mock-idly as she fastens her shoulder armor, "if he saw you like that?" Clare ignores him. He'd be disgusted, of course -- the process that makes a half-yoma warrior leaves a mark that's stomach-turning to anyone not hardened to it -- but she has no intention of showing Raki that. She hears Rubel start to walk away. "You shouldn't be so impulsive," he says over his shoulder. "Get attached to him, and you'll be the one who gets hurt." She can hear the smile when he adds, "Oh -- I have something else for you."
Something else? She has money, she has new armor; it has to be a job, but he's phrased it as if it's an object. Clare turns to look.
Rubel flips up something dark, displaying it between two fingers.
A square of thick black paper, folded around itself. A black card.
Clare's stepped forward, the motion half-conscious and shocked -- sloppy, but she can't care. "A black card?" The words are tugged out of her. No, no, not that-- "It can't be! Why me?"
She's the weakest of the full-fledged warriors, and a loner. Who would choose her? Why?
"It had to be you," Rubel says, smug and unsympathetic. "She asked specifically for you." He tosses the card backwards, and Clare catches it without looking. "Check the contents for yourself."
He's gone before Clare can bring herself to look at the black card inside its black envelope.
The only thing on the card is a symbol in white ink. Elena's symbol.
Of course it's Elena. Her one friend.
Why Elena? Why so soon?
Clare doesn't track how long she spends staring at the card, and remembering. But there's nothing to be done. Elena asked for her. Clare knows her duty to a friend. If Elena wants Clare to be the friend that kills her...
At last, she tucks the card and its envelope away in her cloak. Raki's waiting. She has to go back sooner or later, and reality won't change no matter where she goes.
Except that, when she walks between two trees, Milliways has other ideas.