November 8th, 2880
Lunar City "Bangelor"
Dock, Acidalium Class "Lobera"
Raines Quarters
1:28 AM
They had left in complete silence, and the Knight had likewise departed her presence as soon as they had returned to the ship. True to their word, the witches were hard at work, and it was only an hour or so before the ship purred to life beneath her feet. Raines had been focused entirely on the task at hand, speaking seldom, issuing the odd direction to their new crew - but otherwise barely acknowledged her presence. The time passed as though she were drifting in a waking dream, and before she knew it, the artificial night had settled in...
And she was left standing at his door, feeling her breath in her chest.
It was not unknown, she knew, for Fatima to... relieve their Masters of certain needs, and as conscious as she was of slipping into his quarters in the midst of the night... She needed to know. Slowly, carefully, she tiptoed through a crack in the door.
Raines was seated at the center of the room, and there was the sound of metal meeting a whetstone gradually, meticulously, and rhythmically, his back muscles moving in tune with the pumice in his hand as it glided across a gleaming Speid. He held it aloft, examining the sheen on its surface, so bright and so keen that it could have cut the moonlight, and caught sight of her in its reflection, galvanizing her into action.
"Lord Raines." She started; but his reply was immediate:
"What is it?"
"...Did you mean what you said, earlier?"
"About that sword?"
She nodded, slowly. The knight returned the blade to his lap, running the whestone across its mirrored surface, as if trying to remove a blemish visible only to himself.
"Is it any different from how we use Fatima?" He said, without meeting her gaze.
Inwardly, she flinched at the comparison... and averted her gaze. Even so, she stood her ground - and pressed her case, determined to know
"...Would you really take an innocent-?"
CLANG.
The question died in her throat, replaced with a gasp as the pumice clanged unnaturally against the speid's length. Raines hand shook, as blood trickled from a now lengthy cut on his palm. Taking the cleaning cloth he had been using, he began to bind it, saying quietly as he did.
"If not me, it would be another. Those people would not be deterred. At least this way, the sacrifice will not be in vain."
He stopped, and nursed his hand in the gloom, watching the slow spread of crimson across the makeshift bandage's surface. He barely felt the pain. Yet another benefit of his lineage: a body that was designed only to kill. Like a Fatima. Like a Mortar Headd. He looked at the now scratched part of the sword, and sighed.
"You look down on me, yes?" He said, suddenly.
Nia, taken aback, pulled her hands close to her chest. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, and yet at the same time... She had to wonder, would she have questioned him, corrected him, if that were not the case?
"I couldn't-"
"This is the very thing I have been running from. Sacrificing the few to save the many... Someone must be responsible for it."
That, he knew all too well, was what it meant to rule. He knew from whence he came. From the body and mind of a God, a plaything, a mask, a mere puppet to be employed in games too vast in scale and importance for him to ever truly comprehend. When that link had been severed, he had been grateful for it, and embraced his newfound freedom. Joker could rot for all he cared - and now he was on a crusade to save it? A nagging sense of strings being pulled had been plaguing his every waking moment, and it had all started with her.
Turning, he faced her now, his body lit by the distant lights of the city - the body of a weapon, sculpted to destroy all that it encountered. Not once had those hands ever created anything, nor, he suspected, would they ever - so, was he not just fulfilling his function? His destiny?
"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, fighting the anger rising in his voice;
"Just walk away, leave myself unsullied, knowing I have done nothing but pawn it off on another? Would you be satisfied with that... that cowardice?"
There was a long silence. He waited, and waited... but at last, she seemed to shrink back, uncharacteristically. She seemed to look at him with new eyes, ones that glistened with wetness. Were those... tears?
"I..." She said, softly:
"I thought... that Lord Raines was not that kind of person. That's all. Please... excuse me."
Giving a bow, she darted out of the room before he could lift a hand to stop her, the door slamming shut behind her. By the time he had forced out the word, it was already too late.
"Nia-"
He was left alone again, with only the neon glow for company. With a groan, he sat on the bed, and looked again at his reflection. The chip on the weapon's surface was overlaid with his own features, and he studied its imperfection, as well as his own features searchingly, as if hoping an answer would reveal itself to him.
"What kind of person are you, Raines?" He repeated, solemnly.
Lunar City "Bangelor"
Dock, Acidalium Class "Lobera"
Raines Quarters
1:28 AM
They had left in complete silence, and the Knight had likewise departed her presence as soon as they had returned to the ship. True to their word, the witches were hard at work, and it was only an hour or so before the ship purred to life beneath her feet. Raines had been focused entirely on the task at hand, speaking seldom, issuing the odd direction to their new crew - but otherwise barely acknowledged her presence. The time passed as though she were drifting in a waking dream, and before she knew it, the artificial night had settled in...
And she was left standing at his door, feeling her breath in her chest.
It was not unknown, she knew, for Fatima to... relieve their Masters of certain needs, and as conscious as she was of slipping into his quarters in the midst of the night... She needed to know. Slowly, carefully, she tiptoed through a crack in the door.
Raines was seated at the center of the room, and there was the sound of metal meeting a whetstone gradually, meticulously, and rhythmically, his back muscles moving in tune with the pumice in his hand as it glided across a gleaming Speid. He held it aloft, examining the sheen on its surface, so bright and so keen that it could have cut the moonlight, and caught sight of her in its reflection, galvanizing her into action.
"Lord Raines." She started; but his reply was immediate:
"What is it?"
"...Did you mean what you said, earlier?"
"About that sword?"
She nodded, slowly. The knight returned the blade to his lap, running the whestone across its mirrored surface, as if trying to remove a blemish visible only to himself.
"Is it any different from how we use Fatima?" He said, without meeting her gaze.
Inwardly, she flinched at the comparison... and averted her gaze. Even so, she stood her ground - and pressed her case, determined to know
"...Would you really take an innocent-?"
CLANG.
The question died in her throat, replaced with a gasp as the pumice clanged unnaturally against the speid's length. Raines hand shook, as blood trickled from a now lengthy cut on his palm. Taking the cleaning cloth he had been using, he began to bind it, saying quietly as he did.
"If not me, it would be another. Those people would not be deterred. At least this way, the sacrifice will not be in vain."
He stopped, and nursed his hand in the gloom, watching the slow spread of crimson across the makeshift bandage's surface. He barely felt the pain. Yet another benefit of his lineage: a body that was designed only to kill. Like a Fatima. Like a Mortar Headd. He looked at the now scratched part of the sword, and sighed.
"You look down on me, yes?" He said, suddenly.
Nia, taken aback, pulled her hands close to her chest. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, and yet at the same time... She had to wonder, would she have questioned him, corrected him, if that were not the case?
"I couldn't-"
"This is the very thing I have been running from. Sacrificing the few to save the many... Someone must be responsible for it."
That, he knew all too well, was what it meant to rule. He knew from whence he came. From the body and mind of a God, a plaything, a mask, a mere puppet to be employed in games too vast in scale and importance for him to ever truly comprehend. When that link had been severed, he had been grateful for it, and embraced his newfound freedom. Joker could rot for all he cared - and now he was on a crusade to save it? A nagging sense of strings being pulled had been plaguing his every waking moment, and it had all started with her.
Turning, he faced her now, his body lit by the distant lights of the city - the body of a weapon, sculpted to destroy all that it encountered. Not once had those hands ever created anything, nor, he suspected, would they ever - so, was he not just fulfilling his function? His destiny?
"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, fighting the anger rising in his voice;
"Just walk away, leave myself unsullied, knowing I have done nothing but pawn it off on another? Would you be satisfied with that... that cowardice?"
There was a long silence. He waited, and waited... but at last, she seemed to shrink back, uncharacteristically. She seemed to look at him with new eyes, ones that glistened with wetness. Were those... tears?
"I..." She said, softly:
"I thought... that Lord Raines was not that kind of person. That's all. Please... excuse me."
Giving a bow, she darted out of the room before he could lift a hand to stop her, the door slamming shut behind her. By the time he had forced out the word, it was already too late.
"Nia-"
He was left alone again, with only the neon glow for company. With a groan, he sat on the bed, and looked again at his reflection. The chip on the weapon's surface was overlaid with his own features, and he studied its imperfection, as well as his own features searchingly, as if hoping an answer would reveal itself to him.
"What kind of person are you, Raines?" He repeated, solemnly.