Scene #8411: Comfort Food

Owner	Pose
Rita Ma	Arrival is strictly by teleporter with a one-time code. It's immediately obvious that this is a spaceship, even without nearby windows; architectural space is used generously but consciously, the pleasant ambient hum and occasional subtle ping-creak make the entirety of the soundscape, the air tastes cleaner than air normally does. Right away there are signs of being lovingly lived-in. The off-white walls and dramatic red streaks of the teleporter room might feel sterile if not for all the knicknacks and keepsakes and potted plants, constituting an inanimate 'welcome home'. It feels Correct that this is where Rita lives. Even if far more luxurious, there's a spiritual similarity between a spaceship and the Union Busan. Before Lilian can open one of the doors herself, there's a rapid thump-thump-thump-thump-THUMP from somewhere below, closing in on her location with a rhythm and speed unlike any human gait. That's not a security robot, is it? It shoots up a staircase to her level, yanks open hissing doors in alarmingly rapid succession, and- "Ms. Rook!" Rita squeezes her face through the half-open door, squishing her cheeks adorably. There's a smell of rich, savory home cooking about her, and a bit of iron, too. "I'm so glad you could come. Here, I was just finishing your mac and cheese in the oven, okay?" She pushes the door open the rest of the way- they're meant to be automatic, but her strength trips some kind of safety override anyway- to give Lilian her hand, and then- Oh no. Oh god. She's in the maid outfit again.
Lilian Rook	Let's think. The last time Lilian was on a spaceship was-- Lilian decides to stop thinking about that, actually. Despite the novelty of the sensation of microgravity, she's quite happy to close her eyes a moment and believe that she is in some command bunker somewhere, or in the academy basement, or back at-- She decides to stop thinking about that too. 'thump-thump-thump-thump-' §Sound moves faster through metal than air. Impossible to guess how closed based on way the rattling from the potted plants. Probably the deck below, given how strong it feels through my feet. I've yet to encounter a robot with that kind of movement speed plus the agility to maneuver through bulkheads at it. Where exactly is this, anyways? Is it really a spaceship? Not much time to think without using what I should for when the door opens. How far apart are the walls? Twelve, fifteen feet? Awkward to use Night Mist with any power in here. It's a straight to the door; can't miss at gunpoint. Should I worry about hull breach? No, the teleporter is right at my back. Besides, it certainly compartment seals. I'll chain down thirty seconds in ten blocks of three, then--§ Rita slams her face through the door, and catches Lilian with her hand . . . hovering behind her? She's turned side on, so she can't really tell where it is. It's probably nothing. She looks a little shocked, but also exhausted. Not the type she sometimes is, when she's been overworked and overloaded as fucking usual but the kind where her makeup doesn't full hide the shadows beneath her eyes and the passive tension in her spine. "O-oh. Oh, Rita!" Lilian's tone changes dramatically between each words. "I made the time, haha." Bad joke. "Ah, did you--" The door creaks open. Lilian chokes on her next word, and forgets to blink. ". . . do you . . . wear that here?" §God I'm so j--§
Rita Ma	Rita's eyes meet Lilian's, drop an eighth of an inch to the shadows beneath them, and then trace down that tense posture to waist level to imagine what her hand must have been reaching for. Her smile slackens guiltily. But then she tunes her smile back up, flicks her eyes upwards again, and shuts them in a sunny little giggle. "Not often! But I thought you might need it, Ms. Rook." And it looks like you do, she thinks, but doesn't say. "It made you happy last time, didn't it? Even if you pretended to be a little grumpy about it." Just a smidgen of the Little Shit Voice creeps in as she reaches for Lilian's hand to lead her along, an excuse to turn her back for the social DR against any riposte. "And I need it, too, I guess," she admits a moment later, as the pair of them descend a spiral staircase. "I've been getting lazy about dressing up, which is a bad cycle. If you don't look good, you feel bad, and if you feel bad it's hard to look good, right?" There's a room reminiscent of a backyard patio, fancy black-framed furniture arranged around an indoor pool- "it's really nice for napping in, you know-" and aquariums set into the walls. The lighting's just gentle enough that the ripples on the pool's surface cast faint patterns of light on the ceiling. Rita's got a respectable collection already; charmingly, she really has no concept of rarity, and displays an ordinary goldfish just as proudly as a stunningly fiery alien sea slug. She shows Lilian to a comfy-looking couch- it's amazing how soft they can make waterproof things in the future, you'd almost never guess- but doesn't sit herself, even though she insists Lilian do so. "I'll be right back, okay! Oh, and, um, can I get you anything to drink?" The emphasis on that word implies alcohol's available. "We don't have anything really fancy, but she's been teaching me to mix things, so..." Rita squirms a little restlessly in place, arms behind her back. It's easy to tell she really just wants ways to fuss over and care for Lilian. Whether that's a salve for Lilian's stress, or an expression of her own- well, it's almost certainly both.
Lilian Rook	'I thought you might need it, Ms. Rook.' "You're so sweet." says Lilian. "I mean it. You're the one who should be"Are you this abusive to all your maids? Talking down to them, reveling in their suffering, creating cruel, pointless tasks for them? "in need of something encouraging, and yet you're looking after me yet again." She removes her hand from her hip, and rubs her face, remembering that happy little completely ridiculous photo fromI know you're dying to, you sick freak. the manor. "Though, if you say you need it as well, I'll believe you. Sometimes getting lost in another role is something important. And you can get halfway there by dressing for it." 'if you feel bad it's hard to look good, right?' "Well, I wouldn't say--" §What did I put on this morning? I . . . can't remember. It must be perfect, right?§ "--you're wrong." Lilian says. "Do you need some new ideas?" 'it's really nice for napping in, you know' Lilian is briefly distracted by touring around the aquariums. At first, it looks as if she's simply scanning them to make Rita feel good about it, but that idea loses its credibility quickly. The way she fixates on the motions of the little sea creatures, the way she loses herself in thought imagining something about them; it's easy to forget that there aren't many fish where she comes from, too. But when she seats herself as she always does (excessively delicately) on the sofa, leg over the leg, she says with a sigh, "Oh, I could certainly imagine sleeping in this. I don't blame you." Completely missing the point. 'I'll be right back, okay! Oh, and, um, can I get you anything to drink?' Lilian gives a strange answer. A perfect mixture of not wanting to think about an answer at all, to save herself energy, and of picking an answer that is far too thoughtful, to save herself guilt. "Then whatever is your favourite. I reall mean it. And of course I'll know if you choose something you think I'll like more."
Rita Ma	"Mmmm! Don't give me too much credit, though, Ms. Rook. Taking care of you makes me happy too. It's not like I'm neglecting myself." Rita looks back as she opens the door. Her eyes widen in something like fear. "My favorite? Are you--" No, she really does mean it. She wouldn't joke. She dry-swallows her question, then hastily nods. "Okay, Ms. Rook. But if you don't like it, you can always ask me for something else, alright?" Then she's gone. It isn't for very long, really; maybe three or four minutes. Just long enough to immerse one's thoughts in the ambient hum-and-slosh or get lost in the shimmery movement of the aquariums, maybe, before pattering feet and hissing doors interrupt it again. "Hup- mmh- mnnn!" This time the door opens automatically, but Rita still tries to inadvisably squeeze her way through it at the earliest opportunity, while carrying a heavy metal tray. Even though she's so strong, she still has to account for her center of gravity, and that makes her arch backwards like an adorable little waif. Immediately it smells headily delicious- the subtle notes of raw meat, something fruity and just a little metallic, and most intensely of all luxuriously warm breadcrumbs and dairy. Tucked under Rita's arm, oddly, is a little colorful notebook. "I'm back, Ms. Rook! Sorry for the wait! Here, let me just..." Stepping carefully around the pool, Rita unfolds X-shaped legs from the tray to make it into a little table within arm's reach of the couch, then flops down with a little sigh of relief. There's a pair of fizzy layered reddish drinks that taste like candy blood might, a glass of ice water only on Lilian's side (just in case), a too-big bowl of incredibly goopy-rich macaroni-and-cheese with just the right amount of browned crunch to contrast, and... Some kind of big hearty sandwich overflowing with raw meat and a little bit of sauce, but it's hard to pinpoint what the meat is, exactly. It's disorientingly mundane-yet-unfamiliar. Maybe some kind of pork? Rita waits in shy anticipation with her notebook by her side, balling up her hands in her lap and sneaking too-frequent glances at Lilian for approval. She hasn't taken her own food yet; maybe that's nerves, maybe it's a tactical choice in case she has to get up again. "Is it alright? Like I said, it's really no trouble if..."
Lilian Rook	'My favorite? Are you--' "If I don't like it then I won't have it. I'm not going to force myself, Rita." says Lilian. "But whether or do I don't, I'll at least get to see a little more of how you are at rest, no?" She looks to an alien fish off to her side. "We only ever meet each other in strange places, don't we." 'Hup- mmh- mnnn!' §God she's so fuckingIf not for you, if not for people like youcute.§ "It was really no trouble at all." Lilian says. "This place really is . . . incredibly comfortable. I hadn't known it could be this nice aboard a . . . ship?" Without really meaning to, Lilian sighs in a way that deflates her into the couch. "I'd love to be able to relax like this in the garden at home." She looks to the bowl of macaroni and cheese with evident surprise. Pleasant, not shocked. "My. I'd only seen this as a loose jumble of frighteningly yellow pasta elbows on television before." she says, intrigued. Of course Lilian would say the whole word. 'Television'. "Is this a special recipe you learned at some point? I'd feel too spoiled if you worked on it just for me." She says that, but the way she goes for it, first, instead of her drink, can only be because she wants to make good on her promise first; that she'd 'let' Rita taste it too. Lilian puts a pair of fingers to her lips to stifle an otherwise reflexive 'oh!'. After one second, she finds the chewing with Rita watching way too awkward. gross. there's chewed food in my fucking mouth. don't look at me. and waiting for a response a little too awkward, so she skips ahead to picking up her glass, saying "Well. Now I definitely need to know if that's a special recipe, or else I've been missing out for quite a while." It's reserved, but the thought is clearly implicit. 'Regular people food' isn't supposed to be so rich and flavourful. Surely Lilian must be able to read Rita's thrumming nervousness as she takes up the crimson drink. Even if she hadn't, she's noticed the glass of water at a casual scan. Surely she's sampled a thousand other high class drinks, and should know exactly what each and every ingredient in anything alcoholic in this manner should taste like. Surely-- "Oh Go--odness, that's . . ." Lilian breathes in a little too hard after her first swallow. There's an awkward pause. "Please don't be offended Rita, but I'm surprised to know that your taste in drinks was this refined all along." says. Lilian. She goes for round two.
Rita Ma	Rita's appropriately surprised by the discontinuity, but knows better to pry. That tension only lasts until Lilian praises the food: she wiggles happily, shyly, in place and casts her eyes down to the pool with a short laugh while kicking her legs. There's still a bit of anxiety in her posture- what if she hates the drink?- but far less now, evidenced by no longer hunting for scraps of approval. "That makes me so, so happy to hear, Ms. Rook. I've been working on it for lots of reasons! It's 'exotic' to me, you know. But I think it looks different than normal because..." She takes Lilian's wrist in a moment where her hand isn't occupied, drapes it bossily around her own shoulders, and snuggles right up against the taller woman's side, looking brightly up into her eyes. "You can make a whole lot of it at once in a big tub, like restaurants do. But it only gets that nice crust in small batches. So it's like that because I made it with love and care, just for you, Ms. Rook!" Rita shifts her own plate to her lap and starts nibbling around the sandwich's edges. Trimming back the places where the meat protrudes past the bread- and it is a lot of raw meat- makes it easier to hold. Precarious though it is, that makes her even happier; she can only barely restrain herself from scarfing it all down at once, and has to swallow her drool when she stops. For once, her mental texture is as fluffy and warm as it ought to be, or maybe even moreso. A kind of slightly unwholesome afterglow supplants the usual grotesque undercurrent. Even carrying that radiant sunniness forward, she holds her breath in anticipation of Lilian finally trying the drink. The long pause makes her guiltily brace, and-- "'Refined'?" She looks completely in awe. "Ms. Rook, there's..." Rita swallows again, and not for the drool. A hesitantly giddy laugh follows. "No, that makes me happy, I think. That we can be alike like this. Thank you for saying so, Ms. Rook."
Lilian Rook	'It's 'exotic' to me, you know.' Lilian laughs. It has enough chagrin to know that she forgets how long (not very) Rita has actually had a home in the Multiverse, and not enough to say that she usually remembers what Rita usually eats instead. "How is it that you're even able to make something like this so adorable?" Lilian says. She gestures a little with her fork to make the specific meaning clear, because having her arm dropped around Rita's shoulders is self-evidentlysickadorable. "I should have known. I've never known you to cook without love and care in your life." Her hand slides a little further down Rita's shoulder. "Well. Perhaps a little extra when it's for me." Lilian watches Rita nibbling at her sandwich --she doesn't care that much about whatever is on it-- only out of vague curiosity and reflexively spotting motion. It takes a few extra seconds, a few more swallows, for her to really take interest. To focus on that fact a sandwich can make her happier than I can. 'Refined?' "Mhm." Honestly, Lilian is doing her best to sip delicately rather than hammer back. She's been trying to stay off the wine since, well, a while ago, but this is just a day, a week, a month, she feels would be much easier if she were a real alcoholic. And besides, "Admittedly, I'm particularly fond of sweet over tannic, but this is certainly the sort of thing that'd turn away the usual entry level sort. The usual sort of thing to put together with rum is something that nullifies rather than adds to--" A glance aside. Rita in her cute little maid outfit. §Oh gosh. Her cute little maid outfit. Why am I rambling about something this boring? She curled up right against my side like a cat.§ "Well. It has some notes you just don't find anywhere else. It's not quite spicy, not quite bitter, not quite earthy; somewhere between honey and coffee on profile but more like . . ." §Why do I keep thinking of meat?§ ". . . almost like a sauce base. Something you'd use vinegar and marrow for, but very sweet.It's very interesting. I could really get addicted to this, hahah. You must've found it somewhere quite obscure." Lilian quickly sneaks back in one more sip, wipes her lip with her thumb, then jabs the macaroni again with her fork, glancing to Rita to see whether she wants to try some as well. "You seem like you've kept busy. I'm relieved. And a little impressed. You're more . . . well, no. It's obvious that you'd be this resilient. Much more than I am."
Rita Ma	Rita tries to reach for her own drink, realizes that her little arms can't quite reach unless she leaves Lilian's side, and then- pouting just slightly- unfurls a strip of her maid uniform's sleeve into a tentacle to grab the glass and deposit it into her hand before re-weaving it. She doesn't even try to make it sneaky. It's scary (what if she hates it? What if it ruins the mood?) but it's a gesture of trust. It's what I'd do if nobody were watching. That's what being comfortable means, right? Taking a sip makes her legs kick again, but then she slumps into guilty embarrassment as Lilian goes on about the flavor notes. Her face squishes against Lilian's side, giving her voice a slightly muffled quality. "Oh. Well, um..." Her tone stays casual, but the way her feet squirm and tense shows her anxiety. "I'm not really that refined. It probably tastes different for me than it does for you. Since it has, um, blood in it. But if you don't mind, I could send you the recipe?" She has the grace not to specify human blood, but it'd be strange if it were anything else. Rita's just in the middle of taking another bite of her sandwich when Lilian starts talking about resiliency. "Mmmph. Mmmn-" Hedging noises, the best she can manage without opening her mouth. "Glk. Isn't that a little unfair, Ms. Rook? I mean, you're under a lot of stress too. More than me, I'm pretty sure. And you keep way busier than metoo. So how can you say that?" Any residual guilt is postponed when Lilian implicitly offers a forkful of macaroni. Rita perks up, eyes almost sparkling, and then shuts them to open her mouth in serene expectation. Honestly, she's like a little baby bird.
Lilian Rook	Lilian can't help but glimpse the tentacle-- §She's always so reluctant to use those. I suppose I might be if what I did weren't invisible to everyone else. Still, it's not as if those are the worst thing to summon. They're sort of pretty compared to-- Wait, I mixed it up again. She doesn't summon them, she . . . no, it wasn't growing them. That'd be sort of offputting. Aren't they just sort of attached and-- Ah . . . Right.§ --out of the corner of her eye. The lingering look has only a second to be misinterpreted, before she, slowly and hesitantly, uncrosses one leg, pulls the pin from the back of her hair to let it fall loose, and slams back half the tall glass in one go. She holds up one finger as a pause gesture, while she gulp, gulp, gulps back enough to spike her BAC, and then puts the glass back down with emphatic force just shy of what would actually damage it. The noise she makes where she leans back into the couch is something close to relief, like she'd been excruciatingly thirsty before even getting here. Then her indelicate impatience escalates to the point of leaning her head into the back cushion and putting her fingers to the side of her neck, producing the faintest churning hum and sparks. Her face flushes as the drink starts hitting right away and all at once. Exhaustion overriding how hard she's trying, Lilian hits a jaw-cracking yawn (when has anyone seen one of those, actually?) and Rita is one-sidedly enlightened that Lilian's avatar teeth in Bladecraft are actually accurate to model. Were they always? 'Since it has, um, blood in it.' Lilian rolls her head to stare down at Rita. The very slight degree she elevates it to prevent pulling her own hair is astonishingly automatic. "People are putting weird things in drinks all the time. Everyone jokes about that being a sign that connoisseurs are all crazy and full of themselves, but it's only weird because it hasn't caught on, right?" She is, clearly, on slightly too much to come up with something guardedly prim-supportive. "Like, I kind of guessed it'd be weird if it's your favourite? I've drank all sorts of weird and not very good things just because they were interesting. And every once in a while you get a nice one like this." 'So how can you say that?' Lilian first makes sure to finish feeding Rita a forkful of her own delicious dish. The creamy consistency, the savoury richness, and the light crunch, are fresh in her mind; something she shares on the air with Rita; blue-light that tastes of home cooking instead of iron. "Stress is just stress. It makes you unhealthy, but you don't really . . . think about it, consciously, after a while. It just turns into, like being a little sick." she says. "Having your heart broken is different. Mine just cracks. I never really get close enough to anyone for it to shatter, and it happens all the time anyways. Your heart is a lot bigger and a lot heavier than mine."
Lilian Rook	Lilian can't help but glimpse the tentacle-- §She's always so reluctant to use those. I suppose I might be if what I did weren't invisible to everyone else. Still, it's not as if those are the worst thing to summon. They're sort of pretty compared to-- Wait, I mixed it up again. She doesn't summon them, she . . . no, it wasn't growing them. That'd be sort of offputting. Aren't they just sort of attached and-- Ah . . . Right.§ --out of the corner of her eye. The lingering look has only a second to be misinterpreted, before she, slowly and hesitantly, uncrosses one leg, pulls the pin from the back of her hair to let it fall loose, and slams back half the tall glass in one go. She holds up one finger as a pause gesture, while she gulp, gulp, gulps back enough to spike her BAC, and then puts the glass back down with emphatic force just shy of what would actually damage it. The noise she makes where she leans back into the couch is something close to relief, like she'd been excruciatingly thirsty before even getting here. Then her indelicate impatience escalates to the point of leaning her head into the back cushion and putting her fingers to the side of her neck, producing the faintest churning hum and sparks. Her face flushes as the drink starts hitting right away and all at once. Exhaustion overriding how hard she's trying, Lilian hits a jaw-cracking yawn (when has anyone seen one of those, actually?) and Rita is one-sidedly enlightened that Lilian's avatar teeth in Bladecraft are actually accurate to model. Were they always? 'Since it has, um, blood in it.' Lilian rolls her head to stare down at Rita. The very slight degree she elevates it to prevent pulling her own hair is astonishingly automatic. "People are putting weird things in drinks all the time. Everyone jokes about that being a sign that connoisseurs are all crazy and full of themselves, but it's only weird because it hasn't caught on, right?" She is, clearly, on slightly too much to come up with something guardedly prim-supportive. "Like, I kind of guessed it'd be weird if it's your favourite? I've drank all sorts of weird and not very good things just because they were interesting. And every once in a while you get a nice one like this." 'So how can you say that?' Lilian first makes sure to finish feeding Rita a forkful of her own delicious dish. The creamy consistency, the savoury richness, and the light crunch, are fresh in her mind; something she shares on the air with Rita; blue-light that tastes of home cooking instead of iron. "Stress is just stress. It makes you unhealthy, but you don't really . . . think about it, consciously, after a while. It just turns into, like being a little sick." she says. "Having your heart broken is different. Mine just cracks. I never really get close enough to anyone for it to shatter, and it happens all the time anyways. Your heart is a lot bigger and a lot heavier than mine."
Rita Ma	Rita wiggles against Lilian's side and closed-mouth giggles after taking her forkful of macaroni. "Mmmm! Mmm-hmm." She smiles right after, a real big one that shows her teeth in solidarity with Lilian's, and the warmth in it could even make that desolation of triangles look cute. (These are not the kind of teeth Petra could write fanfics about spilling blood under the moonlight. They roll for damage with one of those fancy dice you don't get to use often. That Russian guardsman would have shot her.) "Just hasn't caught on yet," she repeats, looping an arm behind Lilian's waist to hug her back. "I guess you're right. Even if I don't taste the same thing from it that most people do, it's still people food. A food that people eat," she corrects, not quite redundant. "That always feels... nice. It's why I like sushi. Part of why I like that magic thing you do." Her eyes keep sliding back to that plate in her lap whenever they have nothing else to focus on. The sandwich is half-finished. I want to make it last. To drag this out. When I finish it, I'll start wondering what she tastes like again, but like this it's halfway normal. Once Lilian's wrapping up the macaroni, Rita carefully turns sideways on the couch, presumptuously resting her upper back and head on Lilian's lap while keeping her plate in her own. "I don't know if I can take credit for being heartbroken, Ms. Rook," she murmurs, her eyes drifting shut in the cozy position. It's practically an invitation to rub her head. "Now that I think about it, it's hard for me to say how close we really were. Isn't that strange? She was just..." "... kind to me. In a way most people never get a chance to be. And most of the people left over aren't brave enough to." "But I don't really want to talk about that. Working makes me feel better. And being with you makes me feel better, too. Like everything's okay, somehow, because you've been there too." Rita opens her eyes and breathes out with a dreamy expression. Her hair reaches up and coils loosely around Lilian's arm. "Um, Ms. Rook? Is it okay if I...? It's okay if it's not," she murmurs shyly.
Lilian Rook	'it's still people food' "Food meant for peo-- haha." Lilian starts in synchrony with Rita, and looks relieved when she can laugh. "Yeah. It does feel nice. Not just . . . doing normal things, when you know you're not normal but . . ." Lilian breathes in deeply, staring off at the far end of the pool for moments. "When something normal brings you pleasure in a normal way, when you know that abnormal things bring you pleasure that isn't normal." Her eyes wander down at Rita. She brings her glass to her lips. A little tipsy, she thinks- §Oh. That's what I was thinking of. 'Shark teeth'. Like from the anime those girls watch. Haha. That was bugging me so much. Gosh those are a lot. I think I'd be scared to put my fingers too close. But it's really cute when she smiles like that. Maybe that's the appeal? The 'charm point', hahaha.§ 'Isn't that strange? She was just...' Lilian's fingernails scratch lazily against Rita's scalp. Her fingers gently part her hair to stroke without resistance. She can't quite tell whether she's fallen into the motions of petting a cat or a dog. "I had something like that once." Lilian says, after a while. "Not, that it, went away forever. But just . . . There was a window, where I needed that and then had a little bit of it, and then the window closed." She looks fondly down at Rita in her lap, then a little remorsefully. "The way she was kind to you. She didn't want to know, right? She was kind in a way that people who don't know you at all can't be, but people who know you pretty well just won't be, wasn't she? And a kind where the people brave enough to stick around you can't usually give, because they stick around, like, because they know and they figured out how they think about it and picked out a special approach for you." She laughs, awkwardly. "Actually, maybe I'm just being too eager to relate. It's probably not the same." 'But I don't really want to talk about that.' "Sorry, Rita." 'Working makes me feel better.' "I'm sorry." 'And being with you makes me feel better, too.' "Hhhuh? "'Like everything's okay, somehow, because you've been there too.' ". . ." 'Um, Ms. Rook? Is it okay if I...?' "Ah, I guess?" says Lilian, absentmindedly. "As long as I can keep drinking." She's already going through her dinner pretty fast. Forkfuls disappear on their own here and there. It's unclear whether she even knows what Rita's asking. She's really quite busy thinking. It takes her a minute and a motion from Rita for her to focus enough to say- "I really wonder if there are any people like that left for me. Or if any even exist. People who'd still like me if they knew . . . more. Not about, that thing, but, I mean . . . I've kind of just kept it up longer. 'Don't ask and I won't show you. Ask and I'll tell you I don't want to risk our friendship.' Not that anybody asked. Hah."
Rita Ma	Rita isn't the kind of person to get incapacitated by head scratches, but she does enjoy them. Lilian can feel her crane her neck into them, hear the little giddy giggle bubble up. "You're the best, Ms. Rook," she says, with a pleasantly misty look in her eyes. "Please don't say sorry. You're not just here for yourself, you know. You're here for me, too." "Someone who can treat you like you're normal. Instead of someone who can treat you like you're weird, or who can treat you like you're Lilian Rook. Yeah. I think it is the same." Rita takes another sip from her drink before setting it down on Lilian's side of the tray, now just close enough. "She could treat me like I'm normal. And you have to treat me like I'm Rita. But..." She starts to come apart, slowly and gracefully enough that Lilian just might miss it in her peripheral vision. Strips of her maid outfit stop being clothes and strips of her skin stop being skin. Underneath is a slightly paler tone, for recent lack of sun, with subtle dark veins underneath; and where the maid outfit was, her collarbone fades into that gossamer-delicate blue 'dress', becoming a skirt of lappets and fins even further down. Lilian's seen it before, and nearly this close, but not in pleasant circumstances. All the tentacles that used to be her disguise are winding around Lilian's arms and back and legs, cool and soft in a way that flirts with ancient reflexes, softer than anything with bones could be. Like a tongue, but gentler and more precise for being stronger, and only 'smooth', not 'wet'. But they're all only to hug, and they don't restrain her movement, beyond maybe coaxing out a shudder. "... I like the way you treat 'Rita', Ms. Rook. I'm okay not being normal for you. And it makes me glad that you are, too." And when, for just a moment, intrusive thoughts gather and Rita's eyes drift down to Lilian's neck, all she has to do is sneak another bite of her sandwich to banish them, and scratch the top of Lilian's head with a tentacle, and all is well.
Lilian Rook	'Please don't say sorry.' "Okay." says Lilian, far more lame than her usual. "Well, I really came here just for you, hah." she adds. "So I should extra stop being a pain." 'Yeah. I think it is the same.' Lilian utters a microscopic sigh of relief, and downs the rest of her glass as if it cost her to do so. 'She could treat me like I'm normal. And you have to treat me like I'm Rita. But...' Lilian's breath stops. Her chest doesn't catch, but goes completely still. This is completely different than that time on the island. It's different seeing it neither too fast nor stopped still, but in smooth and excruciatingly bare detail. A sharp gasp slips into her half-full lungs when the tentacles begin winding around her. A tense shiver passes under her skin, radiating out from their touches. Her grip on the glass remains placidly loose. Her knees squeeze together. A few seconds later, Lilian shifts her arm a little tighter about Rita's waist, then leans her cheek on her head. "Didn't I say something about this once? Something really pretty and cute, about how people beautiful on the inside turn weird in beautiful ways? Mhmhm~" The glass floats itself out of her hand, cast gently back to the table with the weight of a playing card; a flicker of a hand's silhouette. 'all she has to do is sneak another bite of her sandwich to banish them' Lilian gives Rita a long, strange look. It's sustained for longer than she normally holds any stare in particular. Perhaps forgetting to conceal its duration. Perhaps . . . "You're making me want to try that now. Hah. Ever since . . . that whole thing, I've sort of gained an appreciation for rare. Or, maybe you're just making me wish I knew how to cook? But then it's not like I'd ever be able to bring it to you, and that'd be cancelling out the thing you like doing for other people." ". . ." "I didn't ever want to say it before but . . . Tell me if it gets unbearable, okay? Just for a little while. I think it's wonderful, that you can be Rita, and no one else. But you don't have to take every little bit and piece of the thing you became, okay? Not even Rita needs to be exactly like Rita. Just like I don't have to be everything Lilian Rook is supposed to be." Lilian laughs yet again. It's so easy, now, tired and tipsy and in Rita's comforting company. "But maybe don't become too different, okay? I'll get lonely. And I'd feel really bad if you . . . figured out your whole thing, and got there first, before I ever even got as far as . . ." There's nothing else in her glass, so Lilian has to content herself with the psychological benefit of slugging ice water to pad her thoughts, and force her to catch her breath again. "Hey. If, one day, you see me like this too; with no layers in the way; then . . . I wouldn't blame you, but please don't hate me, okay? Because I want to keep being here for Rita, whether I should or shouldn't."
Rita Ma	"But I like being this Rita," she says, in a slightly drowsy voice herself. She's still had less than Lilian, but by now it's clear what kind of a drunk Rita must be. "I wished to be like this, sort of, just not forever. I just... hate that I like it. And I hate what comes with it. Doesn't that make sense?" It's not enough just to touch with her other limbs. Rita is greedy. She reaches up with her free hand to stroke Lilian's cheek, too. "There's already parts of it that I'm choosing not to be, though. And if I find any more... I promise." Every now and then, the tentacles embracing Lilian have sharp edges and sharp points. It's a bistable configuration: with half a thought they snap to become like swords. But the edges never hurt her, even if sometimes they scrape just like fingernails. It's just another thing to prickle those deep-rooted survival nerves. "I feel like you're the one who's going to figure everything out first. I want something impossible. To be loved while being like this. And maybe you do too, but... it's the kind of impossible that's possible for you, right?" A little laugh bubbles up from deep inside her. Her thumb caresses Lilian's cheek while she tilts her head back to make eye contact again. "Ms. Rook with nothing in the way... I can almost see it. It'd be a little bit like Ms. Serenity, wouldn't it? But with more of the things that make you special, as the Lilian you chose to be. Of course I couldn't hate that, Ms. Rook. Don't be silly." Finally, after a restful head-to-chest moment and another sip from her drink (held entirely in a tentacle this time), her guilty thoughts about the sandwich finish percolating. "If you really want it, you can have a little, Ms. Rook." Hesitantly, she lifts the plate. She has to know, right? She said she couldn't make it for me. But I have to make sure. Shyly, Rita murmurs: "But... it's people food. Is that okay?" She didn't want to know about what happened to the Don in Mr. Candy's world. Is it still like that? Maybe she'll hate it. Maybe she'll leave. Maybe--
Lilian Rook	'But I like being this Rita' "That's good." Lilian half-mumbles. "That makes me feel a little less worried." Another yawn; smaller this time. "You're a lot less of the scared and overwhelmed girl from back then, on the train. I should catch up; I feel like an out of touch mother now." She smiles, distractedly, into the hand on her cheek. "Thank you, Rita." The touch of blades on her skin is familiar, but unpleasant. It's rare that Lilian is ever kissed by a sharp edge, even in combat, but her long months of training with Scáthach had done much to disabuse her of the fear of the unknown, and the easily forgotten knowledge that she will have to return one day keeps it from every quite being too far. It's enough to quicken the pulse and to raise the fine hairs, but not enough to fill her with trepidation. She knows what it would be like even if Rita cut her; and she knows that she won't. Sooner or later, it becomes just one more sensation of Rita's embrace, like a cat kneading with its claws through her clothes. 'it's the kind of impossible that's possible for you, right?' "I really, really don't know." Lilian sighs. "Aren't I . . . spending every day, trying to be something else? Something more lovable? Because it'd be impossible to love what I was. And it'd still be impossible to love what I am beneath the layers of better things I've built up. Some days I think I have enough, ah, tree rings, that I'd survive if someone chopped down to the rotten core. But most days I don't think there's enough to love yet, to make up for the thing underneath." 'It'd be a little bit like Ms. Serenity, wouldn't it? But with more of the things that make you special, as the Lilian you chose to be.' Lilian smiles with so much hurt it looks as if she could cry. Like she might. "Do you remember what I said, when I tried to explain? I said that the other thing that's part of you wants to do things to . . . bodies. And the other thing that's part of me wants to . . . do things to 'minds'. Yours is easier to get. You make use of it, because it's useful, and you figured out how to own it and make it behave, mostly. And people forgive you for it, because it's not really your fault. Not to them." "Mine, the thing wrong with me, rotten right down to my cells, is harder for people to get. I hide it a lot more. Strenuously? Fastidiously. Because it's not useful. I can't master it and . . . have power. Not good power. It's only bad. I think I only want to cut it out. Whenever I let it work, I feel horrible after. Whenever I use it, I do things and it carries me through and it's so much easier, and then wish I hadn't." Lilian breathes out slowly, and the shudder is very much unrelated to Rita's affectionately alien touch. "You said, not long ago, that people are as scared of me as they should be of you, and forgive you like they should forgive me. And I think that's almost true. It's a little fucked up, right? Because they don't know. They hate me and get scared for trivial things, and forgive you for really gruesome and violent things. But it'd be normal, it'd make sense, if they knew any more about me." "Because having tentacles and eating weird things, because some really unfair things happened to you, is more normal than . . . more . . . compared to . . ." "People can be forgiven easier if the bad things started with their body than their brain. People don't deserve as much hate for their actions hurting people than their thoughts being evil."
Lilian Rook	'But... it's people food. Is that okay?' "Just between you and me, there are things I don't want to know about because I don't want to stop them." Lilian says first, unprompted, but not really umpromted. Then, left to her own devices to answer, she wastes little time a musing hum before responding rather quickly. "No, not really. But nothing is okay right now. So I kind of hope I'm that far gone. It'd be . . ." Barely one full vocal beat passes. "It'd be relieving. It'd feel like it makes sense. After what I've just done. I'd love to know there's a lot that's off about me, instead of having no good reason."
Rita Ma	Oh. Rita slackens in Lilian's arms, her tentacles included. Some of them limply uncoil from around arms or legs. The sharp ones self-consciously revert to being harmless. She looks off towards the pool, her bittersweet smile wobbling. Ow. "Please don't say that," she says. "As a personal favor to me, I'd like you not to say that. That it's easier for me. That people understand it. Maybe it's true, and you can look inside my mind so maybe you'd know, and it really is easier, but-" Rita swallows with unusual difficulty. "But I've had to run away before. We met at all because I finally found a place to stay that didn't chase me away, Ms. Rook. If it's easier for me, and I'm still this messed up- I don't want to feel that pathetic right now." "And I never said they forgive me. Ask Ms. Remee. Ask Mr. Phreak." A tentacle picks up the sandwich plate and puts it back on the tray, on the far corner of Rita's side. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, depleted. "I don't want to make your problems seem small, either, Ms. Rook. But you can't say I'm strong, and then say it's easier for me, and then say you hope I finish second." I can't seem too upset. Then she'll beat herself up for hurting me, and I don't want to make this sad. It's supposed to comfort both of us. "But it won't be a relief. Not the good kind. I'm not going to let you add my problems to yours, Ms. Rook, even if they are light."
Lilian Rook	§Oh god no.§ "Rita-- Rita no. That's not what I-- Please Rita, that's not what I was saying." Of all things, Lilian visibly wilts as Rita's tentacles withdraw. She wants to reach out and hold one. She halfway does. "I was-- no, I was being-- on your behalf. They don't--" "They don't get it. They don't get how hard it is for you and they don't get how well I'm managing. I know you don't want people to worry about you and look after you, but I still think it's fucked up how-- they don't consider what it's like for you; they just deny that you-- they won't let you take responsibility for anything you do, because they don't want it to matter. And that's not fair. Because then it's just all in your head, right? You're forced to be the only one who feels about you like you should feel and that makes you feel lonely and crazy and--" §When did I start projecting this hard.§ "I'm sorry, Rita. But that's really not what I meant. I didn't want you to think that or feel that way." Lilian falls off limply, but only briefly. "I just . . . I guess I felt like you were forgiving me too easily." §I should really stop talking.§ "Like you were saying I was really nice and you liked me and we fit together. As if I could ever be as beautiful as you. As kind as you. Like we had the same amount of reason to be ashamed, when you should should be feeling less guilty than you are and I should be feeling a lot more. I just wanted to say . . ." "I'm really not like Serenity at all. She exists because I wanted to be her. Anything but this. Please don't think I'm that pretty on the inside. Don't forgive me for the really bad things because people are shitty to me for the little things. Just. If it ever happens. If you ever have to see. You're allowed to tell me I'm disgusting. You don't have to feel like we have to stick together. You don't have to feel like you're just like me. I just . . . don't hate me, please. I won't be able to take it if you really hate me for it." 'But it won't be a relief. Not the good kind. I'm not going to let you add my problems to yours, Ms. Rook,' Lilian stops to rub her face. "Ugh. I'm sorry. I'm just making it worse. I was just supposed to come over and cuddle and eat your wonderful food. And I somehow found a way to ruin that. You're right, you're right, I shouldn't treat it so-- I shouldn't be so stupid and self-destructive in front of you." She lets her hands down, moaning defeatedly. "Can we go back to that? I don't want to make it a waste. Can we just . . ." She runs her fingers over one loose tendril, tugging lightly. "I liked it, when you were being so nice to me."
Rita Ma	Rita sniffles softly and squirms in Lilian's lap. With her face turned away, it'd be hard to guess how she's feeling if Lilian couldn't cheat. Now I've made her comfort me over a misunderstanding. I really am the worst. ... No, that's an awful way to feel. She's holding out her hand to me, isn't she? It's the least I could do to take it. Rita listens for a while. Then her tentacles squeeeeze Lilian, not half as tight as they could but tight enough to feel like a deep tissue massage even for her, and she sits up to scoot over and straddle Lilian's lap while looking firmly into her eyes. "they won't let you take responsibility for anything you do, because they don't want it to matter." "Thank you, Ms. Rook. You get it... a lot better, than I even thought you did." Rita leans forward on her knees to plant a little kiss on Lilian's forehead, giggling feebly as she sits back down. "It's not..." She's smiling now, but her eyes still slide off to the side as she wracks her brains. Tipsiness hits her a little harder. "... not like I don't believe, there's ugly things in you. I know there are. At least as ugly as mine. It's just that, even if 'you with no layers' was awful..." "She'd still be the person who decided to be 'this' Lilian Rook, right?" Rita lays both her hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. "She'd still be the person who tried her hardest to be good. To be so kind to me. Even if everything else was bad, I think I'd still love that." Bubbling over into a guilty little laugh: "I loved Ms. Petra, didn't I?" Rita leans in just to rub her cheek against Lilian's, a soothing friction. "You haven't ruined anything. And you haven't wasted it. I promise, Ms. Rook." When she finally pulls away, a tentacle retrieves the half-eaten sandwich again and offers the plate up to Lilian. "If we could have something like this in common," she says, emboldened by her momentum, "I'd like that. It'd make me feel a little bit more normal. Just..." "Promise me you won't use it as a reason to hate yourself. Okay? And then you can have it."
Lilian Rook	'Thank you, Ms. Rook. You get it... a lot better, than I even thought you did.' Lilian tries to laugh, and all that comes out is a depressed little flutter of breath. "Should I say that I'm sorry for not letting you know already? Or for admitting it? I never really knew if it was something we were supposed to have talked about or something we supposed to pretended about." Lilian sighs. The words sort of spill out "It's true, though. They hate it when girls like us mean it. They need to believe we can't help it, or at least that we don't get it, and I can't stand that." 'She'd still be the person who decided to be 'this' Lilian Rook, right?' Another attempt at laughter fails; it turns into a cough, and then a rattling gasp, and the first syllable of something rough and choked. Lilian fights with herself for several seconds to meet Rita's eyes. "Then the same thing goes for you, silly. And you don't mess up nearly half as often as I do." Lilian lets her hands rise to Rita's waist, and no higher; not daring to be any closer. "But . . . You're . . . You're right. I can't-- I can't argue with that. I think that has to count for something, right? The things I wanted and tried and did have to count more than just what's inside." "I really, really hope everyone else can see that. I won't blame them if they don't. But you . . ." 'I loved Ms. Petra, didn't I?' "I think I sort of get why, now." says Lilian. "I . . . God, I really shouldn't have listened. To my 'friends'. I should have just done what I meant to from the start, because that's what she wanted too." Lilian's fingers curl into Rita's side, tense for the overwhelming effort of not digging in. "There were shitty things in her too, and she was trying to be her idea of 'Petra', and nobody let her. She didn't get to do anything, because everyone said it's what's inside that--" Lilian stops to breathe. She blinks, and water at her eyelashes disappears. "Sorry. Again. I'm just . . . scared. Of what people might find out about me. And what they might do to her." She trails off into a shuddering sigh where Rita rubs her cheek. "Y-yeah. Okay." Finally, a giggle comes out; if wet and heavy. "You're so cute. I lo-- appreciate this a lot, Rita."
Lilian Rook	'Promise me you won't use it as a reason to hate yourself. Okay? And then you can have it.' THOU SHALT NEVER HEED THE WORDS OF THAT WHICH HAS CONSUMED THE FLESH OF MAN In that moment of dread and aweful staring, Lilian thinks about a lot of things. She thinks of Rita, who has this profane object in the first place; she explores the old reaches of her heart for that familiar disgust, that contempt, that pearl-gripping exclusionary bullshit, like I can't chance sinking any lower, and finds nothing? She thinks of Xion, whose very existence is predicated on the swallowing of another life and mind. Nothing. She thinks of Carpathia, and her aides in obliterating the human form; and accomplices in erasing a child who deserved better. Nothing at all. She thinks of BB, and everything about the Moon Cell. A little, but the heart-to-heart is brighter in her mind. She thinks of Hiromi, and the fact she understands 'man' as nothing but humans. Somehow she even needs her now. She thinks of Tamamo; she'd always known it was possible, and she'd tried very very hard not to even consider it, and now she finds that she couldn't possibly care. Remee. Scorn and unease. Ishiguri. Blistering resentment and fear. BOB. Pure revulsion. Jaques. Contemptuous indignity. John. Confusion that it feels the same. Leblanc. Glad I let Rita kill him. Indus. Far worse; blinding. Vile. All of them, beyond redemption. The Refulgence. Cooler, but still similar. Churning unease and malaise. Why? Lobotomy Corporation. That one-- How could he? To her? To all of them? How could he? Whoever the fuck is running Bladecraft. Why does it feel like this all the time I'm there? MI6. Why does it feel like this? Why why why? CIA Langley. I can't! I can't I can't I can't-- Matthew Rook. Oh. Lilian grips the pendant at her throat. The letters carved in miniature shine through steel and flesh alike. The dedication of Death to those who have wronged my People. "Yeah." Lilian says. "I think I can promise that." Something passes through Lilian's mind when she haltingly takes a corner of the sandwich with her teeth, and recalls all the little things that had changed since then. The new sweetness of meat and blood, the sincere abandon of wine and not grapes; the dazzling high of sick and twisted art, and her conversing in ways nobody else can. The way it feels; the violence and the sex and the bare-hearted words; the dizzying freedom to take and the terrifying thrill of new kinds of love, all crackling at the borders of where she ends and everything else begins. All of it was inherited with the Lady and Black, the steel in my skin, and the end of those dreams, when she had consumed her own shape. She thinks about Herself. The feelings that come from thinking the thought of Exigent Serenity. What that way to be would consume. Already has consumed. Teetering on the edge of something impossible, unthinkable, completely terrifying to consider, Lilian thinks If I get to be one of the girls that decide what 'mankind' is from now; If I can finally design the New Flesh, then . . .
Lilian Rook	"Fuck. They lied to me." Lilian says, not half a second after swallowing. "It doesn't taste even a little bit like pork." Her fingers shake very lightly, where her lips quickly remove the sauce. "It's like . . . like that huge hit of dopamine when you chase that bad salt craving. That's kind of fucked, hahaha." Lilian hands the plate back to Rita. "I think I kind of liked the drink better though. It's better without chewing."