Building one, room 57, Bouliar prefecture
Lalah's dorm
Maybe an hour later.
♫ Leonard Cohen -
Suzanne
A tall figure lingered in the doorway of Lalah’s apartment, locking the door behind herself. She was quite tall with thin pinkish skin and thick features. Eyes moved beneath their lids involuntarily, making her dark eyelashes sway as she clicked her tongue twice. From long black straight hair in hime-styling branched a pair of thick tall triangular bat-like ears beginning where Lorath ears would and ending somewhere high over her crown: each open, about the same size of her face, seeming two sizes too big for her. The dark hair fluffed up into a thick mane about her shoulders. Those ears explored the room, tilting as if they were her eyes. She clicked her tongue again, calmly striding into the room. She folded a retractible cane that she put into her pocket, making the sound every few seconds before pausing.
“Lalah? Is that you?”
“Sssshhh. I told you not to call me that. Its La’al. Not Lah-Lah. Why do you do that with everyone’s names?” she grimaced. “Its very… Yamataian. The Nepleslians even have a word for people who emulate Yamataians; weeaboo.”
The figure smiled noting the sleeping body next to her. Now seen, she moved with a strange callousness — an ease she couldn’t otherwise. Almost running despite not using her own eyes. She only had to pause upon reaching the refridgerator, the one place Lalah’s eyes didn’t carry, obscured by a wall. Here, she felt - flicking her fingernail against various containers and listening for the sound they made. She eventually took a glass of malt whisky from the refridgerator door - sliding it shut with her foot — and then felt along the cabinets. She counted four along and four levels up, reaching for a glass which she set down before closing the cabinet door — then reached into the fridge again into the cold - withdrawing a tray of ice. She twisted it before setting it back inside, picking up and dropping several cubes into the tumbler. Then she set her thumb slightly into the glass and began pouring, stopping when she felt the whisky near the top. She then took the glass, returning to the living-room. Seen again, she moved with the ease she’d lost moments ago, sitting aside Lalah with a big cheeky smile — the glass balanced in her fingertips.
“So! Who’s your friend there?” the figure said, pressing her palm briefly to the sleeping construct’s face, feeling her features. “She’s very cute..” She whispered, hand returning to her glass as she took a shy and seemingly demure sip.
“Seira Isabala. Though, male pronouns in a private space.”
“Isbala… Mmmm? That’s Su-Su’s lapdog, isn’t it?”
“Tsu-Tsu… You mean Aiesu.”
“Mmm. But that thing, next to you. Seira. Seiren. Is a construct.”
Lalah slowly glanced down at Seiren. She’d been laughing, joking and even shared a shower with him. The thought that he might be hadn’t occurred to her, not even once.
“I didn’t expect them to be so realistic.” Lalah grimaced. “I thought the tall dark skinned one was.”
“Tall and dark skin?”
“Mm. With the white haired man, with the glasses.”
“Oh~ You mean Su-Su brought her consultant? This is just perfect.” The figure cackled quietly, glancing skyward. “Thank-you Ty.”
She watched the way Lalah stared at Seiren’s sleeping body - paying special attention to the way his chest rose and fell and the faint sound of his voice.
“You look betrayed” she eventually said, taking a sip.
“Well” Lalah began, wearily watching her friend down a pair of pills with another drink.
“It isn’t a person, is it? And I didn’t even know? How do I know you’re not a construct?”
There was a silence before the figure smiled. “Simple.” Her smile became wider. “You don’t.”
“That’s reassuring” Lalah said, screwing up her features. This would be an interesting night.
“Do you really need to take those, now?”
“No. But I want to. And just because its a construct doesn’t make it any less of a person.”
“Even so, its artificial. It doesn’t have feelings. It just pretends to.”
“Your brain computes your action so does…?” the figure paused, waiting for Lalah to fill the void - snapping her fingers for prompt. “Uh…”
“His.”
“You’re sure that’s a boy?”
Lalah said nothing.
“Okay, you I understand. You’re Lorath. But …”
“Its not like he’s Nepleslian.”
“Point.”
She took another sip before offering it to Lalah. Lalah cleared her throat and soon the figure had to correct her posture - having been aiming the drink in a different direction. Lalah extended her hand, taking a slow sip before deciding the drink was a bit strong. Even so, she went back for another sip, eyeing the brown liquid suspiciously — thinking it might alleviate her headache.
“Hair of the dog?” the figure grinned. “… Did the two of you… elope?”
Lalah gagged.
“That’s a yes.”
“I did no such thing!”
Lalah felt a pair of hands settle on her shoulder.
“Oh?”
The figure leant closer — nose up against Lalah’s neck now. Lalah shrunk in her seat, squirming as she heard the figure scent her.
“Even under all that fragrance and camouflage, the smell of a man is unmistakable — Nepleslian, no less. . . And from the way you’re moving, sitting, squirming~… My precious little Lalah isn’t a virgin anymore, is she?”
“When you do that, its creepy, Arlyle. Really really creepy.”
“Do what now?” she smiled broadly, now sat in Lalah’s lap. She soon wrapped her arms about the Lmanel’s neck, pressing her dark forehead up against her collar-bone, burying Lalah’s head against her body. Her smile grew. Arlyle lavished moments like this.
“Know things I haven’t told you. Things I wouldn’t ever tell you.” A muffled voice came back, lifting her head out and gasping for air.
“Its called deduction, dear.” Arlyle’s smile sharpened into a sly grin speaking only in half-truths now, becoming haughty now, though relaxed as her eyes narrowed. “Was it Mr. Consultant? He has an intense appetite and you … Are his type.”
“No?”
“It was, wasn’t it? Though, I’ll work it out on my own if I have to.”
“The woman.” Lalah blurted. “But her man wanted me first. I could feel his eyes.”
Arlyle began running her fingernails through Lalah’s hair, shushing her.
“Among other things, I’m sure. Was it nice?”
She could feel Lalah turning her head, trying to evade the question.
“I said ‘Was it nice’?”
Nothing.
Arlyle shrugged slowly, running her index finger along Lalah’s cheek before rolling off to sit next to her - reaching to snatch her drink back with a cheeky smile. Lalah could be stubborn and there was no way to get an answer out of her when she was. It was just her nature.
“Alright. Change of topic. What’s your first impression of Su-Su?” she said, taking a sip.
“Nnn.. You’re talking about…” Lalah squirmed again in her seat, feeling something out of place. She stretched her arms up over her head, dark thighs squeezing together as she yawned before slipping her hands into her pocket. “The Lmanel again?”
“Mm.”
“In person?”
“Correct.”
“Well… She’s… Small. Frail. Child-like. Angry. Very angry. Withdrawn. I don’t think she wanted to be there. She was especially pitiable. If I told her that I pitied her, she probably would have gone nuclear.” Lalah said again, already reaching to her mouth to yawn.
“In what way?”
“Her aspectation.”
“Ah, her legs?”
“No, not quite.
“Huuh… You didn’t notice the—“
“OF COURE I NOTICED, ITS JUST RUDE TO —“
“Alright, alright. Could you explain then? The aspectation.”
Lalah stared back at Arlyle.
“I would have thought its obvious. You’re L’manel, aren’t you? You’re even aspected, and at such a young age…”
“I’m not near as young as I look. And humour me; pretend for a moment that I’m a foreigner with no understanding in such matters.”
“Al…right…” Lalah grimaced. “Its a bad aspectation.”
“That she screwed it up?”
“No.”
“A dangerous aspectation?”
“Sort of.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Well, other than the mistakes… A shark is one of the hardest aspectation to live with. The fatality rates are very high. There’s a famous story that—“
Arlyle filled Lalah’s vision now, that smile back.
“I love your stories” Arlyle purred, pressing her forehead against Lalah’s.
“A-Ah…” Lalah felt herself tremble, her hands reaching.
“Tell me a story?”
“I’ve… Got work in the morning.”
“Tell mee…”
So bratty.
“If I tell you, will you be … Less …”
“Annoying. Mischievous? Facetious? Horn—“
“Yes” Lalah butted in, feeling Arlyle’s breath against her lips - hands on her shoulders easing her back. “That last one especially.”
“Pfft. You’re no fun. But alright.”
Despite her promise, Arlyle hadn’t moved.
“Ar. Personal space?”
“Ah, ah~” she smiled. “When I sit this close, its like looking in a mirror” she said, slowly backing off. Eventually she laid over the L shaped couch on the opposite half from Seiren, head resting in Lalah’s lap. “So about aspectation?”
“Right. Like I said, fatalities are high but… It has one of the hardest natures to coexist with.”
“Natures?”
“Mmm. Every aspectation brings some base instinctive behaviors that taint or pollute whatever base personality you have. For example, if someone who’s very distrustful and disloyal aspects for say… A dog, they’re a lot less distrustful and disloyal afterward whether they want to be or not. It just becomes part of their nature. Their way of being.”
“Huh… So aspectation is like… Knowing the boundary between what’s you and what’s it?”
“Mm, close. Its like sailing the winds. You take what advantages you get and work with them instead of against them. It can help you travel and discover yourself and better you.”
“And Su-Su’s?”
“If you’re not careful, the nature you took on can take you on and devour you whole, changing you completely as a person. A shark is one of the hardest to live with. The most intense storm to sail through. One of the last completely successful aspectation of a shark was about... Six thousand years ago. Well, the books and say six. But some scholars think its actually closer to about seven thousand, so do most oral accounts. Long before the exile. A mother of three, described as cheery. When her children left home, she aspected as a hobby, trying lots of different things and became very apt. Within six weeks of aspecting like a shark, she felt what’s called the blood calling.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, most predatory animals have instinctive drives to hunt. If they go unsatisfied or suppressed — like the medication I take for my venom glands and the fact I have to have my fangs removed every other month because they’ve grown back. And I meditate, for the aggression and the urges. Its all horribly depressing.”
“Then why do it?”
“Well, those with predatory aspectation tend to be given incredible drive and an openness you wouldn’t normally have, since you feel the need to know where you stand with others so you know if they’re a threat or not, or even potential prey. You become very observant. If you’re poorly motivated, depressed or very reserved, its seen as a good solution, since your personality and the nature balance out into a sort of equilibrium.”
“This explains a lot.”
“Very funny.”
“So what happened to her?”
“Well… She was convicted of three murders and was sentenced to penal drafting for six years as a heavy gunman.”
“Three children, three murders.”
“Yes.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“She became one of the first gunmen, actually. See, our military was — and still is — mostly made up of Fyunnen. Well, what would become Fyunnen. See, they didn't have castes back then, but the shift had already started. We were becoming polarized. Like how Nepleslians have different races... For the sake of the story though, I'll put the modern caste labels where they belong, just remember, its not quite accurate. Anyway, early, unscrupulous, Fyunnen viewed guns as a way of declaring an opening to a duel. You point and click at someone and the flash and the point is like asking someone to fight. If they want to fight, they do it back. The rounds almost never hit so then you pulled out your blades, dropped your gun and charged through the smoke at each other. They were less like soldiers and more like warriors, and only the best trained moved as a cohesive force as soldiers. But to carry only a gun was viewed as suicide, so she wasn’t expected to survive since guns were really inaccurate.”
“Huh… What happened?”
“Her platoon leader was killed, so she assumed a command position and saved her platoon in odds she shouldn’t have survived. It happened several times and eventually they let her, a commoner, keep her position as commander which was unheard of at the time.”
Arlyle nodded, taking a sip from her drink.
“She basically changed the face of war and refused to die. Eventually, sick of the ridicule she received from her higher-ups — ‘Destroyer of her own men’, since she insisted her troops not use or carry blades, she commissioned an Occhestian — a foreigner at the time — to design new guns. She complained that the weapons they were given weren’t accurate, took too long to reload and were basically useless — since Fyunnen saw them as little more than a novelty and didn’t want them to become more. The Occhestian at the time was involved in building cannons for navies overseas and designed her a gun that could shoot straight and didn’t jam. The result was what Nepleslians call “Bolto Actianu Raifu”
“Bolt action rifle” Arlyle suggested. Another sip.
“Right. The barrel was also made longer and the round itself redesigned, with a water-proof wax-paper infusion that evaporated when shot.”
“Caseless?”
“Mm. They also absorbed the smell of gunpowder.”
“How sneaky.”
“It gets better; The uniform was also redesigned. It was pitch black, to blend in well at night and for psychological purposes since all uniforms of the time were brightly colored and ornate. Hers were black with gray trim. Every world has its stories of death. Kind of intimidating. All soldiers also carried a thin loose waxy garment — a poncho as you’d call it, with a hood. It was colored after the environment and easily tucked away.”
“Camouflage!”
“Deniable camouflage. It also kept the sun off them in summer. It buttoned shut in the winter, trapping air to keep it warm. And the waxy exterior was hydrophobic, so they didn’t get wet. And a second cowl was made for the gun, too, to keep it working in all weather.”
“Clever. We didn’t start doing this until about three thousand years ago, well, give or take, we think.”
“We being Nepleslia? There were also special boots developed, to be water-proof and to be resilient. They didn’t look as pretty or as ornate but they had a grip pattern underneath, they were lighter and metal toecaps were added. Crazy durable.”
“Huh.”
“See, traditionally, we march to war in bright colors so each side can be clearly identified. They marched in neat stacked rows called formations. Formations met each other. They held a line. When a line was broken, usually the formation was broken. Rhoi refused to march in platoons to meet each other honorably and discarded the rules of engagement entirely.”
“Oh?”
“Mm. See, the enemy assumed that because her troops hid, they were small in number, cowards or undisciplined. A non-threat. So they’d be cocky and careless. By not exposing herself to the dangers of close combat and having the accuracy advantage, she surrounded opponents from great distances and waited for everyone to pick a target independently. When she wanted them to take the shot, she whistled. Reloading took a long time so they had to get it right the first time and they had to be disciplined.”
“So … Basically she envisioned modern warfare, instead of ranks?”
“Basically. Fyunnen hated the impersonal nature of it, so her unit mostly consisted of fellow Lmanel and the odd Fyunnen sympathizer who agreed that survival came before honor. Most thought Rhoi was a coward though, that because she hadn’t come from an affluent family, she hadn’t had chivalry drummed into her as a child. That she was common, dirty and a cheater.”
“Oh wow.”
“Her combat record though, would change things. Fyunnen were outraged by her cockiness and aggression. How effortlessly the 405th heavy gunners, took the placements and encampments that the Fyunnen had struggled with for years. All because of her pragmatism. Its one of the reasons there’s still problems and resentment between Lmanel and Fyunnen soldiers domestically.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Fyunnen blamed us for taking the honor, valor and chivalry out of war.”
“Hum…”
“During the 405th’s 4th campaign, she had the guns redesigned again by the same contractor. They were unable to breach enemy lines so she called a retreat. The enemy had heard word of her style of combat and had prepared by flattening the land and salting the earth so there was no vegetation to hide behind. Everyone assumed her career was over and that she was a cheater.”
“What did she do?”
“Well, when everyone assumed she was drinking her sorrows and burning nights with duqs in whorehouses, she met with the same designer and brought back a foreign weapon that you’d describe as a revolver. Inspired by it, she had rotating magazines fitted to the guns that were carried by her troops. Eight shots and she had a second barrel added: One for the caliber of the ammunition they were issued with and one for the ammunition the enemy was issued with. It was actually pretty clever. What this meant was that domestically, she could make eight shots to one of anyone else. Less time was spent reloading so her forces were more mobile: Just remove the revolver and stick in another, like a magazine and you’ve got another sight shots instantly. Three revolvers and a pouch-bag full of bullets”
“Huh.”
“Even smarter, whenever she was abroad, she had the weapons retooled to use whatever ammunition was popular with the enemy. Sometimes, they carried two or three barrel types on the same weapon, swapping as and when needed. So she wasn’t dependent on her own supply-line, taking whatever she could from the enemy and using it against them. She also taught her troops to read and speak the language of whatever nation they were in.”
“Clever.”
“Mm. Later, she had a telescope fitted to the guns and the barrels lengthened and taught her troops how to align the sights to strike from a distance. Money she could have spent on estates she poured into the development of her platoon, who were her life. Eventually toward the end, the rifle resembled what you call a zweihander — a kind of sword you hold with two hands: one on the handle, one along the blade, so you could grapple with an opponent and get better leverage, with a metal gauntlet over your left hand, which they also had. It was great for breaking the formations of pikemen which were still used: without needing horseback, the blade was whirled in a figure of eight and slowly advanced through ranks of a formation. Eventually, they’d lose their nerve and scatter. It was also great in a duel, since like I said, you’ve got better leverage in a grapple or a clash making up for the inferior strength of a Lmanel against a Fyunnen — and the way its held mean you could hold the blade with your left hand and stab with the right, like a pike or a lance, making it ideal against armored opponents.”
“So a jack of all trades, then?”
“Mmm, a real work of art. This meant they didn’t need to carry separate swords and the more expensive materials used could withstand epic punishment, which she paid for, instead of lavishing some estate with gardens and decoration she’d never see like other captains and commanders did. Her troops wore armor down their left sides and on their shoulders so they could still carry their guns; it served as a counter-balance for the weapon and served as protection for faces when they turned to face the opponent and they also wore chainmail — to minimize their frontal profile. Nicknames were printed on them, so individual soldiers could be addressed, rather than just the group.”
“That’s really strange… Even Yamatai only blends weapons like that recently.”
“Mmm. It meant they only needed to carry one weapon. Their only side-arm was whatever they took from the enemy. Later, they even got stock magazines; firing from the second barrel, so they had two triggers on the weapon; one a long-range shot and one like what you call a shotgun. Even a hundred years later, people were still using weapons based on these. Elite soldiers called land-knights who wore custom armor based on her designs would be contracted who’d serve to break enemy ranks used these same techniques and studied Rhoi’s writing vigorously. Despite their name, Land-Knights were especially popular during the golden age of the sky, but I’ll get to that later.”
“That’s… Wasn’t this heavy or fragile?”
“Like I said, she poured all of her money into R&D and contracted arms designers from many nations to improve on the design over time. By the end of the conflict, the gun literally did almost everything.”
“Weird. What happened next?”
“After her 5th campaign, she requested 500 soldiers — an additional five platoons — and the money to arm and train them, to take down the Wall of Umbrage — a Helashio fortification abroad, thought to be impossible to take. Five or six attempts had been made, numbering upward of 10,000 men — and had failed every time. It was a suicide run. Sick of a cocky commoner in a position of command, they let her do it, expecting her not to bring anyone back.”
“What happened?”
“She took umbrage inside a week. Two weeks later, she held Arkans. Two months later and she had broken their backs, breaking their supply-lines and had control of government and major infrastructure. Though she didn’t have the means to do anything but hold the position, she had an entire nation at her knees.”
“Wow.”
“Mmm. War hadn’t changed for Fyunnen in maybe two or three thousand years. Innovation at the time had all been poured into the navy, not the army. She’s also the first to use explosives and demolition tactics against fortified targets on land in this way, I think?”
“You’re really gushing, you know?”
“Well, she was a genius. She valued intelligence and kept her ear to the ground. She also valued equipment and survival. And unlike other field commanders, she lead from the front, not the rear. She was key in the vanguard of any attack.”
“I won’t lie, she’s bad-ass. What next?
“Well, she assumed political power in Huans, the capitol of this very continent and begun amassing forces. One by one, she took control of surrounding countries over the next four decades or so. The old blood who were pushed out of the military as it developed with her now took control of the banks. They misreported that she was amassing forces to strike the crown on domestic soil and that she’d fallen to the call of Arkans. The estate she’d owned and resources she’d amassed were promptly dissolved and an embargo was placed on Arkans along with a hefty bounty on her head. She… Didn’t take to it kindly.”
“Oh?”
“Mm. Eventually, the banks tried to arm domestic forces like her own, producing replicas of the weapons and uniforms but the Fyunnen, bullheaded as they were just swung them as swords and saw them as an excuse not to carry a gun. See, while they armed the troops, they didn’t teach them how to use the weapons. Their commanders only had a very basic understanding of passing, forking and almost no understanding of line-of-sight, indirect engagement or how to use explosives. They were rather undisciplined, as far as Fyunnen went, even at the time.”
“I see. How did she take to that?”
“She marched through them, effortlessly. Even better, using the same equipment, she didn’t need a supply line because they’d done all the hard work for her. They discarded their uniforms and wore plain clothes, moving like ghosts through the country, labeled as terrorists. Eventually, someone in the blue-bloods cracked and confessed to some secret plot she knew nothing about; to manipulate nations with money instead of political forces.”
“Like today.”
“Mm. It took her a while to work it out but civilians were starving to death instead of soldiers dying in battle. Soldiers chose their position. Civilians didn’t. She eventually began wiping out the families of those associated with this treason to make an example of them and spread the word of what was happening internationally. It caused a few economies to crash. She even killed the children, except for a few. Those who survived were so disgusted and outraged, many committed suicide. A few though, demanded to fight alongside her — but I’ll get to that later. Eventually, like medicine, she uprooted any and all corruption she saw and put it to death. At this point, Rhoi had overwhelming public support despite the incredible punishments for harboring fugitives.”
“I see.”
“Next, the monarch declared war on her, believing her to be part of a foreign plot and believing that Rhoi would be coming for her. Now in her eighties, maybe nineties, Rhoi came forward alone to see the monarch personally. She asked in public if she could shoulder the blame alone and her troops be unharmed. She called them her children. The queen of the time saw her bravery as strange; as something to be commended, despite disagreeing with her actions. The queen asked Rhoi about the plot. Ignorant, the queen explained. Rhoi then begged to fight the good fight. The queen demanded she swear a blood oath: the first to be sworn with the monarch since the days beneath the ground, to serve the crown.”
“Isn’t it mandatory now?”
“Mm, all soldiers take the blood oath now because of her. Eventually, she was reinstated and started from scratch since many of her troops were now raising families. Even so, the Fyunnen war counsel refused to accept her methods. But a new threat was coming. The one they thought she’d been connected to.”
“Which was?”
“A cult. It spread like wildfire through the frozen continent of Ouao. It spoke of selflessness, equality, honor, ascension and a rejection of the goddess. It put society before the individual and disregarded the monitory system.”
“Hence why they thought Rhoi was connected.”
“Right. Written to parchment and then the revolution of print around them, it flourished, even domestically and spoke of usurping the royal order, the monarch, the tower of lords and the tower of commons as so no one may be governed. Naturally, it was too good to be true; someone always craving to be ‘more equal’ than others. And it was controlled. And it grew. And swelled. Into a terrifying overwhelming force. Stories grew of farms laid barren. People disappearing for speaking out against the order. For having an opinion that didn’t match that of the order. For possessing certain books or listen to foreign music. Anything deemed ‘Un-Occhestian’ was expunged forcibly and eventually this began to include the other castes. Sound familiar?”
“Mm.”
“Famously, children disappeared around the outskirts of towns. Meat mysteriously appeared in markets where there were no animals and no trade. Unlabeled. Nobody asked any questions. People were hungry enough. And this was in a nation amassing a navy, weapons, pouring the equivalent of another nations GDP into arming itself, possessing a navy that dwarfed the combined efforts of every other nation on the planet. And the revolution of airships, held aloft by strange gasses and rocks that could sail the skies. The queen knew she couldn’t win a numbers game.”
“And what happened?”
“Rhoi happened, naturally. She lead a long and unwinnable campaign into Ouao, promising to restore order to the continent — out of guilt. If they’d never known about the banks and their betrayal, the order wouldn’t have been anywhere near as seductive to the people as it was. She called it a crusade and said it would lead to her salvation for the millions dead because of the truth.”
“Did she win?”
“No. When you fight any fight on Ouao, you fight two fronts: One of whatever army walks the ground and the other of the endless frozen barren wastes. Ouao is huge and empty. And very cold. This was an era before nuclear or steam power. Before mechanization.”
“Huh.”
“Rhoi expected to be met by elite troops. But what she encountered were Farmers. Traders. Potters. Carpenters. Blacksmiths. Untrained civilians. Using whatever they could get their hands on. They were in incredible numbers, attacked suicidally because they had no supplies. They themselves were starving. And they knew the land far far better than she did.”
“And then?”
“She attacked whoever advanced on her indiscriminately. The ponchos and uniforms were recolored white the first chance they got, to blend with the environment. There was no ammunition so they had to conserve their own, using bladed weapons — and there was no vegetation or animal life, so they ate the civilians they came across to survive.”
“And she died out there?”
“No. She made it to Dokarai, the capitol of Ouao. Dead center of the nation with just eleven troops left. Awed by her determination, the order demanded Rhoi join them. She submitted but a week later, the Occhestian who’d begun the order, who’d asked her personally died under mysterious circumstances and the controlled collapse of the order began as domestic troops poured in through the opening she’d nearly died making. One by one, for years, whoever assumed the position of the author, the creator of The Order died under similar circumstances. This lasted for years. Later, she was last seen fleeing Dokarai in uniform with her men, returning to the wasteland before disappearing.”
“Wow.”
“The Order would eventually become what we know as Occhestian separatism, which condemns the matriarchy, the Helashio, most of our castes, the monarch and the goddess. If she hadn’t done that, we would have been overwhelmed and plunged into an unwinnable war involving all nations, all countries. The whole world at war. Instead, she sent a clear message to both sides that the age of chivalry was over and that Ouao wasn’t impenetrable. It gave Douran, this very nation the push they needed to wage what became as the 100 year war — a series of light skirmishes along our borders. Posturing, basically. It was better than all-out war. Trade and foreigners from Ouao and Douran could pass to and trough quite easily if they spoke the language and could get air travel. Eventually, it swelled and grew into huge airfleet — navel ships meant for the water re-purposed for combat in the skybattles with air-ships. Then came privateers and piracy, flying right over the borders entirely. The golden age of the seven skies. It lasted nearly five hundred years, until the primative infrastructure collapsed upon itself, resulting in a return to agrarian lifestyles, which lasted until the exile. After we finally arose and returned to the surface, the religious order decided to declare flight a gift reserved for the devout Lmanel which aspected to fly, and the Tur'listia. The greatest time of socioeconomic growth and social mobility was before we all went underground... And all because one woman did the one thing every Lmanel is told from being a child not to and gave into her nature.”
Arlyle took a slow yawn, opening a single eye to stare through Lalah as if she were a ghost. A long thousand yard stare - devoid of focus and reflection, seeming dull and cloudy — before closing it again with a smile — probably not even aware she’d opened it at all.
“And how do you know all this? Is ancient war stuff a secret hobby of yours, Lalah?”
“Mmm… Not really.”
“Well, its esoteric. Are you studying this for something?”
“My family. Wanted me to join the armed forces, when I’m an adult. I’m going to be the first not to in seven generations. Well, except for Cecel. She was a buccaneer”
“Such a shame to disappoint after they filled you with war stories. You don’t strike me as the soldiering type, anyway. Far too pretty.”
“Plus, I’m male. The first eldest male in as many generations. I mean, we’ve got the men’s equality movement but most still don’t think men are meant for war. Seven eighths of all sexual abuse a male suffers in the armed forces come from female soldiers and something like 47% of —”
“Okay, I get it. Maybe. But from the uniform you wear at work… I think you’d make a good medic. With lots of very happy patients~”
“Ggk. Well...”
“I’m teasing, teasing~! Poor thing. So why did they teach you this story? And all these weird statistics and developments. Is there some great lesson behind it?”
“Rhoi is my … great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.”
“Grand
father?”
“Mm. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was a boy who joined the service who was pretty enough to appear as a woman, since men weren’t allowed to serve.”
“Your
Grandmother is
male?”
“Mmm.”
“So its hereditary then?”
“What is?”
“Your looks.”
“W-Well… They can’t have been that good. Eventually she outed him. The two became really close. But he entered war as a young boy and left it a grown woman. He was at Rhoi’s side right until she disappeared.”
“That still doesn’t explain ‘grandfather’.. ‘Grandmother’ And if Rhoi was always at war, how could she conceive a…”
“Primitive drugs, kind of like kaserine. Back then most of it was permanent and really dangerous. And illegal.”
“Ooooh… So she really was your grandfather and he really was your grandmother!”
“Mm, exactly. Its funny. Rhoi disappeared. History refused to believe that she died. The Fyunnen war counsel painted her a villain; a short angry dictator with poor self-control and no concept of honor. Baqui now means ‘short stack’ and also ‘coward’ in our language now.”
“Huh. And Rhoi?”
“Blood thirsty. Murderous. Pragmatic. It replaced our word for shark in the old tongue. She redefined the aspectation and none dared follow her.”
“Did she really die?”
“Personally, I think she surrendered the aspectation and the nature to become neutral again. Afterward she took a different name. According to the books she was 5’5 before aspectation and a mother of three. Afterward, she stood 6’2 and hadn’t slept a wink since aspectation. No sleep, in nearly sixty years. Thinking about it, they’re almost completely different people. Beyond some numbers, history doesn’t make a record of who she was, outside of aspectation. I wonder. Does Aiesu sleep?”
“From what I can tell, she has to knock herself out with pills. Or she works through the night. Or skulks the halls like some ghost.”
“She’s probably putting herself out so she doesn’t abuse this one” Lalah said, motioning to Seiren. “How do you know this much about her?”
“The same way I see without seeing. And what do you mean abuse? Like, kill him?”
“Sort of. Its like a conflict. Her other half is a rabbit, of all things — the easiest aspectation there is. They only really have this need to always move. Always doing things. They can’t sit still and just like sharks, they don’t sleep either. They fidget, they’re skittish, nervous… Paranoid… And they turn shy if they don’t —“
“Satisfy themselves?” Arlyle purred seductively, slowly sitting up and settling an arm around an uncomfortable Lalah. “Nepleslian rabbits are the same.”
“Huh.” She laughed nervously. “Even so, its quite a cocktail, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm?” Arlyle drawled. Lalah couldn’t make out if she was being intentionally dense or if this was something sphinx-like on her part.
“Well… Half of her wants to fornicate, to desperately proliferate” Lalah said, shifting in her seat, taking Arlyle’s drink, sipping some. She let it sit on her tongue before speaking again. “The other half wants to dominate. To desperately eviscerate. That’s like the definition of inner-conflict though, isn’t it?”
Arlyle tightened her arm around Lalah and began running her long fingernails gently through the Lmanel’s hair, feeling along the ridges of her long slender horns - feeling the assemblies of cartilage and bone twitch as Lalah listened to the strangely therapeutic rasping resound softly through her skull.
“Ggk..Nnn…..”
“You like that, don’t you? Anyway, autonomic sensory meridian response aside, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. You can dominate and fornicate at the same time. Do you—“
“I don’t need a demonstration” Lalah drawled, struggling out from under Arlyle, breath quivering.
“A pity. Well, if you have to deal with her in future, I wouldn’t trust a word Su-Su says.”
“Oh?”
“Online, she’s … Like a child trying to be an adult. Or an adult trying to be a child. Its a bit manipulative. Speaking of which, do you want to be carried to bed? You’re walking funny, I can tell.”
“N-No, once a night is enough, thanks.”
Arlyle almost laughed.
“Goodnight. Well…”
“Mm?”
“One more thing. What’s… Kou-mou-duo? You’re good with languages.”
“Komodo?”
“Mmm. The Nepleslian pilot, she kept calling me Komodo-chan. Even after I told her my name.”
“Ah, its a place on Nepleslia, but it alludes to a type of lizard which was documented by ancient Nepleslians and Yamataians. Big scary things.”
“She’s referencing my aspectation?”
“People widely think they have bites that are loaded with malicious bacteria, since they have no fangs but they use a anticoagulant venom that stops clotting from forming… Was it a quip about bad breath or something?”
With that, Arlyle felt along the back of Lalah’s jawline, squeezing a faint softness. A sickly sweet taste flowed onto her palette as she felt the other L’manel milk the gland - swallowing after a few moments. Lalah visibly squirmed. But she didn’t stop Arlyle.
“Your venom works the same way, doesn’t it? One little nip without your medication and a person could bleed for hours and hours… Just like a Komodo. So its a clever name, isn’t it?”
“A-Ah…”
“A-Ah?” Arlyle said back, parroting Lalah. “That’s the sound you make thinking of someone bleeding to death? Say Aaaah…”
“Aaannh?”
Obediently, Lalah’s her lips parted. Arlyle slid her thumb over Lalah’s lower row of teeth, looking into her mouth, watching the way her tongue twitched nervously, the tightness of her breath in her throat and the faint play of her voice with the damp wind. She then ran her fingernail along Lalah’s palette, making her wince, finally stopping just behind her incisors.
“This is where your fangs would be, right?”
“Nnh…glkh..” Lalah whimpered in agreement before finally nodding, carefully settling her hands about Arlyle’s wrist. Even so, she knew her room-mate couldn’t see. That this wasn’t something she could just point at. Even learning Lalah’s face had been an ordeal, with so much touching involved. So she tolerated it.
“You said it depresses you, didn’t you?”
“Nnhg.”
“Oh sorry”
And with that, Arlyle removed her fingertips, wiping them on her shirt. But she smiled.
“That’s not the first time you’ve had someone else in your mouth tonight, is it?” Arlyle grinned.
How do you even… Lalah grimaced.
“Even with the medication.” Arlyle continued. “When you’re agitated or excited, its still a problem, isn’t it? The venom, I mean. You still make it if adrenaline’s present.”
“Mm. Like I said… To suppress any part of the nature you take on is depressing. It becomes your nature.”
“And to satisfy whatever instinctual urges you have is really gratifying?”
“Well…”
“Its why so many opt for dogs… Cats.. Domestic animals. With really harmless needs.”
“Yeah. Ar.”
“Mmm?”
“Your Lorath isn’t that great. And you’ve a foreigner’s name. Are you really foreigner with no understanding in such matters? Did you grow up somewhere else?”
“Nepleslia. Born and raised. On the playgr—“
Only then did Lalah notice the red framed glasses that sat hung from Arlyle’s neck in her shirt by a leg. They seemed like a sort of parody. Arlyle had no use for glasses.
“Alright, I get it, I get it. My point. You’re aspected after what you’d know as a bat.”
“Correct.”
Arlyle could see where this was going. Figuratively speaking.
“Were you always blind? Even before?”
“Lalah” Arlyle snapped.
“Yes?”
Did I overstep my boundaries?Was that too far?
“Do you ever just… Want to give someone a proper bite. No meds. No surgery” Arlyle said, leaning closer now. “Full on. Teeth into flesh Hard?”
Lalah had nothing to retort with. She visibly froze.
Arlyle settled her hands about the back of Lalah’s shoulders, grinning as she drew near.
“The thought makes you giddy, doesn’t it?” she purred, her voice seductive. “I can smell it.”
Lalah quivered, eyes exploring any part of the room that wasn’t her room-mate.
“Some time, you should just do it. Have coagulants on standby and medical stuff but…” Arlyle grinned: parting her lips and snapping her teeth back with a crisp click. “Just once. I’ll be here for you, when you do. To congratulate you. Does that sound horrible to you?”
“It… It doesn’t sound horrible, no…”
“Mmmm. Then you can dream, can’t you?”
Arlyle finally let go, stretching out across the couch as she laid on her side ready to get some sleep. “I dream too” she said, nipping the last of the malt. Carefully, she set the glass down on the coffee table. So many times, Lalah had seen Ar break glasses trying to do this very thing — not realising how close the table was. But this time, Ar just seemed to know.
“Goodnight, Lalah.”
The dragon watched, bewildered by inconsistency.
“Goodnight, Arlyle.”
