Chapter Text
Moses awoke to a faint, yet persistent burning stench. The sun, as seen through the window, was still on the way to its zenith. The morning birds were not yet tired of their songs – or, in the case of the gulls, their screams. When, puzzled, she treaded down the unfamiliar stairs into the joint living room and kitchen, wiping grogginess off her face with the back of a palm, she saw Dias standing before a stove. She’d never seen her in clothing this casual before. Even these, while comfortable-looking, remained the picture of immaculate sharpness: loose, yet perfectly tailored, the fabric visibly fine even from afar. Something was sizzling on a pan and Moses, nearly on autopilot, came to hover nearby, not risking making her presence obvious. Though Dias, of course, noticed her regardless:
“Good morning~”
“What… are you doing?” Moses asked. She failed to keep a yawn in, but it gave her the time to remember to add a late, “ah, uhm. Good morning.”
“Just finishing up some hash browns. There’s enough for you, if you’d like.”
Hash browns were alright – she said this out loud, in spite of a stab of wrongfulness at the idea of taking the meal Dias had cooked for herself. Moses was used to sitting with the other Udjat in the mornings, waiting for her turn at the burner, picking bits and pieces from each other’s breakfasts, communal as they were. This was different. Only two sat at this table, and Moses’ lack of contribution weighed on her as she reached to grab her fill. The hash browns were cooked unevenly, though none were outright inedible, and beside them on the table sat dishes of sauces to dip food into, fresh salads and raw fish sliced and arranged in a neat display one couldn’t help but feel bad for disrupting.
Dias spoke briefly of her plans. Regarding Moses, that is; nothing about herself, which was predictable considering she had been avoiding scheduling anything for this particular day (the task monumental, given the dizzying amount of arrangements she usually made). This was a rare day off, Moses assumed, and so decided, forking a piece of celery, she’d do her best to make it worth the time.
If the Lady wished to rest, everyone must break their backs to carry out even a fraction of what she would have. And Moses intended to pull her weight fully. For how else would Dias achieve what she sought to? She was only human, as hard as that was to believe, and needed her breaks.
Some days, Moses found herself returning to that childish frame of mind, where her Lady was nothing short of a god, as mythic as the Head themselves. But that she was human only made Dias more important, more impressive and worth following. Sitting here, watching her make an earnestly delighted face at a particularly delicious cut of brightly pink salmon not only made her heart flutter in that awful-cowardly-yearning way, but it let Moses in on that humanity of Dias’, proved just who she was labouring for. A good person. Somebody who, despite all of her responsibilities, in spite of the challenges she faced, could act kindly to her subordinate. Could, interrupting an explanation, without reservation offer Moses a slice of that same fish from her own fork, asking she try it because it was just simply too good not to.
But in short… Moses was to do the shopping, first, though not exactly for her Lady’s groceries. There was apparently an issue with the logistics of the Udjat. Fixers were complaining about a concerning dent in their medical supplies. Dias asked her to see it corrected, answering to Moses’ doubt in her ability to do so:
“There’s a person doing the purchasing for the office. Just pay him a visit and make him explain what’s going south. As detailed as he can manage to, mhm? I trust you’ll figure things out together!”
Then, Moses was to write it all down – noting if there was anything suspicious afoot especially. Logistics were dangerous to neglect, and it has been a long time since anybody’s checked on the man. It was unlikely, Dias said, that there was any mutiny behind the scenes. Though Moses had her permission to investigate further, in any case.
When that was done, since she was in the Office headquarters anyway, she was to deliver a new batch of Dias’ requests to be passed down. A neat little envelope was handed to Moses across the table, and she promptly pocketed it. The contents were to be rewritten in a manner befitting formal mission listings, since Dias didn’t bother with that. The option to do so on her own was presented, but, of course, Moses could entrust it to whoever was managing human resources at the time.
“Though honestly, I think you’ll do it yourself just fine, Moses, you’re certainly sharp enough for it.”
Finally, she was to, quote, “have fun playing outside!”
When Moses was grabbing the overflowing trashbag on her way out, she noticed charred hash browns thrown in hastily. Must’ve been where that earlier smell came from.
Only on the ride to the Udjat headquarters did she give the events of the morning the full consideration they deserved. Sleepiness must have numbed her senses, because she didn’t even really… protest, at the thought of making Lady Dias share her breakfast with her. Not out loud, at least. Why was ringing inside her brain and, tired as she was of the question's omnipresence within her mind as of late, she couldn’t begin to tell if she was questioning the breakfast itself or her unbothered acceptance of it this time.
It wasn’t a big deal by itself, sharing breakfast with somebody. It was just that the time Dias had clearly made for herself was wasted on Moses, out of some pitiful politeness. Moses could have fed herself just fine, on her way to her duties.
But it was probably time to accept this wouldn’t stop. This kept happening, this pull closer to the Lady. Each time Moses saw a boundary she wasn’t worth enough to approach, Dias would make her cross it. The question was what Moses should do about it, if anything.
She liked this. She had to admit she did, even if the thought made her shudder with discomfort. Dias probably wouldn’t want Moses to enjoy these little indulgences in the ways she did. She wasn’t supposed to like this, like this. It had to be in her head, it… It had to be.
She didn’t want to bother Dias.
And she didn’t want to be hurt herself, either, by false hopes. (small text)
Mulling over this, exhausted with the endless carousel of confusion and doubt and pining, she watched the buildings pass by through her window. It would be a long journey, even with the access to accelerated roads that skipped District borders given to most of Dias’ vehicles. She’d have plenty of time to stew.
Or, she could make the time actually mean something. Might as well get to rewording those requests.
Two hours spent stranded in the car. With the envelope’s seal broken open, a sheet of paper retrieved and secured on a clipboard (she’d thankfully found one here, after asking the driver), she wrangled each of Dias’ notes into comprehensive and formal mission descriptions.
She was familiar with the format, mimicking it easily enough. When it came to the requirements for the candidates she had to take liberties. Moses had no idea if there were any strict guidelines as to which Grade one had to be for a job of what kind… But she had a sense for it, after years of looking up at the boards. Thus, for simple assistance with a rat – the animal, not the Rat-rat – infestation at one of the productions Dias loosely invested into, a team of newly “recruited” Udjat would suffice; while for the surveillance over a high-ranking Wing product manager a skilled patrol was required. Rewards were mere estimates as well, and some of the assignments Dias didn’t mark as “non-reportable” herself needed to be corrected to such. Details were missing, some of them crucial, but those would be cleared up for those that took the jobs on.
And, while looking over her work, Moses couldn’t help a tinge of doubt, she still had confidence. Everything was composed rationally, even if her references were far from clear due to the simple fact that they weren’t concrete at all… It would still be alright. She herself would have looked at these listings without thinking twice.
Moses would cross reference with the HR person later, when she handed them over – in their eyes, the modified requests were nearly perfectly presentable. Enough to be sent out in a matter of half an hour after she submitted them, with some light editing and clarification.
The logistics, which worried her the most, turned out not as bad as she thought. A mousy, unremarkable office worker tended to them, it turned out, in the comfort of his own tiny office. She sat with him, squinting at the monitor he had turned towards her, all while he nervously, occasionally stuttering, explained his issues. Most of the terms he used were incomprehensible to her ear, but she managed to gather some facts. Mainly that the source of the medicine drought came from the man’s hesitance to reach out to new suppliers when their previous one was struggling now to provide stock. Something about a tough time for their business… The reason didn’t matter to Moses though, because that reason wasn’t Udjat’s to deal with. The issue was drastic enough that it couldn’t be ignored in favor of keeping connections. There’d be other companies to buy from, no need to put the Udjat at risk for any single one.
So she pushed him to go through with reaching out to a new supplier. To his jumpy attempts at getting out of it, explanations of why it would be just such a terrible, horrible and dim-witted idea, she responded only with more pressure. Until eventually he relented. With a voice wavering as if Moses’d been holding a knife to his throat (even though the only thing she did was sit across, her eyes boring into him) he prattled on into the telephone, neurotically twirling a pencil between his fingers until it fell clattering to the ground.
She had no way to ensure this would work. But she made him walk her through everything, from the details of the initial issues to the actions he’d just taken. She made him write that explanation down. Which was like killing two birds with one stone, really, because she’d bring this to Dias to help explain the situation better, and she’d get a chance to look at the whole logistics thing in a little more depth on her own time. Couldn’t hurt to familiarise herself.
And Moses wouldn’t forget to write down a description of his behavior and words as well. She was sure he wasn’t of any danger now – a coward at worst. Even if he was right, let’s say, about this being the wrong decision, well… He was still pressured into it, wasn’t he..? Not somebody to keep around, if that was the case.
For the last of her daily errands… She had lunch in a nice, high-end restaurant, opting out of their novelty “otherworldly flavor experience” (something to do with the Outskirts, apparently…) in favor of something simple but well-cooked. After, Moses took the time to leisurely, as much as she felt comfortable with, wander around the neighbourhood. It was a nicer part of the Backstreets, evidently protected by the Zwei. She couldn’t put her mind to rest, not entirely, she never could rid herself of her alarmness. But the walk alone with her thoughts was appreciated.
She came across a nice, secluded, shaded area where she could calmly smoke, taking her time. Cigarette butts littering the ground hinted this must be a spot favored by the workers of the office building it hid behind, but she lucked out and didn’t meet any of them now.
Was this her idea of fun? Smoking by herself? It probably was, now at least. There was nothing of interest to her here, no more actual work left to do. She supposed she could wander the street, looking at the store fronts, see if she could find anything worth her money. But she didn’t need anything. She didn’t want anything either.
Only a little antique store did call to her from across the street. Squeezed between a liquor store with a burnt out neon sign and another dull office with a plaque unreadable from the distance, its cozy exterior naturally attracted attention. She found herself there, then, once she’d finished her smoke. Sauntering between the shelves desultorily, staring at this and that. It was not particularly engaging, and she didn’t find herself attached to any of the junk gathering dust here.
Her gaze eventually landed on an empty picture frame - vertical, wooden, the corners carved swirling. Moses didn’t own any picture frames. Though she supposed… There was a woman who lived on the same Dorm floor of her, one who’d snap photos of them every once in a while, fiddling with cameras was her hobby. Moses could ask her for a picture to frame.
The thought never occurred to her before, to display a photo like that, yet it was as if a strange force possessed her at that moment to make her purchase that lone picture frame. What will go inside she would decide later. For now, it’d be okay enough empty. She’d carry it with her, until she could return to the Dorms.
After all, she didn’t know when that’d be. Moses could easily end up tailing after Dias for the foreseeable future.
The ornate gates that greeted Moses were vaguely familiar now, as was the fixer signaling his greeting from inside of the security booth at the entrance. He looked barely awake, though became sufficiently alert once their car approached. Given the time was late into seven in the evening, likely nearing the end of his shift, the laxness was excusable. Moses herself was plenty exhausted. With the smooth stop of the car Moses got out, stopping for a second to stretch her limbs after sitting for so long. She considered smoking before truly heading inside, to silence the hum of nervousness rising in her stomach at the idea of the inevitable return to her Lady.
But there was a stranger. Walking the wood-paved path in the sand, not yet far from the house itself. An unknown woman, with no stand-out features in sight. Moses’ eyes searched for a weapon on her person, found none. Hidden, then. Where?
Could be in the long overcoat she wore on top of a… sundress? Covering herself from the cold breeze, yet shivering all the same, no doubt due to the bareness of her legs, down to the light sandals.
No, no, this wasn’t right… Nobody should be here right now, nobody but the Lady.
Nowhere did it say that assassins were obligated to outwardly dress for combat.
Moses’ feet carried her forward entirely by themselves, steps swifter than her heartbeat. There was no way to approach this with stealth now, dashing dead ahead as she was. The only factor of surprise she could count on depended on how quickly she could reach the danger before it could react, because it has already noticed her now.
Only the stranger didn’t brace herself as expected. Her head turned, unhurried, to the sound of running. And then she just stood there. Like a deer in the headlights. Her arms didn’t raise to protect herself, nor did she draw a weapon.
And something about that felt so wrong, unnatural, that Moses’ sense of danger ticked off, made her switch her grip on the khopesh to a defensive one.
But there was no trap, nothing.
Moses simply collided with the woman, toppling both of them to the ground.
One palm scraped against harsh asphalt, exploding with a burning pain. The invader cried out underneath her – Moses had landed atop her, judging by the human-shaped softness of the floor. She didn’t waste time on trying to collect herself; honed instinct took over. She pushed herself up with a hand, letting muscle memory do the work – they’d trained for tackles like this. She then used that same hand to roughly press the other down into the ground by the shoulder. With another, holding back a hurt hiss, she was already readying her blade to сut the life short, raising it into position when screaming from afar interrupted her, made her lift her head in alert
“stopstopstopstopstopstopstop!”
Something gripped her forearm forcefully, pulled and dragged her up by the shoulder. More of them. Frenzied pulse hammering in her ears she swung backwards blindly, only for her khopesh to be yanked out of her fingers. Moses turned then with the entirety of her body, uselessly attempting to wrestle herself out of the attacker’s grip, only to see an Udjat uniform behind herself. Dragging her away from the wheezing woman splayed out on the wooden walkway.
“Calm down, fixer! That’s a guest!”
“A what…”
“A guest! Dias’ guest!”
Moses glared at the Udjat, cold sweat running down her skin. Breathing through her nose, she was trying not to pant out loud from exertion and nerves. She swallowed dryly, pursed her lips tightly and turned to stare at the guest in question.
She had made a mistake.
Dias emerged out of the front door, looking at the scene dazed. She began to descend down the stairs of the patio towards them.
A really, really, really big mistake.
The alarmed exchange flew right past Moses’ ears. It was probably the first time in her life that she wasn’t hanging on her Lady’s every word. Dias had kneeled down next to the stranger and that was the last thing Moses really paid attention to before succumbing to the Udjat trying to lead her away, somewhere towards the gates and that gateway security booth. Her head was now hanging low, still fuzzy, dread yet to set in in its heavy entirety.
“No, no, Moses stays! Help her inside, please, I’ll sort things out.”
“...Yes, milady.”
In the summer kitchen sat Moses, tending to her ‘wounds’. Eyes downcast, in complete silence, she carefully applied medicine to her injured palm, sucking in a wince of pain as she rubbed ointment into the abrasion. Next to her, Dias did the same for the ‘guest’. She fussed around her, with various “treatments” and treats, “sorry”s and little laughs of brushing off an honest mistake.
Moses sat with her eyes downcast. Moses wrapped her hand in bandages, with her eyes downcast. Even as Dias led the woman away, having ensured no lasting damage was done to her, Moses kept her eyes downcast. Because she wouldn’t act on the inappropriate wish to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d already attacked somebody innocent of her own volition. She had to have known when she noted the lack of weaponry, should have stopped as soon as she saw that distinct civilian look about her… that was so easy to mimic for an actual, high-grade assassin…
What sort of guest was this, and why did Dias treat her this way? Why was Moses not informed of her arrival, when she was the one currently responsible for protecting and helping Dias throughout the day? And, finally, what was she doing here on a day Dias had made a point of being one of downtime? She wasn’t entitled to an answer, she told herself insistently, even as she looked up to see her Lady return and lean, with her forearms crossed, on the kitchen island directly across from where Moses perched on a stool.
Her face was a sort of… half-frown, hard to put a finger on. Forehead creased just slightly yet no prominent lour to the brows, eyes showing no obvious anger or irritation one would expect. Just terrifyingly lacking in emotion. Was she expecting something? An apology? Tentatively, Moses attempted it:
“Please forgive me, milady.”
“Dias.”
Of course. She didn’t mean to ‘lady’ her again, she’d gotten pretty good at stopping herself, just… it failed, this time.
“...Dias, please forgive me.”
“What for?”
“For attacking your guest.”
“Hm…” she tilted her head with something like contemplation. “Now, why would you do that?”
“I assumed she posed a threat.”
“Then, you’re a good girl for trying to protect me.”
“Am I, really?” she nearly choked on her words from Dias’ chosen phrasing, but hid it well enough. She hoped. Wings, working for Dias would kill her. “I did harm somebody who you” cared for? were interested in? “didn’t want me to.”
“Mhm. Better safe than sorry, after all. Besides, it turned out fine, in the end! Had it been somebody important, well, you could’ve earned yourself a scolding, but I’d never let a misunderstanding like that happen~”
Then, it wasn’t anyone important… That, at least, eased the tension in Moses’ shoulders.
“So you’re not… mad, at all?” because even though she didn’t feel any animosity coming from Dias, there could still be [i]something[/i] she risked missing.
“Not at all. Only mildly annoyed you crossed paths, maybe.” With that the Lady shrugged, stepping away with the movement, heading towards a stove instead.
She opened a cabinet nearby, took out a container, then another; a beautiful ceramic teapot was delicately placed on the kitchen cabinet, while a cruder stainless steel kettle went to sit above the fire - the set up quite obsolete, given better and quicker appliances were available on the market. With one hand, Dias turned on a vintage radio in the corner, tuning it with a frown until the static disappeared entirely, giving way to a relaxed, wordless tune that fit the role of background music quite well.
“If I may… why didn’t you warn me of that person’s arrival?” Moses asked, and nearly immediately regretted it, recognising instantly that she’d overstepped, despite, to much frustration, making a point of not being nosey earlier. She’d try to backtrack had Dias not began to hum in that way of hers she’d do before answering a question she didn’t find particularly smart:
“No, you may not,” Dias decided, flashing Moses a little half-smile over her shoulder, not breaking away from her task of brewing tea. A faint, bitter smell of hibiscus filled the air, as Dias generously poured dried roselle petals inside the kettle. A few spoonfuls of honey followed, and then a sprinkle of some other loose thing - ginger, Moses guessed. “Is your hand alright?”
“It’s fine. Just scratches.”
“Good.”
They waited for the water to boil, then. Dias settled into one of the armchairs at the edge of the summer kitchen. It was chilly outside, not yet cold, the sun now close to setting. It hung above the surface of the Lake, illuminating both the putrid waters beyond the boundary protecting this oasis, and the clarity of the rich, deep blue inside its borders. Seagulls soared above, some stumbled around the shore. Same as in the morning, things barely ever seemed to change in idyllic places like this. Dias watched those gulls, only barely paying attention. It was as if the birds themselves didn’t matter, Moses thought, but the action itself of giving something so seemingly insignificant her time did. Moses realised she was holding her breath with that thought in an attempt to preserve the fragility of the moment. Dias watched the Lake, Moses watched her.
Questions still lingered, of course. That guest had left an odd aftertaste. Moses itched to know more. She already held some suspicions, but the nature of those suspicions made probing into them seem invasive at best. Again, as her Lady herself said, ‘she may not’. This wasn’t hers to ask. She watched Dias’ schedules for her now, yes, but it didn’t mean she was entitled to every agenda of hers. The fact that Moses acted as a guarantee of her safety still didn’t entitle her to the knowledge of every single person Dias met.
Through the faint roaring of the Lake, the bird calls and the fire, the kettle whistle went off. Moses rose from her seat to take it off. If it was force of habit from boiling water back in the Dorms, or a wish to please Dias she couldn't say; both, most likely.
“Oh? No need for that,” she heard behind herself. “Don’t work your injured hand.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll finish this for you. I know how to brew tea.”
Dias made a lightly indignant huff at that, though Moses didn’t hear her stand up from her armchair.
“Make sure to add ice to my glass, then.”
Moses filled the teapot with steaming water. Then, she searched for glasses; she found them among a collection of crystalline dishware displayed gracefully in a glass cabinet nearby. Then, came the ice. Thankfully, the fridge here had an easy to navigate ice maker. Ice first, and then the fogged-up glasses were filled with freshly brewed, steaming tea.
“You’re not supposed to subject crystalline to temperature switches like that, by the way.”
“Oh?” Moses glanced down at the glasses in her hands, then at Dias, whom she’d just approached. Befuddled at the correction she had no clue what to do about, she searched for an answer in Dias’ face, yet only found it cracking into an amused, short laugh.
“No, no, it’s alright,” Dias assured with a waning smile, reached forward to grab a glass, raising it to watch the crystalline catch the weak sunlight, shining prettily in its glow. “This set has protection against that kind of damage.”
The Lady’s gaze slipped away again, back to the sunbathed shore, and with that so did her attention. Moses took that as a cue to retreat back to her stool. A certain disengagedness, she had noticed, had been present in Dias’ eyes this entire time. As if mentally, she’d been far away, or at least longed to be. As if Moses was an inconvenience tonight.
Oh, but when was she not an inconvenience? Try as Moses might she was… well, she was inexperienced. No matter how much she’d spent making herself useful, she was still not enough, there was always some issue she wasn’t sure how to deal with, which she had to inquire about, or a mistake she’d made with the planning, an inefficiency. And of course, she was not nearly powerful enough to ward off every potential danger. She was not good enough to tell a fling from an assaulter, for Wings’ sake–
…a fling. No. Or–
No.
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“My, aren’t you bold today,” the words, spoken into the rim of her glass, were punctuated by a sharp, yet ultimately offenseless glance. “I like your curiosity, Moses, I always told you so. However, I’d assumed you knew where to apply it. Was I wrong to think so?”
Right. These were boundaries she was crossing again, in quick succession. Though these ones were crossed without that silent spurring on of Dias’. Meaning this must have been too far. She doesn’t know what’s come onto her, it was always so obvious she must avoid personal questions like this. She wasn’t anybody to her Lady in the end, just a helping hand, no matter what was said aloud. If Dias entertained questions, it must’ve been simply to coax her into professional growth. Just… This was all so confusing, she had to admit, trying to fulfil a purpose she didn’t know anything about, other than the vague guesses she made. She didn’t know what Dias wanted from her, really, could only offer an apologetic head bow of shame.
And Dias, watching her do it, answered. Flatly, with a coldness that made the admission all the more odd:
“She isn’t a friend in any sense of the word I’d use.” The way she shrugged after spoke ‘do with that information what you will’.
Moses sighed in acceptance, knowing this was the most she’d get. The reveal inched her closer to what now seemed to be the only viable option, no matter how uncomfortable it was.
Somebody Dias didn’t hold in high regard – disposable, or replaceable at least, – yet who was let into her home on her ‘day off’. Harmless - not a fixer nor anybody in a position of power, judging by the lack of combat prowess or obvious augmentations. Attractive. Didn’t hold herself like any of the people Dias did business with. Finally, and most damning, was the way Dias treated her, when she tended to her before, that politely playful demeanor.
Well, that must have been a fling of some kind, then, mustn’t it? Something in that ballpark, at least.
But… why? With Dias’ status, money, appearance, everything–
…No, no, she’s questioned her enough already.
Still, a treacherous, jealous little thought sparked - oh, why not her, a thought that would be better saved for fantasies far away from Dias’ direct gaze on her reddening face.
“I’m not judging you,” she found herself blurting out instead, with as much surprise at the words as Dias reacted with.
“Pfft- Judging…? Thank you? I wasn’t expecting you to! Wings, Moses.”
A look of understanding crept onto her face, slowly, of the kind of conclusion Moses’ mind went to, and Dias shook her head. She pinched at the bridge of her nose, the palpable frustration sending goosebumps down Moses’ back out of pure regretful shame, for daring to let the conversation flow in this direction. Yet still, Dias’ tone remained mercifully patient as she muttered, “say, how about you leave me alone for the rest of the evening?”
No confirmation, no denial. Just a clear-cut ‘go away’. In some sense, she was grateful for it.
“Yes, Dias. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The events of that day would linger in the back of Moses’ mind, no matter how much she’d try to forget them. There’d be no more ‘crossing paths’, they both made sure of that. Dias would not speak of it, only giving Moses enough ‘away’ work for the day to get the idea, and Moses would be out of her hair ‘till late into the evening. And still, the knowledge would plague her.
Dias favored women. She seemed so alone, always, above. But she was only human.
And Moses was never supposed to see her this human, because…
This human she wasn’t as distant as she must truly be. It already began to affect Moses’ thinking even more, it worsened that awful, possessive want in her chest she was so very tired of stifling. It gave ground for it to stand on. Close enough to reach for, for the fantasises to shift into possibilities far off, for now, but possibilities nonetheless.
She’d go to sleep to them, wake up with them. And she would continue serving her Lady haunted by them.
At least the increasing workload, the ever-rising variety in tasks given to her kept her busy.