Disclaimer: The deeds to the story and the characters of the property known as Claymore rest within the offices of lawyers who represent Norihiro Yagi and Shounen Jump (including all international subsidiaries of the latter). I am the undersigned renter of said property.
8. The Promises We Make
Clarice carries her mug of sour smelling beer across the busy tavern, spies Tabitha at a two-seater and then takes a seat on the other side. There is a window behind her, thrown open to catch a breeze and Tabitha gazes out at the hazy heat, cradling a mug of beer in her hand.
"So," Clarice says, slipping her thumb through the loop of her mug. "You and the captain, huh?"
Tabitha rests her elbow on the back of the chair and then says, "I guess so."
"You could have done worse."
"That's not encouraging. She's the Captain," Tabitha says with an eyebrow arching on her forehead, neither of them understanding the subtle but distinct difference in the way each of them use the word 'captain.' "I couldn't have aimed higher."
"I don't think you were aiming exactly when it happened though." Clarice shrugs. "But she knows now. So it's all right, isn't it?"
The voices of a few drunken soldiers drifts over the room as they chant an anthem, words of beautiful damsels in need of help and a brave knight who drops everything to save her, all for the chance to kiss her dainty hand. Clarice notices how Tabitha is quiet for the duration of the verse, notices the way her eyes squint at a line she doesn't like, and then a small dishonest smile curls at the corner of her lips.
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that," she says, lifting her beer. She catches the amber liquid long since flat in her glass and sets the mug down without taking a drink. "It's all right though. I'm not asking for anything to be returned. Nothing's changed between us."
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that either," Clarice says, swishing her beer and watching the foam swivel along the rim. She dares to take a sip and then coughs, turning her nose at the bitterness and the surprising warmth that crawls down her throat. "What is this stuff? Who would want to drink this?"
Tabitha chuckles. "Don't sip. Just swallow so you don't actually taste it. It's a lot better that way."
Clarice gags again, scrunching her nose once more and pushes the beer away. "Yuck. This stuff is awful."
"There's wine. That might suit your palette a bit better."
"I think I'll just... not drink alcohol today," Clarice says with a frown. "Or ever again."
"Fair enough. It's too early for it anyway. I've had this one since last night, but I don't like it as much when it goes flat." Tabitha taps her mug with a fingernail. Then she pushes her chair back.
Clarice watches her, surprised. "You're leaving?"
"There's something I can't miss right now. Ask the bartender for something more palpable. I'm sure he can find something."
"Oh." Clarice nods and then watches her leave. "Thanks. I guess."
She stands on the roof of the cathedral facing toward the east. Every day at high noon, both she and Tabitha sit for an hour overlooking the horizon for any trace of their companions. They hadn't planned it. It was just something they fell into together during their wait.
The cathedral has the best vantage point because it offers a three hundred and sixty degree view that stretches for miles. Miria is a few minutes early only because since daybreak she's been outside the walls training in a clearing inside a patch of trees, pushing her limit and trying to control it. Just a little more speed, a few more adjustments to find the points to altar course on a moment's breath.
Behind her, the door to the roof opens and Tabitha comes to stand beside her.
"No signs," Miria says, but the awkward silence Tabitha has carried with her remains. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle cries and she tracks her ear to listen.
"In the village I was born, there are a couple trees wound tight with string," Tabitha says. "We tied up belongings of loved ones lost to youma on those strings. Boots, sandals, old toys, wedding rings... It's supposed to remind us to be honest to those we love."
"That sounds like a wonderful tradition."
"I tied up on my brother's dagger, my mother's comb, and my father's leather belt. And then I was taken east."
Miria starts to speak but stops when she sees the solemn way Tabitha shakes her head.
"I would follow you anywhere, Captain. I won't even ask where," she says. "Just let me stay by your side and I promise, I won't let you down."
If it were only so simple as that, Miria thinks, as she reaches over and takes gentle hold of her elbow. She uses the small touch to guide her into her arms, cradling the back of her head with her hand.
"You've never let me down," she tells her. "Whatever happens in the future, don't ever think that you weren't enough for me."
Tabitha stiffens in her arms, but then sinks into the embrace, lowering her head until her forehead is resting against Miria's shoulder.
"That's the thing, Captain. No one is really good enough for you. That's the only thing that Galatea and I agree on."
Miria frowns and means to say something, but she's hit with two powerful yoki, flashing bright in the distant east. Both she and Tabitha pull away, eyes narrowing as they try to detect more. Alice and Beth? Amazing. They're on par with an abyssal one. A lot has happened since they've been away. There's a small cough behind them and Galatea steps into the doorway.
"I came to inform you of a yoki I've picked up," she says, "but the more immediate concern is the approach of a warrior on yoki suppressing medication. She'll be arriving shortly."
Miria is gone before Galatea can take her next breath leaving both she and Tabitha on the roof. They regard each other silently at first, feeling the heavy seconds crawl by.
"Were you listening?" Tabitha asks her to which Galatea shakes her head.
"I doubt it's much consolation for you, but I didn't intend to. I know my place, Tabitha, and it's not by her side like yours."
Tabitha gives a faint nod and then places a foot on the railing that runs along the roof. "We better catch up to her."
Then she's in the air with the wind rushing by, soaring from roof to roof and over the citizens of Rabona as she makes her way to the wall Miria has already disappeared over.
Miria's first impression of Dietrich is that she is calm and observant. Her eyes catch both Tabitha's and Galatea's landing before Miria hears the soft padding of their feet on the ground behind her, before she sees the small rise of the dirt cloud they've kicked up. Dietrich's natural eye color is a light brown, the color of roasted nuts over an open fire.
Her eyes track to the left and she acknowledges Galatea. "To think you were hiding yourself here of all places."
Miria has been cataloging Galatea's laughs. The one she lets out now is slightly haughty and she uses it when there's something obvious in the air that she doesn't want put into words.
"Your persistence caused me a great deal of trouble."
So Dietrich's the one who's been tracking Galatea, Miria thinks. She files it away for later. Right now, it's more important she hear this message from Helen and Deneve. There's something rigid about Dietrich's voice, impersonal. She neither blinks nor embellishes Deneve's words, reciting them without vocal inflection or commentary. The defeat of Isley, the dispatching of Alicia and Beth, these new creatures that only feed without thought of consciences. So that's what the Organization has been plotting. It's fine if they produced a generation of half-finished warriors because they don't need ordinary warriors right now. They've released their trump cards and there are still probably others more in wait.
Dietrich finishes her recitation but when Miria tries to ask for more information, Dietrich is quick to shut her down.
"If you mean to do battle with the Organization, then it's for the Organization I will ultimately draw my blade," she says, unapologetically.
There's no need for her to apologize, anyway. Miria has to admire her loyalty and drive even if it is for the other side. This isn't a confrontation where she can expect fellow warriors to flock to her side easily. They each have to make their choices according to their conscience, and the time to make that choice is coming quickly.
As suddenly as she appeared, Dietrich turns on her heel.
"I've done what has been asked of me. I'll take my leave now."
Galatea calls after her, "Are you not going to try to capture me?"
Over her shoulder, Dietrich says, "I'm not here under orders from the Organization. This was a separate matter entirely. You may go free for now."
Miria casts a quick glance toward Galatea, notices her bare hands, and her eyebrows furrow. No claymore and nonchalantly asking such a thing from her tracker. That doesn't sit well for her. Still, she has to process all this information first. How much time does she have? She's not quite at the speed she needs to be before the abyssal ones are taken out. She just needs a few more days, maybe even a week.
Beside her, Tabitha pieces it together and the three of them stand with the full realization resting firm on their shoulders. War is coming to Lautrec and it is coming fast.
Sister Cecilia has inducted Sister Camille in accessing Miata's mental capacity. It's almost like a series of games they play, but each one is specifically tailored to judge her level of comprehension and the state of her mental faculties. Miria is impressed when she comes into the room to find that they've somehow managed to get the girl to tend to her own hair. Normally, Clarice spends forty minutes each morning and night trying to get her to sit still long enough to get the tangles out.
Miata often brandishes the brush like a claymore, but she handles the strokes through her hair without kicking up a fuss.
"That's amazing," she says, coming to kneel in front of Miata. For the first time, she can see the girl's face completely. She reaches over and pushes hair from her forehead. "How long did it take you to do this?"
"Just about the whole day," Sister Camille says proudly. "We had to phase Clarice out of the picture. Miata's too paranoid or protective when Clarice is around."
"I bet she didn't like that," Miria says, standing and patting Miata's head.
"Oh, the first time was absolutely wretched," Camille tells her, glancing down when Miata taps her forearm. "But Clarice would pop her head in until she calmed down and then leave for a longer amount of time."
Miria is nodding and crossing her arms across her chest. "The loss of her family must have been traumatic, we think, but the Organization isn't built to repair minds."
"She's not unlike a much younger child." Sister Cecilia picks up half a peeled orange and offers a wedge to Miata. "She's curious and bright. She figures out what we're about to do before we do it half the time. But then she'll stop and just... listen and forget whatever she's doing."
"That's her warrior side," Miria tells them, watching as Miata takes the orange wedge and then tosses it on the table. "I'm afraid she has senses better developed than anyone else's. If I could ask that you don't discourage that part of her?"
Cecilia holds Miria in a dreadful gaze before she tentatively nods and says, "I don't think a child like her should be forced into that life, but I will do my best."
"I agree that a child shouldn't, sister," Miria says but makes it a point not to mention that nearly all warriors are Miata's age or younger when they start the journey to be a warrior. "I appreciate your help."
From the corner of her eye she catches Galatea pause in the open doorway before walking off again and Miria excuses herself and chases after her. Her footsteps echo all around her and she turns a corner to see Galatea pull open the wooden door of her quarters.
"So that's it?" Miria calls after her. "This morning with Dietrich. You were going to let her take your head, just like that?"
Galatea pauses, a hand resting on the copper handle. Her shoulders slump slightly and she says, "You and I both know that's what happens to all deserters sooner or later."
"Only because the Organization said so," Miria says, closing the distance between them. She can't fight the anger seeping into her words. "There's no reason any warrior should have to die, least of all at the hands of another warrior."
The way Galatea cranes her head now to catch her voice unnerves her because combined with the small smile on her lips, Miria knows this to be the way she looks when she's not saying half the things she's thinking.
"You'd rather I fight?" Galatea asks. "I've been dodging Dietrich for years. I've made my peace with this a long time ago."
Mira glares at her, wishing she could see her face, the disappointment in it to match the way her voice ricochets off the stone walls.
"I haven't."
Further down the hallway, two brothers stop to look at them and with a sigh, Galatea reaches out a hand and pulls her into the room, shutting them behind the privacy of a closed door. Miria yanks her arm from her grasp.
"What good would it do anyone if you were to die?" she demands. "What use would it serve? You make these decisions on your own and talk about the private thoughts of others, but you'll carry your own to your grave?"
Galatea laughs callously, flicking hair from her eyes. "Will the tough captain miss me? I should be honored."
A hand shoots out and grabs a fist full of the black uniform Galatea wears, pulling her close. It doesn't matter that she's several inches taller. Miria still pulls her down to her level and demands an honest answer to her honest question.
"What's the point of you throwing your life away like that?"
"No. You don't get to do that," Galatea tells her, reaching up and prying open the fist that grips her clothing. Her voice is laced with a judgment that rarely touches her voice. "You don't get to keep people alive just because you'll miss them and then turn around and throw yours away the next day. I don't care how noble your cause is."
"You have no idea what I've decided to do."
Galate's eyebrows furrow. "Someone who doesn't value her own life has no say in how I choose to spend mine."
"What would you have me do then? Tell me what I can do that will better appease you," Miria says through her teeth, but she peels her fingers open and releases the hold she has. "If I can't die for them, what else can I do?"
She's prepared for sarcasm, for this argument to heat up even more, but Miria is not prepared for the way Galatea's voice softens, the way she turns away from her and tries to gain a little distance between them.
"You've got it all wrong," she says. "It's not about dying for them. It's, at the moment you are about to die, about living for them instead, no matter how painful or how hard. I'm inconsequential, but you? Do you really not see, Miria? How absolutely loved you are?"
Love. Who expects to be loved, really? Miria never has. For a moment, she hates that Galatea faces straight ahead and she reaches up to touch her cheek, to bring her face toward her, so at least it feels like she listens. At the touch of her fingertips though, Galatea nearly jumps, as if the touch was something she'd never expected.
What a change it is to take the former number three by surprise. What a change to see a pure reaction from her that isn't filtered through thought and then strategically placed into words. Miria cups her cheek in her palm
"You are not inconsequential. I will save you, Galatea," she says as if it's a secret no one else should hear. "Let me save you."
There is something painful in the way Galatea succumbs to her touch, something that cannot be articulated easily into words. She closes her eyes and tilts her head and her hands come up to hold Miria's. How long has it been since she has let anyone but children touch her?
"What have you done to me?" Galatea lets out a soft chuckle that does little to cover the ache in the words. Her lips scrape against the palm that holds her still. "And how could you leave me in such a terrible state?"
It is a moment of razor blade breath that holds a heart ransom against its sharpened edge. It is a terrible silence that spins together all the words they've said and threatens to spill the ones they didn't before they are fully formed, left to fragment in the open air between them. Miria lifts on her toes and gives her a kiss so honest it can bruise the pride of any warrior and bring her to her knees.
"If Dietrich returns before the Organization falls," she says, "you promise me you make it hard for her."
"Who am I to refuse the request of such a pretty Six?" Galatea asks. "I promise only if you promise. Save the world if you must, but then come back here to me. I shall not forgive you if you don't."
Continued...
A/N: I skimmed through the canon parts since you've already read it in the manga.
kstefan88 said in a review that s/he didn't understand what people saw in this pairing. This is my short answer. They make for interesting interaction that can result in mutual growth and an equality that creates a level of comfort where they can call each other out on their bs knowing the other will actually listen. This is just my taste in relationship dynamics and certainly is not meant to discredit other pairings. P.S. I haven't forgotten Galatea's experiment.
