She was, once again, keeping busy, prying her mind away from the ever imposing task of ruling an empire. He watched her work, watched her bustle around her crystal lab, muttering her own words to keep those uttered by her advisers and tutors in the back of her head. He felt a tinge of pity, but knew better than to let it show. She didn't need anyone's sympathy, or even empathy, for that matter. She just needed something steady to hold onto. And right now, he was that something.
"It's almost your birthday again," he said. "Shouldn't you be happy?"
"Thirteen? I'm not overjoyed." She sighs. "And it's not in three months. Don't busy yourself buying a present, Dark Ace. It's not worth it."
He wonders how many other teenagers are this depressing. She's almost a real teen, and yet...she remains so morbid.
"Well...if you REALLY don't want that Blizzard Crystal you've been talking about so much..." He starts for the door.
"Wait!"
He pauses, smile spreading across his face.
She turns and stares at him, utter shock on her face. "You got hold of...of a Blizzard Crystal?"
"You'll never know," he smirked. "I thought you didn't want a present."
"Well, that was before I knew you had a Blizzard." She smiles. "Maybe I do want it."
"The deal isn't finalized yet, but I should have it by your birthday."
"Whee hoo," she mumbles quietly. All of a sudden, she freezes, cups her hands to her mouth, and lets out a small gasp. Her violet eyes widen to almost scary proportions. "Oh my God. Did I...Did I just say 'Whee hoo'?"
"I..." He's a little confused. "I think so, yes..."
"CRAP!" She stands, shaking like the final leaf of autumn. "That's bad! I'm turning into a teenager! What am I supposed to DO? Next thing, I'll be wearing dresses and start liking the color pink!"
"I highly doubt-"
"OUT!" She jumps up from her seat. "OUT, OUT! I need to work on something! Go!"
He finds himself shoved unceremoniously out the door. "Lark, I think you're being a little..."
The door slams shut in his face.
"...paranoid," he finishes. "Oh, what the hell."
He starts down the hallway for the training girls. He figures he'll never understand women...of all ages. Take that specimen Ravess, for example. One moment, she's a perfectly fine person to deal with, particularly in battle. But at home, she's a perfect pest. He shakes his head. This is what you get for growing up without a mother, he thinks to himself. An utter misunderstanding of the opposite sex.
A few hours later, after some meaningless screaming at Talons and some tinkering with his skimmer, he goes back down to the crystal lab. It's empty. He turns back upstairs, only to bump into Lark on his way. She's reading a book, not watching where she's going.
"Oh, hello."
"Hello..." He glances at the title of her book. Cyclonian Tactical Strategies. "That's some heavy stuff."
"I figure if I read a lot of tough material, and do a lot of...mature things, I can skip over the teenager phase entirely. Maybe that way, when I take the throne, I won't act like an immature idiot." She continues down the hallway, waving him off. "Just leave me alone for a few hours. I don't get this part about sharpshooter placements and...flanking."
He raises his eyebrows. Sharpshooter placement and flanking procedures? He didn't read that book until right before he took his final exam, and even then, he didn't get a word it was talking about. If she could eat that book and digest it too, then she really did deserve to be queen of Cyclonia. He starts up the stairs, back to his room.
He turns on the radio. It doesn't work. He sticks his head out of his window and feels droplets pattering down. By the time night falls, a full blown storm has come to Cyclonia. Lightning, both red and white, flashes in the distance, and wind battered the windows, aching to be let in, moaning about its travels and its urge for a home. There's a soft knock on the door that he barely hears over the thunder. He opens it. The metal halves slide open with a soft click. Lark's deep eyes greet him solemnly.
"Good evening, Princess," he says, seeing as there are several Talons in the hallway.
"Can I come in?"
"Of course." He bows, lets her inside, and closes the door. She looks around the new quarters; general's rooms are slightly more lavish than those of a regular Talon's. She hasn't been in here before, takes in the new environment before settling down in his chair. He sits on the bed.
"Sorry to bother you," she grumbles. "The crystals won't work up in my room. Storm's energy current blocks all the energy currents from the stones. It's pitch dark up there."
"And since my room is lower..."
"The storm doesn't affect your stones, yes." Her eyes are glimmering. "Thought I'd talk to you about...something."
"What?"
"When I take the throne..."
"Yes?"
"You do realize things will change, right?"
"Well, of course. Lark, you're not thinking out army and economical strategies...NOW, are you?"
She shakes her head, even musters a laugh. "I don't mean those changes. I mean...between the two of us."
He's silent for a few moments, and when he does talk again, it's just one syllable. "Oh."
"I think you know what I'm talking about," she whispers. "I don't know if I even want this. I just want things to stay the way they are. I think they're perfect, right now." She looks at him, something like pleading mounting inside her voice. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to DO."
"It's fine, Lark. It's not your fault. I guess we both need some adjusting, before you finally claim that title."
"Father might always have a son," she quips.
They both chuckle, but only halfheartedly.
She stands and opens the door. The hallway's empty now. She slips outside. Thunder booms, lightning flashes. He watches her shake for a few moments, then straighten and look him in the eyes again.
"You alright? You know, alone. On a night like this."
She shrugs. "I think I'll be fine." Then she smiles. "After all, I'm growing up, whether we like it or not."
"That's very true, Lark."
She fades into the shadows, and he remembers the first day he met her, so many years ago. She was so small, so mature for her age. Still was.
Only four. A toddler, to most eyes. To him, she was already knowledgeable about a chaotic and seemingly unknowable world.
Did she still have that delicate shell around her? Yes. And the years hadn't hardened it, they had made it even thinner, hammering away. He worries, all the time. And soon she'll be ruler. What then?
And the worst part is that he knows she's right. She's growing up.
