There are motherships, and then there is Mother. Neither ship nor station, it is a metropolis, resembling a mushroom or jellyfish, a colossal engineered bloom against the dark backdrop of space. The fanning of what looks like articulated blades—Mother's "wings," they call it—form the top, and the eight "legs" of the structure, each one its own city with a population of approximately 900,000, emerge from under and within those wings, shielded by them. Mother is a fantasy realized, the stuff of the dreams of gods. But it is no work of divinity.
It has taken 188 hours to travel from the mostly abandoned Europa to the vibrant hum of a constantly dancing civilization, and getting through port security of the city of La Alma is much easier with the two officers on board. Urokai has always been eager to show off his badge.
As they dock, Raizel watches the countless ships fly, flutter, whizz by, all designs and destinations. They have somewhere to go, somewhere to belong, as they cut through the artificial sky and constructed mist and clouds. From even just the sweeping windows of the control deck, Raizel sees the bright scrolling letters projected in the air above a gateway a short distance away: "Warp Shuttle Station 27B" with smaller ships flying in and out. And as he looks up above him, he can make out the distant rooftops and towers of the city on one of the other legs, as if La Alma is reflected in the sky. It is so much. Everything everywhere.
Raizel is dwarfed. Lukedonia was small; his manor smaller. Himself, dust, and just as useless. The world is beyond his own comprehension, and as he breathes in, he wonders what it would be like if he stops doing just that. Stops breathing. It seems to hardly matter. If he had truly died over a millenia ago, the ships would still fly; they move, they move on.
"Here." Frankenstein hands Raizel a small metallic square and a black wrist band of sorts. "Your phone." He presses on a circular symbol, and the square unfolds in Raizel's palm. "My contact information is already on here and so is Urokai's and Zarga's," he says, showing where to find it. "You can also use it just like this." Another button and the phone folds up again. Frankenstein presses it into the slot on the band and secures it to Raizel's wrist. "Convenient." A little smile, and Raizel almost smiles in return.
"La Alma is a large city, if you get lost, call." Frankenstein turns to Urokai and Zarga, both seated on the center bench that wraps around them in a half circle, Zarga on his own phone, the small wrist projection displaying some sort of news article while Urokai stares back at him. "They can show you around."
"And what makes you think we'll bring him back to you?" Urokai spits.
"I will return," Raizel states, unthinking as if he has any authority, before he catches himself, glancing over to Frankenstein. He hopes he has not imposed upon him.
"You heard him." Frankenstein sneers at Urokai.
His faint smile is one of relief. Raizel nods. "I am your hostage, Frankenstein."
"Indeed," Frankenstein says, seemingly satisfied with himself. "I will see you later, then." And he leaves, down corridors and elevators to rooms Raizel cannot see.
Frankenstein looks at the graphs of the spatial distortions noble souls like to cause. Ragnarok's and Raizel's are similar, almost as if they resonate with each other.
The data he has gathered about Raizel the past few days confirm his ill health. Master is deteriorating, unable to keep his physical form consistently intact enough to not cough up the noble version of blood. Why didn't Master tell him? He never tells him anything.
He is always so quiet.
Frankenstein frowns.
'I wanted to help,' Raizel said, and Frankenstein held his tongue—I don't need it. He had done quite well for himself without him. Had done better than he would have had he stayed on Lukedonia with Raizel, explored worlds he wouldn't have traveled, hunted criminals he wouldn't have met, realized things he wouldn't have seen. Frankenstein is devoted but only to things that are real, and for a long while, Raizel didn't exist.
'I wanted to help.' Frankenstein laughs quietly to himself. If only Raizel had let him do the same.
He takes out his phone.
"I'm in La Alma. When are you coming?"
People, paid them no mind as they stroll through what is referred to as 'Angeltown,' a neighborhood of sorts centered around a plaza that was a popular tourist destination with a colorful collection of businesses and events, complete with a lake a grass.
They walk slowly, Raizel looking around with wide, curious eyes at the signs and shops, some with beaming electronic displays and lights, others with lovingly painted details. He looks at the visitors and they too are a marvel. Humans and nobles and werewolves, he can recognize, but there are others he cannot, wearing anatomy and colors that are new to him, and there are those who exist in between them, mixed. Raizel knows it is rude to stare at strangers for too long, but he cannot help a glance at an extra pair of insectoid legs, or a different nose, or an extra set of eyes. But what catcher his attention the most is that he cannot sense souls from some of them; perhaps they are unnecessary to certain species. Strange, when his own existence is that of judging souls.
Something taps at the tall window display. Raizel stops and looks down. It resembles a small headless dog constructed of smooth white parts and motors. In place of a head and neck is a circular screen. An eye displayed in pixels blinks at him. Raizel watches. It mimicks life, but he cannot sense any from it. He looks up. The holographic sign reads, 'B. Bot Emporium' and in smaller text, 'since 2727'.
"Would you like to go in, Sir?" Zarga asks.
Raizel nodr and walks in, the glass doors opening for him even without him having to will it to. What strange wonders of the world. Even though they have already seen several of these doors, Raizel takes a last look behind him to watch it close on its own again.
"Welcome!" greets the large interactive display to their left. Inside, customers leisurely look over the displays and some aro interacting with the different smaller models spinning or blinking or chirping on the long tables. The more humanoid ones are to the far right on a raised platform. Raizel spots the one that resembles the robot from the window on a long table. It blinks as he approaches. He stares for a moment before daring to touch it with a finger. It chirps, a sound that resembled electronic windchimes.
"Do you…want it?" Urokai leans forward to peer at the bot, then at the price tag displayed next to it. He has to keep himself from spluttering.
Raizel stares at the device for a little longer before nodding.
Urokai laughs nervously. He would gladly buy it for Sir Raizel, had he even had that amount of money in his account in the first place. "Uhm, let's check how much money Frankenstein gave you first." Urokai holds out his hand. "If I may have your wrist, Sir Raizel." It only takes him a couple seconds to realize that this is the first time they're touching, Raizel's hand turned up in Urokai's palm. He pauses before scolding himself for getting excited about such a juvenile thing. Still, he can't hide the smile from the light softness of Raizel's hand as he navigates the small screen. His smile stiffens when he sees the number.
22,000.
He does splutter this time. That is more than three times as much as he makes a 'month.'
Raizel looks at him, concern knitting his brow.
"Oh, ah, it's nothing. You have…plenty."
Somewhere deep inside, Urokai is weeping.
Raizel sits on the bench between Zarga and Urokai, the bot on his lap.
"Welcome to the B. Bot experience!" chimes a voice from the robot as a loading circle fills the center of its 'face'. When done, the circle reveals an eye and blinks at him. "To give your new Buddy a name, say 'Hello' and then the name of your choice," the machine prompts.
Raizel turns to Zarga then Urokai.
"What do you want to call it?" Zarga leans in.
Raizel looks at the bot once again, brows furrowed in deep thought, eyes concentrated on the circular screen. After much bated breath, "Hello, Circle," he finally decides.
"Ah." Zarga holds a hand to his chin. "That's…"
"A fine name!" Urokai interjects, smiling. "Good choice, Sir Raizel."
Raizel blushes.
After following some more setup instructions, Raizel carefully places Circle on the ground, and it hops and putters about for a bit, making small chirping noises.
Zarga smiles at the robot briefly, his arm around the back of the bench; then he turns his attention to Raizel. "Sir?"
Raizel looks at him.
"Muzaka actually works near here. I think he'd like to see you."
Raizel is silent for a moment. He nods and stands up.
Circle briskly bounds after them as they make their way to the bakery.
He has always received good business after Frankenstein helped get the word out. At this rate, Muzaka might be able to afford a real house in such an expensive city as La Alma, or any of Mother's other legs. The thought makes him chuckle as he kneads the dough (by hand no less; few things were done by hand nowadays).
To buy a home is to settle down, a mark of permanence. Muzaka had been a traveler for the longest time, or rather, a coward is a better word. Unthinking and irresponsible, always moving, fleeing from his duties. It was a good thing the werewolves had replaced him with another lord when he had disappeared after…that. If only they hadn't replaced an irresponsible fool with a power hungry lunatic. That is hardly any better, but Maduke is dead now, and Muzaka recalls something about it being rude to speak ill of the dead, or as dead as one can be within Dark Spear.
He leaves the dough for a moment to check on the oven, not that he really needs to. The oven will tell him when things are done, but old habits are hard to break. Frankenstein had been the one who taught him how to bake. "You need a hobby," he told him, and it was an excuse to get him to wear the pink apron, not that one was really needed. Frankenstein could have simply threatened him into wearing it and being the bus boy for the old household.
"Hey Dad, those cops are here to see you again, and they brought another guy, a noble."
Muzaka turns around. "Well, I wonder who he could be," he says with a grin. He can already sense him from here.
Imani gives him an incredulous look. "Just wash your hands; they're waiting," she says flatly, before putting on a fresh pair of gloves to decorate the small cakes.
Muzaka does as he's told, only slightly apprehensive.
Raizel watches him, expression unreadable as he emerges from the back room and walks to the table of three. "Hey," he says, hands in his pockets.
Raizel blinks once at him, which is more of a greeting than Muzaka expected, actually. Raizel smiles a little. Muzaka smiles a lot.
"And who is this?" Muzaka nudges at the robot at his foot, causing it to chime.
"Circle," Raizel answers.
"Hello, Circle!" Muzaka bends down to inspect, looking at the print on the bottom of its foot. "Oh, it's the new one, fancy." He stands back up. "But anyway, you guys mind if I steal Raizel for a second?"
"And where are you going to take him?" Urokai says with a glare.
He makes slow fireworks of his fingers in the air. "Where all the magic happens," he says to Raizel, to which Raizel nods and follows him.
"Please don't touch anything unless you've washed your hands or are wearing gloves," Imani says, her eyes and precision still glued to the cakes.
Muzaka looks apologetically at Raizel. "That's Imani, my daughter." He smiles proudly.
"She's human," Raizel observes quietly.
"You bet I am," Imani calls.
"Hey." Muzaka turned fully to Raizel. "I know this is old news, but what happened back then, the fight…I'm sorry." His voice is low.
Raizel shakes his head. "You were grieving."
"You're not going to deflect this, Raizel," Muzaka huffs, crossing his arms. "You stopped my dumb ass from doing something I would have regretted, and I hurt you. Not that I don't regret everything else." Muzaka smiles, gently this time. He sighs. "So, sorry, and thank you."
Raizel looks at Muzaka tenderly. "I am merely glad to see you well, Muzaka."
He blows air through his nose. His lips turn up. "You don't look too bad yourself!" Muzaka says as he slaps his friend's back and laughs. "Go back to the table, Raizel; I'll make you something." He held open the door. "Then you can tell me how much better I am than Frankenstein."
Urokai's small spoon smoothly sinks into the flan. He scoops a piece. "Sir Raizel, if I may ask, why? Why do you want to go back to him?" because Urokai sees how Frankenstein acts around him, and it is almost bizarre.
When back in Lukedonia, Urokai recalled the absolute irritation he felt at seeing that Frankenstein snake around the Noblesse, shamelessly displaying his bond. It had been apparent to any noble or anyone who could sense souls how wrapped up in each other they were, as if they were the same soul. The way Frankenstein would look at Urokai, knowing that he could not have what the human had; though Frankenstein's eyes may have been blue, Urokai only saw red back then.
It is different now, the silence between Raizel and Frankenstein colder; even Urokai notices. And this too somehow irritates him as well. That Frankenstein is a pain either way. Do you love him or not? It should be simple.
"We don't have to go back to Gilgamesh. I can take you anywhere now that we're here."
Raizel silently looks at his slice of cake for a second or two before raising his eyes to Urokai. "I told him I would return." His brows crease. "I must return."
"But…why?"
"I cannot abandon my bonded."
"He hardly even looks at you!"
"Urokai." Zarga gave him a stern gaze.
"Ah." Urokai settled back down in his seat, dropping his eyes. "I…my apologies."
Raizel smiles gently, sadly at him, and Urokai thinks he can die then and there. "I am aware of causing him grief, but"—Raizel's smile turns to himself, and to Urokai's eyes, it somehow gets even sadder, sweeter—"he chose to keep me."
Urokai's lips were tight.
"I know Frankenstein worries, and you do as well…Thank you."
"There is nothing to thank, Sir Raizel," because as much as Urokai hates to admit it, Frankenstein has never betrayed Raizel, unlike himself. That he played a role in hurting the person delicately eating cake across from him is, in fact, unforgivable. He was utterly selfish, yet still, "You forgave me—us" —he glances at Zarga, who nods seriously—"all those years ago, after you had returned home from stopping Muzaka…" and it had been Frankenstein who managed to weed out Urokai and Zarga after the incident; it had been Frankenstein who took fervent care, doing whatever he could to nurse his master back to health as best he could. "1,600 years later, and I still don't understand it." How could he have forgiven him?
"Neither of you truly wished ill will towards me. You were only lead astray. That you had willingly returned was worth forgiveness."
"You could have died then."
"I am still alive." Raizel smiles, cutting into his cake again. "And we are together again; that is what matters."
At this, Urokai is taken. He stares at Raizel, feeling his face warm. He can only smile and giddily eat his dessert.
"We are glad to have you back, Sir," Zarga responds instead.
Raizel continues to finish his cake as well.
Muzaka walks up to them again. "So, Raizel, isn't it the bes—oh, shit, is it that bad?"
"Sir?" Zarga leans forward.
Urokai's seat slides back as he abruptly stands. "Sir Raizel!"
Muzaka places a firm hand on Raizel's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"
Raizel looks down. There were spots of red on the white tablecloth. He touched his chin and looked at his fingers as if he had never seen blood before. "I am…" fine—'You're not.'
"Let's go back," Zarga announces as he stands and pushes in his chair. "Thank you, Muzaka, for the food." He gives Raizel a nod.
Raizel is still for a moment. He has caused a scene, caused trouble, but at least he can follow instructions. He gets up. "I enjoyed your cake," he says quietly to Muzaka as they part.