Chapter 14: Memories

Cecelia gazes around the surprisingly well-lit room, chandelier-like fixtures hanging from the ceiling, lighting the extravagant checked marble floor.

"So, this is what they spend all their money on, eh?"

Over in the corner of the room, as a very expensive-looking lounge, complete with an old-fashioned television set, along with vintage couches, and a matching coffee table.

Over in the other corner, was a girl with long, hair fair that she tied into ponytails, violet eyes sparkling, as she was playing a game of pool with what appeared to be…

A golem…?

"Hello Orchid, Dargoth," Eleanor waves at both of them, a small, plastic smile adorning her lips.

"I told you to call me Orca," the girl—named Orchid, or Orca, or whatever she wanted to be—replies curtly, tongue sticking out in concentration.

The man made of stone keeps his mouth shut, simply nodding back to the Black Witch.

"Instead of proper showers, and pillows that aren't filled with rocks," Cecelia huffs indignantly, a hand on her hip, "They opt to spend money on pool tables, and fancy couches…"

"Oh, hush, Cecelia, we don't spend all of our money on the recreational room…" Eleanor waves Cecelia away nonchalantly, almost swatting away her words, "Where do you think I get all my wine from?"

To this, Reina frowns.

"… M-Magic?" she intones.

"Hah!"

The clack of heels against stone resound through the room, as, in the other corner of the spacious hall-like room, was a couple of tables, with forms sprawled out on them.

"What are these for?" Reina picks one up, examining the sheet closely.

"These," Eleanor snatches the paper out of her frail hand, "Are for the little exercise that you will carry out today."

Cecelia frowns, "We're filling out forms?"

"We're going to pin them up on the 'new members' board, right there," Eleanor elaborates, pointing to a very dusty-looking billboard in the far corner of the room, "After you both exchange forms and find out more about each other, of course."

She then gestures to some very rickety chairs surrounding the table.

"Please be seated, then, girls."

'This is some bullshit…' inner-Cecelia mutters.

And, for possibly the first time ever, Cecelia found herself nodding in agreement to her own snarky remarks.

"I shall go and join Orca in a game of pool," she swirls on her heel, magenta robes nearly slapping them in the face as she does so, "Farewell!"

Cecelia huffs, as she watches Eleanor saunter over to the other side of the room.

"Tch…" her nose wrinkles, as she picks up the pencil.

The sounds of birds chirping in their nests, basking in their canopies under a wash of the morning sun, surprisingly shining brightly for that time of year…

Other than those peaceful sounds, the only sound sitting between them—other than Casmilia's silent grumblings to herself about a 'lazy asshole'—was the crunch of leaves and twigs under her boots, and his bare feet.

Clearing his throat in a painfully awkward fashion, Andrew finally breaks the silence, "What's wrong? You seem pretty pissed off."

Casmilia clenches her fist.

"Neinheart…" she narrows her eyes, hissing her words through gritted teeth, "You lazy, lazy… Ugh! Goddess!"

Andrew winces, as he dares not look into her eyes, filled with hatred and inconsumable rage, he assumes.

"What's wrong with Kerning City?" he laughs nervously.

Casmilia, in general, was made out to be a sweet—albeit rather air-headed—girl by most people, close to her or not.

But, when she's mad… Oh, she's mad.

"He made me go all the way from Henesys to Ereve, just so he could take the stupid doll," she grumbles lowly, "And stationed me in Kerning City!"

Howling out in sheer rage, she clutches at her head, feeling the urge to tear her pretty black hair out.

"Of all places," Casmilia grumbles irately, stomping onto the ship.

Andrew cringes internally, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, huh…'

"H-Hey," he interjects, "I – for one – think that Kerning City is a cool place."

"'Cool' places…" she grimaces, "Don't generally smell like smog and sewerage."

"The sunset's always nice."

"That's only because of the pollution, Andrew. The light's scattered more because of the smoke, or something."

"The buskers always put on a nice show," he defends, "If you pay them more than ten mesos, then they won't beat you up."

Crackle, fizz…

If Andrew learned one thing about Casmilia over the course of an entire year, it was that she would never, ever be able to take a loss, much less handle losing a friendly debate.

The distinct sound of static echoes through the forest, birds chirping as they flee from the canopies. Casmilia narrows her eyes, the neon yellow-green flash reflected in her golden orbs, as she raises her crackling fist.

… Not without punching the life out of him, anyhow.

The next fact that ran through his head was that he would never, ever want to find out what it was like to be clobbered in the face with lightning-infused brass knucklers. By a girl. A girl years younger than him, no less…

"Go on," she mumbles darkly.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he finds himself lowering his duck cap, as he lets the silence resettle, as the no-longer fresh grasses begin to crunch under the soles of his feet.

Drying, dead grasses slowly give way to blocks of dull red dotting the path—or lack thereof—they tread upon.

Before he knows it, the singular bricks of red clumped together into a path, as a looming shadow of a town comes into view.

Raising his gaze, he blinks as he takes in the wonderful sight. So close, yet so far; towers and apartment complexes, from ascend into the sky, touching the clouds, the bricks around them enveloped in a fluorescent orange.

"Oh, heh," he smiles nervously, scratching the back of his head, "Won't you look at that…"

Looking to his left, the thunder breaker shivers—not in anticipation, but, rather, in blatant distress.

This time, it is her turn to laugh nervously, "T-To Kerning City we go…"

"Cecelia," Reina whispers.

"Mm?" the older girl nibbles on the end of the pencil, a notoriously terrible habit of hers that hasn't left her ever since she started in first grade.

'The paint's probably gotten to your brain…'

"Yeah, that's how you came to exist," Cecelia rolls her eyes, "You're the product of the yellow paint that I nibbled off pencils over the years."

Reina ignores her hushed whispers to herself, as she intones warily,

"Do not write any information on this sheet of paper," she narrows her eyes, as she taps her finger against the form, "Nothing accurate, anyway."

Cecelia frowns,

"Why's that?"

"Well…" Reina runs a hand through her straw-like hair with a sigh, "Just take a good look at it, won't you?"

Cecelia's eyes scan over the sheet of paper.

'Family name, given name, birthplace, date of birth, interests…' she flips over the page; there was nothing more, nothing less…

"What's wrong?" Cecelia inclines her head, "Looks like a regular form, to me."

"Looks are quite deceiving, are they not?"

Not bother—nor caring enough—to overthink such a trivial matter, Cecelia scrawls out her family name in what could be seen as the messiest handwriting ever known to man.

"Whatever, man," she bites at her lip, "It's not like I have anything to hide, you know?"

Reina, similarly though begrudgingly writes out her personal details in cursive, pursing her lips.

'… But I do.'

The scratching of pencils against paper, the clacking of a cue ball, that occasional grunt or 'Aha! I win!', along with the whirring of the boiler—which is conveniently placed directly next to where their tiny desk was set—were the only sounds resounding through the recreational room.

Cecelia taps her pencil against the desk, as she, in the most discreet way she could possibly manage, took a gander at this 'Orca' person.

Long, blonde hair hung in ponytails swinging by her hips, her translucently pale skin contrasting against her black-and-gold uniform, that hat covering one of her violet eyes…

"Psst, Reina…" Cecelia hisses under her breath.

It took her all of her willpower to not bury her face in the middle of her palm right there and then.

'Nexon, oh, Nexon,' Cecelia rolls her eyes, 'You're going to get so much shit for this…'

"Yes?" she continues to scribble.

"Do you reckon they have gas chambers around here?"

The clack of a pen as it hits the stone floor sounds, her jaw hanging from its hinges. She doesn't even care enough to pick up her pen, as she hollers, "Wh-What?"

'Gas chambers?'

Reina glares at her incredulously, as Cecelia stares blankly into the distance, almost as though listening to something attentively…

"The holocaust doesn't exist, either, apparently," she mumbles pensively, "Huh… Fascinating…"

'The holocaust was more, well… Y'know, sad, than anything,' she snorts at herself, 'You sick fuck.'

"Fascinating as in I have to forget everything about where I came from to adapt to stuff here, you idiot," she snarls back, "That I just have to throw all the concepts I know so well out the window…"

'But, that doesn't apply…'

"What?"

'You know nothing.'

"… Shut up."

'Seriously, when was the last time that you studied for a History test, huh?'

"I said…" she mumbles through gritted teeth.

"What are you prattling on about?" Reina narrows her eyes doubtfully, as her chin rests on the edge of the table, patting her hand against the floor in a frail attempt to find her pencil.

"N-Nothing at all, R-Reina," Cecelia stammers, "If you studied the history of where I came from, then you'd understand… Heh…"

'If you didn't procrastinate all those history tests, maybe–"

"Hey, it's your fault that we failed History for the past two years!" she argues, "Not me! I took no part in it!"

'We're the same person! You said so!'

"Gah!"

"Well," Reina clears her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her head, "have you finished filling out your form yet?"

Cecelia presses her finger against her sheet, "Sure."

Gliding seamlessly across the table, Cecelia crosses her fingers—hopefully, by some sort of miracle, it would make its way to Reina without flying off the table, as it usually did…

"Here it goes…" Reina mutters, as she stops it with her forefinger.

Blinking, Cecelia scans over the sheet.

"Did you fill out the form at all?"

"Yes," Reina's eyes scan over her own piece of paper, not bothering to look up, "I filled out as much as I could."

Cecelia flips Reina's sheet around.

"You filled out your first name," she taps the top of the sheet, "and that's it."

Glancing up, Reina shrugs.

"Why don't we just pretend to be filling out these forms?" she replies, "I feel not the need to give any personal information."

Cecelia tilts her head to the side, her hair nearly touching the dusty wall.

"I figured you didn't fill out anything because you didn't remember your family, and everything," she says uneasily, "but, sure… okay."

She finds herself staring down ad the sheet once again, as though the paper held the very meaning of life itself.

"Why won't you fill out the form?"

"You do not come from Edelstein, I see…" Reina hums.

Cecelia raises an eyebrow, "What the hell are you on about?"

Reina looks around shiftily, before leaning forward – she urges Cecelia to do the same.

"I graduated from the academy a while ago," she begins, her voice lowering into a whisper, "and joined the Resistance."

"The resistance…?" Cecelia frowns, "Against what?"

Reina blinks, "I suppose it's fair enough, seeing as we have all disguised ourselves as regular citizens. And, here I was, thinking our disguises weren't subtle enough…"

She giggles meekly.

"I shall assume that is reasonable."

"What did you do in this Resistance thing?"

Reina's smile turns wistful, "Fight against the Black Wings."

Cecelia's eyes widen,

"But we are in the…"

Reina's grin falters.

"I am here for a very different reason from you."

"Going for a more subtle form of interrogation, eh?"

Orca laughs shrilly, as she looms over the older magician.

"I guess I am," Eleanor presses her lips together, as she pulls over a seat, "My last technique didn't get too much out of her. The other one doesn't know anything, as far as I can tell…"

Orca glances behind her to the young puppeteer, still moving his dolls around by those bright gold strings.

"Francis is so useful, isn't he?" she chuckles sardonically.

"Of course he is," Eleanor replies, leaning back in her chair, lowering her gaze so that her bangs draped over her troubled expression.

'Francis…'

More than he cared enough to admit, the puppet master's strange little hunches were almost never right.

His puppets couldn't speak to him, as he so firmly believed they did, that much was certain.

Francis was simply a boy, a boy with a vivid imagination – perhaps too vivid, to the point that it had thrown him into a magical world full of endless fantasies.

And yet, she spends hundreds of thousands – millions, perhaps – of mesos on anti-ageing creams and serum to reverse the effects of the lines creasing her forehead, as she furrows her brow in endless stress, frustration and worry.

Perhaps not completely on his part, yet, the thought still lingered in the back of her mind, whenever he says those sorts of things.

"I feel like there's someone, or something after me—"

—What if he is right, this time around?

'What if he's really going to…?' she grimaces at the very thought of it.

"Hey!"

The strident voice of a young girl rings through the room, snapping her out of her daze.

"Aren't you going to join us, Eleanor?" Orca enquires, "It's so very boring playing pool with only two people. Dargoth isn't the chattiest gentleman, see."

Eleanor looks over to the other end of the table, where Dargoth gave a very vexed glare to the other general. She smirks, as she pulls her chair back, eyes laid upon the cue ball.

Perhaps, somehow, this would bring about some form of distraction.

"Bring it on."

'I hope you're having fun in your little fantasy world, my dear.'

Eleanor narrows her eyes, taking one last glance at the green-haired child pulling himself up, walking out of the room with eyes as blank and hollow as those dolls he adores so much.

'It's probably a whole lot better than the world we all have to live in.'

"Well, here we are, Casmilia!" he says cheerily, a grin plastered on his face, arms outstretched, "Notoriously dangerous Kerning City!"

With a hand in front of her quivering lip, she feels cars, buses and the occasional motorbike whizzing past, as she looks up to the skyscrapers creating shadows in front of the orangey-pink, ever-present sunset, with widened eyes.

"This is scary," Casmilia shivers involuntarily, "What do you find so good about this place?"

"C'mon, Casmilia, it's a great place," he looks around, "At any given moment, you've got, I dunno…"

He scans over the busy streets, where there were boys his age, or younger even, lighting cigarettes whilst they lean against the graffiti-covered walls; people who were a little bit older looking around shiftily, holding something under ratty brown trench coats.

"There are probably a couple of guys doing heroine and drugs behind the wall there."

Andrew sets his sights on an old man with a scruffy, knotted beard blocking the sidewalk, holding a paper cup, and a makeshift sign with something along the lines of 'broke: change please' messily scrawled across in permanent marker.

"Andrew…"

It isn't a stunningly breathtaking sight, like the canopies and fairies Ellinia. It is not enchanting like the misty mountaintops of Perion. It didn't have that spark of energy like Nautilus Port did, nor did it have the homely charm of Henesys.

But Kerning City… It has integrity, yet also a degree of anonymity. It is the grittiest, most realistic city in this dreaded, cursed world.

And, that, Andrew thinks, was what gives this town its notorious reputation; this is what gave Kerning City its flair.

"Ah, I feel like I'm right at home," he hugs her closer, with a smile on his face as he extends his arm out, taking in the surroundings once again, "I was practically born to be here, no?"

"Andrew, please…"

"Casmilia?"

Andrew stops dead, as a robust, tanned skin man, with a nicely kempt beard, glares at them with piercing black eyes.

"You are the knight who was sent here to help me, yes?"

"Well, girls…"

The familiarly shrill voice of the witch makes both of the girls wince, as Reina, wide-eyed, snaps around.

"Have you had fun with your little bonding exercise?"

"Y-Yes," Reina looks straight ahead, now stiff as a board, not daring look into her condescending violet eyes, "It was rather enjoyable."

With a plastic smile adorning her lips, Eleanor turns to the magician, "And you, Cecelia?"

"Yeah, I had fun, I guess," she says, "How was pool with…? Um… Uh…"

"Orca," Eleanor finishes for her curtly, "It was fun. We had a very close game…"

"I beat you sooo bad, Eleanor!" the younger woman adjusts the bunny clips in her fair hair, sticking out her tongue.

"Or, maybe, I lost very badly to someone at least five years my junior," she flips her hair, rolling her eyes, "Alas, I still had fun. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

"I won," she chimes in a sing-song voice, "and you lost…"

Eleanor whips around, teeth grinding together, her long, manicured nails piercing her skin, "If you don't shut up about it, I'll cut your pay!" she stomps her foot for dramatic effect.

"You can't do that, Lady Eleanor," Orca smirks mockingly, "I got promoted last week. That means you can't boss me around anymore!"

"Orchid!"

"Haha!" she runs out of the room. Although her triumphant grin didn't say anything about it, Orca has an immense phobia of being incinerated, like many others who dared cross the path of the Black Witch…

Reina clears her throat, "Whatever do we do now, Eleanor?"

Eleanor pulls back her arm warmers, to take a glance at her silver wrist watch.

"My, oh, my… Won't you look at the time," she observes, with a frown, "Time flies by when you're having fun, yes?"

"Sure," Cecelia cuts in with a yawn.

"Lunch shall be soon, and I give you permission to roam the headquarters until then," Eleanor elaborates, shooting Cecelia a cautionary glare, "Miss Cecelia."

She claps haughtily, a smile once against adorning her lips.

"You are both dismissed," Eleanor says, in an almost sing-song voice, "I have no tasks or mission assigned to you from lunch until dinner, so the period between then is free time, as well."

As Eleanor swirls around, making her way to the door, Cecelia indignantly sticks her tongue out at the witch, to which Reina giggles.

"I'm gonna go take a nap, now, I need my beauty sleep," Cecelia pulls back her chair, stifling a yawn, "Seeya later."

'I'm pretty sure you've only slept for a grand total of around six hours in the entire time you've been at this place…' inner-Cecelia makes an appearance, once again.

"That's a generous estimate…" she grumbles to herself, as she walks out of the room, in hope that she won't get lost in the maze of stairwells and corridors.

"No, Cecelia, I don't think we have enough energy to even walk around and see the rest of this damned place," she reprimands herself.

Pause.

"What the hell, man! I might bump into a room full of dead bodies, or test subjects," Cecelia hollers, "It's very likely I'll bump into a gas chamber, I swear to God… I don't want to be scarred for life, you know."

The pauses grow longer, and the voices grow ever so slowly softer.

"I don't care about lunch. My eye bags are getting worse…"

The Black Witch's annoyingly familiar voice then cuts into her eardrums, "What are you doing to do on your break?"

Reina wordlessly turns to look over her shoulder, eyes filled with contempt.

"I will go out and get some fresh air."

"Ah, a wise choice," Eleanor moves back, "We should really install some air ventilation around these parts. It does get quite stuffy in the mine…"

"Indeed," Reina replies starkly, as she, with quick steps, walks out of the room.

As she walks out of the room, a triumphant smirk adorns her lips, the last thing to ring in her ears is the frantic shuffle of papers.

'I've won.'

"Yes, she is Casmilia, the knight sent from Erev–"

"I didn't ask you, boy."

Andrew blinks, as he glances toward the younger girl instead,

"Speak, child. Are you Casmilia, knight-in-training of Ereve?"

Casmilia nods curtly, as she tries her best to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You don't look any stronger than a noblesse," he raises an eyebrow as her generic white and blue robes, trimmed with gold, along with a matching feathered hat.

Casmilia swore she could hear her blood boiling.

"I suppose this is better than nothing," he sighs, letting her go, "So this will have to suffice, I'm afrai—"

"Just…"

She seethes, rubbing her temples,

"Assign me a mission."

Matthias raises his eyebrow.

"Any sort of mission," Casmilia pleads, "Please."

"For crying out loud!" she yells, voice echoing down the halls of the empty subway, its depths filled with spider webs and howling wraiths.

"Why did he…"

Out of frustration, the thunder breaker punches down an innocent little stirge that had the misfortune of brushing past her at that moment in time.

"Oh, Goddess," she pinches her nose, as she lifts the lid of one of the trash cans, "the rubbish here stinks like you wouldn't believe…"

"What does the trash in Ereve smell like, then?" Andrew asks wryly, "Roses?"

"Well, quite frankly," she rummages through the garbage, one eye open, "Compared to this, yes…"

"Try training in the sewers around these parts," Andrew shudders at the memory—the king slime never seemed to die…

Hurling the trash can lid down the abandoned tracks, she would have torn out her pretty ponytails—if not for the fact that she had washed her hair the night before, and her hands were covered with filth and Goddess-knows-what-else…

"It's not here, either!" she growls, "What's going on?"

Andrew crosses his arms, as he looks down the long line of trash cans lining the passageway.

'Two down, fifteen to go…' he sighs, leaning against the wall.

Eleanor flips through the form handed to her, a triumphant smirk should have been written across her sharp features.

'Tch…'

If all had gone according to plan, that is.

"I knew you were too nifty for my little tricks," she scrunches the piece of paper in her hand, glaring with eyes full of rage at the intricate form filled out by the older teenager pinned upon the 'new members' board.

'You stupid little…' she scowls.

In all honesty, Eleanor doesn't care enough to know that Cecelia's last name was Yang, that she had a mother called Mallory, or that she was a student in magic—a student with a B+ average, at that.

What really did matter was where Reina came from; what her last name was; who her family was; what she studied.

What her connections were.

But, no… Instead, she gets a blank paper with her name written atop the sheet, nothing but pure malice and mockery dripping off every single one of those six words imprinted upon the back of the leaflet.

'I will never tell you anything.'