Heya,
A bit of a quicker chapter update than usual from me. I know I promised some things last time around, but this chapter just kept getting longer and longer and longer, so I decided to save Irene/Terry for a later time and split this chapter into two parts. Part one is Miria's story, Part 2 will be the story of Miria's rival. It might take some time before it is released, though, since I'm going on holidays soon and I need to do some research into Irish history. Also, I've been ignoring my Stopani stories as well. Well, no matter, I hope you'll enjoy.
This story (and it's second part) is a bit of experiment. It's a bit darker and has some character exploration, but also the humor and romance you've gotten used to from Life Sucks!.
Life Sucks!
Chapter 21 - Sinn Féin – Part one
Tabitha parked her tiny Volkswagen Beetle in front a pub and looked at Miria nervously. Tabitha had been nervous ever since she had sensed the youki of the one person inside the building.
"She's dormant," Tabitha whispered nervously. "But you know as well as I do that doesn't mean a damn thing."
"Well," Miria sighed. "Let's get this over with She probably already knows we're here anyway."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tabitha asked. "We can just drive off."
"You know what she's like," Miria replied. "If I don't meet her here, she'll probably end up showing up in our living room tomorrow."
Tabitha offered a smile. "I could persuade Riful to stand guard. She can't stand up to Riful."
"Hah!" Miria snorted. "Even if Riful wasn't in Australia, all she needs to do is hand Riful a Gameboy. No, it's better this way."
Before Miria could exit the car, Tabitha gently grabbed her hand. As Miria turned to look at Tabitha, her beloved quickly brushed her lips against hers. "Be careful. And remember, I'll come rushing in at the first sign of trouble."
"I'll be careful," Miria caressed Tabitha's cheek and returned the kiss.
A few moments later, Miria was standing in the cold night air, ready to enter the pub. Once inside, she noticed O'Shaughnessy's was a pretty standard Irish Pub. Lots of wood everywhere, arches, booths, stools and loads and loads of pictures taken of Ireland by the various patrons of the establishment. Irish Americans and visiting Irishmen were chatting, drinking and generally merrying to the Irish folk-songs playing in the background.
From her attire and her demeanor, Miria stuck out like a sore thumb. She ignored the patrons as they ignored her and found her target sitting in one of the quieter booths.
She stole wore her hair in bunches like she had so long ago, the only difference is that it was painted red in a color that wasn't quite natural. She regarded Miria with a neutral gaze for a moment, then motioned for her to sit down opposite of her.
Miria approached carefully, never taking her eyes off her while carefully sitting down.
"Phantom Miria," her target spoke with a surprisingly thick Irish accent.
"Tracker Dietrich," Miria returned. She closed her eyes and let the memories flow back to her. To the days of the rebellion.
The battle was going exceptionally well, better than even expected. But as a battlefield commander and strategist, Miria knew like no other that no plan of action survived contact with the enemy intact. Anything could happen which would turn the tide against them, unless her troops would remain focused and alert.
It had been a classic pincer move. Miria has split off her forces into two groups and attacked both the entrances. The first group consisted of the highest numbers and attacked the main gate as a diversionary tactic, while an insider had let in the second group at the side gate. Miria hadn't seen that snake Rubel ever since he had opened the side gate, and she didn't like that one bit.
But she had no time to dwell on that. The clashing of blades and the screams of the wounded were sign of that. The fight took place in the main courtyard of the compound and her troops were literally blocking any escape for the Organization members. After storming the courtyard they split off into yet smaller groups. With her great speed, Miria rushed from group to group to give instructions and help out where needed.
Some of the opposing Claymores refused to fight. Others tried to set up a resistance but were easily overtaken by Miria's more practiced troops. Some of the lowest numbers had even defected to Miria's troops as soon as they had smelled a chance for freedom.
It was the highest numbers that were the biggest problem: they put up heavy resistance and were incorruptible, though not for the lack of trying. The Organization had indoctrinated them quite well. Miria was horrified that two of the higher numbers had already mercilessly slaughtered several of the young defectors for being traitors. That was the difference, and the biggest handicap for her troops - they were fighting to liberate, and deliberately held back to avoid casualties to the other side, while the defenders give it their everything to kill their attackers, including the defectors.
Fortunately Miria had plenty of aces up her sleeve. Not only were the survivors of Pieta well-trained and in maximum control of their yoki's, but she had a few high-numbers of her own. Windcutter Flora, with the help of Clare, Yuma and Cynthia, was doing her best to protect the remaining lower numbered defectors.
Then there was Ophelia. Though she was unpredictable and violent, she was undeniably a juggernaut of destruction. She flew into battle with glee and beat back the higher numbers with her sheer berserker strength. Her distinct lack of control was thankfully kept in check by Undine. Undine was always close to Ophelia and caught Ophelia's blade with one of her own the moment Ophelia was about to land a lethal blow on one of the enemy Claymores and directed it to another opponent. Undine and Ophelia seemed to work very well together, and the fact that Ophelia didn't even mind that Undine deflected her lethal blows spoke volumes about their friendship.
But her biggest asset in this fight was undoubtedly the former number two, Irene. It had been extremely difficult to find the elusive Irene, but surprisingly easy to convince her to join the cause. Irene was like a shadow, appearing where needed to strike the enemy with massive debilitating force and vanishing again in the blink of an eye.
The groups worked together to counter the devastating attacks the higher numbers were hammering down on them, coming from every direction. Massive amounts of Youki were flying around the compound as the Claymores fought a seemingly chaotic fight, clashing back and forth. But even though they were outnumbered and were holding back, they were the better organized group.. They slowly but surely won steady ground.
Though some of her troops had issues with raising a blade against fellow Claymores, all were devoted to the cause. Miria was certain that the Organization, which had used and abused thousands of people for their own ends, would finally fall today.
That is not to say that the assault didn't encounter any difficulty. Yuma, having been hit by a savage attack, flew back through the air and crashed into the wall with dazzling speed. She seemed dazed for a moment and doubled over, coughing up blood.
"Yuma!" Miria rushed to her while the battle continued to rage all around them. "Are you alright?"
But then, with sheer determination on her face, she made a grab for her sword. "I can do this," she whispered at Miria. "I can." With that, she rushed into melee once more.
Miria made sure Yuma was back in formation before moving to the next group. "Ophelia!" she stepped in front of the enraging Claymore and grabbed her by the lapels because Undine was being pinned down by three higher numbers. "Try to AVOID killing anybody. Follow your orders!"
Unlike the acceptance she had given Undine, Ophelia responded to Miria with a savage snarl. "Prissy princess wants non-lethal?" Ophelia growled, shoved Miria away and literally plucked a passing enemy high number out of the air. Ophelia rammed her sword in the ground, slammed the poor high number into the wall and treated the stunned girl to a series of youki empowered punches. With two kicks, she broke both of the girl's knees and, as a gruesome finish, pushed the girl's back into a nearby metal rod, making her spine snap with a sickening crunch. As a final insult, Ophelia grabbed the agonized girl and threw her across the courtyard where she landed in the dirt like a sack of potatoes.
"There!" Ophelia snarled. "Non-lethal enough for ya?"
"Maniac!" Miria shouted. "You really *are* insane!"
"She'll heal," Ophelia grinned wickedly. "Eventually."
"Just... take your sword..." Miria gritted her teeth.
Meanwhile, Undine had unpinned herself, mainly by forcing one of her attackers down the well, and returned to Ophelia's side.
"Make sure that insane bitch doesn't kill anyone!" Miria ordered.
"No promises," Undine replied while the battle began anew.
One of the towers exploded as five Claymores clashed into it. Bricks, mortar and wood splinters rained down upon the battlefield. Miria turned towards it and saw Clare being surrounded by four middle numbers. Clare could handle herself, but the four were very coordinated and managed to beat back every single one of Clare's offensive moves.
"CYNTHIA!" Miria shouted over the battlefield. "Help out Clare! Queenie, take Cynthia's place and hold the line!"
In the distance, Jean and Irene were making headways. They had made sure there were three less middle numbers to deal with, while still defending the remaining defectors who were still standing. Tabitha had made sure that the wounded were out of harm's way for the moment, bless her heart.
"YEAH, THAT'S HOW OUR GENERATION DOES THINGS, BITCHES!" sounded Helen over the battle field as she stood over no less than four downed middle numbers.
"Less boasting, more paying attention!" shouted Deneve as she pushed right into a fifth middle number who had been about to slice through Helen from behind.
"Ah, you got my back," Helen grinned before giving her a wink.
Miria nodded to them and shot into the air to quickly survey the battlefield. In fact, she was looking for Irene, wanting her to push the offensive. If they could keep the remaining pockets of enemy Claymores separated, this battle would be over very soon.
Suddenly, the felt a sliver of youki in the air as she sped from one group to the other and jumped upwards to avoid the slash of a blade. Then there was another. And another. It was obvious that three high-numbers were acting in formation to force to move her in a certain direction and drive her away from her troops. Unfortunately, it was working.
Miria found herself pushed to the parapet of the compound, overlooking the courtyard with her back to the wall. The three enemy Claymores were surrounding her. Two she recognized as the current number 3 and 5, who had just both gleefully eviscerated a 'traitor' mere moments ago. The third one was the one Rubel had warned her about, and the one who had rallied the Claymores loyal to the Organization into a coherent defense. Her name was Tracker Dietrich, current number 8, and she had proven herself to be quite an effective battlefield commander.
"Well, well, well," a Claymore with short hair and a sadistic grin sing-songed. "What shall we do with her, Audrey?"
The long-haired Claymore called Audrey smiled softly. "I'm not sure, Rachel. Any suggestions?"
"Hm, should we go for a decapitation, or should we play with her a little first? Cut off her limbs? Rip out her guts? Break her back and watch her flop in the dirt for a while before we kill her?"
"Creative as always, dear Rachel," grinned Audrey.
Dietrich, sword in hand, stepped forward. "Keep it clean," she directed at the other two. Rachel and Audrey shot her a dirty look, but apparently obeyed. "Cut off the head of the snake and the body will die. Your rebellion ends here, Phantom Miria."
Audrey and Rachel were scum, Miria could clearly see. They were iconic of the current generation of Claymores: brash, arrogant, violent and short-sighted. However, she saw something different in their commander. Dietrich was distant and calm, and regarded the battle with cold detachment. Miria hoped she could be reasoned with.
"Don't you want to be free?" Miria said softly. "Look down there. More Claymores have joined us already. We do this so we can make our own destinies. We can be so much more than the test subjects the Organization have turned us into!"
Audrey cocked her head sideways. "Hm, it sounds like you actually believe that."
Dietrich silenced her with a look. "The Organization creates the Claymores to serve humanity. Humanity must be defended from the Youma and Awakened Beings which stalk the land. That is the order of things," she said calmly and narrowed her eyes. "You are an enemy of the Organization and, by extension, an enemy of humanity. You and your misguided followers must be removed to protect order."
"Awakened Beings which are created by the Organization itself!" Miria shot back.
"Lies!" Rachel snarled. "Let's cut out her lying tongue and feed it to the crows!"
"Enough talk!" Audrey shouted. "We end this rebellion here and now!"
Before Dietrich could stop them, both Audrey and Rachel sped forward with swords raised to attack. It was a clumsy attack born out of arrogance. Miria easily dodged them; diving in between them as they continued to sped towards the location where her image remained.
'Don't turn around, don't turn around,' Miria thought, intending to knock them both out by hitting the pommel of her sword against the back of their heads. Sadly for them, Audrey and Rachel were only momentarily fooled by the illusion and were already turning around.
Miria saw no other option, no other way.
She slashed out her blade and beheaded both of them in a single arc. Blood sprayed over her uniform, her hands, and her face. Miria closed her eyes. The blood on her face was warm, slippery... Never before in her life had Miria killed another Claymore, a comrade. She felt her strength and resolve falter... two comrades, dead at her hands. For the first time this evening, doubt gnawed at her spirit.
When she opened them again, she stood among the headless corpses of Audrey and Rachel. She could not look at them and fought the urge to wretch. Her legs almost gave way, but she forced herself to keep standing and look away from the corpses.
Now at a severe disadvantage, Dietrich took a defensive stance and pointed her blade forward.
"Damn you," Miria gritted her teeth as she fought back the tears brimming in her eyes, a losing battle. "Damn you for making me do that!"
"You just murdered two loyal soldiers of the Organization," Dietrich spoke harshly. "You are the traitor, not I!"
Tears mixed with blood when Miria saw something from the corner of her eyes. Disbelief. Sheer disbelief mixed with horror as the doors to training compound opened.
Letting out a scream, Miria slashed at Dietrich's blade. Dietrich was slow to respond and couldn't defend against Miria shooting forward, grabbing her back and slamming her against the parapet.
"LOOK!" Miria snarled. "Look at what they're doing!"
At the door stood a small army of Claymore trainees. Some probably didn't even go through their first alteration, most were trembling in fear.
"They're so desperate they're sending out the trainees as arrow fodder! Look at them! Some aren't even strong enough to hold the swords in their hands. Look how the Organization uses us!"
"They will die as loyal soldiers and..."
"Blow it our your..." but before Miria could finish her curse, Dietrich focused the force of her youki and managed to flip Miria over. Dietrich raised her blade and would have seriously wounded Miria were it not for a series of sudden painful cuts appearing all over her body. Dietrich yelped in pain just before she received a savage kick to the chin, causing her to fly off the parapet and land ten meters below with her head on the cobblestones.
"Irene," Miria rubbed her chest as the elder Claymore sheathed her blade and offered her her hand.
Miria was hoisted to her feet and looked below to see an unconscious Dietrich on the ground.
"You let your anger and grief get the better of you, Miria," Irene said as she looked down upon Dietrich. "Sloppy."
"I know," Miria replied.
Irene then looked at the corpses of Rachel and Audrey.
"I had no choice," Miria kept her eyes downcast. More tears.
Irene raised Miria's chin and met her eyes, signifying that she need not apologize. "I know at least ten dead lower numbers who would call their demise justice."
"That doesn't make me feel any better."
"Come. The battle is almost over. We need you."
"The trainees!" Miria hissed, intending to quickly warn her teams not to hurt them. She jumped over the parapet to tackle Ophelia, who was already running towards the trainees with her sword raised over her head.
Fortunately, the sight of Ophelia rushing towards them was enough for the trainees to drop their swords and flee in terror in all possible directions.
"Do I have your attention?" Dietrich spoke with her head cocked to one side.
"Hm?" Miria asked. "Oh, yes, sorry. I was just, remembering."
"So did I." Dietrich replied. "The same memories from a different perspective, no doubt. To be honest, Phantom Miria, I didn't think you'd show."
"I had to," Miria responded.
"Did you? I wonder," Dietrich through for a moment.
An awkward silence followed.
Dietrich was the one to break if when she hailed a passing barmaid. "Siobhan! A pint of Guinness for my companion, please."
Miria blinked. "Uhm, I'm not sure I should..."
"Oh, don't be silly," Dietrich spoke while the bar maid put down a pint of the dry stout in front of her. "Guinness is one of the best things Ireland has to offer. I will be very offended if you do not try it."
There was a hint of a threat underneath Dietrich seemingly pleasant demeanor, so for the sake of peace, Miria took a sip. She let the dark liquid roll through her mouth for a moment before she swallowed.
"You like?"
"It's, uhm, a little different. I don't not like it," Miria spoke.
"I'm pleased," Dietrich offered what seemed to be a tiny hint of a genuine smile.
The battle had been won. It went even better than Miria could have hoped. Casualties were much lower than expected, and even though the damage to the compound was severe, most of the buildings had been captured intact.
It was sad that so few of the enemy higher numbers had survived. Some of the middle numbers had fled, though most had surrendered. All trainees had been accounted for and were now in the care of Jean, Deneve and Irene, though it had taken some convincing that Ophelia wasn't planning to cook and eat them. Now, there was only one matter left to deal with.
After leaving the others to secure the compound, she took only Irene, Undine and Ophelia with her. The four Claymores headed into the underground research complex where the handlers and leaders of the Organization were holed up. After dealing with the expected traps, the foursome came across a larger room with several malformed creatures in glass containers.
"What the hell are these?" Ophelia bit her lip. "Ugly bastards."
Irene picked up a nearby ledger, put it on a table and leafed through it. "Prototypes of something called Abyssal Feeders. Looks like they were working on this but didn't manage to finish them yet. Hm... Soldiers created from the flesh of Awakened Beings themselves, very powerful. Our replacements, perhaps?"
"Heh," Undine snorted. "If we'd had waited with our attack a couple of months, we'd probably have been facing these things. Lucky us."
"Not for long," Miria said. "We'll destroy these as soon as possible."
Deeper into the complex, they came across a large wooden door. Irene checked the door for traps and then nodded at Miria, signifying that the handlers were behind it.
"Handlers! Torturers!" Miria shouted, surprising herself with the anger and hard edge of her voice. "The blood of countless is on your hands! Come forth, cowards! And answer for your crimes!"
To her own surprise, there was a heavy click from the side of the door. The Claymores raised their weapons, but never expected to see what they say - the handler Ermita was standing next to the locking mechanism holding a small crossbow aimed as his fellow handlers. Though apparently having tried to stop Ermita from opening the door, his reputation as a crack shot had held them at bay.
There were only fifteen surviving handlers left, most of which were high-level researchers and commanders. Others had fallen in battle in the compound above.
The grand prize was Rumito, the commander of the compound. He carried himself as Miria's superior, though Miria's own position now forced them on an equal level.
"Phantom Miria," spoke Rumito. "You have... inconvenienced us."
"HAH!" Ermita snorted. "Understatement of the year."
Rumito shot Ermita a dirty look but turned to Miria again. "But, I know you. Perhaps better than you know yourself. You have always been a leader and always knew how to inspire others. Surely, you must see the bigger picture. There are stakes here which are bigger that you and me. Don't give in to the silly notion of revenge."
"Oh?" Miria narrowed her eyes.
"I do not fear you, or your friends, Phantom Miria," Rumito challenged.
"Oh?" Ophelia spoke up. "If that's the case, then when I do I smell the distinct smell of shit coming from the back of your underpants?"
It was a comment which made even the stoic Irene show a brief smile.
"HAH!" Ermita snorted again.
"Will you STOP DOING THAT?" Rumito roared at Ermita.
It was then that Miria saw that Rumito's mask was slipping. Though he pretended to still be in control, he was just a scared, pathetic old man who was trying to get out of this dire situation alive. The same could be said for most of the other men here. Whatever happened, Miria was in full control of the situation.
Meanwhile, she could see Orsay cringing under Irene's unrelenting steely and expressionless gaze. Whatever happened, it was clear to everybody that Irene would see to it that Orsay would not survive.
"Why?" Ermita laughed. "We lost. It's as simple as that. Accept it and die with some dignity. It's all over, Rumito."
"Nothing is over!" Rumito roared, but staggered back after Ophelia hit him in the face with the pommel of her sword and then pressed the tip into his throat. Ophelia smiled like an innocent schoolgirl and calmly told him not to make sudden moves again or she might slip and 'accidentally' chop off all his limbs...
"Give us an excuse," snarled Undine as her two blades were waved towards the others.
Rumito picked himself up and snarled. "No, it will not end this way!" he shouted. "Phantom Miria. We can give you power beyond imagining. Let us continue our work and you shall be the number one of a whole new generation of Claymores, more powerful than has ever existed. Entire armies will fall before you! The Abyssals will be nothing but fodder before your might."
"What about the others?" Miria motioned above her.
"Some will need to be sacrificed for the sake of the new order," Rumito shrugged.
"Hah!" Ermita laughed. "Wrong answer, old man!"
"SON OF A B..." Undine roared at Rumito.
Miria could hear it no longer. She grabbed the old man by the lapels and threw him against the wall. "Abhorrent!"
Rumito coughed up blood. "Wait!" he spoke. "We can work out..."
Miria moved to walk out of the room. She looked at Irene, Undine and Ophelia with intent. "You may... indulge yourselves."
As Miria walked out of the impending slaughter, she didn't know what was more disturbing - Ophelia's blissful smile, Rumito's terrified screams of pain or Ermita's mocking cackle.
"So, Ireland?" Miria asked. "Why Ireland?"
"It's the most beautiful place on Earth," Dietrich said. "I've lived there for almost seven hundred years now. No other place can compare. I am only here visiting some... comrades. I intend to go back as quickly as possible."
"I could hear from your voice you've been living there a long time," Miria said. "The accent is pretty... baked in. Sorry if that sounds rude."
"And I can hear France in your voice, Phantom Miria," Dietrich shot back. "Do you miss France?"
"Every day of my life," Miria said honestly. "Tabitha and I moved to the Americas a few months after the French Revolution. Still can't get the 'h' out of my mouth most of the time. Tabitha has not even a hint of an accent, though."
"Speaking of which," Dietrich looked in the direction of the parking lot. "I asked you to come alone."
"I wouldn't be able to stop her. She wants to make sure I'm alright."
"Ah," Dietrich nodded. "Her loyalty is commendable. Let us hope her assistance is not needed today."
After dealing with the grizzly aftermath of the massacre in the research building, Miria had made her way to the main barracks located in the main compound. The reason was that on the upper floor of the barracks there were ten small rooms located. These ten small rooms were awarded to the ten highest numbers of the current generation. Private quarters were something unheard of in the Claymore ranks, and she had considered it a great honor to receive one at the time.
Though she had actually spent very little time inside the room, as she had been mostly out in the field, it was perhaps the closest thing she had to a home. Someone else had been living there, but the room still had the same smell and feel, and the view down into the courtyard. It made her feel safe.
Safe enough for her carefully built-up mental defenses to come crashing down.
All which had happened today hit her all at once. The realization of her dream of freedom for her and her fellow Claymores, but also the many sacrifices made for it. The blood of her comrades was on her hands. Not only those two she had killed, but all those who were killed indirectly through her actions.
Miria sank to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. She pressed her cheek against the mattress of the bed in the room and let her tears flow.
"Miria?" sounded a soft voice.
Miria started and saw Tabitha standing in doorway.
"I, uh, heard a noise. Are you okay?" Tabitha said as she stepped into the room, knelt down and put her hand on Miria's shoulder.
Miria still sobbed, but she wasn't ashamed. Tabitha was someone she could trust with her feelings.
"Tabitha," Miria sniffed. "Tell me I did the right thing. That it was all worth it. Please... just tell me I did the right thing."
Tabitha hugged Miria. "Don't doubt yourself. Never doubt yourself. You did a wonderful, great thing for us all. You're a hero."
"Am I a hero?" the notion seemed ridiculous to her. "I let others do most of the fighting. I just let others do my dirty work for me. I have blood on my hands I desperately wanted to avoid. How does that make me a hero?"
"Evil doesn't worry about not being good, Miria," Tabitha smiled.
"But I..."
Whatever Miria was about to say would never leave her mouth. Tabitha stepped forward and suddenly pressed her lips against Miria's. The unprepared Miria went stiff as a board. She trembled as Tabitha closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment, simply brushing lips. Miria remained standing there straight as a pole when Tabitha started to embrace her. Tabitha's soft warm body pressing against her. In seven years, there had been comradely between the survivors of Pieta, mostly playful hugs, slaps and dances, but somehow this simple hug felt much more... enticing. There was something about the way Tabitha pressed against her... her belly, her hips, her chest...
Finally, Tabitha released and a warm smile and a blush covered her gentle features.
Miria's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped slightly as Tabitha moved to kiss her again. Tabitha saw this as an invitation and kissed her slightly deeper. She felt the tip of Tabitha's tongue playing around the soft edges of her lips. And it felt nice. Very, very nice.
She was disappointed when Tabitha broke the second kiss. Tabitha looked her deeply in the eyes and smiled gently. "Miria?" she asked. "Give me your tongue."
Dumbstruck and flabbergasted, Miria stuck out her tongue as if she was a toddler in the playground giving a bully his comeuppance.
Tabitha giggled and gently folded her mouth over Miria's extended tongue. Miria stiffened when their tongues touched. It was a very weird, but also very nice feeling. She found that twirling her tongue opposite to Tabitha's twirl made it all feel nicer. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the wonderful sensations and was ready for some more experimentation. Miria discovered that cocking her head a little gave Tabitha better access and thus made it feel nicer. After a few incidents of colliding noses, she got the hang of the pattern and moved along. Also, she found out the entire experience was even better when they were both pressed together in a tight hug like the one they had earlier.
There was a nagging feeling there was something really important she was forgetting. She couldn't remember what it was, but she could remember it was really, really important.
Then, she realized what it was. She pushed Tabitha away slightly and broke the kiss.
A startled Tabitha gave her a quizzical look, while Miria took a deep breath. "Breathe... forgot to breathe!" Miria coughed.
Tabitha giggled and then pushed Miria to her back. "Let me do all the work. You just lay back and enjoy."
"Work?" Miria cocked her head. "No more kissing?" she added with disappointment.
"You'll see," Tabitha winked.
The next few moments, Miria's head was filled with several burning questions. Questions such as - Why was Tabitha lying on top of her? How did Tabitha manage to remove both their clothes so quickly without Miria noticing at all? What were all these wonderful things Tabitha was doing with her hands? How could it be that Tabitha's skin pressing on her own felt so incredibly soft? Why was Tabitha so interested in caressing and kissing her breasts and why did it feel so damn good? How could those nimble movements Tabitha made fill her with such an impossible amount pleasure? How could a tongue have such fluid motion? In fact, what the hell where they even doing? And why did every single part of this wonderful experience feel so incredible? And then there were several moments during the experience when she felt like her head was going to explode with ecstasy. Why was that?
And, most important of all - why the hell was she asking herself all these dumb questions when she should simply be enjoying it to the fullest?
Miria had always heard the stories about relationships between Claymores, but the only couple she had observed in a relationship were Clare and Ophelia and from the way they had treated each other, they didn't make it seem very attractive to her. While Miria had certainly heard plenty of weird noises coming from Clare and Ophelia's bedroll the past seven years, she never had had any experience with it. And, to be honest, she had no idea it could be this incredible.
And so Miria ended up lying on her back naked underneath the sheets staring at the ceiling with a starry look in her eyes while an equally naked Tabitha lay snuggled against her.
A shiver went through Miria's body when Tabitha stretched, pressing her body even tighter against her for a moment before Tabitha slid her arm over Miria's stomach.
"Did you like it?" Tabitha asked softly before kissing the nape of her neck.
"Yeah-huh," Miria croaked slightly.
"Good," Tabitha giggled slightly. "I came close to thinking you just didn't like me."
"Huh?" Miria bit her lip. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Well," Tabitha smiled blissfully. "All those times in the North, after Pieta. I've tried to offer myself to you so often and never a response. Remember that time when I came into your section of our hide-out cave wearing that skimpy negligee? I told you that my sleeping furs had gotten wet and wondered if I could sleep in yours next to you. And you just turned to me and said 'Sure, you can sleep in them. I'll just go write in my journal for a bit'."
Miria blinked. "I said that?"
"Then there was the time I 'arranged' a fall through the ice and I was cold as freezing hell. I came to you shivering and suggested we'd share body-heat underneath the sleeping furs. And then you just looked at me worried and ordered Yuma to press against me in her sleeping furs because she had already been sleeping in her bed and was warmer."
"Damn," Miria closed her eyes.
"Then was a time I was in your sleeping furs naked, pretending I fell asleep in your bed by mistake. So you just left me there, went to my bed and slept there alone! Seriously."
Miria groaned. "So... you're saying we could have been doing these incredible things for years already? I'm... an idiot."
"Miria," Tabitha giggled as she rolled on top of Miria, making her once again blushy and nervous. "You are my captain, my comrade, my friend. But subtlety in matters of love and sex is completely lost on you."
Miria and Tabitha stared in each other's eyes for a moment. "I love you," Tabitha blushed slightly. "I've loved you for so long now. I'm just happy we can finally explore those feelings."
"Tabitha, I..."
"Shhhh," Tabitha said softly. "You don't have to say anything."
"Tabitha," Miria gulped. "I couldn't possible have made you feel as good as you made me feel just now."
"It's okay," Tabitha smiled. "I've had... lovers before when I was younger. They're both dead now," she said with a touch of sadness on her voice.
"Well," Miria attempted humor in spite of herself. "I'm glad at least one of us knows what she's doing."
"You'll learn quickly," Tabitha smiled. "And I'm a good teacher."
"I... " Miria blushed. "I want to make you feel how you just made me feel."
Tabitha smiled softly. "It's not hard. Trust me. And, well, I see we still have an hour before we're expected. Would you like to do it again?"
Miria nodded so vigorously that her forehead almost collided with Tabitha's nose.
"Miria!"
The angry voice started Miria and yanked her out of the sweet memories. Dietrich stared at her, her eyes a golden yellow. The flow of her youki had increased significantly.
"Are you really so arrogant and brazen that you think you can simply ignore me as such?" Dietrich slammed her fist down. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"
For the first time today, Miria realized that she was actually in danger. For all her pleasantries, the person sitting in front of her was, in many ways, still the ruthless fanatic she had faced so long ago. And she still hadn't told her why she wanted to meet her. Perhaps Tabitha was right and Dietrich would attempt to kill her later this evening. Or perhaps she had something else planned entirely. Miria decided it was the best to be on her toes for the rest of the evening and to be very diplomatic. Miria half expected Tabitha to come rushing in brandishing one of the golf clubs she had brought to use as a weapon.
Meanwhile, Dietrich noticed her anger had attracted the attention of some of the patrons. She instantly calmed down, making her eyes return to their silver color and settling her youki.
"Ah," she spoke to the people in the pub. "Look at me, making a nuisance of myself. A round of drinks for everyone as an apology!"
That statement was met with cheers and raises of the glass. Merriment returned to the pub.
"I was... lost in memories," Miria offered an apologetic half-smile in an attempt to put the pin back in the grenade.
"Yes," Dietrich nodded in acceptance. "I know what you mean."
After reluctantly being forced to leave Tabitha's embrace, the both of them sadly had to return to their duties. Tabitha needed to see to the wounded, while Miria walked out into the compound for an inspection. All around her, her comrades were busy rebuilding the damage to the walls and towers. Though there was no real hurry, this compound was now their new base of operations, their new home. It needed to be defensible in the long run. Unfortunately, it was much easier to blow up things with Youki than to rebuild something.
Though Claymores had many talents, stone masonry was not among them. Though they could plug some of the holes at best, they would need to have professionals come in to do proper repairs to the walls. Luckily, there were plenty of beras in the treasury to pay the repairs. The Claymores considered it all theirs, because basically it was the money they had fought and bled for in the first place.
These repair works also had a secondary purpose of keeping the girls busy. Right now, the future was very uncertain for all of them, and a distraction was very welcome.
In the distance, she saw Clare lovingly cleaning the gore and blood from Ophelia's hair. Ophelia seemed blissful and almost childlike there as she was being pampered by Clare. Miria never understood what Clare actually saw in Ophelia, but Ophelia undoubtedly was powerful. If Ophelia hadn't been in Pieta, being the unstoppable powerhouse that she was, a lot more Claymores would have died there. Still, Ophelia was harsh, mean, insufferable and still unforgiven in Miria's eyes for what she had done to Hilda. She supposed Clare was attracted to Ophelia's dangerous side, although the loving looks the two shared at this very moment showed nothing of that.
Miria came across Helen looking rather puzzled at a well which had been smashed on one side. It seemed as if she had collected some random rocks and was trying to determine which of those loose rocks had actually been part of the well.
"Helen," Miria smiled.
"Ah, screw this!" Helen sighed and shoved a big rock into the side of the well. "There. Fixed."
"I don't think that goes there," Miria bit her lip.
"Eh, close enough," Helen shrugged, and then regarded Miria with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow."
"What?" a nervous Miria asked while being scrutinized.
"Something is different about you," Helen said. "There's more... spring in your step. A deeper smile and... OH... MY... GOD!"
"What?" Miria blinked as she asked again.
"OH MY GOD!"
"WHAT?"
"You got LAID! You finally let Tabitha into your bed!"
Bang. An anvil just hit Miria in the head. "H-helen! Not so loud!"
"HEY, EVERYBODY! MIRIA JUST GOT LAID!" Helen cheerfully shouted across the compound, causing quite a few heads to turn. "SHE'S A VIRGIN NO LONGER!"
"Helen!" Miria sputtered while all blood drained from her face.
"About fucking time!" Ophelia shouted back."... Hey, I made a funny!"
"Finally!" Undine called back. "We were afraid we'd have glue you and Tabitha together before you'd take a hint."
Miria opened and closed her mouth as if she were a fish on dry land.
"HUH?" shouted Cynthia from up the parapet. "DIDN'T CATCH THAT! WHO GOT LAID?"
"MIRIA DID!" Helen shouted again.
"Helen!" Miria hissed as blood rushed to her face.
"YAY!" Cynthia cheered. "HEY FLORA!" she shouted to the other parapet. "MIRIA AND TABBY FINALLY DID IT!"
Flora looked up from her work which was securing one of the pulleys used to raise supplies to the stores inside the wall. "Good for her!"
Yuma, on the opposite tower, raised her head. "What's going on? Why is everyone shouting?"
"Miss Miria and Miss Tabitha slept together!" Flora said.
"Wow!" Yuma gasped. At this point, Miria wanted to dig a hole and jump into it.
At that moment, Queenie stepped out of the building which led to the underground labs where Claymores were made, not born. She was carrying a stack of half-burnt books to a safe spot where Miria had ordered anything salvageable found brought to. Queenie stopped in her tracks for a moment. "Is something going on?" she asked.
"MIRIA GOT LAID!" everybody shouted in chorus.
Queenie blinked. "Really? You're kidding!" she said. "Took them seven years to get around to that."
At this point, Miria couldn't stand it anymore. She dashed into the communal dining room and closed the heavy door behind her. The Organization's compound would serve them well as a base of operations. It had training facilities, supplies, a highly defensible wall, plenty of barracks and medical facilities. In fact, most of the younger Claymores who were wounded in the battle were being treated there by Tabitha on her own.
Some small groups of girls were sitting at tables quietly chatting or eating, but Miria chose to sit with Jean, Irene and Deneve. They had taken a break from their tasks and were eating a modest helping of bread to pass the time.
Miria sat down at their table. Deneve silently shoved a plate and a cup towards her. Miria nodded her thanks and took a bite.
"You seem flustered," Deneve asked. "Are the girls giving you a rough time?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Miria sighed. "I'm glad to be in some sophisticated company for a change."
"As I was saying," Irene said. "I should not be hard to return the trainees to their families or find families for them. The problem are the few who have already undergone treatments with the youma tissues. We all know how prejudiced humans are. These poor girls are neither fully human nor fully Claymore. I don't there is an easy solution for this. Jean? Your thoughts?"
"So, Miria," Jean closed her eyes for a moment. "I heard on the grape-vine that you had sexual intercourse with Tabitha. Is this true?"
"GAAAAHHHHH!" Miria groaned and ran off.
Deneve raised an eyebrow and regarded Jean and Irene. "You two did that on purpose."
"Possibly," Jean replied after taking a bite from her bread, showing only the faintest hint of a smile.
"Timing and set-up," Irene nodded while taking a sip from her cup. "It is a precise strategy."
"It's strange," Dietrich said.
"What is?"
"This meeting," she replied. "For centuries I've been thinking what I would say to you if we were to meet again."
"Before or after you pull the sword from my skull?" Miria attempted.
Dietrich chuckled briefly. "I've played this out in my mind so many times. With and without violence. Odd that I don't quite know what to say now."
She raised her glass and took a few more sips from her beer.
"Likewise," Miria closed her eyes for a moment.
Irene found Miria sitting on top of the highest spire of the compound, away from prying eyes. The stoic elder Claymore said nothing but simply sat down next to her without meeting her eyes.
"Come to mock me some more?" Miria grimaced.
"No," Irene said. "And you must realize that your friends only jest because they care deeply about you, correct?"
Miria nodded and smiled briefly. "Yes. They have a fine way of showing it."
"And, because, apparently, you have been rather dense about Tabitha's advances towards you," Irene said.
"Tell me something I *don't* know," Miria sighed. "I feel so stupid."
Irene nodded. "I will be leaving soon. I have played my part here. I wanted to notify you before I left."
"Thank you for that," Miria said. "Are you sure you won't stay? Many of us look up to you and we could use your skill and wisdom in the days to come."
Irene shook her head. "Wisdom? Why do you keep claiming I possess any kind of wisdom at all?"
Miria watched Irene look towards the horizon with an emotionless expression. "I should have told them to go to hell. But I didn't. I was a good little soldier. I followed orders. And my orders were to kill Teresa. I know the Organization was crooked, and yet I kept obeying their every command. Not like you. You and your friends said no. This far, no further. You made the Organization pay for what they've done. You respect me? Hah," Irene shook her head. "I am not worthy enough to even stand in your shadow. Any of your shadows."
"The point is," Miria said. "You don't have to be alone out there. Stay with us. Claymores need each other, now more than ever."
"You don't understand," Irene looked away. "To be alone. For the rest of my immortal life. That is my punishment for my failures. For my stupidity."
"Irene, you cannot..."
"Before you say something that I *will* make you regret saying," Irene snarled, "I am fully to blame for Teresa's unhappiness and death! I will never be able to make that right, not ever! I deserve to live with that for the rest of my life."
"I doubt that's what Teresa would have wanted," Miria said. "She loved you."
"It's what *I* want," Irene looked away. "Before I leave, I want to say this to you. This girl Tabitha adores you. Grab that love with both hands, Phantom Miria, and never regret. Never doubt. Never reject. Don't be a fool like I was."
Miria realized Irene's sense of self-loathing was simply too great and let it be. "I don't intend to."
"Good," Irene spoke. "I will remain for your speech, but then I must leave. You won't see me again. Leadership is a burden you must carry, Phantom Miria."
And with that, she was gone. Miria truly regretted seeing her go. Not only was she a respected elder, but she was very powerful. Also, Irene was the loneliest person Miria had ever met and had hoped spending sometimes around other Claymores would do her some good.
But there was no time to dwell on that. She was expected in the courtyard below. She got to her feet and jumped from rooftop to rooftop still she ended up on solid ground. The time had come for Tabitha to give her victory speech, such as it were. The victorious Claymores were there, all armed just in case one of the defeated Claymores present would try something.
All surrendered Claymores and trainees were there as well, and also the wounded. Some were apathetic, some were happy, some were deeply embittered. Especially that last group was being carefully watched.
Sitting in a makeshift wheelchair was the high numbered Claymore which Ophelia had manhandled during the fight. Though she was recovering, she was still in pain and shot Ophelia a dirty look to which the mad Claymore responded with a blown kiss.
Miria stepped on top of a crate and scraped her throat. Everyone turned to her and looked at her expectantly. This, she felt, was the burden of command. The fate she had chosen for herself. She only hoped she would be up for the task.
"Thank you, all," Miria nodded, pushing her doubts to the back of her mind. "We have achieved a great victory today. We have won freedom from those who held our leash. We have shed blood today, our own and that of our comrades. We must remember our fallen. Those who stood with us and those who stood against us. We must honor their passing and realize that our destinies are our own to decide now."
Miria paused a moment, glancing over to her gathered comrades as well as all the new faces, both receptive and hostile.
"Our first order of business is to find any other Claymores out there, exiled or otherwise, and inform them what has happened here. Then we will make sure that we can either find the families of the trainees or find proper homes for them, so they can live out their lives in peace," Miria said, pausing again.
"All our handlers our dead, with one exception. Ermita is in our custody. He was as surprised as some of you are now at being spared, but I found it a wise thing to do. He is connected with the outside world, knows where most of the trainees originally came from and was seemingly the most receptive to this place's recent... change in management. Rest assured, though he will be given limited freedoms, his every move will be watched."
Miria gave the crowd a moment to process this, and then continued.
"Most of us consider ourselves protectors of humanity. That doesn't need to change. There are still youma out there, as well as Awakened Beings who prey on humans. Those of us, who choose to do so, will continue to hunt and fight them. But we will do so on our own terms. And we will do our utmost to preserve the freedom we have won today."
Miria paused again, stealing a look at Tabitha. She smiled for a moment, before returning to her speech. Before she could continue, she caught the questioning look of one of the younger Claymores, a lower number who had defected during the fight.
"Yes?" Miria asked. "Steffi, isn't it?"
"Uhm, yes, uhm, ma'am," Steffi stammered. "I, uh, I... suppose I don't want to fight youma anymore. Suppose I want to, uhm, go into the country and find a nice and quiet place to live away from fighting. Maybe raise some livestock, and live there with... someone special to me?"
Miria smiled softly. "Steffi. You can do whatever you want to do. And nobody will judge you for it."
Steffi looked briefly at another young Claymore, and it seemed a dream for both of them would soon be reality.
"Uhm," another young Claymore raised her hand.
"Yes. You were... Cassandra, right?"
"Y-yes. What if I... want to try to find my family?"
"Then I wish you luck, and I hope they'll accept you being what you are. And know that you'll always be welcome with us whatever happens," Miria smiled before returning to the crowd. "We are the last of the Claymores. There will be no more after us. As hard as it'll be, we must leave our past behind us and look to the future. And I think the future has gotten quite a little brighter for us all."
She looked at the captured Claymores, mostly the higher numbers. They looked embittered and angry. And Miria did not blame her. Her rebellion had shattered everything they had ever known. It would take patience and a lot of time to get through to them, but she hoped they could.
Applause sounded from a single person. However, it was a mockery as the person applauding clapped her hands together in a lackluster way.
Tracker Dietrich.
"A pretty speech," she spoke in cold tones. "But without guidance you are nothing. Our handlers were the brains of our operation. Who would you have us lead? The insane murderer? The muscle-brained fool? Or the gluttonous slut?"
"Why you little!" Helen started to shout before Deneve held her back.
"And how dare you call Yuma a muscle-brained fool?" Ophelia broke in. "She sucks!"
"Hah!" Undine snickered while Yuma simply bowed her head in shame. It was actually Irene who placed a hand on Yuma's shoulder and looked her in the eyes. It was an unspoken but no less meaningful way to say - 'Let them talk out of their arse. You did well. Remember your worth'. Yuma's eyes watered for a moment, and she held her head high for the remainder of the speech.
"Tradition demands that the highest number leads," Dietrich commanded. "That would be Quick Sword Irene."
Irene was quick to respond. "No," she said. "Even if I was interested in leading, I have been away for too long. I defer leadership to the next person in line."
"YAY!" Ophelia grinned. "That's me! I've got minions now! You there, girlie!" she pointed to the Claymore in the wheelchair. "Go over there. Carry that tree with you. And then do a little dance to amuse me! Oh, this is great. I get to sit back and watch every battle from a distance underneath a big parasol while enjoying a fizzy drink... Hey, wait a minute! That's boring! No, no, no, I defer leadership and all that shit."
Dietrich nodded. "And that would be... *you*, Phantom Miria. What a surprise. I suppose I am cynical, but if I had a suspicious mind, I might think you planned this all along. Starting your own little kingdom? You already have plenty of powerful soldiers. And without the Organization to stand in your way, what's to keep you from starting a campaign of conquest?"
"Oh, shut up!" Helen shouted again. "Miria would never..."
"I said 'if I had a suspicious mind'," Dietrich said. "But the fact, remains, Phantom Miria, that you have led an insurrection against those who created you, those who nurtured and fed you, those who were the only ones who were able to stem the tide of the youma in the lands. You could possibly have doomed us all. You are right; we are the last of the Claymores. And as one of the last of the Claymores, I will make sure justice will be done. I will make sure you will pay for your crimes against the Organization and humanity itself, Phantom Miria. And I will not stay here to witness this... farce."
There was a rush of wind and suddenly Tabitha was standing between Miria and Dietrich. Her blade was raised up with the tip pressing against Dietrich's throat while a snarl marred her beautiful face. "If you so much as *think* about harming Miria, I shall..."
"Your loyalty is commendable," Dietrich said. "Though misplaced."
"It's alright," Miria said. "Helen, give Dietrich her sword and let her go."
"What?" Helen blinked. "Have you gone completely bonkers?"
"She doesn't want to stay. We fought for our freedom, Helen. It'd be wrong to deny Dietrich her own choice."
And thus Dietrich left shortly afterwards, sadly taking most of the previously captured Claymores with her.
"You were angry," Miria stated matter-of-factly.
"I still am!" Dietrich replied, the fiercest she had been all evening. "You uprooted us. You destroyed all that we were!"
"It was necessary," Miria stared her in the eye, challenging her. Dietrich narrowed her eyes and locked her gaze upon Miria.
"You still believe that?" Dietrich cocked her head. "After all these years?"
"I must live with the consequences of my actions until the end of days," Miria replied. "And if my long life eventually ends in one way or another, I can look myself in the mirror and say that I did the right thing for myself and my sister Claymores. Can you say the same, Dietrich?"
Dietrich processed this for a moment. "I see," she finally replied, then remained silent.
"I need to ask you," Miria pressed. "When you left, you took 14 of your generation with you. What became of them?"
A pained expression briefly passed Dietrich's features. "I suppose you should know their fates. At the time, we were all disillusioned, beaten, broken. We didn't know what to do. Where to go. Then, the higher numbers decided to put something to the vote. I thought it was folly, but I was outvoted. In fact, I was the only one who voted against."
"Voted against what?"
"They thought we had to give our lives meaning again. To score a major victory and honor ourselves. And to shove that victory into the faces of the sisters who had betrayed us. We were going to take down Isley of the North. And we actually thought we stood a chance."
Miria leaned back in her seat. "That's... insane."
Dietrich nodded. "Aye, I agree. The plan was to head to a northern village. Don't remember the name. Isley headed over there from time to time to mingle. Pretending to be human, I guess. He'd be away from his army, so our plan was to hit him when he traveled on the dirt road on his way to the village."
Dietrich stared in her glass for a moment. "He was reluctant to fight us at first and retreated down the path he came. We actually thought we had him on run, fools that we were. But when he realized we weren't leaving, he turned and changed."
Dietrich took another sip from her beer. "Holy Christ in heaven, it was a complete meatgrinder. Only way to describe it. My comrades were torn into strips of flesh, limbs and gore."
"How did you make it out alive? And were you the only one?"
"No," she spoke softly. "It was only me, Gretchen, Sheila and Imogen. We were too badly injured to keep up the fight and Isley just... walked away. I think deep down we all knew they weren't going to survive, but wanted to die an honorable death in combat. And I think Isley knew that too. To this day I don't know why Isley didn't finish us off. Perhaps he pitied us."
"You could ask him," Miria tried. "He's very approachable."
Dietrich shook her head. "Isley, Riful, Agatha, Dauf..." she grit her teeth. "I can't believe you're consorting with those... creatures."
"You're very well informed," Miria spoke with a touch of concern. "And, really, are they that much different from us?"
"Moot point. I wouldn't know what to say to him anyway," Dietrich shrugged.
"You were very lucky you were up against Isley," Miria said. "He still has something of a code of honor. If you had been gunning for Riful, you'd all have either been torn apart instantly or turned into Awakened Beings."
"To come back to your question, the four of us went our separate ways after we healed ourselves. I never heard from any of them again."
"Do you blame me for their deaths?" Miria asked.
Dietrich remained silent for a moment. "I won't answer that question yet, Phantom Miria. First. I must tell you my story, which is why I asked you to come here. Sit back a bit, have another pint and try to relax. This is going to take a while."
Next time - Dietrich tells her tale. And it won't be pretty.