Playing God
By GoldenEagle
Author's Note: Hehe, finally another installment. I think the characters are a little out of wack here, but my excuse is that I haven't written them in a while. Plus, I think the next chapter will show why a bit of why their (or atleast Siren's) strong "beliefs" and "values" seem to be decaying. Well, I'm talking too much. I'll try to update more on Playing God, since I did finally see the series. And I have to say, I think things from here are out are going to be a bit more angsty, so there's the warning. Thanks a million for everyone's support!
Chapter Nine: Playing With Words
"Ow! Hey, is that fair?" Siren was whining again, holding her wrist dramatically, the practice sword on the ground by her feet. She was pouting and Dalet had almost had enough of her for one day.
"Look, I'm taking blocks out of my free time to help you learn to use a blade. So, please, pick up the sword and let's get on with it or just let me be." Dalet growled, pushing his hair out of his face in exasperation. This only seemed to deepen the pout on her face, but in the end, she picked the sword back up and took up one of the positions he had already taught her. He was just rocking back on his left foot to charge when he found that she had already taken the offensive and was darting towards him. His left foot went down as he braced himself instinctively for her blow. It was aimed at his head (which he had found in the past was her favorite target) and he easily blocked it. The rebound of the clash sent the sword out of Siren's hands and her stumbling back, grumbling about how unfair Dalet was somehow being. He sighed but froze almost immediately as he heard someone cackling behind him. He turned to see who it was (though he already had a good idea) and was met with a fierce slap from his commander.
"I thought it was your day to sweep the dorms, Dalet." Dilandau said in explanation for the now red coloration of Dalet's cheek.
"Yes, Dilandau-sama." Dalet muttered, throwing a murderous glance at the still pouting Siren before making his exit.
"Yes, Dilandau-sama. Oh, Dilandau-sama, how pretty you look this morning. Dilandau-sama, oh, my lovely general-"
The only witty reply Dilandau made to interrupt her was a basic, "Shut up." The two had apparently been involved in an argument recently. Most likely, it had been based off of some problem with the wonderful "George". Either Dilandau had tried to kill the primate again, or it had decided to chew up some more of his boxers, one of the two (though it could be both, since the second usually led to the first). But now it was about the hideous crick in his neck that Siren had decided to give him when she was feeling rather vengeful one evening. So he stood there, his arms crossed across his chest and his head stiffly hovering over his left shoulder. It gave him a rather comical look, especially when he tried to turn to look at things, since he couldn't quite move his neck.
"And, what do you want?" Came Siren's wistful voice as she strutted past him, her swollen wrists now placed on jutting hips.
Dilandau sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose carefully. "I... want you to come to dinner with me." He said plainly.
She looked up, a bit surprised, her golden hair flickering to silver in the artificial light of the room. She frowned. "What? Why?"
His lips turned downward as well. "It doesn't matter. We need to talk, that's all. So, are you coming?"
"Are you ordering me to?"
A pause. "Hmm... Yes."
A deep growl seemed to vibrate from the back of her throat. "Fine."
************
And so here the two happy teens were.
Dilandau was trying to drink his glass of wine without becoming too frustrated or flustered. Apparently, the "crick" Siren had forced onto his neck was worse than he had first thought (or perhaps getting worse) and he could hardly take down the drink without spilling it, since he couldn't tilt his head back. Siren, on the other hand, was strangely quiet, although a few hummed notes of some song she must have had caught in her head escaped her lips every few minutes. It was when the silence had become too heavy that Dilandau spoke.
"I've decided to have you transferred away from the Vione." It was said quite plainly and calmly, which made Siren's comprehension of his implications come very slowly. But when she did realize what he was saying, she nearly choked on her own breath.
"What?! Hey, no way. I am so not having you ship me off. Where? And why?"
"You're being sent off to some Zaibach suburb. I didn't take much interest in the 'where's." Liar. He had personally sent her to a city called Bathshebe, a place he thought she would survive best in. "As for why? You're a nuisance. You have no training in any type of combat. This is a military base and a vessel of war, after all. Plus, you distract my men-"
"I distract you." She growled. Her voice held none of its usual seductive teasing. Instead, she sounded bitter and enraged and sort of choked. "I distract you," she repeated. "And you don't want me to. You want me to disappear until you have your fun with this war. And then what, Dilandau? Do you come to me? Do you say your apologies, pretend like we're both normal? Or do you just disappear? What's your purpose after this war?"
He stood stiffly at this, his own rage bubbling up. "I'm perfect, don't you see that? After this war I'll be a hero. There are lands which no person on this continent has ever laid a foot on, and after this war we'll conquer those lands, too. And why would I come after you? We're not friends. You hate me, I hate you. It's simple." His jaw was tense and he was surprised to find himself brimming with anticipation and fear. Fear, of all things. Fear of what?
Fear that she won't object. Fear that she really does hate me.
"Liar." A whisper. Siren's eyes were strangely reflective in the light, her voice unusually shaky. She bowed her head before standing abruptly and pushing the dishes of uneaten food to the floor. Glass shattered and skidded across the smooth surface, soup and rice and some strange Gaean food not found on earth now scattered close to her chair. After a few moments of her standing there, her fists clenched and shaking, she seemed to calm, her body relaxing. She looked up slowly at a transfixed Dilandau, his head tilted as he watched her with a puzzled expression. "I'm sick, and I'm tired. I don't know if I can take this." She started to leave.
"Siren..."
She looked up expectantly at him, her gaze cast in a dark hope, her purple eyes metallic with unshed tears. "Yes?" Her voice was hoarse and low, scratchy.
Dilandau gaped a bit, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's, before he straightened and spoke. "Do take this crick out of my neck before you pack. The transport ships are on their way, and I do need my flexibility." A pause.
Siren's face contorted with rage, her beauty replaced by raw emotion. She walked briskly to him before stepping behind him. With a few harsh, painful movements, Dilandau relaxed out of his earlier pangs. The crick was gone. He didn't turn as he heard her boots (he had acquired some military issued clothing for her) stomp angrily towards the door, but he half turned as he heard her heated growl from across the room.
"Fuck you, Dilandau. I really do hate you."
The pang in his chest after she left somehow seemed much worst than that which had been in his neck.
*************
She was crying. It was really hard for her to remember when the tears had started, but they didn't seem as sorrowful as they seemed angry. She wiped viciously at them as she packed, George sitting on her shoulder. And what did she really have to pack? A few pairs of clothes lent to her by the Zaibach military along with the one pair of blood stained clothes she had first came to Gaea wearing. The dark crimson blotches stopped her hurried and bitter movements. She ran her hands almost lovingly down the pants, across the stains. She felt a lump on the side of the jeans and reached into the left pocket. She ended up pulling out a tube of black lipstick, some thread, and a needle. She stared at them a while before her muscles slowly began to tense and in an explosion of violent rage, she threw them against the other side of Dilandau's wall with a cry. They hit loudly against the metal before falling to the ground. The thread and lipstick rocked a bit before stilling.
She was trembling, stayed trembling for a few minutes before she heard rapid footsteps down the corridor outside the door. Someone was running, sprinting down the hall. She heard the rhythm slow outside Dilandau's door. "He's not here, damn it! Go away!" She screamed out, more tears squeezing from her lavender eyes. She wiped them away quickly, almost in a panic, as she heard the door sliding open. She turned quickly in her sitting position in hopes of hiding earlier signs of crying. There was no movement from the doorway as light spilled into the dark room. George gave out an angry warning cry before jumping from her shoulder to hide under the bed and Siren knew immediately who was at the door. "Go away, Dilandau."
"I thought you were afraid of the dark." His voice was a strange mix of mockery and some unidentifiable softness. Siren didn't answer.
Dilandau sighed before walking slowly across the room and sitting down by her, each facing opposite directions. He watched as the door to his room closed automatically, shrouding them in black. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust, hoping Siren wouldn't go psychotic and try to kill him. He felt her shift next to him and turned his head in her direction. He could only see a bit of a silhouette of her, the silver in her hair and eyes reflecting the tiny rays of light that seeped from under the door as she looked at him. "You know, I don't really hate you." Siren said quite suddenly and to the point.
"I don't really hate you, either." Dilandau answered as he studied the reflection in her eyes, those shimmering shards of glass in her gaze. He felt dazed, as if in the throws of some powerful spell. He jerked quite suddenly when he saw his own reflection start to form in her eyes, a smaller version of him in all his silver haired, red eyed glory.
"If I kissed you, what would you do? I mean, seriously." Siren did sound rather serious, which startled Dilandau even more. His gaze narrowed and he felt a tight smirk pulling at his lips.
"I'd probably kiss you back." He muttered, feeling rather absurd. He felt like bursting into wonderful peals of giggles. He restrained himself, though.
"Good."
Fingertips on his face, burning him, dizzying him. Flames, she was a flame. Controlling that fire within him, pulling her to him, the dragon, the-
God.
"The DragonSlayers are to report to the control deck immediately." The Strategos' cold voice broke through the heat of her, his tone speaking of something that broke any trance off of Dilandau. It spoke of battle.
"Siren-"
"I know." She growled, pulling away, even farther away than she had been before, her back to him. "Go, Dilandau. Fight your battles. It is what you are, isn't it?" "We're the same, though, aren't we? I knew it from the beginning." He was standing, his grin already telling of his pre-battle rush.
"I'm so tired." She muttered quietly. "I'm so tired of it all."
"That's why I'm sending you to Bathshebe."
She looked up at him as he opened the door, his lean form silhouetted against the light from the hall. "I'm not going, but you already knew that, didn't you?"
He paused, looking back at her. "That's why I came to make you go. But..."
"You're going to let me stay." Her voice was hopeful and knowing at the same time. She sat up, the bed creaking, making George scatter out from underneath it and out the door. Dilandau took a step back from the fleeing creature and his grin widened, knowing Siren would have to spend quite a bit of time searching for the primate. He felt giddy, despite the fact that Siren looked downright miserable.
So, she is staying?
"Yes." He answered them both. To make his point, he stepped forward and planted a kiss at the corner of her mouth before he left, leaving her standing there, quite bewildered.
