Autechre - Cipater

The worst kind of death is the one you do not even know you had been dead all along.

Why this appeared all of sudden? I guess that's the reason why I followed Hrist to the showers, because I also feel something dirty in me, and these walls I touch. If I could read more than her eyes... Child's eyes, alike mine, but instead of asking 'why things are like this?', they just said 'it's okay', even when mom was at her worst. Hrist was beginning to sweat, and haven't engaged in training already, if threatening to punch me is a sort of training.

I didn't wanted to go here but since I began to sweat too, why not? It's better than chewing putrid nails. These can't be washed, unlike your skin, alike what lies inside, but I'm sure that I'll feel better. Besides an arc at the top, this room has holes for windows, so there are no delinquents to spy. The holes are found up in the walls, where only the light from outside can reach.

— We burmecians were the first ones to discover that bath is good for health. In fact, our medicine is superior, compared to those alexandrians who still cutted their soldiers head's to pour salt over them... whew. That's one of the benefits of being a Dragoon, Crescent. You get a shower before, and after training – so, after Hrist said it all, as we took out our helmets, the escutcheons together with the belt who holded it in our chests, the bucklets that stood upon our shoulders, anything metallic was taken and placed inside a wooden chest, whom she locked with a key – remember, winners do not steal.

— I know what's mine and what's yours, Hrist.

— Sure. Don't await for a medal in your neck. So... what are you awaiting for? – so Hrist began to take off her coat before than I. For some reason, I kept watching, as if I haven't already learned how to walk.

— Ladies first – I said what I could. It's my first time in here, and even if it was only Hrist to be here, wouldn't change that much.

— Oh, please Crescent. Don't feel ashamed.

— Shouldn't I? – oh, Freya... come on. You didn't became a Dragoon to feel fear, did you? A voice in my head says. Must be my own bit of Hrist, not alike the one who's standing in front of me, wearing a green frilly camisole. At least she's wearing someth-no... forget it.

— Just so you know, our coats and undies will be washed and dried up at laundry – said Hrist, before she placed both her clothes inside one of the cabinets she pulled out the wall, which had a hole where both slide down, presumably to the laundry she mentioned before – in the end, they will smell as if they were new. But keep in mind that this ain't a life of luxuries, Crescent. You are paying for it.

— You say it after you dropped your clothes in a cabinet that said 'lavender' upon it – only now that I noticed, since Hrist stood near it.

— Like I said... you pay for it. This means you are also left to choose – and I choose to hear Hrist by the voice alone, since I couldn't look at her. Or stare long enough at that body, whose curly strands couldn't cover it all, despite being long enough to cover her face – what's up, Crescent? Your face is red like plum.

— Is it? – I had no mirror to notice, but a kind of shiver at the skin should had been enough.

— Yes, it is.

— Fine them.

— It ain't fine, Crescent. I haven't made your face red for a reason yet – well, guess you already did, Hrist. Now, I think I should look to her face – also... are you going to take a shower with your clothes on?

— I already do while on the rain.

— Same for crying, I suppose.

— What do you mean?

— Feeling shy all of sudden, Crescent? Please don't. Feel free instead. Sure, this is the place where you can drown your sorrows at and nobody will notice. I do not care if your singing is awful, or if it's the least awful thing in you – well, that was enough, Hrist. Cravats aren't usually that tight, as much as Hrist's words aren't usually sharp.

— I need privacy, please – I said, only wearing my orange trousers. Not for too far long.

— You already share enough of it – at least, Hrist is kind to hold my coat with a hand – the pantyhose, please – oh, my bad... and now I'm completely who I am inside. Vulnerable, at worst. The only thing I kept in me, besides dignity and that orange ribbon wrapped at my tail, is the lapis-lazuli armlet Fratley gave to me. I wonder if there's something lucky in it, or just a gift to take care of.

— How do you feel? – naked, perhaps? No, I should be less subtle for Hrist.

— A bit better, I guess – and now that I'm alike her, guess I can look without deviating sight.

— Lavender, cherry, vanilla, aloe, sandal, cinnamon, carnation, lime or orange?

— Uh?

— I asked which scent do you want for your clothes, Crescent. Well, it's optional, but since it's your first day here... just saying.

— Okay.

— Since your coat must be together with your undies, you can only pick one cabinet.

— Fine. Is there any difference between lime and orange?

— One is bitter, the other sweet – kinda like me and Hrist. Except that I'm not that sweet too – which do you want?

— What about cherry? – I said. It's my first try, and my only option.

— Cherry?

— Yes.

— Right. Anyway, you are a vanilla – Hrist isn't the kind who waste opportunities. So she took my clothes and put them on 'cherry' cabinet, and I wonder if they'll be back soon. So we went underneath the stream of water falling out the walls.

I never had been in a public bath.

Here, at the Jugend, there is one for males, and females; or as they say here in academy, Bahamuts and Leviathans. There is only one of each kind, and to be fair, we all wear same clothes, but in a world that everything looks the same, we give different words for each thing. Not everything can be decided by whether or not you do or do not have in the middle of your legs, if a pair of tails, or an only tail in the back.

Hrist began to explain how this place worked, by pointing out that heat comes out of furnaces fueled by coal in the night, while hot air is chanelled throught hypocausts, found under the floor. What I can say is that water comes warm like a sun ray touching our skins, soft fingers sliding from the top to below our feet. The strands of my hair became sharp like knives, dripping of water on their tips.

— Feeling better, Crescent? – I looked to Hrist, soon as she said it. The tendrils falling out of her head blended into smooth and plain lines attached to a soaked skin.

— A bit strange – it ain't everyday that you can afford a stone to flay your back, or a lavender soap to cover your body into bubbles that vanish with a blink, unlike the flowery scent.

— Is it because there are others than us? – Hrist's words sounded alike a whisper, given the water falling upon us.

— Maybe.

— Don't look to their faces. Well, since we are here, the best you can do is look to their faces – but I didn't. Instead, I took attention to Hrist's back. When she took her undies out, the first thing I noticed where those scars left. They reminded a bit of mom's. Guess seeing those scars made me a bit nervous before – to what are you looking at? Oh, these... don't feel pity for me. I was threw against a wall.

— Walls do not leave scratches like these.

— Well, let's just say it was an unusual wall, the kind covered by spikes. I was just an apprentice, like you – Hrist says it as if it was nothing else. More like a kind of achievement – hey, know why many failed to become Dragoon Knights, Crescent? – so Hrist stared at me. I mean, she faced me front to front, and yet I couldn't see her eyes standing out of those curly strands.

— Because they didn't liked what they did?

— No, that's not what I mean. Well, torches do not scream when lit by fire. Had not been for the rain, though...

— What's your point? – I said, feeling a kind of relief, which may not last for too long.

— Metal attracts and conducts electricity. Careful to not become a burmecian lighning rod, Crescent.

— You know that this won't happen with me – and I do not even think that Hrist wishes for such to happen. She ain't that mean at all. As far as I know...

— I know. It would be a really stupid death, considering your family's name. Now, with Sir Fratley's training, your chance of survival will slightly improve. Then, it will be up to yours.

— For hearing advices coming out of you...

— Know that these will be the only ones I'll give to you – as if you ever had made a silent vote, Hrist. If she did, there wouldn't be that much of hair upon that head...

— Fine them. I have a tutor for this reason.

— Uh huh. Scared?

— You are the one scarred here.

— And someday you'll be too – and I hope it won't be because of Hrist. Then she looked at me, to my face and below – nice pair of legs.

— Thanks. Are these earrings? – I also looked down on her – aren't you too young for these?

— When you are a Dragoon, you can't be young no more.

— Only the young to cover their bodies in tatoos...

— And the children to wear ribbons on their tails – said the Hrist who's wearing a ribbon too. Orange, but with another name written on it. A 'Ch' instead of a 'Cr' belonging to mine.

— You were only a child when you became a Dragoon, Hrist.

— A child ends being a child when it bleeds for days.

— That's not the only moment in life when we learned to be strong, Hrist.

— Strong, and patient. You can only be one.

— If you strain hard enough, you can be both – said someone else, from behind. Of the few other women around the room, one caught my attention, besides Hrist. Pitch black like tar strands falling into a back covered in scars made by dragons, some made recently, given the red of one wound to another already regenerated. That back looked like a page of a book, whose ink could be felt by anyone who touched it. When the woman turned in to us, A face devoided of any emotion happened to be here. Maybe it's because she looks serious, a thing even I try hard to.

— Where have you been, captain? – asked Hrist, to the woman whose only thing I knew about was the name. The title, I mean

— I was outside, proving to myself and a few that dragons indeed exist – said the captain, someone older than me. Mature than yours, given the voice, and that body – if you do not mind, I would prefer you to look to my face – she said to me, with that face whose emotions were all stirred out. Maybe it's the lips, plain like horizon, always plain.

— There, I said it – yes, I know you said it, Hrist – she's new here, captain.

— Well, sorry if we haven't been presented to each other. What's your name? – the captain, looking at me. I'm tired of calling her by captain, so...

— Freya Crescent.

— A Crescent? No wonder you looked so familiar. Are you the daughter of Lenneth?

— The only.

— Lenneth... she was one of my apprentices, for a long time. Do you remember me? – I looked to her. Besides a dark hair, the captain's face had no details. No expression, and I don't recall seeing someone like that.

— Guess I don't.

— Oh, well... you were too young. And I'm not the kind who stays here for too long.

— You know my name, but I don't know yours

— So, if this is the first time we are presented to each other... my name is Edea Faraday.

— Pleased to meet you – not the right place to know people, but here I am. Though, this Edea already knows me – what do you mean by not staying here too long?

— I belong to the frontline which prevents the dragons from arriving at this kingdom – so that's the why of scars, but still, that doesn't explain why that face looks so polished. Somehow, I feel strange near her, and it ain't because I'm wearing nothing. There is nothing on her face, but I keep staring to it. Water flows, and like the stones of a mountain, I wonder if it was responsible for taking Edea's smile, or if this is just a bit of overreaction because she is serious. And with people like Hrist living around, too...

— So, Mrs. Edea-

— I'm not that old, girl. Just Edea is fine.

— Right. So, Edea... do you fight against dragons? – I asked, breaking the silence of words. The noise of water prevails.

— Isn't that exactly what the captain told you before, Freya? – so do Hrist's own. But she have a point, a rare thing as the chrysoberyl bracelet in her hands.

— Guess I didn't paid enough attention – other than the one I gave to her face.

— You'll need it when dealing with a Dragoon. Those tails aren't only there for decoration – so Edea said. She also stared back at me. Guess that we are both unrecognizable to each other, but seeing those scars...

— Why did you came back, Edea? – I don't want to talk about them. Soon I'll have my own appear in skin, anyway.

— I'm here to pay a visit.

— To whom?

— I have nobody in mind, Freya. Well, I didn't expected you to be here... and, since you're here, could you bring me the pumice?

— The pumice?

— It's on your left.

— Oh... here – so I grabbed the pumice stone laying on a hole in the wall. I holded it, felt its rough surface for an instant, before I threw it at Edea's direction. Didn't knew why, but I know she holded it. Good reflexes, I see.

— You could just lend it to my hand – said Edea, holding the stone with a hand, then she turned her head and frowned at me. Briefly, before she turned back and began to exfoliate her skin. I guess it's just the lips that bothered me – not so many come back from the field. But I'm not here by mere luck.

— Neither I.

...