Time and continuity returned to Belfast. For a moment, she simply was "not". In a void between unconsciousness and the awake, she simply remembered a lack of thought and function, consciousness rendered in a slumber of thoughtlessness. She wondered if this is what death felt like – a nothingness in unconsciousness, one that she was only aware of in retrospect.
The ability to recall that however suggested that she escaped death once more. Yet while she was conscious, she could not claim to be awake. She imagined it as she left it; the soft white bed and equally delectable pillow, the warm covers, maybe a cool breeze and glints of light peeking through the curtains.
That required her to be on her back and she felt nothing against it. She looked around but she saw nothing; not her own body, not light, not Edinburgh peeking through the door, nor the calming colours of her admittedly lavish room. Just pure blackness yet she felt even if she could not see. Mass and weight pressing upon her legs and feet suggested she was standing and gravity had resumed.
Flickers of faint light did appear. The sensation of fatigue joined them as did shoulders that slumped, eyes that puffed, and breaths that panted. Her eyes opened and then it hit.
The waking confusion became tumultuous and intense, the dreariness in her eyes replaced with the watering of tear ducts. Sorrow unabated and unrelenting flooded her mind in a wordless onslaught of vague yet not unformed thoughts.
The mental echoing of the argument played out, her mind struggling as a hand resting against the wall clenched and knuckles dug into the surface. She felt the surface crumble against her tension, against her anger, against the sorrow, against the return of emotions long since buried.
It may have been a puppet of some devious, hallucinatory nature that had tormented her in the visage of the woman she now called a friend. Their words may have been misconstructions of some argument from her youth but they did not emerge ex-nihilo. She felt it flooding back in the sting of a silver tongue turned dagger sharp, jabbing at guarded insecurities and hidden shame.
At her hesitation; your cowardice in the face of danger.
Her carefree self; your spinelessness before duty.
Her friendship with Newcastle; whose pity is the only reason you are still considered.
Her love for her sister; the shadow of failure you cast over her.
The example you set that explains why she fumbles and she struggles after all this time.
Belfast choked back a sniffle, sucking back the mucus, hacking out a half cough, feeling the warm tear drip down her eye and drop to the floor against the shadowed carpet she half leaned over.
The light and muted tap of delicate footsteps against the carpet behind her stopped. Belfast did not bother to turn around, waiting for them to continue until they were silent and distant.
In hitched breaths, almost hiccupping in their rhythm, she reached into her maid outfit, finding a familiar purple handkerchief and smiled. At least she was always prepared in some capacity. That had not changed.
The rather unladylike sound of blowing her nose and sniffling up her tears overtook her crying and Belfast rose her shoulders against their sagging weight. It felt as heavy as a full-blown production model with the weight of cruel words echoing in mind and biting into spirit. The light that filtered in was that of an evening sun, watching with fading interest and content to leaver her in the shadows that now crept across the surfaces of the corridor.
What had she been doing previously? She remembered the encounter, the words that both had said, the way the mimicry of Sheffield had warped into shapes unnameable and amorphous, yet her memory of what had previously transpired was foggy and unclear. She remembered Gloucester, the garden, Wales… no, it was not a matter of some prior tasks she had to tend to.
She was not really thinking of her duties right now. This was a dream, not the waking world, and she should not have been bound to such duties. Not with this tormenting wound upon her heart, all consuming in its hunger and invasive in its ravenousness.
Belfast walked and walked, past corridors flanked by images of royalty past and present, windows where the human and manjuu staff finished the final garden touches, foyers of majestic staircases and shimmering chandeliers, her puffy eyes paying no heed to human, KANSEN, or avian stares. Her hair hovered and trailed from the speed of her gait, her mind empty save for a need to simply escape.
Another set of windows and the faintest glow of a long set sun drew her sight. She paused at first to watch, then to pant, finding the corridor silent and gloomy. The lights here needed to be changed but she appreciated their dereliction for a moment. It was just her and the final minutes of the burning red sunset and how she wished her imprisonment in her dream.
Maybe that had been the test; that damned thing in the dream-flesh of a maid. All the nightmarish power it possessed had melted away into madness but it had not actually attacked her with any sort of physical or immaterial force. Was that not enough for the apparition? The spectre of the gate-realm of dark waters and obscuring fog? Surely her victory, even if symbolic, had to count for something rather than serving as an excuse to keep her here. She was no perfect and elegant maid here, chained to past shames and traumas she had grown out of and left behind.
Perhaps she could be willed out of this dream. She could fall asleep, pass out, and fall through the hole in her thoughts that lead her here to this memory where did not feel she even belonged. She had enough of this, enough of what was.
She reached into her pocket again as she felt a few bits of moisture slowly sliding down her features and the wetness around her nostrils. She hated how ugly she felt in so human a moment of frailty and of sorrow and for a moment remembered why some like Gloucester, Monarch, and Duke of York were so vibrant on the battlefield. Doing was better than thinking. Doing usually eliminated the infinite doubts that came with thinking. Inevitably all the power one possessed vanished once they were back on terra firma, out of the realm of life-or-death battles, and trapped within their human dramas where neither shell nor blade held dominion.
Her hand dug around a bit and she held back a curse in exchange for an exasperated exhale, wiping the back of her hand against her upper lip and nose. It seemed even her perfectionism had not been transported with her from the present. Bitterly she wondered if this was part of her learning process. Elegance was a lifelong trait that had to be developed with repetition, no matter how painful.
There it was as if wished into being, the edges of its soft purple visible through the watery distortion of her tears. Belfast's hand reached out and gripped not crumpling its delicate material but the wrist of the one offering it back to the maid. Her free hand seized the fluffy fabric as she leaned forward and rested her forehead against the red uniformed, stalwart woman.
A few tentative sniffles broke the intermittent silence. She exhaled deeply, welcoming the warm arm around her back and the blindness to the world the red fabric of the cape offered pressed against her eyes. For a few minutes that seemed to stretch into hours, she almost fell asleep in the reassuringly fine softness of its material. A part of her felt embarrassed at the tear-stain it would leave. A silly little thought. It was not as if it would still be there however many years in the future-present she would wake up back into.
Yet that emotional tumult and that warming reassurance were very much real things, leaving a mark longer lasting than any tears might.
She wondered if Wales had said something but her crying had drowned out the usual sweet, supportive words that had gained her my friends. The dimming sun and the throbbing pain of cruel, pointed words her mind had seemingly excised from her memory melted into her friend's grasp.
It took her a moment to realize she was not sliding off Wales' cape but that the battleship was starting to walk. An arm steadied itself around her waist as her own was stretched over her shoulders. It took a second too long to realize the strength in her legs had faltered and that she was leaning considerably on to Wales. The usual diligence she summoned with ease had evaporated and her steps were unsteady and bordered on stumbles. Her mind instead focused on the immanence of pain and attempting yet daring not to truly dive into whatever Sheffield had said.
The click of an unlocking door and the fair scent of air refresher drew Belfast's attention upwards. Her puffy, moistened eyes winced a little at the chill of a slowly blowing fan almost soothing with its steady hum. The last rays of the sun drifted through half-closed curtains, joining with the faintness of a few night-lamps seated square on their bedside cabinet. The rest of the room's details were difficult to make out; deep mahogany walls, a snowy white ceiling, a few racks for various swords, and she spotted a few tall gold-encrusted closets.
All of this was distorted through a filter of shadowy, encroaching dark and the blur of the drying tears. She was certain the room was more extravagant now but she could not focus on such details. She was here again in a mental space she preferred not to revisit, a stranger in her own consciousness struggling and reluctant to remember what had put her in such a state. Something had excised a part of her memory, replaced it with some strange fabrication, and left her shattered in its wake. Sitting on the bed, she was too much of a mess for a coherent train of thought.
"You could use a few of these. That poor handkerchief has seen the end of its service life under such an assault." A crumple of plastic and a light pat on her thighs. Belfast woke from her stupor to see a plastic wrapped packet of napkins, removing a few from a tear Wales had already ripped.
"Thank you. Your kindness precedes you."
Belfast would have winced at the trembly warble of her tone but her voice emerged small and diminutive. She was almost nervous Wales had not heard but the bob of her golden hair indicated a nod. As she rubbed and smudged the last of the moisture with a cluster of napkins, she felt the plush of the mattress sink and her body shifted, bumping up against the battleship's shoulder and arm.
This time, there was no red uniform but a simple white button-up shirt. With a glance she spotted her uniform hanging on a standing rack, the last few rays of the sun gracing its magnificent crimson. Dabbing her eyes a few more times before blowing her nose into the napkin, she tossed the crumpled mess into the receptacle by the door. It seemed to soar through the air like a slow-motion shell, landing with a muffled crumple against its contents.
"Even your sorrows cannot diminish your skills." Wales complimented with a warm hand on her shoulder. Belfast felt her own shoulder press against Wales, sliding over it and finding her sweaty, still gloved hand upon her lap. "If I may…"
She paused for a moment, watching as Belfast breathed deeply and looked straight ahead. For the moment her eyes were fixated on the dark wooden finish of the walls.
"A drink perhaps? Of water. To cool yourself down." She commented, side hugging her friend a little tighter. Belfast found her fingers curling around Wales and she nodded.
The last of the mental fog was starting to diminish and coherence was returning to her mind. Water sounded about good but she found herself feeling rather stuffy and heated. Enough that when she removed her gloves her hands were clammy and the tough fabric darkened from the sweat.
Oh well, it was not as if Wales had never seen her with less. The maid let her uniform's frilled shoulders slide down, sighing with the relief of a burden alleviated even if temporary. To her credit, Wales kept her eyes on the uniform to help her slip it past her waist and legs and immediately inserted it through a coat hanger. As she hung it up along with her gloves, the white electric fan was pulled onto a nearby chair, locked into position facing her uniform, and its power setting raised. The hum became a buzz.
She watched her silent diligence and wondered if it was perhaps by chance she had found Belfast. Wales not someone she would call gossip-prone but word travelled fast. The issue of succession within the maids was unknown outside of the navy and in such tight quarters, the walls might as well of had ears.
"I saw Sheffield earlier," She commented, her back turned as she straightened out her uniform and a few fancy red dresses. A few shimmered even in the absence of sunlight, some a deeper red than her uniform, others a stylish mixture of cherry and black. "Storming off, eyes not locking with mine but boring forwards. Newcastle did not seem pleased as she watched her storm off."
Belfast nodded and almost spoke but the words caught before she realized she had not organized a coherent stream of thought. She almost muttered a curse and the last of her oppressive sorrow vanished momentarily, taking the with it her anger and replacing it with shame.
Sheffield was not there to hear them. What she had said was cruel. Yet even saying those words felt wrong. Even if it was inside her head, it was still behind a friend's back. She held herself to a certain standard that she did not like to compromise.
"Is that what clued you off?" She asked, removing her headpiece and stockings, clenching and opening hands and feet. She was down to her fair white-pink lingerie, with even her signature neckpiece and frilled headdress now sitting on a nearby counter. Her two braids were undone and Belfast's hair hung long and loose. A slight chill graced her from the intensified air conditioning of the room.
"Your name was mentioned. Loudly even; there was an argument and Newcastle was displeased. I do not like to be nosy but I could not un-hear some of what I could make out." Wales paused for a moment, realizing she had left her gloves on and soon removed them to hang as well. "Newcastle does not often raise her voice but I had never seen Sheffield taken aback as such. For a moment, I was afraid I would be the next target of her wrath."
Belfast turned her eyes to face Wales. Her skirt had vanished, replaced with rather casual light khaki shorts, a stark contrast to her usual striking colors. A small plastic cup of water was in her hand. She sipped on it lightly as she watched the lithe, lingerie clad maid slowly straighten her posture out her hunched over lean.
"She saw you, didn't she?" She asked, a mixture of gratitude and respect coursing through her head. Of course that's what Newcastle would do. Like a mother not disciplining but warning her children, she would go out of her way to urge a more level-headed approach. An approach that if rebuked, would be met with the steely vigour that had ensured her head maid position in the first place.
"With all that red and gold one has difficulty being discrete." She smiled, yawning and stretching out her arms. Belfast felt them brush against the back of her shoulders and twitched just slightly. She did not realize just how moist her skin still felt. The shower she had taken felt like it had been for naught.
At least Wales still knew how to melt a tense atmosphere almost as if by instinct. She only noticed she herself was smiling when Wales did as well. That had not changed much. Maybe Wales was a bit more poetic, with more gravitas behind her words, but as her smile became a grin and was topped off with a giggle, Belfast found the confidence to follow suite.
"I doubt you stood there slack jawed in the middle of a corridor. Even a battleship knows when to make usage of concealment in positioning." Belfast added dryly, taking another sip. How was she feeling so sweaty yet her mouth felt so dry? Actually, maybe the sweat explained that – she was draining water right? Being stressed over old dramas from one's youth could do that to you.
"I was tending to some reports for naval intelligence when I overheard the two, first in hushed tones but growing in severity as I walked out. Newcastle had pulled Sheffield over near the curtains for privacy so I cannot pretend as to know meat of the argument." She continued, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. Belfast noticed a few faint scars; close range blast fragmentation, maybe some from armor piercing weaponry. They had faded due to the accelerated healing of kansen but added a slightly darker red blemish to her fair skin.
On occasion battleships would have to use themselves as cover for ships with lesser armor. Sometimes, occasionally became frequently. The liberties given in battle often resulted in many decisions being taken well outside of a conventional command chain.
"Suffice to say, Sheffield was not pleased and neither was Newcastle. She made it clear I should get going and not dawdle. I happily obliged. By chance, I found you on my way to my room." She continued rather casually, noting perhaps that Belfast had calmed somewhat. The maid wondered if Wales could hear the pounding in her chest. Of course, Belfast somewhat remembered the events of the day. Fuzzy as they were, it was a strong memory for a reason and she had a feeling that it had been chosen (perhaps by her own subconscious) for good reason.
"You don't need to hide from me. I appreciate enough that you found me." Belfast sighed, slumping backwards before the soft embrace of the bed greeted her back.
Wales paused for a minute before she chuckled.
"You're right. That was not my smoothest rhetorical-" Belfast raised a finger and wagged. "…Alright, fumbling pseudo-explanation, yes, but in my defence, I did not want you to feel pressured."
She sighed and stretched out her arms, feeling the fabric of the sheets against her back. God was she really that crippled by Sheffield being mean she sweated like she had fought for an entire naval operation? Yet it was hard not to feel so worn after all this nonsense.
"For one someone charismatic, your kill with kindness rather than mere charm." Belfast spoke, turning her head to the knight sitting by her side. Wales paused for a moment mid-sip and Belfast heard her almost gurgle then swallow the sip she had taken. "I know I was just bawling but well, I could not resist. Especially not such a crucial moment."
Wales wiped her lips and laughed, the paper cup clapping onto the night table by Belfast's accessories.
The wave of sorrow had mostly receded, lingering at the edges of her mind as if waiting to ambush her tranquility at any moment. Echoes of those words still hovered within her stream of consciousness but Wales' voice, even as she fumbled with her reasoning for helping, buried them with her cool reassurance. She found it within herself to gradually smile, feeling as if she had made a taunt towards that black cloud that hung on the fringes of her thoughts.
The Prince was still collecting her thoughts, sitting and looking off to the darkening yet not entirely blackened night. The outside was lit by little more than a few pale white neon lights.
"Hear me out if you will. It would not have taken Newcastle for me to have come looking for you. It was not an order but a duty, not to the Navy but for a friend." She iterated with a weightiness to her tone. Belfast listened as the ceiling became acquainted with her sight before her eye looked towards the bed, by her thigh, where Wales was sitting.
Wales' hand pressed onto hers. Softly, gently, but a press all the same. She shifted her hand a bit, feeling her warm palm against the back of her own, latching her thumb over her pinky and rubbing in a rhythm. Her hand brushed back, fingers closing around hers, squeezing tightly.
"Duty…" Belfast mused out loud. Wales hand continued its massage and she felt a bit more relaxed, enough that her mind could wander free of its prior distress. "That's a strong word. A little cold, yet I like it. It suits the Prince of Wales, yet…"
Some words half fumbled out of Wales' mouth before she cleared her throat. Belfast did not catch them. Duty was not wrong; yet duty was something for generals, prime ministers, commanders even. It felt strange a part of their professional life had intruded into what was a personal, civilian setting. As if it was partially suppressing their ability to relate beyond such strict frameworks.
"I truly am not on my sharpest today…" Wales mused out loud, once again not finding words better fitting to the situation. "But I suppose maybe the semantics are not the matter. To a friend, you are merely required or obliged to be there. Not out of duty but the mere act and state of friendship is it not? Wordy yes, but that is the point, isn't it?"
"Took the thoughts clean from of my head." Belfast commented, pushing herself up as Wales hand pressed a little tighter onto her own. "Not duty or allegiance or what have you but ah, caring, isn't it?"
A light switch seemed to flick on in Wales' eyes. Belfast almost heard the clicking of the gears in her brain. The smile the maid did not know she had on widened as did Wales' slowly morph into a grin.
"You would be correct. Caring; one of those words so mundane we often don't realize the full weight that it can hold." Wales had puffed her chest out, her voice turning to an almost oratory tone. "Greater than the duty set upon us my commander and comrade alike, something beyond the chain of command. Something we forge amongst ourselves out of sheer want rather than obligation."
Belfast half listened. She remembered that line even if the rest of how the night proceeded was a bit blurry. It was not necessarily the words but the pride that beamed on Wales' face and the chuckle they struggled to resist letting out after having had her little speech. The fact that Belfast chuckled a little herself was not helping on that end.
It was a rather pompous thing yet it was honest, almost like something Vanguard might have spouted inspired by those costumed hero TV shows of hers from the Sakura Empire. Yet where the royal bodyguard had sheer bravado with a tinge of the naive, Wales had a refined gravitas. It swelled by orders of magnitude on the front lines of the battlefield or in the presence of impressionable Kansen and human alike during parties. Her striking uniform and golden hair almost framed her with divinity yet even in their absence this aura was far from suppressed.
Slowly, Belfast rose and stretched as her hand pressed down on Wales, taking her first tentative steps. This time she would clean herself before Wales made a joke about it.
"I don't suppose your shower is in working order, is it?" She asked as she made her way to the bathroom.
"Well, at least I didn't need to remind you this time around." Wales chuckled, ducking as a box of kleenex sailed past where her head once was.
When she looked up, the door already closed and Wales laughed to herself. She really was sensitive about that. A little bit of levity never hurt.
(Suggested BGM) Sonja – Daughter of the Morning Star: /hGH07
The sorrows of the day disappeared under the spray of the shower head. The slight huffs and sniffles turned into the steady back and forth of her breaths. A mind that raced with insecurities and doubts slowed to a pleasant crawl as issues once pressing melted back into from whence they came. She was the head maid and elegance was her name, but there was something to be said for merely zoning out after a long day.
The warmth of the shower remained steady and constant, a warm embrace against her skin as her eyes travelled the walls of the stall. It was a sort of ivory white color interspersed with darker black veins and trails, something that made me think of a cup of milk out of which some coffee had poured into. It was a strangely soothing pattern and the neon light above made it feel soothing.
She was not physically here; this was still her dream but in this quiet moment the similarly to the real deal was too much. She let herself believe for a moment in the wet warmth and the relaxing emptiness of the situation. Vaguely her mind remembered the time that had transpired from mid day to the dead of night and the emotional rollercoaster she had been on.
It was then she realized there had been a whole other day before that, one spent battling on the high seas. As if she was in some movie there had not been the process of a conventional passage of time. She had cut forth from the mission to the shower then the afternoon afterwards. The flow of time was at best a guideline rather than a hard-set rule to the force that controlled this dreamscape.
She did not fret too much about it. She thought of the apparition's warnings of what she would face and a course of action that the hooded figure themselves seemed to know little of. Was it perhaps the aberrations she had encountered? The freezing of time in the garden and the distorted parody of Sheffield? If that was done, why had she not been returned to the waking world?
These did not cause her much stress. She had hit the emotional climax of her stay here and as for what would happen next…
Belfast wrapped her arms around herself. The warmth of her own body felt almost drowned beneath the encompassing heat of the water but the former was not absent. It roiled and it swelled, a kind of excitement keeping her eyes open rather than drooping shut. It was not the chaos of emotional turmoil inflicted as wounds but passion, excitement, want.
It had not emerged spontaneously. When her face met the crimson cape, hands met hands, and the cool wind of the electric fan seemed to chill her sweat she had felt it. It was not as if Belfast and Wales were inexperienced with intimacy. Her first recollection with the Prince had been in the shower. Wales had wanted it yet she had not pressed for it.
Wales did not solely want her in her arms. She had her charms and even a reputation yet it did not define those moments. She did not merely want but was wanted and the past half an hour or however long had passed had really reminded her why.
Belfast raised her head, the hair heavily soaked, remembering how her body felt. She was slimmer and less defined, lacking the toned muscle mass from the years of hardship to come but she was far from incapable. Far from naïve of her own appeal and of what she had shared with others. A part of her smiled and soon, her lips curled.
It was but a dream but both within and outside of it, she was a free woman. Belfast had not really been much for relationships, tied down by little beyond her own dreams yet…
Lowering the water for a moment she opened her eyes fully and watched the mist waft through the opening at the top of the stall. For a moment she stepped out from under the warm stream, sliding the shower stall door back and walking into the now heavy mist. She had forgotten how long she had simply all but meditated but immediacy and sharpness returned.
A smile returned to her droplet-covered features as her hand swiftly turned the doorknob with a click. It opened just a little but a little was all she needed to see ruby red eyes rise from the pages of a book. Belfast smiled, her nude body barely clothed by the mist, and raised her hand, crooking her finger and nodding off to the shower.
She turned away to return to the shower. As she did, she heard the book close and bed shift. On the toweled floor her steps quickened as she returned to the stall, leaving its door ajar as she turned just in time to see the door close. Wales shirt had been tossed to the nearby sink, her khaki shorts following suite, and her arm reached through the smoke to the stall door.
It slid open and Belfast pulled her in, the athletic and tall body pressed to hers, faces millimetres apart, chests mashed and body sandwiched against the wall behind her. A different kind of warmth entered the equation, one that grew even as Belfast's hand slid along the wall, searching for purchase and sliding against the water knob and setting it to cool. Wales had wasted little time, feasting embracing her tightly to that same form she had only been teased by previously, now hers to indulge in entirely.
The way her hand vertically slid across her back, her lips seizing her own with suckling and licking enthusiasm, her impressively toned body smoothly brushing against her own, and just the feeling of being with so close to her washed the last of Belfast's concerns away. She was sure Wales' had also gone down the drain; with a kiss that enticing, she found herself struggling to think of anything else.
It felt like forever until they disconnected with their heavy pants and juxtaposing eyes locked on one another, eager for a second round. Inelegant; that is what the kiss was. Driven by raw passion when it bordered into lust but for now, any dreams of becoming Newcastle's successor could be put on hold. She hugged again to rest her head resting against Wales' collarbone, panting a few more times as Wales nuzzled against her head. Soon her lips suckled against her neck, jaw, ears, just clinging to the taller woman. It was gratitude at its rawest.
Wales' pants slowed and Belfast leaned back just in time to see her lips move and a grin play on her features. Before she could make a joke about the situation, Belfast lunged and Wales staggered back, bumping against the stall. Her voice muffled under Belfast's kiss as battleship strength yielded to a light cruiser's passion, every inch of their bodies burning with want for taking it higher and higher.
Bodies slid and slipped against one another. Hands grasped and explored all that they could. Lips danced against one another. Once more time became a vague idea rather than a constant.
When the tyranny of time and awareness returned to her mind, Belfast found herself slightly less wet than she was in the shower. Her hair draped itself over not just the blanket but Wales' upper torso. Her arm was draped over her slumbering form, her face nuzzled against the side of her neck, and her thighs squeezed around Wale's. She felt especially moist between her legs yet her ankles felt almost locked up, struggling to allow her to release the blonde's thigh.
With how stiff her legs felt and the soreness everywhere especially from the belly down, she surmised that Wales had held back even less than Belfast. For the moment she was envious of the strength, stamina, and durability of a battleship. A light cruiser was far beyond human but the pride of the world's mightiest navies were gods as opposed to demigods.
She smiled and nuzzled deeper, finding bits of reddened skin from her mouth's handiwork while her back flared somewhat. Those nails had dug in rough and hard. Wales was on her back but by the way she exhaled through her nostrils and groaned a little, Belfast had figured she experienced the same. She was content to simply lay face against the crook of her neck, savoring the sweaty warmth tempered by the breezy chill of the fan.
Wales' hair had come undone with her signature braid now lost in the splay of golden, matted blonde darkened by sweat. She forgot that despite her regal status she was still a creature of desire all the same. Her hands trailed across her body, to spots well tended to and areas gingerly caressed, seeing with touch and remembering what she enjoyed about it. Every few centimetres she remembered something; where she had bit, groped, squeezed, and otherwise enjoyed.
Wales did as well. Her eyelids tightened and she inhaled slowly through her nostrils before intoning lips closed with a slight moan. Belfast giggled for a moment, clutching her close as her thighs squeezed and slid down Wales, feeling her flex and stretch as she grinded against it, panting into her ear.
Her head lowered and she felt her arm against the back of her neck sinking with her into the pillow beneath. Slowly she closed her eyes as she puckered her lips, kissing along Wales' cheek while her eyes slowly fluttered awake. It took her a moment to take in a calming breath with eyes following the artisanal ceiling patterns. Yet one kiss later and Belfast yelped then was muffled. Wales lips caught her own. Her arms and legs seized Belfast, drawing her into to yet another intimate trance.
Unprepared, she indulged in the kiss sharing her pants and moans with Wales. It was a whole conversation of such sounds but the fatigue was beginning to diminish with the jolt of excitement provided. Enough so that she opened her eyes and saw the beams of light poking through slits in the curtains and immediately tossed the blanket off her nude body.
A warm arm wrapped around her stomach and Belfast stumbled, groaning as Wales' other hand reached for her thighs. She giggled a little at the clinginess, closing her eyes to treat her to a sigh as her lips nibbled and kissed along the side of her neck.
"You're not starting your shift that early now are you?" She inquired between bites, Belfast panting in excitement yet not distracted enough to stop Wales' other hand from reaching down below. She could feel the sly grin on her features and the feel the desire from the way her fingers entwined with her own.
She leaned back against her to turn her head and repay the kisses with her own, sharing a series of moans between their lips. Yet even in these years Belfast knew she was not that easily distracted. She gave her one more kiss, pressing in deep, pinning Wales against her own bed with warmth and her own sated desire. It was not long until Wales grip slacked and Belfast separated only to notice a glow from the edges of her sight.
Wales smartphone had flicked on and Belfast winced straddled atop her body. 6:48 AM – she had gone to sleep rather early, so after what happened she supposed this was a decent waking up time. Wales' finger tapped on the time and weather indicator, enlarging it to take half the screen. Under the 20 degrees Celsius weather, the words "Sunday" displayed.
Belfast nodded and gingerly extracted herself off Wales' waist, remembering that this had been one of her less busy days. Not quite an off day but enough that she was given certain leniencies. The other maids and auxiliary human-manjuu staff would be stepping it up. Superhuman as kansen were, even they had their limits and it was not wise to strain them.
This was not an argument against punctuality and elegance. Soon Wales was cursed to a lonely bed, watching the slender back and long white hair of the head maid walk further and further towards the washroom. Belfast paused for a moment. She would need to pick up the various articles of under-clothes laying about and dust off what she could but this memory was likely coming to its end. She had someone to see, someone dear to her.
Someone she would be replacing in due time.
The shower went by uneventfully, mostly with Belfast's head pressed against the wall and warm water running down her body. She felt the sting of scratch marks and the soothing of sores meeting the increasingly heated flow but that was to her benefit. She had crossed one river already and for that she grinned: she remembered these days well, spent with the warmth of Wales, yet she knew they were not to last. Neither would her subservience to Newcastle; perhaps that was the key to the escape.
The thought of meeting her again, even if it had been a day since they last met in current time, caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach. She was just revisiting something that had already happened. Even if her memory of what had transpired was not perfect, what harm could it truly do? Yet that was the thing. She was not alone in here. She had defied the observing presence haunting her inner world when it had puppeteered Sheffield after all, even if that had not ended the episode. She supposed this was all a long victory lap but a part of her knew to be vigilant.
Surely some harsh language would not exorcise such a presence.
When Belfast walked out of the bathroom, Wales was up with little but a button-up shirt and the shadows filtering through the ceiling to clothe her. She raised the cup of water in a mock-cheer and Belfast chuckled, her toweled waist feeling modest by comparison.
"I hope you were not tempted to join me." She gave the blonde a sly grin as she collected her undergarments, thanking the gods of chance they were not very dusty (Wales kept her room in good order), and sat herself back on the bed, back turned to Wales. It would not be long to clean these up.
"That would give your compatriots too many questions to ask. I tried not to leave too many signs of my ah, royal service." She smirked at Belfast and immediately could tell the maid had not only rolled her eyes but had smiled. Grinned even, ear to ear. Belfast's giggle was quiet but not quiet enough. Putting her undergarments back on, she pointed to her maid outfit.
"I'll be sure to regale them with tales of your elaborate taste in Eagle Union Hollywood flicks and Irisian art-cinema if they inquire." The maid's grin subsided as she let out a sigh. Someone must have seen them yesterday while they were in the corridor. If not a fellow kansen, probably an auxiliary or manjuu. Hopefully she would be greeted with just corner-of-her eye looks of curiosity and apprehension rather than full on questioning.
"And I'll be getting a DVD of The Vichia Connection in the mail by the time you return then. Popcorn?" Wales retrieved the uniform and Belfast nodded as the blonde undid a plethora of straps and ties. She turned as Wales prepared to help her fit it on. "Or perhaps just the wine shall do."
"Popcorn? Pedestrian. I'm sure I can pinch something from the kitchen of a more substantial nature if your cooking skills are not up to the task." Belfast leaned back, brushing her head against an unexpecting Wales. Quick to respond, she leaned forth to nuzzle back, stealing an upside-down kiss. She desires to stop the delicate handiwork and take Belfast to bed again but settled for less.
Belfast broke the kiss with a pant and a sly wink. The outfit was finished but now came the equally delicate task of doing her hair. Wales could not say she had ever gone through the same trouble with her combination of a singular braid and short hair. A knight was rarely unprepared and an elaborate ivory-pattern comb soon raked its way through the maid's long white strands.
"And this is why I never turned my hair from a bun into a veil." Wales mumbled under her breath. While she had never done Belfast's hair before it was not necessarily very troublesome, just more time consuming than she had presumed. "Though even my sisters were not as particular as you."
"Elegance makes the maid or so Newcastle has told. Though it seems to frequently butt heads against practicality. The rigors of our work." Belfast mused aloud, enjoying the delicacy of the battleship's handiwork. That was another thing she possessed both in the culinary field and in the nights to come.
"Ah yes, the cruel burden of curtsies and calling every officer young master while dusting the staff room, how unfair your lot in-" Wales ooof'd as an elbow jabbed against her gut and responded with a rare snicker. Belfast giggled again, annoyed but responding with a curious hum.
"Oh? And what of you knights? Your ears must be leaden after all those lost days spent listening to greying parliamentarians ramble on for little eternities. How could I forget the glare of a thousand cameras as you give yet another rousing address of the valiant, chivalrous war in wh-" Belfast's words were cut off by a squeak then a sigh from her own lips.
Wales had decided to cut to the chase. First it was the light cruiser's earlobe then her neck, then Belfast pulling away and looking over her shoulder. Her eyes catlike and excited, mouth slightly ajar in a pant. The restraint the maid had was being tested.
She liked that about Wales. She remembered in the days to come how a few minutes of sarcasm and teasing had a coin-flip chance of these verbal jousts being settled physically. Uncouth but they were a hidden indulgence she preferred to the prim and proper makings of maidly leadership. How little she got to indulge in such delicacies nowadays…
"I've enough clutter in here," Wales tapped on the side of her own head. "You used up the last few free cubic metres of storage and I'm in dire need of what I believe Akashi calls defragmentation."
Belfast's disbelief and incredulousness manifested in a confused, annoyed smile. Mostly it was humor as she shook her head, trying to wrap her head around the smug look on the blonde's face.
"I'll pretend that you had a few glasses of wine a little too early into the day. I will not take any other explanations." Belfast replied, putting on her best expression and tone of sternness. Wales chuckled and placed her hand on the maid's shoulder and Belfast sighed. Her eyes were closed in faux-exasperation as her palm rose to block Wales' kiss. "Sadly, I'd rather not keep my friend waiting."
Her friend raised her eyebrow, hesitating for a moment, before nodding. Belfast thanked her from the depths of her thoughts, presuming she already had an idea.
"Best be going then, tally ho and such. Improper to keep a court lady waiting." Wales winked and Belfast nodded before a gasp. Wales hand ran across her bare thigh and over her stomach as she passed. By the time she turned to retaliate, a crimson wink and a smile was all she was given before the Prince disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Never change Wales, she mentally mused as she finished the last of her preparations.
(Suggested BGM) PTF – Firefly Effect: /yc2yewsj
The light that fell through the windows was a hopeful one, almost radiant in its shimmering brightness. She had navigated the sometimes dimly lit corridors with ease but this shine was unnatural. A fine summer's day was a sight to behold but it was not one to blind.
Most of the figures she saw were silhouetted into almost pitch-black voids in human shapes or rotund and diminutive avian ones. Belfast nodded and smiled, struggling to make out their smiles as the morning sun glared as if it was mid-day. Even for a dream this should not be natural and Belfast had the feeling there was something wrong.
That did not dissuade her from her steady pace and usage of detours into non-windowed corridors and rooms. While she knew it was a dream, she found herself pausing to rest her eyes in a supply closet. Even from under the closed door the light traveled and illuminated the dust hovering above the floor and she could feel the room warm up by its presence. It was not warm enough to be hot but it felt unusual, unnatural… foreign was the correct word.
She did not pause for long to give herself any prizes for the conjecture or ponder any further. Belfast walked out but quickened her pace as the light began to creep around corners and in spaces it should not be. This was no refreshing shine but something unwelcoming and hungry. It followed and Belfast steeled herself. She had done this before but that did not change the fact that it had as well.
More importantly, the scorecard on that still placed it as having the lead. A few defeats earlier on in the dream were not what she would call conclusive on her end.
Where she was going, she did not remember. Once somber, glorious halls became obnoxious with the golden radiance, burying tapestries, paintings, and suits of armor in the smothering brightness. Yet even without actively thinking of where, her legs carried her past the featureless walkers of the hallway.
She was not sure where she was walking to when she thought about it, only that Newcastle would be there. Was it her subconscious guiding her steps, deep buried memories she could not actively recall yet whose contents guided her without deliberate awareness?
Her growing fatigue and irritation pulled her from her thoughts as the flood of now almost liquid light began to coalesce behind her. The spiral staircase seemed to go on and on but the light was not bound to the stairs. It crept on the walls, slid between the gaps of the steps, wafted up on fragments of tiny particles like snow falling upwards.
She was not sure if she had outpaced the flood of light or if it had consumed her. For a while she felt flat ground and only saw blinding yellow white albeit for a few short moments. Silhouettes of finer, darker colours began to manifest and she realized her hands were raised as if to try and block the now receding radiance. A cool breeze even graced her hair, her steps clacking sharply against the white granite of the ground, and soon stone railing overlooking the expansive properties of the mansion she was stationed at returned to her sight.
A series of taps to her right and she turned to see Newcastle sitting at by a transparent glass table on a antique wrought iron black chair. A cup of tea was in her hand, passing by her lips as she glanced at Belfast before setting it down and turning to smile.
Belfast paused for a second. Was this truly her and not another illusion? She knew that she had met her before she fell asleep a day prior and in the early phase of the dream they had battled together as part of the same fleet. The same muted darker colours framed against the white of her uniform, the dark and orderly hair, the little "crown" on her bow, and the warm and knowing expression of her features. She watched Belfast with a smile slowly creeping onto her lips, one that might morph into a grin.
"You are free to make yourself comfortable. I do not plan on lecturing, not too stringently anyways." The little chuckle at the end broke Belfast from her trance. She nodded and pulled another one of the iron chairs over, realizing her breathing was unnaturally fast. Newcastle had noticed but she kept her eyes off to the distance.
Belfast glanced at the C-class destroyers frolicking around a hedge maze, Rodney and Nelson in some intense conversation while on a stroll, and a pair of wooden swords distantly clacking against one another. One wielder with bright pink hair, another an orange blonde with lightly reddened highlights at the tips of long hair.
"I'd have sworn it was a sunnier day, blindingly so rather than fair…" She mused aloud, looking at Newcastle's cup. Hot chocolate based on the smell and the look. She had her little bad habits and Belfast decided to help herself to a cup of it. It would taste sweeter in the dream. It was not as if she had to worry about her waistline inside of her own mind.
"Is that why you had your hands raised like our vampire count upon being lit up by a phone light?" Newcastle asked, quizzical with perhaps a minor tint of sarcasm.
"Perhaps my sleep was not the best." Yes, let us leave it at that, memory-Newcastle, and just-
"She was not your first but I hoped you would not have been as carried away and her a tad gentler." Belfast held back the urge to sputter, forcefully downing a mouthful of the drink. She winced and found her eyes slightly tearing, a slight annoyance gracing thought and form. Newcastle definitely waited for that one and that teasing smirk was going to stay with her for sure!
She waited for Belfast to wipe her mouth with a napkin before she settled down, narrowing her eyes a little. Newcastle already would know that Wales had been sent her way by her hand. From Wales, she knew that Newcastle had confronted Sheffield. Perhaps that meant Gloucester as well.
"I appreciate and am grateful for your consideration… though I did not think you were the sort to play matchmaker." She smiled, attempting to pretend her near embarrassing spitting-out of the hot coffee had not happened. Gods, how she wished she really had forgotten these prior fumbles.
"It was hardly a secret you two got along. Your prior history and hers is an… interesting one. Do not think because you slink away quietly on your off hours that I am not aware. The walls have ears and they belong to the maids." Small talk but talk that she missed; the melodic tone of Newcastle's voice might not have had the charisma of Belfast but there was something so charming about it that no amount of backbone and high strung pridefulness could replace.
Belfast really did understand why Newcastle was being signed on to consult for that film now. She could have almost listened to her ramble and recollect these days with the soothing calmness she so naturally evoked. Truthfully, she wondered if she could match her in that field.
"No denial or obfuscation? The master plan has been unveiled early I see. I thought she had wanted you at some point." She asked curious now she was getting a chance to explore these moments again. Wales had wanted many people to be fair but to Newcastle's credit, her own romantic history was one that was considerably more difficult to figure out.
"Oh more than that. We enjoyed one another's company, far before you had." A sly chuckle and Belfast nodded along. That was it. Her mind told her it was probably Wales but just what was Newcastle like behind closed doors? "Not that we expected much from it. I knew she was the sort to wander about but… I feel that about her comes with a certain kind of restlessness. One that you share."
There it was. Belfast had not planned on trying to steer the convo away from what they both knew had to be addressed. The moment emerged and Belfast took a moment to take in a deep breath, steeling her senses and her mind.
After what had happened with Sheffield in their argument, she braced for the worst.
Newcastle glanced to her subordinate's hand. Belfast glanced to her cup. Little ripples appeared on its surface. The breeze had already faded to give the two a near private audience.
The usual witticisms and ripostes she might utter fluttered away, a small cold drop hitting the bottom of her gut. The arm rests of the chair felt more like they imprisoned her and the attention to mannerisms and etiquette the guard that kept her locked behind them.
"I know you feel discomfort at the one you may one day replace wishing to speak with you on so pertinent a matter, but succession is only that. Someone will be chosen if not by me, then by the admiralty and our warship queen." Newcastle's cup drained to a quarter and she focused her attention on Belfast. She looked away from the leisure of the gardens, forcing herself to focus on the one she once called a master and now, a friend.
Still nothing on her mind. Newcastle was wrong but there was so much she could say yet she could not bring herself to. Had she interrupted her to state her case and make her own defence? She tried to recall the specifics of the memory but in that moment as she relived it once more, the once reliable threads of thought were but fog within her thoughts.
Newcastle watched her not intently but with reassuring calm. Her words bore weight but not pressed down upon her. Belfast took a moment to close her lips and lightly inhale through her nose, calming her breathing. The fear she intruded on her; she knew the outcome of the conversation yet in these old boots it crept back into her, as if it overrode her current emotions.
"I know Gloucester and Sheffield well. They strive for much; perfection, excellence, glory even. I'd have thought them knights in disguise on occasion." The cup rose to her lips and lightly pinked to the table. Its contents were empty. "But you are somewhat of an enigma to me. You are not a stern perfectionist. The others may say sloppy; I feel that is rather biased, hypocritical perhaps given some of their shortcomings. After recent events, I want to have a better frame of reference."
Belfast thought about it long and hard. Was she a child being questioned by an upset but still understanding teacher? She glanced for a moment over at Comet and her sisters chatting with a pleased Rodney while Nelson stood behind her arms crossed, attention elsewhere.
Why had she wanted this again? She knew as it was a subject she mulled over from time to time, its many questions answered. Yet here she was back as a younger woman without the elegance of the years to come, her superior sitting pleasant and patient before her veneer of quiet confidence. The words struggled and she paused to avoid a stutter. A second that seemed to take a minute passed and Belfast finally spoke.
"It is true that those two are formidable and impressive in all regards. In battle and outside of it, they have a tenacity I cannot claim to possess, not to the same degree. I strive for an excellence as well but that is where we differ. That is where we always have. And we both know what happened over the last few days is not a recent development."
This was going to take some time she feared but she had nothing to worry about except coming to peace with this day in her past. She took a moment to pour herself some of the now slightly warmed over hot chocolate as Newcastle cleared her throat.
"I suspected such things would come naturally. Even before the selection process was announced, I never liked it. Such enmity, pretentiousness, and other unsporting behavior was a quiet blemish and quiet shame." She paused and sighed. Belfast's eye's lit up; there was something more to what she had wanted to say.
Something that Belfast had gleamed from future conversations shared when their positions and ranks had been long since reversed.
"Inelegant ultimately…" She paused and tensed a little at what she would say next. She genuinely had not felt enmity towards either of the short haired maids she competed with for years. Even in the privacy of a dream, even uttering this felt wrong. "Un-maidlike even. We are required to be warriors but we are not a sisterhood of martial prowess. Battle alone does not define us."
A part of Belfast wanted a scolding tone from Newcastle, at leas a tense warning, for her to lower her voice as she would when she was truly upset. Her eyes could not help but to look downwards to the transparent glass of the table. Newcastle's apron was as white as she remembered and an easier sight than the steel she imagined in her eyes.
Newcastle sighed but the glass was not entirely transparent. Her features looked to the same spot Belfast had and she saw her eyes looking back at her, her expression still warm but amused more than anything even faintly negative.
"I think I detect a hint of pride. Your elder sister might have been careful not to puff out her chest that but I must say, I am somewhat charmed. No, you are not wrong Belfast. A Royal Maid is her majesty's finest, displaying the diligence and care when in the gilded halls and the precision courage on the battlefield. Yet the difference is in the specifics of execution. Gloucester has courage, Sheffield has precision, you have diligence and care."
Belfast wondered if the conversation would play out the same with her little "cheat" from a few words ago. It was not as if history as it stood would warp to accommodate her. Yet perhaps this dream was freakishly accurate, not a mere sorting of thoughts and memories but something more. She felt as if she was in some biographical novel of her own life, one that had some unusual stylistic liberties taken, that was remarkably true to her royal compatriots as she knew them.
"It seems we are different aspects of the platonic ideal then. Divided we stand, unified we could be." In a way she was relieved that Newcastle had spelled out the issue as simply as she could without becoming pedestrian. Her breathing had picked up a bit more not out of apprehension or fear but excitement. The quiet, understated sort that was often noticed in retrospect but of which she had the foresight to anticipate in this recreated past.
"I'd love to spiral off into a philosophical tangent, but I'm afraid there's a more pressing matter. I'm sure Wales told you I had spoken with Sheffield. Gloucester could not escape either, try as she might to bury herself in her close quarters training. So now-" The head maid of years past crossed her fingers and leaned back with her elbows resting now on her chair's arm rests. "I want to know something in particular. Something that your competitors, while rather harsh and unpleasant about, is a legitimate point of concern."
Belfast took a deeper sip of the hot chocolate. The warmth it possessed was now nearing more of a room temperature. Newcastle's normally relaxed, plaintive expression focused on her. The world seemed to exist only between the shared gaze of the two maids.
"I do not like to have to play sides and I do not want to value any of you three over the other. You have served this station well. Yet a boiling point was reached a day ago and answers are needed." She waited a moment to see if Belfast would interrupt or interject, rewarded with a neutral expression and a sipping of the cooling drink. "I'm repeating myself but now that I better understand your point of view, why exactly do you want this position? How much do you truly want to succeed me?"
Belfast opened her mouth but noticed that Newcastle had not paused to let her speak but to contemplate something. Her mouth was open, a slight yawn breaking her speech, but Belfast knew more as on the way. More that she had heard from harsher tongues.
"I know what you value in the maidly ideal and you know your shortcoming. Yet I can not ignore that how you carry yourself and how your rivals do is not on the same wavelength. Gloucester and Sheffield would bring up the battle. I will say there was a moment of hesitation and mistakes made but that cannot be entirely placed on you. Yet what can be is part of a longer series of issues."
Belfast knew that the swallowing she made was from more than merely saliva. It was a minor thing, something she would not have paid attention to much initially but there was a tint of something more; pain. A pain she was tired of bearing for so long and that had trailed her throughout her stint as the head of the Royal Maid Corps.
"We are her majesty's servants, and we are granted quite a bit of leeway. Maids yes, but nobles compared to most in a way. Yet you seem to take to many of the temptations and privileges of this position excessively. Enough that I feel it has affected your performance." Newcastle paused and Belfast mentally winced. She was right; they were right. The extent to which was one thing but the matter of fact was not entirely incorrect.
"This has been a multitude of occasions with an underlying theme. A moment of hesitation and misjudgement, costing the rest of the maids time and energy as they risk their lives to cover for you and adapt mid-battle plan. Not unheard of but whereas you sometimes excel beyond their limits, there are others you test theirs. I know you and Gloucester made up, but she suffered in that last sortie. She hides it well, but I was with her when they visited the medical laboratory."
It took Belfast a few moments to take in the words. The sheer emotional impact was rough, deserved, but difficult to take beyond the initial emotional impact. If this was part of the dream, she wanted to cut it out yet simultaneously, she did not. She could get up at any moment, pretend the chat was softly damning with far-from-faint praise, but no. She still had her pride and still had the love for these people. It might be just a memory but as a being made of geometrical shapes of raw memory, she was not going to dishonor her very essence. Nor would she those of her loved ones.
"I do not like to pry like a gossiping paparazzi but I know of the life you lead outside of the uniform. Of the men, women, nonbinaries, and otherwise that you frequently find yourself among. The kansen whose hearts you've danced with and lusts indulged in. We all have had these cravings and desires and they in and of themselves are allowed." Newcastle leaned back and made herself further comfortable in her chair. "Even Gloucester for her criticisms has had her temptations. Yet she does not slack much or find herself distracted anywhere near to the same degree."
Belfast blinked, feeling the slightest hint of watering in her eyes, and forced it back. This is not how it would go. She was sure of it.
"You are caught between these contradictions, Belfast. I see a striking, capable, even ambitious maid who has the makings of one of our best. Yet still one who goes beyond her reach when others rely on her performance, yet who loosens up and falls to her baser characteristics while speaking of elegance and refinement." Newcastle did not skip a beat, her words rehearsed in their fluidity and elegant as much as they were damning.
It was a lot to take in. Taking it in is what Belfast had done for years now, yet the recollection of such was nothing like the real thing revealed to her. This was no mere memory but as far as she was concerned a perfect replication of the exact moment. So were the feelings that welled within, hurt pride and looming defeatism coiled around her spine and the chill of her nerves.
"I accept your criticism. I accept what Sheffield and Gloucester have said. I will not accept all of it as the truth but what I do accept, I know you have summarized more fairly than either could. I have pondered on this before, as little as that may mean."
Sometimes with spent lovers at my side after a night out on the town, the smell of alcohol and sweat intermingled. Others in the wake of battles barely keeping the sirens from Royal shores amidst burning wreckage and sunken tragedies. Yet those were mere thoughts and aspirations, resolutions for whom like every new year never coalesced into more. She tried and she improved, yet it always felt distant to her, whatever it is she was chasing.
"Pondering is perhaps an ill-fitting word. I've tried to find that answer before but… but I feel the answer is the very longing that pushes me to ask that question and examine the reasoning behind any answers I can conjure." Her cup finished. There was no more refreshing her mouth if it got dry or stopping once she began. The turning point approached. "It is strange to ask when I consider our nature. I was born from memory out of a realm of pure knowledge from which our cubes derived. I know of being and living, of the duty that is asked of me as a defender and as a maid. Yet that never felt like enough."
"I mentioned the ambition I know you possess, but it struggles against…" Newcastle began to interject as Belfast leaned back, hands crossed over her own lap.
"I know. It is an ambition that is thought of but not often truly sought. I worked as a maid but I strived for an ideal of it. Something to differentiate myself from my sisters in arms, bless them, but to help elevate the ideal of being a maid. I suppose it is an immature thing for a maid like myself to feel she held herself to a higher standard beyond the bounds of the traditionally prim and proper. I suppose in my own head I was not merely a maid but kansen noblesse oblige."
She winced at herself. She wanted to manifest another self into this reality to slap herself. She wanted to scream and cry, laugh and sputter, all at once. This was beyond mere embarrassment but raw, torn-open, unfiltered revealing of her weakness and her transgressions.
Belfast looked not down but up into Newcastle's eyes. Her eyes occasionally examined her beautiful features as if warming themselves up to lock sight again with the warm, calm gaze of hers.
"I desire the position of head maid for a simple reason: so that the vision of elegance I had been forming within my mind could manifest as the spirit of the maid corps going forth. A selfish reason, an egotistical one, an arrogant desire but it was a desire I wanted not merely for my sake but the kansen I had come to respect and cherish."
Newcastle was not someone Belfast thought of as possessing a stern poker face but she was surprised at how well this dream-incarnation of her remained calm in the wake of these revelations. She was still, maybe too still, but she was not lifeless. Her head rose and tilted just a bit in tiny nods. The edges of her lips teased a curl before she simply leaned against her chair. She knew there was more.
"I know elegance is a strange thing to emphasize. It is not foreign to us yet in a world of siren invaders and ever-tense international relations, it seems to have little place in a world controlled more often than not by power and by force. Yet this is a state of affairs that runs counter-productive not just to our way of life. We have the might of warships but we are not cruel weapons nor are we unthinking brutes."
Belfast's voice raised, something she only took note of when she paused to weigh her next words. The fear she felt had mixed and blended with a fire that been lit right next to it.
"Elegance is not a soft and dainty thing to be protected behind castle walls and gun turret stares but to be shown and demonstrated to the world at large. Not as a form of arrogance and boastful pride, but as exemplary and alleviatory. A reminder of what is possible and a shining light for others to follow and inspire." Belfast spoke steady, confident, and with a smile on her face. A smile she knew she would not have made so boldly in those days.
"It is a flower that shines and displays itself with radiance even as clouds darken and futures seem to dim, its very existence a contradiction against a world of uncouth harshness and severity. It is emblematic not just of the honour and grandeur of our homeland but of our potential." The rhythm had been set and Belfast felt as if the whole conversation was at her pace.
"We were forged in humanity's image from its history and legacy, from memory itself. It was not to merely to be human but become the embodiment of the better angels of the human condition. To that end, I realize I am not beyond human flaws." Belfast took a moment to sigh, in reality realizing she was close to outpacing her own thoughts.
"Sometimes, I am capricious and decadent, others I am imprecise and unreliable. I hate to admit but with shame, I fall into bad habits and become what my detractors have said. I struggle and I have fallen, but that vision is what compels me to stand again. To not merely live but to embody that little sun that shines deep within my thoughts. It is distant and sometimes I wonder if I will reach it in my lifetimes, but it is undeniably present."
Belfast found herself taking a long pant, not realizing how exhausting a dream could be.
"May its light shine upon us all. Even if I do not become the head maid, I do not intend to cease my efforts. Yet it is easier to radiate from atop the throne than behind it." Belfast smiled, feeling that she had left things on as strong a note as she could. Newcastle remained silent save for a quiet exhale.
She opener her mouth to speak but Belfast found herself wincing. It was not as if she had insulted her but something else. It was not a human voice that spoke. In fact, a voice did not even emerge but a muffled mumble drone. She likened it to hearing someone try to speak underwater and strained to see maybe she could make it out.
It was also rather bright; the sun shone upon them as the clouds parted but that was when she noticed movement around her peripheral vision. A luminous movement that flared and pulsed, familiar in its radiance and all consuming in its hunger. Belfast rose and turned to Newcastle, just in time for the sunray passing overhead to swallow her into a near-invisible luminous silhouette.
For your sake, it is best if you depart.
With her back to the railing, Belfast initially did not notice the voice that echoed in her head, ghostly and distorted. By itself it would be discomforting but the spectre's warning, heard with crystalline clarity, held weight and reassurance. The dense light had returned not as a flood but a wave, consuming the gardens below and the balcony where she stood, cornering her.
Belfast closed her eyes as the inevitable surge fell upon her. Her world ended blind and shining.