Forget-Me-Nots: Beatrice
This one is relatively short. I'm afraid Beatrice has a smaller role in the series then most (Bigger then Elsa's, though), but I like her. Hope you like this piece. There are some manga spoilers in here again concerning Beatrice's death, so heads-up.
Quote:
"And so it was that he placed his small hands upon her eyes, and mourned that future generations would not see their lovely color. So it was then that he placed his hands upon the Earth. And small blue flowers began to rise; flowers like none she had seen before.
He wanted to ensure that she would never be forgotten. And so, the flowers were given the name, 'Forget-Me-Nots.'"
It was a different state of affairs then Elsa's funeral. This time, tears actually prickled at Triela's eyes, but would or could not fall-though she suspected that night would be a different story. Her tears normally spilled out the corners of her eyes when she was dreaming. The grief that was inside her would not subside. There was a genuine ache-numbed by conditioning-but there nonetheless.
Beatrice's handler watched somberly as his cyborg's ashes were quietly enclosed in stone. Triela knew he'd be well soon enough-after all, there was never a deficit of girls who could be made into machines. Knowing him, he'd have a new killer picked out from within the week.
Triela slowly turned her back on the small crypt, and headed for the doorway, blue eyes downcast, lost in thought.
No one knew where Beatrice had come from, or her story. She'd simply been found half-dead on the streets one day, and, when no one could find her profile in the substantial 'Missing' list the government held, they made her into a cyborg.
No one had ever come looking for her. They'd given her a handler, a name, a room, and a gun. That was tradition. And oftentimes, more then enough.
Her handler had been a joker of sorts, but he was fair. Beatrice did her job, and had an accurate shot. She occasionally meandered in and out with the other girls, though she seemed….off-center, somehow. It was reported that no one had ever seen her smile.
She didn't try to be gloomy, or unsociable. No, Beatrice just seemed to be unable to feel much of anything. She'd been puzzled as to why Claes enjoyed her gardening and various activities every day, and seemed confused at the term 'sadness' when the girls had begun speaking of Italian tragedies.
Did she know what it was like to be sad? She sometimes felt empty inside-but she felt the same way when she was hungry, so it was hard to tell.
She could touch things. She could feel them. But, hard as she tried, Beatrice seemed unable to emotionally express much.
If there was ever anything to express.
She worried about this, and then, wondered why she did. She thought about it continuously, wherever she went, but could find no answers. She thought she might know the mechanics of laughing-but that was it. She tried a few times in front of her mirror, but produced no success. Her handler's jokes didn't succeed in changing her mood. Violence did not change her mood. She sensed adrenaline in her body-but that was all physical.
She harbored feelings of loyalty towards the agency-but was that too, physical? She knew she had a network of drugs compelling her to protect the SWA and its interests. She wasn't an idiot.
Still, the other girls seemed to express feeling like no one's business. Rico was always smiling….but what for, exactly? Henrietta was easily moved to tears…why? What did having water in your eyes mean? Why was it used so integrally with having strong emotion? Some of the girls here cried in their sleep, but Beatrice put a hand to her eyes each morning to discover the same thing: Dry eyes.
Still, the dreams she couldn't remember having made her feel empty again. And not Hungry Empty, either.
When Angelica had died, the entire staff of Section Two had seemed to lose a little wind in their sails. Beatrice understood enough that loss generally caused humans great grief; was she human?
She hadn't known Angelica that well. Triela had, however, and Angelica's death had shaken her deeply. Beatrice wondered what would happen if she were to lose her handler, like Claes did.
But Claes seemed fine. Only after severe brainwashing procedures, yes-but fine. What would happen if Rico were to die? No….that wouldn't work. Ditto Henrietta. Beatrice had only talked to her once or twice.
What if she lost her ability to smell explosives? That would be a blow, she thought, although there seemed no reason she wouldn't be able to go on as she did before. She'd just be less useful, that's all.
But the idea of losing Triela was….
It had made her mind go numb, especially when she heard the Section One faculty talking about the eldest girl. She'd been the second one here to undergo the cybernetic implants, so, logic dictated that she would be the next one after Angelica to die.
People had seemed genuinely sad at the idea of losing Triela. And the idea made Beatrice herself feel empty. And there was a peculiar burning in her eyes-did she remember to take eye drops, today?
She did not want Triela to die. And Sections One and Two wanted her to live, because Triela could feel and do things well. She was good at her job, but it beyond that.
Triela should not die. On the job, or due to her conditioning.
Beatrice rarely wanted something, but for the first time, she found herself making a devout wish:
That Triela should live. Live until she burned out. Because Triela was someone worth remembering and loving.
Beatrice very much wanted to be someone like that, someday too.
When Triela and Beatrice were called to dispatch Suicide Bombers in Italy's most famous square, Beatrice's last thoughts were on Triela, and that she should live. That was important, right? Triela cared about things, like her handler. Beatrice cared about Triela.
And so, Beatrice had forced Triela out of the line of fire when it came to the final confrontation. It had made her feel….not empty, even when the explosion's hell-like wrath had burst before her eyes.
It made her feel…good inside. Cheerful, even. Because a friend was worth something dying for.
And, for the first time, Beatrice was happy, even in the split second she had before she died almost instantly.
Because the tears had finally come.
She was given a hero's burial-Jose had seen to that. It wasn't much of a comfort for Triela, but it would have to work. It was the only thing she had to keep her from despair.
The blonde-haired girl wandered about the aged walls, wandering about the fresh green grass of spring. Soon, the flowers at the graves would be blooming. Soon, Claes' vegetable patch would be growing.
Triela closed her blue eyes as the wind played at her long hair. Stupid, stupid Beatrice. She had known Triela wouldn't be alive for much longer, in any case-
So why? Dying for a handler, she could understand. Dying for a fellow Cyborg-well, that was another thing entirely. Why emotionless, dull, and dreary Beatrice had done such a thing was almost unfounded. Unreal. She'd left in her wake a series of emotions that Beatrice herself had probably never felt, much less understand: Anger, Guilt, Frustration….
…..sadness.
Triela sank onto a nearby bench, and buried her face in her hands.
First Angelica, and now Beatrice. What would happen if Rico had died trying to protect Jean? Or Henrietta's conditioning and heavy implants finally wore out her body?
What then? Or what if Hilshire-no, no. She wasn't going to think about that. At the end of the day, all you could do was move on after grief, but Hilshire's demise wouldn't just paralyze her from moving forward-it would kill her.
She'd never forget Hilshire. Even if they did to her what they did to Claes-and she'd much rather be dead then that-she couldn't forget. But memory loss was part of the final months that a cyborg had before they died. What if she forgot about everything-like Mario Bossi, his daughter, her teddy bears, Beatrice herself….?
The thought had her back on her feet in a heartbeat, and racing towards the dormitory in a full-out canter.
Two hours later, Triela found herself outside, beside Claes as she patiently began watering her new seedlings, staring at the small notebook she had on her lap. Okay, so it wasn't a proper diary like Henrietta's, but it was the best she could find in the SWA's Recycling Bin, and a diary sounded too neat and girly for Triela, anyway. She hoped Beatrice thought so, too.