Chapter 43: An Outburst

Deciding on where to lay his dear sister to rest was almost as hard as actually doing it. It had to be somewhere special. Somewhere fit for someone like her, if such a place existed. After much thought, he concluded that none did. Nowhere on the planet was worthy of the one person he loved and that loved him in return. The one person that had been through it all with him. That accepted Dark Eco and his part in studying it. And was not only fine with how the Dark Eco had changed him, but had let herself be changed, as well. They were a rare people. Only two people that didn't fear Dark Eco. That thought for themselves and sought knowledge, no matter how taboo, unlike all the other fools of the world. It could be a lonely thing, even with her by his side, but without her, it was another story entirely.

And so he thought over what he did have available to him. The Wasteland was no place for his dear sister, and even though Haven City had now been changed by Dark Eco, the recent home of their enemies was certainly not right, either. Eventually, he had settled with one place, a place that had bad memories, but was also the only site of truly good ones, as well. And ignorant people no longer lived there and hadn't in some time.

Their old childhood home, where they had grown up together, was her final resting place. He had found just the spot, where the grass was the greenest and which had the most flowers. Flowers she had picked as a child and had filled their shared bedroom with. And while he considered making a few changes using his powers of Dark Eco, he decided to leave this spot alone, just as it was long ago when their lives were peaceful and carefree and they hadn't anything to worry about but getting a spanking for some trouble they had caused. He couldn't give Maia her perfect world now, but he could, at least, return her to a more peaceful time.

And he lingered in this place longer, padding amongst the old houses again like he had done some time back when she was still around, at one point spotting a young boy and girl, unclear in the shade, who watched him and whom he watched in return, before they turned and left. He visited their old home again, the rusted door left open from their last visit, as closing it again had proven too difficult and because, in the chance he decided to return, once he closed it, it may never open again.

He visited their old room and looked into the other ones, as well, now so worn down and dirty from the soil and leaves and insects that had made their way in. He didn't remember this many cobwebs last time. Despite the damage, he still remembered how this place had once looked, and each room he stopped in conjured up an image in his head so clear, it was like things were back to the way they were, and he could see his dear sister and himself as children, reading together or playing a much less exciting game of hide and seek indoors when the weather outside was too bad to go out. He could hear the laughter, too, of two people that had ceased to exist long ago. They were not a pair of naïve children anymore and they hadn't been in so long. And it was almost like he was watching two people that were not them, that were someone else they had never been. It was so long ago, it was hard to believe those two children had been them. And yet the memories and the images and the sounds were still clear in his mind, like they had happened not so very long ago, after all.

And as he walked back outside, he listened to the peace out here. It was silent, almost. There was not another soul for miles and miles. The only sounds besides those in his head were the chirping of birds and a gentle wind rustling the trees. And another sound, one that wasn't there, but it felt like it was. Underneath the wind, he could almost swear that he could hear the voice of his dear sister as she sang throughout her work.

He returned after some time to the citadel, left with the much less important task of what to do with the body of the man that had caused all of this, a stain marring an otherwise pleasant (if not, depressing) bunch of memories. He disposed of this man's body, plain and simple, out in the desert, which was more than he deserved.

With that done, all that remained were things he was in even less of a mood to deal with. But, the bomb could wait. And the destruction of Spargus could wait. Even the boy and his pet could wait. Such things didn't matter right now. Not much of anything did. And so he wandered now, from room to room, deep in the citadel, the fact that the people who had once lived here were likely long dead coming to him more than ever. Everything that came here died. It was a dead place. Like his old village. Of course, everyone had to die eventually, and old towns and buildings were destined to be abandoned, once its people found a different place to go.

But, he couldn't help but ponder over it as he sat at an old table, lit only by a candle he had brought in, which illuminated notes someone had written on now yellowed pages, much of the sloppy handwriting unreadable after so much time had gone by, but from what he could make out, it appeared to be a letter to a family member, a mother perhaps. Or a sister. This was obviously someone's old room, with a bed off to the side, a few books piled on the nightstand, and old shoes arranged in a less than meticulous manner by the bedside, just as the notepaper was fanned out for easy viewing, but for no care for organization. Someone had spent their evenings in this room, no doubt, someone who was likely long gone, just as the intended recipient of the letter was, as well. Gol had simply stopped in here by chance when his feet had grown much too sore, and his back began to ache, but once he sat down to rest, he couldn't help but analyze the room as best he could in the darkness.

He caught sight of a small, ceramic lizard, some kind of strange bipedal one, on a shelf above the bed, along with more books piled in a manner that said the bookend nearby held no meaning for them, the figurine bringing to mind the wooden carvings he had found over a fireplace in a certain person's house. Yes, she was still here, wasn't she? If it was nearly anyone else, he would have expected them to be gone by now, but not her. No, she certainly wouldn't leave without hunting him down and saying goodbye first. And that wouldn't happen until she prattled on about some form of ridiculous nonsense or another. She was still up there, doing the Precursors knew what. Like knitting him up a quilt with baby rabbits on it or some other such filth.

He put his palms on the tabletop and pushed himself to his feet, putting one hand to his back while he hobbled out of the room. Leave the candle where it is. Who really cares? He stopped for a moment with teleportation in mind, then, continued to walk. Somehow, teleporting seemed like too much effort. Even if walking was even more work.

The Sage made his way towards the place that woman likely was in, rubbing his sore back. How was it that he ached so much today? He was now the most powerful person left on the planet. He should be able to handle a simple walk. As he neared the lab, he heard a humming, and his heart jumped for a moment, until he remembered it was not Maia that he was hearing. The voice wasn't quite the same, not all the notes quite in tune. He shuffled over and looked through the doorway into his lab, sour expression turning to confusion by what he saw.

Kassra was sitting at the table. He recalled now that he had knocked it down. All the beakers and test tubes were gone, the broken glass that remained of them and the liquid they contained all cleared away. Except for the fact that most of his things were missing, other than his notes in a neat pile on the table, nothing was out of the norm in this room. It was pristine, in fact, aside from a split table leg she had somehow held together by a length of fabric twisted about it.

He looked over his shoulder, pondering the state of the library, but looked back when she spoke. "Looks good, huh? You're welcome. Next time, though, it would be easier on everyone if you didn't throw your things."

He frowned at her, but she didn't see it, as she was focusing on a hunk of wood in one hand, cutting away at it in a most unsafe manner with a short knife, obviously whittling it away into…something. Her mouth tightened as the knife caught for a moment on the grain before she managed to tug it through the wood again, her mouth returning to the usual grin.

"There was Dark Eco in some of those beakers," he said.

"Yeah."

"And you didn't burn yourself?"

She shook her head, and he expected this lapse in concentration to result in lost fingers. "Mm-mm."

Gol opened his mouth, then, closed it. He supposed it didn't matter how she had done it. But, even after working with Dark Eco for decades, he still managed to burn himself sometimes. "How'd you do it?"

She stilled the knife, to his relief, looking up from her work. After a moment, she shrugged, and he raised an eyebrow at her, as she grinned and returned to her task.

He sniffed and began to walk into the room. He stopped on the other side of the table and looked down at her. Now that he was closer, he noticed that it looked like some crude humanoid shape was emerging from the wood, like some mutant half-human, half-tree stump. "What is it?" he asked. Once again, it didn't matter. Not really. He was just making small talk.

Her smile grew wider. "It's a secret."

He grunted. "Everything seems to be a secret today."

"Mm-hmm."

She continued her work, while he could think of nothing else to do but watch or look out the window, the weather outside monotonous again, no sign remaining of the violence of the sandstorm.

"Want me to make dinner? It's getting late."

He looked down at her again. "Vegetable soup again?"

"What else?" She stood, setting the wood and the knife down amidst a pile of woodchips. She brushed one hand over the surface of the table beside it. "And don't worry about this. I'll clean it up later."

She strolled by him, and his confusion grew. He looked back. "There's a vegetable garden…"

"I know."

As much as he disliked vegetables, there was indeed a garden out in one of the courtyards, as was only practical, that their servants tended to, though they found out early on that leaving the cooking to them was a bad idea. Actually, allowing them to do the gardening wasn't the best idea, either, seeing as a good quarter of the plants ended up stomped upon or chewed, but Maia had refused to garden once they created their servants, and he certainly wasn't going to tote a watering can from place to place in the heat, especially with his back as it was. Plus, he had his work to attend to. Maia was the main one responsible for the cooking, as she was much more competent at it than he, though the task fell to him whenever she was in one of her uncooperative moods, when she believed she was too good to waste her time on such "menial" things as cooking. Once she tried the results of his labors, however, she always changed her mind back again. What he wouldn't give to argue with his dear sister again over who should do the cooking.

His stomach growled, likely in response to thoughts of food and the fact that he hadn't eaten in a couple days, interrupting his recollections. He looked back in the direction the woman had gone again. The remaining creatures still wandered this place, and yet she didn't seem the worse for wear.

Gol turned back to the table, looking at the half-carving again, the face still rough and largely featureless. Now who was that intended to be?

His eyes widened when they landed next on the pile of papers. Those contained his notes, including the plans for the bomb. She hadn't seen anything, had she?

He snatched the pile up, riffling through the pages. It seemed everything was here, as far as he could tell with only a quick inspection, bomb designs and all. She likely hadn't taken anything to bring back to Spargus, but had she seen what he was planning? Harmless notes adorned the top page, stained with whatever liquid it had fallen in. The woman could be a dolt. Perhaps she had only collected the papers without looking at their contents.

He turned and headed for his room. When he opened the door, he stopped. There, on the table beside his bed, was a vase filled with an arrangement of cactus flowers and some kind of wispy, grass-like plants, likely intended to look nice to anyone with very low standards. On his dresser beside the table stood a small, potted barrel cactus. And sitting at the end of his bed was a large, potted palm. Now where had she gotten the pots? Somewhere in the citadel? Where else, but he had never seen any.

He closed the door, before marching forward, and stood before the palm, glowering down at it. He dropped the papers on the bed before returning his attention to the unwelcome plant, then, clutched its trunk with both hands. He began to tug, but it didn't budge, much more securely planted than he had expected. What was with women and their need to invade his personal space with flowers and potted plants? His dear sister used to do the same thing.

Yes, Maia used to do the same thing. No matter how much he complained about the pollen and the space her flowers took up, she continued to decorate their home with such things, as she enjoyed the colors and the smells they provided. He let up and stared down at the palm, now crooked, several fronds bent, but still there, gloating at him and his frail arms. It looked ridiculous in here. He was the Dark Eco Sage. He had the power to kill someone with a mere touch, if he wanted to. And there was a jaunty, little palm tree taking up residence in his bedroom, the cocky thing.

He tore his gaze from it and stomped over to his papers, picking them up again. That woman simply couldn't see these. He went over to his dresser and opened one drawer, pausing to glare at the cactus set atop. It knew he couldn't grab it. It knew. He moved some of his clothes aside and slid the papers under, then, remembering the state of his coat, took out a spare one to change into. He just remembered the pearl and took it out of his pocket, where he had placed it for safekeeping, though with his bad luck, it likely wouldn't be very safe with him. He placed it on the dresser, stopping it when it attempted to roll.

Once he had changed into more proper clothing, he emerged from his room, no longer stained with the blood of his sister, and with nothing to do. Kassra had yet to return, and his lab had been reduced to a random room with a table in it. He made his way to the library and rested his hand on the doorframe, looking in to see what she had done here. It seemed she had only gotten started on cleaning this room up. It was quite a bit of work, this place, as it had been a mess of torn papers and broken furniture last he had seen it.

Now, much of the furniture that could still stand was set upright, though it didn't appear she wanted to tackle the bookcases. Countless pages and book bindings were piled into the corner, with one side dedicated to loose paper and the other for bindings. He wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at here. Many of the books that were still mostly intact were stacked on a table that slanted less than the others. He walked in, thinking how lucky he was that he hadn't knocked over a candle and set the whole place ablaze. He picked up the first, mostly intact book on the table, a few more pages slipping loose to get lost amongst the papers that still remained underfoot. It turned out to be a book on the various plant life of the Wasteland. He snorted. How ironic. And useless. He picked up the next one, this one on the topic of so-called "leaper lizards", whatever those were supposed to be. These were no loss to the world of literature. With nothing better to do, he placed these books in an empty shelf in one of the bookcases that remained upright.

He continued this procedure with the next books in the pile, inspecting their contents on his way to the shelves out of boredom and curiosity. Most of these books, just as he remembered, were of no use to him, about such pointless things as a history that failed to mention himself or his sister or books that ignored the many benefits that Dark Eco could provide. It was no wonder his dear sister had disliked reading, he supposed.

The Sage was about halfway through with organizing the pile when a voice called through the doorway, "Dinner's ready! Come on, skinny man!"

He looked back to see Kassra holding two bowls of a liquid he remembered all too well, steam rising from them both. "Don't think that I forgot that you dislike vegetables," she continued, "but there's not a lotta options, y'know. Your strange…beast things don't look too edible."

She strode into the room, a large smile dominating the bottom half of her face. What was she so darn happy about? "You wanna eat in here or where?"

He shrugged, and she set the bowls down on a fairly sturdy table. She slid one bowl to the other side and pulled out her seat with a dull screech on the floor. He watched her sit, while he continued to hold a book in one hand. Having remembered that it was there, he set it down next to the pile from whence it came and joined her at the table, though he didn't get to his own meal right away. Instead, he continued to gaze at her as she slurped down large spoonfuls of the murky, chunky liquid. Apparently, she enjoyed vegetables. Very much. At least with her mouth full, perhaps she wouldn't speak for a while.

He picked up his spoon from where it had been left, its useful end having been resting in the soup, broth now dripping down and making quite a racket as it landed, and he put it back down to stop it from making anymore noise. He already didn't have much of an appetite as it was, and the smell of cooked, malnourished vegetables didn't help. He could almost hear his stomach groan.

"You have to eat it before it gets cold."

He looked up to see liquid dripping from her chin just before she wiped it off with the back of her free hand. "I'm well aware of the proper protocols for eating soup," he said. And so what if he let it cool? It's not like one could actually ruin vegetable soup.

She nodded. "Good. I'm happy for you."

Was that sarcasm? He stared at her with half-lidded eyes, frowning, and she stared back, one eye squinching into what he could only assume was mock concentration. Her head tilted to the side, mouth tight as she continued to stare at him like some asymmetrical Cyclopes. And then their staring contest ended as quickly as it began as she returned to her dinner.

"So, what'd you do with the pearl I gave you?"

"It's in my room," he said, taking hold of his spoon again, picking up multiple chunks of unpleasantness with it. He supposed it didn't look as bad as what he managed to cook up.

She sat up straighter. "Oh, so what did you think? I spruced the place up a bit."

"I saw that."

"Did you like it?"

He stuck the spoon in his mouth, the vegetables possessing a softness they really shouldn't have, even from cooking, while she grinned at him, awaiting his answer. Did she really want to know what he thought? Honestly? He shrugged.

"You don't know if you liked it?"

He stared at her. Was his expression not answer enough? "It was fine," he said. If he told her he hated it, that would only prolong the discussion. Then again, she seemed incapable of picking up on noncommittal responses, so his lack of solid answers also seemed to be keeping her from leaving him alone.

"You don't like it," she said. At least, that's what he thought she said, as she continued to smile, nevertheless.

"Hmm." He agreed to dinner, but he didn't agree to a conversation. On second thought, he didn't recall really agreeing to dinner, either. She always just…did things.

She shook her head. "Well, that doesn't surprise me. You're impossible to please, if you're not even happy with my pleasant company."

"Are you pleasant company?" he said. Trying to be polite through silence wasn't getting her to stop talking, so he may as well say what was on his mind.

Kassra nodded. "I sure am. And you could be, too, if you were a little less…cranky."

He wasn't cranky. He just didn't enjoy talking to annoying people. Or usually, people in the first place. That was all. "I'm sure everyone on the planet would be perfectly decent company if they didn't have flaws." And maybe the reason he was cranky was her fault, not his.

"So we agree on something, then."

He raised an eyebrow at her. What in the world was she talking about?

She returned to her soup, and he watched her, none of her previous cheer dampened.

"And it doesn't bother you that I wasn't fond of your…decorations?" he said.

She held up a finger as she finished swallowing, then, said, "No, I expected it, like I said." Her smile somehow managed to grow larger. "From what I can tell, that's just how you are."

He frowned. "Just how I am? You say that like you know me."

"Don't I?"

He put his spoon down. They had spent one month together. That was all. And much of it involved him sleeping, reading, or otherwise trying to ignore her presence. She didn't know him. They were still strangers. The fact that she didn't fear him because of the Dark Eco that flowed through him was the only reason he didn't wish her harm, but she certainly didn't know him.

"No, you really don't."

"Hmm," she said, her smile faltering, though he couldn't say why that would get to her and not the other things he had said prior. He watched her for a moment longer, her eyes half-closed and now staring off at the section of the tabletop that lay between them. If he had believed it possible, he would say she was deep in thought. Over what kind of nonsense, though, he had no idea, but at least she was quiet.

H returned to his soup, not a terrible concoction, all things considered, though it didn't settle quite right in his empty stomach, partly due to the mere identity of what he was eating and the fact that he really had had no appetite to begin with. He managed to get halfway through it, at a rather slow pace, before he noticed how complete the silence was, with not even the sound of the woman's eating to be heard. He glanced up to find her swirling her spoon through the liquid, watching the pieces of vegetables as they were propelled around the bowl by the movement of the spoon.

He raised his eyebrows. Now what was keeping her so quiet? It wasn't that he minded the peace, but it wasn't like her to not feel the need to bother him for more than a few minutes, to ask him questions she had no business knowing the answers to or to inform him of things he didn't care to know.

She began to look up, and he returned his attention to his own bowl, but it seemed she had caught him in his staring, for she spoke again, her voice soft, not so shrill on his ears as it usually was. "I do know you. More than you realize. I think…I know who you are more than you do."

He looked up, frown deepening. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

She looked away for a moment, then, returned her gaze to him. "Well, I…"

"If you know so much, out with it. What is it you know about me? You, who knew me for only a month, and a year ago at that, and did nothing the whole time but chatter on. Why don't you enlighten me, as you claim to know more than even I do."

Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could speak, her voice rising. "That's…that's not what I meant. It's just…"

"It's just what?" he said, leaning forward, one palm on the table. She had some nerve to come here after everything that had happened, then, claim such things. It didn't even make sense. How did she know him? And better than he did, apparently. Only his dear sister knew him. She was the only one that ever did, that had ever understood him, that had ever tried. And yet this woman came here and said she possessed the same knowledge? It was insulting!

He stood, his chair tipping over, and she flinched, but he didn't know if it was from him or the racket the chair had caused. He hoped it was the former. She never took him seriously! Never! It was bad enough when his sister teased him, but this woman had no right to treat him lightly! She had no right! "You don't know me. You can say it all you want, but you don't."

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. Why did she look so surprised? If she was going to keep pushing things, she had to expect that he would eventually get upset. When she continued to say nothing, he walked by with a snarl, coat fluttering behind him. And now she remained silent. But, did he get through to her? Probably not.

The Sage arrived in his room, the first place that came to mind, and slammed the door. He marched to his bed in the near darkness with only the light of a failing sun coming through a long, narrow window near the ceiling. He plopped down and clutched his chest, it taking all his effort to draw a breath. Once he was able to ease the feeling of suffocation by at least a little, he slouched there, his recent pent-up energy already dissipated. Now he was left thinking over his outburst and trying to figure out exactly what had caused him to do it in the first place.

She didn't know him. Only Maia did. His dear sister was the only one, and with her gone, no one did anymore. No one remaining knew him as anything more than the monster that he wasn't, and now he was here in his room, and he couldn't really bring himself to go back outside again after what had just happened.

He sighed. He was trapped. He couldn't face her right now, but even when some time had passed and the awkwardness had lessened, he was still trapped, for there was no place he could go where he would feel better, where he could forget what happened several days ago. There was nothing he could do to forget that his world had crumbled to dust, with no way of putting it back together again.

Something caught his eye, and he saw the pearl, sitting there beside the cactus, a tiny spot of gold. He got up, never having felt so old and stiff before, and hobbled over to the dresser, picking the pearl up in his good hand, the only one that could be trusted with such an object. He held it in his palm and gazed down at it. It was a rather lovely thing, he supposed. It couldn't compete with his dear sister, of course, but nothing could.

He curled his fingers around it, the pearl cold to the touch. Why did this thing make her think of him? A golden pearl made of sand, a rare object. Why him? Why did she feel the need to tell him the story of such things, of the pearls and the sand crabs, in the first place? He opened his fingers, almost expecting it to be gone, but there it was. He stared at it longer, going over and over again possible reasons for why she had given this to him. Why? Why didn't she keep such a rare thing for herself, but instead, she gave it to someone like him, who had just yelled at her and stormed out of the room when they were in the middle of dinner. He didn't deserve it. He couldn't even protect his sister. He couldn't stop her from… Couldn't it have been him? He should have gone for the walk that had resulted in…

It should have been him.

Gol set the pearl back down and moved back towards his bed, feeling all his four hundred years of age. He sat down, then, fell to his side, staring at the wall. He was tired, though rest wouldn't restore him, but he couldn't hold it off for much longer, either. He hadn't slept in days, but instead had been in a daze, and while he hadn't been doing much of anything, it was still draining. Nevertheless, no matter how old and tired the Sage was, it still took him some time to fall asleep, a sleep that brought with it memories of better times that only made it more painful.

Certain parts of this chapter were pretty fun to write. And video game characters always seem to have nothing but duplicates of the same exact clothes to wear all the time, don't they?... But, Gol looks good in his blue coat, even if I don't know where he got spares…. Please review.