Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the waves of Sweepers pass, Rats often come scurrying out. The cleaners of the Backstreets feast on the day’s misfortunate, and what remains of their meals is left up for grabs. Charred prosthetics are torn to parts, tinkered with, repaired, even. Jewelry is pawned off. Weapons that failed to protect their past owners are picked up anew.

Moses crawls out the hole under some hovel’s stairs. She’s been spending the nights here, lately. It’s quite dry, no one else seems to camp around these places, and the Sweepers don’t dare scurry inside, given there’s still a family living up inside this barely standing shack. Not enough room, or air, for that matter, to start a fire… But the synthetic jacket she managed to scavenge off some corpse keeps her warm. It’s big enough that she’s drowning in it, arms barely reaching the elbows of the sleeves, so it’s more of a sleeping bag to her. It does the job of one, at least.

She takes it off and chucks it back inside, since it’s quite cumbersome to walk around in. The chilly night air reeks of iron and chemical burns. Moses covers the entrance of her shelter with rotten planks that must’ve been there before the hole. Then, she sets off for her hunt, shivering from the cold.

It’s fairly simple, though not any less dangerous because of it. Take what she can. Avoid adults and groups at all costs. Kids like her or younger can sometimes be bullied into submission, but it’s better not to risk it if the loot isn’t worth it. She has enough food stashed to last a bit; survival takes priority.

Because it’s not a pleasant life, but one of survival. Ever since she ended up alone on these streets it’s been like this. Drifting to live the next day.

The first puddle of the night she stumbles into after about three minutes of trekking down the dead-end alleyways. These usually end up being checked last, and often become places of scuffles between money-hungry Rats. Moses's taken to visiting a few she’d become familiar with after finding cracks to squeeze into if worse comes to worst.
This particular find grants her a whole entire prosthetic leg, even if almost half of it has half-eroded into the revolting liquid seeping into the asphalt.

Careful not to get any of it on herself, Moses drags the thing backwards. Its surface scrapes along the pavement and she winces from the disgusting mix the sound creates together with the churning, bubbling fuel. The smell is unbearably putrid, too.

Like this, she pulls it along the ground until half-melted metal stops dripping down from its cracks. Then, she throws it over her shoulder, knees almost buckling from the heavy weight. Still faster like this: no time to meddle now. She has to run with this thing, if she wants to keep it. Probably not worth staying to risk for more, this is likely the best she’s going to find today. Moses bolts, grunting from the effort of carrying something so hefty.

Running out the alley, she sharply turns right and sprints forward, so close to the wall of the apartment block beside her she might as well be hugging it. Stopping at an intersection, she carefully glances around, before making her way forward, taking cover by the next building.

The next intersection, however, goes far less smoothly. Her raggedy shoes scrape against the ground as she comes to a sharp halt, hearing clashing blades and helpless yells of pain. Moses presses herself close to the wall, quietening her breath, whose pace is picking up rapidly.

A pack of Rats, armed with trashy weapons, cross her sight. They’re feverishly attempting to flee. One stumbles down, convulsing as a curved weapon cuts cleanly across his neck and back. A man clad in a gold-trimmed black coat steps into the street, finishing the Rat’s life with another hit of his… sword. A woman dressed in the same fashion presses forward at the same time. She doesn’t appear to be chasing the remaining Rats down, merely pushing them to scurry farther away in their terror.

Moses contemplates doing the same, as a few more of these murderous strangers stop in the middle of the street. A syndicate, most likely? Must be so high profile, too, judging by their looks, and she’s never seen them before… She’s looking around wildly for an escape route, heart beating away desperately in her chest, despite all her attempts to remain calm. Her palms are sweaty, and-

The dead weight of the scavenged prosthetic can no longer be supported by Moses’ shaking hands. It rattles as it tumbles to the ground, announcing her presence and, to her utter horror, the gazes of the black-clad people all snap to her. She can’t help but sniffle, helplessly childish, as she curls in on herself, back to the wall.

Death doesn’t come quick. It approaches with heavy, measured steps. Lighter ones behind those, too - two separate executioners. She can tell only by the sound of their footsteps, eyes shut tight in dreadful anticipation. She swallows heavily as something darts behind her, wishing farewell to her head in her mind, but-

She’s merely picked up by the scruff of her dirty frayed sweater and suspended in the air.

“Ooh, looks like we didn’t have to look far after all. Good morning, kiddo~”

The face that greets Moses is remarkably Nest-dwelling. Clean, markless skin, wrinkles formed by a smile its only imperfection. A pair of striking crimson eyes peer into her very soul, appraising.

This person is standing so close Moses could probably attempt to hit her. Something tells her this is suicide. So she slumps in the hand that holds her up (someone else she can’t see), terrified gaze boring back at this stranger.

She’ll probably be sold for meat. Or organs. Won’t she? But this woman, undoubtedly the leader of the group, looks much, uhm… unlike the butchers and organ sellers she’d seen in the past. Much too refined, she’d say, to do the dirty work herself, just from the way she holds herself.

“How old are you, kid?”

The stranger addresses Moses curiously, and Moses mutters, unsurely:

“...fourteen. Ma’am.”

“Oh! Look at how polite she is! Good, nicely spoken~ You look way too, ah… tiny? For that age, though.”

How is she supposed to respond to this?

“Well, no matter. Would you like to become a fixer, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Moses replies without as much as a thought. If she’d asked whether Moses would like to slave away in a dingy factory she would’ve agreed just the same. This was life or death. She did not want to end up in a pool of her own blood like the dead Rat a few meters away. “Yes, I would.”

“Mhm, wonderful~” the woman steps away to approach the armed people, tapping a rather intimidating and visibly very expensive cane (weapon?) against the ground as she announces: “Pack it up, friends. Our little excursion is over, and I’d rather go back to my nap now.”

The person carrying her, too, has joined up with the group at this point. For some reason, she can’t stomach asking them to put her down.

When they get to a black car, the most Moses can say to describe it, is, again, expensive. It’s becoming a pattern, actually. It isn’t the broken down and half-running thing she remembers from her own distant past, and it isn’t like the hunks of scrap usually swarming these streets either. A back door is opened. One of these uniformed people, the only one around since the rest had gotten into another car, drapes a rag over the seat. Moses herself is placed on it, then, to sit.

This is… really bizarre. Moses watches, silently, as the front seats are taken, and from vague memory, recalls how to buckle herself in. It’s not like she’ll regret taking the only way out she saw, but isn’t this situation absolutely terrifying? She finds it hard to panic, for some odd reason, turned as she now is to the tanned window where the streets go by. It’s like her sense of self-preservation is stifled, adrenaline dispersing, leaving her body feeling utterly exhausted.

It is nice to think that her struggle for survival has come to an end, in one way or another, though. It makes the wish to sob bubble up in her chest, which she pushes down, out of embarrassment and politeness both.

Moses leans her cheek against cold glass, resting against the door that vibrates from the bumpy ride. The buzz this creates in her head is strangely soothing, despite the slight chatter of her teeth. Maybe she can sleep like this, if only she curls her legs to her torso and hugs them like so-

It’s warm in the car, and dry. The air still smells of blood, but much more subtly. There’s this artificially sweet, earthy fragrance over it here, and she finds she quite likes it, despite its invasiveness. That lady, the one that seemed to lead this group, she’s fiddling with the music player, an impatient expression on her face. It’s covered by a sweet smile the moment her gazes meets Moses’.

“You can rest if you wish, dear, no need to worry. I’ll wake you up when we arrive.”

Moses blinks at her, owlishly, a pang of anxiety at the thought of ‘arrival’. Doesn’t really feel the energy to question it, now that her mind really has started to go fuzzy. She wishes she could stay more alert, she should, really, but that small, restless worry is the only thing she can muster right now.

“...where are we going?” she asks, finally.

And the woman must have found it amusing, because she chuckles before replying:

“I’m giving you a chance to become a fixer, I told you so already! Remember your Lady’s charity, won’t you~ This is a huge deal, you know.”

When Moses doesn’t find anything to reply with, she continues:

“Well, you’ll learn to appreciate it in time. You’ll study well, and then be in my service like this guy over here,” she points a single well-manicured finger at the driver, who’s focused solely on the road, yet nods seriously as the self-proclaimed lady briefly turns her attention to him. “So make sure to put in the effort to thank me properly.”
The conversation simmers out after that. The steady whirr of the car lulls Moses to terrifyingly restful sleep, helped by the slow, tastefully pleasant melody that seizes the interior at the Lady’s whim.

She didn’t get to ask her name. But it’s okay - hers wasn’t asked for either.

Chapter Text

There’s this academy located in District 18’s Backstreets, Citadel. It stands tall above the crumbling shacks and dingy apartment blocks, the audacity of such obscene luxury drawing eyes. A well-maintained building painted in dark tones rises up into the sky at about seven floors, and to its sides are two wide indoor gymnasiums. A few outdoor training grounds are scattered around the territory. The campus is protected by high, intricately smithed metal fencing that, frankly, has no place on streets like these. Yet it stands here, unchallenged.

Not for a lack of trying. Sure, some rats try their hands at sneaking in. It’s just that they are never even remotely successful. Getting in may not be too tricky — there isn’t an automatic defense system, for example. However, passerbies that are lucky enough to witness some poor bastard scale the fence usually bear witness to an actual, honest to Wings, hunt for sport.

You see, this place exists to train fixers of a special caliber. The students that graduate will go on to join one office, and one office only. The legality of this is a gray area, as practicing fixer work without a license may get you into some deep waters with Hana. Hands-on fighting lessons such as the ones given here may cross into the license required territory. But the Citadel never really dealt with such issues before.

Here, we can see an opportunistic start-up syndicate attempt a break-in. A prosthetics-clad individual is hurrying their colleagues up as they clamber over the fence. They’ve been at it for about five minutes now. Bad idea not to plan ahead.

“Prepare to advance. Weapons at the ready. Kenzy, don’t you dare try to charge forward again.”

Moses drew her own khopesh, giving her party the last warning glare.

It was also a bad idea to interrupt the morning training routine of the Mamluks. That said, no one in their right mind would assume that training at five in the morning was routine. Now, Moses knew, everybody in the huge indoor gymnasiums was crowding around the windows, watching their seniors prepare to demonstrate the effectiveness of Furūsiyya in action.

Mamluks, they called the students here. Ranging from fourteen to twenty years old, about three to four kids for each age group, they’d all been picked off the Backstreets. Moses as well, not that she likes to recall those times now. There would be some outliers – a promising Dieci orphan, a Nest-born kid on the run from his family… Still, they were given a new hope, a thing to live for, all the same.

A beacon of light in the face of Lady Dias. The same one who brought them all here, personally. The elusive woman rarely visited, despite being the founder and sponsor of the Citadel. When she did, it was a celebration, gaggles of Mamluks were gathering 'round, at a respectable distance, of course. Careful with their manners. She’d given them all a fair chance at life, charitably providing both education, accomodation and future employment. Really, her generosity was to die for.

And they were all happy to do so. Glad not to be drowning in sewage waste, glad not to be taken apart piece by piece by opportunistic Backstreets killers of all kinds. Glad to have a safe, warm room with a bunk and a blanket, a corner to call their own. A bit of spare change to decorate it. A filling plate of breakfast they did not need to scavenge for, and friends to share it with.

Just as the last of the syndicate members dropped down from the top of the fence, Moses wordlessly signaled forward, and the Mamluks swarmed.

The first interloper to fall didn’t even have time to cry out. With a sick crack, her head was lopped off her body by a single, impactful strike. Chaos erupted. One of the syndicate members fell back in an attempt to climb back to the other side, only for his legs to be stricken in two wide, perpendicular cuts, criss-cross, causing him to fall backwards to the ground when his limbs gave out from agony.

Moses’s gaze traced the action, identifying the biggest threat. She allows the deafening beat of her own heart to drown out her nerves, letting adrenaline take hold. It was hard to get a hold of her thoughts like this, but even without a cool head, she trusts herself to make sound, if rash decisions. She charges forward, to where Andrew is practically brawling with the metal–handed trespasser, having had his khopesh wrestled out of his hold. While he does his best to deflect the rapidfire punches, Moses silently charges towards them both. As soon as she senses a vulnerability, her weapon is swung wildly, outward curve of the blade aimed at the attacker’s temple. An arm of theirs flies to protect against it on pure instinct. Steel clashes against steel, Andrew jumps back to free up space. Moses’ blade is spun backwards in a flash, and it strikes true with its inward curve, delivering a deadly blow to the other side of his head, so deceptively fast the man doesn’t have time to react before he crumples over.

It is over fast, way too fast. Moses stands over the body, breathing heavily from exertion. It’s a brief moment to get her bearings back. Then, she’s turning around, assessing the damage done to her party – joined by their actual battle instructor, whom she spots approaching out of the corner of her blurry vision.

“Excellent job, teamwork in particular,” the narrow eyed, combat seasoned Udjat comments loudly, walking up to their group, “Andrew, drag yourself to the medics for the bruises. Everyone else stays put.”

She begins dishing out comments about the details of Elmuth’s advance, and Moses stops listening. It’s valuable feedback, of course, it's just that Moses can’t force herself to care in this very moment. Kenzy steps up to her, a heavy bow in hand, arrows returned to their case, unused.

“Man, I was hoping you guys would leave some for me to shoot down.”

“I don’t remember complaining when I was the archer of the party.”

“Well, you weren’t the archer five times in a row! No one got even halfway up the fence this time, ugh.”

“Not my fault you can’t seem to learn.”

“Kenzy! Work on your damn stance! You better stay behind today for target practice!” the instructor’s barked comment interrupted their chitchat, for one perfectly timed moment.

Moses can’t help cracking a small, shit-eating grin, and the girl sticks out her tongue in response. Then, she glances behind her back, quickly, and lowers her voice.

“That aside, can I bum a cig off you?” to the irritated frown that crosses Moses’ face, she replies, with a brushing off gesture, “I just can’t commit to buying them! I’m not a serious smoker like you.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

She does share, though.

Moses wipes the sole of her boot against dewy grass, washing away the fresh blood and oil that have pooled at her feet. Listens to the critique of her own advance and command, itching for a cigarette, now that the topic has been brought up. But that’ll have to wait a few hours until the break in her schedule. She isn’t exactly eager to flash her tobacco dependency in front of her teachers and instructors.

They all return to the regular morning drill after.

The atmosphere here was slightly nauseating, like a foggy dream that’s bleeding into reality. The long hours of training tired one’s body, and the endless lectures weighed on the mind. Yet willingly, they all put themselves through more, voluntarily staying up late over textbooks together, sneaking into the gymnasiums to spar, despite the way their arms would begin to shake from exhaustion and hunger. Everyone around Moses, more importantly she herself, felt a drive, a shared obsession, a singular goal that propelled them forward at breakneck velocity.

A particular conversation that repeats in some form almost every day is forever etched into her mind, she’s pretty sure. It goes something like this:

“Imagine those Nest bastards studying for their entrance exams right now, haha,” Kenzy would say, unprompted. And Moses would silently nod, taking a bite of her chicken cutlet.

“Useless, cog in the machine work. Nobodies who’ll never amount to anything, the lot,” Elmuth would chime in, ever philosophy driven. “Good that you’re here with us, Andrew.’

“Yeah. I’m glad I’m here now,” the new-ish, shaky kid who'd ran away from his nice, cozy, rat's den of a nest home would nod. “I've always wanted to be a fixer, not a… not a feather.”

“Not just a fixer, Andrew, an Udjat," she points a fork at him, shaking her head. "That’s way cooler.”

“I guess it is…”

“You're serving Lady Dias! Creating a new future! And you're pretty much set for life, too, right?”

And then Kenzy’s arm is wrapped around Andrew's shoulder reassuringly, and a hand is ruffling his hair, causing a yelp of protest. Still, it dissolves into shared laughter. Moses chuckless along, sincerely.

This is a source of pride, in a lot of ways. Selflessly carving yourself into a perfect tool, a weapon to wield, is admirable. Knowing your worth, too, is key - in this City, people like Moses and her peers have an advantage, in that they are a part of something bigger. There is someone to look out for them, and they're repaying her kindness virtuously. That’s both a goal and a reward in one, a perfect way to live your life, a secure and certain one. One that puts her above the dregs in the backstreets, above fixers drifting from job to job chasing money, above the feathers breaking their backs for something they will never get to see the results of.

Moses likes her place here. She's putting in the effort and seeing success. She’s the best in her age group already, she's winning spars against older Mamluks. That's not much of a benchmark, but she is. Her achievements feel exhilarating. Maybe that’s because she has cold, hungry nights, where her best ‘achievement’ was tearing a few hundred ahn from some poor bastard’s cold, dead hands to compare them to.

She doesn’t like to remember those days. The only memory worth keeping is the Lady herself picking her off the streets, like a sopping wet stray (her arms were warm and strong as she carried her half-sleeping form to the academy grounds, brushing away any offers to take the kid off her hands. Moses was shaking and a little scared for her life, wide-eyed, yet for some strange reason trusting of that unfamiliarly sweet, soothing voice like she’d never trusted in anything before. Vaguely, she was worried she’d ruin the woman’s long, velvety coat with her filth as she pressed her face into the fabric. Must’ve looked ridiculous, Moses thinks in hindsight, she couldn’t’ve been younger than fourteen. She cringes at it now, even if it still warms her heart so much. Others recall similar experiences, too, but it still feels like a dear, personal thing). The rest of the memories, she’d rather push out of her brain. Good thing she has all the tools to do so, what with the gruelling schedule of never ending study.

It wasn’t easy, at first, to get accustomed to this life. She didn’t know how to hold a pen proper, let alone write, and most of her reading involved checking the dates on food packaging. But the teachers here were good. Didn’t treat her like trash when she’d ask for assistance, and she quickly learned to respect them. In fact, what surprised her the most was just how… generous this all was. You’d think for a bunch of mongrels like them, the barest minimum would suffice. But no. The facilities were nice, kept tidy and well furnished. The halls were spacious and winding enough that it was fairly easy to get lost, striking posters and huge information boards on everything, from the history of the Udjat Office and the benefits of Udjat work, to the Citadel-wide events, the schedules of drills and recreational clubs. She took part in the making of a few of them over the years, actually. They had plenty of equipment to train with, an enormous library. Each mamluk had their own room, even. So Moses warmed up quickly.

All thanks to Lady Dias, again. It was always about her, in the end. As it should be, really. No one else in the City would spare them a shred of pity, no helping hand. Dias gave them all this. All so they could be her loyal Udjat, executors of her will. She could just hire established fixers with this kind of money, colors, even, but instead, she did this. Her kindness knew no bounds.

So Moses was taught to write. Taught to read; read properly, understanding the text and reading between the lines. Capable of judging character throughout the written narrative. She found she quite enjoyed literature, actually. Not that she had much time to read, but still. She learned algebra, then advanced math. Sciences, natural and social. A dead language used only in the Udjat’s inner communication, and all of the non-verbal signs to use in combat. Learned to wield many weapons. Properly, theory and practice both. She still gets a weak tremor in her arm whenever she remembers the exam that involved stabbing through precisely thirty-seven (or five. Or nineteen. However much the instructor would call out) out of fifty layers of paper stacked on top of each other. But that was just one of the many steps towards perfect bladesmanship, and she did learn to control her precision to absolute perfection, after all. Moses studied the ways of the City, of fractions and their relations. What was allowed in her future work. What wasn’t, and how to properly get away with doing so regardless. After all, Dias was above the City’s restrictions. That much was obvious, even if it was rarely said out loud. So they, as her proxies, were as well. Just had to be careful about it.

Moses consumed knowledge like a starving animal. It paid off well, given how often she was taking the leading roles during drills now, which could only mean her skill being taken note of. She felt proud. And she deserved to, didn’t she? Recognition felt good.

These were the last couple years of their training, before they could join the ranks of the Udjat proper, receiving their licenses. So in their spars, they were going over every weapon they’d learned to wield all over again, whetted to lethal sharpness this time, dulled training mockups passed down to younger Mamluks. Not only that, but the instructors would bring out battle trophies from all kinds of adversaries, from the Thumb’s rifles to a single black sword of a Hana fixer, to get them accustomed with. That one got quite a reaction out of them, to be perfectly honest, given how hard it must’ve been to acquire. Even Moses, who didn’t much care for the weaponry itself, could appreciate this particular rarity.

“Moses! Scimitar down!”

Her weapon falls to the ground as soon as she hears the order. Elmuth, Moses’ opponent, clutches his bleeding side with a stifled groan.

“Get him to the medics. Good job.”

Moses nods wordlessly, kneeling down to help her wounded comrade up. He, too, did well, no less was expected of them. One misstep was enough, though, for an almost fatal blow to land. There were no kid gloves on anymore. Stakes were high. Real adrenaline, real risk and reward. No casualties were allowed, of course, medics closeby, but holding back wasn’t an option. A wound would heal. The experience would stay. She herself tastes iron, a deep gash to her cheek from a graze of Elmuth’s lucky swipe.

“Next up!”

Two more Mamluks step onto the bloodsoaked sand. Scimitars drawn, staring each other down: the rest of her group, Kenzy and Andrew.

Elmuth leaned onto her with his entire weight, so much that Moses almost collapsed. Right. She has him to take care of.

“Mind if I smoke?” she asks him, as they begin their slow walk out of the gymnasium.

“Yes, actually,” he mutters through gritted teeth, inhaling sharply, no doubt from the pain, “but don’t pay that any mind, I’d have done the same right now if I cared for it. And you did best me.”

“That I did,” she agrees, reaching down into her pocket, for a pack. "I'd have lent you one, if you wanted."

She really dislikes smoking in public, to be perfectly honest. Not like it was forbidden explicitly, it was simply highly frowned upon. But it helps soothe the scathing hot ache of her wound, a bit, as they make their way forward. Not like anyone wanders the hallways at this time of day, anyway, and she’ll snuff the thing out before she approaches the medical wing.

“Grrh-” Elmuth growls in exertion as he suddenly pushes himself to stand up straight, and dips his head down.

The surge of confusion Moses experiences is quickly replaced by one of vivid horror. Immediately, she too, bows her head.

The Lady laughs at the sight, brightly and hardly mocking, tilting her head slightly.

“Run along, kiddos, I’m here for a brief errand,” she waves her hand dismissively, urging them to go their merry way, “don’t make a big deal out of this, 'kay? No time for a meet and greet~”

…Oh why in the Wings! Did she have to smoke right now!

Elmuth is already limping away hurriedly, and Moses is forced to go along, despite the way her heart rate absolutely skyrockets. Should she turn around and excuse herself? Oh, this’ll haunt her for the entirety of her life. Now, the Lady herself will remember her not for her achievements, but for smoking, of all things. Smoking gives one such, such an awful image in the eyes of others. Color drains completely out of her face, as she hears another chuckle down the hall.

“See, smokhn- smoking is horrible for you,” Elmuth taunts through his pain. Moses swiftly drives a fist straight into his side, which causes him to yowl in agony.

Chapter Text

It’s the dead of the night once again. The third night in a row that Moses is going out on a job. The only thing stopping her from becoming a full-on night owl, she tiredly joked once, is the koshari she’d miss for breakfast.

Tonight, they set out for a Nest of I corp.

Her internal clock knows this hour, she doesn’t need to check her wristwatch. The sweepers are cleansing the backstreets, and even knowing they’re all safe, the weight of animalistic fear sits heavy in her stomach like a pile of rocks.

The Udjat, too, are sweeping the streets today. They’ve an entire syndicate to catch, and do so stealthily.

Occasional drunk office workers wander the main streets carelessly. A couple of idiotic ‘rebel’ kids loiter around, loudly squabbling with each other. It’s baffling, but not distracting. Their utmost priority is to keep their hunt out of these people’s sights.

It gets complicating with the fact that these civilians are, in fact, their target’s prey. From the information on the Udjat’s hands, this nameless syndicate acts in groups of two, abducting regular Nest residents at night. And their mission’s task is cutting down the three groups identified by the Nest’s security footage.

Fire is fought with fire. Their expedition was split into groups of four, per their usual system - one of the many things she liked about the Udjat’s organization was just how complicated, yet brilliant this particular system was. Ensuring that for any splitting up necessary for a mission, a pre-approved configuration was already prepared in advance, in accordance with the present Udjat’ individual skills and comradery. This meant that Moses was usually working with her close-knit group from the Citadel, or the older Udjat they’d all been sharing the floor in the Dorms with.

Today really takes her back. It’s her old friends, with her in the lead. Kenzy and Andrew, manning the bows, nest up on the emergency stairs above head. Her and Elmuth stand on ground, blending in with the dark shadows of the narrow alleyway.

The other alleyways near are traps as well, all around the hotspot of the disappearances. But Moses’ strikes true this time. A drunkard wanders in, swinging wildly from side to side, office suit barely clinging onto his body. Crème de la crème. Feather.

Two appear after him: hospital masks on their faces and plain, deceivingly civilian clothes hiding their intentions.

Moses’ hand quietly rises in the darkness, warning only the archers that can see her from her position. Elmuth knows without it not to attack until he sees her jump out first.

The thugs creep after the man utterly oblivious to their presence, on his merry way. The moment one’s mouth opens, Moses’ hand flashes with two rapid hand signs, assigning targets, and when her arm falls, the arrows are let loose. Both go cleanly through the ruffians’ heads. The crackling disturbance of air, the flash of electric yellow, lightning strike-like, buzzing by the drunk, alerts him.

Before he can turn to look back, Moses springs out, punches a jamadhar into the back of his neck, narrowly missing the spot between vertebrae she aimed for, yet landing a killing blow nonetheless.

It’s a perfectly silent execution, save for the sick, gurgling sound the fresh corpse falls with. Moses wipes the viscera off her face and silently waits for her people to approach her, letting out the breath she was holding in.

Elmuth kneels near the casualty just as wordlessly, fishing for identification. Kenzy and Andrew do the same with the thugs, once they come down. It’s unintuitive, having to do this, instead of leaving the mess for the cleaners of the Backstreets. But business in the Nest turns out as different as she had assumed it to be.

Moses contacts the amir by the phone.

He calls for them to fall back to the meeting area, commending a job well done.

“Have you ever noticed,” Moses called out, rather conversationally, between repeated strikes of her jamadhars, “how the Lady’s eyes are just… strikingly crimson? Deeper than in the portraits and posters?”

“What?”

“Crimson! Like a sea of blood behind her irises! Not a normal red, but…”

“What? You’re not-” Elmuth interrupted her attempt to break through the tough fabric of his overcoat, with a pummel of his khopesh’s handle to her solar plexus “-ny sense.”

Harsh asphalt bit Moses’ knees as she dropped to the ground, hacking coughs the only result of an attempt to regain breath, after having the wind knocked out of her. The edge of a blade is pointed at her pained face, Elmuth’s brow raised with the subtlest of grins. What a bastard. Still, wheezing laughter broke through, as Moses batted his khopesh away with the back of her palm. It’s with a smile that she strains to rise to her feet once again, once that dizzying darkness more or less seeps away from her vision. Elmuth’s helping hand meets her halfway, but before Moses can say her thanks, their section’s amir finally gets fed up with their antics.

“Will you idiots stop roughhousing like dogs?” he hissed, from his place away from them.

Thus, the conversation died down before it could even begin properly, as did the reserved chuckles of the onlookers. Maybe it’s for the better… Moses sheathed her weapons.

“Yes, sir!” they both report, although a tad out of sync given Moses’ windedness.

Their expedition is stationed at the doorstep of the Hana Association’s local office. It’s early morning, and Moses is pretty sure she can see a worried-looking Hana fixer eyeing them from behind the reinforced glass doors, nervously chattering away with their senior.

But what else could the young Udjat do but take out their unrest by play fighting, with this pleasant exhaustion clawing at their very skin and burning in their muscles, urging them to do more, to find something new to sink their metaphorical teeth into? After chasing down this particularly bold syndicate through the empty midnight streets of a Nest, it’s only understandable they can’t stand in place, agitated and antsy.

Who the hell even attempts kidnappings in a Nest, of all places? Why, when it’s so much easier to snatch a random Backstreets resident? They weren’t paid to care, of course, but Moses couldn’t help but wonder…

The Udjat were simply given the order to cleanly take care of a dirty job. Most of their work was like this, in fact - things no one would rather take credit for, for one reason or another. Currently, at the very least. When Moses questioned their amir why they were doing requests like these, when she was so sure it was milady they were supposed to serve, she was dismissed with the words that these were, in fact, Dias’ direct requests.

It didn’t make sense. But, she supposed, Lady Dias must have a pretty good reason, that Moses fails to see. And the interesting thing, too, was how these missions were very, very helpful, in letting Moses and her peers’ climb up the fixer ranks. So perhaps this was the intention?

Such thoughts always made a familiar warmth of belonging bloom in her chest. The more Moses faced this City, the more she came to understand that there was only one truly good person inside it. What did she and the others matter to the Lady? They were nothing but regular foot soldiers. Yet if Moses’ guess was true, she bothered herself with finding the time to handpick and assign them these petty jobs, just to help them rise in the ranks easily, instead of leaving them to slog through endless lowоцениваемую work.

By now, she recognised that expression painted across the face of the desk clerk who finally crept up to open the doors for them. Unease and trepidation before twenty bloodsoaked people, clad in black and gold, wearing expressions void of any emotion.

(It was funny, actually, how long such an expression took to master. It didn’t come naturally to her, but she could swear the older Udjat grew into it with time, and she liked to think she too would, soon enough. That was simply another part of the uniform, a proper way to do your job, and she longed for the day it would come as easy as breathing)

The change from the Udjat’s ‘relaxed’ state to their ‘at attention’ was often said to be jarring. It took a single wordless command to ripple through the ranks. If you notice the one ahead of you stand alert, you simply do the same in the blink of an eye, without so much as a thought. This, this did come naturally.

Their expedition poured inside, each little movement oozing flawless discipline. Their footprints painted the stark white floor tiles scarlet. Moses'd managed to tame her own yearning for more action, and was marching perfectly in line with the others, helping create the unsettling presence the Udjat carried. It was indescribably freeing to move as one like this. Stopping a prideful grin from forming was hard, as she stepped up to the reception area, taking up one of the three currently available windows there, and to her side, she saw in the corner of her eye, so did the amir and Andrew.

There were more windows, but they were all closed, resulting in a line. The Udjat always came to the Hana’s offices early in the morning like this, to avoid unnecessary attention from the general public. So, of course, there was always a line.

Wordlessly, Moses slid her license into the pass-through tray. The document disappeared behind the window.

“Would you like to… report a job, ma’am?” a speaker on the wall crackled to life, as the woman on the other side of the glass took a guess speaking into a microphone, after a cautious look at their group.

Moses nodded passively, before grabbing her own tiny microphone, connected to the wall by a chain link. What an inconvenient system. As if Hana fixers can’t defend themselves, without these overkill measures.

“I took part in completing a request on the behalf of the Udjat Office. The report is in the representative’s hands, with the operator’s signature,” she deadpanned, half-intentionally lowering her voice, “please put my participation on my record.”

“Ah-” visible distress creeps onto the face of the worker, when the magnitude of the work suddenly falling on her shoulder dawns on her. It isn’t hard to see why having to process this many fixers first thing in the morning is not exactly pleasant. But that is still their job, and Moses finds herself with a growing feeling of contempt at the attitude. “One moment, please. I’ll grab a copy of the mission report.”

The next few minutes are spent watching the clerks scurry around with paperwork. The worker at Moses’ window, for example, has spent the last minute attentively looking at what Moses, with her view limited by a partition wall, assumes to be a computer monitor. Her gaze keeps flicking down to the report in her hands, and she types something in, now and then.

In fact, with how slow this is taking, and how wide the woman’s eyes have become at one point, Moses could almost think that…

“Ma’am, there’s actually been a change in your fixer grade. Let me print a new license for you right away.”

Just like she’d assumed, then.

“Huh. Why was I not notified, then?”

“The notification was due to be sent out today. Your promotion was just confirmed yesterday evening. Uhm… congratulations!”

Well then. Sixth grade in just a month of getting a license. She sort of expected it… It was a testament to the all-nighters she was pulling, and the generous jobs descending upon her. Nigh impossible by the City standards; relatively normal for the Udjat, if slightly remarkable. No wonder the clerk seemed to be double-checking her data.

Without much fanfare, she received the new card. Moses stared down at it, as she stepped away from the reception area, letting the next Udjat pass through. The sleek plastic of the license evoked far less emotion than the eighth grade one she received a few weeks prior. The memory of the way she couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear makes her cringe now, but the absolute elation receiving a grade promotion so quickly brought her was comparable only to her first passed exam. Of course, it’s a silly thing to get that excited about, given she is still overqualified for her current grade. This is all just a matter proving it on Hana’s paper.

The weather’s quite pleasant, once Moses finds herself back outside. The faint petrichor reminds of the drizzle of rain that’d passed an hour ago, and the sun’s light has finally found its way through the cracks between block apartments, as if to wake up the sleeping Feathers of the bedroom community. The upbeat chirping of invisible birds is likely coming out of hidden loudspeakers, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. Moses takes the chance to breathe in the crispness of it all, so unlike the busy, polluted air she’s used to. The iron of the blood clinging to her clothes doesn’t let her forget her role, though.

It’s hard to put her first impression of the Nest into words. An odd sort of sensory deprivation, perhaps? No blaring signs, no labyrinthe streets of crumbling shacks, and no need to watch your back. Just rows upon rows of similarish residential buildings, identical islands of unnecessarily bright, tacky children’s playgrounds, puzzling with their lack of clear purpose, scattered between them. Parked cars here and there, oddly minimalistic chain store fronts. It was sort of unnerving. When you’re out in the backstreets, you can hear and see the danger before it has the chance to act. Here, however, there are no signs of it anywhere, which just makes her feel like the danger must be better at hiding itself. And given that they’ve just finished weeding out an entire syndicate, her caution’s justified, even if this particular case is an absolute outlier.

The low rumble of a car engine coming to a stop before her shook Moses out of her thoughts. When she lowered her head, a long, tastefully black vehicle, windows tinted, meets her. As if on cue, the amir, and Andrew, too (what a coincidence), walked up to her.

“That’s for you two,” the gruff voice of their leader informed, as he looked over the odd automobile, “to congratulate you with your quick promotions, I’ve ‘en told. Get in.”

It’s startling to say the least.

Moses glanced back to the Hana office. There, behind the glass doors, the Udjat continued to crowd the windows still too sparse in comparison to the number of fixers waiting in line. She caught eyes with Kenzy there, who gave her a questioning tilt of her head, a “What’s the situation”. A beat, then Moses returned a half-certain sideways nod - “Situation OK” - and snapped back around. She’s finished with the Hana business, so whatever she is told, she will do. Besides, it's not like she will be going in alone.

The interior of the… car… is a bit more welcoming in colour than the pitch colour of its body. Warm muted beige all around, fascinating, futuristic lights on the ceiling, the likes of which she’d never seen before. Couches, actual damn couches that make you want to just melt into them, not the soft-ish benches some of the Udjat’s transportation vehicles have. Crystalline glasses begging to shatter on a sharp turn. A speck of red in the midst of it all. Oh-

Moses keeps the sorry streak of embarrassing herself before the Lady by banging her head against the hard ceiling in a desperate rush to straighten her back. The only consolation is that Andrew did the exact same, yelping just behind her. And again, that terrifying, breathtaking, bubbly surprised laughter Moses remembered with perfect accuracy.

What a way to utterly ruin everything. An embarrassed groan escaped Moses’ lips as she bowed back down, hands raising to the crown of her own head.

“Tut-tut, be careful! No need to do any of that in such a cramped space!” Lady Dias exclaimed, gesturing for them to take a seat, from her own leisurely position reclined on one of those wide couches.

It was… far from cramped, for a car.

Moses sat down with a sort of self-conscious hurry, flushed with shame. The leather sank somewhat under her, with a creak. Good thing it was only her front that was speckled with dried up blood. The Lady appeared indifferent to the gory look, though.

She was studying them both curiously, a regal air to the way her attention flickered from Moses to her comrade-in-arms, who all but shrunk under her gaze, deer in headlights-style. More the reason for Moses to gulp down the lump in her throat and remain steadfast, even with all the pressure. That she didn’t expect to see the Lady here didn’t mean she should not be ready to answer to her.

“Milady.”

“Good morning to you too! Busy work, hm?”

“...yes. It was taken care of swiftly.”

“So I’ve heard~ I expect no less, of course, from my most promising young talents.”

Lady Dias must’ve noticed the way Moses’ eyes widened, despite the way she successfully managed to keep silent, because she continued, expression sparkling with amusement:

“No need to be this tense! We’re here for a friendly chat is all. Genuinely friendly, your guys’ progress really is that impressive! I needed to see you two in person.”

The Lady’s explanation hung in the air, contrasted by the silence. Moses waited, in case Andrew wanted to say anything. But he seemed intent to remain silent, judging by the way he practically pressed himself into the backseat. So she took the lead once again, with a palpably jumpy sigh.

“I… It’s an honor to be recognized by you, milady.” Remembering the request to ‘cheer up’, she reluctantly let her face, and her words, relax slightly, “what is it that… what do you want to hear from us?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“...huh?”

Lady Dias is leaning forward now, resting her head on the arm she propped up on her knee. Ethereally beautiful, framed by the cold lights above, effortlessly so. She didn’t answer, at first, to Moses’ bafflement, idly swinging a leg back and forth. Waiting? But something seemed to change, when her brows finally furrowed just slightly, even if her voice didn't follow, remaining chipper.

“I know everything I need to know already, dear. You probably have your questions, though.”

Oh. Moses feels silly, all of the sudden. Of course, Lady Dias must know *everything*. She probably has the information on each and every one of them at her fingertips. She must know of their achievements, then, and just to verify-

“What made you notice us?”

“You’re both very close to the current record in rising up the fixer grades among the Udjat. Not quite there, but close! Also, stellar reports from your superiors on your performance." She paused, as if to stop her speech, but then her impatience seemed to take over, "what else? Anything goes.”

Moses thought about her next words. Hard. It’s a lot of pressure to think fast on the spot like this, a bead of sweat is forming at the back of her neck and she has to fight the urge to shake her head to air the tension out. She sensed a weird sort of challenge behind the Lady’s demeanor. An examination, a careful examination is what it is. It absolutely is friendly like she said, but Moses is certain they’re being tested.

“If I may, why did you send the Udjat to do this job, exactly?” she asked hesitantly, unsure of her question. “why all these… petty jobs, unrelated to you?”

And Lady Dias definitely liked that. She perked up significantly at hearing the question, to the point that Moses felt as if her entire focus shifted to her, Andrew sitting beside her forgotten (to his relief, likely).

“Ohh, for lotsa reasons, actually! You’d be surprised…” She chuckled, which Moses could only describe as predatory, in a way any ambitious person worth their money can sound. “How to better put it, hm…”

She paused, tapping her own cheek.

“See, I’m no good with explanations of things like that, but I’ll do my best. There’s a superpower we humans have, that a shocking amount of people don’t ever recognise. The power of friendship.”

Seeing Moses’ confusion she continued:

“There, you probably don’t notice it either. Despite the way you likely rely on your fellow Udjat to cover your back and protect you from death, you still fail to, fuhu. But really, I’m not joking! I have a lot of friends. So if I have a problem I need help with, I can simply ring them. And then I’ll have some of the most influential people of the City working to fix whatever it was. Why, you may ask? Well, because I’m there for their own issues, obviously. My friends know me to be a very reliable woman. And you, my dear…s, are just one of the helping hands I extend to them. For example, my friend who watches over the I Corp’s Nest’s safety needed help weeding out a nasty little infestation without scaring the populace. Of course I offered them the services of my discrete, private fixer office, completely free of charge! I even had it take care of stopping the panic from spreading out into the news.”

It took some time to fully process all of that. When Moses did manage to, she was utterly shaken by the simple genius of it all. Of course this was all intricately thought out, why did she ever begin to doubt that?

The Udjat do not boast their achievements nor advertise themselves, they have no need to. They won’t ask questions, and the information of the unthinkable security breach will never reach the media. Affiliated only to Lady Dias, they were the perfect mercenaries. This is a huge favor Lady Dias'd dished out for her 'friend'. On top of that, the sheer blackmail material she now has on them…

“But how did- What do you mean ‘stopped the panic from spreading out’?”

“Oh, that wasn’t your mission, don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything.”

…No explanation as to how? It’s better not to ask, is it? Still, the gears in Moses’ head turn, and her mind suggested a few theories, most likely being that they simply cut down every single link to the disappearances. She doesn’t voice that exactly, however.

“Is that what the identification was for?”

“Oh, precisely,” Lady Dias’ voice is a very, very delighted, pleasantly surprised purr, “clever girl. See, I knew you were worth checking out. The job you’ve started is being finished as we speak, actually.”

Clever girl. Oh. That- Huh.

Moses sat still for an awkwardly long moment, even when the Lady finished speaking, soaking up the generous praise. It was… oh, it was enough to make her face burn. She was worthy of being checked out. She did well for her Lady. She did well and she was clever. The all nighters were so worth it. This moment is already playing in her mind on repeat to be saved in her memories forever, perfect and beautiful and all is well in the world eternally. Clever girl.

Doesn’t even matter that Dias keeps her gaze on her the entire ride, even as their conversation devolves into impersonal banter about the state of affairs in the Dorms and their impressions of various Udjat leader figures and whatever gifts they’d like to receive as a reward for hard work (Moses asks for expensive tobacco, which makes Dias burst out laughing, “that’s where I remember you from!”). Moses feels this drunken joy, lighting her entire being on fire, of knowing that this wonderful, scarily intelligent and beautiful person is who they’re fighting for, the one that takes care of them. That Moses’ impression of her had always been correct, no, that she is even more stunning up close in the sheer presence she commands, so laid back and confident in her superiority, rightfully so. She is this comfortable in her skin, joking and laughing along with the low ranking fixers of the office serving her, who would grovel at her feet should she say a word, because she knows what she is worth, she knows that they know.

It is a spiritual experience, sitting there in that ‘limousine’ with her.

When they finally come to stop before the termitary that are the Dorms, and as they begin to step out the car, Andrew’s hands practically shaking in fear, while Moses buzzes with reverence, Lady Dias pokes out the door.

“What’s your name, clever girl?”

Chapter Text

“–And so, imagine. We’re standing in that line, right? An hour, no less, we were standing there. But, like, all of the sudden, I turn around, and I see those two get into a limousine without us! They just abandoned us without a word like that!”

“That’s not how it went.”

“-and we all worked our asses off, not just them!”

“Kenzy, that’s not how it went,” Moses repeated again, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes it did,” Kenzy laughed, pausing her rather heated story for a head shake and a hearty gulp of beer, “that is exactly how that went.” She then punctuated her last statement with the finality of slamming the now empty can against the table.

“They met Dias there, too,” joined in Elmuth, though much less worked up about the entire thing. The man’s nursing his own drink, the colorful “Birthday Boy” hat beginning to slide down his head, string torn to shreds from where he was clawing at it idly. Moses, sent to buy the decorations, never found anything with the text “Congratulations on reaching third grade last!”. This was the closest she could do.

“Yeah, that’s the best– or worst part, really. I would literally kill for the opportunity to get on her good side.”

“...then why’d you miss five of your shots over the last week…?”

That got quite a few laughs from the crowd.

“Oh fuck you, Andrew,” she sneered, her words purely good-natured, going so far as to give him a friendly rough pat on the back for the admittedly alright dig.

The atmosphere was festive today. Their entire floor’d huddled up in the cozy, dimly lit communal kitchen, about a dozen people sitting around drinking merrily and eating. They actually met up like this once in a couple weeks, for many different occasions. Tonight’s was Elmuth’s grade raise – long due, in fact. He was the only one lagging behind on the fourth, frustrated attempts to climb up notwithstanding. Too many botched jobs - the guy almost went down a grade for recklessly injuring multiple civilians in broad daylight. Still, he persevered, so now was the time for celebration.

“How it actually went,” Moses took over Kenzy’s story, seeing as it was slanderous and inaccurate, “was that me and Andrew had to report to the Lady, because she found our achievements worth looking into. Specifically us. Couldn’t have stayed or take you with us if we wanted to.”

“Oh come on, you’re just bragging now! ‘nd telling on yourself, too, with that ‘if we wanted to’.”

“But that was… way worse than standing in a line at Hana.”

To each their own. Moses merely shrugs at the interjection.

Because unlike Andrew, she found the experience to be much, much better. Especially now that she caught the Lady’s watchful eye. How could she tell, when it was never stated directly…?

Well, for one, she was being sent out on non-reportable jobs now. Non-optional ones, direct requests for her as a member of the party.

There are two types of Udjat missions. Both come from a singular client, obviously, the only difference being that some get reported to the Hana Association, and others do not. The more trust there is in you, the more you get assigned to the latter. And while the other Udjat close to her level of experience were still mostly honing their skills on “public” missions, she was now routinely going along on “private” requests with a group of more trusted Udjat.

Said private requests involved, most often, guarding a shipment of goods, watching some property. Once in a while they’d be carrying out the retribution in Lady Dias’ sake, for all manners of people that have wronged her or her associates; while not strictly against Hana Associations Guidelines, their methods frequently crossed well into the grey area, and sometimes, she simply wished to leave no trace of her involvement. Both supposedly the reasons why such assassinations stayed out of paperwork.

Not only that, but the Lady herself often crossed the periphery of Moses' vision nowadays. Tasks that involved working with her personally came up now and then, both reportable and not. They met eyes yesterday, when Moses’ party delivered an undisclosed briefcase for her, and Lady Dias smiled at her so sweetly, even though Moses was at the very back of the pack. The recognition in her expression was enough to kill, to make her breath hitch. A few times Moses’ team would arrive to a place she’d only just left, and Moses would look forward to catching the smallest glimpse of the woman walking away, and–

“Hey, Moses, are you listening?”

Somebody waved a hand in front of her slightly reddened face. She pushed it away with an exasperated sigh, saying:

“Mmm… I’m actually going to go now, I’m sorry. I have to get some sleep in, for an assignment tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, there you go again, with your badass secret jobs.”

“Goodnight, Moses.”

“Goodnight.”

The joyous rowdiness dampened when Moses closed the door behind herself as she began making her way back to her apartment. Living in the Dorms was optional - but the housing was quite good, convenient, and completely free. Plus, to be perfectly honest, living with the others felt homely at this point. Even if she was spending less and less time with them, now that her work was elsewhere, she still appreciated evenings like these.

She wandered down the long hallway, passing by nothing but doors, printouts and posters, both informational and purely artistic. They were a comforting, quiet presence that has stayed with her her entire life, and remained here, too. Moses lingers.

On one, a uniformed Udjat fixer stands tall against the backdrop of dark grey City streets, with their back to the viewer. Their head, turned to the side and up, reveals a face - or lack thereof - hidden behind a pitch black shadow. The insignia of their office nearly glows, burnt into the darkness like a brand. Sunshine spotlights them from above. Hands claw at their feet, reaching out from down below the frame. Some of them are covered in dirty, ratty fur, bloodied and grimy. Others are feathered, and yet the pristine white plumage is splotchy, tattered and torn, in places. The Udjat’s boot stomps down upon one of the animalistic arms. “Rise above. Stand proud” encourages the bold, golden text. Underneath, in a tiny font, is a statistic, comparing the median earnings and working hours of their office to that of other fixers and Feathers alike.

Another is simple, and depicts a mangy, unpleasant-looking nobody about to shout out, oblivious to a khopesh about to hit him to the side of the head. “Your silence saves your lives, their clamour kills them.” Smaller, blending into the border of the image: “Be quiet and know your ques in battle. Do not speak in vain, wasting breath. Do not disclose what you need not in your daily life either.” The familiarity of the sight makes Moses a bit dizzy: the artist captured the precise second of somebody’s near death with frightening accuracy. There's something about this one that always made her uneasy, despite the statements it brought to attention making sense. The man's grimace, perhaps, distorted in rage instead of panic or alert.

From the last, inanimate red eyes follow her, and of course, how could Moses not think of Lady Dias again, when she was so omnipresent? She has a gentle, benevolent radiance to herself, the flat colored sun enveloping her in a halo of its sharp yellow light. “Her shadow,” as the poster says concisely, Udjat, faceless save for that golden symbol identical to the poster before, create the background, pushing out the negative space not yet taken up by her image.

It was… embarrassing, the way Moses’ mind couldn’t help but turn to Lady Dias lately. It wasn’t even the frequency of the thoughts that plagued her, she admitted reluctantly, no, an Udjat is supposed to live for their Lady.

It’s just that they’ve gained a different tone as of late, that she wasn’t too excited about. She wasn’t sure where and when exactly this started, just that she’d caught onto it a few days ago.

Moses’d been accompanying her on a move between her properties that evening. Sitting at the very back of the car’s passenger space, near the doors, out of the corner of her eye she watched Lady Dias leisurely sprawl across a couch at the front, drinking coffee, if the smell was anything to go by. She was taking and reviewing notes in a journal of sorts, humming some tune to herself now and then. Beyond the divider were two other Fixers, and yet being almost alone with her like this felt so uncomfortably intimate. Moses acted as nothing more than a bodyguard, of course, keeping her silence nearly the entire time, but it still felt unreal, to be let in so close. To be trusted like this, she really did fail to understand why, how she deserved this trust in the first place, for surely she wasn’t good enough…? Lady Dias had offered her a drink, “tea or coffee, unless you’d rather drink on the job~”, and Moses accepted a hot cup of green tea with rushed words of gratitude. Sipping away at it, glancing up at her, who’d already busied herself with her journaling, from above the rim, Moses found the thought of melting into Lady Dias’ embrace inviting itself into her own head. The image of her arms’ warmth, made more real by the heat of ceramic beneath her fingers.

And that. That made her choke on her drink. Out of shock, at first. It took some time to process the thought, she sat on it for no less than a day after. More instances of similar daydreams in the past came to mind, now that she was thinking about it. Then, the shame flooded in. It was hard to properly gather the words to express this something, so painfully obvious, to voice it aloud and name it explicitly, even to herself. Awkward is what it was, to think of someone… bigger than life itself, in that way. What use was it to yearn like this? You could call it inappropriate, viewing the Lady in such a weird context. Not even mentioning a couple of the particularly unsavory images her imagination conjured’d up before, and oh how she wished she had the means to scrub her memory of them.

So she’s just been pushing it all down since, and now too, as she was beginning to walk once again. It’s nothing short of pathetic, and it will pass like any fancy. Better use it to motivate herself to work better, at the very least.

Her door clicked open with a single press of her thumb to the biometric sensor. A tidy, welcoming two room flat of her own greeted her. In only a couple years, most of the furniture it came with she’d replaced with that of her own choice; her income easily allowed it. She didn’t stay inside long, though, opting to head directly to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette as she strode. It was quite cold outside, and Moses didn’t have the energy to return for a coat. Thus, she just ignored the slight shiver going through her body, simply leaning onto the concrete railing as she looked down into the late night Backstreets.

Yes. Just an awkward, humiliating passing fancy.

The next morning, she went from one party straight to another. What a coincidence. Not like a few hours of sleep in-between made much of a difference — Moses’ ears were beginning to ring.

This one took place at a vast venue, reminiscent of a mirror maze with just how many reflective surfaces shone all around. Stunningly dressed guests were making conversation, surrounded by the unobtrusive live music performed from somewhere out of the corner of the banquet hall. She feels out of her plate here, even with her Udjat uniform laundered and ironed to crisp perfection.

The highlight of the day is getting to shadow Lady Dias, joined by another fixer, whom she’d seen near the Lady before, and whom she assumed to be a bodyguard of some kind. The other woman was keeping her silence, unapproachable the entire time. Moses didn’t even attempt to strike up conversation. They hovered just behind Lady Dias, out of her way, yet with their menacing presence they posed a clear threat to anyone that could begin to consider wishing her harm.

From listening in on the Lady’s upbeat chatting with other guests, Moses learned that this is a corporate party, thrown in celebration of the success of a workshop consulting agency in the last year. Lady Dias was a guest of honor here, due to her generous contributions.

Though Moses couldn’t shake off an eerie feeling. Something didn’t exactly seem right about the interactions she witnessed.

Lady Dias was nodding along to a stranger’s business-savvy chatter. And then, Moses could swear, she saw her turn, just for a second, and shoot her a look of played up boredom, tongue sticking out just for the tiniest little moment, followed closely by a wink, before her head snapped back, and, as if nothing had happened, she chimed right back into the discussion.

Moses stared at the back of her head for nothing short of a full minute after, in pure disbelief. She… really did do that, did she not…?

It was impossible to say, from her exterior and the way she held herself, that Lady Dias did not take this seriously. She was lighthearted, sure, but still pointedly focused on the topic. Yet that little gesture. It was directed at Moses alone, first of all. And it was so very clearly indicative of lack of genuine engagement. She’d shown it in such a silly, for lack of a better term, manner, too... Was this such a low-stakes thing? Why attend at all, then?

She couldn’t deny that it felt good to be let in on this secret. Almost too good to be true, like something that didn’t really belong in reality. Her mind’d already been hard at work trying to come up with a rational explanation as to why, why her, and how to meet the expectation placed upon her now, what was expected of her at all now that–

when Lady Dias turned to her again, directly this time, just as the other attendee wandered off.

“Say, Moses, mind if I whisk you away for a moment?”

“Of course, milady,” she couldn’t keep the tremor of uncertainty out of her voice, despite answering without missing a beat.

So she was whisked away, to the most deserted dessert grazing table. At this point it’d been picked at down to its very silvery bones, more empty plates than sweets. The other Udjat Lady Dias’d shooed away with a wave of her hand, leaving the two of them alone. Moses watched, shifting weight from one leg to another, as she plucked a small piece of red velvet cake off a platter, ‘hmm’ing in disapproval as she appraised its freshness, yet still ate it in a single bite. Then, finally, sparing her surroundings one last cautious (?) look, she turned to Moses, saying in a nonchalantly hushed voice:

“I need a bit of help, you see.” Out of the depths of her coat, the Lady retrieved a preservation cube. Gesturing for Moses to put her hands out, she pushed it into her open palms. Then, she pushed them closed, and, as awfully embarrassing as it was to admit, Moses had to hold back a shiver at the skin-to-skin contact. “Spare me a hand and switch a couple champagne bottles inside of thaaaat serving cart over there with the ones in this cube here, alright?”

The food trolley she pointed to with the nnod of her head looked odd. The pyramid-like structure on its top, covered by a dainty, yet completely opaque white cloth, made it stand out, even where it was pushed to the very corner of the venue.

Moses felt the cube in her hands. Shifted it to and fro. Brows furrowed in concentration, she tried not to think for too long, not to show any hesitation. And still, she couldn’t help but ponder, despite feeling Lady Dias observe her with casual curiosity.

Switching bottles. Poison was the first thing that came to mind. But why? This seemed like a rather nice crowd, all her unease aside, and there was – or, seemed to be, — mutual respect between them and Lady Dias. There was a loyal sort of gratitude, to the way they addressed her. Or something more apologetic, perhaps? This seemed more on the mark, with how she treated them with something that could reasonably be interpreted as dismissive forgiveness. They must’ve offended her, then?

“Is there a problem?” Lady Dias leaned down a little, now teetering just short of the edge of Moses’ personal space.

Ah. Should she ask directly? The last time she asked her questions so pointed was a long time ago, back on that one ride, and it seemed to go well then... She seemed to like it, even.

“No, but… Why, if I may?”

That made the Lady pause. She narrowed her eyes, oddly cat-like in the way she seemed to mull something over in her mind. The world went on around them and yet like this, time slowed down to a crawl, everything was focused on only the minute changes of her expression.

And then, without a warning, everything cleared, making way for her usual airy aura to make a comeback, and time returned to its proper march.

“Ah, it’s unimportant, really! You won’t get in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about~”

Unimportant… Well, if she says so, then it must be true. At least to the extent it applied to Moses. Though the sudden changes her attitude went through was jarring; Moses' heart was certainly up in her throat for quite the long moment.

“I– if I get caught, what should–” no. This won’t do. She paused instead, taking time to form a proper sentence through her struggle for words. “I need to know what’s in there, so I can explain myself, if I get caught.”

“Oh? Hahah, but why would you get caught?” a barely perceptible, yet terrifying tone of disappointment creeped into Lady Dias’ voice. Tilting her head just so, she continued, “you’re much smarter than that, I’d expect.”

But–

“More skilled, too.”

What if–

“Aren’t you?”

“I’ll do it, milady!” Moses snapped, raising her painstakingly steadied gaze to meet Lady Dias’. It took on a pleased edge as she did, thank the Wings. The nervousness that settled in her gut Moses decided, with a tense exhale, not to pay mind to, clinging instead onto this sliver of approval. “Excuse me. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now go on, don’t drag you feet~”

“Yes, Lady Dias.”

Obediently, Moses retreated into the background, leaving the Lady to graze the food tables. Abandoning her felt reckless, assigned to guarding her as she was. Irrational, of course – another fixer was here – but with the anxiety of the upcoming task growing, this feeling was hard to get rid off.

It was alright, though, she was used to stealth missions. Practically specialized in them. Inspecting the surroundings came naturally, even if this was an unusual circumstance due to the sheer number of eyes all around in a claustrophobic space. But for someone of her grade to be complaining about difficulty, she must have been spoiled with easy jobs lately. She rounded a small indoor water fountain adorned by a statue of a lamb standing atop a hill. It took up an alcove not too far from her destination, making it a convenient spot to plan out of. Here, behind the yellow limestone, she could breathe, and she could plan ahead.

Wasn’t it obvious that, again, this was some sort of a test? It certainly looked like one, thinking about it; it’d be so odd to give her this task, while someone assumingly more capable stood by. This was a chance for… something. What? This, she couldn’t piece together, not yet. She had guesses, but those seemed too much of a stretch, dangerously close to wishful thinking.

Moses looked out, from behind the fountain’s cover. Fortunately, her target was at worst fifteen meters away. However, with how it stood by a wall, people would glance at it, occasionally. That’s not even mentioning the cameras that surely must be installed at such a venue. Her suspicions were proven correct after a prudent glance up - with the tiny red speck of light tucked away in the ceiling corner above, the chances of not being noticed at least walking up to the trolley were nearing zero.

But… alright. She’ll… If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, surely she’ll be rescued and covered for.

Not that that's something to depend on. Her reputation will still plummet and she’ll fail whatever expectations were placed upon her.

No peace of mind, then. Biting her lip and slowly exhaling, Moses dove back into the dining hall. There’s not terribly many people in this area, and walking in quick, measured steps near the wall did help with staying out of blatant attention. If someone looked at her now they’d think she was simply busy and irritated about it, judging by her gait. Nearing the wheeled cart, she swiftly took the cube out of her pocket. In a matter of seconds, she held a bottle behind the hem of her overcoat.

Sleight of hand was far from her talent. Still, if she did this with enough confidence and swiftness, she thought, she’d manage. Having arrived at the trolley, Moses stood with her back to the people and the single camera that loomed overhead. With the toe of her boot she opened the door just enough to slip a bottle in. Without leaning down, grabbed another one by its neck and stowed it away. Repeated a second time, after which let the door fall back closed.

A peek behind herself revealed somebody staring at Moses, point-blank. Somebody completely unfamiliar, and clearly confused, concerned, even.

With her heart hammering in her chest, she forced herself to turn back around, as if she hadn’t noticed the man. Feeling so incredibly exposed, she lifted the cloth covering the top of the serving tray up. Swallowed her rapidly growing panic to make a drawn out hum of curiosity, at the glasses stacked on top of each other in a pyramid structure.

“Didn’t expect this party to serve champagne like this,” she muttered to herself, though louder than such a comment would demand. “Seems impractical…”

When she looked back, to make eye contact with the onlooker, to establish herself as a nosy nobody, he was gone. That… didn’t help. Not at all. He could have bitten the bait, or he could’ve ran to alert whoever was responsible for the drinks. Regardless, the deed was done and staying was increasingly more dangerous. So she stepped away, unbearably slowly, in order not to rouse any more suspicion.

Oh, this was just horrible. She step step stepped through the crowd, searching for her Lady. Finding her right this moment seemed like an urgent thing that she would die right this very moment without. She couldn’t really explain it with anything other than the safety of familiarity. The best she could do to seem unpertrubed as she tore her way through the mob was avoid bumping into people. Moses knew, to her own dread, her expression right now was far, far from the one that befit her situation, and that people stared as she passed. Because against better judgement she couldn’t keep it straight. Freaking out like this over something as simple and quick as switching some champagne bottles seemed so stupid. She was barely keeping her breathing even, and her stomach twisted into tight knots, it was just so frustrating, to know how useless this mounting anxiety was, couldn’t even tell the source of it now that she was, all things considered, out of danger, at least at the moment, and yet to feel it all the same... She needed to find her. Now.

“Oh! Wait up just a moment–” from the sea of strange faces, somebody grabbed Moses by the arm, and she almost jumped at that, but, “–there you are.”

Moses turned to see the Lady, looking her up and down. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards as Moses made the longest shaky sigh of her life. This terror of hers must’ve been palpable, because Lady Dias squeezed her arm in reassurance before letting go. She took her hand instead, causing yet another drop in the emotional rollercoaster that was today, only to begin dragging her through the crowd after herself. And really, Moses was grateful to be dragged along, in a sense, because with the way her head was spinning right now, it felt like a bit of a rescue.

“So how’d it go, hm?” Lady Dias asked over her shoulder.

“I did as you asked, milady.” Moses really, really felt like stumbling over her words, but did her best to reply nonetheless. “Not without a hitch, but I think it worked.” She added, then, hesitantly, “you didn’t watch?”

“I did. You did great, by the way! I just wanted to hear it in your own words, see the perspective and stuff.”

They came to a stop before the exit door, and Dias paused to exchange a few warm goodbyes, as well as apologise for leaving so soon. This stretched out into minutes, time enough for the second Udjat Moses’d almost forgotten about to catch up. In the presence of them both, merely standing silently helped soothe her rapidly fluctuating emotions. There’s a paradoxical sense of protection she feels, slipping back into her sentinel role.

So it almost seemed anticlimactic, the way they just walked out. And Moses didn’t even get the proper explanation what it was that she did. On that topic, she didn’t mention the possibility of being caught by surveillance footage. She attempted to cover herself, yes, but without the knowledge of the layout it was beyond unreliable to hope for that to be enough.

“Lady Dias…”

“Yes?”

“When I switched the champagne, I’m fairly sure there was a CCTV camera overlooking the area. I’m concerned about the footage it caught.”

“Ooh, there was?” she suddenly stopped still where she walked, hand drifting to her chin, while Moses and her assumed bodyguard were forced to a sharp standstill behind her. A few taps of her foot, then, “...well, that’s not entirely unexpected, but I think I can handle that. I told you you did a good job already, but bringing this up was good. Good thinking! Just don’t worry about that anymore, alright? You’re fine. You can smoke if you’d like, by the way, that should help. You look like you need it!”

“Ah… it’d be rude, Lady Dias…”

“I seriously don’t mind, dear. With how tense you are, I’d rather you did. And don’t say ‘Lady’ Dias anymore. Just Dias is alright.”

huh…?

“Seriously?” was the only thing Moses could manage, eyes wide as saucers. Rude, rude… She almost wanted to say protest, keeping her mouth shut only with the knowledge of how downright suicidal it would be, to deny the Lady.

“Yep. Don’t look so surprised about it either, sheesh! You’ve proven yourself a diligent little worker bee, so I’d like to keep you closer to myself, is all. Having you ‘Lady’ me all the time would get old very fast.”

This sudden burst of adrenaline, induced by these very words, was way worse than any she’d felt this day. Maybe even in her entire life. With every shred of her being she gripped onto normalcy, fought off both the delight rising up, threatening to spill out in the most embarrassing squeal imaginable, as well as the fear seizing her up, all because of the sudden shrinkage of distance between them the Lady’s words implied.

Was she sure this wasn’t a dream all along? She really, really did struggle to believe this, because, yes, she did put the work in. Yes, there was reason to believe Dias was planning something, in regards to her, from her previous observations. But being “kept close” seemed straight out of her most embarrassing delusions of grandeur, little daydreams she entertained herself with while standing on duty for hours, where Lady Dias would praise and see her as an asset most valuable. She never thought they could come real. There were countless Udjat. There was one Dias.

Moses' face twitched, torn between a lopsided smile and a look of complete horror, resulting in something more akin to a loading screen personified. She forced herself to clear her throat.

“Yes. Okay. I’m–” she croaked out, despair rising as she fumbled more, and more, and more, “Alright, Lady– Ah, excuse me. Alright, Dias. I will try, I promise. I will try.”

The entire ordeal the Lady observed silently, bursting into a fit of giggles only at the very end. Moses could feel herself burn up, trying to get herself back in check in any way that mattered, before it all came crumbling down again as there was suddenly an arm around her shoulders and she was tugged forward, pressed into a big, warm, slightly scratchy body, pulled from side to side as the other spun left-to-right-to-left in one place.

“Wings, you are so, so adorable I could eat you right up~!” Lady Dias tittered above, letting Moses free, the entire thing barely lasting more than five seconds. Quiter, she murmured: "sorry, sorry, too cute," and, after booping the flabbergasted Moses on the nose, began walking off.

Moses’ head spun as if she was still being spun round and round. Is this what small animals feel being the target of somebody’s cuteness aggression? Either way, her knees seemed so weak she was halfway to falling over, when she regained control over her frozen body. Her only saving grace was the urgency to catch back up, seeing as when she’d returned to her senses somewhat everybody else'd begun to walk again, and she had to run some to catch up. A trembling hand found its way to the pack of cigarettes in the inner coat of her pocket, all on their own.

Minutes later she felt her shoulders relax, for the first time today, even if she was still, still reeling. Soreness seeped into her muscles, in spite of nothing she did tonight being taxing on her physically. The excitement of praise and the adrenaline of everything else still simmered within, but with her fingers closed around the filter of her cigarette, they both became a bit more controllable.

The next day, nothing remarkable happened to that firm they’d visited. Neither did the day after that, nor the next week. About a month later, a small section of the Nest’s local yellow press, run-of-the-mill rumour and mystery magazine, covered an odd case of a resident consulting’s agency closure, credited to the “unspecified brain injury & disease related deaths of the overwhelming majority of its investors and board of directors, at completely unrelated intervals, with seemingly no connection beyond the timeframe of a single week".

Chapter Text

“Moses~” Dias’ voice, sing-song, carried through the vast space of the conference room, “mind carrying the documents over here for me?”

Silently, save for the click-clack of her combat boots against the hard tile floor, Moses stepped to stand behind her Lady’s chair. She opened a briefcase, retrieved the papers out of it. To Dias’ fleeting smile of approval, she laid them out on the long table.

“So! I hope that’s all alright with you.” Dias returned her attention to the woman sitting across from her. “The deadline’s tight, sure, and a bit sudden. But the reward far outweighs the risks, yes?”

“Miss Dias, it’s understandable you’d want results fast, but-”

“No no no, no ‘buts’. Everything’s all ready, just like we agreed on. I even have your entire supply chain all nicely set up for you! Don’t sell yourself short, I’m sure you can meet the goals we set without [i]that[/i] much effort.”

The director Dias’d been negotiating with went silent. By how stiff her face became, it was obvious she was holding back some rather charged words. Moses took this, coupled with the curt nod Dias gave her, as a sign to carry the rest of the documents for the other to sign.

Said other reluctantly lowered her gaze to the papers placed in front of her, and this only worsened the rigidness of her expression.

“It’d be a breach of contract to turn back now,” Dias continued, filling the silence in the meantime. “Do know I’ve already poured plenty of resources into this for you. I provided you with all the help you asked for, and then more.”

The pause stretched. Now, Dias simply waited for a response.

“...there’s nothing about the L Corp singularity research here.” the company director finally spoke up, meeting Dias’ gaze. And even then, despite having found something to grasp on, her voice wavered. “And there wasn’t before. It’s no breach of contract if we refuse.”

But Dias, as if having expected it, didn’t seem bothered, answering without missing a bit:

“Hm? There isn’t? I must’ve forgotten to write that down, what a klutz…” she held a long, thoughtful pause. Then, in a voice uncannily sheepish she picked back up: “say, and is there anything in those papers about the access to that fancy AI model you requested? Oh, or about my promise to help you acquire the assets of that other firm I can’t remember the name of? Such a shame they went out of business, by the way!”

“...”

“I guess some things really are better left out of the paperwork… But a contract is still a contract.” She leaned forward, placing her chin onto the palm of her hand. When Dias got like this, she became nearly unrecognizable from the sweet-tempered person Moses knew her to be. It never yet failed to send a shudder down her spine. A certain coldness set in her eyes, an unmistakable threat. It was quite unnerving to witness. Frankly, it should’ve been obvious Dias would have this ruthless side, too, given the way she had to earn her ‘living’, it’s just that Moses had never seen it before she took on the role of her full-time… bodyguard? Assistant?

Pen harshly scratched harshly against paper, and soon the signed documents were shoved right into Moses’ hands. She had to smooth out the crinkles where the director, who now sat with her head in her hands, had gripped the papers. Only then did she carry them back for Dias to review.

“I expect reports on your progress at least thrice a quarter. Notify me if and when you find something interesting.”

On the way outside, Dias stretched, sighing, as she cracked the joints of her shoulders, then her neck, all without stopping.

“See, I just don’t get why people like her think they can wriggle their way out of obligations,” she complained, taking the coat Moses's been holding for her. She, compared to Dias, didn’t have the privilege of taking off her uniform’s outer layer even in the stuffyness of that shabby non-air conditioned building. “I’m growing tired of having to walk them through everything over and over!” A sigh. “But that’s what I get for investing in startups.”

It was more the case of being talked at, but she wasn’t complaining about an opportunity to listen. If she wasn’t concerned by how much information Dias was letting slip in her presence, she’d be honored. Somebody else could use it all against the Lady, there was… a lot that could go wrong. Wasn’t she being a bit too careless?

“Regardless, regardless. Let’s not dwell on the negatives, or I’ll get a migraine. How about we stop by a food stall? I’m in the mood for some junk food.”

“That sounds good.”

Though Moses couldn’t help but be skeptical of the area, even if this particular corner of the Backstreets was mostly office buildings likely under the watch of fixer offices. Thick, dark fog lingered down near the ground, like permanent kicked up dust clouds, and the Lake, ever-changing in the horizon, looked sickly and only added to the general unsavoriness of the streets. Her gut told her this wasn’t the best place for somebody like Dias to wander around in.

“What would you like, Moses?”

…She’d ask this often, and it always confused Moses. Why would her wishes count for anything, in this situation? She was on a job, and if anything was given to her, it was just an act of generosity. You don’t ask somebody you’re giving a gift out of some unnecessary sense of pity what they want. On some level she did understand that Dias was simply this thoughtful, yet still, giving requests to her Lady didn’t sit well with Moses.

“Seafood, maybe?” she replied, the first thing that came to mind. The salty, heavy air of the port town they were in today simply called for it. ‘Anything’s alright’ wouldn’t be taken for an answer, she knew now.

“Alrighty, then, seafood it is!”

This wasn’t easy, at first, to get used to. All the attention was enough to really rattle her, especially combined with the complete change of schedule and housing this new position ensued. Less than a week has passed since she was appointed to it. And whereas at the beginning, she was walking on eggshells trying to adjust without inconveniencing her Lady, now, when Dias asked:

“Remind me, please, what I’ve scheduled for tonight evening?”

Moses could reply, without much trouble, simply by recalling the notes she’d meticulously memorized in the morning:

“Dinner with the Jackdaw Insurance representative-”

“Hm… Get a few Udjat to come along, those insurance folk are a pain to talk to.”

“-yes, Dias. A call with the H. Corp contact at nine-”

“Time zones be damned~”

“-and, you asked to remind you to take a look at the information sent your way regarding that G Corp’s new patent.”

“Yep, that I remember. That’s all, right?”

“Yes, Dias.”

“Good, thank you! And you as well.”

The last added nicety was directed at a stall cook who’d finished preparing Dias’ order - a batch of hot honey shrimp, grilled, impaled on long, thin wooden sticks. She grabbed the bag they were stuffed into and, as they began to walk away, picked a few skewers and held them out for Moses to take. Moses did, mindful not to let their fingers touch.

“It’s a bit exhausting, how you keep using my name where you would ‘lady’ or ‘ma’am’.”

“...excuse me?”

Dias chuckled, biting into a shrimp, and Moses couldn’t catch her eyes because she was looking off into the distance, staring bemusedly at somebody walking a shiny, robotic parody of a dog past them along the sidewalk. Its short frame was half-obstructed by the smoke clinging to the ground, but it didn’t seem to mind.

“See, remember how I asked you not to address me with those honorifics? It feels like you’re still doing it.”

“I’m just- I’m being polite.”

“Maybe tone it down a bit, then. Think of me as your older sister, something like that. You treating me like some bigwig you have to constantly impress makes me feel old.”

At that, Moses couldn’t find any words, so she, too, bid her time by appearing to be busy eating, all but shrinking from how alien that concept seemed. To tone down the politeness… What exactly were Dias’ intentions here, with this? She felt singled out, in a way that was supposed to feel good but didn’t quite, because, as nice as Dias was, that degree of separation, it’d always remained. Always clear how high up Dias was, towering over anybody she stood near, only exception maybe the Head itself and then, still, Dias could reach even them in time. In Moses’ eyes, at least, and in the eyes of others like her.

And that ‘older sister’ comment, too… An uncomfortable, sinking feeling arose, as she repeated it in her mind. And it’s not like she didn’t know the little sparks of hope stoked on by the… by the [i]yearning[/i] were hollow at heart and held no real ground. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but look at Dias’ words and actions through the perspective that maybe, maybe it was something else she was considering her for, but-

Older sister?

This isn’t how Dias treated [i]anyone[/i], to her knowledge. Another one of those weird, unspoken tests? Maybe Moses just kept seeing things, but it was always like this, like every little thing she did she was being judged on. It was something of a shared secret between them, they just never bothered to speak out loud about it. So that wouldn’t be too surprising…

“And there you go, spacing out again. Once you learn to think a bit quicker, your mind really will be invaluable~ But I do quite like your serious expression and that thoughtful look in your eyes.” They walked a little further like this in silence, Moses nibbling on the tangy, spicy shrimp, avoiding speaking for as long as she possibly could, while Dias gingerly searched for a trash bin to throw her skewers into.

“Your respect is still appreciated, don’t get me wrong,” Dias added, her smile drooping down into a look more or less flat, as she looked straight at Moses for the first time since she started this conversation. “I just think you deserve some of it as well. No need to bend over backwards.”

Soon enough, the time for Dias’ business dinner came. Maybe it was a bit selfish of her to call for these specific Udjat for the task. But she did hold the reins, and theirs were the names that first came to mind.

“You ass! We had to travel, like, six damn hours AND two borders to get here.”

“Say ‘thank you, Moses, for giving us the opportunity to stand by Lady Dias’ side.’”

“Like hell I will,” hissed Kenzy at Elmuth’s interruption, “get someone from the District you’re in next time, spoiled fuck.”

“I’m glad to see you too,” Moses sighed, turning to nod at the rest of the people exiting the unremarkable black van. A team of six fixers, old friends among them.

“How’ve you been, Moses? How’ve you adjusted to the new life..?”

“Quite alright.” she answered honestly, if briefly. “It’s not been that long, to ask about it in such a way.”

No need to go into detail - especially now, far from the right moment to stand around and chat. She’d get the opportunity to visit the Dorms soon enough anyway, she hoped, and then she’d have all the time to catch up. Working together was enough for now.

“Yeah yeah, I’m sure we all miss her, but let’s actually get to work,” somebody, at least, seemed to share the sentiment. “Who’s going inside, who’s staying guard?”

The dinner itself went quite smoothly. Discarding the dozen or so Jackdaw plants caught under suspicious circumstances around the general premises of the restaurant. People trying to get into Dias’ vehicle to bug it for surveillance. An attempt to bribe the driver and the Udjat standing guard made. With lesser fixers it could have worked, but Lady Dias’ people were loyal to a fault.

Despite this betrayal of trust, demonstrated by the Jackdaw fixers paraded right up to the secluded restaurant booth at knifepoint, the deal was sealed. Holding the right to insure a big, First Grade fixer office was a steal of a contract, even if there was next to zero information about said office to be dug up. Hana’s data isn’t easy to get your hands on, and Udjat don’t exactly go around advertising themselves by bragging about their office’s statistics. It’s understandable that anybody who wishes to deal with them would first try…

“But I have to say, the gall to spy? Good from a business standpoint, but not too smart from a personal one. Don’t be so nosy and we can be good partners, alright?”

Dias would mutter a quiet remark, later, personally checking the nooks and crannies of her limousine to see if maybe, just maybe, something’d slipped through:

“Days like this I can’t wait to stop babying the Udjat...”

And on the ride back to Dias’ estate (this one humbler than usual, a simple two-story beachside house, with not even a servants’ quarters in sight), Moses was asked to read the papers over, check for inaccuracies. Which turned out troublesome - it’s not like she had any sort of understanding when it came to documents like these. As far as bureaucracy went, Moses knew only the borders within Udjat like her operated, and even that was abridged for easier understanding. Parsing through the obtuse legal terms proved impossible. So at one point she gave up and began writing down anything that seemed suspicious on a separate piece of paper. This, she’d take to Dias some half an hour later, when she had finished with her document, and amassed an… embarrassingly long list of words and phrases to question about. If she was supposed to take work off Lady Dias’ shoulders, this surely wasn’t it…

Like some sort of a tutor, Dias leaned over her shoulder, nonchalantly reading the text Moses pointed at. All the while Moses herself all but held her breath, hyperfocused on the closeness of her Lady instead of what she was supposed to pay attention to. She still forced herself to comment on what exactly it was she didn’t understand (a large majority of the documents’ contents, to no surprise). She could feel the skin of her cheeks, of the back of her neck heating up, all at hearing Dias’ voice so close to her, explaining the concept of ‘Utmost Good Faith’ in the most basic of terms, chuckling to herself as if she found some part of it amusing. Her attention was drawn to the way the leather of the car seat sank, as Dias placed her hand on the space behind Moses to comfortably reach for the paper, because she couldn’t quite make out the writing from where she was and, Wings. Moses felt like a damn teenager.

How awful. To think she still wasn’t over this…

Embarrassing, if anything, was the length of time it took for her to pull her focus back entirely to the little lecture Lady Dias had taken the time of her day to give.

She really, really needed to deal with this. And soon, too. There was clearly so much wrong with this. The more Dias pulled her closer to herself – which she was undoubtedly doing, for whatever reason, taken the attention Moses noted was being payed to her, – the more her, let’s admit it, [i]infatuation[/i], became an active threat. Not because Moses couldn’t control herself. Because she wanted to be useful.

Moses was a tool. She understood herself as such, and she’d always been proud of it. No matter how much kindness she was shown, how many words countering this fact were said, those things didn’t change anything. A tool she was raised to be, a tool she would remain. Being a useful tool in the City was good, especially in the hands of a master as benevolent as Dias. What she couldn’t afford to be was weak. Weak-willed, weak-minded, weak-hearted. She couldn’t be annoying either, not bothersome or a source of discomfort.

The emotions stirred by unnecessary feelings would only harm her, and take away from her usefulness to Lady Dias.

Feelings, however, often did not align with rationale. She couldn’t just [i]stop[/i] Well- she could, she could subject herself to mind-altering tech as a last resort, but that was just…

So her only remaining option was to go on ignoring them, those feelings, humming in acknowledgement at another legal term explained to her and scooting away just so, putting some distance back between herself and her Lady.

She’d let herself acknowledge this crush, finally. It was a crush. Unpleasant to think about, but knowing was the first step to recovery. Perhaps, this was just another test of loyalty thrown her way, only now coming from within.

They arrived, and they settled in for the evening. Dias excused herself to the master bedroom. Moses was let into the guest room. Slightly dusty, smelling of the sea, yet still retaining the sense of luxury and comfort that followed Dias everywhere. This estate was void of staff, save for a couple Udjat staying in a tiny booth at its very gates. Moses was the only one allowed inside tonight, to her knowledge.

Once again it felt eerily special, the level of trust put in her. She didn’t allow it to feel like anything more special than that extraordinarily high level of trust.

The novelty of having the view of the deceptively clear, calm Lake as she smoked on the balcony was refreshing, for the few minutes she did.

The shower here was warm, and the water had a distinctive briny feel to it unlike any other. Shampoo and shower gel came in little packets, the likes of which she’d only seen in hotels. She wondered, rubbing the frothing foam into her hair, if Lady Dias’ were the same, or if she had her own toiletries here, and in each other property of hers, of which must have been countless. Money-wise she could afford it, but did she care? Did every mansion feel like a hotel room to her, who never seemed to stay in one place?

Even in the little time she spent away from the Dorms, Moses felt that ache of homesickness. She traveled the City with Dias, trailing behind her, and yet tucking into a new bed each night, she laid her head on a fresh pillow and compared it to how the bed of the apartment she called home had felt. It was the first thing she bought for herself, that mattress of exactly the stiffness and size she preferred.

Was she the only one who felt this way, even with all the comforts afforded to her?

She really must be spoiled, then.

For all she had grumbled about the noisiness of the Dorms’ communal spaces, she found herself missing the time she’d spend staying up late chatting in the kitchen, now that her only companion for the night was silence.

It’s not that she wanted that life back. She was well and truly grateful to work directly under her Lady. This new normal she just had to settle into. If Dias, for whatever reason, wanted her here, she would be here. Even if it meant uprooting her entire life to gift it to her fully. This has, after all, always been her purpose.

Chapter Text

Moses awoke to a faint, yet persistent burning stench. The sun, as seen through the window, was still on the way to its zenith. The morning birds were not yet tired of their songs – or, in the case of the gulls, their screams. When, puzzled, she treaded down the unfamiliar stairs into the joint living room and kitchen, wiping grogginess off her face with the back of a palm, she saw Dias standing before a stove. She’d never seen her in clothing this casual before. Even these, while comfortable-looking, remained the picture of immaculate sharpness: loose, yet perfectly tailored, the fabric visibly fine even from afar. Something was sizzling on a pan and Moses, nearly on autopilot, came to hover nearby, not risking making her presence obvious. Though Dias, of course, noticed her regardless:

“Good morning~”

“What… are you doing?” Moses asked. She failed to keep a yawn in, but it gave her the time to remember to add a late, “ah, uhm. Good morning.”

“Just finishing up some hash browns. There’s enough for you, if you’d like.”

Hash browns were alright – she said this out loud, in spite of a stab of wrongfulness at the idea of taking the meal Dias had cooked for herself. Moses was used to sitting with the other Udjat in the mornings, waiting for her turn at the burner, picking bits and pieces from each other’s breakfasts, communal as they were. This was different. Only two sat at this table, and Moses’ lack of contribution weighed on her as she reached to grab her fill. The hash browns were cooked unevenly, though none were outright inedible, and beside them on the table sat dishes of sauces to dip food into, fresh salads and raw fish sliced and arranged in a neat display one couldn’t help but feel bad for disrupting.

Dias spoke briefly of her plans. Regarding Moses, that is; nothing about herself, which was predictable considering she had been avoiding scheduling anything for this particular day (the task monumental, given the dizzying amount of arrangements she usually made). This was a rare day off, Moses assumed, and so decided, forking a piece of celery, she’d do her best to make it worth the time.

If the Lady wished to rest, everyone must break their backs to carry out even a fraction of what she would have. And Moses intended to pull her weight fully. For how else would Dias achieve what she sought to? She was only human, as hard as that was to believe, and needed her breaks.

Some days, Moses found herself returning to that childish frame of mind, where her Lady was nothing short of a god, as mythic as the Head themselves. But that she was human only made Dias more important, more impressive and worth following. Sitting here, watching her make an earnestly delighted face at a particularly delicious cut of brightly pink salmon not only made her heart flutter in that awful-cowardly-yearning way, but it let Moses in on that humanity of Dias’, proved just who she was labouring for. A good person. Somebody who, despite all of her responsibilities, in spite of the challenges she faced, could act kindly to her subordinate. Could, interrupting an explanation, without reservation offer Moses a slice of that same fish from her own fork, asking she try it because it was just simply too good not to.

But in short… Moses was to do the shopping, first, though not exactly for her Lady’s groceries. There was apparently an issue with the logistics of the Udjat. Fixers were complaining about a concerning dent in their medical supplies. Dias asked her to see it corrected, answering to Moses’ doubt in her ability to do so:

“There’s a person doing the purchasing for the office. Just pay him a visit and make him explain what’s going south. As detailed as he can manage to, mhm? I trust you’ll figure things out together!”

Then, Moses was to write it all down – noting if there was anything suspicious afoot especially. Logistics were dangerous to neglect, and it has been a long time since anybody’s checked on the man. It was unlikely, Dias said, that there was any mutiny behind the scenes. Though Moses had her permission to investigate further, in any case.

When that was done, since she was in the Office headquarters anyway, she was to deliver a new batch of Dias’ requests to be passed down. A neat little envelope was handed to Moses across the table, and she promptly pocketed it. The contents were to be rewritten in a manner befitting formal mission listings, since Dias didn’t bother with that. The option to do so on her own was presented, but, of course, Moses could entrust it to whoever was managing human resources at the time.

“Though honestly, I think you’ll do it yourself just fine, Moses, you’re certainly sharp enough for it.”

Finally, she was to, quote, “have fun playing outside!”

When Moses was grabbing the overflowing trashbag on her way out, she noticed charred hash browns thrown in hastily. Must’ve been where that earlier smell came from.

Only on the ride to the Udjat headquarters did she give the events of the morning the full consideration they deserved. Sleepiness must have numbed her senses, because she didn’t even really… protest, at the thought of making Lady Dias share her breakfast with her. Not out loud, at least. Why was ringing inside her brain and, tired as she was of the question's omnipresence within her mind as of late, she couldn’t begin to tell if she was questioning the breakfast itself or her unbothered acceptance of it this time.

It wasn’t a big deal by itself, sharing breakfast with somebody. It was just that the time Dias had clearly made for herself was wasted on Moses, out of some pitiful politeness. Moses could have fed herself just fine, on her way to her duties.

But it was probably time to accept this wouldn’t stop. This kept happening, this pull closer to the Lady. Each time Moses saw a boundary she wasn’t worth enough to approach, Dias would make her cross it. The question was what Moses should do about it, if anything.

She liked this. She had to admit she did, even if the thought made her shudder with discomfort. Dias probably wouldn’t want Moses to enjoy these little indulgences in the ways she did. She wasn’t supposed to like this, like this. It had to be in her head, it… It had to be.

She didn’t want to bother Dias.

And she didn’t want to be hurt herself, either, by false hopes. (small text)

Mulling over this, exhausted with the endless carousel of confusion and doubt and pining, she watched the buildings pass by through her window. It would be a long journey, even with the access to accelerated roads that skipped District borders given to most of Dias’ vehicles. She’d have plenty of time to stew.

Or, she could make the time actually mean something. Might as well get to rewording those requests.

Two hours spent stranded in the car. With the envelope’s seal broken open, a sheet of paper retrieved and secured on a clipboard (she’d thankfully found one here, after asking the driver), she wrangled each of Dias’ notes into comprehensive and formal mission descriptions.

She was familiar with the format, mimicking it easily enough. When it came to the requirements for the candidates she had to take liberties. Moses had no idea if there were any strict guidelines as to which Grade one had to be for a job of what kind… But she had a sense for it, after years of looking up at the boards. Thus, for simple assistance with a rat – the animal, not the Rat-rat – infestation at one of the productions Dias loosely invested into, a team of newly “recruited” Udjat would suffice; while for the surveillance over a high-ranking Wing product manager a skilled patrol was required. Rewards were mere estimates as well, and some of the assignments Dias didn’t mark as “non-reportable” herself needed to be corrected to such. Details were missing, some of them crucial, but those would be cleared up for those that took the jobs on.

And, while looking over her work, Moses couldn’t help a tinge of doubt, she still had confidence. Everything was composed rationally, even if her references were far from clear due to the simple fact that they weren’t concrete at all… It would still be alright. She herself would have looked at these listings without thinking twice.

Moses would cross reference with the HR person later, when she handed them over – in their eyes, the modified requests were nearly perfectly presentable. Enough to be sent out in a matter of half an hour after she submitted them, with some light editing and clarification.

The logistics, which worried her the most, turned out not as bad as she thought. A mousy, unremarkable office worker tended to them, it turned out, in the comfort of his own tiny office. She sat with him, squinting at the monitor he had turned towards her, all while he nervously, occasionally stuttering, explained his issues. Most of the terms he used were incomprehensible to her ear, but she managed to gather some facts. Mainly that the source of the medicine drought came from the man’s hesitance to reach out to new suppliers when their previous one was struggling now to provide stock. Something about a tough time for their business… The reason didn’t matter to Moses though, because that reason wasn’t Udjat’s to deal with. The issue was drastic enough that it couldn’t be ignored in favor of keeping connections. There’d be other companies to buy from, no need to put the Udjat at risk for any single one.

So she pushed him to go through with reaching out to a new supplier. To his jumpy attempts at getting out of it, explanations of why it would be just such a terrible, horrible and dim-witted idea, she responded only with more pressure. Until eventually he relented. With a voice wavering as if Moses’d been holding a knife to his throat (even though the only thing she did was sit across, her eyes boring into him) he prattled on into the telephone, neurotically twirling a pencil between his fingers until it fell clattering to the ground.

She had no way to ensure this would work. But she made him walk her through everything, from the details of the initial issues to the actions he’d just taken. She made him write that explanation down. Which was like killing two birds with one stone, really, because she’d bring this to Dias to help explain the situation better, and she’d get a chance to look at the whole logistics thing in a little more depth on her own time. Couldn’t hurt to familiarise herself.

And Moses wouldn’t forget to write down a description of his behavior and words as well. She was sure he wasn’t of any danger now – a coward at worst. Even if he was right, let’s say, about this being the wrong decision, well… He was still pressured into it, wasn’t he..? Not somebody to keep around, if that was the case.

For the last of her daily errands… She had lunch in a nice, high-end restaurant, opting out of their novelty “otherworldly flavor experience” (something to do with the Outskirts, apparently…) in favor of something simple but well-cooked. After, Moses took the time to leisurely, as much as she felt comfortable with, wander around the neighbourhood. It was a nicer part of the Backstreets, evidently protected by the Zwei. She couldn’t put her mind to rest, not entirely, she never could rid herself of her alarmness. But the walk alone with her thoughts was appreciated.

She came across a nice, secluded, shaded area where she could calmly smoke, taking her time. Cigarette butts littering the ground hinted this must be a spot favored by the workers of the office building it hid behind, but she lucked out and didn’t meet any of them now.

Was this her idea of fun? Smoking by herself? It probably was, now at least. There was nothing of interest to her here, no more actual work left to do. She supposed she could wander the street, looking at the store fronts, see if she could find anything worth her money. But she didn’t need anything. She didn’t want anything either.

Only a little antique store did call to her from across the street. Squeezed between a liquor store with a burnt out neon sign and another dull office with a plaque unreadable from the distance, its cozy exterior naturally attracted attention. She found herself there, then, once she’d finished her smoke. Sauntering between the shelves desultorily, staring at this and that. It was not particularly engaging, and she didn’t find herself attached to any of the junk gathering dust here.

Her gaze eventually landed on an empty picture frame - vertical, wooden, the corners carved swirling. Moses didn’t own any picture frames. Though she supposed… There was a woman who lived on the same Dorm floor of her, one who’d snap photos of them every once in a while, fiddling with cameras was her hobby. Moses could ask her for a picture to frame.

The thought never occurred to her before, to display a photo like that, yet it was as if a strange force possessed her at that moment to make her purchase that lone picture frame. What will go inside she would decide later. For now, it’d be okay enough empty. She’d carry it with her, until she could return to the Dorms.

After all, she didn’t know when that’d be. Moses could easily end up tailing after Dias for the foreseeable future.

The ornate gates that greeted Moses were vaguely familiar now, as was the fixer signaling his greeting from inside of the security booth at the entrance. He looked barely awake, though became sufficiently alert once their car approached. Given the time was late into seven in the evening, likely nearing the end of his shift, the laxness was excusable. Moses herself was plenty exhausted. With the smooth stop of the car Moses got out, stopping for a second to stretch her limbs after sitting for so long. She considered smoking before truly heading inside, to silence the hum of nervousness rising in her stomach at the idea of the inevitable return to her Lady.

But there was a stranger. Walking the wood-paved path in the sand, not yet far from the house itself. An unknown woman, with no stand-out features in sight. Moses’ eyes searched for a weapon on her person, found none. Hidden, then. Where?

Could be in the long overcoat she wore on top of a… sundress? Covering herself from the cold breeze, yet shivering all the same, no doubt due to the bareness of her legs, down to the light sandals.

No, no, this wasn’t right… Nobody should be here right now, nobody but the Lady.

Nowhere did it say that assassins were obligated to outwardly dress for combat.

Moses’ feet carried her forward entirely by themselves, steps swifter than her heartbeat. There was no way to approach this with stealth now, dashing dead ahead as she was. The only factor of surprise she could count on depended on how quickly she could reach the danger before it could react, because it has already noticed her now.

Only the stranger didn’t brace herself as expected. Her head turned, unhurried, to the sound of running. And then she just stood there. Like a deer in the headlights. Her arms didn’t raise to protect herself, nor did she draw a weapon.

And something about that felt so wrong, unnatural, that Moses’ sense of danger ticked off, made her switch her grip on the khopesh to a defensive one.

But there was no trap, nothing.

Moses simply collided with the woman, toppling both of them to the ground.

One palm scraped against harsh asphalt, exploding with a burning pain. The invader cried out underneath her – Moses had landed atop her, judging by the human-shaped softness of the floor. She didn’t waste time on trying to collect herself; honed instinct took over. She pushed herself up with a hand, letting muscle memory do the work – they’d trained for tackles like this. She then used that same hand to roughly press the other down into the ground by the shoulder. With another, holding back a hurt hiss, she was already readying her blade to сut the life short, raising it into position when screaming from afar interrupted her, made her lift her head in alert

“stopstopstopstopstopstopstop!”

Something gripped her forearm forcefully, pulled and dragged her up by the shoulder. More of them. Frenzied pulse hammering in her ears she swung backwards blindly, only for her khopesh to be yanked out of her fingers. Moses turned then with the entirety of her body, uselessly attempting to wrestle herself out of the attacker’s grip, only to see an Udjat uniform behind herself. Dragging her away from the wheezing woman splayed out on the wooden walkway.

“Calm down, fixer! That’s a guest!”

“A what…”

“A guest! Dias’ guest!”

Moses glared at the Udjat, cold sweat running down her skin. Breathing through her nose, she was trying not to pant out loud from exertion and nerves. She swallowed dryly, pursed her lips tightly and turned to stare at the guest in question.

She had made a mistake.

Dias emerged out of the front door, looking at the scene dazed. She began to descend down the stairs of the patio towards them.

A really, really, really big mistake.

The alarmed exchange flew right past Moses’ ears. It was probably the first time in her life that she wasn’t hanging on her Lady’s every word. Dias had kneeled down next to the stranger and that was the last thing Moses really paid attention to before succumbing to the Udjat trying to lead her away, somewhere towards the gates and that gateway security booth. Her head was now hanging low, still fuzzy, dread yet to set in in its heavy entirety.

“No, no, Moses stays! Help her inside, please, I’ll sort things out.”

“...Yes, milady.”

In the summer kitchen sat Moses, tending to her ‘wounds’. Eyes downcast, in complete silence, she carefully applied medicine to her injured palm, sucking in a wince of pain as she rubbed ointment into the abrasion. Next to her, Dias did the same for the ‘guest’. She fussed around her, with various “treatments” and treats, “sorry”s and little laughs of brushing off an honest mistake.

Moses sat with her eyes downcast. Moses wrapped her hand in bandages, with her eyes downcast. Even as Dias led the woman away, having ensured no lasting damage was done to her, Moses kept her eyes downcast. Because she wouldn’t act on the inappropriate wish to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d already attacked somebody innocent of her own volition. She had to have known when she noted the lack of weaponry, should have stopped as soon as she saw that distinct civilian look about her… that was so easy to mimic for an actual, high-grade assassin…

What sort of guest was this, and why did Dias treat her this way? Why was Moses not informed of her arrival, when she was the one currently responsible for protecting and helping Dias throughout the day? And, finally, what was she doing here on a day Dias had made a point of being one of downtime? She wasn’t entitled to an answer, she told herself insistently, even as she looked up to see her Lady return and lean, with her forearms crossed, on the kitchen island directly across from where Moses perched on a stool.

Her face was a sort of… half-frown, hard to put a finger on. Forehead creased just slightly yet no prominent lour to the brows, eyes showing no obvious anger or irritation one would expect. Just terrifyingly lacking in emotion. Was she expecting something? An apology? Tentatively, Moses attempted it:

“Please forgive me, milady.”

“Dias.”

Of course. She didn’t mean to ‘lady’ her again, she’d gotten pretty good at stopping herself, just… it failed, this time.

“...Dias, please forgive me.”

“What for?”

“For attacking your guest.”

“Hm…” she tilted her head with something like contemplation. “Now, why would you do that?”

“I assumed she posed a threat.”

“Then, you’re a good girl for trying to protect me.”

“Am I, really?” she nearly choked on her words from Dias’ chosen phrasing, but hid it well enough. She hoped. Wings, working for Dias would kill her. “I did harm somebody who you” cared for? were interested in? “didn’t want me to.”

“Mhm. Better safe than sorry, after all. Besides, it turned out fine, in the end! Had it been somebody important, well, you could’ve earned yourself a scolding, but I’d never let a misunderstanding like that happen~”

Then, it wasn’t anyone important… That, at least, eased the tension in Moses’ shoulders.

“So you’re not… mad, at all?” because even though she didn’t feel any animosity coming from Dias, there could still be [i]something[/i] she risked missing.

“Not at all. Only mildly annoyed you crossed paths, maybe.” With that the Lady shrugged, stepping away with the movement, heading towards a stove instead.

She opened a cabinet nearby, took out a container, then another; a beautiful ceramic teapot was delicately placed on the kitchen cabinet, while a cruder stainless steel kettle went to sit above the fire - the set up quite obsolete, given better and quicker appliances were available on the market. With one hand, Dias turned on a vintage radio in the corner, tuning it with a frown until the static disappeared entirely, giving way to a relaxed, wordless tune that fit the role of background music quite well.

“If I may… why didn’t you warn me of that person’s arrival?” Moses asked, and nearly immediately regretted it, recognising instantly that she’d overstepped, despite, to much frustration, making a point of not being nosey earlier. She’d try to backtrack had Dias not began to hum in that way of hers she’d do before answering a question she didn’t find particularly smart:

“No, you may not,” Dias decided, flashing Moses a little half-smile over her shoulder, not breaking away from her task of brewing tea. A faint, bitter smell of hibiscus filled the air, as Dias generously poured dried roselle petals inside the kettle. A few spoonfuls of honey followed, and then a sprinkle of some other loose thing - ginger, Moses guessed. “Is your hand alright?”

“It’s fine. Just scratches.”

“Good.”

They waited for the water to boil, then. Dias settled into one of the armchairs at the edge of the summer kitchen. It was chilly outside, not yet cold, the sun now close to setting. It hung above the surface of the Lake, illuminating both the putrid waters beyond the boundary protecting this oasis, and the clarity of the rich, deep blue inside its borders. Seagulls soared above, some stumbled around the shore. Same as in the morning, things barely ever seemed to change in idyllic places like this. Dias watched those gulls, only barely paying attention. It was as if the birds themselves didn’t matter, Moses thought, but the action itself of giving something so seemingly insignificant her time did. Moses realised she was holding her breath with that thought in an attempt to preserve the fragility of the moment. Dias watched the Lake, Moses watched her.

Questions still lingered, of course. That guest had left an odd aftertaste. Moses itched to know more. She already held some suspicions, but the nature of those suspicions made probing into them seem invasive at best. Again, as her Lady herself said, ‘she may not’. This wasn’t hers to ask. She watched Dias’ schedules for her now, yes, but it didn’t mean she was entitled to every agenda of hers. The fact that Moses acted as a guarantee of her safety still didn’t entitle her to the knowledge of every single person Dias met.

Through the faint roaring of the Lake, the bird calls and the fire, the kettle whistle went off. Moses rose from her seat to take it off. If it was force of habit from boiling water back in the Dorms, or a wish to please Dias she couldn't say; both, most likely.

“Oh? No need for that,” she heard behind herself. “Don’t work your injured hand.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll finish this for you. I know how to brew tea.”

Dias made a lightly indignant huff at that, though Moses didn’t hear her stand up from her armchair.

“Make sure to add ice to my glass, then.”

Moses filled the teapot with steaming water. Then, she searched for glasses; she found them among a collection of crystalline dishware displayed gracefully in a glass cabinet nearby. Then, came the ice. Thankfully, the fridge here had an easy to navigate ice maker. Ice first, and then the fogged-up glasses were filled with freshly brewed, steaming tea.

“You’re not supposed to subject crystalline to temperature switches like that, by the way.”

“Oh?” Moses glanced down at the glasses in her hands, then at Dias, whom she’d just approached. Befuddled at the correction she had no clue what to do about, she searched for an answer in Dias’ face, yet only found it cracking into an amused, short laugh.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Dias assured with a waning smile, reached forward to grab a glass, raising it to watch the crystalline catch the weak sunlight, shining prettily in its glow. “This set has protection against that kind of damage.”

The Lady’s gaze slipped away again, back to the sunbathed shore, and with that so did her attention. Moses took that as a cue to retreat back to her stool. A certain disengagedness, she had noticed, had been present in Dias’ eyes this entire time. As if mentally, she’d been far away, or at least longed to be. As if Moses was an inconvenience tonight.

Oh, but when was she not an inconvenience? Try as Moses might she was… well, she was inexperienced. No matter how much she’d spent making herself useful, she was still not enough, there was always some issue she wasn’t sure how to deal with, which she had to inquire about, or a mistake she’d made with the planning, an inefficiency. And of course, she was not nearly powerful enough to ward off every potential danger. She was not good enough to tell a fling from an assaulter, for Wings’ sake–

…a fling. No. Or–

No.

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“My, aren’t you bold today,” the words, spoken into the rim of her glass, were punctuated by a sharp, yet ultimately offenseless glance. “I like your curiosity, Moses, I always told you so. However, I’d assumed you knew where to apply it. Was I wrong to think so?”

Right. These were boundaries she was crossing again, in quick succession. Though these ones were crossed without that silent spurring on of Dias’. Meaning this must have been too far. She doesn’t know what’s come onto her, it was always so obvious she must avoid personal questions like this. She wasn’t anybody to her Lady in the end, just a helping hand, no matter what was said aloud. If Dias entertained questions, it must’ve been simply to coax her into professional growth. Just… This was all so confusing, she had to admit, trying to fulfil a purpose she didn’t know anything about, other than the vague guesses she made. She didn’t know what Dias wanted from her, really, could only offer an apologetic head bow of shame.

And Dias, watching her do it, answered. Flatly, with a coldness that made the admission all the more odd:

“She isn’t a friend in any sense of the word I’d use.” The way she shrugged after spoke ‘do with that information what you will’.

Moses sighed in acceptance, knowing this was the most she’d get. The reveal inched her closer to what now seemed to be the only viable option, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Somebody Dias didn’t hold in high regard – disposable, or replaceable at least, – yet who was let into her home on her ‘day off’. Harmless - not a fixer nor anybody in a position of power, judging by the lack of combat prowess or obvious augmentations. Attractive. Didn’t hold herself like any of the people Dias did business with. Finally, and most damning, was the way Dias treated her, when she tended to her before, that politely playful demeanor.

Well, that must have been a fling of some kind, then, mustn’t it? Something in that ballpark, at least.

But… why? With Dias’ status, money, appearance, everything–

…No, no, she’s questioned her enough already.

Still, a treacherous, jealous little thought sparked - oh, why not her, a thought that would be better saved for fantasies far away from Dias’ direct gaze on her reddening face.

“I’m not judging you,” she found herself blurting out instead, with as much surprise at the words as Dias reacted with.

“Pfft- Judging…? Thank you? I wasn’t expecting you to! Wings, Moses.”

A look of understanding crept onto her face, slowly, of the kind of conclusion Moses’ mind went to, and Dias shook her head. She pinched at the bridge of her nose, the palpable frustration sending goosebumps down Moses’ back out of pure regretful shame, for daring to let the conversation flow in this direction. Yet still, Dias’ tone remained mercifully patient as she muttered, “say, how about you leave me alone for the rest of the evening?”

No confirmation, no denial. Just a clear-cut ‘go away’. In some sense, she was grateful for it.

“Yes, Dias. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The events of that day would linger in the back of Moses’ mind, no matter how much she’d try to forget them. There’d be no more ‘crossing paths’, they both made sure of that. Dias would not speak of it, only giving Moses enough ‘away’ work for the day to get the idea, and Moses would be out of her hair ‘till late into the evening. And still, the knowledge would plague her.

Dias favored women. She seemed so alone, always, above. But she was only human.

And Moses was never supposed to see her this human, because…

This human she wasn’t as distant as she must truly be. It already began to affect Moses’ thinking even more, it worsened that awful, possessive want in her chest she was so very tired of stifling. It gave ground for it to stand on. Close enough to reach for, for the fantasises to shift into possibilities far off, for now, but possibilities nonetheless.

She’d go to sleep to them, wake up with them. And she would continue serving her Lady haunted by them.

At least the increasing workload, the ever-rising variety in tasks given to her kept her busy.