MSWarriorBabe @mswarriorbabe80 - Tumblr Blog

Jun 15

Like Real People ⋆.˚ Chapter Eight: Bad Omens

[crossposting an existing fic. find on ao3 here] chapter list prev chapter next chapter

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆.˚pairing: kirsh x fem!reader, kavalier x childhoodfriend!reader ⋆.˚summary: kavalier's crash response begins as you take the lost boys to their auditory tests. the unease of the days brings to light striking truths, breaking through the cracks of your privileges. and now your best friend has a small request ⋆.˚status: unfinished, ongoing ⋆.˚content: eventual violence, gore, drug abuse, traumatic past, ptsd, depression, lots of fluff ⋆.˚word count: 4.5k (dividers by @/strangergraphics)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When you see the shapes of the new flight crafts on the hill, looming far in the distance, you understand at once. It’s happening. It’s happening, neatly lined up in the golden rising sun. It’s happening in a hundred pairs of boots on the ground, and the distant orders of the faraway man. Kavalier’s promise is bearing fruit.

By the time the sun has risen, there are already men scrambling up those hills, gathering in swarms, all a blur of black headgear and blue navy bodysuits. You watch from the high balcony of the main complex, already feeling the heat of the day, already wishing for the wind. Curly is here too, leaning over the edge of the bannister in a way that makes your heart beat faster for the worry of it. As the last of the sunrise fades into the day, the ant-men far below weave between each other, alive and in wait. From here, you can see the early morning fog is hanging heavy as it drapes across the horizon, but the swarms of Kavalier’s men are above the weight of simple fog.

Treasures, you remember being told. Yutani’s ship is going to bring treasure to the world. And here are the little men sent to fetch all the King’s gold.

“They’re all everywhere,” Curly pipes up from her bannister edge. You bite back a nag as you watch her. “I’ve never seen them do this before. Are they going somewhere special?”

You have to bite back your reply to this, too. Special to him. “You know, I’m not entirely sure, Curly.”

“Well it’s odd. But then, I’ve never been up here watching, so maybe I’ve just never seen it.”

“Maybe,” you agree. “Maybe they’re doing some kind of….practice drills.”

Curly steps back from the bannister and bounces on her heels. You breathe a sigh of relief, only to find it souring into contempt when her face scrunches up. “Drills for what?” she asks. “Nothing happens around here. Why would they need to do drills? It’s not like we’re at war or something. Not these days. Are we?”

Credit where credit is due, Curly’s intuitive nature is bang on the mark. Unfortunately for you, this is just too much and too soon. “We’re not at war,” you say, and throw in a laugh to reassure her. Not yet anyway. “But this is an island of highly classified experiments and highly important people,” you reach over and touch a finger lightly on her nose. “Like you. They’re just here to keep you all safe.”

“Safe from what?”

A drizzle comes on, too, ominous as ever a bad omen there was to be. And as ever, Kavalier’s men move as if they are untouched.

You breathe another sigh. “From the world. It’s dangerous out there. Strangers.” Technically, this part isn’t a lie; you just neglect to tell her which strangers, and what form they’re taking.

Whatever was stirring up in the West, your friend was going to get it all. Come rain or shine, storm or strife.

Down in the tech rooms, business swans on exactly as it always does. Curly bobs along behind you as you make your way down, and takes a usual seat beside Arthur for another one of the tests. Tone Indication, he tells you, but you just yawn into your palm and wave for him to continue. All these names and technicalities ring familiar to you, but it’s nothing you care to bother with. Not this early in the morning, at least. All you’re here for is the children.

The slow atmosphere tells you all you need to know about the situation. No one here seems to know about the crash just yet. Definitely not about Kavalier’s plans, either. You’re certain everything might be different if they did. There’s a lack of anticipatory bated breath, you feel. No one’s on edge. There are just more contagious yawns, and the steady clicking of keys, and the rattling of pens on clipboards from muffled corners.

Something about the monotony of the task settles the oddest sense of calm on you, despite the day’s happenings. All that’s up in the air remains far away from you as yet, and the steady lull of Arthur’s industry tests threatens you to the call of your dreams.

The tests themselves are simple. All the children need to do is don some headphones, sit tight, and raise their hands whenever they hear the tone trilling prompted by Arthur. These are strikingly familiar; some of the very first tests you'd watched them subjected to after they were put into their new bodies. Most are done between ten and fifteen minutes, with daydreaming and lack of concentration being expected within this short frame, of course.

Curly is up first. Then Tootles. Slightly and Smee insist on taking their trip together, which only ends up totalling their test times to thirty minutes each, but allows the entire room the respite of a genuinely heart-warming hour of tired smiles and a steady contentment of a good laugh. It’s a worthy trade-off; the screens on the left wall are starting to tell the tales of Kavalier’s plan. In full motion. The crash is no longer happening. It has officially happened. And here you are, laughing in a plush chair in the tech room floor, miles away in a safe building on an island, breathless because of the potty humour of two children.

Nibs is next up. Her wide-eyed watchful nature almost undoes all the distraction the boys had given the floor. You’re lucky she’s more interested in knowing what you had for breakfast and lunch than the screens. She finds it amusing when you tell her Kavalier denied breakfast with you this morning, and more so when you exaggeratedly pretend to be infuriated by his actions. Though at first you worry she’s showing in-empathy for the crash scene, you’re assured by her regular stolen glances that you’d been far off the mark. This little girl is doing what you’re doing - distraction. Distraction is easier a currency than in-empathy. You thrive in it. So, when Wendy brings up the rear end of the day’s testing, you’re hardly indulging yourself in the happenings of the screen at all, and hardly paying attention to the tone indication, too…hardly paying attention to Wendy, almost falling asleep…

“Why don’t you have kids?” Wendy asks Arthur curiously, raising her hand. Your eyes snap back open as you shoot him a panicked glance.

He waves you off with a brief nod as he addresses her. “Well, we…we tried to have kids. But I…I have a low sperm count.”

“Sperm,” she repeats, ghosting on a giggle.

“Yeah, sperm. It’s a funny word.” Arthur continues to fiddle with the test controls.

“Isn’t a sperm what comes out of a boy?” She raises her hand again for the test. “And then goes into the girl’s egg?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

You bite back your own amused giggle when Arthur shakes his head at you with an exaggerated eye roll. For what it’s worth, you think he’d have made a great dad. Previous conversations with the couple pass through your mind. Interactions with Dame Sylvia. Off-handed remarks about you being motherly to the Lost Boys rather than a nanny. You begin to suspect the unease between you might be down to something far deeper than an unwillingness for more than a professional relationship. Something far more delicate than the sharp undercut of pre-ordained judgement you’d previously assumed her behaviour was attributed to.

Wendy swivels her chair to you, on her right. “You’re an adult,” she nods, as if only making note of this fact right that second, “Why don’t you have kids?”

Your tongue gets stuck somewhere between ‘I’ve been busy’ and ‘I have you guys’. Really, there is no answer, but ‘I don’t know’ has not so far seemed to suffice any others of the ducklings’ childishly curious questions. Your mouth is still gaping when the crew to Arthur’s side start rattling off the immediate test results. Something about 75,000 hertz and being higher than human frequency. They’re scrambling. Arthur falls silent. Wendy’s attention darts away from you. There’s no time for a sigh of relief; her attention is not on the crew or the results. It’s on the screens.

You stand up as she pulls off her headphones. “Wendy?”

“Oh, Wendy…we’re uh…we’re not done yet,” Arthur tries to hand them back to her. “Put these back on. We're not…uh…we’re not finished here.”

Her attention remains firmly on the screens.

And then Wendy begins to swipe through the footage on the screen behind you using only her index finger and a concentrated impulse. Both you and Arthur exchange another startled look with each other. She sorts through the clips until she lands on the video of soldiers running in the site of the crash, where she pauses, and watches closely.

“Has she done that before?” he asks you, his voice wavering as the two of you watch the synthetic girl hone the footage in front of her.

“You didn’t know she could do this?” The question, though only half-meant, is answered with silence. It’s easy to understand that this counts for the affirmative. No one here knew she could manipulate the screens this way, and, by the befuddlement written on the staff’s faces, certainly no one can understand how she’s managed it.

It’s all you and Arthur can do to watch the video in stunned silence. Between her newfound skill and the chaos erupting on the crash site, you finally feel it. The shift. The trepidation, the danger, the coin tossed in mid-air. The ‘Happening’ of Boy Kavalier.

There isn't much conversation when you steer Wendy back in the direction of the central room, where the other children wait. Most of the polite small talk you try to start up falls into barely muttered responses in the face of blatant distraction. Wendy's mind is far away. Wendy's mind is at that plane crash. Halfway there, she stops abruptly, tells you she needs to find Kirsh, and darts out of your sight.

You sigh and rub your hands tiredly over your face. What you wouldn't give to be back in bed three nights ago, when all of this was nothing more than a distant future or a fading nightmare threat.

In the central room the other Lost Boys seem content enough, lolling against each other and the couch, staring into nothing and laughing over stupid kid-like jokes. You've caught them assigning animal counterparts to each other and everyone they know on the island. Naturally, they're all an explosion of giggles, an explosion of which bursts afresh when you poke your head round the door to tell them you're going on lunch. It's here you make a mental note to chase one of them up on what animal they've chosen for you. It won't be a hard task. In fact, you're sure any of them are like to give in and spill the secret with only a mild prodding to get the answer. But whatever animals they've chosen for each other, it makes little difference to you; they're still your ducklings.

Admittedly, lunch this afternoon seems wholly a trivial affair. You could almost hear what Kavalier would've said. What time is there for sandwiches while the world is changing? And to this you would've laughed back at him. Well, the world is always changing. You are not entirely sure you're very hungry either. Perhaps more in want of the mundane of your routine, the assurance that one thing is normal at least. Perhaps the chance to hide your slow brewing panic from the children. Whatever the reason, your feet are operating on autopilot, and you find yourself in the mess hall before you realise where you are.

Taking meals here is not a usual habit for you, not with the constant invite of Kavalier, but then, there's no chance of lunch with your best friend this afternoon. You know that much is true without asking. Kavalier had been so distracted this morning he'd not showed up for breakfast in the sun room as he usually did, so distracted that he'd forgotten to cancel his plate, or cancel his breakfast invitation with you. His place lay in futile wait with empty dishes before it, his seat an unusual absence of chatter and snark. The morning had turned out to be an undeniably peaceful affair. Your own pick of breakfast, your own pick of music, and your opportunity to freely yawn into your palm as you relished the early morning silence. There was the sound of your own thoughts, too. And yet in some strange way you missed him despite it all.

Lunch is sordid; run of the mill not-quite-satisfactory options with an underlying scent of bleach and chem -fresh accompanying it all. These silver canteens are never a match for the careful plates atop of Kavalier’s table in the sun room. There are soggy bottom pizzas, the usual leafy salad you once saw a bug in, standard triangle sandwiches, quiches, pastas, three kinds of fritters, boiled vegetables. You notice the steamed fish is particularly untouched. Everyone's still markedly skittish from the recent large-scale salmonella incident, particularly after it'd been chalked down to the fault of native fish. This dish is likely to end up straight in the trash. Poor things, you think, gazing down at the white fish meat in the overfilled canteens, you've died for nothing.

A few of the lower floor white coats wave you over to sit with them while you eat. Though you're sure you don't have much to say to such high level scientists, the opportunity not to sit alone is a beckoning all too sweet to refuse. You quickly learn two of them have siblings working in Kavalier’s Prodigy corps. They tell you that neither of the two know if their siblings have been dispatched to the crash this morning. The other has parents who live close to the site.

“Alexei from upstairs is the same…so are a bunch of others, from what I hear,” one of the coats, June Sethi, details to you. Beside her the others mutter their agreement.

Hearing of the connections between them all is largely unsurprising. It's well known that Prodigy is fond of making deals with its people. Work for us, your family will be better off. Jobs for all of you. One sibling in the militia almost guarantees another a spot higher up, one higher up almost guarantees another a spot in the militia. For Kavalier and the company this means loyalty against the others of the Five. Even if employment with the company doesn’t offer a family member a job, more often than no it affords them a place in the city. For the employees this means stability, plain and simple. And with job scarcity at an all time high, you can only imagine these kinds of offers are not to be taken lightly. And now, this means most people here must have family who live right where the crash has happened. As you chew, thinking about how your best friend has so much sway on the lives of the masses, even outside of the crash, the food in your mouth begins to sour. You've never thought about it this way before.

“I've been trying to buzz my sister whenever I can but…”

“No joy?” you finish.

June Sethi laughs lightly, contained. “Yeah. That's her name, funnily enough. Joy,” she shrugs. “Guess Mom and Dad never pictured her with a hard hat and a rifle when they picked that out.”

To her right Walker Erwin points at you. “She could find out if they’re alive. Or dispatched. You could do that, couldn’t you? Isn’t she Boy Kavalier’s best mate? Or something?”

“Or something,” another of the coats says. His name evades you, but you don't like the way he stares.

June nods. “Couldn’t you?”

Your mouth gapes and it takes a moment to regain your composure. “I…I don’t know. My job doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Nanny,” Walker scoffs. “You know my Ma loved you when you were a kid. Had copies of all your songs. Said God made you special. You, and your mate. Boy Kavalier. She thought you two hung the stars.”

“Great good that did you,” the other coat sneers.

“Look at her now, Ma. Eating rotten fish with the rest of us.”

“Bet she doesn’t love ‘em now.”

“Wouldn’t know, she’s dead,” Walker glares at you sourly.

June waves a hand to back them off. “Leave it.”

“Why? It was hard work that did her in, and I bet those two haven’t had a hard day in their lives, have they?” The other coat smirks. Walker stares. Even June doesn’t disagree. “If anything happens to our families because of the crash, and your friend is sitting up high, it’s blood on his hands. But you should know that, shouldn’t you? Fuckin’ prodigy.”

“Shut up. It’s not worth your job,” June is saying.

“No. You’re not going to get fired for saying the truth,” you reply. They look taken aback at that. Are they? It’s here you realise everyone is staring. There are cameras above you and all around. Even if you keep your mouth shut, you can be sure the word will reach him anyway. “He can’t help if Yutani’s people crash a plane,” you lie easily. “He’s just trying to get everyone out okay. I’m sure your families are just fine.”

Walker runs a hand through his hair, sighing deep. “The Five are always playing their own games. On the land we live in. There’s bound to be repercussions eventually.”

This much you can’t deny. Again, you’ve never thought of it this way. “I hope that day is not today.”

“You’re really clueless, aren’t you? That day is every day.”

The attentions of the others fall behind you. The silence that has befallen the surrounding mess-hall benches are filled in with the sounds of soles on stone. It’s Kirsh, and he’s beelining for you. It’s the sight of him that settles the balling panic inside your chest.

He stops short in front of you. Briefly eyes the white coats. “The Founder wants to see you.”

“What? Now?” The timing could not be better and could not be worse. So it goes with the pattern, you’re realising.

“Now.”

The gaze of the scientists burns into your back as you leave the doors, and Kirsh is silent as you walk. Down the corridors he doesn’t answer any questions you pelt at him, and doesn't ask any about the mess-hall incident, either. Eventually, you too fall silent, grateful at least he is not pushing you for information about a moment you’re all too aware he’s curious about. When you reach the elevator, the button is pressed, and the doors seal shut, Kirsh at last turns to you. “I'm going to be stark. He has something to ask of you. And you're not going to like it. But it's important you keep an open mind.”

His eyes are dead on yours. Unwavering as ever. Your mind whirs with the possibilities, but you fall flat, drawing on a blank. “What does he want? What is it?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Please,” you ask. He doesn't speak. “Kirsh!”

“I am advising you on the basis of a guess. I know nothing for fact. But if it's any consolation, you'll know yourself shortly.”

Then the doors slide open, and Kirsh faces forward.

When you pass the ground outside the roomy office lounge belonging to Kavalier, he'd already waiting for you. Kirsh peels away from your side wordlessly before you have a moment to ask him to stay. As soon as he’s gone, the ball of panic returns.

“Have there been civilian casualties?” you blurt, the instant you’re inside.

He raises his brows. “Hello to you too, Silly Girl. Venus,” as he talks, he pucks his rubber ball to and fro. Desk to hand, hand to desk. He catches it again and points to the butler. Eins. “Details.”

Eins looks to you. “Thanks to the Founders Day celebrations, there have been no doubt countless causalities avoided. Most were at the grand park for the festival. Couldn't have been better timing.”

“Right. So you don’t want any help with that. Designing care packages or whatever.”

“What?” Kavalier questions.

“Well, you want me here for something. I’m trying to figure out what exactly that is.”

“Hm. Smart, aren’t you? Care packages,” his ball pucks. Back and forth. “Write that down, Atom. We could do with some good rep in the bank. Get the people on our side. Good books and all. You know, we could do with you up here more often. You come up with some real striking ideas sometimes.”

Kavalier sees pleased. You’re unsure what to make of the suggestion, given what his work is evidentially entailing as of late…but you can’t help but feel a glow of pride anyway. A shell of satisfaction. Remnants of the need for validation left behind on the shores of the childhood in the spotlight, irrevocably printed inside of you without clause. Nowadays the satisfaction appears entirely less. You’ll take what you can get.

“What am I here for then?” you prompt him.

In one deft throw the ball is in Eins’ grip. Kavalier is giving you his undivided attention. “I’m sending my Lost Boys to investigate the site.”

It takes you a full thirty seconds to fully comprehend the words he has spoken.

Walker’s bold statements converge with Kavalier’s. And the hapless soldiers sigh runs in blood down palace walls. Had you really been so blind?

“I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you know this isn’t a fucking game,” you spit out abruptly. Kavalier chuckles at the curse, especially when you are as surprised at its appearance as he is. “Tell me!”

He waves off his butler - Eins - and his eyes trail behind the synthetic as he makes his sour exit from the room. The minute you're alone, Boy steps three feet closer. “It’s always a game,” Kavalier tells you, with all the tell tale shades of sheer nonchalance.

Not for the first time, you have the burning urge to want to slap the stupid grin off of his glee filled face. “You know, you can play whatever little game you’ve cooked up for yourself and your company friends all day long and forever if that’s what makes you happy. But you can’t sit here high up on your throne and push the kids around like they’re your pawns. Or the people. They’ve nothing to do with it.”

“They signed up for this life,” he shrugs. “So did the Lost Boys, to relinquish youth.”

“They signed up to get out of their sick and dying bodies. They didn’t conscript. It doesn’t entitle them to line up and put on a vest. They’re not expendable. They’re not soldiers.”

“They’re not children either.” He watches you, his expression ghosting on satisfaction as he delivers the words. A heavy silence spills out in the air between you, as if he’s waiting for you to come biting back the same way you so often have at the somewhat taboo mention of their adolescent-non-adolescent status.

Do you want to take his bait tonight? He waits. You think. He waits. You purse your lips.

“This is going to be valuable time and energy spent,” he continues, seeming satisfied all the more, “I don’t mind you knowing that I’m not making this decision….uh…lightly, yeah? This feels monumental. I want to make them part of that. See what they see. The world through hybrid eyes,” Kavalier snatches forward and grasps your hand tightly in his, so sudden you catch yourself mid-flinch. “I want to make you part of that, too, Venus.”

“Me?” you scan his face, taken aback. You?

“You’re always taking them to and fro their techy tests. Back and forth, back and forth, pinging all about the place, ever playing the part of the dutiful little nanny. Don’t you wanna take them outside? Field trip?” he pinches your wrist as he straightens up, but as you snatch your hand away, you can see the suddenness of the serious in his eyes just as it settles into place. “Don’t you want to witness the birth of the new world?”

Kavalier steps forward. You can’t tell if he’s going to pull you into his arms or pull on a strand of your hair. Without realising it you find yourself stepping back. That glint in his eyes. Is that glint of a greed? A hunger? A gambit?

“I’ll go,” you accept. His eyes become legible once more as they fire up. He’s back to his old twisted glee. “But for the children. Lost Boys. Whatever you want to call them.” Your job is to keep them safe, and safe you shall keep them. “But on one condition. You have to send Kirsh with us, too.”

“Five steps ahead of you, Silly Girl.”

Kirsh himself stands in wait by the elevator doors. His hands are folded behind his back, and his gaze is firmly locked on your walk. “Well?”

“What do you think?”

“He wanted you to join us,” he speaks delicately. You grunt in response, and he gives a brief nod. “Ah. I was correct. And your response to his request?”

“I'm sure you can guess that, too.”

You’ve been studying me, you know me so well.

“You agreed,” Kirsh correctly sums. “You always do.”

You probably knew what I'd do before I did it at all.

In the elevator, Kirsh’s stark words tumble in your mind.

Of course you’d agree. That’s what you do when you love somebody. You stick by them. And this is where it has taken you, over and over. Chasing that same old flame of validation. Every time Kavalier calls you’re there. Every time he stubs you you’re right back with a wave and a yes. Smiling all the while he looks the other way. You’ve the strangest feeling his Happening is not the only omen to come out of today. Not for the first time, and far from the last. You're staring in the face of this bad omen and seeing right through it. You’re sitting right beside him on the ride of his whims for the thousandth time. Not the first, far from last. Because Kavalier is your best friend, and this is what you do when you love someone.

...but you love the Lost Boys too, now, and the lines between your devotions are beginning to blur.