so, in short, argent is indeed not dead and still very much after kafka. leaving is something he sees as the best method of ensuring she doesn't come back again. unfortunately, because he is who he is, he hates goodbyes and thinks its better to just disappear altogether.
unfortunately, I will not be coming back with another muse so this is so long for me as well. its been fun and a wild ride but its unfortunately time for me and kafka to go.
the next time serenity docks is when he's planned to leave with octavia-- although 'with' simply means at the same time since they'll be venturing off in different directions. she, away to look after abraxas and he, to draw attention away from the ship and it's crew. it's to ensure argent's attention remains solely on him even though the woman had made no hints to coming back after the crew. 'a test' is what she'd called the events on sihnon, his guts both burning in anger and chilling with dread all at the same time, the tone of her voice so bored and nonchalant.
"i'm insulted you'd think i'd set myself up for such a thing and die so easily. tsk tsk, huiyin. you should know by now that i would need nothing so elaborate to get my hands on you. i'd simply pluck you off the streets and be done with it. it was a nice little fire show, though, don't you think?"
the words still echo around in his head, voice so matter-of-fact, not at all the overconfidence of the man who'd died by jaewon's hand. and he supposes that's where argent's truly won out in the end. she doesn't need excessive confidence, not when they all played their parts like pieces on a chessboard, falling under her influence without so much as a struggle.
regardless of her intentions, he won't allow for serenity to come under fire again.
he says nothing about his plans to leave. he makes a point to consistently keep his room locked to everyone, a not so hard feat considering his paranoia has doubled since sihnon, but this time it's just as much to hide the fact he's packing up his things. he allows octavia to be a bit more forward about her leaving, becoming her shadow in a way, the two of them accomplishing the same task albeit a bit differently. he spends his nights curled up next to her, allowing the fear creeping up his spine out, taking part in her comfort for the last few times he can for a while. he spends his waking hours, helping out around the ship, subtly saying goodbye to everything and everyone-- one of the hardest parts is the kitchen. he misses ephy now more than ever, hopes he's okay and that they'll meet again some day.
when the day to leave comes, he waits until everyone's off ship, octavia the last to leave before him, carrying all of the information she needs to get her to abraxas safely (what a conversation convincing him to accept his new bodyguard that'd been). his misses everyone before he's even left but pushes down the ache of leaving, reminding himself of the reason why, and quickly but quietly carrying himself and his things off of serenity.
with one final look at the ship, he bids goodbye and turns away, blending into the crowd, hoping deep within his heart he'll be able to safely see it again one day.
“so it has been…” she hums, stepping closer to him and wrapping her good arm around his waist, hugging him against her. “we should spar, yes. it has been quite some time since we’ve done anything of the sort — surely, you can keep up?” she teases as she backs away from him and grabs up her sheath with the hand that’s still numb.
her grip is tight, though, fighting through the painful tingling. “come on, my raven… show me what you have for me.”
kafka catches the hissed curse, remembering how, at one time, he’d been surprised (pleasantly so) that such a word existed in octavia’s vocabulary. now, after hearing her say many a word that’s made him blush at times, he’s more concerned about her than anything, eyes tracing over her tense form, feeling it in the way she gathers him against her side. still, he doesn’t rescind his offer for a spar. octavia zhu is a lot of things, her safety means a lot to him, but he won’t treat her as a crippled, weak woman.
“not afraid i’ll cheat and win, are you, noona?” he asks, a wide grin on his lips, eyeing her sheath thoughtfully before holding his hands out in front of him. “sadly, i don’t have anything i can fight with you with. how about hand to hand instead? i think it’s a bit more fitting, yeah?”
when kafka first set eyes on him, he’d had no idea this is the path he’d go tumbling down.
it starts with a simple job. jung rion, a high level hacker in his mentor’s circle, dashing in looks, charming in personality, so much so that for those who fall for stereotypes (and surely, most do) would never guess he spends his life in front of monitors, fingers tapping away, a conductor of codes and programs. when the job called for more technical finesse than kafka had, rion’s name was the first to come up. kafka had recognized the man’s handle as one who’d been on the other side of his communicator, feeding him info for other jobs. there, but not there, fitting for the title of ‘phantom’.
through working closely together and spending off hours shooting the shit, rion becomes something of a constant for him, a fellow shadow in night cast by moonlight. by the time kafka realizes he’s fallen for the man, it’s much too late to summon up all the reasons he shouldn’t feel anything-- the top two being that rion’s a womanizer and that he’s not interested in men. but the heart wants what it wants and if rion’s home planet is angel then he is zephyr, caught and stuck in his orbit.
he tries to stop. oh, does he try.
but nothing works, nothing helps to ease the pain in his heart, an ache ever present and agonizing, sometimes leaving him in a state of breathless his inhaler can't and doesn't help. desperate doesn't begin to describe how he feels right at this moment. is it really supposed to hurt this bad when you care for someone? are you supposed to live day to day, in an endless cycle of being hit back and forth over a net, stuck between feeling sorry for yourself, being mad at yourself, and feeling guilty for even feeling this way in the first place? is that what this feeling is supposed to cause you to feel?
he's not sure if he can handle it. he's tried his best to be happy, to show his support. he can't take seeing that glint in their eyes when they look at each other, thinking no one notices when they're nearly wearing a banner declaring it. rion, the man who could never be tied down, is so happy. ari is so happy. why can't he be happy for them? ari is a kind and plainspoken woman that never goes a moment without sneaking him drinks or food (“you’re too skinny! put some meat on your bones!”), forever endearing herself to him. and rion… he’s special in ways he can't begin to describe. why can't he just be happy for them gorrammit?
he's tried living rion’s previous life. he’s tried finding others, trapping himself in near claustrophobic clubs amidst a sea of writhing bodies, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, smoke and vague tinge of arousal, people lost to whatever music had been playing at the moment. he's shared kisses with strangers who tasted of everything from cheap whiskey to exotic cocktails, has let himself be pinned to a wall, hands not his own touching him in places he's only ever done so, places he's dreamt of a certain someone touching him. it hadn't helped. if anything, it made him sick, the urge to vomit rising up before he could stop it, body ripping away only for his feet to carry him briskly to the bathroom to purge. he's tried three different times. all with the same outcome.
tonight, he's decided to try something different, desperation high to take this feeling inside of him and place it elsewhere, anywhere else that won't make him feel like he's immolating. he's abused his contacts, his mentor's contacts, and found a doxy rumored to be pretty good. she's perfect, he's heard. all the allure and mannerisms of a companion for a low price and without the questions.
he stands in front of yet another club but this time, he turns, follows the path to the little building connected to it and around to the back as he'd been instructed by the woman on the phone. time he's in front of the door, hesitation wells within him, fist raised but struggling to meet the wood. his mind gives him a kind reminder of why he's there, flashes of the days prior, scene set with the three of them sitting at the bar counter of the cat’s eye, rion and ari and himself sharing a laugh about some purple belly ari had had kicked out. he recalls that meaningful gaze the two had shared, silent words he couldn't begin to wonder about being passed between the two.
the young thief knocks on the door.
he catches the sound of gentle footfalls, a sweet voice much like the one on the phone assuring him she's coming, and then the door is opening as he's greeted with the sight of long, dark hair, warm eyes and plump smiling lips, the body of the woman clothed in a red silken dress reminiscent of the kinds companions would wear. he feels his breath catch, words failing him for a moment, making him fumble, but he finds them again. "k-kafka-- i talked to you this morning." the words leave him in a rush, as does every ounce of energy his body contains but he keeps himself upright, keeps himself focused on his task.
no, she hadn't passed her training to be a companion and had drifted for a few years doing this and that before settling on this out of the way planet in this out of the way area. she'd become famous, in the way someone can become famous in such a small place. people know her name, whisper it among their circles of friends -- most good, some bad. she doesn't mind either, merely talk of her sets her aflame with pride.
it's rare, however, that she gets someone so out of the way, someone so clearly not of this planet, not of this area. she used to visitors from other places, but this boy seems different, especially how he carries himself on the phone -- professional yet unsure of himself. what an odd combination for her, but she's interested, even bumps the price down and claims it's time for her to offer a little special and she's happy to give her services for whatever the male requires of her.
so when there's a knock on her door while she's in the midst of lighting candles, she smiles sweetly. "coming, my sweet," she calls, blowing out the small stick she's using to light her candles. she heads over to the door and slowly opens it, smile in place for the young man. "kafka, yes. you have such a lovely voice... it's nice to see it suits you," she steps aside for him to come in. "tell me, my dear, what would you like of this night? you are paying for a full night with me, so it can be anything your heart desires."
kafka opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before finally snapping his lips shut and stepping forward, feet carrying him further inside and giving her room to close the door behind him. he looks around the area, admiring the pretty colors, the fabrics and way it's set up, the sight so reminiscent of something exotic like one would find on sihnon. his fingertips fiddle with his sweater sleeve, attention re-focusing on the woman. he recalls her question, stomach fluttering in the way it used to during his training with abraxas when he'd been learning to reign in his nerves. the thief doesn't normally feel nervousness anymore, mind too quick to want to just take in every little thing no matter where it may lead him, but he feels it now, standing in front of this woman, a beautiful woman, one unwholesome thought on his mind. "i..." he starts, mouth running dry, tongue feeling thick in his throat.
"i want... i want you to take my virginity..." he finally speaks. he's read stories on the cortex about people who pay for sex and find love in one night with a perfect stranger. he'd hoped to accomplish it in a club but it hadn't been possible so maybe coming to someone like a companion, someone who knows how to show love and affection to a multitude of people will help. maybe he can repair his heart properly if it shifts it's affections to her, someone who has likely seen a thousand other people, men and women alike, that he can't begin to compare to.
maybe if he breaks his own heart on his own terms, he can start feeling normal again.
Hey I'm looking for treasure, Can I look around your chest?
kafka raises a brow at the note he gets this time, head tilting to the side in confusion. he looks away from it and down to his torso, blinking slowly. logic dictates to him that it’s merely another pickup line, one emphasizing on the pun, but still he’s thrown off as to why his chest would be so nice to be considered a treasure.
he shakes his head after a moment, scrawling a quick note of ‘try a wooden one’, but then shoves the note in his pocket anyway after realizing that sounds as bad as the original note itself. he’ll just forget he ever saw it. yeah.
Ever since the moment I could walk, I have been telling people stories about myself; granted, some may have not been the most truthful, but at least they were entertaining.
kafka uses his foot to push off from the cool metal wall of his room, prompting himself to rock slowly in his hammock. he closes his eyes, tries to shut out all thoughts, all sounds except for the humming of serenity’s heart and inner workings, letting that become the lullaby to him. he’s having another restless night, an occasion for him that’s not rare in the least but which was multiplied after his involvement with argent, causing him to be plagued by nightmares (more of them), teaching him that there are some shadows he can’t call friend. even with argent dead now, however, he still can’t seem to regain what peace in sleep he did manage before. every inch of him stills feels on edge, still feels too active and buzzing with energy.
this effort doesn’t work either. he wishes he could say he’s surprised, but he’s not.
sighing heavily, accepting the defeat of the moment, he rolls out of his hammock, bare feet hitting the softness of the rug just under it. he pauses momentarily, gazes around his room, spacing out for a brief moment, before shrugging his shoulders and exiting his room altogether. as soon as he’s out, turns in the direction of the cargo bay, figuring he’ll walk the length of the ship and back and wander the halls until he feels more up for another go at sleep. if not, he’ll figure that part out when he reaches that point.
he reaches the cargo bay much sooner than he would’ve first thought, perhaps due to walking towards it in a bit of a daze, something not uncommon when sleep is evasive. once there, he catches the sound of grunting, of the soft ‘whoosh’ of movement, and he instantly ventures towards it to find none other than octavia practicing, sheath of her sword held firmly in her hands, brow creased in concentration and maybe the slightest bit of strain due to her still recovering from the injury in her shoulder, a thought that makes him grit his teeth and clench his fists, guilt washing over him all at the same time.
he releases it after a moment, however, lets it go and stands there watching her. even with the injury, she’s still as graceful as she’s ever been in any movement she makes, a fact that reminds him of the first time he met her on londinium… four years ago now. almost to the day. he grins at the revelation, bringing himself out of his thoughts to finally announce his presence, though he’s not doubtful in the least that she’s noticed him already. she always does.
“four years since we met noona.” he hums, moving closer but not too close, “how about a spar for celebration’s sake?”
kafka isn’t sure what causes him to seek neo out this particular day. he certainly hadn’t woken up that morning with the thought of doing so though he supposes seeing the man collect his breakfast and head back to his room had something to with it, guilt echoing along with the other man’s footsteps. neo has been off since sihnon, rightly so, and while he doesn’t want to be or sound self-important, as if his actions have been the cause of it… the fact of the matter is that they have. none of what happened would have happened had he been more forthcoming or have taken out argent when he first had the chance. he probably would have died in the process, but at least no one else would’ve gotten hurt because of his own decisions.
he searches around the ship for him before ever approaching neo’s door, partly to make sure he isn’t anywhere else and partly to buy himself time to think over his words, to formulate an apology that encompasses how sorry he truly feels. there’s nothing that will do it, not really, of that he’s completely certain. the only thing he can hope for in the end is that they can at least sustain a working relationship where personal feelings don’t come into play.
finding the man nowhere else, kafka’s feet carry him to neo’s room, hesitation brewing inside of him limbs, freezing and preventing him from knocking at first. he swallows thickly and knocks anyway because he’s avoided this for too long in the name of giving neo space. “neo? it’s me, kafka… can we talk?”
“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.”
kafka's heart has stopped inside of his chest one time too many in the past five or so hours, years shed off of his life a plenty and if he hadn't already been sure that he'd be lucky to live through another year most days, he'd be worried of never making it to thirty or even twenty-five. seeing the people he's come to call friends, family, go through something that could've been prevented if not for his own idiocy is something he'll truly regret and he won't have enough oxygen in a lifetime to breathe the apologies they deserve for the injuries and traumatization they've endured.
seeing jaewon fall had been one of the biggest blows.
the fact he's alive is of little comfort and when he swore silently to himself as a child to give a teen jaewon a hard time whenever they were around one another, kafka had no idea that it would transfer to now, that it would mean causing him nearly give his life up for his own stupid mistakes. this isn't what he wanted. it's not what he intended.
and though he's forever a satellite caught in jaewon's orbit, forever the shadow cast from his captain's sunlight, tries not to hover when mina carries the fallen, injured man to the medbay. he does his best to try and check on everyone, to get his own wounds (a series of bullet grazes on his legs and arms and face, bruises from throwing himself at people, at the ground, mental state more in tatters than anything) assist where he can even though he doesn't feel like it's nearly enough. eventually, however, he wanders over to where jaewon lies on one of the medbay's beds, machines beeping to alert him of the captain's slowly evening out heart rate, clean bandages growing pink already from catching staunching the blood flow, tension in his muscles, sweat on his face.
"gorram it jaewon..." he hisses under his breath, eyes watering and stinging with the onset of tears, chest tight in a vice grip, his fingers trembling as they reach out to touch jaewon's hand. he doesn't know whether to be happy he's alive, mad jaewon's in this condition (at both himself and the captain), or relieved it's over, that argent's dead and everyone is alive. "you're a mess..." he mumbles, squeezing jaewon's fingers with his own, "i'm so so sorry..."
