Professional Rivalries
"You may not believe it, Kerubim, but I did shed a tear or two when I heard that he'd been killed." Kerubim glanced upwards sharply at his superior's words, gaze flicking towards the vice admiral as reflected back at him in the mirror-backing of the bar. "Sir?" "When I heard that he'd died in the Battle of Mare Erythraeum." Seraph sighed softly, as he drained the last dregs from his glass and set it aside somewhat clumsily, slouched in his chair, gazing out at the lights of the city below him. Kerubim said nothing as he moved to his superior's side, catching up the emptied glass in his free hand even as he held out another vodka and tonic to the Vice Admiral. He couldn't help a momentary glance over the man, it was rare that Seraph allowed anyone, even Kerubim, to see him devoid of the makeups and prosthetics, the dyes and the polarized eye colors, just in his base state as a pale, flawless blank canvas of a man. "I shed a few tears because that's a terrible way for a man like Ackerson to go," Seraph continued, taking a sip of his drink with a nearly imperceptible nod of thanks to his most devoted subordinate. "Men like he and I should die at the hands of someone... artful, someone as skilled and cagey an opponent as the other, or as the result proper of a coup organized by the two of us. For him to die at the hands of the thrice-damned Covenant is just... unsettling and upsetting." "But wasn't it, technically, the result of a coup, Seraph?" "Yes and no," Seraph sighed, pale eyes tracking a departing shuttle, like a shooting star returning to the skies. "Either way, I'd rather that coup have gone... differently, that he'd been able to die with some semblance of dignity instead of at the mercy of those barbaric aliens." "... Are you quite alright, Seraph?" The question escaped Kerubim before he'd even realized he wanted to ask it. "Tonight, I'm as far from it as I could be," He replied softly, regarding his glass for a moment before draining it. "Another, forget the tonic, just the vodka. I'm in a morose mood and I feel the need to drink until I can't feel feelings anymore." "Aye aye, sir." "Kerubim?" "Yes, sir?" "You do realize you're the closest thing I have to a friend on equal footing, yes?" "Sir..." "Entertain me, for five minutes, Kerubim. Pretend that what I'm saying holds some meaning to you beyond the drunken ramblings of your superior." "Aye aye, sir. No, I didn't know that." "It's true. You're the closest thing I have to a friend, the closest thing to someone I can trust." Kerubim remained silent as he returned with his superior's drink, and one for himself, standing at his side as he sipped at it slowly and listened. "Hell, you're the closest thing I have to an equal now that he's gone." "... Is that why you wish things had gone differently?" "Of course it is," Seraph sighed softly. "Had things followed their proper course, the culmination of our professional rivalry would have been the death of one, both, or the burying of the hatchet between the two of us, but... now there's no chance to know. Not really." A silence fell between the two men, before Kerubim finally asked the question that was on his mind. "... You never intended him to die in this coup, did you, sir?" "... No." Seraph replied softly, taking a sip from his glass. "No, I never intended it." "... What did you-" "It's been five minutes, da?" Seraph's terse tone made Kerubim snap to attention as he nodded, knowing that he'd crossed a line without even meaning to. "Yes, sir. Another drink?" "Bring the bottle."
