Heavy In Your Arms: Sword Sybil AU because I’m gay. While contained within it, Sybil Reisz is newly aware of just how large the Transistor is. Along with apologies for numerous other mistakes, she apologizes for the size of the weapon and constantly checks in to make sure Red’s shoulders aren’t hurting too much from carrying her around all the time. Despite how much of a mess the situation is, Red can’t help finding it cute that Sybil can’t stop worrying about the small comforts even now.
Siren Song: Sybil Reisz, just a step away from being fully processed, is haunted by the last song Red ever wrote for her. Her memories become more vivid as her physical form becomes less distinct, and in the end she finds herself trying to sing along as her voice breaks and fades into a staticy shadow of its former self.
Some time later, in the Country, Sybil hears the song again. This time, it’s more than a memory. And when she sings along, her voice is crystal clear.
Yes, I know buying a car is one of the worst investment a person can do, but from this spring and on I will really need one. I believe this black pearl from 2011 will do the magic. #myfirstcar #volvo #XC90 #rseries #rebil #roadtrip #dalarnaimitthjärta (hier: Falun, Sweden)
Word count: 895
Pairing: Red/Sybil
Note: I received the prompt a while ago and just finished it recently thanks to the new song.
“Prompt - red and Sybil have a passionate love affair, both having to keep it from their closest friends I.e the camerata and boxer”
In the silence between soirée and sundown they found smiles and stolen kisses. Sybil couldn’t embrace her singer after performances where eager crowds and a diligent bodyguard clamored for attention, Red’s eyes on them, validation, recognition, safety, and more.
There was nothing particularly safe about their liaisons. Two public figures courting each other also courted the attentions of the press and potentially career-ruining scandal. Sybil Reisz and her precious singer could meet for luncheons and tea in quaint cafes while sharing secret smiles, but the real assignations had to wait for when other eyes turned away.
In soundproofed recording rooms Red tightened her grip on platinum curls and traded hungry kisses with her lover. She wrote lyrics bursting at the seams with passion, intimacy, and mysteries, then sang them for ravenous audiences who devoured and begged for more. In the front row sat Sybil, beaming and keeping her peace with the restless listeners. She would let the world hear her lover’s songs. Red’s beguiling voice was too powerful to be consigned to quiet rooms and solitary ears.
Cloudbank demanded its tribute, and the woman in gold filled its stages with melodies to clench the hearts of a million. When the last beats faded away, thunderous applause roared through the Empty Set like a tsunami. It morphed into something more than the people bringing their hands together; the rumble shuddered over the stage as if the building spoke to Red, saying: I am pleased.
-
While the two of them together were smart enough to fool the press, their close friends weren’t so easily diverted. Mistakes had to happen eventually, and someone would be tipped off. A pair of silken underwear like liquid gold, left in a crumpled heap on Sybil’s bed, sparked Royce’s curiosity when he visited the facilities during a meeting. He walked into the middle of the Kendrells’ planning with a spindly thumb rubbing against the smooth lingerie. “Sybil, you… ah, left this.” Her red face and lightning-fast reflexes caused the architect to blink as Asher snorted, leaving her to stalk off with the telltale panties. After they’d closed the plans and sent back stray Process, Grant offered to walk her home. This was presumably to badger her about the incident.
“If you’re seeing someone, you know we’ll be fine with whoever you choose,” came his familiar rumble. “We’ve been, well, I’ve been waiting for you to settle down with a partner for years. You’re a woman of the people, Sybil, and you love intensely.”
“There’s nothing to tell about the situation. I’m happy where I am, partner or no partner.” Her lips pursed in a moue of annoyance. “Rest assured, if I ever do decide to have a serious significant other, then I’ll make sure she believes in our cause.”
“I don’t believe in taking the reins here, Sybil. What I do is for myself. For Cloudbank. Cloudbank in the metaphorical sense, and not the people sense like it is for you.” Burning lips left a bruising mark on Sybil’s skin, making her gasp and tremble. “You shine for everyone.”
“I shine for you,” the blonde promised. “Only you, Red.”
Grant couldn’t know. He’d certainly want to use the songstress. Sybil certainly did: if Red had even once shown a hint of an inclination to be more political about Cloudbank, she’d have immediately invited her lover to join them. Red never showed interest in overhauling the city by force, even if it was for the better.
No. It would be better to keep her out of the way. Let her sing uninterrupted, as a bright spark of hope for meaningful change.
-
The Camerata’s suspicions were nothing compared to Red’s… bodyguard. Sybil always wondered what his Selections were. He seemed to have a sharp eye, a quick tongue, and no compunctions about making her feel as unwelcome as possible. She could see the look in his eyes when he watched over her singer, and understood him better than he might have guessed. Few could avoid the siren-call of Red’s songs, to start. When one managed to get close, she also showed quiet intelligence and easy grace; her self-assuredness made her a pleasure to be around.
He was half in love with her already, of course. Sybil had been in that position once, too. Nevertheless, the socialite made sure he stayed out of the way. He’d never be dear enough to Red for her to care what he felt. And somehow, Sybil couldn’t muster up anything but satisfaction for his thwarted romantic intentions.
-
…Before the green dawn Sybil dreamed of pattering rain and puddles. Her forehead was tucked between Red’s chin and the pillow, giving her enough darkness to continue dozing. Something about the way they meshed in a warm, sprawling tangle of smooth silk and skin sent an incredible ache through her ribs and into her chest. Soon her other half would wake and take the shuttle back to Highrise.
One arm slid around her back to sink slender fingers into pale hair. Red shifted closer as her breathing lightened, seeking warmth in the chilly pre-morning dimness, and Sybil synchronized her own breath into slow, quiet inhales.
She could handle this. The situation might be precarious, but she knew how to walk along the edge and come out unscathed. There had to be a way to keep both Red and her plans for Cloudbank.
Word count: 750
Pairing: Red/Sybil
Note: A small piece for a guilty ship.
The balcony from the Terrace Apartments could have overlooked the bay, if it weren’t for the number of buildings that crowded the view. From rounded fence posts that hemmed in the greenery up top one could gaze down into the streets below and plot a route, even if it would be quite a walk to get down to the piers and canals.
Cloudbank floated and thrived on top of the sea; water flowed like lifeblood through its brightly lit arteries and veins. One could hardly move fifteen blocks before meeting a canal or a fountain, Sybil mused mutely as she leaned forward. Of course, boat rides did horrifying things to her carefully combed hair, so she barely got to experience the thrill of zipping around on a personal watercraft.
Sybil heard a rustling of leaves as her companion stepped from the glowing entryway of the apartment to stand at her side. Her shoulders slumped an inch as she dropped the pensive expression for a relaxed smile.
“There’s no need to raise the facade, Sybil.” This female voice was low and pleasant; she’d once likened it to honey that could instantly switch from warm and flowing to cool and crystallized. “There has to be a time when you can be yourself. And if not with me, then when?”
“It’s not always an act,” came the easy reply, “and certainly not when you’re involved.” Technically truth. There was little need to hide herself around the other woman, or at least not any more. Red had always seen through the event planner when she put on her best semblance of sociability. “Really,” Sybil continued airily, “you’re one of the few I can be myself around. It’s nice to not be the Visible Host all the time.” The smile flickered like an open flame before steadying.
A sigh lost itself in a breeze that flew past, then one arm settled around the blonde’s lower back. “You’re never invisible to me. Not who you really are.” Red’s chin nestled into pale curls in the growing gloom, her presence so near that her warmth eclipsed the glow from the golden door. Something about the singer shifted Sybil’s world very slightly, as if the rising tide swept along her beach then receded to pull off the clutter that usually littered it. Her course of life had been irrevocably altered, bent out of shape and fixed into a new course of gravity, one that waxed and waned with Red’s company.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered to the streets below. Red could see through her, in a way that made her squirm uncomfortably with the rawness of exposure. And yet they were together. There had to be something in little Sybil Reisz, subjective Sybil Reisz, that drew the songstress to her above others. Something good in her that she herself couldn’t conceive, perhaps. Someday Red would tell her.
When her elbows grew tired of resting on the fence posts Sybil straightened to face the entrance. That meant Red had to stop leaning over, but she easily moved to rest on the socialite’s front. “Dearest, I can’t lean here or I’ll have a permanent groove in me,” Sybil admonished. At her lover’s pout she conceded, “But we can stay here a little longer.”
Her arms fit snugly around her singer’s waist, making the inches between them seem like nothing. The amber light tangled itself in Red’s hair from this angle then set it aflame in radiance. Those who attended her concerts would never see her with soft smudges at the corner of her eyes from removing her makeup, would never know she went out in a simple nightgown and bare feet, would never hear her turn off the light at midnight and set down her book as Sybil scooted closer between the sheets. Even for her partner’s sake the singer barely gave out information on herself. It wasn’t easy to set aside her questions and analyzing, but when around Red one had to live in the moment.
And that moment, right now, was flawless.
Except for the metal digging into her back. With a shimmy upward Sybil attempted to find a better position as Red chuckled into her collarbone. Her lips thinned and she rolled her eyes, which meant she missed the movement from below until a sinfully soft mouth met her own. The best response to that, of course, was to pull her lover up so they could share a proper kiss. They had the night to themselves, after all.
Royce leaned over to peer at the music player. “Who is it?”
Sybil took a breath. She didn’t answer immediately. The voice washed over her, filled all her empty spaces, rose and fell and rose again in her chest like the waves that surrounded her Sandbox: crashing, crashing, crashing.
Finally, she answered. Softly. Eyes closed.
“Our next candidate.”
Summary:
Takes place during the game disappearances; contains mostly Rebil/Camerata headcanons, and angst.
Notes:
I...I finally finished...my Transistor fic series -collapses in a weeping heap-
This fic fits between preprocess() and start(). The first isn’t a requirement to this one. This story contains SPOILERS for the second. (If that matters. I mean I guess we all kinda know where this is going)
Anyway, I have to be real with you, the pacing of this whole thing is kinda weird. I blame it on the fact that it's a little more "wish-fulfillment" than the other fics in this series, in the sense that I really just focused more on my enjoyment of writing and exploring Sybil's character, rather than telling something totally coherent or elegant.
And with all that being said...if you take the time to read, I hope you enjoy :)
