Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn stared down at her food as she listened to Cyril. She would need to finish it, wouldn't she? It seemed like it would be rude to just not eat it all, and it was her first time at a fancy restaurant like this, after all. Maybe if she just had little bites?

But that thought was swiftly banished as Cyril finished speaking, and she tilted her head. "You're right, that is weird."

She thought a moment, trying to remember everything the woman had said to her in their brief meeting. What was that line...?

"Well, she didn't seem very...Euseran." Well, not that she really knew any Euserans, but she'd read interviews and watched their TV, and that was more than enough for her.

Ah, that's what it was. I’m a big fan of the way you blow shit up and don’t murder people. She tapped a finger a few times on the table, took a stupidly rich bite, chewed, swallowed. "She's one of the only people that told me i did the right thing by not...ending the duel," she finished lamely.

"Still," she continued after choking down another bite of food and doing a surprisingly good job at looking like she wasn't choking it down, "she was so cheerful. I can't imagine why people wouldn't want to have her on."

Another bite, and then a piece of potato to wash the taste down. She rolled her neck back and forth, trying to work out the tired kinks in it without looking too obtrusive and thinking about what Cyril had said before. God, she was so stiff. Guess that was what she got for getting next to no sleep, she thought. "We should spar sometime," she said without warning, "either on sims or in the gym. What time—"

Wait, that was right, Casoban was less tightly scheduled, right? She hastily amended herself, "are you going to the gym sometime tomorrow? Or later today, maybe?"

Amygdala Circuit

As she mulled over what Cyril said, something in particular caught her attention, something that brought a small confused frown to her face. But before she could voice that concern, the waiter returned with the food. And as soon as the cover was lifted—so fancy!—her eye went as wide as a full moon. It was like nothing she'd ever seen. Well, online or on TV, sure, but never in person, never anything like this. It was just...

So occupied was she in staring at it that she jolted when she realized Cyril had already started eating, and she hastened to do the same. She picked up her knife, and...

Which fork should she use?

She opened her mouth to ask, but Cyril seemed occupied chewing, and it would just be awkward. So instead she attempted to surreptitiously peer at the fork he was using. Okay, it was the larger one on the right. Feeling anxious about her table manners, she took care to cut a slice of the hen and get a bit of the truffle and "foie gras" on the fork, then dipped it in the "jus," that was what she was supposed to do, right? And then finally conveyed it to her mouth, looked at it one last time, and took a tentative bite.

"..."

She wasn't exactly sure what she was expecting.

Oh, it was delicious. There wasn't even room to argue with that. It really did just taste like nothing else she'd ever eaten in her life. But...that was also partially why she was almost a little bit...uncomfortable, even. She blinked a few times, staring at the newly-empty fork with her brow furrowed, then realized that Cyril was asking her a question, and was also looking at her with something like concern. Oh. Right. She was staring at her fork, and still had food in her mouth. Swallowing hastily, she gave a halfhearted "Sorry, it's just...it's a little much," and carefully placed the fork on the plate before she took a long drink of water.

Only then did she continue the conversation, voice a little clearer. Tilting her head up to the ceiling, she tried to remember the first time she'd gotten in Ablaze, the disastrous phase test, and the second time, to pull her weapon to...

Oh. Oh, wow.

She hadn't even realized that..."I, uh, my duel with Roaki was, um," she mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious, "it was, um, the third time I...ever connected. It was mostly just...a lot of sims." It really did come naturally, didn't it?

Of course it did, a feeling inside her seemed to say from deep down, it's what we were made to do. Quinn...didn't really know how she felt about that. She didn't think Besca would like it.

She gave her head a quick shake and switched topics back to that first thing Cyril had said, before the food arrived. Spearing a chunk of potato on her fork, she held it in the air for a moment as she cocked her neck, face writ with confusion. "The Dane lady? You mean Firebrand? Axan, I think it was?" She bit down on the potato, and a little smile stole over her face. Now that she could eat. Chewed, swallowed. Took a drink. And when she spoke again, her voice was pure confusion:

"But she was so good! She saved my life, she mulched two Modir like it was nothing, she even sounded like she was having fun! What do you mean, she doesn't even get interviews?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn gave an emphatic shake of the head and opened her mouth to answer, only to be hear a sudden unseen voice coming from her right and jump in her chair, whipping her head around like a startled cat to see a young woman, dressed in a beautiful black and gold dress that made Quinn swell with a new emotion after the nerves had left her body: jealousy. She still had zip formal clothing, she was reminded, and Casoban was a place where, it would seem, pilots needed a closetful.

She wanted a dress like that. She wanted it so bad.

She wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, not really. She understood the concept of theater but she'd obviously never seen any, especially not live. So instead of trying to follow what they were talking about, Quinn instead sat back and examined how they were talking about it.

Casoban was still so new to her, there were many things she didn't understand. But she definitely knew what it looked like when people met a celebrity. It reminded her of Tillie a little bit. Not as high energy—that would be hard—but new newly-named Claire had a bit of that same look in her eyes. When she dismissed herself, it was a good thing she didn't say anything to Quinn, because she quite frankly had no idea what she would say back to her.

Still, the image of her and Cyril talking together twinged something inside her. Maybe she should learn a little modiology so she could talk to Tillie better. That was an interesting idea. Tillie was proof that there were good modiologists too.

With Claire gone, Cyril spoke to her again, and she shook her head at the assertion he was rude before he continued and she cocked her head, as though she didn't totally understand and her mind needed a second to catch up.

"I..." The words caught in her throat a bit and she had to force them out: "I wouldn't really know. The only time I've been planetside for more than a few minutes since Hovvi—" her voice shook, nearly cracked, but held, and she silently congratulated herself, "—was during the duel, and then this one talk show that I had to leave in the middle of."

Glancing around to see if anybody was nearby and thankful that the hostess had brought them to tables that weren't so close to the rest in the restaurant, she lowered her voice a bit. Cyril was one thing, he was a fellow pilot, but if Casoban wanted to casually forget about the entire messy ordeal she'd caused, then she was in no hurry to remind them. "Not even all the people on the Aerie like me. Some are still mad about...you know, Roaki, all that stuff...because they thought I'd lost us you and doomed Runa."

She gave a sad little laugh and looked up at how the golden light of the tree holograms wove together under her head. "I don't think I'm very popular at all."

Amygdala Circuit

As she crunched into another piece of bruschetta, Quinn closed her eye and let Cyril's words wash over her and felt a leaden ball of tension in her stomach that she hadn't known she had disappear to be replaced with that sunny feeling of pride. Pride, because she'd saved people. Pride, because people felt safe with her around. And if they felt safer with her there, it meant she was finally starting to live up to the title Ablaze.

She shook her head, flicking the last of the bewilderment away. She didn't fully smile, not really; but a faint hint of one lingered around the edges of her lips.

Her voice was quiet as she replied, "Thank you."

And of course, that was the perfect time for the maître de to come back to the table, and for Quinn to realize with a cold shock down her spine that though she'd opened the menu, she'd read almost none of it, and now he was looking at her, because it was obviously her turn to order. Five minutes ago she might've shrank down and gave a tiny "sorry," but she was feeling much better, all told, and so she just gave him an apologetic look and rapidly flipped through the menu, trying to settle on something as fast as she could and beating down the anxiety that tried to get in the way. Seafood, pastas, meats, poultry—ah, that looked good. And fancy. It was her first time eating at an upscale place, she reasoned; she could get something nice.

"I think," she started, glancing up at him and suddenly very aware that she did in fact have an accent, "the, uh, guinea hen stuffed with fois gras and truffle?" She looked across the table at Cyril, almost as though to ask whether or not she made a good choice, but, well, the choice was made. All she could do now was see if she liked whatever foie gras was. "Si'l vous plait," she added, almost as an afterthought, hoping that she at least got the pronunciation right.

Amygdala Circuit

The first thought Quinn had when the woman saw them, screamed, and dropped her things was not uncertainty or excitement at being seen by the civilians that were even now gathering around the two of them. It was not fear on how people in the Ange would see her, how hostile they would be after the multiple international headaches Quinn had personally caused them. It wasn't in fact anything related to piloting or politics at all. Her first thought, superseding all of it, was: that sounded expensive. She winced sympathetically, before that one shriek morphed into another, then another, then a whole crowd of people surrounding them in a blur.

For just a heart-stopping moment when the crowd gathered and the shouting started, Quinn tensed up and—forgetting just for the briefeest moment where she was and who she was with—shied back, hiding behind Cyril like she usually did Dahlia, face writ with trepidation.

Then a moment later when she realized the shouts were encouraging and not disparaging, she realized what she'd done and returned the gap between the two to normal in time for Cyril to dart off to shake someone's hand, a flush coloring her face. After the fear and shock wore off, a different yet familiar expression came to her face, one she'd worn more than usual today: stunned bewilderment, as the crowd around her cheered her name. As if from a long way away, a voice echoed back through her head: Casoban might not like her because of her association with me, but...what would she ever have to gain from that? Didn't Casoban have a grudge on her because of the whole Roaki thing? Why were they cheering for her like she really was CSC and not just on loan?

It didn't make sense, she thought, lifting a hand towards the crowd in an almost dazed wave, hearing the excitement swell as she and Cyril continued walking around the periphery, in view of the fountain. Quinn found herself peering at it as they walked, trying to make out the details of its the elaborate carvings, such a far cry from the umbrella tree back on the Aerie. It was a bit too far away for Quinn to make it out in its entirety as much as she tried, but she resolved to go back and give it a proper examination after lunch. It looked gorgeous, even from this far away.

The crowd followed them—in a reduced state, of course—until they reached Lumière d’Or, Cyril shared a few words with the hostess, and they plunged inside. Quinn exhaled right along with Cyril, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath for almost a minute now, and placed a hand on her chest as it grew mercifully quiet. They wended their way through the luxurious interior, Quinn's eye wide as a full moon as she took in the sheer fanciness of the place. Never had she seen anything quite like this. Not in real life. The tree holograms held it the most, even distracting her from the people that watched them as they moved.

When they finally sat, Quinn let slip a relaxed sigh. The relief didn't last for long, however; before she even opened the menu, the was blindsided by a place setting the likes of which she'd never seen. Three plates. Three forks. Three spoons and three cups. Two knives. She blinked at it, reaching out a tentative hand and fiddling with them like they were going to bite her. So intent was she in her examination that when Cyril started talking again, she jumped and made a soft eep of alarm before smoothing herself down again. Following his example, she opened the menu, cracking a smile as he mentioned wanting to try everything. Maybe she'd follow his example; there were more restaurants on the Ange, she was sure, than she could even imagine.

When bread and "bruschetta" were brought to the table, she took a slice and nibbled on it as Cyril talked. A lot. She waited until he was finished before she swallowed the mouthful of bread, garlic and tomato and replied, embarrassed and pleased and uncomfortable at how much he seemed to think of her, and still in some variety of shock at how much people seemed to like her. So her reply was probably not exactly what he'd been looking for:

"The crowd out there, I, um...I thought Casoban hated me?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn opened her mouth to answer it felt like a few times, but it was so hard to get a word in edgewise through Cyril and Sybil's conversation. Well...mostly through Cyril, really. And by the time there was a break in the conversation again, the older girl had gone.

Fine dining, huh?

"Well, I've...I haven't ever eaten anywhere fancy before or anything," she admitted, feeling almost embarrassed for a reason that she couldn't really understand. "The Aerie is a lot less..." she fumbled for the proper wording and came up empty, then gave a kind of helpless shrug, "Well, it's just less. So I don't really know how."

Quinn knew very little about formal dining; mostly just what she'd seen in movies and stuff back when she was living with her parents. Too many forks, more spoons than were needed...a blurry mess that she didn't know if she would ever understand, or if she really even wanted to. it just sounded so prescribed, and it really rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. She knew that she never would've done it back on the Aerie.

But at the same time, she'd...well, she wasn't on the Aerie, because the Aerie was the RISC base, and for the next few weeks, she was CSC. She blinked hard a few times, then breathed in a long, gentle breath. She needed to get used to this kind of thing, right? She was a pilot, after all. This wouldn't be the first time she needed to be fancy.

Plus, she was still pretty hungry.

"But if you don't mind too bad, then...yeah, I'll come. I haven't eaten all day."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's heart gave a painful squeeze at the mention of her mother, but she took one long, deep breath, and the pressure inside of her that always swelled when she thought about her family lowered. I am a pilot. They can't reach me ever again. If they're even alive. The urge to panic rose again, but once more, she mercilessly crushed it down to rest at a simmer, or perhaps even a low boil. But with some effort, she held the steam inside and crushed it down until it was just a painful lump of lead in her chest. They can never touch me again. There was a vague feeling from deep within her that suggested Quinnlash was helping to press it down too, but she wasn't totally sure.

She couldn't just run away from the memories for the rest of her life. So carefully, cautiously, she took the lid off the pot, and tried to remember.

"Um," she started, taking a pair of yellow hair ties from Cyril's hand and distractedly braiding it as she thought. It was nice; gave her something to do with her hands, so they weren't so obviously trembling. He was just so fast. It was hard for Quinn's words to catch up to his, especially when she was shoving everything down so hard. And shove them down hard she did. "I think my...my mom used to speak a little, here and there. I don't remember it very well, just a few things like merci, bonne nuit, s’il vous plait, that kind of thing."

She closed her eye briefly, biting the inside of her cheek until she could taste iron. Actively trying to remember was like peeling off the world's biggest, stickiest bandaid. Her voice was always kind of tense, but there was a tautness there now that hadn't been there before, and by the time she'd finished speaking she had to fight to keep a harsh stuttering tremble out of it. So she jumped at an opportunity to talk about anything else.

"Yeah, I wear it like this in the cockpit." She snapped the two elastics on at the end of the renewed, pristine braid to keep it in place and shook her head a few times to settle it. Her hands weren't even shaking anymore. "I drop it over the back of the chair and it's heavy enough that it doesn't come undone." Then, defying the heat that she could feel inevitably building behind her eye, a smile came to her face; a small, thin thing, but genuine despite the slight tremble. "You would not believe how much conditioner I go through."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn blinked a few times at the hand that was thrust down at her, staring first at it, then at Cyril, an odd, almost apprehensive expression on her face. Another blink or two, though, and she shook her head, grabbing his hand and letting it pull her to her feet. So these were the two siblings that had been there, the ones that were whispering to each other. She looked between them. It was kind of hard to believe they were actually siblings. They just could not be more different. And she couldn't really liken them to anyone—maybe Cyril was a bit like Tillie? He seemed energetic and friendly, but she didn't really know what to make of Sybil.

She winced as her back suddenly popped; a few assorted aches and pains were reverberating through her, and she grimaced as she felt a particularly tender spot around her collarbone where she'd smacked into the padding extra hard maybe twenty or so attempts ago, and just continued aggravating it with each further attempt. That's going to bruise for sure.

Another moment of silence before she realized that she was being rude just staring at the two of them and jolted. "Oh! I'm—uh, sorry about that, it's been a bit of a long day. I'm, um, Quinnlash Loughvein—but you knew that already, I, um," she grappled with her words for a moment more before she finished with a quiet "You can call me Quinn." She reached back to stroke her braid nervously, then suddenly realized it was feeling...loose.

She looked down and behind herself, and her eye widened slightly when she realized her braid was already half undone. The elastic was gone. She must not have even noticed while she was bonking her face against the padding. It wasn't completely unplaited yet, but it was already starting to lower; she could feel it starting to brush along her thigh. This was not how she wanted to introduce herself to the station. Not bad, just awkward. A quick glance showed no trace of her hair tie on the mats.

She glanced back at the Derisas, with a kind of lopsided, hopeful half-smile. "Sorry, really, it's not much of an introduction. But do either of you see my elastic anywhere? Or, maybe have a spare?" Another one of those silent moments as she started over towards the course to look more thoroughly, trying her best to keep her hair in some semblance of order so it didn't fall all the way down to her knees, as well as keep her eye mostly turned to them. "It's, uh, nice to meet you! And sorry, again!"

Amygdala Circuit

As soon as she walked into the rec room, Quinn's mouth fell open. It was just...so much more. Quinn's standard for a large space was the Central Plaza of the Aerie; the big tree sprouting in the middle, the restaurants off of it, it was just the largest open place that she could think of at that moment.

This was nothing like that. Or, more accurately, that was nothing like this.

Twice the size? More? It was insanely enormous. She could barely even see the whole way down it. Boxing, fencing, Painting, theater...she paced through it, oddly conscious of the echoes of her footsteps as she went, looking back and forth, taking notes of the things that she was interested in. Mostly the boxing ring. She didn't know any real rules of formal boxing, but she did like sparring, and having that there suggested that it was at least a possibility.

And then, as she passed through these compartments, she finally came to the installation that dominated the room: a tremendous obstacle course. She stared, entranced; she'd never actually run an obstacle course, there was just no space on the Aerie. Still, she'd always wanted to. Her stomach growled again, and yet she found that it held no sway over her anymore, as she paced down further, trying to find the start of the course.

It took her almost ten minutes to walk all the way to the end of the room, and finally to find the first obstacle: a sloping ramp that led up to a hanging rope with which to swing over a broad gap. Beside the entrance stood a white bucket full of equally white dust: chalkdust, she realized, for grip. Patting her hands in it, she brushed them together until she felt about right. Then, walking back, she aligned herself up for a nice, solid run up. She took a deep breath.

Then she dashed forward, leaped from the ramp, grasped her hands around the rope, and...

"Oof!"

...Landed an epic faceplant on the platform in front of her before falling to the padded mats underneath.

Well, that didn't work.

Rubbing her nose and shaking her head, she scrambled to her feet again, walked back, and prepared for another run, eye narrowed and jaw clenched in determination. Hopping a bit to get her blood flowing, she ran, jumped, and...

"Oof!"

...Faceplanted again. Well, at least this time she got her arms over the edge, saw the fragmented balance beams that composed the next obstacle. That was progress right? Once again, she leapt up, ready to go again.

She was going to make this rope jump if it killed her.

Amygdala Circuit

The door slid shut behind her, and—forgetting for a moment that she was carrying luggage—Quinn simply stared.

This was insane.

She understood now why she could choose to ship furniture up here. Because this room was so huge that, frankly, Quinn had no idea what to do with it. It was almost incomprehensible to her that the entire space was hers and hers alone.

Then she remembered she was carrying heavy bags, lugged them over to the unbelievably massive bed, and plunked them down next to it. She heaved a long sigh as she realized that there was no dresser. Well, at least it was a way to test how the furniture ordering worked. No longer burdened by the weight of her bags, she explored the room more fully now, diving into the bathroom and simply...staring. Again. Then she turned, looking back and forth between the bathroom and the main room. With these two combined, it was like the entire dorm facility as a whole back on the Aerie was now hers.

Oh, there was another room next to the bathroom? Peeking in, she realized it was a closet. One closet. One closet the size of pretty much her entire room back home. All she could really muster looking at it was a stunned astonishment. Oh, wait, that was right; she'd put her bags down next to the bed, but why bother have them there when there was this enormous closet? She trotted back and picked the handles up again, dragging them over until she could get them entirely in the ridiculously huge closet before dropping them again.

As she went back into the main room and across to the wall with the big seam dominating it, she pressed the button curiously. Then she jolted backwards as the entire wall opened up, revealing a window into the gaping void of space.

In her room back home, that jolt backwards might have taken her almost halfway across. But here, it was barely a step into the enormous cream and beige cavern. Squeezing her eye shut a few times as though not believing what she was really seeing, she eventually turned, walked back across the massive area, and walked over to the kitchen. It wasn't as fully featured as the kitchen in the lounge back home, but, then again, this was in her private dorm. She'd seen a sign pointing directly to a kitchen back in the hallway, meaning that there was an entire room dedicated only to cooking. The idea filled her with both dread and wonder.

She fiddled with each of the devices as she passed by; beeped a few of the buttons on the microwave, pressed and unpressed the toaster, flipped on and off the hot plate, and opened up the fridge—

—in which she found a four pack of bottles, liquid inside a colored a dusty pale green. She knew what it was, even before she saw the label: yuzu soda.

In ordinary circumstances, she would have immediately grabbed and popped open a bottle. But in this particular circumstance, she just closed the fridge, stood up, and stepped slowly backwards, trying to breathe. It was like one of those fancy high class hotels she used to see on the Internet, only even more luxurious, and she was living here.

As she stood there in stunned silence, she noticed...just how quiet it truly was. It had been quiet before, everywhere here was quiet, but the rustle of her bags, the drone of their wheels against the floor, and her footsteps had distracted from it, stopped her from realizing how it truly all-encompassing it was. Her jaw tightened, and she felt a new anxiety stirring inside her. Even when the dorm back home was at its quietest, there was always something, some level of white noise in the distance. But here...

She was choking on the silence.

Then it was shattered by her stomach making a loud, angry rumble. She nearly jumped at the sound of it, and then nearly laughed. Oh. That was right. Hungry.

She walked over to the door and found that it had shut completely behind her. Her stomach curdled. The space was so big that she didn't feel that same kind of trapped, not really, but still, being closed in like this when it was just so quiet...

She noticed a button beside the door, and pressed it, hopeful. To her muted relief, the door slid open in front of her. At least she wouldn't have to shove it open on her own every time. She beat a hasty retreat, and heard it slide shut again behind her. Only when she stopped to take a breath did she realize that her hands were clenched into tight white fists by her side. Another long sigh as she forced them to relax.

She retraced her steps a little way, until she returned to the door labeled AUTO WALKWAY. She paused again, still shaken, and took three long, deep breaths. Toussaint had said that the recreational rooms and stuff were beyond this, right? There was no point not exploring them now; she'd come back to see that gym and stuff later.

Breaths taken, she slid open the door and stepped inside.