Was she in the right?
Nymphs were capable of surviving competently without dawdling in the ecstasies of caffeine. However, as she sauntered through the hollow corps’ halls alongside her bemused colleague, she felt particularly deviant as she took a shameless swig of steamed coffee. Much to her associate’s displeasure, she wore a puckish grin that lit up her pale yet pristine face, blemished by murky sacks under emerald eyes. She felt fulfilled, even if she was being forcibly torn away from the norm she had relished.
“Freed from loads of workload”—her colleague pointed two long fingers towards her porcelain mug—”and you’re still pumping yourself up with coffee? Weren’t you wiser than this?”
“If it’s any consolation, Willo, I won’t be attending tonight’s dinner as a zombie,” the dryad retorted abruptly, swaying the beverage delightedly, which seemed to lack even an ounce of shame for her to guzzle.
Willo simpered to himself at the response, stroking his bearded stubble smugly as he heeded to the dishevelled clump that was her office attire. It was concerning how accustomed he was to this.
“Well, the state you are in is cutting it close to a zombie in the organization department—”
“I’ll change—”
“On top of that, uh, caffeine doesn’t stimulate you guys as much as—”
“It’s a guilty pleasure…”
“I knew I should’ve torn it away from you ever since you started doing overtime,” he groaned, facepalming his tan forehead as he slumped with regret. “You’re gonna turn into my Pops.”
The dryad peered at the male cheekily, the soft croaks of the last remnants of coffee being released as she removed her empty cup from her chin.
“Last one.” She beamed at Willo with a mature, childlike innocence that put into question if she possessed the slightest intention to end a tireless habit. “The feeling of a stimulant makes me more focused on my work, regardless of how effective it is—”
“It’s… honestly commendable how much you work; heck, you’ve been at it for a few decades—”
“Yes.”
“Even before the SPC was formed, you were a hard-working machine during the drawing board phases—”
“You’re most welcome,” the nymph crooned, the ivory sleekness of her robotic right fingertips flipping her cinnamon bangs flamboyantly. “I’ve watched over you for who knows how long, so by default, you should already be quite grateful to me—”
“You sound more humble than you should be, and no, I will be roasting you, rest assured.” the male replied half-jokingly.
She pouted as she heard the rough shuffling of Willo readjusting the sheening Puppet Backpack on his shoulders, the metallic weight of the strapped box urging for such a reaction. As they turned a sharp corner and were met with more lighted, winding hallways and indoor crossroads, she caught sight of his half-sullen expression and lowered her smile.
“I know it’ll make you feel even more worried, but an apology now would be negated right after, as I don’t intend to stop any time soon—”
“It’s not bad to take on lots of work; I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t as much of a workaholic loonie as you are—”
“True—“
“Not as much as you, of course—“
“I suppose so, but I must. The more I work, the quicker we progress, no?” the nymph would question, meeting the sympathetic gaze of the taller man, who then looked forward to collect his thoughts.
“Well”—he snapped his fingers—”it shouldn’t be strange to you that you are a wood nymph, so I feel like being cooped up in this facility is going to rot your brain. Also—”
“Hmm—”
“In addition to that, let’s make it tropical—heh, topical,” Willo said coolly, nudging his head towards an upcoming window that spanned endlessly across the silvery walls. “After all, it’s been exactly 500 years since the Nature-Nurture Fallout’s resolution.”
She knew. She knew so well. However, being caught in her self-inflicted torrent of service to the firm, concepts of time vaporized as a result of unwarranted urgency. She had grown to be efficient over the countless years, to the extent that deadlines seemed subliminal.
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500 is a milestone she can’t disregard. She may have been able to avoid attending the festivities of the previous anniversaries if she found some sudden solace in overworking, but today was different. This number felt much different. This time felt much different. This place felt much different.
Akin to astral projection, she escaped from the stress-ridden stupor of her body and flashed through over 600 years of her life within seconds. As much as she relented, it all came back to her.
She felt a dim tug on her cybernetic arm, causing her to flare back to life like a computer.
“Don’t tell me you’ve grown sick of the outside world!” Willo would scoff playfully, pulling her towards the nearby window.
“Yes, I’m quite traumatized by it. I may get severe muscle spasms from the mere sight of a cloud,” the dryad jested, squirming melodramatically at the familiar thought of nature.
“Worth the pain then—”
“Huh?—”
“Just take a look at what you missed, old timer.”
In the empty hall, they stood in front of the illuminated pane and were hailed by the sinking splendour of the aureate sun. Beyond the glass was a vast megalopolis, with skyscrapers kissing the rich marigold of sunset and rooftop solar panels being pampered by the final rays of light before night. Honey hues seeped from the horizon, drizzling from the canopies of prolific foliage that sprung out of raised balconies and sidewalk pottery. Evening elegance dawned over the humans and nymphs of varying habitats, who socialized and capered along bustling boulevards. Orchestras of stylised, streamlined vehicles trilled, headlights shimmering in radiant shades alongside the flashing of digital stop signals. Toxic fumes were rare, a fruit of the handshake between the nature of nymphs and the nurture of humans.
Utopia.
With a gleam in his cocoa orbs, Willo took a gander at the awestruck sage in the dryad’s eyes. With that look, he’d assume she had just been introduced to the status quo that had been around for what felt like eons. Even as a species that is the epitome of nature, this cultural shock from having overtaxed herself made her shocked at the sight of the Miami she should be used to.
“If your brain is still under a rock, this is what joining forces has created,” he trumpeted proudly, subconsciously picking at his thumbnail with his teeth. “As always, this is a day of celebration, especially at such a number!”
“Yes,” the wood nymph would simply muster, losing herself in the animated scenery splayed out in front of her. Like a performer facing a crowd, she was perplexed by the enormity of it all: the products of cooperation, the boons of creativity, and the cheers of rapture. Elements and unfathomable concepts that would have never embedded themselves in every nook and cranny of society if it weren’t for the war’s resolution. Better days were being seen, breathed, and fulfilled.
In the whirlwind of it all, she could almost feel the familiar tingle of grit soar into her baggy eyelids and unkempt hair as the whistle of what felt like true contentment sounded in the air. She didn’t feel misguided. She didn’t feel adrift from anything.
She felt at peace. The sight was too grandiose, and the dust flying into her eyes was too much.
So she blinked.
She woke back up to reality as she heard Willo come to a halt with the fluting that came from his pursed lips.
“Evie? Are you nodding off?” Willo would inquire, swiftly and softly taking the nearly-slipping mug out of her velvety yet loose hands.
“I don’t need sleep—”
“Sorry, that was a stupid question. The messy state that you are currently in is the answer in itself—”
“It must be the muscle spasms surfacing,”—Evie began walking forcibly with her left arm in his—”I may have witnessed too many clouds.”
Willo snickered audibly, a mischievous ‘Dummkopf’ being said during such an uproar. Evie seemed taken aback at first but gave a Cheshire cat grin soon after.
“Well, a hospital visit isn’t on the agenda for tonight’s festivities—”
“Oh?”
“Exactly, you haven’t seen my beautiful wife and kid in ages, so please hold your circus act ‘til after we party the night away—”
“With my pale face and a slightly red nose from all that sawdust in the workshop, you’d think I was having a clown act,” Evie stated with a giggle, with Willo joining in. “That was hard to admit.”
“Sure as hell you do, but there shall be no clowns today—”
“Right—”
“Today is special. 500 years after the two races agreed to fix up their mistakes and grow together,” Willo reminisced, smiling from cheek to cheek like a doughy-eyed child. “We’re all changed people. It’s a new age.”
Evie glanced at him as they descended a flight of neon stairs, giving him a whimsical look of concern as he voiced something so overly sentimental. He seemed to notice, reverting to the mindless activity of biting his fingernails with his other hand that occupied the mug out of shame.
There was an air of silence, interrupted by the occasional plocking of the Puppet Backpack that weighed on Willo’s back. With her robotic arm free, she lifted it towards herself; the weight of the pledge she made those years ago when she was taken to Florida was still felt. She let the aluminium joints of her fingers twirl, the cogs in her brain clicking in tune with each movement. She took notice of the grapevines that grew around the prosthetic, sprouting ample leaves around the artificial creation—all wrapped together in a package that housed her vow.
It was the first time she had revisited it in a long while. Perhaps she was too busy to give it much thought until now.
“Just… make sure to take a breather sometimes,” Willo stated, eliciting attention from Evie. “You don’t need to work so hard all the time; you’ve done enough.”
Evie gave him a lopsided smile, pinching her grassy bangs as if she were guilty of some wrongdoing.
“I’ll, uh, see,” Evie murmured.
This sense of lawlessness and defiance she felt seemed normal to her. Simply doing what she needed to do at the moment was what she always followed, regardless of the nitpicks she’d get from others. For years now, the people— humans and nymphs alike—around her have been the templates for her decision-making and have helped her build the resolve to make her own choices, going as far as to commit to an oath.
However, where does she draw the line? Where should she take the advice and take a leave from the workshop? A room where she’s left to her own devices and thoughts.
Has she done enough? Was this rogue autonomy helpful? Did she truly deserve to leave if she didn’t feel accomplished?
500 years after the end of the war she helped start, the dryad assisted in inspiring change. Though, considering the mission she set herself as her droopy eyes fluttered over her metallic limb, she tried to verify something from herself that she knew she’d never get an answer to:
Was she finally in the right?