Horan pushed the door to Kuravaan’s study slightly ajar and knocked with his free hand. “Uh, it’s Horan.”
Obscured by the door, Kuravaan sighed. “Come in.”
Horan opened the door all the way and saw Kuravaan sliding a drawer shut behind a desk on the opposite end of the square, high-ceilinged room. Horan glanced around at the neat shelves of unlabelled books on either side of the room. “...A study. Didn’t really see you as the type.”
Kuravaan looked down and shielded his eyes. “What do you want, Horan?”
“Yeah, I…” In lieu of a spare seat by Kuravaan’s desk, Horan opted to hover mid-air with his legs folded. “I was going to go help the rest of the Domain figure out what to wear, but I realized on the way that that would be unwanted and probably creepy. I also don’t want Omet to think I’m clingy by coming back immediately after I said I’d give them some space, so I’m here now.”
“This is about Rachna, isn’t it?”
Horan’s already stiff posture seemed to tighten up even further. “Well, um, a little, but I know–”
“Naturally.” Kuravaan stood up and walked around his desk. “That’s…” He paused abruptly and composed himself for a moment. “We know you’re primarily tempted to bring it out as blackmail material if we decide not to help you with your current issue, as it were.”
Horan lowered himself back onto the ground and reflexively straightened his hair again. “Well, that’s still something that Omet and I were figuring out, but I know–”
“There won’t be any need for that,” said Kuravaan, folding his hands behind his back. “Our Domain is humoring your summons because of our own reasons, though we certainly aren’t already married to the decision. You can pretend that this is some sort of power play where you have this arsenal of diplomacy and coercion at your disposal, but we’re well aware that we are the one with options, not you and the Aztec. We would recommend you try not to cause a scene while you’re here, like the Aztec suggested.”
Horan looked up at Kuravaan, the minute movements of his eyelids betraying the fact that he was looking for any excuse not to make eye contact.
“We suppose you may now explain what it is that you know. Or would you rather not dig yourself any deeper of a hole?”
“Yeah, no, I’ll… I’ll go.” Horan backed away from Kuravaan and left the study, closing the door behind him. He rounded a corner before collapsing on the hard floor and staring up at the clouds above him.
-
Omet twiddled a pencil in one hand while staring at the notebook in front of them. They glanced over at Rachna, who hung by his knees from a shelf that should not have been able to support his weight. “You got anything that rhymes with ‘care’? I need three words.”
“Bear, stare, aware, despair, rare-fair-fare-dare-square-pear…” multiple human mouths sprouted from Rachna’s arms and formed a rhyming chorus as he rattled off words too fast for Omet to follow. After a moment, the voices stopped and the mouths closed back up into Rachna’s bare skin, their purpose fulfilled.
Rachna grinned smugly. “Yeah, that’s what you want to hear, isn’t it, buddy?”
Omet shrugged. “I guess I can use–”
“Shush, I’m having a conversation.” Rachna stared blankly in no particular direction before his pale blue eyes snapped back into focus and switched to a silvery light. “Yeah, attention’s elsewhere. Makes sense, the ol’ husk is getting piloted. Now, you were saying?”
Omet tried to catch the attention of another Indian on the other side of the library, who was hunched over a thin paperback. “Hey, so, you gave up on keeping this guy in his, uh…?”
The Indian tried to avoid making eye contact with Omet.
Rachna shrugged and dropped from the shelf. “Eh, they know when to take a loss. I kind of miss being alone down there, though. At least then, I know the things I see in front of me aren’t real.”
Omet pursed their lips. “I still feel like you’d be better off getting some help besides being locked in the basement.”
Rachna snorted. “Oh, it’s not me that needs help right now. You get what I’m talking about.”
“...I don’t?”
Rachna groaned and fell face-down onto the ground. “Ugh, why do third eyes have to be so annoying? I don’t wanna have to start from the beginning just to make sure we’re on the same page every time, we’ll be here for hours!” He suppressed a cackle. “And we’ve run out of time like that. My ‘siblings’, if that is their real name, can sic me on as many Bug-eyes as they want, but those aren’t what’s hunting them…”
Omet heard a tentative throat-clearing behind them and turned to see Horan standing over them. “Oh, you’re back? I figured anything involving clothes would take a while with you.”
Horan wrung his hands. “Yeah, I, uh, I wasn’t much help… Can I sit down here with you?”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” Omet pulled out a second chair from the round table that they were sitting at.
Horan took a seat and slouched forward, his head cushioned by his folded arms. He looked to the side and saw Rachna lying on the floor. “Hey.”
“The worms come for us all, regardless of what it says on the tin.”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Okay.” Horan looked back ahead, though didn’t focus on anything in particular.
Omet scratched out a line in their notepad and tapped Horan on the shoulder. “Getting tired?”
Horan shrugged.
“Yeah, I get it.” Omet leaned back in their seat and rubbed their eyes. “Have you been getting the feeling of just being wrong in this place, or is that just me?”
Horan craned his neck to bring Omet within his limited field of vision. After a second of staring, he scoffed. “Sorry, I–I shouldn’t be so quiet.”
“Nah, don’t talk if you don’t want to.” Omet furrowed their brow. “Uh, considering how much you’ve been apologizing over nothing big, I’m feeling like the answer to my question is a firm yes. Got anything to contest that?”
Horan sighed and broke eye contact with Omet. “This is… This is supposed to be what I’m good at. This is supposed to be easy.”
Omet glanced down at their notebook and held it close to their chest. “And that’s according to who, exactly?”
“Wha–?!” Horan sat up straight and glanced at the Indians watching the two of them intently before lowering his voice. “According to me. I’ve done this kind of thing with the Indians dozens of times over the last two and a half millennia, and it’s usually just…” He snapped his fingers. “But you were definitely there with that ‘wrong’ feeling. The people here don’t usually talk to you unless you come up to them, but at least they talk at all. I think this is what human high school is supposed to feel like, not a situation like this…”
Omet raised their eyebrows. “Do they have some reason to be doing that, or am I right in thinking that we shouldn’t bring these people home?”
“No, no, we…” Horan stammered incoherently for a moment. “We still need this. We need these people if we’re gonna be safe. That’s… We’ve seen how we can’t deal with these kinds of things safely.”
“But can I just ask you something? I don’t mean anything on your end, but… What exactly do you see in these people that makes you think that they’re our saving grace in all this? Because all I’ve seen is a bunch of fake aristocrats who are treating us like zoo exhibits and a weekend distraction.” Omet raised their voice for the sake of everyone else in the room. “And they can act as nice as they want, but they’re still not being subtle about this!”
Horan desperately shushed Omet. “Okay, okay, I… I get it. But keep your head down, we can’t afford to blow this. It’s basically just me, you and them left to–”
“Us and them.”
Horan stared at Omet for too long of a moment. “...Sure. Us and them. It’s just us and them left out there, and I’ve been running lower and lower on chances to get bailed out, and I’d rather not put you all between myself and an angry mob who’ve upgraded from torches and rusty pitchforks.”
Omet sighed and looked at Horan with an emotion that he couldn’t pin down exactly. “I appreciate the sentiment, I do, but my family doesn’t need to try and rope in people who seem to be trying to make this as difficult as possible. It’s not safe for us, but we can’t exactly change that, and if the only alternatives are being done for the sake of doing them without any actual benefits, we should be fighting our own battles.”
“No, they shouldn’t.” Horan cradled his head in his hands. “This comes with the territory of being in charge. Nobody has any control over who gets set up with the job, but regardless, this is something we need to deal with. We’re the face of our Domains, we deal with what has to be dealt with, we get blamed when things go wrong, and the world keeps turning.”
After a moment, Omet opened up their notebook and absent-mindedly flipped between the first couple of pages. “Sounds like a rough deal.”
“You get used to it.”
“I would guess so.” Omet put the notebook aside and folded their arms. “So let me ask again, but now in a broader sense: Why are we doing this?”
Horan stared at Omet incredulously. “Why… Because someone needs to, dude. Things are easier for everyone involved when a whole group of several dozen Primoi can get put into a person-shaped box, so everyone else is going to do that whether you like it or not. That’s all the Breezy Slide is, you’re just turning that fact of life into an advantage for yourself.”
Omet shrugged and grasped Horan’s arm. “So you’re just doing this yourself? We’re supposed to be a team, by your reckoning.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one with experience here, I need to do this for you because we don’t have the chance to put on training wheels, let alone whether or not that’s even possible.”
Omet leaned in slightly closer to Horan, trying to block themselves from the earshot of the visibly uncomfortable Indians in the room. “It sounded earlier like you’re not really doing so well right now, so I don’t think this lone-wolf strategy is working out too hot.”
“It has before,” mumbled Horan. “Feels like I’ve gone soft at some point, this is what I’m supposed to bring to the table, I’m the guy who’s good at talking, and…”
“You aren’t supposed to bring anything to the table here, Horan,” said Omet, “you just need–”
“I need to what, Omet?” Horan sat up straight and looked Omet in the eye. “I get that you’re trying to make me stop stressing about this, sure, but we don’t have that kind of luxury. I need to– We both need to do what we can as leaders and stop worrying about what we want to do in the short term, because the alternative risks you getting killed, and then there won’t be anyone left to blame but me. That’s why we’re here, in case you were still curious. Got it?”
Omet’s attempt at a calm demeanour faltered and they looked away from Horan. “Just... Promise me that next time something comes up, we solve this as a team, okay?”
Horan folded his arms and shrugged. “My promises might be unbreakable, but not when they’re that vague.”
“...So can you stick to it because you want to and not because you have to?”
“Seeing as how this isn’t the first time I’ve made that promise in recent memory, that doesn’t seem likely. Doesn’t matter if anyone is happy about it, but this is just how things are. This is my job, this is why I’m useful, and no amount of empty words are going to change that. And if you think you can succeed in fixing what five millennia’s sum total can’t, I’m afraid you’re being the wrong kind of optimist.”
Omet searched for words for a moment. “And, uh... I’m not gonna be changing your mind any time soon, right?”
“Doesn’t matter how much I want to believe what you’re saying about how I don’t need to worry about any of my responsibilities and I’ve had the wrong idea for longer than you’ve been alive, that doesn’t make you right.”
“Sounds pretty decisive to me.” Omet gathered their notebook and pencil before standing up. “I’m not giving up on you yet–”
“I appreciate it, but reconsider.”
“–but you’re probably right about how we shouldn’t be making a scene like this.” Omet glanced at the Indians elsewhere in the room and silently hoped that they hadn’t been too loud. “Let me just see if there’s somewhere else for me to sit, a change of scenery is a good idea anyway.”
They turned to address Rachna halfway to the library’s exit. “And don’t even think about...”
But Rachna was already gone.
Horan’s gaze traced the immaculate grain of the table. Not being in the same room as Omet was probably a good idea after that debacle, but he soon realized that he didn’t have much of an idea of what he was supposed to do now.