The Account of the Damned Chapter 4: Bad News

---THE FOLLOWING HAS NOT BEEN POSTED IN-THREAD YET; IT MAY BE SUBJECT TO MINOR CHANGES OR ART ADDITIONS---

For the dozenth time, the awful screech of metal on metal tore through my senses, sent my heart roaring out of my chest. For the dozenth time, my arms were crushed under a colossal, whirring blade as my shield was forced back against me. For the dozenth time, my wheels tore impotently at the gore-slicked ground, blood coating the delicate machinery and…well, if it weren’t a dream, I imagine it would screw it up something terrible, magical or not.

Today I was a little more lucid, though today wasn’t exactly an ordinary stress dream. I pushed back against the massive blade and shouted for Dr. Liddell to do whatever the hell she planned to do, and an eternity later, as I felt the bones in my legs start to snap under the pressure, my heart skipped a beat and the world around me faded into tones of dreary gray. The teeth of the chainsaw stopped, as did the enormous pressure, and cautiously I rolled out from under my shield. It was still propped up in the same way it had been before, a thousand grayscale sparks frozen in the air around it, tilted impossibly in sheer defiance of gravity and common sense.

“…So can you fix it?” I could barely force the sounds out. Maybe I lost a rib or three somehow, too? …Stupid bloody dreams, never make any damn sense.

“Can I?” She bounced on her heels, a vision in blue and white in the midst in a sea of nothing. Her eyes had a way of piercing right through you in a way that stuck with you as much as any dream might. Her general refusal to be helpful in any way aside from the most oblique ones tended to stick with me almost as much, but she was a specialist, and apparently the best we had.

I stared at her for a moment, then straightened up, cracking my back and trying to dream up a mended skeleton. It didn’t really work, so I glided over to her instead, my wheels cutting through the blood-turned-mercury around them.

“If you dragged me here just to waste my time, Doctor, I’ve really got about a thousand other things I ought to be doing.” Like literally anything but this. She tutted at me, and I resisted the urge to hit her with the flat of my sword.

“I’ve seen all I have to see, but have you? Did you find the answer on the back of that old wheel, then? Something you didn’t see the first twenty or thirty times you had this dream?”

“…No.” I sighed.

“Then I wonder which of us is wasting the other’s time.” After a moment, then, she relented a little. “I’ve frozen the creature, so do what you feel is necessary, preferably before you do a hundred things that aren’t.”

I think I actually hate this woman.

“Can I just…kill it, then? Since you’ve got it all frozen here?” I looked to the thing, the…I don’t know. I’d never really done that before. It had been nothing but a black mess of claws and teeth and hatred to me. I don’t rightly think I could recall what it had looked like then, either, in the Barrier.

It didn’t seem right, somehow. More than the obvious. Something about it was different. One of its eyes (I hoped that was an eye) seemed to follow me, even as if it was frozen. As though it might bear down on me at any moment.

“If you could do that, then you wouldn’t need me, would you?” She lifted her skirt and began to wade through the silvery mess of gore below us.

“Fine. I can’t just kill it. Can you?” I wheeled after her, forcing my body to heal itself as much as I could offhand. Wonder if doing that in a dream actually uses magic. Probably does. Bloody loopholes.

“Yes and no. I don’t particularly care to invade minds, and I certainly don’t care to reshape them. Bit too much like a doctor’s work, that.” She came to a stop behind the beast, and I frowned at her as I pulled up to her side.

“Aren’t you-“

“Doctors take classes, High Marshal. Doctors work in institutions. I’ve no interest in either; I have wits and experience and nothing else.”

“And magic.” She gave me a dirty look for that one before continuing.

“If you want someone to stab the trauma out, I can recommend you to the American Callidus Prima.” She spoke slowly, deliberately, unblinking as her gaze bored holes into me. “I cannot, however, recommend the Prima to you - be a bit like excising a tumor with a shotgun, I think.”

“You don’t think it would go well?” I didn’t know the girl in question all that well myself, but I knew her enough to take the suggestion with the grain of salt Liddell was offering.

“Well, you wouldn’t have a tumor anymore.” She shrugged, then turned her attention to the ugly, berserking behemoth, now that we’d made our way around to its backside. “I’ve noticed something. Haven’t you?”

“You were just…” I bit my tongue. Not literally, right then, but I realized she’d only get more obnoxious if I let her. Instead, I followed her gaze toward the creature, toward white, wavy hair drenched in blood, a jagged crown perched atop its head, toward…enormous, barbed wheels beneath it-

“Piss.” I sat up on the couch in Dr. Liddell’s office, the skin and…metal…under my prostheses burning like mad. The doctor was staring intensely at me, as if mentally noting every small movement I made.

“Piiiiss,” I added for emphasis. “This is one of those fucking…psychological things, isn’t it.” I hugged myself tightly, squeezing the flesh left on my arms with steel fingers.

“It didn’t go well, I take it.” She reached for a notepad and sat back in her seat.

“You were just…you…” I hate this.

I hate therapy.

I think I hate psychiatrists.

And I hate dreams.

---

I cut my appointment short (citing an overwhelming urge to strangle someone) and was curtly reminded to be back before she had to start hounding me again, then given some self-analysis homework which I frankly had no intention of actually doing.

(If I heard about that homework from Enyo again later I planned to make good on that strangling bit, too.)

No, lucky me, after an obnoxious trainwreck of a therapy session I’d finally decided to make good on paying El a proper visit, which I hadn’t really done since I got mobile again. We talked a bit while I was laid-up, but that was mostly shallow mockery and trading barbs – she asked me how the rest of the Templars were, and I asked her why there wasn’t a bloody report about the Japs’ operations in Russia in my stumps already.

…Come to think of it, she still hasn’t given me a followup about that. One more thing on the miles long to-do list. Fantastic.

I tried to force a smile as I crossed the threshold into Elcarys’s chamber, an enormous white room that was, I think, just magicked to seem bigger than it was. The whole place was flawless, a tea room from a fairy tale with a floor I could see myself in. There was an inky black carpet, too, leading to a grand, open window, a tea table, and the devil herself.

It was wide open, filling the room with a refreshing breeze and making the whole thing sparkle in the bright summer sunlight, which was damned impressive given it was barely spring and had been raining for two days. But El liked things perfect and atmospheric, and bad mood or not, I couldn’t help but appreciate the décor right at that moment.

“Don’t step on the flooring, you’ll scratch it,” she murmured idly as she gazed out at her own sunny illusion. I settled into the chair opposite her after I made my way over, and was pleasantly surprised to see she’d already made tea – Darjeeling, my favorite. She’d poured it already, too, and…it was almost certainly an illusion.

I sipped at it anyway while I thought about what to say. Tasted fine enough, illusion or not. I was surprised when she was the first one to speak.

“Since you’re here now, does that mean you’re done feeling sorry for yourself?” …Ouch. “I suppose having Enyo to feel sorry for you instead helps.” Double ouch. She was in a fantastic mood today, too.

“I don’t think I’ll be done for a while, El, don’t you worry. This pity party is lasting all week, at very least.” Her lips cracked into a faint smile, and I relaxed a bit.

El was…complicated. Our relationship was complicated. Her thing with Enyo, also complicated. I knew she’d be sulking about us hooking up eventually, but I expected at very least some terrible nightmares first. …Some fresh, new ones.

She called herself a Succubus, and named her squad the same. Got a lot of disapproving looks from the crowd at the Second, but what didn’t, really? The Callidus here already caught plenty of hell just for doing their job – the usual garbage about how ignoble and heretical it was, except for when we needed them for something.

…The Templars got the same kind of treatment, now and again, so as much of a bitch as El could be, I wasn’t entirely without sympathy.

“I’m going to assume you’re here to ask a favor. Did Liddell send you? Are you here for a new dream?” That wasn’t a bad idea. Liddell to help understand dreams, that American girl to kill them, and El for new ones.

I had to mull her offer over a bit. She was in a bad mood, so it was entirely likely she was laying out bait to screw me later. On the other hand, just about anything she could dream up would be a nice change from the new, existential horror of facing down a monstrous, broken version of myself every night.

“Yes. Well, no, I didn’t really come here to ask, but if you’re offering…”

“Oh, I wasn’t offering,” she purred, her usual smirk finding its way back on her face. “But it’s nice to know you need something from me.” I couldn’t help but smile a little. At least this way, the tension lifted a bit.

“If I need anything, it’s a report on-“

“The Japanese, yes, yes. It’s…you might call it a hornet’s nest. Very delicate work. Spying on another Officio isn’t as simple as a wiretap and a night of passion.” She took a sip of her tea, then snorted. “Well, it might be now, with the state their Warmaster’s in. And with all the Culexus dead. Who’s going to stop me? Karasawa?”

She finished her tea in one go, then pointedly refilled her cup. Naturally, she brought the teapot as high as she could manage just to show off a bit – I watched for a splash over the side, but there wasn’t a drop. Probably still wasn’t real.

“The only think Karasawa can catch is a bucket of ice cream. And while I may be cold, sweet, and tasty…”

“You’re not ice cream. Got it.” I nodded. “So, ah…you plan on going yourself, then?”

There was a long, awkward pause, and she raised her cup to her lips.

“…Not as such, no. Somebody needs to hold this place together while everyone who matters is traumatized or hysterical.” Ah, yes. The old standby for when El didn’t REALLY want to do her job. …Hard to blame her, really, after everything the Ninth had done recently. It was probably worse over there than it was over here, what with Lady Malal.

…For once, she had a point, as much as I wanted to press the issue. Arty was a wreck, I’d barely even seen Gerty since I got back, and Enyo and I were completely irresponsible whenever we could get away with it (which wasn’t nearly often enough).

We made something amounting to small talk for a bit after that, the awkward kind that you have with someone when you haven’t spoken to them for a while and you both damn well know you could have but you kept putting it off.

…Well, about half of it was cripple jokes, but that’s just something to get used to. It could only sting so much, really, with all the work Enyo put into my prostheses.

She was probably still angry when I left, but she’d get over it. I made a mental note to try and do something nice for her.

---

I was astonished when I returned to my room to find that my bed had grown an impressive tumor, the kind where the drapey bits of ceremonial robes and a few locks of forest-green hair poke out from under the blanket. The roughly little girl-sized kind. It wasn’t the first time, at least.

The High Inquisitor was hiding again – nobody but Arty would seriously try to find her here, and anyone who visited me would know enough to just leave her alone if they caught her. Poor thing was probably exhausted from all the hell she’d been through since Walpurgisnacht, it was a wonder she hadn’t run off into the countryside.

A more mature and less exhausted person might gently call her name. Today that was…not me. Gerty had been one of my closest friends since we’d contracted, but, ah…

Well, fuck it. I leapt onto the bed, directly onto the center of that little tumor, and immediately regretted it as about a fucktillion volts or amps or whatever the hell you measure it in coursed through my body, sending me into a twitching mess on the floor.

Didn’t last long, of course. My cybernetics were insulated, and I was a good bit tougher than to be put down by one of Her Grace’s cranky shocks. I was fairly confident that at least one of us didn’t piss herself, too.

I pulled myself up onto my knees as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes with a sleeve. …She was one of the only people here smaller than I was, truth be told; the Incubator had contracted her at nine, and she hadn’t changed much in the five or so years since. She stared down at me with bleary eyes, then around the room.

“…What time is it?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, don’t fret too much. Just a bit smoky.”

“I know. Time?” Her eye found my alarm clock on the nightstand, and her features twisted into a frown.

“I left my watch at home. You might be sleeping on it.” Despite my best efforts, I was rapidly running out of patience for Gerty’s nonsense today. She took a deep breath, then sighed.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I should have asked. I meant to take a nap, but…”

“But that was hours ago.” She winced at that and looked away, hands fidgeting in her lap. I settled in next to her and ruffled her hair. I’m always relieved anymore whenever I don’t catch a few strands in my finger joints or…something. I’m sure Enyo thought of that, but even so.

“The world won’t end if you take a break once in a while. God knows Hash won’t be done sucking on his brother’s tit until we’re long dead,” I continued, but all she did was wince again and try to pull her robes up around herself, as if to hide in them a little more. “…Right?”

“…We have to look presentable for the other Officios. If that awful dog-woman senses even the smallest hint of weakness…”

“Lady Russ isn’t that bad.” I lied. I had to, though; I’d be begging Her Alphaness a favor, myself, and I was looking forward to that almost as much as my next therapy session.

“Fine, but the Americans-“

“-have a new Warmaster, who I’ve heard is actually quite nice.”

“And it’s the first time we’re meeting. This will be her first impression of the Second, and if it goes poorly-”

“-then we’ll have lost the incredibly valuable opinions of screaming madmen. I’m sure we’ll live.” She scowled up at me, and I met it with a grin. Her Grace didn’t like being interrupted OR corrected, but at least she looked a bit less miserable.

“…The Chinese will also be here,” she added after another minute, tearing her eyes away from mine. “And their Eversor Rank Leader.”

…The old Marshal, under Lady Erebus. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t met her since her excommunication – the old guard came together once a year, outside the watchful eye of the Church, to mourn our dead. But Valentina Tenko was…at times, a hard person to deal with, for me especially. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her, not after my own…

Not after throwing away the lives of nearly everyone here that would still look her in the eye.

“…Don’t worry about me, Your Gertiness. It’s probably better to swallow that pill early, anyway. I just hope the Spiritual Liege doesn’t screech too much with that awful accent of hers. I can still hear it in my damned nightmares after the last meeting.”

The High Inquisitor giggled and kicked her feet against the side of the bed, though it didn’t last long.

“…Actually, I needed to talk to you about something else, too.” Her voice was a little quieter than usual, and she stared down at her feet. She may have been trying to wiggle them out of her robes so she could look at her boots.

“Are you…” She fumbled with her words, something I’d only seen from Her Grace a handful of times. “…You’re working on rebuilding the Templars right now, I understand, but I need to ask something of you.”

“Spit it out, Your Grace.” She was uncomfortable enough with the request to dance around it all day. I fiddled with a lock of my hair and started carefully wording my refusal.

I was absolutely certain she was about to ask me about sex.

“I’d like you to act as Regent for a while once the other Officios leave.” Oh thank the Lady.

…What?

Gerty bit her lip, refusing to meet my gaze. She was quiet and still, the most afraid I’d seen her since the day she was promoted to High Inquisitor.

“Arturia’s not…well. She won’t tell me anything, and I can’t pretend she’s fit to lead right now. I had my concerns even before that, about whether she was…mature enough, you know.”

Gertrud von Egisheim was four years my junior and two years Arty’s. She wasn’t High Inquisitor because she was cute when she was angry, though – truth be told, she was probably one of the Warmasters I admired most, out of the ones I’d known and the ones I’d been forced to read and recite about as part of my training here.

She wasn’t wrong about Arty, on either count. Still, going over her Equerry’s head was…cold. This was also not shit I particularly wanted to deal with, and Her Royal Majesty would throw an absolute fit when she found out, no matter what state she was in.

…Wait.

“So…what’s stopping you from running the place, exactly?”

She scowled at the ground, and I knew the answer almost immediately.

“Hashmallim contacted me a few days after Walpurgisnacht. He…ah, he told me it was time to ascend to the First, and to give him a list of recommendations.”

It was the cat.

When it was bad news, it was always the fucking cat. We heard from him all of twice a year, and it was always either a fresh wave of contracts from his…abbeys…with no sense of the real world or it was something like this.

He was stealing our Warmaster out from under us when we were already hurting more than we had as long as I’d been at the Second, and I’m certain he barely considered it past ‘this is what my brother would like’.

“Please don’t tell me you signed everyone but me up to go to the fucking moon, Gerty.” She winced again. “…Sorry. Sorry. I just…”

“…I know. He told me the First is relaxing its standards on conscripts. I think they’re trying to gather up anyone that might be able to…ah…to survive their procedures. It might just be panic from Walpurgisnacht, but…”

“…but they’re preparing to mobilize against something. Bloody wonderful.”

She nodded a little, playing with her sleeves. …It’s hard to forget Her Grace is basically a kid in a lot of ways. It really just made me angrier.

“…So what’s the damage? Who else is going? Hesselius? Laura and Liz? Oh lord, is that why El is slacking on dealing with the Japs? Is it Liddell? Can it be Liddell?”

“…You. I recommended you, that’s all. …He doesn’t think you’re in any shape to make it, so I suggested a…trial period.”

“…Alright.” I didn’t know how to feel. I don’t think I felt anything, just…cold. I wasn’t mad, I don’t…really think it was her fault, but… “And this all wasn’t worth mentioning, oh, I don’t know, weeks ago?”

“Did you want me to slip a note into your bedpan, Alondight?” She snapped, and I shut my mouth. “What was I supposed to do? You know how he gets, if he got it in his head that I was obstructing the First, he’d have me retired. By you, if I was lucky.” She stared up at me, dark eyes crackling with electricity.

“Do you think I want to go to the-the fucking moon, Raleigh? I don’t even like going into the city. I’ve just been trying to think of a way to get out of it without throwing myself to the Akashic. Or locking myself in the library where nobody will see me for a thousand years and I’ll be some terrible sunlight-averse mutant speaking a dead language.”

Her voice grew louder and higher and squeakier as she spoke. She leaned in closer to me, then seemed to lose all of her energy at once.

“…Just tell me if you’ll do the job. If not, I’ll…ask Cosette. It’s only until Arturia’s fit to run the Officio again.”

“And to prove to Hashmallim you deserve a snuggle buddy up on the moon.” I didn’t really intend to let it go. I still didn’t know what to think, but I didn’t want to let it go. She stared coldly up at me, and I forced a smile and waved dismissively.

“Fine. Regent it is. Just for a bit, though, and no promises on the moon thing. I’d fancy my chances against just about everyone here, if he did get mad. Hell, it would be quite a way to die, wouldn’t it? Battling the legions of our furry overlords in the name of freedom.”

Gerty cracked a smile, and it made it that much easier to hold my own.

“I may come and get you myself if it’s too bad up there. You’re…you know.” One of her two friends, aside from Arty. I just nodded.

…I’d probably do the same.

“…So who gets to tell her you’re leaving?”

“That would be excellent practice for the new Regent, wouldn’t it?” She pushed herself to her feet and smoothed some of the wrinkles from her robe.

I patted her butt, and she made a face back at me.

“…What? I need to practice for my harem of concubines. A Regent must have concubines. It’s the first decree I’m instating when you leave.” The High Inquisitor’s face hardened as I apparently crossed a line. I could only shrug.

“If you tell Arty, I’ll put down the newspaper in the guest quarters for the Sixth. I’ll even change it every day.”

“…Deal.”

---

A knock on my door roused me only an hour or so after I managed to sleep, and I drifted over to it, stumbling in my nightgown and not a whole lot else.

“...High Marshal.” A bouquet of flowers nearly took both of my eyes out the moment I opened the door, and they called me by title, soft and hesitant. “…I’m sorry. About the other day.”

…Oh. It was Enyo. What was she…

Oh! Right. Right.

“Already forgot about that. Tired. Put them in a vase and join me in bed. S’an order.”

…I hadn’t quite drifted off again when I heard the heavy thunk of Enyo removing her prosthetic, then the much gentler noise of her setting it on my nightstand. One arm curled around my midsection, and I felt a little bit of the stress from dealing with every other bloody person in this Officio melt away.

“…Missed you.”

“Shh. Go to sleep, Enyo…”

Tomorrow would be…better. It couldn’t be much worse.