Meliora - Emanate - 04

[lady_mab]

No Kaito

Lysander is the first to enter. He gives me a grin and wave, but seeing that I have guests in front of me, takes his usual stool and orders from one of the other bartenders. 

I wonder who he would be meeting. He doesn’t often come on Sunday evenings, but when he does he’s never alone. It’s likely not a girl, or he would have gone to sit away from the bar where I wouldn’t be able to pester him. Coworker, perhaps? 

Though why two high school teachers would need to get drinks on a Sunday evening during summer school was beyond me. 

When Rhys enters, I realize that they had planned this. 

He nods in my direction but doesn’t spare me much attention as he slides into place next to Lysander. As usual, he doesn’t order anything -- but the other bartender knows him well enough by this point to slide a glass of water into place before him. 

He is my accountant, after all. Everyone is quite familiar with his presence at the bar. I’ll get him a drink once it dies down. 

The opportunity for that comes about twenty minutes after Rhys enters, and I spend that entire time trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s busy for a Sunday, considering that there’s nothing worth celebrating going on. 

And I do my best, I really do! If Rhys doesn’t single me out, then he doesn’t want to talk to me. It is a bit insulting that he would come to my bar and not want to talk to me, but he’s allowed to use the space to hang out as much as anyone else is. As much as Lysander is, whom I catch flicking the occasional glance in my direction as the two of them lean in close to talk. 

I’m not insulted. I don’t mind that Rhys hasn’t once spared a look in my direction. 

I pride myself on being able to pick up on conversations through the din of crowds. I call it excellent customer service, being able to anticipate someone’s need or order before they ask for it because I was listening. Scores big points with the ladies, especially when served with a wink and a knowing smile. One ex used to say I had terrible hearing, because she would think I was never listening to her. 

I listened, I just didn’t always have a good response. 

So it’s totally not my fault that I pick up the words Meliora, the hospital, game, escape, the twins and I. And it’s not my fault that I pick up I want to ask you to be our Informant. 

Really, if they wanted to discuss something dramatic and private, they shouldn’t have done it in my bar. 

The last of the large groups leaves and I send someone else to clean the table. It’s unlikely that we’ll seat another party this late in the evening, but it never hurts to be careful. I grab a large glass from the shelf and tuck it beneath the tap of one of our stouts. After filling it to the brim with the dark amber liquid, I shift to stand before my two friends and push the glass onto the counter alongside Rhys’ water. 

Their conversation abruptly stops, and two faces turn toward me. Lysander, with his dark hair that might have once been dyed red but never kept up, pulled into a rough and stubby bun at the back of his head. Rhys, his black hair cut short, but not short enough to stop the little curls lapping away from his skull when he doesn’t style it. 

A smile automatically cuts across Lysander’s face and he knocks back the rest of his glass. “If you’re handing out drinks…” 

“That’s your second one.” 

“So?” 

Rhys pushes his glass toward Lysander. “He can have mine.” 

“No, he can’t, because you’re having yours.” I reach out and slide it back into place.

I’m rewarded with a frown, but I don’t expect any less. “I didn’t ask for this.” Still, he sighs in defeat and accepts the presence of the glass by not pushing it away again. 

“So,” I say amicably. “What are you old hens gossiping about?” 

Lysander snorts in amusement and Rhys’ fingers deftly flit over the screen of his tablet in order to close whatever document had been on there previously. I cannot actually believe he would do that to me. As if I was a snooper trying to snoop on his private affairs. 

“Nothing. Just an email that I got.” He reaches for the glass of stout and takes a sip. That’s how I know he’s trying to hide something. He’s hoping it’ll obscure his expression. “It’s not that important.”

There’s a brief heartbeat when Lysander’s smile flickers. Barely discernible, but then the quick glance he gives in Rhys’ direction is another indication that they’re not saying something. 

I suck air in between my teeth, letting it hiss audibly to draw their attention back. “You’re lying to me.” 

Rhys has the audacity to look surprised, though I would have thought we knew each other well enough to not have this sort of reaction. “Pardon?” 

Because I could never lie to him, even if someone asked me to, I cross my arms over the counter and lean in closer to them. “I heard enough--” 

Rhys’ expression closes up and he shoves himself away. This also results in him nearly spilling out of his chair -- and it’s only Lysander’s hand on his shoulder that keeps him steady. “Before you say anything, the answer is no.” 

“But you don’t even know what I wanted to ask!” 

“It’s you, and that’s enough.” He nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose and when he draws his hand away, there is a frown in place. “Kaito, this isn’t open for discussion.” 

My mouth drops open, and I make a small sound in offense. “Really? Because I had another patron earlier this week going on about it quite drunkenly and quite loudly. The email called it a game, didn’t it?” 

This shuts him up, so it’s Lysander who takes over. “He just doesn’t want to get you involved in this. You have a business to run.” 

Is there no limit to how much this conversation is going to insult me? “Yeah, and you’re a history teacher at a secondary school. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” 

Rhys rubs his temple the way he does when a headache starts. “You’re more likely to take this lightly--” 

“Ooh, I’m taking a game far too lightly, whatever shall we do--” 

“I’m being serious here, Kaito!” 

“You’re always serious, Rhys! That’s half the problem.” 

Lysander lifts his hands to calm us down, glancing around at the patrons in the bar. My other bartender at least doesn’t stare. It’s not that I often argue with my friends, but at least they’re familiar enough with Rhys to know that he and I often butt heads. 

“He’s right,” Lysander offers. “The way that he describes it sounds more like a well organized plan to cause chaos disguised as a game. They are giving information and power to a select few individuals and waiting to see what happens.” 

It takes me several seconds before I can control my breathing. I hadn’t even realized that I had gotten honestly worked up over the issue -- I had only meant to tease, but then Rhys kept doing that thing he does where he treats me like someone that he has to look out for. “Why would you tell Lysander and then try to lie to me?” 

Rhys, apparently, is having to take a breather of his own. He’s always more emotional, despite his stoic appearance. “You’re one of my company’s clients, Kaito.” 

Sometimes, I wonder how much my value to him is because we are friends or because the accounting company he works for takes care of my finances. “That’s not a reason. That’s an excuse.” 

“They’re the same thing at this point. I’m not asking you to participate.” 

I have to mentally sort through the chatter I heard from them earlier to pick a weapon. He mentioned the twins. Those are always his weak spot. “So you’d let your siblings participate before me? Talk about mixing in your personal life. I’m insulted.” And I am, but I can at least pass it off as a joke. I’m good at that, and he’s not good at always picking up on it. 

Lysander still insists upon playing the mediator. He leans in to try and physically block the two of us. Even though we’re not reaching for each other or even relying on heated words. “They have to participate as a team. You couldn’t expect him to split up Lio and Lia, could you?” 

“I’m going to say no, even though I don’t know how this game is played.” 

“You don’t have to know.” 

It’s my turn to roll my eyes and I toss a hand in the air in lofty indifference. “So you keep saying, and so I keep failing to see.” I tap one finger on the bar, and I watch the two of them tense in response. “Informants, right? I think that’s what you said?” 

Rhys doesn’t respond, so Lysander does instead. “They’re the ones that deal the information out to their team. They’re the ones that can determine a team’s success or failure.” 

A laugh escapes me before I can wrangle it back into place. “Oh my god, and you think a history teacher would be better for that? No offense, Lys.” 

He shrugs, an easy smile in place. “None taken.” 

“Lysander is perfectly capable,” Rhys says, bristling when our other friend doesn’t respond to my teasing. “He’s seen a lot of what is happening out in the world. He’s got knowledge that could be of use, or at least the cunning to know how to use it.” 

Lysander’s grin widens a fraction, a look of honest surprise taking over. “Aww, that’s so sweet. Thanks, Rhys.” 

I, on the other hand, have to fight down another wave of something that I’d rather not consider. Jealousy? Over my two friends? I don’t often care what other people think of me, but when it’s the two of them, I don’t like the idea that I’m not at the same level as they are. 

I don’t like them treating me like someone young and naive. 

“Alright, okay, you know what?” I step away from the bar and rub my thumb over my brow. “I’m trying to be serious here. I really want to help. But fine. Whatever.” 

Swallowing down the bitterness, I start to turn back toward the other patrons. At the last second, I pause to snatch back the glass that is short only a sip from in front of Rhys. “And I’m taking this to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.” 

He at least looks a little crestfallen by my response. But he doesn’t say anything, letting me leave before Lysander leans back in. 

This time, they keep their voices low enough that I can’t hear anything. The chatter from the rest of the crowds rises like the tide to cover their murmuring. 

Later, as people start to thin out and I’m cleaning the taps for lack of anything better to do, Lysander appears in the corner of my vision. 

He’s forsaken his normal spot alongside Rhys, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. “About before. Sorry.” 

I almost accept it with the grace becoming of an adult, but I allow myself a petulant frown at the last second. “You’re not the one I want an apology from.” 

This he takes in stride and nods at the other end of the bar. Rhys sits there by himself, tablet in front of him. He’s hunched and looks so tired and defeated. “I’ll swing by to chat with you later in the week. Or maybe you can actually find time to get out from behind that bar and the three of us can hang out.” 

“Now, wouldn’t that be a wonder.” I give one final swipe with the cloth to the bronze tap and study my distorted reflection in the metal. “Why does it seem that between the three of us, we make up one functioning adult?” 

“Because math somehow says that makes sense.” Lysander laughs as he takes a step back -- drawing his vape pen out of his back pocket. I don’t allow smoking in here. He’s out the door with a wave before I can say anything else. 

There’s a brief moment before I sigh and decide to drag my feet back over. 

Rhys looks up, then back down again just as quickly as I appear. “I spoke out of line.” 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you.” 

“You were only teasing.” 

“Only partially.” 

We’re silent, neither of us moving from our frozen tableau despite the gentle tide of people around us. Then Rhys turns his tablet around and illuminates the screen for me. 

“This is a copy of the email we received,” he explains, voice soft and mild. Studied indifference, trying not to make a big deal of it. 

My eyes glance over it before jumping to the top and reading through it carefully. “And you think it’s telling the truth?” 

“I’d say about three hundred people think it’s telling the truth.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, only serving to disrupt several curls from where they clung to the side of his head. “It’s either a very elaborate hoax, or it’s real.” 

“And the twins?” 

“They received one to their ‘joint’ account.” There’s a wry twist to his mouth. “Lionel created a fake identity to fill in where that nickname once meant empty space.” 

A sound of surprise leaks from me. “What sort of fake identity?” 

“Lio set up a new bank account and transferred his phone to this new name.” 

“And what does it mean that the email was sent to this fake person’s account?” 

He takes off his glasses and presses his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. “It means that Rhys Darcy and Lianel Lions are the ones who are going to be participating as a team together.” He uses the lower rungs of the bar stool to boost himself across the bar. “Here.” 

With a few quick motions, he pulls up a second list on the tablet and points out the highlighted names. Darcy, Rhys, accountant. 

Further down is Lions, Lianel, student. 

“Huh. Interesting.” 

“It means that we are going to have to be very careful.” Rhys remains where he is, head turned away from me as he fidgets with his tablet. His voice has dropped back down to the low conspiratorial tone he should have used earlier to keep me from eavesdropping on his conversation with Lysander. “And I’m going to need someone that I can trust with this responsibility to take on the roll of our Informant.” 

This is it. This is the part where he properly apologizes and explains that is why Lysander is going to be my Informant and I have to try and not show how insulted I am. 

“That’s why, after talking it over with Lysander, I think it best that you are our Informant.” 

I stare at him. He doesn’t return my gaze. “You what now?” 

“Kaito,” he warns, tired, and reaches for his glasses -- only to realize that they’re sitting on the bar before him. 

“I’m kidding.” I’m honestly speechless because I didn’t expect him to change his mind. After five years, I thought I had him figured out. “I’m grateful, Rhys. Thank you.” 

Now he looks at me. There are dark circles beneath his hazel eyes, and I wonder just when he started looking so much older. “There is going to be another meeting on the seventeenth. Lionel and I are going to register the team.” 

It takes an effort to not look excited. “Are you going to need me there?” 

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The Program Manager -- a man named Patrick Mercer -- indicates that you will be receiving separate messages after the fact. You will communicate with his team, and then thus to us.” 

“Alright.” 

“I just…” He trails off and his breath peters out in the failed attempt of a sigh. “The reward is being able to leave Eminence. I don’t care, one way or another, but Liala…” 

Even five years down the line, I don’t quite know the whole story that brought them here. It has something to do with the youngest Darcy sibling and her delicate health. It has something to do with the way Rhys and Lio are constantly arguing without actually arguing. 

“She wants to see our parents’ graves. It’s not… been something I even thought about since we left Bainbridge.” 

I reach across the bar and let my hand brush over his. I almost grab it, but refrain at the last moment. “Then I’ll do my best. I won’t let you down.” 

For the first time in a long time, he smiles at me. Not a smirk, or an amused twist of his lips at one thing or another. It’s tired, and weak, but at least it’s honest. “I never thought that you would, Kaito.”