Meliora - Extricate - 37

[lady_mab]

Lysander Stavros

Ayn's hair flounces in a red cloud around her ears as she bounds down the stairs to join me on the sidewalk. "Sorry! I couldn't find my key."

"And did you find it?" I ask, holding out my arm towards her. I've learned that this is how she prefers to work at my side. Not hand-in-hand.

She grins as she takes it, slightly out of breath, and holds up the small key chain with her free hand. "So, how is the new semester treating you at school?"

This is the first time we've seen each other since our date on Christmas eve. I tried to invite her out for New Year's, but she said that she already had plans. We've texted, in between our heavy load of obligations. She has more rehearsals for the ballet than usual due to the mid-winter performance later this month. I've had to prepare for classes, and keeping an ear to the ground in regards to any ALICE updates.

"Moderate to fair. It's not like uni. I still have all the same students. I just have to... get them back into school mode."

"Ahh, well that itself is rough, isn't it." Ayn shivers at a breath of cold wind and adjusts her scarf. "What is the dinner plan for this evening?"

I give her the options, and we spend the walk to the train station debating over which we feel like eating at. The crunch of week-old ice adds rhythm to our conversation. Weather is promising more snow soon, which does not bode well for inspiring students to do their work.

We decide on something that sounds vaguely Mongolian and make it to the restaurant a little after eight. At this point, as we're glancing through the menus, Ayn carries on a steady flow of chatter for a somewhat one-sided conversation. She bounces between her classes and the dance studio, keeping it all on a level where I don't have to chime in with much.

I'm content to let her talk, interjecting where necessary, but otherwise slip into silence.

Ayn lapses into a pause, and before I can ask her what's wrong, she says, "You never explained how you ended up in Eminence."

This catches me off guard, wondering if I’ve missed a part of the conversation she seemed to be having with herself. "Uh, well." I lean back in my chair to study her. She's not meeting my gaze, staring down at her salad instead. "I never thought you would be interested."

"Why wouldn't I be interested?" she returns quickly, then purses her lips. "I've told you about what happened to me since you left. It's almost been seven years -- what makes you think I wouldn't be interested?"

How many of my reasons for not telling her are excuses? "It's a part of my life that involved cutting you out of it." That much I know is true and honest.

She shrugs, and that alone surprises me. "You're here now. That must count for something."

I contemplate my soup's noodle-y depths for a moment, contemplating how I want to string my narrative. I lived in New Ox long enough to become her mother's pet project in an attempt to clean up the youth and the streets. I think that, even then, Jocelyn Starling knew that I wouldn't stay around.

This never seemed to sink into Ayn’s head, so it was a shock and a disappointment to her when I left without a word.

"After I left New Ox, I hopped up to Belfast for a bit, and took a boat from there to Iceland for a few months." In slow, halting words, I give her a rough breakdown of the five years I spent traveling. I moved as soon as I got bored. Once I made the effort to sober up, I moved as soon as I started feeling restless or the urge to relapse. Sticking too long in one place made me crave stimulation.

I couldn't find anything interesting to keep me in a place long enough unless I was using.

My summary ends with a half-hearted, "You know how I am," because she does. She knows very well by this point.

Ayn gives her salad a thin-lipped smile. When she speaks, her voice is as brittle as her expression. "This must suck, huh? Being stuck here for what, two years?"

"Almost."

"Long enough for you to settle down and get a respectful job! Something I never thought you would do when we met all those years ago." It's amazing how she tries to pass it off like it doesn't bother her. I might have been convinced, too, if I didn't know that tone in her voice.

"Eminence’s school system was surprisingly easy to trick into thinking I could be a competent teacher." I chuckle as Ayn lets out a small laugh of her own. "I suppose, in the end, the joke’s on me because it's been two years and they haven't fired me yet."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and finally looks at me. "I suppose you're more responsible than you first thought."

"Perish the thought."

"Do you enjoy it? Teaching?"

I consider this question for a good moment, swirling my spoon in my soup. "I think I do, but the curriculum is... pretty much shit. Forget culture. I'm pretty much just teaching them the evolution of London into Eminence. There's so much more interesting stuff going on in the rest of the world over the last three hundred years. The fires in China, the agricultural marvels sweeping through eastern Europe, the massive reconstruction of factions throughout most of Africa. Hell, even the nuclear scare and the economic collapse of America that lead to this whole SD era. And we're stuck in our battered city talking about how great ALICE is."

Ayn's hand wraps around my wrist and her stern glance cuts off the rest of the thought. I hadn't even realized I had been raising my voice in frustration. "Listen," she says, voice soothing. "I understand how frustrating it is. I know that ALICE is hiding something, and that it's dangerous as fuck to try and get anything solid on them." Her hand tightens before withdrawing.

A ragged sigh scrapes its way out of my throat and I drag a hand back through my hair. "Don't get me started on what they're hiding." There's so many loose threads right now, and that Informant meeting gave absolutely nothing away. Once again, we made the rounds and said hi to people. Got an update on the pulse of the situation, but nothing vital.

Nothing that could help move the pace of this game along.

"How do you manage?" Ayn taps a finger against the table before pressing on. "How do you, of all people, play along knowing that your reward is going to be the continuation of the ignorance?"

I snort and she lifts an eyebrow. "I don't. I mean, I'm not going to play right into their hands."

The eyebrow lifts a degree higher before quirking. "You're an Informant. That's exactly what you're doing."

Her tone is difficult to interpret, so I push back. "You think Jonas is playing by the rules?"

To my surprise, a frown twitches the corner of her lips and her eyes narrow just a degree. "I do, in his own way. He values information and Fletcher above all else. He'll follow the rules to find their loopholes."

Silence descends between us, stilted only by her viciously stabbing at her salad in some unknown frustration.

I pick at a crumb on the table top. "He's going to stay here, isn't he?"

This time, both her eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn't lift her head. "I don't follow. Like I said, that's your reward. That's the rule. Getting stuck here while knowing the truth for as long as they let you as some kind of sadistic congratulations for helping others figure out the prize."

"Just because your Informant is playing by these loose, metaphorical rules--" Ayn rolls her eyes and sighs, so I raise my voice a tad to make sure she hears me-- "doesn't mean that I am. When it's time for everyone who reaches the end to leave, I'm coming along."

Her mouth drops open and an uncertain sound escapes from it. "Don't be ridiculous," she finally manages, breathless. "It's not a bloody walk in the park. They're staging a carefully planned disruption of society. They aren't going to just let anyone leave."

"I don't expect them to. But I'm not going to stay here." It's a bit of an insult that she brushes off my words with little consideration. "I'm not like Jonas, or Kaito or Glen. I have no reason to stay."

"Does your job and your friends mean so little to you that you would abandon it all in a moment's notice?" There's no shift in her expression, but I can feel the weight settle in to the darkness of her gaze. "Oh, no, of course not, not when some greater distraction is on the horizon."

"This isn't about a distraction or an escape from myself anymore, Ayn," I counter, voice matching hers. "This is a matter of freedom."

"So it's get out while you can with no regard for others?"

I open my mouth to respond, but she's faster, cutting me off.

"If anyone hears you talking like that--"

"I know. I'm putting myself at risk." Judging by those blog posts and the reports of what happened at Halloween, I can surmise that nothing good happens from those who act out directly against ALICE. The company does a magnificent job at keeping people cowed and obedient in that respect.

"Not just you, Lysander!" Her hand lifts, curls into a first, and hovers over the table. "Zoné and Jun -- your friends Kaito and Rhys. Everyone is affected in some little way, you know that, right?"

I reach for her hand, and she allows me to pull it down. I twine our fingers together as I talk, focusing on the taut lines of her wrist. "If I'm removed, Zoné and Jun will return to normal high school kids. A new teacher will take my place. You'll find some replacement boyfriend."

She scoffs and her hand twitches beneath my grip. "That's an incredibly selfish viewpoint, I hope you know."

"What do you want me to say, Ayn? That I'll stay here and just let you leave without me?"

"It's not about that."

"Would you prefer I stay behind? That I forget you?"

She sighs, deflates a degree. "No--"

"Then what is the issue?"

"I just think that--" The words falter, grinding to a halt, and I watch her swallow down the rest of the thought. "Never mind. You're right. It's not an issue."

When she pulls her hand away, I let her.

I wait a beat to see if anything more is forthcoming, then return to my soup. It's gone awkwardly room temperature, but I continue to eat it more as something to distract myself with than anything else.

Silence, uneasy and heavy, drags out between us. It muffles the rest of the noise in the restaurant.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, voice as conversational as she can make it. "I feel like I've ruined our date."

I shake my head and release a breath. "It's fine. It's a... tense situation that we've found ourselves in."

She nods, but offers no more explanation. I wonder if I should try and give a more reassuring answer, but her expression is more thoughtful than upset. It's not an emotion that she's willing to share with me at the moment, so I let it pass.

'Tense situations' are supposed to be times when a couple works through issues, but I suppose neither of us are very good at that.

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