Chapter Text
She’s pretty sure that she’s angry. No, scratch that, she’s furious, she’s seething, she’s never been so mad in her life.
And Folinic can’t explain why.
As the Rhodes Island medic vigorously paces down the hallways of the Medical Wing, her teeth grit, fingernails dig painfully into her palms, mind races with a thousand questions and demands, as determined legs race to find the answers. Just a few minutes ago, the Feline had become privy to a certain piece of information during a chat with Greythroat. While some would say that the matter is of poor taste, most would simply accept it and move on with their lives. But Folinic, upon hearing, was instantly consumed by a myriad of emotions, none of them pleasant. Her chest is heaving, burning with rage, despair, betrayal and dozens of other horrible feelings which she can’t currently put a name to. When she finally reaches her destination, the Feline's lips are parted and an impassioned tongue is in the air before the door even opens.
“Dr. Kal’tsit!”
The door to the Head Medical Director’s office is swung haphazardly open as fuming yellow eyes project her displeasure more than her words. Inside are two women. One is a Sarkaz whose face Folinic recognized, but could not put a name to, harshly glaring at the interruption with a mix of surprise and hostility. The other is a face she could pick out from a crowd a thousand large. Dr. Kal’tsit stands next to the Sarkaz as she cradles a clipboard in her arms, head turned towards Folinic and face stuck in that unbreakable stoicism. While the Feline would usually never dare to raise her voice at the person who meant the world to her, certain topics can cause a rational mind to lapse.
“Why was the mercenary assigned to Atro’s room?!”
The next few seconds are filled with relative silence, Folinic only hearing her own heavy breaths as Kal’tsit stares cryptically at her with piercing green eyes. Eventually, the doctor sighs.
“Given her combat prowess, The Doctor and several Elite operators have petitioned for Operator Mudrock to participate in standard missions. Thus, effective this week, Operator Mudrock will now be deployed in Doctor lead missions, spec ops, and Contingency Contracts in addition to leading Mudrock Squad’s usual duties and was given the appropriate accommodations. Her being assigned to Operator Atro’s former room was simply a coincidence.”
Even through her rage, Folinic still feels her back shiver and tail curl when her mentor’s eyes narrow chillingly.
“Do you find this to be a problem, Operator Folinic?”
“Problem?! I- She…” Just like during her heated walk over here, Folinic can’t find a reasonable justification for her rage. Her tongue stammers, lips flap, face reddens. All in the name of a cause which is nameless. “Atro- Y-You can’t possibly...at Wolumonde, she… Atro-”
“Louisa.”
For a moment, the spell is broken. Yellow eyes widen, fuzzy brown eyes clamp down in shame. While her mentor’s eyes remain sharp and menacing, there is a personal tenderness, almost a tragic sorrow, hidden beneath green pools in wake of the singular word. Folinic knows that whenever her real name leaves Kal’tsit’s lips, the following lesson is not one to be taken lightly.
“Take a moment to clear your head. You are rambling.” Folinic does as she says and starts taking deep breaths, eyes glued to the floor as they are unable to meet with green. “You have not given me any discernible reason for your protest of this decision. If you have a valid one, tell me and I will have Operator Mudrock transferred to a different room immediately. Otherwise, I would ask that you leave. I’m in the middle of something and you have a tutorial with Warfarin very early tomorrow that I suggest you prepare for.”
Kal’tsit’s words hit her like a slap to the face. She remains standing there, constantly inhaling and exhaling heavily long after her mentor’s words have stopped. They fail to calm an irrational heart and whirling mind. Reluctantly, she relents.
“For...Forgive me, Dr. Kal’tsit, I was rash.” she bitterly sighs. Yellow eyes still can’t find the courage to meet with her mentor’s, the shame crippling a once passionate body. “I have no objections with this decision. I’m sorry for disturbing you...and good night.”
With but a brief nod, Folinic turns around and heads out the door, gone as quick as she came. Distant green eyes stay locked upon the empty door frame for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“...Even I’m having doubts about the soundness of this decision.” the Sarkaz woman, who had been silently watching the exchange, suddenly challenges, arms crossed as she attempts to read the enigmatic doctor’s thoughts. “Folinic isn’t the only one who will have qualms with this. Are you sure Mudrock was placed there completely by chance?”
“It truly was a complete coincidence as far as the integrity of the Logistics department is concerned, but I approved the placement regardless even though I could have easily found her a different room.”
The Sarkaz’s eyes narrow, still carefully gauging the doctor. Kal’tsit’s gaze remains distant and glued to the door.
“So why didn’t you?”
There’s a noticeable pause before Kal’tsit’s next words, that mask of ice cracking for just a moment as rare emotion marks barely discernible scars upon usually firm cheeks.
“...Operator Folinic has been greatly affected by the events of Wolumonde and Operator Atro's passing. Even after all this time, those wounds have not healed. I’m hoping that this and further interactions with the mercenary will help her finally find closure.”
Green eyes dull, a faded memory plays before the eyes of a woman who has lived for far, far too long.
“...Not just for Wolumonde, but for…”
Without warning, the doctor suddenly snaps out of her reverie, back straightening and eyes rehardening. Once again, that unflappable expression turns towards the Sarkaz.
“Back to what we were discussing. The board of directors have decided to entrust monitoring of the mercenary Mudrock along with her squad to you, Operator Ascalon. While we know you are already preoccupied with your duties regarding W, we believe your knowledge and familiarity with the subject makes you too well fitted for this role to assign a replacement. You will be provided additional S.W.E.E.P members and funding for your trouble. Do you have any objections to this?”
For a moment, Ascalon dared to steer the conversation back towards Kal’tsit’s uncharacteristic change in demeanour. But, cooler heads eventually prevail and the Sarkaz decides to keep her curiosity unsated.
“You know I don’t.” An exasperated sigh, Ascalon weaves a limp hand through messy locks. “Ha, I only hope that this Mudrock is more stable than my other charge.”
Kal’tsit turns away from Ascalon as she begins to scribble some notes onto her clipboard. Unbeknownst to the Sarkaz, however, the doctor’s eyes once again take on a different shade. The fingers around her pen tighten.
“...As do I.”
“Fuck!”
A couple of Rhodes personnel jump in surprise when the flustered Feline storms past them, the occasional curse thick in the air. The meeting with Kal’tsit had done nothing to sooth her worries. If anything, it only made them worse, a consuming shame now surging parallel to the maddening anger as they torch her chest. She had blown off Greythroat, disappointed her beloved mentor, publicly made a scene with her fit, and still she is nowhere closer to finding a reason for her ruinous fury.
'You could have done more that day.'
Teeth clench painfully.
'Atro deserved to live so much more than you.'
An audible whine escapes past dry lips.
'I should still be able to see her face when I open that door, not yours, devil.'
“Damn it!”
Sweaty fingers clamp ruefully over her scalp. Those weren’t anywhere near a good reason for her rage. Atro would cry if she ever heard such horrid things leave her lips.
But, Atro is no longer here. She’s gone. And so, there is no one to fill the deafening madness that rings so lucidly in Folinic’s ears.
“...huh?!”
Yellow eyes widen in horror as the Feline realizes she is standing but a few steps away from Atro’s room. While it was on the way to her own quarters, one still needed to make a conscious effort to detour towards her old friend’s room. Did she end up wandering in her disorientation? Had the thoughts of Atro caused nostalgic feet to retrace old steps?
Did she want to take matters into her own hands?
She viciously shakes her head, hoping to dispel the deranged thoughts. Taking a moment to best compose herself, twitching eyes gradually close, roiling fingers tighten into fists, before Folinic begins to slowly walk past the room and back on her path towards her own room.
“Hehe!”
Wild eyes snap open.
“L-Lisa?!”
That was unmistakably Suzuran’s voice which she heard ringing out from Atro’s room. Suddenly, blind feet pace towards the door and her fist slams impatiently onto steel. And Folinic doesn’t know why. Is she somehow worried about Suzuran’s safety? Is the familiar sight of those walls one which a nostalgic heart pines for?
Is she expecting Atro to be there when that door opens?
A frayed mind doesn’t have the time to process such lunatic thoughts, the steel frame abruptly sliding away as the air of the space where so many memories precious to her were made washes over her face once again.
But, instead of a tiny and chipper Feline greeting her, Folinic is instead met with a large and imposing suit of grey, three ebony horns stretching so high up that they extend past the upper frame of the door.
“...You.”
“...Operator Folinic.”
Standing in the place where Atro once occupied is the mercenary Mudrock, still concealed behind her heavy full-body suit even in a place like this. She doesn’t know how long they stand there, body tense and yellow eyes glaring at the segmented facepiece that is the closest thing she has to the Sarkaz’s face while the mercenary just silently complies. Eventually, however, the standoff is broken by the sight of a tiny Vulpo child crawling through the hole between Mudrock’s legs, nine golden tails swaying with innocent glee as tiny hands clamp onto Folinic’s arm.
“Sister Folinic! What are you doing here?!” the girl squeals as she begins dragging the Feline into the room. “I’m being a good girl and helping my junior operator unpack! Mudrock doesn’t have a lot of things so I didn’t get to do much...but come look anyway!”
“Lisa, I shouldn’t-”
But wide olive eyes and boundless enthusiasm wouldn’t be denied as Suzuran continued tugging happily on her sleeves until she finally relented. Mudrock wordlessly walked back into the room as she allowed them to pass her bulky frame, sitting on the ground in a strange kneeling position as she simply watched the spectacle. The breath catches in Folinic’s chest when she is met with a sight she has been denied for so long. Even if it had been cleared of all the personal effects that personified her friend, the voice and memories of Atro still seem to echo off the walls. Her head instinctively swivels to a certain corner of the room and a slight mist momentarily blurs her vision when she sees a little dent still blemishing the side of the counter. Atro had lost her grip on a heavy box of textbooks one day. Folinic can almost hear her own teasing laughter and Atro’s whiny cries of panic.
“...idiot.” she whispers in infinite fondness. The soft word is lost to Suzuran, but not Mudrock.
“Look, look, I made it so tidy! L-Like I said, Mudrock doesn’t have a lot of stuff, mostly just things for taking care of her suit and hammer...oh, but she has a lot of pretty rocks! Look!”
“Ah…”
A pair of heads instantly swivel around at the hesitant noise, the two peering at Mudrock, now with an arm outstretched. The mercenary, however, doesn’t seem to be able to find her words and eventually retreats back into her kneeling position, head bowed slightly in possible embarrassment.
Evidently, Suzuran seems to take that as permission to snoop through the Sarkaz's things and soon Folinic finds herself in the honoured presence of the mercenary's treasured collection. They were...certainly rocks. She is sure if her grasp of geology extended past Originium she'd be more impressed, but Folinic currently isn't able to appreciate the collection like the mercenary could. She can, however, piece together some praises. Curious eyes catch an RMA formation with an abnormal amount of darkened crystals, vaguely recalling that such RMA formations so precious to Originium Arts are extraordinarily rare and only occurred naturally deep in the heart of Kazdel. Another piece the Feline recognizes, not from her studies, but from her horrid days slaving away in Ursus mines, working herself to the bone just to survive for another day. She doesn’t exactly remember the name, but it is a metal often used to smelt some sort of high demand alloy. This particular piece seems to be much more polished and pure than the ugly chunks of grey that she had once exchanged for a loaf or two of stale bread. Folinic can, at the very least, tell that the mercenary is well travelled.
However, she finds her attention drawn significantly more to the oddly carved stones that Suzuran soon picks out and holds up to her. Composition-wise, they are much less exciting than the rest of the collection, seemingly made out of dull, ordinary rocks one could find anywhere, but carved from these mundane bases are expertly forged shapes and figures. As she examines them more carefully, Folinic can see a couple letters, ones she believed were Kazdelian, carved onto the surface of each one. While she has merely an entry level grasp of the Sarkaz language, she attempts to make out the word carved onto one of the pieces anyways. This one seems to be clearer than the others. Perhaps Mudrock had just recently made it?
‘C...Chain...smoke?’
Her eyes sharpen and finger clench in familiar hostility when she feels Mudrock’s piercing gaze trained upon Suzuran’s little hands, a tense energy projecting into the air the mercenary’s unbreakable vigilance. Folinic can tell that these stones were precious to Mudrock. Squinting, yellow eyes eventually realize that the odd protrusions present on the majority of the stones were in fact modelled after horns. And understanding that, it is easy to see a small army of faceless Sarkaz heads staring back at her. Beads of sweat begin to form on her brow, the sound of rushing blood pulses loudly in her ears.
‘Just how precious are these things to her?’
Her legs suddenly shoot up as she stiffly stands, Suzuran jumping a bit in surprise. The Feline doesn’t like where her train of thought is taking her. Her mouth is open before she knows it, tongue somehow dreadfully dry.
“I have to go.” She blinks. Suzuran makes a sound. Mudrock doesn’t move. Folinic turns her gaze downwards, where she is subjected to a confused and worried look from the little Vulpo. She licks her lips. “I...I’m sorry, Lisa, but I have a lesson very early in the morning tomorrow. I should go get some sleep, okay?”
“O-Oh, o-okay!” Suzuran says after a little pause, neatly putting away the rocks before leaping up and giving Folinic a brief hug. “S-Sorry for forcing you in here then, Folinic! Have a good night and good luck tomorrow!”
Folinic manages a small smile and nod, affectionately rustling waves of blonde before quickly pacing towards the door. She doesn’t even spare the mercenary a passing glance when she walks wordlessly by.
“...And so, winter’s wind continues to blow, uncaring to the wishes of a new spring.”
She stops dead in her tracks, standing still as stone right in the middle of the doorframe. Folinic doesn’t bother trying to decode the meaning of the cryptic phrase. All she can focus on in that moment is controlling the bubbling anxiety that builds painfully in her chest. She hears Mudrock finally get up from the floor, heavy boots thumping loudly as they approach her, stopping just short of her back. For some reason, she hates how they sound. So boisterous, so firm, so commanding.
‘Nothing like her.’
“But no winter is endless, no spring will be forever denied...lilies, hmm? They are tenacious.” A small pause, nothing can be heard save for Suzuran’s unsure whines. The pressure suddenly seems to ease. “...I never got the chance to thank you for your words and recommendation, Operator Folinic. We fought and bled as enemies, we parted Wolumonde with animosity, and yet, you still convinced me and my flock to stay, you did not deny us sanctuary nor honour when my integrity was challenged, so...thank you.”
Folinic stands there for a long time, a thousand different emotions racing through her head. She does her best to come up with a response, maybe even an apology or her own thanks, but any words die unsaid on a bitter tongue. All she can manage is a dull grunt before she swiftly walks out of the room and towards her own.
When she enters her room, her shoes and clothes are thrown into a messy pile. When she has dinner, she forgoes her usual balanced meal for sweetened energy bars. When it’s time for her pre-sleep study session, she manages all of three pages before she decides to pull out her tablet and mindlessly watch entertainment records. And when it is time for her to go to sleep, it would be a full hour past her usual time before she climbs into her sheets and yellow eyes still remain numbly trained onto the ceiling well after midnight. As the medic awaits for sleep to claim her through exhaustion, a restless mind once again attempts to dissect her feelings, to figure out how and if she should approach both the matter and the mysterious mercenary. But, just like words on her tongue, the thoughts die half-formed in her mind.
“...Screw it.”
The Feline huffs as she closes her eyes, choosing to instead go over materials regarding tomorrow’s lesson that she already knew by heart. The memories of vague, poetic words and a woman hidden inside an ebony prison are soon buried beneath a familiar downpour of hesitancy and uncertainty.
“I’ll do it some other day.”