Chapter Text
{Context: Scene immediately following Citras return from her Aunt's wedding}
Citras stomach turned and flopped in all sorts of unpleasant, dramatic ways, and for once, it was only partly due to Rowans cooking.
She couldn't stop herself from picking at her chicken alfredo. Twirling the long strands of noodles around and around her fork, feeling the curious gaze of Rowan flicker to her occasionally coupled with the more insistent presence of Scythe Faradays eyes.
She needed space. Yet she knew that going to her room wouldn't be any better. After all, how does one recover from intruding on her aunt's wedding? Because that's what it really was: intruding. There was no other way of putting it. How else was one supposed to describe the barely concealed venomous whispers, dubbing her 'an omen of death'? How ELSE would you describe the awkward glances you and your parents gave each other, not fully knowing how to reconnect?
No, Citra was too far into becoming a scythe now. She could never rejoin society, and today was proof.
Perhaps immaturely, part of her so badly wanted to punch Faraday in the face, for he knew better than anyone that Citra would be the black sheep. By allowing Citra to go, he had knowingly set her up for disappointment.
Well, lesson learned.
Awesome! Thanks so much! Faraday really showed her. Now she can never go home again without picturing her younger brothers wobbling, distrustful eyes peering up at her from behind her mothers back.
Finally, after a few more minutes of nonstop twirling, Faradays stare-off became too claustrophobic, and Citra excused herself, restraining her anguish.
Just until you get to your room, Citra promised herself, just hold it together until then.
In her room, Citra let the door slam. Cringing at the thought of the lecture she'd surely get from Faraday about it later to the tune of: 'you're on weapon cleaning duty tomorrow.'
Whatever.
For now, however, Citra was too riled up to care. Soon her emo-nanites would kick in and she'd feel fine again. But she didn't want to feel fine again. She had a right to be upset about her family shunning her!
Without realizing she'd been doing it, Citra had kicked the pillow off her bed with a swift, careful Bokator move. It fell to the floor with murmured complaint.
It wasn't much, but it'd have to do for the sake of being quiet.
Citra spun, circling the room in small movements, letting her limbs move in precise, rehearsed movement. She must have missed the knocking on the door, because next thing she knew, she was face-to-face with Scythe Faraday who held her leg awkwardly at a safe distance away from his face.
His face was unreadable, which usually was a surefire sign of his disdain. So, to be as cordial as possible, Citra mustered up a fake smile and dared to ask, "Yes, Your Honor?"
Faraday, unbothered, released her leg with a sigh. He strut right past her and sank into her desk chair. "I'm sure you have a few questions for me now that you've been to your aunt's wedding." He prompted, and for an infuriating moment Citra wondered whether he'd intentionally sabotaged her in order to prove a point. But she didn't entertain the thought for longer than a moment. The Scythe Faraday she knew constantly spoke about morality and goodness while he awkwardly lingered at the back of his victims funerals to pay respect. He wouldn't set her up for failure.
Yet, she still had to ask, "Did you know that would happen?"
Faraday grimaced, the wrinkles above his all-knowing eyes becoming pronounced and world-weary.
"I have been alive long enough to know how people react to scythes - even family, the ones who you'd expect to love us instead fear us. People see us as bringers of death. While they're not wrong, scythe or not, what's wrong with enjoying the occasional wedding, hmm?" He explained, trying to lighten the mood. When Citra wasn't having it, he confessed, "From experience, I suspected your return home had the potential be slightly different than you anticipated."
Citra quirked a brow, "'From experience?'"
Faraday swatted the air dismissively, "Minor detail."
Citra had zeroed back in on the scene. No matter how many times she'd replayed it, it still tore her heart to shreds. "My own brother wouldn't even talk to me." she whispered, the stinging at her eyes threatening to pour onto her cheeks, "I had to make small talk with my mom and dad. Like I wasn't even their daughter! This is what they wanted, and NOW they're surprised?"
Faraday listened with infinite patience, letting her speak.
"But then again, how could I ever talk normally with them again? It's so hard knowing that they'd never understand. Now that I'm a monster."
When she was finished, she let out a small sob, rubbing furiously at her eyes.
Hesitantly, Faraday looped an arm around her shoulders and patted, opting not to correct her terminology. Sighing again he spoke quietly, mainly to himself, "This is the hardest part of training an apprentice. How is one supposed to teach another person to let go? There is no clear answer or path. It isn't something you can train, and it isn't something you can learn, it's just something that happens over time."
"Do you..." Citra gulped, "Do you just stop feeling it? The disappointment?"
Faraday thought about it.
"No." he answered, "It's always there. Maybe not constantly, but it's there, waiting for you to remember. And maybe that's for the best. Imagine the kind of person someone would be if they were to live a life with no guilt, no sense of loss to humble them. Would it mean that they never loved to begin with? Or that they have become so stagnant that they're apathetic to all problems beyond their own?"
Citra sniffed, letting herself be swayed by the Scythe Faradays capable wisdom once more. When she couldn't trust herself to do the right thing, she could rest easily knowing Faraday already had enough reasonable, moral answer for the both of them. She leaned into him, and he tensed before relaxing.
At the moment, Faraday understood the appeal of having apprentices, the reason why some scythes actively sought out apprentices. They become your children. And in a life where family isn't a given, it's the best thing you have.
When Citra had finally calmed down, she looked at Scythe Faraday, all with her tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes, and thanked him.
Faraday took this moment to excuse himself, reaching for the doorknob.
"Oh, and Citra?" he impulsively said. Citra's head whipped up.
"You're not a monster. No matter what you or anyone else thinks. That is all. Goodnight."
That night, Faraday wrote about his experience in his gleaning journal.
~~~
It is my personal belief that not all scythes should have apprentices, but all apprentices deserve an honorable scythe. With many things, accepting too much too fast often results in disaster. One can never be too prepared, especially in the matters of housing another human life. A scythe must be entirely prepared to do their best to not just educate; but to serve as something akin to a parental figure for these children - to accommodate them, even with all their emotional outbursts. I'll admit, it has been many, many years since I last took on an apprentice, never mind two. So perhaps I was unprepared, but it is human nature to adapt, even in ways unexpected.
Children can be emotional, no matter how much time has progressed. At times, I envy them. If only the world were still new enough for me to constantly find new things to constantly experience. But, in a way, by taking them in, I live vicariously through their youthful spirit. I enjoy offering my apprentices guidance and watching them grow from teenagers to young adults, it's a rewarding thing and keeps an old man young and rapt.
- From the gleaning journal of H.S. Faraday
~~~
What Scythe Faraday and Citra didn't know was that that night, Rowan, a boy of all 15 or 16, was listening. Those careful, loving words soothed his broken heart, and gave him permission to stop feeling guilty for not despairing over his mother. He knew she'd already moved on from him, so he had to be strong, too.