robodicking | the Great Roughing of It is at hand

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the Great Roughing of It is at hand

[When they picked a direction to go, there had been an entire slew of factors to weigh. There was no wrong answer when the work they’d be doing could have them combing the entire planet for loose ends to tie up, conflict to settle. Geass could be anywhere and everywhere, but they could only be in one place at a time. Populous areas came with increased security, and any facial recognition would expose them. In times where everyone could celebrate peace, ne’er-do-wells would have to drift outward to move as freely.

The Geass Order had operated as such, placed so remotely as to safely isolate itself. Or rather, the Thought Elevator had been, and the Order had grown around it. If they had been drawn to it, it might be a worthwhile lead to venture towards other gateways around the planet, to see if any strange activity pops up in their vicinity. It’s as good a place to start as any.

Siberia’s summers are mild but short, so they take the opportunity to travel when they can. The forests are sprinkled with lush green this time of year, seasonal plants that can’t thrive the same as the evergreens towering above, the fields in the towns they pass through full and ready for harvest. The undertaking they have may be a heavy burden, but Jeremiah would be lying if he said he wasn’t taking pleasure in the sights along the way.

He imagines C.C. lived like this, must still be living like this. She had disappeared after the Zero Requiem, and if Lelouch knows to where or why, he hasn’t said. If it burdens him, he hasn’t shared that either, but the team he makes with Lelouch has worked well so far. When they have to carry everything down to the bedding they sleep on, Jeremiah feels at least a little uniquely qualified for the job of taking the brunt of it. Today is no different, his pack tightly organized and secured around his waist and shoulders, moving at the vanguard down the dirt path they’re on with almost as much ease as he would without the extra weight.

Just as long as he makes sure he doesn’t leave Lelouch lagging behind. He doesn’t exactly want to embarrass his prince, but slowing to a crawl would feel too coddling, unless he was asked to.]

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[His answer takes a moment, but the gravity of it in part is what gives him pause. A genuine query, wishing to see into the depths of his heart and mind, perhaps to understand someone who wishes from the depths of his soul to bow, instead of have others bow to him. If Lelouch feels so about their arrangement, feels only undeserving emptiness where Jeremiah would want to inspire utmost confidence, then he deserves every bit of the truth.]

Becoming the Knight of One.

[A faint smile extends over his features, more nostalgic and amused than anything when he summons the defunct title.] Or at least, something to that effect. It's an old ambition of mine, one I absolved to seek in light of my failures as a young man. To strive to better myself until I could hold the highest station I could, to be bestowed the greatest honor of serving as my emperor's right hand.

[He pauses, his voice dropping somewhat in intensity when he speaks again, impassioned as he ever remains on the subject. Parts of it draw strength in him, parts of it feed off of sorrow from hard lessons learned.]

It would also serve as proof to myself that I was finally strong enough to be entrusted once more with the lives of the royal family. I've had no greater regrets, it seemed the best choice was to do everything in my power to protect that which was precious to me.

[His gaze has drifted off, but he brings it back to the young man sitting across from him. Eyes intense, watching him, no inch of him mocking or derisive for his convictions. It's all he really hopes to see when he gets to carrying on like this. Jeremiah's smile grows a little.] It doesn't seem to matter what station life has handed you; I've only ever seen the same greatness with which you've continued to fight as though you've always worn the crown. Even now. How could I possibly turn away from that?

Speak for yourself.

[ Any greatness Lelouch has aspired toward, he's fallen short of; every miracle an act of calculation, smokes and mirrors with which to deceive others.

But he's decimated by a stare which contextualizes Jeremiah's words from earlier, a reprieve from the assaultive burden that the power of the king grants Lelouch, long after he's been stripped of all titles. He'd never intended to live to see the end of his wish, knowing full well what becomes of those who should want for more than they're given.

And yet, Lelouch can't scoff at this dream. ]

Honestly... then, I'll knight you. [ With one fluid stroke, Lelouch closes the take-out box, and tips in; less dramatized, more fervent. Seeking Jeremiah's gaze upon him as he himself seeks Jeremiah out. ] Though this isn't a very fitting location. Wait until the sun comes out, at least.

[ No good comes of dealing with darkness; this is an hour better suited to conniving, as Lelouch rises from his seat, pulling all of the accoutrements on, his backpack slung just as heavily as always. ]

... Let's get the busywork done. Pleasure can come after business.

[ He extends his hand. Will you take it, knight? In grasping it, he'll entrust onto Jeremiah his life. That, and the grocery trip. They'll need at least a day's worth of food. Perhaps more, depending. But nothing can start until Jeremiah reaches out for himself. ]

[The second the words fall from his lips, Jeremiah's eyes grow wide. Not the startle to his features at the cut of his words, no, wider than that. Wonder, bright and tenuous, still searching Lelouch's face so close to his for any trace of jest. None appears before him.]

Master Lelouch...

[His voice is hushed, softly reverent. It feels dangerous using his name in any crowd of any size, no matter how quietly it's said, but he can't contain it. The tightness in his chest that had faded returns, but it's different this time.

There's no need for titles. There's no need for any of these old conventions, he knows, even as he stands by them himself. It's impossible to say where this new world will take itself, as untouched by their hands as it must remain to survive, but the world as it exists for the two of them is theirs to continually shape as they see fit. Lelouch doesn't have to knight anyone anything, might even be tired of it for all he knows, but he knows Jeremiah. He's familiar with the gravity these things hold for him even if he hadn't known its name, so he'd granted it.

It's why Jeremiah won't listen when he says he can't find happiness here. If Lelouch sincerely believed that with all his heart, he wouldn't have bothered to bestow him with such a promise. They probably wouldn't even be having this conversation at all.

Taking his offered hand, slim and pale in his own, Jeremiah uses his other to grab hold of his pack, and rises to his feet. He doesn't mask his smile, reaching all the way to pinch the corners of his eyes, shining with conviction in the lamplight.] Yes, Your Majesty.

[ Lelouch clutches onto it a moment longer, the rest of the lampposts flickering on in a dazzling coalescence of gold. In an unaccountable burst of fondness, he squeezes those fingers once in a firmer hold; releasing Jeremiah's hand, he turns on his heel, expression distilling more of that same old wryness he's known far better for. ]

Take care not to lower your guard, Jeremiah. [ To those around them, and to Lelouch himself. ] Although... if you're content, I can't ask for any more than that.

[ With their belongings gathered, Lelouch leads them both on down the avenue and into the grocery store. Reconvening with groups R1 and R2 at Point E goes smoothly enough. They've scoped out the city and carried out the bulk of the shopping. All that remains is the obvious: their very last objective today.

Sending the vanguard ahead to get their housing situation for the evening settled, Lelouch continues to impose himself on Jeremiah's patience for the ten minutes or so he spends staring at a row of dairy aisle pudding cups in abject silence. The fluorescent lights above them blink intermittently, one moth circling and circling around one dying bulb. ]

Between Madagascan and Tahitian vanilla, which would you pick? [ For the grievous sin of not carrying French vanilla in this establishment, Lelouch needs to choose from flavors far more exotic than he's used to, examining and re-examining the labels like a child enamored with sweets. Every shade of vanilla, and yet so little time to contemplate. He doesn't glance up when he eventually deposits one of each in the basket. One for him, one for Jeremiah. ] Don't hold back on my behalf. I won't stop you, if there's something you want as well.

[They're thousands of miles from that train platform in Tokyo, but it all rings familiar enough that he knows there wasn't going to be any helping himself. His answer to the call to duty isn't going to change anytime soon.

The similarities after that are fleeting, gone from his mind as the lights bloom in the courtyard all around them. Jeremiah hadn't realized quite how dim it had been before then, but the young man standing before him comes into such sharper focus for it, framing the fall of his hair and bathing his face in warmth. The fit of Lelouch's hand tightens, almost in the same second that he wonders if he should try to let go, stalling them for a beat. Then two. The moment passes, the other man releases his grip, and it's not until he breaks eye contact and turns his back that Jeremiah finds himself able to inhale again.]

You're right. [Not an apology. Impassioned or not, his risk was still calculated and deliberately taken. Shouldering his hefty pack and securing it, faintly mirroring a smirk.] I'll strive to contain myself all the same.

[Keep rebuking him so softly and he's going to develop some bad habits, Lelouch.

From there, things move swiftly per their ever-timely schedule, Jeremiah in quiet tow to exchange any items between their parties. He's somewhat left on autopilot by the time he's fielding inquiries he might have had answers to, had he not tuned out Lloyd's ramblings on the subject in his youth, his gaze instead fixed to the boxes of herbal tea on the shelf. Translating isn't helping him ascertain much at all, unfamiliar with too many of the ingredients to imagine their flavor. What a team they make, when assigned a task like this.

He glances down into the basket.] Seems you already decided. [He returns the box he was holding to the shelf, brows still knit in indecision.]

If you have expertise to lend here, by all means.

Absolutely none, tragically. I've done the research. No more than that. [ But nothing is sacrosanct and nothing is off-limits as far as it concerns small sweets. In the throes of humor, he reaches up on that shelf, to examine the box: origanum and balm herbs. Then, casually, does he set it in the basket. ] We'll need sugar cubes.

[ Partially to observe Siberian tea rites, partially to satiate that sweet tooth of his as he wanders over to grab a small tin, deposits it just as assuredly. ]

I'll go on ahead. Join me when you're done.

[ There he goes.

After they've waited in line and paid for their purchases, Lelouch meticulously folding the receipt strip away, he glances sidelong, observing him from beneath his lashes as they walk along the streets, taking a roundabout path to the designated safe house for the evening. ]

What's the most striking thing about Siberian architecture to you?

[Jeremiah feels a small sense of relief with one less thing to consider. He's usually been preferential to black teas, when coffee sounds too acidic for his mood, or the occasional exquisite white that caught his eye. A preference from boyhood, though the milder flavors sometimes bore his tongue now. Herbal teas haven't interested him much, somehow tasting simply of hot water and dried plants instead of a proper beverage as tea leaves inexplicably do. But Lelouch would likely take tea with every meal and then some if he could, so acquiring something lacking caffeine for the evening seemed prudent.

For Lelouch, though. Jeremiah should pick something for himself too, right? It's an afterthought, only prompted by his prince. For all that he's kept pace, his mind is still a swirl from their conversation, has been for minutes now. Jeremiah suspects it may remain so for the rest of the night, in the morning, until Lelouch does the honors.

Slightly down the row of teas, he finds the oolongs, some labeled in Cyrillic, others in Chinese characters. He hadn't taken the time to appreciate them much before, but it's common enough in the geographical area. Trying it again had proven a shift in his palate, had he shied from it out of distaste before. Dark, earthy, but lacking the bitterness that makes him want for milk or honey. Perfect as it is.

Back on the street, his mind clears once more. It's become quiet, both serene and eerie as compared to the plaza, the hush of night falling heavy in the air. They pass by people every so often, but they're quiet too, content to go about their business as Lelouch and Jeremiah go about theirs.]

The intricacies on the trim, easily. There's almost no line or accent to some of these traditional buildings that isn't carved up to a decorative edge. It's a little garish sometimes, but the effect can be quite stunning.

[ The way back to the safe-house is uneventful. Nothing to show for it anymore, with evening slung low and devouring the rest of the horizon, people busying their way home.

Every so often, a car passes, its lights briefly sliding over their forms, elongating the shadows they cast before they melt back into the sidewalk. Walking along, Lelouch contemplates his answer with no small amount of contemplation. ]

They are a nice touch. ... I'd argue the spires. Rarely are they implemented for purely decorative purposes... so in a way, they reach towards the heavens.

[ And that's all he has on the matter, lapsing into silence until they reunite with their vanguard at their retreat for the night.

Settling in takes time. More time, even, than that grocery trip, as Lelouch busies himself in the room allotted to only him and Jeremiah, swiftly unpacking and flitting about the room. Separating their luggage between necessities and the extraneous, the first order of business is putting the kettle on for tea. Then, he lays out several things to their compatriots, who've gathered by the door of the room: their plans for tomorrow, the jaunt to the peninsula, how they'll need to put in plans for borrowing a caravan, and their return to the greater Eurasian continent in search of the next Geass user.

Afterwards, dismissing them all, Lelouch sits himself on the bed, the tea kettle whistling. ]

Would you mind preparing the tea, Jeremiah?

[ While Lelouch busies himself with the map, marking more coordinate points with a different-colored pen: green this time, notching one bright X after another into the sheet. ]

[Unpacking as needed is an ordeal in of itself, but it's a familiar dance by now. Jeremiah's gotten good about keeping things sorted with like items, able to find things without digging for them, pulling out only what's needed. For a moment while Lelouch is occupied, he steps away with his toiletries, set on accomplishing some of his evening routine. He may be more than capable of roughing it, but it's still preferential after a long day on the road to simply groom for a while, wash his face, brush anything out of his hair.

He removes his contact as well. It's not often he's wasting time gazing in mirrors lately, but it's comforting all the same to see himself and have orange and green both look back, rather than green on both. Jeremiah had tried wearing one over his robotic eye to match them the other way around, both orange as they once had been, but it had been too irritating to stand. Reconstructed skin around his eye, the shape of his prosthetic, he's just not sure why.

Jeremiah stares at himself for a long moment once he's done. He hasn't had much time to himself today, but he hasn't had much time away from Lelouch at all, so it's par for the course. Still, it's a chance to assess himself, the deepening copper of his complexion the longer they travel outdoors, metal points on his skin where his mask would attach, having peeled off the spots of latex he covers them with most of the time. No new or deepening lines; he looks, but he's not sure how his skin will age yet. There's still many unknowns about how his body will change and deteriorate over time.

Amethyst eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as night and yet boring straight through him like industrial equipment to tissue paper. Jeremiah still can't place the look near the docks that he'd received, what it is Lelouch had seen, but the longer he stares into his own irises the more he sees another set burning into his mind's eye. We may as well be insatiable.

He finishes up, working the thought back into the fold. It's not much use to spend time ruminating on every piece of Lelouch he can't put together or it's all he'd have time for, but the hollow ache left in his chest is disquieting regardless.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Jeremiah returns what he no longer needs to his belongings and tucks the large pack out of the way. The timing fits when the kettle goes from barely steaming to whistling, and he heads over to pick up where he'd left off.]

Of course. [Jeremiah grabs the steeper and the box of tea, briefly examining it again if it has a guide for the temperature. He finds none, so he eyeballs the same amount of leaves as usual for the two of them and settles it into the pot. Taking the kettle, he begins pouring it over, his nose getting a first glimpse as steam starts rising up.]

How's progress coming along? [Better than taking a stab at what he's marking, should it not jump out to him whenever he gets a glimpse of his work.]

Atrociously. Nearly all conditions have been cleared, but there are too many variables to deal with. But that's within expectation. We're dealing with a geass user who can turn people into "stone". Like Medusa, embrittling her lovers and enemies. Perhaps we should've brought a mirror?

[ For their monster to gaze upon and petrify, forever, in the throes of catatonia. Unfortunate, then, that Lelouch is a monster in his own right, preparing for every eventuality, closing in the target with terrible precision. Snake-like and still so amicable when he stops brandishing the pen as his sword, settling it down on the table. ]

From what I've deduced, that geass affects the hearing, distorting the voices of those around you. It's triggered by a certain phrase, or a song, much like a siren called forth from the depths.

[ Isn't that sweet? Lulled to a slow death to a beautiful melody. Lelouch considers it, ruffling through his belongings to retrieve two pairs of earplugs. ]

That's what these are for.

[ Specially made, and why that stop in Saint Petersburg was necessary, all the way on the other side of Russia. They aren't necessary for Jeremiah, but he'd prefer to save him that auditory horror. ]

You're far better suited to this task than I. Nevertheless... by this time tomorrow, it'll be checkmate.

[ He folds the map, handing it to Jeremiah. If the tea's steeped enough, he'll pour himself a cup and take a sip. There's a high chance it'll register as scorchingly hot to him, however, given his poor circulation. ]

Not going to shower? I'll go ahead of you if you don't speak up now.

[He notes the earplugs, vaguely familiar from when they'd first been acquired but then stowed away. Jeremiah hadn't asked, but he hadn't needed to know yet, so he'd been largely unconcerned. He's grateful for the consideration now, though.]

Understood. It certainly would explain the strange limitations of who becomes affected, if it's not purely triggered by range.

[Taking the map, he tucks it into his pocket for the moment for safekeeping, then turns back to the tea. They don't have much of a proper set to speak of, but they have what they need to make it work. At least they have a pair of cups and a carton of milk and the sugar cubes from earlier, set on a tray not likely intended for this. Jeremiah eyes the color as Lelouch pours, though he realizes he can't judge this particular mix by sight alone anyway given he's never had it before. It looks dark enough, he supposes, pouring himself half a cup as well but leaving the steeper in the pot for the moment.

He lifts his cup and saucer, having a taste as well to see how it compares to the aroma. It's not bad, even if herbal teas don't often appeal to him, a little on the light side but not too weak to drink. Lelouch did mention sugar, though he refrains for the moment, not one to sweeten anything and everything.] By all means, go ahead. I've still got things to prepare.

[Another sip, just to ponder the flavor a little longer.] Hm... your thoughts on this blend?

Somewhat bitter. [ The taste inhabits his mouth too long, a light tang and then the disagreeable tartness his mouth frowns about. He pours a couple of ounces of milk in, taking another sip. And another, and another, since he'll finish this drink before offering his final judgment. ] ... The flavor profile leaves something to be desired.

[ But Lelouch is particular as he is cagey, rising to stand as he gently sets the cup down with a soft clink. ]

I won't be long, Jeremiah.

[ On that note, Lelouch dismisses himself to the bathroom and prepares a shower. The habits of a fussy noble he's cultivated over his formative years are resistant to change, though the same doesn't hold true for the shower head, the temperature of the water switching from blisteringly hot to ice cold as it sluices down. Scrubbing down his body with the bevy of soaps and shampoos he'd bought, he considers the futility of this whole endeavor. It'll likely go on forever, and as someone with only eternity lying ahead, it's something to consider: if this is all there is and will be. Chasing down rogue geass users for the injustice they wreak.

The endlessness of this pursuit.

Toweling off and changing, he returns, scanning about the room for Jeremiah. It's telling enough in its own right, seeking him out. ]

[It's a shame, Jeremiah supposes, but there's little else to be done. He's about halfway through his own cup before Lelouch departs the room, and he's left with his own thoughts once more. Stepping to the window, the night offers little other than pitch black and the amber-gold twinkle of lights in the distance, slightly elevated as they are from their current post. Jeremiah doesn't doubt if he scanned for it, he'd see into the dark more clearly, but his eye remains on its usual function. He's just looking, wondering on not too differently of a tangent from his companion, of the things that brought him specifically here and now.

How long have they been on the road? Stopping to smell the roses goes a long way, and goodness knows Lelouch can't find contentment by standing still, so it's the best compromise. Of course there's the obligation to commit themselves by their natures and their skill sets, the fire needed to fight fire. Jeremiah's used to the restlessness of the long game after his years in the military, hungry for the taste of victory but often beset by the realities of conflict. It can take time, all the careful planning and patience, rather than jumping at any shot they have and simply taking it. When the final play comes in, when they inevitably win out tomorrow, he'll finally get to savor that feeling again.

And then with time, his hunger will return. Restlessness sets in. The driving force in him is different, he thinks, but Jeremiah feels it too. He knows he won't ever get his fill on this alone, if this is the only way he can seek a sense of accomplishment, a life to look back upon when he's on his deathbed and know it had been worth something.

Doing it all not just for himself but for someone else, committed to a higher purpose, would it truly make it meaningful enough to fill the gaps?

Grave as it is, Jeremiah doesn't lose himself to despondency, and tries to shift his thoughts elsewhere. For his unwavering loyalty, it's not an uncommon thread to ponder for him, but he also knows he's become jaded to his own mortality. Fighting in a Knightmare Frame was always his strength, but he's only ever engaged in battle these days with twin blades, his Canceller, and faith in himself. It's actually become quite easy, considering how deep the discrepancy in strength runs between himself and the average human being, no matter how armored or well-armed they may be. How easily they crumple to the ground from a single strike.

When he sees Lelouch return again, hair still damp, he's since moved to sit and rifle through his own belongings. He's procured a couple hangers, one for his jacket from earlier, another for tomorrow's clothes so they have some time to loosen up their wrinkles. In his hands, he has his mask finally fished out once more, working with a cleaning cloth to polish it up. He may not wear it in public to maintain anonymity, but he'll want it tomorrow. There's not a fight he's prepared for in advance, against enemies he'd reveal himself to regardless, where he didn't don it. He has little need for extra protection, it just feels right.

Jeremiah smiles faintly.] How is the water pressure?

Poor.

[ Enfeebled. Decrepit. Water that kept sputtering like a creature upon its death throes, ready to give out after he's only finished lathering his hair. The former Zero, lauded as a miracle-worker, nearly outdone by a showerhead. A testament to the futility of man. ]

Nothing to raise complaints towards, mind you.

[ He's been dealt a worse hand before. Lelouch seats himself, the bathrobe tugged more snuggly about him. His hair's faintly dripping still as he sits on the bed. He won't be able to sleep tonight, either; only a stretch of a few hours before he'll rouse again, more vehement, with a temperament like a slap across the face. It isn't until toweled himself into some semblance of dry that he speaks up once more. ]

I'd recommend you go as well. You'll need it. It may be a while before we're able to remain in a place of this caliber again.

[ Somewhere the threat of being taken out while asleep doesn't hold so much of a risk. Lelouch lays out his clothes for the evening but doesn't change into them, merely sorting them out. ]

... Does it help?

[ The mask, he means. A non-sequitur, though his eyes give away his intent, staring pointedly at the object clutched between Jeremiah's fingers. In many ways, it's the closest thing to good luck that they have, a relic of the old regime turned into a symbol, much in the way Suzaku— through his figurative demise— has become a symbol of peace. ]

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the Great Roughing of It is at hand

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