Chapter Text
Rosmontis’s room is cozy. Her desk is small and simple, with a few books laying atop it, and a few more resting on a small shelf nearby. There’s a soft beanbag chair across the room, and a bed in the back corner. All across the walls, strings of little lights illuminate a collection of pictures, postcards, and pressed flowers, each with its context meticulously labeled. Little reminders of her life.
Rosmontis is seated at her desk. Her notebook lays open on her desk beside her terminal as she transcribes her handwritten notes. It’s part of her treatment, the repetition is supposed to help her remember, and it does, a little.
When she reads the entry on Amiya’s garden she can’t help smiling. They’re going to meet there next wednesday, no, every wednesday. They’re going to meet to look over the plants every wednesday.
She enters it into her calendar.
Her brow furrows, she didn’t write down how to get there. She’ll just go to the greenhouses early and wait for Amiya so she can show her again. She sets a reminder: Record garden plot location.
A message notification pops up on her screen.
[Blaze] ChainsawBurst: Hey! We haven't hung out in a while. Are you busy with anything this afternoon?
Rosmontis: Nothing on the calendar
[Blaze] ChainsawBurst: Great!
[Blaze] ChainsawBurst: I’ll come by your room later
Rosmontis: Okay!
This morning, Amiya was handed a business proposal from Mama John's. The proposal offered a not insignificant amount of certs annually in return for use of a few Rhodes Island oripathy medication formulas. This decision is made all the more troublesome because Rhodes Island is still waiting for full approval as a pharmaceutical distributor by the Columbian Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Arts Units, and Originium ( no wonder people just call it the Bureau ).
Amiya is now watching a little video feed of Closure on her terminal. The head of procurement’s fingers fly across the keys with well-practiced strokes. After a minute or so, she stops and leans back in her chair, “The profits they would be able to make with what we have compared to what’s commercially available… Well, they would definitely have the money to pay us, even if we haggle a better price,” a rough projected profit graph pops up on Amiya’s screen, “but they would be jacking up the prices for patients as much as they could get away with. Also they’ll try to weasel out of any deal they made with us as soon as possible.”
“So you’re saying it’s not worth it, even considering it would give us an open channel to get our medicine into Columbia.”
“Yep, our best bet is still waiting for official approval.”
Amiya sighs, “I just hate having to work around loopholes.” Last month three Rhodes Island employees had been detained for unlicensed distribution. There wouldn’t have been a problem if they had followed the operation guidelines, but people had needed help.
Closure spins idly around in her chair, giving Amiya a sly, fanged grin, “We could always… speed things along. I’m sure I could turn up all sorts of interesting things if I went looking.”
“Closure,” Amiya massages her temples, “we are not blackmailing Columbian government officials.”
“Okay, what about corporate officials?”
Amiya locks eyes with her webcam, “You will not do any hacking in Columbia before we have full approval to operate there.”
Closure puts her hands up in surrender, “Just a suggestion, boss.”
“Alright, I think we're done with this then?”
“Think so.”
“Thank you, Closure.”
Closure gives her a little salute and ends the call.
Rosmontis always liked spending time with Blaze. Back before she was allowed to go where she wanted without supervision, it was often Blaze who had taken her places, patiently teaching and re-teaching her how to navigate the landship’s sprawling halls.
Today they were heading to the library; Rosmontis wanted to check out a book. Blaze had gotten them both fizzy grape sodas to drink while they walked. It has a bright unnatural purple color and a sugary grape-adjacent taste. Rosmontis thinks she can remember having it before. It’s nice.
They make their way into the nearby tram hub: a crossroads of sorts, covered in signage and directions to different locations in the landship
Blaze spots someone among the light bustle in front of them and starts waving, trying to get their attention. Following her gaze, Rosmontis spots a teenage liberi girl looking around at the signs and looking very lost.
“C’mon, let’s say hi,” Blaze starts walking over, “She’s with the group that we just took onboard.”
Rosmontis trails after Blaze, taking another sip from her soda.
The girl notices them as they draw closer, smiling and waving at Blaze, “Hello Blaze.”
“Hey Lori, how are you settling in?”
“Everyone’s still getting used to the place, but It’s been going well,” She looks over to Rosmontis.
“Oh, this is Rosmontis, she's one of our other elite operators, and Rosmontis, this is Lori”
Lori has a moment of surprise at hearing the little feline is in the same weight class as Blaze, but quickly recovers, “Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Hello.” It's been a while since she's really met someone new. She'll need to try to remember her.
Lori turns back to Blaze, “I’m supposed to go to the pharmacy to pick up some stuff.”
“Having trouble navigating?”
“I know it’s somewhere around here,” She gestures vaguely around at the various passages leading off the hub, “but It seems like half the signs are in a language I’ve never even seen before.”
Blaze chuckles, “That’s Sarkaz.”
Lori’s eyes widen a little, “Oh.”
“You’ll want to head down that way,” Blaze points down one of the halls, “it’s on the left, you’ll be able to see the sign once you’re over there.”
“Thanks Blaze,” Lori turns, calling back to Rosmontis, “Nice to meet you!” as she starts heading towards the pharmacy.
Rosmontis hands her soda off to Blaze, opens her notebook, and jots down Lori’s name, a quick description of her, and a few other details.
She closes the book, and Blaze holds out her soda.
“Thank you.” Rosmontis says, taking back her drink.
Blaze smiles and nods, “Alright, to the library!”
Amiya brushes some loose strands of hair out of her eyes, a sheen of sweat sticking them securely to her forehead.
Ch’en nods sternly across the practice room, “Try it again.”
She’s focused, she takes these sessions seriously.
Amiya nods, turns to face the targets scattered around the room, and settles back into the ready stance for what seems like the hundredth time; the weighted polymer training sword heavy in her hands.
She leaps forward, sword a blur as she strikes each heavy target in turn. The air whipping past her presses her ears flat against her head as she throws herself from strike to strike, each hit sending the punching bags swinging, until she misses the eighth target. She stumbles, just managing to keep her footing.
She just needs to practice.
She shouldn’t need to practice. She had taken a perfect copy of Ch’en’s sword skills at the top of Chernobog. She knew every movement as if she had been the one who had trained tirelessly for years. Unfortunately, those movements had been made with arms and legs a decent bit longer than she currently had, not to mention the difference in muscle mass; Amiya was fit enough to be a field operator, but that did not mean she could keep up with Ch’en.
So she lifts the sword, and readies herself again. She's glad Ch’en makes no comment, even though she can sense Ch’en has a critique already in mind.
Her sword is a blur as she moves, muscles straining as she darts from target to target.
On the sixth target this time, her jump falls short. She tries to compensate, leaning forward and stretching out, but her sword still sails harmlessly past the target, just shy of a strike. She does fall this time, the momentum of the freely swinging sword and her failed attempt at compensating pulling her fully off balance.
For a second Amiya just lays there, face down on the rough plastic carpet which covers the padding of the practice room’s floor, before rolling onto her back, sweaty and defeated.
Ch’en walks over to her, “You’re overexerting yourself, you can’t keep up if you try to do the drills that quickly.”
Amiya sits up and nods tiredly, “It’s the muscle memory, going fast feels more natural.” She takes Ch’en’s offered hand and pulls herself to her feet.
“Yes, well, your form is good,” Ch’en looks at the time, “I don’t think we can do much more for today.”
Amiya nods gratefully.
“Good work today.”
“Thanks.”
She’s going to be so sore tomorrow.