2010-06-06 - Family

If there was anything to be thankful for while the Ptolemaios II was grounded, it was the easy access to fresh food.

Usually, the crew of the Ptolemaios settled for standard space rations. Their work didn't always allow them easy access to supermarkets, and fresh food only lasted so long, even with their technology.

It was for this reason that Anew Returner had taken to preparing meals for the entire crew while the Ptolemy was being reappeared--at least when she wasn't being commandeered for other purposes.

Anew presently stands outside of Sumeragi Lee Noriega's room, tray balanced in one hand as the other raps on the door. Breakfast today is waffles and cut strawberries with orange juice.

The tactical forecaster of the Ptolemaios II does not rise to answer the door. This isn't anything new -- even when sober and not in need of being dragged into the shower and hit in the face with cold water to wake her up, she tends not to interrupt what she's doing for something as trivial as answering the door. She could be at her desk, going over notes or maps or charts or battle data. She could be getting dressed (although she usually calls out a warning, then). She could be lazing around in her robe and slippers watching the news, as she tends to spend most of every morning doing. Or she could just be in bed.

When Sumeragi calls "Enter" over at the doorway, she is indeed still in bed.

Her eyes are shut and her hair is splayed across her face. She's wearing the shirt of her uniform, having apparently decided to sleep in her clothes -- or most of them, anyway. Her adorable little jacket and her uniform slacks sit on the floor next to her bed, as if casually discarded. She looks like she's been rolling around, too, the sheets tangled around her, exposing most of one leg and revealing the horrible truth that she wore her socks to bed.

The lights are set to their dimmest possibility short of 'darkness.' Despite this, it's still plain to see the empty bottle of wine on Sumeragi's desk, accompanied by two glasses that both appear to have been used.

"Urrrghh."

The door zhiirs open, and Anew Steps inside, platter now held in both hands. The room she had diligently maintained up until now is in a state of less-than-perfect upkeep. Her eyes dart to Sumeragi first, then to her clothes on the floor, before finally resting eyes on the empty bottle and used glasses on her desk.

The door to Sumeragi's room zhiirs open, and Anew steps inside, breakfast platter now held in both hands instead of just one. The room she had diligently maintained up until now is in a state of less-than-perfect upkeep. The clothes on the floor are still not as bad as the hundred bottles of beer Sumeragi had accrued before her departure, though. Anew frowns, then makes a mental note to make Sumeragi's bed when she takes her shower.

It takes one look at Sumeragi for Anew to determine that she, too, is not at her best.

"Are you feeling ill?" she asks, her dissatisfied-frown shifting to worried-frown. She still hasn't seen the bottle or the glasses yet, but as she is current en route to Sumeragi's desk, it won't be long before she does.

Sumeragi still doesn't open her eyes -- she can hear the gentle clatter of the breakfast tray in Anew's hands and that's enough to let her figure out what's going on. And if Anew's bringing breakfast, then the time must be--

Sumeragi lets out something between a sigh and a groan when Anew asks how she's feeling. "I'm fine," the tactical forecaster grumbles, rolling in bed. The blankets are so tangled around one leg that when she rolls onto her side, most of the sheets end up either under her or between her legs. It is somewhat tragic that this is not the first time that Anew has seen the dark side of the Plutonian moon, so to speak. Or even, like, the sixth time.

"Al came by last night," Sumeragi grumbles, not sounding angry or sad or anything -- just... weary, as if she were a little kid trying to somehow stay asleep while responding to mom's commands to get up. "Didn't hear any alarms go off so I take it he didn't die of embarrassment. I thought I might."

Sumeragi lets out another Charlie Brown groan-sigh and shifts her legs.

Anew quickly averts her eyes at the sight of Sumeragi's exposed asscheeks; this wasn't the first time that she had seen Sumeragi's ass (there last time, Anew can faintly recall, when Sumeragi had thrown up all over her slacks after a binge drinking session), but it was the first time she had taken in so much of it.

Gaze now firmly planted on the tray on front of her, Anew maneuvers around the bed and towards the desk. "Al?" she repeats, a little surprised. Before she can open her mouth to see what happens, she finally discovers it herself.

One bottle of wine and two glasses sit on the table in front of her.

Anew's worried-frown shifts to angry-frown as she pushes the glasses out of the way to make room for her tray.

Sumeragi doesn't seem as awful as she did post-binge -- she's not hungover, fumbling for whatever bottle appears to still have liquid in it while rasping proverbs about the hair of the dog. She just seems sleepy. That her ass is hanging out doesn't seem to bother her /too/ much, but then, this is the woman who's just as comfortable leading missions while sitting by a pool in a retro disco swimsuit as she is on the bridge of her ship.

"Yeah, Al," Sumeragi murmurs, voice quieter; she may be falling asleep again. Then she hears the clink of glasses and the scrape of their bases traveling along the surface of her desk. Her tactical mind instantly snaps into an analysis: 'Ah, shit, you didn't put those away. Time to wake up for damage control.'

With another groan, Sumeragi sits up. She pulls the blanket off of her leg and leaves it in her lap, more or less providing some modesty as she rubs her face and her eyes and yawns. "Welp, let's hear it, then," she says, with the fatalistic bent of someone who's been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but doesn't feel especially guilty about it.

Anew is less angry with Sumeragi than she is with Allelujah. In her mind, Sumeragi is a pet, like a cat or a dog; she's not able to help herself. No one could fault a dog for chewing on a bone left in front of them.

But Allelujah-san should know better.

Anew's angry-frown turns to sad-frown as she gazes over at the two empty glasses. "I thought you had quit," she says, in her usual soft, even-tempered tone. "Because you had been doing so well until now."

Sumeragi brings a hand up again and rubs the bridge of her nose. She doesn't make eye contact; it's clear that, while she's not prostrating herself begging for forgiveness (or even apologizing), she doesn't feel great about what's happened. It could be that guilt trips from Anew are Super Effective against Snorlax Lee Noriega.

"It's not that easy," Sumeragi sighs, although she knows that she's rationalizing, building up justifications for selfish impulses. Sumeragi's hair, unbrushed, hangs wildly in her face; without maintenance, it does what it likes, being so exceptionally thick and wavy. It helps her avoid eye contact, although tilting her head down helps that too. "You don't ever... quit. You just stop until you start again. Some people just manage to make that last a lifetime."

Sumeragi's shoulders deflate. This is the worst side of her to deal with -- when her analytical mind and her powerful strategy game are turned toward the purpose of finding any number of excuses to stay in a bad mood. "Guess I'm not one of those people."

Anew turns, and for the first time since she discovered the empty wine bottle and glasses on the table, she looks over at Sumeragi. "Sumeragi-san..." she finally manages to get out. At moments like these, Anew always seems to find herself floundering, struggling for something to say. Her lack of experience with others made situations like this uncomfortable and complicated. The right words didn't come easy to her, the way they might have to others.

She presses her lips together, then clasps her hands together, the way she usually does when she's feeling uneasy. Her brows furrow. "Sumeragi-san," she says. "We're crewmmates, but we're all friends, right?" There's something almost childishly earnest about her tone of voice--but there's also something a little sad.

"It's easy to depend upon things," Anew admits. She herself finds herself crocheting whenever she's feeling worried or anxious; there was something relaxing about working on something constant, when everything around you was not. "But it's more difficult to depend upon others."

Anew shifts awkwardly where she stands, an attempt to delay the words she knows she needs to say. "If you need someone to depend upon, then...!"

Depend on me.

Sumeragi doesn't make eye contact at first. She puffs out her cheeks and slowly exhales, as if letting out an excess of breath, carefully. She certainly doesn't seem comfortable, and it's not that she's half-dressed, or that she just got caught relapsing into drinking, or even that she's being guilt-tripped (and hard).

It's Anew's voice, really.

The Ptolemaios II and its crew are a collection of beings who don't /talk/ about things. When they do, it's evasive at best -- willfully deceptive at worst. They're a sloppily assembled family, but a functional family nonetheless, right down to the part where everyone keeps secrets from one another. Prior to being roped into a terrorist coven, there is no shared experience like a real family could call upon. Everyone comes in strangers, and to some extent, they stay that way. Solitary creatures like Setsuna F. Seiei and Tieria Erde. Double agents like Lockon Stratos. Shrinking violets like Feldt Grace. And ashamed fuckups like Allelujah Haptism and Sumeragi Lee Noriega.

But then there's Anew Returner, who says exactly what she feels and never deviates from complete honesty. She doesn't even distance herself from her feelings with irony, let alone trying to obfuscate herself in more dedicated ways. That's why she's able to cut through Sumeragi's defenses like a knife through paper -- these defenses have been built in a climate where everyone is /lying/ to one another. All Anew has to do to compromise it is tell the truth.

When Anew finishes her sentence without actually finishing it, Sumeragi looks up. Her face is ashen and tired. She doesn't seem like she's going to cry; Sumeragi doesn't cry anymore. Outgrew it ages ago. "I try," she says, voice suddenly dry. She immediately amends the statement: "I do. On all of you. But I can't ask any more than you already give. And..."

Sumeragi looks down again. "...it's not enough. It's just not enough."

A hand comes up to prop up Sumeragi's forehead on the heel of its palm. The woman sighs again, seemingly erecting an emotional barrier, shutting out anything but her own collapse into a black hole of guilt and self-loathing. "When I was in bed, I came up with strategies. It would have been so easy to start drinking again and keep it a secret. I know you people better than you know yourselves, and I know this ship better still, and I could do it and none of you would ever be the wiser." Sumeragi stops talking, letting a grim silence hang over her for a moment.

"But I didn't. And I won't." Sumeragi looks up. "We're not friends, Anew, we're family. And family doesn't betray one another like that."

It's true. No one onboard the Ptolemaios really talked to one another. Until recently, Anew was the same way, shying away from contact with most of the crew. It wasn't until Sumeragi disappeared that she realized the problem with that.

If only she had done this, or had done that. She spent a lot of her time reflecting on what she should have done here in this room. But because she hadn't done anything then, she did the only thing she could at the time. She cleaned up what was left behind and promised to do better next time.

Anew's eyes widen with surprise. "Family," she echoes softly.

A long air of silence falls over the two for a moment. Then, Anew looks down at her hands, and smiles. "I'm glad," she says. "Because until now, I never had a family."

She looks back over at Sumeragi. "There's not a lot I know about it, but families have to do their best for one another, right?" Her eyes are earnest, and a little worried--as if she's afraid she might be wrong. "I'll do my best, so Sumeragi-san should too."

Even if Sumeragi couldn't quit after all, then just trying would be good enough for Anew.

Sumeragi Lee Noriega doesn't cry anymore -- but really, it'd make it a lot easier sometimes.

"I will," Sumeragi murmurs, just loud enough to be heard.

"I will."