| Just Friends | |||
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| Summary: Leo Stenbuck is tired of eating dinner alone. Ralla Traln Triald does whatever she's told. The solution is obvious. | |||
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Leo Stenbuck's office is not big, but it does the job; it consists of a desk, a chair on each side, and... nothing else. Except, of course, when he borrows a couch and projector from the closest rec room and turns his office into a tiny movie theater.
Not that he's ever done that.
Leo is seated behind his desk, staring at the computer monitor on it, his eyes all but unfocused. Not only are they unfocused, in fact, but they're bloodshot, and the boy's cheeks and nose are red. It isn't hard to tell he's been crying, a reaction elicited by the one-two punch of Yazan Gable's constant taunting and then Zechs Merquise's less-than-friendly greeting.
He's trying very hard to concentrate on doing his job - which, lately, amounts mostly to redundant strategy meetings administrative paperwork (much of which is actually Arthur Goodman's) - but is pretty much completely failing. With a heavy sigh, Leo folds his arms on his desk and drops his head into them.
Life is hell.
Where do you find someone like Ralla Traln Triald on any given day, when that day doesn't involve a massive space battle that may or may not result in a prototype piece of machinery being torn into shreds? Well-- point in fact, you spend a chunk of your day looking after it, running tests and making sure that the psycommu technology inside of it is at it's peak efficency. You make sure the GN-Tau Drive is in good shape.
And then, you write a lot of reports about it.
But now, now the tall blonde girl in the standard EFA uniform is on her way to one office, an office that she's been to a million times before for reasons that range from sharing cake to delivering paperwork to reminding the Major that his drycleaning is supposed to be finished.
Pausing at the door, holding a tray slightly larger than normal, it seems as though she picked up two meals from the mess hall and brought them down. Balancing the edge of the tray against her chest and on the palm of her hand, Ralla reaches out and knocks on the door a few times.
"Major, I'm here," she says, English accent and all.
Leo heaves a tremendous sigh when Ralla knocks at the door and hauls his head off his arms. "One second," he calls. He fusses briefly with his uniform, trying to at least get it straightened out; he looks like shit tonight, he knows, the last thing he needs is a sloppy uniform, too. But then, he wonders, when /doesn't/ he look like shit?
Leo frowns for a moment, staring down at his chest, and then resumes fussing with his uniform, attempting to make it a little baggier, so as to hide his shame. It takes him a good five seconds to finally reach under his desk and press the button that opens the door into his office. It may be a bad night so far, but at least he won't have to eat alone again. That should help cheer him up, right?
When the door opens and his eyes move immediately and automatically to Ralla's chest, Leo begins to suspect he may have made a mistake. He tears them, with a great effort of will, up to her eyes-- eye, he remembers, as he suddenly recalls why he has such a hard time looking her in the eye. It's hard enough looking /anyone/ in the eye. He bounces back down to her chest, scowls, and then finally settles for staring at the surface of his desk.
"Thanks," the boy says, weakly. "I appreciate all this."
By contrast, Ralla is always looking clean-cut and her uniform virtually immaculate. Habits, programming, or upbringing, there's just something there that keeps her from letting her appearance and her belongings go uncared for; her hair does have a tendancy at this point in the day to shift a little closer toward the middle of her face despite the part. It does cover up the left side of her face most often, so depending on your outlook on things it could just be a positive.
Once the door is opened up, she brings the tray across the office with the light click of her uniform's shoes, set to rest upon the desk at a clear area and rotated lengthwise. Now, one plate is aimed toward either side of the desk-- one for Leo, and one for her.
"It isn't a problem, sir. I was nearly finished with the day's work anyway."
Shifting the chair a bit closer, she snatches up one of the forks and knives from the edge of the tray, not waiting all that long to dig in. Food is cut with amazing speed and coordination, clean and efficent.
Leo mumbles another thanks when Ralla sets his plate down in front of him, and picks up his silverware. For several seconds he just pokes at his food, frowning thoughtfully, while he works up the willpower to actually look at the person he requested join him for dinner.
Eventually, he looks up again, opening his mouth to speak... but pauses at the sight of Ralla going at her food like it was a military operation. The sight is a mixture of confusing and hypnotic, and for a good fifteen seconds he just watches Ralla eat.
Finally, however, he wrests his tongue away from whatever cat has so unjustly seized it, and explains, "No, I mean... like, for everything. You do a lot of stuff for me, and, uh... I just wanted to let you know I appreciate it." He pauses, pokes at his food again for a moment, and then asks, "Do you... do stuff like that for everybody else, too?"
An amazing one. Swift, direct, brutal, and ... just. Swift!!
Once Ralla's finished systematically exterminating the food that's left on her plate, it looks amazingly clean. Sure, food stains are on there, but little is left to indicate that the English girl's plate had much of anything at all upon it. Once that's all taken care of, her attention shifts to a can of iced tea, picked up off of the tray and popped open with a crisp rip of the perforated aluminum popping.
Looking up at him, her singular eye is filled with something that could either be confusion or worry. What is he talking about, exactly? Apologizing? Thanking? Yes-- he's thanking her for doing things.
Taking a brief sip, Ralla swallows and shakes her head, hands cradling the can upright on her lap. "Assist them with their work? Yes, Major, to whatever extent that I am able to. I obviously cannot do everyone's job, but I was given training in an extensive range of skills. I believe the slang is 'Jack of All Trades?'"
A pause. "However, sir, I believe you do ask for assistance at a higher rate than others."
The speed at which Ralla inhales her food is, frankly, amazing to Leo, and he is in short order overwhelmed by a wave of a mixture of guilt and embarrassment for having not even touched his yet. Almost frantically, he cuts himself a bite that is undoubtedly far too large and crams it into his mouth. It takes him something like forty five seconds to chew and swallow it, time that he spends listening to Ralla's answer and then reflecting on it.
There's a pang of jealousy at the admission that Ralla helps out more than just him, followed immediately by another wave of guilt when she comments on how he asks for help the most. The rest of the time he spends chewing his far-too-large bite of food is also spent coming the conclusion that Ralla ate her food so fast so she had to spend as little time as necessary with him.
Eventually, Leo swallows, and reaches immediately for his own beverage, a can of the descriptively named Purple Drank. Although it continually disturbs Leo that it does not taste anything like grape (or purple), it is still probably his favorite drink, and definitely his favorite drank.
Leo opens the can and takes a long, long swig. When he finally lowers the beverage, he clears his throat, and then offers, "You know... um... if, if it ever gets... annoying, or you're too busy, or something, you can just say no when I ask you to do something like that. I won't be upset, or anything."
Cyber-Newtypes could be compared to a Swiss Army Knife, so far as the Earth Federation is concerned. Cloned, brainwashed, volunteered for service, or given the treatments as a stay of execution, on and on-- no matter where they come from or what the reason is, they are given enough training to know how to handle quite a lot of topics.
Leo's feelings on the revelation of how her skills are used are apparently completely lost on her; for as supposedly empathic-- or in rare cases, telepathic-- as a Newtype could be, she doesn't seem to be all that emotive or receptive to the emotions of others. Her hand shifts on the can, turning it around just a little bit as the Major speaks.
"By doing what is requested of me, I am able to accomplish what I am meant for. So, by that reasoning alone, I have no problem with helping you out through the day, Major."
Leo doesn't much mind Ralla's density when it comes to his emotional roller coaster; he's trying as hard as he can to hide it, as he'd just be ashamed of it anyways... and besides, emotionlessness is a turn on for him. Being too immature to understand most of his own emotions, he has long since convinced himself that it is because such behavior indicates a level of poise and self-control that he, himself, lacks.
"'Meant for,'" Leo repeats, frowning thoughtfully. He sets his can of purple drank now and takes another bite of his meal, this one not quite so overwhelmingly large. He chews it in solemn contemplation, swallows, and asks, "Do you like being a Cyber-Newtype?"
'Meant for,' he says.
"Yes, sir."
Watching the Purple Drank be set back down on the desk, watching as he consumes his dinner by the forkful, her gaze is somewhat analytical, watching how he eats and the speed at which he does so. She knows full well what the office looks like, so there's no real reason for her to gaze off in different directions, nor do anything that would divert her attention from the Major.
Then he asks her a rather interesting question. Ralla's head tilts to the left, a slope with a look in her face that seems to speak volumes; she's thinking about it, good and hard, from the bottom of everything that she's got. Her head straightens up a bit while she takes one more sip of her iced tea, setting the still-filled can down on her side of the desk.
"I do not understand the question, Major."
Hmm.
Leo pokes at his food for a little bit longer, his eyes constantly flitting between his meal and various parts of Ralla's body. He never ventures back to her eye, but does manage to spend most of his time on her forehead, even if it usually takes his eyes awhile to make the journey there from his food.
"Do you like it," the boy repeats, after several long seconds of trying to mentally rephrase the question. When he initially fails, he elects to try repeating it. "I mean, do you... like your job? Are you happy here?"
His expression, and tone, are a mixture of 'curious' and 'concerned.' He knows just enough about the Cyber-Newtype program to know that they get up to some fucked up shit, but... it was easier to stomach the idea of it being done to Carris, back before they locked him inthe labs, than it is to think of it being done to Ralla.
Even Leo doesn't have to wonder why, for that one.
They do quite a lot of things beyond common levels of "fucked up," and Ralla is living proof of it. The technology mounted inside her left eyesocket, connected to sensitive nerves and connecting all the way to her brain with numerous other micro-implants, augmentations, and accelerators. Perhaps that, in all, is a good reason for Leo to be concerned about the sixteen-year old pilot.
Hands folding in her lap, Ralla looks at the one-time Frame Runner in a very calm and even manner. "My emotions have nothing to do with my position, Major. I have the chance to serve the Earth Federation in ways that no other soldier does. I suppose that does, in some way, make me proud of what I have done in the past and what I am doing now. Albeit the need to spend a little more time under the care of the science and medical teams between missions, which can sometimes feel a bit uncomfortable."
Ralla looks off to the side. "I suppose I have contradicted myself by saying that all."
Leo continues consumption of his meal while Ralla speaks, listening intently and, all the while, wondering if this is the most he's ever heard Ralla say in a row.. He's sure it is, at least, the most in a very long time.
When the Cyber-Newtype finishes speaking, Leo takes another, long drink of Purple Drank, bouncing her words around in his head while he works out what he's going to say. While formulating the words in his mind, he tries to pretend he's Paptimus Scirocco... although, really, 'pretending he's Paptimus SCirocco' is not far outside of Leo's normal behavior, even when he's just sitting around.
"Your emotions have everything to do with your position," he says, eventually. "Most of us... when it comes down to it, we're fighting to protect the people on our wing. Friends, uh, lovers, whatever. The people we care about."
"I think... if you're not happy, for whatever reason... with us, with your job, whatever, then you're endangering yourself and the rest of us," Leo explains to Ralla's forehead. "I don't want you to feel like you're just... I don't know, a tool, I guess. I want you to feel like you're, you know, part of 'the gang.' I want you to be happy."
He drops his eyes back to his food, and begins cutting off another bite. "And that's not an order or anything," he says without looking up, after a brief pause. "I don't want you to do things just because I ask you to, either. I mean... except for, like, official stuff. That doesn't count."
Pretending to be Paptimus Scirocco also includes being able to abuse the abilities of a Newtype to their fullest extent; there's no real doubt in the depths of Ralla's mind that most Newtypes attempt to use their remarkable mental prowess in a variety of ways, usually in ones that allow them to steer a situation to their own favor or liking.
But, Leo gives her a speech, brief though it may be, about the reasons to fight. Does she really have anything to fight for? Sure, the official story regarding Ensign Triald is remarkably good; her family lives in England still and she was born and raised in London. Out of a handful of candidates, she was the one chosen to undergo the augmentation process, and she was the one assigned to the Mimir out of Leuchars.
Still, it even gives the blonde girl pause. Does she?
At the end of it all, she says just one thing-- one thing, and it's hard to tell if it's the layers of programming speaking or if it really is the girl hiding inside all of that talking:
"I am happy, sir, when I am able to be of service."
The statement actually makes Leo laugh. An honest to God laugh, too, not a bitter or humorless one. He chuckles about it for a good ten seconds, shaking his head, before he says, "Sorry. I can get kind of melodramatic sometimes... too much time around Colonel Merquise, I guess."
"I know you don't need me to babysit you, or something." Leo frowns suddenly, pushing his food around his plate with his fork. "I mean... if anything, it's the other way around. I really do appreciate it, though..."
"Um," the boy adds suddenly, lifting his eyes back to Ralla's forehead. "Do you think we could have dinner like this more often?" He pauses. "Like... every night?"
When he bursts out into laughter, Ralla stares at him as though he'd grown a second head-- a stare like that which probably happens fairly often, considering the company that she keeps. Melodramatic, was it? Briefly, the English girl sorts through her own sort of mental filing cabinet, making it a point to remember that aspect of the Major's personality.
Picking up her can of iced tea, Ralla takes a brief gulp before nodding. "I understand, Major. However, taking care of their superiors is part of a subordinate's duties, mine moreso given my position."
For a moment, she sounds like she's right out of the stories of the old maidservants, the women that would tend to things while the master is right out about town. As strange as it sounds, it doesn't compare much to the request that he makes afterward.
Ralla thinks about it for a moment-- a good, long one. "I do not see why not, Major. I have duties to fulfill and I cannot guarantee the ability to come here. If you want, though, I can do my best."
In the time Ralla takes to think before answering his request, Leo convinces himself she's going to refuse, as he is wont to do. When she, eventually, agrees - even if with a caveat - the surprise is evident on his face.
"I would appreciate it," he admits after a moment, dropping his eyes back to his plate. "It'd be nice not to be alone all the time. Besides," he adds, after a pause. "I like spending time with you."
"After all, we're friends, right?" And that's all, Leo attempts to mentally convince himself. Friends. Just friends. Just. Friends.
Leo scowls down at his food, and silently curses the name of whoever invented Cyber-Newtypes.
Cyber-Newtypes are there to do what's asked of them, aren't they? Isn't this just another facet of that? Sure, socailization isn't exactly the strongest of points when it comes to having a conversation with Ralla Traln Triald, but she's just doing what she's told!
Whether or not Leo realizes it.
She doesn't know a lot about being alone-- the feelings associated with it, anyway-- but then she nods. "Understood, Major."
Rising from her seat, Ralla looks down at Leo with that same calm face as ever, her hands folding behind her back and her posture suggesting that she's more standing at attention rather than any state of relaxation. "Based on the amount that you have moved your food about the plate rather than eating it, should I bring the tray back to the mess hall, sir?"
Leo realizes it on some level, most likely... but he's trying as hard as he can to deny it to himself.
That becomes harder to do when Ralla rises and stands at attention. He just stares up at her for several long seconds, brow furrowed. Should he tell her that she doesn't have to be so formal when it's just them? Would she listen, even if he did? -- no, of course she would. But would it just make her uncomfortable?
Knots twist in Leo's stomach. He wishes that once, just once, he could do something without feeling like he was wrong no matter which choice he made. If everything he does is selfish, at least let him reap the benefits of that selfishness, and not just more stress.
"Yes," Leo concedes, his tone suddenly distant. "Thank you again for joining me. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope," The boy retrieves his Purple Drank from the tray and turns his attention back to the holographic monitor floating above his desk. "Goodnight."
Shifting things around on the tray to make it a bit more balanced and easier to carry, Ralla bobs her head in a nod toward Leo-- instead of a formal salute. No socialization skills, but she's able to tell when in an army full of such informal people to analyze the situation and act accordingly. It doesn't prop up the situation in a bad way much that she's supposed to be off-duty right now, lord only knows what Leo Stenbuck's schedule is like for tonight.
Picking up the tray after the Purple Drank is rescued, she turns around and walks toward the door, pulling it open. Pausing there, turning back to look at Leo, the tall blonde nod again. "Until tomorrow, Major."
As she twists around, leaning the tray's edge against herself to keep it steady while she snags the door's handle, the pilot adds her own farewell "Goodnight, sir."
Once the door closes, she's back off down the hall to do ...
... well, whatever it is Cyber-Newtypes do.