3st encounter.

-—- the thirst time. moon 26. -—-

It was late into the night again, rain had fallen just an hour before I arrived. I could faintly hear the water dripping through the gutters of the buildings nearby, tunneling into processors and irrigation systems. The cold concrete tile was reflective and glossy, shimmering under artificial and simulated light seen only through my Whisper device. There was something always so surreal about knowing, so well, that the light itself around me did not wholly exist. Sure, ‘real light’ was used as a baseline, a sort of template for the machines to beautify and clarify. It was always a strange feeling, being lucid of it.

I knew I was sitting, practically, in the dark. There are no street lights like the ones they have in outer cities. Those flickering and humming things I had only read about and seen in media projects. There was no super-illuminated offices that painted things with light, as such things were considered light pollution by policy. Even the brightly-lit advertisements, reflecting paper whites and pastels, do so without tainting the city itself. They were wholly virtual, placed into my perception like someone’s infectious sense of imagination. It did make the city feel more welcoming, somehow, like an extension of nature rather than some conquering of it. I could frequently hear different animals scurrying about in the night: stray cats, raccoons, mice, frogs, the like. No light pollution, too, meant that the starry sky remained ever-present, hanging above our heads. Though, I had to wonder how many of those stars were not actually visible by naked eye. How many of them were enhanced and romanticized through tried-and-tested algorithm? How many of them never even existed, but were systematically created to enhance what I wanted to see? It did not matter, especially at that moment. The sky was blanketed by thick, brush-like clouds, which wholly veiled the stars above.

I was curious if they would show up that night. It had been the five days I had asked for. Well, six. Admittedly and embarrassingly, I panicked the night before, and kept myself couped up in my room. But I had a bit more nerve today. Still, I had no idea if they would be here or not. I did break my part of the agreement, even if I have no real point of coming here. I dreaded that A Character of Romance might be bitter with me. Or that they simply would not come and I would just be sitting there foolishly.

I sat atop the stone bench of the curious corner locale, my mind slithering through the possibilities. Just as I was tensing up, a bit of shame washing over me, I heard their stable, smooth voice, "With a turn of the home of hue, the little serpent saw — the bird was not there moments prior, phasing to real. The street of red-made ink sat in wonder of temporal — the seductive voice of a long-gone god-thing spoke to it. Promise of speed. Blossoming from joined book came a new world: fascination. Un-averted." They spoke, stepping into the little alcove. Their clothes looked a little damp. Their graceful and sturdy movements gave the impression that it did not irk them. "I did not expect to see you for some time, Woyrel. Am I still welcomed to speak with you?" While still dressed peculiarly, at least compared to what I was used to, they didn't seem as larger-than-life tonight. Romance seemed almost like a natural part of the landscape at that moment, just another thing blending with the chilly and cozy palette of the night.

I nodded, propping myself up and maintaining a more strict posture. Be it from the guilt, I opted to be a bit more formal. "Yes, A Character of Romance. You can sit if you'd like."

They approached, and lounged in front of me. It was like watching a thick liquid pour down. They seemed awfully relaxed, despite how cold and wet the tile was right now. Their unbothered form remained in juxtaposition to their stern, emotionless gaze. "Are you still angry with me?"

My eyes cut to the side, averting them entirely. My cheeks felt a bit hot from the guilt. I felt the need to apologize for it. "No. Well, mostly not anymore. I understand that it wasn't your intention to frighten anyone." I paused for a moment, adding rather hastily, "I'm sorry for not showing up yesterday."

They tilted their head, a musing hum escaping them. "Yesterday? What was yesterday?"

I sat for a moment in confusion, before responding, "That was the end of the five days I had asked for. You know, to think over this all. I had... skipped out on coming out here yesterday. I’m surprised you decided to come anyways, today." I felt a defensive flare rise up in me, my face burning. Did Romance just want to hear me explain why I was sorry? They did not seem to be the sort to be so petty, but I was still on-guard.

"Oh," they responded. I looked back to them as they reclined onto their back. I heard their elbow tap against the concrete, and I could almost feel the discomfort of the porous, cold material on bare flesh. While certainly strong and lean-muscled, I processed just how boney they were. But even the jutting joints and more defined bits of bone still seemed to flow so cleanly with the rest of their form. Regardless, they hardly seemed to care about the harshness of the surface beneath them. They were lost in brief thought. "I suppose I miscounted, then." They ended with a nonchalant pause, “So is fate.”

In amusement, I huffed. A puff of breath rolled out before my face, defined by the crisp, chilly air. It was all fine then, in the end. I guess I had been worked up over it all for nothing. It was a silly thing to fret over. I took a moment to process it, before steering the conversation elsewhere.

I did not really know Romance, so I tried to make some small talk. I wanted to set a certain level of familiarity with them, removed from the strange circumstances of our meeting. I guess I just wanted to start anew with them. I asked them a few small, go-to topics, and they were fairly receptive. They had served my questions back to me, as expected. I told them that I had mostly been relaxing after work, playing table tennis with Shahtsro or reading.

I neglected to mention the amount of practical gossipping I did with Shahtsro, particularly on the topic of A Character of Romance. I needed someone to vent my confusions and upsets to. Shahtsro seemed like she would understand without making a larger scene about it all. By all I could tell, she seemed to be happy to gain some sort of closure on the strangeness that she had witnessed that day. That, or she was just happy to listen.

Romance seemed to not really be truly engaged in most of the conversation, though. When I asked about them, they were very brief in answer. I was not asking particularly personal questions either, just small talk. They were very business-first, so to speak, at least that is the air I felt. I still managed to hear some detail about what they had been up to the past few days, though. They apparently did a lot of working out, sharing a small facility with a few other people. They didn't seem to show interest in much else, outside their ever-clouded ‘work.’ But the slow, disengaged pace of the conversation burned at me.

I suppose I was trying to act as if I was meeting someone in a more typical way. There were so many larger, looming questions that hung over my head. I finally opted to let some of them fall down to earth. I asked Romance outright. "What did you do, that day? I'm assuming your file raid a while back has something to do with your day-to-day work, is that right?"

They nodded. "I pick up freelance jobs that happen to align with what I need to do or where I need to go. One of the files I glanced over was information that needed to be commissioned out. The other bits I was looking for is for a more personal goal, though."

It seemed I had missed the mark. They were not a workaholic, exactly, but rather a pursuer of a personal ambition. It left me curious, "What sort of goal, Romance?"

They took a breath in, a lucid look in their eyes. Even though they didn't exactly emote it, I felt a sense of joy and pride radiating from them. “I can’t really describe it.”

I sat in dissatisfied stun for a moment, before retorting, “You’re keeping everything so vague, Romance. No need to be bashful about it. I won’t judge you or anything.”

They shook their head, “It is not that I’m dancing about the question. The goal has just been something so attached to me, without need to explain it to anyone. Its difficult to translate it into oral form.” I kept quiet, as it seemed that they were likely trying to figure out how to express their goal. I had to wonder if they did not speak to others often, if they could not place words to their goal. Maybe they just hardly ever talked about themselves in conversation.

They sighed, saying, “The leader ruled a land, defined only by boundaries. Temporaries. This was the shape they knew, a clouded thing untouched by freedom — and yet, beneath them rested a fractal coast and isle. Held by greater. And greater souls further, swirling of bodies further more.” They took a deep breath in, adding more straight-forwardly, “I seek out the powers that be.”

My focus was too bonded to their prose, but I eventually processed their final addition. I had no idea what they meant, ‘the powers that be.’ I tilted my head. “The powers that be? What do you mean, like the government?”

They shrug. “Maybe. It depends on if they have as much influence on the world as people believe. If not, I seek those above, or those who circumvent.”

“But… why?” I felt a little unnerved. A goal like that seemed a little out of reach. What would the point even be?

“I wish to draw them out. If they see that I saw them, then they will inevitably try to hide further. To reveal oneself is a paradoxical foundation of hiding. The more they struggle to cloak themselves, the more visible they become.” They had a particularly glassy look to their eye.

It sounded like a conspiracy theory, to say the least. I was grateful they disclosed, but I was still a little impatient. I responded. “... Why? What’s the point? Even if there is something out there, ‘hiding,’ you will just be putting yourself in harm’s way.”

“People cannot bite what they cannot see. By making the scene clear, I hope to give people a chance.” They had a drained tone in their voice. Their eyes were not focusing. I felt bad asking about it, but I could not just let it sit in quiet. I sighed, aggravated by my own slow processing of it all, and my own want to dig into this further. I think I was too distracted by the outlandishness of it all to really understand. They added, “The rabbit should always bite at the neck of those who seek to feed upon it. As it is, with the people, and ‘those above us.’”

I feel like I had heard similar things before, just in passing from random articles on CON. Something about most of them had a very disingenuous feel about them, but I suppose a small part of me did not feel that way with Romance. Still, I was on the verge of utter dismissiveness. I asked, trying to return to a formal sort of tone and posture. “Who are ‘those above us?’”

They glanced towards me, as if returning from their dreamworld. “I don’t know. Plenty of people, at least they think they are.” Their eyes fixated on me, dark orbs of fantasy. “You have an overseer at work, correct? Managers, supervisors, and so on.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And they have people who oversee them as well, yes?”

I nod, “Mhmm, but what are you getting at?”

“Those are people ‘above,’ among many others. They are powers in your life. They have so much control of it, despite having so little stake in it.”

My brow scrunched in response. “What do you mean? They aren’t that bad, all given.”

Their icy gaze was locked with mine. It was increasingly obvious that their cadence was decomposing to something more minimal and percussive. “Your housing, your income, your social fabric, and your stability are all provided by this company, in exchange for your work. If they fire you, what then? Even if they provide alternatives, or help you gain a new job in the most generous of cases, your life will still be in turmoil, a stressful web. You would have to understand the inner city housing system, and how to get around, draining your time. You would likely find new work to support yourself, draining your time. You would have to repair your social life or find new relationships, draining your time. In the most fortunate of circumstances, you would be exhausted and unstable for months.”

They were being ridiculous. I felt a bitter sting as I thought that maybe I humored them too long. My eyes flared with my thinly-veiled annoyance. “As if! They have no reason to fire someone like me!”

They shifted, planting their hands a bit closer to me. Their desaturated eyes dug their way into mine. “Oh? Truly, no reason?”

Their challenging tone shook me briefly. It felt confrontational, but their steady, poetic, and stiff voice and rhythm made it unsettling. It felt strange to hear them say that, practically out of character. Still, even though I had doubt in my mind, I stubbornly butted back, planting a finger to the cold concrete at my side. My face must have contorted from baffle to aggressive defense in an instant as I barked back, “Of course not!”

They leaned onto the ground further, firmly resting on their left forearm and right elbow. Their right hand came up to bat hair out of their face nonchalantly, as they pressed further, “So this company of yours has no issue with you talking to the soul who raided your office just a few weeks ago?”

I practically swallowed air as their words hit me abruptly. My eyes cut away in contemplation and embarrassment. My bitterness spiked once more, and I felt the need to hold my words again. It was not like I had any particular response, though. I still knew that anything I said was going to be short-sighted and drenched in defensiveness. I hated to admit it, but they were certainly right. This was a massive breach in company policy, especially since I neglected to report the last time I saw them, too. Still, it did not feel nice to have it thrown in my face.

I exhaled, closing my eyes for a moment and simply taking in the sound. The walkways above were being pelleted with drizzled mists, a soft crashing against the buildings and bridges. Water collected and dripped from the grated walk-spaces, hitting the city level we were on with a solid ‘plip.’ It was rare compared to the rest of the sounds of the wind and distant, prying advertisements. But there was something about it that felt like the slow, key tempo to the entire scene. It helped me regain composure.

When I glanced up finally, they were looking away towards the clouded sky. I instinctively assumed I would be met by some complacent, smug grin. Any sort of thing that told me that “they knew they really hit the mark,” but the lack of it filled me with a sort of ease. Their eyes remained unfocused and hazed, sublime at the sight of the few, star-filled gaps in the clouds above. The scene remained that way for a few minutes. My eyes trained on their slow and relaxed breathing. I hardly expected any of this from them. I certainly did not have the capacity to process it all. My gut rolled about me. I could still feel the mark of the mostly-departed tension in my arms, chest, and face.

The mist picked up, overhead. The wind whipped harder, and I could start to see droplets of collected water plummeting down from the overhangs, balconies, cameras, and decor. I think it reminded us that we were both still sitting there in silence. One of the breathes that Romance drew in simply sat at the base of their ribs. A subtle twinge of their nose and lip caught my eye. They spoke, “I’m sorry, sincerely.”

I saw their eyes glide to meet mine, and mine almost immediately retreated to the side. I was stiff for a moment, skittish almost. This sudden tension scratched at me for a moment, but with a breath I released it. Even if it was an uncomfortable and sudden swivel of conversation and approach, it felt silly to be critical of it. Partly, because I saw that this is what I had practically asked for in the conversation. I responded, shaking my head. “Don’t be.”

They began to move, their torso twisting. They almost began to say something else, but I brought my glance up towards the sky. There was a silence from them, and I did not see them move for a few seconds. They relaxed shortly afterwards, though. I heard them exhale, and them resting more fully on the wet concrete tiles. Weeds and stray grasses from betwixt the slabs of bio-industrial stone softly shushed beneath them. It must be cold, but they did not seem to mind.

The lighting was a relaxing muse, taunting my unartful eyes with pockets of verdant and cold blues. It was quiet again, and it felt like we sat there in the cold, gazing towards the vaguely-starred night for ages. We could have been sitting there for weeks for all I know. Time dripped by so slowly and quickly all at the same time. Everything was so quiet, for so long.

I heard them shift. They stood up, their tall form becoming more realized again. They spoke in a near whisper, as if they did not want to disturb the silence. “I must go for now, Woyrel.”

I sat upright again. I felt terribly stiff. I did not bother to check the time. I held for a moment, before asking, “Will you be here again, tomorrow?”

They nodded, but did not respond any further. I smiled, and stood up as well. I stretched my back and leg for a moment, and closed my eyes as I leaned into it. When I opened them once more, they had practically vanished. I scoffed at their theatrics again, before a warm grin affixed itself to my face.