It’s Satine, Actually

[The Gourmand]

April 2nd, Late Morning

The static drum of the light rainstorm that rolled in shortly after sunrise pattered on the wooden roof overhead. There was something calming and deadening about the sound of rain. Beneath it was the barely detectable sound of small candle wicks crackling with flame. The cafeteria building, which was among the first structures to see completion, had fallen almost entirely empty, all soldiers having already gotten their meals and had moved on to the day’s tasks already. There was the occasional stirring of pots and pans behind the kitchen door as the kitchen staff went about cleaning up. Upon a table near the very center was a hulking dull teal mass. Pod had been parked to the side of the door and was held upright by three metal legs that kept it from toppling over while the power was off. The Gourmand had crawled himself to a seat by himself and took one of the last remaining clay bowls of soup, as well as a mug of hot water and a tea bag.

And his voice recited this with the same thunderous baritone tone it always had, though its passion was markedly, and disturbingly, absent;

“Like any great work of classical music, o did his emotions stir and twist; overlapping and cresting like the waves; flowing melancholy chords like the lower register of a cello. O how his mind did play its tune of lament; that siren song so enticing it would make mermen sit, rotting away, for many years. That apathy. That learned helplessness born of abuse. That worm-tongue which whispers in your ear, calling you by false names.”

The Gourmand was quiet for a while. He was glad enough the cafeteria seemed empty as he could both enjoy his food and be free of the looks from others. He certainly noticed his abysmal standing. The beast had quite a bit to ponder out loud about. He let an arm drop to the table, causing the half-empty bowl of soup to rattle.

“Perhaps it is best this way. After all, I was only dropped here. I owe these people nothing. Nothing. I had no place in their qualms until I was thrust upon them. Maybe it’s because, perhaps, I hoped there were places different than Atlantica out there… though I do doubt it is here. That must be why the pain came. But suppose I did expose myself. Suppose I did. And it was all picked to pieces. Would it be worth it then?”

Red eyes met his, looking up from the rippling brown reflection in the broth.

“I don’t think you have it in you anymore. You shouldn’t have been naive. Do you not see yourself? You look utterly miserable. This is just like your time among the royals. Stupid, stupid. Know your place. Some people are meant to be with most people -- just the way they are -- but others, simply... aren't.”

The Gourmand’s frown intensified, verging, but not quite hitting upon, anger. Eyes squeezed shut and something glimmering fell from his cheek. He gave the bowl a shove from underneath, sending it tipping forward onto the wooden floor. The spark was briefly returned to his blearing eyes, as he looked at the mess with a tiny iota of amusement.

“That will do, Brutus. I’ve had enough talking to you.”

Rather suddenly sensing someone else, he lifted his gaze, smiling just slightly, falsely.

“I do apologize for the melodrama. I suppose I just briefly feel back onto my love for theatrics for some reason.

"...How much did you hear?”

[Fenna]

The musty, sweet smell of the rain made Fenna feel much more at home. Having been from a coastal town, this was weather she was used to... and of course, anything was better than snow, now that it was starting to become spring. She had just been sitting in the barn for a while, huddled under blankets, just listening to the soothing white noise of the rainfall and letting her thoughts wander in her half-asleep state. She was fairly new to the army (it still felt weird in her mind to actually put it into words), and thus far it had mostly been establishing a camp and building up new structures, which she was glad to help with. Any kind of busywork to keep her distracted from her brain's constant turmoil was welcome... she was used to hard labor anyway.

With that thought came a memory of her scrubbing floors until her hands cracked and bled from the overexposure to bleach and the constant chipping away at rust and gunk, then being reprimanded for not working fast enough and getting blood all over their towels. She scrunched up her face in a slight grimace. No, stop, she willed herself. You're not there anymore. The Dawnseekers are not like the Kajiyamas.

Well... as far as she knew, anyway. She hadn't interacted with anyone much, too intimidated by the council to do anything but take orders and too shy to start small talk with the other soldiers unless she was addressed first. She had been working herself to the point of exhaustion and until she was sore, but it was what she knew best. She did not like being without something to do. The thought ate at the young girl over and over, remembering the punishments for never doing enough. She had to be doing something. Something. Why are you just laying there, you lazy bitch? Would you rather be out on the streets? Get to working, don't make me ask you again!

Enough. Fenna had enough of her brain running over her verbal abuse repeatedly, and abruptly got out of her small cot, still wrapped like a cocoon in her blankets. She knew, logically, she was allowed to take a break and take care of herself. In fact it was something she looked forward to: the independence to choose when to work. That still didn't make her feel any less guilty. Something. She had to do something.

She grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil, tucked it under her arm, and started to make her way out of the barn. She felt a small rush of satisfaction from the rain drizzling lightly against her skin and hair. Something. Need to do something. Where could she go to just sketch and write in peace? It was after breakfast, she realized, maybe the cafeteria was empty, or at least quiet? It was worth a shot.

When she made her way through the doors, she was slightly startled seeing the Gourmand there. She didn't dislike the merman, but she was pretty intimidated by his size, and the fact that he was an authority figure... a short-tempered one at that. She hadn't talked to him unless she had to, simply because she wasn't sure quite how to interact with him... or any of the higher-ups for that matter. He did not seem imposing at the moment, however. He seemed to have the same idea she did, finding some kind of alone time from the rest of the army. She did suppose everyone needed some time to unwind, especially in a war situation, even this hulking beast of a merman. That must have been why, she thought to herself, he was talking to himself. When the Gourmand pushed the bowl to the floor, it gave the girl another start, and she gasped a little bit.

The Gourmand broke from his private reverie and adressed Fenna himself.

"Um... I heard enough," she grinned back a bit uncomfortably, then paused. "I-I mean, it's not like a good bit of theatrics isn't appreciated. Heh..."

Fenna obviously didn't really know what to say, but now that the Gourmand knew she was there, it was rude to just ignore him... especially since he seemed... distressed? Huh. That wasn't an emotion she'd seen him express before. It was a bit odd. He was really seeming to take the piss out of himself earlier, right as she was coming in. She really had no idea what to say or do, or if she should even address it at all...maybe not right now, she decided.

She lightly sat at the table, sitting across from him and opening her sketchbook, then idly tapping the eraser against her lip, trying to think of what she could even draw. Something. Had to do something. She just began scribbling a random figure, her shapes coming together to make it look like a slender human girl pirouetting. Thinking of dancing and ballet put her mind at ease.

"Hope you don't mind if I sketch here," she added after a bit, debating whether or not to actually say it for a good few seconds. "I need to do something to get my brain off the bullshit it usually has going on."

[The Gourmand]

The merman kept his eyes focused on the little book. It was difficult not to notice his gaze. He took a moment before saying;

“No,” he took the handle of the mug and brought it to his mouth, “I once did a fair amount of writing, so I suppose I could understand. Fancied myself a philosopher. I don't write much anymore; haven't the time.”

He took a drink of the tea, which had gone lukewarm by then. After setting it down, he took the string of the tea bag and started to fiddle with it. His expression hardened from an idle one, though he kept focused on the tea.

“An outcast I take it?” he asked, his voice betraying some amount of bitterness, “Hmph? Don't you have friends? One of those families of choice that are in vogue around here? You don't have anyone better than I to be around?”

He blinked and looked up.

“Look out. I might attack you. Unprovoked. For no reason.”

Though only a minority of the Dawnseekers were that extreme in their opinion if him, it seemed to get to him. That, piled on top of all the prejudice he already experienced in Atlantica, was enough to discourage him from wanting to see the rest of the army for a while. He gave a beleaguered sigh and shook his head slightly.

“There was a minor misunderstanding at training this morning,” he mumbled, “Apparently, I play the role of stupid monster too effectively for my own good.”

[Fenna]

Fenna shifted a bit uncomfortably as the Gourmand watched her doodle, but hearing him say that he used to write actually made her feel more at ease. She tried to imagine what kind of things a warlord would write about, what he philosophized... actually, she wasn't sure she wanted exact details, knowing he had certainly killed many sea creatures in his time. Again, not knowing exactly how to respond, she just nodded and gave a soft, affirmative grunt, "Mm." The structure she had began of the ballet dancer was starting to really take form as she began to work on the details of the woman's hair, her wrinkles in the flowing skirt...

Before she could really lose herself in the drawing, the Gourmand spoke to her again.

^{"An outcast, I take it? Hmph? Don't you have friends? One of those families of choice that are in vogue around here? You don't have anyone better than I to be around?"}

"...I mean... I don't know..." she wasn't expecting him to bring the conversation in that direction. "I don't really know anyone here well enough yet to say, and my family got rid of me just as I got old enough to remember them." She got an uncomfortable, melancholy look as she spoke of her parents. She still had no idea what their names were, nor did she remember their faces outside of very blurry, hazy memories. All she remembered was that they were not fond of their child. Why else would they put her on the street, thrust into the care of...

^{“Look out. I might attack you. Unprovoked. For no reason.”}

The Gourmand's tone indicated that it was not an actual threat, but a sarcastic remark, and it broke her train of thought. She was trying to process what exactly he meant and gave him a puzzled look before he indulged in what had caused him to isolate himself with a sigh. A misunderstanding? A stupid monster? Sure, he was a bit frightening in appearance, but Fenna was not convinced he was a monster. She hadn't been at the training session, having slept in, but she could wager a guess that he probably went too hard on the trainees. He did not seem threatening right now, however... in fact, Fenna found herself wanting to comfort him. She usually tried to detach from her natural empathy to avoid getting her emotions even more mixed up than they usually were, as she was busy enough tackling her own traumas, but...

She paused her drawing and made eye contact with the Gourmand, with a face of slight concern. "What makes you say that?" she queried, tilting her head slightly. "You don't seem that scary. At least... you don't right now. What happened... i-if you don't mind me asking?"

[The Gourmand]

His upper lip peeled in resentment. Is he really going to be forced to recall his mistake even more?

“War is terror. And I was hoping I could get them acclimated to it. I hadn't counted on conclusions being jumped to. Perhaps I could have been more elaborative, though I doubt that would do me good now. Judgement passes so much faster for those like me. And hardly do we get the option to redeem ourselves. It is done.”

He turned his head, looking at the raindrops on one of the windows.

“Every day, I wonder if I belong here. I have no real obligation to stay, so why--”

Voice trailed off. His eyes narrowed in deep thought. Why indeed? He was only half way sure about one - maybe two - connections he'd made. Otherwise, it seemed he was simply incompatible with the entire army. They seemed so adverse to what he himself built himself up to represent; war and revolution itself. Maybe that was a lofty thing for him to aspire to be, but he was a rival of the son of Neptune -- a very lofty thing itself. For all his life of repression, he felt he was damn well right to be proud of something about himself--

“Mere curiosity at this point I suppose,” he concluded.

He gave the human a long look. Honestly, he didn't recall much seeing her. He chided himself for attempting to find some sort of empathy; something perhaps he and another member of the Dawnseekers could see eye-to-eye to. He thought there may be something. Maybe it was worth the bare minimum amount of effort.

“You know my name; I do not believe I know yours. Lovely morning.”

[Fenna]

Ah, Fenna realized, so he did scare the crap out of the trainees. She certainly could envision it-- his voice booming over everyone, tentacles flaring, bright red eyes piercing-- and she quickly got the picture. Though also hearing his explanation as to why, Fenna felt yet another pang of sympathy for this beastly warlord. War was rough, and Fenna knew she also was not ready for anything this war had in store for her. She couldn't fault him for trying to acclimate people to it when war was this guy's game, he knew what he was talking about... but it seemed to be lost to the wayside now. She just nodded, catching the vibe that he really did not want to talk about the session more.

_{“Every day, I wonder if I belong here. I have no real obligation to stay, so why... mere curiosity at this point I suppose.”}

Fenna gave a very small shrug and mumbled, "Good a reason as any, I guess." She supposed she didn't have an obligation to stay either, but anything at this point was better than going back to that estate...

The Gourmand gazed upon her, and she felt his eyes scanning her, looking, observing. She awkwardly stared down at her sketchbook again, looking at her half-finished ballerina, and then back up to him... then back down... then back up. Then he asked for her name. It took her a moment to process what he was asking and it caught her off guard.

"Oh...! Uh, yes, Gourmand, sir. My name is Fenna," she replied. "It is lovely... reminds me of back home. It's, like, the one thing I actually miss about that place," she added with a bit of a self-defeated sounding chuckle. "Kinda sad when I'd rather go to literal war than be home."

[The Gourmand]

The Gourmand snorted to himself, leaning back. He briefly opened a palm in resignation.

“I do suppose I could understand. I couldn't stand for the corrupt, exploitative society I lived in, not once I saw it for what it was, so I eventually had to declare war upon it, and so, I forfeited any chance of normalcy. I don't regret it. I'll never return to that life.”

The Gourmand brought his hand to his chin and seemed to be pondering something. A smirk began to appear and wrinkled at the side of his face. He placed a hand on the surface of the table and used it to support himself as he leaned in. It looked like he'd suddenly become-- nice maybe wasn't the right word-- gregarious.

If the Gourmand hadn't decided by then, he'd decided now; he would not waste his time with those who are unwilling to see him as more than a beast-- he could wait for diamonds in the rough to surface, so to speak. They would be infinitely more valuable to him.

“I'm sure you're informed of my… previous escapades; but do tell me, Fenna, what was your life before you came to us?”

[Fenna]

A corrupt and exploitative society? Was there even such a thing as an Atlantic dictatorship? It would have seemed silly to her if she wasn't staring face-to-face with an oceanic warlord, among all the other strange things that had come to light as a result of the war. At this point, she was sure just about anything was possible. She wasn't sure exactly what went down, but it probably was not anything pleasant. Anything that turned the Gourmand into what he was now was surely something even more evil and sinister. It gave her slight pause as she let his words sink in, furrowing her brow. The Gourmand gave her a slight smirk-- it wasn't an intimidating one, though it was hard to see any expression he made as anything but. If he were interested in being nasty to her, he surely would have by now; not like he had anything to gain by picking on one unsuspecting, vulnerable teenage girl.

He then questioned her, asking what her life was before joining the army. Fenna felt a slight sense of dread at the question-- she'd come here to get away from her previous life, and she didn't really want to bring it all back to the forefront of her mind. But at the same time, she wanted someone to know the mistreatment she had gone through. She wasn't sure if the Gourmand had any type of sympathy for her petty human problems as he had likely gone through twice as much turmoil. Nonetheless, she humored him.

"Well..." she started slowly, pondering how to piece the words together. "When my guardian--" she hated using that word, and she quickly changed it, "--my overseer took me in, they had me working on the janitorial shit for their giant estate. Their family was basically, like, a tycoon monarchy. I guess they figured they could use the extra child labor to keep up their mansion, hotel, bath-house, and the rest of their businesses; and the minimum they could get away with giving me was a roof over my head."

She remembered the exact words Kaji-sama had told her: I own you. You live on my property, you do what I tell you to do, no questions asked. If you'd rather disrespect my family's name and not fulfill your end of the bargain, I can easily get rid of you, but I won't help you anymore if you do.

She grimaced at the thought, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the vision of Kaji-sama's stern face hovering above her. "I had to get out of there, somehow. This was my out. And I'm not going back to that estate again... they'll have to kill me first."

[The Gourmand]

After a while, the warlord shifted, moving his elbow flat on the table before placing his other arm on top of that, and finally his chin after that. The Gourmand settled into what could only be taken as a resting position, though it was somewhat uncomfortable given the end of the table was now pressed into his middle. Still, he was emotionally drained and felt a need to ease the tension, so there he remained, his full weight causing the wood to creak slightly.

Red eyes did as they normally did, gazed fourth and observed. What he heard, really, wasn't much for him to go on. So, what then? Indentured servitude? That was most definitely a thing in Atlantica. Though the Gourmand himself was never under the power of one family, not until he became a royal guard, he was acutely familiar with physical labor. He squinted his eyes at the word “monarchy”, though he got the impression she likely had a different idea of it than he did.

The last statement prompted him to lift his eyelids slightly. How bold. A trait sorely lacking here as of late, what with half the army still wallowing in their trauma. He was hoping to be impressed earlier, but had since fallen under the spell of apathy.

Tilting his head curiously, he wondered if he'd be able to recover his passion again.

“And they will need to go through me.”

Not us, the Dawnseekers; me, the Gourmand -- quite the potent promise. But why?

“I think we may be kindred spirits you and I,” he said, not removing his chin from his firearms, “Tell me; what have you heard of where I come from?”

The Gourmand briefly gave a small laugh, thinking that, given so few have thought to ask him about his past, the speculation that's no doubt grown had ought to be fascinating.

[Fenna]

^{“And they will need to go through me.”}

Fenna was caught off guard by the firm statement, eyebrows arching in surprise. Was he implying he actually believed her, and was willing to defend her? Everyone else she had told to that point had told her to suck it up or that someone out there had it worse, be grateful she had a home at all. Though it was also grim thinking of actually standing up to Kaji-sama, if they were to find her...

^{“I think we may be kindred spirits you and I..."}

She did hear him right. The Gourmand, this giant, intimidating merman, was willing to actually defend her. She actually smiled a bit at this, but not without incredulity. Kindred spirits? He actually empathized with her? It was a strangely validating feeling, but also made her realize there was more to him than he ever had let on. He must have faced similar trauma, whatever had driven him to declare war on his old kingdom...

"Truthfully? I haven't heard that much," she confessed with an open-palmed shrug. "I mean... I know you're a wicked badass sea commander who got beached back when the Freedom Fighters were still a thing. I didn't bother trying to investigate any deeper than that. I was too busy thinking about how we were going to set up the base of operations to care much about everyone else's personal lives."

She tilted her head slightly."I mean, you said you were from a 'corrupt society', right? Is there, like... an ocean dictatorship? With like, merman Hitler?" It felt like it was kind of a stupid question, with the last bit added in as a joke with a bit of a giggle. But she was genuinely curious. "You've probably seen some serious shit if you declared war on those guys."