A Matter For Discussion

She was not comfortable, as expected. Gawain did not bother to hide the slight smile that this caused. He watched her as she entered, eyes gauging meticulously. Naturally he had seen her before, when they had fought, but that was a different experience entirely. Her clothing fit poorly, raising the question of whether she wore such things infrequently enough and cared little enough that she had not bothered to replace them, or whether she was still growing. He did not ask, but rather filed the question for curiosity, perhaps to be brought up at some future point, perhaps merely to discuss.

For her part, she looked out the window rather than at him. Indeed, Gawain doubted he was much to look at right now, certainly little of distinguishment - black slacks much like her own, though impeccably tailored; a button-down shirt in dusty gold that was also impeccably tailored and yet still strained somewhat at the breadth of his shoulders; his hair neatly groomed back into a queue. He could almost have passed for someone unremarkable, and yet he never would. There was merely something about him - an intensity. Perhaps this young woman knew of such things, perhaps she did not. She spoke of jumping, and he echoed her amusement.


Gawain smiled at her, and sipped his coffee. She would not take him up on the offer, he did not think - but if she chose to, then who was he to gainsay such things?

So, she would not jump. Gawain could not say that it was unexpected, which was itself more of a disappointment than the fact that she would not do it. He let her sift through that on her own, sipping at his coffee, letting her be the one to direct the conversation. He was again unsurprised when she brought up Mmselle Smith, the young shadow wielder he had encountered previously. The relationship between them was known, but he hinted a smile at the evident hint of... not precisely jealousy, really, but a reflection on self-inadequacy.


Let that statement fall where it might as well. It was true that Kore had intrigued him initially - the brinesteel, the creative thought to make such an odd thing truly shine. He had been impressed, back then. But Kore grew in strength, as they all did, and what he had seen of her lately through news outlets merely showed someone adding more and more to her personal toolkit, losing sight of that spark that had made her so interesting in the first place. She wanted to win, not to struggle.

Let that subject fade, perhaps, and focus on the one in front of him.


She spoke, after all, of restraint and of not wishing to cause the death of those countless inadequate ones beneath. She begged for a fight, but held back for the sake of those she might harm, even though in doing so she undoubtedly harmed herself, or at the very least her image of who she truly wanted to be.

She was, as he had determined, an interesting character.

Gawain sat still, watching her think. She was young, and so many of her expressions filtered across her face. There were things to think about there, things to make note of. Interacting with people was at least as interesting as fighting them - or perhaps it was the same, and merely a different sort of fight. A quieter one, but not always with less collateral.

She sought to challenge him again, and as she couldn't challenge him with her fists, she tried it with her words. She was not experienced with how to use them, and her challenges seemed childish, intempered, impatient. Gawain thought of his own youth with fondness, and let her speak. It was refreshing, somewhat, even if it was not precisely the challenge she wished it to be.


His hand moved, an expansive gesture, one that allowed for either answer to the question that he had posed. For his own part, he did not think that it was a question that had an answer. He did not regret having done it once, and perhaps he would not regret doing it again, if it were called for - but he already knew what it was like, to be the last survivor of a world. He did not care to find out just yet what it would be like to be the last survivor of all the worlds.


There would be brief moments of fun, certainly, but they would only punctuate the greater sense of something missing, of being unable to find the answers she sought to the questions she wanted to ask herself. How strong was she? Gawain had seen something of her strength, that day. She had been trying - with limited success - to hold herself back so as not to destroy the entire base. If she unleashed herself and struck him with her full power, what would that be like? Would she know what she was doing?

His eyes regarded her, hooded and thoughtful.

One word, but if nothing else it showed that he was listening and willing to do so. The interplay between this Oni-Girl and the Daughter of the Shadows was an intriguing one. Perhaps it was only natural that the half-demon girl should want to follow the other - but it could be equally argued that it would be natural to betray her, and for many of the same reasons. Gawain took nothing for granted, but he listened often and spoke when it was warranted. Oni-girl might have lived for the fight, to be in that moment - but for him, the fight was as much about what happened off the battlefield than on it. It was about knowing ones opponents, not merely knowing their moves or abilities, but truly knowing them - who they were, what was important to them. That was... perhaps it was what made all the fighting worthwhile.

Or perhaps it was all the other way around.


He raised his cup, drinking coffee. He was in no hurry, but it wasn't a slow sip either - not something lingered over, merely something done. His eyes drifted away from Carmen, out the tall windows and across the vast expanse of Millennium City. It was something to look at, so that he need not see the past.


A smile curved his lips, the sentiment oddly poetic on a man who sometimes seemed so rough.

Gawain laughed softly. Oni-girl was a bit of a one-note personality, but that was nothing to be ashamed of. She had come to accept that she lived for the fight. The only difficulty was that she wouldn't let herself truly live. Of all people, Gawain could certainly appreciate restraint, but it was not always what he wanted or expected from others.

But she was young, yet. Perhaps time would turn her callous. There was no telling how long she would live, after all. Perhaps she would last for centuries, in her nigh-indestructible body, while everything she had thought she could care about crumbled around her and the world shunned her more and more. Or perhaps she already contained the seeds of her own destruction, a heart that could not take the strain of its own body and would give out all too soon. Did it matter? Not to him, certainly, but he wondered if it mattered to her.

Perhaps not. She seemed to care for little besides the fight, after all.

Her proposition was as ridiculous as the rest of her, of course, but he had to admire that she would simply come out with it. Likely she expected him to decline. Gawain moved slightly, rough hands adjusting the position of a delicate coffee cup that seemed to have no place within them. He wondered if she knew what she was truly asking. If she truly allowed herself to loose her full power - or if he did - there would be nowhere on this world that would be safe. The battle would spill out in ripples across the horizon, earthquakes toppling cities in far distant lands, brutal winds casting forth the seas in all directions. It was entirely possible it would destroy the world entirely.

Gawain had some experience with such things. He raised the coffee cup and drank the last of it, then set it down with a noise that was too succinct to have been anything but deliberate.

The demon girl agreed to the bargain, and Gawain grinned at the quickness of her response. She seemed to think it though a moment later, considering the matter properly. He wondered if she regretted it, or would regret it - but whatever her decision on that matter was, she did not take back the acceptance.

She asked about the big plan, and his smile turned into laughter, quick and easy.


That was always the question, of course. Whether or not one happened to speak the truth or to lie, there was always the question of how the statement would be received. The best deceits, he found, were often the truths that no one believed. And other times, of course, the best deceits were simply lies. Gawain set his cup down and folded his hands, lacing his fingers together.


His hands unlaced, and one of them moved, an expansive gesture that covered the scenery, the situation, the company present.


He placed his hands on the table and rose to stand, bowing from the shoulders.