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Marius wakes up back in the cell, a pounding headache in no way made better by the stupid fluorescent lights. He tries to sit, but a combination of dizziness and nausea makes him fall back down with a grunt.
Fuck. There are few things worse than recovering from head injuries.
A steadying hand on his shoulder prevents another try and he squints up at Raphaella. With a hushed voice she asks what happened. Not wanting to recount the frankly embarrassing events that led to him being dumped back in the cell with a hole in his head, he elects to fall back asleep.
The next thing he knows the door is being opened. This time the lights are somewhat bearable, and the headache is almost gone. Now able to sit up he levels a glare at the newcomer, but the disheveled state of them softens it slightly.
Still, it doesn’t matter how cute they are.
They stabbed him.
Seeing them repeatedly push loose strands of hair behind their ear and sigh in defeat as it falls out, it isn’t easy holding onto the animosity. Fucking hell Lyf. Having to do something before it’s all gone he exclaims: “you stabbed me,” with his best ‘this is terrible’ voice. Because it is.
Looking up at him with an inscrutable expression, they pause, as if considering what to say, “that technically would not be referred to ‘stabbed’.”
“I literally died.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” they do not sound particularly sorry. “What was I supposed to do? You were in my house. I panicked!”
He sighs, molding his expression into what he hopes is a mix between sadness and disappointment, “you don’t even seem to care.” Falling into Raph’s side, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think my poor heart can take this, please, my dear, you must help me through these trying times.”
She looks down on him and sighs. He ignores it. Lyf, who’d previously been looking right at him has averted their eyes, staring at the floor.
That’s not uncommon, they normally do when in proximity to any kind of affection. But he, for all intents and purposes doesn’t want to make them uncomfortable, just tease them a bit, so he straightens up, “I feel so unloved right now.”
“Believe me,” they say, with a voice and expression clearly indicating their wholehearted belief in their own words, “I care. A lot. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I had to fill out? And do you know how much of that did not exist? All of it. There is a lot of overly specific forms out there but no one has made any for ‘I’m sorry I accidentally -and temporarily- murdered a prisoner who’d broken out to stand in my home for no reason’, who would have guessed?”
Their words lose some of the heat as they continue, taking on a tinge of the exhaustion painting their face. “I had to make it. All of it. And I don’t know what led me to this moment, but I want nothing more than to go back and make sure it never happened.”
“Look on the bright side! If it ever happens again, you won’t have to make new ones.”
“Trust me when I say this, I’ll do everything, and I mean everything , in my power to prevent that.”
The door has all but swung closed behind Lyf before Raphaella throws an arm around Marius’s shoulder and pulls him close, “You seriously broke into their house?” she asks, voice thick with amusement.
“Don’t you dare take their side,” he groans, giving up on trying to break free. “How was I even supposed to know you shouldn’t do that here?”
“You ‘shouldn’t do that’ in most places.” Ivy points out.
He sends her a glare, trying his best to convey just how much he does not need her opinions right now. As if she doesn’t break into places all the time. “Hypocrite.”
“Maybe, but at least I don’t get myself killed.”
That’s a low blow, “well, it was successful, wasn’t it? They said they’d do anything in their power to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“A decision having nothing to do with positive feelings for you.”
She is just trying to be hurtful at this point, “fuck you Ivy, we’re friends.”
“Are they aware of that?” He doesn’t dignify her with a response, of course they are. Probably.
Raph, who has, since he stopped struggling, taken to leaning on him asks with a low voice: “are you going to try again?”
“Well, obviously, that’s the most fun I’ve had in years!” he says, before feeling the need to elaborate, “maybe apart from the whole stabbed in the head thing.”
Rain. Why is it always raining in this godforsaken place?
He hurries after the silhouette of who he hopes is Lyf and curse as he steps in another puddle. He isn’t even certain it’s actually them. It’s hard to tell.
The pouring rain casts everything in a gray-ish haze, and it’s hard to see more than a couple of steps in any direction. At this distance whoever it is little more than a dark blur.
But he’s going to assume it’s Lyf, it was them when he first started following them and he doubts it has changed.
They stop under the overhanging roof of a large stone building, lined with closed gates, all with a small screen beside, and search through their pockets.
They haven’t found what they’re looking for when Marius runs the last steps to be out of the rain and gasps, “greeting inspector Lyf.”
He’s pretty sure they startle at hearing his voice and he’d like to apologize but fuck, spending decades in tiny a cell does little to improve your overall fitness and he’s rather busy trying not to die.
He’s barely gotten his breath under control before they answer, “how did you get out?” Their hair is plastered to their skull and their coat soaked but they look too tired to care.
Not the enthusiastic answer he’d hoped for but it would do, “through the door!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” they sigh, “you know what? Never mind, what do you want?”
Ah fuck. His plan had been ‘follow Lyf until we’re close enough to talk’ and that was it, no idea what would happen then.
In a desperate attempt at coming up with something not stupid to say the only thing on his mind is Ivy’s lectures about Yggdrasilian history. Or what little he actually remembers.
That is no help at all and fuck he’s taken way too long to reply, he has to say something. Anything . Starting to panic he blurts out “did you know that your planet is an excellent example of post-colonialism?”
That was not what he’d wanted to say. He may not know what he’d meant to tell them, but he knows for certain it wasn’t that. Still, it’s better than nothing and their perplexed expression hopefully means they’ve forgotten about the whole ‘breaking out of prison’ thing.
“Hel, you’re reminding me of highschool, is that what you spend your spare time thinking about?” they almost look shocked. Would it really be that surprising?
“That’s what I spend my spare time trying to avoid. It’s Ivy.” he says. Their expression goes from surprise to ‘thought as much’ and that is rude on so many levels. He glares and feeling the need to defend his honour continues, “but I could, if I wanted to.”
“Sure,“ they don’t sound all that convinced, but continue to look through their pockets. How many pockets does that jacket have? It’s ridiculous.
Apparently not finding what they’re searching for they curse, turning to the closest screen.
After pressing a few buttons, they start typing something. He has no idea what. 60 years in a cell is not the optimal situation for learning a place’s written language. Especially when that language refuses to tell you when one letter ends and the other begins. Yeah, he's beginning to realize just how '60 years in a cell' has rendered him completely useless to himself.
A small approving beep follows and the almost inaudible click of the gate’s lock.
They enter, and before he can follow they’ve closed it behind them. He tries the handle but to no avail, apparently the lock is automatic. Stupid gate. “Hey Lyf!” they turn around, annoyed face turning smug. “How do I get through this thing?”
“You don’t,” with a small wave they turn and start walking away, “bye.”
Fucking bastard.
Lyf shows up the same time as always the next day but somehow it feels much longer. What happened at the train station have been bugging him all night - not because of any personal reason, he’s just curious. Who puts a lock on a public building? That’s stupid on so many levels. People can’t get in and it must take extreme amounts of time in rush traffic.
There is no logical explanation, so the next time he sees them he decides to ask. If anything it could be good world-building material for whatever album they’ll write about the horrors of Midgardian prisons. Admittedly it’d be a very dull and unexciting album, but that perfectly sums up what he’s been feeling 90% of the time here.
Despite having made up his mind hours before he sees them he asks just as they’re about to leave.
“Hey, why couldn’t I get into the train station?”
“Hey, why couldn’t I get into the train station?”
They turn and lean against the door frame, “Because you have neither a key-card nor a CIN, didn’t you read the screen? ”
“That’s not what I meant and excuse me for not being able to read this planet’s poor excuse for a language.”
“Ah, sorry,” they say, surprising themselves by actually sounding apologetic (big mistake).
“Why do you need them anyway? Seems unnecessary. Also, I have no idea what a CIN is. ” he makes an ‘I should really know that by now, sorry’ face.
“A ‘Citizen Identification Number’. Every person has one, and it can be used as identification when you forget your ID. " they pause , "I had forgotten my ID ,” because that was both a necessary and intelligent clarification , good job Lyfrassir .
“That doesn’t answer the question why.”
“Oh right, it’s a bit impractical, sure. But it’s a good safety measure. ”
“Safety from what? Me? ”
“Partly, yes, -”
Marius makes a betrayed noise and they shrug, “excuse me? I was joking, that’s so rude.” he reaches for the bag of food they’d brought and picks up a fruit (yes, they’d actually made good on that promise.)
They sigh and slide down the wall until they’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, “-not specifically you. Just, you know-” they make sweeping gesture, “people from outside the system. ”
Yeah, they’re well aware that that's not why they have them. But it’s what they’ve been told, and they aren’t stupid enough to challenge it in front of the no-longer-very-secret recording devices.
“So what, you live to make the lives of passers-by difficult?” he asks, sadly taking a bite out of the fruit. The peel is still on. They do not comment.
“No? It’s to prevent them from getting to places they aren’t supposed to be. ”
He looks at them like ‘that’s exactly what I said’, “And people doing that is a major problem here? ”
“Not really? You were the first arrivals in almost a century and the last too,” they hesitate. “I’m pretty sure.” they think for a moment, “Yeah, I definitely think I read that somewhere - but don’t quote me on it. ”
“So, what you’re saying is that this entire planet has unnecessarily complicated safety-measures for a problem doesn't exist?”
Taken aback by that they falter, “I- yes? I know that sounds bad, but I assure you, it’s worth it when it actually happens. ”
“How!?”
Raphaella , who’d thus far been relatively quiet (thank gods) , pipes up, “ it worked on you, didn’t it ? ”
He glares at her, “no one cares about your opinion. ”
“I care,” they lean back against the wall.
“That’s just ‘cause it proves your point.”
“Exactly,” they say, not even trying to keep the smugness out of their voice. He is not looking very impressed.
Not being in the mood to get back up to their stupidly large pile of paperwork just yet (turns out the most boring part about being at work is doing the actual work, who knew?) they decide they might as well continue the conversation and tells them all about the horrible horrible outside world. (Or rather what parts of propaganda they actually care to remember. Which is not a lot, but hopefully enough to delay their return a few precious minutes.)
Trying to keep an even ‘I am totally serious about this’ tone they explain how it’d be bad enough that outsiders were in the system , but them traveling wherever they want would be even worse , they ’ re dangerous people after all.
The prisoners seem to take offense to that and both La Cognizi and Alexandria look to Von Raum, who seem all too happy with his role as designated spokesperson.
They silently wonder how the choice was made, if they went by ‘talkativeness’ or just sheer ‘annoyingness’.
“And what, pray tell, makes them so dangerous?”
Lyf stares at him in faux shock, “have you not heard about the wars? ” One of the more common arguments, often accompanied by images of, well, war , meant to show how much worse these people were .
Too bad anyone with access to certain restricted files would know they were actually pictures from the last Asgard-Jotunheim war. (The one information about which is strictly prohibited from public sources as Asgard had lost). (they may dislike losing, but they dislike people knowing about their losses even more).
“So what you’re saying is that-” he pauses, looking at them with suspicion, “-you don’t have wars here? I somehow doubt that very much. ”
They roll their eyes, “obviously we have wars, but not like that . Ours have,” they debate what word to use, “reason? ” It’s not quite what they wanted, but good enough. “ Theirs is just senseless violence. They talk about it on the news all the time. Violence for violence’s sake… weapons of mass destruction, It’s awful. ”
Yeah , they have no idea who runs the government 's ‘ information's ’ channels , but if whoever it is thought that would fool anyone with half a brain , they were sorely mistaken .
Then again, as a proud owner of both half a brain (something they’ve realized is distressingly rare) and access to information they may be a bit biased.
Not looking entirely convinced he asks “have you ever even met someone from ‘outside’? ”
They’re pretty sure that’s the stupidest thing they’ve heard him (astonishing), “yes. ” they say, making sure to sound as sarcastic as possible, “you.”
“Ah… Touché.”
Watching the door close behind Lyf Marius sighs. It’s nothing special about the sigh, but that doesn’t stop Raph from sending him an amused grin, “miss them already? It’s been less than two minutes.”
“No, why would I?” he laughs, internally cursing his inability to fake laugh convincingly. He tries to move his gaze from the door in a way she won't notice and unfairly judge by looking over at her. An attempt which, based on her expression, was unsuccessful.
“It’s alright, your little crush will return before you know it! Or in about a cycle, whichever comes first.” it’s clear that she’s just teasing, but that doesn’t stop his face from heating up.
Cursed face.
What good is the ability to lie if it doesn’t work in times like this? It’s not like he actually has a crush on them either. They’re just fun to be around, and when you sit in the same tiny room day in and day out, any and all distractions are welcome.
He explains as much and her amused grin turns smug, “you do like them.”
“I just explained why I don’t, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
“Oh, but I think you do, I recognize that face, it’s the ‘I like someone but won’t admit it’ face, isn’t that right Ivy?”
Looking up from whatever she was doing a grin spreads across her face, “I think you’re right!”
“Not you too,” he sighs, “it’s two against one. It’s unfair.”
“Like you’ve ever cared about fair,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows.
“I do,” he glares. “A lot actually. Especially when it’s me, the unfairness is affecting.” trying- and failing to keep the serious expression he leans back and elaborates. “That should be obvious. Everyone knows that if you don’t automatically care more about something when it’s negatively affecting you you’re lying.”
“Too bad,” she says before continuing with an amused voice. “The others are going to love this.”
With rising horror he realizes what she means, and before he knows it he’s moving. Somehow catching her by surprise, they hit the ground. It’s an admittedly short fall as they were both already sitting, but he hopes it’s enough to distract her. Because if not… He does not want to think about what that may entail.
After the initial shock she starts laughing, pushing at his shoulder without moving from where she’s sprawled on the ground. Her hair is fanned out around her and there are traces of laughter on her face as she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. (An ability he’d always envy, if there’s one good thing with having a mechanical brain it’s impeccable control of facial muscles.)
Moving to sit before him, she asks: “was that really necessary?”
“Of course it was!” how could she not see that? “I’ve spent centuries trying to get this damn crew to respect me and if they found out about this lie I would never live it down,” he pauses, trying to demonstrate the severity of the situation. “I would have to start all over, and even if I did I would never succeed because you people are awful and refuse to let things go.”
“That’s- That’s really too bad,” she says with a shit eating grin.
“You did not-”
“I did, it’s done, but it’s alright, I don’t think it’ll change too much. No one ever respected you in the first place.”
Raphaella snorts behind him and he lets himself wallow momentarily in the knowledge that his life is ruined, before straightening up, “so what, you’ve just been sending people messages with that fancy brain of yours this entire time?”
“Only on very special occasions.”
“And how does this qualify?”
The look she sends him is one of ‘I can’t believe you’re that stupid’ and he doesn’t like it, “Marius is in love with a cop, how is that not the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”