Something about the scene at Mako's bar had set up a burning in her heart. Blood roared in her ears as she saw red. Of all the people who could've kissed Texas, of course it had to be a literal angel. Lappland's mind was hazy with her rage. After that day, that accursed day when she felt she had lost Texas forever, Lappland had promised herself to never feel such anger again. It was a sickening stroke to her mind. The infection at full capacity caused this psychopathic anger, driving her to do things she never would've considered before. But this anger was back now, but not over a need to get her to understand.
No, everything was different this time.
Because she doesn't want you anymore, whispered a sickly sweet voice. Another one, filled with toxic venom added, she's moved on without you. Poor poor Lappy-Chan. No one left in the world that cares for you.
Lappland fought the urge to scream, her hands fisting at her sides. Nails dug into her palms. The sharp points sunk deep beneath her flesh. Blood welled up in her hands, splashing into puddles on the floor. She could hear her ragged breathing, the way each intake of air felt like a shuddering gasp.
"No," she said to seemingly no one. "You're wrong. You have to be wrong!" Her voice quivered. With despair or with anger, Lappland was unsure what to feel. All this trying and what had it done for her so far except prove what she could not have.
"And whose fault is that Lappland? You have failed Texas."
This voice, this voice was familiar. She knew this voice. She remembered it from before. Like a snake rattling up in a tree, offering up a secrets for a deadly exchange. Lappland had listened to this voice before. Now she knew it was something she never should have done. Maybe things would've been different if she hadn't. Maybe Texas would still be by her side.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Her ears perked up at the noise. Sniffling, Lappland rubbed her eyes tiredly, surprised to see the dampness on her dark sleeves. She pulled open the door, prepared to tell whoever was on the other side to leave her alone, but her voice fell short when she realized who was on the other side.
Ptilopsis stared at her with wide, owlish eyes. The medic operator was dressed in her usual clothing save for the fluffy jacket over it to protect from the night chill. "Operator Lappland, may I come in?"
Lappland eyed her with suspicion. Just what does she want? But, she knew better than to turn down such a request, even if it was at such a late hour. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do. Hoping for a distraction from the pain in her heart, Lappland stepped back.
"Sure."
Ptilopsis quietly walked inside the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her. Each blink of her eyes was like the shuttering of a camera as she took in the room. Lappland doubted Ptlipsis would find anything impressive here. The room was standard with a bed, nightstand, closet, window and bathroom. There was a chair in one corner, her swords propped up against it. The moonlight came in through the window to give the blades a silver gleam.
"I can observe you're settling in status. It is suboptimal." Ptilopsis reported. The other woman was drifting her hand over the unmade sheets of her bed, the way one of the pillows was clearly rumpled from Lappland hugging it the night before.
"Uh . . . sure. Whatever you say P-Pti . . . whatever your name is." Lappland frowned. How exactly did one pronounce the name Ptilopsis properly anyways? It wasn't like any other name she'd heard before. Except maybe a certain volcanologist who also worked here at Rhodes Island.
"Understandable."
"What's understandable?" Lappland asked. Ptilopsis had taken to sitting down on the bed, carefully pushing the sheets aside. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, the springs concealed inside creaking. Lappland sat down next to her. At Ptilopsis's frown, Lappland stuffed her hands in her pockets, hoping that concealed the crusted blood from view.
"That operator Lappland cannot say my name. Doctor Y/N has the same trouble sometimes. Once, my memory recalls being dubbed Tea Applesauce."
"Hahaha, that's funny. Uh . . . okay. But, you don't have to call me operator. Lappland will do just fine."
"I will serve to improve my nomenclature for you Lappland. Such calculations will require minimal effort on my and your behalf," Ptilopsis said.
"Sure."
Ptilopsis scooted closer. Lappland found the gesture strange for someone she hardly knew, but she didn't push the medic away. "Since we are on closer terms of names, may I see your hands. I deduce they have been injured by some battle."
Lappland's eyebrows rose. "Why do you want to see them?" The blood was crimson now, the flicker of pain dull compared to all she had been through in actual fights.
"Because it is only logical. I am a medic. I can heal you."
Her expression darkened. "You might be able to fix my hands, but I doubt you can solve all my problems Ptilopsis." She was thankful to pronounce the name correctly.
"Due to your change in tone and expression I can make the formulated hypothesis that this is about operator Texas." Ptilopsis concluded.
Lappland groaned. "Again with this operator thing. Just address us by our actual names alright?" She resisted the urge to bang her head against the bed post. It wouldn't help her. The pain would only worsen.
"I will try to follow this recommended change. Now may I please see your hands."
Lappland reluctantly allowed the medic to analyze her bloodstained palms. Ptilopsis ran the pads of her fingers over them gently, taking care not to press down harshly where the blood welled up. She blinked once and then twice, before fishing into her pockets to retrieve a roll of gauze and a bottle of what looked to antiseptic. The cap of the small bottle was unscrewed before being poured in a small dose over the wounds. She winced after the sting, the painful pulse under her skin livid with hurt. A part of her wanted to yank her hands back, but she found herself remaining still as Ptilopsis cleaned the wounds, applied a copious amount of salve —from another bottle she retrieved from her apparently spacious pockets— and then wrapped the gauze comfortably around her hands. The tied knots were done just right before the healer sat back, examining her work with a critical eye. Here Lappland did tuck her hands away, unsure how to feel about someone paying close attention to her.
"Thanks." She grunted. "Now, is there another reason you came here or . . ." Can you leave now? It felt rude to ask such a question, especially after Ptilopsis had been kind enough to treat her, but Lappland wasn't in the mood for company. Frankly, she wasn't in the mood for anything at the moment.
"Oh. Is my company unsatisfactory. Dr. Silence says I should try working on behaving more like a human with actual emotions, but we both understand that my Infection is a huge obstacle in reaching this goal."
"You're Infected?" Lappland asked, surprised. Ptilopsis didn't exactly look like the type of person to be infected. But then again, what do I know? Not all people with originium in their veins acted crazy like her. Come to think of it, the more Infected she spent time around the more she realized most of them weren't like her. Oripathy proved to a hindrance to them, damaging their sight, hearing, capacity for speaking or something else entirely. My fighting skills are enhanced but my mind . . .
Her mind was a different story. She could remember the horror on Texas's face when she first realized what Lappland had been afflicted with. All their fighting to rid Texas's pack land of the infected only for Lappland to come down with oripathy herself. A terrible fate indeed. She felt sad for those who were Infected like her, and the sympathy she retained had no boundaries. Clearly she had misjudged Ptilopsis earlier. Weird was the correct assumption to make for someone who didn't have all the details, but now it was clear that this "weirdness" was something Ptilopsis simply could not help. She would have to try harder not to judge others without knowing them.
"Yes. I am. And so are you. Is your Infection the reason why you have such a complex relationship with Texas?"
Lappland didn't dare answer that question, not when she knew she wouldn't like the answer. So she tried to change the subject. "You still haven't answered my question from earlier."
"Yes, there was another." Ptilopsis pulled another object out of her pocket. It gleamed silver from the light of the moon streaming in. Five letters were engraved on the tag, as was the faint crusting of blood stained on the end. The necklace twirled in the air, dangling down. Lappland's heart seized in her chest as she realized what the object was, her eyes widening. Ptilopsis seemed ignorant in the change in her expression. "You dropped this at the bar earlier. I figured you would want it back."
Hastily Lappland snatched the necklace from Ptilopsis, hugging it to her chest. "I-I didn't even realize it was missing." Her heart thudded loudly. She gasped for air. How could she have forgotten something so important. Was the hurt really so palpable it extended to her reality and awareness.
"Are you alright Lappland?"
"I-I-I don't know." It felt strangely right to answer honestly.
Ptilopsis nodded, as though she expected as much. "I expected as much. Do you need assistance. I have been told hugs are an appropriate form of comfort in these situations."
"O-oh?"
"Come here."
Ptilopsis pulled her into a hug. Lappland's face was smushed up into the healer's shoulder, her hands falling down onto her lap. One still clenched the necklace tightly like it was her lifeline. Whenever she had doubts about her feelings it had provided confidence. She could not lose it. Her body trembled all over at such a terrible possibility coming to pass.
"Thank you for bringing it back," Lappland said when she eventually pulled away.
"You're welcome Lappland. I am glad this makes you happy. But I must ask, why is Texas's name on this?" Ptilopsis asked.
"Because, well, it's meant to show . . ." Lappland trailed off. Would it be right to tell Ptilopsis what this necklace was supposed to represent. That I belong to Texas and she belongs to me. That we care about each other. Is that still true for her? No, it has to be. Right? "That we care about each other?" She couldn't help the question at the end.
"It sounds like you are unsure of what used to be an obvious fact to you."
"And what if I am? I . . . I want to be sure but . . ."
"Texas is making this difficult for you." Ptilopsis surmised. Every time the owlish woman spoke the words were clear facts. They lacked suspicion or bias that was so easy to fill people's tones. The change was refreshing.
Lappland sighed for what felt like the tenth time that night. "Yes. But I'm not making it easier."
Ptilopsis nodded. "Love can be complicated."
"I never said—"
"You didn't have too." Ptilopsis cut in. "I have friends who are in a similar situation. Might I offer some advice Lappland?"
She shrugged. "I don't see why not."
"If you care about Texas, do not be afraid to keep trying to reconnect. Life is too short to hold grudges or to despair. Especially for people like us."
Lappland smiled faintly. The advice had touched her heart in a spot with no attention for a long time. She let out a calm breath of air, steady once more. "I'll try to keep that in mind."
"Good. I'll take my leave then. Get some rest."
"Thanks. Will do."