Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #30 – Sunshine

“Why why do keep your necklace on even when photosynthesizing?”

“Because it’s a gift.”

“Oh.”

Primula nodded to herself, connecting the dots. So, someone gifted something to that strange rhizome that looked like a miniature of Captain Commander Lily. Which meant, she had a connection with a human. That was surprising for Prim: she believed to be an anomaly, after receiving Riri from Mal. Finding out that other rhizomes could build connections too made her fall deep in thought. She glanced again at the porcelain white skin of Lacrima, at her flowing white hair, at her eyepatch. It was uncanny to watch another rhizome photosynthesize while still wearing some garments. Less skin exposed to the sunlight meant less energy production. Still, Lacrima couldn’t be made to get rid of her necklace and her eyepatch. She seemed also less than eager to part with her high platform shoes, something that she begged to be allowed to keep even in her cell. At one meter sixty-three, she wasn’t exactly short – though maybe she had her reasons to consider herself as such. Primula closed her eyes for a second, let her roots bask in the sunlight. The greenhouse of Atropos wasn’t big or even well equipped. It had just a thin layer of soil and a very limited number of low-maintenance plants that required little to no water. Still, it was the one way rhizomes could absorb their daily share of stellar warmth. The fact that she was doing it together with a convicted criminal was of no importance: in the greenhouse, all rhizomes were equal.

“It’s a different necklace from last time, right?”

Felce’s words broke through her senses, forcing her to open her eyes again. The black-haired rhizome was photosynthesizing with them too, keeping her arms wide open, while caressing her branch stumps from time to time. Lacrima turned around to face her, to answer her question, causing Felce to whistle. Her red eye was a sight to behold. A red deeper than that of the iron bitch, different and similar at the same time.

“Right, even if both are made of whistling swan feathers. My old collar had feathers from an adult male. This one was made from two adult females of slightly different sizes. There’s a distinct variety in the surface texture of the feathers that makes it clear which belongs to which.”

“Huh, the more you know…”

Primula couldn’t help but nod again, while watching that conversation unfold. Those two were quite civil with each other, even after their vicious fight at Bargain Barricade. That was hardly surprising: keeping grudges was very counterproductive, cost too much energy and didn’t bring any real results. So, being fluid and adapting to the situation at hand was the best course of action. Lacrima let out a sneeze, cleaned her nostrils. Causing Felce to grin and pat her head.

“Bless you, big sis! Your allergy to my pollen is hilarious.”

“Well, not for me. I hate… I used to hate rhizomes. Myself included.”

“That’s the goth edgy rebel phase. You’ll get out of it. Like, little Prim here smoked weed cigs at one point!”

“That’s not true! I just tried it just once! And didn’t like it, it was disgusting!”

“Oh, didn’t you do that because you wanted to impress Mimi?”

“What? We never even talked once!”

“Talking is not all there is, you know. Come on, she was eating you with her eyes, back then!”

Lacrima let out a low growl, clenched her fist. All that talk about Mimi made her lymph boil, for reasons she couldn’t really track down. Those two had met her before she could, but that didn’t mean they had priority with her. She stomped her heel on the ground, causing a small cloud of dust to form and fall.

“I’m Mimi’s only house plant.”

Silence fell. Lacrima let her shoulders slump down, sighed. Those two plant girls were weird. Well, three, including Agave. Chatting like that with her, despite being on two opposite sides. They didn’t consider the idea of punishing her or bullying her. They just… accepted her as a necessary part of their lives on Atropos, even if she was a criminal and they were Peacekeepers. It felt completely contrary to what she observed among humans. She sneezed again. Again. Felce’s pollen was getting on her nerves, causing her immune system to keep reminding her of her shortcomings. She wiped her lips, caressed her eyepatch on her now empty socket. Her rose was giving her phantom pain, as if it were still there. Her mind went back to Mimi’s tender bites, to her tongue sucking lymph out of her flower. Now, Mimi was locked behind a door, shedding her water without anyone to drink it. A waste, with how much she cried. Lacrima could have used her water, to recover faster. And maybe, just maybe, to feel more of that pleasant warmth her body emitted. Hugging her naked skin made her feel comfortable, at ease. A safe place, a harbor where her mind could rest in peace.

“House… plant?”

Primula’s question interrupted her musings, looking somehow intrigued and concerned at the same time. Lacrima stared back at her, with the most neutral, matter-of-fact expression she could muster.

“She drinks my lymph with her mouth and I drink her water with mine, while we’re stimulating each other’s release. Last time, she sucked me completely dry and saved me from phytomorphosis. In turn, she let me drink her juices. All of her water belongs to me. All of my lymph belongs to her. That’s what being a house plant means.”

Silence fell again among them. Prim’s eyes were on the verge of shattering, as open as they were, while Felce was doing her absolute best not to burst into laughter. The tanned rhizome patted on Primula’s shoulder several times, hugged her from behind, shook her like a doll.

“Awwww, Prim! Hurry! Go to Mimi and beg her to suck your lymph too! You have priority! First girl always wins, and you were the first! Don’t let this mini-iron-bitch get what’s yours! Go grab her, gal!”

“I’m… not interested in Mimi’s water!”

“Then, why did you react like that?”

“Because! Humans and rhizomes… drinking each other’s fluids? With their mouths? Doesn’t it sound… dirty? Unhealthy? Lagash only knows how many germs and parasites we’d exchange, if we did that! And what about lymph-transmissible-diseases? What if I get a defoliation virus? If I have to suck someone’s water, I’d use my roots and nothing else!”

“Bold coming from someone who licked her pet’s tears.”

“That’s completely different!”

Lacrima observed them without saying a word. Somehow, that whole charade made her feel better about her predicament. She had something to come back to. Something that made her wait worth it. A place to call home. Now, she only had to endure that parenthesis a little longer, just enough to find a way to get back to her safe place. She stared at the infinite space outside of the glass panels. Never in her life she thought she’d be able to travel outside of Lagash. Yet, that had been the case. They didn’t even realize it, at first. Mimi, Dobrio, Robin, even she herself had been sedated and put to sleep, waking up only once they reached Atropos. In hindsight, she couldn’t understand why they weren’t killed on the spot. Maybe, there were reasons – reasons too deep for her to catch up on. What she understood, however, was that she was now standing on a rotating orbital habitat in the vast coldness of the universe, a place no bird had been before. Mimi, though, didn’t seem happy about it. Losing her stem, that human she called aunt Caro, seemed to have destroyed every trace left of Kryzalid in her. Now, her fragile interior was exposed for everyone to see. Suddenly, Lacrima felt a little dizzy, her balance lost for a second or two. Her elbow and knees were still aching from the battle with Lily. Signs of an utter failure. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t stop her, not even hurt her significantly. Even piercing her with her own blade led to nothing. That was the magnitude of the difference between them. Now, Lacrima was stashed in a place outside of the world, too far to interfere with any of her sister’s plans. Maybe, that was the idea. Forcing them to watch the Turn unfolding without being able to put any spanners in her works. Or, maybe, Lily just reserved their execution for a time where she could get more eyes on it. Whatever the case was, she had no clue. And, now, she had to share that habitat with a group of human soldiers and three other rhizomes, all while being barred from meeting Dobrio and Mimi and forced to spend most of her time in a small room, all alone – without even a comnet connection.

A grave sound filled the greenhouse. The clock. Her free hour of sunlight was over. Back to her cell it was. Lacrima grabbed her clothes, wore them back, slowly. She hated that orange prison uniform with a passion. It caused her skin to itch and its color was frankly horrible. Unfortunately, convicts had no such rights as deciding what to wear. The door of the greenhouse slid open. An unarmed Peacekeeper stepped in, grabbed her by her wrist.

“Follow me, please. Don’t resist.”

She nodded. Resisting was not in her plans. It was a waste of energies, because it led nowhere. Even if she rebelled, she had no way to drive a rocket back to Lagash. So, abiding by the rules felt like the safest bet, for the moment. She waved her vine hand at the other two rhizomes, before disappearing behind the door, leaving them alone in the greenhouse.

Prim listened to her steps, going farther and farther away, till the sound faded altogether. Then, she turned to Felce, stared at her while her index fingers started touching each other.

“…a house plant, huh. You know, that sounds…”

“…cozy?”

“...yes.”

“You could become your pet’s house plant, when we get back to Lagash.”

“But Mal isn’t a lymph junkie.”

“You could make him one.”

“That would be senseless and actively detrimental.”

“True. I’ve seen Mimi’s withdrawal.”

“Yeah. It was bad.”

The way she flailed her arms, cried, begged for lymph… she didn’t even look like a distant relative of herself. Lymph withdrawal turned humans into wild animals, making them lose what little intelligence and common sense they had. Prim couldn’t picture Mal as a lymph junkie. That felt completely contrary to the image she had of him. Felce expanded her arms again, let the sunshine kiss her skin.

“It sucks that I can’t keep my tan, behind this glass. I hope I’ll get back to Lagash before I turn vampire white. I love my melanin.”

“But Father doesn’t.”

“Father can go fuck himself with a screwdriver.”

“Two screwdrivers.”

“Make three.”

“Deal.”

Prim stared at the clock again. She had got enough sunlight for the day. It was time to get her briefing from Station Commander Geiger. She slowly collected her clothes, put them on again, fastened her suit of armor. Being unarmed felt weird, but plasma knives and guns were a hazard for Atropos. A misfire meant they’d all die of explosive decompression. Fortunately, she kept her natural weapons. A new spear had finally regenerated inside her spine socket, which also meant that now her lymph didn’t have any immediate use. She was slowly accumulating reserves, not to the point of overflowing but enough that she started worrying about it. Maybe, just maybe, she could have asked Mal to help her with that? Not with drinking it, of course, just with her release. She couldn’t find a reason why Mal wouldn’t do that, except that it felt gross to him. There had to be a way to ask him for help without sounding like a creep. If only she had access to the comnet, she’d look for suggestions on her favorite online forums. But, that not being the case, she had to take a gamble. Felce grabbed Prim’s arm with one long vine, rolled it around her biceps to keep her from reaching the door.

“Hey, heeeey, why are you leaving me alone? Can’t you enjoy a bit more sunlight?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“But I’ll get bored, if you leave and I have nobody to talk to!”

“I’m sure Agave is coming soon.”

“As if I could stand that stuck-up birch.”

“Let me go, Felce.”

“You’ve noticed that your pet’s health has gotten worse, right?”

Prim turned around, squinted at her. That was indeed correct, something clouding her mind for the past few days. The cough. The green fluid dripping from his lips. Just like the Peacekeeper at the mall, the one that got murdered by the unidentified pseudorhizome. Primula nodded, averted her gaze.

“Yeah, and I don’t know what to make of it. Station Commander Geiger said he’ll be quarantined after the Turn. He says that till then he can just wear a face mask since, you know, the Turn will never happen again and preventing him from watching it would be cruel. But I’m… concerned.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

Felce smirked, massaged her chin, pushed her chest out with pride.

“Rumors that at least five, maybe six Peacekeepers have died like this, in the past two-three years. First, your water tastes funny. Then, you start coughing and sneezing lymph. Then, your head splits open and gives birth to a flower. Creepy, isn’t it?”

The picture of Mal screaming, his head opening in half, only for a rose to emerge from it in a shower of blood and ooze assaulted Prim’s mind all of a sudden. She shivered, felt like retching, almost vomited. Mal was not going to bloom. That was not going to happen. Not to him. Not to the person who gifted her Riri and a hoodie. Yet, Felce wasn’t finished yet.

“Of course it was covered up, but information like that doesn’t remain secret forever. I have my sources.”

“And you think that Mal’s going to suffer the same fate?”

“The writing’s on the wall, want it or not. Buuuuut…”

Felce arced her back, a smirk painted her face.

“…there are other rumors too. You know, of Peacekeepers defecting from the Corps and disappearing in Aralu. They say that there’s a sort of guardian down there, one that purges your plant infection from your body by playing a violin.”

“…violin?”

“Oh, yeah. So, basically, the story goes like this: if you leave the Corps and disappear, your head will explode faster. But there’s this blind barefoot gal playing a violin that can take the flower out of you. At least, duh, that’s what my sources say. Though, they put a little too much emphasis on the ‘barefoot’ part, on the comnet. I wonder if Father was involved.”

Prim looked up, her mind traversed by thoughts. That description fit too well. Except, instead of saving people, Kryzalid killed them, making their heads pop like balloons. Still, the overlap was too large to be just a coincidence. She should have cross-checked the truth of that statement. Prim massaged her chin, looked down, then stared back at Felce.

“I need to go. Don’t stop me.”

“But I’m still bored…”

“Not my problem.”

Before Felce could retort, Prim turned around, walked through the door of the greenhouse, watched it close behind her back. She went down the ring, with light steps, watching Lagash from the windows. Her whole world was spinning twice per minute, but it was still relatively comfortable. It was funny, though, that her concept of up and down had been shuffled so badly by that experience. Up meant ‘towards the center of the wheel’, down meant ‘in the opposite direction’. In a spinning ring, centrifugal forces would plaster you against the outer surface, effectively simulating gravity. It was a feasible alternative, given the right measurements. Of course, Agave gave her a full rundown of it, with emphasis on how Zaiken’s fourth season got it completely wrong – with the acceleration parallel to the sides of the ring, instead of the ring external walls themselves. Prim didn’t pay too much attention to that, what was important was that walking didn’t feel any different than when she was on Lagash. Step by step, in the two kilometers long ring, she finally reached the door she was looking for. Door six. The cell where Mimi was kept. She peeked through the slit, had a look inside. Mimi was sitting on her cot, sliding her fingers on the pages of a braille book from the station’s library – one of the few concessions she was granted. She seemed intent on reading, not even noticing her approach. Or so Prim thought, while contemplating that peaceful vision, those opaque eyes that had lost their light too long ago.

“What’s up, Prim? Missed me? Want me to strip you again, maybe this time in front of everyone? Unfortunately, can’t do that now, sorry.”

Mimi’s bitter voice pierced the silence, her finger kept moving on the page. Prim gulped down some of her saliva, crossed her arms without breaking eye contact – as unidirectional as that was.

“Is it true that Peacekeepers… bloom? Like… like flowers?”

“Seriously? Is this the first thing you ask me… after all this time? Not even, you know, trying to understand how I went from goodie-two-shoes to terrorist? Jeez. You plants are truly something else.”

“But I need to know!”

“Then, I dunno, ask the iron bitch. She’ll be happy to lie about it. Or is it about sneezy-peazy there? Because, yeah, he’s totally gonna bloom. But, hey, your commander said I’m a lunatic, when I told him this. His loss, when he has to clean the mess.”

“Can you… prevent him from blooming?”

Mimi’s finger stopped. She turned around, towards the direction of the slit. Her eyes were tired, swollen. Her grin vanished, replaced with a somber expression.

“Three days ago, I might have. But in my current state? Fat chance. Again, thank the iron bitch. My nanowires are completely misaligned, after she used me as a punching bag. If I tried, I’d make his head pop, like a balloon. Pop. Pop. Pop!”

She put emphasis on that onomatopoeia, clicking her tongue too at every repetition.

“You don’t have to wait long though, one day at most and he’s gone. Then, have fun putting back his pieces together. Nice way to spend the night of the Turn, innit?”

“P… please, at least try!”

Mimi froze. Primula’s voice. Was filled with emotions. It was not the plain, objective, matter-of-fact monotone speech she was expecting. She seemed to.

Care.

About this person.

Mimi closed her book, put it on her side.

“What’s in for me, if I save him?”

“I’ll…”

Prim closed her eyes, bit her lip.

“I’ll… let you drink my lymph! How much of it you want, even all of it! As if I were your… your house plant!”

In the dim light of that room, something akin to a worried grimace flashed on Kryzalid’s face.

“Go on.”

Prim wanted to swallow her words again. That was pretty much giving away her dignity. All for a person. A human she had learned to care for.

A deal with the devil. One to save Mal, if he even could be saved.

One she was ready to seal, if there was even a single chance not to make her emotional support human die.