View source for 2022-12-21: When I praised you for being willing to go so far, I didn't expect to hear about consequences

*'''Log: When I praised you for being willing to go so far, I didn't expect to hear about consequences'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuliana Kafim]], [[Character :: Alma Stirner]]
*'''Where: Nameless Hotel, Myanmar''' 
*'''Date: 2022-12-21''' 
*'''Summary''': ''Yuliana and Alma go on one of their more covert missions, and afterwards, they get to talking. Everything's lovely until Yuliana gets mad. (Content warning: abuse)''
----

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 1, Turn 2]]


 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "Sir," Yuliana salutes, when she enters Major Pham's office. She is stiff; she expects news to have reached him. She doesn't suppose Puru Two or Rena will keep their suspicions to themselves, and even she would have trouble explaining ties to Celestial Being.

        He nods, and directs her: "At ease. Is your team capable of taking on more workload right now, Captain?" A strange question, and hardly the one she expected. He doesn't tend to ''ask'' how much they're capable of doing.

        "We're... operating within capacity," Yuliana answers, a shade cautious. "What do you need, sir?"

        "I have another target for you. Saw Aung," Major Pham hands the file over, with his typical curt gestures. Not even a miracle could warm his chill too much. "He's feeding military secrets to other Federation states... obviously, we can't just let this stand. Would you like to take care of him?"

        Yuliana laughs, a hand combing back through her hair. "I don't know what's come over you, Major," she says, and says plainly, "but something like this is precisely what I'm good at! I'll be sure to have a little talk with him," she smiles, and it's hardly a pleasant expression.

        "Very good," Major Pham nods. "You're dismissed, Captain."

        "Yes, sir!"

        He didn't bring it up. Yuliana wonders whether he knows. She doesn't bring it up.

        ...---...

        With no regard for the state Alma returns in, Yuliana tells her: "Review file #15039II-T and suit up for infiltration. We're leaving at fifteen hundred hours."

        There's an armoury, down the hall.

        It's not there for decoration.

        ...---...

        Myanmar -- or Burma, depending on who you ask -- is a country beset by problems, and that makes it a fine place to live, if one were inclined to make problems. Saw Aung's apartment is accessed through a shady little alleyway, which makes it distressingly easy to slip in once the sun's dipped beneath the sky, all draped in dark cloth.

        Yuliana crouches by the door, and slips two pieces of metal into the keyhole. It's a tragically outdated sort of security system -- they have more call to mimic magnetic strips than keys, in this day and age -- but enough houses still employ old-fashioned locks that she's an adept lockpick. Everyone on the team is, really.

        ''Click,'' the door creeps open, and so do they.

        (Alma has instructions to stay close to Yuliana. She might give them away with her empathy if she doesn't, after all. Her job, here, is to keep an eye on Yuliana's back, while she's focusing so intently on escaping Saw Aung's notice.)

        Yuliana shines a focused torch about the dark room -- avoiding the windows -- until she finds where he's hiding the kitchen. The file, of course, specified that Saw Aung tended to prepare food to eat for the week. This far into it, he only has a few containers left, stacked in the fridge. A quick investigation reveals they're all filled with the same curry, so Yuliana takes the one on top and brings it to his countertop.

        She puts on a pair of thick gloves, and retrieves a vial of something from a stiff container. It's clear, trickling into the food. It will be tasteless, and its chemical structure will decompose by sunrise.

        Cause of death: heart attack. Undue stress. Tragic, for a man in his 40s, but not unheard of.

        She slips it back into the fridge, and goes to plug a data stick into Saw Aung's idling computer. Her gloved fingers fold down, for Alma's benefit and her own, one... two... three... four... five.

        She removes it, and slips it back into a pocket. Parminder's cloning program is very fast. It's important to know just what secrets they've lost, and to whom.

        Yuliana nods, behind her, and slips out of the door. She expects Alma to close it behind her, locked again.

        In and out. No one ever has to know they were here.

        ...---...

        Gloves off; particulate mask off. Yuliana turns, in the hotel room they've rented to use as a returning base, to Alma.

        "Well done," she issues her, with a small twitch to her smile; a little maintenance isn't so far out of her way. Yuliana's smile grows more genuine, as she says: "Rejoice! We've made the Republic even stronger by carving this away."

        As if weakness can just be killed.

        ... she doesn't look all that bothered about just killing a man in cold blood, either.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

The state Alma returns in is -- to put it lightly -- pissy and disheveled. She's taken a whole mag train ride covered in tonkotsu broth and lightly dusted in blue flare soot. She is ''not'' happy. Things went... not as poorly as she feared, but much worse than she'd hoped. It's so cruel to her, that those girls couldn't just let her take care of things -- and hurt her for it, no less!

Yuliana tells her to jump, however -- and she turns it around... somewhat. "Maybe this'll go better," she says, a little sulkily, before turning and making her way to the armory. Certainly she needs a change of clothes, at any rate.

...---...

Alma makes a good lookout; it's what distinguished her very first sortie with Noisy Fairy, and it's something she honestly likes doing. Certainly she doesn't quite have the taste for doing this kind of assassination herself... yet.

In spite of that, though, she does watch intently. If this is the sort of work she'll be called upon to do as an attache, well, she's... honestly a little nervous about it. This is a fairly abstract way to kill someone, though, so she can squish down her own distaste for the sake of Yuliana's good work.

Overall, she's well-allocated, and... well. There's definitely not nothing to worry about, here -- but when they leave, Alma manages a smile. She's providing exactly the support Yuliana needs, and that's something that she can be proud of.

...---...

Alma flops exaggeratedly on the bed when they arrive, though not in anything more complicated than 'a little bit of overexertion.' "Mmm, thanks," she says, when she's praised for her good work. ''That'', at least, is something that can make her happy, even if she's not perfectly pleased with the work.

"I didn't think the REA did this kind of thing anymore, after the Gryps Conflict... do all Earthnoid nations still do this kind of stuff?" she asks, with genuine curiosity. "I know Zeon used to, but I don't think they do ''anymore''..."

As she gets settled in, she mutters, "... honestly, I'm still thinking about my dress. They'll clean it, right?"

Really, if there's something concerning about all this: it's that despite having just been party to such an act, she's equally concerned about her clothes. Then again, so much of the gravity of the world feels... removed, in the face of making Yuliana happy.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Gravity does tend to play favourites.

        Yuliana was, of course, unsympathetic to poor, beraggled Alma... or perhaps it ''was'' sympathy, in a way, giving her something to focus on instead of her very, very bad day. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

        She doesn't mind being scrutinised. Two sets of eyes make for better work. What she doesn't abide is idle chatter in an apartment with thin walls -- but she made that much clear before they began the operation.

        Yuliana seats herself down on the side of the bed, just the same; she doesn't really care about invading Alma's territory. Her catsuit cuts a different figure to her ''usual'' suits, but it's not that much different, really. (There's a suspicious lump, by her clavicle. She can't just take her jewellery off. Elisa would worry.)

        "Of course they will," she assures Alma, turning backwards to face her, and it sounds soothing enough. "It was such a nice dress, too," Yuliana was kind enough to help her with a whole ''wardrobe.'' "The dressmaker is charming, isn't she?"

        Charmed is a better word for it. Anyway.

        Yuliana sighs, looking back forward. This hotel does ''not'' have thin walls; their team keeps a record of these things. It's important to know what rooms are best to hire out. "I've been doing this sort of thing since '89," she decides she can say, after a moment. Alma is safe. She can talk about it. "When the Federation started fighting each other again... the Republic realised just how useful I could be. Well, it wasn't long after that before they started getting me to clean up after traitors..." She lifts a hand, to brush her cheek. There's no bangs there, any more.

        "You can't just leave your country," Yuliana says, a touch abstracted. "Not when you're holding secrets like these..."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

Bit by bit, Alma's come to enjoy the quiet around Yuliana. It's been a bit of a road to get there, but she's certainly happy not to talk at all during their mission. It lets her focus on developing the skills, more than anything else -- and they ''are'' skills she needs to develop. She's not a total stranger to wetwork, but hers has always been carried out in a mobile suit.

"Oh, yeah! She's really easy to talk to, or I guess just kinda talk at. And she was so patient with all my adjustment requests..." Letting out a fond sigh, Alma adjusts her own catsuit. (Yuliana isn't the only one continuing to wear her jewelry. She puts it on every morning and can't bear to take it off until she's ready to sleep, though.)

When Yuliana points out that you can't leave your country when you're carrying these kinds of secrets... that gives Alma some pause. "I never really considered that before," she reflects. "Maybe it's better that the new Zeon government erased all my records...? I definitely would have had a harder time if I ''was'' the kind of secret you clean up." It's a happier thought than it sounds like it ought to be.

Staring up at the ceiling, Alma notices something in Yuliana's words. "... Do you expect to be the target of this kind of thing, if you move to Orb?" she asks, innocently enough. There's more she ''could'' ask -- and some things she wants to talk about -- but their current topic leaves Alma feeling worried about Yuliana...


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Everyone will come to appreciate silence, given time.

        And Yuliana does... surprisingly little wetwork ''in'' mobile suits. 'Surprisingly little' is far from 'none', of course, but she has to maintain ''some'' veneer of legitimacy to maintain her access -- which means her actions at scale tend to be more directed towards heroic defence.

        If she's a celebrated ace pilot who defends the people, after all, it's so much easier to believe she doesn't murder innocent people in their homes.

        (Not that the Republic would call them innocent.)

        "I imagine you would be," Yuliana agrees, mildly. But when Alma breaks her next question, she flexes a leg up, resting her heel lightly against the bed as she laces her arms about her knee.

        She's silent, for long moments. Expression emptied out, it's difficult to guess what she's thinking. She is the abyss, after all.

        "... I... expect it to be very troublesome," she settles on, eventually. "Elya could handle it, but... the Republic would lose a lot of good soldiers, probably. Or Command would suffer damage. Or both. And even if... they've made certain judgements about me... I don't wish for them to be harmed. I ''do'' love my country," Yuliana insists, a shade sullen, "even if they refuse to believe it."

        She really does resent it, since she changed this much to help them, after all.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

"That must be really hard... I'd be kind of scared if I was in your shoes," Alma admits. She rolls over onto her side, looking at Yuliana. It's obvious to her that that scares Yuliana, too, even if scared is definitely not the word she'd use to describe it herself. "If it comes down to it... I'll do anything to make you happy. If that means finding a way for you to get your happiness without needing to hurt the Republic -- I'll do anything."

Just saying that much gives her a momentary sense of euphoria. She snuggles into the bed, any residual thoughts about the events of the last little while firmly aside for now. Something ''wonderful'' to orient on has presented itself.

... which means she feels a little more comfortable bringing up her own concerns, too. "Leina asked me to meet her and Audrey for a meal," she adds. "I felt like... Mineva could've become someone who understood us. But Leina decided to ruin all that. ''And'' my dress." Her tone dips to sulky as she admits, "Still -- I liked how it felt... to see her starting to realize how important you are."

It'd be easy to mistake this for talk about a nice conversation turned sour.

"I can't say I'm happy that I'm apparently banned from Boss Ramen now, though... I wish they'd just stop being so horrible..." 


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana looks away, a delicate frown veiling her green gaze.

        "Yes," she tells this instrument of Elisa's will, quietly, "I'm frightened. Of what could happen to them... and the treason in my heart. I always felt I would die if I failed them... now I know Elya will protect me, but I know not how she could do so without costing them dearly. Perhaps it's another failure of my imagination... but it troubles me."

        She sighs, and this, too, is a light sound. Alma will do anything? "Of course you will," she assures -- Alma? Herself -- tilting her head to regard Alma with a wan smile. "You're such a good girl." Alma is older than she is, but of ''course'' Yuliana would use the diminutive.

        And so, Alma brings up her own concerns, and Yuliana inclines her head, as she listens. Her eyes narrow, and her initial assessment is a rock plunging into still water: "Ah."

        Oh, no.

        "And you've upset Boss in my name, too...? Oh, Rusalka," Yuliana sighs, placing a hand on the bed to turn herself about, laying her knee against the sheets, "you've caused me some trouble, it seems."

        She sounds a little unhappy.

        That's bad.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

When she's told she's a good girl for her will to do things for Yuliana's sake -- ''that'' sees Alma's whole face light up for just a moment. To be told that is practically a reward unto itself --

-- though one that doesn't last at all. She can see how quickly things have turned from happy to unhappy, here -- see how she's hurt and failed Yuliana again. Even through her makeup, it's easy to see her start to turn pale.

"I -- I'm sorry," she stammers, but it's nowhere near enough and she knows it; she's made a terrible inconvenience of herself. She remains where she is, lying on her side -- but she feels a sensation like ice water coursing through her veins, a sick feeling already starting to well up in her stomach.

As her knees come up a little further, she opens her mouth to plead -- but only a faint whimper escapes. It hurts so much to have given up so much, only to return to being a thorn in Yuliana's side.

Her body doesn't move another inch. Alma Stirner simply lies there, expecting judgment.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "You ''should be!''" Yuliana's voice rises, as her fist plunges down into the bed, beside herself. It rattles. "I ''told'' you Leina was ''handled!'' Have you no foresight in that aberrant brain of yours at all? Do I have to ''tell'' you to target them ''alone?!'' And at ''Boss's'' --"

        The rage in her voice shifts to despair as easily as a VF sliding from one mode to the next; sadness chokes her throat, as she looks down, at the disturbed sheets. "Oh, he wouldn't ''understand...'' once they get through with him, he'll blame me for sure..! I could lie to him, yes, but -- but how ''wretched!''" Her eyes shut, tightly; she bites down on her bottom lip, and it's a habit which, once again, sees a bead of red down her chin. Slowly, slowly, slowly.

        "He saved my life back in the Mycenae war... he ''liked'' me," Yuliana insists, sullen. "I only got to see him again for the first time in years not so long ago... it's not fair..!"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

Right now, it's impossible for Alma to feel anything about herself but horrible -- the last thing she'd wanted is to make a mess of things for Yuliana, and now it seems she's done that to ''such'' an extent. The feeling gets worse when she sees the blood -- sees Yuliana hurting herself, and concludes that she, herself, is the one causing that pain.

"I wanted to bring her to Elisa and Mineva to you -- I thought you'd be so happy," she says, starting to cry -- though it's as much from pain as guilt. The fist driven into the bed is its own painful moment -- ugh, she thinks, the ''bed'' didn't do anything wrong --

Her own expression contorts in abject misery, as the pain in her gets worse. "I thought -- ugh, I'm too stupid to make you happy..." It's humiliating, to be so weak -- to be anything but exactly everything Yuliana needs.

"I'll do it alone, if there's a next time," she agrees. "I hate it, though... I just -- why won't they see you the way I do?! They're really horrible to you, and every effort to make them get it just makes them more horrible to you...! I hate them! I hate that they make it so obvious I'm not enough for you!" Her nails -- so well-cared-for, now -- start to dig into her opposite wrist. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry --"

The only thing she can latch onto is the void in Yuliana; is it any wonder that she, too, now bleeds, as she claws at the back of one hand with another?


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "So you still ''think,''" Yuliana grumbles, darkly. "Better than those hollow dolls, I suppose... I can't ''stand'' them... but why can't you just be better?! You were supposed to help me!" Yuliana is ''frustrated,'' and her vengeance is secondary to that raw emotion, lashing out without thought or consideration.

        She ''should'' cry, Yuliana thinks to herself, in the graven hollow of her heart. She ''should'' suffer.

        But -- there's something that gnaws at the edges of her, as she watches Alma claw herself and lapse into panicked chanting. She hates her, of course. She'd sooner see her wither to nothing than take a single breath of fresh air.

        It's how she was designed.

        Don't call it guilt, the thing which makes her reach out, with her own hand, to curl her fingers about Alma's wrist and gently tug it away from her hand. It's more self-serving -- more self-pitying -- than that. "Stop," she tells her, voice a shade whining. "That's enough. I'm satisfied with your apology." As if Alma is the one who needs to apologise, after Yuliana's horrific mixed messages.

        She lays her hands over Alma's fingers, and says: "I'm sure you'll do better, next time. Won't you, dear?"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

"Helping you is the only thing left for me," Alma murmurs, sounding utterly crushed.

It's Yuliana herself who provides a path away from that feeling, though.

Certainly Alma wouldn't resist correction from Yuliana, in this way. When those fingers gently pull her hands away from each other, she stops trying to keep them together -- looks up at Yuliana, all smudged makeup and tears.

When Yuliana seems so confident that she'll do better next time -- Alma manages to pry herself back out of that pain.

"Yes," she affirms, quite simply. "I'll do better." Even if this was a stumble -- well, it's much like the mission itself. She's here to learn from Yuliana's example. She can be ''so'' much better.

Shutting her eyes for several moments, she tries to re-center herself. Her feelings all land in her throat -- but that's fine. They can stay there.

"Thank you for giving me something else to work on," comes a whispered affirmation. "I know I don't deserve it, Yulie... you really have been the only person who's still good to me..."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Stop, she said.

        She may as well have said, 'stop it', in just the way one denies things they're unwilling to hear.

        Since helping the Republic was the only thing left for her -- for a long, long time.

        Yuliana looks away, patting Alma's fingers, absently, with her other hand. It's soothing, perhaps. Who it's meant to calm down is an open question. "It's all right," she assures her, vacantly. "I didn't mean to cause you such distress... you just made me angry, for a moment. I can't help it. You understand, don't you...?"

        She did mean to cause Alma that distress, of course, but it's awfully convenient to talk as if it was an accident which wasn't her fault.

        Everyone's at fault but her.

        "You're really a sweet girl... don't ever change, all right? I don't... have anyone I can rely on like this... it must be like this," she says, and the tension on her face ''is'' genuine. "Lettu and Letda, I suppose, I mean, I rely on them... but... they're my subordinates, first. I don't have any close friends, Rusalka... it always went wrong!" Yuliana was the one who made it go wrong, and perhaps there's some recognition of that, in the tightness of her own throat. "Keep being someone I can trust, all right? Okay?"

        'Someone she can trust.'

        'Someone Elisa designed for her.'

        Maybe everything's designed by someone, in this world.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.
<poem>

Now that she doesn't feel like she's hurting Yuliana -- ''now'' Alma feels fine. It's the only touchstone she has left, the only thing she can be certain of, so when she ''is'' certain of it -- well.

Why would anything else matter?

"Of course I understand," comes an answer offered soothingly -- as repayment for the gentle, soothing touch on her hand. "Thank you. I like being someone you can rely on... if you need to rely on me forever, I don't mind that." The smile on her face is...

... well. As genuine as anything has been, since Yuliana's wedding.

And in fact --

Her gaze tracks toward the room's clock. Then toward Yuliana. "It's medication time, unless you took them right when we got in when I wasn't looking," she notes, and it feels ''good'' to note -- good to remind herself that even if she's hurt Yuliana, well.

At least she's still good for something. Something Yuliana can rely on her for... it's such a simple thing, but...


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "Good," Yuliana affirms, to Alma or herself, smiling. "Good... yes, even creatures like you can serve a purpose... so it's all right. Elya's thought of everything. It's all right..."

        She blinks, looking over to Alma in ''surprise,'' when she reminds her it's eight at night. "Huh?" Yuliana asks, unguarded -- and actually ''laughs.'' Certainly she laughs around Alma often, but this laughter isn't in any way ''cruel.'' (There's a difference. Whether she can hear it right now or not --)

        "Hahaha... you're right, you're right! Oh, you're so helpful, Rusalka!" Yuliana smiles, as she relinquishes her hand, to fetch her pills instead.

        She might even manage to stay in a good mood for the rest of the evening.

        Well, for a while, anyway.

        Yuliana is notoriously labile.

</poem>