View source for 2023-02-12: The Connection Called My Sister

{{Log
|cast=Sophia Mayhew Castellan, Shelby Korts
|location=Orbital Ring, Shopping District J412.
|summary="Orbital Ring, Shopping District J412.  I'll be there in two days.  0900 local.  Come alone."
}}
{{PhaseAndTurn
|phase=1
|turn=3
}}
 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       "Orbital Ring, Shopping District J412.  I'll be there in two days.  0900 local.  Come alone."

       She knows how it sounds.  How dangerous, or mysterious, or how much like a trap it is, but the truth is, she's scared.  Falling back on old habits is only natural; it's kept her alive for this long, and operating right under the nose of the various governments of the world.  Plus, she isn't sure how this woman managed to find her without a name.  Could she be another Augusta survivor?  Another person like her?

       Two days was cutting it close for her:  Making arrangements to get out to the orbital elevator, let alone the correct location, all on falsified documentation.  To get a ride to the far side of the Orbital Ring, to reach J-district in a reasonable time frame.  It also gave her enough time to find a cheap motel to book a room at, so she could dump off her belongings and not bring them to a clandestine meeting.

       But now?  Now:  It's almost 0900.

       Shopping District J412 is exactly what you would think of in this day and age:  It's an elaborate semi-outdoor shopping mall in the orbital ring, a place a reasonable distance between commerce and shipping and places where it could be easy for her to blend into crowds or hide.  High-end stores reinforce the wealth of those that can afford to live or tour the 'Ring, and if they don't have it they can certainly find a way to order it for you.  Taking advantage of the architecture of the ring, the center of the shopping area features a few different raised platforms, features of staircases and tiered fountains and installations for greenery and flowers among the bench seating around the outside and the center.

       It's less for foot traffic, and more a nice place that also gives you a decent vantage point of some of the spaces below-- there are people, sure, but they're more there to catch their breath or have a drink before they descend back down into the chaos or head to foot bridges or colony cars in the nearby lot.

       On an empty bench, in a crack between seats, there's a card sticking out.  Most people pass by it without a second glance, and some others chat while on the opposite side.  Sophia will recognize this card instantly:

       It's the card she gave to Leina Ashta less than a week ago.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
"Orbital Ring, Shopping District J412.  I'll be there in two days.  0900 local.  Come alone."

That voice was not Leina Ashta. Scrambled but not modulated. Her fingers went numb when she heard it, the terminal falling out of her hands. Sophia hardly cared at the sound of it hitting the floor, heart pounding wildly in her ears in seconds, hands curling around each other like she'd been shocked. "J412," Sophia says quietly to the cool cabin air. "Two days." She has to...be ready, in two days.

Almace wanted to come. They'd done operations like that before, have Almace or Amata step in as a street stand cook or a shop worker. Amata was nobility like Sophia, but could play the harmless flower girl well enough. Almace knew her way around a grill and people just don't ask questions about that, often enough. But...

Hyperion isn't docked at the Orbital Ring that day. Still pursuing business in the REA. But saying she's ''completely'' alone is a little much. She's just...asked them to keep themselves busy, do some drills with the local forces. Unscheduled G-Hound inspection. Sure, that'll sell.

Getting around isn't hard, with her resources. Though the woman who arrives is not Sophia Mayhew Castellan, the feared and fiersome G-Hound captain, with her double-layer uniform and habitual hunting rifle. She's dressed down, a sleeveless black blouse and gold jewelry. Dark cotton gloves, rather than the white type she usually prefers.

Sophia has been here for two hours when 0900 rolls around. She has orbited the entire 412 block twice. She had to buy something at the perfume shop to get them to go away. Well, Amata loved new scents to try, anyway.

The card has appeared between trips. She knows her quarry is near. The Seal of Connections shows her the stellar light she shines on Sophia's life. But...charging after her won't work, will it? It never has. As much as she wants to, she has to...has to...

Has to keep her composure.

0902. She stands before the bench feeling her stomach turn.

She turns, smooths her skirt, and sits, cool eyes casting around the scene like she controlled every person here.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       One last slow pace around the area before she goes.  Just long enough to keep an ear out-- and keep her mind open-- even if it's a little aggrivating trying to keep things straight and focus on things she ''wants'' to hear at a time like this.  She's close--

       "Hey!" someone calls.  It's another party nearby, with bags and drinks in low-G sealed cups, meeting up with a few friends before they start to cross the platform past Sophia and move on down the block.

       And then as the redhead's gaze sweeps across, there's someone there, just standing at the top of the stairs.  At a glance, she would look pretty normal:  A baseball cap over shoulder length pink hair, a t-shirt and oversized, heavy hoodie with a two-tone purple motif.  Black leggings with a few extra accents and patterns along the calves, and running sneakers that look like they've been put through the wringer.  Tight-fitted black fabric covers her palms and the backs of her hands, and the edges of black plastic-frame glasses peek out from under the hat.

       "Sophia Castellan...?" she asks.

       Pulling off the baseball cap, she looks

her hair
       her smile
               her strength
               her love

       at Sophia, the pit in her stomach infinite and wrenching and fearful.

       "... I... I'm ... Shelby Korts."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
Sophia hears a call, and her gaze casts toward it immediately.

Just someone meeting their own party. Same as she's doing. Sophia puts so much effort into looking composed even in the most dire situation, a cold, silent stare, but...this isn't...

She didn't build that life for this moment. Her stomach turns. Oh, God. Her hands, folded in her lap, grip each other diamond tight. Show nothing. That's the standby that's gotten her this f

       'Sophia Castellan...?'

Sophia's gaze turns and she looks at the woman speaking her name.

This is what her Geass was for. The thing in her soul that the gift from the Codes coiled around and raised up. The need to find and know her friends, her enemies, and her kin. It isn't entirely voluntary when it flares on.

It isn't like looking at the sun. It doesn't outshine the whole world. Watching that blazing, stellar gold shrink in her sight, compressing down and becoming just another soul, just another sign. A precious bond, but only ever and always only...

       'I'm...Shelby Korts.'

Sophia's breath shudders immediately and she balls a fist at her lips. That hard-faced posture that has endured REA conspiracy and Blue Cosmos villainy shatters in an instant. Her throat is paralyzed. Speak, God Damn you, woman.

"Shelby," is the word she says first. Then a long breath. "Yes. I am Sophia Castellan."

Not Caedra. Not Beatrix. But...her, the same.

"Would you sit with me, Miss Korts?" she asks, her voice wavering on the triviality.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       She spent most of a night sobbing over a table; wrapped in the blanket Leina put around her and waking up, unable to push a button and just try to look up the woman she's staring at right now.  Staring at her photograph, and news clippings, for what was told about the Castellans.

       She practiced this moment in the mirror for over an hour.

       Sophia breaks first; her gasp of air and the swirling temptest of thoughts and just getting ''her name out'' leads Shelby to pulling her lips in and to a tight line, brow creased as she wipes at one eye with the edge of her compression sleeve.  The question is asked:  Will she sit?

       For a moment, the nervous girl is there again:  The way she fumbles with the back of the baseball cap, thumbs against the band as she moves with her head slanted down a little, walking to Sophia's side.  Then, like she's still trying to figure out the social cues, she twists around to sit, eyes fixed on the ground before she shifts a little to face the G-Hound captain a little better.

       "I.  ... um."  A pause, as she fidgets a bit more, setting the hat down on the bench.  "You're. ... Our..."

       She looks up at Sophia.  "I'm. ..."

       "Sorry.  I don't.  ... I don't remember things," she manages to say, voice locked somewhere between stammering and a total inability to speak.

I don't understand that.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
Sophia is struggling to breathe steadily, while at the same time forcing herself to present a cool, composed exterior. She feels like she's drowning. But she's very, very good at that facade. She knuckles one of her eyes, smooth and even.

Shelby sits. Sophia can feel the way the air becomes slightly warmer from another presence. Her fist slowly balls in her skirt.

"I was told," she says, quietly. "But...I can tell. It's you. There's no doubt."

She turns her eyes on the paler-haired woman. Can Shelby see it? Not even the Awakened can, often, but with its full force turned on Shelby, perhaps the glimmering red bird glyph in her eye becomes clear to see.

"When you were young...you were so sensitive. You could tell when the maids were coming from the other end of the grounds. I don't have any proof but my own heart for you. Can you still?"

"Can you see what I see?"

A single connection, immaculate and pure, the defining line of Sophia's life, binding their souls?
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       The shine in her eye is like nothing she's ever seen before.  Is it some kind of mark?  Is it like Anser; like the spectral fox kit that seems to just follow her around when the pair of them talk?  Is she just hallucinating?

       Closeness; light.  A connection that cannot be defined in words.  A golden shimmer that doesn't make sense -- that doesn't ''have'' to make sense.  It just is.  It's right there, no longer waiting for her.  She tries to talk, but it's so hard.  Her head nods a little before she quietly says, "Yes."

       Shelby's eyes water and redden, her hands curling into small fists on her lap.  "I can't remember, but I.  ... I have... dreams.  And I dream of you sometimes.  At a house.  In the summer.  Wildflowers.  I couldn't ... put anything together.  But when I saw your picture, it--"

       "I--"

       Shelby lets out a near-hissed gasp of air, a small sob she's trying so desperately to control.  She looks up again at Sophia, tears starting to flow.

       "T-This isn't... I'm not dreaming, right? ... Y-you ... is this real?"

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
Sophia doesn't explain it. She hears Shelby say she can see it and blinks, and in a heartbeat it's gone. She takes a deep breath through her nose, shuddering. "Yes," she says, almost a whisper. "The summer house. We'd go to...get away from Mother." She has a small smile, tender and remembering. "Steal a few days for our own..."

She stops talking, her own breath catching. Shelby looks to her, and Sophia looks back.

That iron woman with the implacable face isn't there when Sophia looks for her. A smile she didn't know she could make anymore fills her and she makes a noise between a sob and a chuckle. "Oh," she says, tears streaming down. She holds out her hands, palms up, offering but not taking, a lesson she learned long ago for accepting the needs of her troubled sister.

"I feel the same. I thought...I was so sure you'd died in that place. I...I was so sure."

"But it's real," she whispers. "I'm here. And so are you, my sister."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       It was real.

       Shelby's eyes scrunch closed as she cries, shoulders shifting as her breath hitches up in her chest.  Every word, every syllable -- it's like the dream is playing out in her head again:  The warm day.  Summer.  The window open.  The drawing on the table, of her and her older sister holding hands.  The smell of the flowers--

       'I was so sure you'd died in that place.'

       "I almost did," --

       'But it's real.  I'm here.'

       Shelby reaches out to take Sophia's hands, shifting closer on the bench as she moves to bury her head against the woman's shoulder-- against her sister's shoulder-- and sob.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
Hands joins hers. The moment lenses before her in a way she doesn't understand. It isn't her. This isn't the mousey girl with the strange expression, silently, firmly leading her through the mansion with a smile that didn't feel real. This...isn't her Caedra. She's gone through so much.

Shelby pulls closer and finally buries her head in Sophia's shoulder. The older sister should keep her composure, of course. Should be a pillar of unyielding strength to be relied on.

She shatters in seconds, a shallow gasp scratching in her throat before she mirrors the motion of Shelby, burying herself in the other woman's shoulder and nearly screaming. "Oh, God! My God it's you! All those years, all those dead ends, but it's you!"

She can't stop her hands from disentangling from Shelby's arms to wrap around her back, clinging to her like a stone in a raging river. "My sister...my Caedra...!" she wails, racking sobs leaving her throat as her composure fails entirely.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       Her hands shift low, going around Sophia for a hug of her own, hands quickly sliding up the officer's back as she buries her face harder into Sophia's shoulder.  She shifts, sobs, and tightens her arms to keep a good grip on her sister as though letting her go would make her disappear.

       It takes minutes to let it out; pain, memory that refuses to form, and dreams given life.  When she's sure she's gotten it out -- all of it, at least for now -- Shelby draws in a deep, shuddering breath and turns her head, ear against Sophia as she tries to organize her own thoughts against the Noise.

       "... am I Caedra...?" she asks.  "... Was that my name?"

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
<poem>
Sophia holds on as tight as she dares, two women simply crying brutally into each other with all the joy and sorrow their bodies have left unprocessed for so, so long. Sophia thought she'd burned this. All of this, her sorrow and fear, filled the whole in her heart and soul with fire. But it comes out of her anyway, weeping in wordless sobs. Her fingers curl into that jacket, like she might need to grip to make sure the illusion doesn't fly away without her.

Sophia's still working out a few quaking breaths when Shelby has enough thought back to talk. She sniffles, and when she tries to breathe it shakes in her lungs and she has to exert herself to keep it from spawning fresh weeping.

She doesn't release one iota of that grip, terrified to release in a way she didn't know her body could still produce.

"It was," she croaks, and manages something that wants to be a laugh but shakes in her throat. "Caedra Beatrix Castellan. My sister with her eyes that saw right through you."

Her fingers curl and her eyes slowly close, the mile-high walls around a heart she'd thought she'd turned into an engine for hate simply gone. She quivers. "I...I thought I'd care more about the names. I don't. Whatever...whatever you like is fine."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>

       It's not 'Shelby Castellan' after all.  Now she knows her name.

       ''Her'' name.

       'Caedra Beatrix Castellan.'

       She doesn't let go.  She doesn't dare.  She lets out a small half-laugh, blinking through tears and sniffling.  "I couldn't remember, b-but I tried to... I tried to say it, but ... I just ... a-all I could get out was ... 'Shay' 'bee.'  Someone thought I said 'Shelby.'"

       Shelby -- Caedra -- lets out a small chuckle, voice nearly getting away from her.  She rocks a little, unconsciously, the slightly shorter sister letting out a heavy breath through her nose.  "You can call me whatever you need to."

       "I'll always hear you."

</poem>