Delilah had never been able to determine if she loved these walls or if she hated them. She knew them like the back of her hand; all the little weak points, the few places where smugglers got through without needing a pass. She knew ever divot, every smear of... god, hopefully mud, every checkpoint location right down to how many steps it took to get from one to the other.
She wasn't silly enough to believe she'd never see them again, when she was taken off patrols, but they sure as shit made her life harder. Ah well, such was existence, she supposed. Get dirty. Get Clean. Get dirty in a different way.
Today: get... clean? Yeah, it was bass-ackwards to go to a checkpoint to get clean, but you know sometimes you had to retreat in order to win a battle and that was okay. She was meeting someone--her shift had already ended. And she knew for a fact that her friend? Charge? Mentee? Whatever the fuck Tomika wanted to call herself, would want to do something frilly, and then do something fun.
For some ridiculous reason, Delilah saw something of herself in the girl and unable to keep herself from picking up a stray, she put herself into Tomika's way in order to do... what exactly? Delilah wasn't sure. There were pieces in the girl that Delilah knew she could capitalize on, either for her own benefit or for hers and Tomika's.
She prayed, one day, it would be for both of them.
But if it wasn't?
"Day shift back yet, Kirk?" Delilah sidled up to the watch tower, resting her forearms on the officer's counter behind which Kirk sat, enjoying the quiet before the rush of the changing of the guards.
"Not yet," Kirk mumbled over a black coffee wrapped lovingly in gnarled hands. An older man, Kirk'd paid his dues, as it were, was like an immovable boulder. He was wise to Delilah's wiles even before she tried anything. When she was moved off Patrols, he secretly thanked whatever gods were out there still that he didn't have to deal with her constant bullshit.
Only now she was back, and now there were two of them. He was too damn old for this shit. "They'll be comin' in any moment," he added, when Delilah hadn't moved away.
"Unnaturally quiet today, ain't it?" Delilah remarked, rolling to rest her elbows on the counter instead. Elbows up and back made the back arch subtly, making your features obvious but without looking like you were trying too hard. Arms up and out made the muscles look bigger than they were. It all depended on audience. Though she had none here, it had become second nature to her now.
Kirk stared at her back with half-lidded eyes. "Not anymore," he grumbled.
Delilah blew him a kiss over her shoulder. Kirk shook his head and his lips curled. Please, if there was good yet in this world, the patrols would come back swiftly, if Delilah started any small talk...
Out of all the parts of her job, namely the tedious and unpleasant sentries through the Commercial District and Slums, which stank so bad at times it made Tomi's eyes water, it was those occasional times she was assigned to wall duty that were her favorite. Were it the fact that she did not have to deal directly with vagrants that posed a danger to her life (and her manicure)? The inaction, where it were mostly waiting and watching rather than actively perusing the streets with a hand nervously gripping your holstered pistol?
Maybe those were factors into her preference for wall duty. But she knew she mustered those stairs and dealt with the tedious boredom of wall patrol for one favorable thing- the view. The wall was not necessarily high, though it towered over most other structures around it, including the line of cypress trees nearby that gave way to sprawling forest. From there, Tomi could see the entirety of the Stronghold, from the newly-constructed and proud hilltop that housed the Inner Citadel, her home, to the gray dilapidation that lay beyond the Citadel's walls (which she believed to be taller than the ones on the outside perimeter of the Stronghold). And when she turned her head the other direction, to the Outside, she could see all that was denied to her, what she had thought a thing of mythos and propaganda now manifested in unhindered wilderness.
Her superiors had gotten a hint to Tomi's preferred activities, as though her attendance to Stronghold patrol duty was spotty, she never failed to show up on time and prepared for wall sentry. Dressed in the standard uniform of Stronghold security, the plainness of which contrasted with her showy eyeshadow and lips and hair freshly attended by a dresser, she ascended up the watchtower to alleviate the previous guards on duty.
Nearing the top, she sucked in her breath, trying to stifle exhausted pants. When she regathered her breath, she finished the climb up and tried to present herself as if she had not just bent over gasping for air moments before. Her mismatched eyes fell onto the older man behind the desk, taking his exasperated look to be one of senility. She recalled seeing him, a regular on the wall, yet never had the patience, nor desire, to remember his name.
The truth to his annoyance came out when her gaze drifted from the man to the woman hunched over beside him. Her neutral expression dropped in a slight frown, and she crossed her slender arms whilst speaking, flatly, "Oh. It's you."
Delilah watched Tomi's expression grow from neutrality to disappointment in a millisecond and grinned broadly in response. She even gave Tomika a little wave rather than some curt nod.
There was room for only one sour-puss and Delilah had paid her time already. She wasn't about to fall back into that miserable state of being. As Tomi neared, Delilah pushed off the sentry's tower and assumed the air of an officer.
Which she was, of rather significant if secretive rank. She was capable of looking the part--thank you very much. "Officer Kirk," she said, drawing the old man's attention up like a dog being called. He was both surprised and irritated by her tone, according to his expression, but said nothing. "Officer Pfeiffer is mine for the day. Special Orders. Marks will take her position."
"I've not gotten any orders like--"
Delilah, arched a single brow, dipped her chin and smiled wanly. "Call Marks, and if you really want to question it, call the big wigs."
Kirk, for his part, honestly debated it then grumbled, and picked up his comm to contact the necessary people--namely pulling Marks from his leisure. Delilah didn't wait to see if Kirk would call her bluff and call his boss.
She'd learned long ago that if you walked and talked like you knew what you were talking about, no one would question you more than once. Besides, she was secret service now--she could spin anything according to "Intelligence Activities."
God, she loved this promotion. If it got her in trouble? She'd placate North somehow.
Delilah passed Tomika without much explanation, only the expectation that she'd follow to receive her new orders. If she didn't a quick and authoritative call was all it generally took.
Tomika watched the exchange with faint interest. Namely, her eyes began to drift from the pair before her to her manicure, perfect oval nailbeds painted in a pearl sheen, with stark white tips. It was her third of the month, as Military duty often required the consistent, strenuous use of her hands during drills and with securing her gear. The more Tomi thought on it, the more she was ill-equipped for Military life, and wondered why in this dystopic world her mother believed her fit for patrol duty. It only solidified the theory that Tomika's mother was out to get her, that she wanted to see her youngest suffer for her wants and desires.
When Delilah brushed past her, called her to attention, Tomika's gaze lifted, and, with a begrudging sigh, she tailed the Officer. As they moved, her eyes flicked over the comm system, the wide panel and heavy equipment draping with all sorts of wires, to the distant world-out-there. They seemed so high, so deified, but in the same vein, what god or goddess would want to rule over dust and debris?
Tomika's attention turned back to Delilah, and, with an expectant look, slouch of her shoulders and a sharp cross of her arms, she inquired with a raised, finely trimmed brow, "So, like, what's the orders. Ma'am?". The formal mode of address nearly as forced as the act of standing at attention- in other words, she appeared like she wanted to be anywhere else but here. She knew it, too, but made little effort to control the sardonic tone of her voice- after all, they wouldn't punish her for a pitch, could they?
Posted 09-25-2021, 09:03 AM
Maybe she is just what they want me to be
