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Rodoreamon, to the Waters of the Soul: Part II: Of Love or Politics

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Rodoreamon, to  the Waters of the Soul: Part II: Of Love or Politics Empty Rodoreamon, to the Waters of the Soul: Part II: Of Love or Politics

Post by LonelyDelight on Tue Aug 03, 2010 4:16 pm

Title: Of Love or Politics
Fandom: Simoun
Characters/Pairing: Rodoreamon/Mamiina
Summary: Rodoreamon takes a train ride.
Word count: 1,125
Comments: Rachel made me do it.
Warnings: I refuse on principle to ‘warn’ for homosexuality. But there are spoilers for the entire series.

The Chairman of the Governing Council had, after the success of the lightning-strike against the Argentine capital, gone into seclusion for several days. This happened a lot, and each time it did Rodoreamon worried for her friend. Yun was still so racked by guilt, so very much—even though she was more ‘at peace’ with the world now than she had been during the last war, she was no more ‘at peace’ within herself. Maybe this was a distinction without a difference, and yet…

Rodoreamon shook her head. She needed to go see Yun.

The train to the capital was by this point almost as familiar to Rodoreamon as her own house. The War Cabinet met once a week at least, often two or three times, for whole days, on which days she spent at least three hours all told in commute. The Religious Affairs Minister—under whose shepherding and guidance Chor Tempest had (barely) survived the last war, and to whom Rodoreamon now repaid her debt by retaining as a most trusted subordinate advisor—kept telling her to come and buy a second home nearer the capital, but Rodoreamon refused. She had a very, very strong sense of place; it had always been that way. Her ‘places’ were her estate, this train, the caves around the Spring where Yun lived, and the government chambers in the capital.

And now she was in her second place, going to her third.

‘Yun might not want to see you, you know,’ came a light, ironic, blessedly familiar voice.

Rodoreamon looked round. Mercifully, the compartment was empty but for her, as trains so often were in wartime.

‘Mamiina,’ she said.

‘You were expecting the Consul of Plumbum?’ said Mamiina. She smirked.

Rodoreamon sighed. ‘Mamiina,’ she said, ‘Yun has always been a sort of cloistered and aloof leader. Onashia was the same. But Yun has more guilt in her soul, more yearning for peace, painful yearning, more misery at not being able to easily achieve it, than Onashia ever did.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mamiina. ‘Which is why she might not be in a mood to see you, little ladyship.’

‘Well, of course she won’t be ‘in a mood’ to see me, Mamiina. That isn’t the object.’

‘Rodore,’ said Mamiina, ‘I was Yun’s flight partner for several months.’

‘And I was her roommate for several months.’

‘She held my soul in that cradle of hers for three weeks.’

Rodoreamon giggled. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘That I’ll concede. So you know the woman.’

‘I do.’ Mamiina swept across the compartment and sat down next to Rodoreamon. When Rodoreamon was a little girl, and indeed up until a couple of years ago, she had hated cold weather, especially the unseasonable sort. When the temperature suddenly dropped, it usually meant that a storm was coming, and the storms had always frightened her. Now, she loved the sudden drops in temperature, because it meant that her love was coming down from Tempus Spatium’s New World to sit by her again, as they used to in the golden world of childhood.

‘I met Yun when I was a child,’ said Mamiina. ‘Not as young as when I met you, obviously.’ Rodoreamon nodded. ‘And…obviously, I did not and do not love her as much.’ Rodoreamon flushed; Mamiina laughed. ‘But even so,’ she continued, ‘I knew her. She was a serious girl then. She’s still serious, obviously. But she wasn’t sad. Not consistently, anyway.’

Rodoreamon hung her head. ‘I wish…’

‘I know. So do I.’

‘So you think that she doesn’t like to be consoled in her sadness?’

‘I do,’ said Mamiina.

‘Then why did you not tell me that you felt that before I got on the train to the capital?’ asked Rodoreamon. She did not snap this or shout it or even say it especially angrily. She just asked.

‘Because there are things I would like to do in the capital,’ said Mamiina.

Rodoreamon furrowed her brow. ‘Mamiina…you’re dead.’

‘Yes. I am. Your point, Rodore?’

‘What is there for a dead girl to do in the capital?’

On that apparent train, with that apparent girl, Mamiina’s perception of the world became skewed. Usually she saw the non-ghostly realm as a living being saw the ghostly. The people of Simulacrum appeared as pale kings and princes; the places of Simulacrum appeared as a winter landscape done in washed-out paint. But now, through some sympathy between her soul and Rodoreamon’s, she saw freely and clearly. Some of what was visible disturbed her now, so used was she to the water and light of Tempus Spatium. The dryness of the air impressed itself upon her and was unpleasant. The shadows that flitted over the train as it moved were a welcome respite from constant light, even though the light did not bother her when she was in it.

‘So do you want to talk?’ Mamiina asked.

‘About what?’ asked Rodoreamon.


‘Well…let’s see.’ Rodoreamon put her finger on her forehead. Mamiina found it adorable. She felt, as she so often did, the burning desire to take her little ladyship and throw her down and shower her with kisses, and it peeved her that this was really not possible any more.

‘I have been eating a lot of carrots lately,’ said Rodoreamon. ‘I used to like carrots a lot less, but now I like them, of course, more.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. I also eat a lot of soup these days.’ Rodoreamon smiled and nodded.

‘You don’t want to talk about how the war is going,’ said Mamiina, ‘do you?’

‘Not really, no.’

Presently a conductor came by to offer Rodoreamon some tea. It did not appear that she was able to see Mamiina, and even if she had been able to it would have been quite unremarkable. The assumption would have been that she was simply one of the first batch of Simulacran Simoun sibyllae for six years. Noteworthy but not remarkable. Rodoreamon took the tea, and drank.

‘How is it going?’ asked Mamiina.

‘Well,’ said Rodoreamon. ‘My end of things is actually working out really well!’ She giggled. ‘We finally got some windfall funs for schools and orphanages. Also, new old-age and maternity pensions.’

‘During a war? I’m impressed.’

Rodoreamon flushed. ‘You should be,’ she said.

‘I love you, Rodore,’ said Mamiina softly, flushing as only a ghost could flush, less ‘red’ and more ‘silver’.

‘I love you, too, Mamiina.’

As it turned out, Yun’s mood was improving by the time Rodoreamon paid her her visit, and Mamiina had never been happier to be proven wrong. Three days later, at the weekly meeting of the War Cabinet, Yun appeared in person for the first time in eight weeks. Mamiina helped more than she knew, even now.


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