Time: 8:15 WL (when light) – Emerison Time

Bitter

concerning a scientist, a wise man, and their frustrations

"Him is a rather tricky subject. You have high demands."

"What can I say? I always shoot for the farthest star."

The door slammed shut behind S. and darkness enshrouded his vision. He pushed his glasses higher up his nose, though the gesture didn't improve his sight. He was only human. Resigned to stay still while his eyes adjusted, he tapped his feet impatiently. Meanwhile, his host had little trouble navigating in the poorly lit room; the shuffling of his feet could be heard in the calm.

"I tried to tidy the place up a bit," the man said, "but this is the best I could manage."

S. turned his head. The furniture looked like gray clumps, indistinguishable and capable of blending into the background. His whole surroundings were black.

"It looks fine to me," he commented. It was a poor lie but it created a shield. In the everlasting war between S. and the rest of the Sphere, he preferred having the advantage. And if he was the weaker one in the match, he would at least ensure he was protected. Vulnerability was dangerous; it had to be flicked off and squashed like a bug. And if a lie was what saved him, then so be it. S. would do whatever it took to defend himself.

The man laughed. It was deep, full of energy S. had never seen before. Ever since S. had met the man, a filing cabinet in his mind had opened. Flipping through the contents, he had found the perfect folder to place the man. The man reminded S. of a certain Group member. Just like the man, the member was self-assured, mysterious, and cold. But the hearty laugh made S. doubt his decision of classifying the man.

"You really can't see, can you?" he asked. The statement broke through S.'s safeguard and stabbed him in the stomach.

"How'd you know?"

A click answered S.'s question, followed by bright light. He blinked, readjusting his eyes to the change. As he registered the room's condition, he recoiled. His back slammed on the door, preventing any attempt to distance him from the scene. If the exterior of the house was in poor condition, then the interior was beyond repair. It was as if the place was rotting from the inside.

Wallpaper was peeling off, revealing wooden planks once golden but now stringy and notched. Holes punctured the walls. A ceiling was nonexistent. Looking up, S. could only see the roof beams, dirtied and scratched. One sole window let in fresh air and light but it had been boarded and covered by curtains. A sink sat in a corner beside a cabinet and stove; the porcelain had yellowed and was stained with dirt. A table stood in the center, accompanied with two broken chairs. A mattress in another corner was occupied by rodents and various vermin. Stray tiles lined the floors, though most had been pried out. As S. strode deeper inside, he danced in his attempt to avoid the little puddles on the floor – or what was left of it.

To think any creature would subject himself to a place like the one before S. Only self-loathing would compel anybody to be that cruel to himself.

S. surveyed the place with another sweeping glance.

"What a… charming place," he said.

"Glad to see you feel welcomed in my humble home." The gruff, bitter response was different than what S. anticipated. His classification's strength was dying – fast.

S. pulled back a chair missing one leg and sat down. Running a finger along the tabletop, he considered how to begin the conversation. There were different ways. He could be cordial. He could be direct. He could ease his way into the subject. None of the choices seemed suitable for the man. Every being reacted better to some confrontational methods than others. But not S.'s host. His skin tingled when he thought of the mysterious man. His soul felt crushed, squeezed out of uncertainty.

No, his host was going to be difficult.

Dust clung onto S.'s fingertip as he lifted it from the table. A glass of yellowish water slammed in front of him. Lifting the cup, S. swirled the contents. The liquid remained a sickly yellow. Out of politeness, he took a small sip.

"So you want to talk about Him?" the man asked. He had inquired, not stated. Suddenly the parallel between his host and a certain lady seemed impossible.

"My research says you have a close connection to Him, Mr. –" His speech faltered as he realized he didn't know the man's name.

"Evander Argall," the man supplied. "Evander Argall, the scholar."

"Well then, Mr. Argall," he continued, "I hope I don't have the wrong person."

"You have the right person," Argall answered. "I must say, though, that your research has been rather poor. There was an easier lead it could have brought you to, one you didn't need to go all out of your way to find."

S. ignored the comment. The scholar could be poking at him to get the upper hand. He doubted there was another person who could give him the facts he desired.

"Will you give me the information I need?"

The corner of Argall's lips twitched upwards. The miniscule grin was suggestive but S. knew not what it implied. Too many times had he seen the exact smile. He could visualize the same haughty expression hidden in a familiar emotionless face. The similarities caused a fire to burn within S. He had enough of dealing with people like her.

Standing up and leaning forward, he met the man's gaze. "Mr. Argall, are you going to talk or remain glowering at me?"

Argall did nothing but stare at S. His mouth's corners inched a bit higher up his face. The scientist had to force his eyes to not twitch at the action. No sound filled the room and Argall was content on saying nothing. Silence was the scholar's shield. She used silence too, though shemanipulated it as a weapon. Argall, on the other hand, needed it for the onslaught he was about to face – an attack S. had caused by mentioning Him.

The poor conditions of the house came back to S. There was some connection between it and Argall.

"How about I strike a proposition with you," said Argall breaking the standstill. "You have some questions about Him and I have the answers. So you can ask me them and I'll give you some reply under one condition. You'll have to answer one of my questions. An equal exchange. Do you agree?"

S. returned to his seat, his eyes scrutinizing the intellectual. He had no other choice. Plus there was no harm in responding to a few simple questions. "It seems reasonable."

"Ask away then, Dr. S."

"What is Him's name?" The question rolled of S.'s tongue with ease. There was no consideration needed about it.

"Irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?"

"I won't answer the question out of kindness for you," Argall said. "I don't want you to waste a question this early in the game. The name doesn't matter for you. Or at least, not yet."

S. rolled his eyes and glanced at the ceiling. The gears in his head began turning and rotating. His mind was processing another question, clicking away as it contemplated. An idea came. His gaze returned to Argall.

"What was your relationship to Him?"

"Have you ever wondered what your mother's name was?"

The question threw his brain into chaos. The engines expelled smoke and burst into flames. The gears began spinning at a high velocity until they, too, broke down and died. His mind blanked. All he could do was blink.

"I just asked you a question," he said. A small voice cursed, bringing his mind back to working order. The comment was idiotic, the reply of an ignoramus who couldn't react properly to unforeseen circumstances. He set his face into a scowl and resumed a confrontational attitude. Slamming his hands on the table, he added, "What are you playing at Mr. Argall?"

No change rippled over Argall's expression. The smile remained with the piercing eyes.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," he said steadily.

S. slid his back to the chair. Refusing to meet the scholar's eyes, he spoke.

"Never. She abandoned me. Didn't even bother giving me a name before throwing me off into the streets." Memories resurfaced in his mind. The images were blurry and he didn't bother to focus them. Even when blunt, his past was sharp enough to wound. He snarled out his next words. "Why should I bother caring about her name?"

Argall's grin wavered. Pity showed in his face, though the man offered no consolation. S. was thankful for it.

"I'm a scholar devoted to my work," Argall explained. "Any connections I had were related to the intellectual side of life. I knew many other scholars but Him wasn't one of them. He was too young. So there's only one other job he could take." He took a sip of his water before saying, "Next question."

S. narrowed his eyes hearing the response. Damn it. The man must have been joking. S. had divulged details in his past life, while Argall had given him the most ambiguous answer known to man. He should have known. Anybody similar to the Cirasu Millieu would never play a fair match.

He bit back his anger and continued the interrogation coolly.

"How did you meet Him?"

"His family was a rather poor one, living off of scraps," said Argall. "But they wanted their son to become an educated man, and I owed them. So I took Him into my wings."

So Him was one of his disciples – an educated man, an academic. The answer was simple and yet, Argall had refused to say it when S. had asked. It was another peculiarity about Evander Argall, another truth to be discovered.

"Why did you respect Radulf Juris as greatly as you did?" Argall asked as he stood up and paced around the room. "If my information is correct, you served under him for thirteen years until you two died. Thirteen years staining your hands and soul for him. Thirteen years obeying his every wish. Thirteen years lying and deceiving. Why respect such a bloodthirsty maniac?"

"He saved me from a certain monster and he provided me with a better life and purpose."

"Being vague now, aren't we?"

S. flashed a wolfish grin. "I catch on quickly." His eyes followed Argall's every movement. "What was Him like? To clarify, what was his personality?"

"He was an idealist." The scholar arrived at a window. Placing his weight on the sill, his eyes faced the sky. His glazed look, however, indicated his attention was on something else, something more distant. "He believed the world was capable of perfection, that there was equality and compassion everywhere. That everybody was happy."

S. approached the man. "But he lives in the Sphere. Even three-year olds are taught that everybody is evil and can't be trusted."

He gestured to a skirmish happening a few feet away. A gang had created a circle around a young man. Leather jackets differentiated the members from the victim, dressed in polo shirt and slacks. The leader stomped onto the fallen boy. His cohorts pulled out weapons. Knives rained down onto the beaten body. S. turned around and leaned on the window, arms folded across his chest.

"You just need to look out the window," he said, "and you know idealism can't persist here."

Argall uttered no word. His eyes drank in the bloody scene. His bottom lip quivered. But no sound came from his throat. The scholar's shield had returned.

Facing away from the window, he walked back to the table. More silence. Then finally talk.

"Why do you hate the Group so much?"

The scientist didn't have to think to give his answer. The answer was obvious. "Because part of them are idealists and philosophers, the other part nonhumans, and the rest content and fulfilled individuals."

"So not because they were once Juris's enemy?" Argall flipped around and stared straight at S.

S. gaped at Argall. Despite being a man of the books, Argall knew how to wield his weapons. The arrow had dug straight into S.'s heart. What a slip-up, what a terrible response. Yes, the answer should have been because Juris, his precious leader, had hated the Group. That was why S. treated the members as his enemies. They once were the antagonists to his happiness, to his master's plans for the Sphere. But he had not even considered the fact.

His fingers twitched. He dug them into his pockets to hide the convulsion threatening to rock his body. His gaze returned to the window. The gang had left. As for the boy, he didn't move or groan. He was dead.

"What compelled Him to begin concocting his plan?" S. asked after some reflection.

"The appearance of a sickly, cold-hearted girl and what she brought with her."

His eyes shifted towards Argall as a smirk came across his face. "You don't seem to like her."

"Most people don't like her when she first enters their lives." Argall laughed but it lacked the gusto of before. It was quieter, more agonizing. "She's an acquired taste you could say." He tapped the table in silence before asking, "If you hate the Group so much, why are you traveling with them?"

"Parliament held me at gunpoint." S. ran his hands through his light blond hair at the thought. "Steinn Ungaretti, head of defense, threatened to kill me if I didn't comply. And you know what happens when you die a second time in the Sphere."

"No other reason?"

Another arrow shot. Another arrow hit the bull's-eye. This time, however, S. didn't even know what the target was. But the stinging sensation circulating in his nerves told him a jab had been made. His fingers made spastic movements. He clung onto the fabric of his pockets, willing his fingers to stop moving.

"What is Him's plan?" he asked, trying to forget the anxiety. "What is he trying to do?"

The scholar sighed. "I told you, he's an idealist. And what do idealists try to do? They try to make the world a better place… or at least, what they believe to be a better place."

He fell onto the three-legged chair and slumped over. Brushing aside his long brown hair from his forehead, he rubbed his temples and muttered indistinguishable words. S. scrutinized him with the eyes of an experimenter, of a man who had become possessed with digging deep into the heart of every being.

"Why did you decide to become a scientist?" Argall asked, breaking away from his mumblings. "I believe the profession wrought you more pain than good."

"The Order had accumulated support from stvorenjie, difficult to defeat with normal weapons," he answered. "Juris needed somebody to find their weaknesses and create weapons to kill. I was more than happy to help."

"It also felt good to get revenge, right."

The fingers jerked again. S. let them do what they wanted. They clenched into fists.

"Parliament told me Him is dead," he said. "An escaped convict apparently from the prison Parliament created in the Realm to hold Class A Sphere criminals." He approached Argall. "Apparently, he accessed the Pool, the only way for a dead person to enter the living realm again and become flesh."

"Just like you," Argall added.

"Just like me. I was also told his mentor was his killer." His footsteps came to halt. He kneeled in front of the scholar and frowned. "So why'd you kill him?"

Argall fidgeted under the stare and focused on his feet. The action didn't hide the change overcoming him. His pallor had gone white. His lips trembled. His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to fight something back. Tears? Or maybe the pain of confronting S. Silence filled the gap between the two. Argall's most trusted shield was put into use yet again, but S. had enough of the game. He was going to win even if it meant hurting another life.

Grabbing the man by the chin, he forced Argall to look into his eyes. "Why'd you kill Him?"

He had assumed Argall would break. He had thought Argall would become an unconscious heap, similar to the dead boy lying outside the window. He was wrong.

The quavering stopped. The smile, triumphant and mysterious as ever, returned. Argall met his glance with a ferocity S. didn't expect.

"Who would you give your life for?" He enunciated each word, allowing the gravity of the question to sink in. S. released his hold on Argall and stared, unblinking and unsure.

"Excuse me?"

Argall stood up, towering over the kneeling S.

"Who would you give your life for?" he repeated, placing the same emphasis on everything.

S. staggered to a standing position. "You've got to be kidding me. What the hell do you mean by that?" His fingers jolted back into fists again. His blood boiled. It was summer in Emerison but the heat outside was nothing compared to the flames within him. His feet banged on the ground as he backed away from the man. He kicked a wall. Its weak molding crumpled under his force. "Damn it, Argall, I'm already dead!"

"I know, but I'm asking you who you would give you life for?" Argall remained where he was, frozen in his stance. Back straightened, feet apart, arms folded over the chest – he was the epitome of dominance and power. His voice was icy. The accursed smile grew to epic proportions.

S. hadn't realized how angry he was, how frustrated he had been by the conversation. But there was no denying it. Argall had been chipping at him with his questions, cracking him until he wasn't whole any longer. He wouldn't let it happen and he glowered at the man.

"Your questions are ridiculous," he sneered.

"No answer then?" Argall relaxed his posture. "Then I won't respond to your question."

"You. Are. Insane."

Argall laughed. No, the word was incorrect. It was a bad descriptor for the cacophony coming out of the scholar's mouth.

He cackled.

"Thank you," he said, clearly pleased. With a flick of his wrist, he added, "Next question."

S. narrowed his eyes. His mind had several questions at the ready but his tongue acted by itself. Vulnerability. Victory. The two words swirled in his mind, clouding his reason. His lips moved of their own accord. They disobeyed his rationale. They said something completely irrelevant to his mission.

"What is your greatest regret?"

Argall grew whiter. He didn't say anything for a moment. A fatal blow had been played. When the man spoke, his voice cracked.

"What deed in your life are you most proud of?"

The immediate answer came to S. but for some reason, he couldn't say it. The words lingered inside the cave of his mouth, pushing on his teeth and gums, asking to be vocalized. But something was holding back. Some other reason. Some other deed he had done. Only by force could he spit out the words "Giving my life for Juris."

Argall shook his head. "You're lying. The uncertainty is on your face." He turned his back to S. "No answer from me then."

"But –"

He raised his palm at S., an indication to stop speaking. Approaching a bookshelf, he withdrew a tome and flipped through it. Silence engulfed the room and its inhabitants. S. tapped his feet, waiting for Argall to speak. But the man was guarded and this time, he didn't want to relent. He was getting nothing. Not anymore. And it was his entire fault. He had ruined it by losing himself to the man's inquiries. Instead of being diplomatic, he had warred.

What is your greatest regret?

It dealt nothing with Him. Nothing at all. He swore inside at his question. All he got from it was an only infuriated Argall. It only poked at the scholar's vulnerability, the weakness shown by his house's state.

It was useless. He had failed. No use to expend any more energy with a lost match.

With one last look at Argall, he strode towards the door. His hand wrapped around the doorknob.

"How about this?" Argall suddenly said. His attention remained on his book, his nose digging into the pages. "I'll give you a week, one week to think about my two questions. Return here at the same time again, and if you give me the true answers, I'll respond to your questions." His eyes shifted towards S.'s direction. "Deal?"

S. threw the door open. Sunlight streamed into the dreary house but it didn't bring brightness to the setting. He basked in the warmth for a minute before giving his answer.

"Deal."

Back turned to Argall, eyes focused on the road ahead, he sealed his fate for the second time that day. He bound it to the scholar.

A lump formed in his throat at the thought.

It was never a good idea to fasten your life to a man who hated his.

A/N: Not too certain about this chapter. It was a lot cooler when I did the scene in my mind... I do have one major concern with this chapter:

Does it feel like information overload? Or was it a good idea that I decided to expand on Him and throw in a bit of a character's background while I'm at it?

Just wondering since I'm never sure if my development for the overall series is too fast or too slow…

Revised: August 1, 2012