Close Nemesis

Chapter Nine: Close Enemies

LAIVA:

Following an almost successful battle against my nemesis, I returned to Podplanata II, where I reported my success to its prime minister: a robed Podplanatan named Gyle. They were disappointed to hear that the prime minister of Podplanata III had not been killed, due to my battle with Rotcetorp allowing them to be safely evacuated to a secure location.

"Tensions are rising, Oppugnant," Gyle had said. "If you can't kill Rotcetorp for good, then we will slip into civil war."

It's all boring politics and what not. I'm really tired. After reporting my battle to Gyle, I used my abilities to create a wall of plasma-fied rock a kilometre away from the building city of Aravare. I then said that I would come and visit to bring food and water, but Gyle didn't think that it as a permanent solution to this war.

I agreed, and decided to take up Gyle's mission to kill Rotcetorp. But I've been trying to do so for years. Today was the closest I came. Anyway, today's been tiresome. I'm in my baggy construction clothes now, standing wearily in front of the holocrete door that leads into my apartment.

I pass through the holocrete security door almost as slowly as the nerlants of Wocian move.

I feel very tired. But the comforting aroma of food strikes my nostrils. I follow the smells towards an open floored kitchen, where Xalir is cooking some sort of fried cheesy mince bake. I stare over at the triangular pot on the hot stove, watching as the gooey cheese bubbles on top. Eventually, the mince bake will have to be placed into a fryer.

Suddenly, I notice something horrific.

Xalir has a bruised eye. Sure, the cool people would call it a black eye, but I'm not cool. I'm just boring.

I've seen him with a black eye before. Usually, he's chalked it up as just being clumsy. But I doubt that is really the case.

"Xalir, what happened?" my voice sharpens worriedly.

Xalir chuckles, raising his plastic eyebrows, crinkling his perpetually smooth skin.

"Uh, funny story," he says, rubbing the back of his hair nervously. "I bumped into a wall because I was crying. It hurt a lot. I think I'm dying."

"Sure, you are, Xay-lirr," I enunciate sarcastically.

Suddenly, my left hand starts to tingle. My other hand grabs it, and I keep a firm grip on my left hand until I reach the couch. I lie down, and in the darkness of the lounge, I notice that my hand is dimly glowing. I cover it, and try to draw my powers back inside.

It's never happened like this before. Luckily, Xalir hasn't noticed. At least, I think he hasn't.

"Laiva, how was your day?" Xalir chimes from the kitchen, reigning victorious over the hot pan's loud sizzling.

"It was good," I respond dryly.

The advantage of having a dry personality is that I can remain cool, calm and collected, even when I'm terrified or nervous. As I lie on the semi-transparent matte couch exhaustedly, I feel my powers swirl inside my chest like warm tendrils. I take a few yawns, and place my head on the edge of the couch.

When I awaken, I find a spherical ceramic food container on the crystal table that sits in between the TV and the couch. I slide my feet on to the dark wooden floor, and carefully pick up the warm ceramic container, along with a purple holocrete spoon.

I scoop up some cheesy mince bake into my mouth, and start gorging it down. I lick the meatcorn juice off my lips before digging into my bowl for another spoonful.

I turn to Xalir, and as I gradually become more and more aware of my surroundings as I continue to awaken, his pale skin becomes clearer and clearer as he eats his food.

Grey light strikes the wooden walls of the apartment. The strands of Xalir's plastic-like hair glows a diffuse rainbow colour, and I feel the individual strings of his hair with one hand as I scoop up some more cheesy meatcorn bake into my mouth.

The bruised eye looks even more prominent, and I grow continuously concerned about it.

"Delicious," I praise aridly. "Tasty. I like the cheese, as well."

"I've got sandsnow bites for dessert," Xalir adds.

"Ah, thanks, my little star worm," I remark. 

After finishing my dinner, I turn the 5D television on with a remote. The images on an action flick on TV expand around the room. Xalir skooshes over next to me, and he curls up next to me as wrap my arm around him.

"You should really get your eye checked out," I explain, as a holographic explosion from the movie racks the floor of the room.

"I know," Xalir mumbles. "I am such an idiot sometimes."

I chuckle stalely. "No, you're not an idiot."

I'm the idiot. I killed your friend, Xalir!

"Yeah, you're probably right, Xalir."

We lie on the couch for the next half an hour or so, watching as the images on the TV alternated between explosions, old fashioned holo-bullet gun fights, and epic hovercopter chases.

Then, Xalir goes to retrieve some sandsnow bites from the tempobox. When he returns to the amber couch on which I am seated, he passes me a soft, marshmallow-like treat covered in edible sandsnow grains.

As I eat it, it crunches in my mouth, leaving a sweet and savoury taste on my pink tongue.

After I finish eating my dessert, I dress myself into some flannelette pyjamas, hide the disk housing my superhero costume in my closet, and brush my teeth with saltmint toothpaste. Then, I climb onto the red doona covering the double bed Xalir and I own.

There, I lounge against the metal headrest as I wait for Xalir to enter my bedroom, staring at the wooden ceiling out of boredom.

Many minutes pass, until Xalir finally steps into the bedroom. Unlike me, he doesn't have to brush his teeth, since his coal teeth is protected by his plasma saliva.

"So, how are you, Xays?"

I take Xalir's hand, which feels as smooth as rubber. He lacks fingerprints, as well as a bellybutton. There is little texture on his skin. There are some marks here and there, but there are no natural moles or anything.

I'm jealous of Xalir. Why can't I be a Plassilmaver?

"I'm good," he responds shakily, struggling to fight back a sniff. "I just...miss Aacis."

His words slice into my heart like a sharp holocrete knife. I don't know how to respond. I don't know how I can make myself feel any better unless I tell him. But I can't. The truth would be too painful for him.

Too painful for me.

It would tear us apart.

So, all I say is: "Me too. He was a nice friend."

"Yeah. I have lots of friends, Laivs, but he was one of my most genuine ones. The one I trusted most with my life. And all this time, he was Rotcetorp. I don't know whether to miss him or to be mad at him."

"I thought you just said that you missed him," I point out, expressing a little more emotion than I would've liked.

"I do miss him, Laiva, but I can't deny the truth that he could've done those things. That he could've caused chaos and disorder. Just like Oppugnant. Of course, I believe that she set him up. Howe-"

"She?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I've always pictured Oppugnant as a she. I don't know why, though, but-"

To stop Xalir from talking, I grab Xalir's other arm, pulling him to my side of the bed. I kiss him, and let his silver tears drip onto my chest. I wipe his tears away with my hand, and he smiles as he stares longingly at me.

Then, after removing his clothes, I ravish him.