A Taste Of The Old Days

874 Words4 Pages
Go the same pace long enough, and it becomes customary. Achieve a distance from something, no matter how near it once was, and all it takes is a sufficient while before the space begins to feel standard. Extreme opposites of a spectrum can swap. Even the Earth changes polarity every two hundred and fifty thousand years. And Six is very adaptable. He was once comfortable using firearms, back in his trainee days; it was in the set orientation syllabus for recruits. When he had first picked up his swords, it took some time to get used to closing in on his targets rather than taking them down from a distance; it took time to get used to being in such close proximity to danger. Now, Six doesn't hesitate. His swords are a part of him, as if they were veined with his blood. He's no longer comfortable feeling his arms stapled against his torso, supporting a clunky metal weight that had to be reloaded. Six knows how it's done; he knows how to just flip the switch in his mind and never look back. "So, what crawled up your coat?" When he's summoned, Six expects an order of some kind; perhaps it would be for them to keep the celebratory noise down, or for Six to investigate an area of the Keep that surveillance cams had suddenly gone faulty in, or one of the incurable Evos in the Petting Zoo happened to be causing more trouble than it was worth and White Knight would want it dealt with quietly. "Agent Six." And Six merely nods in response to the formal address. It's then that he marks the sudden change of the man on the screen before him. There's something off about White Knight tonight. He seems awkward. Off the screen, he appears to be fumbling around with something to side. It sounds like clinking. Shortly after, White Knight o... ... middle of paper ... ...hroughout. Like a smile he hasn't seen in years. A laugh he can't quite recall anymore. A touch that was always so rowdy, always so honest. (It was strange how little things such as those could define a person, and how their absence could result in a difference so drastic.) It was a time that he never thought to remember, because it just hadn't crossed his mind that he'd ever forget. Thereafter, a disagreement. An instant distance just as physical as it was emotional. Days, that Six had thought nothing of, that had so surreptitiously stretched to years. And now.... The fork clinks on the plate as he carves out another morsel. Six finally speaks. He says, "It's good." Was. White Knight clears his throat and nods. "You're dismissed after I send milk." "Oh, by the way. Happy birthday." "How did you know?" "I'm your partner. Can't keep much from me." "...Thanks."

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