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Texas.
Texas, Texas, Texas.
The black-haired Lupo girl occupied Lappland’s thoughts once more, hardly an uncommon occurrence, but one that always surfaced strong emotions from deep within her twisted depths.
Reclining on the worn sofa in the middle of the dilapidated Lungmen apartment she had rented, the pale Lupo sighed to herself. She cast a bored glance at her swords leaning carelessly against the paint-chipped wall. Her last job hadn’t been an exciting one; Rhodes Island had tasked her to track down an informant in Lungmen, with explicit orders forbidding the use of violence except in self-defence. To Lappland’s disappointment, the informant gave himself up without a fight, and with no further assignments Lappland had earned herself a short break off the landship.
She ran a finger lightly over the hard, black crystal growing out of her lower-right thigh. Blood. Torture. Killing. Those thoughts accompanied with visceral imagery flashed through her mind. Lappland had always been a loose cannon with a predisposition for wanton violence, but her Oripathy infection only served to worsen her mania and further drive her primal urges. These urges would crystallise into the obsession she would then develop with her former fellow mafioso and lifelong rival, Cellinia Texas.
Cellinia Texas, former heir to famiglia Texas, now the last surviving member of their bloodline. Cellinia Texas, who watched her own famiglia be annihilated before her eyes, and yet chose to walk away. Cellinia Texas, who walked away from Siracusa and found herself a new home and a new “family” in Lungmen.
Unlike how it would seize and overcome her in the past, the vitriol those thoughts were laden with quickly faded. She glanced at the black and teal infection monitor bracelet she wore. Her body had been responding well to the Oripathy treatment she was undergoing at Rhodes Island, according to what the doctors there told her at least. Still, she felt its effects on her mind - her thoughts were clearer, and she had a greater control of her emotions than she used to. That was one of the exercises Dr Kalt’sit herself had taught her - to acknowledge and be conscious of what she was feeling, and to deliberately follow her thoughts to understand how they connected to other facets of her conscious and subconscious mind. Lappland originally scoffed at the idea of “mastering her emotions”, but warmed up to it after Gavial convinced her that it would aid her combat prowess. Unsurprisingly, her thoughts always led to one thing. One person.
Texas, Texas… Dios mio, how my sword once longed for blood. Your blood.
For you stood for all that I did not, and I yearned to defile that precious sanctuary you had carved for yourself.
Lappland stood up from the sofa and walked across the hall, towards the bathroom. It was the middle of summer, and the shower beckoned with relief from the sweaty and sticky sensation the humidity brought with it. Doffing her clothes and tossing them aside, she stepped into the shower and stood under the cold, running water, feeling instant relief from the heat. The feeling of water running against her skin brought her back to that night, her last fateful duel with Texas herself.
Of course it had to be in Siracusa. We both wanted it to end where it began. After I broke free of Zaaro’s torment, and all that followed, there we met again.
No special words had been exchanged between them that rainy night. Even with feelings unspoken, they both knew that there was a certain finality to this meeting. Of the bloody dance they had shared countless times - this was to be the last. That much they both knew. Was it the conviction, no, the anger she saw in Cellinia Texas’ once-cold and expressionless eyes? Or the feral rage that she herself exhibited, consciousness addled by her struggle with the Beast Lord, synapses clouded by her worsening Oripathy?
That night, when I swung my sword at her like I had hundreds of times before… I didn’t think. I just did it because… it felt right.
Steel struck steel over and over, the masonry of the run-down courtyard suffering blow after blow from the impact of the Lupos’ Arts, the two women transfixed on each other in their deathly waltz. The clanging of steel was punctuated by Lappland’s increasingly-maniacal cackling. It wasn’t madness behind the laughter; it was joy. With the way her life had turned out, the only time she really felt alive was when she was close to death. Death, in the form of Cellinia Texas.
Lappland continued to stand motionless in the shower, water running down her bare skin. The drainage in the glass shower cubicle wasn’t the best, and she could feel the water pooling at her feet. The sensation snapped her out of her reminiscence and back to the mundane reality of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. Soap, then rinse. Turn off the tap, step out, towel off. Nude and with her hair still dripping wet, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall. The curtains were drawn, but not that it would have bothered her much if they weren’t. Deciding to dry her drenched mane before getting dressed, she sat in front of the dresser and went to work with a hair dryer. The initial blast of cold air from the hair dryer took her back to that night once more, to the chill of the wind blowing amidst the downpour.
We’d been going at it for almost ten minutes by then. A near-miss here, a slice into clothing there, until I landed a cut on her right shoulder. How the sight of her blood sent me into a frenzy! I gave her a moment to regard her wound, to let the fear sink in, before I launched myself at her again.
Their swords clashed with renewed vigour; Lappland determined to press her advantage, Texas knowing she had to finish the fight quickly or risk being worn down after being wounded. In the present, the roar of the hair dryer drowned out everything else in her surroundings, allowing her to focus her attention fully on the memory. Back then, the wind and the rain had been tuned out as well, her attention focused solely on Texas and what would be the last moments of their last duel.
One good hit was all I needed. It felt like my freedom lay just beyond the cusp of one good cut. That if I could end this, here and now, then finally everything in my life wouldn’t be the cruel joke that it was.
Their swords clashed again and again, Lappland’s furious attacks met with Texas’ staunch defence and surgical ripostes.
…
A glancing blow struck Lappland’s wrist. Not enough.
…
Another attack on her weakened wrist.
…
Lappland’s defence broke.
…
…
…
And it didn’t matter to me who landed that hit.
In that moment, Texas too, had been overcome by the rush of their duel. Old instincts kicked in, and when an opening presented itself, her body moved almost unconsciously to exploit it. By her assessment, Lappland still had a lot of fight in her. She could, as she had before, defend against this attack with her off-hand.
And yet, in that instant as Chocolate and Blueberry made their way towards her opponent to bind and cut, Texas did not see Lappland move to defend herself.
She only saw a sad smile as her blade struck.
I don’t remember the pain I felt in my body, only the feeling in my heart - liberation. I had followed my obsession to the end, allowed it to consume me, control me. And now I could finally be free.
Lappland’s swords clattered to the ground as she too crumpled into it, blood flowing from the wound on her torso. She could feel her consciousness slipping; her last thoughts as she fell were about whether Texas would give her a proper funeral, or leave her dead body on the street like every other unlucky Siracusan mafioso that had thrown their lives away in some silly famiglia conflict. After all, how was she any better than them?
This is better than dying to Oripathy anyway, I thought. This was how I wanted it to end, by Texas’ blade. The clamorous voices in my head that spurred me on in my pursuit of her day after day, year after year… they finally fell silent. After all that we’ve been through, after all I’ve suffered, finally…
I can rest in peace.
…
And Texas froze. For the first time in a long time, Texas felt lost. The weight of what she had done had only just started to sink in. She forced herself to get over her shock. She had to act, and she had to act now.
“Lappland!” she cried out, throwing her swords aside and rushing towards her, activating the distress signal on her Rhodes Island communicator as she did. She got on the ground and cradled Lappland in her arms, inspecting her wound. The wound she had made. She rendered what first aid she could, imploring Lappland to stay alive, an uncharacteristic quiver in her voice permeating her words. Lappland couldn’t really remember exactly what Texas was saying, probably something sappy to the effect of “don’t you dare die on me” or the like, as she had seen in trashy B-movies many times before. She didn’t really have the time to wonder why Texas, who mere moments before had been duelling her to the death, was now so intent on averting her death. She only remembered her warm embrace, and those pleading eyes, once so cold and emotionless, now filled with sadness and worry. Lappland forced herself to stay awake; now that her thoughts were clearer than they had ever been, she had to take this chance to speak her last words to her rival - no, her dear friend.
After all, it's not nice to leave without saying goodbye.
“Amica cara mia… I’m sorry. For everything. And…”
Texas probably protested, but Lappland wasn’t sure. She couldn’t hear her anymore. She used the last of her strength to say her final words.
“... Thank you.”
As she faded out of consciousness, she could barely make out the sound of an aircraft overhead.
When she woke up again, it was neither in inferno nor paradiso (the latter would have surprised her). It was back onboard the Rhodes Island landship, in a medical ward. Her torso was wrapped in bandages, and the harsh white lights made it difficult to open her eyes, let alone see. Once she adjusted to the brightness, she could make out Texas’ sleeping form in a chair by her bedside.
I remember when she too stirred awake, and oh, our reunion sure was a sappy one. She told me that at the moment she struck me down, she realised that she couldn’t bear to lose me, and that she would do whatever she could to bring me back and give me the happy life I never got the chance to have. Pfft, what a softie my Texas had become!
Her road to recovery was by no means easy. It took weeks of treatment and rehabilitation, but eventually, she was on her feet again, and back to doing missions for Rhodes Island as an operator. Texas often fought by her side, something she used to loathe doing. Things had changed. There was still a long road ahead.
The voices are gone. I don’t need to fight her anymore. I want my blades to find their purpose again.
…
And anyway, she’s my softie now.
Having finished drying her hair, she peered at her naked form in the mirror. The scar Texas had given her was still there, marking her torso for the rest of her life, serving to remind them both of that fateful day.
Enough reminiscing for today, I think.
As if on cue, her phone lit up with a message notification. From Texas. Lappland’s tail wagged as she unlocked her phone to read it.
Lappland, you doing okay?
Lappland scoffed, then giggled to herself, before erupting in laughter. It wasn’t madness behind the laughter. It was joy. She opened the message and typed her reply.
Yeah. How about you?
~ Fin ~