Chapter Text
There were only a handful of people left who still called him Yingxing.
Most only on special occasions.
But there is still one who kept on calling him that dead man.
And here he stood bantering with the stellaron hunter's hacker.
"...Old friend." The old wolf called. Blade uncrossed his arms, exhaling a light sigh. It seems the first fang insists that Yingxing is still around. "Mister La Mancha."
The pale man shudders at the unused name. Another thing they both had in common. With his back faced to Blade, communication between the two would be—well, impractical. So La Mancha turned to face Blade. There weren't many things different from the ex-galaxy ranger, in comparison to when he last visited the Xianzhou. He still wore that white coat, albeit lightly modified. His hat felt the same as it ever, though Blade had comments on his height.
As for his attire... Well, his chest was as abundant as ever. Blade never really knew why La Mancha's vest refused covered it (or why his eyes won't look away).
"It truly has been too long, Yingxing." La Mancha took off his absurd fedora with his prosthetic hand, placing it just above his chest. Darn, what is Blade's eyes supposed to land on now? So he chose the nails pinning the voracity down instead. "Why don't... Ah, Come inside, we can discuss the little cubs offer."
Silver Wolf took offence to that. Blade wasn't sure if it was because she was called little cub, or because her... threat? Was reduced to an offer.
Despite that, Silver Wolf remained confident. The presence of Blade had swayed La Mancha's heart, and they could "comission" him without much trouble. Blade could see in her eyes how sure she was, and his blank script left nothing else for him to do, so he followed La Mancha inside—staying a pace just behind Silver Wolf.
☆
La Mancha's office was.... Hardly efficient.
The flight of stairs up was short, and Blade wouldn't have cared if it was long anyway. Though Silver Wolf would have had something to say about it.
Then they made it to the apparent detective's so called office. Originally, it looked more like the workplace of a dozen or less people than somewhere a lone detective would do his deductions. An orange couch greeted them at the entrance, followed by work desks. Blade was just about to stop and choose a corner to stand awkwardly in, but Silver wolf didn't, despite La Mancha not moving forward.
"Ahem," said man cleared his throat, glancing at Silver Wolf, who still hadn't stopped. She turned her head—even that was barely—and spoke with about as much sass as possible. This time, it was La Mancha who took offence to the statement. "Don't be ridiculous, gramps. We both know this isn't our stop. Your little office is still waiting for us."
"Don't be ridiculous, little cub, that office can't fit the three of us—"
"Then I'll wait outside." Blade barged into their conversation, already walking to what seems to be the only open corner in the room. The only other room that Blade could see that was small enough to not fit all three of them was one he originally assumed was the restroom, but surely the ex-ranger leader wouldn't stoop so low as to choose a room so sm—
"See? he agreed to it. Let's go, I've got a lot of terms." Silver Wolf waltzed right into said room, uncaring whether or not La Mancha is following. People truly do change. They're living proof of that fact aren't they?
La Mancha, not without a stutter and offended gasps, followed behind reluctantly, leaving Blade to take in his new environment. The place was empty, the work desks unoccupied by its workers. There were an abundance of posters, murals, and stands dedicated to oddly human-like animals adorning the walls. They were... for some reason, familiar. A raccoon, pink rabbit, a red, comfortingly shaded brown, and... black cat, that last he felt like he should recognize. The rest of the office however, was just as bland—but just as messy, as any other.
Both the wolves conversation seemed far from over, but blade had already finished whatever he found he could do while waiting. Hugging his blade, Blade closed his eyes with a small harrumph, letting time pass freely around him. It's not like sleep could drift him into her sweet lull anyway—but Blade found it was nice that for once, he could think of things without Kafka needing to use spirit whisper on him due to the mara.
It felt like an eternity passed, but Silver Wolf and La Mancha had finally finished their negotiations. Blade glanced up with his eyes, watching the first fang look away from him with an uncertain expression.
"Hey—Bladie," Silver Wolf was the one who restarted their conversation, "Why don't you and little mister detective here catch up, huh? I'm sure you two could use some talking. I could see how excited he was to see you, you know, Bladie."
La Mancha was stunned. Blade thought he likely didn't expect Silver Wolf to be so upfront about it. Was La Mancha excited to see Blade? He had no idea what it was that Silver Wolf noticed, but he doesn't understand more than a handful of what she often yammered on about.
La Mancha was pulling down on the rim of his hat, covering his face with his organic arm. He coughed, attempting to take back control of the moment. "Right, Yingxing—Old friend." He took off his hat, holding it close to his chest. An old habit. "The little cub finished her turn, so why don't we chat, like she suggested? If you don't mind, that is—of course."
Blade only responded with a hum, sheathing back his weapon. La Mancha took that as an agreement.
"Come," La Mancha turned away, beginning to lead Blade into his supposed office. "why don't we talk somewhere someone won't eavesdrop, huh? My office is soundproofed, don't worry."
"Silver Wolf will still likely hack a way to listen in."
"What a way to ruin the moment..." La Mancha sighed, pushing his door open with some reluctance.
True to Silver Wolf's word, La Mancha's office is... concerningly small. The most obvious thing is definitely the freezer, for whatever reason that it's there for. Monitors on a single, sad table—filled to the brim with documents (and are those bottles?). Even the floor is a mess. If it were a living space, Blade can probably excuse. La Mancha wouldn't need to keep it clean if he spent most of his time sleuthing. But as an office, wouldn't the mess just scare customers away?
"I, uhm, please. Excuse the mess. I didn't exactly get a notification that you two were coming over." La Mancha broke the silence he provided, as most conversations including him would go. Though, true to him being a detective—more like the bare minimum—he noticed Blade's eyes wandering to the freezer again. "Oh, ignore that. Don't we have better things to be talking about?"
La Mancha's dismissal irked him a little.
"For instance, how have you been?! Why join the Stellaron hunters?? What happend all those years ago???" La Mancha's constant pressing irked him a little more. "...Yingxing, I... I'm glad I got to meet you again. I'm sorry, I understand if you don't want to answer."
Maybe La Mancha didn't really change all that much.
"The stellaron hunters—Kafka, is the only one capable of calming down the mara." Blade uttered. They also gave him a purpose, other than being a mad, non-rotting corpse. A Blade. That's what he was now. La Mancha, seeing how his voice held no uncertainty or doubt, laughed. It sounded more like short breaths, but the first fang just shook his head, then murmured; "Of course."
He watched Blade, but Blade didn't return the gaze. "Yingxing, I—why don't... why don't we go out? Could just be the two of us, or we could bring your little cub along. We could go out for food—she'd like that, right? A hearty meal."
"If you have any questions, It would be easier if it were just us." Blade replied. "The faster you find out what you'd like, the more time you have to do everything else."
"I don't have anything on my plate right now. Mr. N is taking a day off, I don't have any customers or ongoing assignments. I have all the time we could ever need." La Mancha seemed to have remembered something, turning around to pull his work chair out to Blade. "I almost forgot, take a seat. Standing around cant be good for your legs."
Blade only stared at the chair, and the first fang interpreted that as Blade waiting for him to take a seat first. he hurried to the closed freezer, shifting to sit on its lid. He then grinned, letting blade take his time— "What do you use the freezer for?" Blade's question came of the blue—to La Mancha, at least, because he didn't seem to expect it.
"Oh, t-this little thing? It's...It's complicated."
"I can wait."
"W—Well then."
Blade stayed silent, awaiting his answer. The ex-ranger had been avoiding this conversation and Blade didn't have the faintest idea why. Having a freezer was no embarrassing fact, but having it in your office would have raised a few questions. La Mancha hesitated, but broke in the end. All he offered was, "It's, uh. It's hard to explain, but this is where I sleep...?"
Which didn't really explain anything.
Blade waited him to continue without a word, or a change in expression. A tactic he used on Silver Wolf when she insisted on "another round" instead of eating. It also seems to work on older wolves.
"Yeah, this isn't really... just my office. But don't worry, I'm not actively trying to freeze myself." La Mancha continued, "Don't you think it's a cool thing—sleeping in a freezer, eh?—"
"Does the Voracity sealed in your prosthetic require you to physically lower its temprature?"
La Mancha's eyes widen at Blade's abrupt interruption. Was he still capable of remembering a minor detail like that? La Mancha thought that the mara would have destroyed Blade's ability to linger in memories long gone—every recalling driving him mad, and into a bloody trance. "...Haha," The first fang chuckled, "So you remember that, hm? Old friend. Come now, why don't we talk about what else you remember?"
"That was merely a fact we went over before beginning the script in Planarcadia. Mister La Mancha, if you are looking for a man long dead, never expect anything satisfactory." Blade finally sat down, the chair bobbing back and forth underneath him. La Mancha shuffled, now feeling uncomfortable being alone together with someone who he could consider a stranger. However, Blade wouldn't deny him remembering some of La Mancha's... other aspects—at least to himself.
La Mancha made a disappointed sound, seeming to get his hopes up for nothing.
"Yingxing... you, you still haven't answered me." Blade watched the old wolf cross his legs onto the freezer. He grunted, crossing his arms to close his eyes. "I've answered all your questions, Mister La Mancha."
He laughed—the first fang let out a low, breathy laugh—and turned to Blade. Blade cracked his eyes open to glance up at the man. The back of his head was resting on the wall, hat tilting forward slightly in the process. He looked younger like this. La Mancha waved his hand, "Yingxing, don't play coy now. We have so much to catch up on. So start with something simple. How have you been doing? Why join the stellaron hunters?"
How has he been. The thought to just not reply had crossed Blade's mind. Would it be alright if he told La Mancha? If he knew the man right, La Mancha's curiosity and concern would be genuine. But change is a tide you wouldnt realize is you missed. The ex-ranger had just tried to, Silver Wolf's words, sell out the hunters to the IPC. That was also very well included in the script. However, his reasoning aligned with the line he drew these past hundreds of years.
His empty script also came to mind. Was this Elio's way of saying he's free to make his choices?
With an empty sigh, Blade recounted the recent events—whatever he can remember and with what storytelling ability he had anyway. How Kafka found and recruited him after Jingliu's punishment, that story met with a glare by La Mancha. How his hands had become too unsteady to forge, and what he found them to be capable of now. Bloodshed (and feeding his coworkers, it seems). He didn't dive deep into his missions, just how he's been faring the last few years. That seemed to be enough for La Mancha.
"Wow, I. Yingxing, you've..." La Mancha began, "I'm so—"
"I have come to accept my new role, mister La Mancha."
".....Very well. Although my offer still stands, how about we go get something to eat, huh? Your little cub can come along, if she likes."
Blade nodded his head, knowing there is no point in arguing or declining La Mancha of his offer.
About—give or take—five minutes after their conversation ended, the door to La Mancha's office creaked open as the two men stepped out. They, to their surprise, weren't met with Silver Wolf's complaints. Sneaking a look, they found her hunched over her console focused at her game. Which wouldn't have been an odd sight, if not for the presence of someone else besides her.
A child, around two thirds of Silver Wolf's height—also nose deep in their console, tensed their head wings at the noise, but quickly relaxed after registering the newcomers identities. Neither one of the pair turned away from their rapidly shifting bright screens, until La Mancha coughed. The first to notice was Silver Wolf, her head inclining slightly in acknowledgement. The other didn't react, eyes simply glued to their screen.
A while of staring later, and Silver Wolf jumps, the joy of victory staining her smile. The other sighed in defeat, placing their borrowed console on a nearby table.
"See? Like I said, there's no way you're going to beat the Silver Wolf 999 in gaming." The grey haired girl snickered, pointing her thumb to her chest. The younger crossed their arms, torso puffing in hurt pride. "Oh wow, Big sister Silver Wolf, you're soo cool." Their dragged their praise, likely fulfilling their end of a bet with heavy reluctance.
"Alright you two, enough with your bickering." La Mancha broke their challenging looks, patting the halovian's head with his organic arm, earning a squeal—Blade couldn't tell if it was of annoyance or delight—from the child. "And pray tell, what exactly are you doing here, Che?"
"Mister Ashveil!" Blade watched the child jump to La Mancha, "I wanted to visit the library today and I needed adult supervision."
"Sure you did. And where exactly is the adult that allowed and supervised you on the way here?" La Mancha scolded, and the young halovian pouted. "Your excuses are becoming repetitive, Che. And, I can't go with you today. See, I have someone else I'll be busy with, so if you'd just run along back to—"
"Whaaat? Can't I go with youu?"
The pleading, innocent—likely fabricated—look in the child's eyes met La Mancha's, and the ex-ranger groaned. La Mancha almost—almost, reconsidered, but shook his head. He seemed to be determined to eat out with Blade. The young halovian widened their pleading puppy-eyes, tears forming on its edges. Blade had seen that look plenty a time, Silver Wolf and Firefly using it to try and convince him to let them play together, when Firefly still needed to soak in her tank. It had much less an effect on him than it did La Mancha, and said man seemed to slowly start being swayed.
"Oho, that's a good one." Silver Wolf gently knocked her console on the child's head, making them turn and glare at her. "What do you think about teaching me how to make that face? Bladie is slowly becoming harder to convince lately."
"And why would I want to?"
"I can take you to that library of yours. Let the old man and Bladie catch up. Think of it as part of losing the bet, why not."
The kid crossed their arms, their brown tinted wings flapping lightly as they looked up at Silver Wolf with distrust in their eyes. Silver Wolf responded to this with a snicker, her hands meeting her hips. "Or... we could have another round, and the loser has to go with the winner, wherever they want."
The child's—what is their name, really? He made a mental note to ask La Mancha later, since asking them directly may scare them off—eyes lit up at that, the fighting spirit in them rekindled, while La Mancha had decided to take no part in this debate, choosing to walk away instead.
"Mister Ashveil! If i win, can I go with Miss Silver Wolf? Don't worry, if she tries to kidnap me, I'll bite her." Said girl murmured a 'hey! I told you to call me big sis!' and strode off to sit on the earlier sofa. La Mancha turned to Blade, hoping he'd have an aswer. He exhaled, muttering something along the lines of do what you please, and left to talk with Silver Wolf. She was already scrolling through her list of games, most of them being what she called PvP. They were a good match for her gaming spirit, Blade thought. Both of them seemed extremely competitive.
Silver Wolf lifted her head, eyes not once leaving the shifting screen. Her own way of telling Blade to say what he needed to and finish his business. "Silver Wolf," Blade called. With no response, he did so again. "Silver Wolf."
"What? You can trust me with a kid, you know. They're well behaved anyway." She finally looked up, her grey eyes unbothered by Blade's unblinking orange-yellow ones. Accompanied by a sigh, Blade scolded her with nothing but his eyes. "...Fine, fine. I'll go easy on the kid. No need to get mad."
That wasn't the response he needed.
"...Okay, I'll take them to the library."
No change in his glare.
"Well what do you want me to do then? Geez." Silver Wolf let go of her controller and crossed her legs, Blade mimicking the motion with his arms. "Don't spend too long playing games. Make sure they get fed while you're both out."
"Yes sir," Silver Wolf grumbled. "I'll make sure to even get them the fanciest meal they'll ever even dream of."
They were finally out of the office, both the men equally tired after trying to convince two kids to play nice.
"So... Anywhere you're interested in going...?" La Mancha awkwardly tried to spark their conversation back to life. Blade didn't care where La Mancha wanted to take them, his taste for food had been long gone. Most of the times he cooked, it was whatever the Stellaron Hunters requested. He was the one who invited him, not to mention the one paying. As long as the meal was large enough for La Mancha, it was good enough for Blade.
"I'll take whatever you plan on eating." He offered, "You are the one who has been residing in Planarcadia. I assume you know what you want."
La Mancha lit up at those words, cupping both of Blade's hands in his own. He was rambling a million recommendations a minute, eyes sparkling at Blade. But Blade was focused on something else.
Since he met with La Mancha today, not once did he really look at his face. His movements were always so extravagant and expressive, Blade didn't really feel the need to.
So, even sparkling as they may be right now,
Why were La Mancha's eyes so sunken and exhausted, a fraction of the pride and glory they held centuries ago?