Treat Me Nice
"We've been waiting here for ten minutes, Ravana. What are we waiting for?"
"I'm thinking," thinks Ravana. The VARG is airborne above a busy intersection, in sight of the overlapping circles of the Mewat Spaceport. It rests on its thrusters, a biomechanical bird of prey watching the district lumber back to life. Ilana's comm information flashes on the main screen, waiting for Ravana to initiate the call and a few messages from the Lodi Khan's wait, unread, behind it.
"While I'm sure the experience is terrifying could you hurry up?"
"Fuck off," thinks Ravana,
"I got her boyfriend killed by a psychotic mantis-man so I wanna be, you know, tactful about this shit." There's grumbling, but even Surpanakha has issues finding fault with 'don't offend people if you got their significant other killed this week', and so she remains silent as he composes himself. It takes him a few minutes, but he draws himself out of his trademark slouch into something basically respectable, manages a smile that would be polite if he didn't resemble a PSA about drug use, and began to repeat "I am so sorry for your loss," under his breath.
Then, with a last, great inhalation of air, he dove in.
The call was picked up near-immediately, but Ilana wasn't on the other side. It opened on the back of a great hangar, all grey metal and elaborate metal filigree. Drone-CRAVATs hung from the roof in great racks, and missile tubes littered the foreground. On screen was a man, dark skinned, beautiful, with the statuesque features and cosmetic nips and tucks of a model. He wore a baggy pilot's suit and looked incredibly angry at Ravana, which admittedly was less of a surprise than the fact that he wasn't Ilana.
Fortunately, Ravana was a quick thinker. "Look, I'm sure that whatever reason you're angry at me for is
entirely justified," he said, "And I'm really sorry about that, but I need to clear things up with Ilana first, could you put her on?"
The man's mouth opens and shuts before he frowns, looks at himself, and
shifts in a blur of quicksilver. He loses height, his hair lengthens, proportions, gender, ethnicity, all warp in mere moments, leaving Ilana standing in his place. She's still in her flight suit, which has shifted with her features. "All right," she says, slowly, unsurely, as if torn between questioning if the person in front of her is faking being Ravana, faking being polite or just generally faking everything. "You've got me. Start talking."
"I wanted to say, thanks for the air cover back there. You risked your ass to help me, and you had plenty of reason not to, and it was damn sweet flying besides," he opened. He wanted to cut it there, leave the rest unspoken, but that wasn't an option, and so he kept talking, "I wanted to apologize for-"
letting Blando die violently in front of you "-what happened to your boyfriend. I'm sorry for your loss."
"That didn't stop you from-" she snarls, and then she stops herself. Freezes in a grimace, and slowly releases a breath as she relaxes. She looks down, mutters a prayer, and then looks Ravana in the eye again. "That was beneath me. Thank you," she says. Her mouth twists as she mulls the taste of her next sentence, "I didn't-" she stops, clearly unhappy with it, "I would have-" Again, she stops, then looks vaguely confused for a moment. "It happens, on the track," she says, "I'm sorry about the crash. I hope that wasn't me."
Ravana shakes his head. "Nah, that was a lifetime of bullshit catching up," he says, waving it off, "So, you're working with Drau now? I didn't really take you for the bleeding heart volunteer type."
Ilana grins unpleasantly. "You're one to talk," she says, "I saw that Astra go off. We
both have to put 'will kill dozens for charity' on our CVs now."
Ravana's throat seizes, bile rising as he remembers the sweet taste of other people's blood. He swallows, suppressing the urge to wretch, and instead throws up a forced smile. His face is fucked up enough that it isn't distinguishable from the genuine article. "Hey, I have an excuse," he says, "Doing stupid shit for charity is the family business.
Someone has to keep it going, yeah?"
Ilana's grin goes...pitying? Sympathetic, at least. "Fair," she says. She cocks her head to one side, letting the silence linger a moment before she continues. "It's a good change. I hope it works out for you," she says, "But if it doesn't, I think we both qualify for the Sura-only races now."
That gets a wider smile from Ravana, a genuine one this time. "I'm flattered, but please," says Ravana, "You barely counted as competition when my rides kept blowing up under me. It's just not-" He's interrupted by a beeping in the cockpit. A priority message, pushed into overlay with the call. The Lodi Khans are asking if Ravana wants them to park the car overnight.
Ravana very swiftly decides he needs to wrap up this conversation before his benefactors do something everyone is going to regret.
"Something come up?" asks Ilana.
"Yeah, I've gotta jet in a minute. Just, uh, one more thing before I go-"
You've got to return this giant robot and get your sweet ride back, buuuut...you've got one last question, haven't you?
[ ] Where'd you get that fighter?
[ ] How're Chandra and Harmeet?
[ ] Have the Monitors responded to all of this mayhem?
[ ] How'd Draupadi get a hold of you?