The violin rang out through the air, as clear as a bell. Church services, from time immemorial, beyond the veil of years, across the other end of the apocalypse, had always incorporated music. The innovation, as far as the "West" was concerned, of harmony, and the works of Beethoven and Bach, helped illuminate the majesty of God, just like the architecture of a cathedral, just like the artistry of a stained glass window. Synthetic production of tones was, just like in the Twilight Age, eminently possible, but frowned upon for services. After all, everything in a church service served to illustrate the glory of God's creation, and the less layers of abstraction required to reach that artistry, the better.
And so, a cadre of trainees of the Angelic Order of Saint Michael, drafted from the laity, undoubtedly feeling pressure akin to existing at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, played the notes of Dvorák's New World Symphony, as the preacher spoke to the tired masses of Angelic students.
"It is said," the priest said, standing at the pulpit, bathed in the morning light that shone through stained glass, gazing over the assembled masses of students, arranged in their pairs, sitting with their Guardians, "according to First Corinthians, that "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rube. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." He smiled, full of the majesty afforded to him by the shining morning light, by the soaring music, by the architectural swoop of the ceiling, by the force of being ideologically certified. "What does this mean to you?"
While she was surely meant to think on this, Rosaline tapped on Tabbitha's thigh. They were arranged, just perfectly, so that their Pairs, and Guardians, were on opposite sides, and they were right next to each other. Of course, it was expected that they would pay total attention to the sermon, and they'd give each statement and question the proper consideration that it deserved - which they did, of course. It wasn't Rosaline or Tabbitha's fault that they were as smart as they were, or that the sermons they'd listened to for well over a decade at this point were easily understood, or equally as easily ignored.
Long, four shorts, three longs, two shorts and a long - and quite a few more, Tabbitha's taps translating to "Thought more about Elza?" It was funny, after a fashion - Elza's studies of apocalyptic history, of Twilight survivalism, of preparations for what mankind never saw coming - led to Tabbitha and Rosaline understanding Morse code, a primitive way of encoding human language into extremely simple signals. The three of them had talked for, oh, it must have been three years now, in Morse code during sermons. Of course, being three people and not two, they'd had to figure out rudimentary tagging procedures, applying a "signature" to their messages, so even if say, Rosaline was tapping out a message to Tabbitha, Tab would know that it was Elza speaking, and Rosa had just been the relay. This had all broken down after the Pairing. Now, they sat with their Pairs and Guardians, and while Tabbitha and Rosaline had preserved a connection between the two of them, Elza was two rows of pews up, looking uncomfortable next to Alexander, top student in their class and, probably, Elza's greatest potential rival, at least as far as Rosa and Tab were concerned, with their great faith in her abilities. And now, they were talking, quite literally, behind Elza's back about her.
[Yeah, but no conclusions yet], Rosaline tapped out. Tabbitha's leg was warm in the cold air of the chapel. Their winter uniforms covered a lot, and held in their fair share of heat, but tapping her fingers against the thin strip of sheer stocking between Tabbitha's knee-high boots and her skirt, hiked up by the way she awkwardly sat in the pew, warmed Rosaline by means of human contact far more than anything purely thermodynamic.
[Uh], Tabbitha said. It was, as far as Rosaline was concerned, adorable that Tabbitha vocalized such things through tap-code. What was the point?
Their conversation was interrupted by the mechanisms of church attendance - standing, singing, kneeling, and then, several minutes later, finally sitting back in the pew, which had been enough of an interval for Tabbitha to gather her thoughts.
[Have you heard anything more from Alex?], Tab asked.
It was, after a fashion, funny - Tabbitha was Paired with Alexander's best friend, Maxwell, and so, logically, she should be their contact with him, but it had worked out so that Rosaline was. In part this was because Rosaline wanted to insulate Tabbitha from the drama of it all. While it wasn't one of the Ten Commandments, Rosa was sure that few things could be worse than exposing Tab to unnecessary emotional distress.
[No,] Rosaline tapped, before thinking of more to say. [He doesn't talk to me between classes anymore.]
Tabbitha let out a noise of agreement, and then covered her mouth in shame, despite no one besides Rosaline noticing the frankly tiny sound from the towering girl. [He hasn't talked to Max much either], she added. [Max is sad about it.]
The words didn't sound quite right, but Rosa noticed that Tab was just using her pointer and ring finger to tap out messages. She'd have to coach her on using the middle and pinkie fingers as well, but for now, she'd do her best to not read into Tab's tone.
"Now, in Ephesians 5:21," the priest, bedecked in the gilded robes of his station, said, "the Word of God tells us to "Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ," and in that lies the fundamental truth of it all, does it not? In your devotion to your Pairs, as the secular are devoted to their spouses, you venerate He who gave his life to purge us of original sin. And while it is natural to feel uncomfortable at the sudden theological and practical change in your life, not properly appreciating that mechanism opens up your soul to the corrupting forces not just of the heresy of inaction, but of the undeniable force of original sin, as sure as inattentiveness in magical training to pull us towards a demonic existence, valuable only to he who wishes man to fail the spiritual test we have been presented with."
[Should we talk to Elza?] Tabbitha asked. Sensing the hesitance in Rosaline's fingers, she added [again?]
The answer, as far as Rosaline was concerned, should be "Yes", roughly ten thousand times over, until Elza yielded some relevant information and let them help her. But Rosaline had been close to Elza for quite a few years now, and she knew, to her great frustration, that such a direct approach was doomed to fail.
"And what, exactly, does the Christ want from us?" the priest continued.
[No. She'd clam up.] Rosa felt a pang of uncertainty. [Right?]
Tabbitha twitched in what could have been a nod, if she hadn't caught herself just before exposing that they'd been communicating in the middle of Mass. [Yeah,] she said. [So what do we do? We can't just leave her alone.]
Rosaline tensed slightly. While it wasn't an "always" thing, it was enough of a pattern for her to notice that Tabbitha was more assertive, more direct when communicating via text, and somehow, this counted as that. She wanted to leave dead air to her, to just see how Tabbitha would continue, but she knew the tendency wasn't strong enough to make Tabbitha actually take the lead. So, Rosaline had to direct things.
[We talk to Alex's friends.]
Tabbitha's fingers stopped a few millimeters above Rosaline's thigh, close enough for the nigh-invisible fur humans had to feel it, tickling at the edges of sensation.
[Maxwell?] she asked.
"Before you take your Holy Communion," the priest said, "I wish to speak of a common misconception, one that often trips up the layfolk, and one that may be on your minds, as those trained in the highest arts that mankind has glimpsed. The nature of the Eucharist, and of transubstantiation." He shrugged sheepishly. "It is a bugbear of mine, to say the least. Occasionally a well-meaning condradictionist will ask me that if the wine and bread turn into the blood and flesh of Christ, why cannot we test that physically? Usually this is not phrased as something potentially disproving a matter of faith - after all, who would want to do something so pointless? - but instead, it is usually couched in the notion that by doing so, we could learn more about the Christ, and perhaps somehow learn more about the nature of our reality, which God and the Church encourages us to do. To the unbelievers in the lands beyond Christendom, the admittance that there is no physical change in the objects of the Eucharist appears to be an admission that our religion practices fakery and asks its adherents to believe in something demonstrably false."
The priest shook his head. "Instead, when you partake of the communion, you are engaging with a fact that has been demonstrated to the world for the last three hundred years - that the fundamental nature of reality is spiritual, not physical. The spirit has domain over all, and while the bread and wine do not physically transform, they become the flesh and blood of the Christ in a way far more real than the physical. It is the same answer as to why the Protestants faced a conflict between the geological age of the Earth and the age, as they were able to reverse-engineer, of the Earth as portrayed in the Bible. The answer is that these physical realities are not the primary - the spiritual reality defines and supersedes the physical. And now, if you will, come forth, with your Pair and Guardian, and take part in this particular miracle."
Rosaline shifted, knowing she only had one moment left to speak. Tabbitha wouldn't go for that unless it was their last option. Neither of them had particularly connected with their Pairs in the past weeks, but Rosaline was much more able to put on a stern face and bear it, while Tabbitha responded to the stress of it all by crumbling, much like a sugar cookie or, for that matter, most things even close to as sweet as she was.
[No, let's start with Gabriel.]
And so, later that day, during their Athletics course, they did.
Athletics, out of all the classes that the Angel trainees took, was the most self-directed. While some days they were given direct competitions between each other, or group sports to work through, that was spice applied on top of the background noise of using the facilities available to them in order to build strength and endurance. During these more free-form days, their exertion was measured through the Interfaces on their wrists, which provided a constant readout of their heartrate and calorific consumption, along with a minimum, recommended, and maximum amount of exertion as defined by their Athletics instructor, Miss Holmes, who functioned as adviser, nutritionist, and, at least when the students gossiped amongst themselves, drill sergeant. She'd come from a military background, one of the layfolk employed by the True Church in its quest to re-civilize the world, and while it had been years since she'd been outside of Christendom proper (they hadn't quite gotten her to say where she served, yet), she still had muscles like corded steel and a stare to match. During these winter months, their training was indoors, in a sort of warehouse of exercise, which had more than enough equipment and premises for every student in a year, all four classes, so be working out at once, and unless you were supremely indecisive, that meant that you could probably find something that suited you. Additionally, the climate controlled environment allowed the students to wear the same gymnastics clothing they wore during the warmer months - red shorts and a white t-shirt for most occasions, and a one-piece swimsuit for aquatic excursions. It was refreshing, considering the restrictive nature of their usual winter clothing, made of layer after layer after layer.
As usual, Tab and Rosa managed, serendipitously, to work on machines and routines right besides each other, this time working on an arms-only rope climb until both of them had been reduced mostly to puddles of sweat and muscles that had turned into the consistency of overcooked spaghetti. Tab was worse off than Rosa - she was taller by almost thirty centimeters, and while she had always been a bit of a noodle, un-muscled and light enough that Rosa could knock her over easily with a good shoulder tackle, the weight advantage plus Rosa's more athletic nature meant that by the time Rosa was exhausted, Tabbitha was effectively destroyed.
In fact, Tabbitha was on the ground, panting, when Rosa had finished undoing her harness (after all, regardless of the sheer power and strength of Angel students, it would be unwise to allow gravity free reign to break their spines due to unsecured climbs), and barely managed to make pleading eye contact with Rosa.
Rosaline laughed, and after she finished hers, freed Tabbitha from her safety harness. She rolled over, groaning, as Rosaline did the last few latches on the back of her hips.
"Am I always going to be stronger than you?" Rosaline asked.
"No," Tab said into the soft mats beneath the climbing ropes, before picking herself up off the floor. "I," she started, still somewhat out of breath, "this is different", she said, folding herself into bracing against her knees just as soon as she'd brought herself upright. "I can," she said, putting her hands on Rosaline's shoulder for support, "protect you."
"Yeah?" Rosa said, trying and failing to stifle a giggle.
"Hey!" Tab protested, and the two of them had a good laugh about it while Tab recovered.
"You see that?" Rosa asked.
Tabbitha followed her eyes across the room, to a set of bleachers, right by the starting line of the track that circled their section of the building. Hurdles had been set up across it, and as usual, the standard punishment for failing to clear them, besides the pain of crashing into them, was running around and resetting them before the next group took off. Gabriel and Maxwell had just finished resetting theirs, along with some of the other students, while Alexander looked on, having, as expected of him, knocked over none of them. Gabriel was chattering away, and if Rosaline had faith in her ability to read body language from across a room, it looked like he was offering up excuses. And then, as the others squared off for another set of laps, Gabriel sat down for a break.
Alone.
The perfect opportunity.
"Let's go," Rosa said, and the two of them took off across the room.
Gabriel's fluffy, blond-ish hair had been matted down by sweat, and he was too busy brushing it out of his eyes and peeling errant strands off his face to see the two of them approach. At least, that was how Rosa parsed it at first. But when she was standing no more than a meter away, looking at him pointedly, and he'd utterly failed to notice, she was forced to consider the possibility that Alex might have some strange friends. She looked to Tabbitha with her eyebrows arrayed in the facial expression of a question mark.
Tabbitha shrugged awkwardly. Most things she did could be assigned that adverb, if Rosa was being entirely honest, but she found that incredibly endearing. "Hey, uh..." she said, trying her best to get Gabriel's attention, but not willing to be forceful enough to actually do it.
"GABRIEL!" Rosaline shouted, and Gabriel's face went from "dreaming" to "alarmed" in the space of an instant, from bent over, elbows on his knees, to sitting upright and eyes darting around him.
"Um, yes?" he said, eventually finding the two of them. "Rosaline? Tabbitha? What's up?" He held eye contact for the slightest moment, in a simulacrum of decorum, but it was clear that he didn't care that much about their questions, for his eyes drifted away almost immediately - perhaps a sign of evasiveness, of keeping secrets.
Rosaline planted her hands on her hips, her stance wide. "We're here to ask you about Alexander, and you're going to answer us. Okay?"
"Okay," he said, not even looking at them.
That was unexpectedly easy, but Rosaline rolled with it.
"Has he been acting strange?"
Gabriel shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
Rosaline's eyebrows grew closer together. "Care to elaborate?"
Gabriel didn't even look up, his eyes still focused somewhere far away. "I dunno, he's just been a little different lately, you know?"
Rosaline sighed loudly. "I don't know, that's why I'm asking." She ran through a few quick logical subroutines in her brain, figuring out the best questions she could muster. "You've been close to him for a long time. What's different about his activities lately? Have you noticed any major differences in the way he schedules his day? Are there any abnormalities in the way he interacts with his Pair?"
"Does she seem okay?" Tabbitha added, in a pleading tone.
"Who?" Gabriel asked.
"His Pair. Elza," Rosaline seethed. She expected other people to be less attentive, less intelligent than she was. She worked for every ounce and inch of progress she made, pouring hour after hour after hour of effort into every bit of success she had, while it seemed like for others, it came naturally. But this was something else. She wanted to deck Gabriel in the face just for being so...
"Oh," Gabriel and Tabbitha said, simultaneously, albeit at completely different things. "Uh, she's..." Gabriel trailed off, but Rosaline ignored him completely. "Yes?" she asked Tab.
Tabbitha pointed a long, slender finger along the line of Gabriel's gaze - she really should play piano, Rosaline thought - and Rosaline followed, across the room, to a girl doing stretches, long auburn hair flowing down over her shoulders to the small of her back. She quickly identified her as Rachel, Gabriel's Pair.
"Jesus Christ," Rosaline said under her breath, and only Tabbitha seemed to notice, who acknowledged the swear with a nervous giggle. It wasn't the first thing she'd seen Rosaline do that could get her in trouble, and by now, it was more funny than scary.
Rosa walked away from Gabriel, sweeping Tabbitha away with her arm around her waist. Tabbitha squeaked at being directed like that - Rosa had asked her a dozen times if she minded, and each time, Tabbitha said "No", regardless of how ticklish and startle-able she might be, and so, Rosa tried to not feel guilty about how amused she felt by getting such a rise out of Tab each time.
When they rounded the corner of the bleachers, and found themselves out of eyeshot of the rest of the class, Tabbitha spoke up. "I don't think he knows anything we need to know."
Rosaline shook her head. "No."
"Where do we go next?" Tabbitha asked, looking down at Rosaline. Their (massive) difference in height might have intimidated someone else, were they the small one in the equation, but Rosaline felt honored by it. Tabbitha, if she worked out just a little more, could have more physical strength than Rosaline could pull off with months of training, and yet she always, always deferred to Rosaline. It was a little intoxicating, if Rosaline was honest, but she didn't want to think of her friend as just a shortcut to a supply of endorphins... even if it made her feel pretty awesome. It'd probably feel even better if Tabbitha actually did follow through on that, and Rosaline was frequently encouraging her to do so - but more importantly, Tabbitha would be better able to defend herself, and that was important. As much as Rosaline wanted to always provide an overwatch service for her, Rosa wasn't perfect, and that rankled her.
"Uh..." Tabbitha kicked the toe of one shoe into the heel of the other, looking down. Ah. The obvious answer was "Maxwell," but that wasn't somewhere she wanted to be. Rosaline should come up with an answer that would, at the very least, put some distance between them and that inevitability.
"How about we talk to Rachel?"