Mishka was unsurprised to see that Beo wasn’t following her. If he didn’t want to tell her, fine. She wouldn't pry, and it would probably blow over anyway.
But she couldn't be like that. She had to know what was bothering him, and if she could change it or make it better. Instead of going to find Beowulf, however, she sat on her side of the bed and stared at the opposite wall.
Why did she find it hard to care anymore? She should be concerned, but she wasn’t. The only reason she was tempted was because she firmly believed that it was her duty, and it would cause a rift to arise if she didn’t.
Besides, she wanted to confront him about his recent coldness.
To busy her hands while she tried to convince herself, she made the bed and straightened things in her closet. Reorganized her personal bookshelf in alphabetical order. By genre. Cleaned out her desk, purged the room of all other things that needn’t be there.
By the time she couldn’t find anything else to distract herself with, the sun was riding near its high point. Lunchtime.
She closed the door behind her as she made her way to the kitchen. Mishka was glad that there were so many other Theris in Sanctuary, because it gave her a reason not to think as she made her way through the hallways. Thinking would be dangerous, and she’d jump to conclusion, which never ended well for anyone.
Finally, she reached the kitchen and found Kami already there, busying herself on the other counter with a sandwich of her own.
“Hey,” Mishka said, smiling at her friend. Kami looked up from her preparations and smiled a little, before turning her attention back to what she was doing.
Mishka frowned a bit as she turned to make her own lunch. There she went again, jumping to conclusions. Sighing, she decided that she wasn’t all that hungry but that she should eat anyway. In all truth, there was a deep dread in the pit of her stomach that she neither wanted to acknowedge or ignore.
“So, how’re you today?” She asked, holding back a sigh.
“Oh, all right I suppose.”
Of course, one-lined answers.
“Well, that's good.”
There was an awkward silence, a chasm which neither of them wanted to breach on principle.
Mishka ate as quickly as she could, deposited her plate in the sink, and fled the kitchen with as much calmness as she could muster. In reality, she wanted to pull her hair out. Maybe watching the light brown strands fall to the floor and stay there, wispy, attatched to her shoes and the bottoms of her feet, would clear this confusion and frustration.
“Why me why me why me why me why me... “ she repeated this mantra to herself as she looked for Beowulf, deciding that the first place she would look would be the computer room. It made sense that way. She might not like how he was so predictable, but she was predictable too, and it made it easy to find him when she needed to.
She knocked on the door, trying to keep her hand from shaking. Mishka feared this confrontation, and the dread in the pit of her stomach flared unexpectedly.
“Come in,” Beowulf’s voice came through the door, like it always did, and Mishka was for once glad that this one thing hadn't changed.
She turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “We need to talk,” she blurted out by way of greeting. Beowulf didn’t even look surprised. She wondered why.
“Alright,” he said, turning his chair and gesturing to another one across the room. “Let’s talk.”
Mishka was surprised how easy he'd complied, thinking that she might at least have to give reasoning for this seemingly random meeting, but drew up the chair nonetheless.
They sat there in silence for a while, regarding each other warily, daring the other to break the silence. She gathered her thoughts, trying to think of some way to start this out that made it seem as though she wasn’t angry. All the things she wanted to say did sound that way, however.
“I --” She started, but then stopped, rethinking the way she was saying things. “I can't help but notice how everyone’s been acting differently lately, you not least of all. What’s going on?”
Beowulf stiffened, face passive, as he focused on a spot over her shoulder. She could see him thinking, calculating, and Mishka wanted to yell, ask what the hell there was to think about.
“What do you mean, acting differently?” He finally said, and Mishka felt like strangling him.
She had to check herself, keep anger out of her voice, keep from shouting. Trying as hard as she could to sound concerned and confused rather that frustrated, she said, “I don't know. You’ve been... cold, I guess? Kami's distant. Nilaya... isn't cheerful. Everything's flipped upside down.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Beowulf stated, relaxing a little, “It's probably just stress. There have been lots of stories about us in the news lately. Bastet's worried.”
Mishka mulled over this for a while. “We've had stress before. We’ve had trouble before. Bastet's always worried. But in all the previous little outbursts from the media like this, no one’s acted this way. No, I think it's something within Sanctuary.”
“Mishka... just don’t. It's nothing.” He turned his chair back around and went back to working.
“Beowulf. We aren't finished.” She hadn’t meant to sound so stern, but she could no longer hold that in addition to everything else.
Beowulf sighed and stood up, looking at her like one might look at a child who wasn’t comprehending. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me what the hell is going on, that’s what. You're the genius, shouldn’t be too difficult for you,” Mishka snapped, remaining seated. She new he would be taller than her if she stood up, and she didn’t want to be intimidated now.
“I... I don't know why everyone else has been acting strange, okay?”
“Oh?” Mishka raised an eyebrow, “And what about you?”
Beowulf threw himself back into the chair he had recently vacated. Mishka wondered why he was so nervous.
“Well... I've been meaning to talk to you about that, I swear I have.”
“And why haven’t you, then?”
“I couldn’t find the right time. You're always so... I don’t know. It’s difficult.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. “Right, okay. So. Now you’ve got the chance, what is it?”
Beowulf was silent for a long moment, and Mishka could see him thinking again, see him considering something, see something that looked a bit like fear.
“We... we can’t do this anymore, Mishka.”
“Can’t do what?” She had to admit, of all of the answers she had thought about, this wasn't even close to any of them.
He seemed to struggle with the words, “We can’t...” he sighed, “You're too young, Mishka. You’re too innocent. I know it’s difficult... but I think it’s for the best.”
Mishka just stared, eyes wide.
“And besides... I’ve, er-- I’ve found someone else. Someone that I won’t feel near as bad being with.” He watched her, looking for some sort of reaction, but she just kept staring. Her throat was working silently, trying to form words. In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say what she wanted.
Instead, she settle for: “And... this person, you've... you’ve been with her?”
Beowulf watched the floor, as though waiting for it to do something interesting. “Yes,” he said quietly.
There were tears shining in Mishka’s eyes as she watched the window, watched the clouds twist and churn in the sky as though they knew nothing of her turmoil. From somewhere outside there came a happy yipping sound, the sounds of play and fun, and Mishka couldn't take it.
She made it to the door and actually got it open before finally dropping down on all fours and becoming the white wolf that was inside her, threatening to burst out of its prison.
Mishka didn’t know where she was going, and at this point really didn't care. She switched on autopilot, and soon found herself nosing open the door to a room that was familiar in a way she couldn’t place. She darted under the bed, flattening herself out as she did so, for once thankful that she was the smallest of the wolfkin.
Wolves couldn’t cry, not in the way that humans did, so she didn’t cry. She just stared at the small slice of room visible from her place under the bed, watching the sunlight from the open window change, darken, turn from midday to evening.
The only movements she made was to breathe and to blink
~*~
Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you
