Chapter 5
We didn't stand in the corridor for long. Katsuragi forcibly shoved us into the kitchen, eager to get started on dinner—or whatever it was she called it.
"So, Shinji-kun, meet Rei Ayanami, pilot of Evangelion Unit-00," Misato formally introduced the girl to me, gesturing toward her with an open palm. "Rei-chan, greet your future partner: Shinji Ikari, pilot of Evangelion Unit-01."
The blue-haired girl measured me with an indifferent gaze.
"Gendo's son?" she inquired emotionlessly, instead of offering a polite greeting as is customary in decent society. Though, considering her appearance and the first impression she'd made, one could assume that Rei and decent society occupied opposite poles with no chance of intersection.
"Yes, Gendo's son," I smiled, propping my head on my fist and glancing sideways at Ritsuko, who, having managed to light a cigarette, kept her palm pressed to her face. "I take it you're under Dr. Akagi's care?"
Ayanami pursed her lips for a couple of seconds and looked away, muttering something through tightly clenched teeth that sounded vaguely like agreement.
"Nominally, she is my foster daughter," the blonde explained fully, finally resigning herself to the futility of existence.
"No, you are not my mother," the blue-haired girl snapped instantly, a flicker of rejection crossing her crimson eyes.
"Yes, yes," Akagi waved her off, flicking cigarette ash into an ashtray that Katsuragi had managed to slide under her just in time; otherwise, it would have ended up on the table. "Say what you want, but according to all the paperwork, you've been my legal daughter for five years."
"Those are just useless papers. Only the heart truly decides," her ward placed a hand over the left side of her chest. "And mine tells me..." Rei trailed off for a moment, as if deep in thought. "That you're a bitch?"
At the end, she tilted her head, gazing questioningly at Ritsuko... waiting for confirmation?
The doctor crushed her cigarette butt with force and massaged the bridge of her nose, grumbling quietly to herself: "Damn the internet." Realizing her daughter was still waiting for an answer, the blonde said, a bit more sharply than intended: "No, Rei, I am not a bitch."
Ayanami blinked slowly—a comparison to a frozen computer program popped into my head—and decided to go for a second round: "A slut then?" Akagi shook her head. "A bastard?" Her guardian gave her a heavy look. "Unprincipled scum?.."
"No, Rei," the doctor hissed through clenched teeth. "I am your foster mother."
"Oh..." Ayanami's mouth hung open in confusion. Seriously, one more step and she would go into a reboot, like a blue screen of death.
Glancing around frantically as if searching for an answer, Rei eventually settled on her proven method: she artlessly flashed Ritsuko her middle finger.
The blonde woman's face began to resemble a stone mask. Only a slight twitch of her lower eyelid hinted that the cracks were already forming.
I would have happily continued watching this free performance, of which I had involuntarily become an interactive spectator, but the fun was interrupted by Misato, who jumped to her feet with a nervous laugh.
"Right! Nuggets won't heat themselves! And who's drinking what? I can offer..." she swung the fridge open and, leaning over—her toned curves were a sight to behold, especially in the "buffer zone"—began listing: "There's water, orange juice, and beer. Shinji-kun, Rei-chan, the last one isn't for you!"
"Wasn't planning on it," I grunted. "My preferences are already known."
"Maniac," the Captain snorted playfully, tossing me the box of divine nectar without looking, which I caught deftly.
"Why can't I drink beer?" Rei frowned.
"Because you are a minor," Ritsuko noted dryly, having already snatched a can of beer for herself.
I expected Ayanami to fuss and object, but the girl cheated my expectations again, nodding with surprising calmness.
"Logical. Then give me plain water, Katsuragi-san."
"I told you: Misato. Mi-sa-to," the head of operations dictated syllable by syllable, raising an index finger in the air.
"As you wish, Katsuragi-san."
Misato let out a quiet moan, while Ritsuko smirked, seemingly pleased that she wasn't the only one catching flak from the stepdaughter.
I, choosing not to drink straight from the carton as usual, pulled a glass toward me and poured some juice. Noticing Rei's slightly interested gaze—the crimson of her eyes was truly intense, almost mesmerizing—I gave the half-empty box a suggestive shake.
"No, I won't, tha..." Ayanami definitely lacked some kind of built-in signaling system to warn of a critical error in the cerebral cortex. "Go to hell with such offers."
Hmm.
It feels as though my colleague in piloting giant robots is merely trying to act like a headstrong teenager, following a pre-written script. One that is absolutely raw and unpolished, causing her to constantly search the depths of her consciousness for the right response.
What can I say about that?
If it were some guy in her place, it would be definitely weird.
But like this...
She's a cutie.
"I'll be sure to go, just show me the way," I smiled mischievously.
"There's a road there?" my companion arched an eyebrow, looking genuinely interested.
"Of course, a well-trodden one, tested by countless other people," I replied imperturbably, trying not to laugh.
"But if you know about it, why not go yourself?" Rei tilted her head.
"Unfortunately, you can't get there alone without a guide," I said. The main thing was not to crack or break character, because the current situation was absurdly entertaining.
Ayanami rocked thoughtfully on the back legs of her chair, making the chains on her belt clink.
"Shinji-kun," Ritsuko looked at me disapprovingly. "Don't put dubious information into Rei's head. She gets enough from the internet as it is."
Caring mom mode? Or the quick realization that I could corrupt her ward far more than before, leading to extra headaches?
In any case, I didn't comment, resorting to my favorite strategy: I smiled softly and closed my eyes.
It immediately earned a comment from my peer: "Creepy."
Misato, who had quickly heated the nuggets in the microwave, set a full plate on the table with a clatter.
"See! That's what I mean! Shinji-kun, do you do that on purpose, or is it just in your blood like the Commander?" she winked mischievously, showing she was joking.
Nonetheless, I feigned confusion.
"What are you talking about?" Dropping the smile, I looked at the Captain with total indifference, mimicking my father. Fortunately, I'd seen that expression on him many times, especially when he was on the phone during our rare meetings. Or talking to my uncle.
For some reason, Gendo wasn't too fond of his cousin. And, generally speaking, the feeling was mutual.
Katsuragi's shoulders gave a chilly shudder and she quickly turned away, breaking eye contact first.
"In the blood, apparently," Ritsuko smiled with some satisfaction, and something like "interest" flashed in the depths of her greenish eyes. "I think in ten or twelve years, he'll be a carbon copy of Ikari-san."
Taking into account her intonation—almost imperceptible, but carrying notes of well-hidden pleasure—I started having questions about a certain odious individual who happens to be my only parent.
And, actually, it's quite strange.
Shouldn't Dr. Akagi act more composed, especially in the company of a practically unknown teenager? But for some reason, she acts the exact opposite, as if she's known me for years.
Questions, questions, questions...
"Are you going to meditate over the food for long?" Misato set an example, popping a hot nugget into her mouth and eating it quickly. "It'll get cold."
True enough.
Reflections are one thing, but dinner is on schedule.
With that thought, I joined the feast of the stomach, though calling it that was a grand exaggeration. Rei followed suit, awkwardly grabbing the chicken with her fingertips—I noticed her nails were also painted black. Akagi was the last, standing out by impaling the poor frozen product on a knife and eating it straight from the blade.
Watching this, I caught myself thinking that perhaps the internet wasn't the only one to blame for Ayanami's behavior. I was convinced of this when her daughter mirrored the gesture exactly a few seconds later, also pulling a small knife from her pocket.
So, here is what we have at the moment.
A loose woman with a penchant for beer, a scientist with a clearly dark past and an even more obscure present, and a young teenage girl with blatant social issues actively roleplaying a rebellious phase. And the only normal, completely sane guy with a crystal-clear reputation without a single blemish.
And a high-functioning sociopath is running the whole show.
Taking a sip of orange juice, I swirled it on my tongue, savoring the generous citrus flavor.
Sounds like the beginning of a very interesting and eventful life.
I like it.
---
After dinner, I tactfully fled the kitchen, realizing that Katsuragi and Akagi clearly weren't going to stop at a couple of cans of beer—specifically, the realization hit when the Captain slammed a second pack onto the table. Despite my lack of life experience in this department, I relied on the opinion of my elders, namely, my uncle. And his position was unequivocal: "In the company of drunk women, there are only two options: tactfully escape or play dead." The only exceptions were if one of them was your wife, mother, or daughter. Why sisters didn't make the list, I never quite understood.
Finding an excuse was easy: my things were still sitting in my room waiting to be unpacked. The argument was solid enough that they let me go without trouble. Though, as a parting shot, a already tipsy Misato managed to drop a line like, "Just don't keep the porn in plain sight."
I didn't bother disappointing her by saying I hadn't brought anything like that. She wouldn't believe me anyway, and attempts to justify myself would only egg her on. Then again, if she weren't tipsy, maybe I would have played at a verbal duel. But now?
No. Definitely no.
Closing the door behind me, I scratched my wrist, assessing the scale of the upcoming work, which, on closer inspection, was quite manageable. Throw clothes on shelves, arrange small trinkets, and... basically, that was it. One of the perks of traveling light is less hassle with organizing belongings.
Just as I opened the bag and shook everything out onto the futon, the door behind me slid quietly aside.
Turning my head, I looked questioningly at Rei, who stood calmly in the doorway, her ruby eyes gleaming.
"It's creepy in there," she said melancholically, and as if to confirm her words, a raucous burst of laughter from Misato echoed from the kitchen.
"And it's boring in here," I returned to my interrupted task.
"But quieter."
"True enough."
Ayanami, stepping quietly on bare feet, approached me and crouched down beside me, watching with interest as I folded t-shirts.
I had nothing against her presence nearby; I wasn't doing anything special anyway. It wasn't like she'd crawled into the shower with me. Although...
I glanced at the girl's thin, pale arms peeking out from under excessively large sleeves. Her fingers were also long and beautiful—the kind they call a "pianist's dream." Neat, not roughened.
Thoughtfully reaching out, I ran my thumb over the back of her hand, making Rei freeze in bewilderment.
Indeed, soft and pleasant-to-the-touch skin.
"Is this harassment?" Having thawed out, Ayanami inquired calmly, examining the spot I'd touched as if she expected to find a mark there.
"If it is," I met her eyes, keeping a light smile on my lips, "then what will you do?"
Rei tilted her head, reminding me of a confused puppy I just wanted to pet.
"I will scream, kick you in the groin, and punch you in the throat," the girl listed indifferently. "Because only moral degenerates touch girls without their permission."
Stacking the clothes, I stood up and placed them on the wardrobe shelf.
"So, I'm a moral degenerate?" I pedantically straightened a slightly out-of-place corner of a t-shirt.
"I don't know," hugging her knees, Rei burned a hole in my back with a stare that I could see through the wall mirror. "But you annoy me."
A bit creepy, considering her pupils glowed red.
"Why?" I sat back down, now sorting through my underwear.
"You look like Gendo," oh, I see. "And the bitch is warm toward you."
Akagi? Where did my peer manage to see warmth there?
"Just because of that?" I asked mockingly.
"Also you're a..." she thought for a bit before adding, "Normie."
At that, I raised an eyebrow, turning my whole body toward her.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"What a lamer," Rei sighed, shaking her head slightly. "You don't know the slang. That's why you're a normie."
Hearing that from her was so hilarious that I couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.
Apparently, it stung her a bit, as she immediately frowned and performed her signature middle-finger gesture. Monotonous. It needed some variety.
For the hell of it, grinning, I slapped my palm against my other elbow, throwing a fuck-you back at her.
One second. Two. Three.
Ayanami mirrored my movements exactly, leaving us staring at each other in a mirrored pose.
"Cutie," I commented, watching her reaction closely.
It took her a couple of moments to decode what she'd heard, after which she sulked and snapped back:
"Go to hell, I'm not a cutie. Only normies can be cute. I'm cool. And not at all like everyone else."
I had to bite my index finger to keep from collapsing onto the floor in a fit of Homeric laughter.
"Indeed," breathing through my nose, I leaned back, supporting myself with my hands on the floor. "You are unique," the wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out, "in your charm."
She frowned again.
Kami-sama, why is this so entertaining?
"Vile. Like Gendo," huffing quietly, Rei turned away, preferring to examine the contents of my bag dumped on the futon.
"Did my father ever give you compliments like that?" I arched an eyebrow.
"No," without asking permission, Ayanami picked up a small leather-bound notebook. "You both constantly cheat expectations."
I exhaled mentally, clearing my parent's name in my head. Not that I doubted him, but it was worth checking, because who knows: big bosses have a tendency to pick up strange deviations when it comes to satisfying base needs.
"What is this?" To her credit, the girl didn't open the entries without permission, turning the object over in her hands with curiosity.
"My personal diary," I smiled. "You can flip through it."
Rei looked at me in bewilderment.
"You aren't supposed to let strangers read stuff like this," despite her words, she pried the cover up slightly with a fingernail, as if fighting the urge to open it fully.
"Perhaps," I didn't argue, closing my eyes slightly and keeping the corners of my mouth upturned. "But I doubt you'll find any serious dirt in there. So—go ahead, I give the okay."
After a staring contest to make sure I wasn't joking, Rei carefully opened the diary to the first page.
"March first, twenty-ten. Morning—four. Lunch—eight. Evening—six. Night—three," Ayanami read the top lines aloud.
Blinking in confusion, she looked down.
"March fifth of the same year. Morning—two. Lunch—ten. Evening—three. Night—one," her eyes scanned the whole page before she quickly flipped several sheets. "June sixth, twenty-eleven. Morning—zero. Lunch—zero. Evening—zero. Night—minus?.."
Completely baffled, Rei flipped through the entire diary, no longer reading aloud. Reaching the last page, she tilted her head.
"March eleventh, twenty-fifteen. Morning—eight, day—ten, lunch—ten..."
Fishing a pen out of my things, I held it out to her.
"Write the next one: 'Evening—ten'."
Staring in surprise at the object I'd given her, Rei slowly nodded and, writing what I dictated, returned the diary and the pen.
Hmm, nice handwriting. She clearly studied calligraphy; the letters were even, not jumping, the lines soft. They say you can determine a person's character by that. Too bad I'm a total amateur in that field.
Grunting with satisfaction, I placed the diary on the desk, aligning it with the right angle of the edge. At the same time, I put my underwear away.
"So what do these entries mean?" Rei asked once I sat back down, finally stopping her tensing and hugging her knees, adopting a more relaxed pose. She was getting used to my company, which was definitely a good sign.
"Simple marks," I looked around, realizing I'd unpacked the main things. "Four snapshots a day where I rate my own mood."
"Why?" Okay, I'll be honest too; right now her ruby eyes weren't bothering me as much.
"Statistics."
"Why?" Ayanami repeated, wanting to get to the truth.
"And why do people paint their nails or wear chains on their belts?" I specifically chose a comparison that touched on the girl herself.
"I like it," my companion stiffened slightly.
"And I like keeping statistics," I smiled broadly.
Crumpling the edge of her skull-print t-shirt with her fingers, my colleague in misfortune sighed and shook her head, causing her thick mop of long blue hair to scatter over her shoulders.
There's a certain charm in such a messy hairstyle. It gives off a deliberate wildness and literally speaks of a challenge to society. At least, that was likely the meaning Rei wanted to give her appearance.
"You're still a normie," the girl declared out of the blue and then, without any preamble, reached forward and poked my wrist. "What's this scar?"
"This one?" I lifted my arm, letting her properly see the two deep lines crossing each other to form a sort of cross. "I had a bad fall as a kid."
"And that's it?" Ayanami, running the pads of her fingers over the rough skin of my scar, pulled back disapprovingly. "Truly a lamer. Not even a story to it."
Smirking, I kept the smile on my face.
"Don't look for a hidden meaning in everything, Ayanami-chan," I addressed her by surname for the first time. "Sometimes it just doesn't exist. As they say, oranges are oranges."
"What do oranges have to do with it?" Rei arched an eyebrow.
I wasn't destined to answer, for at that very moment, the door to the room swung open and Ritsuko peeked in.
"Shinji-kun," despite her flushed face and obvious state of intoxication, her speech remained clear and intelligible. "Rei and I are leaving. You help Misato get to her room."
Apparently, Katsuragi-san was much weaker than her friend in this regard.
Then again... they managed to get loaded in just half an hour? Or however long my talk with Rei took? I thought they'd be more tolerant to saturating their systems with alcohol. The Captain especially, considering how deftly she'd been knocking back one can after another.
Maybe that was the problem. Too much alcohol in too short a time can floor anyone. Especially against a backdrop of physical and mental exhaustion.
Be that as it may, facts are facts.
Two lonely ladies (still not sure about Ritsuko) let loose and got well and truly hammered. And who has to deal with it? The sober one, of course.
Which meant me. No hope for Ayanami.
Rising to my feet in a fluid motion, I walked over to Akagi-san, feeling the strong smell of alcohol coming from her, mixed with tobacco smoke.
"No problem."
Didn't I want new experiences? I did.
And the Universe loves to grant the wishes of those who ask for them intensely.
---
"Right, we're off," Akagi waved feebly, pulling a disgruntled Rei after her, who was trying to break free from the doctor's firm grip. Realizing she wouldn't succeed, she obeyed her guardian. "Sweet dreams, Shinji-kun."
"And to you," I smiled, glancing at Ayanami.
She, pausing in thought, looked me straight in the eyes and, slapping her palm against her other elbow, showed me the middle finger.
I repeat: a cutie.
Waiting until they stepped into the corridor (and entered the neighboring apartment), I locked the door and returned to the kitchen, where the Captain was waiting for me.
The girl was sprawled across the table, using her arm as a pillow, and was fast asleep, occasionally mumbling something to herself.
Well, people cope with accumulated stress in different ways. Some get sucked into games, some walk or engage in physical activity (including bedroom antics), and some drink. A shame, really, that the last method is the most deceptively simple in its essence.
Walking up to Misato, I shook her shoulder, but no coherent reaction followed. Attempts to call her name didn't work either.
Alcohol doesn't bring peace and never did. Only a strong illusion of that effect.
Hooking my arms under Katsuragi's knees, I "toppled" the girl toward me, picking her up so that her head rested on my shoulder. Fortunately, our heights were almost the same now (as my uncle said: I'm quite the overgrowth for my age).
Our nerves are like springs. The harder reality presses on them, the stronger the recoil will be. You can relax them, reducing the tension, but doing so through excessive libations is a serious mistake.
Carefully navigating around corners to ensure my precious "cargo" didn't strike any body part against them, I stepped into the corridor. I believed her room was the very first one. Kicking the door open, I saw I was right.
See, alcohol tricks the mind, saying the springs have relaxed and life can go on. But in reality, they just push down further, ready to explode with momentum at any second. And, worst of all, the state of intoxication needs to be renewed more and more often, because... it's easy. It's alluring. It grants a sense of self-deception.
And people are incredibly susceptible to that.
Stepping around scattered clothes and trash, I laid Misato down on an already spread futon. The girl, smacking her lips, stretched, causing her top to tighten treacherously over her chest, and after some shuffling, she kicked her shorts off in her sleep with a practiced gesture (nearly hitting me in the nose).
Black, lace. With a tiny black bow, too.
I scratched my wrist, took a deep breath, and, cursing under my breath, slipped out of the room, strangling the urge to turn back and look some more.
Closing the door behind me, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, gathering my thoughts. Once I got my head and hormones in order, I trotted back to the kitchen.
First, the empty cans needed to be cleared and the place brought back to a decent state.
Second, juice is juice, but eating a proper orange before bed is the sacred duty of every self-respecting normie.
Taking a juicy fruit from the fridge, I tossed it in the air and, catching it, squeezed slightly with my fingers, making the peel burst.
Orange drops, pushed out of the yielding pulp, ran down my fingers.
Lifting my hand, I watched indifferently as, curving around my palm, they slowly drifted toward the cross-shaped scar on my wrist, filling it.
Night—zero.