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“Cissia.” His voice feels hardly any different from how it usually does when he finds out she smashed another window. She’s already starting to sweat when he adds, “Why are you scared of me?”
The question itself is so ridiculous that not only does it take at least five seconds of total silence for her to process it—when she does process it, all she can come up with is that he must be mocking her.
Why is she scared of him? Why do birds fly? Why is water wet?
When she finally finds the guts to steer her face back into eye contact, Severian is already looking at her.
He doesn’t look like he’s joking.
“Wh—wha—” she stammers, the word quite literally stuck in her throat. “What.”
She’s already expecting him to look annoyed. That’s all she ever expects him to look like, to be honest.
Severian doesn’t even blink when he repeats, “Why are you scared of me?”
“Uh,” she says, drawing out the syllable a little longer than necessary. What does he want her to say? Is this a test? Is he testing her? Wrong answer, and boom—jobless? In jail? Is it a trick question? Does he hate her? Why does he hate her? Her last mission was a success! She didn’t even break anything. Why now? What the fuck? “Um.”
He does blink this time, though if anything that somehow just makes it worse.
Why is he here? She thought she was meeting Jane. She has a text to prove it! The last thing she wanted to do tonight was look at the devil, let alone talk to him—let alone figure out mind games! With her life on the line!
“Haha.” Cissia blinks at him in return. What…! “Because you’re my boss!”
“I see,” he says, then just fucking nods at her—he’s a little wobbly with it, too, with the way he’s slowly but surely having his elbows on that poor handrail bear his entire body weight, but maybe that’s just the sleep deprivation playing tricks on her. He’s not going to fall off the roof, is he? “I can’t say I’m as scared of my boss as you are of me.”
Well, duh, your boss isn’t a super mean demon, are they?
She does not say that out loud. Hopefully.
He keeps staring at her, which can only mean she probably didn’t. Emphasis on probably. He would totally react like that to being insulted. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him react to anything. Man, can’t he really just look anywhere else?
“Haha,” she says again, more of a word than actual laughter. Why would Jane do this to her, there’s no way she put her up to this unknowingly, it’s a total set-up, why, why— “Nerves of steel, sir!”
What the fuck is she talking about—
“Am I that strict with you?” he asks, his gaze a little unfocused, kind of like he didn’t even hear a word of what she said. Not that it’s a bad thing. A stroke of good luck, even! “Did you not like those Fantasy Resort vouchers? We can probably get something different next time.”
Thank goodness she’s not a cartoon character, otherwise giant question marks would be sprouting out of her hair.
“Oh, no no nonono—” she rushes out, eyes widening, mouth seconds away from falling open. “That’s not—haha, sir, there really was no problem with them, I even used them! I swear!”
Severian nods again. “Mhm, that’s good to hear—resting is important.”
They’re really going to have to pick up her discarded jaw all the way inside the Lemnian Hollow.
“Totally,” she says. Totally. “And it’s late, which is why we should all be heading to bed, now! To rest! Sir!”
“You can go,” he says, which is as good of a dismissal as any other. Cissia is already gearing up for escape when Severian lets go of the handrail, straightens up his back, and walks up to her, and then— “My brother says it’s my dreadful personality. I don’t think he likes me, either. Am I that bad?”
Every muscle in Cissia’s body freezes up before she can take a single step backwards.
What is he talking about? Why is he so close? Why is he leaning in?
“You’re… I—ehh?!”
He lifts one hand, brings it up to her face, stare so piercing her knees start trembling, and—
Severian Demon Lowell pats her head and ruffles her hair.
“I know I’m not the easiest to work with, but it does still hurt my feelings, you know?” He tilts his head a bit to the side, and it’s just so uncharacteristically childish. She’s not breathing. She hasn’t felt air in her lungs or the existence of her knees for the past five minutes. He’s still touching her hair, and his touch is gentle. “You are an asset but you don’t make my job easy, and I do have superiors to report to. You get that, yes?”
She can’t even bring herself to formulate a single word. Forget the lack of air—there’s so much blood rushing to her face she might start sizzling in three, two, one—
He sniffs. She didn’t think his face could do that.
“This is why I don’t drink,” he says. The sudden absence of his stupid big warm hand petting her head almost makes her gasp. He’s turning his back to her when he says, “Go home, Cissia.”
Those three words are enough to send her bolting out of the building with a barely audible yes, sir and spikes under her feet.
Dog food indigestion. Induced coma. Heat death of the universe. There is no other explanation for a single thing she just heard.
It hurts my feelings. Huh.
Her heart rate doesn’t return to normal for at least fifteen minutes.
✉️ DONT PICK UP — 6:03AM
Never mention a single word of that to anyone and forget it ever happened.
Cissia has never been happier to obey one of his orders.