into the world (Calliope & Arthur) [Galaxy's funeral]
Jan 6, 2015 0:48:47 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 6, 2015 0:48:47 GMT -5
His daughter is beautiful, dressed in what looks like pure gold - it sparkles every time she twitches or shakes her leg and her hair's all done up in an intricate bun, exactly how Rose would always wear it. It's uncanny to watch, like they're both back from the dead and he can see Galaxy's shoulders rise and fall every time she breathes.
She's immediately combative with Caesar Flickerman, refusing to let him address her by her first name and he's got to hand it to the man, he can make almost anything seem like a great joke. Galaxy's responses are, at the very least, honest ("Is there anyone special at home-" "Special what do you mean by special? If you're gonna ask me if I'm seeing anyone just be straight out with it." "Well well, we've got a feisty one here with us tonight folks." The audience laughs).
"Well, Miss Rose-Clements, do you miss anything in particular from back home?"
There's a pause before she responds. "Everything."
He turns the television off, slowly rubbing his temples.
The building isn't empty tonight, he can hear custodians sweeping the floors and in the next room over he hears one of his colleagues berating someone about laboratory safety - it's probably an intern. But they never enter his office any more without knocking three times and waiting for him to open the door. They must know that he'll want to hide his spare set of clothes and can of dry shampoo in his desk drawer, or his pillow in the filing cabinet. it's better that way, to pretend like nothing's wrong because if they ask he'll tell them to get back to work, that nothing's wrong.
Even he knows he's lying to himself. This evening, he logs off of his computer, nearly filled to capacity with 15 years of lab data, takes the bus back home to grab his suit (and a package that he's moved from under her bed to the dining room table), before heading towards the Justice Building. The officials look at him with disdain, but he knows why. Hardly anybody else has ever put up such a fight to keep their daughter from being sent back down into the earth. Lots of paperwork was required.
Quite a few people have shown up to the funeral service. There's the astronomers that Galaxy interned under (the department sits together, a deja vu 11 years in the making having washed over them), the mayor, peacekeepers, teachers - not many classmates, maybe just one. Only one really mattered to Galaxy anyway. Praxis doesn't seem to have shown up yet and he's relieved.
They had asked him to speak at her ceremony, and he hadn't known what to do when all of his words had been wasted on yelling at her just to convince a girl just as stubborn as he was to change her ways so that she would live a life worth living. All his words were wasted on begging to get Galaxy into the coma program, under the care of a man who was revered to be the best of the best, that if she were to ever awaken it would be under his care. All his words were wasted on empty rooms and empty hallways in a house as cold as death, and a television screen that hadn't yet discovered the capabilities for two way communication.
But he said yes anyway.
After the mayor speaks (formal, praising her bravery and her determination. Doesn't know her at all.), Galaxy's supervisor comes up for the entire astrology department with tears in her eyes and a shaky breath - she notes on how inspired Galaxy was by her mother, how she always worked to finish the humongous starsheet Rose had mapped out for herself. After her death the entire team worked together for a week nonstop, and now it's finished.
They've even brought it with them, draping it over her coffin like a blanket (after she steps down, she whispers to Arthur that they've kept a carbon copy in their records, that his family's research won't have been in vain. He says thank you, even though he knows that she knows how little he truly cares about it all - Galaxy must have spouted something or other in the 3 years she worked there).
It's his turn afterwards, and he steps up to the podium with shaking hands and knees that would prefer to not have weight on them.
"Thank you for coming." He coughs once before continuing.
"When Rose and I would take Galaxy out stargazing - she was maybe 4 or 5 at the time - she would always remark on how big it all was. That's why she told me she wanted to study astrology as well. 'It's so big,' she would say. 'I have to discover what's out there.' And so time after time she'd ignore me, I know you all know what I thought about Rose's occupation and I'm sure Galaxy affirmed it for you-"
He pauses as they laugh.
"She loved every minute she spent in the stars. Not everyone understood that, but she always did what she wanted to do. And when she fell off the observatory I thought that was all she would ever have done, spent her life above the clouds. But she woke up from that coma a few months ago, and last month she was home."
He pauses again, not because he wants to but because he has to.
"And I am happy that I was able to spend time with her again, even though it was cut short. We'll always cherish the wonderful moment's we've had with a wonderful girl."
He can't continue any longer, so he cuts off with a brisk thank you and walks back to his seat as the mayor concludes the ceremony and helps out when Galaxy's coffin is lifted and carried out of the building.
They trudge to the outskirts of the districts, where sidewalks end and metal gives way to dried patches of grass. There's a few people gathered around the pillars of wood and hay that have been stacked in a pile - many who've attended the service have opted out on attending the pyre. His coworkers were confused as well: the dramatic was never Arthur's flair. But he could never stand to send her back down into the darkness. She would be happier among the stars, among the seas and the forests and the rooftops and wherever the wind would take her.
He tries to keep thinking that when they light the pyre. And it erupts beautifully, bright and smoky and as loud as Galaxy was in life. Arthur watches it, watches as his daughter is let out into the atmosphere. There's loud chatter among the bystanders, some laughter - he doesn't mind, Galaxy wouldn't have wanted her funeral to be so serious.
He's standing next to a girl, a girl who he's spotted chatting with Galaxy when she was still cooped up in the ward. And if he has the name right, she's the one who Galaxy's package needs to be delivered to.
"Calliope?" He asks. It's more of a statement than a question - the two of them know who each other is, they've just never formally met.
"Thank you, for coming,"
