Devotion
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Devotion free porn video
Feldis told himself he wouldn't cry on the ship away from Eden Station. With the help of an embroidery needle worked two inches deep into his thigh, he succeeded. He told himself he wouldn't show anyone - not a single member of the congregation, not the indifferent pilot, and not a single passenger- that he was dying on the inside. No one would ever know that he'd spent his final night on the station sobbing himself dry, or that he'd bent his fingernails back clawing bits of stone out of the walls as keepsakes, or that his final meal consisted solely of carefully wrapped trinkets, so he could carry secrets in his stomach to keep the ones in his brain company.
It was simply Feldis's nature. When he swore an oath, no matter how big or small, he kept it, at any cost. Arch Keeper Andrett had called Feldis 'stubborn' a thousand times as he tried to wear down the junior keeper's defenses. When Feldis's stubbornness kept records straight and halls clean, Andrett would call it 'the crown jewel of his personality. When it kept his door and legs closed, it became 'a problem', 'a flaw to work on', or 'something that'll get you hurt one of these days.'
The Arch Keeper must have wanted his ousting to be a quiet affair, as the ship that came to whisk him away from all he'd ever known was practically microscopic. Feldis held onto that thought tightly. If his ousting was quiet and shameful, then perhaps only Eden Station-112 would know, and he could go to the Eden embassy in whatever city - he's sure they're called 'cities' - the ship landed in, and transfer to a new Station, and all would be well.
If not...
He didn't know what he'd do. He'd barely had half a day to prepare, from that disastrous encounter with Andrett, to the moment he knew he would be torn from Station-112 forever, to the moment he went to the docking bay for the first and final time in his life. He wrapped relics in cling wrap between feverish bouts of research, trying to decipher the descriptions of the lives of the rest of the galaxy. He'd need money, whatever that was. He'd need a job- no problem, as he'd been working his entire life. He'd need a strange, massive cell called an apartment, and a vehicle, and a partner, and tax records, and a doctor, and a wristwatch, and this and that and this, until his head felt like exploding at the sheer volume of things needed.
But he wouldn't need that, he told himself. The affair was so quiet that he could get an assignment to a new station, he could keep his damn head down this time, and he could live a long, quiet life with this mess acting as nothing but a knot in an otherwise neat and tidy thread.
But if he was wrong-
He yanked the needle out of his thigh and stabbed it in before he could follow that train of thought again, the pain rocketing up his body in thin, sharp streaks and shattering his thoughts like glass. Feldis sighed softly as silence bloomed in his head, and relaxed further into the seat, an errant spring digging deeper into his spine.
There were few other passengers in the cabin, all looking some combination of exhausted or bored. Feldis felt sharply out of place in the group. For one, everyone else had some sort of device to entertain themselves, whether it be a screen to look at, big or small, or something to stick in or over their ears. Feldis had a single suitcase held over his lap, and a thick needle to surreptitiously jab in and out of his abused thigh as anxiety waxed and waned inside him.
Aside from that, they were all dressed richly, even when they weren't wearing much at all. Their clothes were practically drenched in color, a harsh contrast to the neutrals and greys of the Eden Stations, and between the seven people he could see, they didn't have a single matching garment. He could see two women wearing skirts from his spot in the cabin, and while one of them wore a pleated skirt no longer than her hand, the other wore a long, sheer skirt that trailed to the ground, with a second, shorter one underneath, stitched together with a softly glowing thread. Feldis had always been vaguely aware that the outside world was much looser in its dress code from the few bits of media that wafted up to the Station, but picking apart photos of the crowds and actually being in a crowd -however small- were incomparable experiences.
He already felt he was drowning, and he'd only sampled a fraction of the outside world. But this was just a short, insane journey, and when he'd been reassigned he could tell his new keepers all about the excitement of transferring there.
He hoped. The needle jerked in and out of him again.
As nerve-wracking as the flight to City Arcadia had been, it was a mere whisper compared to the tidal wave of noise and sights that the city itself was. Feldis could barely keep up with the constant buzz of conversation and boarding announcements until it all melded together in his ears and all the sights of bodies and advertisements and buildings mixed as well.
Everything blended together until it felt as complicated and as meaningless as wading through a sea of confetti and bullhorns. He knew he must have asked an employee for directions to the Embassy and gotten there somehow, but the journey felt like television static when he tried to go back to it. Had he walked the entire way? Or taken a train? Didn't he have to pay? He remembered handing over something blue.
But it was nothing but overstimulating mush until he found himself in the Embassy itself.
The Embassy of The Keepers of Eden felt like a home away from home, with its cold, grey stone and precise, geometric architecture. The constant screams of the city outside became a mere grumble here, and Feldis wrote a ticket and sat to wait with ease, reveling in the crowd that was a mere sip of water compared to the seas of people he'd waded through to get there.
Not that a small crowd meant a small wait. Feldis had to entertain himself for hours by watching the sun drift from one narrow window to another as people slowly filtered into the offices hidden behind the reception desk based on the prompts of the soft=spoken man reciting numbers behind the desk. When they finally departed, the noise of the city filtered in as they opened the door, marking the time as the hours ticked by.
The Sun was crawling into the last window on the eastern wall by the time Feldis' case number was finally called. "Finally," he whispered, rising to his feet and walking towards the office the receptionist pointed him towards.
The office itself was plain and unassuming, much like everything else about the Keepers. The colors were all beige and taupe with wooden textures and white, clean accents all around. The woman behind the desk looked as if she'd been genetically engineered to sit in that chair, with her dark skin that matched her desk and tightly pulled back hair, secured with a clip that matched her desk lamp.
"Case number 0112 dash 335 dash 413, correct?" She didn't look up at him.
"Correct." He slid into the wood-and-pleather chair in front of the desk.
"Name and Keeper ID?" Her eyes drifted to her computer without ever crossing his.
"Feldis Coldwater... ID is 1 dash 227 dash 612 dash 001025."
She entered his ID in a disinterested clatter of keystrokes, then paused.
She suddenly pulled back in her seat, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Could you read that out again? Slowly?"
"Oh, yes, Um...." He did, his every letter followed by her slow, deliberate tap of a key. He felt his heart beginning to hammer in his chest, his hindbrain screaming what his forebrain had told it hours ago. The needle ran in and out of his thigh again, and he was glad he wore dark trousers to hide the polka-dot bloodstains.
The woman tapped the final key and took a deep breath as she leaned closer to her computer. "I... I'm sorry, Mr. Coldwater, but it looks like your excommunication was processed a few hours ago." Something new shined through the woman's posture: fear. She knew if she helped him for too long, or if anyone even suspected she'd helped him that she could be cut out as well. "With prejudice."
'With prejudice'. So even if he lived a thousand years and tried to come back after hoping into a dozen different bodies, they'd turn him away at the door. So he was a danger to any Keeper he was near. So if this meeting went on any longer, this poor woman would be cut out as well just in case.
"Submit an address and the full report will be mailed to you, sir." Her tone was strained, he could practically see her count the seconds he'd been in her office. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing else I can do for you."
"Okay," Feldis said. The word felt as thin and weak as water as it dribbled out of his mouth. "Okay, then." He rose stiffly. "Goodbye." He turned around sharply and walked out of the embassy, the once neutral air seeming to curdle around him. None of this felt like mere office space anymore- it felt like enemy territory, a place where the air itself was made of knives, and it all casually sliced into him as he marched out. He felt his entire being burn with shame. He felt as if everyone in the room was staring at him- and in horror, he realized they were as he peeked at the waiting section out of the corner of his eye.
He walked faster, the sound of his hasty breaths ricocheting off the walls as he beelined for the doors. He couldn't stand this- everyone was watching. Did everyone here know his name? What he'd done? What he'd really, truly done, and not what the Arch Keeper had likely said? His throat felt like it was swelling up in a merciful attempt to strangle him and put him out of his misery. He doubled his pace, practically running down the long, mirrored halls, and crashed into the doors, throwing them open and taking a deep, shuddering breath as the smog-laced city air smacked him in the face.
A soft breeze snaked through the tight, twisted corridors of the city, but Feldis felt himself shiver as if he'd been thrust into ice water. He felt as if he'd left his soul in that grey, upholstered seat a hundred meters away, and the world seemed to bleed danger now as he looked around in horror, knowing he'd be forced to sink into its depths and exist in these neon moors for the rest of his life.
He took a deep breath, swallowed thickly, and made himself a promise. He was going to survive here. Hell, if he could, he was going to thrive here. All to deny Arch Keeper Andrett the satisfaction of damning him.
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