Chapter Text
Even if her knees will never obey again without that frustrated clicking–
Even if her legs will forever wobble as she rises, whether they’ve weathered a day’s training or not–
Even if falling to the ground is the ultimate obstacle, and lifting herself is no longer something she can do alone–
The urge to race will always be there.
Her heels tap-tap-tap along as she watches Jungle Pocket’s latest win, eyes flicking between the race footage and the EKG monitors. Oh, how dear Jungle Pocket-kun had hemmed and hawed about having so many wires hidden beneath her signature racewear, blamed Agnes Tachyon in advance any loss in performance… and how quickly she had perked back up, on the cusp of rage, with one simple question!
‘So you’ve already decided to lose, then?’
Curses spat from her tongue and fire pouring forth from her healthy lungs. The effect was robbed by the careful way she rose, doing her best not to disturb Manhattan Cafe’s arrangement of delicate porcelain cups. She’s so predictable as to be utterly boring.
Yet her predictability on the field is her most valuable asset. It may, in fact, be a thing Agnes Tachyon could say she “loves”.
Tap-tap-tap. Rattle-rattle, goes her own teacup, full of all the sugar Manhattan Cafe so despises. From the corner of her eye she spots Manhattan Cafe giving it a weary look; Agnes Tachyon goes to clasp it in her oversleeved hand, grinning.
‘Why, you served it to me,’ Agnes Tachyon points out. She pauses her feeds, acknowledging that her concentration has slipped away. Such an unfortunate side effect of caring about others: one can no longer devote every resource to herself. ‘Would you like to lodge a complaint? I can direct you to the woman responsible.’ And so, she points at Manhattan Cafe herself.
The slip of a shadow turns away, clasping her mug in both hands. ‘You’re spilling on Jungle Pocket’s rug. She’s going to be mad.’
‘Such is the price one pays when they choose to move in,’ dismisses Agnes Tachyon. What matters is that her sleeves are pristine. ‘It was a tight fit to begin with. Are you blaming me for where she chooses to put her things?’
‘I don’t care,’ Manhattan Cafe sighs. ‘Just keep it down when she picks a fight.’
‘I can promise no such thing!’
‘Hmph.’
Manhattan Cafe’s eyes now track her invisible friend on a carousel ride around the room. Agnes Tachyon turns back to her computer, feet a-drumming.
Interesting, isn’t it? How a mere word from Manhattan Cafe makes the tea taste even sweeter.
Fascinating, wouldn’t one suppose? That a reminder of Jungle Pocket and Manhattan Cafe’s existences dials down the pain in her legs.
How utterly pointless. How entirely antithetical to the objective that is objectifying herself and batting her feelings away.
‘Ah,’ she laments, ‘Uncontrolled factors have once again contaminated my research.’
‘You’ll live.’
‘Will I? After Jungle Pocket-kun strangles me for her rug?’
Manhattan Cafe smirks. ‘Maybe.’
Maybe, indeed!