[AU][Fic] MOAR
Contrary to popular belief - and it was a popular belief, and a loud one, and a quite lasting one - Kamina did not especially hold any love for the city named after him. He considered it too loud, too brash, and too noisy; complaints which usually brought a wide sniggering grin from Simon and a pealing laugh from Yoko, and which would inevitably end in good-natured shouting arguments. It was, in his opinion, too full of useless empty bureaucracy and useless empty bastards, taking Simon and the Gurren Brigade's (for he would never, ever deign to call it 'the government') hard work and sweat for granted, though Kamina would begrudgingly admit - at length, and often only when Nia pressed him on it - that it was at least full of vibrant life, and that the open skies above teemed with possibility.
Most of all, he made faces at the gigantic centrepiece of the city: the statue of himself, and the smaller one of a younger Simon. It was a slight sticking point between both the two of them and the secretary of state - Kamina had objected, stating there was only one Great Kamina-sama and he wasn't a stony bastard yet, Rossiu had practically demanded it, citing it necessary as a sign for the people, and Simon had out of nowhere insisted upon a compromise, and the depth of his insistence had been enough to jar the other two aside. It remained unspoken about - though it annoyed Kamina in some vague fashion he couldn't put his finger upon, he could endure it for the length of the frequent visits they made to the city.
Lengthy experience had taught him to stand well clear of a subsection of Yoko's forays into the middle-city: a long and stressful day of being dragged, sulkily, into shop after shop tended to leave things a little strained between the pair of them, and Yoko quickly learnt that a bored Kamina just spelt even more trouble. More than a few times their subsequent arguments had levelled parts of city blocks; more than a few times Yoko's placating visits to some of the racier stores had-caused a somewhat different public nuisance with similar end results. And once, he recalled with a shudder, he had been forced into a tie.
Naturally, then, Kamina made it his duty to be as loud and proud as he could whenever he visited the town, and if not accompanying Yoko he usually blustered his way around a well-worn loop that he stubbornly insisted was no such thing as a routine. A visit to Dayakka's was typically first, to pay his respects to the eldest and pick up the youngest of the Black Brigade Sisters; the latter of which would usually come complete with about a dozen methods of getting into the central tower to see Simon and the others, which was the natural second step. Whenever he finally emerged or whenever Rossiu managed to successfully divert him, he'd look after his own shopping list; there were some things you just couldn't get as easily on the islands, after all, and there was usually a list of tobaccos and drinks that grateful men of the village wanted to get their hands on.
Finally, with an armful of various foods and a loping spring in his gait, he'd make it to one of the smaller parks dotted around the central plaza, this one coupled with a pink summer house, present a wizened old beastman with one of the smaller bottles to receive an enormous and toothy grin that he returned in kind, and lay back on the grass to watch the sky fade to a purple sunset. Inevitably and in order, Nia, Yoko then Simon would arrive, sitting down around him, and they'd end the evening catching up. This part of the plan at least was set in stone; more than once they'd had to carry a sleeping schoolchild or two on a day trip (or, a few times, a blind-drunk Kiyon) back home.
Today, however, nothing had really gone according to plan. None of the sisters had been around, a fact which he disliked but accepted - the baby due any day, tests and watchful eyes were par for the course, and there was nothing to be done about that. Rossiu had finally cornered Simon, who had apparently been hiding for the past three days in fear of a particularly virulent outbreak of forms that had to be signed right now: a fresh and stern-faced pair of temporary extra guards and a sheepish shrug from the two regulars had left Kamina grumbling and stalking off.
The run through the shopping quarter had similarly been fruitless, or worse than fruitless. The tobacconist that was his favorite, run by a wizened old coot with bottle-rim glasses whom Kamina admired for his ability to take out any leg at fifty paces with his cane, was closed 'for repairs' - long scars and scratches marred the framework of a broken window where thugs had thrown half-bricks. When a tigerchild ran past, jeering at the storefront at the top of his lungs and subsequently finding himself held against the wall by an angry human demanding to know who the fuck he was, things had gone from bad to worse: the police squad stated two minutes later that the adult shouldn't hurt the child, deaf to protests that the complete opposite had been the case.
He had arrived at Nia's with hackles raised, veins and head throbbing, and an unpleasant sinking feeling of uselessness he was trying quite hard to forget about; it was quite impossible to tell whether the pink figure on the lakeshore, signifying that even Nia was ahead of him that day, was welcome or unwanted. After a brief warring moment - he liked Nia well enough, just as he did all of Yoko's kids, but sometimes they could all get so wearying - he dropped with a growl to flop next to her, turning quickly to one side with his back hunched and face hidden by his hair - a full-on Kamina Sulk that incongruously had the young woman pealing with laughter.
When he glared owlishly at her over one shoulder she only shook her head and continued laughing for a moment more. He was only just settling into a steady stream of sotto voce grumbling when she finally relented. "I am sorry, Kamina," she explained - with a smile, of course - after catching her breath, "You looked so much like Mrs. Yoko, I could not help it. What is the matter?"
With infinite patience and not a little experience in the matter, she waited out the grumbling with aplomb: generally, she had found, it was better to let Kamina come to his own conclusions then gently agree with them as necessary. She had expected a minor niggle, or Yoko telling him to leave her alone while she finished up her own trip around town; what she had emphatically not expected was a lengthy and quite unpleasantly bold and forthright account of the City, the myriad ways in which he was disappointed in it and it's inhabitants, of their not doing anything or seeing anything worth a damn, and--"--and it ain't Simon's drill any more! I don't know what th'fuck it is, but it ain't that!" he finished on a surprisingly strained crescendo before, looking like Yoko or not, he twisted on his haunches to once again turn his back to her, and stare off into the distance.
A slight rustling behind him signified Nia's response; she turned, staring at the far horizon and smiling serenely as they watched the sun dip below the cityscape. Vaguely aware that this was important, it was a lengthy time before she next spoke: by then, half of the sun had fallen below the row of skyscrapers, and the evening air was turning a pleasant orange. "Of course it is not," she replied placidly and yet somehow sternly, and that was more than enough for her to get Kamina's stunned and full attention as she shifted over towards him to splay a hand on his chest, "This is Simon's drill." She brought her hand to her own torso, closing her eyes with the tiniest of smiles; "This too is Simon's drill." A pointed finger towards a distant but approaching blob of bright red; "That is also Simon's drill." Swivelling, to indicate the Commander-in-Chief's office; "Simon himself is Simon's drill. And that, too, is Simon's drill."
Here she turned, pointing off into the distance, and the force of her voice was easily enough to drag Kamina's sightline along for the ride. Glinting as it caught the last rays of the sun, sending a flare across the rooftops from where it dominated the central part of the skyline, the drillhead of the massive orbital rocket still in production pointed at the skies, waiting for the chance to soar upwards.
He hadn't realised he'd been staring at it until she abruptly dropped her arm, sending him blinking back to reality; he vaguely realised she was smiling again, with unmistakable mirth dancing in her eyes: not mocking, as the Princess probably didn't even know the word. Just amused, perhaps, that she was having to remind him of all people. "Simon's drill is not exactly Kamina's drill. But that is alright, is it not? Simon is Simon. Kamina is Kamina."
Still reeling, it was all Kamina could do to make an affirmative noise, then immediately drop his head and yank bodily at his hair with a heavy and lengthy sigh that somehow made him feel a world better. From somewhere to the left, Nia continued.
"Just as Nia is Nia. And just as Yoko is late."
"E-ehh?!"
-- and there was the gentle mocking.