Arknights | Anything Could Be Holy Enough

[veryroundbird]

Rating: Mild
Words: 1310
Characters: Ambriel, Mostima, (+ cameo Fiammetta)
Relationships: Ambriel/Mostima
Summary: On shore leave, Ambriel runs into someone surprising while shopping, and none of it is remotely what she expected.
Notes: For Arknights WLW Week 2021, Day 2. I decided to try and write as many rarepairs as humanly possible, to see if I could

---

Of all the people Ambriel expeted to run into on shore leave—

...well, and especially of all the places, too, in this brightly-lit clothing store with cheerful pop music playing tinny from the speakers. Like, she's heard of her, who hasn't, if you're a Sankta and you hang out with Rhodes Island, but Ambriel's never actually run into her when she's making deliveries to the landship, and—

"Heya," says the fallen angel, pausing at pawing through the rack of fashionable blouses and taking a sip of her to-go coffee. "What's up?"

---

Geez. And here she's been, trying to stay out of things that are way above her pay grade, and here's Mostima of all people hanging out here. She's not going to ask why she doesn't have an obvious shadow handler, or anything, because that's getting into it, and Ambriel doesn't want to have to fill out paperwork. If there's trouble, she'll absolutely have to fill out paperwork, or rather, dodge that stiff Executor while he tries to get her to do it.

So, like, she's not going to tattle. She might be a citizen of Laterano, but she's bored of snitching. "What do you think about this one?" she says, holding up a strappy little summertime romper with pleated shorts in yellow.

Mostima adopts a thinking pose, tapping her finger to her chin. "I'm not sure if I'm into the yellow for you," she says. "What if..."

She looks back to the rack, and pulls out a hanger—the same style, but in a jewel-like teal to hold up to Ambriel by the collarbones; her fingers brush against Ambriel's neckline, and—okay, Ambriel isn't really easily flustered, but—damned if Mostima doesn't have the devil-may-care attitude that she thinks is really cool, and...

...and she's absolutely not going there. But she does take the hanger with the teal romper, and holds onto it. "Yeah," she says. "You might be right, there. Maybe I'll try that one on." She cocks her head, slightly. "What are you looking for, anyway? Apart from a new career as a personal shopper."

"Haha!" Mostima laughs, and it has the sound of something amused, but the smile doesn't quite reach up to her eyes in a way that gives Ambriel pause. "Well, that's a state secret—" A beat: "I'm kidding. I just need a few new shirts; mine are getting kinda worn out, got some bad holes, and I've gotta look presentable for some kinds of deliveries, you know?"

"Could get something fun, while you're at it," says Ambriel, picking a flowy tank-top off the rack. "I guess tie-dye's back in, this season?"

Mostima considers it, plucking it from her hand and holding it up to the light. "Yeah, you know what—that is the right kind of fun. You know, it's summer, right? Maybe I should get something beachy. In case I have a good occasion—never know where work's gonna take me."

"Must be nice," says Ambriel, sighing wistfully. "When are we going to go to someplace like Siesta or Sargon? I guess even if Rhodes Island leave time is mostly only good when we're docked at a city, though, it's better than truant patrol duty."

"Hah," says Mostima, flatly, and Ambriel freezes—because, well. Home stuff is... probably weird to talk about.

But then Mostima shrugs, and pulls a very strappy little summer dress off the rack, in a bright white. "Well—say, then. I might need a little help lacing this up in the back. Help a girl out?"

Well. Drag her to hell, sure, why not.

---

In the fitting room, Mostima shrugs out of her jacket and shirt, and then her shorts, back to Ambriel, who—is definitely not going to make this weird, just gotta be cool and casual, right, except for one thing, it's really hard to find anything else to look at in the little cubicle, and for another thing, between the flickering, dark outlines of Mostima's wings, she can't help but let her gaze linger on the jagged, wide scars etched into her back.

But then Mostima's pulling on the very curve-hugging garment, and handing the ends of the back laces to her. "Here you go," she says. "Honestly I have no idea how this thing laces up, so if you get creative, I'm not gonna argue with you." And winks, in a way that makes Ambriel's heart do a horrible little somersault.

Is this flirting? Is Mostima flirting with her? She's hard to read in the opposite way the Executor is—the Executor doesn't have any nuance to him, but Mostima is all nuance and all vague suggestion, all smoke and mirrors. But if Ambriel's knuckle brushes her back a little bit as she's doing up the laces, maybe it's just an accident. And maybe there's nothing to read into the little contented hum Mostima makes in response, but maybe there is. Or, at least: it's not a discouragement.

"Hey," says Mostima, suddenly, standing up a little straighter, leaning back a little bit into Ambriel's thumb pressed against her spine. "Little question for you."

Ambriel pauses. "Yeah?"

"You put your gun down in the corner. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

There's a little edge to her voice, like she's testing something; like there's a right answer and a wrong answer—and suddenly Ambriel feels like she might have bitten off a little more than she can chew, here. She's not sure what will happen if she picks the wrong one.

She rests a hand against Mostima's back, and for a long moment, she's silent. But, like—she's cool. She can be cool. "What, are you asking me if I'm scared?" she says, shrugging.

Mostima snorts. "Basically. You know what I am."

Ambriel tugs the laces a little more closed, mouth thinning into a line. "You're a citizen of Laterano, subject to laws and rights etcetera etcetera blah blah blah, same as me. I know how it works." She sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "So, like, I'm not sure what you're getting at, but any trouble is definitely above my pay grade. And like, if I point my gun at you—"

She can tell Mostima's watching her, over her shoulder. But like—whatever. "Well, why would I? It would really ruin girls' day, wouldn't it?"

This time, when Mostima laughs, it's genuine, wheezing—maybe a little too much of a laugh. But she turns around, and grins, putting a hand on her hip.

"Honestly," says Mostima. "I'm glad someone gets it. So, should I buy it?"

And listen. The dress is hot. Of course Ambriel's going to tell her to buy it.

---

They're both just finishing at the checkout counter when Mostima's head jerks up—and there's someone yelling her name, sounding pissed. Ambriel spots a Liberi woman elbowing her way through the shopping street crowds, looking like she's going to make someone's day absolutely the worst when she finds them.

"Whoopsie! There's my signal to get out of here," says Mostima, with a shrug, and then leans over to give Ambriel a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek. And then she pats Ambriel on the shoulder, waves, and makes for the door. "Maybe I'll see you around again!" she says, and then vanishes into the crowd.

Ambriel stands there for a moment, and puts a hand to her cheek, in a disbelieving kind of way.

None of that was what she expected but like—you know what? She was cool. And probably, if she ever sees her again, it's going to make her heart do this horrible fluttering again that it's doing now, and probably also it's going to be trouble, which by and large Ambriel tries to avoid—

—but, on the other hand, she's pretty sure it'll be fun. So she'll look forward to it.