Cogheart

Chapter Nine: Home Sweet Home

"So." The room is quiet. The noise of shuffling footsteps and excited chatter has ceased, the lamps turned off and the candles blown out. Ambrose and I stand alone in the hallway, illuminated only by the light of the moon and the faint glow coming from my cracked open door where Iris is no doubt inspecting every inch of my bedroom. 

"Ambrose, can this wait?" I demand. "We've had one hell of a day, I think we've earned a little rest. I'm sure whatever rant about Iris you have stored can wait until tomorrow." I'm running out of patience rapidly. Tiredness is a surefire way to make me grumpy, and Ambrose is about to drive me to the end of my rope. 

Her mouth hardens into a stubborn line. "I just... fuck, now you've thrown me off. I just want to know why exactly we're now going to get another person involved in this, and why we're putting ourselves in so much danger for her? It's.... fuck, I don't know." She groans in frustration, throwing her hands in the air. "Are we really going to do this?" 

"Ambrose. Why are you even stressed?" I say incredulously, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Let me remind you that the winner of the title: 'who gets us into the most trouble' most certainly goes to you. Why are you suddenly so afraid of what happens to us?" 

Ambrose shakes her head. "I really just want to know why you're so obsessed with helping her. Because you haven't been so keen on answering that question today." Her tone is bitter, almost acidic. 

"Why not?" I say, irritated. "Why not help her? Why just leave an innocent person with no knowledge on how to survive out here to fend for herself? Don't you feel the tiniest twinge of sympathy for her?" 

Ambrose groans like I'm a child pissing her off, which incenses me. "Cecile. Do you not realize that HELPING a Cogheart is essentially like sending a letter to the government requesting them to kick your door down and drag you off? Letting her stay was one thing, but bringing her to Gwyn is a whole different commitment that I definitely didn't agree to." 

"Any chance to spite those stupid, glass ball pigs, I'll gladly take," I say, surprised at the venom in my voice. "Think of it as... a quiet rebellion." 

"Cecile. You know how much joy it brings me to piss of the government," Ambrose groans. "But you've never been one to get involved in shit like that. Aren't you the one who always prefers to stay out of it? Why now are you so keen to anger them?" 

"I've always done things like that, you know," I say gently, my anger beginning to ebb. "I'm just not as loud about it as you are." 

Some people in Cog are more open about their displeasure for the Glass Government than I am, many even choosing to spit after they utter the High Chancellor's name. Some create public, anti government graffiti in the dead of night when most soldiers are busy patrolling the busy streets instead of the abandoned alleyways, or booing from the back of the crowd during broadcasts, or openly voicing their disgust and displeasure over chatter at the market or in bars when the crowd wants something to complain about. There's a certain danger to this- though free speech isn't necessarily illegal, speaking ill of the government could get you detained, arrested or even mysteriously 'injured' on your walk home. It's never a good idea if you want to fly under the radar- but since the government couldn't give less of a shit about Cog, we're relatively safe from being monitored too heavily and we can get away with more than most districts can. Unfortunately, the less surveillance means that the police can get away with more, too. And I've seen my fair share of them keeping us in line with methods that are far from diplomatic.

I prefer to take a quieter approach to my acts of rebellion. When I was younger, I was much louder. Maybe I thought a loud voice would make up for so many years of silence, like I was repaying a debt of some kind. But later on, I learned that quiet did not mean complient, or even ignorant. Because no matter how little I spoke on the issues I saw, I was always watching them. I never forgot. Nor did I forgive. I learned that I could scream as loud as I could, but it wouldn't mean a damn thing because the people supposed to be listening to me refused to hear. So I watched. I observed. I read forbidden books, learned forbidden knowledge and refused to attend government holidays. I threw out my homework in school, refused to stand for the promise of devotion and tore down posters whenever I could. Little things, but they brought me a sense of vindication. And I was alright with that.