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[Snowpocalypse] The New Deal (M 2.2)
Molotov:
How did you announce the new gig to the Sparekeys? Gather them up and tell them as a group, just grab a few to tell them that they're on that detail, or did you have Never Summer handle it?
It's late afternoon, and the weather is growing cold already. Artec brought you some tea, your bathroom is cleaned up now, no sign of the corpse. Artec seemed willing to hang around, if that's uhm, what you wanted. How did that go?
There's a rap at the door, it's Never Summer.
What do you do?
How did you announce the new gig to the Sparekeys? Gather them up and tell them as a group, just grab a few to tell them that they're on that detail, or did you have Never Summer handle it?
It's late afternoon, and the weather is growing cold already. Artec brought you some tea, your bathroom is cleaned up now, no sign of the corpse. Artec seemed willing to hang around, if that's uhm, what you wanted. How did that go?
There's a rap at the door, it's Never Summer.
What do you do?
Comments
Is a little embarrassing, but I stood up there on the balcony like Carnation and got Satchel to call out in her screechy little voice. I'm growing fond of that one - maybe, little part of me is thinking she is Suitcase but with chance to be happy. So, I was up there, and I let them all know what the new situation was, when they had gathered.
This is Satchel, by the way:
After that, I had little chat with Artec. But, this was not chat with fucking or that biznes. Is chat where I tolerate Artec like, patient man wishing help from the Preservers and trying to talk repairs for Last Resort. How do I get them? Can she do it, like fixing armor?
"Come in, vtoroy," I am letting Never Summer know. He'll see me topless, sitting in a chair, cleaning my magnum.
Artec takes Last Resort, says she can fix it in a "day or so". She's happy to be able to keep doing her duties, thanks you several times.
Never Summer enters, tze sees you topless, and watches you. Tze drinks you in, a hint of a smile on tzir face. "You wished to see me?" Never Summer stands with hands clasped in front, relaxed posture. The sword hangs at a sash, polished to a perfect sheen in its scabbard.
It was not my intention to be seducing NS, but I did know what tze is, so maybe that was poor thinking on my part. The magnum is strewn out on a foot-rest in front of me. I'm cleaning the silencer at the moment, and I nod to a chair somewhat close by.
"Da, sit, sit. I want to be hearing how last few days have been in my absence. Any trouble?" I suppose the Sparekeys are, in a sense, sort of becoming my family — it is why I provide barter for them, why I do not sell them out. They are my responsibility. This sense of responsibility is a warm, strong feeling in my gut.
And if the Sparekeys are my family, then NS is my new brother. Is not the brother I would have picked, but who picks brothers? So, tone of voice I use with him is little more tolerating than other tones I have, like share with me over few drinks and spend night talking.
Never Summer walks to take a seat in the chair you nodded towards. Tze adjusts the sword so it doesn't impede a graceful movement and sits. Tze begins, "The members of Carnation's family who chose to leave Grease Park have been talking with the Cs. It seems they may be interested in making a play for this place. I would advise a strike against them. I am happy to lead it, if you have other matters to attend to."
Is there a thing on this planet that could force Never Summer to be un-graceful? An image of tzer anger-fuelled face, as tze sliced Carnation from crotch to gut, comes to mind. So, maybe there is.
This news tze gives me is disturbing, and exciting, in same gut-punch. Maybe, is little too soon to be testing Sparekeys, but that is our world, and those who expect different do not live long. "When? Can it wait till tomorrow? We have debt to repay Roxy tonight; consider it as debt for jingle we brought in today, more or less, but is still debt. And on plus-side, is gig to keep our boys happen when 47th is quiet."
The silencer is spit polished, stained only with blood I could not get to in time, and even then only a faint red like pink bruise. I put it down and move on to the barrel.
Never Summer nods slightly, accepting the news of the job with Roxy. After you get the cleaning brush working on the barrel, Never Summer says lightly, "I have seen Roxy wrap many people around her little fingers. She is a very skilled courtesan, and worthy of respect and consideration. I admire her talents, even though I haven't sampled them personally. I'm curious to see how she fares when matched against your strength and cunning, master." Tze says this while transfixed watching you clean the barrel with such practiced movements.
I stop cleaning the barrel, and catch Never Summer's eye. It's a silent pause as we stare at each other. What he is implying I am not particularly fond of, and is no time like now to let him know.
"I and Roxy have an arrangement, vtoroy. She does biznes of ugly sort with only others, and so do I; so when we fuck it is for pleasure, and if I ever shoot her, it too will be for pleasure. We are not at battle with Roxy. We are partners, until such time as... if it ever comes to that. Is this understood?" Is like, you better understand or there is problem voice. And I begin cleaning again.
Never Summer's smile slides away. Tze listens, like you are the center of the universe, but the reply is, "We are always in battle, master. I accept your decision, as always, as is your right. But here, in the privacy of your home won by right, would you not want my counsel? I am happy to provide what you... need." The words are a mix of sultry and pleading.
If this was Mill and not Grease Park, Never Summer would be punished within inch of life, maybe tattooed in shame; even still, were tze any other person, this would not be a response I tolerate. But, tze is brother now, and tze is being so respectful that I know any further nyet would mean nyet. This is what prompts me to say, resigned: "Da, continue, what is needing to be said can be said, in this home. What is your counsel?"
"My counsel is that you are doing very well to deal with Roxy in this fashion. You can make us invaluable. As long as we remain, as you say, partners. I am pleased to see you match wits with her. She is a worthy opponent, my master." Never Summer smiles now, a tight smile of respect.
Tze has said what tze felt needed to be said.
"Do you need anything, master?"
Just a few more things, like, cleaning up. "Endeavor is best lookout we have, and proved himself other day in combat. I want him sent out, in case Cs decide to strike early. Give him a radio. Also, I want you here. Is best case scenario being that he doesn't strike, and even then, means night of easy sleep for you, ready for tomorrow if we decide to go fuck them up."
I scratch my cheek, put down the now scrubbed-clean barrel, and start pulling out a cigarette. "As for our first gig with Roxy, I want Invert, Bonk and three other guys you trust ready to go when sun is down. Just, not Sims. He is too unreliable with fucking around with drugs. Okay?"
Never Summer nods, taking mental notes. You know tze will execute these orders with relentless effort. "Very well, master." Tze rises smoothly and leaves.
After you've cleaned your weapons, is there anything else you wish to do in your compound before leaving to see Roxy?
It's a few minutes after Never Summer has left; the magnum is fully cleaned now, but still in pieces, resting much like a foot. The window is open. Is maybe habit, from when I was taker of ice-cubes, which extended from birth till I met Santa Cruz...
... and then from Santa Cruz' death to this week. Now, I have Sparekeys and Roxy filling parts of my life I had no knowledge needing filling, rather than drugs. And I am strong enough to say nyet to that thing which Mill fed me like this is candy to keep you loyal.
Bah. The Brothers were, how you say, hypocrites. This, what I am doing with Sparekeys, is real loyalty. Strength.
Anyway, window is open, and the snow is drifting in, falling on my back, and melting down, cold, past tattoos and scars. I get lost in sensation. I get lost in that feeling, and in thinking about what might or might not happen tonight.
I begin to make my magnum whole again — while trying to put the together the pieces of this-night.
(Rolled: 2d6-1. Rolls: 5, 3. Total: 7)
From Molotov:
Is starting with a gun.
The pins and chambers. The molded, scratched and stained parts which are otherwise alone in my hands. They do nothing except burning with cold. But, it's little thing to put this together, to slide and scratch this pile of nothing into a tool with function.
And that's what I am doing. Its parts fit, so neat and snug and sure of themselves. My eyes are closed; but the inside of my skull is not being black, and dark, and alone place; it's white in here, and bright, like a snowstorm is raging across the surface of the sun.
I put a single bullet into the chamber and let it spin. Then, of course, it goes against my forehead. You have to know, really know some things in life. Who are you? What are things you are capable of doing? Where is your purpose? And, most important of all, are your guns going to be getting you killed?
So, I pull trigger first time, and begin game of roulette with the storm.
CLICK
The sound of the hammer slamming home, no bullet in the chamber.
It echoes in the room and fades. The click is the sound of a door to the rush of the future.
Tonight. What will happen tonight?
Roxy's mouth. Roxy's desire. She wants you, wants your power, wants you to dance with her. You two are so alike, yet unalike.
Trespass's eyes. Trespass's jealousy. You take the favor that was once hers. She covets Roxy, not her body, her attention. Her trust.
Never Summer's sword. Never Summer's lust. Never Summer's envy. Tze wants you to take tzir body and soul.
Images and feelings and truths and half-truths flit through your head, all at once, the bullet of a vision firing into your brain.
----------------
So, with your brain open to the psychic maelstrom and all, I get to ask a question. Tell me, Molotov, what would Never Summer need to do to earn your devotion?
Lust splatters across my brain; Roxy, Trespass, and then finally, Never Summer. Is thought I'd never have, unless shot into me, by the storm and my gun — the idea of being with tzir, whatever tzir is. I might say it is repulsive, but that is life speaking, not me; what I would say is that... it is not my thing.
So, what would it take depends on kind of devotion, how much tze wants from me: for trust and respect, tze is already earning it, day by day, as my brother; for dirty fuck on this bed, tze would have to force me into it; and if the devotion Never Summer wants is like, I become tzir vtoroy, while the Sparekeys follow tzir?
Well, tze would only have to ask for it.
The day passes. Invert, Bonk, wild-eyed Grenade, mussy-haired Disaster and skinny little The King come out to the lot and call up to you. Bonk won't let them come round to the elevator, you know that. They yell up that they're here, and they wait.
Dusk is here. This is going to be a cold night.
What do you do?
They can wait a little bit longer. I'm out on the balcony, watching them from above. The King is entitled little shit, but is almost like, bad luck to go out there without a kid. If you coddle them, keep them safe, who is keeping you safe when your turn is over? Is good thing to put gun in their hand and tell them to grow up.
This is The King:
Grenade, now, haven't had chance to meet this one, but you can hear him playing his accordion from dawn til dusk across the Grease Park. Is shit music, but he swears that piece of crap has stopped five bullets, so maybe that explains awful wheezing-moaning sound. He's not quite right in the head, they say. All you're needing to do is approach him the wrong way and he'll go off like...
This is Grenade:
And then there's Disaster. What's there to say about this one? I've seen him hold gun correct way, and if he is not distracted by mirror, can actually hit a target. Never Summer says he's also got little bit of quick thinking in him — maybe, this is true, or maybe my vtoroy is distracted by other qualities. We'll see.
This is Disaster:
I pat the railing for good luck and call down to tonight's crew, letting them know I'm on my way. Is time to go do our duty for Roxy.
You and half of your crew head out in the chilly evening across the streets. The King makes snide remarks about Carnation most of the way, calling him a "punkass bitch", and making jokes about him and his family. Grenade plays along, like a soundtrack for The King's jibes. Disaster is broody and quiet, walking with Bonk and Invert.
Trespass stands by the entrance to the L in a fur-lined coat, waiting for your arrival. She has an MP-5 slung over her shoulder, hanging down within reach. She stares at you, just you, when you and the group arrive. "Hello, Molotov." She glances over at Disaster, gives him a curt nod. Then, back to you, "Roxy says the Sparekeys are gonna shuffle clients back and forth to Crossover. Is that right?"
I shoot a side-long, raised eyebrow at Disaster. I am mulling over the connection to myself silently, "Is regular, at Roxy's, or at private little Trespass party? Hm."
Maybe, before Sparekeys were my brothers, I wouldn't care this much about other people. But now? I have to care about these people — at the very least, I have to care a little bit about what they do. So I make a note for later.
"Hello Tress," I finally reply to Trespass. I've got a hand on my holstered magnum (what's new), and all I can see is her eyes; that jealousy I had been ignoring before is there, flaring brightly. "Da, we are here for little escort business of our own. It would be shame if more clients did not make it... so, is any trouble you are expecting?"
Trespass looks over the crew, like she's sizing them up. She knows most of them, of course. What red-blooded male hasn't been to Roxy's at least once?
"Stink Bug's guys have been around, but the thing I'm worried about is a few of your castoffs, Molotov." She gives you this testing look, like she's trying to read your reaction to it. "Four of Carnation's family are short on jingle, and I've seen them poking around lately. A couple johns told me they're stalking Crossover. Plus, Frontside's snipes have been quiet for a few days, so that's a thing." She looks over at Disaster, like she can't help but glance.
Then Trespass looks back to you, "Why don't you have these guys pair up and walk the path to and from Crossover? And, Molotov, Roxy wanted to see you when you showed up. You wanna come with me?"
Who does Trespass think she is? Hah. Is good joke, telling me how to run this gig, as if I am leaving my boys and girls to take bullets. "Nyet, biznes will be handled and then I will see Roxy later tonight. You tell her to keep warm for me." I say that last bit to hurt her, like take that you suka for telling me what to do. But, I am looking forward to it, with little bit of erection pressing against my pants.
Then, I am turning my back on Trespass and thoughts of fucking Roxy.
So, the men who ran from Grease Park didn't run far, and today might be the day I fulfill the promise I made them, huh? Maybe this is good thing. Also, Stink Bug? Whatever. He is no real threat. Is more like vulture; unless we are already bleeding, he will not be risking it.
To my Sparekeys I am giving real commands, evenly, "Okay. We go in two groups of three. Grenade and little King, you are getting along, go together and take Bonk. Disaster and Invert, with me. Bonk, you are patrolling for ambushes. If you see familiar faces, well, is your choice, but I am suggesting you fill them with bullets. Otherwise, is simple night for simple jingle. Clear, da?"
Trespass glares at you when you effectively dismiss her, but she doesn't say a word.
This, or maybe something else, puts a smirk on Disaster's face, but he's watching you, not her. Bonk nods along, like you're preaching the gospel.
The King, he rolls his eyes, "Three to a group? That's not enough to make a beatdown, just enough for one to run for help or whatnot. We look like pussies!"
Bonk buffs him, "Shaddup! Bossman's got plans. Yer just pissed you didn't get to dip yer wick. It'll come soon enough..."
Grenade chuckles, "It'll come, heh heh."
They amble off.
Disaster looks over at Trespass, who is leaving. He's totally staring at her ass. But he asks you, "We waiting around, then walking the same path, or going somewhere else, Molotov?"
I watch Disaster watch Trespass. This guy has soft cheeks and hard eyes. I can't tell if I'm going to like him, if I can trust him, so I think maybe we should take a moment to find out.
"In a little bit," I finally tell Disaster after a pause, beckoning with a finger, "Come here. Never Summer is saying you're a good shot; would you be able to hit that, if you were having to, if Sparekeys needed you to?" And my beckoning finger is now pointing where Trespass left Underground, moments before. "Is simple question, brother."
Disaster walks over to you, leaving Invert back my the entrance to below. Diaaster looks at you, in the eyes, when you ask if he'd hit Trespass. He doesn't hesitate when he answers, "Yeah. I could do that." He closes his mouth and grinds his teeth for a moment, gauging your reaction.
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 4, 6. Total: 12)
• Is he telling the truth, would he shoot Trespass for the Sparekeys?
For shits and giggles, there's no way he'd kill her. To prove his loyalty, when she'd done nothing, he wouldn't do it.
If she were a threat to the Sparekeys, if she'd hurt one of them, or would get any of them killed, then yeah. He'd ace her then.
I give small, approving nod, but I'm not done with Disaster. "Is good to hear. She worth something to you, that one? Her ass is..." I wobble my hand like, so-so, then beckon to him as I start walking like, come on. Also, I'm digging both hands under an armpits to keep them warm, because this weather is nothing like surface of the sun.
It must be strange day, but this walking in the open and talking to Sparekey of mine is okay. We're heading down a side-street, then parallel to Pershing East, down 40th and others. I'll keep eyes and ears open, but no sense tripping same ambush — if there is ambush.
Disaster makes a WTF face, like he definitely thinks more highly of Trespass's ass than you do, but you knew that. He answers, "She's all business when she's here, Molotov. But get her away from Roxy's and she's pretty mag." He huffs a laugh and adds, "Her ass looks much better than she carries it when she's here. She was raised with three brothers. Walks like a dude. I swear, it's like being around all the workers here, she's allergic to being sexy, you know?" He looks to see if you're following. Then he realizes he just went on way too much. Steamy breath curls out of his nose as he shuts up.
He's not looking for an ambush, of course. Walking and talking with the boss. Invert's followed you guys, respectable distance, just hanging back enough.
You haven't caught anything off, yet, Molotov. It might be a quiet night.
How long are you planning to work out here?
I roll my eyes away from Disaster. He's in deep for Trespass. But, there's a little bit of a smile on my face I cannot help. Maybe, might be good to encourage this, get Trespass off my back for Roxy. So I say something along the lines of, "She seems strong. Okay woman."
The plan is to work for a few hours: we meet clients at the Crossover, escort them to Roxy's above ground, then escort anybody who needs it back, never more than two guys at a time; maybe an extra woman or two, because who's worried about them.
I'll radio in to check on Bonk in little bit, after one trip, if we don't run into each other.
Disaster lets the "okay woman" comment slide. Not like he's going to argue at you to like her. It's good enough that you dropped the whole bit about shooting her. He's glad to be away from that.
You escort a couple nervous workers over to Roxy's. I assume you don't ask for barter to do it? What line did you give them?
We feed them mostly truth, little bit of bullshit. "Hello. Gentlemen. Ladies. We are here at jingle of Roxy's to lead clients safely through shit-storm of gangs above for free. Afraid of fucker Stink Bug? Frontside? Come, we will keep you safe." Or something like that.
So, frozen park is on our left and we're walking down Pershing Rd. Invert is walking ahead of me and Disaster with our clients — two men, who are treating journey like part of their visit, making catcalls and all sorts of fun at her.
And then I start chatting with Disaster again, like, "You must have had reason for staying, what was it?"
The trio of customers huddle near, chatting quietly. The wind is wicked cold tonight, everyone is bundled. Disaster sort of huddles up in his coat. Invert pulls her hood tight like a ninja.
Disaster answers, "Grease Park is my home. Carnation took over from the last group that ran the Sparekeys. I've been a Sparekey since I was King's age. What changes up top, doesn't change the core. Not really."
Huh. Never Summer didn't care to share that piece of information. I've dug my hands into my armpits again and pushing forward against the wind is about the only battle on my mind at the moment — I've resigned myself to how quiet tonight will be, until... later.
"Good to know." It's little more than a grunt, but I'm satisfied with the answer. I didn't expect the Sparekeys to be loyal to me, not yet, not really. They're loyal to each other. And that'll do for now.
OOC: Spending 2/3 hold.
• How is Disaster feeling about the change in leadership?
Disaster is undecided, but leaning towards positive. He wasn't part of Carnation's inner cabal, so he sees this as an opportunity, and this job, getting to work with Trespass, that's definitely better than playing "troll under the bridge".
You get your customers to the entrance and hand them off to Trespass. It's bitter cold, so you have a smoke, right? I imagine it's smarter to pace yourself. Disaster walks in with Trespass, says he'll be back in a minute. Invert is there, just you and Invert.
She asks, "Hey Molotov, can I ask you a question and not get shot?" She's all bundled up.
Exactly. So, I light up in the stairwell to Roxy's, standing under the flickering red lights, savoring the combative warmth from below. Invert gets a squint, then an offered cigarette. "Da, what is it?" This isn't how I'd choose to spend my time, but she is a Sparekey.
Invert takes the cig, but she doesn't light up. She puts it in a metal case she had in her coat. There are other cigs in there, all different kinds, a cigarello, a clove, some cheapies, even a green one. Then, she packs it away. "Thanks. So hey, Molotov, I heard you hate girls. Or, like, they're just pieces of shit you fuck and ignore." She looks up at you, eyes sort of challenging, but not angry. "That true?"
So, Invert is taking the cigarette and adding it to her hoard like trophy, or precious gift, or hey this is free barter, what's it matter to you. I'm equal parts pissed off and amused, so I let it slide, taking in smoke and letting it out my nose. You can't tell it apart from my breath, in this weather.
Then, she is speaking words that are like a knife to my throat. Da, she's not angry, but I'm knowing what this is all about, and in the past I've done one of two things: bullshit, for sake of it, or ignoring and walk away because who can be bothered. But, she is also Sparekey, and if one person is deserving no bullshit and not-to-be-ignored, it is this one. So, I choose third option: I give her a real answer.
"Nyet," I finally grunt, slow, after thinking about it proper, "Nyet. Is the weak I hate, little girl. The liars. The scum who don't do biznes with you; they eat you up, from in here." And a tap with my index finger to my heart to punctuate. "The people who have no idea of respect or responsibility. They have no spine or real face. They hurt you, little girl. You cannot trust them. You cannot give them real tasks."
With a shrug like, da nyet navernoe (yes no maybe), I then add, "And most women are this sort of person, so why give them time of day."
Invert peers at you, listens close the whole time. She's pretty young, not just slight. She nods through most of it, except the end. At the end, she says with no small amount of certainty, "I'm not like the women you've met, Molotov." She gives you a thin smile, points her thumb at her chest, "Because badass." She huffs a little laugh, then sees Disaster coming back out of the door down to Roxy's.
Anything for them before you start leg two of the escorting?
I find myself nodding at Invert approvingly, and patting her on the shoulder like she is my son because... that is a little bit how it feels. Disaster gets a quick and simple, "How'd it go?" And I am grinding my cigarette into the icy wall of the stairs.
Nyet on anything else. It's cold out here, getting dark, and the ice is a mean bitch. I want this done. Oh, but I do trigger radio, "Bonk. Report."
Radio comes back with Bonk's voice:
Hey bossman. We found a dead guy out here. Looks like Frontie work. Stripped and froze, but fresh. Been keepin look, but think they moved on on. All good with you?And this in return:
Da. Keep your eyes in the sky, lights dim. Trespass said Frontside's been quiet, but no risks this night. I have better things to do than pulling bullets out of your gut. Just one or two more runs.Then we're off again, out to Crossover, escorting any of Roxy's clients who wish to leave.
A couple more trips back and forth and outside is dangerous. You end up on the Roxy side of the street, and there's no way anyone else is coming across.
Invert quips, "Ima go get me some cock. You a-holes dipping your stick or what?" She gives you both a grin. It's obvious she's not hitting on you two.
Disaster says, "We good to split up, Molotov?"
And is obvious I wouldn't want Invert to. She is... sort of family now, if being a Sparekey wasn't enough. "Da, Disaster. Go pull whatever is up Trespass' ass out for me," I reply deadpan, patting him on the shoulder and heading in the opposite direction, towards Roxy's office.
Invert cracks up at that one, punching Disaster in the arm and pointing, "He got you pegged! Oh, Molotov, he's so fucken whipped, it's sad! ha ha ha"
Disaster waves it off, like a pesky fly, "What the what, who cares. She's fine, and free. So waste your barter, Innie. And I bet she don't kick me outta bed for the next one."
Invert retorts, "Nobody kicks me outta bed!" She runs a hand down the side of her breast to her hip, like she's displaying her wares, "Because hotness!"
Disaster waves that away, but he does chuckle. They go their separate ways, which is opposite of your direction, of course.
Do you knock at Roxy's door, or just try the handle? Nobody is outside.
There's a coin flip in my gut, deciding whether to be possessive, or respectful. It lands on heads, and I knock. Plus, the idea of walking in on Roxy busy is too much, too soon after Eggplant.
You rap your knuckles against the metal door of Roxy's office. The lock clicks and the door opens to reveal a redheaded woman, you sort of recognize her as one of Roxy's girls. She's been crying, nose reddish, eyes puffy. Her name is Burton.
Here's Burton:
Roxy is sitting on the couch, wearing a fur jacket and a tasteful dress. She looks comfortable, relaxed. Her face shows concern, she's looking at Burton, like they just had an emotional talk.
"Good night Burton. If you need anything else, please let me know." Roxy says it with compassion, seems genuine.
Burton brushes past you, then leaves while trying to collect herself.
"Come in, Molly! Business was pretty good tonight, all things considered. How was the out of doors?" She pats the seat on the couch next to her.
I smell Burton as she slumps past, and she smells like rose-oil. Santa Cruz liked rose-oil. I close the door behind me and mosey towards Roxy.
"Eh. Cold. Quiet. Also, a few of your clients gave Invert trouble -" a small shrug of my shoulder, "- but, she was knowing what to do. Who was... ?"
And I poke a thumb towards the door, pulling my poncho off as I draw near the couch.
Roxy narrows her eyes at your news. "Some of them gave Invert trouble? That's no bueno. I'll ask her who it was. I don't abide that shit." She reaches up to pull you down to the couch with her, and sort of slides into your arms like a mink coat.
"Burton had some personal issues, I'm trying to help her cope." She plants a long, wet kiss on your lips, softer and more sensual than the frenzy you shared the other night.
"Did you lock the door?" she asks with a wicked grin.
Roxy's kiss is returned with rough whiskers.
"Nyet, Rox, leave it be. Let Invert find these men if she wants her pound of flesh," I grunt and grumble, releasing her to lock the door, "Is this not Eggplant, all over again? Why cannot my women of Grease Park be strong women, like you?" And she knows this is a compliment, not point of contention, because I am back near her, arms wrapped around her waist like a bear-trap, speaking through lips pressed against her neck.
Roxy quick walks over to lock the door, then returns to sit on your lap, throwing a leg over yours so she's sitting her butt on the tops of your knees when you pull her in and kiss her neck. She says to the top of your head, "Nyet, Molly. Not the same." She pulls your hair insistently until you ease your head back, then presses her lips and tongue onto your mouth for a long, exploratory kiss.
She pulls up for air, and finishes her thought. "When you keep people in line, I lose good customers. When I keep people in line, they end up paying me more to remain customers. Plus, Invert is part of your gang, and we... are now..." she begins rubbing herself against your crotch to illustrate her point, "Aligned. They need to treat our people with respect, and live long enough to pass the word. Right?" She covers your mouth again with a kiss as if a response is assumed.
I make all those near-silent, chest-deep sounds that get made when you let them. A part of me wants to be stopping for just a sec, talk a little bit more about Invert, but there's those lips — and I won't lie, she hits a nerve with all this talk of respect. Far as I'm concerned, she is suddenly right, and no sense fighting a losing battle, da?
"Fine," I grunt, pulling her close; and then like a hammer striking, the kissing suddenly get altogether a little less soft.
Go ahead and fire your Sex Move, Molotov.
What was your favorite part of this little session of love-making with Roxy?
The pair of you end up lying on the couch. She's lying mostly on your side while you are on your back, smoking. She traces your tattoos lightly with a fingernail, nuzzled against you.
From Molotov:
Hah. What is the best part of tonight's fucking? It was quick. Which, at the end of long day, with much walking in snow, with fresh bullet wounds raw and itching, is perfect amount of time. And, maybe she is knowing me well enough to know I don't mind this bit after, either.
So, I've fished out the silver case of cigarettes from my pants — which are being on the ground at this point — and rested it on my chest. Roxy's fingernail is tracing my tombstones, they read: five, ten, and then fifteen. Is a representation of my time lost to the Mill.
I light up cigarette and say in that lazy voice, so tired from fucking, "So... Burton?" I catch her expression and shrug a shoulder. Her eyebrow is raised. "You were being so worried about my girl, why not? Come. Tell me."
"She's leaning towards abortion," she adds.
I'm tracing Roxy's spine with a finger. And like always, I speak without thinking. I don't need to think; the truth is what your gut tells you. "Hrm. Good, is better to not bring little life into this world, is too many suffering already to add more to maiden's heap."
"You're okay with this?" I add after a pause — after a slight, uncharacteristic reflection, wherein it is occurring to me... maybe it matters how this woman beside me feels.
Roxy lowers her head to your chest when she answers, "Okay with it? Not really, Molly. Not really."
Some moments pass, quiet, intimate moments. "Back when I was the star attraction, I got fixed so this wouldn't be a... A problem. Rossi and Silica's dad took care of me. No fuss, no muss. Back to work in a day, just swallowed down a few pills for the pain." She says this like it's no thing, but there's an edge you hear. It is a thing. A long gone, can't be changed thing. A chain she drags behind her thing.
She lifts her head back up, catches your eye. "But jingle isn't as good as it used to be, so I can't offer that option to Burton or the others. Hell, even condoms are scarce."
She concludes with, "It's a dangerous game."
I'm frowning by the time she's done, and the whole thing feels like a swollen stone in my gut. It would be one thing if she was being okay with this abortion; it is not that thing. "Da, it is," I parrot her words simply, and kiss her forehead.
I want to tell Roxy there is an easy solution, that I can fix this, no problem. But, there is no easy solution, and all I can do is help her with pain of responsibility. So, I say to ceiling, while rubbing her shoulder, "But, we do our best."
Maybe, I am realizing now it doesn't matter what the ponyatiya says. It doesn't matter that Roxy is a woman, or Never Summer is a faggot. I have my own code; my own family; my own Mill. And I'll do what needs doing to protect them.
Roxy sighs, and relaxes into your chest. She kisses your neck, and whispers, "We do. We certainly do."
"I like our partnership, Molly." Roxy says into your neck as she plants soft kisses. Not the kind to stoke a fire, more like small kisses of affection, appreciation.
The words of one particular sword-fetishist echo in my head, and I hold back a bark of laughter. I'm smiling tightly at the ceiling when I finally reply softly, "You're a worthy partner."
--END SCENE--