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[FURY] Crossing Paths (Gates1.1,Vignette1.1)
Gates
Fortyfour crosses his arms with a smirk. He's watching Vignette, really watching.
You hurry across the way to catch up to her.
Vignette
A thought, a mind touches you as you walk. Sometimes you feel it right? When someone's watching you, thinking about you more than most.
Feels new... and familiar at once.
You find old Gates hurrying to catch up to you through the growing crowd.
Both
What do you do?
Comments
I ain't the kind to be afraid o' most. We all stand before the Lord, naked as the day we was born in the end, anyhow, so no point in gettin' too cowardly around folks.
But this one does give me a touch of the jibblies.
"Uh... Vignette."
Lord give me the strength.
"Got a minute, to, uh, chat?"
She must know that I'm going to ask about Olympia.
“Mr. Gates,” I say with a nod. “Of course. What may I do for you? Another of the not-so-faithful to root out?” That was just mean. I regret saying it. The truth is, I have little love for those who would make use of my services. One must eat, however.
Spider plays upon Gates’ obvious discomfort, crawling farther up my neck so it can extend its legs across my cheek and temple, giving my white face dark warpaint–somewhat hairy, dark warpaint.
That hurt. She's that kind. That's what it is. It ain't the things she does. Folks are weird as a clear sky nowadays. It's her... Her demeanor. She's got somethin' off-putting about her.
"Just Gates, is fine, and no. Actually, I, uh, it's about Olympia. The one from my family you looked into. You know she ran off, right? Is it possible someone you... Look at knows what's been done to 'em? Pardon my ignorance, but, it's been on my mind."
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 6. Total: 8)
Question, for one or both: So how long ago was this? Olympia still out there missing? Or we talking ancient history now?
Also, marked exp. in that last roll.
The unfortunate event with Olympia was about a month ago. She’s most likely out there, but where or whether dead or alive I can’t say.
“Yes, Gates,” I say with a nod. “I know Olympia left. I knew that night that she was going to leave. Betrayal is like that sometimes.” I shrug. I do not mean it in a nasty way. It is truth. This depends on how hard I look, I think, picturing the dead highwayman, screaming, blood trickling from his ears.
“As to whether she knows, probably no–and yes. I was careful, she was unaware of me. But for some… It is like someone has been in the place you live. Even if you cannot know what is wrong, you know something is wrong, different, someone has been there. It is like that for some people.” I pause and reflect for a moment. “Or maybe one of your flock told her.”
Like a steady drizzle, she is. Just wearing away at you.
Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. One of the fam told her. Or she knew. She knew, somehow. That must be it. Just up and left. Olympia was one of the first, and my favorite. Like a daughter to me. She trusted me and I betrayed that trust and now I wrestle with my sinfulness everyday.
"Someone told her, huh?"
If I could just know she was all right, or know where she was, maybe that would help.
"Could you, I mean, could you figure out where Olympia is? Is that something you can do?"
Also, what do you wish I would do?
I sense real remorse from Gates. I have not been as helpful as I could be. I take a step forward and reach out towards him. Partway, I remember: people fear my touch. I stuff my hand in my coat pocket, feeling awkward.
"What you ask...I cannot do this. I have no gift for finding." Sensing his disappointment, I add. "But I know people who are perhaps very good at finding. If you wish, I will ask if they can help. They may not be cheap..."
I pause for a moment, indecisive, then add, "I would ask a favor of you also. There is a young boy who needs help. I do not think I can help him. He tries to decide to kill me or to live with not doing so. It causes him much pain. You can, perhaps, help him decide, as a favor to me."
Of all people who want me to convince someone not to wet 'em it's gotta be Vignette.
WAIT.... Can she hear me thinkin' this? Oh brother. Jibblies. Like I said.
"Listen, Vignette. I... regret using yer services. That's at no offense to you, it's just. I kind of feel that talent like yers should be reserved fer specific, dire situations and, well, I just wasn't in a place like that. But my foolishness apparently compounds on me, so I s'pose go ahead and ask the folks you know if'n they could help me and what their price might be."
Who is Vignette and why does she scare me, though I walk with the Lord? Earlier today I was tellin' Fortyfour about my long memory. Maybe that's why. Vignette's one who could read it like a comic strip if'n she so desired. There's a lot in that strip that I don't like to get to recallin'. A lot more I don't tell other folks about.
Part o' bein' human is gettin' to pick how you tell yer own story t'other folks. Someone like Vignette gets her fingers all up in that, smudgin' up yer pretty version of the tale.
Then somethin' hits me, though. She's still a lamb. She's still a human like'n the rest of us. She has wants and needs. She sins and falls. My fear is justified but hauty. I calm myself, with the help o' the Lord.
"As fer yer request, well, I'd be happy to talk to the youngin'. You have a particular outcome yer lookin' fer here? You feel any particular feelins fer him?"
I nod as Gates seems to talk himself into accepting my offer to seek help in finding Olympia. Then, he is asking me about outcomes with respect to the boy. I fear he has misunderstood.
"Particular outcome? I ask, tilting my head and looking at him quizzically. "The boy is hurt. I do not understand how to fix it. You are, I think, better at that than I am. One of the things causing pain is his decision of whether or not to kill me. He feels cowardly and fears that he fails his father by not killing me. Yet something holds him back. I think perhaps he is not a killer and intuits that it will not bring him peace. He has no one to talk to. I do not think he would discuss it openly with me."
I look away, staring off at things past, things I cannot undo. "He is correct to blame me for his pain. I am not sure if killing me would end his pain of make it worse. He needs help deciding. I have no wish to die...but I am not so fond of myself that I would have others purchase my breath with their suffering." I pause for a beat, then shrug, "None would grieve my departure overmuch." I wonder, though. Things have changed. Dog and the pack... I am warm and clean. I am not unique in this, however.
I look at Vignette, the scales fallen from my eyes, and feel a twinge of shame fer my previous judgements of her. I mull her words over in my head for a beat.
I am not so fond of myself that I would have others purchase my breath with their suffering. It's a noble sentiment. One I have not always lived up to in all my imperfections. The thing that really got me, though, was none would grieve my departure overmuch. Everyone deserves someone'd grieve 'em if'n they go. I find my own wickedness reflected back at me as I look at Vignette. Did I let Olympia know that? I can be hard. Mean. Too much on my mind. Did I ever let her know that I would be the one who missed her? That I hope she's close and safe and can come back to the fam?
I am ever reminded that the Lord works in mysterious ways.
"Yeah, Vignette. I get you now. That is my sort o' thing. Point me in the youngin's direction and I'll see if'n I can be an ear to hear and a mouth to talk with 'em."
"I left the boy, where he became known to me, at Safeco. He lives with his mother, Kites, who has decided not to kill me and lives at peace above their noodle shop."
I turn and look ahead at the shops area, something like dread, something like longing on my face. "I go there now, my regular visit of contrition," I say to no one in particular.
I turn back to Gates, noticing that he is still here, "You may join me and compound the value of my visit to the widow. You are also welcome to not join me."
"Sure, I'll tag along. Got a few things to do today, but nothin' urgent. Might be that way I can be introduced so I've got an in later on when I talk to the youngin'."
Gates
You glance back towards the flock at the stall. Jones minding the counter while the others gather in a rough group out front. Looks like Fortyfour is making nice in his own way. Rei holds his heavy shotgun, with a bandolier of shells hanging, in her good hand, Fortyfour supports the barrel with one hand while he shows her how to aim. QuePasa stands there, arms crossed with a frown like she knows this isn't a good idea.
Rei sees you look and suddenly lets go of the firearm, leaving it in 44's hand. He slings it casually over his shoulder and turns to you, grinning with a knowing wink.
Vignette
Kite's noodle shop isn't far, you can see the neon sign over the door, now dark, even from here.
And yeah. You follow Gates’ gaze to the members of his flock gathering with Fortyfour... tall, long blond dreadlocks. A face you couldn't forget. You've seen that man before out on the road, he's a hunter much like the ones you found today.
Vignette, what did you see Fortyfour do out on the road that one morning that shocked you?
Both
What do you do?
I call out to the fam in the stall "QuePasa, just gonna go check on somethin'. Be back shortly. You keep the roof up. Fortyfour, take yer time decidin' if you want to come with to go to SafeCo when I get back. Meanwhile, make yerself comfortable."
I turn to Vignette. "Ready n' you are."
What did Fortyfour do to shock me?
I remember the man with the blonde dreadlocks, who I later heard called Fortyfour. It would be hard to forget. It was some time ago. I was not having as much jingle as I have now and needed to work. The man they call The Harbormaster has work for me. I find this man distasteful, but as I have said, one must eat. Many times, I have considered whether being a sex-whore would be better than being a mind-whore. I have not considered being a sex-whore for The Harbormaster. I do not like that he buys his girls. I do not like his smile.
On the day I saw Fortyfour, a group of three men were arguing loudly. One held a length of chain binding each of a six girls. As I listened to the argument, it became clear that The Harbormaster had already purchased the choicest girls. The argument was over what to do with these others. One wanted to sell them to a gang. The other wanted to keep them.
Fortyfour approached them, seemed to be offering money. There was a heated exchange. Weapons came out. It was over quickly. Three dead men on the ground, Fortyfour holding the girls' chain and looting the men's bodies.
This did not shock me. I have seen many men killed. I have seen ones such as Fortyfour kill. What shocked me was when Fortyfour freed the girls, gave them provisions taken from the men, and sent them on their way.
Gates walks with me to the noodle shop of the woman called Kites and the Boy Who Hates Me. The light is out, as usual for this time of day. I have made it in time. I try the door. It is unlocked.
Turning to Gates, I say, "Follow. Do not interfere."
We enter the shop and a bell rings, loud in the empty space. The inside of the shop is dimly lit from the afternoon sun streaming though small windows high on one wall. Sounds of activity from the kitchen abruptly stop. All is silent except for Gates' and my footsteps as I lead him toward the bar, beyond which is the kitchen. I walk behind the bar and select a large cooking knife. The sound of it leaving the block seems to reverberate in the quiet. I place the knife on the bar, where the afternoon sun sets its silvery surface aflame. Coming back out from behind the bar, I sit at the nearest table, my back to the kitchen beyond.
Please, sit," I say to Gates, gesturing for him to sit across from me. "Stay quiet and do not interfere--whatever may occur."
I shed my leather coat and send Spider away to a dark corner. I wear only a silky, formal dress, starkly black against my milk-white skin. The neckline is scandalously low, and I watch Gates with curiosity and concealed amusement, looking for any sign of discomfort or desire. In the back, the dress plunges almost to my hips. I imagine that my delicate neck looks as fragile and vulnerable as I intend. My part of the ritual concluded, my initial offering of the visit made, I wait in silence to see if Kites still holds forgiveness in her heart.
Gates
That's odd. How Vignette enters the place so deliberately, how she knows so well what's what and where's where. Like it's her place, almost. But it's clearly not... something feels still, uncomfortable in the air in here. There's a smell of cooking oil, a quiet sound of boiling water from the kitchen once you get used to the quiet.
Vignette sits, vulnerable, facing the door. Offering herself to the woman who lives here, perhaps?
What do you do?
Well this is certainly like three ducks havin' dinner with a cow, ain't it? Not sure exactly what's goin' on here, but given that the tension is as thick as hard rain, I'll take Vignette's advice and just keep myself quietly observin' fer now.
Course, the Lord is always speakin'. Maybe I listen, just a little, while I observe.
Lord, there seems to be some hurt here. Folks who need some help. This here strange one, Vignette... don't fully get her, but somethin' about this young one got to botherin' her and I could use yer help figurin' out how to deal with this whole circumstance. If you could see it in yer wisdom to point me in a direction, give me some sort of movement in my heart that aims me somewhere, I'd grow ever deeper in yer debt. And we all say amen, of course.
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 6. Total: 11)
EXP+1
Gates
All right, let's get this out in the open.
The lord. Does the lord answer you? Do you see something, hear something? Do you hear answers in words or is it just a feeling you get? Wondering what happens when you open your brain, do you just stay where you are or do you go somewhere else... so to speak.
Gates
You find an out of the way place near the door. I have a feeling you're pretty good at being out of the way when it suits you.
---
Vignette sits with her back to the curtained door to the kitchen. A few moments later a hand pulls the curtain aside and light spills inside from the windows over the cooktop. Vignette is surrounded by light, her golden hair glows and her face is shadow. She's a creature not of this world. Her eyes invisible pools. Vignette is important, somehow, Gates. As one who can truly know anothers' mind she may be unique. Irreplaceable... but damaged. Fragile... she doesn't know herself. It could be that she needs you.
She does look delicate, ethereal almost, her hair glistens in the light....
---
And just as suddenly Kites steps into the room and the curtains drop closed again behind her and the vision is gone.
Both
"I've got to stop leaving things out of place," she says, walking over to the deliberately placed knife Vignette left on the bar. She slides it off with a little metal-on-wood sound, turns it over on her hand while watching her visitors. Gates standing there quietly by the door, and Vignette's delicate back. But Gates, there's no anger on her face as she slips it into it's place in the block.
"Vignette," she calls your name like you might not hear. "Turn around, girl... look at me."
What do you do?
I turn slowly to face Kites. For a moment, I am silent, searching her face for the hatred that I fear. I meet her eyes, with the mixed trepidation and relief of passing the point of no return.
"Madam Kites," I say, inclining my head slightly, a gesture of respect.
(Rolled: 2d6+0. Rolls: 4, 1. Total: 5)
Vignette looks like she's studying this woman. Somethin' important about her. Seems lost in thought for one second, so I take the opportunity to introduce myself.
"Name's Gates. I'm just here with Vignette."
Hopefully that gives her a chance to collect herself and figure out what she wants to say to her.
Vignette & Gates
Kites spares a polite nod to Gates, like she understands that Vignette is afraid to come alone.
"You know," begins Kites, a touch of hurt in her voice. "WotCee's been hanging around those rafter kids at SafeCo. You know 'em right? Think they're getting ideas in his head..." she drifts off in thought as she checks her stack of bowls on the counter.
"He comes home less and less... sometimes after dark." she wipes her face with the back of her hand. "You know it's not safe for a boy... he's only ten years old for rot's sake. He's going to end up like his father."
Gates, you're good at reading people, right? It sounds almost like she accepts this as fact. Like she's on the edge of giving up hope in her own son... like she's talking herself into letting him go.
What do you do?
I turn to Gates momentarily. "This is the boy I spoke to you about, the one who wants--" I interrupt myself and involuntarily glance at Kites. Sometimes people are uncomfortable with too much truth. "--The one who struggles to decide."
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 6, 4. Total: 11)
Exp+1
I nod tersely as Vignette fills me in.
"Don't know him, m'am, but kids'll sometimes get up to those sorts o' things. It don't mean that's just the way it is. Growin' ain't never easy an' it's especially a challenge in this here time and place."
What's Kites intend to do?
Vignette & Gates
She looks upset and doesn't quite snap at you, Gates, but close. "What would you know about rais..." She looks at Gate's face, at his age... "I suppose you have children of your own?"
Gates: Kites wants to make Vignette feel responsible for WotCee. Her, or maybe even you. Kites is fed up with her son wandering off, wants someone else to look out for him, at the very least.
What do you do?
I give a bit of a chuckle.
"I do, in fact, know a thing or two about raisin' a young one, but you're right. I probably shouldn't have spoken up. More power to anyone who can get 'em from crawlin' to walkin' and talkin' in one piece. I'll just keep quiet fer a sec while the two of you converse."
I s'pose she don't need to know I don't have kids o' my own. I've raised a few, that's fer sure, but none of 'em that shared my blood. Prolly should just keep that to myself fer now.
What's Kites really feeling?
Vignette & Gates
Kites lets out a long breath, her hands on the bar top, finally she looks up and asks, "What do you want, Vignette? You've been haunting me like his ghost since you took him away. I don't blame you for it... he lived that kinda life... died that kinda death."
She glances at Gates, knowing Vignette asked him to be here. "and now my son... have you seen him? Still no taller than this here bar. Asking about his fathers' gun... going out with those kids..."
She tilts her head slightly at the sound of the kettle-tops dancing atop the boiling pots of broth. It smells slightly of salt and something leafy.
"One of these days he's not going to come home... should I blame you then?"
Gates
Kites doesn't want to have to miss her son if he does like she fears he inevitably will. She's starting to write him off so it won't hurt so much. She blames her husband for it, which is why she doesn't blame Vignette. But she's afraid to lose the boy, too, so afraid that she's struggling to look like she doesn't care.
What do you do?
"I...I didn't mean...I only thought..." I stammer, speech rendered suddenly difficult by the revelation that I've been making things worse. I take a deep breath to regain my composure, drive the emotion out of my voice. I thought that to offer you my life would be fitting and just. You have several times declined that offer. I do not know what I can do to atone. I did not take him by design, but I carry the weight of that night with me.
I look away.
Soon, your son will come for me. He struggles with the decision. His father's gun is heavy in his hand. He does not want to kill but feels he betrays his father by not avenging him. I do not think it will bring him peace...though it may do so for me. I brought Gates, hoping he could help your boy find a dry path.
Vignette & Gates
"If WotCee comes for you you can keep him," she says, shaking her head, "I had enough of that... I don't need a son going out to kill for nothing."
She looks at you, Gates, a glance, something like shame in her eyes. Like she feels you judging her.
"If you can help him find the path... make him stop hating. He can have a good life here... we got everything we need. Peace... food... roof over our heads. If you can help him find that... then... then." She sniffles away a tear and glances towards the kitchen.
"My stock's boiling over... I gotta tend the kitchen." She retreats to the kitchen through that curtain, leaving you two alone.
What do you do?
I turn towards Vignette.
"Well, that's about as ringing of an endorsement as I think we're gonna get from 'er. Could you show me where this WotCee kid is? I'd be happy to talk with 'em."
Vignette & Gates
Is that it, then, Vignette? Let her go back to her work, let her leave her son's future, maybe his life in your hands? In Gates' hands? How far do you go with this?
Back to Safeco then?
Gates, you wanted to take Fortyfour back to Safeco with you? Guy seems handy on the road. And QuePasa? That still the plan?
What do you do?
I stand up as Kites leaves. I had not considered that she would consider my visits haunting. I do not know what I expected. I do not want her to kill me, not really. I want the reaffirmation of her decision not to kill me. It strikes me now as a selfish want. It is not helping her. I am no longer sure it is helping me.
Kites backs away from responsibility for the child, WotCee. I consider this. I have not zero responsibility, but less than Kites. She is afraid for him. As am I. I do not offer him the vengeance I offer Kites. To attempt to takes what I do not offer could prove perilous.
I no longer feel like spending my evening eating noodles and drinking expensive spirits, though I will pay anyway. It is part of my penance. Perhaps I will not be back, so in payment for my meal uneaten, I leave something special I have saved for Kites: foil-wrapped blocks of dried fish paste. The gold foil is appropriate. This is a treasure for one who knows what to do with it, an echo of a time when the seas were heavy with fish that were safe to eat, now reduced to squares of brownish paste, wrapped in gold foil, each capable of resurrecting a taste of a past all but forgotten.
I leave with Gates, intending to return to Safeco with him. I have lost my appetite for Pike's and the detachment that comes from riding the waves of a thousand minds. I miss the casual intimacy of the pack.
Vignette & Gates
You leave the smells and sounds of the Pike's market behind and head to collect Fortyfour and QuePasa. Looks like the flock has made a few sales at the stall, people buy your wares for decoration, for curiosity, and even occasionally out of faith. But sometimes days pass without much interest.
---
Some time later, on the road to SafeCo.
"Plenty of light, Gates. Path looks dry and clear." Comments QuePasa as you walk old first avenue back towards SafeCo through a canyon of old high-rises and three to four story apartment buildings. Somewhere to your right you hear a thrum-thrumming sound of a motor, maybe across the water as it's just a dull echo.
Vignette, you're near where you ran into those highwaymen earlier today, are you deliberately avoinding the place? Going there deliberately?
Does it feel different not being alone?
Gates, you notice Fortyfour keeps glancing at Vignette like she's on his mind, "is she your woman? He finally asks during a brief stop.
What do you do?
I let out a belly laugh and then catch myself before QuePasa or Vignette hear me.
"Her? Vignette? Nope. She's not with me. I know her, and she's got a bit of a job for me right now, but we're certainly not intimates in any way. Seems friendly enough. She gives me a bit o' the jibblies, sometimes, but when I speak to her she seems to have her heart in the right place. Why do you ask?"
Gates
Fortyfour smiles along with your laugh, looks pleased to hear it.
"She..." he has to think about it for a moment, as you watch Vignette, who seems to have something on her mind. She often seems to. "She looks... soft."
Maybe he means her way of dressing or her soft-spoken nature... she hasn't said more than a few words in his presence that you're aware of. Whatever he means it's plain enough that he's interested in her.
What do you do?
I note that we are are following the same route I used on my way here, and I am pleased.
I long ago stopped being surprised at people behaving as I wish. I cannot control people, but I found that, even at a young age, my thoughts seeemed to influence the small decisions of those around me--decisions their own mind gave little attention or about which it was conflicted--which seat to choose, when to take a drink...which path to choose when uncertain. I wanted to retrace my route. One does not leave a dry path lightly. Also, highwaymen tend to lay claim to an area. If the abandoned claim of the group I encountered earlier is as yet undiscovered, the way should be clear. I am unsurprised that QuePasa, lacking this information, still chose as I would have.
I slow my walk a bit so we fall just an extra step behind QuePasa and Vignette.
"Yeah, she's definitely... different from most folks. Like I said, don't know her too well, but if you wanted, I'd be happy to help you make her acquaintance..."
Gates & Vignette
Fortyfour chuckles, a deep gravely sound from hsi throat. "Pretty sure I can handle myself, thanks." He slaps you hard on the shoulder, Gates, with a laugh.
The big hunter crosses over to you, Vignette, as you start walking again. He clears hs throat, hoping to get your attention as he moves in near you.
"You're not afraid to be out here? Just you girls and the old man?" He asks, his eyes moving across your relatively unprotected body. He's a head taller than you, Vignette, carries no fewer than three firearms that you can plainly see. And you've seen what he can do.
QuePasa can plainly hear, she clears her throat, annoyed.
What do you do?
“No,” I say flatly, continuing to walk without looking up at him. “Aren't you afraid to be out here–with just us girls and the old man?”
Vignette
He almost laughs, "usually by myself, got that covered... I'm more afraid for you. There's rotters out here'll sell you for bits of shine... someone like you." He looks you in the face for a second, you catch his eyes. Then he turns again to watch the road ahead, the roofline above.
He glances back at Gates. "You two relations? He says you're not spoken for." He clears his throat, suddenly a hint of shyness pierces his usual brashness.
What do you do?
Gates
QuePasa has held her tongue. She may be one of the most capable of yoru flock, in a fight. She knows her way around, right? But you can see her watching Fortyfour and she's visibly unhappy about it.
"Forgive me, Gates. But he doesn't fit in," she watches the wild-haired hunter talking with Vignette. "What do you see in him?"
Gates, that time you saw QuePasa kill. Why did you decide to save her?
What do you do?
I furrow my brow. "You should be careful, traveling alone. I am told that earlier this day 'someone like me' killed a man who was not careful." "Do you wonder at a man asking another man about a woman? I wonder about this often. The man, Gates, should speak for himself. I am not him, I am not of his blood, nor of his flock. Yet he says I am not spoken for--while speaking for me."
I turn and look at him intently for the first time. "And you. Do you think to speak for me as well?"
OOC: Angling for a read person.
I hang back with QuePasa as FortyFour and Vignette chew the fat in their own... awkward way.
"Time was, QuePasa, when some might've said that about you. Don't forget, when I found you... you were cold as a drizzle on a winter night."
I think about the first time I saw her. Near silently she killed a man for his food and gear, not too far from where we live now. QuePasa was colder, but she weren't evil, and I reckon the man had it comin' at least some if she did it, but it was still a hard thing to do.
"Thing is, QuePasa, our Lord didn't make his way through the world healin' the well and preachin' to the choir. Our Lord looked around at a world full o' sheep until his eyes fell on the wolves and then he said 'those are the ones I gotta talk to.' You save the herd, well, you ain't done much. You get the wolf to lie down with the lamb, though, and you can sleep better that night. You get me?"
Vignette
Fortyfour is taken by surprise at your words, how quickly you find them and fire them back like a weapon. He gets a little defensive, raises a hand, palm out. "Whoa whoa whoa... didn't mean it like that. My words, not his. I just mean..." he has to think about it a second.
He stops walking for one or two steps, falling behind, then quickly catches up again. "A woman that's not afraid..." His nose flares a bit and he takes a deep breath like he can smell death or something. "I believe you. I respect that."
Read if you like to.
What do you do?
Gates
Her eyes cast downward a moment as you remind her of her past. Memories of what she's had to do are plain on her face. But your words bring her eyes to yours.
"I hope you're right. But sometimes a wolf is just a wolf, he makes me nervous."
Hey Gates, question. Is there something else your flock calls you? A title or something? Father? Brother? Or is it always just by name?
What do you do?
I kind of think we call each other brother, sister, and friend. There was a little move earlier to call me "father" but I put the stop to that. I'd rather just be "brother Gates" if I'm anything.
I nod as QuePasa says that. "Me as well, friend. That's why I brought you along. If any o' us can handle one such as him, you can, so I'm gonna have you keep an eye on him fer the time being until we can see him a little more clear, if you hear me. If we need to protect ourselves, then we protect ourselves. But the Lord puts it on us to try. Like I said, healin' the well ain't much of a miracle. If he weren't the kind o' person who made us nervous, he wouldn't be the kind o' person who needs help."
OOC: Let’s get that read out of the way. Read Person: (Rolled: 2d6+0. Rolls: 5, 4. Total: 9)
I walk in silence for so long I think 44 believes I will not answer.
Everyone is afraid. But…very difficult to be afraid and be feared. That is why you make yourself feared–to not be afraid. Should I fear you? Should these others? If we do not? What are you willing to do to not be afraid?
Vignette
Fortyfour walks along beside you, arm's length or so. Sometimes trots ahead to check the trail as you near the SafeCo region and the area more secure by Admiral's patrols. He seems more alert, though.
You wait so long to answer that he's almost startled when you finally do.
"I'm not afraid... wish you and these people. Wish they didn't have to be. But they should be. Fear keeps you alive... right?" He thinks a moment about the rest of your question. "You don't need to fear me..."
He reaches a hand out towards you, if you let him he's going to gently touch your face at the jawline.
What do you do?
Gates
QuePasa looks at Fortyfour, she touches the spot in the small of her back where you know she carries her piece. "Great..." she says. Obviously hoping she doesn't ever have to fight him. He's got to outweigh her by half again, at least.
"You brought me home, brother. I trust your judgment. Don't trust his." She smiles her little wry smile. "She's just as worrisome, isn't she?"
What do you do?
No, I tell Spider firmly. I will handle this.
I need to establish boundaries. This man is very large. Intimidation is life to him. I believe he means well at the moment, but this is a poor start. He may become mistaken about what he may do and what he may not do. My hand snaps up, and I grab his wrist. He is so much larger that my slim white fingers barely reach halfway around. He could easily break my hold. This is okay. I do not intend to stop him with my hand. My mind floods into his, filling the dark spaces, puddling in the pits of weaknesses held secret.
“No,” I say in his mind, firmly. It is not a scream. It holds no anger. But it brooks no argument. “You presume too much. Do not touch me uninvited.”
OOC: My intention is to use Direct-brain Whisper Projection here (the Go Aggro of the mind)
Vignette
There's a hint of a smile as you touch his wrist, but only for a moment until you invade his head. His face turns to a surprised sneer, teeth showing and he pulls his arm back out of your grasp and his first instinct is to curl his hand into a fist like he's under attack.
But he stops there, opens his hand and lowers it. He stops walking ans stares at you for a moment as you take a few steps away. He looks at his hand, looks at you and flexes his fingers like they sting.
Then you hear a surprised, loud, "huh." Not the sound of a question, but a statement.
He turns to Gates and QuePasa, who walk along the other side of the lane. "Did you see that?" He's got the biggest grin on his face. He hurries to catch up with you, Vignette.
What do you do?
Gates
You see Fortyfour reach out to touch Vignette, but she stops him and he withdraws his hand like she's poison and falls behind. But after a moment of thought he turns to you and QuePasa. "Did you see that?" He's got this big grin on his face, and doesn't wait for an answer.
He hurries to catch up with her.
"What was that all about?" Asks QuePasa, Gates. Does she know what Vignette can do?
What do you do?
Well huh. I guess Vignette did some of her... stuff on FortyFour. Weird thing is, he seems impressed. I can't tell if I'm strangely pullin' for these two lovebirds to make it work or worried that one of them is going to break the other into a million bloody pieces before they get a chance to.
Hope it don't come to that because those are not sides I want to have to think about pickin'.
Quietly, to QuePasa, I say "Our friend Vignette there is... different. She's got a bit o' the touch, if you get me. I have a feelin' she just did somthin' to FortyFour there to let him know he might consider askin' before he goes pawin' at her."
For a moment, I think the man called Fortyfour is going to attack me. The wash of my mind over his thickens, starts to crystallize. Where once there was liquid flowing over his mind, now are poised thousands of tiny daggers, shards of my will awaiting my strike-thought.
Then he withdraws...and...smiles. Smiles? I do not understand, but he has acquiesced, and I pull my mind back. The thought-daggers evaporate from his mind as if they never were.
At this moment, when my mind leaves another's, I always imagine that I can see myself through the other's eyes. Usually, the image of myself that I see is cruel and terrifying. This time it is not. I see a girl of no more than twenty, small and fine-boned. Her face is delicate and beautiful. Her eyes are soft and deep. She tries to hide this, to seem hard and menacing by accentuating her pale skin with dark red on her lips and black around her eyes. She has played that part for so long that it is, in some ways, who she is. But if one looks deeper, there is softness and warmth and vulnerability in such abundance that it explains her need for the mask. It is very disconcerting. I much prefer the terrifying visage.
The man called Fortyfour returns at a jog, still smiling.
I turn to him, resisting a baffling upward tug at my the corners of my mouth. "It is unusual for a person to wear such a grin after I touch his mind. Have I damaged you in some way? Destroyed your reason and left you only that idiot's grin?"
Gates
"Different?" she looks tense, watching vignette while trying to look like she's not. "Seems like you're surrounding the flock with different people, brother Gates."
She keeps her hand near her weapon, you can see the glint in her eyes, just in case.
Speaking of lovebirds, Gates. Are the flock prohibited from having relationships inside, or outside he flock? Any behaviors they're expected to avoid? Drugs, drink, coffee?
What do you do?
Vignette
Forthfour can't stop smiling, this grin halfway between amused and frightened. Like he's high on the adrenaline of the moment.
"I'm no idiot, and I wouldn't let nobody else say that to my face and walk... but." He flexes his hand again like he can feel where you touched him.
"I said I believe you. Now I know why," he leans in a little closer but not too close, glances at the others to make sure they can't hear and quietly asks. "How did you do that?"
What do you do?
I shrug, almost completely managing to hide a smile. "I can...enter other people's minds...to listen, or to talk, or to hurt when talking is not enough.
We walk in silence for a few strides. "What I can do...it makes people afraid--even people who have not felt it. You were smiling. I did not hurt your mind, so I did not think you were made an idiot, but... You smile. You talk to me. It is not the reaction of a normal person.
OOC: spend hold 1 of 3 - what is he really feeling?
See Gates' sheet for answers about the family.
I nod to QuePasa. "Well, fact is, we're surrounded by different kinds o' folks. If you got a problem with how I'm handlin' things, I'm happy to hear yer counsel. You know I trust you, sister. But I'd also ask that you trust me. We're all just instruments o' the Lord and even when we don't have a plan we can rest assured that he does, we just have to be smart enough to see it when it starts happenin' in front of us."
Changing the subject, I ask "Any thoughts on where we should look for some work?"
Vignette
How is Fortyfour feeling: His adrenaline is going like crazy. Seriously fascinated by you, now, if he wasn't already. He feels excited to be near you, knows you can hurt him but still wants to be there. It's like the danger makes him more interested, if anything. He wants you to want him too, but he will respect your wishes.
He smiles as you explain, nodding. "I heard of someone like you... thought it was a load of rotten crap." He shakes his head, his mane of hair adding to the gesture. "But here you are... mind blown. Why wouldn't I talk to you? You're amazing."
The way he says amazing. He isn't just talking about what you can do.
What do you do?
Gates
Nice answers. Seems fairly conservative. Living almost like the old days. Hard work, good deeds. Loyalty to each other.
She looks forward towards SafeCo as you pass the ruins of the second old stadium on your left. To the right, a sea of rusted and ruined old cargo containers at the old waterfront. The rains leaving puddles of crimson water and rusty streaks of runoff all pointing towards the sea as if in warning.
"I trust you, brother." she almost says more, but chooses to leave it at that. After a thoughtful silence she speaks up, "Lady Valentine may have work for us. Her club seems to be growing prosperous. And as long as we don't make Sister Rei's mistakes, it whould be relatively safe work... I hope."
What do you do?
I do not know how to respond to the man called Fortyfour. I have touched his mind, and yet, he does not look at me with fear and disgust. He calls me "amazing". He smiles at me. His gestures are very big. He displays himself as a potential mate. He shakes his thick mane, shows me his muscled arms and chest, strong hands, scarred from conflict. I do not know if he does this intentionally or not. He is ridiculous. What he displays is...pleasant. His eyes sparkle with intelligence, which surprises me very much. He mostly growls or sneers, but just now, his smile is warm and open. His laugh sounds like a real laugh, not the laugh of someone who intends harm. I think if I had allowed him to touch my jaw, I would have found his hand rough and strong, but also gentle. I imagine that he has had many mates and is very skilled...
He is looking at me like I have forgotten to answer. And I have. I am staring. His comment about my being "amazing" is the last thing I remember hearing.
"Thank you," I blurt out. "But most do not find it amazing. Most are frightened and think I am always snooping." That is a little bit true, but I cannot help it. I think back to the nights staring into Cujo's eyes, shutting out her thoughts.
I tilt my head and regard him seriously, not sure how to return a compliment to one like him. "You..." I say slowly. "...are much larger than you appear on the outside."
I nod to QuePasa. "Good thinkin'. I wouldn't mind swinging by Valentine's place. She usually does have something fer us t'do."
Vignette
You stare at Fortyfour as you pass the ruined warehouses along the highway to your left. It's a place that used to be treacherous, but Admiral's men scour the place a couple times a week now and the road is much safer here within sight of the holding. You can just make out the sounds of engines whining in the distance, h-bikes, maybe a couple grounders.
He answers quickly after you break the background noise with your words. "Most people think I'm big enough. Can't see past the outside... this is all they think I am."
Fortyfour thumps his right bicep with his left palm and slowly his smile grows wider and although he's scanning the dark recesses of the warehouse district, he takes time to really look at you.
He lowers his right arm, palm spread, leans slightly towards you, "May I touch you?"
Looks like he wants to scoop you up.
What do you do?
"I..." I do not know what to say. He wants to touch me. He asks nicely. He did not run away, does not fear me, is not threatened by what I do. Men have wanted to touch me before--not in ways I wanted. I have reacted...decisively...to that. I try to warn them, even before I touch their minds. My makeup, my way of dressing, Spider, all these things are meant to warn. I am like the colorful poisonous frogs that live in the forest.
Yet this man called Fortyfour persists. I am unsure why. This draws me as much as the sparkle in his eyes, his smile, his strength and size. I feel fragile rather than poisonous at the thought of his hands on me.
Spider begins crawling down my back, underneath my shirt. With one small shard of my mind I push Spider lower, down my leg, where there will be no chance encounters. Spider tip-taps slowly down my thigh, behind my knee, and finally comes to rest, wrapping its legs around my calf. Surely this man notices the chill-bumps raise on my skin as Spider travels--he looks at me so closely--even when he should be vigilant for threats other than me. He probably thinks the bumps are due to him. He is not entirely wrong.
I stop and look into the eyes of the man called Fortyfour. I open my mind to his thoughts as I take his hand. It is a ridiculously large and battle-scarred hand to be held by my slim, milk-white fingers. My red nails remind me of the danger, that I am a dangerous creature.
"You may touch me like this," I say, and gently lift his hand to my face, lightly touching the back of his fingers to my jaw. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly trace my jawline with his hand. When I get to my chin, I briefly brush his fingertips across my lips and then lift my chin and draw his hand slowly down my neck, bringing it to rest with his thumb at the base of my throat and his fingers stretching upwards, across my collar bone. His hand is so large on me that his fingertips brush my shoulder. I am sure he must feel my heart pounding.
OOC: spending hold 2 of 3 - What does he wish I would do?
Gates,
Please go here.
Vignette
Fortyfour lowers his head slighly as you gently take his hand, intensely gazes at you as you press his palm to you and his fingers touch your skin. His hand so large, of course, his skin rough and scarred, you can feel the stress he lives under. A powerful, but battered warrior perhaps weary of this life he's chosen.
Fortyfour wants you to tell him to come with you. He's been traveling with Gates, right? Kind of suggests that the man is looking for something else in his life. Something beyond violence and death. Vignette, you're like fresh water splashed in his face. Totally unique, surprising, maybe someone to live for.
Whoa, Fortyfour... little early for that, right? But you have captured a bit of his heart already, haven't you?
He breathes heavily, gazes at you still. His thumb gently runs up and back just a bit along the base of your neck. He seems to be at a loss for words, struggles to say something.
"We..." he's barely noticed that Gates and the family have moved on. "We should get... inside."
But he's not moving. He's stuck here looking at the smooth, pale skin of your face and you feel him getting lost in your eyes.
What do you do?
"We should enter, yes. But first, there is a thing that needs explaining. You are not like Gates' flock. You are a wolf among sheep. Armed sheep, some of them, but sheep still."
I wonder though: just how much a sheep is Gates? There's something more to him, I think. But the wolf does not need to know that.
"Why are you among them? You seek something--I can feel it. But you are a wolf still--I can feel that as well." I reach out, place one slim, white hand on his chest, and let my fingertips glide across the muscles under the rough fabric of his shirt. "I would not have you be otherwise," I say in a voice gone a shade lower, a touch raspy.
"Wolves are dangerous. Can the flock trust that the wolf will not devour them? Can I trust that the wolf will not devour me?"
OOC: Using hold 3 of 3: Is he telling the truth?
Vignette
Your touch is affecting him, you can sense the subtle change in his breath. You know how to get to a man physically after all. Your trace along the edge of his armor, the slightly sweaty rough fabric of his shirt.
"I'm surprised that anyone trusts me... all that I've done." or a moment he gazes after the others, now out of sight among the outlying ruins surrounding SafeCo. "I don't kill any mudders that don't need killing... and there's plenty enough of them to go around."
He slides his hand slightly towards your ear, fingers touch the edge of your jaw and your ear. "I spent near my whole life chasing the memory of a nightmare... killing every murderous punk and slaver I can find out in the wilds. I'm good at it. Made it my thing." He nods, that little nod that you do when you're thinking of what to say next and emotions hang over your head. he uses your metaphor, "but that's not me... wolf needs a pack. Tired of fighting for nothing... for nobody."
He takes a deep breath through the nose, you can feel his chest swell. "You have nothing to fear from me."
What do you do?
"I believe you. Trust is as much a stranger to me as it is to you. People fear--" I start, and then amend my statement with a small smile at him, "--normal people fear my touching their minds."
I tilt my head slightly and look at him intently. "I am glad that I have nothing to fear from you." I pause, considering "I think you have nothing to fear from me either."
With that, I pull my hand back and gently remove his hand, which seems to have become affixed to my neck and upper chest. With his hand in the two of mine, I turn to lead him into the hold. I do not intend to walk hand in hand with him, merely set him into motion beside me.
Vignette
Fortyfour nods in agreement, like an unspoken alliance, truce at the very least.
He gets his game face back on as you turn to go, pulling his hand then letting it drop once he takes a step or two.
---
You see one of Admiral's patrols ahead. Fortyfour seems wary, like maybe he's had words before. He's really a denizen of the North part of the city, wouldn't call SafeCo home.
Vignette, do you avoid Admiral's patrols, as a rule? Why or why not?
I am...distracted...as I enter the hold. I can still feel the hands of the man called Fortyfour on my body, though he no longer touches me. Images swim in my mind. Very private images. I consider showing him where I live. It is very private there. The impression of me in his mind was like "ally"...but also something else. I consider showing him very much of something else. It is too soon, though, for the wolf to know where I live.
In my distracted state, I see the Admiral's patrol too late to avoid them. Do I avoid them often? It depends on whether they are looking for me. Sometimes they are, and sometimes, I am not always in the mood to talk to the Admiral. We have...history. I used to work for him. But I am no longer his to order around... Despite that, not receiving his invitation is better than refusing it. Could I refuse? Yes. Most of the Admiral's goons would not dare lay hands on me. Most. Ballard is the exception. Outright refusal would be much more difficult if Ballard is with the patrol.
Since it is too late to avoid the patrol. I smile and nod to them, as if evasion never entered my head. Instead, I intend to walk right past.
Vignette
The four man patrol approaches in rougly single-file. They're on alert as they see you and Fortyfour. approaching past the broken shells of the once-rich warehouses along the highway.
"You there! This is Admiral's territory. Hands where I can see 'em!" calls the patrol leader.
"Crimson piss," complains Fortyfour. He glances at you but keeps his hands away from his guns for the moment. "wherever you go it's always the same rot..."
But the second in line... of course it had to be Ballard, taps the shoulder of the lead, "hey it's little Vignette... boys, we're fresh, stand down." He steps out of line and comes near, "You have a new puppet, Vignette. He's a big'un too."
He's not trying to hide his words from Fortyfour or the others and there's a little laugh from his patrol leader.
Fortyfour finally lets out a breath he's been holding, loud, through the nose.
What do you do?
"Ballard," I say, nodding to him.
I push back my hood. Ballard announced me, but I want no confusion about who I am. Not that who I am gives me any special pull with this lot. If the Admiral wants me hauled in, they will haul me in, but at least if they recognize me as a person who used to work for the Admiral, and have heard stories about what I can do, I am less likely to receive their more violent attentions.
In response to his comment about my "puppet", I turn and gesture at Fortyfour, my eyes flicking across his in a silent plea for him to play along and let me handle this. "Yes, I say, "he is very large. The trip to Pike's can be dangerous for a defenseless young girl like myself." I smile at Ballard in a way I hope is a unsettling for his men, many of whom have at least some notion of how "defenseless" I am. "Just today, a highwayman met a horrible end along the very route I traveled. I decided I needed protection, and this man found himself suddenly available to do whatever I require. I am very lucky in this way."
I do not talk this way because I enjoy talking to Ballard. The talk is a bit of blood dropped in a pool to gauge the temperament of the water. I take note of who listens, who does not, who seems nervous, bored, excited.
• where’s my best way past?
• what should I be on the lookout for?
• what’s my enemy’s true position?
Vignette
You see Ballards eyes flicker to Fortyfour and back as he considers your story. "Trouble on the road? Bloody rain always brings out the worst..." he scoffs at Fortyfour like the big hunter is the definition of the worst.
Your best way past, you see it already. The guys are out here patrolling, missing the big party, bored, feeling low. Talk your way past, I mean, they're not out here to pick a fight but may be known to them as trouble. Convince Ballard that Fortyfour is under your sway and maybe he can convince the patrol to let you be.
Fortyfour clears his throat loudly, but he sees the danger and sees that you may be stretching the truth a bit, but he lets you lead.
Be on the lookout for making yourself sound too dangerous. That'll prompt the patrol to take you in, probably to Admiral. You can sort of tell that Fortyfour doesn't want that to happen. Yeah. They may have had words in the past.
"This rotter's not welcome," announced Ballard as he steps forward with a hand raised, finger pointed up at Fortyfour's face. He is a heavily-stubbled guardsman who looks like he's rather be scrogging up in the Boat Club than out here in the mud and rubble. His hand rests on his sidearm. "Vignette you're free to go, you..." He looks up at Firtyfour as the rest of the patrol begins to form a semicircle. "Turn away now or disarm and come with us."
Your true enemy is Ballard's ambition more than anything,l. He wants some excuse, any excuse to march up to Admiral's and look important. If that means bringing you up there, fine. If that means dragging Fortyfour's body up there to show off his catch, fine.
You feel Fortyfour take a deep breath, kind of readying himself if he has to defend himself. Not going to easily give up his guns and he does not want to go back. Maybe you can change someone's mind here and diffuse this.
Maybe.
What do you do?
"Ballard... This man is with me. I picked him up on the road, fairly-squarely. He is my protection. Much like Spider." Yes, Ballard knows Spider. I think Ballard does not like spiders much, maybe is afraid of them. Some people are. As if on cue, Spider moves from between my shoulder blades to crawl into view on the side of my neck. Its dark brown legs stand out starkly against the white skin of my throat.
I walk into the semi-circle of Ballard's men, to the man called Fortyfour. My knee-high leather boots click on the hardway ramp, their polished buckles reflecting the lights from Safeco. My long leather coat billows open as I walk, revealing a flash of milk-white legs between the top of my boots and the hem of my black dress. I grab a handful of Fortyfour's coat and turn back to Ballard.
"This one is mine. He is much like Spider, but more...versatile," I say, pursing my lips and letting them slide into a lewd smile. "He is no threat to you or to the hold." I run a hand across his chest. "And he is of significant value to me this evening," I say in a voice close to a purr. "I will vouch for his behavior." I look into Fortyfour's eyes and hope he understands that the meaning of that look is "play along" and not the possessive leer I mean for Ballard to see.
I turn back to Ballard. "Or have you forgotten what it means for a man to be under my sway?" Without warning, I slap Fortyfour across the face--hard, as hard as I can. Immediately, I reverse my momentum and deal him a backhand that would send a smaller man reeling.
Assuming that the man called Fortyfour does not throttle me, I will tell Ballard, "As I have said. He is under my sway. Mine to do with as I will. Not your concern."
Vignette
The patrol takes you in, you see glances at your legs, your skin. Looks of disgust as the men notice the dark thing crawling over your pale skin.
Fortyfour gets it, you see barely contained fury in his eyes as you slap him, then again... His face still stinging he answers Ballard in a low tone, "I obey this woman and no other."
You're pretty clearly manipulating here. Hit the dice.
marking XP (2)
Vignette
The flinches on the faces of the guardsmen are an amusing reward for your show of Fortyfour's obediance. Couple of the four take a step or two back, the last guy looks at Ballard like 'what the hell do we do now, boss?
Ballard finally removed his hand from his sidearm, he nearly drew it when you slapped Fortyfour like you might set the big guy off. "All right... all right Vignette. You got this one good, huh? Good little puppetmaster..." He takes a step towards you, standing in Fortyfour's shadow. Ballard stands barely to Fourtyfour's shoulder.
"My turn," Ballard removes his armored gloves, looks like he wants to hit Fortyfour bare-knucled. "If he moves, boys. Drop them both."
Fortyfour stares hard down at Ballard, a glance at you, his 'master' as the other three take a couple steps back and get prepared for a fight they hope isn't coming.
Ballard is going to belt Fortyfour in the face.
What do you do?
Ballard wants assurance, right now, that you have hold over Fortyfour as strong as you say. If he passes the test, you're free to go.
"Please, do not," I say, stepping into Ballard's view, but not blocking him--he is the man in charge, yes?
"This thing you do, it will break my hold if I let you harm him. Then, he and I, and maybe some of you, get hurt or killed." I say this as neutrally as I can. I do not threaten. But I think it is not good. It is like a challenge. On sudden inspiration, I add. "And then I, as a dead person, cannot tell the Admiral what I have discovered. And you, as the one who killed me, cannot bring me to the Admiral to tell him. It is a high price for hitting a puppet."
Vignette
Ballard pauses, his hand balled into a fist as he looks up at the much larger man. He looks at your face, then Fortyfour.
And laughs.
"Not as perfect as you led me to believe, Vignette. Is your hold so weak? Fine.... fine."
Well you've spared Fortyfour the indignity and perhaps managed to convince Ballard to underestimate you at the same time. If not moved Ballard's opinion of you down a peg or two for your trouble.
"He disarms before you get anywhere near SafeCo, same rules as any outsider." Ballard starts putting his glove back on. His men don't quite relax though. "And I'm taking you and your news to Admiral. Personally. Patrol... let's move."
Ballard turns to walk ahead, the others relax. A little... preparing to escort you to the gates.
Fortyfour watches you through narrowed eyes, a tiny hint of a smirk on the corner of his lips. He spares the slightest little laugh. "You think I can't take a hit from that little whelk?" He grumbles, teasing.
What do you do?
I suffer Ballard's mistaken notion of the weakness of my hold. His laugh grates on me, and I am about to explain the minor limitation of my hold...until I recall that I do not, in fact, have a hold on the man called Fortyfour. This allows me show Ballard a face of irritated embarrassment, while inside I laugh at him for mocking imperfection in a thing I have not done at all.
I am, of course, familiar with the prohibition against arms for outsiders, but for Fortyfour's benefit I ask Ballard, "One checks weapons at the gate and retrieves them when leaving, yes?"
As I fall in behind Ballard, the man called Fortyfour teases about my thinking he cannot take a hit from Ballard. I glance over at him with a little smirk. "Of course, you can take a hit from him. I hit harder than he does." I continue in a mock-indignant tone, "It is a thing of principle. Only I may hit my puppet." At this, I grin wickedly, watching the man called Fortyfour out of the corner of my eye as we follow our escort.
Vignette,
"Yeah, we check weapons, give 'em back when ya leave." Ballard answers with irritation, a line he's said a hundred times or more to travelers. He glares up at Fortyfour as if he's thinking if you leave, you asshole.
Fortyfour ignores Ballard, offers no more jibes to you about him, falling into a quiet role as he walks beside you. Ballard and the others are wary of him, especially Ballard, but you finish the walk to SafeCo without further incident.
The long series of concrete rises and stairs on your trip to the Yacht Club echo with the sounds of revelers. Drunken songs about Piker's Folly and Grimace Uber Alles are heard, along with a stumbling old man uttering a limerick about HarborWhores.
Ballard walks you up to the guards standing outside Yacht Club, and they pat Fortyfour down, but the woman who comes up to pat you down hesitates, looking over you, maybe for the spider, then waves you through.
The Yachy Club is loud, music playing, people drinking and talking. The smell of coffee masks the outside and the lights and attractive folk make the place seem welcome, even though people look at you with eyes of suspicion. Not Fortyfour, of course. Your "puppet".
You come up to Admiral, who is sitting with Hope at his booth. You know Hope, right? Ace's sister, works for HM. Admiral has a possessive hand on her thigh, which is exposed from the high skirt she's wearing. She looks off, Vignette. Her eyes are glazed, she seems barely here.
Admiral looks at you, but never meets your eyes, Vignette. "Who's this?" he nods to Fortyfour.
"Some rotting puppet..." Ballard begins with a sneer.
Admiral holds up a hand, silencing his man. He hasn't stopped looking at you, Vignette. "Ballard, I asked the lady a question about her big friend." Ballard falls back, realizing he spoke out of turn, this isn't going how he'd hoped. Ballard will hate you for that, too, Vignette.
What do you do?
Vignette,
HM is here as well, talking quietly with one of his people, a male. Oh, Bon, Gates and Valentine are here, too. They're standing near the hothouse talking.