I take in the scene at the Yacht Club. They know me here, most by sight. It has not been so long, even though it seems ages ago that I left the Admiral's employ. They know I do not carry weapons, and they know to not pat me down. That one unfortunate incident is really all it took.
Gates is a welcome sight. I trust the man more than I probably should, given I know him so little. I guess once you have helped someone betray a loved one, you share a bond. He stands with the lady Bon and with Valentine. I admire them both, somehow able to be in the Admiral's sphere without becoming his creatures. In some ways, it is their example that helped me decide to leave. For all that, I do not know them well. I fear they likely distrust me, as everyone in the Admiral's employ may be distrusted for their membership in that set. Probably, this is justified.
I am not happy to see the Harbor Master here, nor to see the Admiral's hand on Hope and Hope looking like...a puppet. We are not so dissimilar, the Admiral and I. He does not have my gift, but there are other ways to break a person. I remind myself that I have not done that to Fortyfour, do not intend to do that.
I know Hope a little. She is very nice. Quiet. Calm. So, so soft and pretty. Hope appears in my mind as an emerald green orb. Until recently, I had not drawn the line between this orb and that of Ace. It is a strong line but not alight, and it passes through many shadows. She is not afraid of me, and I like that. If she did not stay with the Harbor Master, I would like to spend more time with her. She deserves to be in a good place, kept safe, treated nicely. I fear she is not.
"Sir," I say, standing straight and acknowledging the Admiral formally with a sharp nod. I cannot see Fortyfour's reaction. I do not know if he finds my manner amusing, worrying, or disgusting. He has not seen me show anyone this level of respect. Ballard probably finds it comforting--a return to old roles, a sign that I am not so different from when I left. I am, though. Just not in public. In public, I am formal and respectful. It has always been this way.
Whatever comfort Ballard derived from my manner, the Admiral swept away when he silenced him to hear me.
"Sir, this man is called 'Fortyfour' by himself and others. I enlisted him as protection on the road between here and Pike's. I stand guarantee against his behavior." I glance meaningfully at Ballard, in a way overt enough for the Admiral to follow. "Unless he is abused."
Admiral looks him over, not like he's a man, but a prize stallion. His eyes catch the scars on Fortyfour's hands, the haggard look in his eyes, the way he carries himself. "You chose a good protector. I'd take him over a couple Ballards." He looks pointedly at Ballard, who scowls, then looks away, down to his boots. Admiral peers at you, Vignette. In a clear tone, he asks, "You went to some trouble to come here. What is it that you're after, Vignette?"
“Sir. I was brought here, Sir," I say crisply and in a neutral tone without any hint of rebuttal. “Presumably because of my choice in protectors.” I add this last with a look at Ballard. The Admiral has already killed whatever goodwill was possible there. I may as well dance on its grave.
I look back at the Admiral. No soft green orb in my mind for the Admiral. He is all precise planes of quartz, some more cloudy than others. It is not unlike my own mindshape, a thought that does not comfort me. I listen with my mind while I watch the Admiral for more mundane cues. He is well aware of my gifts, yet in my experience, he scarcely cares to hide from me. Or he is exceedingly good at it.
"Vignette," Ballard interjects, moving forward to stand on the other side of you than Fortyfour. "You swore up and down you had to tell Admiral something you'd discovered. That's why I busted ass to get you here, with your big ape of a puppet. So, spill it."
Admiral arches a brow, suddenly interested. "What is it, Vignette? Have a seat, tell me what you've found. Thanks for bringing her here, Ballard."
This could unravel if I am not careful. I said things to get past Ballard. These things I wished for him to forget. Now, I must say the "something I have discovered".
"Sir, may we discuss in private? These things I should say to you before others."
Admiral looks over to Ballard, "Take Fortyfour over to the bar. Get yourself a drink, Ballard, but don't mess with the big guy." Ballard nods, happy with Admiral's praise and trust.
Admiral looks to Hope, then says, "Get us some drinks, Hope.... take your time." He slips out of the booth, letting her up. Hope looks to you, Vignette, her eyes barely seeing you. She walks like a rag doll to the bar, and Admiral gestures for you to sit first, then sits across you at the booth. "What is it, Vignette? I don't like waiting, you know that."
I sit across from the Admiral and watch the others drift away. Watching Hope makes me angry. I do not know if I am angry at the Harbor Master or at the man in front of me. Both, I think.
Once the others are out of earshot, I lean back in the booth, force myself to relax into an almost haughtiness. My face and my voice are no longer formal. They are not warm.
"Hello, Daddy."
This thing I would only say when we are alone. I do not think anyone knows me as more than the Admiral's very loyal, very trusted employee. Not so loyal anymore, not so trusted.
"I have many things to tell you. Your security chief is a rotting idiot. You should not trust the Harbor Master, and by offering gifts of companionship," I say, inclining my head toward Hope, "he tries to make you look like an old fool in front of your own people. And succeeds."
I smile sweetly, his loyal daughter returned home to offer advice. I wonder if he will someday explode at me. I think I wish it, try to make it happen--anything to distract from the cold rain that we stand in when we are together.
"You could save face by accepting the girl as a gift and putting her on Valentine's staff." I go on before he can object. "It shows you know the value of his gift, but are not made his customer. Having that girl in your employ, as opposed to a pretty thing for you to wear, shows you are cunning, not manipulated." It is a dash between shelters at the start of a rainstorm, but it is the best I can do for her without leverage or time to think.
Admiral steeples his fingers, leaning forward and sharing the tiniest of smiles when you give him a "dressing down". "Ballard is... highly motivated to get results. He doesn't understand you, Vigny. Don't worry about him. I don't trust Harbormaster, and I think Valentine is in league with him to unseat me. I realize Hope is a plant, but if I cast her out now, then the next plant will be less obvious."
He sits back, the ambient music nearly masking the creak in the booth. "I will feed her some information from time to time, then wait to see if HM acts on it. The moment he or Valentine does, then I'll squash either or both of them, and absorb their work. I'd do it now, but they are better at entertaining and I'd rather enjoy the fruits of their labor."
He smiles, an actual smile. "Who knows? Maybe Hope would like to stop being a whore? You might have little sisters running around someday soon." He cracks his knuckles and laughs low. "I need you to find out if I can still trust Val, Vigny. How soon can you do that?"
He puts his hands on the table, leans back in, "And by the by, speaking of looking foolish. How long will Fortyfour have to act like your puppet? We both know that was a soaking fib."
I love it when he calls me “Vigny”. I hate it when he calls me “Vigny”.
I listen intently as he tells me his thoughts on the Harbormaster and Valentine, while I pretend disinterest, tracing lines of wetness from drops of a drink spilled on the table. It is dark against the wood. If we were outside, I might think it is blood. Daddy knows I am listening. I do not know why I pretend. Old habit. It used to make him yell. That was long ago.
I force myself to remain silent as he talks of Hope and “sisters”. He is as good at splashing me as I am him. Hope is my age and more a puppet than Fortyfour pretends to be. It is disgusting. And what would he do with more daughters? Train them to work for him as he did me? Maybe he hopes for another with my gift, one who would remain pliable. I continue to draw lines in the spill on the tabletop, maybe too intent upon appearing disinterested to be believed, but unable to look up just now.
He reveals that he knows about Fortyfour and does not tell Ballard. I look up and smile at that. “Yes, I fibbed to Ballard. He interferes unnecessarily.” My smile turns sinister, and maybe someone sitting with us at that moment would see the family resemblance. “It is better for Ballard if he believes I can do these things. Prevents more direct confrontation. I know how long it takes you to train new guard dogs.”
“As for Valentine, I think that you see phantoms in your old age…or maybe the Harbormaster’s pretty gift has stolen the blood from your head…but I will find out. For you, Daddy.” I smile with mock sweetness. "But I cannot do it with Ballard following me around like a storm cloud. And I still require the...'protection'..." I pause for a beat, allowing my smile to slide into a lascivious grin, "...of the man called Fortyfour." Why should I be the only one made uncomfortable by this conversation?
As we bring this scene to a close, I have to know. Do you find a place in the hold for you and Fortyfour? Or do you head out to sleep in the pile tonight, leave Fortyfour to fend for himself?
I leave the Yacht Club with the man called Fortyfour in tow. I do not think Ballard is pleased, but for now, while I work for Daddy, Ballard cannot touch me--not because he knows I am daughter to his employer, but because he knows I have been given a mission. It is like the old days a little.
Before we left, we took full advantage of the Admiral's hospitality. I have not eaten like that since leaving his side, and I doubt the man called Fortyfour ever has. I am uneasy, though. I keep thinking of the story of a girl doomed to forever return to the underworld because she ate a few seeds. I would not trade my freedom for a few seeds, so we ate, and we drank, until even my large protector was red-faced.
I should have talked to Valentine, or the lady, Bon, but I could no longer bear that place. Banner watching me through narrowed eyes, Daddy touching Hope while her mind drifts, nearly untethered from this world, Harbormaster's feral smile and his entourage of broken beautiful people.
I took the man called Fortyfour to my secret place, the room of many windows. It is close to the ground, unlike many of the nice places. There are three rows of thirteen square windows--I counted them once. Black wooden squares cover the windows, some with numbers on them. Spare window-covers hang on hooks inside, most of these with numbers as well. Two of the windows are a bit wider, no longer square. Their covers have words. The top one says "Tampa Bay", the bottom "Seattle". The spare covers for these windows have words like "New York", "San Francisco", and "Kansas City".
I think that the man called Fortyfour believed that I was bringing him to my secret place to give myself to him. He was right.
But I did not. It had been a day of hiding and hunting and wearing many masks. I felt vulnerable and overwhelmed. We talked for awhile, discovering that we do not really know one another. We left my secret place, and I brought him to Gates and his family. He was disappointed, I think. Maybe I was too, a little.
I returned to the pile, almost at a run. As I walked among the Arrows, I felt my masks dropping away. I breathed deeply for a few moments, watching and listening as the Arrows went about their various nighttime rituals. I headed for Dog as the quickest route to the one I seek. She intercepted me, Cujo did, with her deep, dark eyes that leave me weak and unable or unwilling to move, and her lips as red as mine, so close that I could feel her breath on me. It felt like something close to contentment, but it was a long time before I was able to sleep.
Fortyfour seems surprised when you take him somewhere secluded, but do nothing. He's even more surprised when you hand him off to Gates and his people, but he says nothing about it.
When you make it outside the hold and find the hideout for the Arrows, you see most of them have already headed into the pile. Except Cujo, who's sitting by the half-open door, quietly sharpening her knife on a whetstone. As you come closer and she looks up to see you, she stands up, sheathing her knife in a smooth, practiced motion, then walks inside ahead of you, saying nothing.
Most of the pile is already asleep, the place is dark except for the dim light leaking in from the streetlight outside. Cujo peels out of her denim jeans and jacket, then crawls onto a mattress beside Hachiko, turning to her side so she's facing you. The light reflects off her golden ear and she pats the open spot of mattress nearest her, invitng you.
I am relieved that the man called Fortyfour does not try to make me stay and do the things I want to do with him. I am relieved, not surprised. We understand each other, a little. I am relieved that he says nothing at all when I leave him with Gates. I am so relieved that I find myself thinking unkind thoughts about the women of Gate's flock. I am so relieved that I am angry when I pass a large man with long blond hair sitting near a food cart, a pretty brunette woman on his lap.
As I walk, my relief fades, replaced by tiredness and loneliness. Despite my fatigue, I move faster with every step, until I am nearly running. I arrive at the Arrows' hideout and scan the pile, once, twice... The rasp of a blade across a whetstone draws my attention to the sentry in the shadows. Cujo. She is already looking at me. I draw near, and she turns, leading me to the pile. I add my long leather coat and boots to the outer clothes she sheds. She lies down and pats the spot beside her in invitation. This is the first time Cujo has acknowledged that she does more than keep me away from Dog, though I have not sought Dog since that first time, and I am sure she knows this. The Arrows, most of them, have reserved judgment, or at least deferred to Dog on the question of my place here. At Cujo's invitation, a sense of belonging and acceptance washes over me. I look over the assembled Arrows and inhale deeply, as if filling my lungs after surfacing from a plunge into water. This is the closest thing to home I have.
I look back to Cujo. Her eyes are warm and so deep that I am afraid of becoming lost. Her surface thoughts are there, indistinct phantoms standing on the other side of smudged glass. I could so easily step inside with her, see what she is feeling...but I have promised myself I would not trespass there. For a brief moment, I imagine taking her hand and leading her from the pile. I do not want to overstep, do not want to presume too much, and I have done too much leading of people today. I take my place in the pile next to Cujo, my need to be here amidst the Arrows outweighing other needs. I feel, or imagine I feel, the rise and fall of her breathing, the motion transferred to me by the sleeping mat we share. The images that flash through my head when I close my eyes do not bring me closer to sleep.
As you're lying there, thoughts betraying your search for sleep, you feel something against your hand, warm and moving. Fingers, slipping against your palm, lacing against your own fingers, then closing gently. Her eyes are closed, this you know whether you open yours or not. But something is slowly opening.
Comments
I take in the scene at the Yacht Club. They know me here, most by sight. It has not been so long, even though it seems ages ago that I left the Admiral's employ. They know I do not carry weapons, and they know to not pat me down. That one unfortunate incident is really all it took.
Gates is a welcome sight. I trust the man more than I probably should, given I know him so little. I guess once you have helped someone betray a loved one, you share a bond. He stands with the lady Bon and with Valentine. I admire them both, somehow able to be in the Admiral's sphere without becoming his creatures. In some ways, it is their example that helped me decide to leave. For all that, I do not know them well. I fear they likely distrust me, as everyone in the Admiral's employ may be distrusted for their membership in that set. Probably, this is justified.
I am not happy to see the Harbor Master here, nor to see the Admiral's hand on Hope and Hope looking like...a puppet. We are not so dissimilar, the Admiral and I. He does not have my gift, but there are other ways to break a person. I remind myself that I have not done that to Fortyfour, do not intend to do that.
I know Hope a little. She is very nice. Quiet. Calm. So, so soft and pretty. Hope appears in my mind as an emerald green orb. Until recently, I had not drawn the line between this orb and that of Ace. It is a strong line but not alight, and it passes through many shadows. She is not afraid of me, and I like that. If she did not stay with the Harbor Master, I would like to spend more time with her. She deserves to be in a good place, kept safe, treated nicely. I fear she is not.
"Sir," I say, standing straight and acknowledging the Admiral formally with a sharp nod. I cannot see Fortyfour's reaction. I do not know if he finds my manner amusing, worrying, or disgusting. He has not seen me show anyone this level of respect. Ballard probably finds it comforting--a return to old roles, a sign that I am not so different from when I left. I am, though. Just not in public. In public, I am formal and respectful. It has always been this way.
Whatever comfort Ballard derived from my manner, the Admiral swept away when he silenced him to hear me.
"Sir, this man is called 'Fortyfour' by himself and others. I enlisted him as protection on the road between here and Pike's. I stand guarantee against his behavior." I glance meaningfully at Ballard, in a way overt enough for the Admiral to follow. "Unless he is abused."
Vignette
Admiral looks him over, not like he's a man, but a prize stallion. His eyes catch the scars on Fortyfour's hands, the haggard look in his eyes, the way he carries himself. "You chose a good protector. I'd take him over a couple Ballards." He looks pointedly at Ballard, who scowls, then looks away, down to his boots. Admiral peers at you, Vignette. In a clear tone, he asks, "You went to some trouble to come here. What is it that you're after, Vignette?"
“Sir. I was brought here, Sir," I say crisply and in a neutral tone without any hint of rebuttal. “Presumably because of my choice in protectors.” I add this last with a look at Ballard. The Admiral has already killed whatever goodwill was possible there. I may as well dance on its grave.
I look back at the Admiral. No soft green orb in my mind for the Admiral. He is all precise planes of quartz, some more cloudy than others. It is not unlike my own mindshape, a thought that does not comfort me. I listen with my mind while I watch the Admiral for more mundane cues. He is well aware of my gifts, yet in my experience, he scarcely cares to hide from me. Or he is exceedingly good at it.
OOC: Casual brain receptivity (Brainer Read Person)
“Since I am here, though, there is a matter I wish to discuss–in private, if I may, Sir.”
I wonder, how could I get him to take his hands off Hope and help me get her away from the Harbor Master for good?
Marking XP (3).
Vignette
"Vignette," Ballard interjects, moving forward to stand on the other side of you than Fortyfour. "You swore up and down you had to tell Admiral something you'd discovered. That's why I busted ass to get you here, with your big ape of a puppet. So, spill it."
Admiral arches a brow, suddenly interested. "What is it, Vignette? Have a seat, tell me what you've found. Thanks for bringing her here, Ballard."
This could unravel if I am not careful. I said things to get past Ballard. These things I wished for him to forget. Now, I must say the "something I have discovered".
"Sir, may we discuss in private? These things I should say to you before others."
Vignette
Admiral looks over to Ballard, "Take Fortyfour over to the bar. Get yourself a drink, Ballard, but don't mess with the big guy." Ballard nods, happy with Admiral's praise and trust.
Admiral looks to Hope, then says, "Get us some drinks, Hope.... take your time." He slips out of the booth, letting her up. Hope looks to you, Vignette, her eyes barely seeing you. She walks like a rag doll to the bar, and Admiral gestures for you to sit first, then sits across you at the booth. "What is it, Vignette? I don't like waiting, you know that."
What do you do?
I sit across from the Admiral and watch the others drift away. Watching Hope makes me angry. I do not know if I am angry at the Harbor Master or at the man in front of me. Both, I think.
Once the others are out of earshot, I lean back in the booth, force myself to relax into an almost haughtiness. My face and my voice are no longer formal. They are not warm.
"Hello, Daddy."
This thing I would only say when we are alone. I do not think anyone knows me as more than the Admiral's very loyal, very trusted employee. Not so loyal anymore, not so trusted.
"I have many things to tell you. Your security chief is a rotting idiot. You should not trust the Harbor Master, and by offering gifts of companionship," I say, inclining my head toward Hope, "he tries to make you look like an old fool in front of your own people. And succeeds."
I smile sweetly, his loyal daughter returned home to offer advice. I wonder if he will someday explode at me. I think I wish it, try to make it happen--anything to distract from the cold rain that we stand in when we are together.
"You could save face by accepting the girl as a gift and putting her on Valentine's staff." I go on before he can object. "It shows you know the value of his gift, but are not made his customer. Having that girl in your employ, as opposed to a pretty thing for you to wear, shows you are cunning, not manipulated." It is a dash between shelters at the start of a rainstorm, but it is the best I can do for her without leverage or time to think.
Vignette
Well, damn. That feels like a Manipulation to me. Let's see some dice, young lady.
Marking XP (4)
Vignette
Admiral steeples his fingers, leaning forward and sharing the tiniest of smiles when you give him a "dressing down". "Ballard is... highly motivated to get results. He doesn't understand you, Vigny. Don't worry about him. I don't trust Harbormaster, and I think Valentine is in league with him to unseat me. I realize Hope is a plant, but if I cast her out now, then the next plant will be less obvious."
He sits back, the ambient music nearly masking the creak in the booth. "I will feed her some information from time to time, then wait to see if HM acts on it. The moment he or Valentine does, then I'll squash either or both of them, and absorb their work. I'd do it now, but they are better at entertaining and I'd rather enjoy the fruits of their labor."
He smiles, an actual smile. "Who knows? Maybe Hope would like to stop being a whore? You might have little sisters running around someday soon." He cracks his knuckles and laughs low. "I need you to find out if I can still trust Val, Vigny. How soon can you do that?"
He puts his hands on the table, leans back in, "And by the by, speaking of looking foolish. How long will Fortyfour have to act like your puppet? We both know that was a soaking fib."
What do you do?
I love it when he calls me “Vigny”. I hate it when he calls me “Vigny”.
I listen intently as he tells me his thoughts on the Harbormaster and Valentine, while I pretend disinterest, tracing lines of wetness from drops of a drink spilled on the table. It is dark against the wood. If we were outside, I might think it is blood. Daddy knows I am listening. I do not know why I pretend. Old habit. It used to make him yell. That was long ago.
I force myself to remain silent as he talks of Hope and “sisters”. He is as good at splashing me as I am him. Hope is my age and more a puppet than Fortyfour pretends to be. It is disgusting. And what would he do with more daughters? Train them to work for him as he did me? Maybe he hopes for another with my gift, one who would remain pliable. I continue to draw lines in the spill on the tabletop, maybe too intent upon appearing disinterested to be believed, but unable to look up just now.
He reveals that he knows about Fortyfour and does not tell Ballard. I look up and smile at that. “Yes, I fibbed to Ballard. He interferes unnecessarily.” My smile turns sinister, and maybe someone sitting with us at that moment would see the family resemblance. “It is better for Ballard if he believes I can do these things. Prevents more direct confrontation. I know how long it takes you to train new guard dogs.”
“As for Valentine, I think that you see phantoms in your old age…or maybe the Harbormaster’s pretty gift has stolen the blood from your head…but I will find out. For you, Daddy.” I smile with mock sweetness. "But I cannot do it with Ballard following me around like a storm cloud. And I still require the...'protection'..." I pause for a beat, allowing my smile to slide into a lascivious grin, "...of the man called Fortyfour." Why should I be the only one made uncomfortable by this conversation?
Vignette,
As we bring this scene to a close, I have to know. Do you find a place in the hold for you and Fortyfour? Or do you head out to sleep in the pile tonight, leave Fortyfour to fend for himself?
I leave the Yacht Club with the man called Fortyfour in tow. I do not think Ballard is pleased, but for now, while I work for Daddy, Ballard cannot touch me--not because he knows I am daughter to his employer, but because he knows I have been given a mission. It is like the old days a little.
Before we left, we took full advantage of the Admiral's hospitality. I have not eaten like that since leaving his side, and I doubt the man called Fortyfour ever has. I am uneasy, though. I keep thinking of the story of a girl doomed to forever return to the underworld because she ate a few seeds. I would not trade my freedom for a few seeds, so we ate, and we drank, until even my large protector was red-faced.
I should have talked to Valentine, or the lady, Bon, but I could no longer bear that place. Banner watching me through narrowed eyes, Daddy touching Hope while her mind drifts, nearly untethered from this world, Harbormaster's feral smile and his entourage of broken beautiful people.
I took the man called Fortyfour to my secret place, the room of many windows. It is close to the ground, unlike many of the nice places. There are three rows of thirteen square windows--I counted them once. Black wooden squares cover the windows, some with numbers on them. Spare window-covers hang on hooks inside, most of these with numbers as well. Two of the windows are a bit wider, no longer square. Their covers have words. The top one says "Tampa Bay", the bottom "Seattle". The spare covers for these windows have words like "New York", "San Francisco", and "Kansas City".
I think that the man called Fortyfour believed that I was bringing him to my secret place to give myself to him. He was right.
But I did not. It had been a day of hiding and hunting and wearing many masks. I felt vulnerable and overwhelmed. We talked for awhile, discovering that we do not really know one another. We left my secret place, and I brought him to Gates and his family. He was disappointed, I think. Maybe I was too, a little.
I returned to the pile, almost at a run. As I walked among the Arrows, I felt my masks dropping away. I breathed deeply for a few moments, watching and listening as the Arrows went about their various nighttime rituals. I headed for Dog as the quickest route to the one I seek. She intercepted me, Cujo did, with her deep, dark eyes that leave me weak and unable or unwilling to move, and her lips as red as mine, so close that I could feel her breath on me. It felt like something close to contentment, but it was a long time before I was able to sleep.
Fortyfour seems surprised when you take him somewhere secluded, but do nothing. He's even more surprised when you hand him off to Gates and his people, but he says nothing about it.
When you make it outside the hold and find the hideout for the Arrows, you see most of them have already headed into the pile.
Except Cujo, who's sitting by the half-open door, quietly sharpening her knife on a whetstone. As you come closer and she looks up to see you, she stands up, sheathing her knife in a smooth, practiced motion, then walks inside ahead of you, saying nothing.
Most of the pile is already asleep, the place is dark except for the dim light leaking in from the streetlight outside. Cujo peels out of her denim jeans and jacket, then crawls onto a mattress beside Hachiko, turning to her side so she's facing you. The light reflects off her golden ear and she pats the open spot of mattress nearest her, invitng you.
What do you do?
I am relieved that the man called Fortyfour does not try to make me stay and do the things I want to do with him. I am relieved, not surprised. We understand each other, a little. I am relieved that he says nothing at all when I leave him with Gates. I am so relieved that I find myself thinking unkind thoughts about the women of Gate's flock. I am so relieved that I am angry when I pass a large man with long blond hair sitting near a food cart, a pretty brunette woman on his lap.
As I walk, my relief fades, replaced by tiredness and loneliness. Despite my fatigue, I move faster with every step, until I am nearly running. I arrive at the Arrows' hideout and scan the pile, once, twice... The rasp of a blade across a whetstone draws my attention to the sentry in the shadows. Cujo. She is already looking at me. I draw near, and she turns, leading me to the pile. I add my long leather coat and boots to the outer clothes she sheds. She lies down and pats the spot beside her in invitation. This is the first time Cujo has acknowledged that she does more than keep me away from Dog, though I have not sought Dog since that first time, and I am sure she knows this. The Arrows, most of them, have reserved judgment, or at least deferred to Dog on the question of my place here. At Cujo's invitation, a sense of belonging and acceptance washes over me. I look over the assembled Arrows and inhale deeply, as if filling my lungs after surfacing from a plunge into water. This is the closest thing to home I have.
I look back to Cujo. Her eyes are warm and so deep that I am afraid of becoming lost. Her surface thoughts are there, indistinct phantoms standing on the other side of smudged glass. I could so easily step inside with her, see what she is feeling...but I have promised myself I would not trespass there. For a brief moment, I imagine taking her hand and leading her from the pile. I do not want to overstep, do not want to presume too much, and I have done too much leading of people today. I take my place in the pile next to Cujo, my need to be here amidst the Arrows outweighing other needs. I feel, or imagine I feel, the rise and fall of her breathing, the motion transferred to me by the sleeping mat we share. The images that flash through my head when I close my eyes do not bring me closer to sleep.
Vignette,
As you're lying there, thoughts betraying your search for sleep, you feel something against your hand, warm and moving. Fingers, slipping against your palm, lacing against your own fingers, then closing gently. Her eyes are closed, this you know whether you open yours or not. But something is slowly opening.
--END SCENE--