[Fury] Better Deals (Vignette 3.1)

Rich

Vignette,

After SeaTac left in a huff (all part of your plan), the raider gangers were more subdued. Even that slant-eyed member of the tax Patrol avoided your gaze. With the raiders quiet, the rest of the afternoon became a series of more peaceful negotiations.

The way Millions has worked things is that he has an "office" where new goods are brought through. Raiders bring a manifest, or samples of their haul. Millions or someone he designates (currently it is Foster), will give a fair worth of the items, and take a tenth of what it's expected to sell for. If the raiders pull a better deal, more's to them. If they end up short, well, that's their soaking problem. Of course, a few gangs are "earners", so Millions took an eleventh, or even a twelfth (meaning one jingle for every eleven expected to sell or one per twelve)

Each one of the raider gangers tried to get more than their deals with Millions, but Jax kept you up on previous deals. In the end, one of the gangs left angry about a raw deal. Who was it - the Tax Patrol? The Farseekers? The Foresters?

The afternoon was spent talking to each of them individually, since none of them wanted the others around when you negotiated. The evening was taken up by walking the market, seeing some of the goods coming in. It's near dark when you come back to where you sleep.

Hey, where do you sleep now? Did you take up Queen Anne's offer of Grindhouse? Yellowhouse has offered a nearby flat for you. Millions place is the natural spot for you, but well, it's grandiose, a big warehouse place fit for a king. Most of Pike's Boys stay there.

Rich

Grindhouse

August says:
"Queen Anne runs the spot right now, although I don't think he's been on the scene much longer than I have. It's a rundown theatre, trashed then fixed up then re-trashed. Main stage with lots of questionable red velvet. Bunch of back rooms with weird freakshow-peepshow-arthaus affairs.

"Grindhouse is pretty rough sometimes. Queen Anne might have the box office locked down, and the peepshows are secure, but the seating arrangements aren't always civil. Last time we visited, Chance earned herself a black eye after shooting a dude in the foot because he kicked her chair too many times."

Yellowhouse

MC Notes:
Back before the Big Wet, this is a pic of what Yellowhouse used to be:


"Yellowhouse serves bark stew as a staple, but you catch a whiff of boiled meat in the bowl that Laika hands you. She nods, like she saved you some choice bits. There's hunks of bread on metal plates to sop up the stew, which is usually stained hot with spicy sauces and spiked with alcohol to help mask the taste. Really, the brew is why one comes to Yellowhouse. And the view of Pike, maybe.

"Yellowhouse's owners are a raggedy couple of folks with barely wrinkled skin and narrow eyes. They are old, Rainey thinks they lived when it was dry, but she's never asked. The elderly man... Old Mako. "

John

Jax is worth every bit that I pay him. I consider whether he might be taking kickbacks from the gangs, but they are paid so similarly that they would practically all have to be in on it. Even had I not scanned each of them, I think I could have sniffed out something that pervasive. Most left satisfied but not feeling sly. Most. The boss of the Tax Patrol was not pleased. It has been a thin month, and I want a little flex for emergencies… So, I held the Tax Patrol to the same deal they had–one for every ten–even though they are good earners. Honestly, I was not unhappy to stick it to the Tax Patrol. None of the gangs are models of ethical behavior, but the Tax Patrol is the most blatant about preying on normal people moving between Pike and Safeco. They are also the gang against which the Admiral is most likely to side with me, should that become necessary.

Where do I sleep? In the lonely, echoey loft of Millions’ warehouse. Anne’s place and the flat offered by Yellowhouse would both be more comfortable, but appearances are everything. If I do not take the lavish amount of space formerly occupied by Millions, my crew is going to start thinking of me as weak–especially if one of them claims the space. It is important that I am present. Daddy taught me that much. They must not see me as a visitor to my own seat of power. And so, I stay here, alone in this huge space, the Mistress of Pike in the heart of her realm. The loft has a balcony of sorts–it was probably a second story loading dock. I walk out onto this most dry nights and listen for the sound of an h-bike.

Rich

You hear an h-bike, a single whine of an engine. It's been circling Pike for a half hour maybe, in a wide arc. The sun is setting when it finally settles in. You spot the telltale shaved side of Cujo's head first. She has parked her h-bike near Yellowhouse, which you can just see from your vantage point. After sliding off her bike, signing up to Mako, she turns to look up towards your building. She doesn't wave, but there's that moment where across nearly a block you meet eyes. She's alone, Vignette. Cujo starts walking towards your building.

What do you do?

John

I listen to the whine of the approaching H-bike, my heart racing. Dog. It has to be Dog--probably mad about how things happened with Millions, maybe with bad news of August. Maybe it is August returning.

Both of those make more sense than what I really am thinking, maybe hoping, maybe dreading. I know the sound of Cujo's h-bike--loudest of the pack, more growl and shriek than whine.

You know it because you've listened for it before, Spider chimes in. Three of his legs stroke the back of my neck in a way that sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

"You are an intolerable little vermin, sometimes," I mutter, thankful that there is no one to see my face flush.

The orange rocket growls to a stop outside Yellowhouse, and Cujo slides off with a grace I know I could never manage. Yet another reason I cannot be an Arrow.

When she looks up, our eyes meet with almost palpable force. I am lightheaded for a second, warm butterflies flit furiously in my stomach, I make a noise--something between a gasp and a high-pitched whine. Maybe this is what butterflies sound like.

"Not a word," I caution Spider.

When Cujo turns to approach my building, I leave my chamber, intending to walk out to meet her. If Jax wishes to accompany me--and it is seldom that he does not--I will insist that he stay behind.

Rich

Assuring Jax that you'll return soon doesn't assure him. He reminds you that there are some raiders who might want to hurt you, so you have to order him. What is it that you told him in the end to convince him to stay?

You step out onto the street as Cujo comes walking around the corner. She has en expression you haven't seen before. It isn't the growling face of discontent she wears in the day around her sisters the Arrows. It isn't the furtive, curious look she wears in the pile when only you can see.

In the late evening, hawkers and merchants are packing up their wares, the street is emptying for folks to bed down, and Cujo winds her way through the few people milling about or breaking down stalls, closing umbrellas. All the while, she keeps eyes on you, like a homing pigeon.


When you reach her, Cujo signs something with a circle and a few flashes of finger, but it's meaningless to you, of course. She stops short when you're right there, standing near you but not touching. She blinks a couple times, standing under a broken streetlight, the moon shining in her eyes. Cujo looks you over, then glances past you at Millions' place, like she's checking it all out.

What do you do?

John

I did have to order Jax to not come out with me to meet Cujo. I do not like to do that. I do not use Mistress of Pike scare tactics on Jax. I do not threaten his job. The one thing Jax understands is that I am willful to the point of recklessness and that I have an exaggerated sense of invulnerability. A dash of self-loathing is a powerful thing. In the end, I told Jax that if he followed me this time, the next time, he would have to follow me into the Arrows’ den.

I walk out to meet Cujo. I have never been alone with her. I have never even spoken to her. I know she is deaf. I cannot sign… How many times in the last week have I regretted not learning the Arrows’ sign? Not that they exactly offered to teach me. You probably have to be an Arrow. I feel so stupid as Cujo signs. I just look at my hands as if they are broken things. I hold them up to her and shrug stupidly.

I notice her eyes, looking past me to Millions’–my–place. I inhale deeply, frown, and incline my head, a half-apologetic shrug. “Things got out of hand.” I hope she can read lips. “August asked me to make sure Millions could never hurt the Arrows again.” I shrug again, this time meeting her eyes and holding them, unapologetic.

Rich

She watches your lips, her eyes drifting from your mouth to your eyes and back again. She licks her lips, then says aloud, "Millions needed to die for what he did." Her voice is sure and strong.

She looks again at the building, "You sleep there now?" She watches your mouth for a response.

What do you do?

John

“He did more than die. He saw everything he had taken from him first. He gave it away, unable to stop himself. August cost him everything.”

At her question, I nod. “It is a place to belong. A chance for a life that is my own, not as someone’s interrogator or spy.” I drop my eyes. “But I do not sleep as well as I used to.”

Rich

"Me either." Cujo admits. She starts walking past you, towards your place, "I will sleep there tonight." Cujo walks at a quick pace towards the building, assuming you follow.

What do you do?

Rich

Vignette,

So we're clear. Cujo is speaking out loud with you right now. She has never spoken out loud in front of you. She's also never indicated that she could read lips, which is what she seems to be doing right now.

John

“Can you hear me?” I ask the question as she walks away, with her back to me.

Rich

Vignette,

Cujo doesn't stop walking, not even a pause. If she did hear you, she's pretending extremely well.

John

I have to hustle to catch up to her. I stop directly in her path, aware that she must have thirty pounds and six inches on me. “I have never heard your voice before. Why? It is lovely.”

Rich

Cujo stops when you step in her way. At the question, she shrugs, a gesture you made only moments ago, "I can't hear it anymore. It's easier to just sign." She looks at you for a long moment, like she's deciding whether to talk some more. "I had to talk to you, since you can't sign. Just... tell me if I'm too loud, ok?" She isn't moving anymore, just watching your mouth until her eyes drift up to meet yours.

There's that moment, that stomach-twisting connection.

What do you do?

John

“Of course,” I say. It comes out as a little gasp, my voice stolen by her eyes. Somehow I think she may still be able to tell, even though she cannot have heard it. I smile. This is the first time I have ever seen Cujo express even a hint of insecurity. “I…I am sorry I cannot sign,” I say, raising my useless hands. “You had to talk to me? Or did Dog want you to talk to me?”

Rich

"Bon said I should talk to you. Find out why you left the pile." Cujo answers, breaking eye contact, looking at Spider. She's never been afraid of Spider. She never pet it or said it was "cute", it was just... part of you. "You shouldn't have left. We invited you in. We don't pull anyone into the pile who doesn't," she looks up again, "Matter."

John

"Bon told you to...?" I trail off. It was not really a question. It surprised me. I spoke without thinking.

"I loved being in the pile, and I was grateful that Dog pulled me in, grateful that all of you--well, some of you--accepted me. But you know I was always...expendable," I hold up a hand to stop any protest. "I am not an Arrow, was probably never going to be an Arrow. I wanted to be useful to the pack, not a lonesome puppy pulled in because Dog felt bad for me, or because you..." I shake my head. "August called me, asked me for help, asked me to make sure Millions could never hurt the Arrows again. She thought I could help--or she thought I was expendable--I do not know."

I follow her eyes to Spider. Raising my right hand across to where Spider is nestled in the hollow between my shoulder and collarbone, I begin absently stroking his wiry hair. For once, the vermin has shut the flood up and is just sitting quietly.

"I was going to bring Millions to Dog, deliver him to her and leave him at her mercy. I thought this would prove that I belonged in the pile. But August said that would be bringing heat to the Arrows, and I realized how stupid and selfish I was being. I could not bring him to Dog. I could not kill him, or his guys would kill August. I could not wait until morning--Dog would come for August, and Arrows would die. So, I did the only thing I do well--I took his mind. I took Millions' place. I took his men, took everything that was his. I made him suffer in a way no physical pain could. This way, August and I no longer had to escape. Dog no longer had to kill him. Arrows no longer had die." I shrug and look back up at Cujo, wishing my eyes were dry. Retelling it is like reliving it. Leaving the pile once was enough. "One non-Arrow is not such a high price to pay for this. I could not go back to the pile if I failed August and if Arrows died. My time in the pile was over the moment August called to me."

Rich

Cujo watches your mouth, she listens, but the words seem to anger her. At the end, when you declare your time in the pile is over, she practically launches herself at you, hands darting for either side of your face. She holds your cheeks, staring down at you with those intense eyes of hers. Each word that comes out of her mouth is deliberate when she says, "You are NOT expendable. You were never expendable! Do not ever say that again! You spit on my heart when you say that about yourself, Vignette." Her mouth hangs open for a second, like she's said too much, but she refuses to back down, refuses to shy away. She huffs a single breath, then, "The pile is not the same without you." The words stop, but she holds your head in her hands for a long moment before finally relaxing, easing back.

Spider has crawled onto her neck, Vignette. She hasn't noticed. Would Spider bite Cujo to protect you?

What do you do?

John

Spider is a vermin. It does not protect me. It does not love me. Nor I it. We are ideal companions. It does what I tell it to do...and offers many more unsolicited insights than a vermin should. No, it would not attack Cujo unless it felt threatened by her--and only then if I failed to stop it.

I have never been afraid of Cujo before today--not even that first night when she intercepted me as I tried to get closer to Dog. Just now, I thought she was going to kill me, and I did not know why. I did not even defend myself. I have never touched Cujo's mind out of curiosity. It never occurred to me to touch her mind in self-defense, something that is usually as natural to me as pulling my hand from a flame.

As she eases back, I grab her hands. Spit on her heart? Does that mean... I raise her hands to my lips and kiss each softly. "Do not be upset, fierce Cujo. I will not say 'expendable'. Not if that hurts you. But you understand sacrifice. So...not expendable, but a necessary sacrifice." I look earnestly into her deep eyes. "If I had gotten August killed, if I had let Arrows get killed because August chose the wrong rescuer, and then I returned to the pile when others could not..." I shake my head. "I did not want to see the change in your eyes if I did that. Even if it was not anger or disgust or pity, even if it was understanding, I would be...less. I would rather be here than be less...in your eyes."

Rich

Vignette,

Holding Cujo's hands now, you notice the split nail on her left pinky. The red knuckles on her right hand, covered by a bandage that smells like Bon's work. You finally see all the marks Cujo has, bruises on her neck barely hidden by tattoos, her lower lip is split, right eye is a mix of purples and yellows.


Her expression softens when you kiss her hands. It shifts from intense, bordering on rage, to something else. "You did right, Vignette. To protect the Arrows. I would die for them, too. I... I understand." Her voice cracks when she continues, "You aren't less in my eyes." Her hands move to your neck again, softer.

John

Cujo's gentle touch on my neck sends a thrill through me. I have heard people talk about their knees feeling weak at moments like this. I do not feel this. There is no weakness. I am aware of every motion of the air across my skin, of how the air moves from between us as I step toward Cujo, the warmth of the very little air that now separates us. My hand goes to hers where she has placed it on my neck. With a little start, I pull her hand away and look at it. Cujo's hand bears the marks of many fights. I had been too startled by her sudden aggression to notice before. Cujo has always had her share of bumps and bruises, but this is different. This is from many fights over the last few weeks.

I look at her quizzically. "What happened here?" I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I raise her hand to my lips again, this time barely brushing her battered knuckles with my lips.

Rich

Cujo's eyes close slowly as she savors the contact. "I was lost in anger for a while. I wanted to hurt people. I wanted to be hurt. I...." her voice trails off, her eyes open again and look at her hand, your mouth. "Don't stop doing that. That feels nice."

John

I freeze momentarily, my lips still brushing her knuckles. I raise my my head just enough for her to read my lips, but I do not raise my eyes. “You wanted to hurt me,” I finish her sentence for her.

Rich

Cujo pulls her hand away sharply, her lips curl as she says, "If I wanted to hurt you, I'd ride out here and beat your soaking head in, Vignette. Do you see me punching you?" She huffs a breath, frustrated. "This was a bad idea. I should go back to the pile."

John

"Turned away that easily, Cujo?" I say, eyes flashing. "Is the trip back so easy, then, that you leave in a huff the first time I misunderstand you? You looked like you wanted to hurt me... Tell me I am wrong."

I continue, quieter now, more subdued, wondering if she can tell just from my eyes. "You do not have to 'beat my soaking head in' to hurt me, Cujo. Your being lost in anger, your wanting to be hurt--that does it too."

I put my face in my hands and then run them through my hair, disgusted with myself. "Look at me--I'm supposed to be running this place on fear, and I am out here talking about 'this hurts me, that hurts me'... Vignette, the oh-so-scary Glass Witch."

Rich

Cujo listens, quiet, watchful, letting you tell her your worries, your secrets. "I'm not afraid of you. You should not be afraid of me." She takes hold of your chin and gently pulls you your eyes up to hers. "I will not leave. I came because the pile is lonely without you. I am here. For you. Now take me where you sleep, and we will have a small pile." Her tongue flicks between her lips and she watches your reaction.

John

I look at her for what seems a long time, saying nothing. "I missed you. We never touched, or even talked...but I missed you." I look down for a second, then back up at her, a small smile starting, more in my eyes than my mouth. "The rules of the small pile... They are different, I think."

Rich

In a serious tone, she answers, "Your pile. Your rules." After a moment, she licks her lips. "We're touching now. And... talking. What else do you want to change?" She is genuinely asking, it seems, not suggesting. She doesn't have a plan for this moment.

John

"The hold is mine. The small pile...is ours. The rules are ours. But...if I were to make a suggestion for a change...it might be that you do not have to leave the pile...for...well, for when you feel like being in the small pile, but do not feel like sleeping. I think this should be allowed."

Rich

Cujo nods, her eyes flick up from watching your mouth to meet your eyes. "I do not wish to sleep right now. But I want to see our pile."

What do you do?

John

I nod, my voice suddenly lost. I motion to Cujo to walk with me back to my building. I can feel my face flush and hope the cool air can remedy that before we reach Jax. I intend to introduce Cujo, instruct Jax that short of invasion or bloody tidal wave, we are not to be disturbed, and escort Cujo to my bedroom to “see our small pile”.

Rich

Vignette,

As you walk past the few merchants who try not to make eye contact or watch, Cujo walks beside you. Cujo's body language is casual, not pensive, not affectionate. She's simply walking. When you get to the double doors where Jax is standing, he holds up a hand, not to stop you but more to talk.


He steps so Cujo can't see his mouth and says, "This is a bad idea, bosslady. Those folk out there saw you two talking, it will get back to the gangs. Will piss some of them off, you scrogging an Arrow."

John

"That seems a bit of a leap. From talking to scrogging because we walked inside? Are the gangs so desperate for distraction, then, that they care who enters my home? It has not been so long since I hosted them. Should the Arrows presume I am scrogging the gangs? My powers of seduction must be legendary."

Rich

Jax shakes his head, "I saw what I saw, from here. I know they did, too. Do what you want, but it's a bad idea, and this Arrow isn't worth the whole of Pike. Nobody is."

John

"Do not speculate on what she is worth." I say coldly.

I exhale and look at Jax, trying to convey that I am talking with him, not treating him as a subject to be dismissed. "Jax, I hear you, and I appreciate your advice." I continue more calmly. I make the abbreviated gesture that, for me, substitutes for putting my hand on the arm of another. I learned at an early age that this touch, a simple gesture of warmth or understanding from one human to another, is not welcome from me.

"I do not argue with your opinion on this, but I will not be held hostage to Pike or the gangs' delicate sensibilities. I scrog or do not scrog who I like. As they should. As you should. Maybe you will remind them that there is a precedent for this--even when it comes to Arrows. Maybe I will even survive scrogging an Arrow and prove myself more powerful than my predecessor. Maybe, you will remind them that I have agreements with each of them and with not the Arrows. They should hope that we scrog so much that we do not talk." I can't help but glance sideways to Cujo.

Rich

Vignette,

When you glance at Cujo, she's turned away, giving you privacy with Jax. She isn't picking any of this up. Jax grimaces once, but has no more objections to offer. You head inside. You're on the top floor, and there's no elevator. The flights of stairs echo as you both climb, quiet in contemplation on what comes next. What's to be consumated, what it means in the grand scheme of whatever passes between you and this feral creature.

The top floor, echoey loft where you've slept alone, is spartan, isn't it? Millions has trappings of power here, but they're gone now. What happened to most of Millions' stuff? What's the one piece of bling that you kept, and why is it on display?


Cujo walks in, looking around the place once, circling it like a predator, eyes darting around, studying for details. She seems interested in where you sleep, of course. A nice big bed, where Millions had many partners, often multiple. Jax and SueB made sure it was cleaned for you. She walks over to the bed, sits down and unceremoniously pulls off her boots, looking up at you while she does.

What do you do?

John

I could not wait to be rid of Millions' stuff. The aura of the man seemed to be everywhere, disgusting and oppressive. The one thing I kept was quite unlike the man. There was, in a private place, a place on honor even, a thing from the Dry Times. I had heard of such things but had never seen one. They used to call it a "snow globe". Back when the sky rained clearwater, if it was very cold outside, the clearwater would turn white and fluffy and fall down slowly from the sky. They called this "snow". I was mesmerized by the snow globe, at the thought of clearwater drifting down in beautiful flakes all around. In this snowglobe, a mother and daughter walked across snow-covered ground, laughing and smiling, with trees in the background, also accumulating snow. The girl looks so happy, looking up at her mother, smiling, unafraid of the trees or the falling snow. I could not bear to throw it out. I look at it often and wonder what might have been--if we had lived in the Dry Times, my mother and I, if she were still here with me to laugh and walk and enjoy the snow.

I watch Cujo as she walks to the bed and begins taking off her boots. She has already said she does not want to sleep. I do not want to sleep either. My heart is pounding as I shrug out of my heavy coat and step out of my high boots. My feet look milk-white and tiny on the weathered wood floor. Without my coat and the boots, I feel suddenly very small and vulnerable. Her eyes draw me in, though, as they have since that first night I looked into them. Wordlessly, I join her in our small pile.

Rich

Vignette,

Cujo isn't timid, but she is cautious, her touch is surprisingly gentle, and she lets you take control. She follows your every advance with one of her own, but you can tell this is not something she is familiar with, coupling with someone she obviously cares for.


Brainer Sex Move:
If you and another character have sex, you automatically do a deep brain scan on them, whether you have the move or not. Roll+weird as normal. However, the MC chooses which questions the other character’s player answers.

John

It is strange. In all the time I have been drawn to Cujo, I have never fantasized about her, never pictured us having sex. I have studied her eyes, her lips, her graceful neck... My eyes have devoured her every curve, but I never pictured her undressed or imagined what we might do if we were to leave the pile. It was always more...abstract...a strong pull, a passionate but formless need.

As I joined her in the pile, I realized that I was ravenous for her and that this was fortunate in that it might let me match the aggressiveness of this fierce, beautiful woman. I did not need to use my hunger that way. Instead, I found her incredibly gentle. She was passionate, but she was also sweet and slow and considerate. Rather than matching each other's passion, our actions flowed together, complementing each other in a graceful give and take. When I entered her mind, it was not an invasion or even the familiar, subtle flow of my mind into another's. Her mind opened to me and enveloped me. I did not wrest secrets from her. Her secrets lay openly displayed, offered to me.

John

Brainer sex move: (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 9)

Rich

Vignette,

Cujo's lowest moment happened a week after her golden ear stopped working completely. It had been slowly dying for weeks, sometimes leaving her deaf for moments, or she lost ranges of sound. But always, always, she could hear her h-bike. The Arrows were her sisters, her kin. But her bike was hers and hers alone, and she'd built and re-built her bike all her life. The growl of it that accompanied the vibration under her, it was part of her.

A week after she was well and truly deaf, she forgot what it sounded like. Her bike was nothing more than a vibrating machine now. It was the last time she broke down and cried.

It's a couple hours before morning, Vignette. You're lying in a tangled mess of blankets, resting on Cujo's chest, and you've just seen that moment. You see in her eyes as she looks down at you, that she knows you saw. It feels like she shared it with you. Her hand is slowly stroking your blonde hair, petting you affectionately.

What do you do?

John

I shift position until I am lying with my head on her chest, looking up at her while listening to her heart. It is my turn. I offer something I have not shared with anyone.

"I was four years old the last time I saw my mom," I start without preamble. "I know--lots of people never had that or had a mom not worth missing. My life has not been worse than others'. But I miss her. She used to call me her little snowflower." I pause for a long time before continuing. "I think my father killed her. She would not just leave me. She was packing a suitcase. Both our clothes were in it. She was going to take me with her. I think he killed her to keep her from leaving."

I wipe my eyes so I can see her again. "I thought he might kill me too, when it was my time to leave. He sent an assassin here to bring me a message. At first I thought..." I shake my head rather than finish the thought. "I do not know if he would really kill me... But if I find out for sure that he killed my mom, I will kill him."

Rich

When you talk of your mother, Cujo's eyes track your face, a soft smile curls her lips. You reveal your concerns about her death and Cujo's expression hardens. Her hands curl around your neck, and she nods, once, "Yes, he must die." She stares at your face in the dark, asking, "Who is your father?" She looks like she might have a guess.

John

I do not have to speak my concern. I am sure my eyes convey it.

"It is not so simple. No one knows what I just told you, or what I will tell you." Is that true? It seems as if Harbormaster knows some of this... "Very few even know he is my father--the Admiral. The Admiral is my father. But Cujo, listen--please." I take hold of her shoulder firmly--not that I could or would try to hold her down, but to convey my desire for her to exercise restraint. "The Admiral is a dangerous and powerful man. He will use you against me if he senses that I am a threat. Right now, I am just his young, headstrong daughter. He must wonder how much I remember about the night of my mother's--disappearance. But he does not know." I look at her almost pleadingly, searching her eyes for a sign that she understands. I do not see anything there. For all the time I have spent looking at them, Cujo's eyes are often unreadable to me. I look inward instead as I explain, "I cannot act yet for two reasons: I do not know for certain that he really did kill my mother, and I do not know if I can succeed in killing him." Then, my eyes focus on hers again. "You cannot act for other reasons," I say earnestly, caressing her shoulder. It is not a command. Just a quiet statement. I turn my head to place a brief kiss just below her collarbone and return to rest with my head on her chest, watching her reaction.

Rich

Cujo's mouth sets when you admit it's Admiral. She watches you explain the reasons you haven't killed him, her upper lip curls into a snarl when you tell her she can't act, either. "I understand why you won't kill him until you know for certain. Why do you think you might fail?" She shifts underneath you, a hand gently sliding along your back.

John

“He knows what I am, what I can do. I have used my abilities for him for years.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize what I have just admitted. I blush and look away from her, ashamed. Despite my shame, I have to turn my face back to her so she can read my lips, but I can no longer meet her eyes. “He outfitted my lab. He may have found a way to counter what I can do, to keep my mind out. My mind is all I have. Even if I could fight–and I cannot–he has guards around him all the time. Spider is an option, but Daddy is aware of it as well. I would not put it past a rich, powerful, suspicious man to have considered that and developed an anti-venom. A direct attack is suicidal, or at least reckless, and I will not trade my life for his death.” Finally, I can–must–meet Cujo’s eyes again, afraid of what she might be thinking. “I will not risk yours either.”

Rich

Cujo's eyes are level. No accusations, no spite. She's still trying to understand what you've lived with for, what, years? "How are you going to find out the truth? Who would know, if you cannot drag it out of him?"

John

I make an expression like I just bit into something rotten. "Harbormaster. He knew my mother. I do not know how. I am not sure I want to know. Harbormaster must also assume the Admiral is my father. My mother was well-known as the Admiral's wife. She was not a secret like me. Daddy was not ashamed of her ." My eyes flick away involuntarily, and I swallow hard before continuing.

"I was supposed to meet Harbormaster the night August called me. He was going to tell me more about my mother. When we were at the harbor, to move his people to SafeCo, Harbormaster asked me to work for him. I agreed." I shrug, no more proud of working for Harbormaster than I am of working for the Admiral. "I thought maybe I could find out what he knows...and he offered me a machine with a recording of my mother's voice. Harbormaster should not have had anything of her."

Rich

Cujo's mouth sets, her eyes harden. "Harbormaster needs to die slow, Vignette. He's made Ace's sister into his little scrogdoll, and she won't leave. You should get what you need from him. His days are numbered."

Her expression changes, and she says in a direct tone, "Nobody should be ashamed of you, Vignette. He is a fool to use you."

John

At the mention of Hope, I scowl briefly. Then my eyes light, and I reach out and put my hand on Cujo’s arm, forgetting my usual restraint with respect to touching people in conversation. “I have been planning to bargain for Hope’s release,” I say excitedly. “I do not know if it will work, so I have said nothing to Dog. Harbormaster gave Hope to the Admiral–gave her to him like she was a pretty bauble,” I say, clearly disgusted. “I am not sure Harbormaster meant it to be permanent, but I encouraged Daddy to interpret it that way. I did this to get Hope within my reach. Daddy has many uses for my skills. I think maybe he will give me Hope in payment. She is just another pretty object to him.” I look at Cujo, eyes dancing at the prospect of doing something good with my work for the Admiral.

Rich

"Do you think he'd pay Hope to you now that you run Pike?" Cujo asks with interest as her fingertips smooth across your forearm. She sits up, a bit, easing you up with her and scoots closer to you.

John

“I do not know… Why would he pay me? You mean if I can still spy for him and have access to different people now that I run Pike?”

Rich

Cujo leans forward and start kissing the nape of your neck, nuzzling against you in the cool night air, "You're the Witch of Pike. I know he wants things from this place. You could make demands."

John

"Mmm... You may be right. He must want something. Strong desire is a family trait," I say, running my hands down her back as she kisses my neck. "Maybe it is time the Witch of Pike paid him a visit..." I lean back, pulling her down on top of me. "But not just yet."

Rich

Your move gets a throaty chuckle from Cujo as she slides on top of you. She slides a leg between yours and continues her assault on your neck, moving up to your ear, whispers, "Vignette, no more words now. My mouth needs other work than talking. My eyes need to see more of you than your lips. Even though I enjoy them, there is so much more of you I want." She starts kissing and sliding down your body. Her assault continues, and any words you say for the next while are lost to her, but your bodies have volumes to say to each other.

--END SCENE--