greer reed

Samir: lol ok I'll take that as a yes

Samir: I was planning to just go over to his flat and asking him to come out.

Samir: but all your ideas sound way more fun. i like being already inside his apartment, element of surprise. but he might attack first and ask questions later if we scare him 😂

Greer: "Asking" won't work here. We need a plan of attack, 100% - bc I already know what his answer will be

Greer: "No, Greer, who do you think I am? An idiot? I'll be spending my evening knitting, thank u very much" 💁‍♂️

Greer: Or something like that, u get the idea 😂

“Not your fault,” Wren says, with a mild shrug. Out of all the things Death had taken from them, their desk chair and potted desk plant were the least of their worries. The memory of the explosion scratches at their brain, sure, but in a different way now that Wren sees another explosion that balances the scales, somewhat. 

No, it’s the way Death had taken Thomas from them that leaves them feeling hollowed out. And Greer is right, a lot has happened in a short time, and so Wren’s energy is mostly spent on that massive grief. A building destroyed ( and by now, rebuilt ) doesn’t make them feel as weighed down any more as it did at first. Are they growing thicker skin or just desentisised? Wren doesn’t care: both work in their favour.

Wren is surprised by Greer’s question, the openness with which she asks it. And as the fellow Angel turns her back, Wren takes small step forward before fiddling with the zipper and pulling it down. “Not yet. Could be, though, if I let myself like it too much,” he says, giving a small pat on Greer’s shoulder to signal that he’d finished. Wren looked at the river for a moment. “There’s bad blood between these gangs, you know? Older than we are. I don’t think I even understand all of it, but before this alliance people from War were shooting people from Famine and vice versa. So you know. Maybe we shouldn’t get used to it, and all.”

They glance at their hands, which had pushed down on the gut wound that had left Thomas a shade of pale that had put fear in Wren’s gut. All that had and would transpired between War and Famine was bigger than Greer and themself, who were still fresh faces in their respective gangs. They think of Genie, suddenly, another Angel dangling in the balance like they all were. Wren stares at the boat with a newfound worry, wondering if her friend had gotten off or if she was becoming one with the river.

They turn their back to Greer. “Help me, too?”

★ 

Greer spots that Wren is also falling into thought just as she has. The night had been one of heightened emotions, of adrenaline, of celebration and for Greer, some turmoil. But she didn’t feel queasy, no anxiety about herself, of her choices, which almost makes it all the more worse. Maybe she’s broken. Her dad always said a screw was loose, especially when he would pick her up from the local jail cell after she had been caught spray painting the street signs. Her mom would lock her outside if she stayed out lighting fireworks with her rez cousins, because she needed to be taught responsibility. They didn’t know what to do with her, and now look. She’s in even deeper than before, and with expensive scuba equipment around her on a boat that is zipping down the Thames.

“I know it’s not my fault,” Greer snaps, but she shakes her head immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I mean, it’s none of our faults. Only those bastards that decided to sign their names in blood with Death.”

Her side twinges as a reminder of why they blew up the boat in the first place. A bullet that now sat in a jar on a shelf in her bathroom with Death’s name metaphorically etched in it.

As Wren unzips her, Greer listens in stony silence. Shouldn’t get used to it. “Might be too late for me. Blood for blood, you know? That’s what this is, and that’s what it’ll always be.” She turns and looks Wren up and down, at their frame, at their face, trying as hard as she could to determine their thoughts. No real luck there.

When Wren turns around, and asks for help, Greer pauses. And then she reaches up and pulls the zipper. “Anytime.” She says, and it feels like a promise that she won’t be able to keep.

Samir: Hey Greer!

Samir: It's Samir.

Samir: So, I'm kind of going to kidnap Liam tonight for his birthday and bring him to Four Quarters

Samir: Do you want to come out?

Greer: do i wanna come out

Greer: do u know who i am????

Violence had trailed through their life like a red thread, in various forms and various extremities. But Wren had barely ever been the cause, most usually a bystander or a victim. To watch such destruction and to have had a hand in it brings a rush of power, one that reminds him faintly of stabbing Mitzi Zhang and watching the damage done at his hands. But where that had horrified them, too, this feels more like vindication.

In their mind’s eye, they recall the Tower burning, the way that explosion had rippled through the air. Vincent climbing in their bed the night after, making them feel safe when it had been him who had designed the bombs. And while they know that this is not about just them, that these bombs hadn’t gone off because of their sore heart, it does feel righteous, in a way. “Just like we weren’t able to stop our shit from blowing,” Wren says, craning their neck to continue looking at the disaster on the Thames. “Good riddance. You know, I lost my favourite desk plant when they blew up our offices.” 

Greer does not speak with inhibition, it seems, and Wren finds themself peering over their shoulder to see if Ravi is near. “Definitively prefer this to constantly being at each other’s throats.” A mild statement, but a true one nonetheless. War not being an active thread sure made them sleep easier.

Wren’s attention is also snatched by the splash, and they squint, trying to make out what’s happening in the dark, who the figure in the water is. “Oh my god, no way,” they utter, and soon enough he, too, is laughing. Greer’s amusement or delirium or whatever is infectious and Wren would prefer to laugh rather than cry, to have their stomach ache with joy rather than anxiety. It doesn’t quite feel sane, but then nothing about this does.

There’s a hiccup that passes from their lips and he nods at Greer’s statement. “Yeah. Yeah, we really fucking do.” Helping to blow up a boat wasn’t something they had expected to be doing a year ago, after all. “Sometimes I think I might like it, though.” For someone who thought they craved normalcy and peace, they did seem to like these feelings of victory a bit too much, after all. 

★

The adrenaline is still raging through her veins, but it’s starting to ebb, the flow of it ever so slowly dissipating into the cool night air, and something else is collecting like damp dew on grass before the sunrise. Greer can’t tell what it is. Not at first. She shakes her head and looks over at Wren, and then the water, and back up, the laughter dying on her lips.

The furtive glance that Wren gave over their shoulder alerts Greer that maybe she should keep her mouth shut, and as the mirth and giddiness of what had occurred fades, she feels the new feeling swirling around her. It didn’t matter that Wren had basically agreed with her….

“Sorry about the office, by the way.” Greer says instead of focusing on the swirling of her stomach. “I still can’t believe what’s happened. All in such a short time.”

The anxiety… the fight or flight instinct is starting to poke its head out and Greer rapidly rips off the hood of her wetsuit, ignoring how her hair has come loose and crushed curls are falling into her face. She feels claustrophobic.

What was the quote… ‘All for one, one for all’? The Three Musketeers by Dumas. Greer clenched at the railing, and grimaced. That felt like a motto for War. For all of the gangs to be frank. But as she stood there and ran over the words she had blithely said, and the glance over their shoulder, and then Wren’s quiet agreement with ‘Definitively prefer this’ left Greer feeling seasick. And she didn’t get motion sick. Was she really prepared for the second half of the quote? One for all?

How many times already had she stared across the invisible void, the cleft, the ravine that War had placed in front of her, and she had willingly stayed on the side they offered her a place on. But she kept… wanting to cross it. And if she kept speaking out of turn like that…. Careless. She was careless.

Greer shakes herself from her internal turmoil and reaches behind herself awkwardly to start to unzip the wetsuit. “Like it? Is that a problem?” Because she liked it. And maybe it was a problem, and she just couldn’t see that anymore. She struggles a bit with the pull of the zipper and turns her back on Wren. “Here, help me for a sec.”

This is unlike anything Wren has ever done before. Their hands are hardly clean, but their previous acts of violence seem childish compared to the destruction that unfolds in front of their eyes. And while the element they feel most connected to has always been water, they are starting to see the appeal in fire too. The boat sinks. The place where Wren imagines Thomas may have been kept is destroyed and so are those inside it.

They don’t want to stop watching just yet, and so they slide next to Greer, fingers curling around the railing. “They sure are something,” Wren says, not quite sure how to put the emotions they feel in regards to it into words. Is it victory or vindication, or rather a despair at the path they walk, further away from the person they once were? It mostly feels like the former two.

A burst of laughter slips past their lips, uncontrolled and surprising Wren. He watches the flames reflect on the water of the Thames and wills himself not to think of the people on that boat that he knows. Wren had not yet succeeded in casting their heart out, but they were becoming better at separating themself from it, at ignoring its signals until later in the evening, when they were by themself and the lights were off.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, we did good. Look at it, it’s sinking.” And hopefully, together with the boat that Death called their headquarters, sank a lot of their tools, their information, their possessions. Erase it from the surface of this world, return it to the murky depths where they belonged. Wren tightens their grip on the railing. “We made a good team, yeah? I’m not War’s biggest fan, usually, but you and Liam …” He shrugs. “You’re alright.” But it wouldn’t last, this alliance, and Wren isn’t about to initiate new friendships when they have lost so many friends over these past weeks. “It was nice to spend some time with you again.” 

★

Greer smiles down into the blackened water’s surface, a mixture of adrenaline, satisfaction, and a nervous dread filling her insides. She knows she has a darkness in her, something that calls out to be satisfied. Usually just jumping off a cliff or riding bareback on a stolen horse from a rancher’s stables had been enough. Then the punching in peoples noses and the coke binges she did in college. And now… fire and destruction. Greer grimaces down into the water, and ponders.

She looks up when Wren tells her to. “And no one can do anything about it,” she says quietly, dangerously. “It’s just gonna sink, and nothing can stop that from happening. Kind of wild, how little control there is in the world if you aren’t the one with the trigger.” She looks over at Wren as they lean forward a little more against the railing.

“Definitely a good team. Screw War this, Famine that. Facts are facts,” she smiles at Wren, and then frowns back at the rushing water.

Just then, there’s a splash louder than the water hitting the bow, and Greer hears someone holler behind them. She looks up and back, watching as a dark head pops out of the boat’s wake. Turning, she scans the other occupants of the boat. “Speaking of Liam, seems the idiot fell out.” She giggles. Then laughs. And then she can’t stop laughing so much that her sides ache, and she leans back over the gunwale, all the excitement of the last couple of days making her wheeze out her breath, and tears eke from her eyes as she laughs and laughs.

Cemile likes Greer – likes her forthright nature, her can-do attitude and, perhaps, she likes that the Angel still has something to prove. It’s why she prompted this meeting at all, dressed in a classic but sharp black blazer and trousers that would present nicely on camera for a press junket later. She’s glad to see that Greer cleaned up for tea, giving a friendly nod of acknowledgment as she takes the seat opposite her. Eyes quickly catch elbows on the table but she moves past it to the Angel as Greer starts speaking. “He does, yeah, what are your thoughts about it?”

She’s curious if the other is even interested in a job that’s a far cry from the one she currently has. “You’d have a busier schedule than you do now, and I think we’d try to keep you on at the docks still, part time anyway, until we find someone else.” Greer is capable, which is why she’d be a good assistant to Saint, but she’s also an asset in her current position. “Thanks, this is fine,” she says with a haphazard laugh as tea hits porcelain and steam wafts up from the teacup before her.

“Of course I’ll help where I can,” she can’t help the chuckle that escapes at the thought of Greer running after Indi in the park, “it’ll be a bit of trial by fire either way but if you have questions, feel free to send them my way.” Cem holds up her phone for a second before setting it beside her on the table, “I emailed you over some info, I don’t know if you took a look, but it basically outlines his current schedule, Indi’s schedule and some miscellaneous items. You’ll get passwords and the like once you’ve officially signed contracts, at which point we’ll set you up with someone at Bellum to give you the official tour.” She adds a lump of sugar to her tea, stirring as she studies Greer’s face.

“The role is basically an amalgamation, of think ahead and don’t forget to feed Indi.” Cem takes a sip, nodding as she continues, “The think ahead is more for you than for him. Will save you time if you just get the coffee in the morning rather than getting to the office and asking if he wants one. He might not but,” she shrugs, “saves you a trip, doesn’t it? I like what you’re wearing too, but maybe let’s get you some trousers and blazers to add into the collection. If you go to offsite meetings, you’ll need to look more the part.”

Saint hadn’t been a bad boss, maybe only because their kinship went deeper than a position she took as a favour to him. If she’d been a mere employee, it could’ve been different, but it wasn’t. Still, as with anything, Cemile had approached the position with as much intention as she did any job and had excelled because she cared to. Whether or not Greer does is still up for debate but she’ll give her what pointers she can to set her up for success. Leaning back in her seat, she nods at the other woman, “do you have any specific questions I can answer?”

★

Greer ponders the question for a moment, her fingers running along the silky handle of the porcelain teapot. She shrugs a little, still not looking up at Cemile. “I don’t know how to feel about it to be honest. It’s a bit more mundane than I’m used to, and I have to keep reminding myself that isn’t a bad thing.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes to herself. “What am I saying… I’m going to be working Saint. I highly doubt it’ll be that mundane.”

The chatter of the room is loud, despite the fact that it seems no one is raising their voices about a murmur. Maybe it’s just the fact that the ceiling is as high as it is, creating a ricocheting echo. Greer settles back into her seat and looks across at Cemile, her cup warming between her two palms and sighs. “I highly doubt you would move me away from the docks. I’m going to deny the fact that my caffeine consumption is going to increase a significant amount once I start officially on with Saint.” She chortles and takes a sip. “Of course, that means he’s still on dog duty in the mornings. Dock crew tea meet is still a necessity. Have to keep up appearances after all.”

Greer watches and listens as Cemile goes over some of the basics of her upcoming duties, a frown crossing her features. “What were you, his assistant before me? Seems a bit below your station.” The list continues, and Greer can’t help the anxious bouncing of her ankle. This… is a lot of keep track of. She’s smart, maybe not always the book-smartest, but still, she likes to think she can handle logical and tactical problems very easily and quickly. No one should ask her to date anything beyond two years ago, but if there is a stick spot while climbing, and the angles need to be calculated in her head while taking into account of her weight with the addition of the ropes around her waist, there isn’t a problem. Still… schedules, and passwords, and emails, and phone calls…. Why had she agreed to this again? Right. Cash. Money. Moving up the ranks.

Then Cemile says the magic words. “Oh. I’m just a runner! I’ve done this before,” Greer scoffs, waving her hand with a sigh of relief. “Get the coffee, got it. This is the sort of work you do on sets when you don’t know anyone to give you a better position.” She laughs, remembering forcing the younger students to get her the most complicated orders of coffee that she could think up. Of course, when she moved more towards the documentary focus, runners and gofers were less of a necessity and everyone pitched in.

Greer looks down at her jacket and linen pants and then narrows her eyes up at Cemile. “I can see a fashion slight when it’s handed to me. What’s wrong with this?” She picks at the tan suede and tosses her hair over her shoulder.