This Is Where The Magic Happens

I miss you

The cursor blinked. Waiting, almost patiently, as her thumb hovered over the send button, then hit delete. One, two, three times. Slow, maybe regretful.

I miss

And the cursor blinking.

So many things that she missed. None of them easy to name, like when a word hangs there, just on the tip of your tongue, if only you’d remember. Hopeful. Like you might stumble upon it at any moment, you can feel it getting close, closer, your brain speeding up and your mouth working around it, so close like you’re almost ready and if only—

She erased the entire message. Started again. Erased again. Stopped. The cursor blinked. Empty. Kinda dreadful, every writer worst fear was always a blank page, only she’d do anything to start again.

Clean slate, another chance. Whatever the name, she’d take it. Make it right this time, no more mistakes, enough of regrets. Probably do it all wrong again anyway, but damn she was trying. Shouldn’t be so hard. Hard, yes. But not this hard.

The cursor blinked, waiting.

I miss you

Her breath was warm and fast on her own hand. She pressed down on delete, held firm under her thumb till everything disappeared.

I first had to put on the mask when I was eight years old. It didn't quite feel right on my cheeks, but I didn't want to make my mama worried. The mask only stayed on until I said goodbye to my friends and got in the car. Once the door closed I wouldn't have to wear it as we drove to our new house.

Then I don't know what happened from there. Before I knew it, I'd wear the mask almost everywhere outside of my family. It became worn with comfort against my face like wearing a well loved pair of glasses. I aptly slid it on as I'd leave the house, use it to get through the school day, and slip it back off on the walk home. Of course I'd take breaks here or there when I could get a moment alone.

Now I can't take it off. It clings to my jaw around my family. Even when I'm alone I can't find the strength needed to peel it from my skin. I dig in with my nails around my eyes, but the mask bites down into my flesh. My clawing at the surface is in vain. The reflection in the mirror stays the same and yet it's not me. No matter how desperatly I tear my self down— wait, I mean my mask down— it's not me.

But I remember these freckles... And recognize the same structure of my dad in that brow... So maybe this is how I've also been...

"Who am I?"

What a silly question— you're you, of course!

Or, well, an aspect of yourself, I suppose, if you really wanna get specific about it.

Come on now— lift your head up. Look at your reflection. No, don't shy away now, make eye contact.

There.

Can't you see it? No mask. No make-up. Just you.

Before answering the who, let's address the what?

Well, let's see... you're getting that stunning tan again as the weather gets warmer. You have a pretty face with gorgeous eyes and wildly beautiful hair. A beauty mark punctuates your pink lips in that crooked smile of yours. That one tooth up front juts out into a little overbite, but a minor thing like that hardly stands out and could always be fixed up, if you wanted, of course. Your body is strong and toned, especially those legs.

See, it's you.

Alright, so who are you?

People have said poetry flows from your lips in an elegant way of speaking. People have said that your quick witted and creative. People have said you're always one of the first out of everyone to try and help when you notice issues. People have said that you have a surprising amount of patience. People only ever have positive things to say about you!

But that's not all there is to you.

People have taken the stanzas of your song, broke them, and stabbed you with them. People have taken your creations and turned them against you. People have taken advantage of your kind nature to abuse and over work you past the point of burn out. People have taken your steadiness as an invention to push well beyond your boundaries. People only ever seem to take from you.

You can't keep blaming this on something that doesn't exist.

Look yourself in the eyes.

There's no mask here.

The problem is up.

Yes, it's from people above you who want you to be something your not— do things you shouldn't.

But it's also here.

Echoing— reverberating throughout your skull.

Who are you?

You're the one who hides away with bright smiles. You're the one who always keeps the idle mind busy with work. You're the one who is scrabbling at your own visage as you stare into your reflection refusing to accept what's there. You're the one who is refusing to acknowledge the cracks in the corners of your eyes and around your mouth from all the energy you waste trying to keep yourself together. You're the one in the reflection, damn it!

You're the one—

i lie in bed alone.

one day you were with me,

today you're not anymore

the tree they planted in your place

can't remember how much you meant to me

one day? one week, maybe? i don't know. i can't tell anymore. the ticking of the clock means nothing if i can't hear it with you.

a friend visits me. ... our friend. her strong arms pulled me close as her voice attempts to soothe me. she cares about me. about us. i know it. but the warmth of a hug means nothing if i can't feel it with you.

another new day arrives. i close my eyes as quickly as i opened them. the sun doesn't rise in the pocket of darkness we live in, but even if it did, the light of the moment means nothing if i can't share it with you.

i visit the garden to watch the flowers bloom for the first time since you left. a tree stump sits alone like you used to. watching. waiting, for me. though stained by your blood and weathered by rust, the blade you once wielded stands proud, embedded in the stump in memory of you. it reflects a glint into my eye. it has never touched me, but it pierces through me all the same. and it is cold. so cold.

"evening, that was a year ago. you have to move on."

is what my friends tell me

my friends? are they, really?

no. no, they can't be. friends wouldn't say that. friends wouldn't brush off something like that like it means nothing to them. friends don't leave other friends behind.

friends... don't leave other friends behind.

... friends... don't...

don't leave me.

why'd you leave me?

why'd you leave me? why did you leave me?! if we were friends, why did you leave me? if i meant so much to you, why did you leave me? if you wanted me to stay, why did you leave me?!

if you wanted me to stay, why did you leave me first?

if you wanted me to stay...

then that's what i should have done

that's what i should have done

i'm sorry

i reach my hand forward as your shadow escapes my grasp. your voice rings in my head, repeating words you never said to me. when you called for me, i wasn't listening. when you needed me, i wasn't there. and now the note in your pocket is all i have left of you.

"i don't know what to do, or where to go."

i lie in bed alone.

"i feel worthless, like i don't matter."

a friend visits me.

"i'm not wanted here, or anywhere."

another new day arrives.

"i'm sure life can go on without me."

and the days end the same way they started.

"good night."

There it was again, that damn jingle. Bad enough that I have so many other things to try to think about. Bad enough that I have so many other things that I’m trying not to think about but this damn jingle is pushing them to the surface if it means not thinking about this cancerous tangle of artificial sentiment in particular.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, going to the post office.

Lemme just turn off the radio until I get there. Last thing I need is to be driven into road rage against someone else just because this damn thing is now everyone’s favorite video to play.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. Did it really have to invade my mind with the same hunger as this washing machine has for all of my quarters. I don’t even use cash much anymore, but I have to buy a damn roll of quarters just for this washing machine. Why didn’t I lease an apartment with interior laundry.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, setting my laundry timer.

Lemme just start another video while I’m at it. Last thing I need is to forget if I’m washing whites or colors and put the wrong bleach in at the wrong time.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. I am going to have to switch to instant tea if the sound of the spoon against the mug keeps triggering the memory of that thrice-damned rhythm that had to have been created about the same time as Johnny decided to set that fiddle to right. Maybe I should take up drumming if this is going to rattle around my head like this.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, making a mug of relaxing tea.

Lemme just add a bit of wine to it while I’m here. Last thing I need is for my nerves to be too wound up and I start looking at fiddle videos until dawn again.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. Did it really have to sneak in while I’m at the grocery store. Bad enough that I forgot to pick up the shopping list so now I have to wander the store like a bored retiree searching for the last brand of fuck all that was on sale last week. Scanning the aisles one by one hoping to recognize something that we needed to get.

There.

It stopped?

All I did was grab the… oh.

Lemme just get two of these so I won’t run out so fast next time. And mebbe bring the shopping list when I come back next time. Last thing I need is to get the jingle stuck in my head again because I keep forgetting how to spell it.

~~~

The pull of another Aldith drags her farther from Gaia than anyone has ever been and she laughs as it takes her breath away. Months buried in calculations, barricaded in her own labs, the greatest hypothesis ever proved and she will see Aldith again. In something between an eternity and a heartbeat, Haddiscoe arrives in a new world with flowers in her hands.

She lays them in all their riotous, colorful glory on another Aldith’s grave.

She takes more from the nearest street despite the seller’s protests and tries again. The universe is infinite by nature. Infinite. There’s always another chance.

She tries again.

And again.

And again.

And—

Haddiscoe thinks she’s lived a year before she stops bringing flowers. She never runs out of graves.

She refines the technique of her pull towards Aldith as best as she can with the variation of worlds, resources, opportunities. And there is such beautiful variation of the universe. It would be fascinating if not for the constant.

Aldith lives and dies in towering cities, in freezing cold, in a time far before their own, on battlefields Haddiscoe could never have imagined. On other continents, in impenetrable cultures, as a hero, as nothing, with children who grieve her, with a mound of dirt only Haddiscoe knows was once her. Aldith dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and—

In some moments, Haddiscoe thinks—fears, please never let her lose that love—there’s nothing of her heart left to break. And then she is pulled away again and at the sight of another grave, she feels relief as much as the boundless ache.

She cries at some of the places where Aldith lays, rests at the side of others, has the occasional honor of righting Aldith’s grave and seeing her face again, even frozen in unblinking death.

She says ‘I love you’ time after time and time and time. Until she loses her voice and then gains it back. And she loves Aldith every time she whispers it to stone, wood, earth, to bones as white as Sol can make them. Every time the pull draws her away again.

The universe is as infinite as her heart, the many lives of her soul’s other half. It pulls her from a sinking ship, Aldith’s eyes looking up to her and seeing nothing, to a place that’s desert and a road and blackened paved ground. To some large, archaic machine between dirt and the paved road. To a figure with a weapon held easily in steady hands.

I’m going to MELT because of these dumb rules, Lixy stewed, looking around for a servant to fetch her a cold drink. Not a single one in sight.

Seriously? They’re all out of the room right now?

Lixy knew they were probably attending to the adults, but so great was her irritation and thirst that her patience reached its boiling point. Bah to double bars of double rules! Bah to slow meetings in steamy rooms! None of the other young nobles had to sit through these–

The sharp sound of pages flipping caught her attention. She whipped her head around, about to hiss some curt, snippy complaint, but stopped just short.

What is an Avie doing in this meeting?

The Avie girl had a stack of papers in front of her and a couple more pages in her hands, which she was attempting, rather poorly, to reorganize without making so much noise.

Interesting. The two Great Houses of the Avies did not have representatives at this level of the Crux. And based on the plainness of her robes and cap, Lixy doubted this was a diplomatic visitor.

Come to think of it, she recognized this feathered girl…

Oh, yeah. The little bird that always followed Firsen around.

Was she his servant or scribe or something? Sure, Firsen was the crown prince of Streykas, and technically had the same access to servants and perks like Lixy did (if not more). But that seemed a little unfair.

Firsen was not here right now, and if he was skipping lecture while Lixy was melting here, then she rightfully deserved to borrow his servant. 

Her tutor had been praising her for her progress with Dyne tuning frequencies, even going so far as to say that Lixy would likely surpass her family members one day in this regard. Thus, confidence and frustration simmered together, enriching the coaxing croon that Lixy directed towards the Avie girl.

Lixy tucked her hands beneath the table, secretly walking her fingers through the vibrations until she found the right resonance. A little lower, a little lower; Avies didn’t hear as high as Chiros did– 

Perfect.

The sheets slipped out from the Avie’s loosened grasp, her previously focused gaze now a thousand yards distant. Lixy felt a brief flutter against her frequency, like the wingbeats of a cornered bird, but she pressed her melody harder until an indigo wash started to stain the Avie’s feathers and fingertips. 

That should be good enough. Didn't want to be too obvious. Now, time to form the request.

((Hello Avie. Isn't it so warm? I'm very thirsty. I'm sure you are as well. You would probably like a nice glass of water. While you're up there, fetch me a cold drink as well, will you?))

To Lixy’s satisfaction, the Avie girl rose from her seat and started heading to the door. No one gave her a second glance, either too preoccupied with the meeting itself, or their thoughts were somewhere far, far away thinking of cool breezes and icy desserts.

And then the top doors opened, a characteristic click-and-wham that preceded the entrance of runir Firsengal Streykas, heir to the Crux.

His hair was unkempt and his collar askew, looking as if he had sprinted through the halls being chased by a swarm of killer bees on the way here. 

Now all eyes were on the prince, who ducked his head with a breathless apology and motioned for them to carry on with the meeting.

Lixy pursed her lips to redirect her smirk. This was the crown prince of Streykas? Really? More like a stray spark that was always on the verge of starting fires.

If she hadn’t been so focused on maintaining her frequency, Lixy’s sensitive ears would definitely have been able to hear Firsen. It seemed like he was trying to greet the Avie servant.

Oh. There it was, a sudden shift in posture. Head tipped back, eyes narrowed. He brushed a darkened strand of hair from her face, noting the hollowness of that stare.

He suddenly set both hands on the Avie girl’s shoulders, sending a bright pulse of Dyne that snapped Lixy’s delicate hold on the frequency. It felt like being seared for an instant by hot metal, and made Lixy jerk in her seat with a little gasp.

She knew Firsen saw that. She had been discovered. And somehow, she had been overridden by his Dyne.

But most importantly, he was about to tattle on her to the whole room.

-

1062 words

I'm back! ^^ Uhh we make up for missing last week with an extra 62 words on this end, ehehe.

More backstory, from a different perspective this time. Lixy and Firsen pester each other all the time, and while they aren't exactly on friendly terms, they're not sworn enemies. More like rivals.

They're practically pre-teens right now so they're just bothering each other as children do, y'know?

This takes place wayyy before Arensky arrives (maybe about 9-10 years) - see "The Weight of Radiance".

This also takes place before Calire and the Other Human (maybe 5-6 years) - see "The Fledge and the Fugitive".

Some context:

Nolixea (Lixy) - one of the "princesses" (runere) of House Melonykas. Bat based. Elegantly boiling inside.

Firsen - crown "prince" (runir) of House Streykas. Dragonfly based. A little bit of a hot mess.

Calire (the Avie girl) - Firsen's companion and healer's apprentice (not a servant). Bird based.

Carmen is weird. 

This is not a new discovery; the lycan-witch didn’t exactly have the most typical upbringing, even by supernatural standards. Julia also suspected more often than not that Carmen’s “quirks” could also be attributed to neurodivergency, whether Carmen herself knew it or not. 

Now, all that considered, this particular behavior was new. 

Or it had at the very least heightened over time. 

And really, Julia was probably overanalyzing things. The behavior change could just be due to the two becoming closer friends and Carmen becoming more comfortable. 

As long as they’d known each other, Carmen had always been friendly, helping Julia navigate her newfound vampirism with tips and a bit of magic to help her hide it in normal life. She’d also gotten the New-Fang an assortment of little trinkets: rocks, figurines, pins, even a couple of plushies after she’d found out Julia liked them. 

In the back of her mind, a rather self-deprecating part of her told her that it was all out of pity, or maybe even fear. Julia tried her best to ignore that voice most days, but she also had a habit of getting trapped in her own head. 

Julia had observed Carmen interacting with her other friends, trying to compare the new behaviors. 

Carmen didn’t tend to initiate physical touch in non-life-threatening situations, save for the occasional high five or fist bump. She seemed perfectly content to sit on the other end of the couch, the floor, or another chair, as long as everyone was in one room. 

But lately, and Julia noticed this was only when it was just the two of them (and Player, of course, considering he lives with Carmen as her familiar), Carmen did the exact opposite. 

Not that Julia was complaining, but it seemed like the “accidental” touches had increased tenfold. She found their knuckles grazing each other’s as they walked side-by-side at least once whenever they were together. If Julia was on one end of the couch, Carmen was on the other, stretching out so their legs just barely touched in the middle. Alternatively, if they were watching something together, Carmen sat closer, letting their knees touch. On a few particularly chilly evenings she’d even brought out a blanket to share. 

Carmen wasn’t the best cook, but Julia had been teaching her a bit. Many times during the process, however, the lycan-witch would slide past her, playfully hip or shoulder-checking her as she went. 

Then there was that time Julia was showing her something on a laptop, and Carmen leaned over her shoulder to watch. Julia knows for a fact Carmen is very particular about her face being touched or people being near her face. 

Once, they’d just gotten back from hunting, which Julia still felt weird calling it, and were waiting on Carmen’s food she’d ordered. Carmen had switched on some music in the background, and they’d just talked and joked around for a few songs. Then Carmen stood, offering a hand. Julia had tilted her head, and Carmen tugged at her gently. 

Dance with me? She’d asked. 

And Julia had taken her hand, and they’d swayed to the beat, making up the moves as they went, getting more ridiculous and extravagant with each step. By the end of the song, they’d both been laughing so hard they could hardly breathe, doubled over with almost silent laughter and gasps for air. They likely would have kept dancing had they not been interrupted by the doorbell. 

Then again…

On one of those aforementioned chilly nights, Julia was tired from the day and just rested her head against Carmen’s shoulder. She’d heard Carmen’s breath hitch and heart start racing, and Julia internally panicked. 

That messed up part of her brain started up again, telling her that her friend must have some deep-rooted fear of her. 

After all, who would put their complete trust in a vampire? 

.

.

.

<So are we ever going to address the giant mammoth in the room?> Player meowed. 

Carmen barely looked up, too preoccupied with trying to translate her newest old spellbook. “I have no idea what mammoth you’re referring to.” 

Player jumped onto the back of the couch, looking at her with an unimpressed ear-flick. 

<So you’re not trying to court Julia the lycan way?> 

Crud. 

That’s exactly what she was doing. And Player knows. She sighed through her nose, leaning her head on the back of the couch and glancing over at the cat. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

<To anyone that knows enough about lycan behavior? Yeah. But to Julia?> Player waved a paw, contemplating. <Seems like a no.> 

Carmen groaned, flopping backwards to sprawl over the couch like a dramatic Victorian lady. “Ugh.” 

<Why not just ask her outright to go on a date?> 

There were a handful of reasons for that: first and foremost being that Julia is working for the organization that wants to track Carmen down (and, for the record, would be working to do the same to Julia if they knew of her curse).The second being that Julia just had a horrible, crazy thing happen to her and Carmen doesn’t want to throw another complicated thing into the mess. Third, and she resented this reason in particular, Carmen is scared to do so. 

Her familiar could probably guess most of those, including the last one, but Carmen chose to deflect anyways. “When have you ever known me to do something outright?” 

Player couldn’t argue with that, but still. <There has to be a better way to flirt,> he said. 

“Nope, this is all I’ve got.” 

<Isn’t this the definition of insanity?> He asked, crossing the couch to jump to his cat tree. 

“Not if it eventually works!” 

And it hadn’t been getting the same result, which means that it is not insanity, thanks very much. She was pretty sure she was making progress!

Now it was Player’s turn to groan and flop dramatically, halfheartedly banging his forehead against the wall repeatedly. 

Without looking away from the ceiling, Carmen called, “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“DOOM!” She shrieked, beads rattling and scarves flapping. “DOOM AND DESPAIR! A cursed child you have brought me! Cursed and ill-omened!”

The parents shrank back from her in alarm, but she could see the young boy before her firming his chin. He was young, probably too young, but it had to be now. He had to know. 

She smiled sweetly then, her whole demeanour changing in a way that was designed to feel off and wrong while not actually being explainable. “Oh, and that broach you misplaced is under the cushion in the red lounger in the solar, your maid didn’t take it.”

*

She wove the tale of hard-won love as extravagantly as she could. Not the lass’s first love, a sweet boy she already knew, but her second, a travelling soldier. When the young woman finally left the odd hut and its odder occupant, it was with dreams that no longer involved the blacksmith’s son and the knowledge that her mother should frog nearly two full rows of her knitting that night, lest the mistake in the pattern fester for another dozen.

*

“I see… I see… a great destiny! A remarkable lad, who shall lead armies one day! Yes, yes, we are all in the presence of GREATNESS!” She paused then, and peered closer at the young man. He almost flinched, her careful eccentricities making her seem wild and unstable, but had been brought up not to show fear. “Greatness and a little greed, it seems. That was your brother’s scone, sir, you knew you weren’t supposed to have two.” His eyes widened as his mother shot him a glare, his small lie revealed. She waved them off with more effusive praise, but edged around all questions of specifics. It wouldn’t do to tell them more, after all.

*

“You bring such an unexceptional girl to see me? Why bother? We waste my time, yes, but we waste much more of yours.” She commented, pulling on the young woman’s arms and turning her this way and that like a dressmaker’s mannequin. The poor girl was obviously overwhelmed, but too polite to say anything. The flurry of activity hid the note she tucked into the girl’s apron pocket, one that wouldn’t be discovered until the end of the day.

“Of course we didn’t.” Replied the Lord who had led them here. “That’s my daughter’s maid, not my daughter! Can one of your ‘great power’,” He mocked, clearly dismissive, “Truly not see that?”

“I do not see with the mortal eyes.” She replied, getting right up in his face and blinking owlishly from behind her unreasonably large glasses. She didn’t actually need them, but they made her eyes look like they were half her face and it was just the right sort of touch for her distracting outfit. “I see with the third eye! The spirit eye! Your mortal trappings mean naught to it!”

She glanced sideways at the small child held in his very meek wife’s arms and tilted her head curiously. “This child? This child is also an unexceptional child, though a good and proper young lady.” She pointed at the woman’s stomach instead. “That is the interesting child there. A cunning hunter your son shall be. He will bring much acclaim to your halls with his deeds.”

“A baby?” The woman asked wonderously, tearing up slightly.

“A son?” The man demanded, talking right over his wife like she hadn’t spoken. “You speak truly, witch? My marriage approaches its seventh summer and the girl her fifth. You say we are to be blessed with a son before midwinter?”

“Two days after.” She corrected, swivelling her head back around to him with a strange curl that almost made it look detached. “Your wife will begin her labour as the dawn breaks on the new year, and the boy shall make his presence known just as the bells finish tolling the end of Matins.”

“I shall be ready for him.” He assured her, already moving to take the young girl from his wife and place a supporting hand, one he would never otherwise extend to her, on her back. His words were strong but his face was smug, and she had to resist the urge to tell him he wouldn’t.

He would slip on ice at the first frost, and his son would become Lord with his first breath.

*

There were many people who sought her out through the years, and she read them all their fortunes. Some big, some small, and always with something small and verifiable to ensure they would believe.

None of it would work if they wouldn’t believe.

*

(“You’re reading them wrong.” Said her insufferable apprentice.

“All runes and portents can be read multiple ways.” She responded, a well worn argument at this point. One she was sick of having.

One that only she knew she’d never have to have again.)

*

One of the children she augeried for eventually came back to speak with her. She had been looking forward to it. She made sure the statue of her apprentice, one that would not move again until her death, was positioned where he could see everything. This was the most important lesson she still had to teach him after all. At least she knew he was paying attention.

“If you can truly see the future, why did you tell my parents I was cursed? My life has been long and fruitful, and I have prospered.”

“Really?” Perry asks, and I’m already trying to grab for the thing when she turns it on herself. “Cool! Let me see.” 

“Perry, don’t,” I say, reflexively, as if that’s any more helpful than trying to get her to stop dodging me, but she’s already set it off. Her fingerprints are on record, too. 

“What the hell?” she says, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You said this thing was going to take my gender away, not add more of them!” 

“I didn’t say anything of the sort, Perry. I didn’t say anything about that thing at all,” I remind her, no longer trying to keep quiet. If anyone can hear us, they’ve already heard us. This project may be doomed anyway. “What I said was, and I distinctly remember wording it exactly like this, ‘don’t touch the artifacts.’” 

“You could’ve told me it wasn’t going to give me a dick. I would’ve left it alone,” Priscilla tells me, like it’s reasonable that she sounds reasonable. 

“Why would it do that?” I don’t quite yell. “It’s a Genderswap Gun, not a Sexswap Gun, why the hell would it have done anything to your body?” 

“Well, I don’t know. The sign doesn’t say anything else,” Priscilla tells me, still sounding like she has any reason to sound reasoned. 

“Why did it give me so many?” Perry asks, turning puppy eyes on me like I have anything to do with any of this. I was telling them not to touch anything for a good goddamn reason. It’s not like I can fix it. 

“It is an alien artifact, Perry Hall, you know better than anyone that we don’t know why they do what they do,” I snap, and then, at Priscilla’s miserable look, add, “it’ll wear off in about 72 hours. And, yes, if you try it again it’ll almost certainly have the same effect. It seems to be consistent for a single person, even if there’s no other pattern.” 

“You could’ve told us that,” Perry says, like she didn’t lunge for the gun immediately after it was clear it was a bad idea to lunge for the gun. “Like, clearly you learned about this thing a long time ago. You might’ve mentioned.” 

“It’s classified!” I say, gesturing at where we’ve broken into. 

“Okay? Lots of things are classified. Everything about the alien is classified and you told us all about that, so what gives?” Perry asks. I think she’s high again. 

“I had to tell you about the alien or you wouldn’t have helped me free it,” I tell her, crossing my arms. Priscilla’s taken her side, because of course she has. “I’m not just going to tell you random information for fun. That thing doesn’t have any lives at stake.” I gesture vaguely at the Genderswap Gun, then realize I should set it back on the shelf. Someone’s going to realize it’s been moved, but they’re going to realize it’s been fired anyway. 

“I feel like maybe if you’d wanted to be whistleblowing you ought to have talked to a reporter, hon,” Priscilla says, shaking her head at me very seriously. “I don’t know that we were the best people to ask along on this adventure.” 

“I asked Perry because she’s willing to do dangerous shit on no notice, and she’s got too many political connections to disappear and too many social ones to keep locked up,” I tell Priscilla, not that it sounds quite as thought through all the way down here. The creature really does look like it’s dying, though. “You invited yourself along for the ride.” 

“Well, that’s because you were suggesting an adventure and I wasn’t about to get myself left behind,” Priscilla tells me, with a snort, like I’m the one acting crazy here. “You can’t just go saying things like that and expect people not to take you up on it.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, regretting every single person I reassured I was happy being point man on this project. We should’ve actually organized an op. At this point, I’m even reconsidering whether it’s all that important to make it seem like there was no one on the inside involved in all of this. “Can we rescue the alien, please?” 

“You know, it’s my contact as has any idea what all to do with the creature, so it would’ve been awful rude to exclude me anyway,” Priscilla says, raising an eyebrow. “Or, hopefully does, seeing as you won’t even tell us what kind it is.” 

“Look, the agency’s best guess is my best guess, and they’ve got no fucking clue,” I admit, prying open the keypad as haphazardly as I can without setting off any alarms. “We’re just all pretty much in agreement it probably wants to be outside. I think it needs sunlight.”