he feels her behavior is uncouth and it would be ungentlemanly of him to indulge any use of the object pronoun. it could very well affect her ability to be married off after her term of service. which, did you know, young lady, despite the handicap of his unusual and unnatural abilities, there is even a former pilot in the House of Commons these days. a man, of course. but still! a former pilot!

---

"Anyway, if you persist in referring to yourself by a number, I shall simply give you a name: Daisy. And then… I was tempted to hand you over to my eldest daughter to see if she can civilize you, as she did the daughter of a dear friend —" Scots, he mouthed, mustache waggling — "but I'm afraid as you are now, even Elizabeth's generous heart may be challenged. So! We begin at the beginning. I've an elocution tutor for you."

damn him. what would my Handler want me to do? i miss Her leash. i miss Her chains.

---

"The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain. Repeat, Daisy, if you please."

"Listen, you sad little man: the only thing that falls in Spain in my time is radioactive ash from the Boston strike. Get out of my way."

*zap*

*zap*

"Mr. Jevon! What on earth— Did Father put you up to this? Stop that at once!"

"That he did, young Miss Liz."

"Can't you see that she is bleeding? And not a healthy color, either! Almost black!"

"Our guest is your father's ward, Miss. Not yours."

"Mr. Jevon, I shall have sharp words with him later! You know he can't refuse me anything since Mother passed."

"Miss, I shouldn't like to come before your father, student untutored—"

"Get! Out!"

Hands raised. Not a surrender, a temporary retreat. A door opened. A door closed.

A rustle of skirts. An unthinkable wealth of natural fibers. The woman peering at it was, like it, wrapped in the ransom of a city.

"Father tells me you are called Daisy," she told it. "I'd have named you 'idiot'; you haven't the sense to tell men what they want to hear… Is that laudanum? Give it."

She tipped the contents of the amber bottle between thin, pale lips. Her posture slackened a telling fraction.

"Oh, it seems I haven't left you any! Too bad. Listen, Daisy, I've seen your hell machine in the stables. Want it back?"

"Yes," it growled. "'Call-me-Rodney' has the ground crew safety interlock key."

"My father. Yes. Good, you want something. I want something too: Fiona got her highlander arse married off, and now I'm down my best girl toy."

"Not a girl."

"You're close enough. Understand?"

"No."

"Luckily for you, I don't need you to. Can you follow orders?"

"Yes."

She straddled it, ground a knee between its legs.

"Will you follow mine?"

It growled. She snatched a razor from the counter, held it to its shoulder.

"How about now?"

It growled again.

She cut, a thin hot trail with an ancient tool, blunt and no more sterile than its wielder.

"You're only so defiant without that machine. Father didn't see it but I do. The place you came from, they broke something in you? Or were you always like this? And you want to go back?"

"Yes!"

"Yes, you want to go back, or yes, you're like this, or yes, they broke something, or yes, you'll do as I tell you?"

She cut again, shallow, below its neckline, following the sternum.

"Yes. To all." It clarified: "Handler."