Belly up to the Bar (C 1.4, H 1.5)

Location: Poseidon's Belly
Time: evening

---

Helix,

After working more chores at Pall Mall's direction, including cleaning blood off of dirty clothes and gear to carrying crates of food from the dock up to the residential floor, Bristol shows up to take you to your place before you have to work. It was a difficult choice to leave before Lucky Strike returns, but Bristol assured you he'll come by the Belly tonight. When you returned to the little place you call home, you found a small plastic pail sitting by the door with something hand-written on a piece of paper on top of the pail (that you can't read). Inside were three yellow cakes with sweet white stuff in the middle - two are still in plastic wrappers.

Your apartment was just as you left it - nobody broke in and stole your dren (yet). Did you invite Bristol in or leave her outside on her jet ski? After cleaning up, you scrounged together something to eat before heading to The Belly, the place where Kiwi died. Kiwi has been rather silent, but you feel his presence near like a burr nestled under your clothes - an unpleasant reminder at the worst times when you've almost forgotten he's there.

When you arrive at The Belly, you find Dakota already there working tables at her regular sloth-like pace. Blackjack didn't let the body cool, it seems - she's hired Parcher back on to tend bar. Parcher is neither pretty like Kiwi nor thoughtful. Why did Blackjack let him go the last time?

The bar is already filling up with Boaters and Rafters. Titicaca yells for you as soon as she sees you enter, beckoning you over to take her table's order.

What do you do?

Canary,

Last night after Litch, Edmund, and Kestrel left on their jet skis, you stuck around at the Tower docks until Dinero came back out with his matching luggage crammed with "stuff we'll really need". Did you let him bring all eight bags onto the Refuge with him? Among the bags he brought on was a small container that he handed over to you, saying it was from his father. Inside the container - a cigar box - was a month's worth of jingle to pay for Dinero's passage, as promised.

How did you spend the day training Dinero? You've found him to be observant and hard-working despite outward appearances. He is also easy on the eyes but hasn't made a pass at you (other than asking you to dance last night). After a day of work on the boat, you get a line on some new work - how do you normally get notifications like this? Is it word-of-mouth at docks or via radio, or something else? The potential employer is a Vaulter named Jay Pee Morgan. He asked to meet at The Belly, which is where you're walking into now.

As you enter the seedy bar with Dinero, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes fill your nostrils. The Belly itself is run-down, with peeling wallpaper and stained carpets where it hasn't been ripped up and thrown away. The dimly lit space is crowded with people, some chatting, others playing cards, but most are huddled around the fighting pit's fences. The air is thick with tension, and the energy is palpable. The patrons in the bar are a motley crew of characters - most of them Boaters or Rafters. There are shady-looking men with scars on their faces and women in tight dresses with too much makeup. Everyone seems to be on edge, and the slightest provocation feels like it could set off a brawl. You never know what might happen in a place like this, and it's best to keep your head down and stay out of trouble.

The prettiest servers - Dakota and Helix - are working tonight. But Kiwi isn't behind the bar, sadly.

What do you do?

I convince Bristol to wait on her jet ski while I go to my apartment alone. It gives me the opportunity to be in my own space again, like I'm used to. The yellow cakes outside my door are a surprise and I tuck the note in my pocket even though I can't read it. I might have asked Kiwi, but that's not an option now, even with his presence lingering over my shoulder like a shadow I can never quite see.

The fact that there are three cakes though makes me feel safer about them. Someone leaving something nefarious wouldn't waste more than one. I take a bite of the unwrapped one and use my finger to scoop out some of the cream inside, savoring the impossibly sweet taste as much as I can while knowing Bristol is waiting on me.

While I'm home, I change out of the sunshiney yellow dress into something more myself and pack a bag with a few outfit options. Maybe I'll be back tonight, for good, but if my information isn't enough to free me, who knows when or if Bristol will bring me back again?


I go to the big square tank along the wall where my pets swim happily. I have six of them - black and brown leeches with speckled heads and ribbed bodies that grow fat when they feed. I scoop three of them into a mason jar that I store in my backpack to bring with me. They're surprisingly hearty, able to survive without food for weeks and outside of water for days. Kiwi told me you can dehydrate them in the sun and when you put them back in water, they plump right up again, but I'd never test that with these leeches. I need these ones.

Walking into the Belly is walking into my past life. Parcher is behind the bar again, despite the fact that last time he worked here, he was fixing fights in the Pit, feeding insider information to the high rollers, and pilfering the profits for himself. Either Blackjack was desperate or she found some way of making sure he wasn't going to repeat past sins.

After the long day of work, my bones are already weary when I walk in. Titicaca's touts only intensify the tiredness. I head over to stow my backpack behind the bar, too close to the place Kiwi died, don't greet Parcher, then head for the Rafters' table.

My gaze shifts from Titicaca to the rest of the Rafters at the table. "Anything else?" I ask them.

While I wait for the response, I take a moment to scan the rest of the room. Part of me is looking for Mikkie and I'm not sure if I hope he's here, or hope he's not. Part of me is looking for Wells Fargo, as if just seeing him might confirm what the Whispers told me. And part of me is alert for any sort of insanity in someone's eyes that would indicate they're about to pull out a gun and shoot one of us for no reason - for NO reason, and certainly not because I controlled the Whispers and made them issue an order.

"Stuff we really need?" I cross my arms and sarcastically stand there deliberately not helping with his things. Around when he's gotten to his fourth or fifth, bag, though, I have to say something. "You know there ain't room in the cargo hold for all that dren, right? Where do you think you're gonna be sleepin' then? You like sleepin' on deck with all that, be my guest."

I have him pare it down to a more reasonable amount of stuff... less comforts, more utility.

As far as training, yeah, with jingle in the box we can spend a little time on the basics. I plan to show him how to pilot the Refuge at some point, and tell him so, but I start with the most common issues with the engines, how to refuel, how to mount and use the fifty-cal... even though I still don't have the ammo... and how to load and unload cargo. Those hatches can be hard to open and lock.

When the weather's bad he's welcome to sleep in any covered space below-decks. I take the pilot house. And we keep it professional...even though, yeah... Dinero isn't hard on the eyes.

I get jobs through the radio often, but word of mouth at least as much. I come into port and someone or other may have work for me waiting. I to a circuit of the islands, usually, try not to go too long between visits of the more... populated... places. Been a good while since I landed at the Vault, though. Good to be back.

---

I fill Dinero in, pretty much tell him the same things. Keep it calm, don't call attention to yourself, don't get in anyone's space... there's been more than a little violence here in the recent past and we don't want to spark anything.

We walk in together and I see Helix at the bar. It's good to see her, but it feels like she again, always... has her hands full at this place. It must be exhausting. I raise my eyes to her to get her attention and walk Dinero over to the bar and tell him to hang here while I find my contact, Jay Pee.

"Helix, can you take care of my friend here while I take care of some business?" I drop a bit of jingle on the bar for her, feeling flush from my recent windfall. I wonder if she knows who he is.

Helix,
The Rafters order some munching food, but nothing much more. You notice Canary coming into The Belly with Dinero - do you know Millions' son? He's been here before, for sure. He's so frelling clean that it's odd, right?

Returning from the Rafters makes the guy at the bar with Canary seem even cleaner and less like he belongs. I study him for a moment, trying to place why he seems familiar. Then I remember - he's the one that was about to have his zok handed to him in the fighting pit when the Talons started a brawl that shut everything down for a while. I overheard someone say he was Millions' son, and that is a name I do know.

If it's true, though, what is he doing in a place like this? With Canary no less?

The jingle Canary puts down suddenly makes a lot more sense. She's always been fair when it comes to money, but this feels more than fair. Suddenly I'm more than aware of the fact that I spent my morning elbow-deep in fish guts. This guy smells like a spring day.

"Sure," I tell her, swiping up the jingle while it's still here. "As long as business doesn't involve anyone getting killed."

"You are business," I answer Dinero, little bit of a smile on my face. "Hang here, Helix knows everyone 'round these parts. You should know her, too."

If it takes more convincing than that... My eyes follow Helix's deft swipe, then up to her face, "I hope not! Seriously. It'd probably be me..." I glance over my shoulder, "you seen Jay Pee Morgan 'round? Suppose' to meet him."

Canary,

Dinero takes your direction and stays put at the bar. He does mutter, "I am business," like it's a joke.

Helix,

You have seen Jay Pee, he's seated in the VIP area with some other Vaulters - they rarely spend time outside their clique unless they're purchasing services.

"VIP area," I tell Canary. "Per usual. They might not let you in there though, unless he's expecting you." I wonder if Wells Fargo is here tonight too. "I can walk you over, if that might help."

I glance at the clean prince sitting at the bar, then catch Parcher's attention, pointing to him. "Get this one whatever he wants," I call over the din, because I'm certain if we didn't give it over willingly, this pretty person would take it like he's owed it anyway.

I consider telling Helix to treat him like... well... like a "normal" person. Like me, i guess. But that little look, I'll let it go for now.

I lean in close to Dinero for a second, "hey, it's your first day, ok? I know you can handle it but I have my own reputation to look out for... I'm who they expect to see and if you walk in there with me it changes the deal."

I leave him with that thought, "thanks Helix... I'm expected," then quietly, "appreciate if you can keep an eye on my man, here..." I realize this probably makes no sense. I silently mouth, 'tell you later.' And gesture at Dinero with a tilt of the head.

Then off to find Jay Pee.

Canary,

The VIP area is where the Vaulters relax and smoke cigars. They have a trio of muscle hired from around the way - you've seen them before. They're pros. Jay Pee is watching one of the closed-circuit TVs on the table in their seating area. It looks like he might have some jingle on one of the fighters or something.

When you step into the small area, bald and burly Truist steps to you, asking what's up.

Helix,

You break away from Parcher with a tray full of beers for the Rafters. As you move closer to them, Titicaca looks up at you expectantly. You glance to your left to the fighting pits and that's when you see Mikkie. He's not in the pit, but he's leaning against the chain-link fencing around it, watching the fight casually. Or, at least, it seems casual from his body language.

Do you serve Titicaca first, or make her wait?

I nod at Canary's silent message, but I'm worried about it too. She's not the type to be pushed around, but was this guy sent along with her by her choice, or because she felt like she had to take him along? I guess I'll find out later, assuming the Vaulters don't add another person to their kill count before then.

Seeing Mikkie over there by the pits makes my stomach tighten. Is he talking to the Whispers right now? About me? What are they telling him?

I force my focus back to the Rafters, serving Victoria first, then Titicaca second. I don't want to outright snub her again, but I'm tired of being pushed around. This seems like a safe enough rebellion.

"Food will be out in a bit," I tell them, delivering the last of the drinks and then unconsciously checking again to see if Mikkie is still there watching the fight.

I show my hands.

The VIP area should be impressive... but where I've just been it's looking a little sad and sorry. I fight really hard not to smile about it.

"Here to see Jay Pee on bizness he's expectin' me," glad they're professional. So am I, we oughta get along.

I try to make eye contact with Jay Pee. Respectfully.

I accept the pat-down, raising my arms, "yeah," I answer matter-of-factly. It's pretty obvious, my sawed-off strapped just above the knee on the right. I glance at it for emphasis.

I freeze when Titicaca names Kiwi, certain she's joking or teasing, but no one laughs and the others laud him instead. I watch them, hands as empty as my chest, numb apart from the ache between my shoulder blades where I sense Kiwi's presence.

I stay there, silent and stonelike for too long, then ask, "Do any of you know what happened to his body?"

The idea that Kiwi's body is sitting with the silt and sand at the bottom of the dark water, becoming bloated and buoyant were it not for the stones holding him down, soon to be consumed by fish and worms, reminds me that everyone ends up there eventually. Even the pretty Tower boy at the bar will one day die and rot.

"It's okay. I wouldn't have been able to come anyway." Even if I weren't with the Sippians, I have no desire to attend any funeral or farewell. I don't need to publicize my pain or share my sorrow. There's enough of that to go around. "I'll go check on your food."

Helix,
You leave the Rafters and head back into the kitchen - who works in the kitchen cooking up the mostly-fried food? You grab the baskets of grub and throw them on a tray that used to be a hub cab so you can carry it all out. When you emerge from the kitchen, you see Mikkie has moved to the bar and he's sipping from a long bendy straw as he sits by Pretty Tower boy - they are not talking.

Small Fry works in the kitchen. I don't think that was his given name, but I've never heard anyone call him anything else - including Blackjack who is usually a stickler about those things. His arms are the size of my thigh and he is consistently chewing on something - usually a toothpick. He used to work on the galley on one of the big ships. I'm not sure what landed him here and he doesn't talk about it either. He's much too future-focused to talk about the past.

I pick up the hubcap tray, the scent of hot grease melding with the fish oil clinging to my hair already, and head out to the bar again, stopping when I see Mikkie so close to Canary's companion. I'm fairly sure this is exactly the sort of thing she wanted me to keep an eye on him for, but if Mikkie decides he wants to rip Millions' kid's arms off, am I actually supposed to stop him? I'm relieved they aren't talking at least, but who knows how long that will last.

Maybe if I give Mikkie something else to muse on, the mouse won't go feral. I'm loath to do it, but on my way back to the Rafters, I stop near Mikkie and say, "I need to talk to you. Alone." I glance over to a small, empty table, hoping he'll take the option to meet me there instead of lingering here next to the naive money, then I head on to drop food at the Rafters.

Helix,

The Rafters give their thanks and drop some barter as tip (a few odds and ends like a pocket knife, a spool of fishing line, and a floppy picture book). You handle a couple of Dakota's tables and notice Mikkie has moved to the table you'd indicated. He's still sipping a drink with the long straw.

What do you do?

My heart quickens at the concept that I'm willingly seeking Mikkie out, but now that I've started, I can't back out. Who knows how he'd react to that?

I head over to the table and pull out the chair opposite him, perching on it without relaxing, ready to run. I wish for the first time that I could see the face behind the mask. It's unnerving not being able to read his expressions. I'm sure I could ask the Whispers, but after what happened to Hedges I'm even more wary of them.

"The Whispers talk to you too." It's not a question, but I don't know the question yet. I'm hoping he'll just hand me the answer anyway.

"To go?" I echo, my hands gripping the seat of my chair. "You mean before Nuport shot Kiwi?"

I replace my empty weapon in its place with a practiced little motion, I'm disarmed, but I want it clear that I can handle my weapon.

I straighten my slicker, hood lowered, and brush some sea-sticky hair off my cheek before walking over to Jay Pee.

"Good to see you too," I say business-like. I scan the others at the table but keep my attention on my client, "boat's available and hold's clear for your deal, I can depart any time."

My gaze turns to the table, then back up to the unchanging, vacant expression hiding his face, if he even has such a thing. "Do we always end up doing what they ask?"

Seeing the glittering of his eye inside of that mask sends a chill down my spine and for a moment, I stop breathing. I can't look away as he studies me. It's almost like I can feel the Whispers ferrying information to him before he issues his judgment.

"Yeah. They told me." As long as I do what they want. I frown. "Does wearing that helmet make them quieter?" I don't think I could do it myself, even if it did. I'm too vain to hide my face like that.

I shouldn't be surprised I suppose. If I put on a pair of earmuffs, I would certainly hear the Whispers more, the way I do when I sink down into the water of the tub in my apartment. One of the parts I like best about working in such a boisterous place as the Belly is that it deafens me to the Whispers to some degree.

I glance out to the bar, worried that I've lingered here too long and checking again on Canary's companion. I look back to Mikkie, feeling more hurried by my concerns. "So what are they telling you now then?"

Hey there Helix, you've just asked Mikkie to reveal what the Whispers are telling him. It turns out Mikkie is a psychic antenna. You're using him for Augury.

I try not to react to the question. The Undertow is serious business. Thankfully, the maneuverable Refuge gives me an edge in those waters... though. I've suffered some indignation and near-disaster there in my youth.

I nod, "I can handle the 'tow. Prolly the best craft on the water," not bragging, it's pretty much true, "but them's still dangerous tides there. You and I have business there, I take it?"

Great. Dinero's first job on the Refuge and we're going into the Undertow. Part of me wants to just leave him here at the bar.

But I nod to Jay Pee, "you got the best." I say it and mean it, "nobody's biz what's in my hold except for you and who I'm deliverin' to at the 'tow. Round trip then? This goes well, we talkin' about a continuing relationship?"

I like to be paid in goods I can use myself or turn around easy. I do get around, so anything valuable... well, I can find a buyer somewhere. But I don't like having to make detours just to cash in my own scratch. Best thing... fuel, ammo, food. In that order.

It's disorienting at first, seeing the world through Mikkie's eyes, the whole world a discerning delirium. The array of colors kaleidoscopes around me, attached to souls and sensations. It's both beautiful and scary, a storm on the seas. I find myself hunting for someone the Whispers would will Mikkie to kill, wondering what he sees that allows him to sleep at night after so much violence.

I... I actually can't hide a hint of a smile at that.

"Appreciated," I can't hide my pleasure and my serious demeanor breaks a bit, "I am that person. And I like your style, Jay Pee. What say one drink to the deal, then I'll be on my way?"

I step closer, wondering if I'll be invited to sit.

Helix,
You look around the bar and see a rainbow of colors - somehow knowing what each means. Seeking out some target the Whispers have set for Mikkie, you see one of the Rafters, a broad-shouldered lug named Caspian:


Caspian looks like he's in an argument with Victoria and Titicaca. As you watch, he shoves Titicaca and stands up angrily, threatening to beat her down. Titicaca throws up her hands and surrenders, telling the brute whatever he wanted to hear. The colors around Caspian are dark and jagged, like quills. He takes Titicaca's brew, then stalks off toward the fighting cage.

What do you do?

The darkness around Caspian is somehow even scarier than Mikkie himself. Still, I try to pull away from this cosmic connection slowly, not wanting to startle the warrior across the table from me. Before I disconnect completely, I catch one last glimpse of myself in his perspective. The moment I return to my own body, I reach up and pull some hair over my shoulder to try to hide the bruise on my neck and the marks from where Karo hit me earlier.

I take a quiet moment, orienting myself back to my own body, before I glance toward the fighting cages where Caspian headed.

"Does he always look like that?"

Yeah I sit next to him, fifty-cal ammo is the key to my waterlogged heart!

I slip into a seat, take an offered drink and sit with one elbow on the table to face towards Jay Pee here. I share updates as well as I can from around the isles. I've come recently from the Sea Road, of course, and waters fair distant. I share tales of the cold islands North... mostly uninhabited and inhospitable. But handfuls of people still cling to them and eke out a living. I tell of the Refuge, sharing some favorite tales of the Undertow and outrunning pirates and outsmarting raiders.

I do keep it short... I stay long enough not to insult my hosts, but I don't dare set off drunk and Dinero's there in the other room... and things are starting to sound rowdy out there ain't they.

I swallow with consternation at the idea of condemning Caspain to that kind of consequence, but the last time I tried to avoid the Whisper's wishes, they tried to take Hedges. What might they do here? What if they go after Dakota like they did Kiwi?

I press my lips together and hold Mikkie's gaze through the mask more confidently and certainly than I have before. "Are you absolutely certain you'll win?"

Canary,
You find the Vaulters pleasant company, even though you get a feeling that they look at you like you're a specimen on display for their research rather than a companion to share stories with. Jay Pee flirts with you a little - it's a power move - but he keeps from going overboard with it. You finish up glad-handing and head back to your lone employee.

Dinero only has two empties in front of him, but his posture as well as his face tells you he's drunk. Either he's a lightweight or Parcher spiked his drinks.

What do you do?

I purse my lips, then get up from the table and make my way back toward the bar. I grab a beer from Parcher then bring it over to Titicaca. "I saw yours get stolen," I tell her as I set it in front of her. "At least, I'm assuming you didn't give it away."

I share pleasantries with the Vaulters and make sure the cargo will be aboard promptly... as well as the fifty-cal Jay Pee mentioned. Then make pleasant excuses and head back to the bar...

"Dren, really?" I stomp over to Dinero, "enjoying yourself? I wanted you to learn something..." I sigh. Grab him by the shoulder, "nevermind. We have work. New cargo."

I gesture towards the door.

I nod once at Titicaca's declaration, then step away from the table, planning to head across the bar toward where Caspian went when I notice Canary's boy toy nearly swaying out of his seat. My gaze shifts to Parcher, eyes narrowing. I'm not looking through Mikkie's technicolored vision now, but I can almost see the eager predatory orange roiling off him again.

Caspian can wait. I hurry back toward them. "Canary, I'm sorry. I was dealing with Mikkie and-" I dart a hateful glare toward Parcher, "I don't know what happened."

"Yeah, you look fine, Dinero. You barf on deck you're scrubbin' the whole boat hands'n knees," I give his shoulder a tug towards the door and then let go. Why do i feel like I'm scolding a naughty child here....

"Hey!?" I call out to whoever's behind the bar, "the hezmana is Helix? Told'er to keep an eye on..." speak of the devil, here she is.

I turn to face Helix.

My voice is raised at first, then calm down about half way through, "you don't know what happened!? Dren... I asked ya to keep an eye on him! Cause he needs eyes on 'im!" I'm suddenly full of so many doubts about this whole arrangement.

"Helix...." I shake my head and sigh, not apologizing but knowing I should, "he's a big boy... shouldn't be your problem..."

Ok, I begin to put two and two together here, turn Dinero towards me with a sharp grip on his shoulder to look him in the eye....

Canary's initial vehemence catches me off guard and I take half a step back before her voice calms halfway through. I don't feel like I deserve that though - the calming down. I did spend too long talking with Mikkie, not watching what Dinero was getting up to, not that I should have had to. She's right about that much.

While she manhandles Dinero I move up to the bar beside Dinero's stool and slap a hand against the countertop. "What did you do to him, Parcher? This never would have happened with Kiwi."

"Yeah, I wanna know, too!" I call out angrily to Parcher, "that's what you did? That's all you did?"

"I'm not delivering one more drink until you answer her question," I tell Parcher, pulling my hand back from the counter, my spine a column of stone in my back. I don't even look at Dakota when she tries to calm us down, even if she's right. "And who do you think people will blame for that? The server who's been here forever, or the new bartender who already got fired once before?" There's a strange sort of mirror between us on that point, because I'm pretty sure me trying to work with Canary was even more disastrous than Parcher's last go at the Belly. The only one of us who's been truly capable in her career is Canary herself. Parcher and I are just loser drop outs from different academies, and I'm sure this Tower Boy will be soon enough too.

My eyes dart around as I put the rest of the puzzle together.

"So he's basically a thief," I mutter quietly to myself. Figured, Dinero hasn't had to deal with this kind of thing... Dren... why'd I leave him alone... this isn't about Dinero's jingle. I doubt he'd miss it. It's about his association with me and my reputation. He drugged my employee, here... not going to let that go.

I seethe up to the bar, "you want me to take this up with Blackjack, friend? How much biz do you think I bring to this place? Huh?" I point back at Dinero, "you rip off my man here and think you can play dumb and walk away with a score? Maybe you didn't know. Maybe you thought you seen an easy mark, huh? No. No he ain't... he's with me."

I point at the bar where the jingle was set a moment ago, "let's see how much you apparently think a couple'a pours and your good-good service are worth."

Parcher's threat to actually bring this to Blackjack makes my heart skip a beat. After smashing a Sipp's hand last night and slacking on serving tonight, he could make a case against me. Plus I know I look like a pile of rags, which doesn't work in my favor considering appearances are half the reason Blackjack hires in the first place.

Before I can catch my breath, Canary swoops in, more bird of prey than songbird as she lays into Parcher. I've seen things like this before, and they don't always go down without bloodshed. Am I about to watch someone die right in front of me for the second night in a row? Is that space behind the bar cursed now?

I find myself reaching for Dakota's hand and tugging her back a couple of steps, giving Canary space to work this out.

Canary, you and Parcher jaw at each other. You feel like he's going to back down any moment now, you sense it in the way his eyes dart as if looking for some support. You catch movement from your right as Small Fry, still wearing his "cookin apron" is hustling from the kitchen to see what's what. It feels like a standoff with a coming storm, Canary. Do you weather it or decide to race out of the way?

You're weathering this storm, aren't you? You're going to tell Parcher not to mess with your crew no matter how brand-new and foolish he is. Parcher starts to reach for something under the bar, which feels not good. Is he really going to bring a weapon out?

That's when Dinero's knees buckle under him and he drops like an anchor to the floor. He's passed out and slipped from your grasp. He starts to throw up, but he's at a bad angle and he's going to choke on it.

What do you do?

Now, my hands are nowhere near my weapon at the moment, this is a war of words 'far as I'm concerned! So seeing Parcher reach... that just instantly kicks in the adrenaline and my brain races, deciding whether to beat him to a draw or... then Dinero goes down like a sack...

"What the... you frellin' serious?" a word of disbelief at Parcher... going to the guns over an argument? I break eye contact with Parcher. Not quite ignoring him, he's kinda unhinged, but no way he's not gonna bloody the bar and ruin what reputation he has left against an unarmed opponent not even paying him mind... right?

I hurry over to Dinero, coughing up whatever bad dren he swallowed, I hope. For the moment, de-escalate.

I look over at Dakota sharply when I hear her confession, watching her as the last words finish, watching her mouth unmoving. It's a different way for the Whispers to speak to me, using her voice, and I wonder if that's because of Kiwi or if it's because if how I connected with Mikkie.

I am going to be the oracle of death now? Hearing omens of death, delivering their bidding with Mikkie, speaking with their victims?

But now isn't the time for those worthless worries. I give Small Fry a look that is both pleading and helpless before I let go of Dakota's hand and turn to her. "Can you get those drinks over to four for me? I'll deal with this."

Some time, when the time is right, maybe I'll talk to her about what I know she fears, but this isn't that time. We have work to do.

As I push past Parcher behind the bar, I tell Canary, "Make sure he's on his side so he doesn't choke." I fill a pitcher with cold water and bring it over, dumping the whole thing over the pretty rich boy's head. We're going to end up moping this floor up anyway, and I've worked here long enough to see this method get some pass-out drunks on their feet and out the door where they stop being the Belly's burden. Right now, that's the best we can hope for. I want to crack the pitcher over Parcher's head when I'm done, but I need to resist any more pitcher-related assaults for a while or no one will trust me.

Canary,
You're able to keep Dinero from choking, but the toxins he took in are determined to come out. Rolling him onto his side, he's able to expel the dark liquid. It takes less than a minute before he relaxes again and seems to be safe. Parcher's moved on to other customers and Blackjack seems to be forgotten.

What do you do?

I stay with him. I can handle ... body fluids. Gutting fish, firefights... you see worse. I know a touch of first aid but nothing you'd call medicine, so I do what Helix suggests and keep him on his side till this passes.

I burn to say something to Parcher.... he doesn't know how lucky he is that Dinero seems to be ok here. What would happen to him... and to me... if it had gone another way.

I try to pull Dinero to his feet... "hey," I look up to find the nearest strong looking person, who happens to be Small-fry. "Can ya' help me git this guy to the docks?"

I watch Dakota limp off, a weary sadness deep in my eyes, then watch helplessly as Small Fry helps Canary get out of here. I’d hoped to talk to her and find out what she’s got going on with the Tower, but I’m not sure she’d tell me even if they weren’t already halfway out the door. She probably thinks I’m about as useless on land as I was on the water. And she would be right.

I take a breath and move over near Parcher to call over the bar to him. "Pour me two fingers of Top Shelf." My eyes flick up to the expensive bottles we keep out of easy reach. It’s the real stuff, not the usual swill and burn we serve. Normally it goes to the VIP area and pretty much nowhere else, but I have a different plan for this. I don’t really care WHAT it is, as long as it’s expensive, so I don’t specify further.

I nod to Small Fry, "yeah, I'll fine. If I didn't have friends here I mighta wasted that guy," I glance back at Parcher as we go. There he is talking to Helix and shooting me glances. Great.

I wonder if the cargo I'm expecting has been delivered. Probably someone waiting on us.

I follow Small Fry, and point the way to the Refuge, "really appreciate this, Small Fry. What's Parcher's deal anyway? Got somethin' to prove? I don't wanna have to deal with this Dren every time I come back 'ere."

I pick up the glass, the sweet, smokey scent singing out just how good the amber liquid inside is. "Not this time," I answer about the destination of this drink, ignoring Parcher's jab about Canary for the moment. "But I'm sure more will end up over there before the end of the night." I'll have to make sure of it if I want to get the proof I need that Wells Fargo killed Hard Strike. "Keep that stepstool handy."

I turn to go, but then can't help myself from turning back. "Canary wasn't the one causing problems and you know it. If you and I are going to work together, that dren isn't going to fly."

"I'll do that, thanks..." I see the guys waiting by my boat, "I'll take'im from here, Small Fry. Appreciate the hand."

I wish I didn't have a clearly ill crewmate with me at this very moment, but there's no way around it. I can't just wait 'till he sobers up. I gotta do this.

Once Small Fry sets Dinero down, I'll do my best to wake him... get him to at least come to the ship under his own power.

The corner of my mouth quirks down at that. It's not that I agree with him about Canary, but the people from the Tower definitely think they're better than us. I hope this guy isn't the start of her becoming one of them.

I put those thoughts aside and focus back on Parcher. "Tonight, I'm pretty sure she proved that she's better than us, thanks to you."

I freeze the way the wind does just before the waves crash, a momentary pause, a catch, a breath of caution, then my jaw goes tight.

"If I already killed one bartender," I say, "maybe YOU should be nice to ME." I spin on my heel before he can see the hurt behind the anger in my eyes and I charge across the bar looking for Mikkie. This drink may not have a straw, and it's certainly not water, but it's going to him anyway.

I get up under Dinero's shoulder... he is a big fella, ain't he. And help him along the dock.

"Yeah, my boy toy overdid it at the 'belly," I joke back to Nomar, but shake my head slightly. "Permission to go aboard, load 'er up for me if you please, Nomar."

I am happy to see a familiar face. Nomar is older than me, only by a little, and when we were both young teens we had a brief will-they won't they romance which never had a chance to flourish due to the always-presence of our parents and other strangers on the occasions I had to visit. So, at least I feel like he's not going to turn into an enemy. Right?

"I know it's not your drink," I tell him. "But it's how I hope to encourage Caspian into the ring. I'm going to go talk to him now. When he's looking this way, I need you to drink it - or pretend to at least. I actually don't care if you just dump it out on the ground with him watching. It just needs to be gone or wasted somehow. Got it?"

If I'd known twenty-four hours ago that I'd be talking to Mikkie like this, I wouldn't have sworn the Whispers had made me go completely crazy, but so much can change in twenty-four hours. I just hope they don't keep getting worse in the next.

Helix,
Mikkie grunts his agreement and pulls his long bendy straw from his water to carefully place it in the glass. He leans over the glass and wraps his hand around it as it sits on the table. He sips some and you see it disappear from the glass.

I help Dinero on board while I answer, "naaw, I load my own guns when the need arises," and I frankly don't want anyone touching the Refuge's weapons, "just leave it all boxed near the ring there." There's a metal ring which the gun is mounted to, to allow it to rotate in any direction while you rest your butt on the opposite side.

"Dinero, get yourself belowdeck and sleep this dren off," I unlock the hatch and let him find his own way down. This is Parcher's fault, but Dinero proved he has more to learn than I hoped.

Once he's off my hands I'll help with the cargo, make sure it's safe and secure.

The way Mikkie doesn't actually ANSWER me aloud makes that familiar nervous feeling return to my stomach, but at least he seems to be onboard with this.

I head across the bar looking for Caspian, trying not to think too hard about the spikey black aura around him I know Mikkie sees even though I can't anymore.

'I hope this is what you wanted,' I tell the Whispers as I walk over. 'But this is the only person I'm getting killed for you tonight.'

Helix,
"Tonight. Tooooonight," a voice whispers in your head like a song. You can sense their growing interest and anticipation with each step you take toward Caspian.

I take the empty glass from him. "I'm glad to hear that because you're running up quite a tab." I move to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, directing my gaze toward Mikkie and nodding. "That's Glenlivet 25 he's drinking. And he said it's on you."

I'm not eager for a fight like this one promises to be to break out on the floor, so I dart a quick look of better-get-a-safe-distance-away-while-you-can to Yellow before moving quickly across the bar toward where Sonic MCs the fights. "Sonic!" I call above the din. "Get that one in the ring before they start breaking tables!" I look toward where Caspian is trying to tower over Mikkie, tension already tightening the air. At least if Sonic can pull them in, they'll be in the cage away from customers, and Blackjack will be happy with bets rolling in on this showdown. Fights for free don't finance anything.

I take Nomar's flask, look at it for a second before taking a short drink, "thanks," I say, somehow a touch of that teenage shyness flutters in my chest for a second before I remind myself of the current situation.

The flask is engraved with the text "Best Man" which we thought was pretty funny when we found it. Nomar has long-singe scratched out the name of whoever this was engraved for originally, so whoever the real Best Man was is lost to time.

"She is a good boat," I think about taking another sip but remember the state of my crewmember below-deck. "How's life been treating ya? Good?"

Usually, when Mikkie takes the ring, I'm not concerned about the outcome of the fight. Usually, I don't care what happens. Usually, I prepare for the influx of drink orders to roll in after the outcome, whatever way the fight goes - rounds of celebration or shots of sorrow.

This time, though, is different. This time whatever happens is my fault. If Mikkie wins, I killed Caspian. If Caspian wins...it's strange, but there's part of me that almost worries about it, about the idea of not having Mikkie around. He terrifies me still, but he's also like me. Who else understands the Whispers like I do?

When I notice the glass left on Mikkie's table, untouched, I see a double opportunity. I'm not about to let a drink like that go to waste, even if Mikkie didn't do what I asked. I head over to pick it up and then head toward the VIP lounge, conveniently close to the fighting pit so I can watch the fight myself. If the Vaulter's hired muscle stops me, I'll tell them I have a drink for Wells Fargo and it's expensive enough that they'll believe it.

Helix,
Truist moves to block your entrance into the VIP area, but you show him the glass and he knows better than to get in the way of that.


Wells is sitting by Jay Pee and they're watching the upcoming fight on the flat-screen TV in the VIP area. Wells takes the drink from you without a thought - he knows who you are, vaguely, and he trusts Blackjack. He doesn't thank you or anything, but he does nod to Truist to tip you on your way out.

What do you do?

I'm not usually the type of server that sticks around and makes small talk. Blackjack wants me to flirt more, like Dakota, I know that, but it's not my nature. In this day of unusualness, though, I actually want to stick around to talk to Wells Fargo. I'm just not sure how.

My eyes go to the TV screen. "Do you have money on the Rafter or the Boater?"

I nod in agreement. "I guess now we know why you're sitting in the VIP suite and everyone else is out there." I try to smile, but that comes even less naturally to me than this attempt at flattering chit-chat so I stop fighting for it and remain taciturn. "I thought for a while that one of the Sipps might challenge him, but after they lost Hard Strike I don't think they have a chance." I watch him carefully from my periphery, still keeping my attention ostensibly focused on the TV screen, but I want to see his reaction to my mention of the Sipps' lost leader.

I shake my head slightly, "'not like that. He's crew... I know it doesn't look that way." I follow his glance at the hatch. "Somehow I imagined you'd end skipper of a boat. You're good out on the water. But... yeah, you look like you're doin' all right."

I watch the last of the cargo being loaded by his hand, remind myself to lock the compartment once we debark... I think for a moment how it would be to be at sea with Nomar instead. But ... keep it to business... "you must know Jay Pee pretty well then? He fair?"

Having Wells Fargo's attention on me puts my breath against my spine, but I don't let it carry me away, as much as I'd like it to.

"Not betting tips, no. We're not allowed to bet on the fights. It's a conflict of interest." I hope using the official language will help here. It seems like something a Vaulter might value. I lick my lips, then try a different tack. "I don't get to deliver many drinks like that one." I nod toward the Glenlivet in his hand. "Honestly, I was hoping to...just watch and see how it is. Make sure it's still good."

I listen closely and consider if there's anything I've missed in the interaction with Jay Pee. I don't think we have a written contract of any kind. Lots of folks out here can't read anyway so I doubt that's a thing. I'll get his cargo where it needs to go safe. That's all.

"Fair enough," I answer Nomar, "good enough for you is good enough for me!"

I sigh loudly and glance over at the dock, "I should get underway. Nomar. Hope to see y'around again. I'll be back this way once the job's done."

The moment Wells Fargo indicates the arm of the love seat, it transforms into a trophy case, one to be lit up and show off its prize, but otherwise ignored. All it's missing now is the trophy, and I'm not above filling that role.

I move up to perch on the arm by Wells. "One sip of that drink is probably a better tip than I'd get from a whole table of Sippians out there," I say, another attempt to make Wells Fargo feel bigger and better than he already does while I get close enough to let the Whispers touch his mind.

I salute Nomar as he debarks the ship. Fells... a little lonely. But business is business and I need to make preparations to set sail.

Lock the hatches, open the pilot house, and yeah... check that fifty-cal ammo and pull the heavy cases over to the gun ring. I do a quick system test, engines, lights, control surfaces... then finally.

Go below deck to check on Dinero.

Helix,

I can already tell how pleased it makes Wells Fargo that I'm sitting on his side of the couch rather than Jay Pee's. It's enough for a ticket in the door, but not enough yet to be welcomed into the inner sanctum. In a move that feels uncharacteristic to me, but I try to play off as casually as possible, I reach a hand around Well's, resting my arm along the back of the loveseat behind him and resting my hand lazily on his shoulder, right beside Jay Pee.

"You know," I say, looking at the TV screen still. "I hear your name tossed around quite a bit out there." I nod toward the rest of the Belly, the normal part of the Belly. "If the Vaulters come up, your name will be the first."

"Oh, I'm sure only half of it is true," I answer casually. "Mostly people being jealous of all the resources they think you have stored away. Obviously you have deeper pockets than most," I gesture at the VIP suite around us then rest my hand back on his shoulder, "but I'm not sure I believe you have a spaceship hidden away. I do believe that you...well...maybe I shouldn't say this. But I heard that you're not afraid to enforce a contract with, well, lethal force. I'm not sure I understand how killing someone gets you what you wanted, but what would I know about those things. That's for people like you to handle."

Not even important enough to kill. Wells doesn't say it outright, but being "beneath notice in the Belly" can't mean anything else. Perhaps it should be a comfort, but it cuts instead.

I draw back, straightening and pulling my arm from around him so I can turn on the arm of the loveseat to face him more directly. "That's the problem though. I'm not just here anymore. The Sippians have...indentured me." The word still sits strangely on my tongue, but if Pellet used it, it's got to be good enough for a Vaulter too. "I know Hard Strike was shot. If Lucky is next, I don't want to get caught in the crossfire."

I work up the best look of innocent shock that I can. "Do you mean that you got rid of Hard Strike so that you could put pressure on Lucky instead? To do what?" It feels dangerous, pushing harder into this territory, but I hope I've laid enough of a foundation that the Vaulter's vitriol won't turn on me.

Wells Fargo's answer returns my mind to the mention of the "big ship" and the Sippian's supposed strategy to get it into the city. Spaceships I don't believe in, but ships on the sea and guns on what passes for ground are undeniable. I didn't think it had anything to do with anyone other than the Sipps themselves though. I frown at the thought, feeling every bit the feather-headed floozy he expects me to be, too lost in thought to even consider moving away from his touch. His question at the end catches me like a riptide. For a solid, stupid second, I wonder if he was the one who left me that note with the cakes outside my door earlier. Then I remember that Wells barely acknowledged my presence until I put myself in his perception.

"The yellow ones, filled with cream, yes. And a chocolate one with the white curly icing on top." I twirl my finger in the little loops like the frosting makes. I'm glad I have an answer for him at least. Telling him no would have made me feel like the insignificant speck I am. I leave out the fact that both were gifts.

I'm relieved Wells turns back to the fight, to the corpse that I caused, after his comment on fresh baked cakes and his invitation to better things. My cheeks are warm as I realize I wouldn't have even considered that option. People still do that? Bake? It makes my stomach clench thinking that the best of what I've had still doesn't measure up. While he's talking to Jay Pee, I snatch the glass of whiskey from him, tipping it back to take that first sip that he promised me, just a sip and no more. I'm not looking to start a fight, but I'm at least getting the best we have here. I set the remainder of the glass down on the little table in front of him as I stand, whipping the Whispers toward him in a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

The whiskey burns down your throat like a trophy leaving an indelible mark, wetting your eyes and almost making you cough. There's a feeling of victory in the taste and you hear the approval of the Whispers:

"Yes, take what is rightfully yours."

"Make him a poppet of ours. We want his power."

You demand answers from the Whispers and they deliver:
"Wells is waiting for Lucius to come to him." a flat-voiced Whisper reports.

"Lucius, the servant of Princy of the Tower. They're in cahoots!" a soft one adds with a giggle at the word "cahoots".

"Wells is planting seeds and Lucius grew wrong. He must decide if he will prune it or plant it in another garden." a hollow voice explains

The whiskey warms in my chest as the Whispers deliver the answers. The combination of heat and knowledge feels like a fire that I can almost feel flickering in my eyes.

I know next to nothing of the Tower's politics and dealings, but now I imagine they eat cake for breakfast - freshly baked. Princy is the one Edmund works for, I know that much, and I know Edmund - arrogant, clean, a perfect servant who would never slack in his duties to chat with a Vaulter, but of course he'd never have need to. The aftertaste of the whiskey turns bitter on my tongue.

"If Lucius is coming here," I tell Wells, "I hope you warned him we don't have cake." I turn to walk briskly from the VIP lounge, hoping I can escape before Wells, or his hired muscle, stops me.

You slip away from Wells and Jay Pee, feeling Jay Pee's eyes on your zok as you slip past Truist without trouble. You're so concerned with giving them the slip that you nearly run right into Mikkie's chest. The big guy is covered in sweat and someone else's blood.

Mikkie is a crucifixion incarnate. I inhale sharply as I draw back from the gore on his garb, my mind whirling to transition from cakes to carnage.

"I saw," I tell him. "But it wasn't my mission. The Whispers will be happy though, I'm sure." My tone is too firm, too standoffish, but I don't want to take credit for killing Caspian. I take a quick breath and add more calmly, "I'm glad you're okay. You are, right? Okay, I mean?"

Mikkie mentions planting seeds and it echoes what the Whispers said about Wells planting seeds. I suppose it makes sense - we're all connected after all - but it's strange hearing it aloud and in his distinctive tone.

I sigh and run a hand over my tired, bruised face. "No mission. I'm just trying to go back to the way things were." But even after I've said it, I wonder if it's true. After what's happened, can I just go back to the way things were? Kiwi won't be here, not like he was anyway, so it's impossible to do completely. I frown but continue my thought, "The Vaulters hold the key."

"You can't just kill everyone who's evil!" I whisper-yell at him, surprise surpassing my survival instinct. "There wouldn't be anyone left!"

Mikkie's laughter is a sound I've not heard before, and the way it echoes in his mask makes it sound like a whole chorus of Mikkie's laugh with him. Or maybe that's the Whispers.

I note the blood dripping from his torso with a concerned pull to my eyebrows, but I admittedly have equal concern for the disgruntled customers around me. Or rather, concern for me having to deal with them.

"You're hurt," I tell Mikkie, not asking this time. "You want to be around to help me? You should get that checked out." I take a few steps to a nearby table and start gathering up empty dishes, hoping that the way Mikkie sees me will be enough to make him listen. I have tables to take care of.

After fights, I've heard some of the fighters talk about going to see Fubu to get fixed up. Well, the fighters who live to walk out of the ring anyway. There are three things I know about Fubu: she doesn't treat every patient who comes to her for help, she won't drink the water at the Belly, and she told me once that she has "many children." The way she said it made me wonder if she meant it literally, but I didn't ask.

I don't know if Mikkie will go see Fubu or if he has some contact of his own, but I have too much to do to worry about the details at this point. The fact that he agreed will have to be good enough and if the Whispers want him to keep warring for them, they'll have to pick up the slack.

I head back toward the kitchen to drop off the empties I picked up and to face an almost certainly perturbed Parcher.

When you push open the swinging door to enter the kitchen, you spot Small Fry chatting with Blackjack as he scrubs a dish. Small Fry gives you a nod, but Blackjack stops her conversation with him to turn toward you.

I've been the target of Blackjack's admonishments before, but rarely have I felt they're actually deserved. Tonight is different. Even though I have reasons I could give her for how this night has gone, she would only call them excuses and maybe, deep down, I would too. I could blame half of it on Parcher, targeting the Tower twerp like that, and the rest I could spread around between Mikkie and the Vaulters, but in the end it doesn't matter. Blackjack will blame me, tables need to be served, and this weight I feel on my back isn't going to get any lighter.

I thrust the dishes I'm carrying into the sink of soap water hard enough that I think I hear something break. I almost open my mouth to warn Small Fry about it but he's smart enough to be careful, so instead I turn and walk briskly out of the kitchen without a word to either of them. I have bees in my chest, hot and stinging, filling my ears with their buzzing and my hands with heat. The rush of rage overwhelms my weariness and gives me the boost to maybe actually get caught up, but I know it won't be service with a smile, not that it ever really is.

The next couple of hours are a blur of activity as you catch up on old orders and help Dakota with her section. Parcher glares at you every time you bring orders to him, but the work swallows up the in-betweens. You even find a few tips left behind at a few random tables. Mikkie doesn't return for the night, so he must've gone to Fubu. The Whispers are kept at bay by the rockabilly music blaring over the speakers and all the conversation. Well past midnight you spot Bristol entering with a few Sippians. She makes eye contact with you before she heads to an empty table in your section.

What do you do?

I'm halfway across the bar with six beers on a tray when Bristol shows up with some of the other Sipps. I stop when I see them, remembering how I banished them from the Belly and realizing just how inconsequential my small words were. Bristol is my ride. The rest of them are just salt in the wound.

I duck my head and continue on with the drinks, dropping them off before heading back to the kitchen with the empty tray. I don't stop at the bar to pick up the next order and I don't go to the Sipp's table just yet either. I head back through that swinging door and let the bees in my chest take the lead.

"Blackjack!" I call, head on a swivel looking for her. "Small Fry, is Blackjack still here? Where is she? I need to talk to her."

When you head through the kitchen to the storage room, you hear Blackjack and Sonic arguing about the recent death of Caspian. Blackjack argues that it's bad for business because folks want drama and blood, but they want rivalries, but Sonic's stance is that Mikkie is a stone-cold killer and there's nothing to be done about it.

What do you do?

I give Small Fry a nod of thanks and I head right back to the "office." I don't knock, heading right inside instead. "If you think corpses are bad for business, you should get out there and boot the Sippians who just sat down."

I think of the conversation Nuport and I had in the bathroom, and how she swooped in to save me from Karo at her own expense. I know she killed Kiwi too, but as much as I relish Blackjack’s anger over it I also fear it. I am a rope being pulled from both ends and I feel my fibers squealing from the pressure.

"She’s not. But I don’t want to serve any of them."

The trio enters the main space in the club and Blackjack heads straight for the table where Bristol and her Sippian mates sit. Bristol seems surprised as the music suddenly stops and she sees the owner of the club storming at her with a shotgun in hand. Bristol's hand strays to the pistol she keeps hidden in her jacket, but she doesn't pull it out - not yet. The other Sippians seem to think this is funny and they snicker as the elder lady closes on them.

I heard a story once about a beast called a bear - a ferocious thing with black fur, long teeth, and sharp claws. Faced with a loud sound, a threatening movement, or an unknown scent, the bear, despite its weapons, would sooner scamper than fight. But not when it was a mama bear. At any threat to her cubs, the mama bear would attack, snarling and snorting and seething, a mass of fury and flinging saliva, not even afraid of what should cause her to tremble, and all the animals knew not to cross a mama bear.

Watching Blackjack's tirade transforms her into that mythical monster. I'm not sure whether Kiwi and I are her cubs, or if she babies the Belly, but whatever the reason, it is a thing to behold, and it is terrifying. As much as I don't desire the Sipps here, I don't want anyone else dying on this floor either.

I'm frozen for a moment before I step up, staying behind Blackjack, but meeting Bristol's eye. "I'll meet you outside when I'm done," I tell her in the calmest tone I can muster. "Nothing else needs to happen here."

I remain strung so tight I'm paralyzed for several seconds after Bristol leaves and Blackjack and Small Fry return to the kitchen. When I finally breathe again, it's hardly a comfort. I have no option but to head out to meet an angry Bristol outside or things are only going to get worse for me, but it means I'm walking off a shift early for the second night in a row. Last night was maybe forgivable given what happened to Kiwi, but tonight? After I got Blackjack to scare the Sipps off for me?

I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose, fighting a headache and trying to comfort myself with the knowledge that if Parcher can get his job back here, so can I. Blackjack can't afford to lose me. I hope.

I've wasted too much time standing here already. I rush over to a table in my section and pick up the empties and the small tip left behind, dropping off the dishes before I slip behind the bar to grab the backpack I readied at home earlier.

"I have to go," I tell Parcher, barely looking at him. "Good luck."

I stop when Parcher grabs my arm, glaring up at him. "Trust me, I'd rather stay. But I can't." I glance out to where Dakota drifts around the bar and sigh. "Look, if you want Dakota to move faster, you're going to have to hook her up with something - ganja, oxy, something. She probably still won't be accurate, but she'll move faster at least." I pull my arm away from him. "That's the best I've got for you."

Parcher glares at you, cursing you as a waste as you pull away. He does start looking under the bar for something to give Dakota to hook her up. You head outside and find Bristol and the Sippians smoking cigs as they wait.

The night air doesn't feel as refreshing as it should, and that's not due only to the fact that the Sippian's smoke creates a cloud around us. My already sullen countenance deepens when Bristol mentions the money issue. Between the short shift and my distractions with Mikkie and the Vaulters, I'm definitely behind where I should be. I know anything beyond rent and survival is going to be slurped up by the Sipps right now anyway, but at this rate, I'm not sure I'll even make rent.

I don't meet Bristol's eye when she tells me Lucky's already asked for me. I can guess what she assumes he's so eager to have me back for.

I pull the straps of my backpack a little tighter to make sure it's secure and pat my pockets to make sure nothing's going to fall out, which is when I feel that note from the cakes in my pocket. I'd hoped to find someone who I trust enough to read it for me, but now my only options will be Sippians again. With no idea what it says, that doesn't feel like a risk I can take.

I take a breath and head over to join Bristol on her ski. I'm too tired to argue, to worn out to fight, and I need all the energy I have left for talking to Lucky when we get back.

Bristol's jet ski skims away from The Belly's harbor and the wind bites with chilly teeth at your face. One of the Sippians (named "Sampoerna", but they call him Sampy), rides ahead and does a lazy twisty line - showing off. Bristol chuckles at him and calls him stupid, but doesn't join in on the shenanigans. Soon you see the high rise of Car Lyle ahead. Bristol brings her jet ski into the pier and ropes it off. She leads you back inside the Sippian headquarters. You notice the place is a bit emptier than it was last night as you head to the elevator shaft to climb up to the penthouse level. Bristol seems ready to stay behind and watch you climb away.

What do you do?

My heart stutters when Sampy does his trick, worried that Bristol will do the same with me at her back. I grew up in the air, not on the water, despite the world we live in. I try not to act uncomfortable around the waves, but I fear them deep down inside. It's a wonder I ever tried to work with Canary out there, but I was desperate at the time and I had to try.

When we reach the Car Lyle and head upstairs, I hesitate at the elevator shaft. I turn back to look at Bristol. "Where is everyone? Early curfew tonight?"

The corner of my mouth turns down, but I don't address her last assumption. "I thought the ship wasn't going to be ready for a few days."

The way Bristol tells me it’s nothing for me to worry about reminds me of Wells Fargo telling me not to "worry my pretty little head," and my jaw only tightens further when she calls Lucky my master.

"He talks in his sleep you know," I say, reaching a hand to the ladder and grabbing hold. "Maybe if you’re nicer to me, I’ll tell you what he says about you." I swing up onto the ladder and head up to the penthouse floor.

As you climb, a natural movement that should be like walking, you notice the kinks in your neck muscles and fatigue in your arms. The Whispers rush in.

"You could fall. Fall down to break your neck," a gravely male voice whispers.

"Join Kiwi. Join everyone you've ever loved," a whisper says with a snicker.

"We'll read you the note." a voice offers.

Finally, you climb up to the penthouse floor. Somewhere down a hallway, you hear an old man coughing - the kind of cough that makes you wince internally with the pain of it. Wet and shuddering. The cost for decades of smoking and fighting the world. Death in a bed on your back alone.

Do you knock at Lucky's door?

I grip the ladder more tightly as the Whispers taunt me, missing the noise of the Belly.

'I don't trust you to read it to me,' I answer back, annoyed, ignoring the rest.

I take a moment to still my heart when I reach the top then creep down the hall, feeling very much like an intruder. The wet cough makes me worry that the Whispers will soon be pushing me to trap another soul with them. I walk faster and don't bother knocking when I reach the door, heading right inside, eager to escape the reminder of how imminent the end always is.

The walk to Lucky's door by yourself seems longer, but you do eventually reach it.

1407


You push it open - why would Lucky lock it, right? It opens and you spot Salem sitting on the floor on the plush plush carpet. She has several small plastic dolls in mismatched bright clothing and she's playing with them, animating them, and talking for them. She seems lost in the story she's telling.

Lucky is seated at the fine dining table, hunched over a book reading. It's dog-eared and cracked but seems to hold fascinating words the way he's scanning it. He's shirtless and you see there's a bandage on his shoulder, white on the edge and red in the middle. He looks up when you enter suddenly, but doesn't reach for a weapon.

What do you do?

In my younger years, I would have stammered out the first syllables of all the reactions that flit through me at what I see, surprise making me a stumbling mess of what is ultimately nothing. Now, I keep my reactions from my mouth, milling them through my mind first as I stand there just inside the door, a frozen mass of what is ultimately nothing.

What happened to your arm?
What are you reading?
You can read.
Do you ever wear a shirt at home?
You wanted to see me?
Do you know what happened with Karo and Nuport earlier?
Do you know what happened with Hedges?
Salem is up late for someone so young.

My gaze lingers on her, imagining myself in her place as a child. How different would I have been if I'd had dolls with bright outfits and a plush carpet to play on? A family to watch over me after my mother died? Would the Whispers still have come for me?

I realize I've been quiet and still for too long and my gaze snaps back to Lucky like a flag catching a sudden shift in the wind.

I walk closer, but stop a good six feet away, far enough away, I hope, that he won't expect me to be able to see his book from here. I choose what seems like the safest place to start. "What are you reading?"

My chest tightens when he raises the book to show me. I stare at it, wondering if I could trust the Whispers to read this for me, but then he asks his question and I feel my chest relax. That, at least, is a question I can definitively answer.

"No. You seem to be enjoying it though." I glance down at Salem to see if she's watching this or still lost in play, and so that I don't have to look at that book anymore.

Salem's innocent eyes make me feel even more spotlighted as Lucky pushes on my ignorance, saying my name in the way that he does when he's setting the hook and not letting go.

The Whispers are two-thirds right. Yes, he knows. Yes, I'm stupid. But I'm not going to ask them for help. If they try to do to Lucky what they did to Hedges, I will never make it out of here alive.

I push them away to some dark corner of my empty, useless mind. There should be plenty of room for them there, but it still takes conscious effort that makes my forehead flicker with the bright beginnings of a headache.

"You know the answer to that question," I tell him softly, meeting his eyes and trying not to seem as ashamed as I am. "Wouldn't you rather ask me something you don't know?"

I go still as he approaches, not sure if I'm about to get screamed at or sneered at or smacked. Instead, as he names his mother as the reason he learned, my cheeks burn with restrained emotion. I don't need the Whispers to remind me that I didn't have a mother to teach me to read, or write, or play with dolls on a plush carpet. The idea of Pall Mall teaching me, of Pall Mall knowing, fills me with a deep sense of shame that turns the back of my neck hot. Would I be there seated between Salem and the other children, practicing making shaky lines and inelegant curves into meaning? My eyes sting with sudden tears, vision blurring as I try to suck them back into my body. My jaw stiffens, back straightening. Even with my midriff exposed, I'm far too hot suddenly, everything burning.

"No thank you," I manage, each word forced with rigid precision past my tightening throat. "I'm not your advisor. I'm your-" I stop short of saying it, glancing at Salem and working to quickly blink the glaze of tears away, away, away before I look back to Lucky. "Not your advisor," I repeat.

I look down at Salem's worried eyes when she approaches and I worry for her soft heart in this hard world. I wonder if I should push her away to prepare her for what lies beyond the protection of these walls, but instead, I reach down and hug her head against me, petting her soft curls in a comforting way but not answering her question as I look back at Lucky.

"I have a name," I tell him after a moment. "But maybe we should talk alone."

The corner of my mouth turns down as Lucky assures Salem that I came back like he told her I would, and I worry again that I'm doing her a disservice by being here. But she heads off before I can think of anything helpful to say, and Lucky is beckoning me down the hall without saying so like he did this morning. I take a breath, drop my backpack near the kitchen island, brace myself to hear that wet, death-rattle cough in the hall again and head after him.

When we reach the ladder, I blurt out, "Are you sure you want to be climbing right now?" I look pointedly to the bloodied bandage on his shoulder, but realize a moment later that he obviously climbed up here just fine and the ladder in the elevator shaft is more challenging than this one to the roof. It was a stupid question, but coming from me, why wouldn't it be? I look away, embarrassed, certain he won't answer me anyway.

My gaze snaps back to him when he actually answers me, but then he's climbing and I head up after him with the sound of death clamoring at my heels.

I sit with him on the edge of the roof, the lights from vessels bobbing on distant water bringing the stars down to our feet. It makes me think of how Mikkie saw me, that white light around me, how he calls me Whispers and Nuport calls me the key. I frown at the thought, but push it aside for now.

Instead of answering Lucky's question, I start with, "How is it that everyone I talk to seems to think you're easily manipulated, but I can't seem to do that myself?"

Hearing the quiet emotions behind Lucky's question makes me almost...feel bad for him. Maybe it is just it being so late, my being so tired, his being injured, the darkness around us, and his literally bared torso, but the question feels vulnerable.

I shake my head gently. "No. Not all of them. Karo does. Or maybe he was just mouthing off because he hates me. Benson doesn't think you can lead, but he also thinks you killed your mother, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. But it's the Vaulters who are really pulling your strings, isn't it?"

I rest my hands on the edge of the rooftop, leaning forward a bit so the wind rushes up against my face as I look over at Lucky Strike, not looking away even when his gaze moves. "You wanted me around because I see things others don't. I'm not sure it's really out." I pause a moment. "The Merrimack is the big ship? Why worry about something like that when you have this place?"

My eyebrows pull together in concern. I don't know why, but this whole situation seems to be a swirl of threat and danger, gunpowder and flint. Does he see it too? Does he care? Or is the idea of fulfilling his mother's legacy blinding him to anything else?

"What are you giving the Vaulters for them financing this project?"

Despite my efforts to maintain a placid exterior, I feel my cheek flinch at the mention of books, the reminder of our conversation downstairs still too fresh. I look away before he can read anything more in my expression, my next thought going to Pellet. She barey got up the ladder to the roof. How would she, or any Librarian, handle an attack from the Sipps? Would Hedges even do it, knowing she might be there?

"What if you don't?" The question comes softly - I didn't even mean to ask it aloud - but I don't take it back.

I wonder if Lucky believes they have a spaceship there...or maybe he knows. But whether it exists or not, that's all fantasy for someone like me, beneath notice in the Belly as Wells put it.

Lucky's explanation of what would happen to the Sipps if they backed out now only quiets me further. They can't back out, not with so much at stake. It makes me grateful that I've only had me to worry about for so long. It's lonely, but at least I'm not carrying so many people's lives and livelihoods on my shoulders.

I'm quiet for a few minutes, listening to the water below.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

I check his face twice before I'm certain he's amused, not trusting it completely but relieved when I'm assured it's there.

"I do," I tell him. I take a short breath, worry rising up that his amusement will fade quickly with what I'm about to venture. Instead of giving him the real reason for my reticence, I say, "But you only have me until I give it to you, right? Are you sure you want to be rid of me so soon?"

At his offer, it's my turn to fall silent. The more he brings up this advisor position, and the jingle that goes with it, the more real it feels. But willingly welcoming the Whispers into my work is Russian roulette, risky and reckless. I've survived for so long by avoiding those dangerous games, alone and untethered. Binding myself to this ship means if they sink, I sink.

But what happens if they rise? What happens if I help them?

I close my eyes and turn my face back to the sea. This is the Sippians we're talking about. I couldn't be one of them any better than I could sail with Canary. It's stupid to even entertain the idea.

"I'm pretty sure Salem is the only Sipp who actually likes me," I say. "And I've been at the Belly for years." So Blackjack wouldn't fire me for ditching them, would she? I'm not jobless and this is my only option, right? They might need me more now than ever. But who doesn't want more jingle? I never considered selling the Whisper's secrets. I wonder if, with the thought, the star-shine aura around me would fade in Mikkie's eyes. But is it wrong to trade Whispers for wealth? Isn't that what he does in the fighting pits when it comes down to it?

I frown as the thoughts circle and swirl around one another, my spoken words left incomplete with a silent but glaring I don't know left in the void.

His words snap my attention back to him. "You, yes. Not me."

Poseidon’s Belly is the most consistent part of my adult life, and the idea of leaving it behind is becoming more and more terrifying. I pull my legs up under me and stand. "It’s late."

Take the win, I think when Lucky lets me go without giving him the piece of information I know he wants most in the world. Take it and run while you can.

But I only get two steps away before I stop and turn back to look at him sitting there alone. I wonder how many nights he spends sitting here by himself, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You're aware that everyone thinks we're sleeping together, right?"

I should go, I think again. I've done enough, learned enough, risked enough for one night. He clearly wants me to go. But against my natural judgment, I stay.

"So you don't mind if I'm using their assumptions to my advantage then."

My eyes go to the view and for a moment I almost ask if he wants company while he watches, but then I remember that this is the leader of a gang, the same man who threw me to the floor in the Belly by my hair, the same one who threatened to nail me to a wall and who made me a slave. He might be offering me a different opportunity now, but that doesn't change the past, or at least, I shouldn't let it if I value my safety.

I head back inside without another word, walking the now-eerie hallway back toward Lucky's suite, and I can't help but wonder...if Kiwi is with the Whispers now, who else might be there?

'Do you have Hard Strike in your collective?' I ask them, not sure I want to be stirring them up with questions but unable to stop my curiosity.

"All are in our collective," one whisper states clearly.

Another follows in a softer tone, "But some are easier to reach than others."

"What do you seek?" a harsh whisper asks. "And what do you offer in exchange for the knowledge?"

The Whispers send a slow shiver down my spine, something thicker than a cold wash of water and deeper than the skin.

'I want to know what advice she'd give her son in this situation. And I want a way to prove to him that it's coming from her.' I pause outside Lucky's door, thinking about what I could possibly offer the Whispers in exchange. I only have so many dead friends to give them. 'I'll try to make sure Mikkie is actually careful with that wound so it can heal and you don't lose your skull-smasher. How about that?'

A shrill whisper giggles, "You can't give us what we already have! Mikkie saw someone about that cut because you said so, you already made sure we won't lose our skull-smasher. Double-dealing isn't nice!"

"We want Harpy back," a soft whisper says in a honey-smooth tone. "Harpy used to be our skull-smasher because she trusted us. Regain her trust and we will speak Hard Strike's words to you."

It settles me somehow to hear that Mikkie actually went to Fubu about that wound. The fact that I got that confirmation of it free-of-charge from the Whispers is the icing on my inferior pre-packaged cake.

'Convince Nuport to trust you again?' I echo. 'I'm not even sure I trust you. But I might be able to convince her to trust me. I could do that.'

"This is an acceptable compromise," a whisper says flatly.

"We like youuuuu," a whisper adds with a giggle and the word "like" feels like "own".

That giggle is a resounding gong in my head, reminding me that even if I am not a slave to the Sipps, not their indentured servant even, I will always be at the mercy of a different master, one so close the only way to escape would be to leap into the icy waters where they reside and never surface again.

'Great,' I answer, as equally unamused as the first whisper.

I head into the suite and pick up my backpack where I dropped it, slinging it over my shoulder and heading down the hall to Salem's room. I open the door quietly to creep inside, expecting that she'll already be asleep.

As you expected, Salem is asleep in bed. Do you slip into the bed or take the floor?

I pause for a moment, watching Salem sleeping, then when she doesn't stir, I quietly move into the room and put my backpack down. I change into an oversized t-shirt that comes halfway down my thighs then tiptoe over to the window with its sliver of moonlight. I sink down to sit on the floor in the light with the mason jar I brought from home in my hands. I unscrew the lid and reach into the water inside, gently scooping one of the two dark ribbons there into my hand.

"Hello, friend," I whisper to the squirming black leech in my palm. I sit cross-legged and place the creature on the inside of my thigh next to a dozen little three-pronged scars from feedings past. When he bites, I don't feel anything but a slight tingling from the anesthesia in his saliva. I lean my head back against the wall, eyes turned up to the night sky. It'll be a good forty minutes before he finishes feeding, the orange speckles on his back stretched and full, but not of blood. He'll be full of darkness, of Whispers, of voices and the giggles that haunt me, and for a little while, the edge of the Whispers' knives will be dulled. They'll be quiet enough that I can crawl into bed with Salem and peacefully, finally, sleep.

End Scene