Reunions (E 2.1, H 2.1, L 2.1)

Lucky has always seemed so certain that the big ship was his mother's legacy. I wonder now if it's Benson and Hedges who convinced him of that idea, or Wells himself. It certainly wasn't Hard Strike.

Hard Strike asks what game I'm playing and I shake my head in silent answer to her question. Perhaps Plover thinks it's in reaction to my own thoughts about angering her, perhaps she doesn't notice at all.

"A stupid one," I answer. "And I'm losing." It makes no sense to lie to Hard Strike. In life or death, she always gave the impression that she was the sort of woman to cut through even the cleverest facades. "I didn't want the Sipps to suffer, if Lucky killed Wells with the contract on the Merrimack still unpaid. I wanted to settle that debt, THEN give him the name so he could dispatch Wells without the debt involved and free myself at the same time." I frown. "Now neither of us is getting what we wanted."

I have to remind myself that no matter how pointed Hard Strike's questions become, they're better than a thousand chittering Whispers splitting my skull in two. "Because I'm stupid," I answer her. "Because I thought if I brought in someone who could challenge Wells' claim on me, he might finish the deal before he found out how much he wouldn't want me anyway." Before she can prod me for more, I finish, "Once Wells had me, and the ship was no longer a Sipp debt, I was going to tell Lucky so he could kill Wells and I could be free of both of them." Saying it out loud is another stripe of shame on the canvas of my soul. I can almost hear the other Whispers telling me how dumb I am.

The way my heart softens when Hard Strike seems to approve of my actions suddenly makes me understand a little more how badly Zephyr and Plover want to keep from disappointing Litch. If this small taste of approval can be so sweet, I can only imagine how bitter a teaspoon of disappointment would be.

I blink a few times, eyes suddenly stinging. There's no room in the world to be so easily softened. I pull myself back into my body. This is an opportunity, not an ovation. "If you release Lucky from the shame, there would be no war. No threat."

I feel myself physically drawing back as if I could avoid Hard Strike's intense visage pressed into my mind. She explains that the Talons need to get rid of Benson and Hedges, which is a terrifying proposition enough, but then she adds that she expects me to help her take vengeance on Wells in it's like I've jumped back into the cold depths all over again. The air goes out of my lungs and for a moment I don't respond.

"I. Wasn't talking about forgiveness," I finally answer. "I was talking about a lie." I consider her plot again. "If Lucky knows it was Wells who killed you, he won't want to be left out of that. If I tell him it was Benson and Hedges after they're already dead...he can run the gang with a clear conscience."

Plover's nudge brings my blinking attention back to the present and I feel Hard Strike fade with the distraction. "Um. N-no," I answer as I reorient myself to my surroundings. Zephyr and Javan's jet skis seemed so much quieter a moment ago. Were they always so loud?

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my plan to put a damper on sibling night. I'm fine. I just..." Might have to orchestrate multiple murders to get myself out of the mire in which I have become enmeshed. "Maybe I am feeling a little sick."

I barely have time to consider Plover's offer - an impossible choice between taking the joint and risking what happened with Hedges happening again, or not taking it and offending her - before Hard Strike's voice whips across my consciousness like a bolt of lightning.

"That's not what I said!"

I push her back into the sea of Whispers, trying to drown her voice again in their chaos. I'll take the constant senseless chatter over her accusations, but mostly, I just want everything to stop. The Whispers, the waves, the whine of the engines, the wagers against fate I always seem to lose.

"I don't want to get high, I want to go home!"

I feel a stab of guilt when Plover flinches, but she offers what I want and I barely consider her warning before I'm nodding. "I want to go home," I repeat, calm this time, certain. Regardless of where I go now, there will always be danger. I just have to learn how to survive it.

Plover calls out to her sibs that she's taking you by your place. They stop racing and fall in behind her as she leaves Us Bank towards your rinky-dink apartment by Peppering. Do you invite them up or leave them waiting at the dock?

I'd prefer to visit my apartment alone, but Plover giving in to my outburst so easily has made me feel guilty for the whole ride over. They were having fun before I interrupted, but I have never been anything except a gray sky and uneasy waters.

So, when we arrive, I invite them upstairs with me even though four people will be the most I've ever had in the cramped space where I live...where I lived. I sigh softly to myself as I lead the way upstairs.

Javan looks around the dock and makes note of the area, then he casually says he'll hang back by the jet skis. It's obvious he thinks they'd get stolen here if left alone. Zeph and Plo head up with you, unaware of your desire to be alone. Three is crowded, for sure. Plo hangs near the door to take up less space while Zephyr hovers near you, asking questions about your stuff like "Do you want to bring any of this back?" and "Hey, this is a nice dress, why don't you change?" and other busybody stuff.

What do you do?

Being back in my space again sends a pang through my stomach. I find myself touching things in my apartment - the corner of my single bed, the countertop of my kitchenette, the yellow lamp on the table, the clothes in my closet. Some of my favorite pieces are in my backpack with the Sipps still, and only time will tell if Litch will ever get them for me like I asked, but what's left is at least mine. Whatever money I didn't need to survive went to wardrobe, and it's not something I've ever regretted.

I barely acknowledge Zephyr's rain of questions, letting them slide off me with noncommittal hums and shrugs, until I finally hear myself ask, "Do you think you'll live at the Roost forever or do you want to find your own feet outside the shadow of your father's wing?"

Even while I speak, my gaze is fixed on the glowing, bubbling tank against the wall. There are only a few leeches left inside now - another thing lost to the Sipps - and I wonder if they ever resent the safety of their prison.