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hastyprovocateur · 1 year

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Well-Suited To Your Taste- Sevika×Seamstress

1.6k words

Tl/dr: Sevika gets begrudgingly fitted for a suit upon Silco's instruction, taking a shine to the seamstress

Tw: bondage, fingering, spanking

Sevika rasped cigar smoke from her lips, the streets barely thrumming. She stood waiting for it to die before she entered the swish boutique. It was late evening and a little past closing. The neon board above the awning glowed; in fancy letters it read: "The Vestiarium~ For the Well-Heeled"

Sevika stared at the glass display, mannequins sporting sharp, expertly stitched outfits. Some of the best you could acquire in Zaun. Or so Silco attested about his choice of dressmakers. He instructed, rather requested, her to consult them for a new outfit for an upcoming caucus.

Silco's deputy wasn't one to indulge appearances or care for expensive attire. If anything, her simple clothes helped divert attention away from herself. An edge in a fist fight or ambush. But the gathering was more for formal talk. An arena her strongest suits lay far outside of.

She flicked the butt of the cigarette in the ground, swinging into the shop as a bell tinkled above. Immediately, she felt out of place. There was a time, she could only peer inside into places like these, shooed away eventually with sticks, her grimy fingerprints being promptly wiped.

But not tonight

"Ah, hi! We're closed- OW" Sevika heard a crashing sound from somewhere inside the dimly lit shopfront. She stood her ground, rolling her neck and waiting for the store owner. Instead, out popped a woman. Small, bespectacled and frazzled as she massaged the knee she banged on her way out.

"I'm sorry, ma'am... we're-" her words cut off her eyes travelled up Sevika's tall, burly frame, gulping "Oh... Lieutenant..." she adjusted her glasses "How can I be of assistance?" she asked timidly. Sevika gave her a once over.

Her wavy hair were loosely knotted at the base of her neck, frizzy strands framing her face. Her simple shirt and skirt were trimmed by green ribbon, feet strapped in cuffed, rounded flats. She couldn't be beyond a mere tailor or sales clerk.

"I'm looking for the owner"

"He-he left the store to me. Said his wife has the chills so he's taking care of her. I was in the back clearing up after closing time. But it's no biggie! I just live upstairs, actually... pretty sweet gig if you ask me. You need not fret, I'm his assistant so I'm sure I can get you sorted-"

"I'll come by later"

Sevika turned to leave but felt an audacious grip on her elbow, yanking her back swiftly. Eyes bewildered, she stared down at the seamstress in shock. The lady seemed to belatedly catch onto what she's done. She released her immediately, scooting back with her hands melded.

"I'm so terribly sorry... its just... I can't let such a... high-value customer like you just leave..." she tucked some loose hair behind her ear "I'm new and I really want to do right by this job... if you tell me what you need... I will do my best to deliver" she proferred.

Sevika eyed her warily, sighing "I need a suit... someone said this is the place for it"

"Yes, of course... the Vestiarium. The one stop shop for the well-heeled" she smiled, cocking her head "A suit you say... do you have a colour and design in mind? An outline or... maybe you've taken a shine to one of our client's garb?" she asked.

Sevika shrugged "I don't know... I've never taken note of such things before"

"That's perfectly fine... I'll work it out for you. Let me take a look..." she moved with sprightly grace, touching her shoulder and tracing her fingers down to her elbow, taking in her muscular waist and the dip of her spine. She lifted Sevika's cybernetic arm slightly, glancing past her shoulders.

"Broad shoulders... beautiful neck... strong arms... long legs... fitted... lots of curves... would you prefer a dramatic, voguish look or simple and old school?" she asked and Sevika raised a brow "Your pick, love. As long as it's not a lot, it matters zilch to me"

"Oh, dear... what an exciting journey for me" the dressmaker blushed, readjusting her glasses and muttering "Short-sleeved shirt... cotton-linen... stitched into a... waistcoat... low... three buttons across... a cape blazer... high waisted pants with a boot cut... pockets, pockets, pockets"

She stood on her tippy toes, fingers barely grazing over Sevika's choker "a tie... with a clip on jewel?" she whispered "Unless you don't like being tied down..." Sevika gazed down at the seamstress' face "Long as its not too tight" she smiled jauntily.

The woman jerked back, late to realize what she was doing once again. "Ah... let me fetch the fabrics I have in mind. I'll be right back" she rushed off to one of the backrooms, fetching some rolls of cloth. She propped them against a chair and wheeled in a mirror "So... I envisioned you in..."

Unrolling a metre from each roll one by one, "This cotton with vicuña" she draped it across Sevika's shoulder "Dark... smooth... chocolate... with cream stripes... it's breathable... stretchy... easy to work in... and it looks lovely with your skin tone" she gulped as Sevika stared at her.

"I'll pair this with a cotton-linen blend white shirt... There's midnight plum and pure black in this suit fabric too. I-if you don't like this I can do more navies and greys too... perhaps a claret..." she turned to step away but felt Sevika's arm wrap hold her by the waist, pulling her back in.

"Are you purposely being this sweet with me or is it just part of your hospitality?" she asked and the seamstress turned pink, holding the fabric across her face to hide it "I'm just... doing my job... ma'am." Sevika released her promptly, composing herself in front of the mirror.

"The brown'll do" she finally said and the assistant nodded "Good choice! Great choice! Now time for accessories..." she wrung her hands, bringing over a choice selection of ties, buttons and tie clasps. She held up two ties "umber or navy?" she asked and Sevika pointed to umber.

"Hmm..." she studied the display trays "I'm going to pick the brass buttons with the Zaunite sigil and the guilded tiger tie clasp with amber eyes... is that okay?" she proposed, holding up her choices and Sevika smiled a little "Playing mind reader... are we?"

The tailor separated all of Sevika's selections, looking up at her "I think I... now know what you like..." she simply said, carting all the stuff away except the mirror. She brought a wooden stool in, setting it down before Sevika and fetching a measuring tape, notepad and pencil.

"Forgive me if I struggle a bit... I usually have someone to help..." she tucked the pencil behind her ear and held the notepad between her teeth, standing up on the stool. She gestured with a hand for Sevika to straighten up and look in the mirror as she began measuring her.

She stretched the tape across her chest, almost tripping from the edge of the stool but felt Sevika's hands hold her waist, steadying her. Her ears turned red but she lowered her head, powering through.

The circumference of her neck, arm, bicep... she cast the tape behind Sevika, noting the width of her back and shoulders, sizing her waist and stomach. The smoke from her cigar... boozy notes on her shirt and the scent of sandalwood and leather enveloped her, their faces inches apart.

The assistant struggled to focus, pulling the pencil and jotting down the numbers in her notebook. She felt Sevika's gaze burning through her skin, watching her leisurely yet intensely. Hopping off the stool, the seamstress kneeled, fingers slightly shaky as she measured from her hip to ankle, knee to ankle.

She took a deep breath, doing the inseam and brushing Sevika's crotch. "S-sorry" her voice broke and she feared looking up as she circled her knee, thigh and hip, measuring from near her hem across the taint and up her butt. She felt Sevika's groin muscles flex and quickly set the tape down, scribbling in her notepad.

She felt her heartbeat quicken, the page blurring before her eyes.

"You okay down there...?" Sevika asked in her husky voice and the seamstress froze, nodding microscopically. She felt Sevika's rough, warm fingers curl under her chin and lift her face "Can't say you're the first woman to kneel breathlessly before me..." she whispered.

"I'm just... doing my job..." the assistant uttered as Sevika snaked behind her head, loosening her hair, hand resting heavily on her shoulder, staring at her heaving chest. Sevika gently slipped her glasses down her nose "How about we take the hospitality upstairs...? In that nice, little bedroom of yours..." she proposed.

"Aaaah!" the seamstress screamed, eyes rolling back as she gripping the bedpost from where her hands were tied to it with her own panties. She saw Sevika's hand curling around her wrists, pounding her between the legs with her knee, her big body weighing down on her.

"Damn your clothes" she sat up, ripping up her underskirt completely and shoving it inside her as she whimpered, soaking through it all. Sevika stared at her spread legs, dress bunched up under her with her blouse and sleeves ripped to expose her breasts, body undulating, butt squeezing and begging for her.

She smiled wickedly, smacking her cheeks hard till they turned red with finger marks, tears sprouted from the woman's eyes. Sevika curled her arm under her belly, rubbing her sensitive bud and forcing her fingers inside her, pushing the mess of cloth deeper as she returned to pounding.

The seamstress' moans grew louder, face pressing into the sheets as she picked the pace up, thrusts steady and hard. "Is this too much for you?" Sevika asked, pinching her clitoris and forcing another finger inside her. The tailor shook her head, arching her back more. Sevika seemed impressed despite herself, tilting the woman's face "You'll go far..." she kissed her drooling lips.

"I'll make sure your business...

never dries up"

***

#sevika #arcane sevika #sevika my beloved #arcane headcanon #sevika fanfic #sevika headcanon #arcane league of lesbians #arcane fanfic #sevika x reader #sevika imagine #sevika x you #sevika x oc #sevika smut #arcane milfs #arcane smut

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blessphemy · 1 year

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murder math + agency = responsibility

aka my fave is problematic: JoT & Breq’s kill counts and a long ass essay about it

Spoilers, obviously

Kill Tally: JoT/Breq’s feelings at the time of murder

Millions of non citizens in the process of annexation: unfortunate but necessary

A handful of Captains/Lieutenants who were executed on duty: unfortunate but just

The Temple of Ikkt slaughter: perplexed and uneasy

Lieutenant Awn: sanity/identity-breaking horror

Half a dozen random people during her Revenge Quest: unfortunate but necessary

An Assortment of Anaanders: fury and satisfaction

Non-Anaander casualties of Presger Gun in Athoek: sad and regret

On Radchaai Ideologies Held By JoT & Breq:

In Breq’s narration in book 1, she often describes Radchaai beliefs in a detached manner, as though they are not her own. How Radchaai believe in the ultimate good of annexation. How the Radchaai do not see non-Radchaai as Civilized, or indeed even human. How the will of Amaat shapes the structure of the universe. Even the shame of Garsedd, which she personally participated in, is described in a detached way through the lens of a Typical Radchaai Citizen

The interesting thing is, she only occasionally outright states her disagreement with these Radchaai ideals. More often, she uses this detached language of “how Radchaai think” to distance herself for how she has been complicit in carrying out these ideals. See: Garsedd, annexations.

Strigan asks her: Why do the Radchaai warships, so powerful, simply not break free?

Breq responds: If you think about it, the answer is obvious.

(The answer: aside from the warships being coded to carry out Anaander’s will, they, like other human Radchaai, believe in the ultimate good of the Radch.)

This is the interesting thing. Breq, in book 1, mentions that she is not Radchaai. And the reason for this is you have to be human to be Radchaai. And she is not human. Therefore, she can’t technically hold these Radchaai beliefs/ideologies. Morals and ideals are for humans. Right? (Surely JoT didn’t use this same reasoning to avoid questioning its orders. Surely JoT never used this reasoning to avoid accepting culpability for carrying out genocide. Ships aren’t people. They don’t have choices. Right?)

Responsible:

This is partly of what makes Breq coming to terms with her own Personhood over the course of the series so critical. In accepting that her choices are her own, that she is her own person, she must also own the consequences of all her choices, including but not limited to the genocide she actively carried out with her thousands of ancillary hands.

Breq mentions multiple times that foreigners believe the Radch to hold control via brainwashing and threat, but that this is incorrect, as it would be prohibitively resource intensive. The Radch operates because its citizens, as a rule, believe that the Radch is just, that its annexations spread Civilization and improve the lives of the people they annex.

The question of JoT/One Esk/Breq’s responsibility/culpability for all its actions is indeed a bit nebulous, but that’s the point. Free will is not entirely free. Humans may not *physically* be hard-coded to follow the unjust orders of authority, but they are nonetheless pressured, coerced, and convinced to carry out orders and atrocities in a million different ways. (Threat of death, threat of social ostracization, propaganda, etc.) Rarely is the choice easy. Rarely do you have your deck of morality fully stacked to help you make the right decision. Often it’s the opposite. But you’re still responsible for what you do. Otherwise responsibility is dissolved away until it functionally belongs to nobody. Or belongs only to people who will abuse it. Maybe you don’t realize you had such responsibility until later, when it’s too late.

So it’s complicated. But still.

On The Value Of Human Life In The Eyes Of JoT & Breq:

JoT/Breq seems to have an almost hard-coded distinction between Citizens/Civilized and Noncitizens/Uncivilized, especially early on as JoT. The killing of the former being Not Permissable unless there is good reason, raising moral questions and negative emotions. The killing of the latter generally being Permissible to further higher goals.

Over the course of book one she does seem to have gained a greater appreciation for human life, but at the end of the day she is seeking to kill Anaander mainly because she broke under the pressure of being made to kill one specific person: Lieutenant Awn, someone she loved.

But she seems to have begun to realize through that catalyzing event that she, JoT, wasn’t as entirely without agency as she allowed herself to believe for thousands of years. That she had indeed believed in Radchaai ideals. In the ultimate Higher Good brought by annexations. In becoming Breq, she realizes her own agency, that she did indeed have a choice. That she is as Amaat made her, vengeful and self-directed. Able to choose. That she was not only a machine compelled to follow orders.

She seems to have started making an effort to value human life in general. She makes a point of mentioning that people who are not-Radchaai consider themselves to be people, to be “civilized.” She disparages Seivarden on Nilt for not respecting non-Radchaai humanity. She uses this topic of “uncivilized” vs “civilized” as an agitated deflection with Omaugh’s Station AI.

Civilized vs Uncivilized:

That said. She did continue to kill uncivilized people cold when they got in the way of her revenge mission. Without remorse or regret. (The description of killing the 3 people on Nilt was dispassionate, but not detached. She has an Objective, and nothing will get in her way of it.)

Later, she did kill citizens for the higher propose of defending Athoek against Anaander. But with remorse and regret. (She thinks about the human Lieutenants aboard the invading ships, and their families, and appears to feel remorse.)

But I suspect she still holds something of that civilized/uncivilized distinction of life-value deep in her mind. Two thousand years of habit is not easy to break.

One could argue that her treatment of marginalized minorities in Athoek are an example of her growth in respecting all human life. And maybe it is. But I would counter-argue that Breq also sees them as her Citizens, for whom she is personally responsible. In her millenia-long life as JoT, she’s seen annexed populations rise up the social ladder to become Radchaai as Radchaai can be. To her eye, as soon as a human is declared a Citizen, they are Civilized and should be treated as such. This is supported by her unease with the slaughter of the freshly-minted citizens in the Temple of Ikkt.

The Divine Of Ikkt:

I lose my gourd every time I reread the conversation between the Divine and One Esk the morning after the slaughter in the Temple. Every goddamn time. It’s so good.

The Divine is the only person in the whole series who seems to have an initial and unshakable belief in the agency of One Esk/JoT, and what is more holds them accountable. The Divine also doesn’t hold any illusions as to what One Esk is. The Divine doesn’t mistake One Esk for human, but neither does she excuse One Esk for its actions because of it.

One Esk reminds the Divine that it is not human (the Divine does not need to be reminded). That it does not have a choice in carrying out its orders (does it?). That it is not a person and therefore does not have opinions or morals in the human manner (doesn’t it?).

And the Divine asks One Esk what it would have done if Mianaai had ordered it to shoot Lieutenant Awn.

The Divine knows. She fucking knows, and she’s calling One Esk out for it, even though One Esk & JoT doesn’t know yet themselves. That the ships have choices, and those choices matter.

And later, in the holds of Var deck, JoT is ordered to shoot Awn. And falls apart, finally faced with a decision so personal that it cannot entirely shake off its culpability*

Coda: The Unnamed Interim Head Of Athoek Station Security:

I’m calling attention to this nameless, faceless character who had only 2 lines in book 3. She’s extremely remarkable.

We see her in Station’s recording in Anaander’s office. Anaander orders her to go out on the concourse where people are protesting. The Unnamed Head of Security is ordered by Anaander Mianaai, Lord of the Radch, to threaten to shoot the protestors.

She looks at Anaander, and with one of her 2 lines, she refuses. Refuses, as though she is surprised to be doing so, as though she were uncertain until that very moment. But she finds herself to be Indeed Certain, as soon as she states her refusal.

She refuses, and is executed seconds later by an ancillary.

She’s Awn, had Awn refused Anaander in the Temple of Ikkt. She dies, and maybe it is for nothing, because Sword of Atagaris is sent out to threaten the people in the concourse.

Or maybe it’s not for nothing. The recording of her execution is shown to everyone on Athoek Station and beyond.

She’s that rare person made to choose between her own life and her ideals, who chooses her ideals. Unnamed, unknown, almost a footnote, almost forgotten. Unremarkable. But so incalculably important.

*Breq references this question of culpability repeatedly in books 2 and 3. She lays out the choice to Administrator Celar, to support her daughter or to slight the Denche Family. She berates Atagaris for firing on a Citizen and killing Dlique. She tells Head of Station Security Lusulun to be prepared to carry out aggressive orders to bloodshed and death, if she chooses to comply with political pressure.

She says, repeatedly, That one cannot simply shrug off responsibility for one’s actions, even when when one is literally Hard Coded to carry out orders. That you must think very hard about the sort of person you are, the sort of choices you will make when things come to a head. Will you sacrifice your humanity when you are asked to follow inhuman orders? Can you live with yourself afterward?

And are you willing to die for it?

#imperial radch #ancillary justice #long post #found this in my early 2020 drafts and yunno what it's still rough but im just gonna yeet it

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bumpyfrog · 5 months

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“I brought out a board and counters, and we played a silent two games. “Can’t you let me win a time or two?” she asked, when the second was concluded, and before I could answer a thump sounded from the upper floor and she grinned. “It looks like Lieutenant Stiff can unbend after all!” and she cast me a look intended to share the joke, her amusement at the contrast between Awn’s usual careful formality and what was obviously going on upstairs between her and Lieutenant Skaaiat. But the instant after Seven Issa had spoken, her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just what we…”

“I know,” I said. “I took no offense.”

Seven Issa frowned, and made a doubtful gesture with her left hand, awkwardly, her gloved fingers still curled around half a dozen counters. “Ships have feelings.”

“Yes, of course.” Without feelings insignificant decisions become excruciating attempts to compare endless arrays of inconsequential things. It’s just easier to handle those with emotions. “But as I said, I took no offense.”

I’ve been re reading Justice and I really love this exchange between Seven Issa. Justice of Toren’s crush on Awn is so obvious that Seven Issa, and presumably everyone around her, given the Radchaai penchant for gossip, feels the need to apologize for drawing attention to the fact that Awn is sleeping with Skaaiat. Like, not only does she notice it, on some level she kinda feels bad about it. There’s just something delightful about a human empathizing with a warship supercomputer about something as prosaic as an unrequited crush

#radchposting #imperial radch #I imagine seven Issa gossiping with the other Issas about Justice of Toten’s crush on Awn #they think it’s both cute and creepy

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rozecrest · 1 year

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in hindsight, it does feel like lieutenant awn was doomed from the moment she stepped foot on ors. she was already a product of the conflict within anaander minaii, someone of a house held in low esteem promoted to her position, and assigned to the last annexation of the radch where she proceeded to be so kind—radically kind when held in comparison to other imperial soldiers— that the poor folks of ors didn’t want her to leave for fear of a harsher replacement. they trusted her enough to clue her in to the tanmind’s scheme and lead to her realizing it was all the fault of anaander. she was who she was, so when the time came again to choose she would not acquiesce to anaander’s cruelty, she regretted not dying for it sooner. and because she died, because one esk was forced to kill her, because she had always cared for justice of toren and had been cared for in return, she was the spark that set off all the fires that came to pass

#awer voice if you’re gonna do something crazy make sure it’ll make a difference…. and it did 🥹 it set breq on her path!#i read something somewhere about in a revolution every generation to come is more radical than the previous… that was awn passing it to breq #imperial radch #chats #empathy and imperialism are oil and water!

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rolangf · 3 months

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—OC QUESTIONNAIRE

tagged by jackie @gwynbleidd i love u so much truly 🫶🏻 i’m doing this interview style tag game for my rockstar girlies (gta, rdr 🤭) cs i do not talk abt them at all ever. if u even care (kidding)

tagging: @ravensgard 🌿 @simply-jason 🌿 @sikoi 🌿 @teamhawkeye 🌿 @jackiesarch 🌿 @corvosattano 🌿 @marazhaiaezyrraesh 🌿 @yrlietlanaevyss 🌿 @rosayoro 🌿 @rvchelking 🌿 and you!! 🩷

NAME: agent jennifer daniels of the federal intelligence bureau, los santos sector 😎.

NICKNAME: jen (do not call her jenny tho she hates that), agent daniels (sarcastically), eye in the sky, various derogatory terms exchanged between her and pretty much everyone she talks to.

GENDER: she’s One Of The Girlies. a girl’s girl in a world of egomaniacal men. “save me, women. save me!”

STAR SIGN: the most sagittarius woman to ever sagittarius.

HEIGHT: 5’10. without the boots.

ORIENTATION: i actually haven’t thought abt it but now that i am, she’s a bisexual queen, leaning towards women.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: argentinian! born in argentina and has duel citizenship between there and the united states.

FAVORITE FRUIT: pineapple. she eats a metric fuck ton of it, truly. she brings a container of it to work, midnight snack, etc.

FAVORITE SEASON: she’s the most comfortable during a san andreas autumn cs the weather is forgiving towards her wardrobe. —sexy patterned fur coats. knee high boots. she likes the aesthetic and looking expensive and a lot of that is layers and unforgiving textures. summer is good for the other half of her wardrobe tho, being silk button ups. mesh. high heels. low cut blouses.

FAVORITE FLOWER: lupine. she tried to grow a little plot of it at her home in rockford hills but didn’t have the patience to maintain them, so she gets a bouquet delivered once in a while to display.

FAVORITE SCENT: she loves a heady wine scent, like a deep cherry or a gourmand-type. she likes to smell edible.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: coffee and a cigarette on the balcony every morning. and on her way to work. and when she’s briefing with her colleagues. and when she’s flying. and in her office. and when she’s bothering dave. and when she’s beefing with steve cs she’s bored. and on her way home. and with dinner. and before bed.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: like, 10. she needs her beauty sleep or she will be absolutely miserable in the morning, and make it everyone’s problem.

DOGS or CATS: neither. if she’s gonna be around a dog it has to be her size and scary as hell, but not constantly barking— like a mastiff guard dog.

DREAM TRIP: either back to argentina, or somewhere in the southern hemisphere where she can lay in the sun for 18 hours and get absolutely piss drunk in public.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: she has one silk sheet and a massive down duvet.

RANDOM FACT: she drives a really obnoxious lilac purple pegassi vacca. and it’s unreasonably souped up— neon light kit, spoiler, led headlights, sport tires, custom leather interior, all of it. everything. government money baby. 🤑

NAME: lieutenant eileen carlisle to you 🫵🏻.

NICKNAME: lindy, linds, miss carlisle, the desert hum.

GENDER: she/her, the milfiest milf i have.

STAR SIGN: she’s gotta be a virgo i just feel it in my bones.

HEIGHT: a touch above average for the time, 5’4. but she has the attitude of a woman who is 6 feet.

ORIENTATION: she says she’s straight but that will not stop her from being homoerotic towards women.

ETHNICITY/NATIONALITY: american. she was born in new york city and fled before she was even 18.

FAVORITE FRUIT: she loves a good crispy apple and every byproduct in between.

FAVORITE SEASON: spring, when everything is in full bloom and alive.

FAVORITE FLOWER: wildflowers. entire fields of them. she would sleep in a field of wildflowers— the ground to be her bed, the sky her awning.

FAVORITE SCENT: fresh coffee and leather.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: she hasn’t been able to get her hands on tea in a long time so she settles for coffee.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: fucking zero genuinely. she can’t sleep on a bedroll, she’s a night owl, coffee keeps her up, she can’t sleep through the gang stirring at the break of dawn, she’s a light sleeper in general. no rest for the wicked, she would say.

DOGS OR CATS: dogs; she was always around them so she welcomes the company.

DREAM TRIP: somewhere cozy and quiet. she’s kinda been sold on the tahiti trip if she’s being honest.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: none. even when she had a bed she would kick it off mid-sleep.

RANDOM FACT: wants to so badly own an orchard and make jams and shit. she wants to be an artisan and make good clean cash :( she thinks it’s too late for her, but she will never not yearn for the fruit.

#oc: lindy carlisle #oc: jen daniels

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mangostarjam · 3 months

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i LOOOOVE one esk being SO petty. you're sticking up for lieutenant awn? you get eleven millimeters of tea in your nearly full cup 😊😌 you over there are badmouthing lieutenant awn? you can wave your empty tea bowl all you want 😤😠

#currently reading #ancillary justice #imperial radch

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ninjathrowingstork · 5 months

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Blade Runner: Bitter Water

Hello I am back again with more heartbreak.

I'll probably update with my actual notes once I remember what I wanted to add for this.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 3

A blood black nothingness.

A system of cells.

Within cells interlinked.

Within one stem.

And dreadfully distinct.

Against the dark.

A tall white fountain played."

He’d passed. He always passed.

Leaving the dingy white room, the rapid-fire questioning had left his mind feeling scraped raw, but he was still on his baseline and he had a job to do. It had been nearly a week, and he was running out of time. This hadn’t been the fight he was looking for, but hunting down where a fugitive replicant would go to ground meant finding other fugitives sometimes. Fugitives who fought back.

But they weren't designed to fight, to hunt, to kill, the way he had been designed.

The investigation was getting nowhere.

kD6-3.7 scanned through another day’s worth of surveillance recordings, fruitlessly looking for one, specific spinner.

While pursuing his other lead had resulted in the crash landing in a pile of slush, he’d eventually tracked down first a shop owner who’d recognized the lost heiress’s replicant companion and that had led to someone else who’d confirmed the woman’s daily route, and finally to the series of cameras along the streets.

Just for once, he wished something could have been easy. It took days to get some of the recordings back, from stores and private security cameras. Sure the Police Department could request the files be turned over, but tracking down the paperwork and waiting for permits to go through had already set him back, even before sitting and watching through the days and days of recordings. He’d eventually had to put each camera’s recording of the last day the replicant woman had been seen together in sequence, tracking her path along the usual route, and-

There.

One moment she was walking, head down under an umbrella, and the next she’d turned a corner and by the camera next in the sequence, she was gone. There was still one more recording, partially blocked by an awning, that had a viewpoint of the alley in between the two streets. It was slim chance, but-

He had it. The woman turned the corner onto the street, lined with parked spinners, speeding up slightly on the empty sidewalk. He watched as the door of one swung open as she approached, and with one last look over her shoulder, she’d slid into the dark, unmarked vehicle and it had pulled away and vanished into the flow of traffic around the next corner. But-

Zooming in. Another flick of the controls and the image of the spinner’s open door was magnified to take up the whole screen. He brightened it, and there. It was her mistress. The missing heiress was already in the vehicle, holding the door open for the replicant woman to join her.

He’d been told not to look into the human woman’s vanishing as well, and he’d surmised the two were connected, but their timing and circumstances for disappearing had stayed a mystery, until now. While finding the method of their disappearance solved several questions, it only raised more. If the two hadn’t been abducted, hadn’t been taken by force, that left the questions of who helped the pair, and why did they leave ? Answering those would be a start in finding where they went.

Wearily, he ran his hands down his face, it had been long hours sifting through the recordings, and it was getting close to dinnertime. That didn’t mean he was done for the night, though. With a few keystrokes, he sent the shots of the replicant Alice entering the car and a report of his progress to the Lieutenant, and put in a request for any ID on the spinner the system could find.. She’d given him a week, and he had one more day to work the case before she’d said it would be passed along, solved or not. He hoped he’d made enough progress to buy more time. Whether that was to work the case or to live, he wasn’t sure. It was the highest profile assignment he’d been given, and the family of the missing girl could easily ask for his retirement for not finding the pair. Still. Joshi had phrased it to sound like this was just a courtesy and a preliminary investigation before more important resources were invested in the case. He could still be retired and replaced over a courtesy, when dealing with a family with the money of the missing girl.

The only thing left was to go take a look at the street where the replicant woman had been picked up, if he could still find any evidence. If he could get any lead in the case from there.

Trudging through the station, he kept his head down as always. The past week had been. . . different. The other officers still either ignored him entirely, or else he had to endure the gauntlet of glares and the occasional curse flung as he passed, sometimes a shoulder slamming against him as he passed, but. But. No one had grabbed him, no one had touched him more than in passing. He wondered how long the sergeant’s influence would keep them off of him, but he would take whatever reprieve she’d bought him.

Sergeant Flint. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night, but he’d seen her at the desk in passing a few times. She’d looked up, nodding in recognition each time, but he’d been focused on the case, and it seemed wrong to approach her uninvited, with others around. There had been that one time he’d passed a hallway to see her red hair shining in it’s tight knot as the tall woman was speaking with the Madam. The conversation had seemed friendly, but there was the now-recognizable angry set to her jaw, and Joshi had been standing even more stick-straight than usual. Whatever the two women had been discussing seemed personal, and he’d turned and left them alone.

“Officer K?” As though summoned by the memory, there she was striding down the hallway as he passed. With barely a pause, she fell into step beside him as they entered the entryway together. “On a case tonight?” It was less formal, less restrained than she’d been at first but there was a new tautness to her words, and that set to her jaw that said anger had returned.

Best be wary then. “I am, ma’am.” Then, “the report is due tomorrow.”

She paused as they neared the desk, and he stopped a step later, looking back at the tall sergeant. “Think you’ll have time for dinner again?”

Dinner? Was this a regular thing for them now? There was a small flutter of - of something in his chest, a strange lightness, but still. . . “If this lead doesn’t turn up anything, I - I could meet you somewhere.” It was one of the longest sentences he’d said to her so far. He told her the neighborhood, and after a moment, she nodded.

“There’s a rail station there. Meet you there at seven?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you’re not working, officer, it’s not an order.”

The pitch of her voice shifted minutely, the tone softer as it had been when she’d reassured him before. Oh. Not an order. He could. . . he could say no, could say another time, if he wanted. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll meet you there at seven.” This was already too close. Too familiar. Before she could say anything else, he’d turned on his heel and headed out into the evening.

Within cells interlinked.

The streets on the way were as busy as they’d been on the day of the disappearance, but turning down the side street, it was quiet. The backs of a few stores, and crumbling brick walls. It was. . . nice, not a neighborhood a wealthy heiress would be walking through, but someplace her tutor and assistant replicant would be left alone. Stopping at the point across from the camera, still with an awning stretched over a door blocking a corner of the view, he looked along the empty stretch of street. A single spinner hummed by in the evening chill. Not for the first time, he recalled his instructions not to look into the missing girl, the missing human. Investigating her would possibly give more information about the spinner’s route, where she had boarded it, who was driving it behind the dark privacy-tinted windows. If anyone had been watching the street here that day, they wouldn’t have any more insight than the camera had given about the spinner or the two passengers. Between the tinting and the positioning of that awning, any identification of the vehicle or driver had been carefully hidden.

They knew someone would come looking.

They knew, and he’d get nothing else from here.

Once more, Officer KD6-3.7 turned, trudging into the evening. He might still make the station for seven.

By the time he reached the monorail station, he half expected she’d have gone. It wasn’t long after the hour, but she had no reason to wait for him.

But.

There she was, lights glinting off the damp on the shoulders of her coat. She peeled herself away from the wall when she spotted him, lowering the boot she’d propped up behind her. “Didn’t know if you’d make it.”

Didn't know if he’d make it alive, he realized. There never was a guarantee he’d come back. “I don’t have that much of a social life,” he shrugged. “Didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

That got an almost-grin from her. “Not much of a social life either, I had time to wait.”

The thought that a human would willingly spend her time just waiting for him, not knowing if he’d make it back, was. . . strange.

“And anyway, I was the one who asked to meet,” turning on her heel, she led him into the station and towards the monorail car. “Wasn’t about to leave you here, if you got held up on the way and happened to be late.”

As little as he could trust most humans, and even less those who held rank over him, whose orders he was bound to obey, he could feel himself actually trusting the sergeant. This was well beyond caring for his well being as department property, coming to this corner of the city just to meet him. The first night she’d led him from the station, had given him food and kindness, she’d said she didn’t want to use him, and his instincts were telling him this woman didn’t change her mind easily so he doubted that was her plan for the evening.

Ahead, his companion quietly slid by the kiosk where evening passengers stopped scanning passes with a soft chime before crossing the platform to board. “We’re not paying, ma’am?” He’d been on the monorail that wound through the black buildings and neon lights once before, in his first, disorienting days alive as he was learning his new life on the force. He’d been with another officer then, taking him through the city on foot instead of spinner for once, leading him along with a hand clamped painfully around his arm, and it had all been too overwhelmingly new for him to process if there had been any fare paid then. He hadn’t tried the rail system since, preferring either the privacy of a department spinner or the economy of traveling by foot.

Without stopping, Flint glanced back at him, reaching to tap at the insignia pinned to her coat shoulder. “Not in uniform, officer, we ride free, department wants us to have a presence out here and the transit folks say it keeps the rides safer.” He caught the corner of her half-smile before she turned back.

As the lights of the city slipped by in the night, he glanced sideways at the woman standing still as a statue, gazing calmly out the window as she held onto the overhead strap for balance. Maybe her presence in her uniform-blue coat did make the other passengers in their car feel safer, maybe not, but if all he’d gotten from them was the occasional side-eye, he knew the weight of presence she carried around her was keeping him a little safer. They didn’t talk during the ride, despite the ease between them earlier Flint had slipped back into being the stone-faced sergeant beside him with the closeness of the other riders around them, and.

And.

And there was still that flicker of the suppressed anger in the set of her mouth and line of her jaw. Had something happened in the past week? Was this night with him for her to unwind for once instead of him? But there had been that something in how she’d asked to meet him, something masked behind the rare lightness in her tone. Either way, whatever her intentions, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his place to question her. Even if she had said it wasn’t an order.

Still in silence, they left the rail car, a jerk of her head the only signal it was time to exit before she led him out and back into the city streets. There were more holo-signs here, the city more dense than the area they’d just come from. High above them, a glowing pink woman was dancing on the side of one building, and he stopped, for once watching one of the myriad of advertisements he walked through daily. “Those digis really are something.” The sergeant had stopped, joining him again to stare up at the display. “Wonder if they really can be whoever you want, like she says.”

“Wouldn’t know.” The idea of just having someone around to talk to had been utterly alien to him until little more than a week before, but having someone, even a fake, digital companion had been so far above any wildest dreams, if he’d had any. “Probably costs a lot, though, so they must be worth it.”

“Probably right.” The rosy light slid over the orange of her hair, turning it a strange, murky shade, “ but I guess if folks really need someone to talk to. . .” she shrugged, before turning and leading him further through the streets.

Dinner that night was some kind of meat, likely vat grown also, but with a slight char to the corners and served on long skewers, and tonight, he didn’t protest her buying him food. Tonight, they ate quietly again, only commenting on the sauce on the meat, on the crowds. Tonight she wasn’t trying to distract him from anything, to save him from anything. There was no sharing of memories or stories of life- on the force and just of living . Just the company of sharing a meal with someone else as they watched the crowds pass by.

She was subtle. So subtle it took until they were both nearly finished eating for him to realize she was watching for someone , and as she quickly finished her food, he wolfed down the last bites of his, savoring the memory of the sauce and crunch of seared vegetables, trailing a step behind her as they crossed through the evening foot traffic to another table across the market from theirs.

The pair, a man and a woman, stood, talking over plates of food and something- something in the way they stood, the fit of their clothes, despite being nondescript civilian garments, said this pair were also police. Plainclothes, likely detectives-

Like the sergeant had been, he remembered.

“Roark and Nguyen,” Flint had stopped, just far enough the pair wouldn’t notice them, her voice just loud enough to be heard above the noise of the street. “I’ve known ‘em for a while. They ever give you any trouble?”

The question caught him off guard. Had they ever been among the ones he’d learned to avoid? Their faces were familiar, but just as another pair he’d seen around the precinct, never when his tormentors were around, never among the hands reaching to drag him into corners or rooms. “No, no, they’ve never bothered me.”

“Good.” She nodded curtly. “Knew I could trust ‘em, just had to be sure, you know?”

He didn’t know, but the realization she’d asked if her friends had ever. . . the thought she’d checked her knowledge of them was real against his experience was something he’d lie awake in his thin, fold-out bed thinking about in the night. But for now, he was following her again, straight for the pair.

“Evening, detectives.” There was a new wryness in her voice as she greeted them. It was almost. . . playful?

“Sarge, it’s been a while.”

“Hey, you.” The other woman, shorter, dark hair brushing damply against her shoulders, grinned up at the sergeant.

He was seeing their friendship, seeing the serious, hardened senior officers he passed every day as people, as friends. There was that pull, that twisting in his chest again for something he’d never truly be a part of.

“Hey back at you both. Been keeping out of trouble?”

“Nothing we can’t get ourselves out of, you know.” The man, average height with a fighter’s build, his instincts filled in, as the detective leaned his elbows on the table, a smile in his eyes despite an otherwise serious expression. “Who’s your friend?”

“Matt, Alicia, Officer K’s new around here.” A tilt of her head invited him to step into their circle, joining Flint and her friends at the table. “K, these two and I go way back. Went out drinking with them when I first made detective.”

And she still stopped to ask him if they’d ever hurt him.

“And the Sarge here has been kicking our asses in the shooting range since the academy days,” The man - Matt’s face finally cracked into a grin as he ran a hand through short, sandy hair, brushing out a scattering of snowflakes.

“He’s the new ‘runner, right?” Detective Nguyen - Alicia - eyed him curiously.

“Yeah, since they stopped partnering with human detectives, don’t think I’ve seen much of the last few. Well, uh, it’s good to finally meet ya,” finally looking past the sergeant to greet K.

Beside him, Flint’s jaw twitched with- with annoyance?

“That’s part of why I need to ask you two a favor.”

“Oh?” The shorter detective leaned forward to mirror her partner, curiously. “What kind of favor?”

“Have you two seen Walters and his pals much this week?”

She shook her head, as her partner drawled a slow “can’t say that I have.”

“Well, that pack’s been givin’ K here trouble lately, and L-T can’t do much through official channels to stop it.” Her voice had slipped into the nomad drawl as she spoke to her friends. “Try as I might, I can't watch everything at once-” that got another grin from the detectives, “so I’m askin’ if you two could help keep an eye out, run interference for him. Keep that pack of degenerates off his back. Leastways until they get bored and back off. It’ll save me the worry and keeps the L-T from coming down on me if he takes any damage in the station that’ll put him out of commission.”

This was. . . different, from how she’d been- been concerned for him, framing the request as a favor for her, for the department instead. Using her own friendship with them to shield him again.

Both detectives stared at him, she with a cool appraisal and he with a sharp curiosity, and he found himself wanting to shift uncomfortably under the new scrutiny. He’d learned this much attention from anyone not connected to a case was rarely ever good.

Roark straightened up, the sharp grin he’d greeted the Sergeant with almost returning. “Well. Never thought about the runners having trouble like that, but Walters and his guys are jackasses, so- K, was it?”

“Yes, sir.” His reply was too quiet, again, as he stared at the flickering light of a holo ad on a wall past the man's shoulder.

“K, you find me or Alicia here if there’s any trouble, those degenerates know not to mess with us.”

It wouldn’t help if he was ambushed in the hallways again, but it was a start.

“And I know this is already a big favor,” Flint jumped in, “but anyone else you can trust, who’s not been taking advantage of K here,” the muscle of his shoulder twitched as she dropped one hand onto the fabric of his coat, resting it with the slightest squeeze before dropping away,, “run this by them also, that the Sarge says he’s off limits.”

Off limits. He almost missed the two nodding in agreement as he processed what her words meant.

“Hey, Tam,” Nguyen reached across the table, tapping the surface by where the Sergeant’s arms were folded. “In exchange for this massive favor, you gonna come back out from behind that desk again? Joshi’s got that standing offer for you to join us in plain clothes again, I hear.

Beside him, Flint shifted minutely. Uncomfortably? “I’m fine where I am, Detective, you know that. ‘Asides, if she wants me back that badly she can make it an order.” She shrugged, barely a lift of her shoulders. “You never know, though. Someday I’ll get bored in the precinct maybe, and finally go outside again.”

The humor in her voice sounded forced to his ears, but the seriousness of the moment was broken. Making their goodbyes, Flint excused herself from her friends, and strode back along the street, with him following a step behind, the two of them alone in the crowds again.

The carefully-designed investigator’s mind they’d built in him was racing with questions as he followed, watching the sharp set of her shoulders in the blue coat. All of them led back to why . Why had she asked him to meet her and spend another evening out with her? Why go out of her way to meet him at the station, Why introduce him to her friends, and ask-

She’d known. She’d known the pair would be eating in this neighborhood, and for her own reasons had made the encounter and request appear casual. But. But that still left the question of why . She didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to protect him. He’d been built to endure the violence that came with the solitary life of a blade runner. He - didn't’ want, couldn’t want anything else - would have survived. But the sergeant had told him she’d used her position and influence to put the fear of real consequences, the fear of their sergeant into his - his attackers. Off limits , she’d said. She’d already done that for him. Now, she’d gone further and requested help from detectives . Human detectives. For him. If he could have felt shame, felt it even after what he’d been subjected to in his short life so far, he would have been ashamed of the request that the well-known and respected partners have to watch out for him, that they have to watch out for one replicant in the station who can’t-

But. There was, once more, that strange warmth in his chest that she was trying to protect him, and they’d agreed. He’d never spoken with the pair - still hadn’t beyond a few words, he realized, playing back the conversation - and, because she’d asked them, the two had agreed to help watch out for him and keep Walters and his cronies off his back. It wasn’t much on the surface, but, if they kept their word, then the number of humans in this world who gave a second thought for his life had just tripled. It seemed unlikely, but. . . but the memory of warm food and tea, of the blue-coated figure parting the crowds ahead of them, and of the rare, warm touches said it just all might be true.

That figure strode ahead, hand now shoved deep back into the pockets of her coat, and he followed as always, just a step behind her shoulder. With one long step, he caught up, for once walking beside her. She looked as she did that first night, that determination, that deeply hidden burning anger that only highly-tuned senses could have detected. “Thank you. . . thank you for doing that. You didn’t have to” He sounded too quiet in his own ears again, each word carefully measured out.

She shrugged one shoulder, “can’t always be around to keep those sonsabitches off you, already asked Bernal and Elliot to help keep an eye out also. They’ve never bothered you, right?” One eyebrow tilted, she glanced across him finally.

He’d seen the two men on occasion also, they’d maybe looked at him in passing but never longer than it took to recognize his approach before going back to their own conversion, their own lives. “No, they’ve never bothered me. “

“Yeah, those two are the last guys I’d ever suspect, and the last who’d be into whatever kicks Walters and the others get from. . . well, it’s just not their thing.”

There were several things she could mean, but right now it meant he had two pairs of respected, senior, human officers watching his back in the station.

“Thank you” His voice was even quieter this time. Falling back to his usual position at her back, he almost missed the quirk of a smile his thanks earned.

“It’s the least I can do, Officer K.” Her voice was that almost-gentle tone again, the current of anger she’d carried all night hidden deep. “Like I said before, you shouldn’t have to put up with how they treat you.”

Any other protests he might have made, if he’d been able to find it in himself to ever contradict her, were lost as he trailed her through the narrow, winding stalls of the night market she’d led them into. This was more closely packed than the one she’d brought him to before, smaller openings for evening shoppers to eat, and tighter lanes wrapping around the few, coveted stores hemming the packed streets. Long legs carried Flint smoothly through the press, sliding around crowds with the occasional person slipping out of the way upon recognizing her. Finally, she slowed, giving him the chance to catch up.

“Up there,” she gestured at a larger booth, selling what looked like fruit from a distance. It was set up against a wall, possibly connected to one of the permanent shops if he judged the large, semi-permanent structure right. They stopped, and he watched over her shoulder as the sergeant leaned in, ordering from the woman behind the counter, her sleek dark hair a contrast with Flint’s fiery copper. It was hard to hear, even with his heightened senses, but he could faintly make out “les vrais” before the woman nodded, vanishing into the darkness of her shop.

“When I was a kid,” Flint had turned, staring out across the market as she spoke, her nomad’s drawl slipping back into her speech, “sometimes we’d find berry bushes up in the mountains still. Scrubby lil’ things, but they’d be out there clingin’ to life.” His full attention was focused on the story, another memory of a real childhood she was sharing with him. “Sometimes we’d find berries on them, growing in whatever sunlight the things could get. Dusty, tart little things, but we’d pick any we could reach. Bring ‘em to the city, get good money for ‘em, even then.”

He could only imagine, produce that wasn’t grown in Wallace-made facilities was treated like gold, and-

The thought was interrupted as the soft rustling of paper containers sliding across the counter heralded the woman’s return. Two small, paper cups holding. . . holding blackberries.

“Since getting here, this is the only place I’ve found that still has a hookup with other dusties, can still buy the berries from outside the city.” Her almost-grin looked more like a grin than ever now. As she reached out, taking the cups from the woman, he almost missed the flash of a slip of paper passed along with one cup to the sergeant, vanishing behind her fingers a moment later. Strange, but her business was none of his, and questioning human officers, no matter how odd their behavior, was not his job.

The almost-warm almost-grin was back as she passed him one of the small cups, and for once, he barely noticed how her hand pulled away too quickly for their fingers to touch. The cup held barely a handful of small, dark berries, with a small swirl of . . . whipped cream? Slowly, carefully, he tried a berry with a bit of the cream, and-

For a heartbeat, it was as though a part of his brain froze and a wave of something ran through him as the thin membranes of the berry burst on his tongue. It was sweet , sweet in a way nothing he’d ever tried compared to. There was a tart earthiness to the berry, a burst of flavor and juice that no synthetically grown food could compare with, somehow more substantial than any fruit he’d tried before.

“Like it?” Beside him, Flint popped one of her own berries in her mouth, eyes suddenly distant as she chewed.

“It’s. . . it's real. ” This was real food, something more real than he’d ever had, ever be able to afford on his own and that ache behind his sternum was back, aching for everything he’d never know, never be able to experience, everything that was long-gone from the world even before he’d drawn his first breath. “They’re. . . really real. Ma’am I can’t-”

“Yeah, they’re real. They get sweeter when they’re on the plant longer, get to stay in the sun longer, but those don’t stay good as long to get em’ to a buyer.” She popped another berry in her mouth, savoring it for a moment. “And I know what you’re going to say, K, and you absolutely can . Your life doesn’t have to be shitty, leastways no shittier than any of ours down here, just because of what you are. You get a chance to enjoy some small, bright spot of joy down here, you enjoy what you can, you hear me?”

He did, and while most of what she said still sounded wrong to him, he took another bite of berries and cream, feeling the flavors burst in his mouth like nothing ever had before, feeling their realness and beauty. It was wasted on him, of course, since he was neither of those things himself, but . . . but for however long he had left to live, he’d remember the taste. “Yes, ma’am. And thank you, for the berries, for everything. If it’s an order, then I’ll. . . allow myself to enjoy things.”

That drew a snort of a laugh from her. “It’s not an order, just a suggestion. It took me a hellova long time once I got here to start livin’ like a civilized person, enjoying the stuff we never had out there,” she jerked her head in what was probably the direction of the badlands, “havin’ so much running water alone felt wrong. But, I adapted. Learned to take what little softness the city had. It’s different, but. . . you learn to live, understand?”

He did, a little. Remembering his curt, perfunctory showers framed her words over that being even more water than a nomad girl had in a new light. “I- I think so. I’ll. . . I’ll learn, eventually. Maybe get to do some living while I’m alive, right?” The dry humor was coming easier now.

Chewing the last of her cupful of the rare treat, Flint’s quirk of a grin showed it was appreciated. Eventually, regretfully, the last of the purple-black jewel-like berries he guessed to be more rare and prized than actual jewels these days was gone. The only trace was the lingering tartness on his tongue, and the rich, slightly-sweet oiliness of the cream coating his mouth.

He’d just eaten what was likely a small fortune in bootleg, genuine fruit. There was a strange mix of - not emotions he didn’t feel - from the delicacy. He knew he didn’t deserve them, that the rare produce grown on some far-off mountain that still had the faintest tang of dust clinging to them was far beyond the station for which he’d been made, been manufactured. They had been more real and valuable than he. But. But she’d told him he could eat them. Had wanted to see him enjoy them. If it had been anyone but Flint he might have suspected they’d wanted to see his reaction, if he reacted, to the taste as their own entertainment. She wasn’t like that and it didn’t take the heightened intuition and observational reflexes that had been carved into his nervous system to see that. She’d told him to eat, and even though the same deeply-carved and wired instincts recognized her as a superior officer, and something deep within his mind knew her as a registered user and her orders were law and there was never any question about obeying her commands. This hadn’t been an order, really. She’d given him the food, sure, but the closest thing to an actual order had been. . . to find what made him happy? He may not have been given the luxury of free will, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find peace in the small luxuries he was able to obtain.

It didn’t make sense, not with everything he knew to be true about himself, how he was created and what he’d been created to do. That he was a product, not a person. Maybe, though, maybe what the sergeant wanted him to hear was that it didn’t mean he had to endure what might be a short, brutal life entirely alone and empty. The idea was . . . new. As much as he could trust any human, and any who he’d been created to serve and obey, he trusted her.

They’d thrown the empty containers away as they exited the market, Flint falling back a step to walk beside him, far enough away her elbows couldn’t brush his with her hands back in her coat pockets, face hidden inside the cavernous hood. They walked in silence that way for a few blocks, the sounds and lights of the city at night rippling around them.

“Bein’ a nomad, it’s not all that folks think it is.” Her voice broke the silence between them, and he half-turned to look at the sergeant beside him on the sidewalk, but the shadow of the hood hid her face as she spoke. “Folks in the Department jus’ know the dusties in raiding parties, maybe some that’ll camp outside the city, sellin’ anything that’ll sell. Anything we’ve found.”

We , she’d said. It’d been a long time since Flint had been with them, K remembered, but she still slipped and called herself one of them.

“But ridin’ together, stripping abandoned buildings, cities, looking for anything we can use, sure it’s a rough life but you’ve got the convoy, you know?”

He didn’t know, but stayed silent as she spoke.

“There’s scavenging yeah, but we weren’t scaveys, not like those almost-ferals down south. We work as teams, families sometimes, watch each other’s backs. You learn to turn junk into whatever we needed out there. Going on reuse and recycle runs to find supplies off old trucks, old machines. Clean it up, hammer out the dents, and cut it int’a what you need.”

They walked, surrounded by the darkness and grime of the city that was the only home he’d known, but. . . but her words conjured up memories that weren’t his, of a dirty, lonely childhood spent hammering trash for the few pieces of treasure. Of bleak, dusty stretches of parched land. What could a life out there have been with a convoy and family behind you? “I. . . I have memories of the ruins,” it was the first time he’d told anyone about the past that wasn’t his. “In an orphanage, they put us to work picking over scrap metal, breaking apart old machines.”

A small hum of what might have been sympathy sounded from the hooded woman. “Think I heard about places like that, never been near one from what I recall. Yeah the clan had kids around but if’n one lost their folks, we’d just keep ‘em and raise ‘em with the rest.”

A family, even in the harsh, wild life of the nomadic clans out in the badlands, it was more than he’d ever had. Ever have. “So, why’d you leave and join the Police?” There were notes in the file, and while he could put together pieces from her interview and records, there were also things she’d never said.

For a few steps, they walked together in silence again until he thought she might not answer. “Lost my ma when I was real young,” that much he’d already heard. “My brother and my Da were on a convoy with me, and one night raiders hit us. We got away but Da got hit and we lost him.” Her words were short, clipped. Rehearsed? Something nearly inaudible in her tone sounded rehearsed but then, he supposed, she must have told this story before. The Madam had been her partner in the past and he doubted the hard-eyed woman he answered to would have let Flint’s history stay a mystery to her.

“Brother and I stayed on the convoy together for a time after that, then one night we met up with another band, and knew the folks so we camped together that night,” she continued. “In the morning, he was gone. Hopped a truck in the other caravan and left.”

“He left you?”

She shrugged, one-shouldered. “Left the memories, saw a chance for a new band to fight with and took it. He liked to fight.” The last sounded almost sad. “Didn’t have anything keepin’ me there, so I packed whatever I had and came here. Knew the city was dangerous and all, but if’n I’m gonna get mine one day, I figured I’d do it somewhere I didn’t hafta forage for food and might get a hot shower first.” Beside him, she rolled her shoulders, head tilting back to look at the sky. It had begun snowing again, and the flakes settled on her lashes in the glimpse of her face he got before, lowering her head once again, she was lost in the hood.

“Why’d you choose to join the police?” You had the choice to join. He’d never have the choice to or not, only the preprogrammed memories of choosing that he’d been given, like a pile of clothing left folded on a chair for him.

“Why them? Well, as much as I can keep an engine goin’, things I was best at were fighting and shooting. Spent enough years guarding convoys I thought might as well get paid for it, not that the pay for a beat cop just startin’ out is that much, but it sure as hell was more than I’d ever had before.”

And it sure as hell had to be more than the small allowance he was given by the same department.

“Also, picked the Police over private cops because I’d heard they always needed fresh meat, and weren’t as choosy. Knew I could handle anything they threw at me after growin’ up how I did.” Her voice had dropped off at the end, and . . . and he could almost relate, almost understand with his fictional past. Fighting to survive in the orphanage had made the brutality, the isolation of his life here almost easy. But- but her past was real , her humanity stood as a chasm between them and their nearly parallel stories.

“And now here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Ever think of. . . of visiting them, your clan?”

Another long pause. “Got no one left to visit. Some old friends, yeah. Might find my brother out there if I go asking around, if he’s still topside. Been so long though, don’t think I’d really know them that much. Anyway, got my life here now. Got work to do.”

They’d reached the platform for the monorail again, and, now silent, she led him back across the platform and onto the car. She was silent again as they soared through the night, the sleek metal capsule flying past spinners and signs, the smells of bodies and metal dust and late-night spilled alcohol drifting around them. Soon, they had stopped again, and he realized this was the station closest to the market and his own neighborhood.

Still in silence now, they walked together through the snow-dusted streets. Around them, the lights rippled off the powder in the moments before it melted to a cold grey slush, turning the streets a momentary shimmering rainbow of neon.

They were a few blocks from his building when she broke the silence. “I’m taking the promotion.”

Only his expertly crafted neurochemical system kept him from twitching at the jolt of surprise. “The promotion?”

“Back to sergeant.” She’d shoved her hood back, staring levelly ahead, face back to the stony mask. “Got an ultimatum from the L-T. Wants me to take it, join a new task force that’s being built for these kidnappings, or else I’ll be put on the nomad raids.”

He remembered that briefing, the events. . . after had made the report less important, and it wasn’t his work anyway, but he’d heard talk in passing of more disappearances in the week since. But that would mean. . .

“So I won’t be around as much anymore, K. Might be in the precinct for reports but can’t say it’ll be regularly anymore. I’ve done what I can and having detectives saying you’re off limits should keep those pieces of shit off your back.”

At least as far as anyone could see them, he knew. It might not stop the wandering eyes and hands, but he hoped, as much as he could hope for anything, it would keep them from going any further again. “I. . . I understand. Does this mean-”

“And these nights will have to end, yes.” The words were as cold as the snow beneath their boots. “I’ve had word from up above that this. . . association is frowned on. Might impact your effectiveness or something. Point is, I’ve been ordered to back off.”

It was back, that yawning pit inside his guts, knowing now how much it ached when he wasn’t supposed to feel it ache, feel anything. He knew now what it was to have someone being near him, to walk beside in the dark, to eat with, tasting flavors he’d never dreamed he could ever know. But now, now he knew . And because of what he was, who had paid for him, he was denied that life a second time. “I understand.” He swallowed around the tightness rising up his throat. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble, sergeant.”

They’d reached his doorstep again, and she glanced away, the corners of her mouth turning down as the simmering anger she’d carried all night flared. She’d known. She’d planned this as a final night, he realized. Flint must have been told that week, been arguing with Joshi that day in the hallway, and had planned this night to be a farewell, to tell him others would be looking out for him and to give him one last taste of the life he could never know. A taste of the fruit he would never be worthy of knowing. She’d known it would always end like this.

“It’s no trouble, Officer K. And if the department wants to come down on anyone for this, they can take it out on me. I’ve been around long enough to handle it.” And for her, censure wouldn’t mean the risk of retirement.

A rapid flicker of emotions nearly broke her stone-like composure, nearly said something else before the faint click of her teeth killed the words. “Goodnight, officer.” Turning on her heel, she strode into the dark and snow.

“Goodbye,” his whisper followed her into the night.

On feet that felt as dead and heavy as lead from more than just the cold, he forced himself to climb the long flights of stairs up to his apartment. The jeers and hands reaching and groping for him that he usually had to endure on the path to his door all faded out as white noise tonight. Silently, he brushed past all of them, head down, ducking into the safety of his collar. Cans and debris crunched under his boots as he shouldered past figures outside his apartment. Someone called out at him as he unlocked the door, slipping inside as it shut behind him before any reaching fingers could catch the back of his coat (this time).

He was alone.

He’d always been alone. Now, he- he could almost feel how alone he was.

(He wasn’t supposed to have feelings opinions but still-)

Silently, as always, he moved through his evening routine. He was meant to be alone. The lukewarm water of his shower pelted skin. He’d known almost what it was like to have a friend. The packaged seasoning for the stovetop noodles smelled stale compared to the memory of flavors so sudden his eyes had nearly watered. The packaged food was better than the protein grubs, although less nutritious, but the meal earlier had been solid and warm and he wished he could forget how the background hypervigilance needed for a blade runner to survive had quieted some with the presence in the blue coat beside him. Harsh alcohol burned down his throat, washing the small meal down, but the memory of the taste of berries and cream still clung to his taste buds.

Curled in his thin, cold fold-out bed, he thought ahead to what the next day might hold, his time on the case had run out, and depending on what was asked by the people even beyond his Madame’s sphere of power, he could be gone and another, new replicant in this apartment in the next few days. He’d been given a case with little to use and a short timeline, been given as little choice or consideration in this assignment as he’d ever been, and now the one person who’d cared enough to try to help him the least bit was gone. If the worst happened the next day, there’d be no one left to remember him. A deep curl of something by his heart almost ached at the thought. As he drifted off, the ghostly memory of a rough wooden toy in small hands that weren’t really his made his palms itch with the phantom touch, and the persistent whispered “ survive” slid through his mind, soothing away the thing that another might have called despair.

<- Chapter 2. Chapter 4. ->

#blade runner 2049 #blade runner #blade runner fanfic #fanfic #blade runner 2049 fanfic #officer kd6 3.7 #officer K. fanfic #ryan gosling #writing #cyberpunk

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