The Unexamined Life

[Stasis Kiss]

Even sheltered by the few trees, shielded by the ferns, water seeps through the air. It’s the small pool with its smaller waterfall behind them that’s responsible, causing the vapour that catches on the fine down of her arms. It might have bothered her once, the reaction of water around her. She’s grown used to it though, grown used to so many things that once seemed impossible. The diamond chips of ice now seem more pretty than sinister.

But what means more is the warmth at her back as she drowses.

“Wat yuh tinkin’ ‘bout, Tara? Yuh awful quiet.”

“Hey?” She shifts a little, the rough weave of his shirt pressing against her cheek. “Nothing, Jai. I’m not thinking about anything at all.”

“Ah yeh?” His lips smile against her temple. “Dat ain’ exactly usual.”

“Hey,” she protests. “I think about nothing all the time.”

The answering chuckle is warm. She squeezes the fingers laced in hers over her belly and considers growling. It’s too much effort.

“I get worried when yuh t’ink about nothin’. Dat’s usually when I have ta go chasin’ ovuh half a Paragon lookin’ fuh yuh.” His lips graze the soft skin, causing delicate shivers down her back. “So tell meh yuh tinkin’ about som’tin’, yeh?

“Okay,” she says. “Then I’m thinking about how I’ve changed. Since I started school, that is,” she amends after a moment.

“School hyuh?”

“Yeh,” she replies. She studies his fingers from under slitted lashes, admiring the half moon curves of the nails. Pale scars knit lacework across his knuckles and one is flatter than the others, smashed at some point and never healed right. “I been tinkin’… I’ve been thinking that I don’t know where I’d be, if I wasn’t here.” She doesn’t say the rest but maybe he hears it anyways. “Or even who I’d be. I mean, I didn’t have to end up at St. Joseph’s, right? I could of ended up at any school and my whole life would be different.”

She hadn’t been thinking about anything really, but now she is and unease spreads. His arms tighten and the subtle heat of his body rises.

“Every day yuh wake up yuh different, an’ every night yuh go tuh sleep yuh different. Life’s about livin’, Tara. Mebbe one mornin’ yuh give me a red apple fuh breakfas’ and de world stop turnin’ in shock.”

She laughs. If they were standing she’d whump his shoulder for that but they’re not so she settles for turning her face into his chest again, breathing the spice.

“Mebbe tomorrow I will and the world won’t notice anything at all. You think of that, Trinidad?”

“Well, mebbe. I’d notice, yeh? An’ mebbe de world don’ mattuh so much.”

There is a note in his voice on that, something she almost never hears, nearly masked by the steady fall of the water behind and the thump of his heart. Wistful.

“Yuh mine,” she says finally. “An’ I’m yours. The world’s a little bigger than that though, last I looked. Jai,” she says, squirming in his arms to look up, “you ever think what it would be like if you never came here?”

His dark eyes look into hers. One hand lifts to touch her cheek and then brushes a stray bit of hair away from her face.

“But I did come hyuh.”

“But what if you didn’t?” she repeats stubbornly. “What if your loa told you to go somewhere else or maybe I got sent to some other school like that place in the Rogues and we’d never met each other? You ever wonder who you’d be?”

“Neh,” he says, smiling. “I’ just be meself, only,” he says, putting his fingers on her lips as she starts to open her mouth again, “I wouldn’ have de best gyul in de world fuh mine.”

“Oh,” she says.

“Yuh can’ t’ink about dat sort a ‘what if’ t’ings, Tara. Wat dat gon’ do? Yuh jus’ tie yuh brain up in knots and den yuh fall ovuh like de centipede wit too many legs.”

“I am not a centipede.”

“No, yuh not.” He brushes her lips then without warning, sweet and warm. “Yuh don’ kiss like one neidduh.”

“Jai!”

“Wat?”

As easily as that, the conversation shifts from one kind of serious to another. He could do that too; look at her that one way and all her bones would melt to honey instead of the ice everyone thought they were. Without awareness she traces the corner of his mouth with one finger. He smiles and leans down again.

“You ever think that maybe you were supposed to be something else?”

It’s his turn to make a noise, half exasperated, his lips stopped in their descent. “I t’ink I shoulda left yuh tinking about nothin’, sometimey. But… if yuh set on dis, let meh see wat I can do ta answer yuh question.”

He settles her back against his chest then, chin resting against her hair.

“Close yuh eyes, gyul.”

She does. There is the waterfall and the sound of waves. The rustle of things moving, although nothing is close. Very faintly there is the noise of industry from the city.

“Wat’s de wors’ t’ing dat evuh happen ta yuh?”

“Lish,” she says, without running it through the filter of her brain first. If she’d thought first, she’d have given a different answer like maybe when her powers first manifested and she’d killed all those people. But then again, he hadn’t asked her what was the worst thing she’d done. And losing Lycia...

“Wat did yuh learn from dat?”

“People die.”

“Yeh, fuh certain. Wat’s de rest a dat sentence?”

She’s angry then, prickly and upset. He knew. He’d been right there, crying, trying to hold her back from that sick bastard who’d killed her friend, who’d sent an image of himself to hurt them more. Everything in her memory had been covered in red that night, light from her hands the color of blood.

“People die and they leave you alone.”

“Keep yuh eyes closed.” She does, guiltily. “Now. Wat’s de best t’ing dat ever happen?”

“You.”

“Yeh?” There’s laughter in his voice and something else. Something deeper but her eyes are closed and she hears it clearer than anything. The anger drains away as quickly as it tried to rise and she curls up a little more, cradled in his arms.

“Yeh.”

“Well den,” he says carefully, “wat did yuh learn from dat?”

This answer she has to struggle for. It’s always easier to think of the things that went wrong, went bad, got screwed up seven ways from Sunday and all the reasons why. The same night she’d lost Lish, lost Jade to his grief and guilt, lost the place she’d all but stopped calling school and had started to call home… was the night she’d kissed Jai for the first time, half defiance, half gazelle fear in the waterfall behind them. The night he’d given her all the words she would ever need.

So she repeats them. They are as much an answer as anything else.

“Fight,” she says. “Win.”

He shifts, running a hand up her arm. The forgotten diamonds break away, melting as they hit the ground.

“So de wors’ t’ing dat evuh happen was Miss Lycia dyin’ and de best t’ing dat evuh happen was meh. Wat dat tell you about yuhself, sometimey?”

“I don’t know.” She hates it when he goes all cryptic on her, like somehow she’s supposed to know this stuff. The darkness behind her eyes doesn’t yield anything helpful either, not with his breath trembling in her hair.

“Den let meh ask yuh dis question. Wat did yuh learn when Miss Lycia came back?”

He gives her all the time in the world. She frowns, pale brows drawing together. Finally she manages to string something together.

“I learned that you… can’t go back. That when Lish died, she died. I don’t even know this person who used to be my friend, Jai. Not really, not anymore.” She rubs his shirt under her cheek again like a talisman. “It’s the same with Rooster. I don’t even know how to begin to talk to him anymore. And he used to be my best friend.”

“An’ wat would yuh learn if I was ta leave yuh?”

Her fingers curl spastically into his shirt but that’s the only reaction she allows herself. His heart beats beneath her ear, steady as always. His arms support her as if she is the most fragile thing in the world.

What would she learn, if Jai were gone? Her voice is rough when she finally answers.

“That I hate it when people leave me. And that I can’t go back.”

She feels him nod, maybe in approval. “Yuh strong, Tara. Yuh the strongest puhson I know an’ I don’ mean wen yuh fightin’. Sometimes I don’ t’ink yuh see it, but I do.”

She’s half laughing into his chest and she thumps a shoulder even as she opens her eyes. “You leaving me, Jai Marchan?” She looks up into his face, dark eyes, dark skin, the clear white of his sudden smile. She wants to kiss him so much it’s an ache.

“Chupidee. Yuh t’ink I’m crazy? I didn’ chase yuh halfway ovuh Paragon fuh nothin’.”

She does kiss him then because there’s no reason not to. When she finally pulls back she feels like she’s been running a race. His breathing isn’t all that steady either, which is sort of satisfying.

“You never answered my question.”

“Yeh I did.” There is amused affront in his tone. His hand is doing distracting things in her close cropped hair.

“No you didn’t. You asked me what I learned, and I wanted to know if you ever wondered if .. uh .. Jai. What was I asking? Something about being different.”

“Yuh asked about yuh life bein’ diff’rent. Dat turn a diff’rent corner t’ing.”

“Yeah. That’s it. You never answered.”

“Yeh,” he says, “I did. Sometimey, it don’ mattuh if mebbe yuh nevuh came ta dis school. Yuh ken drive yuhself crazy tinkin’ about all de t’ings dat led up ta yuh bein’ hyuh right now, wit me. An’ it don’t mattuh if yuh leave tomorruh, or if yuh decide ta stay or even if mebbe yuh lose dat security pin yuh so proud a, and dey make yuh take de tests all ovuh again like whappen wit me. Mebbe tomorruh yuh wake up and yuh suddenly be dat serious puhson yuh told meh yuh wish yuh were.” He taps her forehead with a single finger. “Yuh still Tara. Yuh allus be Tara. An’ yuh cyah go back.”

She’s still frowning. Was that an answer? It’s true, sure, that’s who she is right now. But what if…

He kisses her again, insistent or maybe impatient, cutting off all lines of thought. She lets it go then because he is here and she is here and the fragile feeling locked in her throat is more important than any question.

But still.

What if it was supposed to be different?

[Stasis Kiss]

"Thank you for coming."

She wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. What, she'd had a choice? Thankfully the words seemed to be rhetorical as Sister Mary Constance didn't seem to expect a response, instead moving the incriminating piece of paper a few more centimeters to the left and folding her hands. From her upside down view she could make out her name on the top of the form. Going by the voluminous writing down one side, it was probably another copy of her last semester's marks. She mumbled something that sounded agreeable and waited for the hammer.

"Before we start, can I ask if you've been happy at St. Joseph's?"

What sort of question was that? She mumbled something a little harder, trying to sound both happy and non-committal at the same time, not easy in monosyllables. She'd had a lot of practice with it but apparently that had been some sort of rhetorical question too because the Sister barely paused before going on.

"When we spoke just after Christmas, there were certain agreements made. Although your test scores were wildly varied, almost all of your teachers were of the opinion that you were trying hard. Now while we understand that not every student is going to make the honor roll, St. Joseph's still requires its students to maintain a certain basic average. We both know that the reason I scheduled this meeting is that you have not upheld your end of our understanding, Tara."

She mumbled something.

"Excuse me?"

"Stasis. My name is Stasis. Not Tara."

"Oh." Sister Mary Constance re-folded her hands as if caught in the middle of an improper gesture. "I assume that's the name registered on the Paragon City Hero Roster. However, that... moniker is not on the school paperwork nor does it mean anything inside these walls." The older woman took a breath and her speech again attained the staccato tempo of the lecture. "I have spoken to almost all of your teachers as well as Dr. Conrads to follow up on your progress. You have turned in even fewer assignments since the start of this term and there is a remarkable lack of preparation in the ones you have submitted. Your report card will be more full of holes and incompletes than finished marks. This is of course of serious concern."

"I'll try harder, Sister. Really, I will."

"That may no longer be enough."

Stasis swallowed. That didn't sound very good. So she'd missed a few assignments, lots of other people did that. Really, she'd just try a little harder.

"Let me be very clear. I had a very involved conversation with Dr. Conrads in regards to your initial adjustment to St. Josephs and your subsequent integration with the rest of the school. He believes that you have made significant progress since you first came to us." She reached out to another piece of paper and underscored a few lines with an square cut fingernail. The Sister was obviously prepared for this. "According to his records you are 'socially adjusted and acclimated to triggered onset mutation.' Informally he indicated you are well liked and appear to have no problem relating to your peers. I also spoke at length to Mr. Asumio who has advised me that you have passed all the benchmark control tests he's given to you. Your mutation is perfectly under your conscious control."

It was really weird listening to the Sister talk about this stuff. In her habit, she looked like she'd be more comfortable talking about... well, nun stuff. Whatever it was that nuns talked about when they weren't praying. She watched the Sister's lips move for a minute before she realised she was supposed to still be listening.

"... cannot bring your marks up to a minimum grade average, I am afraid we will have to transfer you to another school. One that specialises in remedial instruction."

"What? Heyla?"

"Really, Tara. While St. Joseph's does its best for all its students, there are some things we are simply not set up to help with. You need more personalised attention in the scholastic areas of achievement and while you have been recommended for a number of those programs here, your attendance and effort have been, quite frankly, sporadic at best. After discussion with the Headmaster, we have come to the conclusion that it may be best for you to attend elsewhere if you cannot show that you can meet the school's requirements. Your powers are no longer a determining factor in your continued enrollment and we only want what's best for you in the long term."

Send her away from St. Joseph's? The reaction was gut deep and just as swiftly cut off.

"St. Joseph's will, of course, maintain formal guardianship of you until you turn of age but your attendance may be better served elsewhere, possibly at Korvus who run an excellent remedial program."

Send her away from St. Joseph's?

The rest of the lecture went by in a daze. When she was finally dismissed she nodded her agreement, promised faithfully to do better, to try harder. She walked out of the room without looking back, not really thinking of anything at all.

Send her away?

__________

She sat at the clever little desk wedged at the foot of her bed. She'd hunched her shoulders against the clicking of Summer's keyboard but it didn't stop the noise from driving into the base of her skull. Whatever the other girl was writing, it had to be good to judge by the self satisfied smack of each key. Probably some dramatic editorial or other that Summer wouldn't post, all freaked out after the last one had blown up so bad.

The quad was half gloom, dim enough that the dusty swing lamp made a noticeable arc of light on her homework. Two hours had yielded a half page of careful writing. She flipped the front of the textbook over. Civilization, Then and Now. Socials homework; they were supposed to give three parallels between ancient Greek law and current Paragon reforms. Problem was, she hadn't done any research into the statutes in the city and half the words in the text she didn't understand anyways.

She managed to crib about this much by comparing words out her painful memory and sounding out a few more, but for the last twenty minutes she'd stopped even pretending she'd get any further. She flipped the pencil between her fingers.

The door opened and she looked; just Erika. The other girl tossed her pack carelessly onto her bed, looking over at her quadmates with her usual non committal expression. Her glance fell on the scattering of paper.

"Getting anywhere, Snowflake?"

Stasis grinned, feeling something tighten ominously. "Are you kidding?" She leaned back, tipping the chair onto two legs and chucking the pencil at her headboard. Careful. "I'm going to have to say that Bailey ate my homework again. That poor dog is going to gain sixty pounds by the end of the year, I swear."

"Maybe if you took the time to read your assignment, you'd do better." Erika didn't seem inclined to argue about it though, throwing herself on her bed and reaching for a pair of headphones. Stasis looked at her homework; the awkward, cramped handwriting and suddenly felt like she was choking. She stood abruptly, causing the sound of Summer's keyboard to stop in irritation. She crammed the papers into the single drawer, tossing the textbook after it.

"You guys are boring. I'm gonna go get some air."

"I'm not covering you again if you're gone after curfew."

"Thanks, Raedar. You're all heart, you know that?"

"Kisses."

She went out the window for the hell of it and to annoy the brunette. She balanced on the sill, feeling the sharp breeze strike her face. The central quad was quiet enough. She turned and grabbed the eave, hauling herself up with the ease of never forgotten practice.

Sent away.

Erika would probably declare it a national holiday.

[Stasis Kiss]

She sat cross legged on the roof.

She'd turned her comm off so she wouldn't be tempted to talk to anybody and felt sort of self righteous about it. Really, she was going to do her best. She'd weighed all the books open with pieces of gravel on the pages, cradled the three ring binder on her lap. She'd done the math stuff first; it was hard but at least she felt she could get somewhere with it and it felt nice to be able to write down an answer she was mostly sure was right. Numbers weren't so bad. Numbers at least stayed put where you told them to and didn't slide all over the place. She'd written down each completed solution with a flourish, pressing the graphite onto the page, hoping that maybe neatness would garner an extra mark or two.

She'd tackled Biology next with grim determination. That had gone a lot less well. She wasn't sure she'd gotten even half of it right because she'd had to guess a bunch of times. There were a lot of big words in Biology that didn't make any sense at all. It was easier when the text showed pictures but there weren't a lot of pictures in this chapter. Just trees of things relating to other things. She'd kept one finger on the names and tried to write them down in her binder without making a mistake before painstakingly trying to match up the characteristics of each major branch. She'd at least remembered to talk to Jukebox after class so she knew what she was supposed to do. It was just hard, that's all. Hopefully she'd got some of it right.

Still, she'd finished that sheet too and then moved onto English, her last homework assignment.

She puzzled out the instruction. "Please turn in a 'stream of consciousness' piece, to illustrate to yourself your own creative process. There is no word count requirement. This is to be submitted by no later than Friday's class."

"Stream of what?" she said aloud. The breeze picked it from her lips and whipped it away which felt about right. What was she supposed to do here? Write something, okay, she'd figured that out but what exactly?

She'd been avoiding this one. Its not like there was a text she could crib whole sentences out of. She'd asked casually around the halls this morning, but it seemed like everybody had mostly got theirs written already and nobody had really said anything about what they'd actually done; at least nothing she'd understood.

She put the binder down as gently as if it was glass and stretched, one long muscle at a time. She pretended she was Mr. Stretch, thinking about relaxing. Mr. Asumio had taught them this technique, because impacted muscle fibres tightened and being loose could help keep you from getting a huge charley horse in the middle of a fight. Nobody wanted one of those; they hurt almost more than anything else. It was kind of comforting to think only about her body moving and she wiggled her toes in her boots.

She tucked her knees up eventually and rested her her chin on the impromptu platform. She watched the air skirl around the loose pages in her binder, flipping them back and forth.

This was just stupid. What was the point? She'd never pass this class. Not for all the tea in china could she write something that would help by Friday. Her eyes were pale and blank and defeated.

Stupid words. Stupid homework. Stupid girl.

[Stasis Kiss]

Most people are only born once.

Sounds sort of stupid, doesn't it? Of course you're only born once, that's how it works. You live, you die and somebody somewhere eventually gets around to counting the coup from the middle. Only... not me. Somehow, not me.

The name is Overbrook but in reality it's Faultline. Pulled apart and crazy cracked down the middle by a guy who thought he knew exactly what he was doing, just like the rest of us. Although what do I know, maybe he did know. Maybe it really was supposed to be exactly like this; all messed up like another Hollowing, only this time perfectly on purpose.

They're rebuilding it now, piece by piece, trying to fit it back together again which is sort of strange when you think about it. You can't really fix something that's broken that bad because it'll always want come apart again where it's weak. Still, I guess people have to try.

It's quiet on the upper roads near the east Wall, there's hardly any traffic at all this afternoon. Every so often a truck goes by like a rumbling question, shaking the ground. Even when I can't see them I can feel the tremble under my boots as I walk along, kicking stones on the sidewalk, kicking dirt, trying to kick out an answer.

The Pinnacle was empty and for the life of me I can't figure out if I'm disappointed or relieved. I sure could have used the distraction, somebody else with all their problems which will be nothing like mine. It wouldn't even have mattered who or what because it's not like I'd really be listening, would I? Well, if it was somebody I liked, maybe. Just to be able to hang out and listen to anything else but the inside of my own head.

I'm pretty good at figuring out things to say that sound good even when I'm not really there. I'm a pro at it by this point. I can talk a mile a minute when I get going, faster than blazes, faster than most people can keep up, faster than most people even want to deal with and that's the whole point, isn't it? Scowl at the ground but it doesn't care in the slightest that I've got ice for brains. Too much talking, nowhere near enough listening and who's fault is that anyways?

Fault, fault, fault, all my fault. I have to laugh because damned if that's not sort of funny. There's a gridwalk to the left leading across the top of one of the many levees and I take it, letting my new boots ring on the steel. Its a carefree sound, strong, confident. The sluggish water is held back here in a series of cascading steps, carefully restricted all the way down to the main river where it flows free again. Well at least as free as it can be, heading to the wider port of Independence. The grid grows a handrail and becomes a matching staircase, heading down. Its easy enough keep going because at least the feet are moving even if the brain doesn't really want to.

Are we friends? I'd managed to blurt that one out with the time all but gone, courage that I'm supposed to have so much of but can never find for this kind of thing, never when I need it most. It's a simple question or it's supposed to be, it has a yes or no answer. Are we friends, Jai? Just ask, right, just ask and who cares if it sounds desperate, if it's all I can think about. Just say the words and let him tell me what what's going on like he always does. Only of course it's never that easy, not with the vaudun.

Because one person can't answer for 'we', can they? And he didn't even pretend, all dark and quiet. An answer that was only half of what I wanted to hear, just his side, saying friends, sure, I'm your friend. What is that supposed to mean anyways? That I'm not? Not his friend or not mine? Okay, it's what I asked but it's not what I meant, not what I was trying so hard to say, what he had to have known I was fumbling so hard to figure out.

I can feel anger, like always, a muted echo under my heart like the tremble under my heels from yet another distant truck. That's why it's my fault, why it's always going to be my fault. Anger is always easier than understanding. Anger is always easier than just about anything. C'mon Stas, why didn't you just ask what you really wanted to know? How could that answer hurt any worse than this one?

Like Raeder's last comment, her stupid last minute dig. Don't fuck it up again, Stasis. As if I'd meant to do it before, as if it had been something I'd planned. As if it's something I have any control over.

I hate feeling helpless. I hate feeling like no matter what I do, no matter how much courage I figure I've got and no matter what gamble I take, I can't make it come out like it's supposed to. Nothing matters until it matters and then it matters too much. How come I can't be like.. like... I don't know. Kali maybe, who dated half the class before she went ga-ga over Jack. She always had a ton of boyfriends. I need a ton of boyfriends.

Except I don't want a ton of boyfriends. Do I? God, this is so stupid. Hop over the last landing to crunch down onto the ground with both heels.

Down at the bottom it's definitely colder with the sun trying to reach curious fingers down and through the overhead girders. Every fifteen feet it feels like there's a fence or warning sign, marking off the city planner's grand vision in little squares. There's more people down here than than were above although I guess that's not too strange since this is where the action is, after all.

Pick my way closer to the river and there's a barge moored out on a long jetty. Something in the shape of it reminds me of another place and the sound of crying voices in the fog. Down here you'd think you'd smell the water more but its mostly oil and rust, the scent of old concrete from the buildings they're trying to save and those they're trying to bring all the way down.

I gave up a while ago trying to figure out if the one I used to jump from is still standing. It doesn't matter anymore really, just another thing I can't go back to.

I'm walking by yet another section of construction when something, I don't even know what catches my eye, pulls me up. I know that profile, don't I?

"Heyla?" I'm already calling out before I realize maybe it's not a great idea. But the guy turns and sure enough, it's him. The moped he's sitting on dies finally, sputtering into aggrieved silence. "Well heyla, Quasimodo! What are you doing down here?" There's something wrong because it looks like he grew a hunchback since the game last week.

Nigel grins, peeling the tacky white helmet off. His hair is plastered to one side so for a second he sort of looks like he just woke up, at least until he runs a hand through it, messing it back up again. "Making some money." He hefts a strap across his chest. The bizarre looking hump suddenly resolves itself into a backpack with plastic tubes that rattle. "Dropping some stuff off. What about you?" He looks up and back, as if automatically trying to see the annexed hot tub by the Pinnacle.

I already feel awkward. I don't really know Nigel that well. I mean, we hung around that one afternoon but the less said about that the better. I know he's dating one of the cheerleaders but I couldn't even tell you which one.

"Ah hey, just following my feet around." Wince as the automatic phrase hits my lips, half me, half Trinidad and how long is it going to take until I stop saying it, stop hearing myself slurring when I'm happy, when I'm startled? "I didn't know you had a job."

"Well, I don't actually. Friend of mine asked if I'd cover for today, he's got some sort of family thing. I could use the cash so why not? I've been up and down these elevators all day." He pats the moped as if its a good dog, swinging his leg off. He stands there for a second, hesitating, probably trying to figure out if he should walk over or not. I raise a hand. He's got things to do and doesn't need me in his face.

A big truck somewhere up on the road rumbles by and the ground trembles. A fine dust billows up, casting a haze for a second.

Then a second, larger truck goes by and its not a truck at all, it hasn't been a truck all along. The ground shifts a half step to the left and drops.

Nigel staggers, the moped losing its balance entirely. I windmill, going down to one knee.

The fear is instantaneous. Look up, heartstruck cold. The world isn't supposed to do that. The ground isn't supposed to be able to move like that.

For a heartbeat, two, there's nothing. I can taste the breath in the back of my throat. I'm crazy conscious of the buttressed steel above me. The rising construction, the depth of the hole I'm standing in. Holy, holy. I can feel individual grains of dirt under my spread fingers as if I'm trying to hold everything together.

Something sighs, a sound that's hard to place.

Get up. Get up. It's just a tremor. Just a little earthquake. No big deal. Get up. I stand, knees bent like I'm not sure. I'm not sure. Look over at Nigel who's face has to be as white as mine.

"You feel that?" Stupid question.

The world shrugs its answer. This time the ground finds me before I can do anything about it, hard between the shoulders. Far above I can see the sway and shiver as things that aren't supposed to flex like rubber, do. There's a faraway noise, like popcorn. Rat. Atat. Ata. Rivets popping, I think. A cat crying which is the shear of metal somewhere.

Something grumbles. It's right out of my nightmares. Deep and wounded, the resonance shakes everything. I scramble up, not wanting to be on my back, not wanting to be helpless. I know that sound.

This time it's the levee breaking.

Up and up and up again, the concrete walls rise in steps. It's meant to hold back this little water until it can be drained safely, until the Faultline can be swallowed entirely by the distant Overbrook. One of the smooth curves is broken by a wandering dark line, widening in a smile even as I watch. An edge gives a little more, crumbles into a grin and water shoulders itself impatiently into the gap.

Funny the things that cross your mind when you realize you're going to die.

I used to have to touch things, you know. I used to have to be in contact with things, put my hands on what I wanted. Strip it bare in order to be what my fucked up body tells me it needs to be.

I used to be helpless to it. I still am, maybe.

But I don't have to touch things anymore.

I've spread my fingers again as if I can make things still. Stop moving. Don't move. Be silent. I don't want to die.

Jai might have been hurt if I hadn't realized I didn't have to touch. So beautiful, his face at that moment.

"Stasis!"

The first shocking cascade hits me. I can't see it but I know that ice is spreading up the concrete, a flimsy tissue barrier. Blow out breath that is suddenly cold enough to cause scars and whirl, punch down into the ground. Will I cause another earthquake? Yes. Maybe. I don't know, but it has to go somewhere. I can't hold it. There's too much water.

"Stasis! We've got to get out of here!"

Nigel. He's too close. Edging too close with the snapping white on the ground, sudden frost like a warning marker. My voodoo circle. There's forgotten, frightened lightning arcing between his hands, sparking in his eyes.

"Stas!"

It's breaking. The levee is too big, too big for just me, the pressure coming to bear on the one place that can't hold it anymore, the ice I just made already disappearing under the strain. Everything wants to break along its fault. I can hear myself screaming and I grab, pull, seal it again, as much as I can. Discharge it without finesse into the air and the shockwave ripples.

"Nigel!" So much power. "Nigel!" I don't want to die. Not like this. Not again. "Get help!"

I can hear him cursing, high and scared. Then he bolts, gone.

It's weird but I can actually hear myself breathing. You'd think you wouldn't notice something like that but I do.

Everyone always thinks the ice is the cause. It's what they see, of course. Everybody believes in what they see. Ice cubes like birds, watch me pull them out of the air like a magician's trick. Spread my fingers and sight through them like I can actually see what I'm doing. Haul a fist back and the red flower blooms, flares into life.

Ice is the effect. Raw power is the cause.

Another section flash freezes, digging implacably cold fingers into the concrete. It's stupid. I'm destroying as much as the water is, each time it washes away the latticed crystals the hole is going to be bigger. But I don't know how to do anything else. Punch down, dissipating energy into the only place that can take it, take it up again with the other hand. Void. Pull.

Fight.

Rocks howl at the base of the dam, rise up to smash themselves into the breach in an orgy of excitement, smear into mud. Somebody. Earth mage, somebody is trying to help. Ice and earth. Plug the hole. Race the crack up the wall, struggling to hold it.

Eat more power, the dancing of the smallest things frozen to feed me, no more energy left for them to move. Volatile water, so easy to break apart, peel into pieces. Ice. More ice. Seal the rocks that rise to meet me, mortar them in.

Fight.

Win.

We can't win.

There's too much. Too much water, too much pressure. Too much fault to fix. Still, you have to try, right?

It's foregone. The crack streaks up like a zipper and that's it. Look up and I can see it crumbling, shredding, coming apart like confetti. It's almost... almost beautiful. Things you can't control have their own perfection. Just like anger.

I hope Nigel made it out.

One breath.

Two.

The last thing I remember is thinking this is not how I want to die.

Jai, I don't want to die.

___________________

Only it's never that easy, is it?

The Girl That Died And Lived Again And Died Again and sure, I'm still alive now. I'm not Lycia to tell you anything from after the end, Cinderella married and hating her mother in law or in Lish's case trying to dodge Adamastor who's apparently some sort of undead lech. That's two lives now, right? Somebody's counting out there, I'm sure.

They say a couple of people died in the tremor, one when a shaft collapsed only nobody knew he was down there. I hope it was quick, that's all I can say. The Overbrook itself held, of course because they built that to last. I don't even want to think about how much worse it could have been.

They say I can go home tomorrow.

When I've got nothing else to do apparently I heal up awful quick. Relentless machine of a body, pulling energy from the smallest places, all the time, making things stop so that I can keep going. If you stand too close to me, you might notice that it's a little cold. It's not usually so bad of course but at the moment the nurses don't really want to hang out in my room any longer than they have to.

They don't know, of course. I'm just one of a bunch of people that got busted up a little when the dam broke and flooded the lower level of Faultline. Wrong place, wrong time and I'm good with that.

Thing is, we held the levee, me and him. Long enough anyways that most of the crews got out of the fault, one guy actually forcing some Arachnos pilot to fly him out by threatening him with a hammer. He made the news - the hammer guy that is, not the Arachnos guy. I thought that was pretty fascinating stuff myself. The things people do when they think they're not going to make it.

I still don't know who the earth mage was. If he's alive I'm sure he has no idea who I am either.

Look over and it's Nigel in the doorway and I bet the magazine under his arm is Motorcycle Weekly. I hope his cheerleader girlfriend realizes that she's going be eating at fast food joints for the next year instead of going out for nice dinners.

Pretend I don't notice the gloves and the sweater. It's really not my fault I can't get out of here until tomorrow.

And it's not like I can tell myself to stop healing.

[Stasis Kiss]

"Tell me again."

It's sort of weird. I mean, okay, I have heard this story how many times now? But somehow I never get tired of hearing it just like he never seems to get tired of telling it. I suppose that all works out in the wash somewhere.

I lean back on the hard tile and stare at the stars I can barely see, fingers laced in my hair. I don't have to look anymore to know the expression on his face as he thinks about how to start it.

Each time I ask him to tell it a little bit differently because each time I want to know something else. Maybe pretend something else. I want Pertelote to do something, this time. I want to hear that she helps, even a little bit and that it makes a difference. Don't ask me why, I don't know exactly.

Well, that's not really true. I even said it earlier, discovering it coiling through through the words I've been winding around both of us for hours, working closer and closer to what's true. I keep expecting him to be Jai, I'd said, blurting it out like a confession although as soon as I'd said it, it seemed too obvious to mention. That's the reason that this time I want Pertelote to be more. I want to hear that he loves her the best not only because she's beautiful but because she's at least as smart and clever as he is. That's important to me tonight.

It's such a great story and I probably interrupt way more often than I ought to. Rooster doesn't seem to mind though, picking up the skein of it each time without pause. Halfway through we're interrupted as feathers cup air and bare feet alight on the cold patio. Nova's back and he sits without speaking, listening as the story finishes. Its so easy to turn my head, watch him through half-slitted eyes and tell myself he doesn't know I'm looking.

Does he know this story is about him, somehow? So he's not Jai. He'll never be Jai. They are about as opposite as two people can get even; all gold and white where the vaudun is black and velvet, all noise and commotion where Trinidad is quiet and still. That's not such a bad thing, is it? I told him not to be serious about anybody, because he wasn't... wasn't ready, wasn't human, couldn't possibly understand. Maybe I've just been trying to tell myself. It doesn't have to be serious. I'm not human either.

Would it hurt anything if I don't care so very much? Could I simply not look each time he kisses another girl, pretend it doesn't mean anything? Would it mean anything? He says the things that make me feel like I'm special, at least for that very moment. It doesn't have to be serious.

I feel new-made. Water christened, drowned and reborn. I ran to be clear two night ago, with Rooster who sits now with my foot in his lap, who tells me my favorite story every time I ask for it. Who understands maybe why I need it. I'd actually been scared then, like I might have lost something in the water, some fine edge of all the things I am. So it was silly, I'm often messed up like that.

It's not like I could lose it though, not with Rooster; a certain perfection which is my own personal faultline. But it doesn't have to mean anything serious either. It's only that I can't find words sometimes and have to be furious to find them again. Rooster knows, he's always known.

So I stare at the sky and he tells it like I asked him to, and Pertelote digs a hole with her sharp claws and catches the fox when he tries to run. She helps, she's brave enough to see what needs doing. That makes me feel good and so it's just a dumb story, it's not like I have to explain it to anybody. His thumb rubbing circles on my ankle feels good, old familiar motion.

It occurs to me out of nowhere that he's not Jai either.

[Stasis Kiss]

"Well shit, Mike, we gotta have something for that hole on the third page. What about that thing you were working on, that bit with the guy tying himself to the front steps of City Hall?"

Michael Richards, star reporter of the Paragon Parable, circulation 20,000, scratched his left ankle and thought about it. "Nah," he finally drawled. "That guy was a fruitcake. Nobody wants to read about some fruitcake smelling bad for three days." He inspected the scab that was left over from an adventure that involved a trashcan, a camera and a lucky dive off a fire escape. "I got that thing with the health inspection records on El Mex," he offered eventually. "It's not ready but I could rush it."

Peter Dashwood, editor of the Parable, was under no illusions about the star quality of the guy across his desk. ''Rush it' likely meant 'make the rest up'. He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, the springs squeaking. "Well, that's just fucking great. Two columns of nothing on the third page and we don't even have enough advertisers to do anything with it." He was desperate enough to actually consider letting Richards 'rush it', damn the lawsuits. "What about that shake up over in Overbrook? You got anything on that?"

That was sore point. The article that had run four days ago in the Herald about James Ciates had included a not-too-grainy shot of the Arachnos flyer that had supposedly airlifted him out of the danger zone, and an artist's conceptual sketch of the hammer that had been used to affect the rescue. Dashwood had pinned it to Richard's desk in a frustrated fit of temper. Richards had returned it with a moustache drawn on the hammer in black marker. They hadn't actually spoken about it yet.

"Well, I got this thing, only you know... I haven't tracked down all my sources." The scab was finally released from its torment and the reporter shifted in the seat, pulling up his other leg. Peter made a mental note to tip the cleaning staff a little extra so they wouldn't cancel the contract.

Tracking sources was code speak for having a ton of nothing but receipts for local donuts shops - large coffee, two muffins, hold the damned mayo. Still, he had to ask.

"What thing?"

"Well, it's like this, Pete." The editor sat up then, leaning ominously forward over the desk. The reporter hurried on. "The dam that broke... there are some eyewitnesses who say it didn't cave in right away. You know, that something was stopping it."

"Or somebody."

"Yeah, that's what I was wondering too. Or somebody. Nobody's come forward saying they did it, but that doesn't mean much around here. I've been snooping around, talking to some people I know at the Cygnus, seeing if anybody saw anything more. That'd be a pretty good scoop, I'm thinking. Everybody loves to hear about people getting saved, especially when I'm hearing that the damage down there is into the seven digits."

Dashwood thought about it, looking with jaundice at the face that he'd been cutting a paycheque to for the last four years. It didn't reassemble itself into the face of the reporter at the Herald who'd done that rescue piece. People reading about another hero doing what heroes did? Yeah, that'd sell papers.

Still, two dead columns of space. He made a decision.

"Find out."

[Stasis Kiss]

"Hey. Heyla, Jai."

Say it, say it now, you've practised this in your head a thousand times. Tell him you came down to see what he's doing, couldn't stay away, no, don't say that part, just tell him you were passing by and hey, fancy that, he's here and maybe he wants to do something, go hang out, go for a coffee, there has to be someplace open around here where we can sit and talk like always, like we used to, I'd forgotten how dark his eyes are, like drowning...

"Ah gyul, hello. I was jus' leavin' de party bein' dat ev'ryone got all quiet like."

Just leaving? Oh, he's going, he's leaving and I'm too late just like always, he probably thinks I'm chasing him and I'm not, I was going to my quad or at least that's what I told Nova and I meant it, only I ended up here by the library and I didn't mean it really, it just happened oh sure Stasis, you just happened to walk right by the library when you knew he was in there and I'm not buying it for a minute and I bet you neither is he and ayuh, he looks so handsome with that half smile and you know if you step just that little bit closer you're going to be able to tell what soap he used, if you reach you can touch his face only you'd better not do that, keep your hands in your pockets...

"Oh? I was just passing by, I'm on my way to go to sleep, heyla. Didn't know you were here."

Holy, why did I say that? You're not going to sleep even though that's what you told Nova, why else are you here anyways but the fact that you heard his voice on the comm, because he didn't sound upset or mad at all, just saying hello, maybe even that he was teasing you some and maybe that means he does want to see you, maybe he wouldn't mind if you came by and said hello back and maybe ask if he wants to hang out, nothing scary, just be together for awhile. Just say it, it'll be okay, all he can say is no and then you can say well, it doesn't matter because you were tired anyways although maybe he'll say yes and Founders is too far away and its cold outside but it doesn't bother me any and I'm sure we can find something close, this is Paragon, not some stick backwoods town...

"Gon' tuh sleep? Well, alright den, mebbe I see yuh latuh. G'night."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Jai."
__________

What can she do then but leave? What else can she do but swallow all the words that never made it to her lips and do what she said she was going to do, go to her quad, throw herself across the dark bed, bury her face in the pillow.

It kills her that he sounded like it didn't matter at all.

[Stasis Kiss]

It was like walking into a mirror.

She looked around, blinking in the semi-gloom cast by the single lamp. There was Aeon's bed, Angel's, Erika's. Every one of them empty just like hers. There was nothing out of place but it was all out of phase at the same time. It was like she'd wandered into a quad that just happened to look like the one she'd left twelve hours ago. The deju vu was intense enough to be dizzying.

The white wings of battered wire and fabric trailed from one fisted hand. It had been amazingly difficult to climb the stairs, navigating the walkway by memory more than sight. It felt... she felt like the world was shaking. Maybe it was. Music trembled along every muscle.

She'd lost the lower part of the mask somewhere in the last couple hours and she couldn't even remember exactly when. She'd kissed Erika, so some time before that. Kissed Erika? She peeled off the eye mask, pulling off the white wig at the same time. Her head felt a thousand pounds lighter if no more clear.

Stasis stumbled toward the bathroom.

She didn't want to look at the reflection in case she didn't recognize anything there either so she kept her head down, running cold, blessed water into the white sink to scrub the cloying paint away. Her fingers were sticky and didn't want to come clean. Smudges of green, rust dappled her hands. A vision of her fingers on brown skin surfaced, dark eyes and joy. Andrew's face as he'd tried to keep up. Nova's laugh fading in and out. She stripped it all off, shedding memory, balancing on one foot to peel away the clinging tights. She remembered to drop the smeared towels in the hamper.

Walking back into the quad again, everything was still shivering with distortion. She was so tired that she was actually cold, her naked skin tingling. The wings were crouched on her bed, glimmering randomly as if alive.

She moved then to trail a hand over the sleek curves, admiring the cloth that had started to fray away from the frame. The dents and warps from the hours of abuse.

Hours when she'd been somebody else, something else. Not Stasis that everybody knew, not even Tara who almost nobody knew. She'd been madness, all right. Music and bacchanal and carnival like something solid enough to eat, sweet enough to drink down like honey.

Whoever she'd been had kissed Erika somewhere in the fury, a reckless, impulsive urge. Warm lips and startled breath under hers. Surprise but no anger. No denial in that heartbeat instant before the dancing had pulled them apart again.

And whoever she'd been had seen Jai later with dark fingers linked into Erika's, leading her away from the edge of the crowd.

Dancing still walked along her bones, the memory of sound beat against her heart, timpani against her ears. She picked up the illusion wings, fragile and damaged and still beautiful for all that they were coming apart now. They'd held together long enough.

She hung them on the equally damaged armor on the wall, hooking the pack into the wicked hole splitting the breastbone. They glittered there like some weird sort of butterfly.

She crawled into bed and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow she'd be Stasis. Tomorrow she'd forget all the things she felt.

Music. Pain from hours of sweat soaked effort. She could feel everything shutting down relentlessly.

The kiss, the returning, secret pressure. Jai dancing as if nothing terrible could ever happen.

As if the last six months had never happened.

Jai and Erika.

She dreamed of madness and silver dust fell from her fingers into a sea made of pure salt.

[Stasis Kiss]

Dear Nova;

That's as far as she's managed to get in half an hour of staring at the sheet, rocking the chair back on two legs like a metronome. Just the name which doesn't help in the slightest, doesn't give her anything to work from except the welter of feeling which she just can't figure out how to sort into words, let alone words that will help.

Dear Nova, I have no idea so please don't ask alright, please forget I ever existed, pretend you never knew me and I never knew you and maybe it'll all be okay again.

Now that's honest, something she'd probably just blurt if she'd been cornered. Then of course he'd be hurt and probably angry because it might be honest but it's nothing close to a real answer. Who the hell starts these damn things with "Dear" anyways? He's not her business partner.

Dayball, of course I haven't forgotten the last six months which is why I'm so busy avoiding you because I have no idea how to say anything that doesn't start with I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking and I panicked and I'd rather just make it your fault anyways.

She grimaces and thumps the chair back down to the ground. Now that's just too much damned honesty.

Nova, I'm sorry that I hurt you because the reason is you made me feel like I'm still special but it's the wrong kind of special and it makes me feel bad afterwards, like I'm hurting both of us with what you feel because I don't feel it exactly back and it's messed up, I know and I told you being human wasn't easy.

Okay, that really wasn't any better. He'd be confused and dizzy after trying to make sense of that and she was pretty sure she was just confusing herself too. Maybe honesty wasn't the way to go with this. Maybe she should just make something up that sounded good and he'd have the answer he wanted and she'd feel guilty, sure, but then maybe he'd never write another stupid letter like this and she'd be off the hook.

Hey dayball, yeah, well, you know that thing I told you was never going to happen? It's never....

Nova, would you just give it up? Don't say you want to know what's going on because we never even got started and if you'd just freaking....

"Stasis, it's a good thing I know you've got a brain made of blonde. Otherwise I'd be pretty pissed at you for making me stand around thinking you were actually going to remember to show."

She swivels and it's Jester with her head in the door, morose makeup brightened this evening by the addition of a blood red tear on her cheek. She groans.

"Ayuh! Holy, is that *tonight*?"

"No, I'm here just to fuck you over." The bizarrely striped stocking cap bobs on her friend's head. "No shit, it's tonight. Get moving, wouldja? If we jet, we'll still make it."

She forgets everything else in the scramble for her boots, grabbing money to stuff into the front of her jeans. She decides suddenly that she isn't taking the jacket she doesn't actually need. So it's going to be cold and people will wonder if she's a freak. Tonight she doesn't much care, let them stare. She's at the door in three long strides, Jester already disappearing in front of her.

On the desk the letter waits with its incriminating, helpless beginning.

----------

It's late when she gets back.

She sits down at the desk and stares at the handwriting before finally picking up the pen again.

Dear Nova;

We're friends.

That's all that really matters. You have to move forward because I can't.

- Tara

She wonders if she'll have the courage to put it in his locker in the morning.

[Stasis Kiss]

Nothing like a funeral to make you feel alive.

The lyric floated through her mind. It seemed kind of appropriate, even if it wasn't as if Erika had actually died.

She might as well have. Stasis folded her arms across her chest, not caring if that made her look like she was trying to hold something in. She stared out the window because her other choice was to stare instead at the empty, mocking corner of the quad where her roommate had been. The bed was stripped, the mattress bare, the walls blank without the cut out magazine articles pinned up, the picture of the pop star that Erika had drawn a questionable addition onto with a black marker. Reft and bereft, waiting for a new occupant. Just like before. Just like always.

Stasis felt her shoulders start to hunch and defiantly threw them back, shoving her hands in her pockets instead. It didn't matter. So what if Erika had finished all her courses, had worked hard to earn the right to move on, move away? Leaving her behind. That's what people did. Left and didn't look back.

The corner of her mobile mouth hooked in a savage grin. Each time, it hurt. Each time she told herself she'd never care again, never get interested again, remind herself over and over that she couldn't count on anybody but herself. Each time, sucked in and laid out to dry.

Jai. Another hurt that wouldn't, couldn't heal, wouldn't decently scar over and become just something to talk about at a party like an adventure that had taken a wrong turn. She took the long way to science class every day now so she wouldn't pass him, wouldn't have any opportunity to see his profile, see the flash of a white smile meant now for somebody, something else.

More than anything, she wanted to just smile back and feel nothing. Not yet. Not yet, not yet. But maybe soon.

And there'd been Nova, who'd spent so much time wearing down her fears, patient and coaxing. So careful to work around the damage. She'd been so grateful that she'd half fallen in love for that alone, for the warmth and the shy look in his eyes. She couldn't get away from him at all now, turning corners into conversations where girls gleefully traded stories, innuendo, salacious rumor. She'd had to retreat so far from the pain of the betrayal that she'd all but stopped talking. Smile and murmur, walk away, that's what she did, what she should have always done.

And now Erika.

It should have hurt the least of all. Her aloof, incomprehensible, frustrating quadmate. Instead she felt sick with the emptiness.

Te veo.

For a moment she felt the cold touch of metal at her back, the mortal sound of her own angry words in her mouth, the dark acceptance in hidden eyes. A fourth stake, pinning her entirely to the altar for the sacrifice called friendship.

No. No more. She was done with it. She didn't care who moved into her quad, took over Erika's place, where Lycia had once been, where Kris had once stood and argued with her, trying to make her understand that some things were impossible. She should have listened then. Better late than never, wasn't that the saying?

Stasis turned on the heel of her boot and looked at the empty bed. Pale hair fell into her eyes and she raked it back.

She had to get out of here. If she stood here any longer, something bad was going to happen.

Something very. Very. Bad.

Nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home.

There was a lyric for everything these days. That one at least she knew exactly how to deal with.

[Stasis Kiss]

There's a certain satisfaction to the taste of blood in your mouth.

I can feel splinters trying to dig in between my shoulders, the slats of the crate I'm using for cover hard against my back. Lick my teeth again, probing cautiously because I'm pretty sure at least one is loose. The pain merges with everything else, the dull throb from temple to chin where I didn't, couldn't get out of the way fast enough.

If I had time, I'd care. As it is I'm just happy I can still see out of that eye because having a blind side right now would really suck.

It's not polite to spit so I swallow instead, warm and salt and copper. It's strangely comforting, probably because it's so familiar. Wonder idly what Conrads would make of that although now that I think about it, probably nothing. I bet he's heard it all at least twice by now. Liking the taste of your own blood probably wouldn't even make him twitch.

Stare down between my legs through the catwalk, trying to find another wind somewhere. Four more points. That's all I need for this round. Four more lousy points if I can just hold it together, find the line. Risk the distraction as I rake the hair off my face, trying to dislodge the sweat soaked mess. My thighs are trembling from the strain of the climb and the crouch I'm in.

My tongue touches the tooth again, nagging at it.

"Give it up, Kiss! Kiss, Kisekae!" The shout bounces up from the floor to strike like sparks off the metal rafters in this filthy, supposed to be abandoned warehouse. The sound crawls like spiders down the pale hair on my arms. "I've got you now! As soon as you move, as soon as you breathe, I'm going to bury you eight feet down and stomp your ass!"

I don't even have to look. He's busy congratulating himself for actually cornering me this time, a shit kicking grin stretching the metal that takes up half his face. I can hear him stalking around on the floor. Close my eyes, listening to the rattle and slide of the things they've welded onto him, bolted down, replaced in their entirety. Where? Left? Close to the wall, I think. Something reverberates, metal on metal.

"Nothing to say? Come on, baby doll! Come to daddy and pucker up."

Whatever else they've done to him, the gloat in his voice is pure human, ripe with the anticipation of it. He probably has a hard on, thinking about smashing me under his hands. That's assuming they haven't grafted something else there instead.

Another bead of perspiration slips down and it's like a coy finger over the aching bruise on my face. He almost had me the last time. He had me the time before. He hasn't got me on this run yet and it's four for him, four for me and all I need is just one more lucky break. Just one more.

"Kisekae! Don't tell me I've got you scared!"

Screw this.

"Scared? Of you?! You couldn't catch a dog with a crippled leg if it was tied up!"

I can almost hear the intake of breath, the roar of reply.

Screw this all to hell and back.

I don't even make the decision because suddenly I'm up and moving. The pain of the abused muscles in my legs translates into vector, momentum, into the sound of ocean in my ears.

The target is forty feet away. Forty short feet away, that's all, snapshot memory from the desperate scramble that kept me in the game, that got me up where somebody without hands can't climb.

He had me pegged just a little bit wrong, a small mercy, a tiny gift that I'm not too proud to take. He's half turned so I can see the human line of his jaw framed through the curving metal looping around his shoulder. Race along the catwalk, spring to the girder that spans most of the roof.

I've covered nearly a third of the distance before he hears it, me. The spin is weirdly graceful even as both arms rise. The incoherent shout is excited enough to punch a hole in my gut.

The discharge-tang of electricity arcs and the world is suddenly just a blue halo of afterimages. I manage maybe five more feet before I slip and the fall becomes a dive. Lash out with one hand to hold on, swing for just a second. Pray desperately and drop.

Fifteen feet, I'm nearly on top of the goal.

He's nearly on top of me.

Roll to the side as his knee smashes down into the concrete floor. The hiss of the chargers buried in the mass of his forearms sounds like popcorn. I can taste the ozone reek in the back of my throat, I'm so close. Roll again the other way, twisting as his fist comes down.

Up, get up. And I am, boots slick to the rough floor. The target of this game just stares dumbly at me as I launch myself. From the position of his shoulders, his hands are tied to the chair.

Four. Lousy. Points.

My fingers close around his throat just as another bolt of electricity spears me from behind. My hand convulses as everything spasms. This close there's no afterimage, just the hard lock of my jaw as everything sheets white. Something kicks me in the chest like a mule.

Finally come to sprawled on my back, staring at the spots in front of my eyes. His ugly face fills my vision as he leans over which isn't much of an improvement.

In a weird sort of lethargy I look to the side. My hand is still has the red ribbon, the stupid loopy bow they'd tied around the guy's neck frothing between my fingers. Oh, amen. Amen.

I can't help it. I'm grinning as as I look up, even with the tremble deep along my bones from the two shocks I took too damned close together. Grab the arm that reaches down, try and haul myself up. So what if it takes two attempts? Raise the fist with the ribbon.

"Four points! On the board, Gun, mark me down for four!"

"Kiss for four, advance to the next round!" Along the catwalk above there's some shoving at the rail, motion as money changes hands. A trio of Freaks, blue haired, green, yell at me but I can't hear whatever they're on about over the noise. Only one has the Excelsior patch wired in. I watch to make sure my score's recorded because damned if I'll get caught out with that a second time.

"I'm going to kick your ass."

He's more than a foot taller than I am, taller even with the metal spikes in an aggressive wreath.

"Yeah? You tried. Didn't work."

He shoves me hard between the shoulder blades, the residual charge in the metal like the first touch of a flechette, sweet and unexpected.

"Kick. Your. Ass. Kisekae."

Tug my tank top back down again, swiping a shaking hand across the front as if that's going to help with the dirt problem. Toss another grin over my shoulder as I start for the stairs because now it's my turn to watch.

"Not your doll. But feel free to dream about it."