The place Sarah led us to was an old recording studio, one whose walls spoke of decades of being around, like it had been here before Dusklight was even named Dusklight. Filled-in cracks, windows replaced so many times that the frames didn’t match between them, and a door whose paint was completely stripped down. The inside smelled of industrial grade cleaning chemicals, mold that was desperately trying to survive the chemicals, and cig smoke. The floors were printed vinyl that had warped over the years, especially around the old sparse furniture that needed to be reupholstered. We walked up to the second floor, where Sarah stopped us, looking up at something. She pointed to a turned-off light. “No entry if it’s red.” She only did a single knock on the door before opening it and ushering us in. “M, Joseph, this is Quicksilver. Quicksilver, M and Joseph.”
The large chair behind the desk rotated, letting me get a good look at the person behind it. Their black hair was cut short, their lip was adorned with a thick but neat mustache, and when they smiled it was clear their front top row of teeth was a little bit too big for their mouth. “Sarah, darling, why have you brought these two to me?” Their accent sounded English, like how I heard on really old movies that the community grandmother managed to dig up and get running for us kids to watch, which meant they were obviously faking it. England had basically sunk into the sea under the weight of its inadequacy, leaving behind the Celtic Federation in its place, and their accent didn’t come from any of its regions.
“Joseph wanted me to introduce him to you, and I think M and her companion Century are definitely in need of work.” Sarah leaned against the wall near the door, leaving us two to be appraised by Quicksilver.
“Is that so? Well; I know what young Mr. Sanchez is capable of; are you still in contact with the Apostles?” Quicksilver looked right at him, and Joseph shrunk in that moment.
“No, I put that part of my life behind me.” Quicksilver nodded at his reply.
“Shame, darling, a real shame, could have used more gang contacts.” They turned to face me.
“You, though, you are new in town, what can you offer me?” At his question, Century with a practiced motion jumped on my shoulder, positioning herself to be as impressive as possible, while I scratched her chin with my right hand.
“I’m a Bonded Journeyman.” Out in the Dust, such a declaration would earn two things: A modicum of respect, and a level of distrust.
“And that’s supposed to tell me something, darling? That you’re some vagabond from nowhere? Please, do be exact with your skillset.” They waved their hand dismissively, and reached into a drawer for a cig. I sighed.
“I’ve been driving since I could reach the pedals and see past the dashboard. I’ve been trained in using all firearms. I’ve grown up having to improvise. And, specific to me, I’m bonded for life with a Daemon for which I’ve built a custom drone body for her to possess.” They had the common courtesy to at least blow the smoke off to the side after my answer.
“So you’re lugging around an AI that could backstab you at any moment? And trusting it in the process?” Another hit of their cig, another blow of smoke, and another person dismissing my closest relationship.
“Her. Trusting. Her. Century is not an It. My cousin used it/its pronouns and even its Daemon was not an It in the way you’re using the term.” I stepped forward, resting my hands on the desk. “Century has adopted me as her own the moment I called out to her and she’d go through fifty bodies if it meant I would be safe.” I wanted claws in that moment, sharp and lethal, to scratch deep grooves into their desk, to make it explicitly clear with my impact on the world that I would not fuck around with people insulting the one family member I had left.
“No need to be so touchy, darling, you have to understand people don’t trust Daemons and they barely tolerate Angels. Walking around with one as a pet is going to paint people’s perception of you.” I stepped back, Century hissed, and I huffed after they said their spiel. “You will both have to earn my trust, that’s simply how it goes here.” They slid an envelope across the table. “Here’s an easy job, something you should have no trouble doing. The girl wants us to steal the blackmail info her boyfriend holds so she can break up with him.”
It didn’t feel too thick or heavy in my hand; it held a folder inside it, containing two photos, an address and a building plan. “What kind of blackmail is he holding, and why does she want to break up?”
“I wasn’t privy to the answer to your second question, not from her pretty lips at least. The first is simple, though; she stole from Orchard and he has the only proof.” With one last pull they finished their cig, putting it out in a gramophone-shaped trophy that was on their desk, a piece of tape labelled ‘Quicksilver’ stuck over the name of the person who won it.
“Not from her means you know, though, I’m guessing.” I let Century look over the floor map, the address, the faces.
“Let’s just say she might fit into our little neighborhood more than she thought when she hooked up with him. All you need to do is get in, get the blackmail, and get out. Easy enough, I’d say.” Quicksilver was starting another cig, and so with a quick nod I left their office, with Joseph and Sarah behind me.
“Not sure how stealing from a house goes, any time we robbed a caravan it was on the road, doubt any of that skill set applies.” I closed the folder and the envelope and tossed them in the handgun compartment of the car while getting in.
“Hey, M, you didn’t let me look at the info at all.” Joseph was reaching from the back seat, so I passed it to him.
“Right, sorry. Any ideas?” I turned around, resting my arm on the seat, looking from Joseph to Sarah and back again. Joseph was too focused on the intel to give a response, putting all responsibility on Sarah.
“You could risk robbing them at night, sneaking in, but I’m sure he sleeps near the safe and keeps the code to himself, so that’d wake him up.” She scratched her cheek, humming. “Do you have the client’s contact?” Joseph held up a scrap of paper as a response, handing it to me. “Good, that helps. Now you just need to set up lunch at the guy’s place.”
“Distracting him while Century uses the ventilation to sneak in and grab it?”
“If you want to be boring about it, sure, that’s an option.” A more devilish idea began formulating in my head, one that’d need a bit more planning, but one that’d get him out of the house.
I dialed the number, and didn’t have to wait long for an answer. “Anastasia Courduroy speaking, who’s this?”
“Good Morning, Miss Courduroy, I am Marcy from Quicksilver Catering, I was wondering if you had some time to meet today and finalise the order for your work party?” I hoped with me putting emphasis on those words she’d get it.
“Oh yes, the work party, of course, thank you for calling. I can be at your location within ten minutes, see you then.” She hung up, and I smirked.
“Marcy?” Joseph looked surprised to hear it.
“Not what it’s actually short for, and it’s definitely too soon for either of you to find out what it is.” I pointed to both of them, while Century sent me the image of a punk rock vampire. “Yeah, that one’s flying over my head, Cent, sorry.”
“You keep talking to Century as if she said something out loud when the most I’ve heard her vocalise is chirps and hisses.” Joseph passed me the folder back while speaking, and I properly finally stashed it away.
“She sends me images to communicate, funny ones usually, a lot of them are really old, like early two-thousands old. Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to pass down her childhood nostalgia to me.” I petted her head, getting a few chirps in the process.
Within ten minutes, a shuttle descended from up high down to our level, and an individual trying desperately to be inconspicuous and failing miserably at it left it and walked into Quicksilver’s office; I followed. “Miss Courduroy?” She was startled as I called out to her, but recovered quickly.
“Are you Marcy?”
“M, actually, that was just a fake name for the call. I’m taking on your commission, and figuring out how best to steal the info.”
“Right, yes, please do so, he won’t buy my excuses for much longer and I’m afraid of what he’ll do.”
“Yeah, so, I need to ask you one question before we begin. What is your soon to be ex allergic to?”
Vacation Side Story Idea: M & Century cross the pond to the Celtic Federation and take a boat tour of the English Sea. "And here's where London used to be."
"Rest stop ahead, over a bit of land that used to belong to the Queen of the TERFs. There's official bathrooms, but feel free to express yourself more directly if the mood strikes you ..."
Thank you for the chapter.
Nice to see terflandia torpedoed... good riddance :/
Also I have a feeling that gal ain't the straightest one of the bunch x)