#annalis-e--shadowofpanem

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

There was a news bulletin for Shadows to read that resembled the website of most news outlets. Leslie stared at her phone screen, excessively refreshing the bulletin before feeling the weight of a gaze on her. She looked up to find her host looking in her direction. She grasped at a vaporous recollection of Floss’s words and, finding nothing, sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m just checking to see if the world hadn’t imploded while we were sleeping.” She returned her attention to her pancakes, laying her phone face down on the table.

“If it did, I’m sure I would have gotten the call,” Eleanor ensured Leslie. Her back rested against her chair. “I hate to admit it, but the Vipers feel like our distant cousins. Not quite Shadows...but people who move and think in the same manners. Once all guards were dropped, I actually took to liking them. And they may be on the way to actually liking one another, which, given Mallory’s as a relative unknown, is really something. It’s a shame this Beatrix person is about to carve through that without much fanfare.” Eleanor leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, elbows planted firmly into the table. Almost childlike. “I hate that we can’t elongate the calm before the storm--it seems like everyone here needed it. But they have their own priorities and we have ours. I know we make a habit of going where we haven’t been expressly invited, but O-Ren seems dead set on doing this alone. Intervening, in this instance, solves nothing. It’s funny how companies, establishments, countries, are easier to defy than individual people.”  

Leslie’s mind sparked, turning over ideas. But she said nothing.

“As for how I’m feeling,” Eleanor leaned back, grasping a fork and driving its spoked points into her pancakes. She reached for her knife and began to saw through the stack. “I’m struggling to forget the piles of problems I have on my desk. So I’m drawing out breakfast for as long as possible...” She shrugged. “I might buy myself a little cottage tucked away in a forest somewhere...see if I can bottle up what I’m feeling now and give it some permanence.”

Cereza found a harmonious rhythm that saw was on track to make enough breakfast for everyone under Floss’s roof, and in time to still be hot by the time everyone had awakened. “I’m not proud enough to deny that taking refuge in this kitchen has kept some deeply rooted fears of mine. Elle was...easy. The hunt came to me as easily as the execution and I’m frightened of how easily I could just slip back into the role of ‘assassin.’” The word burned against her tongue. “...the personal sacrifices we make for our friends. May we love fiercely enough to have to make them, but heaven forbid we have to make too many.”

As if chasing on the heels of Cereza’s statement, a ghost wandered into the kitchen. A girl at peace, shaking the sleep out of her bones as her feet shuffled lazily along the tile. Only it wasn’t a ghost. At least, not according to Eleanor, whose eyes followed the figure as she made her way to the freezer. She wore a face that both Cereza and Eleanor recognized from a long time past.

While Cereza and Eleanor spent the morning wondering if such calm could last, Pan had found the reason to hold onto it, fleeting or not. it oozed into her skin and made its home there, turning the director into...

A person.

It was beautiful to see. The effort to railroad Pan back to Molly had borne more delicious fruit than anything the Shadows had done in the week prior.

Pan rummaged through Floss’s freezer before finally noticing she was being watched. She looked at the room, eyes darting around. “...what?”

Eleanor smiled and shook her head. Cereza happily returned to her cooking, and Leslie regarded her stack of pancakes for the first time.

After pulling a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer, Pan closed the door. She searched lazily until her sleepy eyes found Floss. “Do you have any peaches?”

--

Peace did not come easy to the guests of Floss’s estate...but it skipped Amy entirely. No matter how late it was when she first retired, her body still found reason to wake her at 5 am on the dot. She went down her list of morning exercises and stretches before climbing into the shower, where she found refuge in the cascading water for an hour or so longer than a typical shower should be. It was quiet on the floor, with all the muffled morning chatter happening in the kitchen below.

Amy packing her bags every morning had become a habit, much like treating each bed she slept in like it was only available to her for a single night. Globe hopping from Asia to the US and then finally to the UK kept with her usual style of never staying in one place for too long. But the idea of joining her peers for breakfast set fire to her nerves; she had already been in Floss’s house for too long. Running and hiding was a hard habit to break...especially when the wages of failure were being Pillboxed...or killed.

A week in Pan’s company was not enough to teach Amy’s body that it was past time to move, even if her mind and heart knew that she was no longer being hunted. Even as she approached the door, the weight of having free hands was far heavier than carrying her belonging to the door. “Drop the bag,” she muttered to herself. Over and over again. Eventually, her duffle fell from her grasp and onto the carpet. She stood at the door with her fingers on the knob for what felt like hours, forcing her feet to carry her to the kitchen rather than out of the front door.

But even as she made the journey, Amy couldn’t help but eye all possible exits.

“I am not the enemy anymore,” Amy muttered to herself.

“Why did you take Bill up on it?”

Go go’s expression was searching, but not accusatory when she asked the question.

Mallory looked down into her half empty coffee cup then out over the pastoral landscape which stretched away from the patio. She shrugged with one shoulder.

“Honestly, I wanted to be good at something. And I am. But it wasn't worth it. Not for any of us.”

Go go nodded. “Sometimes I wonder why I agreed...”

“...Because you were a kid.”

Mallory cut in, hard, certain. Go go paused.

“Because you were a fucking kid Go go. They conditioned you. What happened to you, it was wrong. It was messed up.”

“O-ren didn't condition me.” There was heat in Go go’s voice now, still low, but there.

“Yeah, she did.” Mallory wouldn't break Go go’s gaze. “But that’s kinda the worst part...O-ren was conditioned too, if not by a person then by her life. You don't need me to tell you what happened to O-ren’s parents, what happened after that. The wheel just kept turning.”

A moment of difficult silence settled between the two of them. Partly because Go go knew Mallory was right, and partly because Mallory felt a twinge of guilt. The sweet song of a thrush sounded from a hedgerow by the gate.

“O-ren wants to end it. She wants to make things right. She’s flying out today to meet Beatrix.” A twinge of pain crossed Go go’s face. “Mallory, I’m scared she wont come back.”

And then, Go go cried. Silently. Painfully. Still holding her coffee cup. At first Mallory regarded her with something like shock. Go go Yubari did not cry. Quite at once it seemed rather too real. It was one things to move the pieces about remotely. It was another to sit next to them. Mallory put her cup down. She thought about her brother, Max. 

There was a way he had always hugged her, with one arm, his chin on the crown of her head. Mallory held Go go just like that, and the former bodyguard did not pull away, she just let the tears slide silently down her cheeks. 

And it was like her brother’s voice left her when she spoke, a voice she had never found in her absent father, nor in her mother’s anger. And certainly not in herself, not yet;

“Go go, I promise. I promise. We’ll get O-ren back.”

-

“We might be more fortunate than we suspect with Beatrix.” Floss answered while cutting up her pancakes. “Granted, I don't know Black Mamba but from what I’ve seen, I think we may have a rather ironic de-escalation expert in O-ren. By my guess, if anyone can talk her down it’s a woman rather famous for ratcheting any conflict up to a Shakespearean level.” Floss gave a shrug. “Strange, but there you have it.” 

Outside, Floss couldnt help but notice that Mallory was holding Go go by the shoulder. Things were so seldom exactly as they seemed.

Leslie’s reply almost stung to hear. Floss put down her cutlery.

“I hope you all know that this house, this kitchen, is a place of safety. For as long as you need it, whenever you need it.” She rolled her eyes. “But yes, I cant ignore the small mountain that’s growing outside the door. Between Agnes, the artefact and goodness only knows what’s going on with our latest museum collection...we do have full plates.” She picked up her knife and fork again, an optimism dawning on her features. “But hey, none of us has to do this alone. I’m sure we can work it out between us”

Quite on queue The Director wandered into the kitchen looking distinctly...human. As if something of a veneer of self defense and denial had finally peeled away. Somehow it made her look younger. 

“Only three left, but they’re in that cupboard.” Floss pointed with her fork. It did her good to see at least some of the weight of the world roll off of Pan’s shoulders. As if she were leading by example. 

-

O-ren toweled herself off rigorously and pulled her still damp hair into a tight bun. Clothing herself in the simple, but utilitarian black dress she had chosen for the mission before she set out from Tokyo. More practical than glamorous. Standing before the full length mirror the concept of ‘glamour’ made O-ren’s shoulders ache. But it was not an injury or a hangover from Bill’s pointless attempt at revenge; it was Minami. 

For a moment she wondered about contacting her. But it was madness. Deep down O-ren knew that to involve Minami in her life at all had been to place her in the firing line. Then again, not to undo the agency of the artist herself...she was not a stranger to it. O-ren sighed, putting the thought from her mind and pushed herself out of the bedroom door.

The sense of solitude was broken by the sudden and initially awkward presence of Amaterasu, also about to traverse the landing. O-ren knew that Go go already held her in a near epic esteem. So she smiled. 

“Amaterasu, good morning. I think we might be the last ones up.” She moved toward the kitchen. “Last night Go go was telling me all about the new meteor hammer she’s dreaming up...”

-

They were not the last to wake. 

Molly lay on her side, eyes shut. But she was not, in the technical sense, entirely asleep. It was more like, drifting. 

The gloom of dream resolved and through it a person turned, as though alerted to her presence. Clothed in scarlet from head to foot, stark, beautiful features, pale complexion. A knowing expression.

She spoke three words, but the sound was lost. 

Molly lifted her head from the pillow, her blonde hair a fluffy tangle. Returning to Cambridge, England, present day. 

“...Cure for mercury?” She uttered.

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

Cereza delighted herself in the sound of perfectly cracked eggshells as they struck the cast iron pan. As the egg spilled into the frying pan, the symphony of sizzling began, increasing steadily as she repeated the process again. It was the beginning of something, but with a pantry as stocked as Floss’s, she did not yet know where she was going. But the journey, in this instance, was the true appeal;  the destination was merely the reward.

As Cereza began slicing the French baguettes she purchased in town, her ears delighted in the sound of the bread separated by the downward, sawing motion of a stainless steel kitchen knife. By the time Go Go arrived to the kitchen, Cereza had lifted spirits. “Good morning!” she beamed. After the last slice, she spun the knife and drove its point into the cutting board. She arranged slices of bread on a separate pan lubricated by butter. She sprinkled herbs into a nearby bowl while keeping a watchful eye on the slices as they began to toast.

“I trust the the lady of the week is resting well,” Back to the eggs. They had been frying long enough. She had to decide quickly; what would they be? In the instinctive push and pull of a spatula, Cereza settled on scrambling the eggs. At times, it could be an exercise to separate herself from the idea that food needed purposeful, artful presentations. But in the moment, a simple delight brought joy to her soul, “I trust you yourself are also well rested. Since you are the first to arrive, your opinion of where breakfast should go, if you have an opinion, would carry the most weight.”

Cereza emptied the scramble eggs onto a platter, followed by the slices of bread, newly sprinkled with herbs. She sat the platter on the table next to a jar of jam.

It was a start. “Or we could simply go with the flow.”

--

Leslie had been awake for hours, reading the letter she had written. But Paris’s invitation to assignment rang louder than any letter she could write. It resounded with intent and resonated with her in a way that discomforted her. Her heart thudded in her chest, an incessant noise when all she needed was quiet. But then the whiff of buttered toast swirled into her nose, calming her nerves.

She was almost there. Her graduation ceremony was an exam away. But in this instance, when Umbrae Somnia was involved, almost didn’t count. In her heart, Leslie knew that Pan, the woman who volunteered to continue her training, would never agree to this. But Leslie couldn’t betray herself by not asking.

And with that firmly in mind, Leslie deleted her resignation from her tablet. She fixed her hair not well enough to be presentable, but be inoffensive amongst close company. She let the scent of buttered toast lure her from her room to the breakfast table.

Watching Cereza cook really was watching an artist at work. Go go wondered in a way why she didn't live full time in a restaurant  - you could be the best assassin in the world, but if you could make scrambled eggs look that gorgeous you might just be wasting your time doing anything else.  

“O-ren is still asleep, and probably needs it. As you say - it’s be a week.”

Mallory brought the two small cups of coffee to the kitchen island and sat down a few feet away from the former bodyguard sipping her latte. Go go gave a polite nod of thanks as she picked up her espresso, the cup hot against her fingertips. The first sip already bracing her for the day.

The question made Go go pause thoughtfully a moment before both her and Mallory replied with eerie similarity;

“Pancakes.”

They shot each other symmetrical amused, incredulous looks. Go go paused with her cup half way to he lips.

“I didn't figure you for pancakes for some reason.”

Mallory gave a roll of a shrug. “My mom used to make ‘em.”

Go go was curious now. 

“Your mom, is she...” How to phrase it...

“Yeah she’s still alive. It was my dad and brother who were in London.” She uttered it so blithely and sipped her coffee. Already Go go noticed a little of something like her old self in the Viper. That hardened edge.

“I’m sorry.” She replied simply, but honestly. Mallory gave another shrug, but this time there was a touch of bother in her expression.

Go go raised the cup to Cereza then took another sip. 

“I think the vote has been taken.”

-

Upstairs, Floss sat bleary eyed at her laptop with the curtains still shut. She’d slept in, but there were things to arrange. Likely as soon as O-ren’s feet touched the floor she’d be running for Celina, Texas, where a young Bebe Shaw was still blissfully unaware of the storm which raged around her. Still, Floss made sure to book the first flight after breakfast. 

O-ren and Molly slumbered peacefully, though Molly occasionally turned in her sleep, as if she were dreaming.

Floss lay back down on the bed for another ten minutes, the smell of cooking wafting temptingly down the hall. 

-

Beatrix Kiddo couldnt know what a hub Texas had been for the last week. Be it via traditional flight or covert. The tall, blonde woman strode through the airport with very little baggage and a driven look on her face. She had a striking, effortless stylishness about her. There was a hotel room with her name on it a little way into the city, as much as it chafed her, she couldnt go into this thing without sleep. Budd was afforded one more day of relative peace.

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

The halo sat atop her crown braid, bearing the appearance of finely cut shards of glass windows that each reflected and refracted other worlds, expertly woven together and meeting at a crimson jewel in the center like a traditional crown.

“My saint, I implore you...”

The sound of Skylar’s advisor barely reached her ears, pulling her attention from the sight of the ocean, back to the meeting at hand. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her “council.”

“This act of relocation was forced upon a people who were happy where they were. If you truly wish to serve the Lycari, you’d undo this abhorrent misstep and return us to the Eye--”

“I’m not certain I care for your diction, advisor.” The sentence silenced her advisor’s words, striking his approach down like a private all too unfamiliar with war.  For a queen that built her rule on peace, the edge of conflict could still be found in her demeanor, her wording, and her presence. Her desire for lasting peace did not translate to being easily swayed by the opinion of her council. Her aversion to being manipulated frustrated them, some more than others.

The advisor struggled to recover his footing. “To pull the nation, roots and all, from the soil we’ve grown accustomed to, to place it amidst foreign waters, and to confine us from doing what we do best--”

"If you're concerned about a landlocked country suddenly becoming an island, Dryden," The Spymaster, Aspen, spoke in defense of their queen, "it is never too late to learn to swim."

The comment roused a chuckle out of the queen. She held her only ally in the council with a grateful gaze before regarding the rest of the table again. “Yes. We are, for the time being, landlocked. It's to ensure that we protect our best chance at a new beginning by not souring our critical first impression with a new world by sending born and bred warmongers to greet it.” The saint slowly paced the table, making eye contact with each of the council. “I love my country, Dryden. I love my people. But that is what we are. I love you all enough to realize that this change will take time, and it will never come if it is not forced upon you."

“It is not humane, nor is it moral to force an entire people into a way of life that has never been first offered as a choice!” General Bridget Langhorn spoke louder than Dryden, in vain hopes of recovering the ground he lost.

“My, aren’t we all a broken record today,” The saint scoffed as she continued pacing the table. “Wasn’t it the Lycari that absorbed neighboring nations against its will in a conflict initiated by sheer ennui? Wasn't it you that sat in that very same chair, telling my father which of the Anchored Isles provided the most challenge and the most profit from a sacking? Wasn't it also you, whom in the very war in which you helped me usurp my father, where you allowed your men to force themselves on whatever prisoners of war they found appealing to their eye?" The saint's voice was calm and composed. And yet, it still echoed in the chamber as if it were raised. "It is by my grace that you yet live, rather than being charged and executed for war crimes. You could show your gratitude by keeping your deeply rooted hypocrisy to yourself if you choose not to change. Better can fill your shoes, and rest assured, I already have a tangible idea of who."

Watching the general deflate brought joy to Abidalla as she watched the meeting unfold from the side of the room.

"Since this meeting has been nothing but an open forum for all to discuss how I'm a monster for paving an avenue for peace, I will be gracious." Skylar reached her position at the table, spreading her hands wide as they could stretch atop the surface. "I will give you more reason to hate me, to disagree. Maybe you can love to be a powerless thorn in my side more than you love killing the innocent people around you." She sat, legs crossed, fingers connected as she stared down the council. "Ond's Wolf, if you'd so please."

Abidalla collected a box and brought it to the space at the table. The box folded open at the slightest touch, uncovering a large, healthy egg.

"Years ago, a wyvern hatchling breached one of the Eye's gates. There is a witness here that knows of dragons, and thus, I told her of Ond's Eye. Also, she and her companion have personally seen The Haven. She has enough status for us to reach out to this world and begin the formal outreach summit between worlds," Abidalla explained.  "All it would take for me to begin is to offer a gift."

The jaws of the council fell from their faces, some in shock, many in anger. Dryden looked to his queen, his saint, in horror. "You want us to be neutral ground for the Summit of Worlds between The Eye, and this meager version of Terra?"

"You want to be of the Eye again?" Skylar motioned to the egg. "This is how."

The council erupted into chaos, each of the members shouting obscenities at their queen. It was nothing she hadn't heard before. But one particular statement stood out.

Beneath his breath, his lips concealed by a thick, snow-white facial hair, the Historian of Sieri Lycar uttered an insult that, despite his best attempt to keep a mere mutter to himself, cut through the noise.

The queen parted her hands and the table shook as her fingertips made contact with it. The grand windows rattled, and the all-seeing serpent traveled within the reflection of her halo-like crown. The council fell silent.

"I didn't quite hear you, Briar," she uttered. "Speak louder."

The historian checked his gaze, laying it firmly on his shoes beneath the table. "I've nothing to add, Your Grace."

Your Grace. The insincere use of the title brought Skylar to her feet. Across the room, glass shattered as the pike she wielded in Sieri Lycar’s final war fled the display case made as its final resting place. It rushed to her hand as if to aid a friend in need.

"Don't lean on cowardice now, Briar." Skylar paced to the table to stand opposite of the historian, kicking Bridget's chair with a force that sent it, and her, sliding several feet away.  Skylar stood in the vacancy, pointing the pike across the table and prodding Briar's neck with it. "I heard it, I just want you to have the opportunity to share it with the rest of us. So please." The sound of her fingers gripping the hilt filled the room with unease. "Speak."

Briar pulled his eyes up like heavy stones from the ground and looked at his queen with fear in his eyes. "This..." he swallowed, "This...insubordination is what lost the king his crown."

The table fell into a pleading silence. And, again, like heavy stones, Briar's gaze dropped. The only one who dared to keep the queen's eye was Abidalla. The queen could feel her presence, both as a respected friend and as a firm reminder of who she wished to be.

"Insubordination." Skylar spat the word out with contempt. "To whom in this room do I owe any subordination? You? The man who writes folk tales about the battles he will never fight? The general who flees from the notion of a life of peace? My trusted advisor, who lacks who fails his people again and again because he cannot conjure a vision for the future beyond war? Whom at this table populated by wicked murderers and wastes of life hopes to command me??"

There was no answer.

"I am Saint Stabat of Sieri Lycar, the Queen Who Protects, The Prophet of Ond, and The Eighth Raptyr of the Eye. I have but one equal in this room, and it is none on this council. You may offer your advice but you will not seek to command. ME. I owe you no obedience."

Briar held his gaze downward. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

The room fell silent once more. Skylar's anger simmered before it dissipated. Her grip loosened, but only somewhat.

"If I may be so bold, Your Grace..."

The voice was young. Comforting. It belonged to a handmaiden, a young girl who laid her ear close to conversations like these to better learn. She served well into her teen years, enamored by the histories from foreign lands, and the prospect of writing a better story than the Lycari have forged. Her ambition painted a particular path that ended at the Historian's seat.

Skylar's hold on the weapon loosed, and it floated back to the case, guided back into the statue's hand by housekeepers who flocked to the display to clean the broken glass.

"You stand to be the most productive voice here, Enid." Skylar moved around the table to pull Briar's chair away from the table, allowing the young Enid to stand in his stead. "What say you?"

The child's peers egged her on. "Be brave!" they said. As she made her way to the opening, Enid smiled meekly. "The gifts by the artist, Deng Jia...am I to assume that they are being sent, in hopes of a potential summit?"

Skylar smiled. "Yes."

"Well...if I may ask, have the recipients responded?"

The other councilors stood on the edge of mockery, but Spymaster Aspen, happy to help the conversation along, regarded the handmaiden as an equal at the table. "Beyond simple curiosity, no. Together with Abidalla, we've deduced that a myriad of issues that the Shades are dealing with keep them from looking closer at the works we've sent them."

Enid held her hands together, reluctant to touch the table. "So...let's send one with an envoy. Not someone established, but someone who stands to inherit the Sieri Lycar of tomorrow. If our future is where Your Grace's focus lies, let us present ourselves with a voice of our future."

Skylar looked upon the handmaiden with immense pride. "You wish to be an ambassador."

The other handmaidens erupted into quiet celebrations, followed swiftly by a chorus of shushes. Enid blushed. "If Your Grace would allow me the honor."

Skylar nodded. "At last, this meeting is becoming productive." She stepped away from the table, her eyes glancing around the room at the many artworks. "I'd prefer if we stay silent for now. To bludgeon into interplanar politics while the party with whom we wish to speak is indisposed would be rude....but maybe there is an opening. Just to gently get our foot in the door. If such an opportunity presents itself...I will look to you. Abidalla, I trust you would guard my handmaiden when the time comes?"

"I would." Abidalla agreed.

"Then it's settled." Skylar's eyes stopped on a particular painting of twins. "In the meantime, we'll keep sending artworks while we wait for an invitation. When the time comes, Enid and a company of her own choosing will deliver the egg in person. I imagine that'll happen in the coming months...either through Abidalla's contact or through one of the Shadows' adepts of Reach."

Skyler's eye caught Pan's attention. "Maybe sooner, if one of them realizes they aren't dreaming."

--

Pan shook awake, her eyes stung immediately by the morning sun. Her heart raced, for reasons she couldn't discern. Brief flashes of a grand throne room dashed by in fragments, pieces of a dream she couldn't remember. She more she reached for a solid memory, the more they slipped through her fingers like sand.

Eventually, she stopped trying, the effort traded for the sight in front of her. Pan found herself wrapped in Molly's embrace as she slept soundly. The angle of the sun through the window suggested an early hour. Pan wouldn't dare disturb her by leaving. Instead, she nestled herself closer, and let her eyes slowly close. Another hour, she told herself. Maybe two.

The last thing Pan heard before sleep took her was a door opening down the hall, followed by a steady set of footsteps on a mission. The architect of dinner had a new goal: breakfast.

Molly slept more perfectly than she had in months. O-ren and Floss too seemed to be feeling the exhaustion of the past days, unmoving and quiet in their beds even when the first rays of light began to creep around the corners of the thick curtains.

Go go and Mallory on the other hand, were different.

The bodyguard woke crisply at first light and hovered over O-ren a moment to check she was breathing - an old reflex. The former crime queen was quite safe, and quite soundly asleep. Stretching herself out, her eyes alighted on Bill’s Hanzo sword propped up by the chest of drawers across the room.

In this context it resembled some sort of useless curio brought back from a trip. It amused Go go that it wouldn't have looked out of place moldering in the umbrella stand by Floss’ front door.

She left the bedroom and strolled downstairs. She stopped on the landing watching Mallory freeze a few steps below her, closing her own bedroom door as she stepped into the hall. The situation had all the strange awkwardness of two people at a party who don't really know each other meeting in the restroom.

After a tense moment Go go gave an eyeroll and a sardonic laugh.

“Oh please.” She uttered in Japanese, walking the last few steps slowly. Mallory bristled but it was reflexive.

“Thanks for not stabbing me in the night or anything.” She responded, in the same language.

Go go levelled her with a dry look. “I could say the same of you.” She shook her head. “Look, I’ve got no problem with you, how about we start there?”

Mallory nodded, reaching up to tousle her fingers through her thick, messy hair.

“Sure.” She replied and it sounded entirely genuine.

Go go smiled. “Since you probably know what my fingerprint looks like I’m guessing you know how I like my coffee?”

Mallory laughed. “Yeah, espresso, two sugars.”

“Then you’re working the espresso machine.” Go go retorted playfully and strolled toward the kitchen. The sounds of Cereza already flexing her culinary muscles drifted down the hall. 

 “Good morning Cereza.” Go go sighed, some of her usual formality leaking back into her tone - through habit rather than pressure. Despite her new leaf the bodyguard did glean a slight amusement from Mallory’s awkwardness as she slotted the pods into the coffee maker. 

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

The fork made a light clink as Pan gently set it on the saucer. She took her phone and browsed through hundreds of missed notices in search for news on Amber, finding the answers she was looking for in Paris's report.

“Paris took it upon herself to lead the charge in that regard. I’ll agree, we should all get some rest...but if you want to be involved, I’ll be open to discuss the events with you tomorrow. I haven’t figured out what I’m doing next, so maybe--”

“No.” Cereza sat a glass in front of Pan, filled with a ruby red liquid. The absence of liquor in the drink was apparent to Pan, who had grown accustomed to the scent of alcohol all afternoon as all matter of drink pass over the table. With the glass, Cereza could very well have spoken without speaking.

Pan sighed into the glass, taking a sip. “We’ll look at things. I’d probably reduce alot of stress by making myself available in a clerical capacity for awhile. In the meantime, you and I’ll sit down with Leslie tomorrow, figure things out.” Her thoughts drifted to Molly, the woman with whom she’d hoped spend the night. “....maybe the next day. But I wont put this off for long. ”

Pan stood, taking the saucer with her as she departed the table. "Forgive me, it’s been a long week...I don’t think I’ll ever sleep better than I will tonight.” The cheesecake was down to a single bite left, a bite that Pan took before she handed the empty saucer to Cereza. As she lapped around the table, she took Floss’s hand. "Whatever your concerns, we’ll do this as tidily as we can. If Mallory has taught me anything, its that we are as responsible for the change we create as the collateral damage we cause. I’m looking forward to making things right, even if I have to stick to a desk to do it.” She paced around Floss and started for Molly’s room. “Wǎn'ān, Ms. Upton.”

Anticipating the walk to door to be long, it surprised Pan how quickly she got there. Expecting the knob to be bolted in place, it turned with the greatest of ease. There were so many obstacles between them in the months before that Pan daren’t hope to sleep in her lover’s embrace. But there she was, waiting at the end of the road paved with all her fears and worry. Moreover, her bag sat nearby, unpacked.

“You’re staying?” Pan stepped out of her shoes and sat them neatly in the corner. She pulled her hair through the simple black hairtie and combed her fingers through it. Sitting on the beside took immense courage, but she managed it. “You were set on helping Cyanne just an hour or so ago. What changed?”

--

Her thoughts were with her friend as her face basked in the warmth of the water, cascading over her body and down into the drain. To be allowed to be by her side during one of the biggest milestones of her life...it was like their friendship had never paused. Amy was elated to have recieved the call. They found each other again, after the training had split them for years and their friendship picked up right where it left off. Many in the Shadows weren’t so lucky.

The food was still warm when she stepped out, waiting on the dresser top. Before she could consider turning on the television and eating, she had to wrap herself in her bath towel long enough to endure Eleanor’s light taunting at the door. And then, as she closed the door, her mind continued to linger on the subject tumbling over the possibilities. Kunoichi, traditionally, used attraction as a weapon. And though there was a blade that she held to Mallory’s skin, it wasn’t seduction. If Amy’s friends were to be believed, Mallory found attraction to Amy all by herself...from afar. She couldn’t help but feel flattered. It was only as she contemplated the color of her eyes, the contour of her cheek, the curl of her locks, that Amy’s food began to grow cold.

Late night television bounced against Amy’s eyes, not truly registering to her as ”entertainment.” Eventually, she collected her thoughts and whispered to herself, “Its probably nothing.” Only then did she take her first bite.

The light from the TV flickered into the hallway.

“Sleep tight.” Floss echoed with a smile, and watched Pan disappear from the room. As delicious as the cheesecake was, it sat half finished in front of the scientist, she couldnt quite bring herself to lift the fork again. 

Florence thanked Cereza again, assured her against washing pans, the dishwasher was already stacked and she would be up early to sort it - even though she half expected that to fall on deaf ears; Cereza had a rigorous way with a kitchen that could put a military operation to shame. With that the Shadow excused herself to her own bedroom. 

There was still an indent in the bed where Fiona had been only a day before. Floss stretched out in the imprint and breathed deeply. 

It was a beautiful comfort that Fi too had a smell - but the mechanism of this one worked much more straightforwardly. 

-

“I’m staying.” Molly whispered in the comfortable, intimate gloom of the bedroom. “Turns out one of the perks of being able to do this is I can talk to Cyanne from here, and anyway...” She reached up to push Pan’s hair away from her face. Her hand knowing so perfectly the contour of her face. Even after all this time, Pan was a braille poem Molly could never forget. “...I cant be running off now.”

Molly curled herself against her fiancé, one knee hitching up over her hip. It was like Pan was not just a person, she was a place, home. 

It happened as she fell asleep, and still she didn't fully understand it yet; something which exceeded the boundary of her skin coiled outward from her to sound out the presence of her partner. But Liss would probably only have felt it as a slight pressure on the back of her neck, like a hand holding her.

-

Mallory hand washed the mud and sweat off her clothes and draped them over the heated towel rail, padding barefoot and naked to sit on the side of the wide bed. 

Her acute hearing still detected slight noises in the otherwise quiet household. People moving to their rooms, a tv somewhere. Her fingers moved subconsciously to the sore spot on her thigh where a tiny bruise indicated the impact of the dart. It stung to touch, and yet she lingered there. 

So she was free of Bill. Now there was nothing between her and the truth about what happened to Max, to her dad. She considered calling her mom but it was too late in the day, she’d just be angry. Since London, Mia Llewellyn’s unhappiness had often found it’s outlet with her surviving daughter. 

Mallory’s face turned to the closed bedroom door and for one mad, precipitous second she got the notion to walk through it. Probably the only thing that prevented her were her clothes still hanging wet and unwearable.

only then, with the quiet shrouding her and without even Milo to hear it, she at last admitted that this was at least in part, about a woman who could turn a blade in her fingers and vanish it with sleight of hand. 

A person that when Mallory looked at her she noticed the curve of the body and the particularity of the movement, the color of the eyes...For no tactical purpose. 

On the other side of the room the door burned as if it were a portal. The viper shook her head and pulled the covers back with force.

“Go to sleep Mallory.” She instructed herself quietly.

In the growing silence of the Upton house, Weaving on the tactical and human scales went on, as it always did. There were always dropped stitches to be picked up later, tomorrow.

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

The screen was the brightest light Sparrow had in a long time, and Pan’s face was the first she had seen in a long time, save her sister’s regular calls. Learning that she had become director put a small smile on her face. ”Better you than him,” Sparrow would say.

Pan called with a simple favor. The director who brought her parents and sister back to the land of the living and allowed her to see Kelsie at all called with a favor. After everything she had done, Sparrow Ravensdale was not without a heart.

The recording was rolling. Pan waited on the other side, listening for infractions. Sparrow would have to be precise with her speech. Sparrow adjusted the laptop and pulled her knees to her chest. “Hi, Mallory,” she began. “I’ll be brief. There’s a lot that I’m forbidden to tell you. I can’t tell you my name, who I used to work for, or where I am... And because of the terms of my incarceration and your status as a civilian, you are not allowed to speak to me live. So I will do what I can, given the situation.”

Sparrow breathed in. Uttering the truth in plain English was harder than it was giving the order at the moment. “...On my command, a private military contractor I hired used a compound that I stole...from my peers...to lay waste to London, England. I now serve a life sentence in a prison where the sun never shines.

"I was assured that work I had performed for my former employer would result in the release of my family, held falsely in...a certain kind of cruel captivity. Crueler, in my opinion, than even this place. When my family was not freed, and my employer abandoned me...I was driven to actions that I hoped would expedite their release. My former employer knew this would happen, and counted on it. The destruction of the city laid the groundwork for...” Sparrow stopped to consider her work carefully. “...conditions that he considered ideal for his plans. When I was captured and imprisoned, it wasn't my employer that did the deed. He left me to my peers and--to my understanding--vanished in the night."

Sparrow pulled her lips into a tight line. “In short...there are three people responsible for the death of your family. Myself, my employer, and the one who enabled all this in their own way.

“It is my current employer’s hope, and my own, that putting a face to the culprit responsible for your pain would bring you some closure... In the name of my family and my sister, I would torch the planet to ensure their safety. It's why I'm in this hole. But I should have realized that my anger and my protectiveness made me manipulable. Lives were lost. I own that. I’m sure that the others will help you get the rest of the answers you need. But if you need more... The director will allow a visit. There are many rules you’ll need to follow in order to speak to a prisoner incarcerated where I am. But, past the tests...and we’ll talk face to face.

“But for now...if I were to summarize the end of events...” Sparrow leaned forward. “’Justice’ is not satisfied. There are two other people that should be in this hole with me. They’ll get here. Eventually.”

Sparrow took in the light of the screen for a few seconds longer before closing the laptop. The guard collected the device, repelled back up, and sealed the vault door.

The cell was silent, save the sound of Sparrow’s racing heartbeat.

--

Pan packaged the video onto a memory card before she removed the cap from her head, meant to disguise her hair growth while in the presence of a Pillbox inmate. After watching Amy, silently from the side, Eleanor took the laptop from the table. “It won't be enough.”

Reluctantly, Pan nodded. “I know. But we have to start somewhere. For a civilian, it was the best I can do.” She slid the memory card into a small plastic cover before handing it to Eleanor. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Eleanor wrapped an arm around Pan. “Sometime, when I have an opening, I’ll put it on her dresser. After that, I’m heading to bed. You do the same.” She pointed to Amy. “You, eat something.”

As she took her leave, Eleanor backed away with a warm, bright smile. “It’s really good to see you, Lissy.”

--

Amy wrapped a plate full of food and took it to her room, where it would wait for her to take a much-needed shower. Only Pan and Cereza were left in the kitchen. Cereza did her due diligence, packing up most of the food for Floss and her house to take from. It was hers to take anyway. She also wrote a cheque to cover the food and supplies she used. The desserts were the last to go, remaining at the center of the table.

Pan returned to the kitchen with her half-eaten cheesecake, but before her thoughts could swallow her, Cereza finally sat down with her own plate after she was done cleaning. “If I had known coming out when you called would lead to all this...I wouldn’t have been as nervous.”

Pan smirked, sinking her fork into the dessert. “So much has happened. Here, out there...I’m a little distraught that I’m only just now realizing how divided the Shadows are...and not just with the Umbrae Somnia issues.”

Pan could hear the voice of a confident Paris delivering an address in Lux Hall. “Who are we, when the day is through? Do we conquer and inflict our will on the world? Or are we servants? What is our legacy when our job is over?”

The speech vanished in the presence of Floss. "Thank you,” Pan said. “I know the world descended on your home and I truly apologize. Thank you for accommodating us. If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all...the director is in your debt.”

“As am I,” Cereza motioned to a glass of wine, sitting at the end of the table. “Per another of my traditions; a tea and wine infusion reserved for the master of the house. Enjoy.”

Mallory’s clothes formed a puddle on the bathroom floor and she slid into the deep, freestanding bath with a sigh. As always she liked the water almost too hot. She gave up typing and dialed the last number Milo had used, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down on the bath rack.

The bathroom door was shut but it was best to assume that everything she said aloud, or at this point, typed, was likely not private. The phone rang only once before it was picked up.

“...Tell me you’re not being held hostage?”

Mallory smirked, moving her hand through the soap sud layer on the top of the water. 

“No I’m not being held hostage. In fact right this minute I’m sitting in the bath, in the fanciest bathroom I’ve seen for a while.”

“Did you find her?”

“Yes, and her friends. I think they’re gonna help me. Did you get clear?”

Milo gave an exasperated noise.

“I mean, I’ve changed location and started from scratch on encryption. But I don't know if I’m dodging them. How dangerous are they?”

“Pretty dangerous. But I don't think we’re their enemy. If you ask me they have bigger problems in their own ranks.”

“And O-ren?”

“Alive and kicking. Probably flying out to the states to head off Beatrix in the next day or two.”

“So...The plan worked?”

That made Mallory laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess it kinda did...Can’t say I reckoned on the part where Amaterasu and her pals put a tranq dart in my leg.”

“...”

“What?”

“Just tread lightly Mal.”

“I’ll do my best, I’ll call tomorrow ok?”

“Ok, be safe.”

Mallory hung up the phone with a damp finger and sat watching the steam rise from the water. For the first time since all of this began she truly felt the absence of Bill Shaw.

-

O-ren got into bed and realized the extent of her exhaustion, with the unknown Viper in the house Go go would not be convinced to go to her own room; the bodyguard curled up on the big sofa against the wall and fell into a light sleep. 

Four rooms away Molly was unpacking, leaving the case demonstrably empty by the chest of drawers. She climbed onto the bed, not bothering to pull back the  covers and extended her arm out over the far other pillow. 

She wanted to be awake when Liss finally climbed into bed.

-

Floss smiled and took the wine glass, raising it once again, warmly, to the chef.

“Honestly, there is nothing to apologize for.” She uttered quietly to Pan. “I hope you know, all of you-” she glanced at Cereza “-that this is your house, a safe harbor when needed. And my god...I think we’ve all been in need of a bit of that.”

The Shadow took a sip of the delicious infusion and sat down at the table.

“O-ren will be flying out to resolve things with Beatrix in the next day or two, Go go will be welcome here while that happens. As for Mallory, I think she has potential. I’d say as weavings go it was one of our least tidy, but perhaps most favorable in outcome.” Floss tilted her head thoughtfully over her shoulder. “Goes to show that perhaps perfection or expediency isn't everything when it comes to our tactics.”

The smile paled a little. “But if I were to ask something, it would be to pursue a resolution to our current predicament of the olfactory senses. And if possible to do so bloodlessly, but I know that may be asking too much...and not just on our count.”

She bit her lip and a moment of silence passed. As if she wanted to distract herself she snagged a plate of cheesecake from the middle of the table and lifted a fork daintily.

“I know Agnes...as well as anyone ever knew Agnes. I might be able to help.”

The dessert was, as all of Cereza’s cooking, exquisite. 

“I understand we’ve had quite enough for one day, everyone deserves a rest. But I ask that when it comes to it, I be informed. I feel I’ve sat idle to the side of this particular situation for too long.”

For a moment Floss was in Paris again, and the sweet taste in her mouth soured. The shadow of it’s passing showed on her face before she shook it. That light smile was back. 

“But that’s a battle for another day, I feel.”

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

Unity made it to the point in Cyanne's journal where she understood why she was talking to herself. Her understanding of the stone expanded with every page Cyanne turned, and her calculations took on new shapes.

“Huh,” Cyanne muttered. Up until that point, the device was just...the Device. Then here came Molly, wanting to help in her usual way, blessing the device with a proper name. “I welcome the help. Seems like however this Reach business is supposed to work, you’re more adept than I am.”

Cyanne turned the page. “It’s a busy house. I have my team from the Pillbox here, though without a proper barracks and no way to house them without shoving them all into hotel rooms...I may just send them home. Leave the development to us. Besides them, Amber is here. She was the one hacking...everybody. She's settling in after apparently being attacked by Agnes. The implications behind that are...unsettling...but the network is chomping at the bit for payback.

"Anyway, Paris conducted the rescue, and she's acting as Amber's bodyguard...so she’s here...don’t know if she plans to stay. I imagine not, since you’ll be here. I don’t think she’s as big into conflict as she used to be. Finally, there’s her partner Koa... I can’t begin to sort out if he’s coming or going. If I were to assume, he’s charging his batteries and waiting for the Agnes shit to hit the fan.”

Cyanne laughed. “Are you sure you want to come here? A lot of big personalities under one roof, and a lot of unstable politics surrounding Umbrae. It might be calmer across the pond.”

Somewhere, in the middle of the discourse, Eleanor stopped scoffing to herself, and her usual quips fell to the wayside. Eventually, her silence drew Amy’s attention, finding her retreated into a corner with a stone-cold stare on her face. Amy tracked Eleanor’s gaze...and found herself wearing the same exact expression.

Pan stood against the wall, halfway through a slice of cheesecake sitting atop a saucer. Her fingers barely moved, and her eyes struggled to lift from the blank stare at the floor. Both Eleanor and Amy knew it didn’t matter where Pan’s eyes looked--they knew that she saw visions of her father in them no matter what. Pan's mind tumbled and fell into a slideshow of every time he hurt her for her “benefit;” from the day he left, causing her to chase him into the Shadows, all the way to the point where he left again, forcing his title upon her. It hurt worse now that she could recall every moment with precision.

But even without Reach, she recalled the exact number of lives lost in the attempt to wipe Parliament, and along with them, the Shadows’ Board of Directors from Earth's surface. It was the single act of butchery Delun needed to make Pan’s promotion possible.

Bill and Delun would have been good friends.

Pan sat down the saucer of cheesecake.  The phone number she dialed was longer than any telecommunication standard. “I would like to arrange a video call with prisoner 5241-SR. Encrypt it on your end, and let me know when you have a key generated.” She hung up, and for a moment, she struggled to move.

Eleanor gently wrested the phone from Pan’s grasp before making her way to the bag she tucked away in the corner, rummaging through its contents in search of her laptop.

“You know if she talks about this to anyone...”

Pan shook her head. “Amy, I don’t think she cares. I don’t think I do, either.” She willed her eyes up from the floor. “We can’t sweep our history under the rug forever...”

--

The cell was a cave, and the door was several dozen feet above her. The rock was always wet and slippery, so there was no climbing it. The only thing she had to call her own was a small lantern, powered by batteries that the guards tossed down through the bars. The batteries themselves were always from differing brands, with various levels of charge. Anything to keep her from forming a pattern. Her eyes hadn’t tasted sunlight since...

She didn’t know when.

The method was effective. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were lowered down in a basket at irregular intervals. When they caught her through the camera measuring the length of her curls, the guards descended in force, held her to the cold stone, and shaved her bald. When they grew back, she begged and pled to keep them, vowing never to measure them again. They never came back. Her curls grew to her shoulders, but by then...the objective was met.

Sparrow Ravensdale’s perception of time was irrefutably shattered, and without it, there was no way she could weave an escape. The hole in the artic was all she knew.

The rope fell from the door above and slapped the cold ground, waking her from her sleep. Her instinct told her to recoil back, her hands raised. She heard the guard connect his gear to the rope and slide down until his boots struck the stone.

He sat the laptop down in front of her, along with a brighter lantern. “You have a caller.”

“But...” Sparrow shivered. “Kelsie called not too long ago...it’s too soon.”

“It's the director.”

“...what does he want with me...?”

The guard shrugged and stepped to the side. “Be ready. The call will commence in a few minutes.”

Molly sat down on the floor - not the floor of the elegant manor house bedroom in Cambridge, England, but the floor of Casa Del Doi. She made herself stop for a moment.

“Funny you mention Agnes.” She said, resting her chin on her hand. “I noticed...Something about her when I was looking at Floss earlier. It was an accident. But I think they have a history, and yeah, even if people aren't talking about it right out in the open just yet, you don't have to be a Shadow to notice you could cut the tension around Somnia...” 

She bit her lip in thought. “Maybe you’re right. I only just got Liss back and here I am packing cases. I just...” She wondered how to possibly describe what she had seen. 

“...The people who sent us this message? They really weren't kidding...” Molly let her hand drift down to the floor, and in much the way the bay window had become a theatre of time, the floor between herself and Cyanne lit up momentarily, a perfect depiction of the Cataclysm folding the sky. 

When Molly pulled her hand away the floor was simply the floor again. She got to her feet.  

“I guess since you’ve got me-” she gestured around, still amused by her ability “-on call, now, maybe I should keep my feet in England. But if you need anything, you know where to find me. I don't even know how, but I’ve got my ear to this thing, I can hear the flow of it, because of that I might be able to help.”

There was that sweet smile. It had only truly re-emerged when Liss had stepped over the Upton threshold.

“And besides, I expect a lot more than a baby shower. I expect to be attending both of my daughter’s thirty third birthdays.”

Molly’s eyes glimmered, and the reach connection tapered gradually, until the Upton residence reasserted itself.

-

An uncomfortable silence fell in the wine cellar.

“She’s right.” O-ren broke it finally. “It’s time to see Beatrix. I know where Bill lives. I’ll go there, contact her, I’ll talk to her if she want to talk...”

“O-ren! What if...” Go go hopped down from the bench, her face a picture of fear.

“Go go, I need to do this, do you understand?” The statement started out hard and turned gentle. A shrug. “Besides. I’m not treating this as a suicide mission. Bee and I...”

She gave Mallory a dry look before looking back at her adopted daughter.

“...Bee and I have things we need to talk about.” O-ren looked at Floss. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but I need to ask one more thing. I don't have any resource available to me here. Can you find Beatrix for me?”

Floss nodded. “That’s easily done. And anything else you need. But I insist, you rest tonight at least. You’re still recovering.”

“I wont let her lay a hand on you.” Go go insisted. 

“If Bee wants that you wont be able to stop her, because you’ll be here. I’m going alone.” O-ren replied sharply, a bit of that old severity cutting through in her tone. Go go’s mouth dropped open.

“No.” She responded. 

“Yes, Go go. You’ve been fighting my battles too long. And it’s mine to deal with, please understand?” O-ren took Go go by the arm. The argument fell away. The bodyguard looked bereft. A look past Go go’s shoulder toward Floss indicated, in a complex non verbal communication, that this was the other part of what she asked; look after my step daughter for me, just for now. 

Florence gave a barely perceptible nod. “I can arrange transport as soon as you need it, but tomorrow.”

“And me? Do I sleep here?” Mallory asked, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. 

“O-ren, Go go. There are bedrooms set up upstairs for you. Please make yourselves at home. I need a moment with Mallory.”

The two of them went quietly up the steps, O-ren throwing a look of gratitude back over her shoulder before she moved out of view.

Floss got up off the stool and squatted in front of the young Viper. As she spoke her voice was quiet, but utterly serious. She laced her fingers together where her arms rested on her knees. 

“I know who is responsible for the loss of your family. And believe me, you are not the only person gunning for them. I’m not in the business of telling people what to do, but the problem is - that person is much more powerful than you, in some ways much more powerful than many of my associates in this house. You will need our help...”

Mallory sat quietly, absorbing everything the older woman said with a look of frowning concentration.

“...So here’s what I can offer you. If you want to leave this house now? Go about your life? I wont stop you. No one’s going to put another tranq in your leg. But if what you want is to really know, what happened? You need to give us time, and be our ally. So what’s it to be?”

The frown softened on Mallory’s face. After a moment she nodded.

“Alright. You’re on.”

Floss extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “You get the last choice of bedroom I’m afraid. Straight down the hall.” She looked the Viper up and down. “Feel free to take a bath, and Mallory...I meant what I said, you hurt anyone in this house - you’ll be dealing with Beatrix, and you’ll get no information.”

Mallory nodded, and left Floss alone in the cellar with her thoughts. She only stood there a moment before she decided that a piece of cheesecake would be much preferable to her internal dialogue.

Mallory walked slightly dumfounded through the house she had previously been carried through, and started the bath running in the spacious en-suite bathroom. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and began typing a text;

[Milo, I don't think this could get anymore nuts...]

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

It came in a box, sealed by 12 clamps, three on each side. Two at a time, Cyanne released each clamp until the lid was free from the rest of the box. She uncovered Unity, and tossed the lid aside. The sphere sat quietly in a fitted mesh.

Cyanne’s finger ran atop the surface of the obsidian globe. “Are you with me, Unity?”

The solid obsidian globe reverberated with liquid-like waves before settling again. It resounded with a feminine voice. “I am.”

“Good to have you back. We’ll have a network up pretty soon. I want you to help Amber, she’ll give you a list of everything she needs for you to order. Then, I want you to hand over the specs of the proposed device to the terminal in her room, as well as the specs of the Unity platform.”

“On it.”

“While you’re at it, Digitize everything in my personal journal.” Cyanne laid her journal flat on the floor, next to the small heap of tech waiting to be connected. “I’ll flip the pages for you, Keep it to yourself until you have confirmation from Amber that the network is secure.”

“Sure thing.” Unity floated from its case and positioned itself over the journal and started reading.

“Um. Excuse me?” Amber’s voice had a nervousness that Cyanne did not expect. The bravado of the force behind the screen cast a shadow over the woman she was. The woman she grew up as before she learned to code. But still, she was standing on foreign soil for the first time in her life, standing in a house much richer than she had been accustomed to. “What do you want me to do? Why did you bring me here?”

Cyanne turned the page of her journal.  “Did your edge dull?” she smoothed out the page. “You accomplished so much before you took up digital warfare. Did complacency come for you at your home?”

A sharpness found its way onto Amber’s brow as if weighed down by an insult.

“Ah. There she is.” Cyanne turned the page and smoothed it down. “Pan has a room here for personal training. We’ll meet every weekend to go over what you’ve taught yourself. Not just martially, but mentally. But in the meantime... Pick a room. The house network is yours to set up, yours to enforce. Unity will order anything you request and adhere to your protocols, as will I. Once the network is secure, I’ll connect the servers and we can discuss what’s in this journal.  It will take you some time to see my point of view...but when you do...we can discuss the real work.”

“Wait.” Amber shook her head. “I can have any room in the house I want?”

“Yes.”

“I can spec the network however I want. And you’re allowing me access to Unity?”

“Yes and yes.”

Already the wheels began to turn in Amber’s head, her lips turning upward into a devious smile. “...Ok. I’ll take a look around.” Her steps into the hallway were careful and quiet. It would take her time to see it all and to get accustomed to not being in danger of drowning.

Cyanne flipped the page again, and on the wind, she heard a voice. Familiar, and friendly. The sound brought back flashes of Pan’s old cabin...when the world was just the four of them; her, Pan, Eleanor, and...

Molly.

Cyanne picked up her phone and stared at the time and date. “I find it easy to think of this like metadata,” she said aloud. “The timestamp of the speaker, as well as the listener. When both parties know the when and where...it clears everything up--”

She saw Molly as clear as day. From where she was sitting, she took up residence in the corner. “Like so,” she smiled. “I heard you were headed this way pretty soon.”

--

Even when the room moved to “greet” their newcomer, Pan sat seated, determined to finish her dessert, determined to hold on to the semblance of peace she had declared only hours ago. She could hear the discussion from the sitting room as clear as day. The room flooded with confrontation. The Shadows confronted Mallory, and Mallory did her best to confront them back. The noise coming from the next room brought Eleanor to a quiet, contained laughter.

Leslie, however, was thoroughly detached from everything. Throughout dinner, all through to Mallory’s arrival and consequent unshackling, Leslie had said nothing.

Leslie was the only one who truly unnerved Pan. “Are you alright?”

The question shook Leslie, who was lost in thought to attention. Her face reflected her process as she searched for the appropriate answer. “...yes. I’m fine. I’m just thinking of my future. Actually...” Leslie leaned closer. “When this is all over...may I have a word in private?”

Pan and Leslie held each other’s gazes before Pan nodded. “We can step outside if you’d like.”

The words weighed tons, and Leslie could not bring them to her lips. At least not at the moment.

“Or we could wait until this is all behind us,” Pan suggested, much to Leslie’s visible relief.

“I’d like that,” she replied. “It’ll give me some time to think.”

“In the meantime,” Pan stood, taking with her a saucer cheesecake. “Get some sleep. You’ve done more for me than I could reasonably ask you for and you haven’t slept a wink.”

As Pan stood, so did Leslie. It was as much the custom of standing with her Director as it was a relief to be dismissed. “If you need me, just knock on the hull.”

Before Leslie could make her way to the front door, Pan sternly pointed in the direction of the stairway. “You will not sleep in a plane hatch. Not. I won't stand for it and neither will Floss. Pick a room. I’m sure she won't care which.”

The thought of bed swallowed her body whole, and resignation settled into her bones. “...Ok.” Leslie marched slowly from the kitchen to the stairs.

The same exhaustion came for Pan as well. The thought of sleep was not the unwelcome thing it was in the past. She did not stand to lose hours of work, nor did she feel that the world would fall apart without her watchful eye  The idea of sleep was, at present, as luxurious as the cheesecake sitting on her saucer.

“Practice what you preach, friend,” Cereza had busied herself with cleaning. Out of all the places she cleared on the table, three remained. One for Amy, one supposedly for Mallory...the last one...for...

“I should listen in for a moment,” Pan resigned. “And then I’ll head upstairs too. I just wanna make sure level heads prevail. Lest someone kills that girl. Or something.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry. She’ll survive the night. The only question is where she’ll sleep.”

“I’m sure she ’ll figure it out.  Pan scoffed. “...before I go, I have to ask; who did you make that last place setting for?”

Cereza stopped cleaning for just a moment to observe the table. “A tradition of my late husband’s. A place must always be kept open for those who cannot be there. An open invitation for the ones our hearts long for, so that they may be welcomed upon their return. It could be for anyone. Your friends across the sea, your protégé….your child on the way. Anyone.”

“That’s sweet.” Pan smiled, as her eye caught a glimpse of Lucky climbing into the empty chair. “I’ll have to adopt that practice.” A thought occurred to her; a dinner every month to bring tired souls together. Under better circumstances.

And Idea for another day.

For the moment, Pan took her saucer and moved to the group.

It took a moment to figure out where she was. Like a picture resolving on an old style television set. At first it was a kind of perceptual static, but when it sharpened it was as real as life.

The woman Molly had shared a cabin with was sat cross legged before a notebook, the familiar globe of the obsidian super computer floating nearby. It was still trial and error, she couldnt quite expand her perception beyond Cyanne’s position, but it certainly seemed to be Casa Del Doi.

Molly grinned. “Not a bad idea, we’re dealing in new dimensions now.” She strolled forward a pace or two. 

“There’s a lot to explain, but the short version is...I can help with the nexus assembly. I got a few tips from the woman who helped design it, believe it or not. It’s kind of deceptively simple...”

That made Molly laugh. The way the loop closed.

“I’ll hopefully be there in the next day or so. Things here are...complicated. But I get the feeling it’s going around.” Molly could feel other presences nearby, even if her reach didn't allow her a visual on them.

“Who else is here?”

-

Go go perched cross legged on the work bench, O-ren stood near her, just a few paces into the room. Floss sat on the stool near the microscope with her arms crossed and watched all the participants closely. She wasn't overly worried, but the newest Viper was still something of an unknown quantity. 

 And Mallory spoke. 

“I’ve been surveilling you all since Bill hired me five years ago. He wanted to know everything about you, all of you. Where you went, who you saw. I don't have targets like you would have done. My job was to watch. I did a really good job.”

Mallory sat with her knees bent on the floor, red hair pushed to one side. Somehow she managed to make looking bedraggled strangely glamorous. 

“Essentially if you could never figure out how Bill knew where you were? That was me.” Her eyeline moved particularly to O-ren. “He found you through Minami...”

Every muscle in O-ren’s body seemed to brace, her mouth in a hard line. But she didn't move. 

“Minami’s fine.” Mallory went on quickly. “But after a while I figured out what was really happening. Bill would go on and on about enabling his agents, wanting them to be their best. But that was bullshit. He wanted control. A couple of years into Beatrix’s coma I got the idea of waking her up...And when London got levelled, and the world went to hell, well...It gave me a reason to follow through. I know I put you in the line of fire. But I also know my own abilities. I’m a good agent but I’m no assassin.”

Mallory threw a slightly disdainful, but ultimately self deprecating look Floss’ way. 

O-ren scrutinized the woman on the floor for a long moment before she replied.

“You played the right hand of the devil. I understand that. You brought Beatrix back to the world, that’s a debt I’ll owe you forever, regardless of what happens. But forgive me if I don't take trust on faith, I’ve not lived a life that allows that. I need time.”

“I need more than time.” Go go uttered harshly in Japanese before slipping back into English. “You put us all in the path of Kiddo, you would have traded every one of us for your own agenda...”

“-I don't know what meditation retreat you went on Yubari, but I’m pretty sure I watched you gut a man in a bar three years ago. You wanna play morality? You’re throwing rocks in a glass fucking house.”

Mallory parried with such vicious precision Go go fell silent. Floss drummed her fingers tensely on her crossed arms.

“Look.” Mallory sighed. “Bill’s gone, Elle’s gone. The next person in Beatrix’s sights is going to be either you.” She nodded toward O-ren. “Or Budd. Cause it’s Bill she wants. You want to make this right? Tell her where her daughter is then go get on a plane and deal with...” She raised her hands exasperated. “...Whatever damn relationship you two have.”

O-ren bristled visibly but said nothing. 

“All I want is to know who killed my family...”

There was the sound of footsteps descending the cellar stair.

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

For Amy, it felt like an overstretched tragedy, a stageplay that overstayed its welcome. Sparrow's treachery was almost a year removed, but the boots coming for the necks of those who had even the tips of their toes dipped into the mess continued to rise.... Koa, the community at large, Leslie--in her own way...

And now a strange girl named Mallory.

Amy shook her head. “O-Ren killed Bill,” she chuckled. “And you placed her in the path of a particularly one-track instrument of death. Not your finest hour. But hey, if it gets the job done, what’s a little collateral, right?”

The knife vanished, and Amy took to her feet. “That’s what she thought,” Amy continued on, pacing away from Mallory. “When the grand scheme of a madman left her with broken promises, she assembled a mercenary group and started burning the world in strategic places. London was only the start of it. The woman you chased across the globe stopped her at the start, it before it could get worse.” She turned, placing her back flat on the wall, folding her arms across her chest. “And it could have gotten worse. Key players in international politics were eliminated leading up to to the bombing, and to follow up, she targeted seats of power that, if removed, would see the collapse of a very fragile union. Seats that included the Monarchy.” She shrugged. “But I digress. The whole scope of the tragedy doesn’t matter to someone wearing blinders. And people who go through the efforts you have often wear blinders without noticing. Have a dossier on you; I'll admit, I didn’t read it. But I assume you lost family in London, and you're searching for a good reason for why they died.”

Amy closed the gap again, her knife vanishing in and out of view. Once she reached Mallory, she traded the knife for a key and uncuffed her bound wrists.“ There isn’t one,” Amy admitted. “Once upon a time a man had a plan, and a woman suffered. She lost her family. So she hatched her own plan and inflicted more suffering to get them back. Leading to you, coming up with a plan to unleash an agent of suffering to get answers. I wonder who might stand to lose family because of you? The cycle repeats and repeats. And we're all tired.

“Anyway, that’s the why. If you still want the who, you’re going to have convince everyone here why we should tell a stranger. Many would say I’ve told you too much already. But names? Details? No. Those you must earn. And there is not a single mind underneath this roof that trusts you.”

Amy started for the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for dinner. I think they saved you a spot. Or you can stay here. Who knows, maybe you can convince Floss to find you a cot to sleep on.” Before stepping through the door, a thought occurred to her. She reached into her pocket and tossed Mallory her phone. “Tell your friend you’re ok. Well fed, even.”

Amy would never speak the truth to Mallory’s face: Even in all her talent, she was too clumsy to be a threat to anyone.

Mallory didn't say a word. She was listening. She was certainly at a disadvantage, in more ways than one. But she still knew when she was being given valuable intelligence. So they knew, and they knew who was responsible.

The key turned over in the lock and Mallory discarded the cuffs with a clatter on the hard floor. She made no hostile move, everything was sinking in. The Viper caught the phone and the shame of even temporarily having forgotten about Milo washed over her unpleasantly. As a result she stood there dumbfounded as the other woman walked out of the basement, staring down at the cellphone screen which showed twelve messages and two missed calls. She unlocked it and typed back as fast as she could.

[I’m ok. I’m here. There’s...a lot to explain. I think I’m safe. For now. Stay hidden]

And then with a flush of desperation she strode urgently after her first contact and started for the stairs 

-

“We need to find out where Beatrix is.” O-ren sat with her knees crossed, Go go next to her.

“The last we knew she was in Okinawa, but her location will not be hard to ascertain. From my understanding Beatrix is dangerous, but not exactly covert.” Floss replied and sipped pensively from her wine glass, the raw edge leaving her nerves. 

O-ren looked unusually troubled. It showed only as a slight furrow in her brow. Floss watched Amaterasu emerge back into the kitchen from the open plan sitting room adjacent. Her face wasn't quite readable, even for Floss.

“Speaking of...” The scientist set down her glass and strode toward the basement. Her feet had just touched the floor at the bottom when a blur of red hair bumped into her. Reflexively, Floss gripped her by the arm and turned her onto her knees on the floor.

“For fuck sake! Let me go!” Mallory Muttered furiously, struggling in the scientist’s grip. Utterly at the end of her nerves and energy.

Floss gave a start of laughter, but didn't let up yet. 

“Good grief...If I can put you on the ground I wouldn't even bother going upstairs with that approach. You’re in a house full of people who are equally as dangerous as Amaterasu.”

Amaterasu. The word rang like a chime in Mallory’s mind, joining face to name. Floss relinquished her grip and the redhead pulled away indignantly, she wiped her hair away from her face and looked at the other woman with an expression that was half exhaustion and half anger.

“Who are you!?”

Floss crossed her hands over her chest and got her first good look at Mallory. Already she seemed so young, so raw. Florence knew the feeling.

“I’m Florence Upton, this is my house. I am an associate of Amaterasu, amongst others. I understand that you came here looking for answers and if I do say so myself...You’ve made a bloody pig’s ear of it so far, so take my advice, and take a breath, alright?”

Mallory did indeed sigh very deeply. “Good.” Floss went on. “Now look, I don't think we’re your enemy. But understand me when I say this...” Something dark came over Floss’ face. A steely look that would make the people who knew her history remember that she was, given necessity, quite capable of cold bloodedly and chemically eliminating her enemies. 

“...If you harm anyone in this house, I will personally see to it that you’re the next person Beatrix finds in her path. Do you understand me?”  

There was no arguing with that. Mallory’s shoulders sagged in both agreement and resignation. 

“What about Beatrix?” The voice stole over Floss’ shoulder and Mallory’s eyes went wide as the woman formerly known as the ruler of the Tokyo underground stepped down into the room. Before the question could be answered she had another, approaching cautiously from behind Floss.

“Is this her? The other Viper?” O-ren’s gaze was so piercing it could have almost cut straight through the younger woman. Floss pivoted on her heel.

“O-ren, meet Mallory.” Floss uttered conversationally. “Or as Bill might have called her, Western Taipan.”

“Bill can burn in hell.” Mallory shot back, looking over to O-ren. “I guess I have you to thank for that...”

O-ren’s frown was not decreasing. “What did you do?” 

Floss cleared her throat. Amy might not have read the dossier but she certainly had, in fact she’d had quite some time the past week to get herself thoroughly up to speed. “Ok, O-ren, would you kindly bring Go go down here? I think firstly we should all have a chat about Black Mamba.”

-

Molly kissed Pan’s cheek where she was perched at the table and excused herself from the rest of the company. Tomorrow would be a long day, and there was packing to do. Thankfully she was already travelling light, so it was a simple case of putting the few things she’s need in a small case.

She stopped by the desk drawer and pulled it open again. There was the bracelet. Laying there with all the strange, slumberous potential of an undisturbed dragon. The flash of the folding sky went through Molly’s mind and she recalled the stakes. There was time, she reminded herself.

But she had an idea. It wasn't logic, it came from somewhere else. Somewhere, a little way off in time, there was a girl with dark hair and a serious expression beyond her years picking up a guitar...The way Molly’s finger alighted on the surface of the stone was just the way that girl fretted a string. It turned out your children were sometimes your best teachers.

A resonance rang Molly’s being like a string and she felt herself moving through currents, reaching...reaching...

Inexpertly, and for the first time, Molly spoke;

“Cyanne, it’s Molly, can you hear me?”