#melinoë.doc

[meli-writes]

"that's it. drink up, doll."

lounging at signore's knees. the silk dress is slipping off my shoulder, like it's supposed to. she plies drinks and business deals, i presume; senses dulled in milky, translucent contacts and isolating earbuds.

only her voice comes through. her side. i recognise what used to be mine, pick out the silhouettes of who used to be mine. i have to imagine what they see in return, her hand running through my hair.

and she pulls. tips me back and pours the whisky into my mouth, spits it if she wants to take it slow. pushes me forward and i hear the words, "that's it. drink up, doll."

soothes me as i choke and sputter, "you'll learn to like it." i can see the smile on her lips behind me, know how it'll feel, as each dram weathers the carven gargoyle snarl on mine. acid to soften stone,

"if not, you'll learn to like what comes after."

[meli-writes]

on the rocks

clunk! the ratchet-shut of the mancatcher deafens your ears as you fall, tender and oft-broken, nose-first into the rooftop tiles, "ow! the hell is your problem marie."

"come on, chrissa," she teased. "biggest gem in paris goes missing the same week you're in town?"

"and i told you i had nothing to do with it," you exclaim. the cold, condensation-dripped slate wetting your red and puffed-out cheeks. "you're always like this, you-- y-you..." the evening's sudden tears slip into the afternoon's forgotten rain.

"woah now. hey hey hey," marie tries to reassure. "i-i just thought even if it wasn't we could still--"

"no. no, marie. you didn't think. i'm not..."

the drifting zeppelinettes above smother your cries in smog-choked rotor rattle, cut into as marie clatters slowly across the roof. "if..." she begins to ask, "if i undo the catch, you won't run away?"

"no!" you sob. "and it's exactly that which is my problem. you just assume the worst of me. no i'm not gonna run away, and i wouldn't if you stopped chasing me."

"i-i, i'm sorry." ca-clink goes the loosened collar, and you barely have the will to pull away from it. she sinks down down next to you on the tiles, and tries to speak--

"i told you the truth over drinks back at the bar," you cut in, "and i've told you the truth about how many other thieves and ratted them out, and i'm telling you the truth now -- and you never believe me."

"you don't rat out all the thieves i ask about."

"marie! this is... because they're just friends, trying to get by. i'll tell you about assholes but everyone else -- like me -- we're trying to do better. you never--"

you're not sure when you ended up in her arms, only noticing now when she pulls the knotted scarf from her neck and wraps it around your frozen face.

"--you never see me like that. it's only ever when i'm doing something wrong. and i can't have you looking at me like that tonight."

"do..." she almost doesn't continue, "do you wanna go to a safehouse, babe?"

...

"yeah," you answer, into her chest.

"yours o-or one of mine?"

"yours, it's closer," you say and know she'll be triangulating where your current spot is because of that. "i think you messed up my bad knee, so you're carrying me."

[meli-writes]

payload

"nah, this is too good to be true," the merc-rebel-something mutters. she turns, twiddling the combat knife in her hand and stopping only to point it at you. "you wanna tell me what trap i've walked into, sweetheart?"

you eye the databox, stuffed with weeks and months of upcoming junta plans. and more besides. enough intel to butcher hundreds of their bootlickers, least until they figure out they're compromised.

"i have it -- for my own reasons," you taunt like the bellow of rotten, felled tree. "making my mark, if you have to know."

"is daddy-dictator's special girl staging a rebellious phase in her twenties?" the merc mocks. "smuggle a bunch of data to what sell for tattoo money?"

you didn't plan an answer for a question like this, and it's hard not to just gawk and fumble at your cuffs.

"maybe -- if it's not a trap -- the intel lasts a week," she continues. and besides that, you urge in your own head. "that's the only part with access dates in years. rest is outdated crap."

"w-what do you--"

you shut up when she stalks up, lifts chin with the little blade's point with just enough force to dip it in red.

"you living out some little fantasy right now?" she asks, as much curious as annoyed. "because i really think that'd be a mistake."

it takes a lot not squeal. "i-i'm a valuable hostage, my family will pay well."

"they will," the merc muses, "and i think you knew that." in a glance she's seen right through, smiles at the confirmation you haven't realised you just gave away. "you leaked your convoy's route didn't you? playing hero, thinking you're gonna make us a pretty penny and then waddle back to your parties and soirées."

you buck up above the point of the knife, "you think i like being around them? they're monsters. and i have to pretend to be one, and you have no idea what that does to you."

her brow raised, she stays quiet, listens.

"but i stood up, just like you did. i'm doing what i can."

and she laughs.

"ah-hahaha! oh saints, how many years you been saving up that little speech, sweetheart? or bleeding heart i should say."

"too many," you spit.

"hmm. good answer," she smirks, putting a hand on your shoulder and hoisting you towards her own vehicle. "you're staying restrained."

"b-but i'm helping you!" you gasp.

"your round ass for ransom helps me -- you don't," she makes clear, makes sure to enunciate it with a squeeze that presses into your collarbone. "and i don't trust you, so i'm not interested in giving you the chance to try anything. don't think i haven't killed prettier things than you.

don't think i regretted it either."

[meli-writes]

terms of surrender

"what is it, daddy?" you mutter -- leash nestled between born tits, those squished between folded, lace-dressed arms.

"not an accommodating tone today," she muses.

perched on the conversation pit's edge, her voice at your ears even while she sits below, you recite that "the terms of my surrender dictated i was to be an obedient pet, not a polite one."

"hmm. ha!" she laughs. her guest shifts, but a hand on her thigh keeps her. "so then i can order that politeness, no?"

"yeah," you swallow, "you can." and twist on perilous heels as you try hurl up what you've rehearsed for hours now. "but it won't be me if you order it. and you want me, right?"

she waits, glances to her side, to the guest dressed less finely but still more than you, and somehow the more exposed for it.

"point taken," she answers at last.

you choke down the relief lest it's snatched from you, "so let me be a bitch, daddy. and what, you want your dick sucked or something?"

she smiles, "no. you can suck hers first."

[meli-writes]

we're not like that anymore

"you could help us for real, you know?" they beg, soft teddy-bear eyes in a round, scarred face; their hands twitching because once you would have offered for them to be held. "there's a good heart in there somewhere."

"only for you," you purr. it echoes off the dull, empty safehouse.

they tread to the window, peer through the shutters and curl fingers around them like clutching at a bird cage. "and we're not like that anymore."

"no," you answer truthfully. "speaking of which, seems a time to mention -- they do know you're here."

their hands are twined into yours now, only you're bent back over the rotting desk. one slips away only to rest itself tight around your throat, "what!? what did you-- did you sell me out!?"

"ugh, no. not here-here. on this station-petal," you mutter, spiritless and missing the rush of being pinned as they pull away in shock of themselves. "i know because they offered a very generous sum to make things more specific."

"and you think what, that i'm gonna--"

"always barking at wind, shush!" you reel up, loop a finger into the carabiner at their belt and tug them to be hip-to-hip. "i wouldn't. you're safe here. and they don't know the hangar your pretty little mech is sitting in either -- i've checked."

you sigh, blink slow as a cat, and, "what i'm saying -- is that i want to hear your counter-offer."

"we're not like that anymore."

[meli-writes]

shiny and new

she pours over the diagnostic pad, though it's obvious even from a glance how much the pilot's fucked it.

"main axel, torn; overheating has melted half the laser array, that needs stripping out; thermal's fine but i'm gonna be picking out the broken glass with an icepick," she lists off, hearing the pilot wind up in anger at each item.

slam! her pad clatters to the floor as she's pushed up to the wall, peered down at by the borged-up freak. "what," the pilot asks. "too reckless?"

hmmph, there's bark, but a only weak, clammy bite. "i could report you for handling me like this. wonder how they'd handle you for it."

"and tell them about all the non-reg mods you installed," the pilot says.

"that you told me to," she replies plainly, if a little out of breath.

"superior can't make you break those rules," the pilot snarls.

"no, but they know your reputation." she reaches her hand softly towards a wrench, but never lets herself look. "i'll just tell them you theatened me, that you'd break me. get off with a warning."

"hmm."

"you gonna heel then, pilot?"

"fuck you. yes."

the slightest loosen of the pilot's forearm lets her slip out to the side, bracing a hand on a rolling toolbox. "good. then i'll let you know when your girl's all shiny and new."

[meli-writes]

👠: "perchance a moment to talk, before you kill me?" 🗡️ ... 👠: "it's what you're here for, no? i never told anyone except him about this preference of mine for women -- to which i commend your excellent predation upon. made my evening." 🗡️: "don't know him. that's professional courtesy, not--" 👠: "denial of your purpose here? well it's my cousin you see, wouldn't marry him, like owning myself. tell me, are you paid before or after?" 🗡️: "hrrrrm... after. couldn't pass up the generosity though." 👠: "ahh, i suppose he could be when he inherits from me." 🗡️: "and is there a point to this?" 👠: "i wanted you to know." 🗡️: "because i'll spare you?" 👠: "no. you'd not be in this profession if i could..." "...but i do wonder if you'd be open to a counter-offer."