slayer_fray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slayer_fray) wrote2006-10-20 09:09 pm
slayer_fray) wrote2006-10-20 09:09 pm
Entry tags:
[Milliways: Big City Girl]
Mel takes a series of cabs back to her apartment. Or at least, back to the vicinity of her apartment. When your method of 'taking cabs' means riding illegally on the top of a closed vehicle, your freedom to choose exactly how close you get to your destination is limited. Any the nearest any vehicle at all will get to Versi – because anyone who owns a flying car will inevitably belong to that section of society that doesn't want to admit warrens like this exist – is half a mile or so straight up. So from there it's a matter of combining climbing down with controlled falling to get home.
The second she enters her apartment, wiping dried blood off her top lip, Mel is greeted by a piercing, inhuman screech, and a whirring mass of fur and teeth and claws bears down on her. The Slayer has just enough response time to throw up a deflecting arm, but the beast recovers immediately and attacks again. She spins, moving out of the way, but the demon is as fast as she is, and snatches at the rolled up mat sticking out of her back pocket, scrambling up with it onto the deteriorating plaster of the apartment walls. There it hangs, a
six limbed primate like beast, bearing cruel fangs and waving the rug angrily at her.
"Ack eek eeek ok-ok ell!"
"Oh no, you don't." Mel swears at it, drops her backpack and uses the nearest piece of furniture to scramble up after it. She's at a disadvantage, however, and the monkey escapes effortlessly, leaping across the room to the corner in which Mel has a hammock slung up for sleeping. The thief stops, then smirks, and in one easy motion she pulls a knife out of the loose bun at the back of her head and sends it flying in that direction. It embeds itself deeply in the wall, and in doing so slices through the rope holding up the hammock, on which the demon had been hanging. Hammock, demon and skaterug swings down and tangle themselves up into a furiously hissing and screeching knot.
"Thanks, Legs," she says, crouching beside the mess, and risking teeth and claws to disentangle her rocketboard. "Miss me, didja?"
Legs barely has a chance to answer before there's another noise: a loud mechanical buzzing that announces the approach of a small flying robot coming in at eye level. Mel instantly forgets her pet and stands up smoothly,
snatching the machine out of the air.
Carrier pigeon. Bearing a job. And even in with the standard businesslike brevity that so characterises Gunther's job descriptions, not subtle with its hints along the lines of "if you can find the time".
Mel's next meeting with him is going to be fun.
No time to change, to unpack, to untangle Legs before he chews himself out, Mel snatches up the bag she thinks of as her 'grab kit' and throws herself out into the city.
Tough job, this. She can see why she wanted her. Few of Gunther's runners that are small enough to slip through this wiring shaft are also strong enough to slide up the weighted grate at the end without dropping it, or quick enough to slip past security bots without being noticed. Certainly no grabber Mel's currently aware of has equipment that lets them fly over the alarmed floor without tripping anything.
The job is complex enough that she has to focus. There's too much risk to dwell on anything except the unimpressive looking stone knife she slides into her hair next to the functional throwing knives.
Then, it's straight to the boss.
(Or it would be straight to the boss if a pair of lurks didn't decide to attack her on the way over. Youngsters, uneducated, not Harth's. They're dust before they realise she's fighting back)
Then, straight to the boss.
"Melaaaaka, at last. I thought I'd have to send someone else."
"Save it, Fishstick. I was on vacation."
"Chassssing your brother. Sssweeetness, that's not very professional."
"No, it was personal."
"I can't afford to let my runnersss put their perssonal life before
bussssiness."
"And you can't afford to lose me, so deal."
"Bitch."
"You love me."
It's settled, as it always is. Mel gets freedom to Slay and pursue Harth, because she gets the job done as well. The knife fetches half a sil, which disappears into her pockets before she starts home again.
"Melaka Fray, stand down."
Now, what she'd do for a sil every time she'd heard that. Not Erin this time. Not even Broder, or anyone Mel recognises. The cop who approaches when the law car lands is heavy built, his uniform immaculate, his face red. Mel feels her mouth twitching into a smirk at the telltale sign of someone who takes their job way too seriously.
"Can I help you, officer?" All sweetness and light. That tone used to skitz Erin right out.
"What's your business here, Fray?" His accent, is clipped, correct, reeking of Upper. The assumption that there's no way a girl like Mel could afford to live around here apparently doesn't even need wording.
"Who said I have business? I was visiting a friend."
"You have friends around here?"
"I got lots of friends."
The cop leers like someone who learned it from the scopes. Starting from her hair, dwelling on her wirey figure and taking in what must be a lot from the time it takes. Maybe he notices the cleanliness and relative newness of her clothes, and their faintly old fashioned cut. Most likely he's ignoring the outfit for picturing the girl underneath it.
"You're Sergeant Fray's little sister, right?"
"Not my fault."
"That's a big blade. Where'd you get it?"
"A friend."
"Another one?"
"Right." She has a license for it as well. One of Gunther's contacts secured it for her when it became clear that Mel wasn't going anywhere without it.
The cop narrows his red-rimmed eyes, apparently unhappy with these answers. Then, as if working down a mental checklist, he continues:
"Visiting these 'friends' last night, were you?"
"My brother, actually."
That was certainly not the answer he was expecting, and his face appears to swell, turning a shade that clashes rather violently with his uniform.
"I didn't know you had a brother."
"Didn't know I hadda tell you."
"Your brother a pump?"
"Not that he tells me."
"You a pump?"
"Never touch that toy."
"There's been a spate of murders among the pump community in these warrens."
"They have a community?"<
"Girl matching your description has been seen fighting with them."
"Yeah?"
"You know anything about that?"
"No. Who's been murdered?"
"Would your brother?"
"You'd hafta ask him."
"Where can I find him?"
"He gets around."
By now, he's turned a gorgeous rich shade of plum, and Mel's still smirking. "You might want to start being a little more helpful, Fray."
"You might wanna arrest me now if you're gonna."
The cop shuts his mouth, clearly fuming. Moron's got no authority to be investigating lurk related activity, she thought so.
"I've got my eye on you."
"I'm shaking."
Irritated now, Mel turns on the ball of her foot, leaving him behind, and heads home.
Sack tastes like piss, always has. But it tastes even worse to Mel's palate now. However, she's in no mood to go to an empty apartment, so Jove's tav it is, the other place she can get a drink, be with friends, and know everyone knows her.
People come to Jove's to drink, to fight, and to forget, or any combination of the three, so Mel doesn't get much attention when she comes in, even though near everyone knows here. Some people look up, some grunt. Amma, behind the bar, looks at her face for a second, before sliding a drink over silently.
Katya Tank does come over and sits next to Mel, and she's welcome. She asks what Mel has been up to these last couple of days, and gets short but acceptable answers. She talks about her own life, and conversation begins to flow. And in all that, no place or person outside of Katya's small sphere of experience is mentioned.
It grounds her, sitting here, chatting. The whole day has. Haddyn problems, Haddyn sights, Haddyn life. Hitching on the tops of cabs, dealing with Legs, grabbing, cops, radies, lurks, it reminds her what her life is, what's important, what she needs to do, what it is to be Melaka Fray.
It's not until late at night that she returns home, feeds Legs, rehangs her hammock, and masturbates to orgasm because her body needs it. Then she lies awake, staring at the ceiling, and she remembers.
I'll be here, you know. Always.
"FUCK!"
The second she enters her apartment, wiping dried blood off her top lip, Mel is greeted by a piercing, inhuman screech, and a whirring mass of fur and teeth and claws bears down on her. The Slayer has just enough response time to throw up a deflecting arm, but the beast recovers immediately and attacks again. She spins, moving out of the way, but the demon is as fast as she is, and snatches at the rolled up mat sticking out of her back pocket, scrambling up with it onto the deteriorating plaster of the apartment walls. There it hangs, a
six limbed primate like beast, bearing cruel fangs and waving the rug angrily at her.
"Ack eek eeek ok-ok ell!"
"Oh no, you don't." Mel swears at it, drops her backpack and uses the nearest piece of furniture to scramble up after it. She's at a disadvantage, however, and the monkey escapes effortlessly, leaping across the room to the corner in which Mel has a hammock slung up for sleeping. The thief stops, then smirks, and in one easy motion she pulls a knife out of the loose bun at the back of her head and sends it flying in that direction. It embeds itself deeply in the wall, and in doing so slices through the rope holding up the hammock, on which the demon had been hanging. Hammock, demon and skaterug swings down and tangle themselves up into a furiously hissing and screeching knot.
"Thanks, Legs," she says, crouching beside the mess, and risking teeth and claws to disentangle her rocketboard. "Miss me, didja?"
Legs barely has a chance to answer before there's another noise: a loud mechanical buzzing that announces the approach of a small flying robot coming in at eye level. Mel instantly forgets her pet and stands up smoothly,
snatching the machine out of the air.
Carrier pigeon. Bearing a job. And even in with the standard businesslike brevity that so characterises Gunther's job descriptions, not subtle with its hints along the lines of "if you can find the time".
Mel's next meeting with him is going to be fun.
No time to change, to unpack, to untangle Legs before he chews himself out, Mel snatches up the bag she thinks of as her 'grab kit' and throws herself out into the city.
Tough job, this. She can see why she wanted her. Few of Gunther's runners that are small enough to slip through this wiring shaft are also strong enough to slide up the weighted grate at the end without dropping it, or quick enough to slip past security bots without being noticed. Certainly no grabber Mel's currently aware of has equipment that lets them fly over the alarmed floor without tripping anything.
The job is complex enough that she has to focus. There's too much risk to dwell on anything except the unimpressive looking stone knife she slides into her hair next to the functional throwing knives.
Then, it's straight to the boss.
(Or it would be straight to the boss if a pair of lurks didn't decide to attack her on the way over. Youngsters, uneducated, not Harth's. They're dust before they realise she's fighting back)
Then, straight to the boss.
"Melaaaaka, at last. I thought I'd have to send someone else."
"Save it, Fishstick. I was on vacation."
"Chassssing your brother. Sssweeetness, that's not very professional."
"No, it was personal."
"I can't afford to let my runnersss put their perssonal life before
bussssiness."
"And you can't afford to lose me, so deal."
"Bitch."
"You love me."
It's settled, as it always is. Mel gets freedom to Slay and pursue Harth, because she gets the job done as well. The knife fetches half a sil, which disappears into her pockets before she starts home again.
"Melaka Fray, stand down."
Now, what she'd do for a sil every time she'd heard that. Not Erin this time. Not even Broder, or anyone Mel recognises. The cop who approaches when the law car lands is heavy built, his uniform immaculate, his face red. Mel feels her mouth twitching into a smirk at the telltale sign of someone who takes their job way too seriously.
"Can I help you, officer?" All sweetness and light. That tone used to skitz Erin right out.
"What's your business here, Fray?" His accent, is clipped, correct, reeking of Upper. The assumption that there's no way a girl like Mel could afford to live around here apparently doesn't even need wording.
"Who said I have business? I was visiting a friend."
"You have friends around here?"
"I got lots of friends."
The cop leers like someone who learned it from the scopes. Starting from her hair, dwelling on her wirey figure and taking in what must be a lot from the time it takes. Maybe he notices the cleanliness and relative newness of her clothes, and their faintly old fashioned cut. Most likely he's ignoring the outfit for picturing the girl underneath it.
"You're Sergeant Fray's little sister, right?"
"Not my fault."
"That's a big blade. Where'd you get it?"
"A friend."
"Another one?"
"Right." She has a license for it as well. One of Gunther's contacts secured it for her when it became clear that Mel wasn't going anywhere without it.
The cop narrows his red-rimmed eyes, apparently unhappy with these answers. Then, as if working down a mental checklist, he continues:
"Visiting these 'friends' last night, were you?"
"My brother, actually."
That was certainly not the answer he was expecting, and his face appears to swell, turning a shade that clashes rather violently with his uniform.
"I didn't know you had a brother."
"Didn't know I hadda tell you."
"Your brother a pump?"
"Not that he tells me."
"You a pump?"
"Never touch that toy."
"There's been a spate of murders among the pump community in these warrens."
"They have a community?"<
"Girl matching your description has been seen fighting with them."
"Yeah?"
"You know anything about that?"
"No. Who's been murdered?"
"Would your brother?"
"You'd hafta ask him."
"Where can I find him?"
"He gets around."
By now, he's turned a gorgeous rich shade of plum, and Mel's still smirking. "You might want to start being a little more helpful, Fray."
"You might wanna arrest me now if you're gonna."
The cop shuts his mouth, clearly fuming. Moron's got no authority to be investigating lurk related activity, she thought so.
"I've got my eye on you."
"I'm shaking."
Irritated now, Mel turns on the ball of her foot, leaving him behind, and heads home.
Sack tastes like piss, always has. But it tastes even worse to Mel's palate now. However, she's in no mood to go to an empty apartment, so Jove's tav it is, the other place she can get a drink, be with friends, and know everyone knows her.
People come to Jove's to drink, to fight, and to forget, or any combination of the three, so Mel doesn't get much attention when she comes in, even though near everyone knows here. Some people look up, some grunt. Amma, behind the bar, looks at her face for a second, before sliding a drink over silently.
Katya Tank does come over and sits next to Mel, and she's welcome. She asks what Mel has been up to these last couple of days, and gets short but acceptable answers. She talks about her own life, and conversation begins to flow. And in all that, no place or person outside of Katya's small sphere of experience is mentioned.
It grounds her, sitting here, chatting. The whole day has. Haddyn problems, Haddyn sights, Haddyn life. Hitching on the tops of cabs, dealing with Legs, grabbing, cops, radies, lurks, it reminds her what her life is, what's important, what she needs to do, what it is to be Melaka Fray.
It's not until late at night that she returns home, feeds Legs, rehangs her hammock, and masturbates to orgasm because her body needs it. Then she lies awake, staring at the ceiling, and she remembers.
I'll be here, you know. Always.
"FUCK!"