[Closed] Drag Me Into Place (Memory)

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - More Past Midnight
The Eqe Aqawe Engine Room

Charlie looked over at the pull cord when Uzoji moved to touch it, nodding in a distracted sort of way. He thought there were a few things that seemed the most likely, but it was hard for him to tell until he'd got his hands on it. Thinking was always easier when he could get his hands on the problem, as literally as possible.

"Not yet," Charlie answered rather cheerfully. He felt significantly better looking at the filthy engine and the equally filthy room around it than he had on the deck in the brush of Niccolette Ibutatu's monstrous field. No questions, at least, that he actually wanted the answers to. A few that were probably best left unasked, though. Charlie had moved in to look at it before Uzoji even left the room. He paused when the door opened and the screaming that had been quiet enough to ignore came spilling in. He did not smile back.

Whatever was going on, Charlie wanted no part of it. He prayed briefly to any god that would listen that he never found himself in need of the dubious mercies of Niccolette. It didn't sound like an experience he would enjoy at all.

Neither, he thought with a certain kind of pleasure, was the work on the engine going to be. He rolled up his sleeves, more for the action of it than to keep his already grubby sleeves from getting any worse. Rituals and shit, right? Charlie envisioned that the work might take him to the morning--but not beyond. Not as far as he could see now. He supposed he would find out in due time if his estimation was correct. Charlie set down his tools, tottering a little as the ship rocked again, and got to work.

A couple hours or so later, after a lot of cursing and getting himself up to his elbows black as pitch, Charlie was forced to admit that this was a bigger problem than he anticipated. Not, he thought fiercely, something he couldn't fix. But not quickly, and not without new parts. Whatever had happened to this engine, it was well and truly fucked. Charlie frowned at it. If there was a better solution, he didn't know what it was.

With great reluctance, he pulled the bell. While he waited, he continued to prod at it here and there, making what fixes he could--but he just wasn't sure it would be enough. "Some of the parts are fu--warped," he said without looking up when he heard footsteps behind him. "I made a list--hmm." He held the list out to his side, only realizing as he did so that the state of his hands had rendered it half unreadable.

"You ornery bastard," Charlie muttered, glaring at the engine even as he handled the part in his hand with great care.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Some Time Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Niccolette’s field brushed Ewing long before she came close enough to take the list from him. She did not bother with a caprise or flex this time, the mona which hovered around her already bright with the remnants of many spells.

She had left Chibugo sleeping, or something close enough to it. His breathing was even and strong; his sheets were drenched in sweat, but his skin was cool to the touch once more, both at his forehead and on his side where the knife had gone in and twisted.

There were many spells to burn out infection; they were none of them pleasant, particularly when one was as close to drained as Niccolette. But he would survive the night, and she would drag him kicking and screaming through the days ahead, were it to be necessary.

Niccolette had come out of the pilot’s room to find her husband passed out in the hallway, curled around an empty pail with the deck outside gleaming clean. He had muttered sleepily as she hauled him to his feet, but did not protest, and Niccolette had half-dragged him to their room and let him collapse into bed, not bothering with the fact that he was still clothed. He’d muttered something sleepily about dawns and dusks and collapsed into a still deeper sleep.

Niccolette had thought herself of joining him. The doors to the cabin were locked, and had been since before Uzoji had gone to fetch a mechanic. They could not fly; what danger could one sneering little mechanic pose?

Instead Niccolette had changed and washed her hands and face, brought her book out into the hall, and sat reading such that when she dozed off, it would not be comfortable enough to sleep deeply.

The chiming of the bell woke her, and brought her to Ewing. Niccolette looked down at the list he held out; her lips pressed flatly together. She did not take it.

“I shall need you to copy it out again, or at least to dictate,” Niccolette said, coolly, unimpressed. She glanced at the massive black sooted engine, and then back at the filthy, dark-haired Anaxi, and raised her eyebrows, as if to ask why he had not already done so. She knew little enough of the engine, but she believed quite well in her ability to convince their supplier to sell to her at such an hour.

There was no particular rasp of sleepiness in her voice; she gave no indication, by her face or demeanor, that she had been asleep not ten minutes ago. She was wearing a gray dress now, well-tailored in a decently expensive wool, but plain enough. Her hands were scrubbed clean, and her face too, and she had at least bothered to brush out her hair. Only the faintest traces of kohl clung to the outer edges of her eyes; her lips were an unadorned pale pink.

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Even More Past Midnight
The Eqe Aqawe Engine Room

Maybe if Charlie hadn't been so clocking focused on this bastard engine, he would have noticed sooner that the field behind him wasn't Uzoji's. Not the right feel, certainly not the right range--once he noticed it, Charlie had no fucking idea how he had managed to ignore that monster. Fuck him sideways. Why was it her, and not Uzoji?

His spine stiffened slightly at the sound of her voice. Relax, he scolded himself. She was just a--well he didn't know what she "just" was. He thought of the screaming that he still heard even when the door had been shut. Until he couldn't, anymore. Just like something crawled out of some kind of hellish Ever, possibly. No, that was stupid. He was just tired and jumpy.

Charlie frowned down at the list as if he had just noticed. "Could dictate, if you wanted. I think anything I write out myself wouldn't meet your standards either." He flashed a grin and waggled his filthy fingers. Even the undersides of his nails were black with soot. It was, he knew, an entirely vile picture.

She didn't seem tired at all. Of course she didn't, because while everyone else had looked fit to fall over, he couldn't imagine she would. A-li-fucking-oe. Charlie didn't like the feeling of that field at all. Charlie admittedly didn't like the feeling of any field, something he tried not to let on too much, but this would bother any reasonable person. Especially when that clean-scrubbed face was arranged with such a firmly displeased expression.

"This is taking longer than I expected," he added, almost distracted. "Not--it'll get done." He added that second part quickly, and he didn't give a shit if she believed him or not. Probably. Mostly. Okay, he cared a little, but she didn't need to know that. The very plainness of her face and dress only highlighted the sharpness her face.

Charlie was not in the mood, he decided, to feel intimidated by some Bastian--Bastian... Whatever. Whatever she was. Uzoji's wife. Their client's wife, and Charlie only belatedly realized he should probably be polite for the sake of the business. Godsdamnit.

"I can repeat it whenever you're ready, Mrs. Ibutatu. Or uh, wash my hands and write it again. Whichever you prefer." He smiled, dazzlingly, the only way he ever smiled. Even if his face was smudged with grease, too, from where he kept resting an idle thumb on his cheek.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Some Time Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Niccolette’s gaze lowered, somewhat disdainfully, to the filthy state of Ewing’s hands. She did not care in the least if his hands were filthy; hers, not a house ago, had been covered in blood and in much worse than blood. Any living conversationalist who balked at such things was, in Niccolette’s view, a coward, and unworthy of the mona. She supposed the same thing was true enough for mechanics, who would then be unworthy of their machines. In fact, she should have found it rather appalling to have a mechanic whose hands were not filthy, at least while working.

“I imagine not,” Niccolette answered coolly, all the same. She needed to be able to read the note, after all.

Niccolette’s gaze wandered over the machine when Ewing made what she supposed was meant to be an excuse. She shrugged. She had not asked Uzoji how long they thought the job would take; she had not asked her husband anything, since he’d been asleep on his feet. She knew as well as anyone that they needed to leave in the morning, but she doubted there was much she could do about it now.

Ewing drew himself up a bit, as if remembering his manners. Niccolette’s gaze slide away from his smile; her lips pursed, softly. “Mm,” she said, after a moment.

The Bastian fetched paper and a pen herself; she wiped the pen briefly and competently with a handkerchief, set the tip to the paper, and lifted her gaze and her eyebrows in Ewing’s general direction. She let him dictate, and wrote steadily and evenly. Not so long a list, Niccolette supposed. She glanced down at it. She knew nothing about the relative rarity of any of the items, nor did she have a sense of whether they were all really warranted. She glanced back up, fixing Ewing with a cold glare for a moment.

Yes, Niccolette decided, her gaze skimming his filthy hands once more. He seemed, at least, minimally competent, which was a fucking improvement on their last mechanic.

“All right,” Niccolette capped the pen, and set it to the side. “Have you work to do while I go?” She glanced around at the engine; she didn’t know much of mechanics, but she was fairly sure it was supposed to be largely in a piece. Still, she supposed it plausible he might not be able to arrange that until he had the replacements bits.

“If not, you shall accompany me,” Niccolette went on. It was hard enough to climb the ladder in the middle of the night, with scarcely an hour or two of sleep; Niccolette had little enough desire to do it carrying various parts without assistance. She did not wish to wake Uzoji, so Ewing should have to do.

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Some Hours Past Midnight
The Eqe Aqawe Engine Room

The lady hadn't flinched at the state of his hands, but she had managed to look more disapproving than she had before. Charlie tried not to let it get to him; he was used to it, after all. At least she didn't seem to have unrealistic expecations about the time the repair would take. Charlie belatedly realized she probably didn't have any fucking clue how long it should take to begin with. So it had been a dumberse thing to say. Well, too late now.

His smile hadn't worked. Oh well to that too. Some people were just that way. Unreasonable.

At least she didn't expect him to wash his hands and write the list again himself. Instead Mrs. Niccolette Ibutatu fetched more paper and a pen, letting him dictate the list to her again. It wasn't a long list, nor would it be too difficult to get all the parts--at least he didn't think so. The hour might pose something of an issue. But shops were open at all hours in the Rose. Maybe one--but if the worst came to it, he thought he could work around that one. Maybe.

Niccolette glared at him when he finished. Charlie decided he was undaunted, and grinned back. She would leave soon, anyway, and Charlie could... Well, not do much. Honestly, without the parts he was at a standstill. Smoke, probably. Smoke and wait. Not the best way to start off his birthday, but that was fine. There was still tonight. He would have to have an extra drink or two, to make up for it.

The smug grin dropped from his face when she high-handedly informed him that he would go with her. He thought about lying and saying that he had work to do. He just also thought about her coming back with the parts in the middle of his fucking around and smoking, and that seemed like maybe a worse idea than his ideas usually were.

"Me? I--" Charlie thought. It would be difficult to get them up the ladder without aid. Surely there was someone else? Someone he hadn't seen. Charlie's mood sunk. He didn't want to go shopping with Niccolette Ibutatu and her horrible field and her deeply Bastian frowning. "Want" did not seem to play into the equation.

"I guess I shall, then." Charlie brought a smile back to his face from whatever reserve of it he kept at all times. Lazy and overly pleased with himself. "Fun little shopping date, then back to the engine with me. I will have to wash my hands before that, of course." And his face, possibly, also. He somehow thought being quite this filthy would not prove an asset when out buying and carrying back the parts.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Some Time Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Niccolette’s gaze dropped to Ewing’s hands when he spoke, and she made the faintest sort of gesture of disapproving agreement. She looked, then, squarely at his face, and her expression didn’t falter; if anything, her eyebrows raised the slightest bit, as if to suggest he take the hint.

“Be in the hallway upstairs in five minutes,” Niccolette said, without any particular emphasis.

Niccolette made her way back out of the engine room, tucking the list of parts into a pocket sewn flat against the side of her dress. She did not bother with a cloak, but she did go to check on Uzoji; he was sleeping soundly, lying with his chest against the bed, his head turned to the side and his cheek pressed into the blanket. He had not woken, Niccolette noticed, not even enough to remove his shoes.

Niccolette crouched beside Uzoji then; she undid the laces on one foot, and then the other, and eased his shoes off, and his socks, so his bare feet stuck out from the edge of the bed. She went to her chest, then, and took out the gun from the hidden compartment; she rested one foot on the opening of it, and strapped the gun to the outside of her thigh, pulling the straps tight.

Niccolette stood straight, glancing down at herself; it was a wide enough skirt that there was no hint of a bulge visible beneath, and she was accustomed enough to walking with a pistol. She went back out into the hallway, closing the door to the room behind herself. She went next to Chibugo’s room; she settled her hand beneath his nose, feeling the rhythm of his breath, then sat beside him, fingertips pressed into the place beneath his jaw where she could best feel his pulse, counting silently to herself. She touched her own neck next, her face neutral.

Yes, Niccolette thought, the fever had broken. She reached for Chibugo’s hand, pinching the skin on the back of it, and watching it sag slowly back against his bones. She grimaced, faintly, glancing around, and filled a cup from the pitcher of water with sugar and salt she had prepared earlier.

“Chibugo. Wake up,” Niccolette said, sitting beside his head with the water. She dipped her fingers in the glass, and flicked the droplets of restorative water against his face.

Chibugo groaned; he shifted.

Niccolette snapped her fingers beside his ear.

“Floods!” Chibugo groaned. “Can’t a man fucking sleep?” He squinted up at Niccolette through swollen, bleary eyes.

“Drink this,” Niccolette said, unsympathetically.

Chibugo took a sip and gagged.

“Keep it down,” Niccolette said, evenly, watching him. “Or do you wish that I force you to?”

Chibugo glared at her; he sat up, a bit more, tilting his head back, and swallowed the rest of the water. His braids lay damp against his head, and a bit of sweat jumped off them; Niccolette ignored it.

“There,” Chibugo gasped. “Fuck,” his hand shook, and he set the glass back down. He was asleep again by the time Niccolette left the room.

It had been longer than five minutes; Niccolette did not care in the least if she had made Ewing wait. Nor did she remotely care if he had seen her with Chibugo. She did, however, expect to see him ready and waiting; if he was, she would raise her eyebrows at him, and make her way evenly past him, out to the deck, ready to descend the ladder in her dress and boots.

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Some Hours Past Midnight
The Eqe Aqawe

"Five minutes" she'd said, in a tone that didn't seem as though it brooked much argument. Well fine. He could wash up in five minutes, probably. He could try, anyway. And if it took him longer, well. Look. There was only so much he could do because this was a job, right? Some things were beyond his control, and she would just have to wait. Charlie didn't especially think he wanted to make her wait, but he would anyway if he had to.

"You got it," he said instead of any kind of arguing. He gave her a lazy sort of salute, followed by a rude gesture at her retreating back. Ok, followed by a rude gesture at her retreating back when she was more or less out of the room and the likelihood that she would see him do it was next to nil.

The problem with this whole "five minutes" plan was that Charlie didn't actually know where anything on this clocking sky boat was. That included anywhere to wash his face or hands, since Niccolette hadn't seen fit to even point imperiously in the proper direction. He spent at least five minutes wandering around trying to figure that out. And another several after that once he'd found it, scrubbing as much of the grease from his knuckles and cheeks as he could manage. After that, of course, he couldn't quite remember where the hallway was, or the engine room, at least not relative to his new location. So that took several more minutes to figure out.

By the time he emerged at last, scrubbed--well. If not clean, he was at least clean-er than he had been. No goodly old ladies would faint away at the sight of him, at least. Goodly old ladies who were awake at this hour and worked in parts shops. Which, Charlie thought, probably meant they weren't particularly goodly at all. Still, he was less filthy than he had been and Niccolette was, of course, already there.

He approached her unapologetically. He had caught only the end of her tender care; just enough to know he would rather not be injured enough to need her. She raised her eyebrows at him; Charlie shrugged. When she made to descend, he gallantly let her go first. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't used to it, and wanted to delay the climb as long as possible.

"Ladies first," he muttered, mostly to himself. "And you too, I suppose." That bit had definitely just been for his own ears. Hopefully; he'd been a little louder than he had meant to be. The descent was easy enough. It was only when he'd stood on solid ground again that Charlie realized the greatest flaw in this little escapade: he'd have to spend the whole time in range of her horrible field. Delightful. Just, truly, delightful.

"None of those parts should be hard to get at whatever--I was told you had, uh, suppliers? I guess. They should have... most of them. All of them, ideally." Charlie looked over at Niccolette; he gestured for her to lead the way with one relatively clean hand. The fingers of his other hand twitched uncomfortably at his side. There was nothing on his face, at least he didn't think so, but he already hated this. Maybe the shops would be close, and have all the parts, and this could be as brief as physically possible.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Some Time Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
Engine Parts Shop, the Rose

Niccolette climbed down the ladder easily enough, step by step; she stepped away on the ground, letting Ewing finish the climb himself. The hangar was shielded overhead, but one wall was open out to the night sky, the Mahogany gleaming below, and the wind whipped at her dress, pulling and tugging at the thick fabric.

Ewing hit the ground behind her. Niccolette glanced back over her shoulder as he spoke. She inclined her head, hearing nothing which needed a response, and was beginning to walk around before he made his gesture.

She made no effort to contain her field; she never did, in the Rose. It washed out from her, more than seven feet, bright and sharp all through in the night air. In the midst of it, Ewing was scarcely more than an annoyance, a faint, thin wavering warmth. She did not hold her field away from him, did not shut his mona out from the midst of hers, but neither did she make any effort towards a caprise.

It was not so far; Niccolette did know the way, for all that she had not been sure. They saw almost no one on the street at such an hour; they were as good as empty. Anyone around seemed to melt away at the sight of Niccolette; one man veered off at the brush of her field, crossing the road opposite them. If Niccolette noticed, she gave no sign of it at all, not on her face, in her bearing, or in her field.

The shop was down a side street, well away from the blue phosphor glow of the lamps. A man was asleep outside, a hat down over his face.

He jerked awake at the brush of Niccolette’s field, before she had even spoken. The Bastian raised her eyebrows at him. “I am looking for Nestor,” Niccolette said, coolly, glancing at the door.

“Uh,” The human said; he fumbled himself up to his feet, ducking his chin, his gaze skimming over her and Ewing. He frowned. “Just a – uh – a moment, ma’am,” he ducked in through a nearby door; there was a bit of banging from inside.

A scrawny wick came out, shirtless, rubbing the sleep from his eyes; his chest was covered in an elaborate tattoo of a grand isacoss flower, stained a vivid red against his skin, the stem extending down beneath the hem of his pants, reaching towards one sharp hipbone. He raised his eyebrows. “Mrs. Ibutatu,” he said, glancing behind her. “Where’s your s-“

Niccolette’s field pulsed, a cool wave of energy.

The wick cleared his throat, “that mechanic of yours?”

“Not with us,” Niccolette said, evenly. “We are in need of some parts, Nestor, rather urgently.” She took the paper from her list, unfolded it, and read aloud.

Nestor nodded along with her; he glanced over at Ewing once, as she spoke, and winked very slightly. “Sure, Mrs. Ibutatu; I got all that,” he grinned. He fished a cigarette from one pocket, sticking it between his teeth, and lit it with a mutter of monite; his glamour fluttered, very briefly, against their fields.

“Gonna cost you extra,” Nestor added, smiling. “On account of the rush and the hour.”

Niccolette’s gaze swept over him. “On his books, then,” she said; she smiled, with nothing kind about it. “You may be the one to justify the price.”

Nestor coughed, fetching away the cigarette; he shoved it back between his mouth, and shrugged. “You gonna blame a kov for trying? Here, you,” he grinned at Ewing, “fancy being an extra pair of hands?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Some Time Past Midnight
Engine Parts Shop, the Rose

Warm-hearted and friendly, this Niccolette Ibutatu. Immune, apparently, to his significant charms--or at least she pretended to be so, ignoring him when he spoke for the most part. This was going to be a long trip if she wouldn't say anything to him at all. At least if they had been speaking, he would have something to think about that wasn't how much he absolutely hated being surrounded by her field. His own was more or less lost underneath hers.

At least, he consoled himself, she hadn't reached out for a caprise. Just the thought of her touching him on purpose with that thing made him irritable. Charlie meandered along after her, keeping her dark head in sight but making no effort to keep pace. She knew where they were going and he did not; he couldn't linger so far back as to be out of her range. He tested it, briefly, and when he got to six feet and still wasn't far enough he gave it up for hopeless and narrowed the gap.

If it weren't for that, and if it weren't for how he wanted to be home and asleep already, this might have been a pleasant evening. The night was still cool this early in Roalis, and there were no clouds. He could see the stars overhead, or at least as many of them as could ever be seen in the Rose. Charlie liked stars in a sort of absent way. Pretty little twinkling lights, all of them far far away from here. Stars watched and they didn't give a shit about what they saw; there was no judgement in stars, only witness. Romantic chroveshit, but Charlie liked that about them.

There wasn't anyone else around; Charlie made a few attempts at conversation, but they were ignored. After a while, he gave up. Fine, he thought--that was fine. They would just get their parts and go back to the ship. Then he could finish his job and go home. Back to Tippy and then to his birthday. It was still his birthday, he reminded himself. Nothing could ruin that. Charlie Ewing's first birthday, in fact. The thought pleased him and put a little bit of spring in his step. Even if he rather agreed with the man who crossed the street at the brush of Niccolette's presence.

Charlie thought he'd been to this shop, once or twice. Not often, but part of being new at his job meant that if a part needed fetching, he was the one to do it. He wouldn't have expected them to be around, at this odd hour. But he also had a good idea of what kind of clientele needed parts this urgently; better to have someone on hand in that kind of a situation, he guessed. The man at the door jolted away and looked first to Niccolette, and then briefly to Charlie. Charlie smiled and wiggled his fingers in a kind of wave before the human disappeared inside the shop.

While they waited for Nestor to emerge, Charlie lit himself a cigarette. He'd wanted to smoke on the boat, and he would be damned if would stop himself from doing it now. The mechanic didn't ask Niccolette if she minded; he knew it was the kind of thing that someone should ask of a lady, but he had decided that Niccolette didn't really count. Not that she wasn't a lady; she very clearly was. Just not the kind of lady he felt obligated to ask about things like if she minded if he smoked. She could tell him if she did, and maybe he would listen. Maybe.

After a bit of noise from inside, a wick emerged--the fabled Nestor, Charlie supposed. That tattoo really was something. Bright even in the blue light of the lamp, going down and down and... Hmm. That was a neat trick, Charlie thought. A good effect. He made note of it, though for what purpose was anyone's guess. He was too sober for that kind of observation. Whatever he'd been about to say made Niccolette cut him off with a chilling pulse of her horrible field; Charlie's pretty face twisted in a grimace before he smoothed it back out again. Note to self: do not ask about their regular mechanic.

"That's what I'm here for," he put in rather more cheerfully than he felt. His commentary wasn't strictly necessary, but he was bored and he hadn't said anything in a while. Besides, what conversation wasn't improved by having him in it?

Charlie liked the winking; Charlie liked all winking, usually, directed at his person. From slightly behind Niccolette, he grinned. He didn't give a shit about the cost, because it wasn't his bill to pay. Charlie figured she could handle it; it was her husband's ship.

"It would be my pleasure," he drawled, finding the spirit to entertain himself somewhere. "I'm always happy to provide the considerable talent of my hands to any proceeding."

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Some Time Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
Engine Parts Shop, the Rose

Nestor laughed at Ewing’s drawl, and gestured them both inside.

The inside of the warehouse was cool and dark, lit sparingly. It went on for a long time, half a dozen row of shelves most of what they could see here, with the vague, distant shapes of half-covered engines beyond, and other, stranger things.

Nestor took a lantern from the wall, swinging it lightly in one hand; the light flashed up, gleaming on a thousand slick metallic surfaces, piled on the shelves here and there. It seemed to Niccolette indecipherably messy, but Nestor set off unhesitatingly down a row of shelves, beckoning Ewing after him with a wiggle of his fingers.

Niccolette perched on a stool just inside the door. She leaned her head back very slightly against the wall, not quite shutting her eyes, but letting the lids fall, just a bit. She could half hear Nestor and Ewing, although she did not particularly care to pay attention.

“Here, grab this, kov,” Nestor’s voice was an amused purr, and there was a heavy clank of something metallic. “I seen you around before? Feel like I’d remember that macha face.”

Niccolette rolled her eyes to herself, just a little. It did not bother her if the errand took over long; she did not look forward to the walk back. She was sore and aching all through, and her nose ached, dry and painful, as it often was in the hours after a nosebleed.

She begrudged none of it, the pain nor the tiredness. It was the price which she paid, and she did not believe in asking of them mona, then balking at what they demanded in return. All the same, she should very much have liked to be asleep next to Uzoji, rather than in some mechanic’s shop. This, too, was the price she paid; in this case, it was to let her husband sleep. She could not begrudge that either; the faintest smile twitched at her lips, and faded away.

Niccolette turned her head, just a little, at the sound of heavy footsteps, not quite watching the human with the hat make his way back into the alleyway, slow and even. She turned, then, and eased her head back once more against the coolness of the wall. Her eyes half-closed again, the throbbing of her headache starting to ease.

There was another clank, something else coming off the shelves.

“Fetch me that stool, would you?” Nestor’s voice was a mumble around his cigarette. There was a quiet scrape of metal, and what sounded like a shelf groaning, faintly.

If she were not careful, Niccolette thought, she would sleep; that, she could not afford. She stood then, and leaned back against the wall instead, upright. She began to breathe, slowly, steadily in and out, finding a familiar rhythm to count by.