Notes: Fun-house mirrors are just another way of looking at reality, right? Many thanks to a friend for giving me a springboard, an image to reflect in a different way. My experimentation with second person.
Disillusion
The mattress under you is stained and the cracks in the ceiling are filled with mold, and as you stare up, you hear the door close.
The coins left on the table are gone. A very small sum, really. You try to ignore the smell left on your skin and what it makes you remember.
The room starts a slow spin, accelerates, goes black.
(You should have stopped at the third raslak, or even the fourth. The fifth made you want things you've gone so long without. Made you miss the sex, too.
You could blame the Scarrans and Peacekeepers for forcing this alliance, but they didn't make you search out the darkest places of the city. Didn't make you drink until you staggered.
Raslak number six and you started looking at the professionals the refreshment house employs.
A professional, because they don t ask questions, because they care only about your currency. A very small sum, a handful of coins, and -when you made the mistake of closing your eyes- a blurred memory of things you d gone so long without.)
When you wake up, the weak light of the system's twin suns shines in. You're cold and wonder why until you see your clothes in a heap.
No one stole your pulse pistol while you were unconscious. You would nod in appreciation, but your head pounds. Pull on black pants, strap on the pistol, run a hand through your hair, wish for a dentic. Find your way out of the establishment.
D'Argo waits in the market, breath making white clouds in front of him as he watches the crowd in the square. He only glances at you when you stop beside him, but you see him take in a deep breath, take in where you ve been.
"Have a good time?" he lets the breath out, still scanning. D'Argo is suspicious of this place, this planet of spies and thieves and assassins. It's taken a monen to set up this meeting that should have finished half an arn ago, and you feel anxious, but keep your voice low.
"Too good," you answer, watching as two children run through the crowd. They shout back and forth, a game of chase.
"It is not easy to see friends in pain", he says, shifting his weight. He blows in cupped hands to warm them.
You glance away from the children, but don t answer. What is there to say? That it has never been easy? That sometimes being alone is too much?
You see a familiar shape in black, weaving toward you and your stomach twists, but you don't look away, not even when he stops close, his shoulder not quite touching yours.
"They went for it," John says, and you feel relief. The creases around his eyes are deeper, and you can t help but wonder what he traded this time.
"Did they give you rendezvous coordinates?" D'Argo asks.
"Yeah. I ll beam em up when I get to the pod", John says, pulling his gloves from the pocket of his jacket.
D Argo nods, but he looks fatigued. When he moves through the crowd, you notice he's limping again, the cold affecting his leg.
"It went well?" you finally ask, falling in step with John.
"Yeah. I guess," he glances at you, looks again. "You should try getting more sleep."
You turn your head quickly, and meet his eyes. Lock your stare with red-lined eyes that haven't held this much tension in monens, because John cares about millions now. Then tension fades and he's the first to look away.
"I dunno if this will work, though," he flexes his fingers as he pulls on the tight gloves. He glances behind him, as if expecting enemy forces to suddenly appear. You wonder why he sings the next words. "Scarrans to the left of me, Peacekeepers to the right, and here I am stuck in the middle with you."