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xxxxxxxxx Start chapter nine.
I'm not too sure about this whole 'new mama' thing, at least now that I've found out she's not a goddamn escort, she's a fucking assassin.
How did I miss this?
No, seriously, how? I hear people's thoughts!
What in the actual fuck do I do about this?
Should I do anything about this?
I kinda need to do something about this, don't I?
But... Maybe not?
I've been thinking about this whole situation in terms of narrative logic.
I know, I know. A character in a story thinking about being a character in a story is the kind of bullshit that gets old really, really fast. But I'm exactly the kind of nerd that can't NOT think about it. So, despite my best efforts, I'm kinda dwelling on it.
The existence of spies is something I'm used to being a thing in both lives.
The existence of telepaths was fictional speculation in my last life, real in this life.
But the idea of a James Bond-esque dude adopting a tiny telepath without knowing it is the kind of thing I can only really frame in terms of a story. It's too unlikely. Too many coincidences have to line up.
I attribute these things to a Being X, aka probably God.
I guess it would be kinda weaksauce if the mother figure was just some regular woman. That wouldn't be narratively balanced at all.
An escort might balance that a bit, especially with a tragic past and various issues. So far, I'd kinda been thinking about the potential story I'm in being something along the lines of Firestarter, or maybe more 'Hanna', with the super soldier teen girl raised by a CIA agent.
In either of those, a 'hooker with a heart of gold' type character would fit pretty well.
An assassin?
It's not…. NOT on theme.
Ugh. I have lied to Loid. I literally have no talent for acting. Too much of a literature nerd, too focused on themes and tropes to shut up and be a real person. And it's even worse here, because like Loid, I can't help but notice the 'invisible' stagehands setting up props.
This show is gonna be shit. Actually a shitshow. No one's going to want to read about me or watch me on screen. For fucks sake Tanya was less autistic than I'm being.
This is it. My darkest hour.
I'm literally handling my reincarnation worse than Tanya fucking 'I have no idea how to communicate' Degurechaff.
I'm a Muppet that desperately needs the guiding hand of a proper actor up my ass.
Loid came and sat down beside me, startling the hell out of me.
I hadn't even realized I'd ended up sitting on the couch, staring blankly at nothing, lost in my own head.
"It occurs to me," Loid started quietly, "that I have done you a disservice."
"What?" I asked. "No, why? I'd be rotting in that orphanage without you!" I protested.
He shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm talking about," he replied.
"Hmm?"
"You are not an agent. You're not even a civilian. You are a child-"
"Hey!" I protested. "I'm not just a child!" I didn't like where he was going with this at all.
"Not just any child, I admit. You're extremely mature for your age, and you're the kind of precocious genius that only occurs once in a generation or two." He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned closer. "But Anya, you're still not an adult, and it's wrong for me to put that kind of pressure on you. No, it's even more wrong for me to allow you to put that kind of pressure on yourself."
?
Now I'm not even sure where he's going with this at all.
"Come here," he said, pulling me into his lap.
Uh.
What.
This is kinda gay, not going to lie.
Wait, no it's not. What?
What even are my feelings? Am… Am I…
Crying?
I don't like crying! Crying sucks! This whole thing sucks!
"I remember what it was like, you know," he told me quietly, wrapping his big arms around me. They were so long compared to my little frame that it felt like they both went around me twice. "The orphanage. I remember having fights over toys. Over food. There's no one you can rely on but yourself. Anything you wanted to keep, you have to hide. Any time you felt sick, or sad, or lonely, you had to keep it to yourself, or you'd get picked on. Abused. The other kids were rivals. The adults were scary."
I nodded, dashing at the tears in my eyes. I wasn't sobbing, but I just could not god damn turn off the water faucets in my eyes.
Loid continued. "I think, no, I know I had it easier than you. I was taller. Stronger. It was easier to blend in."
"B-boys aren't really stronger than girls," I protested with a little bit of a tremor. "You're just forced to repress it and pretend."
He chuckled a few times. "Anya. I'm not talking about boys versus girls here. But boys do have it easier. They just have to put up with other boys. Girls have to put up with girls, and the way boys treat girls."
Seems like bullshit to me, but it was hard to argue from my previous perspective because I couldn't tell him about my previous perspective. Though admittedly, I was faced with the incipient horror of growing up as a probable whore in eastern Europe. He might have a point.
"No, what I'm saying is that I was basically normal. I fit in."
"You're literally the top spy in Europe, mister Twilight," I replied as sardonically as possible given I was blind with tears.
He froze briefly, then I felt him shrug. "Been eavesdropping, huh Anya?"
"Sorry," I said meekly, realizing that I'd fucked up. Again. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to sell me off or something."
He chuckled once. "Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Maybe I was a little better at fighting, at sports, at school. But I'm a spy, Anya. I was selected and trained because I already had the right mindset. I've always had the gift at blending in. Whereas you stand out the moment you open your mouth. So for all that time, you kept your mouth shut, didn't you? Hiding your intelligence. Paying attention. Listening. Watching for threats."
I gave him a kind of halfhearted shrug, and a reluctant nod.
"But you know what I've noticed most about you?"
I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut.
"You're very empathic. You care about others a lot, don't you?"
I made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, shaking my head. Empath? Hah! I can't pick up on emotions for shit! Pure telepath here, bud!
"You disagree?" he asked, sounding like he was smiling. "Anya, think back to yesterday, right after we did the mock interview."
Yeah? What about it?
"I was disappointed, remember?"
"yeah"
"I'm under a lot of stress. I don't say that as an excuse for my behavior, but it's true. This mission, Anya, it's important. There are a lot of people in both Westalis and Ostania who think their problems will be solved if they can just beat the other country in a war. But you know what that would mean, right? Hundreds of thousands, even millions of people would be hurt. So all my work as a spy here isn't to beat Ostania, it's to support the people keeping the peace. I can't go into details, but my job isn't just about stopping the bad people, it's about helping the good people, and trying to convince the ones in the middle that peace is what's best for everyone."
"Like the Desmonds?"
He nodded. "Lord Desmond is a major player in the Ostanian government, and in business. If I know what he knows, I'll know how we can convince him that he should work for peace and not war. Ordinarily I would never support a mission that involves children. Children should be kept safe, not caught up in the messy world of spying."
"Glad you did," I mumbled, looking away from him.
Loid hugged me harder. "I am, too, Anya. I would have never met a special girl like you if I hadn't."
I'm daddy's special girl. Gaaaaaay.
"And you've tried so hard to be a big help. And you are a big help. I knew Eden Academy was exclusive, but I didn't realize how hard they tried to keep it that way. That test was ridiculous, Anya. There was stuff on there I didn't learn until middle school, even high school. I know adults who couldn't pass that test on the first try. The only way a child was likely to pass that test was exactly what they had planned. Their parents got the test and spent months having tutors teach them to pass it. And you passed it the first time you saw it."
I am an adult, Loid.
"But you know what really stood out? When I was worried about how badly Yor was doing in the fake interview, you stepped in. You saw how stressed I was making her. You saw how worried I was. And you tried to fix it. And you did a good job. Yor isn't a spy. I shouldn't expect her to be able to instantly improvise. She's not trained to do it."
But she probably is trained in thirty-seven ways to kill a man with only a thumb. And that's its own hornets' nest of problems.
"You're so smart, and you're so responsible, and you tried to take it all on yourself. Because you're a bit scared, aren't you? We're not a real family yet, but this is the closest you've gotten, isn't it?"
Shit. He might be right. I don't want to miss out on this. Not just because it's an adventure, but because I like Loid. I like the sound of his mind.
And dammit, I like Yor, too. I liked going out with them yesterday. Sure, the end of the evening kind of sucked, but the other? It was nice.
But even if he does keep his promise to make sure I get a home once this mission ends, I can guarantee it won't be with him. Whatever kind of narrative bullshit in this world allows spies to become famous probably won't let him have the kind of time he would need to actually adopt me. Maybe if I told him about my telepathy, but that sounds… risky.
"You're very smart, and you're good at watching people. But what you don't know is that it's not your job to keep everything together. And I shouldn't slip up enough that you feel you need to."
His words were quiet, kind of self-recriminatory.
"Yor fell into our home when we needed her most. You're exactly the kind of child Eden Academy is supposed to find and elevate to the upper class. We've got all the tools we need to succeed, Anya. All of them. A Mama, a Papa, and you. We can do this, don't worry."
"I'm going to speak up if I see you make a mistake," I told him, craning my head so I could look up at him.
He smiled and rubbed my back. "As you should, Anya."
Oh man, that rubbing. I couldn't help it and kind of arched my back into his hand.
"Oh, do you have a sore back?" he asked.
"Itchy," I said. It's not really a lie, but not really the truth. Frankly, I just enjoy scratches more than rubs.
Loid started scratching my back through my dress, slowly increasing in vigor.
Oh man. Bliss. If this was an anime I'd sprout cat ears and a tail and arch my back like a bridge.
"So it's okay, Anya. There's only one thing you need to remember."
I was barely paying attention anymore. Oh man, I forgot how good a good back scratching felt. I haven't had good physical contact like this since my memories of this life started forming.
"I won't throw you away for not being perfect. But it's easier to make plans to get around complications if I know about the complication ahead of time."
He sounded stern then, and a flash of fear cut through the haze of pleasure.
But… yeah.
"I get headaches in crowds," I admitted. "All the noise, all the people, it's too much. The audience at the opera is about as many people in close proximity as I can handle. Honestly, the test I took at Eden had too many kids in there. It's why I missed some. I could barely concentrate."
The shame. I don't think, logically, that I should feel it. But I do. Shame.
My erstwhile father nodded. "Thank you for being brave enough to tell me that, Anya. It's something to ask the Headmaster about. Tell me, what do you know about savants?"
"Enough to know that I don't fit all of the symptoms."
I'm not autistic or a savant, I'm a reincarnate. But I can't say that.
"True," he agreed. "But there's a growing amount of research that indicates it's less a specific condition and more of a sliding scale of degrees. Many, if not all, of the brightest people in the world share certain personality traits to one degree or another. You're definitely one of the brightest people in the world, so looking at those traits can give us a framework to understanding. And one of the most standout symptoms is the way certain people with savant syndromes react to noise and hyper stimulation."
I'm not autistic. I'm a reincarnate. With telepathy. Who hates the noise and pressure of crowds.
"I understand emotions, though," I protested.
"Yes, you do. You're quite empathic. But hyper-empathy is another trait, actually. But the point is, Anya, I'm not diagnosing you with a defect, far from it. You're a very bright little girl and you don't have to feel defensive. What I'm saying is, you don't have to hide when you're bothered by things. Tell me, and we'll come up with a plan. Okay? We're a family now. It was you that said we'd figure it out together, or what was the point of a family at all, right?"
So here I am, sitting in the lap of an adult blond man who's telling me-
-well, okay, maybe he's paraphrasing, like, A LOT-
"-Okay, Papa."
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xxxxxxxxx Start chapter ten.
Yor came home right on time, exactly like she'd spent the day at her usual job.
Not at all like she'd changed clothes, went out, killed a man, went to her old apartment, cleaned up, changed back, and came 'home'.
Papa and I were waiting for her.
He used the excuse of taking time off from work to help prepare me for the school. Studying mostly, but also going over the interview.
But mostly studying. And that was mostly writing drills.
Fucking normalschrift. My hand is tired. Damn my original education in Louisiana, one of like two places in the US that does French everything, including handwriting. The stylistic difference between French ronde and German normalschrift is the difference between wiping your ass with silk and punching a man in the throat.
In between, we covered vocabulary, mostly pronunciation. My efforts to pronounce big words was rather hit or miss.
We also prepared a light supper, 'abendbrot'. Papa made eintopf, which was basically a crock pot stew. Lots of carrots, potatoes, lentils, and tender chunks of pork that was falling apart into shreds. Served with warmed up brotchen, these crusty little rolls which were pretty tasty.
Honestly, to break character for a moment, I wanted to cut the end of one off, pack it full of stew, and cram it in my face.
Yor had this look of wonder on her face when she came in.
"Mama's home!" I cheered, and threw myself at her in a full body tackle-hug.
Well, it'd be a proper glomp if I was 200% taller. As it was, it was more a glomp-let. I ended up hugging her left thigh, because she hesitated too long before bending down and catching me.
Papa took her light coat and hung it up, before offering but not demanding a hug.
They didn't hug.
Little steps.
"Papa and I studied a lot today!" I told her. "We practiced handwriting and vocabulary," I added, enunciating distinctly. "How was your day, Momma?"
Whoops, a little slip there. 'Momma' was my first life. I was trying to go for a mix of 'Mother' and 'Mama' here.
"It was fine," she lied.
She actually briefly, mentally, regretted that she had to lie, but didn't think of any details.
"But it's a lot better now that I'm here." She paused, then added, "Home." She said it with a tone of slight wonder, like she was trying out the word and finding she liked it. The smile she gave me was super effective.
My assassin Mama can't be this cute?
"Would you like to eat now, or wait a bit?" Papa asked.
"I think I'll change clothes and wash, so perhaps, fifteen minutes?" she replied hesitantly.
Loid smiled and nodded. "I'll warm the bread. What would you like to drink?"
"Ah, water to start with, perhaps a glass of wine?"
He nodded, and she left to change.
I gave him a thumbs up behind her back when he glanced my way. This was happening. We were doing this.
Soon we were sitting down and eating.
The whole German thing of a heavy lunch and a light supper always struck me as a little weird, given the issues of having a lot of food during a working day on a lunchbreak. Easier to do on a weekend or holiday. But eintopf is much the same as any other crock pot stew, and for a moment homesickness or nostalgia or a mix of both was hitting me like a brick.
Loid lead Yor through a bit of gentle chitchat. How was work, was anything coming up, that kind of thing.
After supper, where they each drank one glass of wine, Loid poured them each a cup of coffee while talks turned to more pressing matters.
Not a full on study session like we tried before, but more a general planning session for my education.
"Music is a good idea. I don't know how to play anything, but Anya is very bright, so her everyday studies shouldn't take long," Yor offered.
Loid nodded seriously. "That's an angle I hadn't considered. Recitals and such could be good ways of attracting positive attention."
"I'm up for it," I agreed. "But I have no experience whatsoever, and I don't believe I'll be able to be a prodigy in music," I added in warning.
In my first life, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. But I did like music, and young is the best age to learn.
"We can arrange for some lessons, and try to see if there's anything that suits you." Loid paused, then continued. "If you find it fun, anything is possible, but for the purposes of standing out, something suitable for solo or small group performances might be best. Violin, cello, piano, or such."
He had a good point. I'm not much for piano, but stringed instruments are nice. Brass, too, but the days of drum and bass, or alternative pop, or electronic music where a particularly funky solo with a French horn or something can stand out is too far in the future. No, we're in the environment of classical music. The Desmonds aren't going to ask for a private performance from a tiny strawberry blonde girl with a tuba.
"I wanna take fencing at some point!" I blurted.
Germany. Home of schlager fencing. Now, getting face scars as a girl would probably be a bad idea, but they probably had women's' fencing somewhere. I'd fenced in college in my first life, was decentish at it. Now that I was psychic, and in alt Germany, I wanted to get my sword on.
"Mama, you look really strong," I added. "Can you teach me to exercise like you?"
Yor smiled at me. "That's a great idea, Anya. I'd love to spend time with you. It's important for a young woman to be fit and agile. Instead of music, we might also look into ballet."
Loid nodded, his lips drawn down into an impressed expression. "Yes, that's a great idea. Do you know ballet, Dear?"
She blushed just a touch at his endearing nickname. "I haven't danced in years, but yes, I did ballet during my training. It's a wonderful way to learn balance, flexibility, and timing."
Training. Not 'schooling'. Ballet trained assassins.
Not going to lie, that sounded cool as hell. Anyone who thinks ballet is a thing for girly girls has never gotten a good look at a ballerina's legs.
Or their fucked up feet, with calluses like a back-swamp coonass who only wears shoes to church.
"That sounds fun, Mama!" I agreed enthusiastically. I mean, I wouldn't mind learning the violin. But I'd love to learn physical stuff from Yor.
I finally had a plan to bond with assassin-mom!
We wrapped things up fairly soon after that. There were still things to memorize, plans to show certain family traits and such, but the most important thing was internalizing it. Not just pretending to be a character, but internalizing it.
Living it.
And so far?
We were doing great!
Yor relaxed into the setting. Loid wasn't as tense. I wasn't stuck trying to mediate between them.
It genuinely felt nice. Almost like a real family. Being friendly acquaintances was the first step to real trust, and I was fucking STOKED at the idea of being psychic Penny Gadget to Loid's James Bond and Yor's Femme Nikita.
We tried watching some TV, but it was a mix of weird Ostanian propaganda-news, some sort of long running drama, a family comedy sitcom, a sort of action-thriller about spies, and a mix of things like business reports and documentary stuff.
None of it grabbed our attentions. Loid got his news elsewhere. Yor just didn't watch TV and seemed almost as perplexed by it as she did the opera. I was somewhat interested by the documentary stuff, but the one that was on at the time was about African lions, and you can only deal with a few years of Big Cat Week before you get pretty tired of lions, especially low tech, low detail stuff made for general audiences.
I was eyeing the bookshelf pretty hard, and I think Loid was, too, when Yor, the physical one of us, suggested we get some air and go to the park. It was still early evening, still plenty of light outside, so we agreed.
Yor took us a ways away via a cab ride, to a park she knew of outside the main city hub.
Surprisingly, it was more like New York City Central Park and less like some grey eastern Europe plot of scraggly trees, trash, and desperate proles sleeping in corners.
Actually, it was pretty nice. One of the things I still can't figure out about this place is how a country that reminds me so much of communist East Germany can be so full of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Like, from Loid's thoughts, and possibly something to do with Yor's secret profession, there's definitely a secret police, spying, surveillance, and quiet 'disappearances' of regular citizens in the background.
But it's almost like some sort of weird superhero thing, where there's villains and heroes and they fight, but other than major events, regular people aren't involved. I never overhear thoughts of like, 'Gotta look normal, or I'll end up in the gulag,' type stuff. I've never caught anyone thinking 'well if I turn in my neighbor for being a spy, the suspicion will be off me for at least a few months'.
On the other hand, I have overheard a fair amount of nationalistic thoughts, especially at that political rally that was so nasty. And Loid, an agent for the OTHER country, Westalis, wouldn't be here and busy as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest if there wasn't reason.
Also, Yor's thoughts about her assassin job implied she was called up two or three times a month.
So I really do not have a good understanding of what's going on around me.
But for the moment, we were in a nice cobblestone square on top of a hill, overlooking a sloped forest on one side and residential buildings on the other. Kids a bit older than me played soccer in the street. People went about their business, looking neither hurried nor afraid.
"I don't come here often, but when I'm particularly tired, and just feel down, I find myself here," Yor explained as we gathered at the railing keeping people from falling down the slope.
It was concrete, not something really expensive like wrought iron or stone, but it had actual aesthetic shape, and wasn't like brutalist slats or something.
"I had no idea this place existed," Loid admitted. "It's lovely."
"I like it," I agreed. "It has people, but it's not too crowded. And the air smells fresh." The streets and sidewalks had people walking or riding bicycles, and a few scooters and motorcycles in the distance, but there were nearly no cars. No car noise, no exhaust fumes.
If this was the goal, maybe people in the FuckCars movement had a point.
"When I remember that what I do is helping all these people, it gives me the energy to go back to work," Yor said quietly.
An idealistic assassin? Killer with a heart of gold?
I want to sneer, but then I really look at her, Loid doing the same behind me.
Yor Briar is a lovely woman. Not really 'young'. Even though she's just in her mid to late twenties, she mostly comes off as self-assured and driven, even when she's out of her element. I have no eye for fashion but she always dresses chic. Like you could photograph her at any point and put her in the pages of any women's magazine. Beautiful and attractive, but not in a way that begs for attention. Sexual without being sexy, just dressed for the weather and for the pleasure of looking good, without inviting comment or approach.
In my mind, she looked upper crust, but without throwing money around. She was so impressive I was a little intimidated. In another world, she'd have been way out of my league. In this one, she felt more like an impossible ideal to strive for. Seriously, virtually none of the 'Bond girls' in the films could stand beside her without looking like a cheap imitation.
Loid wasn't thinking aloud, but I got the feeling that he, too, was impressed.
She was an assassin, though. Objectively, that's a bad thing. How she manages to function without becoming sociopathic or jaded in sheer self-defense mystifies me. The only other mental state I'm aware of that allows people to kill often without turning into an emotionally deadened monster is to be a fanatic for some sort of cause.
Maybe? She believes she's doing it for the good of the regular people.
But hell, Loid is clearly killing people on occasion, too. And he genuinely believes he's doing it as an only choice to protect people at large. Sort of a 'greater good' philosophy.
Generally, I'm with the people who eye 'greater good' arguments with skepticism. It's fine to say 'greater good' until you're the one getting sacrificed. And also, the people inclined to 'greater good' type arguments never include themselves in the pool of potential sacrifices, because they're too 'necessary'. The whole thing is shaky, built on a house of cards rolling down a highway paved with good intentions. Scary shit, and absolutely the kind of thing I'm inclined to go against.
But… what if it's real this time?
That's a question I can't yet answer, and equally can't unthink.
I mean, look around me. Non-shithole East Germany? Happy, prosperous people?
What if their efforts really are what's enabling this?
Because… it kinda seems like it is? From my outsider perspective, this place is nice.
Then it becomes more of a 'Those who walk away from Omelas' situation.
Because as a US citizen, aware of the problems but still devoted to the freedoms… Murder ain't right. I have no idea what sort of person I'd be if I was actually a native to the situation, but with my current set of experiences and morals, I'd absolutely leave Omelas. No amount of happiness is worth the sacrifice of one innocent. No matter how many people rely on it, no matter how many would die, or be miserable, or how many evils would rise without it, nothing is worth one innocent life.
I could never get into Star Trek. Prime directive, greater good, none of that bullshit.
Fuck your happiness. I matter. My choice matters. And so does his, and hers, and everyone's.
But… what if you're sacrificing the people who want to sacrifice others? What if Omelas wasn't powered by the pain of an innocent child.
What if, instead, it merely required the lack of privacy of a larger group of people who are mostly thought to be varying degrees of evil? A few innocents get mixed in, but generally don't get anything worse than having their secrets gone through. And virtually no true innocents get caught up in the purges. The assassination targets are the most evil, problematic people they're able to target. Some real shitheads get missed, a few less guilty people inadvertently get murdered. But they're trying their best.
In a perfect world, no. My morals say that no amount of innocent blood is acceptable. But, better though this world is compared to my last, it's still clearly not a perfect Heaven.
'Better that ten guilty people escape than one innocent suffer.'
Blackstone's ratio.
This is a better world, so what would the ratio be here? One hundred to one? A thousand?
Even at a thousand to one, for every million violent crimes, you'd have a thousand innocents on the chopping block.
I have no idea what the Ostanian crime rate is like, but would the accidental murder of ten innocents a year be a rate the population at large would accept?
In my original world, I guarantee it. They accept a lot worse than that. Here, in a world with better overall karma?
I'm not even six years old. I can't make good judgements on this.
Loid is a good person. Yor is a good person.
I guess I just have to accept what I'm given, and do the best I can with it.
Shouting from below caught my attention.
"He took my purse!" an old lady screamed as a man sprinted away down the sidewalk.
"She should have been more careful," Loid noted callously, dismissing the crime as something he couldn't do anything about.
Huh, well, no place is every completely free of HOLY SHIT
Yor went over the railing and down the slope like a police malinois going after a protester of color. I mean holy shit that is batman comic fast. Not quite anime flash step but definitely faster than any parkour efforts I've ever seen. She didn't slide, she RAN down the grassy slopes, slowing herself down by landing hard on the switchbacks of level sidewalk and stairs that terraced the side of the hill away from the trees.
The soles of her trendy, fashionable leather short boots, with low heel I might add, made heavy THWOK sounds as she hit each section of sidewalk, braking to lower speeds before hurtling down the next slope, her war cry of "You'll pay for that, thief!' splitting the air.
"Ah. We'd better-" Loid began, picking me up.
"Yeah," I agreed, too surprised to really react as the spy began running with me in his arms.
We went down the slope at considerably lower speed, breaking off from Yor's path to hopefully cut the corner and catch up with her faster.
For their part, both the thief and Yor disappeared around a corner, their footfalls quickly fading out.
Yor came back briefly to check on the old woman, and Loid started to head back in her direction, but she took off again down an alley.
"We'll have to cut him off," I said excitedly.
Loid was getting into the chase, and he didn't disagree.
The next ten minutes or so were spent pounding down the street, taking a few back alleys here and there. Loid was in excellent shape, and not particularly hampered by my modest weight. We went down alleys and upstairs.
'He'll head for the crowd near the market. It's the best place to lose a trail,' Loid thought.
But when we got there, staring down at the crowd from a raised walkway, his shoulders slumped. The thief had clearly beaten us, if he was there, because we didn't see any runners dropping to a stroll.
And in the press of people going about their evening, it was impossible to pick out one man they hadn't even gotten a good look at.
'Ah. I think Yor will be disappointed we lost him,' Loid thought.
Except that wasn't the case. There were dozens of people, yes, but they were calm people going about their business. Mentally quiet people, focused more on navigating the crowd and only occasionally thinking about their next stop.
The triumphant glee of a guy mentally counting bills, delighted in getting one over on a stupid old lady came through loud and clear.
"There he is," I said, pointing.
"Loid?" Yor asked, running upstairs to the walkway to join us.
'Aha, she's right,' Loid thought with fierce glee. 'He changed his coat and put on a hat, but he still moves the same!' Turning to his new wife, he barked a quick instruction. "Yor, watch Anya! I'm going to get the thief!"
And then I got to watch Loid, blond James Bond in the flesh, sprint down the raised walkway and leap off, falling fifteen feet or so onto the hapless thief like a hawk swooping on a mouse.
Death from above mother fucker!
We quickly joined him below as he explained to the startled crowd that the guy was a thief and purse snatcher.
Clearly a professional one, too, or at least habitual. He had other wallets on him, and had probably been stalking the streets all day.
Loid seemed a little embarrassed to be the center of attention as the guy was taken away and the purse, with money, was returned to the old lady.
Ultimately, Papa and Mama did the whole 'aw shucks' routine with the old lady and each other. Mutual admiration, Yor's sense of justice, Loid's successful take down, my quick spotting of the guy.
The old woman even said it, like a moral at the end of a thirty minute episode, or the blessing of God X the Director.
"What a wonderful family you are."
You know what? I was fucking stoked. Forget the existential implications. Forget the moral quandaries and philosophical conundrums.
Super spy Papa.
Assassin with a heart of gold Mama.
(False) genius psychic tot me.
"Hell yeah!" I whispered to myself.
"Anya!" Loid said, startled. "Who taught you to say that?"
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AN: There's more written, available on that patronage site.
You can also read my works on space battles, sufficient velocity, and questionable questing SFW forums. And for those of you wondering where the lewds went, they're on questionable questing NSFW, but you need an account to be able to see it.
Comments welcome!