Operation Bosco: A Call to Arms, II

It wasn't so much that he was a coward.

Rather, Locke was just a pretty average guy, he always thought. Who, fine, yes, did hail from one of the extraordinary guilds and with a last name that carried some weight in important circles, but other than that, he found himself to be rather...bland.

That's what Haven called him, sometimes, to get under his skin. While it didn't work as immediately and effectively as some of her other insults, it did dig at him late at night sometimes. When he considered how not bland the woman was and how that must be why then, right? That she was constantly running out on him? Or thinking about it?

It went deeper though, than just his tangled mess of a relationship with Haven. While being a mage felt like a rather interesting profession, it was more gifted to him, passed on to him, inherited, than it was anything he chose. He enjoyed it and loved helping others whenever he could, but he imagined he'd have loved just about anything. If his father had run a bakery, he'd be all about that. His mother run a library? Stocking books the rest of his life. But his parents didn't do that. So neither did he.

His call for adventure was strong, anyways, and he was grateful for his upbringing and the freedoms it provided, especially considering they led directly to his life currently. He could imagine him baking bread, stocking books, but he couldn't imagine quelling the drive inside of him to discover new things and visit new places.

But...that hardly made a true personality. Sometime Locke felt as if he didn't have one. At all. He was nice. Mostly. And caring. His mother always told him that he was a loyal person, and smart too, but again, those felt just so…

Bland.

Again.

He felt interchangeable with most every other young guy down at the guild for the majority of his life. And maybe even less useful than some of the others as, though he did know some offense spells, many of his main were were based in support magic. His father did little to help these insecurities, as he prodded any time he saw the boy practicing spells related to it, and it had just always been a sore spot for him.

Then, when relating to those who weren't associated with the guild, Locke still felt rather lackluster. Especially with girls. When he got to the age it was important, he could get them well enough, in the beginning, but things always somehow soured rather quickly in most of his relationships, even those he had in those years after Haven fled Magnolia. Girls always thought he was cute and liked that he could buy them things, but they almost always bored of him and on a deeper level, he found he could rarely openly express himself in an intriguing way.

Locke's father was special. Very special. And had a distinct way about him. People knew Black Steel Gajeel. For better or worse. But who the fuck knew Locke?

Becoming S-Class had meant so much to him. So much. It would be how he made his mark. Proved himself. His entire childhood, he was either known as one of the 'slayer kids' or Black Steel's son or, worse, just the oldest Dreyar girl's friend, but by becoming S-Class? By being considered one of the top mages in one of the top guilds?

It meant that he was someone.

That he was an actual mage, a serious one, and that he mattered and was more than just someone's son or friend. He was his own person.

Sometimes Locke felt like he just got mushed into whatever person he was teamed up with, supporting them not only with his magic, but with his entire being. His plights and exploits were never the main focus of a job and he was stuck in the background.

But not now.

Now he was the S-Class wizard that landed Haven the job. He was the important one.

Or at least he thought he was.

Astra had fucked over Haven, badly, but still seemed far more interested in her and her contributions than him. She didn't seem to think of Locke as adding anything to the group and he imagined that had he not forced his way onto the current mission, he'd be sitting back on the sidelines with Xay and Richard, still running medic checks and doing little else.

Now he was here and he was in charge and he was...not prepared.

At all.

Richard talked to him the entire way to the boarder and even accompanied him part of the way through the country. There was an air, that first day, of something he'd forgotten the past few months, if not the past year or two. Jobs were so much fun for him, back before all the shit Haven brought about, during the Monster Gauntlet, and though this was a rather serious one, there was that same bubbling in his stomach about the idea of traveling somewhere new, somewhere so exciting, and to do what he did best. Finally.

He was an excellent medic. He didn't feel boastful with admitting to that fact. It was what he'd practiced at since he was a boy. But it was far from all he was. Being a mage, a guild wizard, went far beyond just your base magic.

And fuck, it had been so long since he got to do some real guild work.

Maybe he was naive. Or ignorant. Focused in on his own gains, in once more being an asset, and therefore ignoring the potential to suffering. But it felt like a punch in the gut, the first time he witnessed it.

It was at the train station.

Richard and he were standing by, him rocking on his feet some, just observing their surroundings. He hadn't seen many with those markings on their arms, denoting their 'owned' status, but he had seen a few. Carrying bags or following along behind non-owned people. Silent. So far. As Haven had mentioned to him.

While this did leave a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, it wasn't until he witnessed a young child, a marking denoting his arm, sobbed while a woman with a contorted snarl hit at him, insisting that he knock it off and pick up the bag at his feet; that they had to get home and he didn't want her husband to hear about it.

The scene made a pit pool in the man's stomach, but he wasn't quite sure why at first. He could remember being a little boy throwing a fit in public places, much tot eh chagrin of either parent he were with. Especially his father. But this went further than that, didn't it? He just knew.

"We're all kids once," was all Richard remarked when, noting where the other man's gaze was directed, he tapped Locke roughly on the shoulder. "Even the marked."

The marked.

The silent.

Haven called them the latter to better distance herself from the reality of she'd gone through while Richard referred to them as the former to separate himself from the reality of what he was actively participating in, but Locke felt like both undercut what was really going on.

They were slaves, int eh purest form of the word.

And, as he swallowed this sight, fighting every urge to come to the little boy's aid, he knew he wouldn't allow himself to soften the blow this realization brought about.

This was about more than just him proving himself. Getting back to himself. Falling back into the groove of things.

This was about something far more than just him and as it took embedding his fingernails into his palms, he boarded the train reminded of exactly what was awaiting him.

Richard ditched out a stop before the one he was intended to get on, reminding Locke that he was there to look out for the girls, yes, but also to try and get some personal info on some of the top families.

"Plus," the other guy joked with an ease Locke lacked in that moment, "I put my neck on the line to get you this job, huh? Don't fuck it up. Until, you know, it's time to fuck shit up."

Locke made a face when the other man patted him roughly on the back, but kept quiet.

He met another man at his final stop into the heart of Bosco. Wick was what he wanted to be called and he addressed Locke by the surname he'd been provided; Hux. It felt harsh and short, not unlike his given name.

Wick wasn't much of a talker. He was older than Richard, even, and had a stern, lightless glare in his eyes regardless of the talking. His dark, cropped hair was gelled down and looked almost reflective, as they walked through the Bosco streets to an awaiting carriage. Barking something at the man who held the reigns, Wick then sat in the carriage, Locke across from him, and it felt like a long journey to the manor.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, honestly, Locke wasn't. He'd been so worried about himself, at first, and then the slaves, that he never stopped to consider the rough men he was going to be expected to become an associate to. Wick offered no conversation and seemed to be meditating, almost, as he sat stalk still, eyes shut, and breathing even. Though he could feel no magic radiating off the man, Locke did note the pistol that was holstered at his hip and imagined he'd be seeing a lot of that in the coming weeks.

The property felt endless as they rolled past the stone and iron gates, and Locke only stared out of the carriage in subdued wonder. There weren't people working out in fields, being abused and crying out. Rather, there was only the same bright golden sun that followed him most his life, set against the equally brilliant blue-hued sky. It felt different here, of course, Bosco did, as magic was not nearly as abundant and didn't stream into his body at every turn, but Locke only made certain to remember this, as not to overdue it in his usage; he didn't want to be left without any.

"Where are all the slaves?" he asked in what was a rather dumb comment, maybe, but it seemed to play into his 'young foreign guy in exotic new country' vibe as Wick smiled at this, a sickening, sneering one, but didn't peek open his eyes. Just kept with that same rhythmic breathing. In and out. In and out.

They came to a stop before what Locke could only think to compare to a guildhall, honestly. It was nothing short of a mansion, honestly, spanning what looked to be three stories with a massive front porch that wrapped around the property. Two men, dressed in the same slick, dressy way as Wick stood on either side of the entryway door and didn't break their gaze fixed on the horizon to glance Locke over while he, without a doubt, did them.

"Far from Fiore, huh, boy?" Wick questioned as, after they stepped out of the carriage, Locke took some long glances around. With a bit of a huff, Wick started up towards the house. "Come on then. Ain't got all day."

He led him inside, passed those two guards who did little other than nod curtly to Wick, and to what was, shockingly enough, actually a very empty place.

The first floor was a set of four, large rooms, branching off from the foyer. There was a lounge of some sort, with a long, sleek sofa and cozy fire place, as well as a kitchen that Locke could just glimpse inside, where some women were working at preparing a meal. On the other side of the foyer, two other doorways stood, one leading to a room that glowed a soft blue hue and, to Locke's surprised, seemed to be some sort of arcade, pinball machines and the like humming softly along with the random, repetitive chatter and musical numbers that certain ones produced. This felt shocking and out of place, especially when the final room seemed to be a library of sorts, but before Locke could consider any of them very deeply, there was a clearing of throats.

It came from be back of the foyer area where a single staircase led up to the second floor. Down it in that moment strode a guy not too much older than Locke, if at all, dressed sharply in a bright red suite that he quite clearly thought was something special. He was still styling himself it seemed as he was running a comb through his gelled hair, slicking it back as he eyed Locke with a cocky grin adorning his face.

"Wick," he spoke to the other man instead, a bit of laughter hanging onto his tone. Jumping some as he came to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, the man's green eyes were bright as they said, "Poppin' the new meats cherry, are ya?"

There were two other men, following along behind the red suited guy, but they only stood slightly behind him, the same fixed stare that the two men outside had. While Locke frowned some at the man's words, Wick only nodded his head with a bit of a grunt.

"Yeah, boss," he grumbled. "Just arrived."

"Heh." Slipping his comb into the pocket of his inner suit jacket, he came forwards then, nodding then to Locke. "Hutch was it?"

Clearing his throat some, Locke held out his hand. "Hux."

"Hux." When he was close enough, the man before him grasped the medic's hand tightly, shaking it vigorously before remarking, "Hope ya stick around some. Be good to have some fresh blood in the place. Well, more blood, anyways."

He snickered then, the man did, but the laugh sounded hollow and fake. Just as quickly, and with a bit of a whistle, he was continuing on, over to the library, where the door was promptly shut by one of the other two men who followed in behind him.

Wick took Locke on a tour of the house, which for as large as it was, didn't seem to be much. The first floor felt self-explanitory and, the second seemed to just be rooms. He was shown to his, which had a bed and a desk where he left his things, as well as pointed in the direction of a bathroom. When they started back down the stairs, however, Locke thought to question the man, just a bit.

"What about the third floor?" he asked and, again Wick made the same grunting noise.

"Boss's suite."

"The whole floor?"

"Like a...penthouse," was the best Wick seemed to be able to describe it. "Don't worry about it. Don't concern you." But he paused, oddly, after saying that, and glanced back at Locke with a shrug. "Or, well, when it does, you'll understand."

Given the other man's tone of voice, Locke wasn't so sure that he wanted to.

They went outside after that, the man detailing Locke's job to him. Mostly, it seemed to be a lot of patrolling and he tried hard not to deflate at the thought as, after all, it was the bulk of what he was leaving behind at the safe house.

Once they made it to the back of the mansion though, where Wick produced some cigarettes that he didn't even offer a nab at to Locke, just lit one up for himself and took a few quick puffs of, Locke took note of another building that had been eclipsed by the expansive house before it.

"What's that building?" he questioned of the one that sat behind the manor.

It looked to be a windowless, brick structure at first glance, but Locke did note, after more than just a curious once-over, the slits towards the top where slender rectangular glass streamed in just a bit of outdoor light. From their view on the back porch, Locke saw a woman, once, open the single front door on the structure, exit with a box of some sort and head to the back of the building, before returning empty handed and entering once more. She made no motion towards them on the porch and Locke fought the urge to raise a hand in greeting.

"Work," Wick replied simply to his question.

"What do you mean? What kind of work?" Locke asked, partially playing up his role as, while he wasn't certain of the horrors beyond the building's walls, he could imagine them somewhat.

He grunted, as he seemed prone to, Wick did, before taking a longer puff at his cigarette and remarking simply, "Locking fucking way from damn Fiore, boy."

While he knew this for certain, Locke mostly felt a long way from Haven and Shae's arrival, which he kept track of, marking the days off in his head as he spent his first week on the manner cutting his teeth in more ways than one.

But it wasn't as if they were going through anything pleasant either. Far less, in most regards.

Luka's man, Frank, rowed them ashore before leading them to an assigned meeting place nearby. After a short trek up the rocky beach (which, chained together, was a trick all by itself), Frank lead them through the surrounding wilderness under the aid of a map. It was as they neared a tiny wooden shack that, finally, he seemed to shed his aloof persona and instead got a bit of a darker glint in his eyes.

There was another man awaiting them there, a mage, Haven could feel it, who looked bone thin and had rather intricate tribal tattoos adoring most of his body, face included. He was shirtless, arms folded tightly over his pale chest, while his eyes were gray and lifeless. Deadened. When he opened his mouth to bark at them, upon their approach, his yellow teeth stood prominently out, highlighting, in particular, those that were missing.

They had an exchange of words, the man and Frank did, as Haven and Shae, drench in sticky sweat in the sweltering heat of summer, stood by, chained and silent. They had a disagreement of sorts, Frank and the man did, per Luka's request of the former, over the jewels exchanged. She wanted it to appear as if it were a purely money funded venture and nothing more.

Bones, as Haven heard Frank refer to the slaver, stuck to his guns and Frank relented, though he warned the wrath of Luka.

"Fuck," Bones growled with an accent Haven couldn't quite place, not well versed in the vast lands of Bosco, "Luka."

There was an agitation then, from Frank. The man tensed in a strange way, biting back what he wanted to say and do in that moment. There were none more loyal, so Haven had observed so far, than Luka's crew to the woman herself. Still, Frank had been given an order and, words dying off between his clenched teeth, he did eventually move to unchain Haven and Shae before snatching some cicles from Bones and turning his back on them all.

It was always so strange, the second bonds were released. Especially after wearing them for an extended period of time. Haven even stumbled forwards a bit, as they were released from her wrists, more concerned with rubbing at the soreness now forming there than Frank's departure.

The man had just disappeared into the surrounding forest when, as Shae watched his retreat, Bones only turned to give each of the women a once over. It seemed that Haven's rubbing at her wrists wasn't taken well as, after a beat, he suddenly sprang forward, slamming his fist into Haven's jaw. He was a frail man, but there seemed to be some sort of magic behind the punch as it caused Haven to stumble forwards some.

Shae tensed, not because she thought that the other woman was truly hurt, but rather fearful of Haven's reaction. She could tell in the way that Have let out a short, exaggerated huff of breath that, under normal circumstances, this would be the start of a brawl, but it didn't seem to progress that far this time.

No.

Rather, Haven only glared at the man, hate in her eyes and swelling in her jaw, but silent otherwise. Bones, for his part, only laughed and chuckled before sniffling some and rubbing at his nose.

"Been around before, ah?" he snickered before nodding roughly to the tiny shack behind him. "Inside. Both of you. Don't make any fuckin' trouble for me, else you'll get more where that came from."

The shack was nothing more than a rundown, one-room wooden structure which housed, at least at that moment, five other women caught in a similar situation as Shae and Haven. They were seated, in a line, along the back wall, chained together, while another stalked around the rest of the area. When Shae pushed into the door, he tensed, glared at them from behind his dark shades, before going back to his pacing.

"Sit," was all he growled at them, nodding at where the other women were all lined up.

They looked frightened, most of them, and one was still openly sobbing, sniveling, honestly now, and Haven imagined the bruising lining her face was residuals from when her cries were much louder. While she was the one most openly terrified, most the others eyes mimicked the same, whether they displayed this openly or not.

Haven tried hard to mimic it as, with a bit of caution, she and Shae both claimed their spots. But it was difficult. Because she'd felt terror before, true terror, and while this situation, this horrific setting, lost in the middle of nowhere with two maniac madmen aided in the law over just what torture they were about to endure. The continuation of it.

But for as cagey and strange as these men were, they were hardly who Haven felt the most concern over. In the immediate, were things to turn too far south, she was certain she and Shae, magic or not, chained or not, could retain order and control of the situation. Compared to the helplessness she'd felt at Ewing's manor, this was nothing more than playing pretend. Putting on for a young child. Pretending yourself helpless to the belief of another.

It wasn't true.

As one woman sobbed and the others sat in a stony, heavy silence, Haven knew their fears weren't founded. Nothing would happen to them. Nothing would get too far. She wouldn't let it.

The man that stalked about the room seemed to twitchy and agitated as Bones, but just in a different way. He seemed less focused in on them and more on muttering to himself, stomping back and forth before them, standing guard, but not paying much attention.

Not exactly the fear striking slavers the blonde was expecting.

But it wouldn't be long before she was face to face with an actual threat.

He arrived with three or four men, the head slaver did. His name was Bishop and he had a thick beard to match his thick neck. A hulk of a man, Bishop was just dripping with magic, so much so that it almost felt oppressive to Haven, similar to how her friend Ravan had felt, all those years ago in Crocus, when he'd first implanted his lacrima. While she didn't doubt her natural magical abilities, saddled only with her still not fully realized transformations, she wasn't quite sure how it would go, if things went south with Bishop and his men.

"New stock, Bones?" he questioned the other men as Bishop leered in the doorway at the woman. Snorting a bit, he remarked, "You didn't rough 'em up too badly, did ya? These ones are headed to The Factory; don't gotta be pretty, but fuck do they gotta be able to work."

"Ain't touched 'em none, nope, never." Then Bones, who was leering in too, made a bit of a sneering remark as he said, "No more than I should."

Any relief in leaving Bones and his friend behind ad the cabin was vanquished as the women were loaded between two wagons and drive off, through the dense forest, along with Bishop and his men. It was a long bumpy ride, in which Bishop and his men joked and prodded at the women in little ways, but the threats felt hollow and Haven had a feeling their next (and hopefully final) stop hinged on them being appropriate for purchase.

The mansion they rolled onto was a different than Ewing's manor. Less flashy in most ways. They were met at the gate by a man with a gun slung over his back and dark sunglasses, who had a stack of money to trade off with Bishop while his men shoved the women out of the wagons. There was another woman standing there already, her slave marking visible, and she kept her eyes trained to the ground as Bishop's men shoved all five women off towards her, but the second their backs were turned, her eyes were upon Haven and the others.

It had been a long day of being shifted around for Shae and Haven, an even longer one for the other three women they were with, and as the sun was just beginning to set, they were finally being fed a taste of to whom they'd been sold.

The sun was setting over the property while Bishop and his men loaded back into their wagons. Haven tried hard not to let her eyes drift towards them fleeing, perhaps residuals from the strike from Bones earlier. But maybe something more. Because as his oppressive magic dissipated with his departure, Haven still found she had a low, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach relating to it.

Bishop...Bones… She knew it wouldn't be the last tangling she had with their band of slavers.

There wasn't a lot of time to focus on any of that however. The man who'd traded off the money with Bishop barked something at the woman who was there to greet them, along the lines of hurrying it all up, and she only bowed her head once more in response.

He seemed rather trusting of her though as, without much thought, he handed off the keys to the chains that bound the others, ordering her to show them around before having them return to the barracks with the others.

Still, he lingered for a moment, just to give them all a cold, warning stare before heading off, back for the house.

"What is this place?" one of the women who'd come with Haven ventured, a slight, blonde with a voice hardly above a whisper, the second the man was too far to hear.

"This," the other woman explained to them all simply, "is The Factory."

"But what does that mean?" Shae insisted as this was now the second time they'd heard that term. She'd been rather quiet the whole time, observing. While Haven had zeroed in on the men they'd so briefly been associated with, she found herself studying the face and listening to the cries of the women they were left with. While Haven's mage years led to "Factory of what?"

But as she began to speak, one of the other women who'd just arrived spoke up instead.

"I've heard of this place," she remarked with a glare around at it. Rubbing awkwardly with one hand at the fresh marking on her arm, she said, "The Harval family ran illegal strains of papavars into the smaller countries and used to farm it here."

"Used to," the other woman agreed, nodding her head. "Decades ago. Under the older Harval family. Now the son is in control and the Kingdom of Bosco is much more conscious."

"Of some things," Haven muttered as she took a good look around for herself. "If we're not farming poppy, what are we doing?"

"Working." She began to walk then, turning from them with the expectation that they follow. It wasn't like they were left much choice. The woman who claimed to know the place, a dark-haired tall woman who Haven couldn't say for certain, but was nearly sure hailed from Fiore, was the first to fall into step with her. "We get in shipments of fabric and hand sew them. It is not hard work and is easy to pick up."

She paused then, the woman did, and stopped walking. When she turned back to look at the rest of them, Haven thought that it was to scold them for not falling in immediate step with her, but instead, she took a long glance around of her own before saying simply, "Stay away from the men. Both the Master and his bodyguards. And especially Master Alwood, should he return."

"Master," the woman with the bruise face whispered, the concept clearly still not quite familiar with her.

Haven though frowned. That name. Alwood…

Why did she know that name?

"You do as I," the woman was insisting to them then, "and the other women tell you and you will be fine. Forget your life outside of these gates. This is your home now."

This statement set the bruised woman into another round of hysterics, sobbing into her hands while the others glanced uneasily among themselves. But the woman was insistent then, that they hurry along and do as they were told; it was time to view The Factory.

Haven found herself somewhat unimpressed with what they were shown. Just a wooden building from the outside and, inside, rows of sewing machines and women filtering around, very busy with a variety of garments. The building had only slits for windows, up towards the top of it, casting long, sad shadows into the place. Fire lacrimas were used to provide additional light and Haven, already could see how that could, potentially, present a problem.

They wouldn't be assigned a station in the chaotic scene just yet as, rather, the day was winding down for the workers and they were instead directed back to a barracks, a better, more spaced out structure than Haven had been sentenced to at the Ewing place, but it's own private hell in another.

Most of the women were older than she and Shae. By a good number of years. It felt intentional too, maybe. There were a few young women, here or there, but the majority were nearing the middle of their life and probably presented less resistance as a whole.

Fire lacrima lit up the bunk house as well and Haven and Shae found their place at the two, long tables in the back of the building, where they were presented with small portions of food and little talk was to be had. The place had the same dank, beaten down oppressive nature as the Ewing manor, but it seemed stranged to Haven that the supposed bodyguards didn't appear to be featured as much. She hadn't seen them in 'The Factory' nor were they the ones rationing the food.

It some of the women. Specific women. Who'd told the others when the day ended and those same women who passed out the rations. They sat together, three of them, at a smaller table nearby, speaking softly. The woman who'd originally greeted them was among the trio. Haven stuck close to Shae, or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, they both sat together though the other women they'd been brought over with dispersed among the two tables.

Time felt so much longer, when it was so quiet.

While the trio were of interest, Haven found that honestly, really, she was most disappointed in the fact the guards weren't around as much solely because Locke was meant to be among them. She knew he was nearby, but close, and though she was sure the man was alright, there was still a longing to be certain.

Shae, however, spent the first night focused in on something entirely different. While she wanted to take down the regime and destroy the slavers in Bosco, there was something much more pressing that always took precedence for her.

She had that small photograph, the one she'd presented to Jed back at base, producing it from where she'd hidden it in her bra, and showed it off to anyone who would look at it, referring to her mother by name, hoping for some kind of info.

But there didn't seem to be any.

"Most people here," one of the women offered her with a bit of a sigh and the shake of her head, "have been here a long time. I've been here since I was...your age, I'd imagine. Under the other Master. Maybe someone recent saw her the last place they were, but who remembers a face here?"

Shae nodded easily at this and even agreed with the woman, but Haven, who was hovering about during this conversations felt a strange sense to further the conversation with the woman. It was rare that she found herself so interested in the tales of other people (especially if they weren't exploits, listened to purely to boast one of her own) and after all that had gone down with Astra, she really wasn't looking to be too friendly with any of the team.

But this felt different. No one had outright explained to her the situation about Shae and her mother, but at the same time, Haven had no witnessed on separate occasions her questioning others about it and she could more than piece together what was going on.

There was a pond on the back of the property and, at nightfall, the women all went out together to bathe in it. After long days in the stuffy shop, this felt like a near necessity, and even for the women who'd just arrived, the summer heat left them with a need for it.

Neither spoke on it, but both Haven and Shae were wise enough to hang back, not going with all the others out to the pond. Instead, they sat on the bunks they'd both been assigned, waiting for the few stragglers to head out as well before, eventually, Haven jumped down from the top bunk she'd been given and instead made her way over to where Shae sat on her own bottom one.

As Haven came to stand before her, Shae thought to mention something about their journey so far. Though they effectively knew little to nothing, she did find somethings of interest. But as always, Haven found it best to speak first.

Arms crossed over her chest, she paced a bit, before the other woman's bunk, as she remarked, "I'm, you know...about your….well…."

"My what? What are you talking about?"

"Your… The photo that you keep showing everyone and asking about." Haven shrugged some. "I didn't really know, when you were asking Jed about it, what it was about. If you think I was being rude then-"

"Didn't really notice if you were or not. Were you there? When I spoke to him?," the other woman asked her simply, rather stiff now as they spoke about her mother. "Not everyone's focused in on you all the time."

This stifled the blonde and, with a huff, her pacing stopped as she turned to look at the other woman head on. Glaring at her then, she said, "Tomorrow we're going to get our job details. I imagine we'll both be working the sewing machines in that stupid shop. While we're there, we both need to try and suss out who're the easiest people to get on our side and also who seems to be in charge around here. Those three that ate dinner together tonight seem to hold some power. If we could get in good with them-"

"The one that unlocked us," Shae cut her off, "I heard some of the others muttering about her. After dinner."

"Anything good?"

"Just to be careful about her. Her name's Glory," she replied. "Her and the three of them… They don't seem to like them much."

"Yeah, well," Haven sighed some, glancing to the door, "no one ever likes me either. It comes with being in charge of people. And I'm pretty sure they wield some sort of power around here. I'll get in good with them while you-"

"And who exactly," Shae questioned, "are you in charge of again?"

"A lot of people," Haven retorted easily, but she felt a slight twinge of unease as she continued the lie. "Back in my guild. Loads. They can hardly function without me."

"Yeah, well," Shae remarked as she glanced down at the magical marking that now adorned her arm, "you're not in your guild now, are you?"

"No." Sighing some, she began pacing again. "I'm not."

"You're not in charge of me," Shae told her simply. "I'll do what I need to do and you focus on whatever you want. We're going to be here awhile, remember? If you really think that you're going to get in good with three old ladies, have at it."

She swallowed this in silence for a good few seconds, Haven did, before saying, "This might not be the best time to say it, but… I have no idea how to sew."

Shae stared for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. It made Haven frown before, composing herself, the other woman said, "Neither do I."

Relaxing some, Haven even smiled, maybe. At least didn't look so grim, as she remarked, "Then I guess that's what we'll spend the next few days doing. Both of us. Figuring it out."

Nodding, Shae said, "We don't want to get in trouble."

"I might have to get into a little," Haven said. Mostly because she always did, but also because, "The guards seem rather lax here. Which means they didn't filter around as much. I need to find Locke and find out if he's discovered anything. Has any good info, all that."

"Is that why?"

Haven's hand came up to her neck, but she was prepared this time, when all she was met with was her own flesh. Running a hand over her chest, she replied, "That's why."

The night came on and Haven found herself lying awake, listening to the random coughs and snores of those amassed. She was scared, her first night on the Ewing manor, but here? Here she was determined. The next morning was the beginning of some real work and she couldn't wait.

Except for, you know, the whole sewing thing.

She really couldn't see herself being any good at that sort of thing.

And she wasn't.

After a small meal around the tables, the trio eventually led the other women back into the shop, where Haven, Shae, and the other women who'd been brought in with them were given their marching orders. There were three main stations; sewing, checking, and filling.

Shae lucked out on getting the checking portion of things. Which meant she'd have to go over articles of finished clothing, to check seams and such. She even seemed to make a face of victory at Haven when the typically blonde woman found herself being stuck behind a machine that she did not know how to work, at all, and was thoroughly frustrated by.

She never had been a good student.

Still, as Haven found herself utterly inept, she thought that maybe if she sucked hard enough, they'd assign her to filling, which seemed to consist of folding and boxing garments. She felt like she'd be great at that.

Or at least better than sewing…

The concept seemed easy enough. Run some fabric through a machine, and bam! You've sewn something. But it wasn't turning out that way for Haven and she was only growing more and more aggravated.

She was going to fast.

She was forgetting the back stitch.

How could she possibly get something stuck in the machine?

Was she even trying?

It was only as the woman who was supposed to be assisting her started to speak in an exasperated tone that Haven realized her inequalities were having an adverse affect. If she was too much of a problem, then there was no way that she'd win much of anybody and the whole uprising thing hinged on her figuring it out.

But sewing was stupid and she hadn't even wanted to do it anyways and why couldn't shit just go and smash the stupid 'Master's' damn face in and be done with it?

Because she was working as a team and, as a team, they'd decided that the best course of action was returning power to the (momentarily) powerless which, of course, had been her idea, and why hadn't she just volunteered herself to bum rush the Bosco capital and impose her own rule of law?

The idea alone carried her through the majority of the morning and into the afternoon. Sewing was bunk and she was just going to ditch out on it and take over the country already, the world, probably, and it made her feel better. To think that this was possible. That she could just blast through anyone who stood in her way and effectively enact change. All alone.

She wasn't all alone.

It was during a break, where the women were sitting out in the grass in front of the 'The Factory', trying to cool off as they ate stale sandwiches under the hot sun. The break was coming to an end and they were lining back up to go inside. Shae was standing behind her and had seemed to be fitting in far better with some of the women she was working around, and they'd even seemed to be having a hushed conversation, her and another woman, during their slight meal.

That was a good way to bring Haven right back down because this was a game of how well you could interact with others. And she'd never been good at that. At all. She could claw her way out of most anything...other than human interactions.

But there was one that had been nagging at her, since she arrived, and when two guards came walking by, Haven keyed in on him almost immediately.

They'd worked so closely together for all of their youth, been closer than that for the end of it, that they could nearly sense when the other was around. It had more to do with their magical energies, probably, but Haven always felt it stronger with him than any other person. Just the slightest hint of it had her head springing up and she had to bite back her words at the sight of her boyfriend.

Because his head was shaven. Not to mere fuzz, like he used to wear it, but more crew cut and it was startling, maybe, to see him in that way so suddenly, but she imagined it was harder for him, as though he was walking with another guy, he stopped suddenly, to glance among the women. He might have sensed her, maybe, but Haven banked just as heavily on him having spotted Shae who, after seeing him, was being certain to look away, as not to draw any suspicions.

If Shae was near then…

Haven looked different now. She was transformed. And he knew that he would be, but he'd been certain that no matter what, he'd be able to pick her out. Even if she looked entirely different. There was a pressure now though, as he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be, just standing there, gawking at the women it looked like, maybe, and the guy he was walking with, Anderson, frowned some as he glanced back at him.

"Hux." His partner turned to glare over at him before at where the women were lining up. "You alright, man?"

"N-No, I just… My shoe." Locke sprang down then, to quick untie it. "There's, like, a rock or something in it and it's digging into my sole and I just-"

"Catch up." Anderson clearly didn't care much, giving the other guy a bit of a shrug. "I'll be at the gate."

"The gate, yeah," Locke agreed and though he was now, a bit ridiculously, tugging his shoe off, his eyes were on the women as his partner's back was given to him. "I'll meet you at the..."

He trailed off as he found her. It felt too easy, smiling some as he did so. Her hair was short and brown and her face wasn't exactly the same, hardly passing as such, and her eyes weren't so bright and blue, but it didn't matter as she was staring back at him, across the way.

It had...been a long week.

She nodded, Haven did then, but not in greeting. Rather, it was towards something, it seemed like, as her head jerks were deliberate, and Locke glanced that way, noting the shed that stood nearby the women's work building. He imagined it housed excess supplies. When he looked back to her, Haven held up some fingers.

Four of them.

She wanted to meet at four. He wasn't sure how she'd keep time like that, much less get away, but it didn't matter. Because there'd be no way he could.

Shaking his head quickly, he held up his own fingers, flashed them, seven of them, and it felt like a good chance, maybe. The women would be leaving the building around then and he would hopefully be free, as he had been the night before.

It still sounded really risky and stupid, but Haven nodded and then looked away. Quickly. The women were headed back inside the building and he was just left sitting there, shoe in hand, but with a new directive.

And having been given by the only person that really mattered.

The next few hours felt worst than the last few weeks for Locke, as he felt a sick dread in his stomach, and he was such a rule follower. That's what Haven always told him. It was why, when they were kids, she said he'd never make a good mage. A working one, at least.

There were just rules that you had to break if you were going to get anything done in this life. For young Haven, this had been the majority of them, honestly, but it wasn't as if he could find fault in the core of what she meant.

Unjust rules weren't rules at all; they were tyranny. And while he hadn't been treated too abhorrently while he was working on the manor nor had he seen the women abused too awfully, there was an undercurrent of unacceptability in the entire operation. Slavery was an anomaly to him, abolished in his country long before his time, and even just sleeping on the same property where the practice was utilized made him uneasy.

But there was a certain protection in indifferent. Divergence. If he just kept to himself, avoided going around the women too much, then it was almost like he was being paid to patrol a mostly empty mansion with some questionable history, fine, but also no outward things to object to. He'd been instructed to blend and not cause problems, so he'd been doing this.

Now, he was meant to break away, to discuss things with Haven, and he just worried about getting caught. Not really the repercussions he'd face, as he was certain he could extradite himself at any time, but rather Haven and the other women. Not to mention, it could ruin the overall plan.

If Haven was fighting to figure out this sewing stuff, he was fighting to ignore his typical response to things and push himself beyond previous limits. If it was for the greater good, he could do it.

And he was certain this was.

Escaping that evening was easy enough. The sun was beginning to set and the evening guys were getting ready for patrol, but so far, Locke had mostly been assigned to stick around the house. The easy stuff. He wasn't expected to interact with the women or any visitors. Just keep his head low, Wick instructed, and most challenging work would appear with time.

He wasn't quite sure what he'd say, as he exited the house that night, if someone questioned what he was doing. Going for a stroll? Maybe hiding a nicotine habit? Something, again, about his shoe?

But this seemed to be a non-issue, as none of the other men were interested with him and, as he exited through the back entrance to head towards the shed, there didn't seem to be much of anyone around. He could see the women, further away, walking towards the bunk house. But he only quickened his pace, less fearful and now a with a bit of anticipation.

She was there, of course. Or at least a version of herself. A transformation. Standing in the tiny, lightless shed, squinting some when he opened the door. When he took to just staring at her though, her face contorted and it was definitely the woman he knew.

"Close the door, idiot," she growled, reaching out to tug him in. "Damn, you're terrible at this."

"Haven." Locke didn't mind her tugging because it made it easier to fall into the woman, pulling her tightly into her arms. "Err, well, what's your name now? Huh?"

"To you? Doesn't matter. I'm nobody."

But she didn't feel like nobody as he nuzzled his head against hers.

"You look so...different," he admitted softly when she pulled away. Reaching out to ghost a hand over her bruised cheek, he said, "Your eyes and face and… Are you… Did you kinda buff yourself out?'

"If you can be whoever you want," Haven huffed at him, "why wouldn't you tone yourself a bit?"

"You're still you," Locke assured her softly, but it only got him shoved. "Hey-"

"It's been, what? Hardly over a week. You haven't missed me that much." Crossing her arms then, Haven looked off as she added, "So tell me how everything's been?"

"You first," she insisted. "Tell me about-"

"No way."

"Locke, we don't have time to- Stop it!"

She slapped his hand away with a glare when he'd raised it once more to her cheek, but this time with a magic circle coming from his palm. He was determined though, raising it again, but this time Haven only grasped his wrist.

"You can't heal me."

"Why not? Your jaw is swollen and who even did this to you? Someone here? Because-"

"The slavers that sold me. And I'm fine. It hardly even hurts."

"Have-"

"I can't just come back magically healed." She shifted her hand then, to fold his into hers. "I'm alright. Nothing's happened for me yet. Except I can't fucking figure out the sewing machine, but… Do you have anything for me?"

"Well, I don't know how to sew either, but-"

"Locke-"

"Hux," he corrected. "I'm Hux here."

"Hux with the shaved head."

"It's not shaved." And it was dark in the shed, but she could swear he blushed some, reaching up to run a hand over his new cut. "It's how the guys wear it here. Everyone. It's a whole… They're kinda hazing me, right now, I think, but-"

"Real info, Locke," she insisted then. "I can walk you through your insecurities later."

"My insecurities? I didn't fucking change my body type."

"Locke-"

"The head guy here is Monty," the man finally seemed to start. "He walks around with this slicked back hair and these fancy suits and mostly seems to spend all his time either locked up in his penthouse suite or in his, like, stupid arcade. I don't know anything about his business practices or anything. I haven't really even spoken to the guy. But Wick is the head guard in charge. You've probably seen him. He's this real serious, stern older guy. Then there's Davis. He's the second in command. And Anderson is the guy that I get partnered up with a lot. He's nice, but-"

"None of these guys here are nice, Locke." Haven made a face before shaking her head. "Just… You're, like, in now, right? Kinda? Just keep building their trust. If you can get info on this Monty guy, great, but if not, I'm probably going to be part of the inner circle with the women soon, so who knows where that's going to lead-"

"You can't even figure out a sewing machine, Have," he pointed out. "I'd lower my expectations."

"And that's why you're a stupid little boy who can't get anything done."

"I'm S-Class," he reminded. "Don't make me pull rank."

"If you ever say that to me again," she warned, leveling her gaze and no, yeah, it didn't matter what color they were, they belonged to his girlfriend, "I'll end you. Understood?"

But he only grinned, wildly, but as he felt wrong for this, this entire moment and the enjoyment he was getting out of it. Turning his head some, he said, "You were right, you know?"

"I always am," she whispered, on command, but he only sneered.

"It's… I can't leave this place," he told her simply. "This country, I mean. Now that I'm here. Not until I fix it. And I know I can't, you know, just fix it. Especially not by remedying small moments. But it makes it so hard because-"

"Locke, I know. Okay? We'll have tons of time to talk about this later, but this isn't it." Still, she reached out then to grab his cheeks and pull him down for a kiss. It was over too quickly though, and then she was slipping around him.

"Hide in here for a few more minutes, alright? I have to get back." She peeked out the door before opening it. Glancing behind herself though, at the man, she only said, "We'll meet back here in two days. Same time. Same situation. If ever one of us isn't here within five minutes of meeting time, bail. Always. Okay? Get me some solid info on Monty if you can, but also start memorizing the other guards schedules and things you know about them. And stay safe. I… I love you."

"Love you too," he whispered, but she was already slipping away, back into the just darkening night.

Haven made her way quickly across the yard, not necessarily cautious, but more determined. If any of the guards stopped her, she reasoned she could easily explain away getting lost, being new and all. Her biggest fear was having been missed at dinner. But by the time she got back, they were all heading down to the pond and it was easy enough for her to fall right in line.

The pond was large enough for the women all to spread out and they mostly did, keeping in pairs of sorts. Haven sought to wade out in it alone, the small chip of soap clutched in her hand. She thought back to when they were forced to bathe this way back on the Ewing manor, before all the guards, and the idea made her blush again, shamed somehow over it, still, not truly that removed from it apparently.

"How's Locke?"

Haven tried not to frown when Shae came to bathe by her. "Fine. He's...useless, like normal, but he'll figure it all out."

Nodding, Shae tilted her head back, to stare up at the moon for a moment before saying, "I might have found something out. That could help us."

"What do you mean?"

"I kinda think I know why we're here," she explained. "Maybe. Most of these women here… They either were here under the former master or were dumped here, when they got too old for anything else. They're easy to control and give little resistance. So why were we brought here? Or those other women we came with? We're young and… I mean, we're...attractive enough, right? For...more than this."

"What are you saying?"

"The Master here, he has a club. A closed one. For women." Shae took in a breath before saying, "If you make the cut, you get to go up to his suite with the others. They all live up there. With him. And some of the guards that he… If one of us could get in there, imagine what we could learn. Sticking around here, invigorating the women here, that's a great idea, but working from the inside? With the Master-"

"You're dumping a lot of info all at once." Haven turned from her, bringing a hand up to her head. "How would we even do it? Get in there? And once we did-"

"I don't know. I just found out about it," the other woman responded. "But if we could attract him somehow-"

"He's never around. I haven't even seen him yet. The...Master or whatever. It was luck that we ran into Locke. So-"

"There must be a time when they pick between us. The new, younger women they brought."

"What happens to the ones they don't pick?"

"I don't," Shae repeated then, clearly beginning to get annoyed with her, "know. Look, I'm just saying, it would be a good idea for one of us to be chosen. If one stayed back here and one was working up top, then with your boyfriend hanging around… So if you want to get picked, you should probably, you know…work on your sex appeal."

The typically blonde looked at her then, her gaze rather dumb as she said, "What does that even mean? We work, apparently, in a windowless factory all day. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I have already buffed myself out some. I'll probably be chosen right off the bat, so-"

"Haven…"

"What?"

"You've…been with other people before, right?" Shae asked then. "Than just Locke? He makes it seem like you were together since you were kids. And I only ask because-"

"I've been with lots of people." This came out of pure competitiveness, but after hearing it back, Haven frowned some. "Well, other guys. Than him. Yeah. We were together really young, but… We've been with other people too."

"Could you...be with someone? Else? Now?" Shae raised an eyebrow. "That's what it would entail, you know. You'd have to… Come on, Haven, don't make me say it."

"No, I know," she agreed if maybe, before, she hadn't really thought about it. "And… Fuck, Locke. If it's work, it's work."

But she didn't mean it. Not really. And she wasn't so sure if Shae did either. She didn't know the other woman too well, but the entire concept felt far too large to comprehend in such a short amount of time.

When they arrived back at the bunk house, Haven found an apple was left on hers and, when she glanced over at Shae from across the room, the other woman only nodded a bit. Climbing up into her bed, Haven tugged her threadbare blanket over her head, munched a bit on the piece of fruit, and reviewed the day.

So sewing was sucking shit, but Locke was alright and that was good. He was kind of whiny, but he was always kind of whiny, and just so long as he got back to her with guard postings and some tabs on Monty, there was little else that she could ask of him. Other than to be her backup.

He was always so good at that.

Now Shae had presented her with something to get out of sucking shit at sewing. Getting in with those stupid women sounded like a suckers prize now. Shae was better at connecting with people anyways. If Haven could get into a real inner circle and started working things from the top down…

But if she did get picked, if she did find her way into the penthouse then...then…

Then she'd have to have sex or whatever with the Master and his men and it wasn't any different, was it? Anywhere? Ever? Everything always went back to sex, back to rape, and oh gosh, she was freaking out because it felt a lot like Ewing manor, actually, now, and she was back in chains and she didn't know what was going to happen to her and no, worse, she was bound up, and she was so young back then, and she just wanted to go home, she should have never left home and if she'd never left home then...then…

She felt so vulnerable. At risk. Without her true magic. She thought that it would be enough, to be reverent of her demonic and transformation magic lingering beneath the surface, but it just wasn't. Electricity, when it was flowing properly inside her, helped her through many difficult moments in her life.

But now it felt stifled and she felt weak.

She was weak.

Maybe.

The next morning, she sought Shae out as they were walking to the building. Rushing to fall in step with her, she tried not to be too specific, instead only glancing off as she grumbled.

"I was thinking about...last night and… I don't think that I can, uh, you know… You should just focus on it. Alright?"

Shae frowned at her, not seeming to exactly understand, but she nodded all the same and Haven felt too cowardly, bowing out in this way, so early in the running, to think about much else that day.

Like improving on her sewing technique.

The woman who was helping her out the day before grew quite exasperated quickly and it took a lot out of Haven to, once more, curve her tongue. Remember who she was. Here. She wasn't the brute she was across the waters. No. She wasn't quite certain on her character here, but certainly, she couldn't bash heads with those around her.

Not if they were ever going to be of use.

Or, more like it, if she was ever going to be of use to them.

That's what was so fucked. After her panic the night before died down, Haven realized that not only might Shae be better suited for infiltrating the penthouse, but she was definitely a better fit down in the shop as well. She was stuck in the unforgiving reality she'd found herself in while on the Ewing manor.

It just wasn't enough. To be powerful and strong. Had it saved her in the end? Yes. But it wasn't what endeared her initially to the others. If she didn't want to weasel her way upstairs, then she was stuck actually putting work in down them and for how great the night before felt, when she was with Locke, now she was tasting defeat again and rejecting it wholly.

She wouldn't see Locke at all that day. Though she was glad he didn't do it, she'd kind of thought he'd try to time it so he was walking outside around the same time she was around. Or something. It was for the best, of course, that he didn't, but…

"Have you...been with a lot of guys before?"

Shae frowned at Haven as they bathed that night, making a face before sighing.

"No," she answered simply. "I haven't."

"Then what are you going to do when you get up there?" she questioned then. "I mean-"

"You chickened out. This morning. What other option is there?"

"I could go. I just..."

The other woman eyed her for a moment before going back to washing.

"It's like you said last night," Shae offered. "It's work. Right? Fuck everything else, it has to get done. If one of us could get in there, it could mean everything. Men talk, you know, when they're all...after-"

"What do you know about it?" Haven retorted. "Huh?"

"It's just a common thing people say," Shae defended with a bit of a huff. "You've never heard that? I mean, for someone that's been with so many guys-"

"Locke tells me everything anyways. All I have to do is ask. Literally anything." Haven tossed some water up to her face, breathing heavily through her nose. "Most the other times, the other people, were always… I've never tried to get at someone that way. If I want something from them, I just take it from them."

"Maybe we should take you to the palace then," Shae suggested dryly. "You can just take everyone's freedom from the King."

"I probably could," Haven boasted, having been set up for it far too easily. Still, looking off, she resounded, "But...I can't… If I got...chosen or whatever, to go up there, to the penthouse, I just-"

"It's your boyfriend, right?" Shae suggested. "You thought it over last night and realized he wouldn't go for it?"

"Locke doesn't go for half the shit I get myself into."

"You talk to him tomorrow, right?" Shae questioned. "Find out from him about it. How to get in and all of that. Or at least let him know that we know about it. I'm sure he's heard of it. He is a guard."

"He's Locke though. He hasn't heard shit or he would have told me. He doesn't keep secrets. That's my deal."

"Ask," was all Shae insisted. "You never know if you don't."

It was true enough and, after another day lackluster performance, Haven only had the shed to look forward to. She ducked away from the other women easily enough and it was only a tense minute or so before the shed door was cracked open and she was, once again, forced to accept Locke's new haircut.

"Hey," he greeted as he quickly slipped in. "I-"

"Do you fuck women up in the penthouse with the other guards?"

"What?"

"Well, you need to start." Haven pointed a finger at him. "If you don't gain their trust-"

"Haven, shut up. What are you even talking about now?"

He'd come forward to greet her with a hug or a kiss or something, but at her words, it was just a cold glare that got settled on. She only crossed her arms though and Locke could almost swear she'd made herself slightly taller as well. She seemed to fall differently against is figure.

"Shae found out that there's some sort of inner circle of women that your boss brings up to the penthouse to fuck or whatever and, supposedly, the guards do too."

"I don't know!"

"I know. That's the problem."

"Haven-"

"I need you to find out whatever you can about it," she said simply, resting that finger in the center of his chest now. Pressing down, she said, "Top priority."

"I'm not being other women. Or…hurting them. I'm doing that. What the other guys do. So-"

"You better not." She relented her poking. "But I do want information about it."

"Why?"

"Shae's going to infiltrate it."

"What? No. That's-"

"I was going to do it-"

"Haven-"

"-but I didn't want to listen to you whine and complain," Haven finished with a shrug of her shoulders. "I know how much that bothers you."

Narrowing his eyes, he said, "I don't know anything about this penthouse shit, but can I suggest, to both Shea and you, Haven, that it sounds like a really bad idea? To try and purposely get involved in something like that?"

"Did you forget that I purposely have gotten a branded twice now?"

"You're prone to stupid, risky shit, I guess."

"Did you get the other stuff I wanted from you? Hux?" She tapped her foot. "Schedules and some info on the Master-"

"I'm working on it."

"Locke-"

"It's a lot, okay? I did hear something though," he offered then with a shrug. "About someone coming. Another one of the head guys."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Alwood," he told her. "Some of the guys says he comes around ever few months. To check in on Monty. I don't really know much else about him, but-"

"Ewing."

"What?"

"He was at Ewing's manor," Haven said then, face becoming flush at the memory. "The night Ewing drugged me. I… He was the guy that was having a conversation in the study. And is...assistant, she…"

"Hey, take a breath." Reaching out then, Locke took her cheeks into his hands, sighing some as he frowned. "If this is too much for you-"

"Ewing was buddy-buddy with him. In a way I've never seen him with anyone else." Haven turned from his grasp. "That means that he's someone important. Find out what you can about him too."

"Right, so, I need to figure out everyone's schedule, help you infiltrate a sexually deviant lair, get dirt on said lair's ringleader, and get some info on some knew guy, who I don't even know, and apparently had something to do with abusing my girlfriend. Did I get all that?"

"You could work on your attitude too."

"Oh, yeah, whatever."

"Haven, are you okay?" He wasn't playing then. "Not even just the Alwood shit. I can tell something's bothering you. Are you-"

"I can't sew," she told him quickly, hoping to avoid the fact that, actually, she was still internally freaking out over the idea of being chosen and then what, then what would she do, because she couldn't do what she was going to have to do and that was just fucked because she felt like a completely different person sometimes and even though that's definitely what she wanted post-resurrection, sometimes it just scared her so much. "Or talk to people. Why were you such a shit friend that it made it to where I never learned how to make any others?"

"What?"

"I'll figure it out, okay?" Forcing a smile for him, she insisted, "Do what I asked. All of it. I expect perfection."

"Just outta everyone else."

"Everything I do is perfect, Locke. And if it's not, I didn't do it."

"Of course."

They parted on a kiss and a reminder to stay safe in the interim.

Shae wanted information the second Haven blended back in on the way to the pond, but once more, Locke hadn't been reliable. When she said this though, the other woman only made a face, looking off, and they'd had something of a rapport going before, but Haven felt off now, with the deeper implications of Alwood also looming over her head and it was all just a lot.

A lot of stuff that she wasn't able to run from and she hated that, because that's what she did. Or used to. Now she was facing things, before even coming to Bosco and especially in its realm.

Still, she was in a shitty mood the next morning and jumped a bit, when the woman at the machine beside her reached out a hand.

"I," she assured Haven softly as the typically blonde turned to look at the older woman, "struggled too. At your age."

"With sewing?" Haven asked, voice hardly above a whisper.

"With accepting it." Her hand shifted then, down Haven's arm, until it was over her own hand. Squeezing it, the older woman said simply, "It's hard. To know that… You have the life in you still. I can see it. You always can. Someone who thinks that there's more. Who was born with more, no matter how much, and can't wait to get back to it. You loose it eventually. Makes this all much easier. But somehow, also worse. Much worse."

Haven sat on this statement for a moment before offering softly, "But it doesn't have to be. Over."

The woman didn't rebuke her. Or pull away. Just smiled sorrowfully and it knotted Haven's stomach.

"I, uh, just really suck shit at sewing," Haven tried instead. "And-"

"You rush," the other woman said. "For what? Quota? You're not reaching it anyways. What will they do to you? Only what they do to us all anyways."

There were eyes on them then. And Haven knew exactly who they belonged to. One of the trio. Not the one that had met them at the gate only a few days ago, but another one of them. The rigid looking one. Stringy hair and a raspy voice.

Haven really didn't want to get on her bad side.

After all, she still banked on being one of them soon enough.

Still…

"Do you think," Haven asked then, "that you could help me?"

And it felt humiliating to ask. She'd so rarely done it in her life. In any capacity. Ask favors of someone? Sure. But for help? Fucking help?

What did she look like?

Someone who still had life in them, apparently, according to the woman who did, once more, walk her through the basics.

That night back in the bunk house, something strange happened. It was after their bathing and most everyone was climbing into their bunks, when the front door of the tiny building opened. A young woman stood there, eyes tear-stained, highlighted by the candle light inside.

Again, Haven felt a flashback nearly overtake her, but she was able to weather it as this wasn't the exact same situation, was it? Maybe close, but still, the woman wasn't in hysterics and, instead of someone rushing up to drag her into their protection, they all just watched. Even the trio. As she marched forward to claim the last, unoccupied bunk.

"Who is that?" Haven whispered softly, mostly to herself, as she stood before her bunk bed. She was had just been getting ready to clamber up it when the door opened.

"A reject now," replied the older woman who slept below her softly. Shaking her head, she said, "The Master must be done with her."

Haven's head swiveled quickly then, but not to glance over the woman in question. No. Instead, she looked for Shae, who she found hadn't gotten into bed yet and was instead standing across the room. Their eyes met and they both had that same determination written in their face.

It looked as if a spot were opening up.

Just in time.