[b]Persephone:[/b]

The fight’s over. Heavyweight isn’t struggling. He’s gone still, and he locks eyes with you with an overwhelming and visceral hate. 

Yorks’ a frozen stare. His emotional reaction is intense, overwhelming and unreadable. For a moment he’s unreadable, because there’s no signal under all that noise. It’s like trying to pick up a radio station during a solar flare. 

Then he’s all smiles and energy. “Fine, fine, we’re all fine here, aren’t we, Mr Applebaum” He’s leaning down and offering a hand to Heavyweight underneath you, offering to help him up. It’s extremely clear you’re expected to move off him to make this possible. Heavyweight swats the offered wrist away and pushes himself into a sitting position. 

Then two uniformed police officers are there, gripping him under each armpit and lifting him heavily to his feet. Heavyweight dusts himself off and gives both of them a nod.

“[i]Persephone[/i],” York claps your shoulder, careful to use your handle, “Allow me to introduce you to Police Commissioner Raymond Applebaum. You might not have recognized him, out of uniform like this. We were just finishing up a chat, weren’t we, Ray?”

One of the uniformed officers is saying something [i]sotto voce[/i] to the Commissioner and giving a quick glance to the press pool nearby, some of whom [i]definitely[/i] got that on camera - probably more incriminating than the view from yours, taking the wider view of what happened. Applebaum is dusting himself off, cricking his neck. Licking his wounds. 

Then, he’s performing. The look he gives the crowd is bashful, then concerned. The expression he gives you - pantomime meant to read clear to all those camera watching him now - is [i]mortified[/i], positively ashamed of what’s come over him. But you remember that look of pure hatred when he was underneath you, just seconds ago.

He doesn’t say a word. Words can be documented, quoted, in courts and headlines. That could read as an admission of fault, or intent. So he’s silent when, after that last mortified look, he retreats to the backstage area with his two minders, to hide behind those fortress walls. 

York’s smile drops the second Applebaum’s closed the newly-installed stage door on this side. It takes him a minute, the man is pretending not to have a slight limp right now. He ages ten years in that moment. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, E, out of the frying pan. Sorry you got caught up in that.” He bleeds sincerity into that. The full passion of someone who knows they’ve fucked up.

“Listen. I put some pressure on, yeah? I thought I was kicking his shin, but apparently I stabbed a nerve. This isn’t a corp thing, this isn’t even a poli thing. This is a cop thing, through and through. The call’s coming from inside the house, and apparently whatever it is, Ray thinks we know it. My fault. I didn’t think…” He pauses. “I thought I was bluffing. That there was a bigger player at the table, and the cops were being used as a prop. They’re not. This is them, and I just made it personal for us.” 

York’s working out blame, and working out what his share of it is. Your judgement’s going to influence that. One thing’s clear right now; To him, you’re blameless. 


[b]November:[/b]

It’s just you, now. Nobody else to account for but yourself. Rudy’s out of the picture for the time being, as thoroughly as he can remove himself from it. If he is returned, it will be by your decisions and not his. 

The data for your consideration

[b]Location:[/b] In a small rented truck on an arterial road. 

[i]Public transport is the overwhelmingly dominant means of transport on Aevum, with streets dominated by pedestrians and cyclists. There is little vehicular traffic, mostly service, utility, and last-point delivery. The drive through the streets was an agonizing crawl with speed limits barely above walking pace. Now there’s barely anyone to share this stretch of road with you.[/i]

[b]Cargo:[/b] A broken cabinet, a broken Red and a loaded pistol that represents uncountable broken laws. 

What is your destination, and what is your objective? There’s no guarantee that Red’s body will have all the information you need. Even if any of her last moments are recoverable, it might not be enough to tell you everything you want. 

Only one way to find out. Do you have someone you can rely on to help with this, or are you relying on your own skills, tools and expertise? 

And what of the gun? 

[b]3V:[/b]

She doesn’t laugh about the name. About the dumb little dance ‘we hedgehogs’ are all compelled to do. There’s too much empathy there, too much shared pain, to surrender the smile that she clearly understands is expected from her. 

It shines bright at the [i]Vesna[/i] joke, though. That gets a scandalized [i]giggle[/i] out of her, even, after a half-second of shocked-surprise. Apparently the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, and you are not the only one to deal in self-criticism. 

At the end, Ferris sighs in visible relief. “I was worried you needed bigger answers from me, answers I only wish I had. I suggest you’re slower with the darjeeling, by the way. It’s a more subtle flavour.” That is said with a smile. “There’s no wrong way to drink tea, so it’s only a suggestion.” [i]That[/i] is said with a wink. 

“Would you accept a compromise, Ms Vesna?” She tests. She knows better than to say that she doesn’t find ‘Valentine’ ridiculous. She understands that’s not the point. 

“There are people here who [i]do[/i] live by that promise. I mean [i]live[/i], not just survive. But they are people too alien, I think, for your audience to relate to directly. It would need more than just a translator. More than it would be fair to ask of you.” 

She finishes her glass of wine and pours a fresh one. She takes one of the larger slices of strawberry she’s cut for you and eats it in two chews. It’s a battle of willpower not to take another one, but one she eventually wins. 

“I don’t know how many natives of Aevum would believe there was anything they could enjoy about climbing a mountain, if they heard it from anyone else. Even if all you take from this is that it was [i]fun[/i], I’ll consider this to have been worth it. I hope you do, as well. The most important things to people are the things that bring them joy. So it should be, but I don’t think they believe there’s any here for them.” 

That reminds her. She is not just talking to Vesna Valentine, intrepid journalist. She is talking to Vesna Valentine, who has just climbed a mountain to be here. How easy you made that to forget. 

“I’m sure you’re sore, and tired, as much as you’ve been gracious about it.” Ferris glances up the stairs and past them, to the parts of the house you haven’t seen yet. “The guest room upstairs is all made up for you, whenever you’re ready. A bathtub in the ensuite. I’ll show you up, when you’d like.” 

There is still the darjeeling and the glass of strong, sweet wine. And, of course, the chilled rainwater. The offer is only an offer - when you’d like is when you’d like.