Mind grind

Abigail's first clue was the line of silent, still people.

At first she hadn't wanted to approach the embassy; Unlike the other two, she didn't trust quick, and gave away even less. Strangers in a strange land weren't welcomed with open arms, they were turned away by closed and bolted doors. Her disquiet and wariness had cracked by degrees, but her watchfulness never had. It was why she'd realized none of their human handlers other than Zirune remembered Noel existed and she'd known something like this would soon happen.

The people in a row were unmoving and blank faced, one or two mouths hanging vacantly open. They didn't twitch or shuffle or even cough, just in an apparent vigil. She walked up and waved her gauntlet in front of the doorman's eyes, but he didn't blink. A fly had landed on his nose. With a weary sigh, she pushed open the glass doors and stalked inside.

At first her own armor stopped her short, until she realized the purple lights were bringing out old bloodstains on the black plates. Frowning at her gorget, she slowly raised her eyes and looked at the rest of the people around her.

The music thumped and blared, but for all they noticed this place may as well have been a tomb. Women in various states of undress walked around mechanically, like puppets marching under a clumsy hand. The men she assumed were normally customers handed them money, and then they'd both pause for about five seconds before they'd hug without expression and break apart. Even for a brothel it was rather shameless, but her prudishness could wait.

Noel sat on the edge of the stage, her gaze at the floor and her hands folded. The prettiest strippers stood around her like an honor guard as Abigail walked up and tilted her head. Even knowing all she did, it was hard not to be apprehensive. Noel was older by far than her and ancient compared to Iodine; she was generally placid, but was always unpredictable and dangerous. The little albino corpse slowly looked up and over at her.

<No one was happy here.> She whispered into Abigail's head. <It lurked like a rotten tooth under the lights and the laughter. Misery and desperation. I thought if I stepped in I could make them be happy.>

"...We should return to the base. They'll miss us." Abigail said calmly, keeping the horror out of her voice by effort of will. Noel picked up on it anyway, slowly looking around at the silent herd. With a wave of her hand the music died.

<...Was I in the wrong?>

"Removing free will is always wrong." Abigail said immediately. "I'm sure you'd the best of intentions, but do you think any of them would choose this over their own ideals?"

Noel panned around again before standing and waking to Abigail's side. She was much smaller and more fragile; her skin looked like porcelain and she seemed made of glass. Even while she shuffled like a crone, people on the furthest edges of the room were shaking their heads and coming back to life.

<I was only trying to help. I didn't mean to scare you.> She thought, looking up.

"You haven't, I was only worried. It would be a poor joke to be as old as you only to die by, say, being struck by a car." Abigail joked, lied, and smiled. Iodine and the others had rarely seen it, since she saved them for Noel. The smaller child of night said nothing, stare unbroken. Abigail held out her hand before Noel took it, the two of them heading into the night and back to the base they called home now.

Death and taxes

Most of the mail was junk, but when wasn't it?

The Old Navy was new, just like the plaza it sat in. The concrete had only been poured months ago, but empty storefronts had filled, and the place had done steady business since. It's location was perfect, right at a crossroads on the main island in the chain. It hired locals and put money back into the community even while it brought them clothes at decent prices. Thusfar Circe's efforts in the islands had gone well.

The little old lady paused at an ivory envelope of higher quality then the others; it was addressed to her personally. She opened it and frowned down at the single line written on the letter.

Pay me what I am owed, it said.

She glanced at the store cash before shuddering. When the little... Thing that owned this place had talked about profit in their store meeting, her eyes had lit up like someone trying to push pamphlets on religion they'd written themselves. Instead she took fifty dollars and three dimes from her purse and sealed it into the envelope, planning to get rid of it on her way to the bank.

All over the islands, it was a similar scene. Some didn't recieve their letters, and weren't billed; others didn't pay, and were marked. Beth grumbled to herself in the dark as she slipped in seven dollars and a shiny rock.

It took another day and a night for them all to disappear into the post office, but once they were all gathered together, the money and checks inside burst into flame. One or two bounced off the table, but as the others burned white, a winged woman pulled herself from the fire and then turned to yank her scythe out as well. With a wave of her hand Coin dispelled the flames before sighing deeply and looking for a mirror to check herself in.

Finding one in the ladies room, she drew back in disgust at her shameful appearance. It had been a last ditch effort to come back from limbo, but by calling in all her finances she'd managed to buy her way out. That bright-eyed little squid had cost her dearly.

Wings folded around her like a wounded bird, she met her own eyes as she fixed her hair, noting the bags and the hollow, hungry look. Without debt owed to her, she felt famished and unfulfilled, like a VCR reminder next to a DVD player.

"...I need a real vacation after that one. I wonder if Trash still has a spare room?" She mused, before making a face at talking to herself like some cretin.