I think Cassie's asleep.
It's that subtle change - when she just starts to sleep, she almost hums every time she breathes out. It's never kept me up, though. Kind of lulls me, like the circular drone of a fan overhead. She drank tonight, alone, so she might do that all night. And it might be the first time she's had whiskey alone.
I was supposed to meet her at midnight. I was late and she was drunk. I can't hold it against her.
That sweet French painter's missing. Her accent was charming. I'd offer her again that job I promised, that sweet syrup voice belongs on the S.P.I. phone, but that part of me I don't like tells me she'll be a liability now. If she gets out of this alive. That slaver has her, the one who calls them "pet," but she's not in there at his feet, and that worries me. His rival wanted my advice. When he said she was just a pawn... well, that means he's the King. If it's him the slaver wants, he should offer himself up. I told him so.
He trash-talked Kitty and wanted my "solidarity." I half-lied and told him I work alone. All he's got is passion, resolve, and ideals, three things I value only in the most careful moderation.
I don't think there's anything I can do for AJ. She's been sucked into slaver politics, little men with big empires who throw all their wealth and power into keeping their hands around a few toys. Makes you wonder how they got their empires for starters. Maybe most men are even smaller.
My contracts are dead. People get killed plenty, but no windfalls, no new leads. The Division's good for me, it keeps me busy, but when it's ready and Cassie's ready, it'll really becomes hers. Once she gets better. I think she'll recover more than I did, and already I'm happy for her. Sick as I find that.
The space will do us good.
The unrecorded thoughts of Alain D'Mourir.
It's that subtle change - when she just starts to sleep, she almost hums every time she breathes out. It's never kept me up, though. Kind of lulls me, like the circular drone of a fan overhead. She drank tonight, alone, so she might do that all night. And it might be the first time she's had whiskey alone.
I was supposed to meet her at midnight. I was late and she was drunk. I can't hold it against her.
That sweet French painter's missing. Her accent was charming. I'd offer her again that job I promised, that sweet syrup voice belongs on the S.P.I. phone, but that part of me I don't like tells me she'll be a liability now. If she gets out of this alive. That slaver has her, the one who calls them "pet," but she's not in there at his feet, and that worries me. His rival wanted my advice. When he said she was just a pawn... well, that means he's the King. If it's him the slaver wants, he should offer himself up. I told him so.
He trash-talked Kitty and wanted my "solidarity." I half-lied and told him I work alone. All he's got is passion, resolve, and ideals, three things I value only in the most careful moderation.
I don't think there's anything I can do for AJ. She's been sucked into slaver politics, little men with big empires who throw all their wealth and power into keeping their hands around a few toys. Makes you wonder how they got their empires for starters. Maybe most men are even smaller.
My contracts are dead. People get killed plenty, but no windfalls, no new leads. The Division's good for me, it keeps me busy, but when it's ready and Cassie's ready, it'll really becomes hers. Once she gets better. I think she'll recover more than I did, and already I'm happy for her. Sick as I find that.
The space will do us good.
The unrecorded thoughts of Alain D'Mourir.