“So she mooched off someone’s account, eh?” one girl whispered.
“Must have, she didn’t go to the mines,” said another.
“And she’s been here like a week? And getting luxuries already.”
“What a bitch.”
“Thinks she’s so important!?”
Chione was burning. Her body tensed, and she continued to crush her hand inwards even though she no longer had a letter to grab. She was standing outside the closed doors of the central tower, with a full crowd of prisoners around her. That warden had completely screwed her over, but Chione couldn’t fathom why any of these people even cared. Maybe it was the general anger in this place, simmering under the skin, urging to lash out at someone. But Chione breathed calmly. They wouldn’t dare.
She stepped forward, carefully but surely, aiming to make her way through the crowd. To her luck, the first row of girls within shifted aside, though shot her sullen looks. She had made it halfway through the throng ––although the wings of the crowd closed off the path behind her–– when she stopped before a familiar pair of green eyes. It was Zak.
“We helped you,” she said, in a soft, stunned voice. “Patch and Leonore wanted to help you….”
Chione had no words. She wanted to tell this idiot to get out of her way, but at the same time she withered under the fire of Zak’s betrayed stare. In the end, she just resorted to saying nothing. She walked past the green-haired girl, who offered no resistance. Finally, Chione had traversed the sea of people, and split herself free from the mass.
“Well, well, well,” a deep voice boomed from a couple yards ahead of her. “Been a while since someone slipped into clown shoes like that.”
It was the woman from the bench press, whose towering status ––nearly a foot over Chione’s height–– daunted her. Unlike most women here who just had the ‘uniform’, she wore a tattered leather jacket over her shoulders, and she was now folding her muscular arms beneath them. A posse of girls flanked her. Some of their faces were familiar: the bald Vil and her reluctant brown haired girlfriend Tatiana. Although she was playing a different role now, as she and a bleach blonde, hyper-feminine girl gravitated towards the dominant figure, almost slinking into her sides
“Seems like you’ve pissed off everyone here in record time. Gotta be a feat.”
Chione didn’t respond. In the periphery of her vision the crowd still flanked her, while ahead the tall woman and Vil looked more than strong enough to block her movement. Just walking out of this didn’t seem as easy anymore.
“Eh,” the woman shrugged, “you’re not the first to do what you’ve done. Lots of new girls think they’re different. They just need breaking in.”
“This one’s a tough nut to crack, Rigoletta!”
The gleeful voice made Chione’s skin go cold. Suddenly inserted between the blonde girl and the one called Rigoletta came another familiar face, with her mauve red hair in a ponytail. It was that Roxie girl from the mines. She grinned at Chione.
“Saw her with Sheinberg, acting so haughty! Chief had her stripped down!”
“Really?” Rigoletta flashed an unpleasant smile. “I’d love to see that. Wanna give us a demonstration, girl?”
Chione just stared ahead. Rigoletta laughed.
“Sheinberg and Romanoff and you’re still fighting? It’s like she doesn’t even know she ain’t ever getting out of here. The mare who refuses to be ridden. Well, I can change that.”
The tall woman swooped in, grabbing Chione before even her reflexes fired. There were jeers among the crowd, although it was starting to thin by now –– Romanoff was interesting, but a tussle in the yard was nothing new. Chione could make out a flash of green hair among those walking away. More pressing was Rigoletta’s thick breath on her neck.
“What was the name?” Rigoletta said, provocatively hushing into Chione’s ear, “Yoseedez? Sounds fancy, no wonder you look so soft.”
“Chione Boreavna Eosides,” Roxie recited, watching with relish from the sidelines. “She only shouts it every other minute.”
“Well, Chione, there are rules here at Asphodel. If you want, you work. If you beg, you damn well don’t get luxuries. But if you wanna live like a queen again, why not ride with us? I can always make room for one more.”
She pressed her hand to Chione’s face, brushing her thumb harshly against her lower lip. Chione didn’t respond. She refused to. At the very least, she didn’t speak, just maintaining a constant stare, although it was much harder to keep her nerves still. Roxie and the blonde girl laughed. Even Tatiana joined, if a little hesitantly. Vil just stood to the side, arms folded, keeping more of an eye on the other prisoners to make sure no one made a jump at her crew while this played out.
“Nothing?” Rigoletta said, “damn not even a squeak? You don’t even have to like it. There are many whores among us, you know.”
Chione finally spoke in the thinnest of hisses, “I would rather die. I don’t care what you people call it. Wife, or whore, you are revolting. You’re not even a woman. You are an insult to my sex.”
“Ha!” Rigoletta burst out in a brusque laugh, and threw back her head, “hahahah! Is that so?”
She took a hold of Chione’s shoulders and shoved. Even what was just a light brush was powerful enough to throw her to the ground, hitting sharply on the tarmac. With just a second to comprehend, she took in a quick breath — then she jolted. Rigoletta kicked, then kicked again, laughing all the while.
“Just know, this ain’t personal,” she said, brushing her hair back and heaving slightly.
She gave another forceful kick, making Chione cry out. The woman smirked.
“Although it is satisfying. There are many ways to break in a mare you know. But you’re so cold you might shatter more than break. That’s right, you’re just a complete fridge aren’t you? Fridge, I like it. That’ll be easier to remember than Kiney Boriseva Yoseedez or whatever it was.”
The sound of laughs circled around her as Chione convulsed on the floor, hugging her knees tight as she braced for further beatings. Her mind was white, wiped out in shock. It was over at least. The cackling sounds of Rigoletta, Roxie and their gang wandered away, while the rest of the crowd finally dispersed, many stepping over the huddled Chione without a thought.
“Father… father, help me,” Chione began to mutter.
Was it so much to ask?
When someone did come down to lift her up, her heart rose. She was so certain she would awake and see Boreas smiling down at her, back in her bed at the old manor. She snapped open her eyes, in a moment of mad euphoria. But it was just the yard again, although she was propped against a wall in the shade, far from any other people except her saviours. It was a trio of prisoners. Two were standing further off: one a dark, stocky girl, the other a pale feather of a thing, but both were blurs to Chione’s knocked out vision. It was the older woman kneeling by her side she could make out.
“Ah, there you go darling, that was quite a savaging you got back there. Nothing the Sister can’t patch up though. Do you need help getting up there?”
“N-no,” Chione said, leaning further back against the hard surface behind her. “I’m fine.”
“Of course not, don’t be silly.”
The woman smiled at her, though it was one of those strange smiles Chione had come to expect in this place. She had shoulder length chestnut hair and pronounced cheeks.
“I’m not strong, but me and my girls can help you along.”
The woman stood up, and pulled Chione to her feet. Despite the acute rupture in her ribs, and the blood trickling from her mouth, the girl just about managed to stand, though had to lean against the woman. This person slotted herself under Chione’s arm and then seemed to clasp onto her bare waist to keep her in place. Chione’s skin prickled, and she looked at her with tired, wary eyes.
“The name’s Cheshire, dear,” the woman said. “And I think you need to realise you can’t do anything on your own. Not in a place like this.”
Past the sparsely populated northern cell block was a usually locked door, and behind it a cavernous network of halls. It was some irony that this was the original section of the Asphodel prison, connected to the first veins of torite to hollow out. Since it had long been depleted of any depholeum, the whole area had been converted for various other uses before being generally abandoned. Most recently, Athena had been presented with proposals to convert it to storage due to its vertical alignment with one of the lesser-used hangars. If products could be stored here then elevated up, then the hangar could be utilised more for transport shuttles. But she had shelved it. Indeed, there was no practical way to move anything harvested from the new mines to these rooms without disrupting the prison itself.
But now, as she came into the dusty cavern held up by 50 year old support beams, she found Danton Pygamile sans jacket, laying out tools on a workbench. With a wave, she dismissed her guards, and continued to stand stiffly as she faced the man. He was engrossed in his work however, so she gave a cough that reverberated around the chamber walls. He turned to face her.
“Ah, lady Romanoff. I didn’t think you came down here often.”
“I don’t, but I thought I should check up on you since you haven’t reported in since you arrived.”
“That is commendable. Though Ekaterina, being more active within the prison facilities, has been well placed to do the same. She’s made sure I feel most welcome.”
Romanoff narrowed her eyes.
“Well there should be less of that then. The Chief has duties enough than to be playing host.”
“Ah don’t we all. Much work to be done.” He set down a welding torch next to the almost too perfectly aligned row of tools. He then glanced at Romanoff, remarking, “and just so we’re clear, I wasn’t interested.”
“Interested in what?”
“Just in case you thought I was purposely being a distraction for the Chief that is.”
“Ah,” she said, shaking her head quickly to regain composure, “of course.”
Danton Pygamile promptly grabbed his jacket and swung it over his arms in a flourish. He then descended from the workstation platform, coming out onto the main floor of the large room, speaking as he did ––with Athena following, albeit from some distance.
“I have to thank you again for letting me commandeer this section. It will be perfect for testing. I’ve already seen your site plans for an earlier renovation. That,” he gestured up at the ceiling, where indeed there was some remnant scaffolding, “will have to be hollowed out before my engineers can fit it. A V92 will be perfect for the job ––and absolutely convenient, in more ways than one.”
“You want a V92 here?” the warden asked.
“I’ve watched your workers for the past few days,” he explained, “it is a brutish but highly effective system. The real elegance of course is not the design but the dynamics ––the harmony of user and machine. But that’s an eye’s estimate, and I want to do some controlled tests. When can you deliver a vehicle to me?”
Romanoff took a slanted stance, even placing a hand on her hip.
“Really? You do know we have quotas to fill. I can’t sign off diverting crucial capital equipment for your hobby, mechanist.”
But the undeterred Danton just waved his hand away.
“If need be, I can request a signature from Deniikin. But the last thing I want to do is have you officially overruled.”
“Is that your earnest wish?” Athena asked. “To what? Spare my reputation or to spare my feelings? Are you really that courteous or is it a game?”
“Aha,” the man chuckled, bowing his hand and reaching up to adjust his glasses. “In this world there are many games. Zero-sum games are plenty ––one man’s loss is a necessary gain of another. But there are also win-win games. Please, let me run my diagnostics, fashion some recommendations; I can give you a report that boosts your technological efficiency by 30%. On a low estimate.”
Athena folded her arms as she continued to study the man. It was hard to judge his eyes, shadowed as they were under the harsh top-down lighting. So her gaze wandered, and she scanned the rest of the room. It was vast, and could house a good number of the V92s. There were some that needed maintenance anyway so would be out of work schedules for weeks. The line about impacting efficiency was a lie on her part. But the man’s answers were more important than her questions.
“You never answered me,” she said, still staring off to the side. “Why show any concern for me, knowing that I am basically powerless when the general staff get involved?”
“Ah, well,” Danton smiled, “perhaps I could ask a question of my own? In the promise that it will be relevant?”
“… Go on?”
“How well do you remember your debut? Back in Voroneya, 81.12?”
Her eyes widened. That was not something she expected him to say, and it definitely threw her off. At first brush she had to comprehend it, and for a few seconds stared at him. Voroneya was very far away, and memories of life there were so buried that they aways just beyond her fingertips. But the debut ––once the word and its meaning hit her within the context of his question–– came to the fore in vivid detail. A Kratian woman never forgot her debut.
“Yes… what about it?”
“You just looked very beautiful back then,” Danton said with his smile growing wistful, “I could not forget it. We danced actually. But among a sea of gentlemen who also got the chance, I understand I must fade away.”
“I lost my virginity that night.”
“I… yes?” Danton blinked, his smile not fading, but his head tilting slightly.
“Twice,” Athena added. “Well, obviously once, but I went for a second gentleman. And no I don’t remember either of their faces.”
“A…ah.”
But Athena couldn’t stop divulging, “and that was on top of meeting a man who should have been my husband.But even the six months I spent with him have robbed years of my life due to the misery.”
“Well that’s certainly dreadful,” Danton said, though he still was completely flummoxed by why she had said all this.
She sighed, and could see he was clearly flailing. She decided to ease his pain.
“Don’t regard me with any mystique. Whatever you saw… whatever you thought of me back then, I can’t possibly hope to live up to it.”
“Please, don’t misunderstand,” he managed to smile again, although he fumbled around with his hands,
“I simply was… just fond of that memory. I won’t bother you with any of the ‘shall we catch up’ and any of that. I was just… pleased that our paths could cross again.”
She turned around, feeling her gloved hand over her face. Already her heart was wrenched and her skin growing hot as the understanding of what she said dawned on her. She had dropped all those memories on the conversation like a bomb. But she summoned the strength to say:
“Thank you. I’ll transfer you a V92 this afternoon, and you’ll get work-crews for your renovation.”
With that, she hurriedly walked off. If she couldn’t forget those memories, let her at least forget this.