Paresthesia Pt 08

The tie chokes me because that is what ties do. There has never been a comfortable tie. There never will be a comfortable tie. They will always exist in the perpetual state of torture on the neck. Terrible, simply terrible. But I do enjoy the way Hannah looks at me with unabashed hunger. Although, I do think a part of that comes from a day off each other. I am not. I am business minded. The tie forces me to think with the sterile thoughts of spreadsheets and cubicles, despite the fact that I am in more or less the opposite of an office. It's just what ties do to me.

And it was an odd choice in hindsight. Most of the other men are wearing ties, but there is still enough of open collars and popped buttons to make it acceptable. But then there is also the vest to consider and a vest without a tie is just an odd thing. Can work, in theory, but three pieces require all three pieces, according to the few pieces of fashion advice I've received from Violence.

Refraction is busy. It is always busy. But this is a special kind of busy. Big money busy, to the point where I can actually smell the ink and paper from newly minted bills. Perfume, alcohol and money, a potent combination that further fuels the endless dizzying spiral with gambling. No clocks, no windows, flashing lights, the harshest contact high that is possible without industrial grade chemicals. I'm swept up in it. Hannah is swept up in it. But I am trying to keep the both of us out of trouble.

I have also lost more than $500 playing blackjack. Hannah has lost about $350, mainly because she started later than me, and the roulette wheel seems to favor petite women in low cut dresses. So, I have no idea what I'm doing at this point, but I am having fun, so it's all good.

We are waiting for a Doppel to come and save us from our own hedonistic impulses and I am starting to think that this is all an elaborate ruse. He did not go through the files. He did not come to any grand conclusion. He just thinks that we have too much money and he deserves it because he's a Doppel. That's the best thing that anything can be.

I leave the table. I have to leave the table. I am out of money and the dealer in his blue glass mask has to shoo me away. I do not like his mocking mirror of a face. I wish to smash it. He might work like a pinata, and everyone at my table gets a big pile of chips.

But I am business minded. I am here for a meeting. A business meeting. With a board table and a coffee machine and a pudgy receptionist who is an odd mix of incredibly sweet and incredibly rude.

There is a tap on my shoulder and I see and very well-dressed man in thick glasses looking at me. He is smiling, slightly.

"Is it a you behind the mask, Abbot," I sigh, "I don't trust the games with a you behind them."

"No. There's a me on baccarat and craps, two behind the bar," says the man in a blue tie, "Most of us are on security tonight."

"Did you do the thing I asked?"

"Yes. Alessandra's in the Meadow Lane. I stopped by this afternoon with some groceries. She was working on one of my cars as a matter of fact."

"Is she... y'know? Ok?"

"Hard to say, Evan, Hard to say. I'm not one to pry and this seems like something I should keep my eyes off of. But we can talk this over later. I had a chance to pour through the data and there are some very fun things in there. Get your better half. We'll talk in my office. Far side elevator. But take your time. Play some games. I wouldn't want you to leave with an empty wallet."

He smiles again and I want to hit a him. Kind of a problem, I'm noticing. Ever since Hannah and I became official, I want to hit things more when I'm slightly annoyed. Maybe something to work on. Maybe not. I am not sure. It's fine. I never have actually hit anything. Thought alone does not make a sin. I'm just missing the right thought of the right words, right actions. Bad, but not terrible.

"Fuck," Hannah shouts as she crouches over the roulette table. She has the right words missing, it seems. A hand on her shoulder gets her to at least look away from the table.

"Can I stay for one more spin," she asks. The man in the mask divvying the chips gives us a sideways glance. I think that's a Doppel. I hope it's a Doppel, because the middle finger I gave him would come across as rather confusing otherwise.

I consider it. There is a chance. There is always a chance. And she has very big, very pretty eyes, that definitely keep my attention instead of her dress's neckline. It's almost to her navel. When she leans the right way, it actually dips past it and the small diamond embedded in the skin. It is magic, plain and simple, that she doesn't slip out and give everyone here a wonderful idea of my greatest treasure.

"Do you have the money for it?'

"Sure."

"I don't believe you."

"I believe me. And I don't need your approval."

"But you need money to gamble. If you want to keep playing, you'll have to leave the table."

"You could give me money."

"I could if I had anyway, but I lost it all."

"Loser," she snickers. I fall for it and give her the incredulous look she wants. Like we both don't have the worst luck imaginable.

She does not fight my hand pulling her away from the table. She takes it and squeezes it while the rest of the table slowly falls back into the sea of chance and gamble.

There is a Hannah in my arms, pressed and locked and smiling. I am smiling too. The lights are flashing, the chimes are blaring and I keep getting offered drinks from people in blue mirror masks. I do not take one. Hannah thinks about it, but ultimately decides that she will imbibe later. Too much indulgence over the past little while. She has a thing to do and the thing will be done and then she can drink. Then I can drink. And we can gamble some more, assuming there is still money to be thrown away.

She is happy. I am happy. It is impossible not to be enthusiastic about the flashing lights and the mill of people when you're in it. Maybe we should bring Alessandra here. Cheer her up. Although, cheering up only really works when the person in question is in the mood for cheering up. And it seems like she has her own version for up cheering. I'll call her tomorrow. I'll call her tomorrow and see what's going on. If my nosy ways get rebuked, then I guess it's over. Hannah pinches my ass and I am pulled from the downward spiral of problems I helped cause.

The elevator waits for us between two more of the mirrored masks. They do not look to us as we simply stand there and feel awkward. There are no buttons to press, no lights to go off and on while we wait. It might not even be the right place. Just a random wall with two guards standing in front of it. It's all an elaborate ruse to trick the gullible into thinking that there is something there when there isn't just a wall. Just a wall with two guards and two jackasses waiting for it to split open. Walls don't do that. Walls don't split open.

The walls split open and there is an elevator inside. The masks finally nod to us and we are all allowed entry. I do not tip the masks. They are Doppels, probably, and he has taken enough of my money tonight.

"You're nervous," Hannah whispers once we're inside and ascending. The shaft is open to the skyline. The city lights start dancing through the windowpanes. So high, we are all so high up above the world, only to reach the eye level of the other behemoths. Cloudy night. I can't even see the moon.

"Why are you so nervous," she says, "We're meeting Doppel. You know Doppel."

"I'm worried about Alessandra," I sigh, "Just kind of want to snap my fingers and make it all better, but that's not how this sort of thing works."

"I know. I feel the same way. But you said that this is something we just kind of have to let fix itself. Can't really force it."

"Yeah. You're right. Still, I like her. And I like it when things I like are happy. Is that so weird?"

"No. And I get it. I feel bad too. Kind of nice, in a way. The bad guys can be good people. It's nice."

"The emotion thing, too?"

"Yes, and the fact that we can all experience misery so profound is also an indicator of our collective humanity. It makes for a richer and fulfilling experience than a simple bland nondescript joy. Have you been reading my books?"

"Little bit. Kind of dry. I prefer more political theory and praxis than anything."

"There's a lot of intersect though. I have lectures prepared. Don't worry. You will be reeducated."

She smiles and there is warmth there that brings about the numbing joy she so deeply detests. As fun as shame and guilt can be, there is still something to be said for soft grins and hard touches.

"You look good in a suit," she says, "Like different good. Makes me want to call you sir and crawl under your desk during lunch while you're on a very important call. Hair kind of ruins the professional vibe though. Can't have a board meeting with a mohawk."

"It's only a matter of time. I've noticed more piercings in the banks at least. That seems to have been relaxed a bit. Still not a lot of tattoos."

"I'm not buying it. You can't have a CEO with a mohawk. Not because of the whole societal thing, but just people with mohawks are not in the mindset to climb a corporate ladder. You can't really rebel against a system when you are at the highest seat of said system."

I kiss the side of her head and she presses back, silencing the tirade.

"And you look good in that by the way," I whisper, "Even when you're lecturing."

She turns and kisses me back.

"But kind of a shame you're wearing anything at all."

"I swear to God, we cannot do this right now," she sighs with endless frustration, "Because the moment we do, the doors are going to open and we'll have to hide the fact from a Doppel. And he sees everything."

"And God forbid he sees a couple have sex."

"Is that a thing for you? Public sex? I mean, something to talk about. But not now. I want it and I hate that I want it."

I kiss her again and she kisses me and for a brief moment, I want to keep pushing. She wants to keep pushing. But we don't. Mostly because the elevator doors do open and a Doppel sees us and judges us with calm eyed curiosity. This one says nothing. He just merely sits and waits for us to put together all the things that say we should get on with it.

This one is dressed the same as the one downstairs, minus the glasses. I never have figured out if the clothes come with the duplication, or they are bought separate. He waves us forward and Hannah makes the effort to straighten herself out. I tug at my collar it does not help.

Blue, Doppel's office is blue. Completely blue. Blue carpet, blue walls, blue artwork. The only thing not blue is the window overlooking the city. If I squint a bit and turn my head, I can see my warehouse house. The desk is also not quite blue. More of a gray that might be blue in some circumstances, but even the men milling over the desk are some type of blue. They are all the same. Dark skin, bald head, high cheeks and a studious demeanor that compliments the busy beehive. Our escort Doppel peels off and joins his own cell somewhere else. Without a word, one from the desk does the same and greets us with a smile.

"Take it you've been busy Abbot," I ask with a firm handshake. It feels like a hand, not a sculpture of glass.

"Always, always," says our host, "But I've found ways to make time. Hannah, you look stunning. C'mon. Pull up a chair. I'll clear out so we can discuss some very fun things."

With that same hivemind, the flurry of duplicates takes the files and moves down and out the door. Each and every one gives and takes a courteous nod and warm smile. Kind of exhausting in a way. They leave an empty desk with a pair of glowing monitors behind like a scavenged carcass.

"So, let me just begin with a very sincere apology. I was not aware of the full reasoning behind your change in position," Abbot says while cleaning his glasses of no existent smudges.

"Don't. Everyone always apologizes, and I get it. It's fine. We're doing it now and that's the important thing," Hannah sighs, "You don't have to commit to this. What you're doing is already really helpful."

"We can discuss my involvement later, but first, the whole good news, bad news thing."

Ben keeps shifting, not from anything with nerves, just eagerness at the numbers and files and the endless chance to talk with someone that is not him. It honestly must get tiring have yourself as your best friend. His fingers don't quite sit still.

"Bad news is, no record of any abuse in the data you gave me. Digital or real. Also, I can't get through the network into the actual Hall's database. Bioscans, radio IDs, I'm not sure how they're doing it, but the link you gave only has the Solarium as a node. Which is still a lot, and oh boy, there are some fun things we can do with that. Did you know Serpentor used to be Ms. Sliggles? Honestly can't believe we didn't put those two together."

We both giggle and immediately put this in the vault. Sprung on her in the worst possible time, there are devious plans for that little tidbit. Later, not now. We will have fun with that later.

"Which leads me into some other fun things we found."

Ben smiles so goddamn wide I think he's going to decapitate himself. He turns the monitor and I see a string of numbers that make no sense to me.

"Captain Solar, our good friend Thomas Thompson, is embezzling."

I steeple my fingers and lean forward. The word hangs in the air as it slots itself into the assigned meaning. I smile. I smile just as wide as the man across from me. Hannah starts to vibrate with pent up excitement.

"Now, unfortunately, I have to tap down on this wonderful bubble of excitement that we are all currently blowing," he continues, "with a very meek 'probably.' He is probably embezzling."

He is right. Wind out of sails, we are left with that sputtering valve noise of a let go balloon.

"But I believe in that probably. Very strongly in that meek little cop out of a word. The Hall's budget is in public record, since it's funded from tax revenue. At least in part. Now, see how some of these numbers match? And those credits are from the sale of Serpentor's and Deadman's old lair when they had separate buildings. That's the proposed place for Windstep. See what he has for the upkeep of the Solarium?"

The wind's back. Full steam ahead. Wonderful times, sunshine and happy days. I start bouncing a bit.

"Now, none of this is outright proof. We'd need access to the full financial records to really dive in there and do what we need to. But damn, I'm excited. This is fun. And thank you for showing some restraint in there. I'm surprised that you didn't walk out of there with just the files and the bike."

"There wasn't really a lot there," I shrug, "Some cereal. A lot of glass. A very nice shower. And settle a bet, would you? What did he have saved for his porn?"

"Feet."

"Wait really? Didn't strike me as the type."

"No not really. Tame stuff. Not even a bit of nudity. Blonde girls in bikinis. Almost exclusively blonde girls in bikinis. All at the beach. One redhead and maybe three brunettes. Which is honestly kind of unsettling in its own way. Everybody has a bit of a weird swerve when you dig down deep enough. He just has a ton of copies of more or less the same thing. Even down to the posing."

I shrug. A lack of weirdness is weird in its own way and I've lost the bet. I would have sworn he had something in him at least. Pet play, bondage, fun things with toys. But I don't know all that much.

"As much as I want to think about Solar masturbating to what he tried to turn me into, there is another thing I want to talk about," Hannah interjects, "I believe there was also something about your future involvement?"

The multitude in one goes silent for a moment, head cocked as if he heard something on the wind. The smile goes gone and a concern creeps through the face. Interesting, but I want to save the moment taken for something down the line.

"We can talk about that later," he says, "I'm afraid a situation has come up that requires some more of my attention."

"Is it a situation that we can help with," Hannah asks.

"No, no. I wouldn't want to spoil your evening out. But I would advise you to stay up here for the time being. Unless I'm just a stop. Then there is a second escape through the- "

"Is this something Riot and Beat can help with?"

The smile comes back, just a bit.

"Well, if they're offering, then I wouldn't turn away a helping hand. It seems that someone has decided to crash my party. Would you kindly see them out?"

---

I have a mirrored mask on and it feels weird. I don't like it. It's not cloth and domino and I can smell my own breath a bit too much for my tastes. It doesn't fog, much to my surprise. I was always under the impression that a mask tended to cause fog on glass. But I am proven wrong, it seems. And there is something to me said of having a full field of view that doesn't slip and slide when everything gets a little active.

What really makes me naked is the lack of a bat in my hands. That needs to be there. I need my security bat. I get anxious without it. I have a security Riot Girl, but it's not quite the same. My palm keeps tingling, afraid. I asked a Doppel to get me a pipe or a baton or something to help keep the nerves down. It's in the works. It's in the works and it's coming and I'll be fine.

Hannah just looks weird in hers. It doesn't fit the rest of the outfit. Revealing, clinging fabric and a suction cupped glass bowl. It just doesn't gel right. Makes her look like a robot, almost. She needs the flow of layers around her, a cape, a jacket, even a baggy shirt all help sell the image of weight. She just looks naked, and not in the fun way. At least a suit goes with every mask, even if the shoulders bunch up when I raise my arms.

But it's fine. We are riding down an elevator, the same one we came up in, going through our own little rituals to get the headspace right. I am silent. I am still, taking in the moment as it comes without even thinking of stopping it. Riot has her stretches honed down. Every movement is designed to test a joint, a motion, a limb to make sure it is all functioning as intended. I look over as she touches her toes. She can get low, it seems. Very, very, very low. Ideas, I have some ideas. She holds out a fist, and my mind is still on the bendy spine. I hit it with mine and she takes it in stride. Her gaze lingers a bit on the general cut and the doors start their slide.

Thumbs, there are thumbs waiting for us. But they are gray. They are gray because they are not moving and they are not moving because I am. And the thumbs have guns pointed at us. It is all still incredibly rude, in my opinion. Riot is already in the midst of moving, the shockwave of sound suspended. I have my guessing game to play.

Hips are raised a bit, weight sinking forward into her left leg, and arms low. I have an idea of the dominoes and how they will fall. It just takes some work to shove and move them in the way they should be. Their armor is heavy and just to be safe, I take out the clips, unchamber the round, do the whole thing to make them useless. Takes a fair deal too long, but I prefer my Riot's unshot. I brush past the new lineup and give the world back its shimmering color.

I was right, just like always. The blast wave hits me, jostling the cut and ruffling the hair. Each and every one of the thumbs gets hit right in the chest with a back kick delivered by a sonic boom. Hers is the only shot I hear.

"Glad I didn't wear heels," she says, bouncing the little bit of exertion from her system.

"Me too," I say, "Everyone else is already taller than me. I couldn't live with myself if you were too."