“Good things, yeah? Like what? Working in a bar isn’t a ‘good thing,’ it’s surviving because I got too scared to do anything else. It’s basically wageslave-level pathetic.”
Kestel leaned in to the squeeze, the events of the last week weighing heavily on her. She sagged under Miranda’s arm, deflated.
“I mean–” she stammered, realizing how badly that could sound on Miranda’s business, “Nothing against the bar. You really built something great, yeah? It’s just ever since I left home? I made a name for myself brawling and stealing and being real good at sneaking in-between the cracks and I’m great at that. Used to be. What the fuck an I supposed to do forever if I can’t do that?”
Kestrel’s voice cracked, quiet.
“I miss my bike. And my bed.”
Miranda frowned, her grip on Kestrel’s shoulders growing slack. Her gaze fell to her lap, but she opted to ignore the dig at her establishment.
She nodded slightly and offered, “I get that. I only offered the job because you wouldn’t take my help otherwise. If you want to do something else, then go do it.
"But just understand that if you go back into the shadows, I’m not going to be able to have your back. I know the pay’s a lot better, and there’s more glory in it or whatever. But you also have to go back to the risk that people are going to come for you.”
The shaman shook her head and said, “Maybe just take some time to think about what it is that you want to do next? And if taking that time means not going in to work, I can find someone to cover your shifts.”
"That’s–no, no, I wanna work. Fuck knows I can’t be trusted at home doing nothing all day, anyway.”
Kestrel grimaced at that.
“Besides, I want to get my own place and I want some wheels beneath me and I ain’t about to do that with another bullet in my shoulder or–or axe in my chest. Yeah? Just I don’t know what I’m good for. Ever since the old crew broke up, I’ve been a laughing stock on runs. Treated like the idiot of the group.”
She was digging her own mental hole deeper, and for a moment Kestrel squeezed her eyes shut, taking a slow, steadying breath.
“I dunno what I want. I miss the adrenaline, though, even from just fighting in the ring at Bradley.”
Finally sliding closer, Miranda put her arm around Kestrel’s shoulders. She gave a squeeze before saying, “I know you want to help.”
With a slight smile, the shaman added, “But you’ve done good things amongst all the fuck-up things. I just wish you’d ask when you need help. You can’t handle everything in the world by yourself.
“And I know how fucking hypocritical that sounds, too. I’ve fucked up a ton. Almost everything I’ve done since my dad died has been one huge mistake after another. I’ve explicitly avoided other people’s help as much as I reasonably could. And look where that’s gotten me. So take it from someone who knows.”
With a glance back toward the balcony, she said, “And it seems like Cairn’s a good start, from how you’ve been lately. But like I said, you can’t just assume you know how I’m going to feel about something, and base all of your decisions off of that.”
"Good things, yeah? Like what? Working in a bar isn’t a ‘good thing,’ it’s surviving because I got too scared to do anything else. It’s basically wageslave-level pathetic.”
Kestel leaned in to the squeeze, the events of the last week weighing heavily on her. She sagged under Miranda’s arm, deflated.
“I mean–” she stammered, realizing how badly that could sound on Miranda’s business, “Nothing against the bar. You really built something great, yeah? It’s just ever since I left home? I made a name for myself brawling and stealing and being real good at sneaking in-between the cracks and I’m great at that. Used to be. What the fuck an I supposed to do forever if I can’t do that?”
Her time with Cairn had reinforced how much just listening could make a difference–the spirit only sparingly offered advice, and even then it always just seemed to nudge what the adept’s conscience had already been urging her to do. It made sense.
“It’s just–I already hurt you real bad with what I did anyway, and as much as I want things to be patched like it never happened, I know it’s still pretty fresh. Never got to even explain to her why I ghosted–she didn’t know–but I didn’t want to rip open the wound again for you.”
Kestrel lifted up the blanket, offering the shaman a meek, fanged grin. “Sit back down a while, yeah? Your side of the blanket’s getting cold, anyway. Tell me everything?”
Miranda frowned, considering walking away toward her bedroom. Instead, she gave up and sat back down. Her eyes slid shut as she leaned back against the cushions, not bothering to take back the offered blanket.
“I’ll sit, but I don’t want to talk about it tonight. It’s not a story that’s going to be easier to tell now than it will be tomorrow when I’m well rested.”
She opened her eyes again, now focusing on the vague reflection in the glass that blocked out the rest of the city. "It’s never going to not hurt. But your friend doesn’t deserve to just be shut out with no explanation. I know how much you hate talking about things that are actually important, but you can’t just keep assuming you know what’s best for everyone involved or what they want.“
Kestrel sloughed off the blanket, tucking it behind her and to the side opposite Miranda. She’d pulled her legs up onto the couch, hugging one knee with the other tucked under.
“I mean–” she started to protest, “–no. No, you’re–you’re right. Yeah?”
She chewed at the inside of her lips, too, as she chewed her words.
“…I don’t hate talking about important shit,” she mumbled, eyes at her lap, “I just–it makes me feel so stupid that I can’t fix things or help or anything and that feeling sucks. A lot. And just–this last year? All I’ve done is just fuck things up for people. I wanna do better. That’s all.”
The pause from Miranda was enough to confirm that she’d crossed a line. Kestrel sagged on the couch, pulling the blanket up and around her shoulders some more.
“I just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have brought her up. I’m sorry.”
She wrung her hands under the blanket.
“It’s just–I ain’t got a lot of people to really trust, you know? And despite everything, I’d trust her same as I’d trust Guildenstern if he was still alive. You, too. But beyond that? I got a lot of shaky connections and not much else.
“I hate just sitting here and you’re telling me all this stuff that’s working against you and I can’t do anything to help.”
Miranda’s head tilted downward as she put a hand to her forehead. Her fingers rubbed there lightly. Finding words had become difficult due to the day’s fatigue, so she took several moments before replying.
Her voice sounded tired even to her own ears as she said, “That’s not it, Kestrel.
“I didn’t tell you any of this so you could help. I just needed someone to listen. You’re one of five people that knows about what my business really is as my father’s legacy. It’s not something I can talk about with casual acquaintances, and I haven’t told any of the others because they’d do the same thing and insist they could help.”
The shaman shut her eyes and ran both hands back through her hair. "I know what it means to not have people you can trust, and I can tell you this from experience: you keep ignoring her calls, and all that’s going to go away. You can’t claim you really trust someone and then just ghost them and expect them to be around after that.“
“Oh.”
Her time with Cairn had reinforced how much just listening could make a difference–the spirit only sparingly offered advice, and even then it always just seemed to nudge what the adept’s conscience had already been urging her to do. It made sense.
“It’s just–I already hurt you real bad with what I did anyway, and as much as I want things to be patched like it never happened, I know it’s still pretty fresh. Never got to even explain to her why I ghosted–she didn’t know–but I didn’t want to rip open the wound again for you.”
Kestrel lifted up the blanket, offering the shaman a meek, fanged grin. “Sit back down a while, yeah? Your side of the blanket’s getting cold, anyway. Tell me everything?”
“Decking like that and molding her own AI don’t sound like much of a standard fifteen year old thing, yeah? Could be working for someone,” Kestrel mused. “Or they’re just real bored. Bug City is crazy in the trid and sims, but actually being there? It’s kind of a dump without much to do.”
Letting her thoughts go back towards her offer to Miranda, Kestrel grimaced.
“Just let me know, yeah? And, uh, you should know–I mean, she’s good at what she does–but it’s Scarlet. I haven’t talked to her since–”
A pause, a cringe.
“She’s tried making contact since then, I’ve ignored it. But I know how to find her if you need me to.”
The adept’s expression turned pained, regret lining her forehead in wrinkles.
“She’s the best person I know at getting into a system. Never tripped alarms or anything in the years I worked with her, and we always got out safe with her on Matrix overwatch. So just let me know, yeah? I’ll put you in touch and I’ll stay out of the picture.”
Miranda was ready to offer more observations on just what this kid might be up to. She had had plenty of time to research and think on it in the past two and a half months, so there were plenty of theories that she had.
However all of that went out of her mind at the mention of Scarlet. She suppressed the scowl that nearly made its way to her face, only getting through as a slight twitch at the corner of her eyes.
Taking a steadying breath, she paused to come up with something better to say that what immediately sprang to mind. At length, she replied, “This isn’t something I would trust with someone I don’t know. If I need Matrix support past what I can do myself, I would call Molly.
“As for the rest,” she said. "That’s not really my business, right? I’m not going to tell you who you can and can’t talk to.“
Pushing against the glass to put herself upright from her leaning posture, she added, "It’s late. We should probably get some real sleep.”
The pause from Miranda was enough to confirm that she’d crossed a line. Kestrel sagged on the couch, pulling the blanket up and around her shoulders some more.
“I just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have brought her up. I’m sorry.”
She wrung her hands under the blanket.
“It’s just–I ain’t got a lot of people to really trust, you know? And despite everything, I’d trust her same as I’d trust Guildenstern if he was still alive. You, too. But beyond that? I got a lot of shaky connections and not much else.
“I hate just sitting here and you’re telling me all this stuff that’s working against you and I can’t do anything to help.”
“A kid? Like literally, or not? And out of Bug City? That’s trouble for sure.”
A kid, though. Kestrel wrinkled her nose in thought.
“I, uh, do know a decker that could get it back–one I’ve trusted with my life a lot before. Trustworthy as shit, doesn’t sell paydata. But I don’t think you’d want her help.”
“Like fifteen or so. A SINless rigger that keeps her Matrix trail pretty spotless, so it’s hard to find info about her. I think I figured out the specific building she lives in, but I don’t have a lot of presence in Chicago to do anything about it. Besides, what am I going to do, hire someone to rough up a kid?”
Miranda considered the offer of help for a few moments. She also considered the fact that if she wanted, she could have already sought out the help of deckers she trusted. The thought of leaving things as they were gave her a knot in her stomach, but she hadn’t so much as called anyone whose skill with the Matrix was better than her own.
“I’ll think about it,” the shaman finally said. "But I’ll probably do some more research into this AI first. I wouldn’t want to send someone in completely unprepared.“
“Decking like that and molding her own AI don’t sound like much of a standard fifteen year old thing, yeah? Could be working for someone,” Kestrel mused. “Or they’re just real bored. Bug City is crazy in the trid and sims, but actually being there? It’s kind of a dump without much to do.”
Letting her thoughts go back towards her offer to Miranda, Kestrel grimaced.
“Just let me know, yeah? And, uh, you should know–I mean, she’s good at what she does–but it’s Scarlet. I haven’t talked to her since–”
A pause, a cringe.
“She’s tried making contact since then, I’ve ignored it. But I know how to find her if you need me to.”
The adept’s expression turned pained, regret lining her forehead in wrinkles.
“She’s the best person I know at getting into a system. Never tripped alarms or anything in the years I worked with her, and we always got out safe with her on Matrix overwatch. So just let me know, yeah? I’ll put you in touch and I’ll stay out of the picture.”
Kestrel twisted in her seat, moving the blanket with her as she adjusted herself to watch Miranda’s movements.
“I mean, AIs start from somewhere, right? Where’d yours come from?”
She poked a finger out from the blanket, waggling it at the shaman.
“Looking at you right now, you wanted out like I wanted out of shadowrunning. It’s better for us both to not be doing that shit, but I bet part of you still misses the draw of it. The excitement or the thrill.”
“From some punk kid from Chicago messing around with my security AI,” Miranda answered, expression turning sour. "A really annoying kid at that.“
Turning around to face Kestrel again, she leaned back against the glass. "It’s not so much that I miss it. I mean, I only did it because I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes. I know how hard he worked and how proud he was of the network he had built.
“It’s just I would rather have had the option to pass the torch gracefully to someone I knew. Instead, it was just stolen in the blink of an eye, and I can’t really do anything about it. The AI seems competent enough, but it’s also brand new. Who knows what it will do with the information at its disposal? It could put the people I actually care about in danger.”
“A kid? Like literally, or not? And out of Bug City? That’s trouble for sure.”
A kid, though. Kestrel wrinkled her nose in thought.
“I, uh, do know a decker that could get it back–one I’ve trusted with my life a lot before. Trustworthy as shit, doesn’t sell paydata. But I don’t think you’d want her help.”
“Stand in or not, she doesn’t look like she can take a punch. Talk her way out of getting one, sure, but–wait.”
Kestrel sat up, eyeing Miranda with a mix of concern and excitement.
“A rogue AI grew out of your system? Oh, fuck, Goldie. The building gonna lock itself down and turn us all into technomancers or did you burn the system to the ground?”
“I was only mentioning the stand-in thing as a measure of trust, not as a measure of fighting capabilities. I mean, for that, she’s a cop. She still knows how to punch things.”
Miranda frowned, her brow furrowing as she pushed aside the blanket and stood up. Meandering over to the glass looking out over the balcony, she said, “It’s fine. Nothing like that is going to happen. And it didn’t just ‘grow’ out of my system.”
Trying to reel in her frustration, she shook her head and added, “It doesn’t matter, though. I wanted to get out. This is the easiest way to do that.”
Kestrel twisted in her seat, moving the blanket with her as she adjusted herself to watch Miranda’s movements.
“I mean, AIs start from somewhere, right? Where’d yours come from?”
She poked a finger out from the blanket, waggling it at the shaman.
“Looking at you right now, you wanted out like I wanted out of shadowrunning. It’s better for us both to not be doing that shit, but I bet part of you still misses the draw of it. The excitement or the thrill.”
“One time my Nanny and the Gardener were having a heated argument in the car and he took her Queen tape out of the player and threw it out the window with rage and she looked him dead in the eyes and pulled out a second copy of that same tape and put it back in the player.”
Warlock becomes a stand up comedian when he grows up. He becomes the John Mulaney of his time. This is his equivalent of “one black coffee”.
I can totally envision Warlock’s version of the duck story!
One day when I was ten, the gardener comes into the house soaking wet and says, in that voice one usually reserves for toddlers or small animals, “Ah! One feels like a duck splashing around in all this wet! And when one feels like a duck, one is happy!” And then Nanny yelled, “Ooh, ducklings!” To which the gardener replied, “Too old to be a duckling. Quack, quack.” And then walked into the kitchen. I think about that every goddamn day.
I can’t believe I never saw this until now. Headcanon accepted. This is beyond hilarious. Also….
I can’t believe this one was hidden in the replies.
“I love my family, or at the very least people would assume
so. People would think that growing up as a politician’s son would be easy, and
they are right. I got everything that I ever asked for, spending money the only
way Rick People could spend money.
“Dad! I want a Pony” Boom, Pony is at my feet
“Dad! I wanted it black” Boom. Done. Pony now looks like it
crawled out of the Black Lagoon.
“Dad! The Pony glared at me!” I get a bottle of glue the
next day. I was living the Rickie Rich lifestyle. I can have anything I want.
But the best part of growing up rich, the absolute best
part, was that we were able to afford our own nanny.
I love her so much but am goddamn terrified of her to this
day. I am a 28 year old man and I live in my own bodyweight of fear towards
her.
When I was 1 to when I was 11, we had a nanny in our house.
Her name is Nanny. If you call her anything else you will die. Somedays I think
that my parents made a Rumpelstiltskin Deal with her before I was born, where
instead of taking baby me she just moved in to our house to raid our fridge and
judge the world from lofty windows. This is just the first part of the mystery
of my nanny.
She dresses like she is preparing to go to a funeral. And
the difference between preparing to go and actually going is that they hadn’t
found the body yet. You know when friends say that they would kill someone for you?
Nanny would gut a cat if I wanted to play the violin that’s how hardcore she
was. She wore red sunglasses because her glare alone could turn anyone to
stone. If you squint hard enough you can actually see lasers coming out of her
eyes.
Now you need to remember, I lived with this woman for Ten
Years. Since I was a baby. This shit was normalized to me. While my parents
were in West Wing I was living in the Addams Family. Nanny loved me and raised
me and so what if she told me that I was going to lead Satan’s Army someday.
That’s just Nanny. But throughout all of this, I never truly understand how
terrifying she could be until I was 8 years old.
Picture this: a little 8 year old me, plump and trimmed with
baby fat, standing next to Mary Poppin’s evil twin. One day we were going out
for brunch so I can, and I’m quoting here “practice giving out orders when the
army of hell arrives”
I’m still waiting for them, just to let you know.
So we get inside Nanny’s car, an old Black 1933 Bently which
plays nothing but Queen music on cassettes.
I know this sounds fake, but she is a real person and not
some Baba Yaga who decided not to eat me.
As we were about to leave, Brother Francis ran out to us.
Francis was out gardener. He worked for us for as long as Nanny has, wears
suspenders and a sun hat, and I’m pretty sure he ran away from a monastery. He
walks up to Nanny and asks for a ride to the local gardening store for
supplies. So he gets in the front seat, I’m in the back, and all three of us
get on our way.
At 1000 miles per hour in a 55 zone.
Now I’m 8 years old. And no matter how cool your Nanny is,
you just don’t pay attention to boring adult stuff like meetings, or finances,
or traffic safety laws. So I’m lost in my own thoughts on how to direct my hell
army to build myself a waterpark.
I don’t know how long I zoned out because when I snapped
back in Nanny and Francis were arguing. Not in the pleasant passive aggressive
way that makes you rethink your life choices, but full on yelling. So we are
speeding down the road like death is chasing us. Bohemian Rhapsody is playing
on blast. Nanny and Francis screaming at each other. Sulfur filled the air, radiant
light pulsed menacing around us. Exactly how I imagined what parents fighting
would be like. Things came to a head right as Freddy was about to hit his last “For
Me!” because that was when this meek looking gardener snapped. Francis turns to
Nanny and screams “YOU’RE DRIVING TOO FAST!”
yanks the cassette out and pitches it out the window.
And then time stood still.
Have you ever been on a rollercoaster where at the top of
the first hill staring down you regret every decision you’ve ever made that led
you to this point? That was where we were all at.
Because there were three rules to Nanny’s Bently. Nanny
always drives. Nanny always drives fast. And Nanny always drives fast with
Freddy Mercury blaring down like her own personal angel.
This is all new uncharted territory for me. I’ve never seen
anyone even dare disrespect her angel and plan to live to tell the tale. I was
just watching in fascinated horror as this moment just searing into my mind.
Nanny’s looking directly at Francis, you can feel her eye’s
heat laser’s charging up. I was trying to think of reasons to tell my parents
why we don’t have a gardener anymore. Because even at 8 years old I know a
death marker when I’ve seen one and by the end of the trip I was expecting
Francis to be nothing but a smoldering piled of ash and a $15 hat.
She looks at him, and takes one hand off the wheel. Still
barreling down the road like a madman mind you. But it alright because time’s
frozen so we don’t hit anything. And with one hand, she reaches in front of him
to the glove compartment, gently pulls out another cassette tape, and places it
in the deck.
[pauses]
[sings] “FOR ME!!!!!”
We pull into the parking lot by the time Bohemian Rhapsody
ends and I have never looked at Nanny the same way ever again. Because anyone
who can play the exact same song on two different cassettes without missing a
beat is their own god and needs to be feared.”
-Warlock in his comedy special
OH MY GOD I’M CACKLING
That’s it. The “Warlock grows up to be John Mulaney” AU is the only AU I’m here for.
Kestrel wrinkled her nose. For one, she still felt awkward around the lady, because even if she was on Gold Sun’s good list, she still was a cop. Also–
“Veronica? Can she even take a punch? Wouldn’t have thought brawling was her thing.”
The last line brought a chuckle out of the adept.
“What, she afraid that I’d kick her ass? ‘cuz I would. For sure.”
“If she couldn’t take a punch,” Miranda answered, “I wouldn’t have hired her to be my stand-in.
“She was one of the two people I trusted with the truth about ‘Gold-Sun’ when I decided I wanted to not deal with things as directly,” she said. “After, you know, the stuff that went down with the Emporium. It felt safer to diversify a bit.”
Grumbling, the shaman added, “But that was before I knew some AI was going to unceremoniously shove me out of my own business.”
Miranda tilted her head back against the couch and let out a slow sigh. "I wouldn’t say she’s afraid of people kicking her ass. But her preferred tactic is infiltration. I don’t know how much of a hand-to-hand person she is. You’d have to ask her that yourself.“
“Stand in or not, she doesn’t look like she can take a punch. Talk her way out of getting one, sure, but–wait.”
Kestrel sat up, eyeing Miranda with a mix of concern and excitement.
“A rogue AI grew out of your system? Oh, fuck, Goldie. The building gonna lock itself down and turn us all into technomancers or did you burn the system to the ground?”
Kestrel adjusted her head slightly up and back as Miranda leaned in. She’d had considerably more years to get used to close quarters with horns, though that wasn’t to say it made things easy.
“I mean, there was that whole thing with the dragon spirit, yeah? Not sure I’d want to do that again. Can’t be everyone with the ability got sucked into a different plane. You’d think people’d talk about it more.”
Stifling a yawn and with her eyes still closed, she shrugged gently.
“Do wanna find a sparring partner, though, but I want Cairn to keep watch in case I try and go psycho again. Know anyone besides that crazy-ass ghoul that can keep Cairn a secret?”
Miranda thought over the question for a few moments. She knew adepts, sure. But were there any she had considered trustworthy? Most of them had been on her payroll. And while she trusted her shadowrunners enough to give them jobs, she had learned not to trust them with her life.
That last consideration gave her pause. She had nearly said there was no one, but instead she offered, “Veronica. She’s an adept, and she can keep a secret.”
With a quiet chuckle, the shaman added, “Though I can’t guarantee you that you’d be able to convince her to spar with you.”
Kestrel wrinkled her nose. For one, she still felt awkward around the lady, because even if she was on Gold Sun’s good list, she still was a cop. Also–
“Veronica? Can she even take a punch? Wouldn’t have thought brawling was her thing.”
The last line brought a chuckle out of the adept.
“What, she afraid that I’d kick her ass? ‘cuz I would. For sure.”
“I mean, I could only see that shit and it was addicting as hell. Can’t imagine what it’d be like to actually move around in it like you do. Crass did it so much we just kinda got used to hauling his body around. Said it felt way more free.”
Kestrel closed her eyes, the tug of sleep weighing her down.
“Maybe someday I’ll at least get to see it again. Without deepweed, I mean. Cairn says it could happen, but they didn’t seem to know much else about it. I think spirits do it differently.”
Miranda leaned her head against Kestrel’s. The horns certainly made the angle a little awkward, but she’d gotten kind of used to them. "Free. Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much it. You can move so fast, and in any direction you want.
“But hopefully it comes back to you. I know for us casters, trying to recover lost magic or discover new magic involves a whole ordeal. The last time I did it, I had to venture out of the physical plane altogether. I have no idea how an adept might go about it.”
Kestrel adjusted her head slightly up and back as Miranda leaned in. She’d had considerably more years to get used to close quarters with horns, though that wasn’t to say it made things easy.
“I mean, there was that whole thing with the dragon spirit, yeah? Not sure I’d want to do that again. Can’t be everyone with the ability got sucked into a different plane. You’d think people’d talk about it more.”
Stifling a yawn and with her eyes still closed, she shrugged gently.
“Do wanna find a sparring partner, though, but I want Cairn to keep watch in case I try and go psycho again. Know anyone besides that crazy-ass ghoul that can keep Cairn a secret?”
“Why not just do it from here? You can go through walls and shit when you ghost, yeah?”
Kestrel leaned into Miranda, resting her head on the shaman’s shoulder. She flexed the fingers on both hands, tapping her fingertips together a few times.
“Only got the hands and the feet, but yeah, it ain’t really the same. It’s like–it tries to tell you what’s what, but it FEELS different. A bit hollow, if it makes sense. Like it’s fallen asleep but it’s not full on pins and needles.”
She gave Miranda a squeeze.
“I’m happy you can still do that though, the ghosting thing. That you didn’t lose it.”
Miranda looked toward the balcony. For the first time since she left, she remembered her very brief chat with Frostbite.
“It wasn’t something I had really been planning on. I went outside so I wouldn’t disturb you while I made a couple of calls. Then I sat down, and–”
She didn’t really know how to explain why she left, so she just said, “I decided to take a stroll. I hadn’t intended to be gone quite so long. But once I was out there, I felt like myself again in a way that I haven’t in a long time.
“But yeah, thankfully as long as I don’t get burned out completely, I’ll always be able to project.”
“I mean, I could only see that shit and it was addicting as hell. Can’t imagine what it’d be like to actually move around in it like you do. Crass did it so much we just kinda got used to hauling his body around. Said it felt way more free.”
Kestrel closed her eyes, the tug of sleep weighing her down.
“Maybe someday I’ll at least get to see it again. Without deepweed, I mean. Cairn says it could happen, but they didn’t seem to know much else about it. I think spirits do it differently.”
