Pokemon is a copyright of Nintendo. Pokègirls and Pokèwomen come from the Pokewomon Forum at http://disc.server.com/Indices/169881.html.
"Wild Horses and Pokègirls" is the creation of Metroanime.
C&C, MSTs are welcome E-mail:
Tales of Special Investigator Oliver Wendell
A Bad man 1 by Kelvin's Choice
Disclaimer:
Pokemon is a copyright of Nintendo. Pokègirls and Pokèwomen come from the Pokewomon Forum at http://disc.server.com/Indices/169881.html.
"Wild Horses and Pokègirls" is the creation of Metroanime.
C&C, MSTs are welcome E-mail:
A Bad man 1 by Kelvin's Choice
The graying Neo-Iczel walked out of her bathroom. Clad only in her bathrobe, she walked through the halls, looking at the swirls in the wood, feeling the familiar hot and cold spots, the whorls and patterns in the wood paneling, enjoying the smell of the place. Feels good to be home, she thought as she walked into her office, My trophy room. Amid the awards, trophies, photos and newspaper clippings, sat an antique, mahogany desk and a very modern computer, both gifts from grateful `clients`. Resting against the monitor was her latest and dearest treasure. She lifted the envelope, mud-spattered and crinkled.
For the hundredth time, she opened it and read the simple salutation. So much pain and so much loss, of lives, of innocence and of our view of a safe and sane world. She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they returned as they always did. The heartaches, the victories, and the wars we still must fight. "But I am home," she assured herself, "For a time it seems."
She unfolded the sheet, reading the words of a rough man, a `bad` man. A man who loves what you truly love, she thought with a faint smile, But poet enough when he needed to be. A dying missive, from one respectable enemy to another.
" 'To General Lian Alice.'"
'To General Lian Alice.' He looked at the opening, then glanced over his `troops`, the SLIS agents and their Pokègirls. Concealed and protected behind a stone breastwork. Not that it will mean anything when they attack, he thought for a moment, then smiled, A few extra seconds, that's all. He looked in the darkness at the faces he could see, and the places where the ones he couldn't were supposed to be. All of them know what is coming, all of us have our Last Will and Testament filled out, he thought as he glanced to where the doc and his two NurseJoys had finished passing out suicide pills to everyone, all three looked sick, Everyone who would take a pill. The enemy won't let us 'go down fighting'. He remembered the Pokègirls who'd been captured. They're on the other side now, as insane as the rest of that army. Somebody finally got the perfect method to make Pokègirls and humans of all stripes work together in total harmony: turn them all into ravening monsters and aim them at somebody who doesn't want to join up. He smirked at that, and returned to his letter. 'I know your experiences with the SLIS have been neither cordial, nor pleasant. 'The SLIS lost an entire platoon, better they were tortured to death first, hip hip hooray!' would be the reaction I expect when one of your troopers brings you this letter. For myself and my fellow agents, that might be appropriate, but our girls . . . as Kipling put it 'If wrong we did to call them, by honour bound they came; let not Thy Wrath befall them, but deal to us the blame.' They died for us, they will die for us, and the League that we both try to protect.'
He considered the best way to put his next thought. 'I have never doubted that was your aim, to defend and promote the Sunshine League. For all the negative stories, true and untrue, that have circulated about the Sunshine League Internal Security, many if not most of us strive for the same goal: to protect and defend those in the League who merely want to live their lives without harming their fellow citizens. I have always thought your means of dealing with the world was too innocent and 'Goodie-two-shoes', perhaps mine was too dark. Ironic that you have an army with and around you, and my small handful are preparing to die alone. Perhaps the universe shows us what we expect, if that is training or cowardice, I don't know.'
He looked up from the page, set it in his pocket, and walked down the trench, along the line. Gina took his hand, held it against her cheek, the dark tear under her eyes emphasizing the tears she would not shed. Annette was more stoic, as was her way.
"Perhaps she's rubbed off on me," Annette said of Gina, "But I can't wait to see them hit the front line." She managed a wan smile and nod to her Harem-sister as Gina released his hand so he could continue his tour.
They will attack at sunrise, he thought before committing the thought to the page. 'Which makes no sense, as they will be charging uphill, into the sun, against a prepared defense.' He passed Gally the Galem, Marty and Flarty the twin Amachamps, all three standing by the rock piles, ammunition for the battle. How that little pipsqueak kept those titans so happy, he thought of the trio's deceased Tamer, the small man had killed himself, once it was clear that his loyal girls would destroy themselves trying to rescue him from the enemy, I wish there had been another way, he thought in answer to their unasked questions. He continued on, both walking and writing. 'Perhaps their desire for a daylight attack and quiescence at night is some secret tactical advantage you and your brain trust can use to grant your army the final, ultimate victory. When the money is made, give us some credit for having supplied you the idea.'
He considered scratching out that line, then discarded the thought, It's my last words. Let the historians edit them for consumption. Some for the grade school kids, the full truth for college.
Next was the center of the line. Our greatest strength, and in more normal times, my greatest frustration, he thought as he admired Angie's lush curves and beautiful face, How a girl so hot and juicy could be such a lesbian by choice is a crime against nature. Although her Harem just proves the universe is insane. Angie looked over her shoulder and smiled at the attention, waved, wiggled her butt and blew a kiss. Her Neo-Iczel, Demon-Goddess and HyperDoll smiled, smirked and shrugged, respectively. While neither as buxom, nor as pretty as the trio, Angie had nothing to be ashamed of.
"We'll certainly let them know we're here," Angie promised, patting the HyperDoll on the shoulder. The only one of her three girls showing any worry.
He smiled at the girl's bravado. She actually thinks we might survive this, let her keep her illusions. He recorded the exchange on paper and moved to the last and most worrisome sector. The two youngest and the doc. I put them here with the veterans Pokègirls, survivors of their Harems. The girls will hold as long as the rest of the line, the doc won't fight, and the agents . . . I wish I knew, because no matter how I slice it, we'll only last as long as we live, he thought, Back to history I guess. He returned to his place behind an outcropping that put him above the rest of the line, to complete the letter, and await the dawn. 'I should start at the beginning, I ask that you read it all, if you have the time. I have until sunrise, so I have the time to write it.'
Lian smiled. "Yes, I read it, I read it over and over," she said quietly, "I saw to it you were honored, that your part of the victory was not forgotten. That you and your colleagues were seen and acknowledged as the heroes you were, like modern day Spartans. I only wish I could have met you before you so soured on my kind . . . and your own."
I should begin my story by telling you, I am not a nice person. My name is Oliver Wendell, not Holmes. I'm a senior special investigator for Sunshine League Internal Security, the SLIS. Yeah I know, 'boo, hiss', throw rotten vegetables. Heard it. Heard it all. Thank you citizens, nothing new here, now be on your way. For those of you from another planet, the SLIS is neither the Keystone Cops, nor the KGB. We deal with crimes against the League, and what it stands for. Specifically, I work for the Division misnamed 'Pokègirl Crimes'. It is inaccurate in that not only do we investigate crimes by Pokègirls, but also crimes against Pokègirls, and often the cases turn out to be both. E.g. the Pokègirl bank robber who was abused to such an extent, it's a wonder she didn't become a Penance. But that's a digression. The other SLIS officers have `pet` names for our Division, and we love our fellow officers too.
What most of the idiots in the media services and in the public don't know (or don't care) is that neither the SLIS nor Team Rocket are as inept as they'd like them to be. I know, get to the fighting and fucking, I was young and impatient once too.
But I'm going to tell you my story. You can skim ahead and when you start going 'How did that happen?' you can come back and read the answers for yourself. That's why books are still written and read, they're random access. Now what I'm doing an editor calls 'establishing character', and a literary agent calls 'building suspense.' I call it 'making sure the audience doesn't think I'm blowing pink smoke up their asses', but that's why I'd need an editor and an agent to publish this.
Where was I? Yeah. Some of you may have heard about Team Rocket's latest `superplan`. If you haven't, blame the media, not SLIS, we wanted people to know, be wary and take precautions. The media, I guess, wanted to keep everybody's favorite criminal clowns as a joke. Mantis Balls were no joke. See, the brains who worked for Team Rocket, developed a new twist on the old `Black` Pokèball. I know they aren't really called that in the 'dex, but everybody calls them that, the Pokèballs that turn humans, males and females, into Pokègirls. Mantis Balls also worked on Pokègirls, but they could only produce one evolution from their human or Pokègirl victims, you got it, a Mantis. Since Manti are only killing/eating machines, what use is that? If you're robbing someplace, turning an innocent bystander, or better yet, the victim, into a Mantis, lets you have a good chance you'll get away. And they sure as Hell can't testify against you, being killed by cops and all.
Well, they made a slight error, got cocky, got stupid, or let mean get in the way of smart, doesn't matter. They used a Mantis Ball on the jewelry store owner's Recognized Pokèwife. Let's all say it together 'OOPS!' Even as a Mantis, she wasn't about to hurt her husband or the business they'd struggled to build, or their loyal customers. Not when there were Team Rocket types at hand.
Poor old broad kept it together well enough to slaughter only enough of the Team Rocket types to get them running to their hideout, and left a Hell of a trail to follow. We might as well have been tracking a runaway tank. When we arrived at the Team Rocket headquarters, the Mantis had finished slaughtering, yes slaughtering, not just killing, all the Team Rocket types and was just sitting there, waiting.
Her husband couldn't bear to be parted from her, and he knew we'd have to kill her. We gave him a dozen gelatin capsules full of the most virulent poison available. He walked up to her, said all the things women like to here, and told her about the poison. She sliced his head off neat and painless as you please, then sat there and died of the poison in her husband's body. I'll let you guess how the poison got from inside him to inside her. Say what you like, but those were acts of selfless heroism, rising above their limitations and drives. I didn't see the Parity pukes giving a medal for that bravery, to either of the victims. The SLIS gave one to both, posthumously, and were roundly criticized. There was no `cure`, and we prevented any more such robberies/transformations. So what if it wasn't a fairy-tale ending. The world doesn't have fairy tale endings. Real people deal with what is.
One of the 'what is's' I had to deal with early in my career, put me firmly in the 'Pokègirl: Threat or Menace' category of thinking. A girl Thresholded into a Kitten. Don't worry, I can hear you saying 'How could that make someone hate and fear Pokègirls?' First, fear yes, hate, not really. Second, it was specifically that it was such a `cute-n-fuzzy` Pokègirl that convinced me. The story's simple, the girl was terrified of cats and cat-like Pokègirls. Suddenly she was one, and she freaked out. Rather than running away and letting her get used to it, they tried to 'calm her down', as one survivor claimed. That's right, she was more angry/frightened than ever before, and they stood around and yelled at her. She killed seventeen people in the bloodiest slaughter I'd ever seen to that time. I realized something then, that even without any special powers, Pokègirls are extremely dangerous creatures.
In pre-Sukebe days, there was an animal called a chimpanzee, they were approximately human-sized and human build, and were considerably stronger than a human. I've since found out that a 10-year-old, healthy Pia, not Ria, but Pia, has the same physical strength as an average, adult human male. So a berserk Kitten can literally tear a human limb from limb, add the claws and fangs, and you can see how she killed all those people, and finally, you should also see why some people feel about Pokègirls the way that they - we - do.
Now I'm not advocating hunting them all down and killing them, although if someone gave me a magic wand that would make all human women fertile again and erase Pokègirls completely, I'd be waving it like a madman. Since that isn't possible, we should teach our kids that no matter how `cute-n-fluffy`, `hot-n-sexy` or just plain dopey-looking a Pokègirl is, she is still a dangerous weapon, and physically capable of harming you, whatever her intentions are. I'm also not stupid enough to think I can take on a Pokègirl without one of my own.
Remember that near-Penance, ex-bank robber I mentioned earlier? I signed her out of Long-Term Storage and took her home. I didn't just do it out of the goodness of my heart, but because I thought she was hot and I was getting tired of dealing with Officer Jennies, struck up ineffectual twits, good as metermaids, but not for heavy combat. The usual Growlie or Tigress also didn't appeal to me. I'm going to share my bed with a flamethrower or something that is 'always pushing the limits in bed'? I need to get up the next morning and go to work, not be a piece of charcoal or an invalid.
She was a Gloomy, and had already proven she could think clearly under extreme stress. Frankly, to a cop, that counts more than the size of her tits, which was a constant worry to her and how her former `Master` tortured/controlled her. The fact she was nocturnal was also good. I had to work odd hours and knowing she'd likely be up and wanting to cuddle me as I slept, when I crawled in the door at 3 A.M., was always welcome. I thought about getting her a Moonstone, but decided against it.
I Tamed her everyday, because frankly, both of us needed it, and she gained the confidence to become my partner on the force.
A little rant of mine. Sorry. If your daughter, your sister, or gods forbid, your mother is undergoing Threshold, For GODS' sake! get her to a Pokècenter! That's what they were created for! Unlike Consumption, Small Pox, Tetanus, or Maestrom's Plasm, it isn't fatal, generally. And this one, guys, you really are immune to. Although there's never been a documented case of Threshold inducing Threshold in someone else (stress of any kind, that's another matter, so the calmer you are, the lower the chances), it's still a myth that's going to take some high-powered disproving, but guys (men and boys) are immune.
Second part of my rant. 'Bad' Pokègirls aren't stolen from Tamers, or captured in the wild, they are thrown out of perfectly ordinary homes. So they are already socialized, non-Feral, and have a feeling of being unloved/unlovable and/or a grudge against the world to start with. I see it at every single crime scene. Every Single One! You think your neighbors are going to gossip about a Threshold case, move and get better neighbors. Being Pureline Human is no great shakes. I deal with humans everyday that came from respectable families, who aren't worth the powder it would take to blow them up. Some others will never give back to the community in their entire lifetime, what a single NurseJoy does in a week.
I am no fan of Pokègirls, but if you really want sick and twisted individuals, the human race has them beat all hollow. That graffiti `artist` in New Vegas cost the people of this League more money and wasted time than Mao ever did. That's why he had his `tragic accident`, the cops knew the whiners of the League would get him probation rather than punishment. You can't rehabilitate someone who's been trained from birth to care only about themselves. So the cops let him make that impossible jump, and no Flying-types tried to catch him. Anyone who leaps off a building to `make` the cops rescue him (and set up the ground work for an insanity plea), deserves to go splat. And yes, that's right, 'him'. It wasn't a crazed Artist Goth like the tabloids proclaimed, it was the son of a family rich enough to hide his problem, until it became a police matter. Then they couldn't hide it from the victims no matter what they did to hide it from the general public, and muddy the waters afterwards. End Rant, sorry.
How we got here, right. Start at the beginning. My partners, human and Pokègirl, headed into the abandoned lab where the Mantis Ball was first invented. Only to have it begin self-destructing around us. The Pokègirls, of course, tried to get us humans out first. My Belle Awesome, yes I bought her a Leaf Stone, after several years together, I thought she deserved and had earned the boost. My Belle Awesome threw me through an upper story window before the detonations began in earnest. I still don't know why. I wasn't a great Tamer, although I did make sure she had her Pokèball and free rein on Sadie Poken's day, and she was always at work waiting for me the next morning.
I survived the disaster, although I lost most of my left leg, she lost her life. I was one of the lucky ones, I lived and would eventually return to service. The only other survivor will be lucky if she ever sees the outside of a booby hatch in her lifetime. Her Delta-bonded Side Viper didn't survive, sacrificing herself for her Mistress. Frankly, they should have saved someone else, and like the old man and his wife, died together.
`Administrative leave`, I thought as I walked along the filthy sidewalk. Papers and other debris littered the street, and no one cared. Not the people who lived there, and certainly not me. All that means is I'm effectively retired. Although I keep the rights and privileges. Of course it was `suggested` I do some special undercover work. That made me smirk. Plausible deniability is what they want. What are they throwing me into? I thought as I looked at the bad area I was in, snarled at a couple of tailless rats with two legs, to prove that this one-legged `ole man` had more teeth than they did. Which is why I'm on the waterfront. If I'm going to be sticking my nose where it is going to be unwanted, I need to buy something. Oh no, I couldn't just buy one legitimately, instead I need to be seen and have it known I got it here. It's not that I'm going to go soft and `rescue` a Pokègirl, it's just to make the appropriate people wonder. I reminded myself of the laws, that it was legal to sell a Ranch-born or `donated` Domestic almost anywhere. But it was also legal to sell a Tamed Feral, if you had the appropriate licenses. Only unTamed Ferals are illegal to sell, I thought darkly, There are an awful lot of ways to subdue a Feral, besides a Taming Machine. The place I am going is one such market. Every cliché of pre-Civil War slave markets are true here. I remembered the many reasons I and other agents had to investigate this place and others like it. I never could pin anything on this one, nor could anyone else. The place is cleaner and the Pokègirls better treated than lots of the more upscale boutiques and ranches I've investigated, I remembered, I'm always amazed that the `Parity` folks don't object to this . . . Oh, I forgot, they'd have to actually come out of their Ivory Towers to find out about places like this. Even Tamers and Watchers don't come down here to the docks, perfect armor. I still thought the owner was scum. An anti-Pokègirl bigot even by my standards. His attitude towards Pokègirls disgusted me. As far as he's concerned, the only difference between the cart and the Ponytaurs that draw it are, the Ponytaurs eat more and are more fun to fuck. I'd long ago learned he didn't mistreat them, because he didn't want them causing trouble, beaten Pokègirls brought out people like me, and most important, it reduced their resale value. Being seen as subdued hypes their value. Having to be beaten lowers value. After all, you want some spirit and resistance. It's no fun to make someone acknowledge they're helpless and worthless, if they already know it.
None of the customers or staff recognized me on my crutches, but the owner did. He gestured for me to follow him, never losing his salesman smile. In his office, he had all the books and certificates out and ready for inspection. 'Never trust any place prepared to be inspected at a moment's notice', I remembered my training officer's quote, 'They either don't do any work, or they're crooks.'
"Normally, I get better warning," he joked as he sat behind his desk, "I didn't know you were coming." He chuckled at the unintended double entendre, then he glanced around. "And where's your partner?"
"Team Rocket killed her," I told him plainly as I dropped into a chair.
"She was a good Pokègirl," he said sympathetically.
A nice, neutral statement, that could mean anything, I thought.
"So you aren't here on a raid, what then?" he said, while he kept smiling. He sat behind his desk, armored against the world by his confidence and contempt. He knew the rules I had to play by as well as I did. Leaving all the records and certifications out for my open or covert perusal for one.
"You once claimed a Bloodgift to pick the right Pokègirl for a client," I said, leaning back, seeming to ignore what was before me, studying the walls and ceiling, while watching his expression.
"That's not a claim, I was just talking," he said a touch defensively, smiled to cover it, "I do have a pretty good knack, no guarantees, but I do okay. It's just a talent, near enough to a Bloodgift, and the rest." His expression took on the malevolence of a cartoon villain, and was just as phoney. "Frankly, what you need is a Demon-Goddess and a Neo-Iczel. It would serve you right if I sold you a pair."
"You have them here?" I asked. That would make for some interesting double dates.
"Of course not. I'm an honest businessman," he replied in an affronted tone, then confided, "Who likes breathing without mechanical help. I do have something I haven't been able to sell. She's more expensive to maintain in pristine condition than I thought, and frankly, I've never gotten any takers," he offered, seeming expecting sympathy, "Not even a nibble."
"Now I'm intrigued, why not stick her in Storage?"
"Like you lot wouldn't be giving me grief about my Taming machines, about my Healing machines?" he said and snickered, "You'd never let me keep a Storage facility."
I shrugged. "It's not my fault you're the only honest man in your business," I told him, not completely without sympathy. If not for you and a few other scrupulous types, we could shut your whole damned industry down, hard. "If you don't enjoy the scrutiny, find a different line of work with more honest colleagues."
"It's not a 'line of work'," he said, showing a slight anger, whether it was an act or not is anyone's guess, "It's a calling, and I'm good at it. Oh, here she is." The two guards entered with the Pokègirl.
The Pokègirl in question was a bird type, gorgeous, marvelous curves and wearing a tuxedo that flattered them. She even had a top hat. I had some difficulty not staring, or drooling.
"A little chubby, with a sharp tongue, but you seem to prefer that kind," he teased.
The girl gave both of us a venomous look. She obviously didn't expect punishment for her disrespect, and she clearly wasn't Feral.
"How did you get a Pengal?" I asked in honest amazement, "Especially this far south?"
"I love the Sunshine League, every climate you could want," he told me with a laugh, the laugh was alone, seriousness followed it, "And there's a little problem I need your help with."
"My help?" He seems earnest, and it doesn't seem fake or forced. What am I getting into?
"I haven't read anywhere that there's a bounty on them, but I'd prefer to get it out of my hands, and into the hands of the authorities." He removed a Pokèball from his desk drawer, putting it on the top with all the care of a demolitions man dealing with a bomb.
"Not sell it?" I asked, staring at the seeming ordinary ball, "Now I'm worried."
He laughed nervously. He was sweating, something I'd never seen him do, even when threatened with prison or a beating. "Since you and your partner helped bring in Simon Carver, you should know better than anyone else whether it's dangerous or not."
The Pokègirl materialized out of the Pokèball, also wearing a very brief tuxedo and top hat. I recognized the breed instantly, one of a small minority who would. "Where did you get a MaryAnn Drew?" I breathed.
He smiled like I'd passed a test. He also relaxed that I wasn't going to start shooting. "A customer sold me a 'Harlequin', neglecting to inform me that it had encountered a Mana Crystal. As if I couldn't run it through an analyzer before I opened the Pokèball."
He paused, my blood was running cold. A Jokette in the middle of a city would kill dozens to hundred before she could be put down, I thought, considering my options.
He continued, "So I ran it through a few Level 4 Tamings to stun it, and let it out directly on top of an Angel Stone. However, I don't need her kind of trouble either, so I'll let you . . . I was going to say steal . . . buy them both, for 200." He actually looked hopeful.
"That seems remarkably low."
"One's a consignment I haven't had any takers on, and the other . . . let's call it reward." He was wheedling, and we both knew it. "You'll have less of a problem with her than any man alive. I want her gone."
Two hundred was too reasonable a price, I thought idly, And he was right. In happier times, Carver's MaryAnn Drew had gotten along with my Belle Awesome, and me. And the aloof Pengal seems appropriate to my current mood. Two hundred creds and my card changed hands. "If you want to . . . discretely . . . give that Tamer some grief -"
"He tried a stunt like the `Harlequin` with McGillicuddy, just as you lot raided him. Shot resisting arrest I heard. I do wonder, what happened to ole' Carver's Harem. Some strange rumors surrounding them, you were one of the first agents on site. I heard you made the arrest."
"I was. I was also there when Simon Carver died. His Nightmare and Fallen Angel, gone too, the Widow he directed, gone. She was nearly dead by the time we showed up anyway. The rest, went to a good Tamer, and we're keeping an eye on him."
"Of course, you are. A chibi Chimera would be worth a lot of money."
"Especially to the people she originally belonged to," I accused.
"I only deal in Domesticated Ferals," he replied easily, still nervously glancing at the MaryAnn Drew.
Which the chibi Chimera probably is, I thought to myself. "Draw up the papers, I'll . . . sign." He had the bills of sale in front of me, before I could finish the sentence.
I signed, noted the barely restrained interest and even enthusiasm of the girls. I don't blame you, I thought, I want out of this place too. As we - we three - left, I had the same feeling an old mechanic said he got at the bargain tool bins, 'Never trust cheap tools, they'll cost you dear.' But are they 'cheap' or just difficult to break in? I wondered.
"What's so funny?" the MaryAnn Drew asked, then she cowered dramatically, "Or are we to speak only when spoken to?"
"If you want to be punished, you'll have to do more than talk without prompting. I was remembering a murder attempt that failed because the murderer bought a cheap chainsaw."
"That's disgusting," the Pengal commented primly.
"I think you'll find that being a cop colors your view of the world."
The pair fell silent as they walked and I hobbled. As we left the docks and headed into safer, upscale areas, I noted that the MaryAnn Drew had started duplicating the Pengal's waddling walk, adding a considerable butt wiggle to it. She continued for some blocks like that. Children passing by started giggling, then some of the adults.
Suddenly, the Pengal whirled around, staring regally at the clown, who was nervously chewing the brim of her top hat. While the Pengal tried to stare down the MaryAnn Drew. The clown suddenly `realized` the brim of her hat actually `tasted` good, so she mimed tearing off a piece and savoring the flavor as she chewed. When she realized the Pengal was still staring, she offered the hat, as if she'd forgotten to share some tasty goodie.
The Pengal sneered, "Hopeless," she intoned and turned around to keep walking. The MaryAnn Drew fell in behind, waddling after her, `eating` her hat as she walked.
This is going to take a lot of getting used to, I realized. The Pokègirls grew even more nervous as we entered a mid-range `pet` store, and were nearly jumping for joy as I purchased a pair of collars, the new type with the built in locators.
I still had my Belle Awesome's, so I had a locator, it was simple to let the clerk tune them all together.
There were fewer antics on the walk home. Each kept touching the collars. Admittedly, they were the serviceable police collars that would not only repel all Pokèballs, even police-issue 'balls and Black Pokèballs, but would turn a sword blade.
But they are collars, I reminded myself, And I haven't even had you one day.
"Don't go off the deep end," I warned them, "I'm a cop, you'll be my partners. Once you're trained. You learn the drill, you follow procedures, everything will be fine. You give me a reason to regret my purchase, I'll have you put through multiple Level 5's and I'll dump you at a research facility. Is that understood?"
The pair nodded nervously.
"Good," I told them as we climbed the stairs to my apartment, pausing several times as I tired. My arms aren't up to this constant exertion yet, I thought as the pair dithered, At least they're smart enough not to offer to help, or worse carry me up the stairs. I was aware of, but chose to ignore, the spirited though quiet argument going on in front of me. The MaryAnn Drew was trying to convince the Pengal to ice the floor, 'So we can just push him along.' The Pengal was adamantly refusing.
If what I saw of that other MaryAnn Drew holds true, she'd be the one doing all the falling, I thought as I hobbled towards my apartment. I handed the Pengal my dead Belle Awesome's key, both putting her in a position of authority and implying she was the MaryAnn Drew's keeper.
The truth is, I know the M.A.D. Pokègirl won't stray too far from her new conversion project, I thought as she opened the door.
Few people have ever been to my apartment. I don't socialize much. My work gives me such a dim view of my fellow Human beings and of Pokègirls, that I am thoroughly repulsed by small talk and all the social feeling out. It was also one of the things I hated about most Pokègirls, and admired in Angels: most Pokègirls are chatterboxes, as if they stopped talking, they'd cease to exist, or ceased to be noticed. Angels say what needs to be said and assume you were listening. Otherwise, they were silent. These two seemed to at least be discrete about their talking.
I don't advertise, but I was a spy for the SLIS, attending Nuevo Ten' University. After I couldn't find a spirit guide, I transferred into Applied Magic and Pokègirl research. That's where I met Simon Carver. The irony was not lost on me.
My problem at the University and the whole spirit guide bit, was that spirits sounded like the purple after-images you get from staring at a bright light or flash gun. A life, a death or a widespread traumatic event left a serious piece of residue on this other receptive plane. The idea of negotiating with a piece of emotional `red-eye` always struck me as a bit ridiculous. I studied, got good grades, and for my senior project, I worked with Carver on the problem of keeping satellites in an orbit useful to people here on the Earth. Carver then was a self-important, credit-grabbing, detail-worshiping prig, with a lower opinion of Pokègirls than even I had. He was a genius, if he would have applied himself. The monograph went on for 350 pages and had over 70 illustrations, and over 200 pages of supplemental mathematics. But to be succinct, a satellite only works if its antennae point at the Earth. All the dead satellites that are up there used tiny rocket motors to make corrections, and they are long out of fuel. To avoid that problem, we used pieces that were attuned to and attracted to the Earth, positioning them on the satellite so it would always face Earth. That also meant we could stick a satellite at the LaGrange Points and it would always 'look down' on Earth. As you well know, none of this is secret anymore, although it was extremely so at the time.
As has been discussed elsewhere in the media, the Sunshine League's orbital colony has benefitted from this, by giving the League a zero-G manufacturing facility for years. Since the LaGrange points are always at the same relative position, teleportation there and back is child's play. It's the one operation the Navy, the University and the SLIS all have agreed upon, at least the only one made public. The fact it more than pays for itself, and a lot of other things, is just a bonus.
How does this apply? My living room is a library of magical treatises, advanced astrophysics and a huge amount of pre-Sukebe science-fiction. You can get good ideas from anywhere. Explaining it to newcomers has always been difficult, and most people resent when I don't want to try.
The Gloomy who became my Belle Awesome, seemed just so relieved to have a home, that she never asked. She'd patiently waited and found out, bit by bit.
"This is your room," I told the Pengal as I opened the door of my Belle Awesome's former room. "I'll have to clean out the dead plants, but this one will be yours," I told the MaryAnn Drew as I opened the adjacent door, "All the plants died the same day my Belle Awesome did. It was her garden." The shelves and racks of dead flora seemed to accuse me of letting their mistress die. It was an irrational thought, but one I kept having.
"My room is there," I told them and pointed, "One rule, never go in there without an express invitation, and never open the door if it's closed. Knock first. If you don't get an answer, either I'm not in, or I'm busy and can't be disturbed."
"If we can't go in -" the Pengal asked, "How do we get Tamed?"
"You invite me into your room," I replied, "I can't offer you the same level of privacy I demand, because you two are my responsibility. I'll try to respect a closed door, but if I need to check on you, I'll check on you. If you want to be left alone, I'll try to leave you alone."
"What if we don't want to be left alone?" the MaryAnn Drew pointedly asked, throwing back her shoulders to enhance her almost inconceivable bust.
"That's why there's two of you."
They looked at each other, the MaryAnn Drew grinned horribly, the Pengal looked sick. Then the Pengal poked the MaryAnn Drew hard in her expanded chest. The MaryAnn Drew began hissing and `deflating` until she was a limp heap on the floor. The Pengal just shook her head in disgust.
"The closed door applies to you two as well. The library and the kitchen are open to all. If you take out a book, put it back where you got it. I -"
"I can't read," the MaryAnn Drew admitted as she pulled herself to her feet, by grabbing her own hat. The Pengal looked superior.
"Then that's your first job," I told the Pengal, getting a sour look in return. "If there's some food you prefer, that I don't have, tell me. My salary isn't so tight that I can't afford decent food. I will put my foot down on any extravagance. So don't ask for Blue Continent wines or caviar from the Ruby League, and there won't be any problems."
"We will check it out," the Pengal said, grabbed the MaryAnn Drew by her arm and dragged her off into the bedroom.
I unlocked my bedroom/study door and hobbled in, locking it behind me. Here were the truly dangerous tomes and devices, especially the still I picked up when I was masquerading as a student at Vale. They never ferreted out I was spying for the SLIS, I thought about those happier days, Because even I didn't know. I was supposed to be getting magical training for my 'unresolved potential'. I looked at the bed and considered simply collapsing on it. Too much work to do. Slavedriver!
I think the Vale-ains were so tickled that they 'could mould a N.T.U. `drop out`' that they never looked too closely. I was never a good spellcaster, I was always too much of a generalist: a healing spell here, minor levitation there, a modest summoning. I did well enough in my studies, stirred up controversies in the free-thinking professors' classes, parroted back what the rigid profs wanted to hear, played the ridiculous 'Game of Houses' with great skill. So I graduated Magus cum Laude (not Magna Cum Laude), although my spellcasting power was no better than a talented second-year's, but in all of the eleven fields. I'd also avoided thrashing any of the other students who called me 'That Colonial Necromancer' often shortened to Colonace. Graduating at the top of the class was revenge enough. Maturity is a wonderful thing, I remembered my little address on ethics, singling out all the ethical lapses of the `high` magical families and the price still being paid by the magical community, world-wide. And having them have to sit there and squirm under my flaying, and especially the stares of others around them.
The magical circle rug had been a gift from a Megami who'd been in need of some tutoring, and had been overjoyed I didn't demand the obvious payment most would have demanded of a cute, curvy well-built Pokègirl. I wonder if she ever found her lost Tamer? I thought of her, I wonder if she ever evolved into a Megami-Sama. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. I chuckled at the thought, And she was also very much a member of the 'Pokègirl: Threat or Menace' club, urging restraint and suppression of 'troublesome' types.
I sat within the circle and concentrated. All the herbs and candles and special meditation are for amateurs. I could enter the spirit realm with only a few moments thought. I had a feeling about who would be waiting for me.
I recognized and welcomed the voice, "Master."
Bad man 2 by Kelvin's Choice
"No, don't put it in there, I'm not a Pokègirl! I'm a good girl!" the girl whimpered piteously, while the assailant behind her pawed her cantaloupe-sized breasts. Her bust was of a mature woman, but the rest of her: frame, height, hairstyle, voice and attitude marked her as a young child.
The man's hips thrust forward and her eyes shot open. "Nooooo!" she squealed as she was violently penetrated. After a few more such severe thrusts, her protests lost volume and gained pathos. The abuse of her breasts increased, and her screams became mere whimpers, as if she was fighting against the enjoyment of her rape.
I looked around the theater showing this garbage, and tried not to look at my watch. I also tried not to think about what was probably on the floor that made it so sticky. I'd prefer spilled soda, I thought as I watched the feature continue. The assailant, we never saw his face, just an 18 inch dick on a powerfully muscled torso, finally came. Now the screaming in terror returned as still thrusting his full length into her, he came, and came, and came. She shrieked and struggled in his grip as her flat belly swelled and swelled. Skirt and blouse crawled away from each other, buttons popped as her childlike waist expanded and angry red lines like cracks crawled across her ballooning alabaster skin.
"No! No! No! Stop cumming, I'll explode!" she wailed as she shook her head and swelled beyond nine month pregnancy carrying a litter of Clydesdames, to 'I'm carrying Typhonia's love child', before he pulled out. Then she had the pain and humiliation of hanging off the ground in his grip, as all he'd pumped into her poured out as she peed uncontrollably at the release. All the time crying that she was a good girl and didn't deserve her mistreatment, while the camera lovingly showed the cum and pee pouring out, her limp body dangling from his grip and her belly shrinking back to normal. Then he dropped her into the resulting pool and the story left her there.
The audience would applaud, if their hands weren't so busy elsewhere, I thought as I wondered about Humanity, For the price of six theater visits, you could buy a Pokègirl, who would be more than willing to act out her mortal terror or any other scene, and be grateful for the attention. Yet there are still people who rather see it faked on a public screen, than have it for real in the privacy of their homes. Oh, I forgot, fine upstanding members of society don't do such things. They go to a theater and watch someone else do it for them. The feature's credits ended and the lights came up slightly, to allow navigation but guarantee anonymity. My target already knew where I'd be, so he could find me even in the half-light.
The man who'd called me here was scum. Now I don't think everybody is scum, there are honest citizens, I just never seem to meet any, and there are two important and very different kinds of scum. The first is the kind you meet, and you want to bathe thoroughly afterwards. The second kind, you want to put a knife in as soon as you see them. Unless of course, you're `civilized` and ignore your instincts so you can get close to the rich and the great, or to not appear `judgmental`. I clean up after a lot of nonjudgmental people. The lucky ones are dead. This guy was fortunately, the first type, several of the patrons were the second. I recognized them, despite the poor light.
"Great show hmm?" he whispered as he sat in the row ahead of me, "I wonder what breed she is to survive that, cause I've seen her in a dozen flicks as good as that." He's into what are euphemistically called 'pain sports', and in a big way. He really gets off on pain and humiliation. What keeps him firmly in the first camp, is he controlled himself long enough to get a Dark Lady to vent his needs on. Sick, but at least a societally acceptable solution. She loves it and so does he.
I don't tell him that I know the actress. I investigated her for Pokègirl torture when her first film came out. She was the petite, childlike, hugely endowed Damsel she appears on the screen, but most of the rest was the work of a CyberNymph and some superb computer equipment. The investigation was quietly closed, although someone checks up on them occasionally, to make sure the torture is all digital. Not that most people would care about what happens to Pokègirls, I thought, They just don't want to have it happen where they have to watch or hear about it.
I'd met him while investigating another Pokègirl torture case. Turns out his Dark Lady likes it loud and rough, and she loves him a lot!
So what we had was essentially Disturbing the Peace, but a crusading Parity Puke wanted to outlaw all abuse of Pokègirls, and she'd gotten into the DA's office as an assistant. Joy of Joys! Jenny of Jennies! So she wasn't going to let go, no matter whom she hurt, what she said or what damage it did to the SLIS, respect for the law, or Pokègirls themselves. And as a 'Clipped-Hair Six-Pack Determined to Leave An Important Legacy' TM, she didn't let her fear and loathing of Pokègirls, or her ignorance of their physiology/psychology get in the way of `improving` things for them. She seemed to think all Pokègirls were Bunny Girls and woe to anyone who treated them differently than her standard. Mao would have loved her, cause she would have made Mao look reasonable. To say the Pokègirls in the Police hated her guts is completely incorrect, they loved her guts so much they wanted to hang them like a garland from every public building from Redwood to Nuevo Ten. Most Jennies and other Police Pokègirls like their Tamer to roughhouse with them. Roughhousing that they considered pleasant and intimate foreplay would be considered Assault with Intent on less durable Pokègirls.
So I contacted an ambulance chaser who loved helping the depraved 'oppressed' against Police Brutality And Miscarriages of Justice! Always include the exclamation point. That she was another 'Clipped-Hair Six-Pack Determined to Leave An Important Legacy'TM helped immensely, because that kind of useless ambulance chaser usually runs away from real fights. But the idea that some other woman might pave over her path to glory, with a path of her own, was enough to make this a battle to the death.
Before I go further, I'm no misogynist, nor am I a class anti-snob, but the unfortunate side-effect of having the wealthy and powerful possess the preponderance of Pureline daughters, means these girls will be coddled, until they are determined to be Breeders or Six-Packs. Then their futures are carefully chosen and superintended. While the males of these same families are expected to go on a Taming Journey, or join the Navy or Stockton Legion for a stint, where they are likely to run into Real Life hard enough to penetrate their highly educated skulls, or the stupidest among them are weeded out of the gene pool. The girls are universally denied that growing up process, or even the threat of it, and so are generally prejudiced, petty, stupid, narcissistic and unwilling to learn from anyone with fewer PhDs than their last professor. In police work, that attitude can get you and others killed. In an office environment, with family connections, it gets you a cushy job where you make working peoples' lives miserable. These two had managed the last.
Back to the topic. While the 'When Bitches Collide' continued. Hey, it's what the media called it, don't blame me. I 'supervised' the man's move and soundproofing his new home. I also berated him for not doing it before. I mean, the man owned a hardware store for Typhonia's Sake! He was acquitted. And the lawyer who got him off got knifed to death by one of her misunderstood clients a year later, too bad. Too bad the Assistant DA didn't get the same, she's got a seat in the Assembly now, and likely to hold it until she dies or her family runs out of money covering up her mistakes and ineptitude.
The man became my contact into a world I'd rather not dabble in. Pain for me is not fun. It's either business and as such, strictly controlled, or it is the environment, in which case I have to pick up the pieces after it's begun. I could show these dilettantes a thing or two about pain that even the sickest wouldn't enjoy, and any that did, I'd shoot in the head.
"Look," he said very nervously, "I like this, many don't. These fellows . . . " He handed over a business card and a complimentary ticket for 'an elegant evening', in the warehouse district. "I've been to some pit fights. Toss an Amazon-chan in with an Amazon-Lee and let them beat each other senseless, and then half-a-dozen guys Tame each one. Or lock a Succubus and a Gladiatrix in a room, heh, the action really gets hot and heavy there. This, I've been hearing rumors about them, and those rumors got me nervous. They dispose of the winner, you know? Dispose?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. I will look into it."
"Thanks. We don't need to be compared to those sickos."
Everybody has standards, I thought as I considered. "Why do you come here? You could get the real thing at home."
"Ideas," he admitted with a shrug, "I don't have much imagination. Maria really likes to play games after I see some of these, but she doesn't want to watch them, not even videos at home."
"Very well, I'll check this out." It was a reminder that not everyone has as twisted a mind as I do.
He smiled and was headed back to his seat as the lights dimmed, and the next show came on.
'Dispose' I kept thinking about, then I remembered Mistress SlideViper. I wonder how that oversized Naga is doing? I considered, After all the reports of a wild Pokègirl eating men off the street. I remember being amazed the amount some guys, and girls, were paying for the privilege of being sensuously eaten, and of course being brought back up. Even remembering it creeped me out. I keep remembering the time I was swallowed by a Pokègirl who considered me lunch, I thought with a shudder, I just wish I could have seen her face when she felt me discover, with my long knife, that her insides weren't as tough as her outside was. 'Something that she ate disagreed with her'. However, none the Naga's clients ever voiced a complaint, and she had some powerful patrons/clients. It's the old rule, no one is above the law, but some people are above being merely annoyed by it. We still keep an eye on her.
I'm glad the girls decided not to accompany me, I thought as I changed my shoes, and continued home, Considering how I smell, they're either going to be very interested, or very revolted. I hope it's the former, because after watching almost an hour of simulated rapes with a little story thrown in, a little low-key Taming really appeals to me right now.
"Snow Globe?" the MaryAnn Drews asked, poking her finger into the Pen Gal's soft tummy.
"Yes?" the Pen Gal replied as she slowly sunk her entire fist into the MaryAnn Drews' fleshy orbs, and suddenly couldn't pull her arm loose.
"Oh no, carnivorous breasts!" the MaryAnn Drews whispered in horror.
"Oh yeah?" the Pen Gal threatened, placing an icy cold hand between the MaryAnn Drews' legs.
"Yeek!" the MaryAnn Drews shrieked and stood on her tip toes, stretching to try to get that cold hand away from her.
I realized that the Pen Gal had probably made her other hand just as cold.
"How about some iced cream?" the Pen Gals whispered huskily as she began massaging the MaryAnn Drews' crotch.
"Frost bite! Frost bite! Frost bite!" the MaryAnn Drews squealed as she released the Pen Gal's arm, and retreated to sit down on the heater.
The tuxedo-clad Pokègirls then realized they'd had an audience for their latest scuffle. Both walked over towards me. Both trying to look chagrined at their latest fight.
I'm more worried about the furnishings than them, I thought, Neither seems the type to seriously hurt the other.
"Am wondering," the MaryAnn Drews began as she drew close, standing next to the Pen Gal, her expression truly a pitiful one, "Are you so angry because you're mean, Snow Globe? Snow Globe! Snow - eerk!"
The Pen Gal pulling the MaryAnn Drews into a headlock interrupted the teasing and the poking in the stomach. "I always thought your head wasn't screwed on straight, maybe we should fix that!" The Pen Gal tried to twist the MaryAnn Drews' head this way and that, forgetting how insanely flexible the other Pokègirl was.
"Master," the MaryAnn Drews rasped as the Pen Gal kept choking her and twisting her neck, "Loyal Pokègirl found major discovery." She poked her entire finger in the Pen Gal's navel. "Warm, soft and squishy," she said, ignoring the squawk from the Pen Gal, "Stick it all in, like a big titty fu - awk!"
The Pen Gal had tossed the MaryAnn Drews away, and the M.A.D. Pokègirl plastered herself against the nearest bare wall, and slid to the floor in a heap. When the Pen Gal turned back, she was confronted with me with my pants off, all ready to try out the MaryAnn Drews' theory. "Master you -?!"
The warm softness enveloped my erection. She was right, it all goes in, I thought, enjoying the Pen Gal's shocked expression. She clenched her powerful belly muscles as I pulled out, giving tightness and friction, then relaxed again as I thrust in. To reward her kindness, I reached down, only to find the MaryAnn Drews had knelt behind her to literally bend over backwards to get her own lips and tongue against and into the Pen Gal's lower lips. I concentrated on thrusting in and out of her alternately firm and yielding belly. It did feel marvelous.
The Pen Gal cried out her orgasm which almost made me shoot my load on her stomach. I pulled out, remembering she liked to suck, but the MaryAnn Drews bent over still further and got me in her mouth first. What that girl can do with her tongue! I thought as I tried to do my best impression of the attacker from the movie, but I'm not computer generated.
The Pen Gal frowned at the loss of her treat. "Consider it a punishment for not coming up with a name for yourself and her," I told her as the MaryAnn Drews finished licking me clean.
"Gina," the MaryAnn Drews said as she knelt behind the Pen Gal, her back bent in a half-circle enabling her to stare up at both of us, "She's Annette."
The Pen Gal caught Gina's neck between her knees and squeezed. "And why am I Annette?"
"You say someone should drop a net on me, you drop on me all the time, you must be Annette," Gina croaked, then she really croaked and went limp, "Rosebud."
Annette sighed and released the 'dead' Gina.
"Maybe I should make you Alpha," I told the corpse.
She instantly executed a twisting somersault to end up kneeling at my feet, an operation that should have resulted in a lethal number of dislocations in any other Pokègirl. "Please Master, anything but that!" she whimpered, kissing my feet, "I'll have to pick up my clothes, I'll have to brush my teeth, I'll have to fill out PAPERWORK!"
The last I could honestly sympathize with.
"I'll - I'll - I'll have to be boring!" She pointed at Annette. "Like her."
Annette bounced Gina off the wall again, then put her foot on the prone Pokègirl's neck.
"You squishing my boobies flat!" Gina whimpered, "I'll get papercuts when I walk."
"Don't even think of using the iron to put a crease in her," I warned, "Since now you have names, I think I'd better brief you on our new assignment." I signaled Annette to let Gina up.
"Prefer boxers," Gina said.
"You may just get your wish," I told her.
There are some people who get very nervous about the question of 'What do wild Pokègirls eat?' The assumption that 200 pounds of muscle, claws and 6 inch fangs would subsist on berries and roots is naive at best, dangerous at worst, and dead wrong in either case. KATTLE are pointed to, and frankly, that's a dodge too. Humans are omnivores, take a look at the entire planet's history, there's nothing that wasn't not only eaten, but considered a delicacy, somewhere in the world. Including other humans. Pokègirls who've gone Feral lack the morality we humans usually have, in regards to cannibalism, murder, etc. Since they cease to be sentient, but often times retain considerable intelligence, they are more dangerous, not less.
The other aspect that many people don't know, because many people don't know about animals before Sukebe's War, is that the less equipped a creature is for combat: no claws, no fangs, no natural weapons, the more savage they are to defeated enemies. A wolf would generally accept a show of submission as the end of a battle, crows and ravens will accept a retreat. Pigeons would tear their rival to bits, if they could. Humans likewise have no native weapons, and show the same tendencies. This also carries over to Pokègirls. A Tigress, Demoness or Battle Angel will generally accept a surrender, much more than a Mousewife, Eva or Peekabu will.
How does this relate? Pit fights are not always between 'combat' Pokègirls. The fancy, exclusive fights use types that seem to make no sense, but yield more entertaining battles. Why? There are people who will pay good money to be entertained. People too lazy, too snobbish, both and more, to do like the rest of us, and get a job. A lot of them are the 'glitterati' who are so prominently featured on shows and magazines touting this or that 'progressive' stance, and how they are bravely standing up for groups they'd never allow in their own homes. The worst are the pro-Pokègirl advocates who'd never dream of asking the Pokègirls themselves what they want and need.
Honorable Representative Lian Alice passed the 'cash-only purchases for Pokègirls' Legislation. It was wildly unpopular with the pro-Parity crowd, ironic, considering she's a Pokèwoman herself, and had worked with many in the Pokègirl business community to craft the legislation they needed, not what others wanted to give them. You'd think dozens Pokèwomen and Pokègirls would know more about what they needed than those dazzlingly dressed and coiffured, colossal jewels of glittering ignorance.
It took me a while to realize: making good, peace-loving, taxpaying businessPokès is bad, letting them run free and get into trouble is good. Expecting Pokèfolk to ape humanity is a bad thing, while letting them act like clever animals is good. Limits and responsibilities are what you have to avoid, nobody matters except me, and I must feel good about myself. Once someone pointed out the thinking actually used, it all instantly made perfect sense. Why any Pokègirl tolerates, let alone love us, still amazes me.
I got off the subject again, I apologize, but most people don't understand how cops think, or why.
This club moved periodically, like a floating crap game. It still remained extremely popular, and was something of an open secret. With the wife of the chairman/spokeshole of the League-wide 'SPCPG' as a regular attendee, you bet it's stayed under the radar. The reporters didn't want to be 'disinvited' to the fancy parties these people threw with the money they collected to protect Pokègirls. So they never reported on the open secret of this place, and the places just like it. Since I'm not on the official payroll, and I have a ticket, I don't have to inform my supervisors and therefore have little chance of alerting our quarry that Hell, Death and Everybody are descending on their sick little party with both feet. It's good to have friends.
"I don't know if I should be flattered or terrified," Annette said. Her plumage and Gina's usual costume gave them the tuxedos they needed, mine was styled to resemble theirs, although this crowd probably thought the opposite was the case.
"Be both. These are the shining lights of the 'I care more than you do, I'm wearing a ribbon' crowd from five leagues."
Gina took it all in stride. We'd covered over the little black teardrop that marked her as a MaryAnn Drews rather than a Jokette, and she'd managed to hide her top hat somewhere. People assumed she was some kind of altered Jokette, the fact she boxed a Vampire's ears and snarled at her helped.
This probably all fits in with her view of the world, I thought, Poor kid. It took me years of disappointments to get this hard-boiled.
"That's the wife of the head of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pokègirls!" Annette hissed, while smiling at all the people around her, "They have to be - "
"Say it, get it out of your system," I whispered back, I didn't tell her, I wish you'd knock off the smiling, none of the other Pokègirls are smiling. Quickest way to tell a Golden Elf from a starlet with a hefty bankroll and a good plastic surgeon.
"They have to be doing - like we are?" she asked hopelessly.
I shook my head. Sorry kid, they aren't the saviors you hoped they'd be, I'll have to tell you that later, I thought.
"Darling!" Angie swept towards me from where she'd been working the room, she had a figure and a manner no one could ever forget, so she stormed onto the stage, her glitterati act perfect. No one in the place could ignore her entourage either. Sam, a Neo-Iczel, her black hair styled like a Godiva's and a bow tie her only `clothing`; Happy, a Demon-Goddess, her platinum hair and a sheathe dress that matched Angie's perfectly; and Jodie, a Hyperdoll, her neon pink hair and golden eyes marked her, as well as having to wear a tuxedo that covered more of her than some of the men's `muscle` tuxedos covered them. Angie had shaved her head, except for a single pony tail long enough to brush her bottom. Wound with wire and dyed practically every color of the rainbow, it made for a striking and sensuous tail.
"My gods man, I've called and called! I simply must have you in my bed again! The girls just couldn't stop talking about it! I don't care about a silly pulled muscle or two! My little Neo heals very fast."
The Neo-Iczel and Demon-Goddess took up positions to keep the rest of the conversation private, while every man in the place seethed with jealous rage, and everyone interested in the female form tracked Angie or her girls. She told me once that with her figure, and harem, nobody ever looks at her face, I thought, Which is a shame, it's gorgeous, and full of strength and kindness. Who else could get those three to share a county, let alone a life and home?
Angie didn't do the chic-chic air kisses, knowing this wasn't the right crowd for such fluffery. She planted both hands on my ass and hugged me against her, grinding herself against me. The hug she enclosed me in both arms, one legs and even whipping her ponytail around so it rested on my shoulders, looked like a prelude to a quickie, I knew differently. "Ooo! You are glad to see me!" she squealed, instantly giving me credibility with this crowd, and a death sentence from all the males and about a third of the females in the room.
"I'm always glad to see you, but you always want so much more, and you refuse to share."
She pouted adorably. "Can't a girl have something all to herself?"
"All four of you at once hardly qualifies as alone. My girls get lonely."
To prove how friendly they could be, the MaryAnn Drews had pressed her breasts against the Hyperdoll's and had accidentally backed the horrified girl against the Neo-Iczel, who wasn't moving as the MaryAnn Drews pressed and rubbed on the Hyperdoll, who looked ready to either hit the Jokette evolution, or run from her.
"But you're such an artist with a candle," she said as she rubbed against me and gave her best 'O-face', "Too bad all the lights in here are electric."
"Sorry to here about Bell," she whispered in my ear, "She was a good troop." She reluctantly broke off and moved towards Annette, hugging the frightened Pokègirl tightly. She then turned to Gina, who took a deep breath. For the first time, I saw fear on some of the idiot faces surrounding me. Angie took an equally deep breath, threw back her shoulders and rubbed her breasts on Gina's to the mutual cries of 'Squiggy, squiggy, squiggy!' Both hugged and laughed like old friends. I scanned the room and realized that Angie's little act had marked her as a non-threat, except to a marriage or monogamous arrangement, despite having walked in with more firepower then the rest of the place combined. Unbelievable! I thought, She did it again. She and her Harem are now just 'Bodies I'd Like to Fuck', not enough fighting power to give a Widow pause. I guess I know her too well. I watched her make the rounds, shaking hands with the men, much to their chagrin, and hugging the women in a way that made some of them question their sexual tastes. One old Breeder kept looking after Angie and blushing like a school girl.
There were endless speculations about Angie, and she only let a few in close enough to know the truth. I'm one. Simply put, this gorgeous, vivacious, intelligent woman proves the old adage that even the finest work of art has a fatal flaw. While she has a couple, her intense personality being a little off-putting, but the real one is she's as sterile as a boiled moon rock, despite being a Boomer with a large amount of Pokègirl in her ancestry. I had to go through her medical record and the doc diagnosed that the sterility was caused by an injury that was never treated. I'll leave it to you what kind of injury would leave a woman sterile and distrustful of men, and the reaction of a town to the victim. She turned to 'companions with no expectation of progeny'.
I wish I could have met her in those days, or her college days, or that she'd met some guy who didn't want kids, I thought as I watched her work the crowd, Instead, I met her as a new recruit, when she was already over her anger, by giving up on most of the human race. She used to tell me I was the only guy who didn't stare at her and drool, like all the guys and most of the women in the room. 'You're the first guy to keep enough higher brain functions to reason that 'companions with no expectation of progeny' meant I was a lesbian' she finally told me. She never realized I was looking at a recruit, not a gorgeous woman. A recruit who, at 22-years-of-age, had decided to throw her life away.
Looking around the room at the beaten pets and for-show bodyguards, then I reminded myself of the danger they represented as I remembered the stats I hadn't believed when I'd first heard it, and then had it painfully proven to me. The average noncontinuance rate of SLIS academy graduates in their first six months is 85%. Noncontinuance is just a fancy term for all the washouts, voluntary retirements to other police agencies, and the biggest category: deaths. Yes, Pokègirls are that dangerous.
A TyAmazon can break you in half, a Vulvixx can burn you alive, a Pia can send you into cardiac arrest, and so on. It takes about six months to train a recruit out of their attitude that some Pokègirls are just cute so they go into a situation with the right mind set. That and the people, humans mostly, we deal with are the worst scum in the League.
I remember taking Angie on a `date`, at her insistence, I chuckled to myself about that, We went to the beach and girl watched. She pointed out some things I hadn't know about girls, and I showed her some things to look for as a cop. We went home with a pair of bicurious twins. I got the far less curious, Angie got the more. I looked at her harem and remembered how I'd helped her get each girl, The Demon-Goddess was easy. A friend located a Feral, we went up to his ranch and Angie Tamed her. Payment in full for getting his daughter off dust, and cracking down on the bastards selling it. I watched the Neo-Iczel who was posing to be admired, and still guarding her Mistress and Harem-sisters. We spotted her during a stakeout of a pimp who the street only knew as 'Mr. Wonderful'. Then all the dear friends he'd been blackmailing moved against him, and you had to watch as all your powers were no where near enough to prevent him from being torn apart. Happy clocked you, while Angie and I took down the Tamers who'd been sent to dethrone the 'King of the Streets'. Then Angie clocked you. And while Happy wasn't too happy about her new playmate, neither were you, or anyone else. Most people changed their minds when 'Sam' got a Level 5 Taming Cycle and you put Mr. Wonderful permanently behind you. All you knew was that Happy and Angie had beaten you, that they could easily do so it again, yet they wanted you with them. Somehow Angie kept the peace between you two. Being stronger-willed than either of you helped, and that she desperately needed to be needed and loved drew you both in. I looked at the Hyperdoll, who unlike her harem-sisters, made no bones about being her Mistress's guardian. Poor Jodie, I can't imagine how it would feel to be a `present` into that dynamic. I remembered the abortive attempt to use Slaver Collars to restrain Moan Two, and the spectacular failure of it's intended purpose. Then some genius realized that the units would work on weaker Pokègirls, and suddenly the Bimbo's least favorite evolution, the Hyperdoll, could be made to serve, despite the League's specific banning of such technology. When we closed the operation down, one Hyperdoll lost her 'Master' and the Level 5 cycle introduced you into a new life. Gone were the random punishments, replaced with a caring Mistress and two Pokègirls who made sure that when Master spoke, you obeyed. If you obeyed, you were rewarded. I smirked at my memories of the nervousness of the two Harem-sisters about Jodie, and how it had finally passed.
The crowd had lost interest in the show, they'd seen this girl who'd resisted every blandishment and threat, and simply melted at the presence of her 'old friend'. Most were simply too jealous to think straight. Some might have been plotting an `appropriate` revenge, but none of them were expecting what would happen.
A Bad man 3 by Kelvin's Choice
The opening event was a simple pit fight: a Gladiatrix against a group of underaged TyAmazons. The Glad' did her best to string it out, prolonging the event but minimizing their individual suffering, but it was clear the young Pokègirls lacked the individual skills or the unit cohesion to do more than painfully die.
The Glad' goes down as a donation to SLUT. Jamison will see her skill, and can make her the artist she knows she can't be here, I thought as I watched, She'd be a real showstopper, when retrained.
"Don't order the special," Angie leaned over and warned, acting like she was nibbling my ear in the process. I hadn't been thinking about eating anything, now she was telling me that the losers literally were lunchmeat.
I leaned over to kiss her throat. "Keep it up, and you'll get us both lynched before the main event," I whispered back. She laughed, a clear bell-like sound that had many of the others fuming.
'Killing innocent Pokègirls is serious business', I mentally translated their expressions, 'How dare you treat it like a date!' Fuck you and the Ponytaur you rode in on, I mentally replied.
The next event was a pair of Slicers, armed with chainsaws. That too was particularly gruesome. Of course the crowd loved it.
You can't fence with a chainsaw, I thought as I watched, Slicers always go for small, quick swords, fencing weapons, not Zweihanders, Claymores or War-swords. A chainsaw is different even from that. The pair also had exactly the same eye and hair color, and very similar facial features. What did they do to get two littermates mad enough to do this to each other? I wondered. Mercifully, it ended as the two girls bound their `blades` together, and when they yanked them apart, the shrapnel cut each one somewhere fatal, and the pair bled out on the sand in moments.
I like watching SLUT as much as the next guy. I even watch the `extermination squad` version, but this . . . I thought as I scanned the crowd, Look at them, they're as bad as Vampires, drawing strength from the suffering and anguish of others.
Dinner was served. I took the vegetarian plate, as did my two girls. Angie and her girls had the fish. I noted the continual rain of angry glances as Angie continued to chat me up. Except she's giving me the 'who's-who' of the people surrounding us, I thought as I put names from the headlines to the faces smiling or glaring at us, None of the evil, scheming corporate moguls like you see in the flicks. Real businessmen/women/Pokès are too busy with real work, usually paperwork, to waste time with this shit. Only the glittering idle rich can do this. Like these people, who make the flicks.
"I guess they figure since they do it, and all their friends do it" Angie whispered, not reading my mind, but thinking the same thing, "Everybody must do it."
Hypocrites, I thought as I looked at the faces and smiled. In most cases, a friendly wave or smile, or a further glare from the target was the only answer.
The main event happened during the dessert course. The main event wouldn't have many viewers for SLUT, or even a pit fight, but here it was different. I looked at the faces around me and realized, Here, pain is the focus, not battle. They released a Titmouse into the ring.
Anyone who really knows Pokègirls, knows you don't push one of those into a corner, unless you want a nasty surprise, I thought, as the little Pokègirl threw herself savagely at the transparent partitions. When she got close to where we were seated, I got a good look at her face. She's been drugged, I thought There are drugs to increase a Pokègirl's ferocity, all of them strictly prohibited in League-sanctioned events the world over. Only the desperate use them in illegal pits, because of the side effects.
"They must have given her a near-lethal overdose to get this behavior," Angie whispered as she stared at the girl.
The patrons enjoyed the vague thrill of distant possibility of such an untamed creature getting lose among them. As if all their bodyguard Pokègirls wouldn't just blast such a target into bloody fragments in two seconds, I thought in disgust.
When the first Titmouse was as far from the door as the arena allowed, a second Titmouse was shoved, naked and squealing, into the arena. She immediately threw herself at the closed door to try to escape. The crowd started laughing as they saw her realize, piece by piece, just how dire her situation was.
Pretty little thing, I thought as I watched her, Definitely more on the tit side of mouse. I remembered something I'd read earlier, warning about Megami and thought, This Titmouse would be a perfect replacement . . . if she lives.
"Trapped, locked in a room with an insane thing," Gina said quietly, glancing at me, her expression filled with hope.
'Can we save her, Master?' is practically written on her face, I thought as I shook my head sadly, You can save others, but she'll have to save herself. I'm sorry, I wanted to tell the MaryAnn Drews, but couldn't. She took it better than I expected.
The undrugged Titmouse put up a good fight, trying to get the drugged one off of her, trying to pin her or subdue her without hurting her. All to no avail. Finally, she snapped. Driven over the edge by fear and pain, she counterattacked ferociously, ripping and tearing, biting and clawing. The crowd loved it. Annette buried her face in my chest, while Gina watched the crowd, not the spectacle. Angie watched the two Pokègirls ineptly and bloodily trying to kill one another, seemingly jaded and serene, while her girls looked anywhere but in the arena. Until the HyperDoll began blubbering, and was instantly comforted by the other two girls.
They'll break soon, and the five of them can slaughter everyone in the place, I realized, Angie has her targets all picked out, for when the time comes. My pager went off, showing '31313131', the signal.
Then Hell descended on them. Agents and their Pokègirls poured in from all exits, including the 'secret' ones. Gina leapt over the partition and into the arena, to separate and possibly save the combatants. Pokègirls and Charms to enable teleportation found their powers suppressed. People who tried to make a fight of it, were shot on sight.
Some will cry 'What about due process.' If you're attempting to evade, and in the process wounding or killing cops, due process is a bullet.
Note, we didn't shoot the Pokègirls who were following orders, we shot their Masters. That also sent the message to anyone else who thought they could 'throw away' their girls and escape, that we engaged the 'command and control' first. Like nuclear war, the generals and politicians got the chop first. And like nuclear war, it cut way down on the number of people willing to try that trick, or to try to forcefully escape. As we got the good citizens corralled, literally, that nice glass-walled arena, with the two eviscerated Titmice splattered all over it, was so convenient. Gina was not happy about her failure to rescue either of two victims, so she kept smiling at all the good citizens, and breathing deeply.
More than the matrons complained about kneeling on the bloody sand, and they all got clipped behind the ear from behind with a rifle, then had an agent stand on the back of their neck until they were processed. They didn't give us too much trouble, once they realized all their power and position didn't gain them one little bit of respect from us. They were criminals who would use deadly force on us if they thought they had the chance to, and we were going to treat them as such. We let the newsies in, vultures the lot of them, and oh did the glitteratti complain! Kneeling in the blood of their kill, they complained about ruined evening wear and police brutality. Of course the newsies photographed everything, the miscreants and the occupied and unoccupied cages of the victims.
And again, the brutality of the SLIS will be trumpeted by those useless fools, I thought, hiding my anger, But the newsies will also have pictures of filthy, bloodstained glitteratti kneeling in Titmouse entrails. That would - should - allow them to blackmail this bunch into putting their extravagant money where their collective mouth is. I prayed that would be the case. Pokègirls hadn't deserved what happened to them, especially these.
Too bad they won't just publish what really happened and who was involved, I thought as the newsies were escorted out, The processing is nearly done. We should be able to get them photographed for mug shots and fingerprinted before their lawyers get here. Then we toss all the lawyers in the clink, as accessories after the fact, get them mug shotted and fingerprinted. Then everything they talk about with their clients is a criminal conspiracy. Some might have sharp enough lawyers to tell them to keep their mouths shut and say absolutely nothing, others will `prove` how clever they are, and get tripped up. In retrospect, I should have realized things were too quiet and going too well.
Angie had been spirited away, along with a few others, to make it seem they were ratting out their colleagues. Funny how the law of Omerta has survived, even outside of mafia circles, I thought of the careers we'd ended by that simple manuever. It also meant our heavy squad was out also. A mix of Growlies, humans, and a smattering of other types were there. More than enough to handle any or all of the Pokègirls still there. We also had special Master Balls that were supposed to be able to override any collar or anti-capture tech.
The gods were not smiling on us. Enter Mister 'I'm Going to Save Pokègirls From You Awful People Who Don't Care As Much As I Do.' I still wonder, How long did he know about this club and how many Pokègirls died during that time? As the senior officer, he made a beeline straight for me.
"I'm sure officer you understand what an embarrassment it would be to have this get out," he explained, in those very reasonable and measured tones, as if explaining the world to an insane and stupid child, "This was merely my wife's attempt to get attention." He gave me some more gas about civic responsibility, the importance of his work in the community, and the danger to the movement that publication of this event represented.
I gave him my stock answer, "I understand that, sir, but no one is above the law. I don't have authority to release anyone at a crime scene of this magnitude."
"Some people are above being trivially annoyed," he told me. That's when I made my mistake, that comment usually meant he/she/it was going to go yell at my boss. Number One reason I have his number on speed dial. I didn't believe he would throw everything he supposedly believed in away like that, or that he was so arrogant as to believe himself invulnerable. An Iron Maiden stepped out of the car, the springs groaning as they were relieved of the massive load.
I immediately knew, We are in trouble now. Typically a heavy squad will accompany a team. But with Angie's group with us, another was not provided, and now she and her girls are elsewhere, I thought. "Call her off," I told the man, who gave me a sneer they must teach in upper crust schools. I turned my attention to the problem. "Iron Maiden! Stay where you are and stand down!" I shouted, while my pistol was pointed at the man's head.
The idea that I would never dare pull the trigger, gave the man the confidence to ignore my order. Gentle reader, cops are not soldiers. The gun in our holster is not our friend and boon companion. All cop academies and good training officers, teach us not to draw our guns unless we've already decided to shoot. Which means if an officer or a Jenny actually points a gun at you, they are fully prepared to use it. While the decision may seem quick to you, all other options have been thoroughly considered, from the Officer's Point of View. If continuing your action is worth being killed, please communicate this to the Officer and make no threatening actions. 'Shoot if you must, but I have to keep holding this wall up, my little sister is in there.'
I also had not considered that the Iron Maiden wasn't his, or theirs, but only hers. The Iron Maiden was uncertain. She's brushed aside several officers, some of whom hadn't risen from where they'd landed.
There are a lot of stories about Officer Jennies shooting to wound. First, their small caliber, low-power guns are designed to wound humans. Second, Officer Jennies aren't noted for their brute strength, but they have more than enough strength to lift a ton or more, so taking on humans with her bare hands, after wounding those human, is a trivial exercise. Not so human officers.
The Iron Maiden looked from the men giving conflicting orders, to her Mistress.
"Stand down and do not move," I told her firmly, "Or I will shoot your Master and Mistress." It was no threat, it was an ultimatum, I intended to do it. She stopped and stared at her Mistress and her Mistress' husband. So she does understand the language, I realized. The cries of pain from the fallen officers came to me and I tried not to let that affect my decision. Sorry, but I have to be a police officer first, I thought. When the Iron Maiden restarted her advance, I fired.
I have heard that the real danger of Pokègirls is they are people enough to be clever, and not people enough to ignore a Master's orders when a person would have qualms.
The sound of the body hitting the floor stopped everyone. Everyone was shocked, even the Iron Maiden. Except she shook it off, continuing towards her Mistress.
"She's next!" I told the Iron Maiden. Talking to her Mistress is useless, I thought as I centered the woman's head in my sights.
The gods favor the stupid, giving epiphanies when they are most needed. "Please! No, stop!" the woman directed at me, then at her Iron Maiden, "Follow his orders." She stared angrily at me, not in horror at her dead husband.
So vengeance on me and saving her own skin is first on her list, I realized, and wanted to tell her, I'm not going to apologize or ask forgiveness for doing my job. I also refuse to accept that wealth and the `respect` of a pack of human sheep automatically means the person in question is not insane or a threat.
Two Pokègirls and a human agent the Iron Maiden had hit, subsequently died of their injuries. No one in the popular media mourned their passing, but the man who arranged and ordered their deaths was 'viciously cut down in his prime'. In the next two weeks, I was placed on administrative leave, and privately cleared of all charges at an inquest. The truth about Mr. and Mrs. Perfect was decried as a SLIS-sponsored smear campaign. So goes the world.
It was eight o'clock in the morning when we finally staggered back into my apartment.
No jokes about Taming, I thought as the PenGal and MaryAnn Drews leaned on each other and headed towards their bathroom. I head into mine to get a quick shower, and then to bed.
In my dreams, I travel to the Spirit Realms, looking for a familiar comfort.
Maybe the others will learn, I thought, They'll get used to it soon enough.
My Belle Awesome greeted me with a wink and a tickle. She was the only one who could get away with that without a scolding or a broken arm. I enjoyed the soft warmth of her body, noted the silvery glow surrounding her.
"Has your Bell ever led you wrong?" she cooed as she snuggled against me.
"No Bell," I cooed back, enjoying the warmth, familiarity and safety I always felt in her embrace. I never believed in naming Pokègirls, that's different from denying them names, if they want a name, they can damn well tell you 'I want a name', or 'My name is'. Names are a piece of personality. I've never met a 'Danny' who was a patch on a 'Dan' or 'Daniel', 'Hank's are easy-going and casual, 'Henry's are more formal and procedural. Don't get me started on 'Greta's and 'Osmand's, unless you need a catalog of all the profane words in all the languages I know. Bell picked her name while still a Gloomy, and it was the first indication that she was coming to regard herself as important and valuable, which despite what you might think, is something I actively encouraged. My only problem with people is those who refuse to use common sense or acknowledge their actions have a wider effect on the world than they want to admit. I don't think of Pokègirls as dumb machines who do as they're told and submit to any request with a smile. Most are cunning, Ferals especially so, and weigh their need for companionship/belonging against their need to be who they are. In some, that leads straight to instability and even insanity. In others, they've been taught so hard to submit, they cannot voice their concerns over unwise or even painful actions. They are human-like, after all. A fearful, confused or injured human is a cop's worst nightmare, because they are an extraordinarily dangerous opponent. Both from their desperation, and their unpredictability. The same and more is true of Pokègirls. It's the major reason I'd never have a warrior-type. I mean lots of creatures in nature have biochemical safeguards, a lecture at Nuevo T. told us how female sharks can become paralyzed during the birthing process, allowing their progeny to escape. So why not apply a physical limiter to the super-strong types? At climax, they lose their strength? I'll tell you why: Sukebe the Perverted Genius was a moron. He knew less about bioengineering, or even general engineering, than he knew about strategy and tactics, and was too arrogant to ask for help, or do the appropriate research himself. If it wasn't such a tragedy for humanity and the Pokègirls themselves, it would be hilarious.
"You're far away again," Bell accused, "Always thinking such deep thought. One day you may go out so deep you'll not be able to find your way back. That's one reason I wanted you to have those girls."
"That PenGal can certainly swim, and the MaryAnn Drews certainly has admirable flotation equipment," I replied, "Sorry, when I'm around you, I can relax and think those deep thoughts."
"Why do I put up with you?" Bell asked in mock exasperation, "I know!"
A rather furious, and utterly exhausting, for me, Taming sessions later, Bell pillowed my head on her breasts. "I was right, that's why I put up with you."
I would have chuckled at that, if I didn't feel so languid.
"I approve of them," Bell assured me, and assurance I needed, "Every Pokègirl wants her Master well-protected and well cared for. They'll do the job."
"Thank you. You sent me there, remember?"
"You didn't have to listen, especially not to a mere Pokègirl."
"There's nothing 'mere' about any Pokègirl. That's the problem, too many people think there is."
She snuggled against me, wrapping her arms, and legs, and vines around me. "I wish . . . "
"What?" I asked.
"That we could have had children together, raising them, growing old together. I don't regret saving you. I just wish we'd had more time together."
"You aren't gone," I reminded her. The image and seeming of who she was and all she was at the moment of her death and sacrifice was imprinted on the Astral plane, and some portion of her life force had inhabited it, rather than pass on. "With you looking out for us, we'll do better. You can ward the children's dreams, teach them what you want them to know."
"It's not the same and you know it. You shouldn't let me or my memory get in the way of them and their happiness, or yours, for that matter."
"Yes, dear."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. You act as though someone else could just step in and replace you."
"As comforter and protector, yes," she said quietly, "I don't want to be 'replaced', I want you safe and happy."
I couldn't argue, she was correct, and she was commanded by genetic tendencies. Monogamy was very rare among Pokègirl breeds, but I was the monogamous type. As dangerous as she and her sistren were, I loved her, and even her dying wasn't likely to change that. Just as she couldn't return us to status quo ante, she was alive only in the spirit world and I felt perhaps the same was true of me.
"You should go back to them. They need you," she urged, "They are frightened and uncertain. The PenGal hides behind a regal demeanor, the MaryAnn Drews works on making others laugh, so she can forget her previous life and her deeds. She was a Harlequin, who went a bit too far. Her transformation was not of her choosing."
"My 'old friend' has some truly nasty competitors. I'll bet this was an attack or a message," I replied, wondering which of them would be the most likely to drop a Jokette in the middle of a city just to exterminate a rival, and would be too impressed by his or her own cleverness to know the target would have better scanners than even a full-service Pokècenter.
"You're far away again," she teased, "You always got that look when you had a case half-solved, and you needed just one little piece to put it all together."
"I'm semi-retired," I reminded her, "That means until I'm healed up, I'm not supposed to take up any investigations."
She kissed me long and hungrily. "I hate to let you go . . . it's lonely here without you, but they need you more than I do. I know you'll come back, and they are pretty sure you won't."
With that, she stepped away and moved back within the mists the defined most of the unclaimed areas of the spirit world. A faint trail of silvery light remained where she'd passed, and her personal glow slowly faded into the background gray.