Paresthesia Pt. 09

"Wanna move," I say. My shoulders move again and something gives silently. It's heavenly. It's amazing. It's everything I ever wanted. Nothing can be quite as good as this moment and I should just die now. I can die happy and fulfilled.

"But if you move, then you'd miss me," says Violence. I sigh. I can't die. I don't want to die. There are things to do now and they require me to actually get up and get some heat in my muscles. I move and stretch and the kink is still there, just a bit. Terrible, simply terrible.

"You're late," Riot says as she rolls to her feet.

"Eh, perspective. I could be early, if you were late. And then I'd be annoyed at you for being early. Or late. Time is kind of a suggestion anyway. Look into it."

"Yeah, yeah. Tuesday's a failed experiment. But midnight before breaking into city hall isn't. Are we taking the gargoyle route?"

"The what?"

"One of the gargoyles on the east side can be moved. It opens a door that leads to a secret League bunker. Nobody uses it, since the Hall was built, but I would go there sometimes to duck out of patrol duty. I might still have some snacks there."

"Huh. Good to know. Beat, did you know about the bunker?"

"Nope. Whenever you didn't show, I didn't tell. Didn't seem worth it, honestly."

"Kind of wished you asked though. We could have had sleepovers there or something."

"Lovebirds, focus. Not our route. Having some Droogs set up a wire through the top floor fire escape."

I shrug. She likes the high wire stuff. Creeping in shadows and slipping through cracks. But it works. Not really the style I go for. But it works. Violence moves and flows, rolling and flipping and pouring every inch gained in the night with a spin and flourish. Scampering and sliding, clambering and climbing, she does the whole thing well. Perfectly well. And I get a fun ride over the city street. I latch onto Riot's back and she jumps with the thunder crash of a bass drum. It's a short jaunt for us and Violence still beats us somehow.

Just like she said, there are a pair of Droogs manning a highwire attached to the edge of the roof. The other end is attached to a hook, which in turn is attached to a wrought iron railing. The mooks get a tip of the hat from their boss and jovial wave from me. Riot takes a moment before deciding on blowing a kiss. Good choice. Maybe not unique in the grand scheme of things, but unique enough for our purposes. Violence goes on top, arms wide and teetering. I go under, bat on the wire and ziplining with a mind to the gap. Riot just jumps again and I think it startles Violence. The dismount on the wire is only a 9. Didn't stick the landing. To be fair, I didn't do so hot either. Came in too fast and almost chipped a tooth on the metal. No one saw. No one at all. And I still did most of it all smooth and cool. All good, it's all good.

Violence handles the window with a prybar stashed in the flick of a wrist. I handle the wire, spooling and coiling and taking it down into a manageable size. Riot keeps watch. For what, I don't know. Something important. The Droogs have already slipped away to wherever Droogs go. I assume some sort of Droog hole with swirling colors and warm milk. It would be where I would go if I were a Droog.

It's quiet inside the building. Thin carpet to mask the steps, oak doors with golden embossed names of very important people doing very important things. I see our sanitation department head leaves his door unlocked, but he doesn't keep anything fun inside. Stacks of union contracts, it seems. Those can stay. If I had more time, maybe amend them a bit so everybody gets a dollar extra. But focus. Here for a thing and we have to do the thing. The flash drive with all the fun little bits and bytes sits in my left front pocket. It has a home in the mayor's computer and then Doppel has his back door to all the dirt in the world.

Violence gives a sign and we all duck into an open office and shut the door. A dancing light plays across the gap at the bottom while someone whistles a bored tune. Something squawks and the light sighs.

"Jerry," says the bored whistling voice, "I'm checking it out. I can't be everywhere at once. Give me a sec. You know I have that knee thing."

"I don't know if it was Droogs or Troubles or a Chupacabra, George," says the radio tin, "But it has me jumpy."

"Chupacabra's disbanded years ago when Big Al got locked away. And I know some Troubles. Nice guys. Little rowdy, but eh, what are you gonna do?"

"Chupacabra's could be here. Alizarin has been sighted on some roofs with Beat Down. What could that mean?"

"Don't know. George, I'm up here and nothing's wrong. Cosmo left his door open again, but the one time I closed it, he went and threw a tantrum. I'll be back in five."

The radio squawks again and goes still with a sigh from its master.

"Fucking tightwad. Chupacabra's my ass. Even the Droogs aren't that big a deal."

He keeps muttering and goes back to whistling something meandering and meaningless. Violence clenches her fist.

"Not a big deal, really?" She mumbles, "Show him a big deal. Give him another knee thing."

"Not the problem," Riot says, "Bug the office. Slip out. Take a paperweight or something."

"I have a reputation to hold down, Riot. Just for that, I'm taking his wallet."

"Violence," I say, "Not now. Later. We're here for a thing. Focus, right? We can rob people later. There's a jewelry store like two blocks away."

"Already hit that one two days ago. Look, fine. Whatever. Just keep moving."

She brushes past me a bit too harshly. I nudge and move and let it happen. Bad mood. Just a bad mood. That's all this is and then it will be over forever. Riot looks to me, and I just shrug. Not normally so prickly, but then everything is topsy turvy now.

It does feel weird. I hoped my inattention would let it all slip by the wayside and get it over with. Something I noticed, but not actually there, a phantom feeling that slips through it all. Nothing was wrong, but that thought doesn't sit right. But not now. Not now. Real guards with real radios and maybe real weapons. And they don't have the Thumb armor to keep them nice and safe and secure. Hard little conundrum. Deal with the halls and the bug and the guards with cuffs. Hopefully it all blows over and then it keeps down in the earth with buried hatchets.

We take a corner and Violence stops us once again. We wait and nothing happens. Just cautious, just paranoia, just a soft bit of hesitation to make sure. That's fine. It's good. Helps center the mind and keep everything clean and focused. I tap the bat against the shoulders and it settles me too. Another motion and we are moving. She jimmies the lock with the slender touch for a good moment, and she is confused.

"What's the deal," Riot says.

"I'm not feeling anything," Violence grunts, "Its like its not even there. I've never had this happen to me before."

"Happens to everyone. Just a bit of juice and a couple of minutes and you'll be fine."

There is a glare and for once it is not towards me. Riot seems proud of herself, though. I question the wisdom of antagonizing our route in and out, but my own wisdom is questionable. Violence turns back to the door and continues to flounder. Riot turns to look out and I do the same. We each get a side and let the master work.

It's taking too long. I don't want to say it, but it is. She's good at picking locks, just like everything else she tries. It shouldn't take this long, but it is. A radio clicks down the hallway and I nudge Violence a bit. That glare is turned to me and I shrug. There are no other options available. It is a sharp glare and I ignore it. The dancing flashlight is a little more immediate. Not really a threat, but it ruins the play of being sneaky. That's the important thing in all this, really.

Riot sighs and does the unthinkable. She nudges Violence aside and pushes on the door. When that doesn't work, she pulls. And magically, the door opens. She pulls me inside and Violence is left to ruminate on the absurd before I extend my hand and pull her in as well. More of a sitting room, really. A desk and some couches designed to entertain and meet, with a nice wide window with a view all the way down to the river. All stately and formal. A door sits to the left. Real office, where the real work should be done.

"What was that," she hisses. Riot shrugs and I shrug with her. She is glaring at the both of us and I don't know why. I hold a finger to my lips and point. The fun dancing light is back, creeping across the floor. To my surprise, it comes to a halt in front of us and panic sets in. It doubles when the hinges start to pull and move and squeak.

Part of my animal brain wants to freeze. The predator cannot see me if I do not move. But then a hand pushes me and I follow the force to the far wall, crouching behind a plant and hoping that all the green blends together. I can't see Riot or Violence and I hope they have their own hidey holes to crawl into.

"Viv," the guard cries, "You still here?"

I hear the boots creak the floor and thump the wood. The side door opens and a very disheveled woman with frizzed hair and a hoodie looks straight at me. We lock eyes and I take the moment.

I am safe in the gray. I am completely fine. Nothing can hurt me. Nothing can hit me. I am intangible, invincible, all around incredible. What a wonderful pickle this all is. Amazing. At least I can stand a stretch and actually move around now. Crouching is such a pain on the knees.

So, the mayor's daughter Vivienne is here, doing something. Would have been nice to know, if only so I could bring something. Don't want to hurt her, because that starts a bigger process that I don't want to deal with right now. Don't want to knock on the guard since he has a report to deal with and that's its own fun little bit of danger. So, I move. I move and waltz past her, just a tap on her shoulder to let her know that she did see me. And if she saw me then she had better pretend that she didn't. A lot can be conveyed with a simple tap. I sidle next to the wall on the other side of the door and let the color do as it wants.

I can see shelves and shelves of books, ledgers, binders, treatises, and probably a tome or two. Impressive, really. Some of them probably have even been cracked open once or twice. Good for them.

"Hey George," she says, the obvious edge of exhaustion creeping in, "Yeah. Still here."

"Really should get home. All that work can't be good for you."

"It's not, but someone's got to do it. And dad can't be bothered."

"No comment. Seems in bad taste to criticize the man who signs my paychecks."

"He's a politician. He exists to be criticized."

"Not wrong. Just make you sure you lock up when you're out."

"Got it. Just like the last 10 times you told me."

"Its my job, Viv. There's a quota for 20 at least. Hate for some of the bad guys to show."

"Yeah, that would be terrible. I don't think I'll be too much longer."

"Yeah. Just like the last 10 times."

The door closes as the boots thump away. Creak and groan and all the weight in the world seems to go with him. Viv sighs and I can feel the tension drop out of her.

"If you're kidnapping me," she sighs, "Can we stop by my place really quick? I want my fuzzy jammies."

---

We are not kidnapping her. Technically, this is now a hostage situation. The vibe certainly isn't like one though. Vivienne has decided that she needs to lie down on the thick leather couch and put an arm over her head, blotting out all the light and noise we make.

"Do any of you have a cold pack or some aspirin or something," she says, "I have the worst headache right now."

"Quiet, prisoner," says Riot, "And no. Sorry. Best I can do is a massage."

"She's really good at those," I say.

"Maybe. Or if someone's pouring shots, I'd be down for that."

"There's not a liquor cabinet here," Violence shouts from the other room.

"I know, right? Dad feels like he should have whiskey or something hidden around. Hell, I'd take straight vodka at this point."

"What's wrong with straight vodka," she calls again.

"Are you serious? It's basically rubbing alcohol. Even worse if you have one of those flavored ones."

"Beat, hit the prisoner. She needs to be quiet."

"I'm not doing that," I sigh, "She's being good."

"Yeah, I'm being good. Are you being good?"

"No. And I really shouldn't be. Not what I'm paid for. And why is this thing so slow?"

"No clue. It's always been good to me. Well, not good. It shows me who's angry at me. And people keep emailing me about things my dad should be doing. And I have to email them back and say what he should say. For some reason he can't be bothered to actually y'know, be a mayor. So here I am. After midnight. On a Friday. Being held hostage."

She groans and sighs and stretches. I feel the pop that comes from her shoulders.

"Riot," she sighs, "Is that massage still on the table?"

"Sure. Any place in particular?"

"Shoulders. Big shoulders. Only shoulders. Little bit of the neck. But shoulders."

Riot links her fingers together and pushes them away from her chest in a series of light pops. I smile. More of my corrupting spreading into her and she has no idea about it. I resist the urge to do the same. Then it would be known and clear what I am doing to her. She just has the urge and it will never be the same.

Vivienne flips over and stretches out again. There is not enough space. There is never enough space for her. She's tall, dark hair flowing down her back in a simple ponytail. That probably doesn't help with the headache, but then it would get everywhere.

She's acting. She has to be. There is no way those noises coming from her aren't fake. They are almost to the point of moaning for 'daddy.' And if that's the case, then I have several questions about all that is going on with this family and everything it does behind closed doors.

Riot doesn't seem to mind. If anything, the noises just make her go harder. It is always so much fun to pull noises and moans from people. Even better if they let it flow as it should. Everything should be loud enough for the world to hear. If it isn't a proclamation for the heavens about the wonderful sins of the earth and how the muted splendor of the clouds can never compare, then it might as well be silent.

"Harder," she whines and I am not sure that she is putting on a show. For who, I am not quite sure. Maybe for me, but I am not sure why she would. The general working relationship we have is rather amicable.

"How's Uncle Sunday," she whines. Riot digs in with tremor and rattle and quake. Amazing, it is always amazing to watch her work in any capacity. Her hands actually blur at the edges, digging into the soft and the knotted. Vivienne yelps a bit in the best way as something else gives. She turns her head, eyes half lidded and fluttering. A stupid grin crosses her face. Once more, I doubt my assessment. Something that far gone can't be totally faked. I have seen enough genuine orgasms of annihilating pleasure to know the signs. Not perfect knowledge but enough to guess at the edges. I am leaning real this time.

"Doing good. Still smokes like a chimney," I say, "He misses you. We thought about forcing a visit when we hit the mansion a bit ago, but you were still at school."

"Load, you stupid blue bar bastard," Violence curses from the room behind me.

"That would have been nice. Would have gotten me out of this stupid internship. Right there. Oh god, right there. Don't stop. Don't ever stop. I want your babies."

Riot does stop because that is a weird thing to say. I shrug. My knowledge of the female anatomy is incomplete, but a woman cannot carry another woman's babies in the way this is meant. Unless a rather deviant subgenres of fetishes are explored. I may or may not have explored them. The needle comes back to fake, because that is just a plain weird thing to say. Riot continues with somewhat more ginger a touch.

"Harder you bitch," she moans. I am not aroused, but I am getting there. It is very hard not to be with the noise she makes. I shift, but I hide it with a cough like the devilish rouge I am. No one suspects a thing.

"I should have never listened to Anita," she whines, "This would look great on your resume. This would be such a great opportunity. It would even help your father with his reelection. She can bite me. And so can you, Riot. Anywhere."

I open my mouth for the question, but another groan cuts me off. More words come after and fully bury any sentiment I might have expressed.

"Stepmom. She's my third. Biomom's traveling in Jamaica right now. First one was alright. Second one was even better. But this one just doesn't get it. Tries to be a mom, y'know. And I get that. But I'm more or less an adult now and this is old hat at this point. She actually got me a doll for my birthday. Can you believe it?"

I shake my head and let the vent happen. Better than her screaming for help and kicking me while I twirl my moustache with an evil cackle. Anything to keep her complacent.

"What are you guys even doing here anyway?" she huffs, "besides being the best foreplay I've had all year?"

"Secret bad guy stuff," I shrug, "You wouldn't be interested."

"I think I would, hmmmmhmm," she hums, "Is it a bug? Or some hacker thing?"

"Hacking thing," Riot says with a grunt as she moves in with her elbow, "Damn girl. You are just knots. Like not even strands at this point. Just knots."

"This job stresses me like nothing else. Not even finals were this bad. No one does anything, and it all just piles up. And someone has to do it. And that someone is me. So go ahead. Hack this place to the ground. Do whatever. Just keep doing me."

"I'm trying but you keep squirming."

"You can squirm all you want. I don't mind," I say.

"He's getting hard," Riot says, "Don't know why. If you look you can actually see the bulge in his pants. If you squint."

"I don't have to. Is this turning you on, Beat? Watching two girls wrestle like this? One moaning in ecstasy? I bet you could never actually make anyone sound like this."

"He can do alright," Violence calls, "This thing has been at 99% for like, fifteen minutes. Why must the world fail me so often? You are right there, you jackass. That is your home. Are you too good for your home? Answer me."

"Violence, how do you know that?" asks Riot. She stops the massage and crosses her arms, looking at me. I'm not quite sure with what. Not anger or annoyance. Curiosity, maybe. It's a bit hard to get through all the noise and the mask. Viv moans and tries to pull a hand back to her.

"He used to be a regular at my boutique. And by boutique, I mean brothel. One of the girls' favorite really. Had to have a couple talks about keeping it down."

"Wait, that boutique story was real? I thought you made that up."

"Why would I make that up? And we weren't a thing then. I went for a few months and then I stopped."

"Why did you stop though?"

"His favorite moved away. Stacked blonde girl. What was her name? Carol? Kailee?"

"Katie," I say. It let it sit in the air and I don't know why I said that. I just stiffen a bit and let it all quiet down. Riot's face changes a bit more and I don't think she knows what she's feeling either.

"She did move away," I say, "but that's not why I stopped. It wasn't doing it for me anymore. I just had the ability to do something for a while and I did it. When everything settled down and the novelty wore off, I stopped going."

"Is that why you stopped doing movie nights with me with me," Violence chimes in.

"We haven't stopped. I've just been busy. Had some Sunday jobs, and then Riot switched, so we had to move her in and get her settled. Then this super-secret plan started. I'm not trying to brush you off."