《Courier》


 Chapter 1

    "Reporting for duty!"


    The young woman was beaming. Of course she was. Today was the first day she''d finally get to make a difference.


    The young man across the set up, fold-out table ahead of her chuckled at her enthusiasm.


    "You don''t have to salute, Calli," he said with a smirk. Her lips suddenly quirked down on her caramel-colored face and she chuckled, yanking her hand down fast enough to swish the air.


    "Right." She gave an awkward sort of smile. "Sorry."


    The man chuckled again. He grabbed into a small plastic bin underneath the desk, and pulled out a large plastic bag. There was a uniform inside it; a dark muddy brown. It had gloves, and cargo pants, and a long sleeve button-up with a black cravat and an equally black gaiter scarf. He set the bag on the table. He reached behind him and grabbed a jacket from a series of hooks adhered to the wall. Each one had a jacket. They were meticulously organized by size; he grabbed the smallest one. He set the jacket alongside the bag, and slid both to the not-so-far other side of the table.


    "Welcome to the force, freak."


    She grinned. "Glad to be here."


    The man reached under again, and pulled out a muddy brown flat cap to go with her muddy brown everything else. He set it on the table and slid it across, and Calli snatched it up, smacking it on her head. The man couldn''t help his grin. Her enthusiasm was a welcome change of pace compared to a lot of the others there. He thought: hopefully she didn''t lose that anytime soon.


    Even though in the back of his mind, he knew one day, she would.


    "You know where the dressing rooms are?" he asked. She nodded, giving a quick, monosyllabic affirmation. He grinned. "Excellent. Then I won''t have to show you. Get dressed, and then head toward the Courier''s Office to fetch your loaded satchel."


    "Yes sir! Understood!" she chirped. The man across from her rolled his eyes.


    "Saluting, again."


    Calli''s eyes darted toward her raised hand. She let it fall back at her side.


    "Right... Uh, sorry." She cleared her throat, turned, and left with a wave. The man looked after her and shook his head with a humored snort.


    . . . .


    "Here''s your load, Cal," the kind, older woman said to the young girl. She was grizzled, and grey, and had a bit of stubble on her face. But she was always happy when she saw Calli. She was so bright-eyed and eager; hopeful. "Treat it with care, yeah?" she urged.


    Calli held her satchel to her chest tightly. Almost reverently. "Promise." She gave a chuckle. "Like I wouldn''t."


    The older woman smiled. Then she frowned.


    "Be careful out there, Bright-eyes."


    Calli flicked her head up to her. She smiled.


    "I will, Imogen. I promise. You trained me, remember?" she said with a chuckle. Imogen remained tight lipped, before finally sighing, and attempting a more positive look.


    "I did." She gave a slight nod. "But still... Be careful."


    Calli looked at her. And without a second thought, she pulled her into a tight hug.


    "I will, Imogen," she said, "I promise."


    Imogen froze, for a moment. Then, slowly, she brought her hands around her. She rubbed the top of her choppy, black hair with a thumb.


    "I know..."


    She let her go, and Calli beamed at her. She slipped her satchel over her shoulders. Then she turned and waved brightly.


    Then she was gone.


    . . . .


    The hook shot straight up the side of the building, and she pulled to check it''s tightness. Then, she climbed it. Calli pulled herself up and over the wall, lithe frame rolling across the flat top of the angular, dilapidated building, and back on her feet as she pulled the hook out and darted along the flat rooftop.


    She looked up at the sky. Not that there was anything to see. As to be expected. Brown, dark, and horrendously smogged. The air gripped her lungs tightly, as it always did. But she was used to it now.


    Her eyes traced down from the hazy sky to the tops of degraded structures; factories, corporate buildings, meat facilities: all means of production. Dotted around them sporadically were towering, flimsy, and defaced housing structures. The poor apartments that always seemed a second thought. Like whoever had built this place thought lastly of all about were the poor would sleep, and most importantly about what they would create.


    She''d always been told they were good; the businesses. The corporations. Making society function and providing work to people who needed it. But, she wasn''t sure just how much good they could be doing, choking out her breath the way they did. Or choking out her wallet.


    She sighed. She adjusted her gaiter where it sat over her lips and nose, and darted toward the left edge of the building. She jumped off, landing on the similarily heighted rooftop beside the one she had just been on. Then she hopped to another building, before kneeling, pulling out a small map from her satchel and squinting to try and get some sort of look at it. Nothing she could gleam in htis sort of light. Grumbling, she snatched her flashlight from the same satchel in her other hand, and flicked it on to illuminate the page.


    Yep. This was the spot.


    She moved to the front edge of the roof, and she glanced down, seeing a shabby, metal, grated platform just below. About the height of two of her. She crawled over the side of the building until she was just dangling there, hands holding onto the edge of the roof, and body hanging off the edge.


    She let herself drop. She winced. The resounding shudder of her boots on metal was more noise than she''d hoped to make. Quickly, but light-footedly, she darted around to the edge of the steel balcony she had landed on. She let herself hang off the edge, hands gripping the precipice of the metal tightly. Her knuckles whitned behind her gloves.


    She was right taking the action she did. She heard a door open, some disproving, worried muttering, and then, as her grip was growing very straining, she heard the door click back shut. She pulled herself back up, panting lightly, and moved fleetingly to her target. She took the door handle. Unlocked: good. They had remembered their delivery time. She slowly pushed the door open, wincing at its creak: luckily, she was confident that sound, at least, wasn''t loud enough to elicit another door to open. She was quickly greeted by a young man there, standing in the dimly lit room, biting his thumbnail. She smiled.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She shot a hushed, ''pst.'' The man''s head snapped up, and he briefly stumble back. She quickly put a finger to her lip as she grinned. She took another step further into the house and shut the door behind her, slowly. She moved with purpose to the young man, but also with care. When she was close enough, she said, "Don''t worry. I''m your new courier." Fumbling, shoving her map she''d still been holding back into her pack, she finally pulled up her cravat out the kneck of her button up to show the embroidered symbol there: a single, feathered, pink wing with a small halo over it. "See?" she said. The young man seemed to finally loosen a bit.


    "Oh, thank God..." He chuckled. "I figured as much. But you can''t be too careful these days..." He gave an uncomfortable nod, and frowned. "They''re cracking down, you know.


    Calli gave an understanding, more weak and somber smile. Then she reached into her satchel, fumbled around in it again, before finding a little packet with the text, ''Arin Berkeley: 29045, South Phoenix Street, Apt no. 103. Testosterone; oral,'' in chicken-scratchy handwriting. Glancing at it briefly, she handed it to Arin with another, sun-like beam.


    "Tee-pills," she said, "The dosage should be upped. If there''s any issues, please let me know on my next run."


    The man took the package with only brief hesitance. Then he smiled.


    "Thanks, new-girl."


    "Of course." She winked. She then turned on her heel and, with a single, silent wave, she left. In as quick a motion as she could, her hook-gun was shot, and she was atop the roof before anyone had even a slim chance of being the wiser.


    . . . .


    That was the way most her nights went. She would cook for her little brother¡ªby cook, of course, boiling water and mixing nutritional packets into it. Then, Imogen would take over, watching him while she was away. She would go to deliver her parcels to all her clients, before returning back to base and falling asleep well until mid day. Then, eat, wash, and a variable combination of shooting the shit with the other couriers and Underground members, playing with her little brother, or sitting on a rooftop and people watching. Sometimes, she would even sneak out to see the ocean. The water was soothing, and the breeze was nice. Then it was back to the office, load up, and shove off. But she liked it.


    She loved it.


    She''d always wanted to be a courier. Just like her mother. She''d been shadowing for about a year up until now. This first week, finally, was her forte on her own route. And she was so eager. So hopeful to make a difference.


    The stakes were high: if she slipped up¡ªmade one small mistake or was spotted by the wrong people¡ªshe could put everything into jeopardy. Including herself. And regardless of where it went¡ªwhat they decided would be suitable punishment for her¡ªshe would die. And she didn''t want to do that to her little brother. But, this was all she could do; the only work she had any qualification for. She had no experience or training. She was too weak for a factory and too much of a woman for much else. So she followed in her mother''s footsteps. Though, one could also say she was forced into it. She never knew her father. Her mother was dead. Imogen was her aunt. She was the only person she could go to.


    Every night of the week, she had a different set of clients; a different route. It was hard to keep track of, but she''d been trained to do such. And, for the most part, the job was be sneaky, be quick, and don''t get caught. Everything she excelled at.


    On her fourth night of deliveries, she was delivering to the Brighton District. One of the wealthier ones; not rich, by any means, but one of the few that didn''t look like it was on the utmost verge of collapse from the few times she had been there. Even the gunshots were muted. As if there was a decreased propensity for violence. Or, the people out to shoot someone were deliberately trying to mask their noise as to not further affect the property values.


    She got to the small, admirable, white-walled apartment structure. Even it, however, wasn''t immune to being stained by the filth in the air. But it was cleaner than most.


    Her stop was on the first floor. She knew that, for certain. She tried the door. Unlocked, as she''d expect. She entered.


    The living area the door opened up into was lit by a single standing lamp with a cream-colored shade. The room was decently furnished; the furniture seemed loved, but not ruined. And the whole place seemed up to code; something she definitely wasn''t used to. Not a single exposed wire, nor a single leak in the ceiling She didn''t even know The Underground had any meaningful reach in this district. It was barely in their radius: just on the edge of the ran-down, mostly non-white Shore District the bulk of there operations occurred in.


    Another thing she wasn''t used to was the type of woman she saw perched casually on the couch. Well, she had been, at least. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Calli, her head shot up along with her body. She stood, and stared, and Calli was astounded by the sight of her.


    She was beautiful. Her hair was a near-white platinum blonde and her eyes were large and blue and her pale-skin was dotted on almost every inch of it that was exposed with a seeming millions of tiny, dusty freckles. She was in a nightgown; sheer, and lacey. Just flirting the edge with lingerie. It was short, too. Revealing thick, soft thighs going down to her feet. She wasn''t all that tall. But she was plump; somewhat chubby. Unlike almost anyone Calli was used to. Most people she knew were borderline emaciated, herself included, with a concave stomach and ribs that her skin taughtly clung to. She was assuredly a lot to look at. Brighton might have been better off than other labor-class districts. But no one who lived here should be so clean, so well put-together, or so healthy as the woman before her appeared.


    She was confusing. Enigmatic, but assuredly beautiful. She looked like drawings she had seen. Not like a real person at all. She was well enough to be royalty.


    She hadn''t realized how long it had been that she''d just been gawking in silence. The girl before her had taken a few steps forward. A cheeky smirk teased up her lips.


    "You''re staring," she spoke. That voice. It made her hushed tone sound like the lyrics of a song. It was astounding. Ethereal, even. Not quite real. But also carrying along with it a hint of mischief.


    Calli chirped. "O-oh!" she stuttered out, "S-sorry!" She scrambled for her satchel and shuffled about in it. She clumsily pulled a small, cardboard box out of it.


    She double-checked the address and it checked out. But, her eyes couldn''t stop from lingering on two, very specific words. Her name. "Jasmine March."


    ''Jasmine.'' It wasn''t the most peculiar, nor shocking name. But it fit her in a way Calli couldn''t quite find the words to explain. Or maybe she could. It was as if she picked it herself. And she likely had. But that didn''t diminish its perfection.


    Silently, awkwardly, and avoiding any kind of eye contact, Calli handed the package to the girl. "H-here," she rasped. Jasmine chuckled, and took the box, and Calli''s hand fell limply to her side.


    "Thanks."


    "... Yeah."


    "... You''re new, aren''t you? I don''t feel like I''ve seen you before."


    "...I am."


    "I take it you''ll be taking over my deliveries now?"


    "I will be, y-yes, ma''am..."


    "Jasmine."


    Calli swallowed sharply. She was very grateful for the cover that was over her face that instant. She had no idea how dark her cheeks must have flushed, but the visceral heat she felt wasn''t promising


    "I will be... Jasmine." The name felt uncomfortable on her tongue. Foreign. She couldn''t pin why.


    "You should probably be going, Miss Courier," Jasmine suggested. She still had that teasing look on her face. The one that made Calli jerk her head away.


    Calli gave a stiff nod. Then with a sudden burst of courage and other reasons quite beside her, she pulled her gaiter down. And she looked right into the other woman''s eyes.


    "Calliope," was all she said, and she quickly realized how idiotic that sounded shooting out her mouth. She swallowed and stumbled after clumsily, "Calliope. That''s my name: Calliope. Uh... Nobody calls me that though. Just... Calli. Also, d¨Cdon''t call me miss; makes me feel old."


    ''Good job, idiot,'' she thought, ''Fucking flawless.''


    "I''ll take a note of that," Jasmine answered. Then she hummed. "Calliope." She annunciated the word as if trying to understand it more. "Calliope... That''s gorgeous."


    And, ''Calliope,'' was surprised to hear her giggle. She hadn''t thought she could get any more musical.


    "And you¡ª" Jasmine continued, with a smooth, liquid annunciation. Sly. Almost suggestive of something. Like her words had a hidden meaning or connotation Calli couldn''t grasp. "¡ªcan make a note not to call me, ''ma''am,'' either." She hummed, and smirked. "Makes me feel old, too."


    Calli could feel the flush blooming again, tugging her scarf back over her face. She''d hoped the girl across her, now startlingly close¡ªhardly a foot away¡ªhadn''t spotted the stupid grin cracking across her cheek.


    "Right," Calli breathed, "Y-yeah. I... I will." She cleared her throat. "... Do that..." An awkward second of silence, and Calli checked her digital watch.


    "O-oh! Shit!" she yipped, already stumbling backwards, "I have to go!" She grabbed the door handle, before flicking her head over her shoulder and giving a final, "Thanks!"


    Jasmine couldn''t help a sputter of a laugh as she managed to squeeze out, "For what!?"


    "Not a damn clue!" Calli followed frantically. The door was promptly closed and shut, and Calli was already a rooftop away when Jasmine finally moved to lock the door behind her, chuckling all to herself.

 Chapter 2

    It was Thursday again. Calli found herself brimming with an unrestrained excitement. Imogen had taken notice.


    "You''re glowing," she had said. And Calli chuckled shyly brushing it away. She was always a bundle of positivity. It''s not like this was out of the ordinary for her: this attitude. She''d always been a compact package of boundless optimism and eagerness. But, maybe, there was just a hint of an extra kick in her step; the faint whisper of excitement that was even more so than what was routine.


    She crossed off each address from her list, completing deliveries as quick as she could manage, and maybe not as careful as she should have. She was a kid, at the end of things. Nineteen or so. But, while a year above the age of majority, that was nothing. She was still young, stupid, and no small bit hormonal.


    She''d finished her last delivery, making a hasty retreat to scramble to the roof and leap across the tops of buildings. She darted the final distance to the woman''s door and threw it open with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Jasmine, who was on the couch with a book in her hands, inhaled sharply and hurled that book at Calli. It pinned her directly in the nose, and she cursed.


    Her cap flew off her head and onto the ground as she grasped her face and threw a handful of additional foul words. Jasmine slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she took the hand away.


    "Oh my God, I''m so sorry!"


    "S''fine," Calli slurred. She stood up, pulled her scarf down, checked for blood, and when there wasn''t any, pulled it back up. "Just lucky you weren''t reading a hardcover."


    Calli leaned down and picked up the book from the floor. It was thick enough. She looked at the cover. There was no illustration: just embossed, golden letters reading the title, "She Was Made From The Sun."


    "Never heard of this one," Calli said mindlessly.


    "Do you read?" Jasmine asked, not rudely. Genuinely curious. Maybe a little hopeful.


    "Not really," Calli chuckled out in admittance. Jasmine had come up to her now, and she handed the book back to her. The blonde pulled it tightly to her chest, but not hurriedly, grasping it with both hands. She wasn''t as elegant this time around, Calli noticed. That''s to say, the lace she''d had before was substituted for a rather long, white tee. Whether there was anything on her bottom was a question that Calli hated she thought of.


    Jasmine gave the flustered courier a coy smile. "My delivery?" she said.


    "Oh!" Calli chirped, "Right." She fumbled around. "Here."


    Jasmine took it, with a purposeful, lingering motion.


    "Thanks," she hushed.


    "You don''t have to..."


    "Don''t have to what?" Jasmine asked.


    "Thank me," Calli answered.


    "But I want to," she said with a smile. And Calli felt her face heating up yet again. It already had been, granted. But it was even warmer, now.


    "I don''t get to argue with that, huh?" She forced out. The words felt heavy and cumbersome. Not because of their nature. Or their meaning. Any words she could have found would have felt equally as heavy.


    Jasmine shot a smug smirk that Calli found painfully charming.


    "No," she said, "You don''t."


    Calli huffed in humor, and there was a silence as the two tensely eyed each other. The intensity of it all forced Calli to swallow.


    "... I have to go," she said. Jasmine nodded.


    "I know."


    Calli smiled. But she couldn''t see it under her gaiter.


    "See you next week," she said.


    "I''m counting on it," Jasmine spoke softly. She ended with a tentative wink, and Calli felt her chest swell.


    She cleared her throat, awkwardly, and began taking those steps backward. "Bye," she said. And she opened the door, and shut it behind her, hurrying off.


    "Bye," Jasmine said to the empty air in front of her.


    . . . .


    That following night, Calli was poking idly at her rations in the courier lounge. A literal pile of grey slop. Granted, it was unappetizing. But she usually attempted some of it.


    She hadn''t noticed Imogen come to sit across from her at the same steel table.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Cal?"


    The young woman made an odd sort of squeak, flicking her chin up to make eye contact. She swallowed. Then cleared her throat. Then swallowed again.


    "U-um, hi..." She grinned, awkwardly. Imogen smirked back at her.


    "Hello," she said. Then she frowned. "There seems to be something on your mind recently, Bright-Eyes. You''re somewhere else after every shift. And you''re somewhere else... well, every other time as well."


    "Nothing''s wrong," Calli answered, perhaps too quickly.


    "I didn''t say I thought there was," Imogen said. She poked at her own meal. "I just said it seemed like there was something on your mind."


    "... Well..." Calli shuffled awkwardly. "Maybe there is..." She didn''t notice the heat in her cheeks. She just gave her tray a hard stare.


    She didn''t notice the heat in her cheeks...


    But Imogen did.


    "It''s a girl, isn''t it?" she said with a smirk. Calli regretted choosing that moment to try a bite.


    She coughed and sputtered. "How did you know!?" She slapped her hands over her mouth like she had said some obscenity. Imogen cackled at her.


    "I didn''t," she said through her laughter, "Just a hunch. But, I definitely do now."


    Calli groaned, pushing her tray out of the way to make room for her crossed arms on the table in front of her, before plowing her face into them. "What do I do..." she whined. Imogen shrugged.


    "Admittedly," she said, "dating one of your clients isn''t the height of professionalism."


    "I know!" Calli cried. "I know..." She sighed. "I just... How am I supposed to get over it."


    Imogen shrugged. "Well, you could always have your route reassigned..."


    At that, her head shot out of her hands. "Not that," she shot abruptly.


    Imogen smirked. Calli glared.


    "I''m glad my suffering amuses you," she deadpanned.


    "It really kind of does."


    Calli harmlessly tossed her plastic spork at the older woman who caught it with uncanny ease, tossing it back at her and laughing. Calli was, to her chagrin, not blessed with like skill. The utensil collided right into her face, and clattered onto the table. She snatched it, and pointed it at the other woman. "You''re such a jerk!" she chided.


    Imogen cackled.


    "Maybe," she said. Then she fell more serious. "So... What do you want to do about it?"


    Calli froze, her eyes darting desperately about for a minute. Shortly, she deflated in her seat. "I don''t know." She gave a pathetic sort of chuckle. "That''s why I''m asking you."


    Imogen shrugged. "Okay," she said, nodding, "Say if she wasn''t your client. Say if she was just some random girl you bumped into in the middle of the street. Then what would you want to do?"


    Calli blushed. She stared at the table and fiddled with the spork still in her hands. "... I don''t know."


    Imogen gave an uncertain nod. "Well. Sounds like you got a few things to think about then."


    Calli gave a rare, weak smile, uncharacteristic of her.


    "Yeah, I, uh... I guess so..."


    A couple weeks later.


    "What kind of books do you like?"


    Calli noticed the questions seemed to catch the blue-eyed woman off guard.


    She blinked. Then she blinked again.


    "Oh!" She chuckled. "Um... I''m kind of pretentious. I like stories that mean something... Or that represent something... That stuff''s rare to find these days, though. There''s an old antique store in the Brighton shopping district... That''s where I get most of my stuff." She gave a pensive totter of her head. "But," she said, "Cheesy romance isn''t my least favorite thing either." She shot a bashful smile. "I kinda love it."


    Deep, mind-boggling dripe and meet-cutes.


    Understood.


    Calli shook her head chuckling. Then she smiled. "Got it."


    Fumble. Package. Give.


    Jasmine took the package routinely. And she smiled.


    "Calli?" she said.


    "Hm?"


    "When are you free?"


    The darker-skinned girl blanched: the closest she''d ever be to Jasmine in paleness. "I-I''m sorry?"


    "Oh, sh-shit," Jasmine chuckled. She scratched the back of her head. "Sorry. I didn''t¨CMust''ve read the signals wrong... Forget I said anything."


    Calli paled even more, if at all possible. "No!" She hurriedly shot. Jasmine lurched back a fraction and Calli realized just how much she had raised her voice. She stuttered, "N¨Cno, no... It''s not¨C" She cleared her throat. "Are you... Are you asking me out?"


    "Maybe," Jasmine answered with a coy grin.


    "Maybe," Calli says. She wasn''t sheet-shaded anymore. She was richly dark again, her face flushed with blood. "Wow..." Jasmine laughed at her. Not cruelly. Just clearly humored.


    "You''re ridiculous," she chuckled. "But... when are you free?"


    Her words were thoroughly annunciated. Spelled out. Calli swallowed.


    "I mean... not very long, honestly," she said, "Usually just a handful of hours a day."


    "Then, when''s that?" Jasmine smiled, softly.


    Calli froze a bit before finally saying, "About 5pm to 11."


    "Some handful!" Jasmine laughed again. "Then... maybe sometime in there?"


    "... I mean... What would we even do?" Calli asked with a sad chuckle. Jasmine frowned. Then she smiled.


    "You can come over," she said, "I''ll cook for you."


    Dark-cheeked again, Calli coughed. "Cook for me?"


    "Yeah." Jasmine shrugged. "I''m pretty decent. I''ll pick some stuff up from work¡ªI work at a grocer. And I''ll ask my boss to give me a morning shift."


    Calli gave a stiff nod. Then, lucidity hit. And she shook her head.


    "I¡ªI can''t come here. That''s..." She sighed. "That''s really dangerous, Jasmine."


    "Why so?" She chuckles back, before continuing, "Nobody knows I''m trans. Nobody knows you''re with the Underground. Come by, look casual... Easy."


    Calli was silent for a moment. Then she gave a sort of half scoff as she shook her head. "Why do you have to make that sound so..."


    "So what?" Jasmine shot back slyly.


    "Enticing."


    "Oh? Is it enticing?" She teased. Then she giggled. Calli pulled her cap over her face.


    "... A bit."


    "So then, I take it I''ll be seeing you?"


    "...Mm..." A stiff nod.


    "How''s Sunday sound? Two days; plenty of time for me to get my schedule changed. You come over here and we can... hang out?"


    Calli became painfully aware of just how much closer the slightly shorter girl had now come to her. She was inches from pressing up right against her. Calli swallowed a lump in her throat and stumbled out, "Yeah. S¨Csure. Hang out..."


    Jasmine giggled again and God that sound. Enticing. It really was the perfect word. It described everything little thing she ever did or said when she saw her.


    Enticing.


    "Then I''ll see you then, delivery-girl," she said, giving a cheeky tug of the courier''s cap. Calli chuckled as she readjusted it. Then her face fell to mild panic as she quickly pulled away, checking her watch.


    ''1:05.''


    She was late.


    Shit.


    "I have to go," Calli said frantically, stumbling backward and tossing open the door. "See you Sunday!" She shouted behind her, slamming the door before Jasmine could get a word in. Her mouth closed, and she smirked after her, shaking her head.


    "Idiot."

 Chapter 3

    "But, Capi..." The young boy behind her whined as she adjusted a very thin line of a choker undecidedly, "You said we''d play with the ball today..."


    "I know, Kit," she spoke softly, finally deciding she was done toying with the stupid string of jewelry and it''d be fine where it was. It was the only nice thing she was wearing, anyway. And it was mass-produced garbage. Her t-shirt was old and had holes in it around the cartoonish print in the center; some old comic strip character.


    She didn''t even know who he was. A dog or... something. She''d just found the ratty thing at a consignment shop, and it drew her in. She''d had it for years, now, and it showed. Her jeans were as equally tattered as it was, and they went down into her beaten, black, faded old work boots; the only shoes she owned. She turned on her heel to face the kid, and she knelt down to his level with a kind smile.


    He was still so little. Only about seven years old, now.


    "We''ll still have time to play, Kit. I promise. Just a tiny bit later."


    Kit pouted, still.


    "And," she continued, "I''ll bring you something special for dinner. How''s that sound." Kit''s eyes widened.


    "What?! Like what!?" he quizzed. Calli chuckled.


    "It''s a surprise," she said with a wink. And the boy stared in awe.


    "Wow..."


    "Right?" She smirked and booped his nose with a finger. He flinched back and scrunched his face, and she chuckled. She got back up to look in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was always a mess. Short, choppy, and asymmetrical. But she still fiddled with it. It had to be the right kind of asymmetrical today.


    She finished with a huff; mostly irritation at her hair not doing exactly what she wanted. She turned, and headed back into her and Kit''s room.


    It was an old, rickety place. And, it should be noted, there was no functioning plumbing in the bathroom. Everything was fed with disposable water bottles. The ''sink'' was a plastic tub with hand soap. One would fill it, add soap, and scrub. The shower? A bucket, large enough to fit most people standing up, and an odd sort of modified jug that could be filled, uncorked, and create a steady, narrow stream for a few minutes. Enough to fill the bucket half-way.


    Kit toed after his sister as she strolled through their room; two rolled-out bed mats and a basket of Kit''s toys. In the corner were two stacks of clothes: clean and dirty. Right. Calli still had to do the laundry today, too. She sighed as she kept walking as Kit kept following. Finally, she opened the door and headed out into the main office. Calli followed the way she knew to the courier''s office.


    "You can play with Imogen today while I''m away," she offered with a smile, "You like Imogen, right?"


    Kit gave a somewhat reluctant nod. "Yeah... She''s not as fast as you, though."


    "Well, she''s older than me," Calli said with a chuckle. "Doesn''t mean she can''t still be fun."


    Kit frowned. "Yeah..."


    Calli opened the courier office and entered. And, there was Imogen seemingly crunching some numbers as she held a pen and stared at a sheet of paper in front of her, rubbing her temple. It didn''t appear to be going well.


    "Imogen?" Calli called.


    The older woman jerked up with a start.


    She pulled down her angular glasses and eyed the lanky woman standing in her office doorway. She cleared her throat, set her frames back up on her nose, and looked at her with a meager smile. "Calli." She nodded. She looked down to the young boy trailing in behind her, and her smile richened a slight bit more. "And Kit! Good to see you, rapscallion."


    He gave her an apprehensive look. "Hi..." he said as he fiddled with his hands.


    "You''re gonna be spending a little time with me then, love?" the older women said.


    At his lack of response, Calli chimed in, "Yes, he is."


    Imogen set her pen down on her desk, and stood to her full, tall stature, moving slowly around her shamble of a desk to the doorway of the room. As she reached Calli, she put a feathering palm between her bony shoulder blades and guided her out the office. She looked down to the young boy.


    "I won''t even be a minute, little one," she said. She gestured to three rigid, mismatched, scrounged chairs on the left wall of the room. "Feel free to have a seat, if you''d like."


    Kit nodded, and Imogen shut the door. A thin barrier now between the two women and the kid, she gave her a smirk.


    "So; you figured out what you wanted, huh?" she shot. "Taking the dive?" Calli''s face flushed as she cleared her throat.


    "Well," she said, fingers lacing restlessly, "She was the one doing the diving..."


    Imogen chuckled. "Go figure. You''re too much of a wet twig to ask a girl to save your life." At Calli''s deep pout, she chuckled again. "Good luck," the older woman said with a wink, "Make sure to tell me about it after, yeah?" She added, slyly, "Everything."


    Calli made a pronounced wretching expression, slapping the older woman''s hand away from her back. "Oh, ewe! I will absolutely not, you old bitty!"


    She cackled in a way that wasn''t un-witch-like. "Oh well. Can''t blame a girl for trying," she said with an almost wistful sigh. "Wish an old hag like me could find a someone. Not very likely though. ''Specially not lookin'' like this." She cackled again.


    Calli frowned. "Disagree," she said, "I think you look just fine..."


    The old girl huffed out her nose. "Well, thanks kid." She gave a dry chuckle. "But I''ll take that with a grain of salt."


    "I think you should take it with more than that..." Calli gave a serious look. Imogen just smiled.


    "Well," she said, "Figure you ought get goin'', yeah? Don''t wanna keep the pretty lady waiting."


    Calli blushed. Again. "R-right..." She gave a quick, but loose turn, and as she strode away, she waved behind her. She was beaming bright and wide, and Imogen could clearly see the pronounced, but silent mouthing of, ''bye!'' as she shifted into a jog.


    Imogen shook her head at her as she finally turned back to her office, greeting the impatient young boy inside.


    . . . .


    The transition between districts was sharp and sudden. One second, distant gunshots blasted through the air, vitriol flinging with reckless abandon. The next, almost nothing other than the bickering of street-goers pressing shoulder to shoulder. And the sparse sounds of some few vehicles owned by the rarities that could afford them.


    Shots grew softer. Cruelty grew thinner. At least so it seemed. But the looks and scoffs shot her way reminded her things were never really different. No matter where you were.


    The hand closest to her hip didn''t cease in its twitching¡ªready to snatch her handgun if need be at any second.


    As she''d made her way through the human ocean, trying to keep her profile low¡ªnot make a fuss¡ªshe still managed to gather some controversy. She was a woman, in public, without a man. And a brown-skinned, ratty, tomboy-ish, dyke-seeming one to boot. But she was a good, trained shot. All the couriers were. All the Underground members¡ªperiod¡ªwere. It was part of basic training. Even for desk staff. Just in case.


    As a bearded man shot another slur her way, she tried to pretend she didn''t even notice him in the first place. Which wasn''t hard. She was well used to it as it was. She had become a master of the art of pretending she didn''t care what someone was saying, while still¡ªin actuality¡ªbeing very aware, and very prepared to act, if necessary.


    When she''d finally made it there; to that quaint, worn, but not nearly trashed home she''d known was her destination; her lips turned up to smile, and her pace quickened until she was at Jasmine''s door. She glanced at her watch.


    ''6:54pm.''


    While she still felt like they would have plenty of time, she was, admittedly, later than she would have hoped. She wasted no time in hurriedly knocking, but paled as soon as she did, the reality of the situation finally hitting her like a brick to the skull.


    She was going on a date. With a woman. For the first time. Her first date, with her first girl¡ªwho was an absolute and undeniable bombshell, if at all important¡ªliving in an upper district with nice clothes, a nice home, and hair that actually looked presentable, and not like a grade-schooler had taken scissors to it, and bright, blue eyes and silky, platinum-blonde hair, and dusty freckles, and smelled like baby''s-breath and had literally perfect teeth and¡ª


    "Calliope?" a voice called. Cadenced.


    Calliope. Nobody called her by her whole name. Calli¡ªor Cal, sometimes¡ªwas just easier. But when Jasmine broke the trend, and did call her by her full name, it made some circuits in her brain she didn''t know were there rattle and click and spark.


    The taller girl finally snapped to, stumbling. "Oh! Uh¨Chi! Yeah, um, that''s me..." As if it wasn''t obvious enough, she cleared her throat, and awkwardly added, "C¨CCalliope." She said her own name like it was foreign to her. It felt enough as such.


    Jasmine was smirking at her. A smug, teasing, curious sort. But it was laced with something more subtle. More enigmatic. Flirtatious could be a word to describe how it seemed. But it could not describe whatever specific part made it so.


    "Thank you for clarifying," Jasmine cheeked, "I wasn''t quite sure."


    Calli gulped. She was an extrovert. At least, she knew most people described her such. But something about this girl¡ªthe way she talked, maybe, or the way she looked at her¡ªmade her freeze. As if she never knew how to talk in the first place. Her mouth made a few pathetic attempts to express something. But it took a moment for the words to parse together in her brain.


    "Y-yeah," she managed, "You''re welcome."


    Jasmine snorted, now. Then she laughed, high and musical. Almost like birdsong. Excluding the spliced gutturals of intermittent snorting.


    "You''re cute," she finally breathed through residual laughter. She stepped aside there in the doorway, and gestured into the house with her head. "Come on in, Courier."


    Calli gave a rapid nod, and she did. Jasmine followed after and shut the door. As Calli seemed to hesitate, unsure what to do with herself, her host suggested, "You can sit on the couch if you want," jogging past her and into the kitchen.


    "I don''t wanna get it dirty," Calli said back to her.


    "You won''t," Jasmine answered in a light chuckle, now in the kitchen. The sounds of a sizzling pan and the woman''s own shuffling about rang from the space. A pan sounded as Jasmine shuffled its contents. It smelt wonderful. Calli wasn''t used to real food. Scraps, sure. Instant nutritional meals that bordered on actual garbage? Naturally. But not cooking. Not real sustenance.


    "Pretty sure I will," Calli shot back.


    "I-okay, then?" Jasmine shot back with a somewhat lost sounding chuckle, "I don''t care. Sit."


    Calli frowned and did¡ªtentatively¡ªwhat she was told. She sat on the couch as if it was going to leap up and bite her. And when she''d finally gotten there, she sat stiff and ridged.


    "I''m almost done in the kitchen, sorry," Jasmine chuckled. She sounded almost worried she was being an inconvenience.


    "I don''t mind," Calli answered, rolling her head back over the head of the couch to look over to Jasmine, "Honestly, wouldn''t have minded if you''d waited for me... I would''ve loved to... um..." she trailed off.


    Jasmine was in a white hoodie¡ªmust''ve been her color; it seemed to be the only one she wore at all. Underneath she had equally bright and pale shorts. They were tight, and short, and barely covered the whole of what they were supposed to cover; the shapes and folds and crevices there were very evident. They gripped tightly around her thighs, digging into the flesh there.


    It seemed to her that the majority of Jasmine''s ampleness lay in her lower half, even though there was, of course, a bit in her stomach and a bit in her chest. She was pear-shaped more than anything. Her hoodie wasn''t tight, but showed her form enough, and Calli found it hard to remove her eyes from tracing around the shape of her hips and the curve of her ass, and the softness of everywhere relatively disrespectfully.


    She could consider it a blessing the other woman was too busy to look back at her, only following up with, "I''m sorry? It''s super loud over here¡ªI didn''t get all of that."


    Calli snapped to, flicking her head straight forward. "Y-yeah!" she yipped, "Uh, s''fine, um¡ªWas just saying...." What had she been saying? Oh. Right. "I was just saying, it would''ve been nice to see you work. I''ve never really... cook, cooked before. Not really on the table for me..."


    Calli heard a sullenness in Jasmine''s answer. "It''s not really on the table for a lot of people, unfortunately..." she said, "I work for a grocer though. My mom''s the owner. Well¡ªsorry, she''s not my mom." She paused. "I kind of conflate the two sometimes..." She cleared her throat. "My mom died when I was younger." There was an awkwardness that hardly passed when she finally continued. "She lets me bum stuff from there, sometimes."


    Calli frowned. Her posture loosened as she deflated a little. "My mom passed, too. I was twelve..." She mustered a smile. She looked back to the other girl, trying to hold her eyes off from wandering.


    "I''m so sorry..."


    "Not something to apologize for..."


    Jasmine cleared her throat. "Um-Sorry for... that. This isn''t really, ''first-date,'' talk, huh?"


    Calli huffed and smirked. "So, this is a date then?"


    Jasmine flicked off the heat, and pulled the pan onto another, inactive burner. She shot Calli a smug look.


    "You''re pretty," she said, "But not really fast on the uptake, huh?"


    Calli stuck out her tongue. "I figured," she said back, "But... y''know. I wanted to make sure, I guess."


    Jasmine''s face softened into something sweeter. "Well," she said, "Consider this your confirmation."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Calli found a heat in her face. "Oh," she said, "Cool..." She could hear Jasmine chuckle faintly from the kitchen.


    Smoothly¡ªgracefully¡ªJasmine moved back to grab the pan and split its contents among two flat dishes she had set up on the counter. Then she grabbed both; one in each hand; and glided back into the living room.


    In front of the stained couch¡ªnicer than anything Calli had ever seen, but still, nonetheless, stained¡ªthere was a scuffed coffee table. That was where she put the plates.


    Calli eyed the food curiously. It looked like beans, spinach, and sausage, and it smelled of a handful of different species that tickled her nose. It was clearly thrown together. Just what she had. But it was steaming, and real, and it smelt like food.


    It was perfect.


    Calli grabbed the plate eagerly before Jasmine had even sat down, and the other girl looked at her and giggled. She was smiling. Probably. Calli wasn''t looking; her face was buried in her plate. But she heard her ask.


    "Is it good?"


    Calli flicked her head up, a piece of spinach hanging from her lip inelegantly as her fork was still in her mouth. She flushed and nodded wordlessly. Jasmine huffed happily.


    "Good."


    She began working on her own. She pecked around her plate, mostly uninterested. Her eyes kept darting to Calliope. Eventually, she had seemed to notice Calli had stopped eating. But, most of her food was still there.


    "You''re done already?" she asked, "You''ve barely eaten half."


    "I sh¡ª," she started, before her mouth clamped shut. She mouthed to speak again, smiling unconvincingly. "I¨Cuh... I''m already full."


    Jasmine gave an un-humored frown. "And... What''s the truthful version of that answer?"


    Calli froze for a second. She glanced at the other woman. She was giving her a concerned, scolding sort of look. Her brow was furrowed in an almost disapproving, admonishing way. Like a parent at a kid. It made it impossible to hold back the snort that slipped out her nose. Jasmine''s brow remained that same staunch way, but she cracked a smile.


    "Don''t worry about it." Calli chuckled. "And what are you anyway? My mom?"


    Jasmine gave an exaggerated gag, sticking out her tongue. "Well, I sure hope not."


    Calli snorted again. Then she looked forward, hunched, running her fork absently on her plate. She frowned. "I have a brother."


    Jasmine''s brow unfurrowed, and she cocked her head. "Oh?"


    "Yeah," she said, nodding. "He''s seven."


    "Young," Jasmine said simply. Calli nodded again. Understanding seemed to wash Jasmine''s face.


    "You''re trying to save some for him?"


    A nod. "He doesn''t exactly eat well. I don''t either." She realized what had slipped, and hurried, "But I''m fine. He''s just a kid, though, so¨C"


    Jasmine stood abruptly, and Calli gave her a bewildered look as she marched right back into the kitchen.


    "What the Hell are you doing?" Calli yipped after her. She was sputtering laughter, she noticed. She wasn''t sure why. A reaction to perceived absurdity, most likely.


    "Cooking," Jasmine flatted, retrieving some ingredients from the tarnished old fridge. Some sort of squash and some sort of something else.


    "I¨CYeah, I know that!" Calli shot back. She was standing now, too. "But you don''t have to!"


    "You said you wanted to watch me, right?" Jasmine said, her smugness audible. "Then come over here and watch me."


    "You''re an ass," Calli answered back, tone heavy in insincerity. She ambled after the other woman.


    Jasmine made a sort of dismissive sound and pointed at the other girl''s abandoned plate, left on the coffee table. "And you should eat," she shot, setting a zucchini on a cutting board, "Finish up, then come watch me work." She then began cutting. And Calli looked at her, sputtered, and with some reservation ambled back to the table. When she''d finished¡ªnot after much more than a few minutes once she had gotten going¡ªshe went back to the kitchen. At this point, Jasmine had a bowl of already cut vegetables and was pouring a bottle of oil into a pan. She turned a dial and then looked to Calli.


    "Sorry." Jasmine shrugged with an apprehensive smile. "I used what I had for our lunch, so... Ratatouille! Except, without the sauce¡ªdon''t have any tomatoes. And without the presentation... I suck at it."


    Calli chuffed and grinned. "I''m sure you''re not that bad. You always seem to be good at presenting yourself, at least."


    Where had that come from?


    Jasmine grinned and looked away, huffing and shaking her head. She busied herself slicing a large bit of butter off a stick and plopping it into the pan within the oil. "Thank you," she said, "I don''t make much of an effort, though."


    Calli shrugged. "Guess that makes sense. You''re pretty enough as is."


    She hadn''t even processed that she''d done it, but she had reached forward to brush a strand of the shorter girl''s bobbed, platinum hair behind her ear. She had studs in. They were white. They looked like pearls, almost. Small, white spheres. Even if they were most likely just painted metal, they suited her beautifully. She noticed, now, behind her freckles, her cheeks growing redder. Her chest was rising and falling with rapid movements and she was looking directly at Calli, wide-eyed.


    She cleared her throat and pulled away, stiffly grabbing the bowl of vegetables and dumping it in the pan. Calliope was left standing dumbly with her hand in the air. It finally fell to her side limply, fisting and fidgeting with her nerves. She took a deep breath.


    She cleared her throat. "Um," she said, "W-What are you doing now?"


    "Garlic," she responded breathily. Like she''d forgotten air at some point. "Garlic. I''m chopping garlic." It was said like she had misplaced her own actions. She grabbed a large knife. She crushed a clove under the flat side of it, and Calli came beside her.


    "What''s that for?" She asked, gesturing as Jasmine did the same with another clove.


    "I''m taking the skins off," she answered with a chuckle.


    Calli cocked her head. "Did I say something?"


    "N-no, nothing. It''s just-I guess I take this stuff for granted. It''s just... odd. Knowing someone who doesn''t." She looked at the other girl more teasingly. "It''s cute how curious you are."


    Calli huffed out her nose and watched quietly. Her face fell to something more intent. Focused. And Jasmine smirked at her, continuing wordlessly. When she finished crushing, she peeled the skin off, and Calliope observed her short fingers working diligently.


    Calli looked kind of like a dog, in a way. Curious. Blank, but calculating. Except the calculations where two-plus-two, and her brain had arrived at twenty-two as her first answer.


    Jasmine centered a clove on the cutting board and started dicing it. Calli watched.


    "Paying attention?" Jasmine asked.


    "I think so."


    "Wanna try?"


    "Cutting?"


    "Sure."


    Calli''s lip curled pensively.


    She nodded stiffly. "Okay."


    Jasmine stepped out the way of the cutting board and handed the knife to Calli. Her fingers lingered as she passed it on.


    It wasn''t the first time Calli held one. Not this kind, though: the kitchen kind. Calli, now in position, seemed lost for what to do. Jasmine chuckled. And Calli felt her faculties leave her as soft fingers wrapped around her left wrist, where she held the handle.


    "You don''t know how to dice, do you?" Jasmine asked. Calli chuckled.


    "No," she sputtered, "Of course not."


    "Left-handed?"


    "Yeah."


    Jasmine gently moved her hand down, taking Calli''s with her. She pressed the tip of the knife down gently with the pointer of her other hand, and made sure the knife was lined up.


    "Pinch this end," she said, pointing to the thinner end of the clove, "Make sure your nails are facing out. That way you don''t hurt yourself if you overshoot." Jasmine shrugged. "At least not as bad."


    "''Kay." Calli nodded stiffly. She grabbed on the clove. Jasmine nodded affirmatively.


    "Good," she said, "Now just bring the knife down, but, kind of keep the tip touching the cutting board... like, hinge it down."


    "That''s okay," Calli said with a chuckle, "I was paying attention." She copied what she saw, and Jasmine nodded, smiling lightly.


    Jasmine grinned. "You were."


    "Damn right," Calli smugged.


    Jasmine huffed and rolled her eyes. And when Calli was done, she took all the chopped garlic and tossed it into the pan. She then threw in salt and pepper, and, from a cabinet of which one door was barely holding on, she grabbed a canning jar full of red flakes. She tossed some in sparingly.


    "What''s that?" Calli asked with a cocked head. She really did that a lot. The, ''inquiring German shepherd,'' face.


    "Red-pepper," Jasmine answered.


    "What''s that like?"


    "Spicy. Kind of."


    "I dunno if Kit can handle even a little spicy." Calli nervously chuckled. "Or... flavor, really."


    "I figured," Jasmine answered. "That''s why I hardly put any in." Her smile faltered and became something near worry. "I hope he doesn''t hate it..."


    Calli shook her head and chuckled. "I''m sure he won''t. I think he''ll be happy just to have real food for once..." She sighed, and frowned. "It''s been... a while."


    Jasmine nodded grimly. "Food''s expensive." She smiled again, gently. "I still want him to like it, though."


    Calli huffed and smiled, too. She hadn''t realized how long it''d been before she heard Jasmine''s voice:


    "You''re staring, Calliope."


    There was a package sitting by the stove. A small, plastic container with Jasmine''s food stashed into it.


    The two women were side by side on the couch, talking. It was the most matterful thing they had to do.


    "Thanks for cooking for me today," Calli spoke softly. "And my brother."


    "You don''t have to thank me for that." Jasmine''s voice was equally hushed. Gentle.


    "But I do. It... It was sweet."


    "You were worth it."


    Calli swallowed ladenly. "Oh..."


    Jasmine gave a light giggle. "Yeah."


    A silence.


    Calliope finally gave an odd chuckle. "You don''t feel real..."


    Jasmine huffed, humored. "How do you mean?"


    Calli teetered, trying to find her words. "You just¨CI never thought I''d... That I''d be in a situation anything like this. Let alone with someone like you... It''s just-I didn''t think... I didn''t think dating was in the cards for me."


    Jasmine smiled, lopsided. "And what exactly is... ''someone like me?''"


    Calli was quiet for a good few seconds, making various moves to speak, but none seemingly sure of what they ought say. There was so much she felt like she wanted to. And a lot she also felt like she shouldn''t.


    "Something beautiful," she finally settled. But the words seemed so loud in the quiet room; so heavy.


    "... Is that so?" Jasmine called back in feathery words. She moved a little closer to Calliope. "And what''s a, ''situation like this?''"


    "You know what," Calli chuckled, avoiding any chance of catching the other girl''s eye.


    "I''m not sure if I do."


    "A date," Calli parsed. The word felt much, much heavier now, and she wasn''t sure why. She took a sharp breath through her nose as she felt a warmth on her thigh. Her eyes flicked to Jasmine and she was startled by the proximity, now. She was almost pressed up against her. Her small fingers were rubbing on her thigh lightly and she felt some segment of her brain short-circuit. She swallowed a lump in her throat and said, shakily:


    "Jasmine..."


    "Yeah?" she answered. Her face was only a few inches from Calli''s. Her eyes were lidded; her face mostly neutral; but her breathing heavy. And Calli could feel the hot air feathering her lips.


    "What are you doing?" she hushed.


    And she felt Jasmine''s lips press into her own. They were warm. And soft, and not cracked and chapped like she knew her own were. She found herself molding into the action, and her breath shuddered as a soft hand ran further up her thigh and another found a home in the tousledness of her hair.


    Jasmine''s own breathing hitched as Calli found courage enough in her to bring long, lithe fingers to lace through the strands on her platinum head. Her other hand found the back of her neck and pulled her in closer. Eventually, it came to rest on her cheek.


    They had to breathe, pulling back and panting. Their faces were there, inches apart, and they stared at each other for a handful of moments that felt like hours. Calli pulled the softer woman into her again. Jasmine hummed into her lips. Her tongue came to trace the boundaries of Calli''s lips


    Calli allowed her access. Jasmine''s tongue jutted in playfully, and the rougher girl moaned. She fell back onto the couch, and Jasmine came on top of her, heavy where she was on her chest. Their tongues fought each other before they pulled back. And then they kissed, and they kissed again.


    Calliope''s hands ran down Jasmine''s back, over the tenderness there. Jasmine hummed and pressed down further into Calli.


    Calli pulled back again to breathe. Or to savor. She wasn''t sure. But the look in her eyes showed still, thorough investment.


    "Hi..." Calli breathlessly whispered.


    "Hi..."


    Jasmine pressed her lips back to Calli''s. Then again, and again.


    "Jasmine..." came from Calli, between.


    "Mm?"


    "Where is this going?"


    Jasmine stopped, and thought for a minute. Then she kissed her again.


    "Somewhere good, hopefully."


    "That''s not what I meant..."


    Jasmine''s lips quirked down a fraction. Then, they pulled a weak smile.


    "If you''re not ready, we don''t have to..."


    Calli ran her thin fingers along the other woman''s jaw.


    "I just want to actually know you first... You know?"


    Jasmine kissed her again.


    "Of course..."


    Then Calli chuckled.


    "... Was fun, though."


    Jasmine smirked.


    "Oh, yeah?"


    "Yeah."


    Jasmine snickered and found herself nuzzling into the girl beneath her enunciated collar bone.


    "Mm," Calli hummed affirmatively. Then she smiled. "You''re a good kisser."


    Jasmine huffed a chuckle. "I should hope so."


    Calli did, too. She planted a kiss to the crown of Jasmine''s head.


    "Am I?"


    "Hell yeah," Jasmine giggled. Then she paused. Then she broached: "So. You wanna know more about me?"


    "I mean¨CYeah."


    "Well," she said, "I want to know you, too." She paused. "So... what do you like to do?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "Like¨Cfor fun."


    Calliope froze. Her mouth moved a couple times before she answered.


    "... I dunno."


    Jasmine chuckled and raised a brow. "... Really?"


    Calli''s vague huff of a laugh seemed almost pathetic. "Don''t have the time."


    Jasmine nodded, meekly. "... That''s understandable."


    Calli chuffed. "What about you?"


    "I read. And I cook." She shrugged. "But... other than that? I mean, what''s there for a woman. Like¨Cwhat am I supposed to do? It''s not like we can really, ''go outside,'' in any way that''s safe. For a handful of reasons." She chortled and shook her head. "So... I read. That''s how I live. But," she looked to Calli with a sad smile, "Sometimes I like to watch the sunset from the roof... or, when it''s dark, I''ll go out and look out at the ocean." She gave a wistful sort-of sigh out her nose.


    Calli pulled a soft smile. "Me too."


    "We should go together, sometime," Jasmine hushed, "Or to see the sunset."


    Calli nodded. "... That sounds nice."


    Jasmine chuckled. Then her face sobered a little. She looked up to Calliope. "What about your brother?" She asked, "What''s he like?"


    Calli huffed and smiled. "He''s¨CWell, he''s kinda quiet when it''s anyone but me... But, if it is me? He''s a goof. He''s loud, and bombastic, and very, very obnoxious." Jasmine chuckled at the description. "But he''s my little buddy. To be honest though... I dunno. Guess I''m more of a mom to him. But... we still have that sibling thing going on; the rivalry and bickering..."


    "Sounds like a sweet kid," Jasmine spoke with a smile.


    "He''s a menace," Calli corrected with a smirk.


    "Maybe. But a cute menace."


    "Ugh," Calli groaned, "Don''t side with him. That''s what he wants."


    Jasmine gave a musical laugh again, and Calli couldn''t help the soft look she gave her. But, slyness soon took back her face.


    "Alright," she said smugly, "My turn, again."


    "Hit me," Jasmine chuckled.


    "What about you?" she asked, "Siblings?"


    Jasmine''s face gave a small, almost imperceptible falter. It was almost like she didn''t stop smiling at all. But, a creep of something faded in for the briefest moment. And sincerity seemed gone after it.


    "No," she answered, "None."


    Calli could tell something was amiss. But she decided not to press; she knew how sensitive family could be.


    Jasmine cleared her throat, breaking the thin silence. "... Do you know how to read?" she asked. Calli shrugged.


    "Kinda? I dunno. My parents didn''t have a lotta money for schooling. So, my mom taught me. But..." She cut herself off, and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Sort of."


    Jasmine suddenly rocketed up from the couch and sped-walked to the stairs, marching up them. After coming over her stupor, Calli launched up after her.


    She followed up the creaky steps into the second floor. There was what looked like a restroom, another room with a closed door, and the wide-open bedroom. In which, was a twin bed¡ªmattress only; but adorned nicely with a cream comforter, white sheets, and cream pillows; laying on a few pallets on the floor. And then, nothing more than an old lamp in the corner, now off in the day, and at the very foot of the bed, a small bookshelf. The thing was overflowing, books lined all across it, on top, and some in piles on the side. Jasmine was humming, tracing a finger along spines as if searching for something specific.


    "Jasmine?" Calli chuckled, "What on Earth are you doing?"


    "Finding you a book," she said simply.


    Calli sputtered in disbelief. Jasmine gave her no further acknowledgement as she finally gave her hands a solitary clap and gasped. Calli gawked, dumbfounded.


    Jasmine scooted on the floor toward the stacks along the side of the shelf, and grabbed a title off the top of one of them. Well, almost. There seemed to be a waver of hesitation before she did. But her hand finally found its way. And, holding the book, she shot back up and marched to Calli.


    "Read this," she said simply, holding out the title.


    ''She Was Made From The Sun,'' embossed in golden letters on a blank cover.


    "Weren''t you reading this just the other week?" Calli asked. Jasmine nodded.


    "Yeah," she acknowledged, "But I''ve read it so many time I could quote it by heart at this point. It''s..." She swallowed. "It''s one of my favorites..." She looked pensive. Then she gave a sort of chuff, and smiled, softly. "I want you to read it; you can tell me what you think."


    "I..." Calli looked at the book the girl was still holding, "But, you''re in the middle of this one..."


    Jasmine gave a dry frown. "Calli, do you really think I''ll have trouble finding anything else to read?"


    Calli glanced at the shelf behind the blonde. Then back to her.


    "No," she said simply.


    "Then take the damn book," Jasmine spoke flatly.


    Calli nodded. "Yes, ma''am," she answered, quickly taking the paperback and eyeing its very frayed edges. She flipped it over. No summary.


    "Yeah..." Jasmine said with a wince, as if reading the other girl''s train of thought, "I ripped the jacket a while ago."


    "What''s it about?" Calli chuckled.


    Jasmine looked at her softly. "It''s about this girl. And she''s... She''s different. But, it''s not really revealed until the end of the book... But, this guy meets her... and they get really close... And stuff doesn''t exactly go according to plan..." She scratched her cheek with a finger, chuckling. "It''s... It''s hard to explain without giving anything away."


    Calli gave a chuff. "I''ll check it out," she said with a hint of a nod. Then she smirked. "Woulda been better with two girls, though."


    Jasmine snorted. "Admittedly, I must agree."


    Calli huffed a laugh. Then her watch beeped. She lifted her wrist to glance at it, and her eyes widened.


    "Shit," she said, turning on her heel, "I have to go, now"


    She jogged out the bedroom and down the stairs only stopped by a soft hand on her wrist as she reached for the door.


    "Wait," Jasmine shot frantically, "When can I see you again?" There was a hopeful lilt in her voice.


    Calli gave the statement some hurried thought before answering. "Next Sunday?"


    "Promise?"


    "Sure," Calli chuckled. She let out a sudden gasp as a hand on her arm made her turn around. And, even more so when; on the tips of her toes; Jasmine came up to press their lips together. And they stayed, for a while. Until Calli finally pulled away, the both of them gasping, and Jasmine''s lidded eyes conveying a very unhidden want in them. She smiled.


    "See you later, courier."


    "Y-yeah..."


    Calli stared, for a moment, blindly reaching for the door knob and missing a handful of times before finally taking hold. She twisted it and, with the slightest hesitation, she left. She ran across the darkening street, panting. She had to be back within thirty minutes. Something that could be attempted. But, only if she ran.


    Yet, as she ran, the most brilliant smile had plastered itself onto her face.

 Interlude: Smile

    Calliope had known who she was since she was very, very small. Around the age of five she told her mom-Kaitlyn-she didn''t really feel like a boy at all.


    And she smiled. And she asked her, "Do you feel more like something else?"


    And she said that, when she was older, she wanted to be a mommy, like her. Not a daddy. And her mother nodded. She said, "Why don''t you tell me about that?"


    Calli felt safe. And after a short conversation, she was getting to be called as she was around the house. Around the same time, and not just as in coincidence, she also started speaking more with her aunt: Imogen.


    Imogen was rarely around. In fact, she almost never was. She was always too busy. But she was good. She was kind. And she was someone like her-the only one such she knew. And she was the reason she grew to do the job she did. Kaitlyn was the first person she had come out to as well. And when she did, she was terrified. And twenty.


    She didn''t know how she would take it. A negative reaction to something like this could mean danger. It could be catastrophic. It could ruin one''s life.


    But Kaitlyn didn''t react poorly at all.


    In fact she smiled. Like she always did. And she said to her:


    "Why don''t you tell me about that?"


    She was young when she had Calliope; the product of an arranged marriage she never wanted for herself. But, it was long since over, now. Her husband had fallen ill: emphysema-a relatively common cause. He died shortly after Calliope had turned one year old. After that, Imogen came out, and three years from then, Calli did, too.


    Kaitlyn had a good heart-sometimes to a disadvantage. And she still hurt for the callous, cruel man after he parted. Even if he hurt her. But at some time, she reconciled to a begrudging gratitude. He gave her Calli.


    And he left before he could hurt her, too.


    Calli may have been a child she never truly had a real choice in. But she still made sure she always felt wanted. Never like she didn''t belong. She was the one who named her Calliope.


    The young girl came to her for suggestions. She was struggling trying to find a name that suited her-the one she''d been given simply wouldn''t do. Cayden. While neutral-though uncommon for women-it felt wrong to her. Still too masculine, and, while rough and tumble, like her-something she had always been and was always proud of-it just didn''t feel right. She wanted something. Something that belonged to her.


    When Kaitlyn found herself to be pregnant, she had secretly hoped to herself that it would be a girl. Calliope was floating around in her mind. She loved the sound of the name. It seemed whimsical. The name of someone made of magic. Someone who brought positivity and joy to others.


    But it was a boy. Or so she was told. And she wouldn''t have gotten a say in the name, anyway.


    But the doctors were wrong. And looking at the young girl there, pouting, long, black hair covering an eye and brow furrowed in frustration, the suggestion slipped from her mouth. And she felt tears pricking her eyes-seeing how fervently her daughter grasped hold of it. She was immediately fond. And she grinned at her, wide and brilliant.


    She had her mother''s smile.


    Calliope. Her muse.


    Calli didn''t take the poignancy at the time. But she adored the name. And it became her. Fit and perfect for her more bruskish type of femininity; a rarity here. Just like her name.


    Then one day, something happened.


    Calli had been herself for a heavy handful of years, now. And her mother, she felt, did a good job of raising her, too.


    She was twelve when it happened. Her mother had come home disheveled, dirty, and bruised. She had a look in her eyes. Like she had been broken. Like Hell was empty. And she had seen all its devils.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She smiled at her little girl, shaking. Calliope met her with a worried look. But, Kaitlyn kept on smiling, hallow as it was. Like she was trying to convince her nothing was wrong. That she just tripped in the street. But Calli wasn''t stupid. She could tell there was something more. Even if she didn''t have the capacity, really, to know exactly what.


    But when she asked her, she simply said she''d just had a fall. And while it was the most worthless response she could have given... Calli took it. Because she didn''t know how else to ask.


    It was around a month later that Kaitlyn was sobbing on the bathroom. Calli heard her. And she asked what was wrong. But she lied to her again, through her teeth. She cut her sound, and spoke in a tone that betrayed everything Calli had heard.


    "Nothing for you to worry about, sweetness."


    That week, she fawned over Calliope a little more than usual. Calli appreciated the time. Even if there was something heavy she could feel looming over them. Hanging over their heads like the smog outside.


    Kaitlyn had also started getting sick in the mornings. Her daughter heard her. And she changed. She became sullen and subdued. Quiet; distant.


    She didn''t smile like she used to.


    And one day, when it became impossible to hide, she finally told her.


    "Calliope, my sweet girl," she spoke softly, "I think you''ll be having a sibling..." A hollow smile. Calli matched it exactly the same.


    Then the worst.


    Nine months later, her mother was in a bath-tub, screaming and crying and bleeding. It was all she could do. She couldn''t go to the hospital; her skin was brown. And the nearest segregated one-the only for four districts-was an hour walking. She didn''t have a car. She couldn''t afford a car.


    Calli didn''t know what to do. But she was the only one there. So she did what she could. And she did what she was asked.


    Calli''s brother was born into the world, screaming. She had to cut him loose. She did the best she could.


    At the end of it, Kaitlyn was exhausted and feebled. She could barely manage words. But her lips just managed to breathe, "Kit."


    Calliope held, ''Kit,'' to her chest, tightly. He was so small.


    Kaitlyn looked at the two softly, as Calliope stood with her crying brother buried into her chest. She reached forth a feeble hand, and she brushed some bangs from one of her daughter''s eyes so she could see the both of them. She brought that hand lightly to Calli''s cheek. And she rasped:


    "Drawer... Bed... Find Imogen." And, lastly of all, "I love you.... both of you."


    And she smiled.


    Her hand fell limp. Her wrist resounded with a thunk on the edge of the tub, before being limp beside her sprawled body. And Calliope just stared at her. Eyes wide. Lips parted slightly. Quivering as if wanting to scream, cry, say something. But in the end, not a thing could form together in her brain. Not one thought could come forth and tell her what she needed to do.


    Until one finally came: ''Imogen.''


    She wrapped her brother up in her own, old blanket the best she could. And she left right then, in the dead of the night.


    It was so cold. She had only a tattered t-shirt on her back-one she still had-and a pair of loose sweatpants. Kit only had his sister''s blanket. Which he also still had.


    The Underground was not easy to find for her to find. And she was certain she had gotten turned around a few times. It took her almost until sunrise, dodging gangs and cops. Hiding in bushes and freezing and wanting to cry but not being able to mentally or otherwise. Until, finally, she made it to a large, rusted hatch in the ship floor. Right by the sea.


    The sun was beginning to burn dimly through the smog in the air when she''d finally gotten there. Kit was cold against her chest, and frighteningly still. Her body was racked with chills, but she still managed to pull up the large, metal door there in the ship floor.


    The hatch slammed back as she stumbled. She looked down into the pit she''d opened. Below was an old sewer tunnel, drained and out of use, if it ever was in use. And, while there may not have been water, there was, assuredly, a drop. And only a rickedy, rusty, old-steal ladder gapping it. She screamed into the tunnel a, ''Hello?!'' Then she called her aunts name.


    "Imogen?!"


    But nobody came. Nor answered.


    Then, her heart beating in her ears, body shaking, she straddled the ladder, a baby in one hand and a trembling other on the bars. And she began to descend. And for one reason or another-her nerves or the cold making her unstable or a sudden gust of wind from some nowhere-she fell.


    Only saved by the swift grasp of strong arms.


    Imogen stumbled as she struggled to hold the two kids.


    She asked who they were, and what on Earth Calli thought she was doing. And as soon as Calliope said her name, she recognized her. But she said the old one, so, Imogen kindly corrected her. She introduced Kit as her brother, and Imogen frowned.


    "... Kaitlyn never told me about any other kids..."


    At her mother''s name, her lip quivered. And she cried. Imogen felt her heart sink. Her own shudder almost gripped her, before better sense decided to get the kids safe. She said to the young girl, "Come on now, Cal. You''re freezing. Let''s get you home."


    And Calli didn''t respond as a gentle hand led the gasping girl through the tunnel to warmth and safety.


    Calli and Imogen raised Kit together. Imogen was usually busy though, so, Calliope did most of it. And as he grew, she always tried to smile for him. Like someone once did for her, when she was young.


    Kaitlyn Lucero. Her light, her hope. Her smile.

 Chapter 4

    The start of the day was a book.


    Calli had popped open the one Jasmine had given her the other week¡ª''She Was Made From The Sun.'' She had been plugging away at it over the past couple of weeks and had made good progress. She had surprised herself with just how much she was actually able to understand; words and sentences and structures. She definitely got the gist and a bit more. But she always had a few questions for Jasmine when she''d see her. And she always took the book with her.


    She read through another chapter, before entertaining Kit; having her ass kicked by him (she feigned her failure, but boy did it make the him happy); and then dealing with Imogen as she cooed and gleamed and reminisced just how pleased she was Calli was finally, ''dipping her foot into the world of romance.'' And how, ''happy,'' it made her. She had to force herself not to puke.


    But after all of that, the next part of her day was Jasmine. She took her courier''s jacket, and tucked the book in a pocket inside the seam. She nearly skipped to the other girl''s house¡ªwell, as much as she could while still keeping a responsible vigil, and guarding herself when she thought her unbridled joy might attract unwanted attention from strangers. When she got there, she rambled about the book and what she''d read so far. And Jasmine helped her with words, phrases, or sentences she simply didn''t understand. She was close when she did.


    And her passion, Calli found, as she would explain the implications and meaning induced by a certain comparison or descriptor in great detail, made her even more beautiful to look at than she already was. However, that immense passion came with the major downside of her tendency to slip out points in the story Calliope had yet to reach. So, while doing her best not to get lost in her freckled face as she glowed and rambled and shone, she had to make sure to keep a tight rein on the blonde. After she already spoiled for her what would happen to the protagonist''s father. No more would be permissed.


    After book-talk, they usually made lunch. Today didn''t differ. This time, it was something with pasta¡ªanother thing Calli had never had. And Jasmine taught her how to make it.


    They''d finally sat down to eat that day, at which point Jasmine seemed to drift somewhere into her thoughts. Calli had just been thinking of maybe trying to say something about it, when Jasmine cut-in, abruptly.


    "I wanna take you out somewhere," she said absently, as she stared at the bowl of pasta in front of her, poking it idly with her fork, "Like... dancing. Or for drinks, or... something."


    "That sounds like an awful idea!" Calli answered with a facetious, almost sardonic eye-to-eye grin before shoving a forkful of sauce-drenched penne into her mouth.


    "I disagree," Jasmine shot back with a smirk, "I think it''s a great idea."


    "It sounds like a great idea to get the both of us in a ton of trouble. Or worse," the other said, narrowing amber eyes. "Two very, very queer women¡ªtransgender women. Going out in public." She emphasized herself heavily to make sure not a detail was missed.


    "I can easily pass for straight," Jasmine huffed. "And you just look... scrappy."


    Calli snorted and raised a brow. "Scrappy?"


    "Yeah," Jasmine nodded, "Scrappy. In a way that I just so happen to find very attractive."


    "Well, maybe I''m just... ''scrappy,'' looking." Calli rolled her eyes. "But I''m also brown as dirt."


    Jasmine''s lips quirked downward as she cocked her head. "Is that a bad thing?"


    Calli''s answer was somewhat dodging. "It is definitely a bad thing if some jag-offs see you with a second class citizen in public." She gave a weak sigh, and crossed her arms, staring down at her lap. "...I would never want to bring that kind of attention to you. Besides¨C" Her grip around herself tightened. "¨Cwe wouldn''t be able to be ourselves, anyway..."


    A silent moment passed. Jasmine kept fidgeting, and Calli kept shoving food into her mouth trying not to think until Jasmine finally said:


    "I know somewhere we could go..."


    Calli sighed. "Jasmine..."


    "Hear me out," she said, holding her hands up like the accused, and grinning in that somewhat cheeky way she was privy to. "I know a club."


    Calli winced and raised her brow. "A club?"


    "Mm," Jasmine hummed, "More of a lounge, I guess... But, I work there. We could go there... it''d be safe... We could be a bit more..."


    "A bit more what?" Calli spoke with narrow eyes.


    She shrugged, and smiled coyly. "Ourselves."


    Calli chuckled and shook her head. "What on Earth club are you going to that allows minorities or queers? Or where we wouldn''t get kidnapped or¡ªor drugged or some shit?" She didn''t seem offended. Just genuinely bewildered. Even if her¡ªadmittedly typical¡ªbluntness appeared abrasive.


    "A gay one," Jasmine said back simply, like it was the plainest, most self-explanatory thing in the world.


    Calli looked perplexed. "Gay? There''s... what?" She shook her head, then looked at the other woman, cockeyed. "I thought you worked at a grocer?"


    "A gay club," she reiterated. "And I do. Weekdays. I work in the club on weekends. The staff all know me¡ªknow I''m queer. And my boss..." she said, giving Calli a rather suggestive look, "...definitely knows about you."


    Calli knew she was blushing, but she tried to ignore it.


    "... I... I didn''t know¨C" She cleared her throat and reapproached. "I didn''t know there was... There was anywhere, anything like that..."


    "There is. At least, this one." Jasmine chortled. "I promise it''s a safe place, but... we''d have to go at night."


    Calli sighed. "I work nights..."


    In spite of her priviness to this, Jasmine''s face still came to fall slightly. Though she was still smiling, poking away at her food, it was weak and definitely not genuine. "I know."


    A date; a real one. With Jasmine. In a gay club. A club where they could be queer in public.


    She hissed through her teeth, then sighed. "I''ll talk to Imogen about it."


    Jasmine looked at her, wide-eyed. "Real-??" she started, before stopping herself. "You don''t have to do that, Calli."


    "I know... But I want to."


    Jasmine bit her lip, brow furrowed. Then nodded slowly, smiling.


    "... Not like I''ll try and stop you."


    Calli gave a wink. "Good. Now eat your food. Stop fidgeting with it."


    Jasmine rolled her eyes, skewered some pasta with unnecessary aggression, and shoved her fork into her mouth. She gave Calli a narrowed eyed look as if asking if she was pleased with herself. Calli answered with a toothy grin.


    "I hate you," Jasmine mumbled through a full mouth.


    "Well, then, you must be a masochist, ''cause you seem super determined to keep me around." She smirked.


    Jasmine swallowed, and gave her a lidded, hungry look. "Maybe I am."


    Calli felt her face heat up. Then Jasmine broke into snorts and snickers, and she still wasn''t sure if she was kidding or not.


    . . . .


    "Imogen, can I ask you something?" Calli asked, halfway leaned into the older woman''s office. Her brow was worried, and her lips were puckered.


    Imogen glanced up from her paperwork. She smiled to the young woman, and she shrugged. "Sure, Cal. What''s on your mind?"


    Calli swallowed, toeing a few steps into the room.


    "I was wondering if, maybe..." She laced her fingers together, anxiously. "...Maybe we could... assign my route to, uh... someone else for a night?"


    Imogen''s face scrunched up thoughtfully. She was just on the edge of speaking when Calli frantically cut in:


    "Just for one night! Sunday. And I won''t be long! Promise! Just a couple hours! I could finish up the night afterwards; when I''m done!"


    Imogen shut her mouth, sighed out her nose, and smirked. "Calliope Lucero, may I remind you, the one¡ªand only¡ªreason you have a daily route with off-days is because you requested it."


    Calli frowned, scratching at her crossed forearm. She spoke stiffly.


    "Oh. Yeah..."


    Imogen rolled her eyes. "I''ll split your stops between a few of our other couriers. Sunday?"


    Calli swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded, stiffly. "Sunday."


    Imogen gave a nonchalant smile. "Then, that it will be."


    In a plastic, grated bin under her desk, she shuffled, pulling out a few manila folders and tossing them on her desk. She grabbed a sheet of note-paper from a rusted, metal rack on her desk. Then a pen from an old, plain mug. Calli stood awkwardly¡ªfor some reason still astonished by Imogen''s approval. Imogen looked up to her over her glasses.


    "You''re welcome to stay, of course. But, you''re also free to leave, Cal."


    Calli blinked. Then again. Then she shook her head and began stumbling back.


    "O-oh!" She gave an anxious sort of chuckle. "Y-yeah! Of course! Thank you!"


    Imogen gave a devious grin. "Enjoy your date next week, lovebird."


    Calli rolled her eyes and groaned. Imogen cackled, and Calli stuck her tongue out at her before she shut the door. The older smirked and rolled her eyes.


    "Youth."


    . . . .


    "Kit," Calli sighed, "I''ve already told you: Imogen''s going to be taking care of you for tonight. Okay?"


    "... But you''re not gonna be coming home at all?" Kit asked, his lips firmly folded down.


    Calli gave another tug of her shirt collar as she stared at herself in the mirror. She rubbed a thoughtful pair of hands down some folds in the spotty, worn, white button-up she''d put on. She pursed her lips and hummed uncertainly. Then she heard him again.


    "Capi?" he droned, urging. Calli sighed, furrowed her brow, then quickly took a deep breath and let the tension seep out. There was no reason to be frustrated with him; none at all.


    "I''m going out tonight, Kit," she said tenderly, turning to look at the young boy, "But I promise: we''ll spend some extra quality time together tomorrow. Deal?"


    Calli tried at a reassuring, lopsided smile. Kit looked down at his lap, still frowning.


    "Is this gonna happen again?" he said quietly. Calli''s grin faltered. She looked away, sighing out her nose as she stared back in the mirror.


    "I dunno."


    "What if you forget about me?"


    Calli gave a small chortle as she turned and went to the young boy, who was sat on his bed-mat, and kneeled down to his level. She spoke in a soft, gentle way only a mother could, really. Or her¡ªto him.


    "Kit. I''m not going anywhere. Even if..." She felt some heat in her cheeks, swallowing. She shook it off. "Even if tonight goes anywhere, I will always have time for you. Always."


    She turned the young boy''s reluctant face toward her. And she grinned. "I swear."


    Kit smiled, ever so slightly. "Okay."


    Calli''s smile richened a little as she stood herself back up, giving one more glance in the mirror. Then back to him. She gave an all encompassing, someone showy gesture at herself.


    She was in an untucked, fraying, solid-white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top couple buttons undone; it was a tad loose on her. But not overly so. She also had on a short, but tastefully so¡ªabout mid-thigh length¡ªpleated skirt. She had on her only boots, tattered and beaten and covered in filth. She had a thin, black hair-tie on her wrist, and a thin, black choker around her neck.


    She held a cheeky smirk. "Thoughts? Opinions?"


    Kit snickered. "You look nice."


    "Good¡ªthat was the right answer," Calli shot back smugly. Kit giggled.


    "Oh, wow. Do I win something?"


    Calli smirked, went to him, and pecked him on the head. "There."


    He beamed at her, and she chortled.


    She gave Kit a smile, they stood, and she took his hand. He followed her toward Imogen''s office, who grinned when she saw them, welcomed in Kit and offered him a place to sit. Then she shot her praise to Calli.


    "Love the skirt," she said, "You look so good in ''em, but you never wear them."


    Calli shrugged and chuckled. "Not great for climbing rooftops."


    Imogen teetered her head before nodding. "Maybe so."


    "Well¡ª" Calli shuffled. "¡ªI should prolly get going..."


    "You probably should," Imogen agreed.


    Calli smirked, then she felt a pair of small hands wrapping around her leg. She looked down to see Kit gripping there. She chuffed and smiled.


    "Bye," he mumbled.


    Calli''s grin faltered. She nodded. "See you in the morning."


    After a few long moments, he finally let go. And she smiled at him again, before she finally left, with a wave and a smile.


    . . . .


    By the time she reached Jasmine''s, the sun had fully set. And Calliope made very sure to keep her head on a swivel, so no one could surprise her from the dark. She reached her door with lungs heavy of smog and anxiety.


    Calli took a deep breath¡ªas much as she could with the toxins in the air and in her chest¡ªand knocked. After a few short moments, the door opened and Jasmine stood there confidently, an enigmatic little smirk on her face.


    She was wearing a bandeau that hugged tightly around her plump chest. A short, tight, pencil skirt painted her lower body, hugging the pooch of her belly and lightly digging into her thighs. A pair of short wedge pumps just barely-almost managed allowing her to reach Calli in height. Over her shoulders was a seemingly soft, woolen shrug. It fit her tightly, long sleeves going just over her palms, fingers-only sticking loose. It was semi-cropped, stopping at her waist, about at the middle of her midriff¡ªa decently wide gap where her skirt and top didn''t meet. She was worryingly jaw dropping. Calli was well aware of just how much she was gawking at her. She hadn''t decided yet if she cared or not.


    She glanced down at herself. She felt almost underdressed in her slightly longer skirt and ratty old top. She swallowed a lump she''d realized was in her throat. Her train of thought was cut when she heard an angelic voice call from in front of her.


    "Calli?" it said, sweet, but teasing.


    Calli blinked. Then she blinked again. She opened her mouth for words, but all that came out was a thin rasp. Jasmine giggled, melodic and clear.


    "You''re staring again."


    Calli''s eyes didn''t stop in glancing about Jasmine''s form.


    "You''re hardly¡ªyou¡ª" Calli swallowed.


    Jasmine raised a brow. "I''m what?"


    Calli cleared her throat. "Bare..."


    Jasmine snorted somewhat derisively and smirked. "And?"


    "Are you¡ªyou feel safe going outside in that?"


    She frowned, shooting an unamused look. "Should I not?"


    Calli was dumbfounded. She shook off her confusion, and sighed. "Well, it''s illegal, for starters. I don''t think I''ve ever seen someone so flagrantly disobey every single modesty law in existence."


    Jasmine was still smirking. Whether it was wry, or because she genuinely wasn''t flapped by any of her comments was yet to be determined.


    She chuckled. "Oh, no, yeah, I''m very well versed; I''ve mastered the art of flagrant disobedience through the most thorough of research."


    Calli gave a disbelieving sputter. "How are you not in prison?"


    "Because¡ªI slut wisely. I only dress like this at night." she said, chortling as she came out the door in a casual, teasing strut.


    Calli''s brow furrowed some more. "Still illegal."


    Jasmine gave an unserious sort of scoff. "Aren''t you a drug peddler? An illegal drug peddler who''s out until 2am?"


    Calli puckered her lips and scowled. "W-well, yes... But, I don''t make a show of myself."


    "Show, huh?" Jasmine giggled. "Like what you''re watching?"


    Calli blushed and looked away. The whole of her was red hot¡ªnot just her cheeks. "... I don''t know."


    Jasmine gave an exaggerated pout and huffed. "Awe..." Then she shrugged. "Mm... There''s still a whole night ahead¡ªI think I''ll be fine figuring out how to entertain you." She came to Calli with a deliberate sway in her hips.


    Calli could hear herself swallow. She avoided eye contact purely out of spite. She didn''t need to give Jasmine the satisfaction¡ªshe was already perfectly aware of just what she was doing to her. Then she felt small, soft fingers unraveling her long, loosely balled ones. She didn''t do anything to stop them wrapping together. Jasmine held her hand tightly. She pressed her body to Calliope''s, and she leaned into her and hushed into her ear.


    "Are you mad at me?" It wasn''t particularly remorseful. More coy, in some way.


    Calli sighed. "Of course not." She felt warm, soft lips feather the lobe of her ear. Then again. Her breath hitched.


    "Good," she breathed. Calliope felt the word in her whole body. But, then she pulled away. She pulled that same coy look she was so privy to.


    "Come on," she said, "Let''s get moving. There''s a lot I wanna do with you tonight."


    She heard a twist of something in her voice that made her heart flop about her chest. She teased after. "Think you''re up for it?"


    Calli nodded meekly. "We''ll see."


    Jasmine gave a smirk that twisted at Calli''s heart. Hand still in hers, she began tugging her along.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Calli rolled her eyes and smirked as she followed her lead. They went out onto the main walkway. They moved quickly; the only sound resonating was the clocking of Jasmine''s wedges on the wide sidewalk¡ªsomething serving to cause Calliope much anxiety¡ªand the sounds of distant gunshots and screaming and shouting. Those were the kinds of people out at this time of night¡ªthe streets, normally so crammed and crowded you couldn''t avoid shouldering with someone barren and empty.


    She let her brain focus on the rhythmic clicking of Jasmine''s heals on the concrete. The sound of her light pants as she walked swiftly down the street with her. They took a right. Then a left. And then suddenly Jasmine squeaked, shoving into an ally along the side of the walkway. She joined her.


    "What?!" the scrawny girl yipped in a whisper, "What is it?!"


    "Just some gang members," Jasmine hushed. She reached into her top and pulled out a very compact handgun. It was almost the size of her hands. Which said a lot¡ªher hands were small as it was.


    Calli''s eyes widened and she reached into her own waistband, pulling out her much larger weapon¡ªalmost twice the size of Jasmine''s.


    "Be quiet," Jasmine ordered. Calli nodded.


    It was completely silent¡ªpainfully so. Jasmine stood, armed, and Calli was beside her, crouched and likewise. Footsteps began growing louder. And Jasmine hissed a curse through her teeth. She glanced behind her for the briefest second, then turned back forward with her weapon readied.


    "Calliope. Get in that dumpster back there," she hushed.


    Calliope gave a single glance to confirm the location.


    "Not unless you come with me."


    "I''m right behind you."


    Calliope sighed¡ªnow was no time to argue. She did as Jasmine said.


    Low to the ground, she silently sped to the rusted, metal container, then stood and creaked its lid open slowly. She crawled up and inside, landing on a cushion of packaged garbage.


    Jasmine looked back, saw her in it gesturing, then dashed after her as fast as she could while trying to minimize the now seemingly even more deafening sound of her clicking heels. Calli reached a hand out, and Jasmine took it, using it to help her be hauled up and into the dumpster along with the other woman. In the scramble, with Calli''s pull, she more stumbled than climbed into the brim. She fell atop her into the bin, and Calliope''s back crushed against the cushion of abrasive trash bags.


    Calliope stared into her ice-colored eyes. Her breath grazed her face. She was so warm against her. And so soft. The air was punched out her chest as Jasmine used her as a push to reach the bin''s lid. She lowered¡ªcarefully¡ªthe lid of the bin atop them. And then, in the pitch dark, Calli felt her body come back over her. Warm breath feathered the sliver of chest exposed by her shirt¡ªjust over her collarbone. Jasmine''s skin was supple there, where her cheek rested on that slight bit of bareness.


    Calliope''s breathes were shallow. Her hands didn''t quite know what to do, fingers digging into some polyethylene beneath her. Others loosening on whatever it was that was in her hand. Then she heard footsteps from outside. Calli''s breath hitched. And almost instantaneously, her hands pulled Jasmine tighter against her¡ªone wringing through her soft, platinum locks, and the other on the back of her neck. She heard the other woman''s breathing hitch as she did. And she felt her nose burrow into her collarbone, making her shiver.


    Then footsteps coming closer.


    Calli had realized now, she didn''t know where her weapon had gone, but it certainly wasn''t in either of her hands. A regretful hand came from Jasmine''s neck and scrambled around in the dark. Then she felt a searing in it. She grunted and pulled back. She felt a warm wetness in her palm. She rubbed the wound with her fingertips and the wetness coated them. She was bleeding.


    The footsteps moved away.


    They grew softer and softer, fading into silence. And soon, Jasmine and Calliope were there, alone, in the dark. And Calli''s hand loosened its grasp on her head.


    She felt weight shifting on top of her. Then dim city lights showered the two of them. Jasmine was sitting up, now, straddling Calli''s hips. She looked down at her, and chuffed, smirking. Calli swallowed.


    Jasmine pulled herself off, and hopped out of the dumpster, grunting as she landed and stumbled on her heels. She still had her handgun in her hand. She tucked it into her bra again, and looked back to Calliope.


    "You coming?"


    Calliope sat up. And she blinked.


    "Um... yeah. No, yeah¡ªI''m coming." Her eyes darted around to find the grip of her handgun sticking out from between a couple of trash bags. She also saw from one bag, a shard of razor thin glass¡ªthe culprit of her cut.


    She grabbed the weapon with her uninsured hand and shoved it back in her waistband. Then she pulled herself over the edge with her hands, wincing at the sear in them, and fell off the side, landing deafly. Jasmine studied her the whole time. Then something caught her eye, and she looked back to the edge of the dumpster.


    Calliope was caught off guard as Jasmine approached her unwaveringly. She grabbed her hand and peeled open her resistant fingers.


    "Jasmine!? What¡ª"


    "You''re bleeding..." she spoke softly. Her brows knitted. She traced the near the edges of where the wound was with her thumb. Some blood smeared onto it from where she had touched.


    Calli scoffed. "It''s not that bad..."


    Jasmine chortled wryly. "Right."


    She let go of her hand. Then she grabbed her clean one.


    "Come on¡ªI have a friend where we''re going; he can help you."


    Calli chortled as she was pulled along. "What? You worried about me or something?"


    "Well, it''s been almost a month¡ªI''m too invested to let you die of tetanus now."


    Calli huffed. "Awe, is that all?"


    Jasmine chuckled. "Well, what else would it be?"


    Calli''s face heated. She shrugged. "''Dunno..." Jasmine gave a snort.


    "Right."


    She let the other woman tug her for a few paces, and made no attempt to resist. Some silence later and she decided to try getting to her with something else.


    She smirked. "You''re very bossy, you know."


    Jasmine chortled. "Not always."


    Calli raised a brow. "How so?"


    Jasmine glanced over her shoulder with a smirk and a wink. "Maybe you''ll find out tonight."


    And Calli felt her heart fall into her stomach.


    . . . .


    Jasmine had led her for some time without complication. They''d come to an almost barren district. A series of developments abandoned due to cost. The area of the lower districts they never finished. There was an alleyway between two, condemned housing towers. Jasmine led her into that gap, to a solid metal door at the very end of it.


    It seemed to be an entry to some sort of maintenance tunnel, leading down into the steel ship deck below. There was, on it, a digital lock. But it was degraded¡ªCalli doubted whether it was liable to still function. Or if it was just sitting there, loose.


    Her eyes studied the door. "Is this... it?"


    Jasmine gave a sort of scoff, then shot her an unamused look. "I think I''d know."


    Calli nodded stiffly. She gave a rigid, wavering smirk. "This wasn''t all some long play to, like... harvest all my organs, was it? Turn me into some crime-lord''s concubine? Interrogate me where my secret base is?"


    Jasmine scrunched her nose, and Calli couldn''t help but chuff at her. "One, ewe. Two, no, I wouldn''t wanna share you¨C"


    Calli blushed.


    "Three, fucking, no¡ªI''m not planning to sell myself out." Jasmine huffed, pulling her fingers from Calli''s as she crossed her arms and glared. "This is the place. Trust me; I work here."


    Calli recovered quickly and smirked. "Yeah. You work here¡ªharvesting organs."


    Jasmine stuck out her tongue and gagged. Calli chuckled. Then found herself getting distracted again.


    She never noticed it was that long.


    Jasmine glanced at her and smirked.


    "You can have a taste once you''re not risking infection."


    Calliope sputtered, Jasmine giggled.


    Jasmine took Calli''s clean hand in hers, before she parted the door¡ªthe lock, evidently, not functional in any meaningful way¡ªand tugged Calli down the steel steps within. She let go of her for just a moment, and went back to tug the door shut behind them, before reconvening.


    She led her again. Their shoes clunked against the steel steps, echoing out through the whole of the area below. When they reached the bottom, Calli truly processed just where they were.


    A rusted, metal tunnel. It was spacious enough to allow the two of them to walk side by side, if Calliope wasn''t steadfastly in file with Jasmine. But it wasn''t exceptionally large in any way. Assuredly not like the ditched sewer The Underground was established within. She hadn''t a clue how something like a club could be down here and be at all enjoyable. Let alone comfortable.


    Tubing of some sort protruded from the wall like varicose veins. And they followed it, rounding a corner before Jasmine finally stopped them at a degraded, rusted, iron door. The tubing interrupted to make way for it.


    There was some vague pounding from beyond that door. Calli couldn''t put a pin on it¡ªit was too obscured to make out. But it was rhythmic, which made her believe it must have been music.


    Jasmine wasted no time knocking, and the action echoed throughout the tunnels. A gruff voice came from the other side.


    "Name. Or you get shot."


    Calli stiffened.


    Jasmine smirked. "You know who I am, dumbass."


    There was a click. Calli pulled back. Jasmine squeezed her hand reassuringly.


    Then the door opened, and the music was full and decipherable.


    A man stood there in the doorway. Not as harsh in looks as his voice made him out to be. But built enough to be frightening. He had dark, dark skin, but his hair was near white. He had a trimmed beard and dark, brown eyes. He was dressed simply: a t-shirt, tattered slacks, and a pair of black dress shoes. Crows-feet showed his age.


    He smiled when he saw Jasmine there, and she smirked back a hand on her hip. Then, he looked to Calli. And gave her a long, pointed, piercing look. She would have pulled back further if she could have. But she couldn''t decide between that, or keeping her firm hold of Jasmine. The latter finally won out.


    "Was worried you wouldn''t show, Songbird," he spoke in a rich, cool tone¡ªnot as blood-boiling as when there had been a door in between them.


    She chuffed. "Like I''d ever ditch you."


    He smirked. Then he stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter with a tilt of his head. His absence revealed a spacious bright, brilliant room, filled with crowds of people writhing and cheering. Bright flashing of pink and purple, the loudness of music, singing, laughter, and cheers.


    The room was large, unfinished, and rusted like the tunnel outside. The walls as well. The focus of everyone was on a stage on the farside of the room, on which was a man, dancing and singing and barely dressed. Calli grimaced.


    Luke chuckled, speaking louder over the amount of ruckus, "Not a fan?"


    Calliope looked up to meet his eyes, and shook her head. "No."


    He chuffed and nodded. "I sure am."


    Calli was about to groan, the same way she would when Imogen talked about men, when something clicked for her.


    "You''re gay." it wasn''t really a question¡ªmore just a statement.


    He raised a brow and smirked. "What? Don''t look it enough for you?"


    Calli moved for rebuttal before Jasmine cut in.


    "She''s just a little¡ª" She shrugged. "¡ªlow on exposure, I guess."


    Calliope looked off, analyzing the rust pattern of the wall, until she gasped as Jasmine took her balled, bloodied hand.


    "Speaking of her," she said, prying open her fingers for Luke to see, "she somehow managed to tear herself a new hole in her hand earlier tonight. Think you can fix that up for her?"


    Luke narrowed his eyes at the lithe woman. She was quickly back to the rust. He vaguely leaned down and briefly analyzed the wound. Then he shrugged, and teetered his head thoughtfully.


    "Sure. How''d she cut it?"


    "Some glass in the dumpster, earlier," Calliope answered, flatly.


    "I can work with that." Calli felt a chill down her spine at his next words. "I was hoping to have a little chat with you, anyway." Then he turned to Jasmine, and he chuffed. "You, however, should go on now, Songbird¡ªyou''ve got fifteen."


    Jasmine''s brows hopped a bit on her head. She looked to Calli and gave her hand a squeeze, smiling softly. Then she let go and dashed off, turning around a corner and down a hall¡ªthe only in the room.


    Luke put a guiding hand between Calli''s shoulder blades. She tensed at his feathering touch. "Alright¡ªlet''s get you patched."


    And he led her toward and down the exact same hall.


    . . . .


    He lead Jasmine down to the room at the utmost end of the hall. The very last one. She''d seen that there were, in fact, a handful of doors down that way, ending here. All of them had windows, likely left by the original constructors. But they were all boarded or taped or otherwise obscured.


    The room she was in was exceedingly simplistic. A bed, a dresser, a table in the corner, and a light. But all more than many places she''d been. She''d figured the room must have belonged to Luke. This was likely all he had.


    Very little. But still more than her.


    She had been invited to sit on the bed, which she did. Luke had gone to a round table on one side of the moderately sizable room. From the floor beneath it, he''d grabbed a box she''d assumed was a medkit. It was unlabeled and unprofessional looking, leading her to believe it was self amalgamated. But, from it, he grabbed a very small, rattling box she figured full of needles, and a small spewel of surgical thread. He set them on the table, picked out a needle, and was currently working on threading it. Then he spoke.


    "So, Calliope," he said levely, "Jasmine''s told me a lot about ya."


    Calli swallowed. "Yeah?"


    "Mhm."


    Once the thread had made its way through the eye, Luke grabbed the single chair from next to that round table and drug it in front of Calliope. He fell into it¡ªevery action he took felt imposing. Maybe it was his size. How deftly he moved in spite of it. Or maybe it was nothing more than the way he''d been looking at her earlier.


    He gave a limp gesture with his free hand for Calliope to hand him her injured one. She gave a meager scoff and rolled her eyes.


    "I can do my own stitches."


    Luke stopped, shrugged, then handed her the needle.


    "Have at it," he chuckled. And she was about to. But Luke didn''t move. He just hulked there.


    "... You''re gonna stare at me the whole time?"


    Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I was wondering if we could have a little chat. Think that''ll be alright?"


    Cayden rolled the needle between her fingers. Then huffed out her nose, finally stabbing into herself. She winced imperceptibly. "Depends what about."


    "Jasmine," he said. Calli nodded.


    "What about her?"


    There was a silence, the only sound Calli''s clench-toothed hiss as she dug into herself again. Then Luke spoke.


    He sat back up. "So. How''d you two lovebirds meet?"


    Calli''s jaw set. She slid the needle through her flesh again.


    "I met her at work," she said simply.


    Luke''s brows gave a thoughtful pump as he nodded. "Oh yeah? Where do you work?"


    She stopped and fidgeted breifly with the needle. Then she went back in and spoke vaguely.


    "I''m a delivery woman."


    Luke laughed and shook his head. "You don''t have to be coy, sweetheart. Everyone knows about The Underground here. You folks are sort of a household name, y''know?"


    Calli froze again, sighed, and then kept sewing.


    "I don''t blame you," Luke assured, "I can certainly imagine your hesitation."


    She huffed, then nodded. "Yeah."


    Luke smiled. "So," he said, "You''re her courier? Jazz''s?"


    Calliope nodded, eyes trained on her hand. "Yeah."


    Luke grinned, nodding. "Pretty admirable work."


    "It''s not much..."


    Luke frowned, his brows knitting. He shook his head. "No," he said, "It is. Your work saves lives, Calliope."


    She sewed. "Calli''s fine."


    Luke chuffed. "''Calli.''"


    Calli didn''t answer. But she let out a semi-humored huff, and smirked.


    "''Bout a month now, yeah?"


    Calli nodded. "That sounds right."


    "How''s it been?"


    Calli stopped sewing. She held the needle in one hand and gave a mild scoff.


    "Listen, dude, I know you''re trying to get at something. You can just say it instead of having to pussy-foot me into it."


    Luke smirked and raised a brow. "Hell of a mouth on you, huh?"


    Calli deadpanned. "Ask Jasmine." Luke winced. Calliope cleared her throat. "I think we were discussing your point?"


    Luke nodded. There was a stint of quiet before he spoke.


    "She talks about you a lot, y''know. It''s been four or something weeks. She only works here Sundays. But every single time, it''s you. Almost all night."


    Calli felt the blood rush her face. She kept sewing. Then something pinged to her.


    "You knew I was a courier."


    "Of course."


    "Then why did you ask me?"


    "To see if it was true. You''re attempt to... ''pussy-foot,''" he annunciated. Calli rolled her eyes. "¡ªWas pretty solidifying."


    There was a pause. Calliope kept suturing. Then the large man before her sighed. "She falls like a brick, Calli. Like a rock in the air." Leaned again. "...she doesn''t always have the best judgment of character. She''s very committed. She''d prolly do most anything if you asked her. That can, uh..." He tottered his head. "She can get herself fooled pretty easy. Gets herself into trouble."


    Calliope only breifly paused her sutures. Then she continued.


    "What are you saying?"


    "She can''t judge character. So... I''m her contingency."


    "That seems a little demeaning."


    "Trust me," he grumbled, "I have good reason."


    She pulled the needle through again. There was very little left, now.


    "I''d hope."


    A few more plunges, and she was done. Luke pushed his chair back and stood, ambling to the table on the other side of the room. From the box there, he took a pair of medical scissors. He came back to Calliope. He handed them to her. And she took them cooly, and cut the thread.


    He sat again, and almost leaned close to Calliope''s face. "All I''m saying is, Calliope: I wonder just how much concern The Underground would have for another missing courier."


    She was observing her work, when she froze there. She looked at him.


    "Was that a threat?"


    "Hopefully one I won''t have to follow through with. I''m a bit busy," he said with a shrug.


    She flipped the scissors in her hand so the handle faced Luke, and handed them back.


    "I think you''ll be fine," she flatted.


    "Oh, I''ll be fine either way. You seem to think it more trouble than it actually is." He shrugged. "More just... annoying..."


    She looked at him, unimpressed. "Trust me. I doubt you''ll have to bother"


    "Hope that''s a promise."


    Calliope looked him straight in the eye, and spoke with level. "I won''t hurt her." Her eyes fell to the cut on her hand. Then to Luke again. "She''s worth more than that."


    Luke narrowed his eyes at her. Then he sighed, stood, and shrugged.


    "Then hopefully we won''t have anything to worry about." He gave a glance at a clock on the wall. Then he sauntered for the door. He looked back at Calliope and gestured with his head for her to follow him. "Now then. Jasmine had something she wanted you to see."


    Calliope stood and went after him, keeping a fair distance.


    "What''s that?"


    Luke opened the door and went, and Calliope gave him an upturned brow as she toed after.


    They entered the main area. The stage was empty, the music was off, and people were mingling.


    Luke quickly split from the woman tailing behind him and made his way into the crowd, calling over his shoulder, "You might wanna find a good view!"


    Calliope gave him a raised-brow, lips mouthing wordlessly. As the man disappeared somewhere into the crowd, she sputtered and tossed her hands defeatedly. She stood in brief flusteredness before something pulled her gaze¡ªthe vaguest splotch of color in the corner of her eye. It drew her in, and she found herself slowly pacing toward it.


    A poster¡ªframed¡ªamong others, with some text and a rather familiar face on it.


    She gave the image a good, hard look.


    It held the minimalist render of a near bare bodied woman. Plump, blonde, and freckled, leaning on a hand with her other supporting her. As she leaned, her back was arched, and her legs were curled up next to her. She was the bare minimum of, ''clothed:'' a laced, white bra, frilly and elegant, and some lacy, high rise panties. She wore stockings, white and translucent. Her face, in the rendition, was blank, other than the freckles on her cheek, nose, and her perky, small lips smirking back at her. Calli swallowed. She read the text there.


    ''~Songbird~''


    ''No fucking way,'' was the only thing rattling in her skull. Then a voice called out into the room, and any residual mutters or conversation wisped away to swift silence.


    "Ladies, gentleman, and otherwise!" it called; Luke pulling his best shot at a showman. "It is my utter pleasure to welcome to you all our act of the evening! Bring your hands together for our own little Songbird!"


    ''No. Fucking. Way.''


    Calli found herself shoving a path through the crowd, some balking and scolding her when she did so. Many others she shouldn''t have even been able to move in the first place, in a desperate attempt to reach the stage. And when she did, The lights went dark. There were some mutters in the crowd, and she was one of them as she cursed to herself, shooting her eyes around the inky black. Until the lights suddenly flared back on.


    And her gaze flicked to the stage.


    Jasmine. Jasmine March. She could immediately recognize the blunt, near-white ends on the back of her head. She appeared to be in a bathrobe. Calves bare and wedges still on.


    She turned her gaze over her shoulder, and smirked, and Calli''s heart tried to jump into her throat. Her lips were dyed a deep, bleeding red with lipstick. Her eyes were painted with winged eyeliner and vibrant mascara that somehow managed to make them look even bluer than they already were. The whole of her face was finely done. But not enough to obscure her dusty little freckles¡ªthat, or they''d been recolored in over. But they seemed a little too real for that.


    She turned, and she strutted, and Calli stared in silence like an idiot while other people cheered and hollered beside her. Jasmine came closer to the edge of the stage. Closer and closer until she was almost right in front of her. Then, she gave a sly wink, and Calli swore she looked at her when she did so. And she opened¡ªfor a sliver of a second¡ªthe front of the bathrobe that''d been held shut until then. And Calli felt the heat in her face as she saw the vaguest glimpse of bare, soft skin.


    She turned, striding back to the rear of the stage. And the robe fell away.


    Calli gawked at the barness of her back. It was arched. Soft and dimpled, a roll in the center where it most harshly bent. Her eyes traced where a lace bralette dug into the softness there. Jasmine raised her arms up in a smooth, sensual motion over her head to crescendo above her.


    And Calli''s eyes followed them the whole of the way.


    As the, ''Songbird,'' let her arms fall, Calli watched her untie a taught ribbon that was burrowing into the cushion of her lightly dimpled thigh, and pull it away with a swift swish, and some whistles and cheers.


    Then she turned again. Her bralette had no dip, wrapping around her chest fully. Instead, a very large, heart-shaped cutout where the cleavage of her generous, pressed chest was exposed. Lacey briefs, nearly transparent in parts with sheerness, clung to her shaped lower form. They hugged just below her navel. Calli suddenly felt the need then to flick her gaze away. She looked at the ground, other people, the side of the stage; whatever she could to avoid her eyes lingering on the features of the woman she knew there performing.


    Then she felt light, soft fingers guide her head straight and up. And there she was. Kneeled, leaning over the edge, fingers of an outstretched hand trailing along her cheek.


    "Hey there, courier," she purred. Calli swallowed.


    "Hi..."


    "Enjoying the show?" The way she bit her lip, grinning, already well aware of the answer, made Calli''s mouth dry.


    She couldn''t find the words. Just stumbles and stutters. And then, she didn''t even have to try. A ribbon wrapped around the back of her neck, and a quick tug pulled her stumbling into soft lips and mindlessness. Again. And again. And a light lap at her lips that made her chest stop before Jasmine quickly pulled away and began strutting on the stage again, twirling the ribbon in an almost ethereal way. Calli just stood there, frozen, her heart threatening tearing out her chest. She hadn''t even noticed the entire room screaming; whistling, cheering, shouting at the two''s brief moment of palpable, public chemistry. Her eyes flicked back to Jasmine and the rhythmic way her hips swayed and the flesh around her thighs moved with each step and she felt that warmth again crawling from her core and into her stomach. Jasmine strutted deliberately to the right of the stage, and took a microphone handed to her by a smirking Luke. She stood tall¡ªwell, as tall as she could, given she wasn''t. But the stage made her seem such and the heels helped, too. She clopped along as she made her way to center-front.


    She stopped. And she held up the microphone to her lips. And post a feathery breath, she began to sing.


    And time stopped.


    Calli had always thought of her this: that everything she did felt like¡ªsounded like¡ªmusic. This must have been why. Because when she began to sing, there were a few more whistles, chirps, and hollars. But in seconds the room became completely silent. Everyone stopped and stared at her, a ribbon bundled in her hands as they wrapped around the wireless mic. Small lips pressing out words in a slow, tender, mellow way. Intentional and pronounced and perfect. Of course Calliope wasn''t surprised she was a good singer. Of course she was. But it still pierced right through her heart. And Calli felt it wrap around her. Then something else echoed in her. Something that made her ever so slightly resent herself.


    She was jealous. Seeing the woman on stage there, beautiful, bare, poised with purpose, and now beginning to click light and slow around the edge of the stage, voice like gentle honey and body exposed almost fully. She felt bounces of undue possession. She didn''t want to just be seeing her in performance. She wanted her¡ªthis¡ªall to herself. She knew she had no right to feel such a way. But nonetheless, she did.


    But that wasn''t the only flavor of jealousy she felt. She wished she could be like that. Like her. Maybe not exactly¡ªshe didn''t think she''d much care for the presentation. She couldn''t dance, anyway. Or sing. She wasn''t a performer; not like Jasmine. ''Songbird.'' She wasn''t really Jasmine anymore. Not while on stage. Not quite.


    She became a persona. The same person, but not all of her. A much louder portion of her nature.


    Calliope was jealous. But most primarily and certainly, jealous of her sheer confidence. The ability to be there, be a being such she was¡ªuntucked and presenting and un-modest and a sly little smirk on her lips the whole of the time. Everything detested¡ªforbidden. She wasn''t allowed to breath, let alone be happy. But she did both anyway, without reservation or fear or even the slightest twinge of regret.


    It was resonant. She was there with a smile. Sexual, and provocative, and downright offensive. And she controlled the room to relish in it. Her existence was an act of rebellion. This performance was as it was: an act of defiance. Protest.


    It almost didn''t register when her smooth words stopped pouring out. And when, with a wink, the lights in the room turned black again. And when they returned, she had disappeared.


    Calli''s eyes darted around stage, before a ghosting touch traced her shoulder. And a feathery voice puffing against her ear. She could hear the coy smile in it.


    "Hey."


    Calli swallowed roughly. "H-hi..."


    Those hands came to wrap around her neck, hugging her gently. She felt a rounded little nose pressing its warmth against the skin of her neck and a soft body pressed into her back. Then she heard Jasmine again.


    "Did you enjoy the show?" Her breath tickled Calli''s neck.


    Calli swallowed again. "I... I did."


    A kiss to her neck, and she shuddered.


    "Good," Jasmine spoke tenderly. She felt the widening grin on her neck. Then she pulled away. Calli turned to look at her. She had on her robe, but it was still undone. And all of her was there. Calli knew how dark her cheeks were. She did her best to look past her, not at her, her breath shuddering. She heard her chuckle.


    "I''ll be right back." With a wink, she strode away through the crowd, heels clicking, and receiving some pats on the back, praises and claps and whistles. She beamed, waving to Luke, who was standing there with the microphone in hand and grinning. And she went down that small hall. Calli unwittingly followed a few steps. Just enough to see her wander into one of the rooms.


    Jasmine shot a final glance over her shoulder, and saw the scrawny woman dumbly gawking at her. She winked, smirked, and went through the door. A breath she didn''t know she''d been holding forced out of her chest.


    She''d never felt like this before. She wasn''t even quite sure what it was exactly that she was feeling. She felt happy, she thought. She felt... strong, in a way. Proud. Safe. Something, she thought, she could only describe as a feeling of power. One she''d not known before. An un-beheld solidarity. A sense of security. Like someone had simply grabbed her ear and screamed at her, ''You''re perfect. Don''t be what you aren''t. Not for anyone.'' Her lips twinged up. She smiled. And then she laughed¡ªcackled. She felt she must have looked batty. But she couldn''t be even slightly bothered to care. For the first time in the whole of her life...


    She felt free.

 Chapter 5

    After her independent fit of mania, Calliope had realized she wasn''t quite sure what she should do with herself. So she went, and stood against the hard, cold wall, and people-watched, awkwardly. She ran a hand through her hair. She never had before. But it was at this moment, she thought, she could use a drink.


    But then a voice came beside her.


    "Sorry leaving you waiting," came Jasmine''s voice feathered. Calli''s gaze flitted to her. She was back in the clothes she had donned earlier in the evening.


    Calli gave her a meager smile. Jasmine gave her a much broader one. The shorter woman''s ice-blue eyes surveyed the crowd of people dancing and writhing together. Then they fell back on Calliope''s with a flicker of vulnerability, and her smile softened.


    "Dance with me," she shot simply. Calli''s cheeks flushed and she swallowed.


    "D-dance?! I-" she flustered, giving an awkward sort of half-laugh. "I-I can''t..."


    Jasmine gave a laugh with a flippant gesture to the crowd. "Nobody can, sweetie."


    "You can," Calli shot back with a pout. Jasmine scoffed and rolled her eyes.


    "Uh, okay? I''m a professional entertainer, Calliope." Calli felt soft hands snake into her own. "Come on. Humor me."


    Calli rolled her eyes and huffed. It was absurd. There was no way she was really going to do this.


    Was she?


    She crossed her arms, tightly digging her nails into her biceps. And then she sighed.


    "Fine," she said, "But if I''m awful¡ªwhich I will be¡ªwe''re leaving and never coming back."


    Jasmine huffed, and shot a dramatic pout. "Never coming back?" she said with hammed disappointment, "You don''t wanna see another show?"


    Calli blushed. "I... U-um..."


    Jasmine chuckled at her. Then she tugged backward toward the dance-floor behind her, Calli stumbling after her.


    "Come on, Courier," she cooed, "Show me what you got."


    Jasmine brought them to nestle deep inside the crowd. They were relatively closer in stature with Jasmine''s heels on, but Calli still had a few inches on her.


    Jasmine pulled the bony girl''s frame close to her, and began pacedly rocking, leading her with her own steps, guiding her along where she was going. Calli followed obediently, letting her rock their tightly pressed forms. And she soon found it difficult to recognize there was anyone else in the room besides the two of them.


    Calli let out a sudden, harsh gasp as she was dipped without expectation. Jasmine made sure not to let her fall as she met her eyes deviously, before pulling her back up and spinning her.


    She hadn''t noticed fully that she''d spun her away. Her movements were her own, now. And truth be told, she wasn''t awful. Or, maybe she was. And she was just too giddy to notice.


    "How''re we feeling, pretty girl?" Jasmine called over the music. Calli blushed.


    She swallowed, plastering a stupid smile. "D-decent? I guess?"


    Jasmine shrugged and chortled. "Better than bad. But, I think we can do a little better than that." Then she smirked.


    Calliope cocked her head and was about to ask, ''how?'' when she''d quickly fallen too distracted.


    Jasmine danced just like she did on stage. Loud, shameless, and sensual. Everything the world said so loudly it would hate from her. Everything she very clearly did not care about. She raised her hands over her head and slowly traced down along the curves and rolls and divots of her body as she gave Calli lidded eyes.


    Calli, on the other hand, just stared at her like an idiot. She felt the whole of her heating up. She gasped as Jasmine snatched her, pulling her back and firmly pressing their bodies together again. She felt Jasmine''s supple softness all along her taught skin. She reveled in the entanglement of their warm, heated breaths pattering each others'' lips. She decided to try something.


    She took a firm grip of Jasmine''s soft hips, feeling her hands sink into the soft flesh there, and Jasmine gave a rattled gasp onto her lips. And Calli saw that brief look of vulnerability that was so rarely there. Jasmine looked at her with wide eyes and massive pupils, lips parted and breathing ragged.


    Calli kept rocking along with Jasmine to the sound of the music. And Jasmine looked at her with the same wide eyes, huddling a bit further in comfort for the warmth against her. Slowly, Calli''s right hand trailed from on her hip along her backside, tracing over the top of her soft ass, over the roll of her back, finally resting at the soft cushiony flesh between shoulder blades, resting on the warm wool of her overthrow. Then, she tried to dip her.


    Which was a mistake.


    The blonde squealed as she toppled backward, landing on the lucky cushioning of her back, and managing to keep her head from cracking to the floor. Calliope, on the other hand, came toppling on top of her, bouncing on her body and sprawling out atop her.


    "S-sorry!" She gasped, shakily. "I thought-I just-Shit..." She pulled herself off the woman below. "I fucked it up, didn''t I?"


    Jasmine stared straight into her eyes. She looked almost in awe. It was an odd sort of face. Like a child who had seen something they''d dreamed of their entire lives for the first time in fruition in front of them. But then she snorted. And she laughed. And she pulled Calli back in as they laid there on the solid floor.


    "That was cute," she giggled. "But I''m a little heavy for that, sweetie."


    Calli winced. "... You''re okay?"


    Jasmine raised a brow a gave a snort, smiling softly. "Why wouldn''t I be?"


    "I mean, you''re not hurt or anything?"


    She shook her head, still chuckling. "No, Calliope; I''m alright."


    Calli sighed, and nodded, relieved. "Okay..."


    The two remained there a little longer, Calli''s eyes tracing Jasmine''s features, until Jasmine finally cracked a sly grin. "You know, if you wanna straddle me so bad, we should probably find a bed."


    Calli gasped, scrambling off and back and wincing as her bony ass hit the floor. She shot up to her feet. "S-sorry!"


    Jasmine cocked her head, and halved her eyes. She traced Calliope''s body. Almost as if she was inspecting her. "Why? That was an invitation."


    Calli''s entire body felt like it was burning.


    Invitation.


    She swallowed stiffly. "O-oh..."


    Jasmine giggled and began pulling herself off the floor. Calli was quick to help lift her, thought she didn''t help much. Jasmine giggled at her endeavor.


    "Yes," she giggled, "''Oh.''"


    The two stared at each other. Close. And the heat Calli felt suddenly enveloped her much further than her face.


    She swallowed, her mouth dry.


    I just want to actually know you first.


    She realized, she never really considered what she meant by that. Not exactly. She wanted to get more familiar with her. Learn her rhythm. But when did she objectively decide it was enough?


    That she really did know her?


    Jasmine liked to read. She was coy, whitty, and teasing. She was a performer at heart. She seemed to enjoy the attention. Yet she had a rebel''s soul. She had a great amount of goodness within her. And charity. Calliope thought then, that she blended with her easier than she''d ever blended with anyone.


    She was kind. And gentle and compassionate. But she was also sly, and full of cheek, and irreverent.


    She knew she was kind. She knew she was good.


    And that, she decided, was enough.


    "We don''t have¨C" Jasmine started, but was cut short.


    Calliope shook her head. "No. No, I''d... I mean..." She shuffled. "... I''m not opposed..."


    She was surprised to see Jasmine''s eyes hop wider for a moment. But then she nodded. And she smirked. She took pulled Calli in close.


    "Then," she said in a purr, "Let''s see where the night takes us."


    . . . .


    The door clicked behind as they finally returned to Jasmine''s place. When they did, Jasmine immediately peeled off her overthrow with an odd sort of moan, and Calli found it hard not to watch her as she did so. Jasmine tucked the article over her shoulder and groaned as she stretched her arms out above her head. She let the limbs drop back down beside her, and her eyes fell on the staring woman. She chuffed, and attempted at something like a smile. But it was more a wince than anything. "I am... disgusting. And not in a good way. Think I''ll hop in the shower real quick..." she chuckled as she peeled her wedges off her feet.


    Calli nodded, froze, contemplated what the good way could possibly be, then elected it better for her sanity not to think about it at all. She cleared her throat and stumbled. "I-I probably should... too. When you''re done."


    Jasmine giggled at what Calli assumed must''ve been her awkwardness. "Sounds good, Calliope." She strode toward the other woman with that coy little grin that made Calli''s heart flip every single damned time she wore it. Then she stood on her toes to press her lips firmly to Calliope''s for a quick kiss that lasted perhaps a few moments longer than a, ''quick kiss,'' would qualify for. Calliope''s hands found place on her shoulders, and felt the tangible slickness and grease. She wasn''t disgusted by it¡ªused to far worse on herself¡ªand just chuffed, and jested:


    "Wow. You''re right. You really are sweaty."


    She gave her a snort and a less than amused look. "Yes, well, I am a woman of my word."


    "Yes, indeed," Calli chuckled back. Jasmine huffed, smirked, and turned to plod up the stairs.


    "Feel free to make yourself at home, wherever," she called.


    Calli nodded and gave a vague acknowledgement before she finally realized she didn''t exactly know what that meant. How would she make herself at home. She barely knew what home meant as is¡ªdingy make-shift bedrooms in out-of-commision sewer-systems didn''t exactly meet what she felt were, probably, most people''s criteria. And the time since she''d known a real home was so very long ago now, she barely remembered it at all.


    So, she just stood there, fiddling with her hands for a brief moment, before starting to glance around at the room around her. After tonight, she understood why the feisty young woman lived as luxuriously as she did. She was, in a very literal way, a hot commodity. And that paid well, it so happened. And she treated herself nicely with it. Not ostentatiously, or in a way that was overly extravagant. She likely couldn''t afford that anyway, given she still worked a mostly full-time position at a grocer. But she was what many people were not.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    She was comfortable.


    Calli had been downstairs enough. So, with some idle, cursory glances, she pulled off her boots, and made her way upstairs to the homeowner''s bedroom.


    She slowly pulled the door open, entered, and scanned her eyes about. She pursed her lips and plopped herself on the mattress, crossing her legs inelegantly. Glancing about, her eyes finally came to land on the stacks upon stacks of books at the bed''s foot, and the two overstuffed rows on the paint-peeling, scuffed-up, old bookshelf all else was littered around.


    Would making herself at home include reading something?


    She crawled to the bookshelf and began looking. She didn''t want to pick something Jasmine had been reading. She had learned, during her time with the other woman¡ªsparse as it was¡ªthat she had habit of dog-earing any book she was in the middle of. However, flipping through an entire novel just to find a corner wasn''t especially feasible. So, she elected, if she did find one, she''d just be careful not to flatten it out.


    She gazed along spines and looked at titles. Many had none at all¡ªin fact, most had none at all. But she saw, in the midst of the vast quantities of gathered reading, something even more plain seeming than any of the rest. It was a packet. A stapled, featureless, snow-white packet. She took it into her hands with an odd curiosity. She turned it over to look at the back, finding it to be just as blank and barren as the other side was. She peeled it open with a non-understood trepidation, gazing at that very first page. And, within it, was written in a fine, well mannered print nothing other than:


    ''Nothing More, by Jasmine March.''


    Calli''s eyebrows hopped up. She knew Jasmine perused literature. That she loved to read, and rant about stories she''d found. But never did she know that the miraculous woman was a writer herself.


    Calliope came to sit back on the mattress, the packet still in her hands. Her nosiness, she found, came to take the better of her. She peered out the doorway of the room, hearing the vague sounds of running water. Instead of following down the trail of the fact that Jasmine March had a running shower in her home, she peeled back open that fragile packet, and flicked past that very first page. Her eyes landed on the start of that very second.


    ''One.''


    . . . .


    Calliope hadn''t realized how long it''d been. She was about half of the way through the third chapter, now. In her whole life, she had never¡ªnot once¡ªread a queer story before. She didn''t even know they could exist. Well, she did, in the most technical sense. But she''d never seen one written out, nor otherwise told anywhere. Other than maybe a few personal anecdotes. But those, of course, weren''t really narratives.


    She was so utterly engrossed, she didn''t hear footsteps walking into the room. Then a gasp.


    She jerked her head up. Jasmine was there in the doorway, a towel tightly clinging to her body¡ªto her curves. Calli could feel the heat gathering in her cheeks. But, Jasmine, strands of dampened hair still clinging to her forehead and her cheeks, was looking at her with wide and borderline panicked.


    "Put that down," she fired. Calli did as she was told, yipping and flipping the stack of pages shut. She set them swiftly down next to her, clasping her hands and staring up at Jasmine. She grinned, sheepishly. Jasmine walked speedily across the room, holding her towel up where it gripped around her chest. She snatched the packet, and held it to her chest. She gave the scrawny woman looking coyly up at her from her bed a narrow-eyed look. "How much of this have you read?" she shot.


    Calli gulped. "Not that much!" she hurried, then blushed, and stared at her lap. "Just, like... three chapters..."


    Jasmine sighed out her nose, harshly. She took the packet she''d taken back to its rightful place, then gave the chop-haired woman another stink-eyed glare.


    "I..." Calli wrung her hands together. "I''m sorry; I didn''t know I wasn''t supposed to."


    Jasmine gave an odd sort of combination of a sigh and a scoff. "No," she said, gliding across the floorboards to a sliding-door closet on the other side of the room. The door was long separated from its track, and she sort of just slid it out of the way to get access to hampers inside. "I mean¡ªI never said you couldn''t..."


    Calli teetered her head and clicked her tongue. "True. Y''know, if you think about it, this is all really your fault." she trailed with a coy grin. Jasmine gave a humored huff, and rolled her eyes, though Calli couldn''t see it. Suddenly, the towel she''d had enveloping her fell to the floor, and Calli squeaked, flicking her head away as a naked Jasmine shuffled through sorted clothing hampers.. She definitely didn''t peak. More than twice.


    Jasmine''s body was still glistening with water, not yet fully dried. Her bare rear was there and Calli felt ashamed for looking at it so gratuitously as she was. But she didn''t divert her gaze as careful eyes drew along the ripples and curves and shapes of her figure, getting distracted for a brief time before a sudden query broke her focus.


    "What''d you think?" There was a hint of caution in Jasmine''s words. Almost like she was afraid of what Calliope''s answer might be.


    Calli swallowed the knot that had grown in her throat. "O-of the book?"


    Jasmine''s answer was a vaguely affirmative noise.


    "I..." She took a moment¡ªgathered her thoughts. Then she smile a genuine smile, her eyes coming to train on something a bit more chaste as they trained toward an empty corner of the room. "I thought it was amazing. I''ve... I''ve never read a book with... with actual, like, queer people in it before."


    "Is that all?" Jasmine chuckled. Calli shook her head.


    "No, I just¡ªIt was so... so compelling. It kinda hurt having to put it down," she chuckled, "It all felt so... so real." Jasmine slipped a shirt over her head¡ªwhite, like everything else she wore, and perfectly fitting, emphasizing her voluptuosity without being overly tight. Her lower half was still bare, and Calliope made a concerted effort to look at her top in the moments when she looked at her at all.


    "Yeah?" she said.


    Calli nodded. "Yeah." Jasmine pulled out a pair of black briefs, and Calli fidgeted some more. "How do you write characters that seem so... alive?" She looked at her lap pensively. "I felt for them..." Jasmine shrugged.


    "I dunno," she said, "I didn''t even know I could until just now."


    "Well, you definitely can," Calli chuckled. Jasmine didn''t answer as she pulled a pair of cream yoga shorts from the hampers. She hiked them over her thighs, grunting as she pulled them over a point of contention just under her ass. Calli again looked more brazenly than perhaps she should have; than she wanted to. But she couldn''t will herself away.


    As soon as the shorts were up, Jasmine turned around, and Calli flicked her head back to her lap, steadily. She heard the other woman plodding to the bed, and could even hear the sly little smile she must''ve been wearing as she purred out after her.


    "Calliope?"


    Calli felt the mattress dip as she sat down.


    "Y-yeah?"


    She slid a little closer, and Calli felt herself being tilted slightly toward her by just how close she was. Eventually, the softness of her hip met with the bone of hers. She leaned into her ear, almost touching it. Calli felt her breath tickle her there as she spoke in a chuckle.


    "You were staring again. Weren''t you?"


    Calli shuffled with her hands. She looked steadily at the stacks of books at the foot of the bed, before she cleared her throat, yet still spoke with a rasp, "Is that bad?"


    Jasmine shook her head, but Calli couldn''t see it. "Of course not."


    Calli nodded stiffly. "Then... what is it?"


    She shuddered when she felt the other woman''s wet lips pad against her neck. She felt her mouth move against her skin.


    Jasmine spoke steadily: "Natural."


    "Nothing about us is natural..." Calli mouthed sadly. Jasmine managed to hear her.


    "I disagree," she said.


    "Why?"


    "Because. We exist."


    "Is that what, ''natural,'' means?''" Another feathery kiss, another tremble she could feel to the tips of her extremities. Calli still didn''t look at the shorter woman. But she felt her moving in even closer. A small and soft hand entwining itself with her own. "... People say we''re unnatural."


    "They''re wrong."


    "They say we''re sinful."


    "I think that could be said for most people."


    "That we come from somewhere evil."


    "Where do they say that is?" Jasmine scoffed. Another kiss. Calliope neglected answer.


    "They say we''re monsters."


    Another kiss.


    "You''re pretty kind for a monster," Jasmine said. Calli could feel the erratic breaths of a chuckle patter her neck.


    "It''s hard for monsters to see monsters..." She hadn''t thought of the words as they came out. She wasn''t even sure she knew what she was saying anymore. Or if it was really her talking. Or just what she was told. A worm that had crawled into her brain and died there with its hate. Something she didn''t know, nor could forget. An impression.


    "You don''t think that," Jasmine spoke matter-of-factly. Like she knew precisely every little thing going on in the other woman''s head.


    There wasn''t a kiss this time.


    Calli was silent.


    "Where do you think we come from?" Jasmine said in a calculatedly neutral tone. Something about it made Calli feel a little smaller. Guilty, maybe. Or embarrassed.


    She felt the grip on her calloused hands grow tighter. Her mind was hardly in the room anymore. But the weight of Jasmine''s words still managed to yank her back down just enough to touch her toes to the ground.


    She swallowed stiffly, her throat tight. She turned head just enough to meet the brilliant, blue eyes that looked back to her. There was a vulnerable flicker behind them, where normally there was cheek or teasing. A gentleness seeming foreign to her face.


    Calli looked to her fully, with tight lips.


    "I don''t know..."


    Jasmine smiled in a soft sort of way, her head tilting slightly. Calliope had known of her kindness. Glimmers of tenderness within her she''d witnessed a precious handful of times in their meager span together. But everytime it came to show, her heart still skipped. And it wasn''t a common look for her either¡ªnot compared to many others. That didn''t hinder its meaning in the slightest. In fact, it only made it stronger.


    Jasmine was a sly woman. She was coy, and tricky, and rather hard to pin down. One to prod and bully, but always soften it with a kiss. She was complicated. That much, Calliope had gleaned for certain. But that enigmatic mixture that she was, was one with undeniable care stirred in. Entrenched in every fiber. In every cell.


    The kiss between the teases.


    Then her voice hushed again:


    "Want me to tell you where I think we come from?"


    Calli looked to her glistening eyes. Like the ocean in the distant horizon. Where the sky wasn''t choked by smog.


    "Nowhere," she said. "Like everything. Everyone. And if we''re anything... Anything at all... Good. Or.... Or bad... It''s because we made us so ourselves."


    Calliope looked to her with trembling breath as she gazed into the sweetness behind those cerulean eyes.


    And she barely processed the movement¡ªbarely even recognized the flicker in her mind that told her to do such¡ªas her fingers tore through the other woman''s hair, and she pulled her into her lips.


    Calliope Lucero was rough. That is what she made of herself. She was tumble. Strong, and resilient. Unbreakable. Yet, at the same time, somehow vulnerable. She was who she was because she made it so. And most importantly of all, over anything else:


    She had made her so herself.


    They kissed again. And again.


    And Calli chuckled. "Y''know, I was gonna take a shower, too."


    Jasmine gave a sputter of a laugh. "Calliope? I really don''t fucking care."


    Their lips played against each other, and Calliope came to slowly drag Jasmine down with her to the bed, pressing her onto her back into the damaged springs of the mattress.


    Jasmine gave her a wily gaze, like she hadn''t quite expected the boldness. And Calliope looked at her the same. Because she hadn''t, either.


    The soft woman beneath her was the world''s most underknown phenomenon. She was both mysterious and subtle, yet obvious as a punch to the throat. She was strong; she was confident; she was self assured; she was a rebel. A living act of protest against everything and anything she was told she was or had to be.


    She was nothing if not utterly irreverent and defiant. And yet, as she stared up at the girl over her with that craving look of yearn, she seemed so undemanding. Just in wait for Calliope''s next burst of confidence to strike. But nothing came other than ragged breaths and hungry eyes. So she decided to be the stoker.


    Calli felt a hand snake up the hem of her top. Another slid up her skirt. And she reveled in the touch¡ªthe heat and the tenderness of Jasmine''s soft hands on her body¡ªfingers grazing skin and exploring areas she''d clearly been thinking of in a preciously methodical way.


    Calli sighed into another kiss, gliding a calloused hand up the fabric of Jasmine''s tee, trailing along the plush flesh of her stomach. It was almost unbearably warm to touch, and incredibly tender. The feeling of it on her hand was so very peculiar and unique¡ªshe had difficulty comparing it to anything else.


    Jasmine let out a contented little noise into Calliope''s lips at the running contact along her body, and the thinner girl took it as a sign to push further.


    Calli''s hand trailed further up the voluptuousness, and at the same time, Jasmine''s traced around the boundaries of Calli''s bra, and the toned, slenderness of her thighs.


    Calliope found a hold on one of Jasmine''s breasts, wrapping her fingers around it. It was soft, generous, and almost formeless in her hand. She had a hard time keeping her grasp. But that didn''t stop her managing to roll her thumb along the lower woman''s hardened nipple, slipping it against her fingers, and grasping it between her pointer and middle. Jasmine groaned roughly into Calli''s mouth, and she felt her fingers desperately trying to slip beneath the bounds of her bra. Calliope chuckled against her lips before she pulled away.


    Jasmine gave her a doe-eyed little look, and Calliope chuckled as she began undoing her own buttons. She shrugged her top off her shoulders, letting it slide onto the mattress, and revealing her barness, and the dumbed, thirsty look Jasmine shot at her tight-skinned torso made her chuff. She brushed some stray hair out of her eyes, and pulled her hands behind her. Her bra clipped off and fell to the bed, then tossed aside.


    Jasmine bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. And Calliope couldn''t help grin at the sight of her large thighs rubbing together, urgently.


    Calli pressed back down over her, and hushed against her ear, "Is this what you meant when you said you weren''t always bossy?"


    Jasmine whimpered, and shuddered beneath her. She chuckled, pulled back, then pressed their lips together, her hand traveling back under shirt. And Jasmine''s came onto her also, running against her showing bones and over her ribs, to her subtle breasts, and Calli''s breath hitched and froze as she traced over her nipple. Calli pulled back, pecking kisses along Jasmine''s jaw, down and down to her plump neck. She pulled and sucked on her skin, and Jasmine mewled Calliope could feel her body shaking, and she came to ask.


    "Is this good?"


    "Y-" A shrill gasp. Unable to immediately vocalize, she just nodded with a single, monosyllabic affirmation, before a, ''yes,'' finally found its way out of her.


    Calliope chuckled as she kept going, nipping and sucking. She grabbed the hem of the pudgy woman''s shirt, and pulled. Jasmine lifted herself and assisted as she could in taking the top off her. Calliope threw it over the side of the bed, and soon, she was there in nothing but her yoga shorts. Calliope sat up and looked her over, thoughtfully, a hand running over her soft stomach to the edges of her breasts again, and back down. She trailed further and further down her flesh, when she came over the fabric of her shorts. She pressed the tips of her fingers into the plump flesh there.. Jasmine whimpered.


    Calliope hooked her fingers into the waist of her shorts. She spread it open and began tugging downward, when her fingers slipped loose on accident, and the elastic of the garment snapped against Jasmine''s skin.


    "Shit¨C" Calliope yipped in a hush tone, "Sorr¨C"


    Jasmine shot in a ragged breath, "Do that again."


    Calliope froze, and studied hard on Jasmine''s face. She was biting harshly on her lip with wanting eyes. Calliope could still feel the movement of her legs beneath her desperately hunting for friction


    Calli came to hold a sly smirk. And she chuckled. "Oh. You''re weird." Jasmine pouted.


    "Is there something wrong with that?"


    Calliope drug her nails from Jasmine''s chest along her belly. Not terribly harsh, but enough to make a strong sensation, and Jasmine snatched her wrist and pressed them in to dig harder. Calliope hummed.


    "Not at all."


    And she did it again.

 Chapter 6

    Calliope found herself awakening more comfortable than she ever had before.


    She''d slept on hard floors, and sleeping mats, and in below freezing when there was a polar vortex outside, or well above a hundred when there was a heatwave. Even when she once lived with her mother, most mornings were one extreme or the other. But this morning, the bedding was soft. The room was chilled, and it crisply licked her skin. But a warmth beside her fought it back. A tender warmth that pushed back the cold.


    Eyes still sealed, she let a sigh slip through her throat before she found herself nuzzling even further into that nurturing heat. But it took very little time for the memories of the night before to finally begin to float back into her mind.


    Her breath hitched and her eyes spread wide. And she was suddenly far more cognisant of the soft, straight hair that tickled her nose, and the plump softness pressing on her angles. The soft wafting scent of sweat, fresh flowers, and sex trailed into her nose. And her eyes¡ªif at all possible¡ªsomehow managed to find themselves even wider.


    Then the body stirred, and Calli let out a muted squeak as she tried to divert her eye contact to make it seem like she wasn''t staring straight at her. Though it''s not much like that mattered all that much. She made no effort to pull away.


    Jasmine rolled in her arms and came to face her, eyes still closed and breaths still steady. She was quite serene when she slept, Calliope thought. She had the most tender, vulnerable look on her face, lips parted slightly, snores just audible and the bedding rising and falling with her breaths. Her fisted hands came close to her face, and pressed onto Calli''s bare chest as she nuzzled tightly into the other woman. Calli felt her soft breaths puffing onto her bare skin, and it sent a shiver through her whole body.


    She looked down at the sleeping woman, and her face came to soften. She had to withhold from a chuckle. She pulled the plush body in just a fraction closer. As much as she possibly could while they were already so firmly pressed together. She dared a kiss on the crown of her head. And she swore that she might''ve heard a pleased little sigh flow from the blonde''s lips. But she was still fast asleep.


    Calliope couldn''t help a chuff.. Jasmine didn''t move very much other than that one rolling over earlier. She remained, nuzzled in close, nose burrowing into Calli''s clavicle and breaths steady as the other woman came to gently stroke the soft locks of her short hair. And that just seemed to serve to make her even more comfortable.


    Calli lost track of just how long she had been there. But, eventually, another stirring came.


    Jasmine let out a little groan as she awoke. She yawned into Calliope''s chest, burrowing in as a vain attempt to stifle it. She pulled a fraction back with sleepy eyes and looked up at the woman that she found holding her. Her lips pursed, almost contemplatively. Then she hummed. And they creased up into a tender smile.


    "Hey..." she croaked, her throat still rasped with sleep.


    Calliope couldn''t help a chuckle. "Well, hi there," she hushed back.


    Jasmine hummed, then burrowed her face back into collarbone and taught, naked skin.


    "Hey..."


    Calli huffed a laugh out her nose. "You already said that."


    Another hum was the only response, followed by a nuzzle. Calli chuffed, and ran her fingers through the soft mop of head before her, stopping when she would reach a knot. Having tossed herself into bed the night before so soon after a shower, there were many.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Jasmine stayed tight against her, and Calli looked to her fondly. But then she frowned.


    "... So... Last night..."


    Again, just a hum.


    "That..." Calliope swallowed. "What... what was that?" She gently pulled from the face burrowed into her, and that was enough of a prompting for the cerulean eyes beside her to peer beadily up into her browns, still heavy with sleep.


    "Can I sleep i''more ''fore we pry''nto our relationship status?" She slurred. A sole snort escaped before Calli could stifle it. But then she frowned.


    "The sun''s up..."


    Jasmine burrowed again. "I noticed."


    "... I have to head home soon."


    "M''kay," Jasmine slurred again, "But tha''s not now. So, shut up ''n stay ''til I wake up."


    Calli pursed her lips as she felt a sliver of slyness worm into her tongue.


    "You weren''t nearly this bossy last night."


    Jasmine answered with a tiny little discontented moan at herself being clocked. She tried to burrow in even further, but the hard bone of Calliope''s chest would not allow it.


    "Rude..." she grumbled against her skin. The vibration of her voice and the warmth of her breath sent a thrumming through Calliope''s chest.


    Calliope smirked. "Maybe. But, very true."


    "Keep that up, ''n''I''might actually tak''you up on that whole, ''organ harvestin'' thing...''" she squeezed out.


    "Eh, nah. You wouldn''t. I''ve got you pegged, now."


    "No, actually¡ªdidn''t do any of that last night. You''re more than welcome too, though. Maybe not, ''organ harvestin'','' but, I''m not one opposed to, ''organ rearranging.''"


    Calli paled. Then she blushed.


    "You think you''re so slick¡ª"


    "I was! Just last night."


    "Jasmine! Ewe!"


    "''Ewe?'' You literally ate that up!"


    Calliope grunted and rolled her eyes as Jasmine snirted into her chest.


    "Seems like your wit''s back."


    "An''my libido. Wha''s''your point?"


    Calliope''s desperate heart tempted itself with prying again. Tempted itself with trying to pull from the other woman''s lips what last night had meant to her. Because Calli knew what it had for herself. And it was terrifying.


    But her better judgment and common decency faired not to ask.


    Calliope smiled lightly, pressing a kiss to Jasmine''s head, unable to resist the temptation of the gesture. "Nothing."


    There was a poise of silence. Until an uncharacteristically soft voice came from the lips pressed close to Calli''s chest.


    "You know, I am serious about this, by the way..."


    Calliope felt her blood freeze solid in her veins. And she couldn''t decide whether it was a bad thing or not. She dared ask, "Serious about what?"


    "Us."


    Calli''s breathe hitched.


    "... Oh."


    Jasmine nuzzled her chest again, but Calli was barely there to process it.


    "Yeah..." Jasmine spoke meekly, "''Oh.''"


    Calliope''s hand continued stroking platinum hair. But then it stopped. And she could feel the uncertainty radiating off of Jasmine. She pulled away from her, just a fraction. And the soft-faced woman''s eye immediately darted up to meet her own. But they didn''t share a single word.


    Calliope intently stared into those piercing blue eyes. They could be disarming. Harsh, or teasing, but always drilling straight into her soul. But they weren''t, now. They were dulled. Intimate, fragile, and vulnerable.


    And scared.


    Calliope''s calloused hands came to almost brace Jasmine''s face. Making sure it wouldn''t come to fall away at the last second.


    Calli swallowed. She really was beautiful. Jasmine. Dusty freckles on almost every inch of her skin, even on her chest. Her loose bangs hung in her eyes and framed her face. Other strands, not meant for where they were and disheveled in the night and their time together also came to curtain her features. But not those eyes. Or those lips. Or even the little button of a nose settled right dead-center in her face.


    Calliope''s thumbs traced along the lines of freckles dotting Jasmine''s plump cheeks. She knew her face must have appeared startlingly tense. Most notably by the fact Jasmine seemed shy of looking her in the eye. Or maybe, that was because of something else.


    Calli curled her lips in, and her brows knitted. And she took a shaky breath.


    "Promise."


    Confusion leached in with everything else that floated around Jasmine''s eyes.


    "Promise?" The word slipped out her mouth loosely. "Promise what?"


    "Promise me. Promise that you''re serious."


    Jasmine''s eyes searched her own for just a fraction of a second before the words came out with very little hesitation.


    "I promise."


    And without a moment of second thought, Calli''s lips found hers like they had the night before. Then again, and again, and again. And tears couldn''t help slipping from her eyes. Because something like this was so rare. So precious. And she pulled the soft woman close, reveling as her petit hands explored the bareness of her skin.


    Never ready to let go.

 Interlude: Songbird;

    Jasmine shivered on the bench where she sat, not willing to bother getting up just yet. And far too weakened, even if she''d wanted to.


    Her fingers lightly touched the purple of a harsh bruise, its darkness winning the fight for clarity on her cheek through the smeared residuals of a shoddy makeup job-to no fault of her own: the utmost lowest end products in addition to the their being expired for several odd months didn''t make for the best conditions for a high quality face.


    She knew her job was high risk. Especially being what she was. But at the end of the day, it gave her enough money in her pocket to afford food most days. And that let her survive.


    Running away surely hadn''t put a penny in her pocket. As a young boy in the station she was, she had her every whim tended to-groomed for perfection. But it was never enough. Because she wasn''t a boy. And being destitute in the street, destined to die before she turned thirty was a better life to have than pursuing a lie for her comfort.


    She had one good person in her life. One good thing that made it something worth living-made her hope that maybe, one day, she could live instead of just scrounging. That she could make a home with that woman she so dearly loved. But she was snuffed sooner than she deserved.


    It should have been you.


    But at the end of the day, she got what she deserved anyway. Maybe this was just the course for their kind-die young or suffer. And she suffered.


    She had no skills-no prospects. But she had a body. A body she hated, but a body nonetheless. And easy enough to objectify.


    Sit, smile, be pretty, and take whatever was thrown at you. Which was a lot, often. Because anyone who would employ the services of such a fetishized deplorable often hated themselves for doing so.


    She pulled her hand away from her purpling cheek and stared out at the street. She startled at the sound of a voice to her side.


    "How much."


    She had to force herself not to sigh. Her eyes flicked up, and took in the pale, middle-aged man beside her, what leftovers remained of his hair-clinging desperately to scalp for survival-majorly white. Jasmine made a concerted effort not to show off the most purple of her bruises. She showed her other cheek where there was nothing but a small cut. Luckily, small enough that the night and whatever remained of her makeup would be serviceable in concealing it. At least, she hoped it would.


    She smirked, and tried at lidding her eyes-tried to stop the shaking in her form.


    She told him her rates. And then she added with a purr, "But, I''m sure we could negotiate."


    The man smirked, and she hated the way it rattled her. She was usually better at this. Better at the act. Better at keeping up the lie that she wanted a man twice her age inside of her. Maybe it was just the roughness of what the last had given her. Or maybe she was finally snapping.


    The man gave a nod, his face screwing up with some kind of thought. Then he seemed to elect against her negotiation offer, already fumbling in his pocket, and Jasmine knew where the rest of her night was going.


    Her newly acquired client had led her back to a small, dilapidated apartment nearby to one of the notorious abandoned districts: The Developments. Those places forgotten by the government, where there lay no good housing to much of anyone. Except for, however, the lowest of dirt. Because, a roof was a roof. And if you had a tent, it could service as some variety of shelter. And this one she was near to, she was quite familiar with. Because she was the lowest of dirt: born to be trodden upon.


    The older man scrambled for his keys before he finally managed to pull them out of his pocket, and slammed them into the door. He had to try for a stint before he finally managed to get it open. And Jasmine went in after him, a practiced strut to her step. As soon as she was in, the door was slammed behind her and her wrist was tightly in a slimy grasp. Once more, something that should not surprise. But it did, this time. And she let out the faintest breath of a gasp.


    And that only made the man rougher.


    He tugged her toward the already unfolded and heavily worn futon and threw her on it. The lights stayed off the whole time in that dingy room.


    Just lay down and take it.


    It''s what


    you''re worth.


    He was on her, and she tried her best to go somewhere else. Like she always did. Let her mind drift somewhere where-while her body was brutally damaged-she couldn''t be hurt.


    Some people tried to dialogue with her. Though that wasn''t exceedingly common. Most just wanted to get what they needed: a night of self-loathing fetishization of society''s garbage. A freakish man in a dress. Because she could never be a woman. She''d accepted that by now. No matter how hard she tried to pass, no matter how she primped herself, or tried to make herself softer or sweeter or less disgusting, she knew what she was: worthless, used-up, and deranged. Something to be broken and then discarded to pull herself back together. A creature.


    Her mind was yanked back to the present by firm hands on her throat and her own gags as she choked.


    Take it, you piece of filth.


    A tug of her underwear and a hand on her member pumping harder than she would have ever wanted if she wasn''t being paid. She knew her skin there had been torn at some point during the night. But it wasn''t the first time.


    W h a t   y o u '' r e   w o r t h .


    She''d almost passed out before she was let go of. She felt the man''s rough body writhe with her own. She was soon on her stomach, and she could feel him enter her.


    Y o u


    d e s e r v e


    t h i s .


    She whimpered. Another thing she aimed to avoid. But she was finding everything so much harder this time. And in reward for her response, a large hand shunted her head into the mattress, forcing her ass-up.


    It was a substantial relief when she felt the release. Because that was quickly followed by a retreat.


    She lifted her head in an attempt to breath, but was quickly cut off. The air hitched in her lungs once more as another powerful hand yanked her by the hair, hard. She was tugged off the mattress and up to her feet, and she felt a throbbing in her scalp thereafter.


    "... What a fucking disappointment."


    Jasmine barely registered the words being spoken to her. She was yet to know just how much of a mistake it was when her response to that statement was a simple, absent, ''huh?''


    "I said, you were a shit lay, shemale!" he sneered. And Jasmine flicked her head to look at him, eyes like a rabbit.


    And earned herself a strike on the cheek.


    He''s right.


    You should have tried harder.


    "I paid for you," the man sneered, "So you work for me. Am I understood."


    She swallowed. "I-y-yes... I understand."


    Another strike.


    You earned that, too.


    She grabbed her cheek. It was already bruised, but the hit made it sting even further.


    "Sir."


    "W-what?"


    Hit.


    "I. Said. Sir," he spelled. She swallowed.


    "Y-yes... sir."


    "Speak clearer!" he barked. And he hit her again. She pulled away on reflex, and her wrist was soon in his grasp. She felt like crying, but no tears would come. Then he hit her again. The strike hit her nose, which began to spurt.


    "Yes, sir..." she rasped, breathes ragged. Yet she still wound up thrown and splayed on the hardwood.


    "I am in control of you," he spoke.


    Jasmine swallowed. Unknowing of what else to say, she slowly uttered after him, "Y-yes sir..."


    "I am the one who gets to decide what happens."


    She nodded. "Yes, sir..."


    The man began pacing the floor. He shuffled his hands in his hair and let out a throaty noise, like a wild animal in a corner. Even though it was him who was calling the shots.


    "My wife sure didn''t think so. But-" He gave a pathetic sort of chuckle. Like he''d just remembered some fond memory. "-she got what was coming to her..."You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Jasmine''s blood froze cold.


    The man reached into his jacket, tossed aside onto the floor. Jasmine stayed where she was. Where she belonged. On the ground like common filth.


    He pulled a diminutive pistol from the textile. It was dwarfed by his hands. He chuckled. Then he held it for Jasmine, and fired without a moment of hesitation. The bullet missed, just at her legs. He shot again just in front of her, and she scrambled backwards, pressing to the wall. He plodded across the room. And she took in a trembling breath.


    He knelt before her, grabbed her throat, and pinned her to the wall. She felt tears finally ebbing. Just in time for her last moments.


    The man spoke in a cold, low tone. "No one would miss you if you died here. Would they?"


    Not anymore.


    It wasn''t like she could respond. She gagged, and a tear slipped down her cheek.


    "You''d do anything I say, huh?" he hummed, pressing the gun to her temple. She shuddered. She could feel her mind flickering due to lack of oxygen.


    Then he let go. She came free gasping, but was cracked across the head with the steel of the small handgun. She howled, grabbing her head, and then sobbed. The man stood over her.


    "Stand up," he said.


    And she did, shakily. She turned to look at him. She knew her whole body must have been trembling-she could feel it. He came very close to her now, towering above her short-ish stature. His gunning arm fell down by his side. He pressed forth until there was no space left, and Jasmine backed into a wall.


    She was now very aware of the table lamp just in her peripheral.


    The man led her to look at him with his fingers, gently leading to stroke down her cheek. The whole slimy gesture made her feel like retching.


    "Nobody would find you."


    Jasmine didn''t even process her own actions. She grabbed the lamp, and cracked him in the head. He yowled, and stumbled, shooting blindly and missing completely. Then she charged him, her stocky body enough to knock the man off balance.


    He tumbled onto the floor. His gun did the same, clattering out of his grasp. Jasmine took it and ran.


    She flung the door open with a clunk, and kept going, not daring look back for a second to see if her, ''patron,'' was after her.


    That is, until she ran into something.


    She stumbled backward, landing ass-first onto the pavement. She gasped and looked up to see hulking there the largest person she''d ever seen. A man, with dark, black skin, gray whiskers and hair, and a mountain of a body.


    She held the pistol at him, her grip weak and her aim jittering.


    The mans gaze widened, and he took a step back, tossing his hands up with a single, ''woah!''


    Then footsteps came from behind. She looked over her shoulder to see the man who''d bought her. He froze at the sight of the mountain before him.


    Jasmine couldn''t decide where to point her weapon.


    The titan cleared his throat. "Evening, sir. What would you be up to around this time of night?" He looked down to Jasmine. His eyes narrowed. She must''ve looked a mess; bloodied and bruised. Then he shot the other, much shrimpier man a far more disdainful look than he had before. "This time of night... Chasing young women through the streets?" He shook his head condescendingly. "That''s not a good look, my friend. Not one bit."


    The other scoffed. "I''m not chasing women through the streets."


    The large man looked down at Jasmine again. He had an almost pitiful look in his eyes. Like he felt some way about her. Some way that wasn''t immediately hateful. But Jasmine still felt dreadfully hesitant.


    "I see..." he said. "Well... iregardless, she-" He said the word very purposefully-made it stand out. "-is the one with the gun, here. So, I would strongly recommend you stop in chasing this young lady about. We wouldn''t want something to happen, after all. Now, would we?"


    Jasmine had elected to point back at her client, now.


    The man looked down at her. Then back to the largest of them. "Like I have anything to lose..."


    The large man nodded, almost sadly. "Alright..." Her reached into his own waist and pulled out a weapon of his own-a rather larger sidearm that he pulled back the hammer on.


    The skeevy man fell back an inch. But then he took two gutsy steps forward.


    "A-!" said the largest. The rat just glowered. Jasmine stared at him and her grip began to shake again. And he snorted.


    It happened in less than a second. A hard crack against her face that left her splayed on the sidewalk. An earsplitting bang that echoed through the air. And then, darkness.


    Silence.


    . . . .


    She woke up in a bed for the first time since she was little.


    All of her was agony: sore and pained and awful. The cushion of the bed beneath her was a welcome distraction. But not enough to distract her mind from whirling with thoughts of where on Earth she was.


    She lurched up, but not without a nasty sear rocketing through her head. She groaned. That''s when she heard a voice from the other side of the room, following a chuckle.


    "Be careful there, love. Nasty bruises on you-not to mention that steel-toed boot that lad had." He gave a, ''tsk.'' "Nasty hit."


    She looked to the massive man across the room, sat at a quaint, steel, circular table with a glass of some sort of amber alcohol. Panic flooded her system quickly. She scrambled out of the sheets and fumbled around in her pockets looking for the gun she''d-


    Right. She was pursued. Then was kicked. And now, apparently, was kidnapped.


    "S''on the nightstand," the man said with a noncommittal wave. Jasmine immediately scrambled there, pulled it off, and held the business end toward the man at the table. He turned his head and looked at her lackadaisically.


    She''d had a night''s rest. More than enough to resteel herself. But was it enough to snuff a life? She didn''t know. She hadn''t yet had to.


    The man gave her a look that seemed almost... disappointed? "I''d really like it if you didn''t do that."


    Jasmine''s aim didn''t waiver. And the large man sighed.


    "My name is Lucas, by the way. A very sorry way for us to meet, I''m sure."


    A silence.


    He gestured with his glass. "Yours?"


    "Why the fuck would I tell you that?" she sneered. He nodded.


    "Fair enough. Not like you''ve much reason to trust me."


    How could he be so calm with a bullet aiming for his head? Or maybe he just knew she didn''t have the nerve to fire it.


    He took a slow sip of his alcohol. Then he sighed.


    "If you want to shoot me, I won''t stop you. If you want to leave? I won''t stop that, either. Though, I''d strongly appreciate it if you did neither. I''d find that most agreeable, I think," he said simply. Another swig.


    Jasmine felt her urge to shoot the man waning. Should she run? Most likely. But, some odd sense of curiosity made her so desperately not want to. She wanted to understand what on Earth this man''s deal was. Why on Earth had he-seemingly-saved her? And why was he throwing lines in this conversation like death wasn''t an object? Like he wasn''t at gunpoint.


    She lowered the gun just an inch. "Jasmine," she almost hissed.


    "Your name?"


    "Yes."


    "It''s quite lovely. You pick it yourself?"


    "Y-"


    Jasmine froze. So that was the deal. He was probably some sick psychopath who just wanted to fuck someone like her to know what it was like. Or to feel in power. Or to satisfy some primal, sinful urges he wasn''t allowed to otherwise.


    But she wasn''t determined to let that happen. Not without a payment.


    Her aim ridgened again. And Lukas sighed.


    "If you''d sit down," he said, "I''d love to tell you a little story."


    Jasmine glared at him.


    "I think I''ll be fine standing. And," she said, steadying her pistol, "if I don''t care for it, I''ll put a bullet right through that big, fat skull of yours."


    The man huffed a laugh.


    "Hm. Very well. I hope it amuses you then; for my sake."


    Another swig. And a pause.


    And then he spoke.


    "S''about this girl," he said, "A young one. She was a little lost, y''know? When she was a kid. Parents hated her, loved wearing overalls. Still kinda does, honestly. Rough-housed with the boys. Nobody much liked her, ''cept for them. To them? She was just like any other boy: rough, tumble, and with a bag full of rocks in his head."


    Another sip.


    "Then, one day, that little girl was broken from the fantasy. Parents wanted''a make her a, ''respectable,'' young woman. Which means, naturally, no more trousers, no more t-shirts, and finding a respectable young man to ship her off with. Preferably a white one with enough cash to be a little generous with it. Raise the family status, maybe. See, they knew their skin wouldn''t get them very far. And having a delinquent daughter they couldn''t even use? That won''t get you anywhere, either."


    The man grimaced. And Jasmine had found herself softening. She still had the gun raised. But she''d let the barrel drift downward. Lukas took another drink.


    "Well, needless to say, their little girl-now a young woman-didn''t care all that much for their plan. So, you know what she did?"


    He looked to Jasmine as if prompting for a response. When she scowled, and said nothing, he continued on anyway.


    "She ran away. She hadn''t any idea what she was doin''. Somethin'' stupid, probably. And it was. She got shot in the street in less than a day. Woulda died. But someone scared off her attackers. And that, was a young man. He was a kind fellow." He stirred his glass on the table. "Didn''t stay long though..."


    There was a silence. Then he continued.


    "He worked with a particular organization. And I think that you''ve probably heard of it."


    He looked to her for some sort of response. Again, nothing. She had a firm grasp on her firearm. It was, now, at the very least, pointedly aimed at the concrete floor.


    Lukas turned back away. "The Underground. He was a courier. I found myself a nice little place there..." Then he fell silent. And Jasmine saw the remorse that flickered behind his eye.


    "Then, one day, he got shot. But... no one was there to save him."


    A handful of seconds came and went before Jasmine found it in herself to speak.


    "You were the, ''woman.'' Weren''t you?"


    Lukas smirked at her.


    Jasmine swallowed. And Lukas continued.


    "That man died that day. But me? Nah, my story wasn''t done. Because, you see, bein'' in a place like that? I finally got an opportunity to be. He died..." Lukas swallowed. Jasmine heard a crack when he continued. "And I decided... I wanted to be a protector. Like he was. So I became one." Stir. Sip. Set. "You know where you are right now?"


    Jasmine stared him down. "No," she spoke flatly, "Of course not." She''d lowered the gun to her hip, now.


    "This is that want. My dream. A safe space, where people can be without fear in leisure... ''HideAway.'' This is the road to protect I''ve paved myself. And for anyone else who chooses to walk it with me." He gave a glance to Jasmine, and he smirked. "In addition to finding out strays like yourself."


    Jasmine swallowed, shifted, then looked him in the eye uncertainly.


    "But, why help me?"


    I don''t deserve it.


    Lukas shrugged. "Right place, right time. And you certainly needed it."


    Jasmine stared pointedly down at her toes, lips curled in.


    "I should be going..."


    Lukas shot a raised brow. "Where too?"


    And she looked at him. She swallowed. "Home."


    "Where''s that?"


    And Jasmine didn''t know. She hadn''t known ever since she''d-


    Why did you leave me here alone?


    I''m  n o t h i n g  without you...


    At her hesitation, Lukas dared speak. "I have a proposal for you."


    She snapped out of her head, her eyes narrowing at him. "Proposal?"


    "Often," he said, "Others will end up coming round here. And they get to stay or leave, of course. But I always give them a choice, if I think they need it."


    Jasmine huffed, and frowned. "And you think I need it?"


    Lukas snorted, and smirked. And she scoffed.


    "It''s a job. We have a few rooms, just like this one. You see, this place used to be an old maintenance tunnel-the ship is so big, when people work in these, they tend to live in them, too, the transit to further depths of the tunnel being so long..." He shrugged. "But this tunnel was never finished. It''s just this station. Tunnel continues, but there''s no posts." Lukas finished his glass, set it on the table, and stood to his full, mountainous height. Jasmine''s trust was there, but it was fragile. She tightened her grip on her gun. He didn''t approach her, but he stood and looked at her, hands in his pockets.


    "My point being," he continued, "Is that you can have a place to stay here. Shelter from the elements-and people. In exchange for working with me on my little project, here. You get to keep tips. And, performers get tips, and a dividend of show-day sales."


    Jasmine cocked her head.


    "Performers?"


    . . . .


    From the old, holey tent she had in The Developments, she took only two things. Two paltry items that were, as it was, all she had from her old life. A novel-the only book she took when she fled her home, with the title, ''She Was Made From The Sun.'' The spine was worn and battered from being opened over and over again. And the pages were fraying. The cover: scuffed.


    The other thing was something more juvenile. And her name was, ''Piper.'' She was a small, flimsy, plush rabbit given to her by someone now gone. Her Harper.


    Harper didn''t have a protector when danger found her. Maybe things would have gone differently if she did.


    Jasmine left the wreckage of her life behind and went into the gutter. She pushed away her thoughts, and she knocked on the steel door. The voice behind called out to her.


    "Your name, or I shoot you."


    Jasmine swallowed.


    "Songbird."


    ~;~

 Chapter 7

    The two would see each other around twice a week. The first may have been a bit of a stretch: just a few, brief moments¡ªdripping with tension¡ªwhen Calliope came with Jasmine''s weekly healthcare parcel. The second: every Sunday for some actual time just being together. Equally tense, but all the same wonderful. Sometimes, they''d go down to the HideAway. Sometimes they would do nothing more than read a book. But no matter what, it was always the sweetest.


    There was a new warmth between them they had kindled for the past few weeks. And Calli felt phenomenal every single day, heart swelling with the thought of a soft body and warm lips that had become calmness and comfort to her.


    A home away from home.


    One Monday morning, Calliope returned home smiling as she always did. She followed the usual trail down through the sewer where it led to The Underground. She entered the office to be immediately welcomed with a tangled thread of unease, an ill feeling floating through the air she couldn''t name as anything else other than dread. She looked out onto the flurry of panic on the office floor¡ªpeople hurriedly hauling boxes, fussing with computers, working with guns. People making arrangements.


    She was swiftly snapped from her whiplash when she felt Kit come to grasp tightly on her leg. Her gaze flickered down to him, and she slowly shrunk to his level with a sort of stiffness; like a plant withering over. But he wouldn''t meet her eyes, just burrowing into her further. She tried to tilt his head for him to look at her, and he hesitantly complied. But when she finally could look into his eyes, she only saw fear there: that same thread.


    She moved to try and say something¡ªprovide some sort of ease or reassurance of anything at all¡ªbefore she was interrupted


    "There you are, Bright-Eyes." It was somber. Hollow.


    Calliope met her gaze. She was frazzled, her hair disheveled. She smiled, but it wasn''t really there. Just a phantom.


    "Imogen..." she hushed. She gave a gentle pet of her brother''s hair, a vain hope it would provide the reassurance she was not yet able to say. Then she stood to meet Imogen, rolling out of the way briefly of someone dashing along the office floor so fast they nearly barreled into her.


    "What''s¡ª"


    "You have to run," Imogen cut, not daring let her finish.


    Calliope gave a slight shake of her head, dumfounded. "What?"


    "Take Kit, and run. You have to get out of here,"


    Calliope face faltered to a stunned glare. "Imogen, what are you¡ª!?"


    "Lucero!" She barked. The woman jumped¡ªKit did with her¡ªand her jaw set firmly shut, silent. Imogen took a short, yet deep breath. "We''ve been found, Cal. They know where we are."


    "The Peace Army?" Calliope shook her head, eyes training down as she tried to piece things together. "I don''t understand. How did the cops¡ª"


    "Elliot didn''t return last night."


    Calliope froze. Elliot was another courier. He wasn''t much a close friend of hers, but the loss still pinged in her chest. Yet, not quite because of any strong connection, or mourning. But at the same time, exactly that.


    She knew exactly what a loss like this meant.


    "Shit..." she got out.


    Imogen took in a hissing breath through her nose, and she nodded. Then she took a step closer toward Calliope with a stern look. "You have to leave with Kit now, Lucero. This isn''t a request." Calli was far from unprivy to the crack in her voice. "This is an order from your captain. You must leave, effective immediately."


    "I..." she swallowed. "But, Imogen... what if I can¡ª"


    She stumbled and gasped as harsh palms shoved shoulders. She shuffled backwards, trying to keep herself up. "That is an order! Move, courier!"


    Calliope looked into Imogen''s eyes. Her stern tone was betrayed by them. And she felt her own breath hitch as tears seemed to threaten her. She gave a single, resolute nod. She tore her eyes from Imogen, then pulled Kit away from her, and the child immediately seemed to long for the contact. But he got it back and more when she hoisted him up, carrying him to their bedroom.


    She set the child down on his sleeping matt as she gathered what little she needed. Kit''s favorite stuffed toy from the very small collection that he had: a tiny, frazzled-looking, old frog. And Jasmine''s loaned book.


    She found the limited materials she needed and cradled them to the courier''s office. She blindly snatched the first satchel she saw, stuffing in what she could fit.


    She had finally finished swiftly, and turned on her heel to head back for her younger brother, still waiting in their bedroom.


    When she heard a resounding...


    BANG.


    Then another.


    And another.


    A rattling of heavy-fire and agonized shrieks.


    She threw open the door of the courier''s office. Gunfire rattled through the safe space that had been her home for so many years. And blood came to soak its walls.


    She gasped as a man¡ªone of the desk-jockeys whom she was quite familiar with¡ªstumbled back into the wall next to her. His stomach was seeping crimson as his fingers dug into the holed flesh. He looked to her with an unfocused, panicked stare. Then, he finally slid down, leaving a streaking trail behind.


    Calliope shuddered, staring hollowly at the fresh corpse for a dangerous amount of time. When she finally shook herself, she darted over the bloodied body and across the main floor, and around the corner to where Kit was waiting for her. She threw the door open, breaths ragged...


    Only to find that he was not there.


    She screamed for him. She stumbled around the room, peering around the few objects in the space, and looking around the corner of the bathroom, to find him nowhere. Then she felt tight hands on her calf. She gasped in spite of herself, only looking down to find Kit there. She was ready to bark at him, ask him where he had been, why he''d moved, what the fuck he thought that he was doing. But she succeeded in quelling that urge, replacing any harsh words with an admonishing glare.


    Taking a deep breath, she finally slid the satchel she''d been cradling to her chest over her shoulder, swiftly making sure it wouldn''t interfere with her movement at the angle it rested at. Then she crouched to scoop Kit up into her arms. He was shaking, and she felt his weak breathing patter her shirt as he cried into her.


    Within the underground, there were a total of two exits. One was the primary; the enterence into the old sewer tunnel, funneling to a ladder one could climb to the street. The other, was a small, man-dug hole in the back of the facilities that reached a tunnel of live sewer piping. The usage of that exit was strictly prohibited except for in times of emergency. Now was, assuredly, one of those times.


    It seemed most were staying to fight. They had no time; no preparation for what had come. No time to dispose of patient documents, materials, tools...


    The only thing to do was fight for it all. A fight, Calliope was quite sure they could not win. But it was there duty. And it pained her she couldn''t serve in that mission. But she had to leave, and live. For Kit''s sake.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    And...


    Calliope flicked the fruitless thoughts from her head, as one far more vital came to her mind.


    What about medications?


    Kit in her arms, Calli ran through the field of gunfire. She tried to stay as low as she could, and she managed to make her way to the chemist lab, avoiding the carnage as was possible and keeping Kit''s face buried in her shoulder, protecting his eyes from the gruesome scenery.


    She entered the unfinished room. She had been in this room enough to know where they kept the medications.


    And, the paperwork.


    She went to a large cabinet in the back of the room, flinging it open, shoved several bottles of orals into her taken satchel. Her hands didn''t hesitate to additionally shove several injections into her satchel as well: for Jasmine.


    They needed something. Both of them. She had no idea if these medications would be all they would have for the rest of their lives, or if, maybe, there was the slimmest, slightest chance another place like The Underground existed; another place for them to get treatment.


    Maybe against her better judgment, she decided to hope for that. Because it was the only thing she could hope for.


    Calliope proceeded toward the large, wall-length filing cabinet on the left side of the room. She frantically ran her eyes and hands on the various drawers, each labeled with a letter.


    ''M.''


    She through the cabinet open, tossing files on the floor that she found got in her way.


    ''J.''


    She pulled out the manilla labeled, Jasmine March, and shoved it clumsily into her satchel. A box of syringes fell loose, and she panickedly picked it up, and shoved it back in.


    ''L.''


    Found.


    ''C.''


    Calliope Lucero.


    Taken and stashed.


    Jasmine adjusted her younger brother on her chest, pressing him close.


    Necessities acquired, she ran.


    She threw open the door to the chemist''s lab, bolting, not daring hesitate for even a second.


    She staunchly kept her gaze forward, firmly holding on her hopeful destination as she dashed across the raucous, iron-stenching room.


    Until a firm hand finally hooked her satchel.


    She yelped, as she tried pulling away, flinging what little weight she had around, clawing at her back desperately, anything. All to no avail.


    She felt her feet lift off the floor, and her body hurl several feet, slamming against a wall. She fell to the floor on her side, grimacing. Still holding Kit to her body. She let out a choked sob; tried to scramble. But then her hair was taken, a strong arm pulling her neck violently backwards, dragging her form to drive her spine-first into the floor.


    Those violent fingers pried Kit from her arms. And Calliope panted, clawing after her little brother, angry eyes glaring at the soulless form towering above her, armoured plating serving to even further emphasize the size disparity. He donned a mask that completely obscured his features, only emphasizing the anger in his glaring gaze. He threw Kit to the floor, and the child almost bounced. Calliope screamed, arm flailing after him. But her breath was quickly plowed from her form by a foot that was still digging into her stomach pushing down.


    The man held up a rifle to her head. And she froze.


    She was going to die.


    Her eyes flickered to Kit, now laying battered on the floor. He was going to die too. Alone, with no one.


    Images of a battered old apartment. Of a mother''s gentle eyes. Of the warmth of her arms. Of the care on her face.


    Flickers of the Underground. Of the small patch of dirt outside where she would be permissed to, ''sneak,'' out with her younger brother.


    Imogen''s face, and jabs, and the cold air as she shadowed her delivery route during training. The time she barely missed a roof and Imogen had to catch her. The time she managed to cluster five perfect shots into a target with her handgun. The smirk, and the ruffle of her hair.


    Then a coy, tender smile. A kiss. Soft breaths on her naked chest, and gentle teeth nipping lightly at her throat. Platinum hair in her hands and a teasing remark. A naked body against hers, soft moans pattering her ears. The exact moment an, ''I love you,'' that would never occur may have occurred. She would pull that rare, coy face she always did when she was nervous; when she''d toe the floor, desperately trying to avert her eyes. Which was a rarity. But moments of genuine softness and commitment were one of those few things that made her shy. Jasmine would stumble it out, tongue tripping over the words. And Calliope would laugh at her; she''d probably get a punch in the shoulder for that. Then she''d pull her in by the full curves of her hip to press a kiss to her lips. And Jasmine would just melt. Calliope was so proud she could make her feel something so intensely that she would have trouble standing.


    And then she would say it back.


    Lips that felt like home.


    Her mother. Kit. Imogen. Jasmine.


    Calli smiled.


    Then she shut her eyes.


    But in the following moment she expected to hear gunshots, she only could hear irritated grunts.


    And a scream.


    Her eyes shot back open. There was Kit. Punching and kicking at the man before him''s legs. A glare on his face as he sobbed. And Calliope blanched in horror when the officer cracked him in the head with a gauntlet.


    He splayed backward onto the wood. And Calli watched as his eyes flickered from anger to fear, the gun turning on him.


    She screamed in protest, scrambling for her waist, trying to find her gun. But she wasn''t fast enough.


    The bullets rocketed from the policeman''s rifle. And Kit became almost unrecognizable after what they did to his skull.


    And Calliope''s stomach sank. She suddenly felt so incredibly ill. But she didn''t have long to process as the man turned back to her. And she felt the claws of anger take her mind.


    She finally found the stock of her gun hanging from her waistband, and she pulled it on the man, firing for his head. The glass cracked on his eye. He stumbled. She shot again. The second round ricocheted off his helmet. Then again. This one hit one of the few spots where armor was lacking. The bullet sunk into the monster''s throat. He dropped his rifle, and he gagged and clutched at it, his hands dying red.


    Calliope, vision red, fired at his head again, but the round sailed off and smashed into the roof somewhere. The man tripped backwards over the corpse of her little brother and fell to the floor. And Calli felt sick again.


    How dare you even touch him.


    She screamed and fired again, and again, until she''d emptied her entire magazine into the man. She didn''t register her own carnage until after. When she saw she''d managed enough force to shatter the bullet-proof eyehole of his mask, already cracked. And the civil soldier was bleeding on the floor and motionless.


    Calliope heaved a ragged breath. And then her gaze fell on the broken body of her little brother, laying there, motionless. She bundled him in her arms, and sobbed. He was so cold...


    She felt herself shuddering. The smell of gore was choking the air now, penetrating her lungs and turning her gut. She shook as she held him, eyes stinging with hot tears and the wafting of iron and gunpowder.


    A hand grasped her now, right by the strap of her bag. It pulled her close, and Kit rolled out of her arms as she was stood. The hand drug her away from her sibling as she sobbed, clawing weakly at the air to go back to him, but with no real volition. He was gone. She just wanted to hold on a little longer...


    She didn''t care who was pulling her. If it was someone who wanted her dead, that was just fine with her. And so, she allowed herself to be taken through the office. All the way to that one, small hatch. The one hatch she was trying to reach. The one hatch where her brother would no longer be following her.


    The person dragging her threw it open and shoved her toward it. She looked with frozen, trembling eyes at the person who''d drug her. Imogen stared back with a remorseful look.


    "I told you to leave, Calliope..." she shuddered, lips tight. She shoved the scrawny woman. "Now LEAVE!"


    Calliope stared at her, feet heavy on the floor. Her breath caught in her chest, she dashed toward the older woman, and she hugged her, sobs wracking at her chest. Imogen squeezed her back.


    Imogen pulled her to arms length, and looked into her eyes tenderly. "Please, Calliope. When I..." She swallowed, tightly, and gave the most morose smile. A smile that reminded Calli of unfavorable memories.


    "When I have to go face your mother tonight... I don''t want you to come with me."


    Calliope sobbed. And she fell into the woman again. She felt her arms wrap around her, giving her a slight squeeze, before she pushed her out of them with enough force for her to fall backwards into the ground.


    "Now, LEAVE!!" she barked.


    Calliope sobbed. She stared into the woman''s eyes, betraying her true feelings to her.


    And so, Calli tightened her lip. And she scrambled behind herself into the hatch. Imogen knelt, smiling after her.


    Then the door slammed shut.


    Calliope froze, staring into the ink where Imogen''s final eyes had been. Then she heard heavy footsteps. Then gunfire. And the loud sound of a thud against the wall behind her. The urge to puke wracked at her stomach again, pain gnawing her heart. She turned away for a final time, and scrambled down the emptiness, tears still tumbling from her eyes. She had no idea where she was going in the pitch dark. But it was a straight shot, she knew. She just had to feel along the walls, keep pushing forward, until she reached her freedom. And she did, when she finally tumbled out the other hatch into the open space of a twin sewer tunnel. This one, still in operation.


    She fell into the rancid water. The poisonous air stung and burrowed into her eyes like botfly maggots digging into live flesh. Her eyes darted around the emptiness. She stumbled through the space in swift desperation, only thinking of finding a way out.


    It took her several tens of minutes before her hands felt the cold, metal bars of a rusting ladder.


    She pulled herself up it as quickly as she possibly could muster. When she reached the top, where the sewer met the street, she shoved the grate aside and scrambled out.


    And there she was in the dark of the night¡ªthe middle of some sparse, residential street. She shoved the grate back into its place and darted for the first alleyway. The place where she, finally, allowed herself to break.


    She slammed to the wall and slid to the floor, sobs ripping through her core. She grasped her sewer soaked hair and hushed a strangled sort of shriek. Then she felt her stomach turn.


    She scrambled forward, the contents of her stomach projectiles out with a series of painful retches.


    She coughed up the last bit of bile, spat, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Then she slumped right back onto the wall.


    And she cried.

 Interlude: Announcment

    Up in one of the higher districts lived a family more fortunate than many.


    That is to say, a family to be: a couple¡ªman and wife¡ªand their coming son. The two were gathered around their small television set, not as good as the neighbors¡ªthe man always fumed about that, though his wife couldn''t be bothered¡ªin waiting of a broadcast: an emergency presidential address. None of them were sure what on Earth it could be about: the president, with the highest regards, was a bit of a loose canon. An emergency address could be a call to celebration of recent successes, or an angry declaration against whatever enemy had done the most recent wrong to the nation.


    They hoped it would be the former.


    The footage flipped back on from the fifteen-minute commercial break, to zoom back into the handsome fellow who anchored their most preferred news station¡ªthe only news station¡ªinstated by the president''s predecessors to combat the rapid spreading of deviant agendas and terrorist propaganda. There was only one way to know, and they liked it that way.


    The man cleared his throat and shot that gleaming smile of his toward the camera.


    "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "Thank you for doing your good American duty and tuning in tonight. I''m your host, Jonathan McMiller. But, as always, you can just call me John." He winked.


    The camera panned toward a graphic showing one of the most popular portraits of the president, staring at an angle into the distance with a face that was staunch and stern.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "As you''re most likely aware of through either the city announcement system, or through our phone bulletin, we''re waiting in anticipation for an upcoming spectacular address by our nation''s great leader, President Marston, which will be starting momentarily. We will now be switching to the live feed." The man gave an odd chuckle. "I''m sure you''re all just as eager as I am. Let''s check it out."


    McMiller dissolved off the screen, and an empty podium came into view. The camera in the addressal room zoomed in closely to the podium. Then the president came into view: round, with golden-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes like a sled dog''s. He adjusted his suit jacket and smiled over the podium, nodding to the good citizens viewing at home.


    "Good evening, my fellow Americans," he rasped with a grin, "I''m pleased to announce that this morning''s address is a good one."


    The man and his wife at home let out a sigh in relief.


    "I am very pleased to announce that America''s Finest, the wonderful Peace Army, has discovered and performed a successful raid on that most heinous, evil organization that has been distributing transgender hormones to innocent children and vulnerable people: The Underground." The man kept a staunch, strong face as he spoke, like any proper man should. A symbol of America and its good values, standing in the face of those who would seek to destroy them.


    "Their disgusting operation has been completely and totally destroyed. We have eliminated their leaders, and found vital documents that will lead us to where the remaining members will be hiding. Americans will no longer have to live in fear of these deviants, perverts, and monsters. God bless you all, and God bless the United States of America. Let us celebrate today as we celebrate any great day in our history."


    The man smiled to his wife and gave her a kiss. And she smiled back. And she thought, pleased, how glad she was that her child would grow up in a world that was safe.

 Chapter 8

    Calliope hadn''t come that night.


    Jasmine had waited for her. Waited almost thirty minutes beyond the allotted delivery time thinking maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªsomething was holding her up, or she was running behind, or¡ªHell, maybe she''d got distracted by something. But her nail-biting and anxious pacing yielded nothing.


    She had locked the door, now, and had paced her floor for another thirty or so minutes. The first thing that went through her head was she wasn''t going to get her medications for that week. Then immediately an overwhelming throw of guilt as the thought came to her mind, ''But Calliope...''


    Suddenly, a much deeper worry panged in her chest. She froze where she was on the floor, palms of her feet digging into the wood like she might become buoyant and float away. She bawled her fist and pressed it to her lips, lightly rapping her pointer''s knuckle there. Then she gave a harsh sigh from her nose, making a decision. She turned on her heel, grabbed an old white hoodie that she''d tossed on her bed upstairs, jammed her arms in it, and left in nothing but it over a t-shirt and shorts.


    . . . .


    The wind was starting to bite her thighs, now.


    It was supposed to snow tonight. At least, that''s what she''d heard; her boss at the grocery store had told her when she''d finished work that day she wasn''t expecting her to come in tomorrow. Which was unfortunate, because she needed a good day''s payment. But she''d be alright. It wasn''t the first time she had to hold out on work due to the weather. At least it wasn''t a Sunday.


    Jasmine had peered down city streets and alleys and all manner of stupid, fruitless attempts to find her missing courier. But all were for not.


    It was all just dead ends and losses and each one broke a new crack into her confidence.


    Then, perhaps against her better judgment, she decided to pay in a visit with The Underground. She plodded through the chilled streets with purpose, and maybe less caution then she should have given. Yet she couldn''t be bothered to give a single shit. She had a mission and goddamnit, like she would let herself fail.


    The walk took her about twenty minutes from where she had stopped her impulsive searching. She rounded a corner, brushing a stray bang out of her eyes as she peered down another alleyway in one of the more eastbound Developments.


    But then her blood ran cold, freezing her core more than the air tearing at her exposed inches of flesh could ever.


    There was a drain cover that Jasmine knew led to that unused sewer tunnel ending in the main office. But now, instead of being left and seemingly abandoned, it was surrounded by bright, yellow police tape. A pair of Peace Officers with fully-automatic rifles idly guarded the marked space, pacing aimlessly, but with surveying eyes.


    Jasmine clapped a hand over her lips to stop a gasp, body shuddering, wanting to scream or say or do something. But, instead of saying or doing something, she turned, and she marched away, driving her fingernails deep into her palms.


    She found a promising alley wall where she finally slumped down, curling in on herself and screaming into her thighs.


    Not again...


    You did it again.


    She''s dead now. Just like Harper.


    Why didn''t you do something?


    You could have protected her.


    This is why you shouldn''t make connections.


    You''re better off as someone''s toy.


    Remember?


    Good things don''t happen.


    Not here.


    And not to people like you.


    W h y    d i d      y o u    l e t    y o u r s e l f    h o p e    a g a i n ?


    "Well hi there, pretty thing."


    Jasmine''s head snapped up from where her eyes had been burrowed into her bare knees. She glowered at the figure of a bulky man hulking over her, a beanie on and a puffer and a t-shirt and jeans. His face was pimpled and scraggly. He clearly wasn''t trying to keep up appearances.


    And he had the most vile smirk on his face.


    A look Jasmine was worryingly familiar with.


    She held a hand close to her chest for her gun, should she need it.


    "I''m really not in the mood," she sneered. But it came out more shuddery. She hadn''t noticed until now the hot tears burning down her cheeks and stinging her eyes.


    "Mood for what?" the man snickered. It was then Jasmine felt another pair of eyes on her.


    Jasmine narrowed her eyes. Then dove her hands into her chest.


    But, there was nothing there...


    She wasn''t wearing her holster. She had left home without thinking to put it on: in such a hurry to save a dead woman, she hadn''t even prepared to do so.


    The man raised a brow and smirked. Jasmine flicked her gaze briefly to see another, more gangly one approaching from her other side.


    "I-if..." she started. Then she cleared her throat, tentatively stood, and harshly wiped the tears off her cheeks. She spoke stiffly. "If you''re looking for sex, you''ll have to pay me..."


    The thinnest snirked. And the larger let out a breathy chuckle. Then he lurched forward. Jasmine tried to dart out of the way, but she wasn''t fast enough to avoid him snatching her wrist, and pulling her in close.


    "Now, hey there, hot stuff: we don''t pay for that sort of thing." The other, she felt press up behind her. And she could feel him on her back. She let out a sort of yowl, elbowing back the man behind her with some success, before twisting her wrist out of the other man''s grasp. She turned to run, but was stopped by the scrawny man''s attempt to snatch her by her hoodie. He hooked his claws into the garment, and Jasmine gagged. Jasmine grabbed his wrist behind her, and tugged, forcing him to stumble. But, when his much stronger friend joined in on holding her, she had a much harder time fighting back.


    She was pulled back, and felt large fingers lightly wrapping around her throat, another hand moving towards the plushness of her stomach, upward to the zipper of her hoodie.


    "Oh, yes, I love it when they fight," the man growled. Jasmine felt suddenly very ill.


    Just let it happen.


    It''s all you''re good for, anyway.


    Her zipper was pulled down, exposing her tee. Her body warned her of the missing layer, but she paid it little mind. She didn''t fight back.


    His hand rocketed up her shirt with disgusting unsubtly and volition, and wrapped around her breast..This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    She yelled again, though she didn''t know why. Was she hoping someone would come and save her? Unlikely. She would probably just make the problem worse for herself. She shouldn''t have even been out here to begin with.


    She clawed at the man''s wrist with her hand as the thinner closed in in front of her. He grabbed her cheeks, and tried pulling her mouth into his lips. She tried and succeeded in keeping her mouth away. But he was persistent.


    A hand grabbed her ass and she whimpered again, sobbing into the dark.


    She squeezed her eyes shut as her head was harshly yanked forward and tugged.


    But then she found herself pulled back by the man behind her. She heard him gag and struggle, and his hands eventually came off of her. He barked a yell, and she had half a mind to look at him and see why.


    The thinnest backed off now, too, looking behind Jasmine with some marked horror. He quickly began fiddling with his waist, lithe fingers wrapping around the stock of the handgun there.


    Jasmine elected to seize this opportunity.


    Once he''d pulled the weapon, she elbowed him in the gut before he could manage to do anything with it. He stumbled back and she snatched the wrist of his gunning hand. She pulled him in and gave a hook to his nose, the crack resonating off the walls of the buildings around them. She heard the gun clatter to the floor from his hand, and then she shoved him backward onto the ground. She snatched the weapon from the ground with a single, deft movement, before unloading three random rounds into his body.


    He stopped moving shortly thereafter.


    She turned behind her toward the other man, who was dancing around the alley and clawing at his back, pulling the shirt and hair of a scrawny individual who was now digging at his eyes. He slammed his back into a wall once¡ªtwice¡ªand the perpetrator became dazed, their grip weakening. Then he grabbed them by the collar of their shirt, and threw them over his head.


    They bounced off the cold concrete, rolling on the ground until they were beside Jasmine''s feet, stumbling onto all fours and shaking the daze out of their head.


    Jasmine gave her a dumbstricken gawk.


    "Calliope!?"


    Calliope coughed, sat up, and smirked, sheepishly, in a way that made Jasmine both want to kiss her right then and there and punch her right in her pretty little nose. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and scoffed.


    Calli scrambled to her feet and cracked her neck, pulling her pistol from her waistband.


    Both girls pointed their guns at the man across from them, staring him down. He scoffed.


    "What. You gonna kill me too?" He glowered. "You''re lucky your little attack-dyke showed up when you needed it..."


    Jasmine gave a snort.


    "You don''t get to speak to her that way."


    The man looked like he was about to move and say some other skeevy statement, but a volley of bullets through his lungs proved effective in shutting him up.


    He fell on the ground in a heap, the ground beneath him dying red.


    Jasmine let the gun she held clatter on the floor. Calli holstered her own in her hip. Then they stood there for a bit, refusing to make eye contact. Jasmine saw a snowflake in her periphery, her eyes following its descent to the floor.


    "... You were out here looking for me. Weren''t you?" Calliope spoke quietly. Jasmine still stared ahead, glaring.


    "I was."


    "... Sorry about that."


    Jasmine sighed, and dared to let her eyes flicker to Calli. The tan woman''s eyes remained steadily trained on her toes, whatever expression she wore obscured by raven hair. And she felt herself melt.


    She wrapped her arms around the scrawny woman and pulled her in close, burrowing into her neck as she held on like a vice.


    "... You scared the shit out of me, you know," she shakily breathed against her skin, "I was worried sick. I had no idea what might''ve happened to you..."


    Calli''s arms didn''t return her embrace.


    Eventually, she rasped a pathetic, "Sorry..." Jasmine sighed out her nose, pulling back to try for eye contact. Again, Calliope refused to meet her.


    "You don''t..." Another sigh. That wasn''t right: Calli had worried her out of her mind. She deserved an apology. Even if it was more pitiful than she maybe would have hoped. "... What happened to The Underground? I¡ªI went there looking for you, and there were cops, and they had everything all tapes off... Did¡ª"


    Calliope''s hands wrapped around her own in a way that wasn''t at all affectionate. And she removed them from her body.


    "... You could have gotten yourself killed..." Calli sneered, still hiding behind her hair.


    Jasmine tsked. "Well, I didn''t..."


    Snow had started coming with more fury, now. It wasn''t awful yet, but it was a steady fall.


    Jasmine swallowed. "Do you have a place to stay?"


    When Calliope didn''t respond, she tentatively took her hand, linking there fingers together. Calli didn''t protest, but she didn''t hurry to help, either.


    "Come home with me, please..."


    Calliope was silent. Her only form of response was a single, quick nod. Then, Jasmine sighed out her nose, and pulled her courier through the cold, all the way back to her apartment.


    . . . .


    There was a glass of water in front of her. Calliope hadn''t laid a finger on it. Jasmine had her own, and she was curled on the couch beside the tinner woman, holding the glass in her hands and staring down at the liquid within like she hoped it would tell her something.


    "... Do you wanna talk about it?"


    Calliope didn''t look to the other woman. She trained her eyes on her lap.


    "Talk about what?"


    Jasmine set her untouched water on the coffee table beside Calli''s. "I think you can figure it out..." Her tone wasn''t uncharitable. But there was a lilt of impatience mixed within.


    Calliope''s eyes stayed down. Then she felt a soft palm touch her shoulder. She flinched, her body tensing at the touch. But Jasmine''s small hand tenderly glided across her taught skin to the back of her neck, down between her blades, then retreating back to her shoulder again to run down the slight bulge of her bicep to her forearm, and coming to gently worm their fingers together.


    Calliope only let her because she was barely processing the touch. She seemed slightly soother, but she really wasn''t. And then she yanked her fingers away from Jasmine''s, abruptly shooting up.


    Calli had come with a satchel. Jasmine had taken it from her, tentatively hanging it in the end of the stairs banister.


    Calliope marched right over there and pulled the satchel off, shuffling inside of it. She pulled out a small box.


    "What''s¡ª"


    Calliope shot toward her quickly, cutting her words off, and shoved the box into her hands. Jasmine stared down at it, baffled.


    She looked at the label.


    Her medication.


    "Oh..."


    Calliope weaved around her. Jasmine shook off her daze, flicking to the other woman, and tracing her swift movement with her eyes. She watched her carry the satchel to the kitchen, tossing it on the counter island. From it, she tugged two manila folders, slapping them on the counter beside her bag.


    Jasmine stood as well and followed her, only to see her pulling open drawer after drawer, not closing one of them, shuffling around through their contents.


    Like she was looking for something.


    "I need a lighter. Or a match, or something."


    Jasmine was confounded again. "You¡ªCalliope, I¨C"


    "Lighter, Jazz."


    Jasmine''s mouth moved aimlessly a few lose tries in attempts to say something, before it decided on, "I¡ªI haven''t smoked in a couple years, Calliope, I don''t¡ª"


    Calliope scoffed, slammed her newest open cabinet shut, and proceeded back to the folders, snatching them up and tapping them against her hand as she sucked on her lip.


    "Calliope, what the Hell is going on!? Why do you need a lighter? What are those!?" Jasmine pointed to the folders. "Are you gonna burn paperwork in my kitchen, now!?"


    Calliope''s tapping halted in a flash. Her grip grew so heavy on the folders in her hands, she nearly crumpled them. Jasmine softened.


    "Calliope. What''s going on?" she spelled.


    "...I need a lighter, Jasmine."


    Jasmine groaned, loudly, moving back to the couch and slumping down there, burying her face in her palms.


    Calliope took pause, for a moment. And she looked at the woman, rubbing her temples and digging her nails into her forehead.


    She set the crumpled up files back down there, on the counter. Her feet started moving in slow, heavy steps toward the stocky woman there in the living area fretting herself. But then Jasmine spoke. And time stopped.


    "Where''s your brother, Calliope?"


    Calliope said nothing. She just stood there, still, fists clenched and eyes trained on the ground as a horrifying glint of imagery flashed in her eyes. And she suddenly found it very hard to breath.


    She took in some shuddering air, digging her nails into her bicep and squeezing.


    Then a muffled sob. And then something much louder, and harsher. She wilted right there, sinking to the floor and burrowing her fingers into her hair, pulling at the follicles. She pulled so hard, she plucked out some hairs, the searing pain in her scalp diluted by her emotions.


    She screamed at nothing. Loud and shrill and incoherent and broken. Like she hoped someone would hear her. The suffering digging into her chest; the anger topping her head.


    She could feel the ghosts of hands on her. She could almost hear the hushes, and the attempts at ease. The soft melody of Jasmine''s words trying to soothe her sorrow. Bring her heart back for just a moment. Temporary salvation from her own desires for self-destruction. And Calli let herself fall into her.


    She rawed her throat with pain. And, when she''d finally ran out of air and her vocal chords were too shredded to make another sound, she fell limp in Jasmine''s arms.


    Jasmine squeezed the frail woman. Something she¡ªtypically¡ªso quintessentially was not. But she surely was now. She''d been broken, completely and totally and Jasmine found an astute sinking in seeing her light so heavily diminished


    She pressed a kiss to the crown of her greasy hair. The woman reeked, truly: sweat, sewer water, and filth. She smelt like literal hot garbage, but far be it for Jasmine to care about that. Not now, anyway.


    She heaved the scrawny woman up in her arms with a huff. She wasn''t easy to carry; while she was lean, she was muscular, too. Jasmine wasn''t particularly strong, but she kept in shape enough, and lifting crates at the grocer with some supplementation of her performances kept her fit enough to make heaving her limp courier at least feasible.


    With some great exasperation, Calli was finally laid in Jasmine''s bed. Jasmine hesitated, but took it upon herself to undress the woman; her clothes were stained and rank, after all, and not fit to sleep in. If it was up to her, she''d be washed, too. But she''d like for her to be awake for that, at least.


    She laid the naked woman down, and stripped herself as well. Then she crawled in beside her. And she pulled her close. She was pleased to feel some minor response, as her courier nuzzled into her, and grumbled. She pressed a kiss to her forehead, and kept her close. Soon, her eyes finally began to grow heavier, until she fell into a light rest...