~ two

Mary - (XO) - While driving, a packed back seat and one passenger, the rest of the cars in the mirror.  "If I know them they'll fuel and fucking party."

~ Mary and Alley "! Whooo !" in the motel with bottles and jumping on the beds, while Geneva polishes her guns.  In the silence the sound of Parasol clicking buttons on her Gamebrick, headphones on.

Tzadkiel - "Because that's what you would do ?"

Mary - "Sure.  But just to kill time."  Clears her throat and stares at him a bit too long.  "Road trippers are fucking crazy and so are their husbands when they're gone."

~ She's straddling some guy in tears while glancing down to see if anything's happening yet.

Tzadkiel - "Horrifying.  Get anything useful ?"

Mary - "Kinda.  It's all about getting point A to B as fast as possible.  Which means jumping as few stones as possible.  Sometimes they even taunt the police to chase them, and it's way embarrassing if they get caught.

~ Alley slams down her shot glass and glares across the table at (FMK) Mary as if challenged.  We literally call it the Corellian fucking Run."  Pours a shot, drinks it and slams down the glass.  Looking stoic in her sway ... "If you know you know."

Mary - (FMK) "I have no idea what you're saying to me right now."
____

Mary - (XO) "But if they get away it can all get bought off when they get home.  Rich people games.  This is what their men complain about.  When they come home, they know it'll be bad, and they know they have to cover it to cover their own 'good name'.

 

"Sometimes they worry about them, sometimes they pray they'll never be back.  One guy actually disavowed her in jail and let her rot.  Asked me to marry him.  But I swear to God I did more counseling than fucking with that lot."

Tzadkiel - "Not a bad hourly for a counselor."

Mary - "Mm.  Well.  Anyway, it means they have to leave at the right time and they'll be partying until it's time to go.  This one's fiance was a fucking wreck."

~ Their car tears away screeching from the nexus motel in the morning.

Alley - Big hat and sunglasses on, a smoke and a throw away coffee in one hand, the wheel in the other, stupid scarf fluttering in the wind ... "Holy no fucking hangover."

 

Swerves hard in between the trucks with a sideways drift into the lane.

A route tracing between the stones of hard walls, blood passing through the tubes tangled across the dank floor.

As the patient drives, the connecting arms ahead leading to Midwich Stone, the single prison colony for all these other places, other places are jails but this is a prison.

 

Well patrolled, it's a prison city with suburbs for guards and services.  Used for labor, the roads ship quietly and one may wonder why, the rest of the travel is simple grocery and wares.

Deep through guarded halls and into a cell so beaten it looks like a cave, tubes filling across the floor and up draping the asylum beast, head down in thought.  

 

The floors and walls are marked with the symbols binding him, but he almost appears comfortably pensive as though he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Simply resting on a stone.

The patient drives on amid the traffic, prison trucks passing to drop off and release, guards vacationing, a truck full of eggs.  She's got lawn ornaments, there's no reason to believe she has any idea.

Just another job.