Dreams of the Quill

Only after I was done writing this did I notice the awesome FMP? Fumoffu! reference potential toward the end. Ah well, some other time maybe.

Marin sat at a round table on the deck of the Seaking, watching Guy Fawkes and Scars engage in a less than fruitful game of Seven-Four^[1]. Her expression was one of boredom, and she imagined that it was believable. There was no way Seven-Four could be interesting to anyone. It seemed fitting to Marin that the two playing the game were the two smugglers whose faces she couldn’t see—Guy Fawkes for his mask, and Scars for his muscles and scars.

As she sat with boredom written across her face, her mind was racing.

Is Dax alright? How long was I detained? Has the world changed since I was declared an enemy combatant?

Naturally, she came to wonder if there were any Angel Stones nearby. It had seemed oddly convenient that they had been scattered around Berkeley, but for all she knew they could move autonomously. She couldn’t put it past the real-life video game devised for her by a talking dog. She reached out with her magic—from the darkness in my heart, a violent awakening!

There was nothing to sense. Marin kept herself from sighing as she trained her eyes on Guy Fawkes’ die-rolling hand. His d20 turned up a seven and he rejoiced, only to roll a three next, which resulted in a flood of curses.

I guess the Angel Stones really are just in Berkeley, Marin thought. She wondered where Dax was, and what he was doing. When he had deserted her in the City Hall, she had felt betrayed. If the dog had been any kinder to her over the course of their relationship, Marin might have been glad that he had escaped, but as things stood it was clear to her that the dog had seen her as nothing but a tool.

He had wanted her to grow strong and destroy that doctor, whatever his name was. Granting her wish to level the Establishment was an afterthought.

Maybe he’s got a better tool now, mused Marin, one whose magic is stronger than mine, one to whom El will talk. Though depressing, the thought was also strengthening to Marin. Well, Dax made a big calculation error. I’m still here, and I’m coming back, and I’m no longer shackled to his plan. And my magic is stronger than ever.

Marin stifled a fake yawn as Guy Fawkes failed his second roll after getting another seven.

She would show Dax. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would topple the Establishment. She would need a cohesive plan, and for that she had a lot of things to consider: how do I make an impact on the government without harming civilians? How do I make threats without becoming a terrorist? How do I destroy without wasting?

Marin was distracted from her thoughts as a gentle hand descended on her shoulder. She jumped and turned to face Beard’s wrinkled frown.

“W-what is it?” she asked.

“Don’t try too hard,” he counseled her, narrowing his eyes.

“W-what are you talking about,” she smiled. Could he tell that I was plotting? she wondered, hoping he couldn’t. If the smugglers had cellphones and contacts in the government, it wouldn’t be impossible for them to make things harder for her.

Beard smiled, let go of Marin’s shoulder, and backed away.

“I was talking about the dice game,” he chuckled. “Don’t try too hard to enjoy watching it.”

Marin laughed nervously as Beard turned and headed below deck.

1. An incredibly idiotic dice game in which two players each roll a D20 continuously until they get a seven followed by a four. Don’t try this at home. [↩]