Recessive

[Fawn]

The Tourniquet rolled and bucked on the incoming waves. One dirty leather boot crossed over the other, arms folded on her chest, she exhaled. Squirming twice against the hammock, as was routine, she bucked against the possibility of rest. An hour here or two there were the bulk of how she slept. Always fitful, always brief. It had been that way since...

Consciousness drifted like the wind did, flitting through images of maple trees and nights in the humidity of Blackmarsh. Her body inhaled trying to catch the figments of her past and pocketing them for another time. She stood outside the tavern there, her gaze locked on the door she'd stabbed so many daggers into, leaving notes. No longer alone, she continued to gaze at the wooden entrance.

"It no longer stands." Aingeal's voice was soft standing beside her. Nothing more than a whisper, she heard it plain.

"There is very little left I remember that does."

Aingeal laughed softly drawing Paytience eyes. The pristine and decorative woman who normally draped herself in a backless black number was gone, replaced with a badly bruised version. The black was still there, but it was more present in the markings on her face and arms in elongated patterns than it was in her outfit, and it was now mixed with deep purple. Her left eye was swollen to the point of almost being shut. Her tiny but disjointed fingers held a lit rose colored candle. "Endings are a part of life, Paytience." She smiled then. Pay thought that for sure blood would pour from the badly busted jaw, but none did. Forming an “O” with her lips, Aingeal lifted up the candle and blew, extinguishing the flame. “The light has returned.” And with that she was gone. Pay was once more alone under the Feluccan moon staring opposite of the Blackmarsh tavern door at where Aingeal had stood a moment ago.

[Fawn]

She felt it in her muscles, the pent up need to exact pain. It bred and thrived within. Years ago, it was satisfied with a gang fight or the quick high that came with boosting an old man's watch from his coat pocket. Quid pro quo came with fleeting but immediate gratification. As a fourteen year old, she'd thrived on the feeling. It was her mainline into adrenaline and reminded her that she was alive. Here, in Red Fang Point, the next best thing would be hopping a cargo ship into the waters of Jhelom. Her fingers twitched at the thought, every nerve on end as the idea of trading steel, skin, and fluid with the pirates edged their way from their corners of her mind into the forefront.

Picking her gloves up off the bed she slid them on to her fingers as if trying to suffocate the itch. Hunger of any kind had a tendency to gnaw at you until you did something to feed it. Inhaling sharply, the sting of her cracked ribs called out their reminder of just how much damage had been wrought recently. She tried to curl her hand into a fist, but there was ache there too.... from Judas concrete jaw. Better his jaw than his hairy ass, she thought, quickly shuddering at the memory of last nights level of intoxication. She pulled her head up and the final physical manifestation presented itself. Her neck, badly burned from Randall's lackey's in the Dog, remained bandaged for now. Paytience was not looking forward to the removal of it either, new skin... ripped from old...

No, it was none of those that kept her attention and caused old desires to flow. It was the memory of a dream and the confirmation that the nightmare was real, doing the most damage. She couldn't shake the mental image of Aingeal, broken and heavily colored in deep red and purple bruises. She couldn't shake the knowledge that her friend and sometimes mentor, was among the dead. Soon, if she wasn't already, she'd be a headstone that Paytience avoided.

She cussed out loud then, a vehement "Shit". Reaching up with a gloved hand she ran her fingers down the streak of red in her bangs.. tonight it would get one more layer of blood...

[Fawn]

"Riva." She kept her voice just loud enough for the older woman to hear.

"Yes Paytience?" Touching her exceedingly grey hair with the tip of her hand as if to smooth something that didn't exist, she turned to smile sweetly at Fawn.

"There was a girl here this morning. She's new isn't she?"

Nodding quickly, the older woman responded. "Her words are odd and her mannerisms are brusque. But she's a regular customer and pays well."

"How regular?" There was no denying the edge Fawn slipped into her words.

"Twice a day for the last three months. She's been helping with minor orders that come in from the passing boats." Demonstrating her words, she led Fawn to the nearest table cluttered with both threaded and unthreaded needles, scraps of drab grey cloth, and poorly stitched leather leggings.

"This is the quality she delivers?" Fawn gazed at the mismatched stitching, as if trying to reconcile her image and the one presented to her. "This wouldn't keep a rat dry."

Riva laughed, her frail shoulders shaking with the motion. "You should have seen it when she first came in. Still, she's adapting. She has a knack for repair over creation. Creativity seems to escape the girl when it comes to an original piece... but, present her with something already completed, just torn and she does well. She has been next door to the smith as often." Riva nodded to the southwest building across the way.

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes, Miss Paytience. Her name is Mesa."

"What the hell kinda name is that?"

"She calls it American, Miss Paytience. Whatever that means."

[Fawn]

It had always been her office. The side of the tailor shop was where she went to conduct business, to write in her journal when the muse saw fit to visit, and where the she took time to think. Warnings from a gauzy figure throughout the tunnels drifted across her thoughts. Fawn had never been one to take orders, so the demand to leave would fall on deaf ears.

She untucked the bloodied journal from her sack and flipped through the pages once more. Reading, she paused on page eleven. It stuck in her craw that the mage-lord had divided them. Recalling the benches, she looked up and out at the waves as they rolled in beating against the rocks. A memory, like a reflection of the sun, burned itself forward. Coercion came in many forms. Willing participant or not, power could be focused if you knew what to threaten with and where to hit the hardest.

- - - - - - - -

*18 years ago, west Britain*

"Be quick about it Thomas!" Her long black braid matted and flithy, an 8-year-old Paytience whispered through clenched teeth at her companion. Thomas had his hands split between two tools, working the lock before him quickly.

"I'm movin' as fast as I can," he spat, gruffly.

"They're comin'. Hide!" Her voice quiet but still somehow shrill, she turned from her spot next to the door just as Thomas ducked behind the case in the southwest corner of the room. She ran, bent, and slid in next to him just as the door opened.

Two hours later, their pockets full, Thomas leaned his lanky twelve-year-old arm on her tiny frame. Eyes alight with accomplishment at having cleaned out Premier Gems, they headed north and crossed under the main gate bridge, too caught up in their own worlds to notice the unshaven male who watched from the side of Sweet Dreams inn.

[Fawn]

“‘Ow much did we get?" Her mouth stuffed with a piece of bread, Paytience craned her neck to look over at where her partner had squatted in the middle of the floor.
"It was a nice haul. Not bad for a few hour’s work." Dropping a handful of sapphires, Thomas got up and walked across the wooden floor, the creak echoing with every step. "Tomorrow is the rally."

She rolled her eyes at him. That meant the pale pink dress and her hair in pigtails. “Can’t Trae do it?”

“She can, but we need to test you. ‘Sides, you’ve been practicin’ for weeks. And they won’t see you comin’.”

“Fine. But as soon as I’m clear that dress comes off!”

“You have to dress up all the time for the Fawn’s. Why is this any different?” he was openly laughing at her now.

“I’m not a doll!”

“Yes you are, Pay. You’re our doll. And tomorrow we’re gonna pose you and pull the strings.”

- - - -

He’d settled in a few feet from the windows. His movements slow and timed, he’d been there for hours without detection. His pants stank of urine and his hands of feces and other questionable substances from his week without a bath. Cleanliness wasn’t the goal, no; putting those talents in front of his eyes to better use, that was the goal. Soon enough, all of them would be his. Like marionettes, by god they would learn to dance when he said so.


- - - - - - - - -

In her typical position on the side of tailor shop, Paytience waited. This was the time the girl normally arrived Riva had said. Right on time she saw her stride between the two buildings with an ugly little beetle trailing behind her on a rope. Dark brown hair pulled into a small tail, catching the bangs and sides up, let the rest of her hang straight to her shoulders.

"You know if you feed it, it'll just follow you." Her head down, Pay spoke loud enough for the girl to hear her.

"A beetle the size of my car is a new idea. I don't think I'm comfortable with it running over me when it wants to get away."

"Like holding it on a rope would keep it from doing that?" Pay pushed off and put herself directly between the girl and the shop door.

Noticing where she had placed her body, Mesa stopped and stuck a hand on her hip. "You want something lady?"

Pay's lip curled at the term lady. "Riva says you've been coming here for awhile now."

"And that's your business how?"

"Call it a friendly inquiry. I've known these people a long time."

"Good for you, now can you move please. I have work to deliver." Mesa tried to duck to the side but the woman stuck her boot out.

"It's Mesa, isn't it?"

"And you're the bitch in my way."

Paytience smiled then. She had a mouth. That would help. "How about you call me Fawn, instead of the bitch."

"I'll call you whatever you want if you'll move."

With a curt nod, Pay moved out of the way and let both Mesa and the beetle pass.

"Substandard tailoring and crappy smithing, is that all you know how to do?"

"Do you always piss off new people when you introduce yourself?" Mesa turned have to her and half to the table as she dropped her things off. Riva has already spotted her, but had yet to come out. She assumed it was because of Fawn's doing.

"Only if I have work for them."

"Oh, now there's the way to make an impression." Sarcasm laced itself heavily on her words.

"What else can you do?"

"I'm a mechanic in an autoshop."

"Mechanic....What the hell is an autoshop?" Folding her arms across her chest, Paytience stood there dumbfounded.

Mesa sighed heavily and started to take the conversation from the top. It was going to be a long afternoon.