Farisia Rising

The Tail

Eva was asleep in the passenger seat of the little red rustbucket, when Reggie returned from his outing. It was maybe eight at night. They'd parked by another road verge, this one taller, with bigger maples that had offered useful shade during the day.

She'd been sleeping maybe two or three hours, with Reggie out doing who-knew-what. As he flopped into the driver's seat, she quickly found out where he'd been. He had a stack of hundreds, clutched up in one hand.

"Where did you get that?" she pressed.

"The ATM," he replied, "Among other places."

"Er—how did you—" she saw his expression, and went quiet. She was probably happier not knowing. Ignorance was her last vestige of bliss. A final outpost, of sorts, before everything relented to guilt and shame.

What am I doing here? she'd asked herself, several times. All she knew, gravity wasn't as heavy around him. It wasn't such a burden to breathe, to live. He was her favorite distraction, and a potent one at that—with him there was never a dull moment, no time to reflect, to remember, to regret. He was like a drug that never lost effect, a permanent whirlwind high.

And stranded as she was, he likely could have told her anything, anything at all, and her loyalty would've been no less.

"You wanna go to the mall?" he asked, after a minute of leafing through his spoils.

"Um—" she startled, "Why?"

"I'm getting sick of this hot, itchy uniform," he complained. "Even with the jacket off, it's miserable. I left my old clothes in the garage at the hotel..."

"We could just go back and get those," she proposed.

"Or," he rebutted, "We could have some fun before we ship out. The mission's done. We got the night to ourselves."

"O-okay," she nodded, groggily.

The mall was a ten-storey behemoth, nine floors parted to each side of the central corridor, all open and railed with glass. On ground level, kiosks were populated about, advertising their wares. And directly above there was a great skylight, with a crosshatch of supports.

Night colored the skylight, and the shops pulsed and glowed beneath. There was a deliberate ambiance to the footpaths. A stylish neon punctuated them, reflecting off the glossy marble floors.

Eva stopped, just shy of the marble.

"Is it an...indoor lake?" she asked, "Why is it white?"

Reggie trudged ahead, to demonstrate. "They have special waxes over here that make their floors look liquid. But don't worry," he tapped his foot to a tile, "I don't think you'll be drowning in these anytime soon."

The massive food courts were alive, all three of them. Each dining hub was codified by its own color-scheme.

"Most of these are fast food," Reggie noted, "I got enough for anything. Take your pick."

Before she could choose, a wayward thought occurred. "Hey," she almost snickered, "Wouldn't it be horrible if that mobster-looking guy was here, and saw you?"

"Yeah, it would be," Reggie mused, "For him."

"You're not armed."

"I don't have to be."

"How strong did the surgery make you, anyway?"

"If need be, you'll find out."

She pouted, though it was all in good fun.

Since neither were that hungry, they took to the stores first, in search of fresh clothes. Reggie avoided the more uppity retailers. He was used to wearing suits, whether casual or formal. But tonight he was burnt out on suits altogether, and looking for a change of pace.