SPAM;

[anewlanguage]

[Forward dated to the Truth Event]

[THE WHOLE BARGE]

[Cain patrols, half out of anxious habit and half because he enjoys the routine. But it puts him in the halls, the Warden-only areas, the deck, the library, the art room. Feel free to chat; he has no idea he's under the influence of the Barge.]

[THE GYM]

[But he spends most of his time here, practicing and training, and lately taking on new students. This is where you're most likely to find him.]

Comments

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

Feels like less of a waste of time with you there. I dreamed we were on a train; mountains in the background. Climbing along the top like in a spy movie. That yours, or just me?

[Dream leakage can be a thing, when you make enough mental contact with someone. She wasn't trying for it, wouldn't have without asking. But it can happen.

She concentrates on his muscles, on the tight and worn spots, and she remembers her flood self, having lived on after losing him, and she can't keep her mouth shut on it any longer.]

...That thing we talked about. In the time flux flood. What'd you think now?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[He chuckles, imagining doing that with Iris, the two of them inching their way through the tearing grit that goes with a high speed crawl.]

That was me. In Germany, 'bout twenty odd years ago, I was there to kidnap a diplomat and his family. They had their own train, real nice vintage number.

[He shouldn't smile recounting such things but he is and he feels no remorse for it.]

That thing, yeah--see I've got an image in my head how that'll work, and I have no idea if it's how it really goes. Lay it out for me, what're the side effects, what do I have to do?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

[She doesn't ask whether or not the diplomat's family survived it. Iris has yet to divine the nature of this flood, but Cain tells her the truth as a rule; so she doesn't ask for truths she'd rather not hear.]

We should do the Orient Express sometime. Mid-1930s for preference. Climbing along the top strictly optional, but it's a great run either way.

[She kneads his back and shoulders, and her voice falls into a rhythmic, soothing singsong to match it.]

There's two parts to it. We need to grow you a timeship. My bus and me 'ave been working up to that. Ready to kick it off any time. I'll need to take us clear of the Barge, float out in the vortex away from outside influences. She'll take a while to grow, and I 'ave to build 'er a body - oh, I've got a great idea for that, I'll tell you later.

And then you. I'll take you to the Sisterhood and they're going to want to go through your 'ead and your timeline. Could be worse. There's one faction that'd need you to kill all your own ancestors for an initiation rite; the sisters'll just want to know you're not in it for stupid reasons. That there's enough of you to take it.

And then they'll change you.

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[His eyes close and he seems to almost fall into a meditative trance, or perhaps even to doze. He doesn't know enough to know what to expect, so he absorbs what she tells him and files it away.

One phrase does snag, though.]

You sure there is enough of me for it?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

[This is why she loves doing massage. There's nothing quite like that moment when you stroke and squeeze someone into this particular place, this relaxed intimacy. It's even better when you love the person; though Iris tends to love everyone she touches a little.

She laughs, deep and throaty and slow, at his question, and her hands don't waver.]

Oh, my love, there is so much of you we 'aven't even touched on yet. So much. Some of me reasons for wanting this are selfish. I don't want to lose you.

But there's so much universe out there you 'aven't touched yet. I want you to 'ave it. With or without me. Aye. I'm very sure.

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

Better with you. It's how I want it.

[Once, the only companion Cain could conceive of was one he literally created and shaped himself. Admitting to Iris that he wants her with him, all her unpredictability and joie de vivre as well, is the first time he realizes that he has truly changed here.]

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

[Her hands remain steady, working deep into his muscles with their deceptive cool strength. The sharply giddy thrill of joy is only in her mind and hearts, but it flashes into perception through her touch like champagne and fireworks blooming in a velvet night.]

Mmm. It's going to be brilliant.

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

For the sake of crystal clarity, I think you'd better tell me how you define 'brilliant'.

[He half-mumbles, half-purrs, certain that whatever she says will be worth chasing after.]

[Spam]

[routemistress]

[She laughs again, deep and soft and fiercely contented.]

Everything. I want to put you in a tuxedo and dance at Ambassadors' balls. I want to get in barfights in every 'ive of scum and villainy between 'ere and the Catan Nebula. I want to ride 'orses across uncharted deserts and pull off bank jobs and rescue orphans and tilt 'istory and freelance for Babs in Gotham and drive through the stars and ...There were never going to be enough time. There weren't the first time. We 'ad so much fun; we did so much and every second I felt you slipping out of me 'ands like sand.

I'm a selfish greedy woman. Brilliant is what we already 'ave. I just want more of it.

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[It's a magnificent thing about Iris, that every moment with her is emotionally kaleidoscopic. The anticipation of the things she describes tumbles with the fierce pride and joy of being able to do them; and they crash against the grief he feels for the pain she would feel if he died.

It's that grief, perhaps even more than his desire to race to the far planets, that made up his mind.]

I'll give you all I've got. And thanks to you, it looks to be like a hell of a lot, darlin'.

[Spam]

[routemistress]

[It's a magnificent thing about Cain that he can take it. Iris' mercurial intensity has scared off so many people in her life that she's still often painfully gunshy.

It's been easing, lately; she feels safe with him, assured more than ever since seeing that potential future that they work. That she's neither deceiving herself out of wishful thinking nor promising more than she's capable of giving.

She digs her thumbs into the pressure points either side of the base of his spine, and bends her head to drop a kiss on the nape of his neck.]

It always were an 'ell of a lot. I'm just finding you more time to stretch it out in, love.