Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Fifteen Credits a Kilo - Wednesday, Septembris 14===
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Davin grunted and hefted the fresh slab of auroch into the clean, almost septic display case. A ruddy-skinned, black-haired man, Davin Burrek was short and stout, and while he needed a stepping stool every now and then, the butcher had no trouble lugging about auroch flanks and loins of even the massive Elgik Blue breed easily. He piddled around a little more, not quite eager to leave despite the approach of closing time. He'd hoped to sell to the regular people of the block, but more and more only the less reputable elements of the block could afford his prices, already so low as to barely allow Davin a living.

He stole another glance at the decrepit old TV. The machine's speakers barely worked, and had been slowly declining in volume over the past few months since Davin had taken up shop. He'd turned the volume knob up to maximum during the first hour of his first day, and found it didn't work. ''Nuthin' some pliers couldn't take care of.'' Still, it was dying, and soon he'd have creds enough put back to move up to a higher block, where the regular folk could afford to pay twenty six creds a kilo for albic fillet. ''And I'm barely paying my bills at that rate.'' His eyes wandered back to the flickering, almost completely desaturated screen, at the great writhing mass of players locked in struggle over the imperceptible oval-shaped ball. Davin smiled to himself. ''It's getting' good.'' The teams had been neck and neck since the end of the first quarter, but he had a feeling that was about to change. The lighter colored team pushed hard, evening the score once more. The ball soared, then went wide off target, another miss from the tiny kicker. ''He's just not playin' hard enough tonight, they're gonna lose if they don't get it together.''

A burly, shaven headed man steamed through an opening in the other team's line out, and ran nearly fifty meters to finally touch down. The ball smashed into the ground, then soared high into the air above the ecstatic prop as he roared to his teammates, riling them up even further. Three quarters of the game in and they'd definitively pulled ahead by one point. Davin couldn't tell which team was from which area, and he didn't care. It was about watching the game, not rooting for one side in particular. ''They're both good, too. Damn good.'' The massive scrum developed once more, the intervening action barely discernible through the cracked glass and spotty reception. The sudden last quarter score seemed to give the losing side some fresh motivation, and they threw their all into the offense. Injuries came fast and hard to the other team, and it seemed in the blink of an eye the fly-half had been replaced three times. But now that they had the advantage, the darker uniformed team seemed even more determined to keep it. Through most of the game their playing was brilliant and creative, culminating in a last minute distraction that had opened up the opposition's lines at the start of the last quarter.

''But this ain't a game of brains or cleverness.'' Those traits were rewarded in scrumball as much as anywhere else. Davin liked the game because the most steadfast team won, and the winners were showing it now, overflowing with grit and savagery as they began to score their own injuries. Soon second, third and fourth picks were hobbling back and forth over the battlefield, all but leaving a trail of blood in their wake. ''And it is a battlefield now.'' The clock was running down, and both teams seemed to grow more and more ferocious with each passing second, the lighter urging forward, making kicks and short runs. The darker team seemed to block them at every turn, kicks failing and players getting smashed aside by brutal counter-tackles. Davin felt his blood begin to surge. He turned away from the slabs of gleaming red meat, moist and fresh, and focused every fiber of his being on the game. He could see it, see the leading side rally, desperate to take the trophy, not to lose it at-
“Fifteen credits a kilo, for ground chuck? Now that's a crime!”

Davin nearly leapt out of his pants at the scrunched old woman standing suddenly before him. Her face was wrinkled, eyes shoved up into the folds like two tiny, malevolent raisins. They were quivering with outrage as she turned her gaze from the window to the butcher.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Davin wasn't one to roll over to pressure, he'd been in his share of fights and arguments, and when he got mad he turned into a bulldog of a man, short and powerful in attitude as well as body. Still, he hadn't quite recovered from the appearance of the old woman. ''When did she open the door?''

“I've been in here for three minutes and you haven't even told me what the specials are! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Old Pete McLellan ran the butcher's shop on Tripter for fifty years and never treated me so poorly before he passed, bless his heart!” Her voice was a high, irritating shriek, and despite her drawn, wrinkled face, Davin could see a pair of thick wattles flailing around underneath her neck. Her back seemed wrong somehow, almost lumpy in the way some people became as they aged, and her form bulged with fat under heavy coats.

<nowiki>'</nowiki>''Specially when they eat too much black soylens.'' Davin sighed and let the old woman rant on for another five minutes, keeping an eye on the Slide dealer across the street.

“Twelve creds a kilo! And not a credit more or I'll call the block association on you!” The woman was quivering with rage, but the frantic swaying of her neck wattles only made Davin want to laugh.

“Deal.” The woman stopped, eyeing him suspiciously, then began to rummage through her many pockets and bags. After fifteen minutes she'd pulled together sixteen credits worth of old and mostly run down creds.
“One and a half kilos.” Davin took the creds, checked them and portioned out the ground auroch chuck without batting an eye at the two creds she'd shorted him.

''I'll let 'er have it. Respect your elders an' all that. Especially one this old who can still throw out that kinda fire.'' He smiled graciously, only eye-to-eye with the woman because of the two centimeter step-up behind the counter, and she waddled off out the entrance, clutching her prize as if it would be taken from her the moment the door closed. She eyed the dealer warily, and he let out a low chuckle around the dimming lho-stick in his mouth.

He watched her tuck the meat away, the package disappearing into the incomprehensible mass of pouches and satchels. A shaped moved in the blackness on the other side of the street, behind the woman, and strong hands pulled her into the darkness. A malformed shape, thick with grime and mutation, smiled evilly as it dragged her deep into the alley.

A low, guttural voice rumbled out of the scavvie. “You got tha' meat, girlie?” A knife gleamed dangerously in the last flicker of a dying lumen strip, and the woman's breathing quavered with fear. The knife disappeared, and a rope took its place, winding slowly around the thick, wattled neck. “You know where you made your mistake?”
The clothed head shook feverishly, frizzy, frayed hair pulling loose of the kerchief.





“Even with all these prosthetics and clothes and the stoop–none of which I like having to wear, by the way– You didn't walk right, Doug.” The voice changed, now high, teasing and soft. “You really have to pay more attention to your inserts.”

“We should mix it up, at least every now and then, Callie. No reason to let useful skills, such as heavy makeup and prosthetic fabrication, fall out of practice. And I assumed yesterday's injury would be more than enough to cover the alterations to my gait.” The old woman looked up at the scavvie, eyes mild, speaking in crisp tones. He returned the stare, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I still don't get what you were thinking, Doug. You're not that clumsy.” The scavvie rolled its bloodshot eyes.

“It was an accident, Callie. Nothing more.” The old woman continued to struggle, putting on a good show for anyone looking too closely. No one was. “I simply lost my balance on account of the close lunch table.”

“Don't try to pull that with me. Who taught you how to lie?” The scavvie pulled the noose a little tighter, causing the old bag to let out a deep yelp.

“Cah-kk-Callie.”

The scavvie's smile returned, wide and lustful. “Damn right I did. Besides, even if I did believe you, Doug, you were almost late today. Why was that?”

“I-ghk.” The lumpy hands finally relented, letting the old woman breathe once more. “Thank you, Callie. I was simply looking for a more expedient means of transportation.”

“Yeah, and Gorechild ''just'' happened to be there?”

“Well, she did nearly run me over, Callie. It would've been rude to simply walk away.”

“Keep it up, ''Doug'', and I might start thinking you have a thing for her.” Rough hands twined the rope a little tighter. “Not that I blame you, but you know we're not supposed to do that.”

“As if you have room to talk, Callie. If I remember correctly you were brag-” The noose pulled tight again, and the scavvie began to blush, of all things.

“Shut up! ''Technically'' I didn't do anything to her!” The old woman continued to thrash for a long time while the scavvie blushed more deeply, lost in memories. The defiance slowed, and the scavvie finally relented.

Heavy breathing came next, deep and ragged, as the proper color slowly returned to the old woman's face. “Of course, Callie. I simply fear Miss Angron has driven away most of her friends and family as a result of Mr. Trelan's indiscretion. It wouldn't do to have her lapse into... old habits once more.”

The scavvie finally let go of the rope, and hands slid down onto the old woman's shoulders. “Fine, fine. So is that the guy or not?”

“Yes, I believe so. Observe the hat and coat, and especially the way he walks. He's nearly a perfect match for the figure recorded by the servitor, indistinct though it was. His name is Winhus, I believe.”

“So, we gonna bust him or not? Let's just get this over with, there're better things for us to do tonight.” The scavvie's harsh voice let out a surprisingly feminine growl.

“I don't think we should. We've been observing the man for three days, and I can see nothing that indicates he killed the child on purpose. I'm beginning to wonder if he even knew the slide was pure.”

“Who'd give a street dealer-addict uncut slide?”

“I don't know, Callie. And that is what makes me apprehensive. Whoever orchestrated this is either indifferent to who was killed, or exerts a great deal of influence over Winhus or his direct superior. Perhaps even both. It seems far too distant to be a simple pleasure killing, and far too organized to be a random accident. Who would stand to gain from a lone child dying of a slide overdose in the lower hive?”

“Whole thing creeps me out.” Doug felt a small chill pass through him. Callie's indoctrination prevented her from feeling remorse or disgust that might paralyze her in the field. To admit that the child's passing had disturbed her at all, much less on a mission, only reinforced how gruesome the event was. “And why are we even doing this anyway? I don't mind slumming it in the lower hive with you every now and then, Doug. But two days in a row? I'd rather be keeping an eye on Victoria or Lyra. Hey, you think she-”

“I'm hurt Callie, and here I thought you might appreciate some alone time with me.” The scavvie's hands began to move along the old woman's shoulders once more.

“Well, not that the alley is my sort of thing, but can't knock it until you try it, right?” The scavvie brought it's lumpy, distended face down to the old woman for a passionate kiss. A loud shudder sounded from across the street, and the dealer, Winhus, took off, eyes wide with disgust.

“It seems we've lost track of our dealer, Callie. I think it's time to leave.” The old woman stood with alarming ease, and helped the scavvie up, then the odd couple retreated into the darkness of the alley, hand-in-hand.



“Please, Callie, come in.” Doug stood tall once more, freed of the prosthetics and heavy clothing he'd been wearing some time ago, and looked no more like an overweight, haggard old woman. He opened the door to his small, bare apartment, then turned and ushered in the slight figure before him.

“Don't mind if I do!” The dirty hood dropped down, revealing a golden blonde ponytail and playful blue eyes. The small form, now bare of lumps and malformations, all but skipped into the tiny apartment. The rest of the disguise dropped, revealing Callie's fit figure. Doug stepped in as well, pulling the door closed, and made to turn on the lights. A delicate hand, its movements now much slower and softer than during the violence they'd displayed before, stopped him. They pulled into another kiss, faster and less reserved than in the alley.

“I knew you'd come around? What did it, thinking about me and Om-”

Doug chortled. “No, I just needed some time, Callie, that's all.” She tugged him gently towards the low bed in the far corner, and smiled as he barely resisted.

''Just need to distract him now.'' A hand slipped up to her head unbinding the long ponytail. Callie shook her hair out, smiling even wider. “Why're we doing this, anyway? Not that I mind mixing it up.” Doug picked her up and carried her the last two steps to the bed, where they fell into a rough tangle of limbs.

“Do we need a reason to do this?”

Callie laughed, white teeth gleaming in the poor light filtering through the grimy window. “Not this, Doug. The drug thing.” She began to move underneath him, abnormal flexibility letting her shirk clothes easily. “We're supposed to be protecting the Daughters, why're we looking into slide dealers and dead kids?”

Doug paused, and Callie nearly let out a sigh of frustration before he started up again, talking around kisses. “Father insists the situation could become a problem for the Daughters if left out of hand. I'm sure what information we've gathered by saturday will be more than enough to dispel his concerns.” The last of her clothes finally slid away, and Callie set to work on Doug's, anxious to complete the task while she and the changes to their operation parameters were still distracting enough. “There is definitely some organization-” His shirt came off, but Doug barely noticed between Callie's lips and the details of block #113's slide trafficking running through his mind. “But I doubt it's anything on a scale sufficient to threaten our charges, even the more susceptible among them.” Callie grinned widely, then let out the frustrated groan as his hand stopped hers from undoing his fly. “Please, Callie, we've been over this.”

“But why not, Doug!” She sat up suddenly, hair and modest chest leaping enticingly.

Doug breathed deep and composed himself, then let a hand on each of her shoulders before looking her coolly in the eye. “This isn't you Callie, this is the indoctrination. I don't want that, I don't want this to just be part of the mission as much as I don't want it just to be physical.”

She brought her hands up and cupped them under Doug's chin, and returned his look as honestly and passionately as she could. “It isn't, Doug. This is me, I want this, not just as part of the fucking mission. Me.”

Doug smiled and kissed her, then rolled around onto the bed behind her. “Then prove it to me, Callie. Let's just sleep tonight, let's just enjoy each other's company.” He kissed her on the lips once more, then wrapped her in a warm, comforting embrace. Callie could feel him calming down behind her, his heart-rate slowing, breath growing more shallow and even, and barely suppressed a frustrated scream. She tried to calm herself down, to go along with his breathing and relaxation, but the indoctrination pricked at her mind, constantly needling and reminding her that there was another advantage to be had here, more influence to be won. Doug exhaled slowly, and Callie went to work on herself, letting his simple presence be enough for tonight. Soon enough she slept as well, warm, content and satisfied.



“Well it's not that easy for me Doug!” Callie jumped out of bed, now screaming. Doug simply sat there, a look of mild disappointment playing over his face as the overlights slowly came to life, signaling the barest start of morning. “I can't just not do it! Why can't you understand?”

“Callie.” His voice was calm and sounded understanding, but it only served to frustrate Callie further.

''At least fucking yell, Doug. Do something, anything but sit there and lecture me.''

“Just one night, Callie, one night would've been enough for me to be sure, to know there's more to what you feel than... this.” He gestured to a slight discoloration of the sheet, roughly under where Callie had slept the previous night.

“Why does it have to be either-or Doug!” She all but fell forward, and Doug pulled her gently onto the bed. “This is normal, this how people feel. Just because the indoctrination makes me want it more doesn't mean it's not honest! It doesn't mean I'm not being real.”

“It doesn't have to be either-or, Callie.” He kissed her gently on the head. “Not for the rest of time, just for one night. I just want to see for one night that you want us to be together for more than gratification. Maybe to-”
“Fine, whatever.” Callie stood up and began slipping into her clothes once more. “I'll see you this weekend. Sunday, maybe. I've gotta get to the bus.”

“At least let me-”
“No, we shouldn't be seen leaving the block together, you know that.” Callie gave him one last hard look and resolved to try harder next time, then slipped out the door. The ratty old coat came on again, hood pulled low to disguise her features, and within minutes she'd merged into the bustling crowd of hivers, impossible to pick out.