The New London Divide
Midnight Bath
[Cheyla's Chapter]
In Lower-City North, Echo was having a similar pep talk with herself. She stole through the soggy New London streets past midnight with a mottled grey cloak around her shoulders. Any portion of her face that escaped the shadow would've depicted an expression that Echo "Ace" was keen on hiding. For once the fearless, brave, "warrior-girl" was a little scared.
You're strong. Determined. You're the young, vivacious leader of a brewing rebellion... Queen of No-Cards.
Co-queen anyhow, that was, if Anika deigned to show her face. Ace's 21-year-old adoptive sister was not one for words. As things were, it was up to Ace to stir the coals. Cause motivation amongst the other potential rebel recruits, and all starting tomorrow at the Ex-Capitol, during a Lower-London city meeting.
She felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly around her shoulders, making the knot in her stomach only tighten. Unseen ravens blurted eerie midnight songs into her willing ears. Something about the familiar creepy music gave her a sense of home. Smiling- though no one could see it- Ace walked into a back alley leading towards the Lower-City bathhouse. At nights, less people crowded the steaming pools; Ace felt she could simmer and marinate in peace, maybe watch recaps of six-o-clock news on the public TV to distract her mind.
She rested a hand on the cool, chunky metal handle and hefted open the back door with relative ease. It gave entrance to the women's locker room. Alone, Ace shed her cloak, and faced the rows of benches, wooden store-cabinets with years of splintered abuse showing on their faces. She picked an empty locker and stripped, making her way to the bathing room.
The TV was on as expected. Ace eyed the screen, slipped her sore body into the frothing hot tub. Wincing with the sudden sting of heat, she released a long, tired sigh, and rested her back against the concrete walls of the tub. There were rumors that the upper city people had porcelain tubs for private use, that they never had to submit themselves to such lower-city forms of humiliation. To herself, though. Ace thought private baths would be pointless.
As she watched the recent news updates, Ace made herself study the news forecast with deliberate attention. Any involuntary information slip was helpful, if not needed. While Anika and the rest of the war-veterans on the rebel team dealt primarily with weapons, Ace stood as the designated planner. She had a gift for intuition and guess, some of which people called pure luck.
The heat unwound her pent-up stress and coaxed her into an unfamiliar state of relaxation. Ace was the only patron of the bathhouse that night, and the only one who smiled at the announcement of Drenin Ryker's failed proposal as it was announced by the curt, disinterested anchorwoman. She couldn't believe there stood a stuck-up priss who would deny someone as perfect. In another life- one where she was as blessed with government amenities- Ace would have loved to be in the woman's position.
She kicked a foot, splashing water at invisible foes. Not that she supported the New London snobs. Everything about the flashy metropolitan lifestyle appealed to her about as much as being raided by street rats. But at least the grimy street thieves fought with purpose- meanwhile the gold and silver-card bearers lived life in a constant state of lethargy.
It was disgusting.
Ace finished her bath and re-dressed, noting the clock on the wall. It was well past curfew. She supposed the others might have something to say by the time she stumbled, half-asleep, into her familiar run-down apartment.
Weslane would have understood, though. He'd have everyone and everything laughing about a misunderstanding in the time it took for a street rat to clean out pockets. Any sort of motivational statement just came naturally to Ace's mentor. But now he was rotting in an improper burial, a mound of remains. Killed for the paper in his pocket.
Ace wasn't sure which was more impossible- overcoming the hatred of the government officials who'd done it, or being able to properly fill in for him.
She knew she was going to have to try both.
In Lower-City North, Echo was having a similar pep talk with herself. She stole through the soggy New London streets past midnight with a mottled grey cloak around her shoulders. Any portion of her face that escaped the shadow would've depicted an expression that Echo "Ace" was keen on hiding. For once the fearless, brave, "warrior-girl" was a little scared.
You're strong. Determined. You're the young, vivacious leader of a brewing rebellion... Queen of No-Cards.
Co-queen anyhow, that was, if Anika deigned to show her face. Ace's 21-year-old adoptive sister was not one for words. As things were, it was up to Ace to stir the coals. Cause motivation amongst the other potential rebel recruits, and all starting tomorrow at the Ex-Capitol, during a Lower-London city meeting.
She felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly around her shoulders, making the knot in her stomach only tighten. Unseen ravens blurted eerie midnight songs into her willing ears. Something about the familiar creepy music gave her a sense of home. Smiling- though no one could see it- Ace walked into a back alley leading towards the Lower-City bathhouse. At nights, less people crowded the steaming pools; Ace felt she could simmer and marinate in peace, maybe watch recaps of six-o-clock news on the public TV to distract her mind.
She rested a hand on the cool, chunky metal handle and hefted open the back door with relative ease. It gave entrance to the women's locker room. Alone, Ace shed her cloak, and faced the rows of benches, wooden store-cabinets with years of splintered abuse showing on their faces. She picked an empty locker and stripped, making her way to the bathing room.
The TV was on as expected. Ace eyed the screen, slipped her sore body into the frothing hot tub. Wincing with the sudden sting of heat, she released a long, tired sigh, and rested her back against the concrete walls of the tub. There were rumors that the upper city people had porcelain tubs for private use, that they never had to submit themselves to such lower-city forms of humiliation. To herself, though. Ace thought private baths would be pointless.
As she watched the recent news updates, Ace made herself study the news forecast with deliberate attention. Any involuntary information slip was helpful, if not needed. While Anika and the rest of the war-veterans on the rebel team dealt primarily with weapons, Ace stood as the designated planner. She had a gift for intuition and guess, some of which people called pure luck.
The heat unwound her pent-up stress and coaxed her into an unfamiliar state of relaxation. Ace was the only patron of the bathhouse that night, and the only one who smiled at the announcement of Drenin Ryker's failed proposal as it was announced by the curt, disinterested anchorwoman. She couldn't believe there stood a stuck-up priss who would deny someone as perfect. In another life- one where she was as blessed with government amenities- Ace would have loved to be in the woman's position.
She kicked a foot, splashing water at invisible foes. Not that she supported the New London snobs. Everything about the flashy metropolitan lifestyle appealed to her about as much as being raided by street rats. But at least the grimy street thieves fought with purpose- meanwhile the gold and silver-card bearers lived life in a constant state of lethargy.
It was disgusting.
Ace finished her bath and re-dressed, noting the clock on the wall. It was well past curfew. She supposed the others might have something to say by the time she stumbled, half-asleep, into her familiar run-down apartment.
Weslane would have understood, though. He'd have everyone and everything laughing about a misunderstanding in the time it took for a street rat to clean out pockets. Any sort of motivational statement just came naturally to Ace's mentor. But now he was rotting in an improper burial, a mound of remains. Killed for the paper in his pocket.
Ace wasn't sure which was more impossible- overcoming the hatred of the government officials who'd done it, or being able to properly fill in for him.
She knew she was going to have to try both.