A Life in Intervals

vii.
you were thirty when you were first assigned to defend someone.

her name was remina, and you stopped reading the list of her crimes a third of the way down.

she was caste seven, one above you, with sapphire eyes. she smiled at you through long fangs and a bloody scratch on her right eye.

hello, legislator, she purred. the hell happened to your eyes?

you told her that it was a gift from the insomniac. then you asked what the hell happened to hers.

she laughed. gift from the insomniac as well.

you couldn't argue with that logic. actually, you could, but the answer was painfully obvious.

she wetted her lips. did you know that your annihilators had me in two fucking sets of handcuffs? you sure know how treat a girl.

you didn't correct her on the 'your'. it was better for her to think that you were in charge of this situation. you told her that you noticed that she was only wearing one. she winked at you mischievously.

i am a skilled lockpick, she informed you. you remember that she was proud.

you asked her if she knew her incentives to answer your questions. she shrugged. i've only got one.

you told that she could not be farther from the truth. you tell her that you (and you alone) could lift the multiple death sentences from her shoulders.

there was a pause. then a snort. god complex, much?

you changed tactics. you leaped onto the table and pointed your sword in between her eyes. you told her that now she had a clearer incentive.

later, you would ask her if she thought you really would kill her.

she said maybe, but probably not.