Prose Magica: The Ballad of the Seventeenth Part 11

Therese thrummed her fingers on her desk. Everything had gone wrong. The plane had already left by the time she had reached the airport, taking nearly a half dozen soulgems to the other end of the country. Worse yet, a serial kidnapper was unaccounted for and she had somehow taken one of the most powerful girls in the Officio with her.

"God DAMN it!" The rusty-haired girl shouted as she slammed a fist on her desk. "What the FUCK happened last night?!"

A second girl sat across from her, her bangs pulled aside by a pair of hair-clips looked on with an expression that said all that she wanted to.

"This isn't your fault, you know-"

"I'm the WARMASTER for god's sake!" Therese yelled, seething with rage. "And I can't handle one girl and a bunch of no-name thugs?! Do you understand what that says about me? What that tells the other girls and god forbid the other warmasters!"

"You know what I think," Tyler said, giving the warmaster a knowing look, "I think this is Brighton's fault-"

"Oh shut the hell up, Tyler!" The warmaster groaned with a roll of her eyes. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Think about it!" The aide countered, leaning over her superior's desk. "Holly told me what happened. She said that Brighton over-ruled your plan and you went with it! You just let her boss you around!"

"MY plan?" Therese replied. "Even I know that my plan was stupid. What would we have gained if we just stormed the building, hm? A PR nightmare-"

"Time." Tyler stated bluntly. "You could have beat them to the punch. But instead you let Brighton waste time feeling the place out, sniffing around for shit like a dog-"

"You're honestly going to play this card NOW? I can't believe you," Therese shook her head while her hand reached under the desk and wrapped around her enormous warhammer. "My mentor- My FRIEND might be DEAD and you're going to turn this against her?!"

"We're not the police, Terry. We don't need to abide by those sorts of procedures. If we think someone is up to something, we don't sit around with our thumbs up our asses waiting for evidence. We kick their fucking teeth in and make them wish they never crossed us."

"We're not some street gang," the warmaster replied through gritted teeth, "we need to operate efficiently and with a modicum of restraint. In a moment of thoughtlessness I forgot that and Odette kindly reminded me."

"Will you EVER stop brown-nosing that degenerate?" Tyler shouted, standing up from her seat to pace about the room. "Jesus, you keep looking for excuses why this is somehow not her fault-"

"And YOU keep looking for reasons to shove her face in the dirt!" Therese roared. Bursts of static crackled and popped at her fingertips as she bit her lip, almost to the point of drawing blood. "You are seriously testing my patience here, Tyler. I don't know how Odette pissed in your cereal, but if you hope to keep your position you will get your pathetic vulture ass out of my office THIS INSTANT."

Tyler gave the warmaster a stern nod before turning on her heel and exiting the room without a word. Therese gritted her teeth and closed her eyes before flicking her hammer into the air, then bringing it crashing down upon her desk, cracking it in two.

"DAMN IT!" She cursed, breathing heavily.

She respected the previous warmaster far too much to openly admit that her own plan would have been a better option. It was a reckless, foolhardy plan, but it would have worked. Therese shook her head, desperately trying to get the thought out of her mind. Her eyes flicked to the PA system built into the ceiling.

"Holly!" She roared, her lip still quivering with rage.

A moment passed before the intercom crackled to life and the Vanus' voice rang out. "What's up, boss?"

"Send someone to clean up my office," the warmaster grumbled, scooping up her cap from the desk and fixing it on her head. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the training room."

"Aye-aye, cap'n," Holly answered. "The boss wants to talk to you whenever you're available, but take it easy. Nobody needs another warmaster flying off the handle. Not again."

Therese only shook her head as she exited the room. "Whatever."

"Well, that's just peachy."

Mechanical fingers tapped at a glowing blue LCD screen, a distinct sound of whirring servos and hissing hydraulics in the background.

"Clean up crew to the warmaster's office," Holly called out over the building's PA system. "Clean up crew to the warmaster's office. Thank you."

The Vanus' work station was unlit, save the back-lighting of the numerous screens that surrounded her, while wires criss-crossed over the floor, leading to and from enormous computer towers and server cases. The Vanus sat in a large beanbag chair, her chin rested upon one knee, wearing little more than her usual pyjamas. Her long, raven black hair tapered down her back, over the chair and splayed out across the floor. Holly couldn't remember the last time she'd bothered cutting it.

A ham and swiss sandwich slowly appeared over her shoulder, clutched by a pair of thick, metal grippers. The mechadendrite reached just far enough to allow Holly a bite before pulling off to the side, out of her way. Her prosthetic hands tapped at the control interface once more, calling up an image of the Seventeenth incubator curled into a round, white ball upon his desk.

"Wake up, Chunky," the Vanus called out, "your warmaster just messed up her office. Again."

The incubator's body barely even moved as his thick head swivelled up to look at his own monitor. His prehensile moustache unfurled, then tapped at his keyboard with slow, lazy motions. After a few moments, his response seemed to sail through Holly's speakers without his mouth moving an inch.

"That hardly seems reason to wake me. The warmaster's anger management problems have been a well-documented segment of her employment."

"I'm going to sound like a broken record here but," the Vanus's prosthetic fingers stretched over her interface as she let out a long sigh, "it's not too late. She's not warmaster material, boss."

"Even if the matter were on the table to discuss," Fubey answered, tapping through screens as he spoke, "I dare say that we don't have very many options."

"Options? Harry could do it. Hell, she'd be great at it. The helmets already see her as some kind of team mom."

"My reasoning for her lack of consideration remains the same as it was two months ago," the incubator briefly pulled up the file of the Culexus rank leader before dismissing it just as quickly. "A Culexus warmaster would garner far more attention than it is worth. We get by as we do by keeping a low profile."

"Or maybe you could have trained Therese a bit more instead of tossing Odette like a bag of flaming piranhas..."

"Will that be all, Miss Corbin?" Fubey asked, turning his head to look directly into the camera in the corner of his office.

"Yeah," Holly answered, running a mechanical hand through her long, silken black hair, "yeah. That'll be all. Cunt."

"Good, good. Tell me, how does Miss Bernard fare?"

"Stabilized," Holly mumbled, taking another bite of her sandwich. "Should be waking up any time now."

"Excellent," the incubator replied, clasping his moustache together. "I believe I shall go visit them shortly. Will that be all?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Don't forget, I do expect that memo to go out to everyone today. Good bye for now, Miss Corbin."

A second mechadendrite placed a large pair of headphones over the Vanus' ears as the image of the incubator blinked out of existence. With another few keystrokes, Holly's enormous sound system came to life, filling her ears with thrumming bass and lighting the room with bouncing LCD bars. The incubator had seen to it that her prison be furnished with any amenity she could possibly ask for, with the sole exception of human contact, of course.

Holly shook her head, then finished the rest of her sandwich - just in time to answer yet another summons. Such was life in the Crow's Nest. Such had been the Vanus' life for as long as she could remember.

Mona cracked open a sleepy eye. Late afternoon light filtered into the room through shut curtains. Everything seemed to ache; all of her pains melded together as one, stretching over her entire body. Her eyes adjusted slowly, trying to make out the shapes of her surroundings. The walls were an off-white, thin tubes snaked around and over her every which way and a blurry, black sphere hovered a couple feet over her bed.

"Mornin', sleepy-head!"

Mona groaned, trying to pull her head up, but getting stuck with her ponytail caught under her back.

"Hold on, hold on. I gotcha."

Someone reached behind her head, pulling her hair around in a blatant violation of her personal space. She could only think of one person with the audacity to do so. One single person who really didn't seem to abide by the rules of social etiquette.

"Meg," Mona groaned.

"Heeeeya, buddy," Meg drawled, a bright grin plastered across her face. "How you feelin', champ?"

The bed-ridden Eversor groaned as thoughts and memories from the previous night trickled into her mind. Her father was dead. Last she remembered, she was down a leg. Probably had most of her internal organs punctured or out-right torn to pieces. Mona sighed as she gave her partner a squinting glare.

"Pretty shitty," she grumbled, resting her head back against the pillow. "What happened last night?"

"Um," the shorter Eversor bit her lip and furrowed her brow, "that's... that's kind of a big question. Where should I start?"

"I'm assuming dad's..." Mona trailed off, her eyes wandering. The other girl could only look down and nod silently. Mona nodded in kind, her head bobbing up and down as she struggled with the thought, eyes stinging and growing hot. "Di- Did," she stammered, fighting to form the words on the tip of her tongue, "did Odette get that bitch? Did she keep her alive?"

"That's," Meg mumbled while her fingers tangled in the sheets, "that's, um... Nobody's heard from either of them. We, er, we think that she took the warmaster with her. F-former warmaster, that is."

Mona blinked, confusion suddenly halting her tears. "What?"

The other girl simply shook her head. "Nobody knows what happened. Nobody's saying anything about it either. Foobers is keeping it all hushed up," she mumbled. "I heard," Meg sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek, suddenly losing control of her voice's volume, "I heard some other girls saying he was going to just let her go!"

"WHAT?!"

"I don't know!" Meg shouted, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. "It's just a rumour or something, I don't-"

"Alright, alright," Mona sighed with a sniffle, "it's just a rumour. Don't get so worked up, dummy. So, uh, any- any word on dad's funeral?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, hold on," the other girl reached into her pocket, producing a well-used notepad, then quickly flipped through pages of doodles and other scribbles before reaching the one she wanted. "They, uh, they're postponing it until after you're out. The boss pulled some strings with the company and stuff. So no worries there."

"That's- that's good, I guess," Mona mumbled, fighting to put on a smile. "So, um, how am I?"

"You, uh," Meg flipped a few more pages over in her notepad, "you're about as fixed as necessary. Your leg is intact, but a lot of your guts are still reforming. Gonna be on soft foods for a while."

"Skip to the part where you tell me when I get out."

"Uh, lemme see," the short Eversor squinted, her eyes flicking back and forth as she read, "looks like you'll be in for a couple weeks. Gotta do a little therapy to make sure everything's in order and they want you here for that."

"Great," Mona groaned. "This is going to be a fun two weeks."

"Yeah, I figured you'd be bored a lot, so," Meg bent down, grunting as she placed a stack of books on the side of the bed, "I prepared some reading material!"

"Tell me that's not what I think it is."

"Every translated volume of The Steamy Adventures of Miracle Melanie and Murder Marjorie!" Meg shouted with glee as she gave the small pile a few good slaps. "You can probably get through the whole ba-"

"No."

"Whaaaat?" The smaller Eversor whined, her eyes nearly tearing up again. "Why not?"

"I'm not reading your damn lesbian comics, Meg," Mona stated as she sat up and crossed her arms. "That's final."

"Oh, come on," Meg said, trying her best to wiggle over in her seat to nudge the other girl with her elbow. "How 'bout I leave them here and, y'know, maybe you read them... maybe you don't... who knows?"

Mona heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Just... Just put them under the bed or something if you leave them here. I don't want the nurses thinking I'm into your weird cartoons."

"Hey!" The other girl shouted, slapping a hand down on the books once more. "These have deep and intricate plots that someone like you couldn't even begin to understand!"

"Just the other day you said that it was stupid bullshit that you weren't supposed to take seriously."

Meg squinted. "Uh, y- No. Nope. Uh, that- that doesn't sound like me. I'm pretty sure, uh, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't say something like that."

"You did," Mona stated pointedly, narrowing her eyes.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree on that one then."

Mona rolled her eyes and slumped back down on the bed, shimmying down under the covers. "If that's all then I'm going back to sleep," she muttered as her eyelids grew heavier. "I'll cry when I have a whole heart."

"Oh, just one more thing then," Meg said as she stowed her memopad away. "Everyone got an email from Chunkbey a couple hours ago. Apparently he wants everyone in the Officio to report to him by the end of the month to amend our contracts."

"Is he allowed to do that?"

"I guess," the short Eversor shrugged, thumbing through her smartphone. "He says whoever doesn't report in will lose their grief seed payment until they do. He wants to change it so that he can keep an eye on us through our soulgems like the other Officios do. I heard a lot of the other girls were really pissed about it."

"Makes sense," Mona grumbled. "Tell him he can come and do mine whenever he's free."

"Alright, I'll send him a text or something," Meg replied, taking a seat and putting her feet up on an adjacent chair. "This is gonna be so lame. Incubator or not, I don't need my boss knowing what kind of porn I look at."

The bed-ridden girl propped herself up on her elbow and and furrowed her brow, squinting at Meg. "You're not going?"

"Nah," she answered, "I've got time off until you're better, so I can stick around until they kick me out. I guess the boss didn't want to chance sticking me with a different partner. And, y'know, in case you need anything or something."

"Ah. Ok then," Mona murmured, pulling the sheets further over herself, just past her mouth. "I mean, you don't have to..."

"That's what friends are for, dork," Meg laughed.

The taller girl rolled over in bed, trying to hide how red her face had become. For years she'd never had someone close enough to call a friend. She'd always moved around too much or been too intimidating to approach. She'd known that they were friends, of course, but something about hearing it said aloud hit her right down to her core.

"Thanks."

Lotte Laufson stepped down the stone stairway leading to a cozy pub nestled below ground on a busy street corner. It was a place frequented by just about everyone in Seventeenth who fancied a drink before, after or even during work. It was a homey, well-kept establishment, furnished with mahogany and polished brass. There was always some band or singer playing on the low wooden stage; more often than not one of the Officio's own girls. Lotte herself had long been something of a favourite among the bar's regulars. She'd grown a penchant for slower, more somber tunes, playing a contrast to the owner's habit of singing foot-stomping folk songs with her low, growling, cigarette-stained voice. More often than not the two ended up performing together, with the Bartender's guitar backing up Lotte's vocals.

The Callidus slipped in almost unnoticed amongst the usual racket, nervously tugging on her parka jacket. She moved along the edge of the bar at a brisk pace, eventually sliding into a booth already occupied by another - a shorter girl wearing a deep crimson hoodie with the hood pulled up, nearly obscuring her face.

"It's damn chilly out," Lotte remarked, shivering as she nudged further into the booth.

"I'll say," the other girl responded. "Is it always like this up here? I heard Canada was cold, but this..."

"Things get unpredictable at this time of year," the Callidus explained as she leaned over the table, rubbing her cold hands together. "Freezing one day, hot as hell the next."

Lotte's companion nodded as she made a muffled grunt of acknowledgement. "I'm guessing you didn't call me here to talk about the weather."

"It's about Odette."

"Christ, you have a hard-on for that chick," the hooded girl laughed. "I shoulda known considering she's damn near all you ever talk about."

"She's gone."

The girl blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Vanished," Lotte stated. "We think that crazy hook bitch took her. Well, we're pretty fuckin' sure, but we don't know where, why or how."

"Well shit," the hooded figure muttered, bringing a hand to her chin. "That's a bit of a wrench in our plans."

"Puts a hell of a lot more than a wrench in them, if you ask me."

"Lotte, lemme tell you something," the girl said, leaning over the table. "If we let one girl disappearing get in the way of our plans, we wouldn't have shit. Gimme a day or two and I'll have something. Our plans may get delayed, but never stopped. We know how to play blackjack, if you catch my drift."

"Yeah?" Lotte snorted. "Well counting cards won't get you shit if the dealer suddenly says we're playing craps."

"That supposed to mean something or are you just being a snarky jackass?"

The blonde gave the hooded girl a sly grin before she slid her cellphone across the table. The other girl took it, then read it slowly. After a few moments she shook her head and passed it back.

"Shit," she muttered, holding a hand to her forehead. "Well that changes things."

"Like I said," Lotte replied with more than a hint of derision in her voice, "the game's changed. You've got a month before you're boned. After that, I can't help you and neither can anyone else in this Officio."

"No, no," the stranger said, shaking her head. "Shit, Lotte, you don't get it. This means EVERYONE in your Officio has to report in. Even the retired ones."

"What's your point?"

"The Seventeenth probably has one of the highest numbers of retired magical girls. The nice kind of retired, with spas and shuffleboard and shit. These girls get a small amount of grief seeds as a pension," the hooded figure explained as she began to gesture with her hands. "Now, their soulgems are marked as inactive so they don't accumulate grief, but every now and then... Y'know. You don't get magic powers and then sit around with your thumb up your ass all day. So they need grief seeds every now and then."

Lotte leaned further over the table, a look of confusion and slow realization coming to her face.

"Let's be optimistic and say they get two seeds a month," the other girl began to count off on her fingers as she went. "If our numbers are right, you've got somewhere around four hundred retirees. That's eight hundred grief seeds going out per month. Eight hundred a month means nearly ten thousand per year - and remember, that's being optimistic and assuming these girls are half-way responsible, which I really doubt."

The girl leaned forward to the point where Lotte could actually make out most of her facial features. She looked distantly familiar, like someone she had seen every day but didn't actually know. A wicked grin crossed the girl's face - a grin that sent shivers down even Lotte's spine.

"So say someone decides to off a couple retirees. Maybe they get someone of a certain set of talents to take their place and collect their seeds, or hell, maybe the proper paperwork just so happens to get lost along the way," the girl's teeth flashed in the dim light of the pub. "Your fat ass incubator's been a big help to a certain little niche of the black market."

Lotte's mouth hung open. "And he doesn't even know it..."

The hooded girl made a shooting motion with her fingers as she let out a short chuckle. "Bingo. And if he suddenly starts keeping records of this shit, that's bad news for all of us."

"Well shit, Surrey," Lotte said with a shrug. "I'm sorry, but that's not exactly my problem, now is it? Just means I can't hang out with bad influences like you."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Surrey muttered, waving the blonde off. "Go sing us something. I've got work to do."