Come on kids, let's go down the rabbit hole with DRITA

When Dolan opens his eyes, he expects to be staring at the ceiling of their bedroom on the ground floor of the Blind Fox, taking in the sunlight streaming gently through the sheer curtains. He expects to roll over to Trita in her silk slip, both of them still sticky from the night before.

What he doesn't expect is the harsh light that greets him when he blinks himself awake, the stabbing light that blinds him for a moment while his eyes adjust, while he tries to sit up.

"Trita?"

He pats around beside him for her as his eyes start to filter out the light, work how they're supposed to, and he doesn't see her.

He doesn't see the bed at all. He's on the ground, on a messy chunk of concrete, with literally nothing as far as the eye can see. The world is a dull gray blue color, like everything is covered in a heavy blanket or a fog or something oppressive.

His heart is beating fast and his first thought is to find her, whether she's alright. He stands quickly, and the concrete rotates under his feet, like it's not stable.

His second thought goes immediately to how strange he feels. He remembers who he had been the night before, the feelings and attitudes and ideas that had comprised that man. That man that undoubtedly had been him.

But it doesn't seem to be him anymore, not all the way. And he can't put his finger on it.

His third thought jolts him, and although there was literally nothing around him moments before, all of a sudden there are more concrete slabs all around him, rotating, one end higher than the others, then lowering to let another corner rise, as if undulated by ocean waves.

And on top of one, calm and collected as he can be, is Nameless, laying out with paws folded, like he's as comfortable as he knows how to be.

"Where is she."

Dolan hisses at him, jaw clenched. He adores Trita, they're inseparable, but even as the words fall from his lips, something about them feels wrong, like he shouldn't be saying that. Like he shouldn't care where she is. But he wants to.

Nameless tilts his head from his perch like Dolan is the last person he's expected but his eyes say he's the exact person he expected.

"Who now?"

His flowing white tail flicks and the world around them continues to shift with little regard to the two standing there locked in a stare-off.

"Oh, right, right, Trita."

There's an intentional pause, leading Dolan on, pulling at the worry inside of him that he doesn't understand, though it's clear the fox does.

"Your wife."

Something about those two simple words snap Dolan into a posture that tells Nameless he's about to argue, to deny it, even if he remembers proposing to her before. But there's proof.

"Check your hand, Mr. Assassin."

Sure enough, on Dolan's left hand is a wedding band, somehow still managing to shine in the dull like of this chaotic dimension. Fact-wise, Dolan is in a corner and it makes Nameless smile.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt Mrs. Assassin. Really, there's no gain to be had by doing so. She's on her way to us as we speak."

On cue, around a corner of one of the rising and falling gray building Trita immerges, her white hair and red eyes in major contrast to the world, standing out like a spirit in a city.

Her eyes are immediately on Dolan.

He's there. After waking up and calling around for him, she's finally found him... Though she's not entirely sure why she feels her heart beat like it is. Yes, there was something there, in that world, they had something, but they just woke up from it like a dream. Is it foolish for those feelings to carry over into reality?

Maybe it is and she kicks around that idea for a while, but it doesn't help the instant relief she feels down to her core from the sight of him standing there unharmed.

"You okay?"

She gives a small wave as she approaches and Dolan can see a smaller but identical band to his, something she's either already seen or is oblivious to because she's so used to it. So used to seeing it there.

"And now the happy couple reunites to figure out if they're a couple at all."

Nameless pokes at them, watching Trita walk over to Dolan with a dangerous awareness to everything that's happened, is happening, and will happen.

Dolan is still taken aback by the wedding band on his finger. It looks strange there, like something antiquated from another life, which he supposes maybe it is, in more ways than one.

As Trita approaches him, she has a slight recognition on her face, an affection that quickly guards itself, as if she's not sure what to do or who she is in this place either.

When he sees her, he remembers what they've been. What they've been to each other. He can remember the feel of her skin and the way the sight of her had made his heart race.

But something feels removed from that now, like there is an obstacle between him and that person. Now that he thinks about it, that doesn't even sound like him in the least. His heart racing? He's not a stupid teenager anymore.

As she gets a little closer, he takes a precautionary step back, not overly cold, but more for the sake of being decent. He knows, thanks to the rings, that they're technically married, but there's a lot more saying that they aren't, in his opinion.

"I'm fine."

He answers her in an even, flat tone, unperturbed by the strange new scenery or the fox or even Trita, simply taking it all in and analyzing his surroundings for any pertinent information he may need.

"I️ take it you're alright, too?"

"Well..."

She looks off to the side as if trying to best figure out how to answer that question, no reaction to his step back. In fact, she doesn't get any closer than three feet from him like that's her own safe distance in all of this.

"I've had better moments waking up."

Trita glances down at her own hand calmly then looks to his, taking in the detail of how they match, brow knit like she doesn't know what to do with this information now that she has it. And, honestly? She doesn't.

That dream had been a lifetime, well, at least filled with memories of a lifetime. She remembers growing up with him then working with him, spending night after night with him, and finally marrying him, but it plays out like a movie and the attachment she feels is like when the audience becomes emotionally invested in a character or the main couple. There's a feeling but is it really hers?

"Aren't you two just the sweetest little criminals. I can't imagine how odd this is for you both now, though."

Her ears turn towards him before she does, both leading her head in the motion, eyes narrowed long before she's even looking at him.

"You think?"

But her frustration makes him laugh.

"Mating is so bizarre to me. There's so much emotion involved just to have a baby, I don't understand it."

At that, Trita's heart stops for a moment. Why did he suddenly bring that up?

And he can see beginning of dawning, but controlled, horror on both their faces.

"Yeah... Babies. That's kind of what happened, yeah? You weren't just sleeping together for kicks and giggles. Do people really not understand the purpose of mating anymore-"

"No, we get it."

She snaps back at him to cut him off, her tone harsh but, other than her tense shoulders, she keeps everything composed.

"You can't possibly be saying that-"

"There's a baby on the way."

It's not a question, not something to clarify and guess where she's going. It's a statement. A firm unrefutable fact.

"Congratulations: You're continuing the human race. Well... Human and hybrid, I guess."

Dolan opens his mouth to protest but snaps it closed immediately. It's not like arguing with the fox will make it any more or any less so.

"What proof do you have of that?"

He asks Nameless with a tilted head, trying to feel out any motivation the creature would have for bringing them here, taunting them like he is, telling them such a thing.

Trita looks horrified, first at Nameless and then at Dolan.

He remembers that they'd had sex. A lot. In a lot of really creative and steamy ways that he is kind of shocked now that he'd helped think up. Maybe, in a lot of ways, this strange dream they'd just woken up from had been a good thing. He remembers it feeling really good at the time.

The touching, the smiles, the tenderness. The openness, the sweet things they'd whisper to each other.

But who the heck was the person who'd done all those things. Had he temporarily lost his mind?

If she is pregnant, then yes. He had temporarily lost his mind. He's way too old to be doing this all over again. The chances of ending up with a tiny Shand repeat are too great. The danger is too imminent.

"And is she is going to do, give birth on this god awful patch of concrete that probably doesn't even exist? What's your play here, Nameless?"

"I see the past, present, and future of any world I wish to focus on, one person I wish to learn more about. Trita has your child in the very near future. Lying to both of you about it benefits me in no way and I think we all know that, if it doesn't benefit me, I'm not going to do it."

Nameless sits up suddenly, folding in to his side so his beg leg can reach around and scratch his ear. Something about his demeanor and how he acts so casual, how all of this is no different to him than telling someone the weather, only seems to confirm his statement.

"I was just going to send her back to her world. Having a child is messy and I feel like doctors should handle that. I don't want to."

Trita relaxes her shoulders as a sudden counter argument comes to her and, for the smallest of moments, she feels like she can corner the fox in some kind of lie.

"No, wait, hybrids and humans can't have children. It's impossible. The genetics can't match up. There's no way I'm pregnant."

The debate means very little to him, he shakes himself out while yawning, swinging his head to look back at her, eyes bored.

"You do know Shand is his son, right? And you're still going to sit there and believe that Dolan is some normal, average human. Unfortunately for you, he is not. There are still some things at play in his blood. I know magic and mystic doesn't exist in your world, but that doesn't mean it's a fairytale in others."

Her skin runs cold at that thought, but she hides the slight shake in her hands by resting an elbow in one palm, the other hand holding her chin, thinking all of this over with great care and intent.

"...So... You're just going to sent me back to Pierson then? Just like that."

Even her tone is more matter-of-fact now but there is a welling dread taking over every inch of her mind the longer she accepts the truth she'll be going back to her world alone to have a child from a man she'll never see again.

That's the kind of things cages rabbit hybrids have to endure, that's the torture her kind specifically go through under the worst situation, not because they were willingly stupid and toyed with fate. Regardless of that, she's going to become another statistic od hybrid poverty and single-motherhood, something she's easily avoided for years despite being a rabbit and their numbers being the highest for that.

But these are all things she keeps to herself in the moments of calmly handling herself in the face of this news.

"Yes. You'll be going home. May send Axel back, too. Just take care of all the people from your world at one time to keep it organized."

There is something in the way that Trita is setting her jaw, holding her chin a little high, staring at Nameless with that steely gaze that Dolan finds familiar. Not for her, he has memories of all kinds of expressions on her face, and sometimes even one similar to this.

But he's reminded of himself. Of a soldier putting on a brave face and accepting orders. He'd remembered what it was like for his wife when she'd been pregnant for the very first time with Shand.

She'd been afraid, tentative and apprehensive about what was happening to her body, all the strange feelings and mentalities and often pain. But more than any of the things she'd disliked about it, she'd hated any time she had to be alone.

Dolan's not sure what goes on in a woman's mind when she's pregnant, although he's been assured many times and has accepted that a lot certainly does. But he can be sure that whether or not Trita wants to be alone, it's become his responsibility to make sure that she isn't.

"Well what is it like there? I'm not going to need a coat or anything, am I️?"

Dolan says, choosing not to respond to any of the other points of conversation between Nameless and Trita.

Trita whips her head around to look at him now, eyes sharp and focused, hair flailing out by the sudden movement, but Nameless is much calmer, shift his gaze like they have all the time in the world to discuss this.

Like Dolan's words aren't surprising.

"You're going with her?"

"No."

She snaps at Nameless before Dolan can even think to respond then turns that critical eye back to him. Something in her tells her that she can't make him stay, that his word is final once he's made up his mind... But he must not be thinking straight.

"Listen, there's nothing for you in my world. You have a life of at least some sort back in yours and Shand and Lunath. And, just from what little I know of where you came from, my world is... Different, to say the least. Very different."

"It's mild, you may need a jacket during certain seasons."

"Shut up."

The glare she cuts the fox over her shoulder is frightening if he was able to be frightened, but, for the sake of keeping the conversation going, he obliges, falling quiet momentarily.

"All I'm saying is you don't want to do this. You don't have to do this. Now that we're out of whatever dream that was-"

She motions to her ring then to his.

"We could end this and you could get off scotch free. I wouldn't blame you."

You'd expect some sort of emotion in her voice, fear, sadness, anger, but she keeps everything even no different than someone giving a lecture about history or explaining a mathematical equation. It all just makes sense.

"Blame or any other sort of emotion are non-factors in this. I'll be going with you."

There are a host of reasons for this, as Dolan makes his final decision without even blinking at Trita, his face flat and his arms folded over his chest.

Trita and this child are both his responsibility now. He knows from every interaction he's ever had with her that she can take care of herself and hold her own in nearly every situation, but he has no reason to abandon them, no desire to put any financial strain, or strain of any kind, on her which will only increase because of the condition she's in.

Or will be in. She's not showing at all yet, so Dolan supposes that there will be a lot of time elapsed before the child will actually become its own factor in all this, but he knows he also will not let the child grow up fatherless.

His own father is a sore spot with him still, having never met him, and Dolan did the best he could with the small amount of time he'd gotten with Shand. The decision he makes has nothing to do with righting previous wrongs, that would be irrational and pointless.

It has nothing to do with trying to fill emotional voids or prove anything to him. That would be just as senseless and idiotic.

What it concerns, though, is what he knows is right. A tall order coming from someone in his line of work, he knows, but he's never had trouble compartmentalizing his morality before. And that skill has always served him well.

He has no doubt that he'll land on his feet wherever he ends up, wherever this world of hers is or what it's like.

"Well, you might as well get on with it, Fox. I'm not getting any younger."

"Alright. Trita, Dolan... I suspect we won't be meeting again."

The concrete world shifts under them with incredible speed and Nameless's last words set off a blinding light that fades out slowly from around them in a long, loud sound like a storm's wind.

When they come to, paper drifts over Dolan's foot. It's an ad for a missing person but the paper is torn and old from weeks of weather exposure.

Blinking, everything comes into focus. They're in an alley with brick buildings on both sides, a crowded sidewalk filled with passing people just a few steps away. Trita walks towards it, peering out once she gets to the opening.

Towering buildings look down on the people below with more windows than anyone could count, marble and stone. The old asphalt road is littered with potholes, cars honk with irritation from their annoyed drivers even though the nearest streetlight is still red, allowing for hundreds of people to cross the large six-way intersection, smoke billowing from exhaust pipes in cars, the street, and buildings. The sky above is gray, blending into the roofs of the structures that reach towards it with great height. Littered in the scene of it all are bright flashing lights, neon signs, holographic billboards that scroll through set moving advertisements for different brands.

People and hybrids alike walk the sidewalks, never stopping, bumping into each other. There are far more hybrid types than just Trita and Axel on display to take in: Fur, feathers, ears, scales, horns, you name it and somebody passes by that has it.

Trita reaches into the breast pocket on her off the shoulder jacket, a thin sleek metal device in hand that she flicks so it opens up, projecting a mini screen, looking to check the time and date.

"Almost no time has passed since I was last here-"

The sounds of a struggle not but five feet from her interrupts. A young hybrid man is shoved to the ground, the crowd splitting from the scene. Two humans stomp and kick on and at him, spitting on him for good measure. The hybrid never fights back.

The crowd passes by, both humans and hybrids turning a blind eye to the scene. Or so used to it that this is normal and not a spectacle. They look to anything, phones, sky, billboards, all to feign ignorance.

Satisfied with their work, the two assaulting humans turn and walk their path again, leaving the hybrid where he is unconscious to be trampled on.

"Hey, what are you looking at, rabbit?"

The same two pause as they pass by the alley.

"A couple of assholes. You're perfect for each other. Besides, isn't a woman allowed to look where she wants?"

They scoff, rolling their shoulders, looking for a fight.

"Yeah, they are, but you ain't one, are ya?"

"Oh, ho, big talk coming from a man so lonely he was about to hire out a rabbit for the night. Sorry, not for sale. Even if I was, why would I sell myself out to a couple of men who can't even land someone in their own race? That's why you're upset, yeah? Woman of your dreams rejected your proposal, Nick?"

Her tone is light but even back where Dolan stands he can see one man squirm, terrified that this completely random stranger knew his first name.

"If you're really so lonely, why don't you and your friend Marc here go blow each other. You're both about all the other can afford. Not like you two haven't done it before."

Now Marc squirms getting thrown into the mix, both glancing around equally uncomfortable, some people slightly turning their heads and whispering as they walk by, hearing the story.

"Yeah, a little fucker is all you are. Like hell we'd hire your ugly ass for anything."

They spit right in her face before they storm away, more like fleeing the scene rather than casually continuing their walk, but she wipes it off unbothered by any part of that show. It could have ended far worse, she probably should have just kept her mouth shut.

She flips the phone back into her pocket and turns to Dolan, watching him as he takes in, what she can only assume, is a world beyond his imagination.

Dolan subconsciously starts gripping at the inside jacket pocket that holds his garrote wire as the men get rude with her, but everything surrounding him is so intense and unexpected that they're running away from her before he can react.

The noise is completely deafening. Dolan had made it a point to try and stay away from big cities and towns in his world on principal as often as possible, but they were still nothing like this.

Every person that bumps into him, collides with his broad shoulders as they walk gets an imaginary target on their backs and Dolan thinks any second now, he's going to start seeing red with all the unnecessary sensory input.

"What in cold hell is all of this?"

He asks her, his tone annoyed and his voice louder than it needs to be, but everything sounds louder than it needs to be now.

The way that everyone is walking with heads down, or up, looking at these strange things that don't have any depth, the way that machines zip around everywhere and steam and smoke and the smell of too many people in one place lingers. It does make him want to kill something.

"Does any of this shit turn off? Is there even such a thing as quiet here?"

"No."

Her answer is short and she feels like he deserves more than that, more than her impatience with his annoyed tone. Trita doesn't know all the in's and out's of where he came from, but she can only imagine most, if not all, of this is new for him.

This is one reason why she said he didn't have to follow her.

"It's a little quieter on my street, save for the gunshots at all hours of the night and the ever-punctual train. We'll head there."

She instinctively goes to step out into the flow of the crowd before she tells herself to wait, knowing something needs to be said before they move.

"Always stay at least five steps behind me. If you see me turn a corner, slow down and count to three before following after me."

With the instructions, she pushes her way out to join in with everyone else. It's a long walk to her home and the sights are every changing. She knows she can't look back to make sure he's still following, so she keeps her ears pinned towards him, listening for any sound he may make that will let her know he's not falling too far behind.

The crowdedness means nothing to her, she's weaving through it like most of these people don't even exist and, frankly, they don't to her.

Street signs start morphing from family-friendly advertisements to questionable ones and the buildings start looking older, worn down, more and more scafolding present against the exteriors to either hold them up temporarily or serve as a workstation for some failing revitalization project the city is trying this year.

Ahead on the street they're walking looks like a military outpost, several heavily armed humans patrolling, a tank resting beyond the barrier, mostly for show but still updated enough to be used in a second's notice. She doesn't walk towards the stand, rather ducks in an alley.

They next many minutes are spent slipping by dumpsters and ducking under hanging metal pipes and fire escapes, but, eventually, they come to a building. It rests right beside the murky water of the bay and a train track is just several roads over. It's just as tall as the average building, but it's older like the rest of the surrounding area.

Most people outside of it and on the streets now are hybrids and they cut Dolan confused and worried glances when he passes by but they never say anything.

They're afraid to.

Trita pushes the building door open and heads inside but waits at the elevator door for him to finally catch up. The two slip inside of the metal box silently and she hits the button for the eleventh floor. It's a long quiet ride until a soft ding announces their arrival.

The hall is quiet though movement can be heard behind several closed doors, movement that she easily ignores as she heads down the corridor. The interior winds around to the back of the building where she stops at a door with the number 118 painted on it just above a small glass hole at about eye level.

She's never been as happy as she is to see her small apartment as she is when the door first opens. It's all one room, a door to the left for the bathroom, a closet to the right for laundry compacted into the entry hall that then opens up into the main space. A small kitchen takes up the front third of the space, all very organized and clean, a huge contrast to the area they had just been walking through, cabinets painted white with a butcher's board countertop, and white tile along the walls and floor. After that is the small table that looks like it's supposed to be used for eating but Trita has turned into her desk, also very clean, papers in neat piles. Finally, there is a full-sized bed pressed up against the corner, to its side a huge window overlooking the dirty bay and dim horizon.

It's minimally decorated, in fact most things on the walls are pinned folders, images, and files from cases she had been working through before all of that other-world stuff happened.

"Sorry, it's not much. Single hybrids can't get more than tiny studios."

She's quickly closed the door behind him, turning an entire row of five locks.

"First of all, your home is indoors and I️ find that lovely."

Dolan takes the place in, looking at all the strange gadgets and things that have uses he knows he could never guess in a million years. The strange thing is, despite the confusion and how disorienting everything has felt, her place looks like it functions as a home, which is more than he can say for any place he's ever stayed for his maximum allowed stretch of three weeks at a time.

"Secondly, I️'d like to know why I️ couldn't walk beside you all the way here, and three, am I️ going to cause issues for you by being here?"

He hadn't thought of it before they'd started for her apartment, but it had dawned on him soon after. He doesn't understand her world, he knows this, but remnants of their time at the Blind Fox give him clues as to how hybrids are treated here.

He clearly has no intentions of following any customs or traditions or socially acceptable standards here, and that could be hard on Trita.

While he's speaking, Dolan looks down and realizes he's had a crossbody bag slung over his shoulder this whole time and he's never liked Nameless much, but he's never not had anything against him so much as he doesn't in this moment.

Dolan sits right down in the floor of the entryway, rummaging through the bag. A jacket, of course, some odd and end things, and the biggest relief, an actual sigh escapes his lips when he sees that all his weapons are there safely waiting for him.

"First, thank you."

She watches him rummage through his bag for a moment, curiosity getting the better of her but only briefly. Those are his things and he's entitled to his privacy.

That's going to be... A difficult rule to live by given her entire job is seeking out information and she's never had a roommate before, but she's decided that she should at least attempt to live by it for the time being.

"Secondly, that rule was mostly for you. If you had been caught walking beside me, especially in the more human-populated areas of town, they may have pulled you aside and questioned you. They being those friendly military men with the big destructive tanks. You could have always lied and said you were renting me for the night, they would have believed that with my being a rabbit and all. So that's a good excuse for you to remember just in case."

She's already made her way back to the bed area, pulling open a closet door, searching the racks and organizers for something.

"Last, you aren't really going to cause me too many issues. Humans get away with murder here. Literally. But I may cause you some issues."

Her hands hit a metal box with an audible chime of her nails against it and it's out in a second. A few steps and she's at the table going through it. There are a few scraps of papers with numbers all bound together, several small blank identifications cards, and a larger watch-like contraption that looks big enough to fit around Trita's ankle. The clasp on it looks like it should be an unbreakable lock but, somehow, Trita has managed to undo it.

"Okay, I'm going to need to get an ID card started for you. You're going to need that to walk around the city. I'll do that now. Tonight I may need to slip out and find you clothes."

Red eyes scan his outfit and she mentally wonders how nobody stopped him on the way here to question him randomly with how he looks. There are some perks to people always keeping their eyes glued to their phones she supposes.

“Well I️ appreciate the concern but I’d rather just walk beside you so that’s what I’ll be doing.”

Dolan dusts his hands together as he closes the bag back up, as if the matter is just as open and shut as the bag.

He looks down at what he’s wearing, resisting the urge to ask what’s wrong with his clothes. Clearly there will be some rules he can buck here and some that will do neither of them any good.

“I’m going to just go ahead and address the elephant in the room.”

Dolan stands and folds his arms back again, letting the bag rest against the wall. He waits to continue until she’s looked up from the table and made eye contact.

“We were apparently very close in the fabricated reality from before. But I️ think we have memories of each other and ourselves that conflict greatly with the truth. So just in case you weren’t aware, I️ kill people for a living and I️ can hold my own, even in a hellhole like this. Also, I️ truly don’t wish to cause you any more trouble than I️ already have, but I’m going to do certain things my way. It’s just how it’s going to be.”

While he talks, the glitter of the gold band catches his eye, and it’s strange that it’s still on his hand. He works it off his finger as he speaks and lays it on her counter top.

“However, I️ understand that you know how this world operates and I didn’t follow you here to make you more uncomfortable than you need to be. So if you will let me know what your non negotiables are, I will parley with mine.”

She huffs a sigh through her nose, pointing to the ring he just placed down so casually on the counter then back down at the box.

"First: No leaving of anything remotely valuable out in the open. Legal marriage or not, rings go in the box, not on the counter or in the trash where someone can find them and trace them back to us."

For good measure, she slips hers off and drops it in too with a soft clink. Trita takes one of the blank cards out and sets it to the side for use later.

"I don't care if you kill people for kicks and giggles like a psychopath, as long as you don't care that I'm out late digging dirt on anyone who breathes and even those that don't. I try not to get caught while stealing things, but I'll fight if I have to, so if I can keep this apartment bloodstain free, then I just ask that you try to, too."

Her eyes flick around the apartment, trying to think of anything else important to say about all of this. The problem is this is all normal for her so she can't decide what's more important to share and what can come up naturally in conversation.

"I own a bar several blocks away as a cover for being an informant. You're welcomed there whenever, drinks on the house, but please don't kill anyone in the building because I can't have cops snooping around there. It'll ruin everything."

A memory comes back to her as soon as she says her final demand and it makes her pause as she tries to sort out if it was a fabricated one or a detail regarding the actual person before her.

"I... I guess I shouldn't offer you free drinks? Or drinks at all?"

Dolan feels a sigh rising in his chest, thinking that if there was ever a time he probably legitimately needed a drink, it was now.

"You're free to offer. I️ just shouldn't be quite as free to accept."

He's going to let it roll over him, just pretend that she hadn't just easily compared him to a psychopath but in reality, that gets him more internally riled than anything that's happened here so far.

He understands psychopaths. He's killed his fair share of them and then some. Psychopaths are good at pretending they're interested when they're not. They're charming and good at hiding the fact that they completely lack a conscience.

Dolan is good at hiding a lot of things. But not any of those. He has a conscience, otherwise he's lost a lot of good nights of sleep pointlessly. Yeah he's got one, it's just a little glitchy. He wouldn't have it any other way.

But it's not worth bringing it up. If after sharing a life, a bed, a business- albeit, all of them fake- they still can't see down to the real inside of each other, then they probably just won't ever. He accepts this as fact and law and moves on.

He stays standing, glued to the same spot he's been in since entering the apartment, feeling more or less frozen by decorum. He's trying to work out all the ins and outs in his head. What the hell he's supposed to do here for nine months, for beyond that. How he's supposed to fit in and find his place.

Baby steps first.

"So how does one go about procuring a gun here? Or, let me rephrase, how would someone like you or me go about procuring a gun here?"

"You don't. Not without one of these."

Trita holds up one of the blank ID cards, flashing it to him. Once he has a good look, she flips it across her finger and stuffs it into her breast pocket.

Her hands have already moved on to the box again, nodding a quick thanks when he finally drops his old ring into it. The weird watch-like device is out and in the next second, she's leaning over, clasping it to her ankle.

"First thing's first: I need to go out and get an ID printed for you so that people have no right to question you in the city when you're just trying to walk down the street. I know some decent hackers that could easily make a fake file for you and the government would never know."

Done with what she needs, the box is closed and quickly being pushed back into the closet again, letting her last thought hang, her mind quickly moving to the next without a second to rest.

"Guns are through a local weapons dealer. She may not like selling to you because you're human but we can ask. She's never let me down before."

And a couple thousand more pieces start clicking and forming, but she keeps most of them to herself, snatching a folder from being pinned to the wall. It's open and she's flipping wildly through it all until she sees a string of numbers. The strange device from earlier is back in her hands that both rapidly type a quick thought then send off the message to god only knows.

"Okay, but ID first, you need that to live a halfway decent life here and that's your first step. We need to go visit my friend Makun, and we can do that tonight or tomorrow. It's up to you."

"You can alert your dealer that according to Nameless, I'm not as human as we thought."

He mutters it more to himself than to her, watching her with interest as she uses all these devices he's unfamiliar with, clearly in her element with all the planning.

"Although if I️ were her, I️ wouldn't put a gun in my hands either."

That part he says a little louder, because it seems like Trita is going through a lot of trouble to try and fit him into her world, and he just wants it known that he can hold his own. He's not here to cause more trouble.

At least, not for her. If he's going to have any fun at any point in this thing, he's going to have to cause at least a little bit of trouble.

"You're clearly on more of a schedule than I️ am right now."

Dolan raises his eyebrows at her, still standing in the same spot he's been in since entering the place, considering sitting in the floor and maybe asking if she has finger-paints to keep him occupied while she's gone.

But she hasn't really done anything to deserve his cynicism or his sarcasm, so he keeps that to himself.

"I'm completely free. Your world, your timing. I'll just follow your lead."

It takes a lot for him to say it, but Dolan knows when to defect and when to be a good soldier. She's the one with the information, with the know how, with all the familiarity of this world and connections in it. Sure, he could free style it and make it out alright. But that would take more time and be more of a strain than he's up for right now.

"Alright. I was hoping you'd leave it to me."

She smirks in mock triumph, slipping the object away again, looking over at him.

"We'll go tonight. Get you a gun tomorrow. I didn't put this damn thing on my leg for looks."

Never once does Trita question why he so badly wants a gun. It's not her place to ask. If he wants one, he wants one. Whatever he does with it is entirely up to him and she respects that. If he wants to kill an entire block of people for whatever reason, she'd let him. Why, though? You'd think a hybrid in her position would care a little more about morals, or at least the balance and state of the current world state. She doesn't.

"Alright, let's go. Makun doesn't live far from here and he's free. Shouldn't take long."

Everything she needs packed in her jacket, she hangs the folder back up then makes her way to the door, working the locks with ease.

He pulls the shoulder strap of the bag up from the ground where it's been laying and slips it back over his head. He's not entirely sure why he wants to take it with him, for even if it's a good idea for him to bring all his weapons back out onto the street like this, but he figures that if anyone tries to make a scene, it'll be easier to deal with it this way.

It feels like hours waiting in front of the door for her to undo all the locks, and something about each click as they open sends a jolt into his stomach as he realizes what it must be like to live in this world for her, as a hybrid, doing what she does.

It puts a measure of respect for her in him that... well, maybe it has actually always been there. Back in his memories of the time they'd had together, he'd respected her deeply. Known she could take care of herself at every turn, and admired her for it.

It feels strange to have such well-formed opinions and ideas about someone that he doesn't really know, that he should feel like he just met. Instead, he feels like he's just been reunited with a childhood friend he hasn't seen in years, one who still knows all his secrets and all about him in a different life.

But as much as that hadn't been the real her, it hadn't been the real him. And it hadn't been a real world at all.

This one is the only one that matters now, and it's a place where Trita has to keep 17 million locks on her door. He thinks it's probably good that he asked about the gun right off the bat.

Speaking of, he should probably scout around for one of those, too.

He follows her out into the hall finally, waits patiently again as she locks back everything she'd undone. Some of the lights in the hallway flicker, and the strange shade of light is hard on Dolan's eyes, makes them squint a bit. But he makes his way with her to the elevator all the same.

As the get in it, he looks all around, accepting that the technology appears sound and that she seems to trust it.

"I'm just rolling with a lot of things here so I️ don't look like an idiot and embarrass you, but from what I️ can see we're in a metal death box hurtling toward the ground. And that's never given you any pause? At all?"

"Hm?"

Trita responds mechanically, her mind elsewhere while her eyes get lost on the metal door. It takes a moment for her mind to check back in to this moment and another for her to remember what he said.

"Oh, yeah, I don't even think about it."

The dinging by of each floor seems slower than usual but it gives her time to shrug her shoulders and explain things further by the second rather than unload too much information later.

"Elevator accidents happen, yeah, but nothing is as dangerous as that new fast-track transit crap they're building. There's nothing wrong with our metro- "

She pauses, realizing he may not know what a metro is. But how does she explain that?

"It's like a train on rails that go underground and sometimes elevated above ground just for people in the city to get where they're gong."

Does he even know what a train in? If he doesn't then maybe he'll ask, but for now she moves on.

"Anyways, the old metro is fine. What isn't fine is that bullet train that they didn't test enough. First day open it flew off the track and killed nearly a hundred people. But what does the government care? They still went forward and sent out small little checks as condolences to the impacted families. Which I'm sure you could piece together was not really for condolences but to keep them quiet."

It finally stops at the ground floor, opening to let them off and something in her stirs seeing how readily he leaves the elevator. He has few nervous ticks and shows those few even less than the number of them there are, so to see him feeling something, even if only to the smallest degree ever, over an elevator... She's reminded of ridiculous moments in another life, teasing him over his office, how clean he kept it and how everything was set off if she moves one book because he, obviously, knew. Every time she had was intentional, of course.

He would stand in the middle of the room with his shoulders lightly pinched, looking around to find what she had taken and hidden away, much like he is now.

The memory is vivid, so vivid she has a hard time dismissing it as fiction. It feels too much like fact. But, whatever it was, it happened in a dream, not real life.

"Alright, lets go. I'd say stay back from me but you seem determined not to."

She rolls her eyes when she passes, walking out the main door. The sky is darker and there are fewer hybrids on the streets, most of them retreating home, fearful of an hour about to come close on the horizon, fear propelling them to safety.

He finds it somewhat strange how she watches him for a moment after they exit the elevator, but he lets it go. He's a strange foreground set against the familiar background of her world.

The only thing about it that really bothers him about that is that everything about his survival up until this point in his life has depended on him fitting in, not standing out.

But he figures he should give himself at least a little time to achieve that. Besides, there are things to learn and pick up on and analyze and develop opinions about.

Like what trains are, and then what metros are. And then there are things to try not to ruminate over, like the fact that elevator accidents happen.

"I'm not in a place to judge your world's engineers, but it seems like someone's not doing their job properly."

His brows are knit as he says it, the closest thing to a pointed expression he's let slip yet. He can't help that things done improperly nag at him.

When they go to get off the elevator, when she passes him, he sees a flash of something, almost an expectation, that she'll reach behind her and grab for his hand.

He expects it to happen, like it feels natural. Like she's done it a million times.

She doesn't do it this time, and for a moment, it sets him back, like this must mean that something is wrong. It takes him a few seconds longer to feel strangely about it, to remind himself that she has no reason to reach back and hold his hand, and that it's weird of him to have thought it would happen to begin with.

The longer they walk, the emptier the streets get until, save a random hybrid or two on the corner, they’re the only ones out in this rundown part of the city.

“Maybe its the engineers, yeah, but I’d say it’s more the government here. Most of the people on the new line were hybrids because there was some sort of discount on tickets and the very end of the route was down towards this area. It’s too coincidental but giving a hybrid money to life a halfway better life is a quick way to shut them up so...”

A rumbling sound echoed across the buildings down the street as a large armored vehicle rolls down the road, lights bright, clipping a few cars on its way. There’s a spotlight on the top of it that flashes on the two of them long before it reaches them. Once it does, the machine stops and the man at the spotlight has a gun ready in hand.

“Hey, you know this area isn’t safe, right? It’s a hybrid area. Human civilians are advised to stay in designated sections.”

It’s odd to see this modern military man addresses Dolan with such confusion and concern, but it doesn’t take long for him to turn to Trita.

“And you, what are you doing out? Curfew’s passed.”

Normally she’d be long tucked away behind her bar counter at this point to miss the curfew patrols but tonight, today, the past what feels like years of her life, aren’t normal.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She easily pulls Dolan’s hand behind her back and puts it on her hip with a fluid motion the guard can’t see until she wants him to, which is when Dolan has his hand firmly placed on her.

“Of course. Should have known when I saw you were a rabbit. Your kind has no shame.”

“Awh...”

A coy smiles pulls at her lips and she lets her eye contact with him linger, ignoring the bright light in her face, watching the man shift under her gaze.

“Well, you know we’re good for it.”

The guard stomps on the top of the truck, signaling the person driving to keep going, flicking the light away so neither side has a way to see the details of the other. With a mechanical roar, it lurches forward and continues on.

“Try not to catch anything.”

He takes a moment to warn Dolan but immediately turns back around when he sees Trita waving, still smiling.

“Well, haven’t had a chance to play prostitute in a while.”

As she finally lets go of his hand a feeling of emptiness fills her, his hand slipping off leaving a stinging sensation all along her skin and right down into her heart. Why? She was just acting. His hand did feel like it belonged there, or really just somewhere on her, and she’s betrayed herself by not keeping it.

Stupid. She points ahead down the sidewalk to let the moment pass.

“It’s just a block down this way.”

And then she turns to lead the way and to forget the foolishness going on in her own confused mind.

Sent from Topic'it App

Deep in his mind, Dolan is still trying to get over the culture shock. This world is more technologically advanced than his, of course, but society is still cruel in the same ways. He figures that wherever human beings suck air, the same thing will always end up being true.

Still, he's used to being the type on the receiving end of what Trita is going through. Nothing like a good worldwide enslavement and genocide of your entire race to put you on the back foot. Of course, Dolan hadn't had to deal with that kind of treatment up in his face for most of his life.

He'd been the one snapping his fingers and breaking necks from a thousand yards, back when he'd still had those abilities. Now, he just preferred to break necks in a more hands on way.

And that's what he's contemplating doing to this man as soon as he starts talking to Trita like that. It confuses Dolan because he knows persecution, dealing with treatment like this is a fact of like for all kinds of people, in all kinds of worlds. But it's almost like this is personal.

He starts cataloguing the different carefully sealed acids he's toting around in this satchel bag, and analyzing how fluidly he could reach in and grab one, how long it would take him to smoothly uncap one and flip it in this guy's ugly face.

But Trita has the whole thing handled expertly before Dolan can decide if the cute little soldier is a nervous system damage or a mucus membrane destruction kind of guy. For the record, Dolan was leaning toward mucus membranes. It's always fun to watch arrogant eyes melt out of their sockets.

But Trita keeps going like nothing's happened, like she does this all the time, and he supposes that she does. It feels strange to have his hand on her, to have her move his hand to rest on such an intimate part of her, but something about it feels practiced, on his and her part.

It doesn't feel as foreign or awkward as it should, but Dolan pulls his hand back all the same, knowing that she deserves her personal space and not wanting her to feel legitimately objectified. Can she feel objectified? Does it count if he'd felt objectified for her? Why does Dolan even care?

He's letting himself get confused and turn circles in his own brain because he's listening to feelings. Idiot. He'd learned to turn that off years ago, and here he is circling back to ways that get you killed.

He folds his arms over his chest and keeps walking beside her, despite her suggestions to stay back.