Kimberly didn't say anything about Mara's assessment of the most recent survivor, though it piqued her curiosity. Maybe the girl was right, maybe not. Kimberly wasn't about to ask about the boy's demeanor, though, even if it would reveal a number of other interesting facts. It wouldn't take too much travel down that road to fan the embers she always carried into a blaze, and that wasn't at all what she wanted. This meal fascinated her in a way nothing else had in a long time.
Another urge, an equally destructive one, surfaced when Mara came around to her side of the table: Kimberly was half inclined to offer to trade answers to questions one for one. She stifled that very quickly. Instead, she shifted a little, repositioning her jacket so it was out of the way but within easy reach. She hunched down in response to the lowered tones, leaned in like they were trading secrets about crushes at a middle school slumber party.
Of course there was a moment of hesitation, but she didn't think Mara would try anything. It would make no sense. Kimberly acknowledged the concern consciously for the first time even as she dismissed it: the girl had no idea what precautions Kimberly herself had taken, and suspiciously-unoccupied or not, this was a public location. There were people outside, people who weren't paying attention to them just now but who would surely be drawn by a shriek. It was just the vibe that had her slightly on edge. Those same elements that intrigued her roused old habits.
Mara wasn't making eye contact as she led into her next point. Kimberly half-whispered, "Go on."
"You remember STAR, right? They saved your friends. It seems like they've been very quiet since then," Mara said, picking up her utensils and purposefully making a slash in her steak and eating.
"Oh yes," Kimberly said. She chuckled, then took a quick sip of water to quiet herself. "They rescued my classmates. Some of them."
She'd done a whole lot of research about STAR, once she'd gotten home. It wasn't something she'd brought up much afterwards, though. She hadn't felt particularly comfortable broaching the subject with the other survivors—not with any candor, at least—and those who lacked personal experience couldn't have possibly understood.
"I met one of them, once," she added.
The memories were all the fresher for the air of familiarity tingeing the present conversation. She'd been on one of her very first outings alone, back when that had still been something that riddled her and her grandparents with anxiety. She'd argued and argued and they'd never been good at saying no, and so she'd gotten her jaunt to the mall, disguised more by the improbability of such a venture than by any changes to her appearance. And then, then she'd noticed the man following her. Then her instincts had revved up. The back alleys hadn't felt like the haven they'd once been.
"We didn't get along."
7s to Burn
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Grand Moff Hissa
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Ruggahissy
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Mara tilted her head to the side inquisitively. She tucked her chin down and looked at Kim.
"Really? But you're so congenial." Mara smiled a lopsided half-smile and pointed at Kim with her fork. She felt more secure in the fact that her guest wasn't going to get up, so there was no harm in teasing a little. It might also have the additional benefit of lightening the seriousness of her questions, for she was very interested in the topic.
"So what happened when you met STAR?"
"Really? But you're so congenial." Mara smiled a lopsided half-smile and pointed at Kim with her fork. She felt more secure in the fact that her guest wasn't going to get up, so there was no harm in teasing a little. It might also have the additional benefit of lightening the seriousness of her questions, for she was very interested in the topic.
"So what happened when you met STAR?"
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Grand Moff Hissa
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"We talked a bit," Kimberly said, smiling at Mara's little jab. She finally picked up her own utensils and cut a corner off the omelet, blowing on it twice to clear the steam rising from her morsel before popping it in her mouth. It was tasty, perfectly cooked, full of mushrooms and cheese and spinach. It was definitely the best thing she'd eaten in at least a week.
"They thought I might know something useful. I didn't."
Would the other girl put the pieces together there? There was an impulse to clarify, but a stronger one not to patronize Mara. She would've just been finishing up middle school at the time—and that thought being applied to the woman sitting next to her made Kimberly feel old for a moment—but at the same time she'd clearly done a lot of research.
At the time of Kimberly's interview, the world at large had held very different expectations regarding the future of Survival of the Fittest. Its leader was dead, its forces seemingly scattered and in retreat, and the public line had been that there would be no further attacks. All the same, STAR and the rescued students hadn't actually seen the aftermath, and had held only a loose idea of what the remaining organization had looked like.
Kimberly was the only one with direct experience, courtesy of her three and a half week stay as the terrorists' patient and prisoner. The government had also interviewed her about that time, but by and large everyone had been disappointed to learn that, bar one dramatic confrontation with Greynolds, Danya's right-hand man, she had sat around in a glorified cell on a ship pointedly avoiding interactions with anybody and reading Stephen King novels. Indeed, what had probably best presaged the resurgence of the attacks was the terrorists' lingering ability to slip Kimberly back into her home city without anyone being immediately aware of it, and nobody had needed her input to glean from that a certain continued existence of resources.
"They also said that I could go with them if I wanted. I told them to fuck themselves."
"They thought I might know something useful. I didn't."
Would the other girl put the pieces together there? There was an impulse to clarify, but a stronger one not to patronize Mara. She would've just been finishing up middle school at the time—and that thought being applied to the woman sitting next to her made Kimberly feel old for a moment—but at the same time she'd clearly done a lot of research.
At the time of Kimberly's interview, the world at large had held very different expectations regarding the future of Survival of the Fittest. Its leader was dead, its forces seemingly scattered and in retreat, and the public line had been that there would be no further attacks. All the same, STAR and the rescued students hadn't actually seen the aftermath, and had held only a loose idea of what the remaining organization had looked like.
Kimberly was the only one with direct experience, courtesy of her three and a half week stay as the terrorists' patient and prisoner. The government had also interviewed her about that time, but by and large everyone had been disappointed to learn that, bar one dramatic confrontation with Greynolds, Danya's right-hand man, she had sat around in a glorified cell on a ship pointedly avoiding interactions with anybody and reading Stephen King novels. Indeed, what had probably best presaged the resurgence of the attacks was the terrorists' lingering ability to slip Kimberly back into her home city without anyone being immediately aware of it, and nobody had needed her input to glean from that a certain continued existence of resources.
"They also said that I could go with them if I wanted. I told them to fuck themselves."
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Ruggahissy
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“Makes sense."
Mara put her fork down softly on her plate resulting in a small clink. She nodded while Kim recounted the brief interaction she had with STAR.
"I never spoke to them, I looked up as much information as I could. But it seems like they've gone silent."
She looked at the plate in front of her and her breathing picked up a little. Mara bit her lower lip gently.
"When I came home it took a lot of work for me to be at a place where I could perform the basic acts for living every day. It comes back sometimes -- a lot. I think I'm fine and something sets me off and reminds me of what happened, and I feel like I want to destroy… things."
Mara leaned toward Kim, but looked straight ahead. Her large, black eyes had a glazed look to them.
"It never goes away. It's the background noise and if I stop paying attention now, it rises up. It makes my blood feel like poison. I'm othered, isolated. I think about him staring at me across that desk, and I'm angry I didn't do more. But I know that wouldn't have helped in the long run, not really. The way that you take down SOTF can't be with a knife in your boot."
Mara took a deep breath and sighed wearily. She picked up her knife again and forced it through her steak.
"It has to be with cash."
Mara put her fork down softly on her plate resulting in a small clink. She nodded while Kim recounted the brief interaction she had with STAR.
"I never spoke to them, I looked up as much information as I could. But it seems like they've gone silent."
She looked at the plate in front of her and her breathing picked up a little. Mara bit her lower lip gently.
"When I came home it took a lot of work for me to be at a place where I could perform the basic acts for living every day. It comes back sometimes -- a lot. I think I'm fine and something sets me off and reminds me of what happened, and I feel like I want to destroy… things."
Mara leaned toward Kim, but looked straight ahead. Her large, black eyes had a glazed look to them.
"It never goes away. It's the background noise and if I stop paying attention now, it rises up. It makes my blood feel like poison. I'm othered, isolated. I think about him staring at me across that desk, and I'm angry I didn't do more. But I know that wouldn't have helped in the long run, not really. The way that you take down SOTF can't be with a knife in your boot."
Mara took a deep breath and sighed wearily. She picked up her knife again and forced it through her steak.
"It has to be with cash."
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Grand Moff Hissa
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Kimberly thought about that for a time. She watched Mara watch nothing, replaying the girl's words in her head as she did. They rang true, to an extent.
Sometimes it came back, all the old habits and feelings, and the urge to destroy was prominent for her as well. She'd had bad days and bad nights, times when the trauma would sneak up on her and she went and got a long knife from the kitchen and didn't sleep until the sun was shining and everyone else in the house was up. Those were two very different things, though; the fear and hurt was a scar from what she'd suffered, but the impulses had always been a part of her. She had just finally been taught that she could actually act on them if she really wanted to.
Other parts of what Mara said, of course, were alien to such an extent that Kimberly was taken aback. When the girl spoke about being isolated, the pain that represented was palpable. She'd been popular once, Kimberly thought, in that fake high school way, with best friends and outfits agonized over for hours with an aim to impress rather than appall. Had they been classmates, they probably would not have ever sat at the same table.
"I've always been alone," Kimberly said, then shrugged and took another bite of her omelet. It could've been a line from one of her old poems, but the runny-mascara drama was long forgotten. Now she intoned it simply, a statement of fact.
She chewed and thought for a moment more about the actual meat of Mara's statement, swallowed hard and took a sip of still-too-cold water, considered a moment longer.
"You might be right about the cash," she said. "You also might be wrong. It's a bet."
Not that that mattered; Kimberly could hear the hurt and the desire to hurt back. She knew it well, and she indulged it more often than she probably should. She rarely felt bad about it, which made her wonder briefly whether she was even one to speak, but then again, who better than one who knew revenge like the back of her hand?
"If you ask me," she said, "it's a bet with long odds, heavy stakes, and a poor potential payout."
She sawed off another triangle of her omelet and popped it in her mouth, forcing herself to maintain her vigilance with a glance outside afterwards, but she tasted nothing and registered only that there was no trouble and they weren't being observed. Her actual attention was all Mara's.
Sometimes it came back, all the old habits and feelings, and the urge to destroy was prominent for her as well. She'd had bad days and bad nights, times when the trauma would sneak up on her and she went and got a long knife from the kitchen and didn't sleep until the sun was shining and everyone else in the house was up. Those were two very different things, though; the fear and hurt was a scar from what she'd suffered, but the impulses had always been a part of her. She had just finally been taught that she could actually act on them if she really wanted to.
Other parts of what Mara said, of course, were alien to such an extent that Kimberly was taken aback. When the girl spoke about being isolated, the pain that represented was palpable. She'd been popular once, Kimberly thought, in that fake high school way, with best friends and outfits agonized over for hours with an aim to impress rather than appall. Had they been classmates, they probably would not have ever sat at the same table.
"I've always been alone," Kimberly said, then shrugged and took another bite of her omelet. It could've been a line from one of her old poems, but the runny-mascara drama was long forgotten. Now she intoned it simply, a statement of fact.
She chewed and thought for a moment more about the actual meat of Mara's statement, swallowed hard and took a sip of still-too-cold water, considered a moment longer.
"You might be right about the cash," she said. "You also might be wrong. It's a bet."
Not that that mattered; Kimberly could hear the hurt and the desire to hurt back. She knew it well, and she indulged it more often than she probably should. She rarely felt bad about it, which made her wonder briefly whether she was even one to speak, but then again, who better than one who knew revenge like the back of her hand?
"If you ask me," she said, "it's a bet with long odds, heavy stakes, and a poor potential payout."
She sawed off another triangle of her omelet and popped it in her mouth, forcing herself to maintain her vigilance with a glance outside afterwards, but she tasted nothing and registered only that there was no trouble and they weren't being observed. Her actual attention was all Mara's.
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Ruggahissy
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"We're in Las Vegas, Kimberly. Big bets made this place."
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Grand Moff Hissa
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Kimberly must have swallowed at some point, because her laughter was clear and unencumbered. That was a good piece of rhetoric, dramatic and well-delivered. She expected no less. It was a language she spoke too.
"Fair enough," she said, letting her fork rest on the plate and her eyes rest on the paintings. While almost floor-to-ceiling in size, they were cropped just so, revealing nothing that couldn't be broadcast on television. They occupied that ephemeral niche the art world termed "erotic" without hitting any notes of pornography. Still, while only implicit, the fucking was clear. "But you know what they say: what happens in Vegas..."
She pivoted, most actively turning her head but also angling her torso more towards Mara, at the same time letting her hands drift down to her lap. Her fingers lightly interlaced over the cream-colored napkin, which was free of any detritus from the meal. The corners of her mouth tilted up, but not enough to be truly termed a smile. Kimberly looked at the girl next to her and thought: she was barely old enough to drink. Three years felt like a lifetime before it was more than half a lifetime ago. She thought of a faint French-Canadian accent and an entreaty she had been no more ready to accept than she had been prepared to understand.
Back then, she'd fantasized that it might be nice to be the very last victim. Even at the time, she'd known that imagining to be neither noble nor altruistic.
"Money can solve—and cause—all kinds of evils," she said. "Do you think this is where you can do the most good?"
Is that even what it's about, Mara?
"Fair enough," she said, letting her fork rest on the plate and her eyes rest on the paintings. While almost floor-to-ceiling in size, they were cropped just so, revealing nothing that couldn't be broadcast on television. They occupied that ephemeral niche the art world termed "erotic" without hitting any notes of pornography. Still, while only implicit, the fucking was clear. "But you know what they say: what happens in Vegas..."
She pivoted, most actively turning her head but also angling her torso more towards Mara, at the same time letting her hands drift down to her lap. Her fingers lightly interlaced over the cream-colored napkin, which was free of any detritus from the meal. The corners of her mouth tilted up, but not enough to be truly termed a smile. Kimberly looked at the girl next to her and thought: she was barely old enough to drink. Three years felt like a lifetime before it was more than half a lifetime ago. She thought of a faint French-Canadian accent and an entreaty she had been no more ready to accept than she had been prepared to understand.
Back then, she'd fantasized that it might be nice to be the very last victim. Even at the time, she'd known that imagining to be neither noble nor altruistic.
"Money can solve—and cause—all kinds of evils," she said. "Do you think this is where you can do the most good?"
Is that even what it's about, Mara?
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Ruggahissy
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Mara smiled sharply back. “It’s what I want to do.” She blinked slowly, gathering her thoughts.
“It’ll take a few years. I don’t know how many -- maybe 10, maybe more. I’m taking everything that got left to me, and I’m going to invest it and make it grow until I have a sizable amount. I’ve got some charities I’ll keep running -- those double as tax deductions. I’m going to build something of my own -- better than STAR. If I die,” she shrugged,” I die.”
She put her hand over Kim’s hands clasped in her lap.
“And if I die, it’s all yours. Okay?”
“It’ll take a few years. I don’t know how many -- maybe 10, maybe more. I’m taking everything that got left to me, and I’m going to invest it and make it grow until I have a sizable amount. I’ve got some charities I’ll keep running -- those double as tax deductions. I’m going to build something of my own -- better than STAR. If I die,” she shrugged,” I die.”
She put her hand over Kim’s hands clasped in her lap.
“And if I die, it’s all yours. Okay?”
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Grand Moff Hissa
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There was a brief moment where Kimberly tensed. With both of her hands held in one of Mara's, she was a captive—of etiquette, if nothing else. But just as quickly as the edginess mounted, it sharpened and clarified, and when she relaxed it was in a more true and deep way than she'd managed since stepping through the doors. Her grin was wide. It had been a while. It was taking more than she liked to not indulge in nostalgia, and so she focused on the physical sensation, the press of skin against skin.
"That's your mistake to make," she said, the tease clear, the giggle barely suppressed. Her shoulders rose and fell, but her hands remained perfectly steady and still.
"But you better not die. I'd be disappointed, and there's a reason people don't trust me with money when I'm upset."
She let her gaze drift back and forth, between face and hands. While Mara's touch was firm yet soft, Kimberly's own skin was rough in places, especially where the fingertips of her left hand pressed against the knuckles of her right. It had been a couple weeks since she'd touched a guitar, but that wasn't long enough for the calluses to begin to fade.
"The 'Amaranta Montalvo Memorial Conservative Think Tank And Juvenile Canine Euthanasia Facility' has a certain ring to it, don't you think?"
"That's your mistake to make," she said, the tease clear, the giggle barely suppressed. Her shoulders rose and fell, but her hands remained perfectly steady and still.
"But you better not die. I'd be disappointed, and there's a reason people don't trust me with money when I'm upset."
She let her gaze drift back and forth, between face and hands. While Mara's touch was firm yet soft, Kimberly's own skin was rough in places, especially where the fingertips of her left hand pressed against the knuckles of her right. It had been a couple weeks since she'd touched a guitar, but that wasn't long enough for the calluses to begin to fade.
"The 'Amaranta Montalvo Memorial Conservative Think Tank And Juvenile Canine Euthanasia Facility' has a certain ring to it, don't you think?"
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Ruggahissy
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Mara scoffed and pulled her hands away. She let go of Kim for now.
“I find ‘memorial’ to be the worst part. I can’t imagine people would remember me weepily.”
Despite herself, she smiled. It was a funny concept altogether. She sighed, stood up and returned to her old seat across from Kim.
“I don’t know what is going to happen. I really don’t,” she said, more shakily than she had sounded at any time during the conversation. Mara bit her lip and gripped her fork hard. There was a faint sense that though she had only met Kim today, she would miss the feeling of this person. This would be the last time they saw each other, she could feel it.
“So just have lunch with me now that that’s done. Just be here with me now like this, and we won’t think about what’s going to happen. For just today, as if we’re friends.”
“I find ‘memorial’ to be the worst part. I can’t imagine people would remember me weepily.”
Despite herself, she smiled. It was a funny concept altogether. She sighed, stood up and returned to her old seat across from Kim.
“I don’t know what is going to happen. I really don’t,” she said, more shakily than she had sounded at any time during the conversation. Mara bit her lip and gripped her fork hard. There was a faint sense that though she had only met Kim today, she would miss the feeling of this person. This would be the last time they saw each other, she could feel it.
“So just have lunch with me now that that’s done. Just be here with me now like this, and we won’t think about what’s going to happen. For just today, as if we’re friends.”
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Grand Moff Hissa
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"Friends," Kimberly echoed, just above a whisper. It was the only way to say the word, the only way that felt right. For so many people she knew, the term was loaded. Just from how the girl across from her phrased it, how she returned to that less intimate physical distance before letting it slip between her lips, it was safe to assume that was the case here. So Kimberly afforded it the same weight she might've given the word "partner."
"Yeah," she said, lips beginning to turn. "It's a lovely lunch. Thank you again for having me."
She let her hands rise back up to the table, took up her silverware and carefully cut another wedge off the omelet, though she didn't eat it just yet. Only the faintest wisps of steam rose from where the eggs parted. Kimberly watched the vapors dissipate, watched Mara's silverware, watched from the corner of her eye out the window as Las Vegas continued around them. Cars rolled by along The Strip, and she wondered how many people were going home to a new life of fortune and luxury, and how many would be lucky indeed if there was a home to return to after their adventures.
Long ago, this had been normal, sitting across the table from a peer and chatting about whatever came to mind. Kimberly had always thought she had a quick wit, and an even quicker tongue. With the recontextualization of this exchange, she felt her posture loosening.
It was easier to take note of the small things again. The food smelled very good indeed. The ice cubes in her water were smaller, but the drink would still be too chilly. The chairs here were quite comfortable, especially after so many days of roughing it in a tent or sitting in the driver's seat of her car. If she was all alone, she might close her eyes and fall asleep. The hat remained awkwardly to one side of the table. Her jacket hung behind her still, unneeded though never forgotten. She could've left it in the car.
"So," Kimberly said, tone as light and casual as it got nowadays, "what all do you do in your free time?"
The future could wait. The past could stay where it was, informing but not controlling. This right now was good, and that was enough. It was something she had to remind herself, far more often than she preferred. Lofty ideas and grand designs were all well and good, but they were inevitably in service of a core humanity, at least if they were worth anything.
"I read a lot of books," she continued. "Especially old horror novels. I think they have a lot to say, you know, about life and society and how to exist, even today."
Her lips had finally finished the smile, but it felt bittersweet. It was funny. She'd been hesitant to accept the invitation at first, but here they were. The conversation would end, and they would go their separate ways, and there was every chance they would never sit down across from each other like this again. It wasn't a strange idea—less unusual in fact than their sharing this little time and place to begin with—but there was still a faint air of loss about it.
"Have you ever read Frankenstein?"
"Yeah," she said, lips beginning to turn. "It's a lovely lunch. Thank you again for having me."
She let her hands rise back up to the table, took up her silverware and carefully cut another wedge off the omelet, though she didn't eat it just yet. Only the faintest wisps of steam rose from where the eggs parted. Kimberly watched the vapors dissipate, watched Mara's silverware, watched from the corner of her eye out the window as Las Vegas continued around them. Cars rolled by along The Strip, and she wondered how many people were going home to a new life of fortune and luxury, and how many would be lucky indeed if there was a home to return to after their adventures.
Long ago, this had been normal, sitting across the table from a peer and chatting about whatever came to mind. Kimberly had always thought she had a quick wit, and an even quicker tongue. With the recontextualization of this exchange, she felt her posture loosening.
It was easier to take note of the small things again. The food smelled very good indeed. The ice cubes in her water were smaller, but the drink would still be too chilly. The chairs here were quite comfortable, especially after so many days of roughing it in a tent or sitting in the driver's seat of her car. If she was all alone, she might close her eyes and fall asleep. The hat remained awkwardly to one side of the table. Her jacket hung behind her still, unneeded though never forgotten. She could've left it in the car.
"So," Kimberly said, tone as light and casual as it got nowadays, "what all do you do in your free time?"
The future could wait. The past could stay where it was, informing but not controlling. This right now was good, and that was enough. It was something she had to remind herself, far more often than she preferred. Lofty ideas and grand designs were all well and good, but they were inevitably in service of a core humanity, at least if they were worth anything.
"I read a lot of books," she continued. "Especially old horror novels. I think they have a lot to say, you know, about life and society and how to exist, even today."
Her lips had finally finished the smile, but it felt bittersweet. It was funny. She'd been hesitant to accept the invitation at first, but here they were. The conversation would end, and they would go their separate ways, and there was every chance they would never sit down across from each other like this again. It wasn't a strange idea—less unusual in fact than their sharing this little time and place to begin with—but there was still a faint air of loss about it.
"Have you ever read Frankenstein?"