Log; Complete [Part 1]

[silkcutremix.livejournal.com]

When; BACKLOG, May 15thish
Rating; R for LANGUAGE
Characters; John Constantine [silkcutremix], Elle Driver [venomouselle]
Summary; Encounter, lecture, trigger, suppression, outpour.
Log;

John was not afraid of Elle; he had no reason to be. What made the magus apprehensive as he rapped those knuckles on that door was the outcome. They both were fucking stupid that one night, they both did not know any better and Elle was the one paying for it.

No, he was too: he was dealing with her bitching afterward and at this rate would not be seeing the end of it. In the City, John had concluded, some of the women backed off, some of them were a bit easy and some did not take shit.

Elle was the last one.

---

She had been waiting for sometime. John had, surprisingly enough agreed to meet her. Maybe he did have balls, at least he would before speaking with her. Anger was something that Elle Driver never learned to regulate. It flowed like the air she breathed, inward and outward coming and going as it pleased. It was heading right to John, and he was going to meet it.

She'd have found it admirable in any other circumstance.

The knock pulled Elle from meditation to open the door. "About time," was her greeting as she stepped aside to let him in.

---

The pure fucking coincidence of it all: Elle shared the same name of an old friend he had shafted all the same, only she was a succubus. Constantine did not know what Miss Driver's name was short for, but it couldn't have been Chantinelle. He had fucked both. They felt different. To breathe in the scent of succubus was to breath in the black evil that she truly was beyond the alluring cosmetic exterior she wore.
 
Constantine still made eye contact, cool. "I said I would come."

---

The door shut with a click then the lock latch. The assassin turned slowly, arms crossed over her chest. “You said noon. I assumed that’s when you would be here, not that it was a suggestion.” She strolled slowly into the small sitting room behind him. “Do sit down.”

Had John known Elle as well as Budd or O-ren, he would have taken her calm demeanor as a severe warning sign. She chose to sit down on a high stool close to the kitchenette, across from the cough. The apartment was tiny. All of the rooms save for the bathroom, were one. The tension in the air decreased the size by tenfold. "And so here we are, again."

---

John knew this sort of demeanor all too well; he could not only feel the cramping tension in the air, but smell it, on Elle, in her blood by chemical "signals," of sorts. This was the calm before the storm and the magus was braced to take the brunt of it. Being in a small two room apartment was nothing new to the magus but he was removing a cigarette from his pack with an exaggerated caution.
 
Constantine found a seat a certain distance from her, pulling it closer if needed be. The woman felt like a bomb.

---

“The boys are out,” she said lightly watching him take out a Silk Cut. “Took forever to convince them.” No lies there, Luke disapproved them seeing one another without a third party at every turn. Elle had to make a few promises.

But really, only important promises are to be kept.

Blonde hair fell almost angelically over her shoulders as she leaned forward, “Do you want to talk first?” Give him a chance, was her reasoning.

---

Angels gave John the creeps. He lit up, those blue eyes studying her with a calm focus not unlike the feral stare of his other form. "What else can I say?"

---

"What can you say?" Elle repeated slowly. One long leg crossed over the other on the stool. She was feeling rather predatory herself. "An apology, is a very good place to start."

---

Two predators. "For what," he said, the smoke framing those sharp features.

---

The clunk of the stool on the ground filled the absence of sound. Elle crossed the space between him and for a brief moment was suspended while she launched herself at him. John's face connected with her elbow first and foremost. She quickly got over the difficulty of attacking while he was seated and had a clear shot at his groin.

"For what?" she repeated, voice close to a snarl.

---

The cigarette bounced off the floor. Constantine was curled tightly into a fetal position, both those large hands of his cupping those broken balls. Air whistled through clenched teeth. The pain was too much for the magus to speak.

Big balls made for big targets.

---

Elle draped herself over the couch on the opposite side. "Don't tell me that was actually a surprise to you," she bent over to pick up the cigarette, being so kind enough to hold it between two fingers.

Mild satisfactory flitted through her. Anger was not yet eased, not by a long shot. For now Elle was protected from feeling hurt, feeling regret in this emotion. She smiled as she took a puff from his cigarette waiting for him to recover.

---

:
Maybe John let her, but no self-respecting man that gave a damn about himself would let anything take a good hit to his balls like that. The pain that throbbed through them nulled anything he felt in his face. A red warmth trickled from his nose to the floor. A shaking hand felt it. Not broken surprisingly thank Christ.
 
"So I," he gasped slowly, "was the one that forgot the condom."

---

Blood already, blue eye took in the detail of his pain contorted face. Nose shots were just too easy sometimes but damn were they effective.

Now we were getting somewhere. "Alright. That's fair. Do continue."

---

A low, authentic growl sounded from the magus' chest, the hand cupping around the blood freely flowing from his nose, puddling on the floor, staining his sleeve, shirt and tie..

---

Red, red, red. It wasn't Elle's favorite color but she had a fondness for it. This was taking too long. "Keep talking, magic man." At this rate he'd fuck up the couch. With a sigh she got a rag from the kitchenette and tossed it at him.

---

Constantine took the rag and cupped it over his bleeding nose. The feral, bestial look left his eyes for a moment. "So you got that in full?" His voice was slightly muffled by the rag, muddled by swallowed blood.

---

:Arms again came to fold one over the other. "Astute. Do continue." He was not getting off easily. Not after what she had gone through, and he of all people knowing the entire time what she would have to endure.

---

John pulled himself up, still on the floor nursing that bleeding nose staining the rag with the red warmth. "I like your nerve. Not enough people in this whole fuckin' City have the balls to know the scent of bullshit when they smell it."

---

A slight smile settled on her mouth. "Would you like to enjoy my nerve further?" Elle was fond of compliments, she indulged in them when she could afford to. Now wasn't a time.

---

"So did I schedule a beating?" John snorted, eyes narrowed.

---

"No," she sighed, "I asked for a talk. I advise that you make the most of this opportunity rather than being so dismissive. I'll have my turn to say my piece."

---

The magus cocked a brow. "Don't actions speak louder than words?"

---

Fine. Another action for hopes of more words. Elle brought her heel down hard on his shoulder, keeping balance while she felt bone and tension under leather. "Get what I'm telling you?"

---

John grunted and moaned in pain, a part of him demanding why he was taking anyone's shit in the first place. Why was he letting her get away with inflicting what she could on him so easily? He was on the floor again, the heel keeping his rag wielding hand away from that nose. Blood flecked. 
 
(A part of him felt like he deserved this, but John Constantine deserved a lot of things that he had evaded. Why not this as well? Why not live up to his name once again?)
 
"Yeah," he grunted. "Got it."

---

He quieted after agreeing and it irritated the hell out of her. A few more moments of grinding her heel against him and she came to sit on the couch. "If you would rather I kick your goddamn ass, leave John. This is my attempt at civility and I won't take kindly to you turning your nose up."

---

John gritted his teeth, taking the brunt of the pain with that stubborn bastard resilience he also had been well known for. Was she finished? Good. He slowly picked himself up. Bloody nose was still leaking.
 
"I don't grovel," said the magus. "An' I'm not a bloody puppet that'll say exactly what you want to hear either."

---

That was the last straw. Elle again was on her feet and right at him, her arms enclosed around his throat as she kicked in the back of his knees. He fell heavily but her stance was steady enough to hold both of them. "Fucking piece of shit, I'm not ASKING you to tell me what I want to hear. I want an apology and some semblance of understanding what the hell I'm going to do. You owe me that much."

She spoke slowly and clearly, each word flavored with bitterness. "What kinda man walks away, John Constantine, from the chance to clear his ass?"

---

"I told you, Elle," John gasped. She could feel muscles strain unnaturally under the skin. "I'm secure in being the fucking shitbag I am. Hell, I can safely say I'm not even a man. Why the fuck should I care so much about clearing my arse when this whole City is too forgiving as it is?"

---

More masculine stoicism. It was disgusting to her. "Your 'arse' affects others, and like it or not, some bitches trust you. Trusted you. Right now, your arse is mine." Her grasp tightened slowly with serpentine fluidity. "Ever break a neck before?"

---

"That's their first mistake," John grumbled, licking the blood from his upper lip, feeling it drip down to his collar. His heart hammered. "I've torn heads off, if you want to know." He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to ward off the pain, keep himself unaffected, Stoic indeed. "Tell you what, if you're going to break me neck, break it while I'm the other way, like... this."
 
John did not want to go that way again, he did not (felt like taking a stroll in bloody Newcastle), but he had to take a moment to ask himself why he was probing her this far in the first place. Was it because he was too prideful to say he was wrong? A test for the assassin against the general kindness of the City? He had to remind himself of what he was trying to prove. Maybe Elle released the shifting creature, maybe not. She could adjust her grip. The end result presented that long, thick neck for her, appearing rather silly sticking out from that reasonably new coat. He made no motion to bite.
 
Be the friggin' executioner. Luke'll love to see a dead dog in a friggin' coat lying around, wouldn't he?

---

She released him alright. At the very alteration in texture of brustled facial hair Elle threw him away from her as though touch was acidic. She didn't want to see this. She didn't want to be this. At the alteration of body, potency of smell increased. Triggering sights and sounds she had been fighting to forget. The deadly assassin backed away from him, not out of fear by any means.

"No! Stop it! John!" Her voice was fought to keep steady, cage the howl of despair. "I didn't want it!" She could feel something in her gut churn. Each breath she took, near pant, attempted to calm.

---

John watched intently, sniffing at her with that better nose. He did not like doing this, seeing her in pain, feeling something else (awaken?) inside her, scenting it in full, but the morbid bastard, the adrenaline junkie, enjoyed this. Constantine lived in tense harmony with his diseased side. Last week was a result of kicking the scale towards the beast's favor. Where was Elle? Certainly not where he was, a well-dressed timber wolf calmly panting as he sat, all injuries mended, all bleeding ceased. In control.

---

Where John had harmony, Elle had discord. "Change back, moron...." Scent cascaded outward the longer his furry ass sat before her. She would not give in, not again. Standing was becoming hard and the rhythm of her breathing increased. "Change the fuck back, John! I'm--! Ugh!" The woman was a fighter and so was the awakened consciousness, a shade of herself and the duel was on. Muscles trembled and her skin itched all over, on the verge.

---

Found your trigger, John thought, those blue eyes still calm, serene, almost wild. He was not going to stop; he was going to let Elle experience the full brunt of it, to know what to expect, to know how to anticipate.
 
Like getting drunk for the first time in the comfort of your own home, really. 
 
He did not need the burned away funny books. He had a little something on his "person," a few aces up his sleeve. All he needed now was to see if she would succumb.

---

Elle came onto her knees, clutching her skull. Still she curled forward, head coming to rest on the wood floor. Blonde hair fell about her like a curtain. There had been moments since the first change that tried her. The urge to chase down the cat belonging to a few doors down was a cake walk compared to this. Tension snapped into her body. Thinking the cat was the bad idea. Smell. Food. Hunger. Blood. Blood was on the floor. The wolf burst forth from the woman with none of the fluidity John had. Bone and muscle mass contorted each like a blow. The last sound that resembled anything like a human voice was a sob.

---

John kept himself still, his controlled shift crunching and popping a foreleg into the same range of motion as a human arm to better allow him access into one of his coat pockets. A little visit to the Underground Black Market had yielded a crude beast charm. It might have worked, John might have wheeled and dealed for a piece of shit. Elle's grotesque mutilation into something else had allowed the magus enough time to set the charm in his teeth, the foreleg resuming being a normal wolf's foreleg.
 
If the old wanker peddling the thing was right, getting the creature in question to keep from tearing his insides out was a matter of staring into the crude bear creature dangling from the braided leather. To stare was to calm... Fuck him if John was going to lose himself to keep Elle's inner dog under control. He was going to need the thick fur, at the risk of his new coat, if this did not work.
 
A rule of thumb: Man over the beast, always. Wolves especially. They were opportunists.

---

Not a wolf, not a woman the mixture was an image of conflict. Her back legs were too long for her forearms but none the less she attempted to crouch. A long series of snaps and her body settled on four paws, shaking. The woman's suite she had been in was nothing but strips and shreds of cloth. The floor wasn't doing much better with severe scratches. A head shake got rid of her eyepatch, sending it flying close to the couch.

---

There had to have been a metaphor in there somewhere, Constantine mused, rising to all fours. He could smell his shoes nearby, his socks odd-fitting stockings around his back feet. For the most part, his clothes stayed on, intact. A violent shift like Elle's would have been a different story.
 
('Strewth his tie was bloody tight.)
 
The charm dangled from around a fang, Constantine still calmly panting with a cracked jaw, noting the change of "mood" smells but not so much overall. She still read as "Elle." He gave his head a little nudge, so that the charm would swing, so that the motion-based wolf sight would take interest, so that Constantine would see if he would have to come up with another plan quick.

---

Now pale, soft ears rotated and shifted catching sound and settled into a pensive, backward facing positions. Elle straightened and sniffed. He was here still. The animal instinct in her was picking at the mortal thought process that was now in a slow turn. Did even her brange change now too.

The swinging bit of leather caught her attention. Made from four legs, didn't carry a stench like the thrashed boots she had to kick away. (She'd be sorry about their end later.) John had her attention while her mind attempted to catch up with her body.

---

She did not appear to be going violent on him, that was a good thing for the magus. He kept still and his charm out. Their eyes should not be meeting, her eyes should be on the charm. Keep looking, keep watching...

---

Realization struck a match in her primal side. "Elle" fell away melding with something she knew, anger... A wolf now recalled humiliation and a poor scavenge attempted. She leapt at the strange intruding foe that stank of man.

---

Piece of shit.
 
Constantine clumsily now was on his toes, bouncing away from no less dangerous Elle on his own instinct. He was still in control of himself but the situation fell through, yet again. Buggering fuck! There were not a lot of places for the magus to go here either.

---

:Paws skid and scrapped the hardwood floor as Elle advanced. His aversion, how ever clumsy saved him from a nasty bite. Blue eye burned, a stranger to the magician in the wolf in magician clothing. Just as she had suppressing the wolf, the wolf suppressed the assassin for dominating consciousness.

---

"Goddammit, Elle!" he tried to say reflexively, the "words" a baying, barking whine. His own claws struggled to find a hold on the floor as he tried to keep away from the other wolf's sharp, sharp teeth.
 
Fuck, Elle was more rational the other way. 
 
He stumbled on his trousers.

---

John received a growl that rolled smoothly to a bark. She wasn't about to let the floor get the best of her. The moment he was down she was above him, teeth enclosing on him.

What was that thing? It smelled of four legs in a deliciously appealing way. It fling this way and that as he moved just short of her vision. Elle didn't know. But she wanted it.

---

Bloody useless thing. John, feeling the teeth pinch through his mane, let her have it, thankful that his coat was still intact. Here he submitted. Not too different from The Bitch she would be, if John was guessing right.

---

Elle snarled and scissored her mouth a few times. She positioned herself over him and remained there. Still that strange strip that hung from his mouth was attempting to tug at her line of vision. She had to cock her head and stoop a little to see it better. That wasn't working well so slowly she let go of the fur at John's neck.

---

Whatever you want, Elle, John wanted to tell her. Whatever you bloody want. The wolf knew how to act in this situation, perhaps even turn Round Two in his favor. John was still no better than a floundering puppy on his own. 
 
The magus was not worried about masculine pride in the affairs of wild animals. Common sense dictated that wolf teeth were very sharp.

---

Those same wolf teeth enclosed on his muzzle, not trusting him at all. Yes, that thing he had danglingly nightly was more than visible now. Elle's gaze shifted from him to the strip of leather, feeling its strange pull even more so now.

The assassin slowly, ever so slowly, began to stand lax void of aggressive tension.

---

John played it patiently with her, knowing she would not hurt him if he kept himself low, easy. At her mercy. By her rules. The charm was still in his jaws, the magician having yet to correlate that he might have received his trade's worth after all.

---

More seconds slipped. Elle released his muzzle with no hurry at all. Surprisingly enough, there was no reluctance either. She now stood above him at ease and comically studying the object lulled by it.

---

Fuck me, thought Constantine. He attempted to spit out the artifact with little avail, the leather strip hooked around his teeth. He had to get out from under her, had to revert and cast something more certain. He could bring Elle back, but that required his voice. Tilting his head at an odd angle had freed the charm and John squirmed out from under her, the trench coat and clothing tangle fitting oddly around his altered frame not helping him at all.

---

Her position remained the same the entire time. He brushed against her stomach and that earned him a disapproving soft growl that was brief in passing. The longer she looked upon the crude carving and chord, the less concerned about his presence.

---

All the better. John was soon freed from the dominant stance of the she-wolf, sliding back into his human shape as soon as he had felt that he would be coming out in one piece. He adjusted his pants, pulled his trousers back on and made that damn tie stop attempting to choke him. After tugging his socks back on snug, he crept slowly around Elle, reaching cautiously for the charm, testing her possessive instincts.

---

Possessive was the right word for it. The moment he entered her line of sight, Elle was back in motion. Seemed to have accepted that the male had gone away and didn't appear to care. However, she wasn't going to let him take away her prize.

Her neck extended and jaws snapped at his reaching fingers. Mine!

---

:
John toppled back, balance lost as he tried to escape the wrath of those fangs. Wolves were very fast creatures, he was well aware of that. Personal experience even. 
 
"Fuck, alright!" It was nice to have a human voice again. Not to mention thumbs. Both would be needed for what he had in mind next. John, back on his knees, dug around in his trench coat, producing a scrap of paper with just the spell he needed for an incident like this. He began to trace it along the floor. Finger oils would work.

---

Having protected what was "hers," his actions went without interruption. Again Elle came to stare at the charm, making no move to reach for it herself but admire it where he had dropped it. Her ears did shift at the slight rubbing against polished wood.

---

Done. Now all John needed to do was to channel that which the invisible circle was drawing from the air, from him, from Elle, and use it. Animal energy, life energy. It was not a control spell John had drawn but a spell of influence. Constantine was all about influence, from his golden tongue to his hypnosis and suggestion. Whatever the magus might say to Elle would carry more weight, perhaps even more understanding. He had to get were away from that charm first.
 
"Elle," he barked like an alpha. "Listen to me, Elle. Hullo, Elle."

---

At the sound of his voice her entire head and long body turned to face him. Elle watched his mouth move. Each word was like a ripple that gained momentum in the space between them to wash over her. She whined lightly in confusion, but nonetheless listened.

---

John grinned. That was surprisingly easy. "Good girl. Do you hear me, Elle? Speak to me, Elle. I want to speak to the woman in there. Talk to me. Say something to your ol' uncle Johnny."

---

Girl. Woman. These were words. Words had meanings. Speak meant words.

The she-wolf moved her jaw, an elaborate soft whining came out. She shook her head, growling. No. Again! "Grrrrooon!" came out, the best in several attempts.

---

"Easy. I triggered you that way," said John, his gaze intense, feeling the energy from that circle flow up into him, out from him. Concentration. "I can trigger you out. 
 
"Woman, Elle. You are a woman, aren't you? You see a man. You are woman."

---

Woman approved. Wolf didn't and let him know with a growl even as meaning and sound lapped against her. Resistance was destined to fall under the magus influence. She is a woman.

Just because he'd say it would be didn't mean it would be easy. Fur grew out on her head fast. Elle yelped in shock as her insides began to stretch faster than her skin. Her body, flailed and twitched as the lupine retreated.

Elle Driver, the woman as requested, swayed on her hands and knees. Silence roared in her ears.

---

John did not break the trance, of sorts, just yet. He had to make sure that the wolf was not just shirking back in surprise, that Elle truly had a hold on her physical shape.
 
His eyes narrowed, Constantine firmly commanded: "Elle, woman, speak."

---

Her blue eye came to rest on his face, his eyes. Her reply was a growl.

---

A human one, John hoped. The woman was less menacing than the teeth, but Elle in her right mind was up there in the bloody awful threatening category. 
 
"You understand me, Elle?" He didn't dare reach out to her, not just yet.

---

Lips moved forming over words. She was not going to grow. She was not going to bark. "W-what....have...you...d-done?"

Why was this so difficult? Elle pushed herself to sit up slowly, a groan slipped out.

---

"You went in and came out." Constantine spoke slowly, still firm, his expression still unyielding. "Best you experience the shit here rather than around someone that won't know what the fuck they're doing."

---

"You...made me..do this?" Elle was now fully aware she was naked, cold at that. She'd work to be modest if she didn't fear falling over.

---

"No, I expected you to break me neck and deliver my furry doggy corpse to me good mate, but then we had a change of plans." Slowly John stood up, never taking his eyes off Elle. He removed his coat.

---

Neck break. Right that was before. "I like Cori, wouldn't want...to do that to him." Words were still slow. She tensed at his standing, feral awareness lingering.

Eye kept on his. Her given eye, blue and awash with many different shades of emotion and life. It's twin socket that Elle had worked hard to keep hidden was shriveled, sewn shut with a crude object of sorts to scar over.

---

"I guess that's going to keep me alive then, but you're going to want around without him anyway." John threw his coat over her shoulders, offering her a hand up once she had that on. It was strange seeing her without the eye patch. What was beneath it was nothing new to Constantine and the regular horrors of his life but that eye patch was a familiarity, a usual.

---

Nonetheless, as if being naked and nerved wasn't enough, the exposure made Elle feel vulnerable. She put right hand up over the eye, touching her forehead mostly. There was a throbbing there. She tried to get up alone and felt herself off balance. It was then that she took his hand.

---

John gave her a small grin with the corner of his lip, a smug, smarmy  look all too familiar on the face of the conman. His grip was a firm and steady as business, warm and reliable. He was not going to let her fall yet, ready to catch her should she be so stubborn and walk so soon.

---

"You aren't off of the hook and I can still break your nose." The goddamn smile. "I hope your fucking happy, John."

---

Ah, already back. That gave John plenty to smile about. "You know what to expect. You know what causes it." He reached into his coat on Elle's person for his pack of Silkcuts, lighter with it. Two were lit.

---

"That's not good enough. I don't know what to expect. That was the third fucking time. I want it to be the last." Nevermind exposure or her head aspiring to kill her.

---

"I saw why," John puffed, offering her the other Silkcut. "When was the second?"

---

"Jan insisted I stay indoors. I didn't like it much. Didn't last long. I happened to be in my room. He didn't see." She did. There was a large mirror mounted on the sliding closet doors opposite from the entry way. It reflected the two standing together, as it hung ajar.

---

John did not bother studying himself in the mirror, studying the scene it showed him in all its brutal honesty. Truth. He was secure in who he was, some cold bastard fuck trying to prove something to someone he screwed over good and proper.

(She could have said 'no.')

Spit soaked into the filter end. More flavor to the smoke. "You meditate?"

---

"When I can, yeah." Elle took his cigarette, made a slight face at the taste. She'd need something heavier but this was good for now. Taking an experimental step backward, letting go of his hand hoping he'd get the hit, she let her hair fall over her face enough to conceal the scarred eye.

---

John allowed Elle her space, taking this time to retrieve the eye patch. He was obvious to her taste for things a little harsher than lights. "Meditation'd fend the bitch off. It's no different from any other dog."

---

Standing still was fine on her part. His coat was long and large enough to pass as comfortable for now. "I can't meditate all the time. It's always there. Fix it." That was one of the most prominent issues of this visit.

So much for planning. Elle figured she'd invite him in, they'd have a talk or she'd persuade him to talk. Some shouting maybe. Re-establishment of friendship, boundaries then move on to getting this to be something to laugh about later. Things don't go as well as planned all the time, but this was insulting.

Elle found her own optimism despite anger and hurt over this ordeal to be insulting to her own character. Fucking City.

---

"You think I adjusted to my condition instantly? I've been like this for months trying to find that happy medium. It's only recently that I can keep meself from biting off fingers should they steal a fucking chip from me plate." John wanted to fix this but he did things on his own accord, not by demand. 
 
Oh wouldn't John be surprised if there was a friendship to be had from all this still. Should have been something like his life and times with Chas. How many times did he crack his fist against his jaw again?

---

:"Months? You-you can't expect me to stay this way!" Losing her cool again. Bill would have been disappointed. She didn't want to think of Bill or anyone else's name starting with the letter B. "I don't want a happy fucking medium or become adjusted to this!"

One physical alteration was enough for a lifetime, one change of point of view, of self. Elle turned away, steps careful. She couldn't just kill this. She could just kill John.

---

John made a motion to glance at an invisible watch on his arm. "Nah. I imagine you're not the patient sort. I have another way around it until we come to a more permanent solution you'd better agree with."

Funny that John had given her the opportunity to do just that, but it had led to this.

---

That had her attention. "Then there is something?" She didn't turn around to face him just yet.

---

"Depends on how you feel about knives and doing it every one or two weeks, give or take." John exhaled in her direction, the smoke taking on no particular shape.

---

"You're still being vague. I'll do it if it will work." Elle could see her clothes now. Or what was left of them. The floor looked like it had seen better days. It would be better tomorrow thanks to the City. Just like the bathroom mirror and sink had been.

Would she?

"I'll do it," she said again softly, "if it will work."

[ Part Two ! ]