VISCERAE

"I'm still not sure about this. You said she lashed out, right? If she becomes violent again-"

"She was confused. You're the one who made me wear that sigil to go talk to her! The second time we met-"

"After she died and came back."

"Right. That time. She seemed fine! Kinda discombobulated, but mostly fine!"

"Who the hell says discombobulated? What kind of word is that?"

"A perfectly functional and adequately accurate one. I know she freaks you out, but-"

"She does not- ok, yes, she does freak me out. And the fact that she isn't freaking you out is fucking crazy."

"Well…"

"A- we are not the same! And are you implying that you're-"

"Nothing! I am implying nothing of the sort! Nothing at all."

"...ugh. Fine. let's just… go meet this little world-ending supermonster."

"Pfft, please. I bet she can barely even touch your shit."

-Conversation between two individuals moving from a domicile to a vehicle, proceeding to drive towards the center of the location known as Hollow Springs. Unknown listener.

__________________________________________________________________________________

So, as it turns out, there are consequences to replacing one's dominant hand with a giant fuckoff meat-cybernetic. If said meat cybernetic stops working, you have to use your other hand for everything- and I do mean everything. It's like having to navigate a place blindfolded- you don't even realize just how much sight was doing for you until it's gone.

I sigh, and sip my drink, and pretend like I'm comfortable with the act.

I don't usually drink. I have decided, as of recent events, that I have earned myself at least one.

It tastes of alcohol and poorly muddled mint. Jonah's… fine, but a quality cocktail craftsman he is not. Still, even if he's better at slinging beers and whiskey than making actual drinks, I'm more comfortable with him being behind the bar than not. It might not be much, but when I told him I was meeting some people here, he took one long look at me, nodded, and planted himself behind the bar, glaring daggers at the rest of the mostly-empty bar.

Weekday mornings. Not the most popular time, but late enough that it's not entirely empty. Enough for a buffer.

A buffer.

Worst case scenario, I'm using these people as human meat shields. A way to warn me or delay the onset of violence on my behalf. They didn't volunteer for that. It doesn't matter if most of them are assholes, or if they're strangers, they didn't ask for me to be here, and-

Stop. Don't think about it.

We're here. The decision's made. Just… play it right, and no one gets hurt because of you.

Deep breaths.

A taste of too-heavy acidity and too-weak mint.

The front door jingles open.

Leisha's easy to recognize, not least because of how visibly she wears herself. Rich and tan skin runs down sleeveless arms covered in bracelets, charms, and little tattoos, most of which are new and only two of which have that fleshy organ look I associate with weirdness nowadays. She's wearing a leather vest, bright green lipstick once again highlighting her face against the nose and brow piercings she's apparently acquired since I last saw her. She walks in, sees me, and gives a smile, waving as she walks over.

She takes a seat in my booth, off at the far corner of the bar, either not seeing or not acknowledging the way Jonah's glare follows her.

"Was glad to hear from you!" she says as she takes a seat, half-collapsing onto the decrepit leather padding. "I was starting to think you'd gone full hermit! Would'a been a real shame, pretty lady like you all hidden away."

I cock an eyebrow at that. "Not how I thought you were going to start this conversation."

She shrugs. "Call 'em like I see 'em, hun. Besides, considering how on edge you are, I think deescalating to start is a pretty good call."

"I don't know what you-"

"You've got a knife in your jacket, you're staring at my shoulders trying to guess how I'll move, one hand's hidden, and that bartender's been glaring at me with more than just bigot vibes since I walked in. That's not even counting whatever spooky shit you might have hidden away. For all I know there's, like, a bunch of bugs made of cyanide hiding in the air vent over there."

I blink. Then blink again.

"I- bugs made out of cyanide?"

She shoots me a look. "Hun, the first time I met you, as a total newbie, you viscerally detailed how you'd beat me to death, all while staring straight through one of the heaviest anonymity cloaks I've worn in a hot minute. The second time, you were a corpse, and then you slurped up all your blood and just woke back up. I don't know what the fuck you can do, so yeah, maybe you got cyanide bugs. It's not that hard to make, it's just the bugginess of it that's probably… you know, your thing."

I can't help it- I laugh. Soft little chuckles as I let my head fall, as I breathe out of my nose and just let myself fucking laugh.

It feels like choking and releasing pressure at the same time.

When I look back up, Leisha is staring at me with concern, the same cool smile on her lips but a crinkle around her eyes.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Call 'em like you see 'em, right? Fuck it. I'm… you've been fair. I remember you did that… bracelet thing, last time. Said that it wouldn't let you hurt me unless I attacked first until… the next sunset, right?"

She nods, lifting an arm. There's a faint mark around her wrist where the bracelet was, though even the scar of it seems to have pretty much faded by now.

It left a scar? Damn.

"I… like I said. On the phone. I need help."

She scratches the side of her neck. Sighs, long and slow. "Yeah. It's why I came here. No way I could've convinced us otherwise. Location under your control, meeting with a semi-unknown… I don't know how long you've been at this exactly, but you've been pretty clear that it's not long. Take it from someone with a bit more experience; the more damage, the more danger. You meet someone frazzled, ok, sure, but if you meet someone genuinely on the edge of a breakdown? In this business? Chances are it's the most dangerous they might be.

"Only thing worse is meeting someone who's completely chill about all this. Those motherfuckers are the scary ones. They usually either already survived their breakdown or they're scary enough that theirs is at a level you do not want to see."

I lean my head back, letting it rest against the back of the booth. It takes my eyes off of Leisha, leaves my throat exposed, sends off the kind of warning signs I'd usually be letting guide this whole interaction… but I let it be. I take a long, slow breath, feeling the muscles along my collarbone pull tight at the stretch.

And then I come back, and look her dead in the eyes, and admit to it.

"I think I'm pretty close, yeah."

She raises her hands like "obviously". "Like I said, it's what I used to get us to agree to meet you. I wasn't sure about it, but Dani was opposed."

"Are they coming too?" I ask.

"Eh, kinda. This ain't exactly a neutral location, and I doubt I'm getting you to walk out of here to someplace particularly comfortable for me, so we compromised. I come in, scout shit out, see if this seems legit, and then, afterwards, maybe you get to meet them."

"And?"

"And it definitely looks like you're a fucking mess right now, so… yeah, I'd say you pass. Don't know what you did about the bartender there, but he's the biggest threat I'm reading in the room right now."

"I just… told him I'd be meeting a stranger."

"For real? Damn. Kind of assumed you'd have to say some kinda shit to get him on the same boat. Always wondered about how someone like you worked here."

I shrug. "It's a job. Pays me enough, and I'm tough on the customers. Jonah appreciates that, I think."

Leisha nods. "Respect. Kind of assumed he sucked, but I guess he sucks… I dunno, less than I thought at least. Still- point is, you're on the edge, but it seems like you're coming back from some heavy shit, not like you're about to drop a bomb. That fits my criteria, at least enough for a meet and greet. Try not to freak out about this, kay?"

She waits for me to respond, and I give her a mix of motions that do my best to indicate "I mean, I'll try".

"Fair enough."

She reaches around her waist to a pouch hidden by her vest, pulling out what looks like some kind of necklace. I saw "looks like" because my Glimpse Beyond hasn't exactly been slacking, and while I can push it further, pulling it back is… weird. Like trying to fit something into a box you can't see the shape of. I assume, to someone normal, that the necklace would be a pendant, probably made of… some kind of metal, I don't know. To me? I see strands of glistening tissue, wrapped in a wide loop around a singular and potent piece of flesh. It pulses, something between a heart and an eye, and there's something growing from it like a coral, like deer antlers, small but sharp.

Leisha puts it on over her head, letting the organ at its center rest against her collarbone, and takes in a deep breath.

The antler-chunks dig in. The coral grows like branches of a tree, digging into tissue that is just surreal enough to make me think that Glimpse Beyond has allowed me to see more than just her "real" skin. The heart-liver-eye pulses, flexes… and opens.

Like lips. Like eyes. Like something that can cry.

And then Leisha opens her own eyes again, and they are the same. Organ-wound-growths that see out of what should be ocular jelly and take its place entirely.

"Leisha" sighs, long and slow and thinly.

"Alright then. Let's get into this."

Ilia sighs. Her hands want to clench, want to wrap around themselves and pull flesh and tendon until such a point as to have scalpels and pliers and manipulators emerge.

But my hand is nonfunctional. Broken. The Glove is as asleep as the Bloodling, perhaps even more so.

I have nothing, save for the unpredictable growths, the alien machinery that lives in my bedroom now. And their growth, unguided and hard to comprehend and entirely out of my control, will consume me too if I'm not careful.

I need help.

"Sure. Let's."

"In case it wasn't clear enough, I'm Dani. I understand you've convinced Leisha you're a sad little bunny in need of care, but I've seen enough strays to know to be careful about rabies. If you hurt her, or attempt aggressive action against me, I will respond in kind. I will pull your guts out from a hundred miles away and tie you up like a dinner hog until you roast in your own fever, and only after that will I get creative. So I want your word, here and now, spoken with true weight, that if we help you, you will enter an absolute nonaggression pact independently of any other price I demand for our services."

I should say no. It's a bad fucking deal.

But it could be worse. If roles were reversed I might be asking for worse.

So I nod.

"Say it."

"You have my word. I agree to your terms."

"As spoken, so bound."

A shiver runs through the organ and its reflections in Leisha's eyes, like a current running through them. I can almost see something change, some new strand manifesting, and… pull myself back.

I don't need to make my Glimpse Beyond stronger just now. I don't need to see. I don't want to see. I'm so fucking tired, and I'm so tired of being tired.

Maybe I'll regret this later, but… that's what trust is about, really. Risking it on someone, believing that the chances of regretting it later are lower than they would be with another.

"So… what next?"

"Now, you tell me exactly what it is you want from us. You explain to me how your connection to the Beyond works, in as much detail as you possibly can, you tell me exactly what you can do with it and what you have done with it, and then tell me what you intend to do. I'll know if you lie. Then, you tell me what you want."

"Pretty unfair fucking deal, actually. I still know next to nothing about what you can do."

"And that's already more than I'm comfortable with. That's my price. If I'm going to get involved in whatever mess this is, I need to know what you can use to try and wiggle your way out of any deal we make. You're an unknown, a danger, a mess, and you're strong enough to come back from the fucking dead apparently. If you have panic attacks and summon bugs out of your cooch, I'd like to know before you freak out."

"...what is it with you two and bugs?"

"Bugs are a goddamn nightmare and also one of the easiest nightmares to make. The fact that you don't know that is fucking concerning enough as it is. Now. Talk."

Silence for a while. I hear, distantly, the sound of Jonah washing something too roughly, and the near-silent hum of strangers engaged in mumbled conversation. The sound of the tv is a running undercurrent to the whole event.

I need help.

I am alone, in every way but the ones I need. I am surrounded, in every way save the ones that protect me.

I am not enough.

The Glove sits, silent and quiet, connected to some deeper part of me that I have broken.

I open my mouth.

I tell them everything.