Quoted By:
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You are not Claudia Fawkins, and neither are you C.R. Fawkins. You may have gone by those names once, even recently, but you have shed both like a skin. You have and need no replacement. There is you, and there is the power in you, and there is Maurice.
Maurice. The one with the mustache. You fail to remember where you got him, only that he's a festival coordinator— gods know how he got there, because his allegiances are red as yours. He set the fire. You killed the Liaison. You make a good pair, except for when he questions you.
"<span class="mu-i">That's</span> the worm?" He's not even bothering to hide the contempt.
You have it in a shoebox. It's about the size of your forearm. "It gets bigger."
"When?"
"When I <span class="mu-i">want</span> it to." You had to get used to the control at first. Now you can't imagine living without it. "You'll see when it happens. Can we go? It's not going to be empty up there for long."
Maurice rises begrudgingly from his squat against a tree. "You're always in a hurry."
You permit yourself a slight smile. (They've gotten much rarer, ever since the teeth changed.) "Listen... world's not going to end itself, is it?"
—
>[TO BE CONTINUED during the day if I can manage it!! check back later]
