"It wasn't so much about moving up, for me, as it was... staying in place. Not getting caught. ...With the Agency, I mean."
The hot water feels good on her shoulders; funny, the way tension persists even in Afterlife Space Prison. Probably isn't a coincidence that her muscles feel even more tight when she's actively thinking about Saul (fucking to stay in place) and Ivan (fucking just for the sake of fucking).
"Little bit of both, as far as my work for the SVR was concerned. My boss liked to trot me out because he said men always trusted me, and that I knew how to play them better than anyone else." ...And now that she's said that out loud, it sounds much worse than it ever felt at the time. "I knew he was using me." Just to cover her bases, here. "But I was using him, too, so... win-win, you know?"
Tess ponders what it might be like to work for anyone who might tell her who to fuck, and she comes out of the thought cold. Wouldn't fly. Wouldn't work for longer than a minute.
She finishes rinsing her hair and turns off the water again, stepping out to grab her towel and wrap it around herself.
"There's always a loser," Tess remarks, truthfully. "But maybe that's just me. When I'm working, I want every head in the room to turn and look for what my call is."
"I lived in two worlds," Allison says, words a bit muffled as she turns toward the stream to wash her face. "One where I called the shots, and one where I... lived for the thrill of not knowing what came next. It made me feel invincible every time I pulled off something dangerous. Adrenaline rush, I guess."
Keyword there: feel. Because she sure as shit was not invincible.
She gives her hair a final rinse, turns off the water and for a moment the silence is jarring. Only the drip-drip of faucets accompanies Allison's realization that she has just given a very decent amount of herself away. Her reflexes are slipping.
That slips out a little wistful; that rush had a dulling effect on every other part of her life. The small things, the big things, none of it mattered next to the lightning-strike thrill of survival. She never feels more alive than when her life is under a serious threat.
And, tucking the end of her towel into her cleavage so she has both hands free, she takes up a spot in front of a mirror to brush out her wet hair.
"Getting bored here yet?"
feel free to have tess notice the scar if that's... a thing tess would notice
"Yeah," answers Allison with a heavy sigh, "Very."
She wipes away the condensation when she joins Tess at the mirror, towel wrapped securely about her body, and pulls a face. That pinkish scar from a likely botched post-gunshot-wound surgery is... probably never going to fade. And while she should be thankful the Barge is forgiving of the manner of one's death and therefore she isn't thoroughly covered in bullet holes, she's always been just vain enough to care about exactly what's right in front of her in the mirror.
At least she's managed to lift a few skincare products from the spa. No comparison to the expensive shit she's used to, but it's better than nothing. She starts by patting toner onto her cheeks, forehead, chin, and neck.
"And now I work in a fucking spa. Because, you know, I trained for years just to give shitty manicures mostly to myself."
Tess watches Allison through the mirror when she exits the stall –– she has a fleeting impulse to grab a second towel and drape it over her shoulders, but there's something to be said about keeping cool, resolved. Her future scars are hard to cover: a large but healing debrided wound stretching down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, a gunshot wound on her upper chest. She's a myriad of scars anyway. They are what they are. Tess can own them.
There's no need to be shy when Allison has one of her own anyway; Tess eyes the scar with some curiosity, but she doesn't say anything about it. Not yet.
"Tell me about it, I went from smuggler to custodial," she replies. Truthfully, she doesn't care to transfer. Not that she'd ever say it out loud, but she likes being with Arthur. "Spa's relaxing, at least. I can't imagine half the people on this barge have ever stepped foot in there."
Only when Allison reaches for her moisturizer does her gaze wander toward Tess, in the mirror, and it strikes her sort of funny that here they are, just two hardened women with the literal battle scars to prove it. She doubts Tess is anywhere near as vain as she is, but she refrains from asking just the same.
"I transferred the second I found out I could." Eyes back to her own reflection, she works the moisturizer into her cheeks, under her eyes, along the slope of her throat. "Nobody goes in there. Like, ever. I don't even know why it exists, much less why it needs more than one 'employee.'" She makes air quotes with one hand, just to get that across. "But I figured I'd rather do that than be a janitor. No offense."
Tess had seldom known self-consciousness before the Barge, but no matter how much confidence she projects, it does bother her, deep down, to be around so many woman who have had the luxury of making choices about their personal appearance. She thought it'd be enough to be be happy to be clean; instead she's mildly aware of how plain she is by comparison.
Seeing Allison fuss with her lotions and whatnot tweaks her in some petty way, but she doesn't let it show.
"None taken," she replies. A dirty job is just fine for someone with dirty hands. "It gets me all over the ship, and I'd rather keep the number of wardens I answer to down to one."
At least, Allison imagines it's fair. She hasn't had to answer to a warden just yet, but then again... well, answering to others both is and is not her strong suit. Depends on the who and the why.
"Your warden is quite the character. I suspect you know that, and I suspect that's why you gave me the job you did---and while I do love a challenge, I haven't yet... managed to talk my way into his room." Her eyes shift toward Tess's, in the mirror. "He seems immune to my usual methods. And he's got one hell of a lock on that door. Can't pick that shit with a bobby-pin."
That news brings the faintest little smirk to Tess's lips. Though she supposes it'd be far better to have a success story and someone to get the rest of the bootleg out, she feels no small amount of pride in Arthur for not falling for some pretty girl in heels.
Tess meets Allison's eyes through the mirror and smiles, shaking her head.
"The security here is pretty good, I'll give them that," she replies. "And he sure is. I once joked that he'd have to tie me to the bed and he didn't even bat an eye. He's solid. Good try, though. You throwing in the towel?"
"Not quite. My room is literally next door to his---I'd be an amateur if I gave up this easily, with a set-up like that. Give me a while to work on him."
Admitting defeat doesn't come easily; this whole thing has certainly put a dent in Allison's pride, but she's reminded herself that here on the Barge, the rules are different. Everything is different. In the real world, locks can be picked or shot through or torn apart, men are notoriously playable, and surveillance is always an option.
She holds Tess's gaze in the mirror.
"So... did I flunk out? Or does my resumé qualify me for another shot?"
Tess grins. For all she knows, this is all Allison’s really got, but it’s worth giving it another go. She followed the rules, after all. That’s promising.
“Take another shot,” Tess replies. “But for every shot you miss, I want another bottle.”
She says that, but in her head she's contemplating exactly how. Incapacitating Arthur in some way would be the most surefire method, but Tess's original specifications including no bodily harm. And honestly... Allison doesn't particularly wish to get her hands dirty just for the sake of a few bottles of moonshine.
"I can't imagine most inmates get on with their wardens as well as you do with him...?" Eyes down, she's putting stolen-from-the-spa lotion on her legs now. "By the way, if you want some of this---" She squeezes another dollop into her palm and then hands the tube over to Tess, "---Feel free. Courtesy of the spa."
Sure, why not. Tess takes it, squeezing out a generous amount.
“Thanks,” she replies. “And it’s hit or miss. Plenty of the pairs don’t get along well, but there are a lot of good ones, too. I’d like to think Arthur and I have an understanding.”
From what she knows of Tess thus far and her very brief encounter with Arthur, she thinks they probably do have an understanding. They seem to make sense together. Tess is no-nonsense in her way, and Arthur likewise in his.
Allison has a sneaking suspicion she won't be so lucky, herself.
"As in... he understands you run an underground booze ring and looks the other way? Or am I completely off-base?" Worth a shot.
“Not entirely,” she replies wryly, but she doesn’t elaborate much. It’s easier to leave it vague, keep Allison on her toes: “I like having a right-hand man, an enforcer. If I’m gonna have a warden, it’s best if he’s the guy I would pick in any other situation. One who knows my business, how I work.”
Taking the lotion back, she applies a liberal amount to each arm, then begins to blend inward toward her collarbone. Her fingers glide over the pinkish scarred spot same as the rest of her skin; she spares it no mercy, even though the surrounding area is still somewhat tender. It was fairly fresh when she died, after all. Maybe it'll stay like that for as long as she's aboard the Barge. She hasn't had the heart to find out.
"Very lucky," Tess replies, and she can acknowledge that. There are some wardens she can tolerate, but she's fairly certain that in anyone else's hands, she'd need nothing short of a choke collar to toe a fucking line for once.
For Arthur, she'll keep it clean.
She watches Allison through the mirror for a second.
"Not that you get to pick but... what kind of warden you in the market for?"
That's all she really cares about. Far as she's concerned, this is just another... assignment, in the grand scheme of things. She'll do her part---mostly---and she needs someone who will do theirs.
"I'd like a right-hand man, too, but I doubt I'll be as fortunate as you. Just someone who doesn't bullshit me, someone who's smart but not too smart." A pause, realizing how ludicrous this all sounds. "...God, that's like the world's worst personal ad."
Tess chuckles. Not a lot of inmates seem to give a shit about getting the job done, and she herself waffles sometimes on her own ability to follow through on something that doesn't come easy.
"Maybe add a line like blonde hair, green eyes, 5'5"," Tess teases. "Seeking tall, chiseled, handsome."
Allison's already got her eye on a tall, chiseled, handsome... but he is not, as far as she can tell, a warden. Doesn't mean he won't be good for something else, though.
"Maybe we could start that up, on the network. Personal ads for those of us interested in fostering a different sort of pairing."
“Turns out on a spaceship full of inmates, there’s no shortage of big grouchy types,” she remarks. “And on the other hand, there aren’t a lot of women here. You and I can basically have our pick.”
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The hot water feels good on her shoulders; funny, the way tension persists even in Afterlife Space Prison. Probably isn't a coincidence that her muscles feel even more tight when she's actively thinking about Saul (fucking to stay in place) and Ivan (fucking just for the sake of fucking).
"Little bit of both, as far as my work for the SVR was concerned. My boss liked to trot me out because he said men always trusted me, and that I knew how to play them better than anyone else." ...And now that she's said that out loud, it sounds much worse than it ever felt at the time. "I knew he was using me." Just to cover her bases, here. "But I was using him, too, so... win-win, you know?"
Sure, Allison.
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She finishes rinsing her hair and turns off the water again, stepping out to grab her towel and wrap it around herself.
"There's always a loser," Tess remarks, truthfully. "But maybe that's just me. When I'm working, I want every head in the room to turn and look for what my call is."
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Keyword there: feel. Because she sure as shit was not invincible.
She gives her hair a final rinse, turns off the water and for a moment the silence is jarring. Only the drip-drip of faucets accompanies Allison's realization that she has just given a very decent amount of herself away. Her reflexes are slipping.
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That slips out a little wistful; that rush had a dulling effect on every other part of her life. The small things, the big things, none of it mattered next to the lightning-strike thrill of survival. She never feels more alive than when her life is under a serious threat.
And, tucking the end of her towel into her cleavage so she has both hands free, she takes up a spot in front of a mirror to brush out her wet hair.
"Getting bored here yet?"
feel free to have tess notice the scar if that's... a thing tess would notice
She wipes away the condensation when she joins Tess at the mirror, towel wrapped securely about her body, and pulls a face. That pinkish scar from a likely botched post-gunshot-wound surgery is... probably never going to fade. And while she should be thankful the Barge is forgiving of the manner of one's death and therefore she isn't thoroughly covered in bullet holes, she's always been just vain enough to care about exactly what's right in front of her in the mirror.
At least she's managed to lift a few skincare products from the spa. No comparison to the expensive shit she's used to, but it's better than nothing. She starts by patting toner onto her cheeks, forehead, chin, and neck.
"And now I work in a fucking spa. Because, you know, I trained for years just to give shitty manicures mostly to myself."
and the same to you haha
There's no need to be shy when Allison has one of her own anyway; Tess eyes the scar with some curiosity, but she doesn't say anything about it. Not yet.
"Tell me about it, I went from smuggler to custodial," she replies. Truthfully, she doesn't care to transfer. Not that she'd ever say it out loud, but she likes being with Arthur. "Spa's relaxing, at least. I can't imagine half the people on this barge have ever stepped foot in there."
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"I transferred the second I found out I could." Eyes back to her own reflection, she works the moisturizer into her cheeks, under her eyes, along the slope of her throat. "Nobody goes in there. Like, ever. I don't even know why it exists, much less why it needs more than one 'employee.'" She makes air quotes with one hand, just to get that across. "But I figured I'd rather do that than be a janitor. No offense."
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Seeing Allison fuss with her lotions and whatnot tweaks her in some petty way, but she doesn't let it show.
"None taken," she replies. A dirty job is just fine for someone with dirty hands. "It gets me all over the ship, and I'd rather keep the number of wardens I answer to down to one."
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At least, Allison imagines it's fair. She hasn't had to answer to a warden just yet, but then again... well, answering to others both is and is not her strong suit. Depends on the who and the why.
"Your warden is quite the character. I suspect you know that, and I suspect that's why you gave me the job you did---and while I do love a challenge, I haven't yet... managed to talk my way into his room." Her eyes shift toward Tess's, in the mirror. "He seems immune to my usual methods. And he's got one hell of a lock on that door. Can't pick that shit with a bobby-pin."
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Tess meets Allison's eyes through the mirror and smiles, shaking her head.
"The security here is pretty good, I'll give them that," she replies. "And he sure is. I once joked that he'd have to tie me to the bed and he didn't even bat an eye. He's solid. Good try, though. You throwing in the towel?"
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Admitting defeat doesn't come easily; this whole thing has certainly put a dent in Allison's pride, but she's reminded herself that here on the Barge, the rules are different. Everything is different. In the real world, locks can be picked or shot through or torn apart, men are notoriously playable, and surveillance is always an option.
She holds Tess's gaze in the mirror.
"So... did I flunk out? Or does my resumé qualify me for another shot?"
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“Take another shot,” Tess replies. “But for every shot you miss, I want another bottle.”
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She says that, but in her head she's contemplating exactly how. Incapacitating Arthur in some way would be the most surefire method, but Tess's original specifications including no bodily harm. And honestly... Allison doesn't particularly wish to get her hands dirty just for the sake of a few bottles of moonshine.
"I can't imagine most inmates get on with their wardens as well as you do with him...?" Eyes down, she's putting stolen-from-the-spa lotion on her legs now. "By the way, if you want some of this---" She squeezes another dollop into her palm and then hands the tube over to Tess, "---Feel free. Courtesy of the spa."
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“Thanks,” she replies. “And it’s hit or miss. Plenty of the pairs don’t get along well, but there are a lot of good ones, too. I’d like to think Arthur and I have an understanding.”
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Allison has a sneaking suspicion she won't be so lucky, herself.
"As in... he understands you run an underground booze ring and looks the other way? Or am I completely off-base?" Worth a shot.
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Taking the lotion back, she applies a liberal amount to each arm, then begins to blend inward toward her collarbone. Her fingers glide over the pinkish scarred spot same as the rest of her skin; she spares it no mercy, even though the surrounding area is still somewhat tender. It was fairly fresh when she died, after all. Maybe it'll stay like that for as long as she's aboard the Barge. She hasn't had the heart to find out.
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For Arthur, she'll keep it clean.
She watches Allison through the mirror for a second.
"Not that you get to pick but... what kind of warden you in the market for?"
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That's all she really cares about. Far as she's concerned, this is just another... assignment, in the grand scheme of things. She'll do her part---mostly---and she needs someone who will do theirs.
"I'd like a right-hand man, too, but I doubt I'll be as fortunate as you. Just someone who doesn't bullshit me, someone who's smart but not too smart." A pause, realizing how ludicrous this all sounds. "...God, that's like the world's worst personal ad."
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"Maybe add a line like blonde hair, green eyes, 5'5"," Tess teases. "Seeking tall, chiseled, handsome."
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Allison's already got her eye on a tall, chiseled, handsome... but he is not, as far as she can tell, a warden. Doesn't mean he won't be good for something else, though.
"Maybe we could start that up, on the network. Personal ads for those of us interested in fostering a different sort of pairing."
She's kidding. Mostly.
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The dating pool is hideously small, though.
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"Oh? Do tell."
What better place for gossip than this?
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“Turns out on a spaceship full of inmates, there’s no shortage of big grouchy types,” she remarks. “And on the other hand, there aren’t a lot of women here. You and I can basically have our pick.”
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