Season 2 Episode 9: Onegai, Inmate #310421!

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, sexiest man alive now that Aniki is gone and bedtime story reader extraordinaire.

March 10, 2014

Mom is washing dishes while you sit at the dining room table working on a homework assignment. History essays are such a drag...

"Make sure your sister eats tonight," Mom calls from the kitchen.

"Huh? Why me?" You ask. "Have you given up on feeding us?"

Mom tsks. "Don't you remember anything I tell you? It's your father and I's date night." You cringe inwardly at her bad grammar. "I didn't have any time to make dinner so the two of you will have to go catch-can tonight."

You look across the table. This would explain why Dad is busily reading the menu for Casa Familia, a local Mexican place.

"Cerise can feed herself, I'm sure," you say.

Mom comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on an apron (that can't be hygienic). "Keep an eye on her, Alabaster. She's more depressed than usual right now."

"Being a leech is pretty depressing, yeah."

Mom folds her arms and scowls at you. "You're absolutely awful. Where did I go wrong?" She glances over her shoulder, back towards the kitchen, thinking. "There's leftover pie ala mode with homemade double-fudge ice cream from last night," she tells you. (Dessert for dinner Sunday always has metric tons of delicious leftovers by the end of it). "You and her can eat that."

"I always wanted diabetes," you say. "Sounds good."

She scowls at you, again. "Don't go thinking I care whether you enjoy it or not! I just don't want all that food to go to waste!"

You stand, brush past her, and check the fridge. The banana cream and white chocolate meringue pies from last night have barely even been touched, and they look exactly as mouth-watering as when they left the oven. At least you'll eat well tonight, even if Mom isn't going to be around.

Mom stands in the doorway of the kitchen. "So please... make sure Cerise gets something on her stomach. All right?"

"Doesn't she get enough calories from all the beer she drinks?" You say. Before you close the door of the refrigerator, you notice you're running low on soda.

"Cerise needs our understanding," Mom tells you. "She's trying her best to find work. We should encourage her as much as possible."

"You can't coddle her forever," you say. "She won't find a job if she knows she can always live off you. It's time to cut the cord, don't you think? Kick her out already."

"Maybe I should kick YOU out! At least Cerise is grateful for my hospitality!"

"Yeah, she says she is. Anyway, if she can whore herself out on webcam, she feed herself too. Send a text to remind her if you're so worried about it."

Mom rolls her eyes. "What goes around comes around, Alabaster. One day your father and I will be gone and you'll be the one who needs Cerise's help. She'll remember how you treated her."

"I highly doubt that," you say. "On both counts. I'll never be desperate enough to need her help - and even if I did, she'd be too blackout drunk to remember five minutes ago, nevermind five years ago."

Mom shakes her head.

"Listen," you say. "I'm about to run out of Coke. Get me some on the way home from your date."

"Need me to shine your shoes, too?" She spits.

"If you're offering..."

She takes the dish towel from her shoulder and swats at you with it. "Fine!" She says. "I'll get your stupid drinks. But... but only because I was planning to stop and get myself some anyway."

"Of course," you say. You start towards the stairs, heading for your bedroom. On your way out, you glance her up and down. "Maybe make it Diet Coke for you, though," you say. "You could use it."

This is the last thing you ever say to her.

---

"I'll come too, naturally."

"Excuse me?" You say. "No. Absolutely not."

You sit in Kay's living-room-turned-Faraday-cage, on a shitty faux-leather couch, absentmindedly petting Lady, who lies beside you. Once he gets to know you, Lady is a pretty docile creature. His face is in your lap and his brows are furrowed as he peers up at you.

Kay sits across from you in a recliner, sipping tea. She sets her cup on the table now and steeples her fingers. "I think you're forgetting what you told me a few days ago at that cafe."

"What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"A story about you and Rose--"

Almost as if on cue, there's a banging on the door. Lady's head perks up, and he starts barking madly. Kay stands, strides to the door, and gazes out the peephole.

She looks back at you. "Your sparring partner is here," she tells you. "And she's got a shotgun."

[ ] Tell her to go away.

>[x] Invite her in.

"Everything is fine," you call through the door. "Go away, Rose."

"Prove it!" She calls back.

"What the fuck do you mean, prove it? I'm TELLING you--"

"Prove it! I need to see evidence that you're all right!"

You lay a hand on the knob to let her in rather than continue arguing. Kay stops you. "Are you sure she isn't going to start blasting as soon as you open that door?"

"90% sure," you say. Kay makes a face. "95%."

You open the door. Rose barges in, shotgun held in one hand at her side. She pushes the flat of her palm to your chest and looks you up and down as if inspecting a precious treasure for signs of damage.

That's when a black blur whizzes past your peripheral vision. Lady is airborne - and tackles Rose to the ground with a violent thud. He snarls and barks, his face right above Rose's. His foam slobber drips all all over her face. Only because Kay yanks him back by his collar, does Rose avoid getting mauled.

"What is wrong with you?" Rose screams, stumbling to her feet. She wipes the drool from her face with the back of her palm. "Keep that, that - ANIMAL away from me! I could sue!"

"And surely I have no legal recourse against a girl who brings a sawed-off shotgun into my domicile," Kay rejoins. She's still holding an excited, barking Lady back.

"Screw you, lady!" Rose shouts. "You dumb--" Rose stops herself short, glancing around, finally realizing how bizarre the surroundings of Kay's apartment really are. "Do you live in an Easy Bake oven or what?" she says when she can speak again.

Kay laughs. "Your boyfriend said the exact same thing."

"I am not her boyfriend," you insist, at the same moment Rose insists, "he is not my boyfriend!"

Kay sighs.

Lady is less crazy by this point, so Kay lets him free. He immediately puts his snout in Rose's crotch, sniffing loudly, and Rose has to awkwardly dance around the foyer to avoid him.

"Should I ask how you found me here?" You say, turning this way and that to watch Rose struggle against the animal.

"Someone's gotta keep their eye on you!" Rose says. She pushes Lady back and tries to hold him down, but no use. "Who knows what crime syndicate wants to kidnap you today?"

"Your cousin's got a point there," Kay says.

"Once removed!" You both shout.

Kay sighs.

"Honestly, Alabaster. Talking to the press. You could get us both fired!"

"How do you know she's press?" You ask. Lady really won't leave poor Rose alone. He's following her all around Kay's living room as you shut the front door and watch. "Were you talking to her, too?"

"Don't change the subject!" Rose says. "This isn't--" she notices the whiteboard sitting beyond the open door of Kay's master bedroom. She walks in, uninvited, and looks at it.

When she returns to the living room, she's a shade of pale green.

"Oh my god, Alabaster..." she says.

A little while later, Rose is fully apprised of the situation. You intend to go to the prison where Renee Carte is staying, hitting the road first thing tomorrow morning so you can make it to visitation hours on Sunday.

"As I said, I'll come too," Kay adds.

You frown. "And as I said - no."

Kay shrugs. "I could always run that fluff piece about how you and Rose are using Darkbloom Analytics as your personal rape-fight playground."

Rose's right eye twitches.

"And of course," Kay says, "you're not the only ones who have ever talked to me. I've got sources all over. You might be surprised..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask.

Kay grabs a tape recorder from a shelf on the other side of the room.

"My editors have been all crazy about the Russian angle to this hack story," Kay explains. "What with Mara Kerimov being connected to the Russian mob and all. I'm not sure if there's any connection to the Russian government in particular, but I did find at least one person who said some interesting things."

She clicks play. A tinny recording of her talking to a girl you recognize begins to play:

"So you've been involved with Alabaster Soliloquy in a romantic sense for only a few weeks now?"

"I mean, I've been boinking him for a few weeks, yeah. But I've been laying low for years, just waiting for my chance!"

"Right. What do you say to the accusation that you're in league with the Kremlin?"

"I'm no freaking gremlin. Don't be crazy."

"But your personal history is - spotty, to say the least - and your apparent grasp on English is characteristic of a Russian national who learned it as a second language."

"Me, Russian? That's unpossible. Totally prepompsterous."

Kay begins to ask another question, but the sudden sound of a ringtone cuts her off. It's the Tetris theme.

"Whoops- sorry. I thought I put this thing on silent..."

She apparently picks up the call. "P, baby! How the heck are ya?"

"P?"

"Pyotor Petrovovich," she explains. "I just call him P, you know, like a codename. He's my handler."

"Oh my god..." Rose mutters, rubbing her forehead in frustration as she listens along. "Just, turn it off. I can't take this..."

"I don't mean to strong-arm you," Kay says. She clicks the recorder off. "This kind of bullshit isn't what I want to waste ink on. What I really need to know is how this Renee Carte person is connected to the scandal. That's the key to everything. And like it or not, I'm gonna find out."

"You don't mean to strong-arm me, but you're going to blackmail me anyway," you say.

"Basically. Yes."

"Why do you care so much?" You demand. "You've got a juicy story either way, don't you?"

Kay sits back down, kicks back, pets Lady. "This detail is the difference between having a juicy story that keeps people talking for a week, or uncovering a truth so huge that my name goes down in history forever." Her eyes have an insane glint, a fire in them. "Fuck Woodward and Bernstein, fuck Edward R. Murrow. Fuck HL Mencken and especially fuck Randolph Hearst. This world is going to remember Kay Vera as the greatest journalist who ever lived."

It's time to make a couple choices. Your Volt seats four people comfortably, and Kay has made it clear she's coming along for the ride.

That leaves you with two more spaces open. So... who do you want to take with you to visit Renee Carte in Prison?

>Alabaster will invite the top two choices.

>Cerise

>Rose

"Renee Carte..." Cerise says, back home. She's sitting on her bed, across from you. "Why do I recognize that name?"

"I don't know," you say. "She might have come up at work. She was Sable before Sable, apparently."

"No, it's not that," Cerise says. "It feels like I've met her before, somehow."

"She's been in prison for six years, so I don't know how that could be true. Still..." You frown. "I know what you mean. I kind of feel the same way."

Alex knocks on the door of Cerise's room. He pokes his head in. "Hey, Cerise? I was wondering if you wanted me to order some more pizzas tonight. Since it's the last night of the big sleepover and all... it's the least I can do."

[ ] Let Alex order, since he wants to feel like he's contributing.

[x] Offer to cook for everyone instead.

"Don't waste your money," you say. "I'm sick of pizza, plus I just ate. Let's go with something else."

"Thanks for answering on my behalf, you asshole," Cerise says. "Did you forget that you're a guest in my home here? Isn't it me who should be making dinner plans?"

Alex furrows his brow. "Please don't fight... I'm sorry..."

You stand, shrugging. "It can't be helped. I'll have to show Alex the joy of dessert for dinner Sunday. Even you should be fine with that, right, Cerise?"

"It's Saturday," Cerise reminds you.

"Fine. Jesus. Dessert for dinner Saturday, then. The day of the week doesn't matter, you know..."

"It matters so much!" Cerise shouts. "There's no such thing as Dessert for Dinner Saturday! It's always Sunday!"

"Whatever," you grouse. "Then eat a piece of bread, call THAT your dinner, and you can consider this Dessert for Dessert Saturday. What's gotten into you?"

"I just want you to respect this family's traditions."

"I do," you say. "Unlike you, I actually learned a thing or two about how to bake."

"You should teach her!" Alex offers. "Pass on the family tradition!"

Cerise casts Alex a withering glare that makes him shrink back. But you like the idea. Cerise should learn how to make something other than instant noodles.

In the kitchen, you root through Cerise's cabinets to see what you've got to work with. As expected, all she keeps on hand is shitty ramen and beer. You write up a long list of ingredients, walk to the living room and chuck the notebook at Rose.

"You ass!" She cries, rubbing her forehead where the metal spirals on the spine of the notebook hit her.

"Go to the store and pick that stuff up," you instruct her. "And be quick about it."

"I'm not your fucking maid," Rose hisses. She tosses the notebook back.

"I'll go," Alex offers, trying to defuse the situation.

"No," you say. "You can't cave in like that. Not with a person like Rose." You pick up the notebook and toss it back at Rose - this is quickly becoming a game of hot potato.

"I'm not going tolerate this kind of treatment," Rose says. "You are not going to push me around like some-- ghhh--"

She gets cut off by Whitney grabbing her hair and tugging her head back. Her expression is dazed as Whitney forces her to stare straight up at the ceiling.

Whitney leans over, putting her face over Rose's. "Let's go to the store," she purrs. "I'm not going to let you mess up a dessert for dinner night. It's been way too long."

"F-fine... just... l-let go of me..."

Whitney lets go, and Rose snaps upright again, rubbing the back of her head where Whitney held her so roughly.

"You guys are... kind of weird," Alex says.

"We'll be right back!" Whitney says, saluting you. "You can count on us!" She grabs Rose by the hand and tugs her up. They leave together, Rose still grousing.

You go back to the kitchen and pull out the pots, pans, mixers and other implements you'll need for cooking. They're the same ones mom used, back then... Cerise kept them, even though she never uses them herself.

The sight of them fills you with warm thoughts. But also some bitter ones, too.

You try to put it all out of mind.

All this stuff is stashed away in the lower cabinets, well out of reach, and by the time you have it sorted out, you're already feeling a little bit daunted. Now you have to clean this stuff too, since it's been kept in dusty storage for so long.

Hopefully, cooking invigorates you. Usually, it does.

"Mr... Mr. Ally?"

You turn your head. Alex is standing at the threshold of the kitchen, bare naked - except for the apron from Cerise's maid costume, which just barely covers his intimate parts.

Cerise appears now, standing behind Alex. Her arms are folded, and she grins like a lioness above a felled gazelle.

"Alex offered to help us tonight," she says. "Isn't that right?"

He nods, silent, blushing.

[ ] We can't let him wear this. Rose and Whitney could be back any minute.

[x] All right. Looks like you'll be helping us, Alex.

You go back to the kitchen and pull out the pots, pans, mixers and other implements you'll need for cooking. They're the same ones mom used, back then... Cerise kept them, even though she never uses them herself.

The sight of them fills you with warm thoughts. But also some bitter ones, too.

You try to put it all out of mind.

All this stuff is stashed away in the lower cabinets, well out of reach, and by the time you have it sorted out, you're already feeling a little bit daunted. Now you have to clean this stuff too, since it's been kept in dusty storage for so long.

Hopefully, cooking invigorates you. Usually, it does.

"Mr... Mr. Ally?"

You turn your head. Alex is standing at the threshold of the kitchen, bare naked - except for the apron from Cerise's maid costume, which just barely covers his intimate parts.

Cerise appears now, standing behind Alex. Her arms are folded, and she grins like a lioness above a felled gazelle.

"Alex offered to help us tonight," she says. "Isn't that right?"

He nods, silent, blushing.

"You came at the right time," you tell Alex. He can't even maintain eye contact with you. "Get these dishes washed for me, okay?"

You indicate the pile of cooking utensils in the sink.

"Ah-- I--" Alex stammers. He knows if he stands at the sink, you'll have a clear view of his backside.

"Come on," you say. "They're not going to wash themselves."

Alex steps uncertainly to the sink, turns on the tap, and gets to work. He's diligent, despite the embarrassing circumstances, and cleans each item with exacting attention to detail before setting it in the dish strainer off to the side.

You stand behind him, leaning your tailbone against the countertop opposite the sink, watching. Cerise joins you. Alex's perfectly round and smooth butt bounces in time to his scrubbing. You can see just the very tip of his penis hanging down from between his legs.

The kitchen is tiny, and Alex can clearly hear your conversation, but that doesn't stop Cerise whatsoever:

"How did you find such a perfect trap to turn into a fuckbuddy?" She says. Alex tenses at this. "I can't believe someone like him could really exist."

You shrug. "Lucky, I guess. You should thank Whitney, though. She's the one who got me into his pants."

"Trust me, I'll definitely thank her. That dumb skank finally did something useful."

You turn to look Cerise in the eye. "I want to be clear here," you say, "I'm not gay."

"Of course you're not," Cerise says, licking her lips. She steps forward and puts her hands on Alex's shoulders. Alex goes rigid. He's blushing so hard you can see even the back of his neck turning a bit red -- he's utterly mortified.

You realize that Cerise, who isn't THAT tall for a girl, is still a little bit taller than Alex. There's no denying it: Alex was made to be bullied around.

"Who could fault you for wanting to have sex with a pretty little thing like this?" Cerise says, petting the top of Alex's head. "Any man would."

"Exactly my point," you say. "I'm glad at least someone understands." As nonchalant as the conversation is, you can feel your cock hardening by the second.

Cerise squats down, and unceremoniously lays a hand on either globe of Alex's ass. She spreads the cheeks now, baring the pale pink rosebud of Alex's hole. "...And who could fault you for wanting to get inside a gorgeous pussy like this?" Cerise breathes.

Alex makes a choked "chhh--" sound. He shivers.

"I didn't tell you to stop working," you tell him sternly.

With trembling hands, Alex does his best to keep cleaning the dishes. It's hard for him with both you and Cerise examining his asshole, and he works at a slow pace. He keeps making uncertain, fearful little whinnies too.

"It's so small..." Cerise says. Her voice is full of lust and wonder. "You really got your dick inside him? You made it fit?"

"All the way," you say. "He opens up pretty nicely if you use a little force."

Cerise curls her lips into an O and blows a few quick breaths against Alex's opening. He bows his head, knees knocking together, hardly able to take even this minor stimulation.

"That is so cute," Cerise says, grinning broadly. "I really want to see what he's like with some dick up him... I want to see you fuck him..."

"Mr. Ally..." Alex whines, as if asking for help. But no help is going to come.

Cerise surprises you: she leans in, sticks her tongue out, and licks Alex's asshole. Alex moans and bucks his hips wildly, as if trying to escape, but Cerise has him pinned against the sink. You hear for a few moments the wet slurping sound of Cerise's searching tongue. You see the erotic sight of her face buried in Alex's ass, working him over. Alex's little dick is as hard as you've ever seen it, and you glimpse him pressing it against the door of the cabinet below the sink, writhing a bit, getting some minor relief from the pressure of his own weight.

Cerise pulls back. Alex's boypussy is wet and shiny with her saliva in the fluorescent lighting.

She looks up at you. "He's ready... fuck him, Alabaster. Shove your dick in him..."

You're ready, too. You pull your pants off, your boxers too, leaving yourself naked from the waist down. You get in position behind Alex, bracing yourself against his shoulders.

"Be... be gentle..." he begs you.

Cerise doesn't get up. Instead she settles down, sitting on her butt directly beneath you and Alex. She cranes her head up, watching where the two of you are about to be mated.

She proves to be an enthusiastic helper here, too. Before you reach down for your throbbing cock to guide it home, Cerise is already there. She grabs you with one hand and guides the tip of your dick to Alex's quivering hole. There's something demented but deliciously perverted about your older sister helping you rape this defenseless boy, and it makes you tingle with pleasure at the thought of it.

"Do it," she breathes.

You do it. You slam forward, forcing your cock past the puckered outer ring in one thrust. Alex opens up for you like a trained whore. His voice is staccato and girlish as he moans to the sensation of being raped.

Cerise watches transfixed at the lewd sight inches from her face. Her jaw hangs slack and her eyes glimmer, unblinking. You glance back, and see that at some point she tugged her pants down just far enough to expose her plump pussy. She has both hands working it at a frenzied pace. One hand fondles her clit while the other works three fingers in and out. The sound of your sister masturbating adds to the obscene sound of your cock squelching in and out of Alex's soft, tight fuckhole. His insides are like velvet against you.

Even though he asked you to be gentle with him, you're not: you slam in and out of him, desperate to find your own relief, banging Alex roughly against the cabinets and sink. The tap runs unattended, Alex having given up all pretense of actually washing the dishes - he's as pliable as clay in your hands, unable to do anything but let you fuck him as you may.

"Ally... Ally..." he says. His voice is small and stuttering. "Please... p-please s-- please s--"

"Out with it," you grunt, still fucking him.

"P-please say mean things to m-me..."

Below you, Cerise hisses. "Fffuck," she says. "Fuck!" You hear a little splatter and see that she's cumming all over her own hands.

You're not sure how to do demeaning sex-talk properly, but you try to imagine the sorts of things you like to say to Rose. So you end up treating Alex pretty much like a slutty girl instead of a boy:

"You're a cunt," you tell him. You let your voice drip with malice and harshness. "You're a dirty, worthless whore. You're my fuckdump... thank me for turning you into a slut!"

Alex's ass tightens around you with every nasty word you call him, and he finds the energy to fuck back against you. He enjoys being abused. "Thank you!" he cries, panting, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you! Thank you for making me a slut!"

You can see, over his shoulder, the front of the apron staining darkly. Alex is ejaculating from your abusive words.

"I'm gonna cum," you say, warning Cerise. "It could be messy..."

"Do it!" Cerise shouts, still masturbating, totally lost in a sea of debauchery - not caring what happens next.

"You hear that?" You tell Alex. "I'm going to blow my nuts inside you now."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

You feel a new sensation: Cerise fondling your heavy balls, her fingers still wet with her own cream -- encouraging you to commit this ultimate act of defilement on Alex. That pushes you over the edge. With a groan of delight, you seat yourself as deep up Alex's insides as you can get and blow a hot load into him. You cum and cum and cum, your vision going white and dizzy. When you can see straight again, and look down, you see your cum running in fat rivulets all around the tight ring of Alex's slut ass. It's dripping on Cerise's face - you're indirectly cumming all over your own sister's face. And she couldn't be happier. She's cumming herself fucking stupid, gasping, turning her head side to side, shaking all over.

"Thank you... thank you..." Alex repeats over and over. "Thank you..."

You pull out with a loud plop and the rest of your slimy semen runs from Alex's ruined asshole, onto Cerise's face. Without you to support him any longer, Alex collapses in a heap on the ground, lying in Cerise's lap.

When he looks up, weakly, he sees what's happened. "I'm sorry..." he stammers. "I made such a mess..." and immediately he gets onto his weak, still-knocking knees to lick it clean. He licks your cum off Cerise's face and swallows it dutifully while Cerise frigs three or four more orgasms out of her spasming pussy. The tile floor is dripping with her cum. When her face is clean, Alex gets down on all fours to lick this puddle up too, moaning like a sow into the ground.

Cerise leans her head against the cabinet, breathing ragged. "See?" She pants. "I knew he'd be good at cleaning..."

You could get used to Saturday evenings like this.

"Give me the chocolate, Cerise."

Cerise hands you a few boxes of semisweet chocolate. You add it to the pan and let it melt down, slowly stirring. "And with just a little cream, it becomes completely delicious," you say, summing it up. "Even a moron like you should be able to make something this simple." You pour in the heavy cream.

Next, you roll out some pie crusts. "I'm making three, so I'll let you choose one," you say. "But only one! And, uh, only because I can't decide. Alex, you can choose one too."

"Make something with white chocolate, Ally!" says Alex, bouncing up and down on the stool. You hand the whisk to him and let him stir for a little bit - he likes to help.

He's still wearing his naked apron getup. Rose and Whitney haven't seen yet, but they'll probably lose their shit if they do.

"Cherry pie sounds good too," Cerise says. "I've got a craving for it."

You smile to yourself as you work the rolling pin. Cooking brings out your softer side. "That's my favorite," you hum. "Hey, do you know that Cerise is French for Cherry?"

"Of course I know that. You might not respect my intelligence, but don't treat me like a fucking retard. As if I don't know what my own name means?"

You grimace. "Excuse me for trying to make conversation with you! You won't catch me making that mistake again!"

You grab a bag of frozen cherries from the freezer. "All I'm saying is that cherries always make me think of you," you say. Then, realizing yourself, you quickly add: "--which is why I usually don't bother with them..."

"Guys..." Alex pouts. "Please don't fight. I want you two to get along like brother and sister should!"

It continues like this for several hours. Eventually, Cerise actually has a pretty solid understanding of some simple cooking techniques, the same ones passed on down from mom to you.

"We'll make a marriageable wife out of you yet," you say. "I'm sure there's someone out there who'd be stupid enough to let you have them, as long as you learn a few basic skills..."

#1

The melody of Skype's incoming call music may as well be nails on chalkboard to Galatea, who startles and rips her headphones off just as soon as she hears it.

The call rings and rings while Galatea drips fluid into her vape pen, shoves it in her mouth and nurses it like a kid sucking her thumb. She considers closing Skype completely, deleting her virtual machine, nuking her hard drive, leaving the state, changing her name, moving to Pluto.

After a few moments, the call disconnects.

>SakurdaDokuhaku: Are you okay?

She shakes her head. She's pretty fucking far from okay.

But she made a promise. She sets her vape pen aside, takes a deep breath. She puts her headphones back on.

>gman: sorry i got nervous haha

>SakuraDokuhaku: We don't have to do this if you don't want to.

Galatea bites her lip.

>gman: no i want to

The ringtone plays again. Galatea forces herself not to rip off her headphones this time. Her finger hovers over the left button of the mouse - hesitating - and the call is just about to drop again when she answers.

Cerise appears on the screen. Galatea has seen plenty of photos but this is the first time she has ever seen the flesh-and-blood Cerise in motion. Cerise's warm smile calms her fluttering heart.

"Hi," Cerise says. "It's good to see you."

Galatea blinks. For a brief moment, she had forgotten that her cam is on, too.

She stares down and to the side, fighting the urge to hide.

"Still doing okay?" Cerise asks. "Gal?"

Galatea nods. "i'm sorry," she says.

"For what? Remember what we said about apologizing for no reason."

"you're right. i'm sorry."

Cerise lets that one slide.

This is her first time seeing Galatea, ever - Cerise didn't have the benefit of photos beforehand, like Galatea did of her. "You're cute," Cerise tells her, practically crooning.

Galatea shakes her head no. She disagrees, vehemently.

"Hey, are you calling me a liar? All this time you kept saying you were fat and ugly and gross. But you're like a Greek goddess or something! You're cute!"

Despite herself, Galatea smiles.

#10

By now, Galatea is consistently picking up on the first ring. She isn't fully over her anxiety - on bad days, it doesn't permit her to cam with Cerise, relegating them back to IMing - but on the days when she feels up to it, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

Seeing Cerise's face is quickly becoming the highlight of Galatea's day. Cerise feels the same about her.

They keep each other honest. One of the first things Cerise asks is: "did you eat today?"

When Galatea shakes her head no, Cerise is understanding and patient, but firm. "Go get something to eat. You're going to make yourself sick if you don't. Especially with all that goddamn vaping you do."

"vaping doesn't make you sick. in fact, studies show that it's not only safer than smoking, it has potential health benefits that--"

Cerise cradles her head in one hand. "For the love of God, Gal, you're great, but shut up. Go eat."

She goes and gets a toaster strudel that Cerise makes her finish every single bite of before she even thinks of picking up that ridiculous vape pen again.

Later in the same conversation, it's Galatea keeping Cerise honest. When Cerise cracks yet another beer bottle, Galatea says: "how many is that tonight?"

"Huh? Just three."

"erm..." Galatea begins.

"Okay, maybe more like five or six. It's fine. I have a pretty high tolerance."

"i don't want you to pass out at your desk again," Galatea says timidly.

Cerise frowns.

"please... if you're thirsty... think about having something else"

Cerise sighs, squirming in her seat, but listens to Galatea. She gets up, leaves the room, and returns with a glass of water.

"Happy?" She says.

"mm"

"Sheesh. You're like my mother sometimes." Cerise grouses as she tips her head back to take a sip.

#21

Galatea calls Cerise. This is a first.

"Hey Gal," Cerise slurs. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are shining bright red, her eyes are droopy - obviously drunk. More than usual, even.

"cerise..."

"Wanna do something? Let's watch TV. That's not getting boring."

Galatea is uncertain. She can tell Cerise is sad, on-edge -- distraught.

"i called to say happy birthday"

"You too," Cerise says. Then she pauses for a beat, confused at herself, before cackling. "Oh my god. I'm an idiot. You too! I can't believe I said that. You too! Hahaha-- hic."

Even though Cerise is laughing, Galatea knows she isn't having a good time.

"did you get the letter?"

"No. You sent it like five days ago, you said... didn't you? Did you really send me something? Nevermind." Cerise folds her arms on the desktop and lays her head down. "Sleepy..." she says.

"it should be there soon"

"Uh huh. I'm so FUCKING old right now. I'm 24 years old. Holy shit."

"that's not old"

"I'm ancient. I'm gonna be a fucking Christmas C-- oh my God. I'm gonna turn into Unstable Sable. Can you imagine? I'm gonna turn into a weird dungeon troll. I'm gonna be a high-tech spinster. Oh god..."

Galatea gets up from her chair and roots through her closet. Even though this must be audible to Cerise, Cerise doesn't bother to raise her head off the desktop to look.

Only when Galatea returns and Cerise can see her from her peripheral vision does she realize what Galatea is really up to.

She has a beautiful mahogany cello between her knees and the bow set upon the strings.

Cerise slowly sits upright again, watching Galatea, hardly able to believe it. She's been begging Galatea to play for her, basically since they met - but Galatea has always steadfastly refused.

#21 Continued

"i'm sorry my letter didn't get there in time... please accept this as your present instead"

Cerise has one hand over her mouth as she expectantly waits.

"it won't be very good... please don't laugh... i haven't played in a very long time..."

"I would never," Cerise says, trying hard not to cry with happiness. She knows perfectly well how difficult it is for Galatea to pick up her instrument again, after everything that happened in the past.

And she's doing it all for Cerise's sake.

Gently, Galatea begins into a slowed-down cello version of one of Cerise's favorite character songs. It's not a composition originally meant for the cello, but it's a breathtaking rendition all the same. Cerise closes her eyes and listens along, fighting back the wooziness of inebriation to immerse herself in the sound. It's better than she could have ever imagined - she truly understands now how Galatea got into Juilliard. It's such a shame that tragedy kept her from fulfilling that destiny.

Galatea has another surprise: she begins to sing, too. It's lilting, slow, almost mournful interpretation of the original.

The lyrics are Japanese, but Cerise knows them, and their translation, by heart.

>I'd like to try having a dream great enough to change my existence.

"Gal... you never said you could sing."

>If I connect it to emotion and empathy, I'll stand by the window.

"This is... oh my god, Gal..."

>And as I'm embraced by tranquility, again I'll be waiting for tomorrow.

>It falls gently: not water, but a lonelier drop.

>In a world without color, I found you: You are a star.

Galatea pauses in her fingering and bowing, and looks up from the frets to gaze into Cerise's eyes.

Cerise is definitely crying now, she can't hold it back. "I love you," she tells Galatea.

Galatea says the next part in English. "Should a crisis approach, first, it will reach you."

And then she shreds. She's an awesome cellist.

#42

Galatea takes her laptop with her to bed, and Cerise does the same. This is becoming a nightly ritual: sleeping "together," lying in bed facing their screens, drifting off over webcam.

It's the next best thing to actually being in the same room together.

"You're so close," Cerise says as she snuggles up underneath her covers.

"i know..." Galatea replies dreamily, also snuggling up.

But Cerise isn't trying to be cheerful. "I mean you live so close to me. I want to visit you. Just once."

Galatea can't even respond to this. She always shuts down when Cerise brings it up.

"I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"do you hate me?" Galatea asks.

"No. I don't hate you."

"you should"

Cerise pokes the lens of her webcam with an index finger as if booping Galatea playfully. "Don't be like that. No I shouldn't."

Even though Galatea loves to fall asleep with Cerise, she also kind of dreads it. Because every afternoon when Galatea wakes up again, she's greeted by a lonely webcam shot of Cerise's empty bed. It means Cerise is already gone for work, being a productive member of society, and Galatea has to wait for many hours before seeing her again.

"will you stay home with me?" Galatea asks.

"You know I can't."

Galatea bows her head. "i'm pathetic"

"It's fine. So am I... I'll text you a lot at work, okay?"

"ok"

"I'll come home a little early if I can."

Galatea smiles.

It isn't long before she's dozing. Cerise watches her for a very long time.

#81

"I'm feeling pretty accomplished today," Cerise says. "I shaved. I'm not a gross fucking yeti anymore."

Galatea busies herself playing with some crystals on her desktop. "wow, cool" she says. "i don't need to shave that much but i try to keep on top of it"

Cerise laughs. "I'm worse with personal grooming than the hikki NEET. Awesome."

"how much do you shave?" Galatea asks.

"I dunno, I don't have a schedule or anything--"

"no i mean like what parts do you shave"

Cerise is briefly taken aback. Galatea isn't even looking at the camera - not that she seems particularly abashed to ask such a personal question, it's just that she seems more interested in the trinkets that she's occupying her hands with.

"The usual stuff," Cerise says after a turn. "Legs, pits, you know..."

"down there?"

Cerise huffs. "Yes, Gal. You weirdo. Down there. It just feels better if it's smooth."

"yeah, i agree"

"You shave your pussy?" Cerise says. "Bullshit. That's way too much effort for your lazy ass."

"no, it's not too bad... i do it when i'm bored... i like the way it feels"

"Prove it," Cerise says.

Galatea isn't distracted anymore. She's looking at the cam like a deer in headlights.

"Show me," Cerise reiterates. "I want to see what qualifies as smooth in your book."

"nooo," Galatea drawls, not a refusal, but more like: "I can't believe you're asking me to do that."

Cerise lifts the waistband of her sweats and cranes her neck to look down her own pants. "Maybe it's just because I'm proud of my own work and want to show off," she says airily. She looks back up into the cam. "I'll show you mine..."

Galatea spends several long moments in contemplation. Finally, she pushes back from the desk, towards the foot of her bed. As the seat of her chair comes into view, it becomes apparent that she's naked from the waist down.

Cerise can't contain her laughter. "Jesus. You pervert. You talk to me naked like that all the time, or what?"

"sometimes... a lot of the time..."

Galatea still has her thighs pressed together. They're pale, almost anemically so, and fleshy -- but overall still thin, and her pussy mound is partially visible. She picks the cam up off her monitor and brings it in for a closer view. At the same time, slowly, she spreads her legs. A tiny pink slit, perfect innie, reveals itself, its lips coming unstuck from one another like a sticker peeling off paper.

"see?" she says. She was telling the truth. She's totally smooth and hairless.

"I'm jealous," Cerise says, leering. "Your cunt deserves a trophy or something."

Galatea giggles. "it's nothing special"

"Yes it fucking is. I'm not gay and even I'd eat you out."

Galatea turns the webcam so her skeptical face fills the frame. "who's the pervert now?" she demands.

"You, definitely. No one with a pussy like that can be anything but a pervert."

Galatea giggles again. "well it's your turn now" She scoots back up to her desk and mounts the webcam back where it was on her monitor. No more peep show for Cerise.

Cerise stands and shimmies out of her pants. Whatever inhibitions she had are gone. She sits again, but kicks her ankles up on the desktop, angling her tailbone so her cunt is in full view of the webcam. With a lazy index finger, she indicates that her own mound is smooth and pristine too. Her labia are turned partially outwards, and they're darker shade of pink than Galatea's -- bordering on mauve -- an effect amplified by the fact the lips are engorged and pulsing with growing lust.

"are you wet?" Galatea says.

Cerise doesn't answer that, because the answer is obvious.

She doesn't end the show quite as quickly as Galatea did, either. Galatea sits there silently, staring at Cerise's pussy in unconcealed wonderment - she breathes strangely and her glasses literally begin to fog over. Cerise runs a flattened palm around her pubic mound and playfully spreads the lips a time or two to demonstrate her dripping insides to the camera.

It's Cerise who finally breaks the silence: "Wanna watch me masturbate?"

#90

Their setup is pretty sweet - Galatea's idea. The stirrups are a bit kinky but they're for purely practical purposes: they've both had some unfortunate accidents where they slid out of their chairs at the height of their pleasure. Keeping their ankles secure is only logical.

The remotely-controlled vibrating dildos are definitely less practical, though: that's just for the purely perverted fun of it. Cerise has the remote for Galatea's and Galatea has the remote for Cerise's.

One half of the screen is the Skype cam window, and the other half is a video stream-sync app that lets them watch the same thing at the same time. Cerise chose tonight's entertainment, so of course it's something to do with traps. Galatea doesn't fully see the appeal, but it's got dicks in it, and that's good enough for her.

Cerise runs her thumb back and forth on the intensity dial, sending little bursts of vibration through the deepest parts of Galatea's pretty pink cunt. Cerise can hardly believe such a tiny hole fits a dildo that big. It fascinates her, watching Galatea stretch to accommodate it whenever she puts it in. The way Galatea winces at first, grits her teeth and bears it, and then: the dopey smile of sexual relief when she has it inside and she adjusts to being full. Galatea is an absolute doll, a waifish little cumslut in training. Watching her stuff herself with a rubber cock like that makes Cerise shudder.

"Darling," Cerise repeats as she watches Galatea writhe, "such a fucking darling..."

Galatea of course has a tool of her own to strike back with. She jams on the intensity button controlling the dildo shoved deep up Cerise's cunt.

"Ffff--" Cerise hisses, throwing her head back. The movie hasn't even started yet.

When it does, Cerise can hardly choose which side of the screen to focus on: the animated debauchery of her favorite hentai, or the lewd sight of Galatea cumming all over herself. Cerise strums her own clit and basks in the nasty show, her brain totally overloaded and overstimulated.

"cum cum cum cum cum" Galatea repeats, drooling. She's never very articulate on her best days, but when she's got a dick in her, she's fucking stupid. Cerise loves it.

Cerise is trying to enjoy the scene of a fat cock pushing into a trap's defenseless boypussy; two men pinning the little thing between them and using both of the trap's holes without mercy. But Galatea, formerly so shy, is doing everything she can to keep Cerise's attention on her. Now Galatea reaches up with one hand, wraps her delicate fingers around her delicate throat, and squeezes.

It's Galatea's favorite way to masturbate. In fact, she can hardly make herself cum without it - without choking herself almost into unconsciousness. She doesn't show any mercy on herself, and her face turns a weird shade of purple, as Cerise creeps the vibration dial ever upwards, and Galatea tightens her grip accordingly. Cerise wiggles her hips to enjoy the buzzing dildo inside her own pussy as Galatea abuses herself.

Cerise sets the vibrator to max and watches in squealing delight as Galatea cums so hard she wets herself. The puddle under her ass spreads and deepens and she either doesn't notice or doesn't care. She's throttling herself so hard her tongue is flopped out and her eyes are rolling back. Absolutely destroying her shame and inhibition is practically Cerise's favorite hobby now. Seeing Galatea brought to this sorry state makes Cerise's own cunt spasm and cream in delicious climax.

Cerise presses the special button now - the button that activates the ersatz cock's ejaculation feature. A creamy white burst of warmed-up lotion spurts wetly into Galatea's pussy. The force of it is actually audible, a deep squelch that resounds on the mic. Galatea lets go of her throat, gasping for air, and stammers: "fuck, fuck-- cum inside me... cum inside me cerise... cum inside me cerise..."

Even as totally fucked-out and ruined as Galatea's mind is right now, she has enough synapses still functioning to hammer on the ejaculation button of her remote, too. Cerise shivers as the pulses fire off, one after another, deep inside, hot and wet. Her belly fills up. A tingly warmth spreads through her insides. She can feel the head of the dildo expand and contract as it seeds her, and distantly she imagines that this must be what getting fucked for real is like.

Her imagination is awash in a senseless slideshow of images: men raping vulnerable little traps in dresses, covering them in nasty cum; Galatea magically with a cock pinning her down and breeding her out, Cerise's head being pushed into the bed, a wide grin on her face and an even wider grin on Galatea's as her tongue lolls out and she fires off; then in reverse, her on top of Galatea now, Galatea defenseless; choking her viciously as Galatea struggles beneath her; then a different face resolves that she tries to bid away, but never can, Alabaster, pinning her to a wall somewhere, maybe an alley, blowing an incestuous load in her without a care in the world. And now to Cerise this fake cock is definitely Alabaster's, no one else's, this expanding head and this messy load of semen dripping from her pussy is Alabaster's; he's knocking her up and she doesn't want it but she absolutely does, needs it even, she's cumming hard on her little brother's spurting cock.

She briefly passes out. So does Galatea.

"Wow..." is all Cerise can say when she comes to. Galatea is panting like a dog, her sweat-sheened chest heaving up and down.

The buzzing dildo still stuffed inside Galatea's pussy. The fake cum runs lewdly out of her, mingling in the puddle under her ass.  "again?" she says.

#124

"My fucking brother won't shut up about Rose. Rose this, Rose that. It's like... if you hate her so much, stop fucking talking about her."

"how annoying"

Galatea is wandering around her room, trying to tidy up -- Cerise's orders.

"It gets like this every time the semester is about to end. He doesn't want to go back to living in her house."

"hmm... can't he do summer classes?"

"Pah," Cerise laughs. "The one thing Alabaster hates more than Rose is exerting effort. He'd never do summer school."

Galatea almost trips on a pile of dirty laundry. She catches herself against the back of her chair. She leans in with her face real close to the camera now. "what about an internship?" she says.

"With his grades? No one would hire him."

"your company?"

"Definitely not."

"i mean if you put in a good word for him"

Cerise frowns. "But then I'd have to be his coworker."

Galatea smiles. "would you hate that so much?"

"Of course!"

"it's always alabaster this, alabaster that with you... if you hate him so much... stop fucking talking about him"

"I could slap you right now!"

"yes please"

Cerise shakes her head. But Galatea has a point. It might be good for Alabaster to get some work experience.

---

You lean against the countertop, nearly out of breath, your face and shirt caked with flour. Alex - himself not in much better shape - nonetheless is quick to grab a magazine and fan you. Always the helpful assistant.

"Iron chef over here," Cerise muses. She glances back at the oven where the pies are baking. "Good job -- really. I didn't know you had it in you."

"I'm so impressed, Ally! You have to do that more often! I never knew you had such hidden talent!"

You wave him off. "I'm never doing that again," you grumble. "I forgot what a pain in the ass it is. Ask Cerise to do it for you next time."

The timer dings. Cerise dons a pair of oven mitts. She grabs the pies from the oven one by one, gingerly setting them down on the stovetop.

She reaches a finger towards one to taste it but you swat her hand away.

"Jerk," she says.

"Don't touch it. You have to let them sit for a few minutes."

Cerise rolls her eyes. So impatient.

"In ten minutes, you guys can serve," you announce "I'm beat. I'll be in the living room."

"Yes sir!" Alex laughs, giving you a mock salute. Cerise swats him on the ass playfully. His spine goes stiff with shock.

Rose is in the living room, working on the sensitivity training powerpoint on her laptop. Honestly, doesn't she have anything better to do? You really despise her sometimes.

Meanwhile, Whitney busies herself by setting up TV dinner trays. It should go without saying that Cerise has nothing like a dining table in her house. These will have to do.

"Dinner's just about ready," you say. You sit down beside Rose and close the lid of her laptop.

"Hey!" Rose cries indignantly. "Get away from me!" She shoves you, but you're not going to budge.

"Hell fucking yes," Whitney says. She grins stupidly. "What'd you make? Wait, don't tell me! I want it to be a surprise. Wait... no, tell me! I wanna know! Wait--"

"Pies," you cut in. "Cherry, chocolate, white chocolate. Take your pick."

Whitney puts her hands on her hips. "That's peachy as shit, Ally. You need to keep doing this househusband stuff because I'm awful at cooking. Our kids can't eat at KFC every night."

"Your kids?" Rose says. "You fucking wish, you dy--"

You smack Rose on the back of her head. "Mind your manners," you say.

"Go to hell!" Rose rubs the back of her head, grimacing.

Whitney looms over you. She folds her arms. "Well? Where's the food?"

"Calm down," you say. "They'll be on their way out any second--"

"Oh my God..." Rose mutters. You turn your head.

Alex is coming out. He's holding a tray with a pie on top of it - and he's still in his naked apron. He's smiling in a sort of mortified-but-still-happy way.

Whitney laughs without any real sound, a surprised wheeze, really.

He sets the pie down on one of the trays, turns and scurries back to the kitchen. Rose and Whitney both stare approvingly at his butt as he hurries back.

Cerise brushes past him. She's got a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Eating in style tonight.

Whitney and Rose are at least as predatory, in their own ways, as Cerise. If Alex is going to be safe, it would be wisest to sit next to him.

How will you eat?

[ ] Next to Alex, across from Rose, Cerise and Whitney.

[ ] Next to Cerise, across from Alex, Rose, and Whitney.

>[x] Next to Rose, across from Alex, Cerise, and Whitney.

[ ] Next to Whitney, across from Alex, Cerise, and Rose.

You're already seated. It's not like you actually want to sit beside Rose or anything, but you're honestly too lazy to get up.

Alex comes back out with another pie. Whitney wheeze-laughs again in childlike joy, as if she's seeing it for the first time. "Ally, you're such a perv~" she says.

"Don't blame me," you say. "That was Cerise's doing."

Whitney pokes your chest. "Nuh-uh," she says. "This has your name written allll over it."

"Cerise, tell her that dressing Alex like a slut was the product of your own demented imagination."

Somehow, it seems perfectly normal to talk about Alex like this as if he isn't even in the room, even though he very much is.

"Why are you lying?" Cerise says, an innocent lilt to her voice. She sits on the couch across from you and Rose. "I would never dream of doing something like that. You're the one who pinned him down and practically FORCED him to wear it..." She looks Whitney in the eyes and lies straight to her face: "I told him no, but he was so insistent... I felt so bad for Alex, honest..."

Whitney laughs. "Ally's such a jerk. I'll have to protect Alex from his clutches."

"You are such a lying bitch," you seethe. "Honestly, Cerise."

Now Rose is the one who slaps the back of your head. "Don't say such awful things to your sister. And stop sexually harassing that poor girl. It's obscene."

"Alex is not a g--" you begin, but Rose slaps the back of your head again.

You grab her wrist and force it down. "One more time," you growl. "See what happens."

Rose doesn't hit you again but her eyes simmer with defiance.

Alex brings out the final pie and you all begin to eat.

This is Rose's first experience with your cooking - and her first experience with a recipe that originated with mom. When the first bite hits her tongue, she moans sensually. "Oh what the hell," she says.

"It's great, isn't it? It's the best, isn't it?" Whitney says. She's buzzing with energy.

"You did not make this," Rose says, pointing at you with her fork. "I refuse to believe it."

"Believe it," you say. "Just another thing I do better than you."

Rose moves as if to slap you, but thinks better of it.

Meanwhile, Alex is sitting sandwiched between Whitney on his left and Cerise on his right. He takes his first bite, too - he chose a giant slice of the white chocolate meringue. Like Rose, his response is so guttural and primal it's almost sexual. In fact, you see a little bulge poke up in the still-stained fabric of his apron.

You smile to yourself. Even though you don't want to admit it, seeing people enjoy your baking fills your heart with happy feelings.

"Make sure you guys eat it all," you say. "I don't want it going to waste."

Rose is practically salivating as she gnoshes down on her pie. "Thiff iff too damn good..." she says, her mouth full. "Oh my goondeff... oh woww..."

So far, Cerise and Whitney have been perfectly wholesome with Alex. They're both too busy eating as well to molest him. But the oncoming obscenity is inevitable. Although she tries to be sly about it, you see Whitney sneak a hand down between her and Alex, snaking slyly underneath his butt. The way Alex's eyes suddenly bulge leaves no mistake about what Whitney's fingers are doing.

Not even Cerise notices it. But when she offers Alex a sip of her beer, she seems to realize there's something amiss.

Alex has his fork to his mouth, but he isn't eating - his jaw is hanging partially open, strands of saliva suspended between his parted lips. His eyes are glazed over.

"Is it really that good?" Cerise says. "I never realized... guess it's because I grew up with it."

"It's so good..." Alex says. "It's... it'shh... it'shh shoo good..."

With Rose's head more or less buried in her plate, and the top of Alex's tray table covering him from Cerise and Whitney's view, you're the only one that can see what happens next. The stain on Alex's apron gets darker and wetter. He shivers, dropping his fork and hugging himself.

Whitney's hand comes back up. With a devilish grin, she puts her finger in Alex's mouth. He clamps his lips around it and sucks on it without hesitation. Cerise, thinking this is just a perverted new game, does the same. They fish-hook him together and part his cheeks, holding his mouth lewdly open. He does absolutely nothing to resist.

Rose finally realizes what's going on. "Oh my..." she mutters. "Why must you all insist on assaulting this poor girl?"

"Alex is not a girl," you tell her firmly. "Dumbass."

Rose turns to look at you. "They're sure treating her like one," she says.

"Yeah?" You say. "Is this how you think girls should be treated?"

Rose simmers, not saying anything in return.

But soon Cerise and Whitney quit their pervy game. They take turns feeding a suddenly docile and enervated Alex. He nibbles on the food they offer with a contented smile on his lips.

"That was pretty hot," Rose tells you so that only you can hear. "If that really is a boy, then it's nice to see he knows his place."

She's getting way too into this. You decide to bring her back to Earth. "Will it be tonight?" You whisper.

She gulps. "What?"

"Is it going to be tonight?" You repeat. Her lips tremble. "Are you going to sleep soundly tonight?"

You finish eating, enjoying the sight of Whitney and Cerise babying Alex. Rose eats beside you, first quietly, and then not so quietly. Despite being threatened, she can't help herself from vocally responding to the delicious dessert in front of her. She eats four or five slices before she can't fit another bite in her mouth.

You told her it might be tonight, but it isn't. You sleep beside Alex instead, the better to fend off the circling vultures who would have their way with him. He's the little spoon, naturally. He dozes softly beside you, warm and snug.

Whitney and Rose sleep on Rose's foldaway bed together. You hear them scuffling and bickering all night.

March 16, 2014

You and Cerise sit at the dining room table as the movers do their work. As soon as the two of you agreed to go live with the Mallorys, they hired a crew to take care of things. You didn't even have to pack - for insurance reasons, the moving company does it themselves.

Saul Mallory stands in the living room, supervising the crew. He's a real hardass, type-A personality, and although he fights for the rights of the downtrodden, he doesn't trust laborers.

Most of the stuff in the house is destined for a storage locker, which the Mallorys are also paying for. So, save for your most-needed personal effects, everything that made your house familiar is getting shoved into a dark concrete box. Who knows how long the trappings of your childhood home will sit there like that, unused, gathering dust, getting gnawed by mice and roaches?

You know you should be grateful for what the Mallorys are doing, but you just feel anger. Not even directed at anyone in particular. Just aimless anger in search of a target.

"Do you remember the last thing you said to mom?" Cerise asks.

You stare. "No, not exactly," you lie. You do remember, and it'll haunt you forever.

Cerise has a far-away look in her eyes. "I do," she says. "It was, 'I just want to be left alone right now.' That was the last thing I said to her."

Both of you are silent for a long time.

"She wasn't mad at you," you finally say.

"Huh?"

"The night they died, mom told me to make sure that you ate. She said you were sad... she wanted you to eat."

Another beat.

"I didn't eat that night," Cerise says.

You massage your eyes. "I haven't been sleeping," you say. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them raising that white sheet... mom and dad on a metal slab in the-- the morgue..."

"Me too," Cerise says.

You both sit there while the movers go in and out, packing it all up. You stare, at nothing.

You go to the fridge and pull out the pie tin. There's one slice of mom's white chocolate meringue left.

"Here," you say, setting it down with a fork in front of Cerise. "It'll just go to waste otherwise."

She looks at it. She grasps as well as you do what this represents. It's the last of mom's cooking that will ever exist.

"I can't," Cerise says. "You have it."

"It's not--" you begin, but this isn't worth the energy. "Fine. We'll share."

You get another fork.

You and Cerise eat slowly - nibbling, really - savoring it in silence together.

As sad and somber as this moment is, the unparalleled sweetness and delectable smoothness of this dessert is impossible not to enjoy. It overrides your grief, however momentarily. Every morsel practically dances on your tongue, coating it and making your tastebuds light up in ecstasy. It's an almost religious experience, mom's desserts, and even after a week in the fridge it's better than any fresh-baked treat from any high-class patisserie on Earth. Bar none, her cooking is and always will be the best you've ever had.

Then finally there's only one bite left - it ends on your fork. You put it in your mouth, chew, and swallow. Cerise watches intently.

And that's the end of it. The last bite of the last pie of the last Dessert for Dinner Sunday ever.

You gaze at the empty pie tin for many minutes.

"What are we gonna do?" Cerise finally says.

You can only shrug.

---

Shortly after dawn, Whitney has Alex up and dressed and out of the apartment. He's a bit sad to go, obviously.

"We definitely have to do that again!" He says. "Next time, I'll host!"

You're not against the idea.

You, Rose, and Cerise pack a few essentials. A road atlas (no phones on this trip), some snacks and drinks, money for fuel (no using debit cards, either). Oh, and of course, Rose's guns.

You set out.

The bickering starts early. Cerise and Rose fight for who gets to ride shotgun.

"I called it first, you fat bitch!" Cerise snarls.

"It's my car!" Rose shouts. She stomps her foot, tits jiggling, points at herself. "Mine! It belongs to me! I get to sit where I want!"

"Alabaster, tell our slut cousin that--"

"Once removed," you interject.

"Fuck BOTH of you! Tell her that I get the front seat!"

"Are you guys 12?" You say. "Serious question."

You play eenie-meenie-minie-moe to settle the dispute. Rose wins. It's a bit obnoxious the way she smugly beams and gloats at Cerise like she just won some kind of high-value prize. Whatever.

You get in the car and hit the road.

In the parking lot at Kay's apartment, you have to blare on the horn three or four times before she finally comes outside. She's bleary-eyed and holding a thermos of what must be coffee. She's also got her dog with her, leading it by a long red leash.

"Take that mutt right back inside," you tell her after rolling down your window. "I'm not letting a dog go on a road trip in my new car."

Kay kicks one of the tires. "This thing isn't new. What is it, a 2013?"

"That's not the point," you say. "It's my car and I'm not letting a dog inside of it."

"You'll be sorry if someone comes after us and Lady isn't there to defend you," she says. "Right, Lady?"

Lady licks himself.

"Well... you get the idea," Kay says.

Rose holds up a glock. In the backseat, Cerise hefts a shotgun.

"We're well armed," you say. "A dog isn't going to make much difference."

Kay smiles. She opens her purse and lets you look inside. She's also got a pistol - a tiny little peashooter, but still.

"Guns are nice, but the stopping power of a Rottweiler defending its owner with its life is not to be underestimated." She loops her purse back over her shoulder and puts her hands on the back of her head. "Besides... I don't want him pooping inside while I'm gone. We're not going to be back for a long time."

>[x] Let Lady tag along.

[ ] Make Kay come alone.

"Don't be an obstinate shit," Cerise says. She pops open the door on Kay's side. "Come here, boy," she croons. Lady hops up into the car, wagging his tail. He licks Cerise's face happily. Unlike you and Rose, Cerise forms an easy bond with him. She pushes him back, giggling. She scruffs him behind his ears. "Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are!"

Kay gets in too. "Kay Vera," she says, shaking Cerise's hand. "You must be Cerise Soliloquy."

"Yeah," she says. "What's this little doggie's name?"

"Lady."

Cerise cocks her head. "But... but he's a..."

"He looks like a Lady to me." Kay must be tired of explaining this point. "Say, question for you. Are you the hacker known as Galatea?"

"Wh-what? No..."

"But you know her, at the very least. Did she tell you to hack Darkbloom Analytics?"

"I don't--"

"Stop badgering my sister," you say, glaring at her in the rearview. "Or this little trip of ours is off."

Kay leans back, pouting. "Whatever. Excuse the hell out of me for following a story."

You pull out of the apartment complex. Kay lives not very far from where Cerise does, and the public bus that services this street runs past both complexes. That's why it's a surprise, but not majorly so, when you see a bus drive past the intersection with its front LED display hacked to read:

>I LOVE YOU CERISE

The four of you crane your necks to watch as it drives past.

"What do you think?" You ask Cerise. "/csg/ or Galatea?"

She shakes her head. "Which one is worse?"

Soon, you're on the highway.

The drive is about 2 and a half hours each way - boring as hell.

The radio reception is kind of shitty once you get out of the bay area. It's kind of a drag. You fiddle with the knobs, but all you can get is a mariachi station blasting peppy accordion music over a sheen of static. Silence is better.

"Honestly, Alabaster, you know nothing about my car - do you?"

Rose leans forward and swats your hand away from the console. She scrolls through a few menus.

"Volts have an MP3 storage function," Rose explains. "I think I put a few songs on here a while back... let's see..."

She keeps scrolling. In fact, she's right. She not only put songs on here, but an entire playlist. The first one that comes up is titled "Al_Ro_Wedding"

"Oh Jesus," you groan as a song called 'Such Great Heights' starts playing. "The fucking Postal Service? What the fuck is wrong with you, Rose?"

Rose makes a gasping, choking noise as if embarrassed and quickly clicks to the next playlist - which isn't much better - named simply "Playlist 2." M.I.A. and Run the Jewels is better than that beta Postal Service crap, though.

Cerise stares pensively out the window as you drive through the California countryside. Kay busily writes in her notebook. What, you have no idea.

You wonder what this Renee Carte person is like.

Halfway there, you stop to get a bite to eat and stretch your legs. You, Rose and Cerise go into a McDonalds to grab a little breakfast, and Kay takes Lady for a short walk.

"I'll take four egg McMuffins with hashbrowns," you tell the clerk.

"I don't want a McMuffin," Rose says.

"Too fucking bad. That's what you're getting."

"I don't want that! Why do you think you get to just order for me? You misog--"

"Oh my GOD," Cerise interjects. "Do you guys have to fight over every fucking thing you ever talk about, ever?"

You shrug. "I guess," you say. "What else would we do?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "Why wouldn't we?"

"What do you want, Rose?" asks Cerise. "The counter guy is right there. Order something else if you want it so badly."

Rose stammers. Apparently she wasn't ready to actually make a decision on what she wanted. She just wanted to say no to you.

"Four egg McMuffins," you tell the clerk again. "And the hashbrowns." He casts confused glances between the three of you, but enters your order nonetheless.

"I hate you..." Rose grumbles, stomping off.

"Same."

You leave the restaurant, food in hand, and clamber back into the car as a group. As you start it up, you notice something dangling from the rearview mirror. An ornate brass pocketwatch.

You grab it, clutching it so tight your knuckles almost blanch.

"Who... who put that there?" Cerise says, fear in her voice.

You look all around, wildly, this way and that - but can't see any trace of Camelia.

"You know who it was," Rose tells Cerise grimly.

"Let's just go," Kay says. She's the only one unfazed. "Don't let that basket case make you scared. We've got a trump card." She pets Lady, who's docile in her lap.

You pull into the parking lot of the Central California Women's Facility. Kay leaves the windows rolled down so Lady doesn't overheat while you're inside. The guns stay locked firmly away, too. This is the most exposed you'll be for the whole trip - it makes you feel a bit queasy with dread.

You walk as a group to through the front entrance, past the metal detectors, the scowling guards. Kay approaches a security officer sitting behind bulletproof glass. The officer clacks on a microphone to speak through the barrier. "Name and prisoner you're visiting," she says, disinterested.

"Kay Vera," Kay says. "I'm visiting Inmate #310421, Renee Carte. She's my sister."

The guard makes a note of this. "And who are you?" she asks you, Cerise and Rose.

Kay interjects on your behalf. "This is Rose Carte, Cerise Carte, and Alabaster Vera. Renee's other sisters and my husband, respectively."

Kay loops her arm through yours as if you're spouses. You gulp - you didn't expect THAT.

The officer narrows her eyes at you. "I've never seen any of you before. Renee hasn't had any visitors since she's been here." She looks at Rose in particular: "and YOU look a little young to be Renee's sister," she says.

Rose laughs nervously. "Marry me!" she says, swatting at the air.

"Hmmph..." the officer grunts. But this seems to satisfy her. She clicks a button on a console on her side. A buzzer sounds and two steel doors at the end of the short hall swing open. "Visitor's area is the first door on the right," she says. "You have an hour."

You and the others stride through. Time to meet Renee Carte.

The four of you sit nervously at a round aluminum table in a dreary room full of such tables. Mean-looking female inmates in bright orange jumpsuits sit all around, talking with families - and some, it seems, conspiring with accomplices. The lighting in here is at once too dim and too bright, a bizarre paradox that makes your head ache.

Soon the door leading to the cell blocks opens and a woman comes in, not shackled, and not in an orange jumpsuit - but you recognize her right away as Renee Carte. She's wearing a coat like a doctor.

She sits down across from you. Her face is stony and serious. You spy a faded scar on one of her cheeks.

"Uh... hi," you say. "How are you?"

"How are you." Dr. Carte repeats, her voice flat and affectless. "How are you. That's what you dragged me out of my cell to ask me. How are you."

"Ah--"

"I'll tell you how I am," she says, casting her gaze side to side, making all of you - including Kay - shrink back. "Have you ever had your asshole sold for a pack of cigarettes?"

An awkward silence descends. You cough. Cerise stares at the ground. Even Kay is at a loss for words.

But suddenly, Dr. Carte's expression breaks into a broad grin. "I'm just messing with you," she says. "I'm fine. A bit pissed you dragged me out of the infirmary, but fine." She leans back, lacing her fingers behind her head. "Who the hell are you people? I don't have any sisters."

You begin to answer, but an obese black woman in one of the prison's jumpsuits walks by and interrupts. "These assholes bothering you, Doc?" She asks.

Her and Dr. Carte share a complicated multi-step handshake. "Nah," Dr. Carte says when it's through. "It's all good, LaQuinta."

She gives you the evil eye. "Lemme know if they mess with you," she says.

"Sure thing. Hey, are we gonna finish that gin rummy game tonight?"

"You fuckin' know it, cunt. I'mma win the last of your cigs off you."

"Pfft. In your goddamn dreams. Tonight is my revenge, baby. You go tell that to LaGuardia too. Let her know the queen is back in court today."

The woman laughs, walking away. "Whatever, Doc. Won't be talking so big tonight."

Dr. Carte leans her cheek on one hand. "So. Who are you, and what do you want?"

Kay introduces herself first. Dr. Carte shakes her head. "Should have known you MSM vultures would come circling. Didn't you get the message when I hung up on you?"

"I'm not a journalist," you say. "My name is Alabaster Soliloquy. I think you asked about me."

Dr. Carte blinks, sitting upright again, gazing at you in disbelief. "You're..." she breathes. "Yes... of course."

>You will control the conversation now. Tell me what you want to ask. The top voted question will win, the conversation will move, and we'll do it again.

>Make your questions count. Time is limited.

 >How do you know me?

Dr. Carte mulls this over. "Your mother didn't tell you?" She says.

"My mother is... she's dead," you say.

"Oh. Oh, I see. When did she die?"

"2014. What difference does that make--"

"How old were you? About 17?"

"Yeah."

Kay is scribbling in her notebook. "Will you fucking stop?" Dr. Carte snaps.

"Nope," Kay replies, not even glancing up.

"That would explain it, anyway," Dr. Carte says, looking back to you. "You weren't supposed to know until your 18th birthday. It would contaminate the data, otherwise."

"What data?" You demand.

"You were-- listen, it's best if I just write this one down."

She rips Kay's notebook away. "Hey!" Kay shouts. "Bitch!" She lunges over the table to grab it back.

"No touching!" A guard shouts from the sidelines. Dr. Carte puts her hands in the air obediently. "No touching," she repeats. "No touching..."

Kay hands her a piece of paper and a pen from her purse. Dr. Carte writes a set of coordinates down: 42°10'42.1"N, 119°42'12.0"W.

"What the hell is that?" You ask.

"A truth that's been buried for a very long time," Dr. Carte says. "That's in the desert a bit north of the border between Nevada and Oregon. Behind a big Joshua tree. Take a shovel."

"I still don't understand," you say.

"I'm very sorry for everything. You were a research subject. Project Penelope. If I told you any more than that... you probably wouldn't believe me, honestly. The video says so much more than I ever could."

>What next?

>What can you tell me about Sand Reckoner?

"I never worked on Sand Reckoner," Dr. Carte says. "But if it's what Darkbloom always yammered on about, I can tell you what it probably is. Think about the world we live in today. The sheer amount of personal data people pump onto the internet without a second thought. It all goes through Darkbloom's filters, he has it all... but sorting through it takes time. Even advanced AI takes time to do it. The sheer volume of it is its own downfall.

"What he envisioned was twofold. First, a way to sort the data instantaneously. He was working on that himself... he's a brilliant man. Second, a way to access the data instantaneously, anyway - unobtrusively. That's why he hired Gustav... and why Gustav hired me... and why I hired Sable. Every generation was better than the last, you see.

"Imagine a simple, non-invasive implant - right here -" she points to a spot near your tear duct.

"No touching!" a guard barks.

"Jesus..." she groans. "Anyway. A non-invasive implant that tells you, instantly-- well, anything you should want to know. You've got a question kicking around in your brain, and the implant - the Sand Reckoner, I guess - tells you. How much does that woman weigh, Sand Reckoner. Bam: you see the number appear over her head. How many calories in this cookie, Sand Reckoner? There it is. Is that man on the street a Democrat or a Republican, Sand Recknoner? Oh, a libertarian, how interesting. What is his most important priority in voting? What is this crowd's most important priority in voting, in aggregate? You see? Total, instant knowledge. Of everything.

"My part was the biometric stuff. I'm a medical doctor, a biomedical engineer, to be precise. I'm no cyber-monkey visionary like Sable is. So I can't speak to how far she's gotten with the data-crunching piece of it. But I made the bio interface happen. That was my great contribution to the world... some reward it got me, huh."

>What next?

>Why did you try to kill Vivian Darkbloom?

"I did NOT try to kill Vivian!" She shouts. She bangs a hand on the table, stands upright - fuming. A guard barks at her, but she doesn't pay him any attention. "I didn't do that! I love Vivian Darkbloom like my own fucking daughter! You hear me!" She turns to Kay. "You write that down. You publish that in your piece of shit rag. You tell everyone who will listen that I'm innocent. You hear me? Fuck you. Fuck all of you."

"Okay... okay," Rose says, laying a calming hand on Dr. Carte's. "We believe you... sit down. Please. We want to hear your side."

Dr. Carte sits, composes herself before the guards can come and pry her away.

"If you're innocent - what happened?" Says Kay. "I'll publish it if I can verify it."

"David and Mara Darkbloom have a real fucked-up relationship," Dr. Carte says. "Before David Darkbloom got into Big Data, he was running a bunch of online E-pay services and such. It was your basic web 1.0 dot-com boom business. He wanted to make a lateral expansion into artificial intelligence, neural nets and drone-assisted object recognition. This was back when things like that were so cutting edge they were almost sci-fi - around 2000, 2001. Way ahead of the curve. Anyway, he hired my mentor - Gustav Eichman - to head up a new research division for augmented reality. Eichman brought me aboard in 2002 and passed the torch."

"I see," you say. "So you were taking the company in a new direction. Mara didn't like it?"

"Of course she didn't. Mara and her brother Vasily Kerimov had been using Darkbloom E-Pay as their own personal shakedown, money laundering and general-purpose scumbag racket for years. The Kerimovs have deep ties to Russian mafia - this shit is like breathing for them. So when David rebranded to something more legitimate in the form of Darkbloom Enterprises, Mara fought him at every step of the way. A few years later, insult to injury: she finds out David has a bastard child with - some anonymous mistress. It's all downhill from there."

David alluded to this with you. No wonder there's a fault line in his relationship with his wife.

"By late 2011," Dr. Carte continues, "things are so bad between them that David is marked for death by the Kerimov home office in Moscow. While meanwhile David is shopping around for an assassin to kill his own wife."

"Jesus Christ," you say.

Kay's eyes are saucers. "The Darkblooms were trying to murder each other?" She says. "That's insane. Do you have any evidence of this?"

"David Darkbloom wasn't just trying by this point," Dr. Carte says. "No. David Darkbloom gets what he wants, like always. He arranges to have Mara and her brother killed during a road trip to the their cabin in Vail, Colorado. All set up to look like an unfortunate accident on an icy mountain pass, naturally."

"But it didn't happen," you say.

"Of course it didn't. Mara found out about the plan. So what does she do - cancel her trip? Don't be silly. She's not going to let an imminent whacking put a damper on her Christmas vacation to the family ski lodge. Instead, she brings her own daughter along for the ride. Do you understand what I'm saying? She used 10 year old Vivian Darkbloom as a meat shield so David couldn't kill her."

"Oh my God..." you mumble.

"David finds out Vivian is in the car and tries to call off the hit, but cell reception in that part of the country is bad... and with literally seconds to spare, he saves his daughter from dying in a car wreck of his own creation. After the dust settles, he realizes that he'll never outplay his wife - not when he has at least one thing in the world that he actually cares about. So instead of killing her, he patches things up. How's that for a happy ending?"

"How did you end up going down for it?" You ask.

"Mara doesn't take the attempt on her life lying down - she wants to really put the screws to David. She gets the distract attorney for Santa Clara County, who she's tight with through the Growth Club, to arrest me for attempted murder. I didn't know about any of this until the cuffs were going on my wrists. Darkbloom confessed everything to me, the fucking bastard... at the same time he's telling me that he's hopelessly in love with me and will always love me forever, he's telling me that he can't get me out of this mess he made. That he has to let me rot in prison, for Vivian's sake. Of course I have to understand, he says, wouldn't I do the same thing?"

She shakes her head bitterly. "He's the worst coward I ever met."

"Do you have any proof of this?" Kay repeats. "Anything at all?"

"No..." Dr. Carte says, bowing her head. "No. I'm sorry."

>What next?

>Do you know a girl named Camelia?

"Camelia?" Dr. Carte repeats. "Camelia isn't a girl."

"News to me..." Cerise grumbles.

Dr. Carte ignores this. "There's only one Camelia I know," she says. "You."

"What?" you sputter.

"You're Camelia."

A guard approaches. "Time up," he says. He hauls Dr. Carte to her feet.

"Wait!" you say. "What do you mean, I'M Camelia? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry--" she says, walking backwards with the guard. "Go to that spot. You'll find out everything!"

"Do you know a woman with an eyepatch?" You cry after her. "That's Camelia! Not me! Do you know her?"

"I d--" Dr. Carte begins, but she's already on the other side of the closing door.

END OF EPISODE 9.