Wesley's Bizarre Adventure Episode 6: Fuck/stay night

You are Wesley Keki, tsukkomi and interior decorator.

Officer McAvery flashes his red-and-blues and sounds his siren just long enough for the siren to go "wooop". The driver he's tailing gets the picture and pulls over. McAvery slows to a stop behind the car, gravel crunching beneath his treads, and steps out.

He knocks on the car's window. The driver rolls it down.

"Are you aware you rolled through a stop sign back there?" McAvery says.

The man, his hands on 10 and 2, nods. "Yeah. I did, didn't I?"

"In a big hurry?"

"No. Just careless."

McAvery nods. "I'm gonna need to see your license, registration, and proof of insurance."

The man fishes through his glove compartment and hands some paperwork over. He lifts himself off his butt to dig his wallet out of his back pocket and passes the driver's license over as well. McAvery scans the documents with his handheld and waits for the database to confirm them as oll korrect.

As he passes the man's papers back to him, McAvery notes: "says you aren't vaccinated."

"No," the man says, lifting his butt to pocket his wallet again. "I have a religious exemption. You never know what's in those things. I'm trying to keep my body a temple."

McAvery nods. This man seems nice and clean-cut, not thuggish in the slightest, and his record is squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket in the past two years. "I'm gonna let you off with a warning today, but be careful."

"Thank you, sir." The man holds out a forearm to bump.

McAvery bumps him back. "You have a nice day, Mr. Buridan."

McAvery returns to his cruiser. As he stows his handheld back in the center dash, he briefly considers how odd it is that this guy would be doing arm bumps and yet be antivax. But he shakes the thought off as Buridan's sedan pulls away. McAvery goes about the rest of his working week without any incident.

---

"All cruisers, please respond. All cruisers, please respond. We have an active shooter incident at Stanford Stadium. Officers in range, please respond."

McAvery sets his cheesy fries aside and fires the ignition. But as he pulls out of the Del Taco and sets down the frontage road towards the causeway, he sees a bluish-purple flash of light, and then his car's electronics all die. He coasts to a safe stop on the shoulder, tries the ignition again, pumps the gas -- nothing. He tries his radio -- also nothing. Handheld -- nothing. Not even his personal cell will come on.

"Fucking goddamn it," he groans. He engages the emergency brake, pulls the manual catch for his hood, and gets out of the cruiser to check what the damage is.

While he's bent under the hood, Buridan's car pulls behind McAvery's. McAvery hears the car slowing, and comes around to meet the good Samaritan.

"Hey!" McAvery says with a chuckle. "I know you. Man, I'm in a real mess here."

"That so?" Buridan says, stepping up. "Car trouble?"

"Yeah. Fucker died on me all of a sudden. Pardon my French. Can't even get the radio to work. Would you mind letting me borrow your cell?"

"Oh, sure." Buridan hands his cell phone over.

McAvery opens his driver's side door and sits sideways on it with his boots on the gravel. He squints at the phone and tries to figure it out. "Thanks. Glad I let you off with a warning, huh! I would have really been up the creek if you hadn't pulled over."

"Think nothing of it."

"Hey, how do you--"

McAvery does not even see the bolt gun. Buridan puts a clean hole through the officer's skull, and catches the corpse when it slumps forward. Walking in reverse in a semicircle, holding the corpse under the arms, Buridan smoothly guides it into the cruiser's backseat, lays it flat along the floor there, and covers it with a tarp. He slams the cruiser's hood shut again and pulls his coat off, underneath which he's wearing a police uniform.

By the time Buridan gets behind the wheel of the cruiser, closes the door, and buckles up, the effects of the EMP flash have passed, and the car starts easily. He pulls away.

---

At the hospital, there's a flurry of people coming in and out to see Aunt Cerise. Family members: Dad, rushing past the swinging double-doors of the ER with panicked agitation, followed by his only slightly less worried wives, and a few minutes later grandma Scarlett, who's still in her chef's whites and smelling of chocolate as she practically dashes in. Friends: Alex Best, who's in tears, and Sable Best, who's chewing her fingernails to the quick; aunt Renee, who looks angrier than she ever got on game night; Nelson, who Armstrong tells to stop crying like a fucking baby, although Armstrong's voice is a little froggy too. And of course David Darkbloom, who you're none too happy to see passing into the ER hallway on his way to Cerise's hospital room, his tall frame in his black evening jacket making him look, to you, like the dapperest grim reaper ever. K-Mom is tasked with keeping press at bay downstairs, and N-Mom is hovering around the halls of the ER with the rest of Cerise's security, watching out for any other threats.

You hate all this commotion, and so you stay in the dimly lit and green-carpeted waiting area, with Riley, keeping him calm. You lie on your back on some chairs, and he lies on your chest playing Pokemon Snap. Minutes drag into hours. He's not paying terribly close attention to the game -- as expected of a boy who just watched his mom get shot. After taking a series of poorly-timed one-star photos of Pokemon he's already seen, he lowers his Nintendo Dream, letting it sit on his tummy, and sighs.

"She'll be fine," you tell him.

He peers up at you, slightly twisting in place. "Why would someone want to shoot her?"

"There's a lot of bad people out there," you tell him.

"Do you think there are other people who want to shoot her?"

You stroke his hair. He twists fully around now, tummy-to-tummy with you, letting the Dream fall to the ground with a soft thud. He hugs you tight and buries his face in your chest. You stay there quietly like that for over an hour.

You're beginning to feel drowsy. But then Amber walks past, not even saying hi, on her way into the ER. The wake she leaves wakes you.

"Sit tight for a sec, all right?" You tell Riley. He gets up, to let you get up, and you follow your sister into the ER ward.

Dad is sitting at a chair just outside Cerise's room with Aunt Rose on one side of him and Aunt Whitney on the other. "Amber--" he begins, reaching for her hand as she walks by, but Amber ignores him. She pushes into Cerise's room. Dad makes to follow her, but Aunt Rose stays him. They're deep into it with Armstrong, who's standing before of the trio discussing matters. Seems he's moved past how distraught he was in the immediate aftermath of the attack, and now he's talking nitty-gritty practicalities:

"Anyway, you can keep Tyrus. I don't need an over-promoted street thug to run security for a US Senator-elect."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of code?" Aunt Rose says.

"This isn't about race!" Armstrong says. "Don't make this a race thing, you dizzy bitch. I just don't like the guy. He creeps me out."

"Whoever you get won't be half as competent," Dad warns him. "And Cerise can decide this one for herself. It's not an issue of campaign strategy -- it's an issue of personal security, and that belongs to her. Not you."

"Fucking A," Armstrong huffs. "You know, this little kerfuffle is actually good news, if you think about it. For her campaign."

"Little kerfuffle?" Dad fumes. "I will punch you. So help me God. My sister just got shot, you piece of shit. And all you care about--"

"Go screw," Armstrong says. "In case you forgot, or didn't notice, I was the one who leapt on top of her when the dookie hit the fan. I was ready to take a bullet for your sister. So don't you act like I don't care about her. I was as worried as if she were my own flesh and blood. But when we got to the hospital, I asked the doctor two things. First I asked: is she going to live? He said yes. So then I asked: is she going to be crippled? He said no. So I said -- fuckin' A!" He claps one palm against the other. It makes your ears ring. "This is great! She'll have a month or two of recovery and then she'll be fine... maybe her rotator cuff will flare up if she moves her shoulder the wrong way from now on, but that's a small price to pay for a runaway victory!" He sweeps his palm like petting an invisible dog. "Five months ago, no one thought she could do this thing. Now she's the odds-on favorite for the US Senate. And you know what? In a few years? White House. You can bet on it." He puts his hands on his hips, flipping back the sides of his suit jacket to do so. Waits for an enthusiastic response. Doesn't get one. So he turns and walks off, waving his hand in the air dismissively. Dad watches him with a reproachful glare.

"Excuse me," you mutter, walking past and slipping into Cerise's hospital room.

Aunt Anna is holding Aunt Cerise's hand. Cerise lost a couple pints of blood, but Anna is the paler of the two. She grips Cerise like Cerise will float away if she lets go. Cerise winces as, wiggling, she tries to sit upright in her bed. Machines display her vitals. She looks somehow smaller in just that puke-green hospital gown.

Amber is on the other side of her bed, holding the beige side-rail, staring down at her. This isn't Amber when she's merely annoyed over something mundane like StuCo politics or your social gaffes. She has none of her characteristic swagger or scowl now as she does normally. Rather, she has something much scarier. Her face is blank, terrifyingly blank with rage. "Who did this to you," she asks flatly.

"We're not sure yet," Cerise says, gritting her teeth and clutching at her wounded shoulder. "They have him in custody though, so I guess we'll find out soon."

"Who was it. What's his name."

"Amber... I don't know," Cerise says. "Let the police sort it out."

"He was wearing a mask," Amber says. "I saw a video of it. Looked like it was more than something to cover himself up with."

Cerise stares at her severely. Anna stares at the floor.

"How do you know there won't be more," Amber demands.

"I don't know," Cerise admits. "There could be. That's why--"

"There won't be more," Amber promises.

"amber please don't do anything stupid," Anna begs.

"Stupid is letting a maniac come after my family. I'm not going to sit around waiting for the fucking cops to figure it out." She fixes Anna in her gaze. "You shouldn't either."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed or just arrested?" You ask.

"You know something too, don't you," Amber says.

You shake your head.

Amber puts a finger to your chest. "If you feel safe hiding at home just waiting for the next big thing, then fine. Don't get in my way." She pushes past you, and leaves.

When you're alone with Cerise and Anna, Cerise asks, "don't suppose you have any clue why this cult would come gunning for me now, do you?"

You shrug. You're hardly surprised Dad told her about the recent intrigue, too. "They're a cult. I'm going under the assumption they don't act rationally."

"tell S-- tell your dad that he needs to keep an eye on amber," Anna says.

When you leave Cerise's room, Dad and Aunt Rose are missing. Aunt Whitney is a little further down the hall. She's locked in a battle to the death with a vending machine. She kicks and shakes it repeatedly. "Give me my fucking Funyuns," she snarls at it. She bangs on the sides of the machine now, too. "Come on! Shitty fucking day..."

You assess the situation. The bag is caught in the space between the glass and the spiraled metal mechanisms that dispense snacks. Whitney already tried knocking the bag loose by vending even more snacks on top of it, but those just got stuck, too. Now it's a bona fide logjam, with no hope of knocking the snacks loose via external means. So you wordlessly go to your knees, reach past the flap at the bottom of the machine with your cheek pressed against the glass, snake your arm inside, and fish the goodies loose with your waggling fingertips. Not just a couple bags of Funyuns, but some Kit-Kats, Fritos, and a peanut butter cookie, too. All waterfall down with satisfying crinkly thudding, landing in the cubby at the bottom of the machine. You pull them out and hand them all to a now grinning Whitney.

"You're a lifesaver, Wes," she says. "You singelhandedly just made my entire night pull a Yui."

"Yui? Yui who?"

"A U-turn."

"Oh."

She offers you one of the bags of Funyuns as repayment for your heroism, but you turn her down. "No thanks," you say. "Where's Dad?"

Dad and Aunt Rose are having a quiet conversation in the hospital cafeteria. It's evening by now and the canteen is closed, so they're mostly alone in here, save a few of the night shift nurses who are on break. Their backs are to you. You eavesdrop.

"I don't understand," Dad says. "This kind of stuff isn't supposed to be possible anymore."

"It'll all work out," Rose tells him. "It always does."

He cradles his head in his hands and rapidly jostles his knees. "How? There's a doomsday cult after my daughter, and my sister just got shot. What part of this is working out?"

"She never promised us a perfect life. How many times have you told me that? This isn't heaven -- we have to work for it, the same as anyone does."

"Is this a test?" Dad asks.

"No," Rose says.

He goes from cradling his head to leaning way back in his chair, sliding down a little as he does so. He stares at the ceiling. "Did we do something wrong? Did we make a mistake somewhere along the way?"

"You aren't Job. And what we saw in the lighthouse wasn't God. She can't control everything. That's why it's in our hands now."

Dad sighs deeply. He glances Rose's way. "Have you noticed how much Ophie looks like her?"

Rose nods. "Yeah."

"Why? What does that mean, huh?"

"Who knows. Maybe... she took a form she'd seen with us before. Something she knew would bring us comfort. Even if just subconsciously. There had to have been previous timelines with Ophie, right? Anything's possible... right?"

Dad shakes his head. After a long moment, he says: "I'm scared."

"I am too," Rose admits. She draws Dad into a hug, his head against her bosom.

You take a halting couple steps backwards, into the hall outside the cafeteria again. Is everyone going insane? Is there something in the water supply? Has there been a chemical spill? You can handle being stalked by cultic zealots, sure, but not the prospect that your own father is one of them, or part of a cult that's even wackier. You want to puke.

>[x] Ask Dad what the hell he's talking about.

[ ] Don't stick your nose any farther into it.

And:

>[x] Warn Dad that Amber is planning to go on the warpath.

[ ] Keep it to yourself. Maybe Amber unchained can be a help.

"Are you in a cult, too?"

"What?" Dad says, brows furrowed, as you sit across from him and Aunt Rose.

"I said are you in a cult."

"Asking me whether I'm in a cult is like asking whether I'm angry," Dad says. "I can't say no and look like I'm telling the truth. But no. I'm not in a cult. What the hell makes you think so?"

"She overheard us," Rose says, folding her arms.

Dad massages the bridge of his nose.

"You were saying some pretty crazy stuff. Something about a lighthouse? Meeting God? A perfect life?"

Dad shifts in his seat and tilts his head to one side. "A long time ago, we had a near-death experience. Rose and I."

"What?" You say. "You never told me that. What happened?"

"We got lost at sea," Rose says. "On a boat trip. We almost died of thirst."

Dad continues. "Before we got rescued, we saw some things that are hard to explain. You could say it made us spiritual. Eternal optimists."

You suppress a derisive laugh. "You. An optimist."

Dad is offended. "Sure. What's so unbelievable about that?"

Rose interjects. "If you've never been that close to death, you wouldn't understand. Well. We hope you never do."

"You had the same vision at the same time? Something weirdly specific like a lighthouse?"

"That's why we can't just chalk it up to some kind of delusion," Rose says. "But what it really was... well. That's something we'll wonder about for the rest of our lives."

"But there's something important we took from it," Dad says. "This world has purpose. We have purpose. You have purpose. Nothing happens without a reason. And even if the reasons are hard for us to understand, we can make it through if we stay together."

Seems like being interrogated helped Dad renew his faith in... whatever the fuck he's rambling about. So, time to bring a much-needed dose of reality back into the conversation: "Amber's planning something."

"What?" Dad and Rose say at once.

"Thinks she can get to the bottom of who tried to kill Aunt Cerise. But you already know who it was. Maybe you even know more than you're cluing me in on. Either way, you might want to take care of things before she beats you to the punch. Just FYI."

Dad shakes his head. "Where did she go?"

"Didn't say. Here's another one for you. Did you hear that this Instrumentalism group is having their next big meeting at Darkbloom Enterprises?"

"Your mothers told me."

"Are you gonna be there? Is David Darkbloom gonna be there?"

Rose is peering at her phone. "It says she's on a northward trajectory. Looks like she's just going home."

"I guess you have all your daughters bugged, huh?" You ask Dad. "Hit me with another one. Where's Ophie?"

Dad rises to his feet. "I think it's time for you to go home, too. Come on. I'll take you."

"No." Dad frowns at you, but you stand your ground. "I'm staying here with Riley. Someone needs to keep him company."

"You might not realize it just now," Dad says, "but I have your best interests at heart. I just need you to trust me a little."

"I do trust you," you tell him. You put your hands in your hoodie pocket and slump in your seat. "I mean. You're my Dad. Just because I trust you, doesn't mean I have to like you..."

He nods. "Liking me is purely optional. As long as you know where we stand."

"Why don't you let my Mom be your bodyguard?" You ask, looking up at him.

Dad blinks in confusion.

"Why don't you let N-Mom be your bodyguard?" You repeat. "She only spent like ten years asking you for the job. She'd charge you a lot less than Tyrus does, too. And she'd do a way better job. You think any of these psychos would get close to us again if she was in charge of things?"

Dad is silent for a turn. "Some things are more important," he says like he's fucking Confucius reciting a koan.

"Oh really?" You say. "And what's more important than making sure you don't get your head blown off by crazy mobsters?"

Dad's expression is blank and yet somehow not. He stares. You shrink back in your seat. Then he does that thing where he acts way too much like a normal father. He puts an arm around you and squeezes you tight, and doesn't say a word. It's awkward.

---

Buridan parks outside the police station. In the parking lot, he uses some garden shears from his duffel to cut off the right thumb of Officer McAvery. Then he uses a melon baller to scoop out McAvery's right eyeball. He covers the corpse back up with the tarp.

With these items, and McAvery's badge card, Buridan can enter just about any room at the precinct. First he heads to the evidence stores, getting through with surreptitious scans of the severed thumb and eyeball, and a flash of the badge card to a disinterested desk clerk. Inside, he steals the bejeweled mask from the shelves there, where it lies tagged and bagged in a ziplock. He stows it down the front of his shirt.

Next he visits the hallway outside the interrogation rooms, where some detectives are discussing their suspect:

"Hasn't said a word since he got here. Except for lawyer."

"Well, it'll be the FBI's problem soon enough."

"Fuck that. This isn't a federal crime. Lenz lives in Palo Alto, he shot a resident of Palo Alto. That makes it local in jurisdiction."

"We might not get a say. Seems like some hothead at the San Fran field office made it their personal mission to see that the feds take over."

"The feds are taking that guy?" Buridan says, coming to a stop before the two detectives, holding a manila folder under his arm as if hurrying on to some administrative task.

"Not if I can help it," one of the detectives says.

"You know Lopez," the other detective tells Buridan, rolling his eyes. "Always wants to inflate his numbers. Easy to book a case as solved when you arrest the shooter on-scene, right?"

"Why does the FBI want this?" Buridan asks. "Just because it was a Senate candidate?"

"You're pretty talky today... McAvery," says Lopez, squinting to look at the name on the little brass nametag above the uniform's left pocket. "Why don't you go file that paperwork, huh. Bet it's real urgent."

"Actually, it's for you," Buridan says. "They emailed over some social media footprints of the perp. Here."

Lopez takes the folder. Leafs through it. "Maybe there's something we can use in here to get that fucker to talk," he mutters. "Thanks, officer." He motions for his partner to follow him with the hand gripping the folder, and they stalk off down the hall to review the forged documents.

"Hey," Buridan calls when they're a few paces on. "Who's this idiot at the bureau, anyway? Trying to take our jurisdiction away from us."

"Some bitch named Keki," Lopez says with a shrug. He and his partner round the corner together, muttering about the unfairness of it all.  

Buridan tries the door to the interrogation room. Unlocked, of course. These bumpkins wouldn't be fit to interrogate a vandalism suspect in Mayberry -- no wonder the FBI wants to take it from here.

Inside the room, he takes a seat at the table across from Lenz. Lenz straightens his posture, manacles jangling. He draws a deep breath to steel himself and tilts his chin up to face Buridan head-on.

"Congratulations on your success," Buridan says. "I've come to free you."

Lenz says nothing.

"You wavered," Burdian says, expressionless and emotionless. "You should have freed yourself before these people apprehended you. Thankfully, I made all necessary preparations." He crosses his legs, and draws a pistol. Affixing the silencer, he says, "that's why, before I can free you, you have to bleed. You understand."

"Yes."

Silencer screwed on tight, Buridan looks back up at Lenz and shoots him in the throat. Lenz chokes, and gurgles, and collapses against the table. His lips part and close like a fish dragged aboard a boat. The blood pools out of his mouth, his nostrils, and his ears, running thickly over the shiny chrome tabletop and in drizzles to the tile floor, so much it's almost black. He aspirates on it, gripping the table's edges, his hands too closely restrained by his manacles to touch his neck where he was shot. He struggles a little, lets out a final rasp, and dies.

Buridan pockets the pistol, and leaves the precinct.

---

"Dead," Lily says. She sets her breakfast tray down on the table and slides into the seat beside you. "Oh, that's nice. That's just fucking nice as shit."

"They got to him inside the police station," you say. You rub your eyes, groggy. Rare are the days you get to school on time for breakfast. "N-Mom was there when they found him... she wanted the FBI to take the case, you know... figuring they could handle it better than the Palo Alto City PD."

"No shit?" Lily says. "I wonder why she thinks the cops in this town are a bunch of incompetent assholes. What would make her think something crazy like that?" She sips her juice box. "Figuring it's this Buridan freak, then?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, don't you worry your scrawny little ass off," Lily says. She pulls her gun. "If anyone comes after you, I've got your back."

"Why do I feel less safe every time I remember that you're allowed to carry a gun on campus?"

Lily narrows her eyes at you. She's still holding her gun. "Say that shit again."

"Right..."

Amber sits across from you. Lily puts her gun away, not that Amber would be intimidated by anything as boring as a loaded firearm pointed at her.

"When were you planning on telling me about your little hostage situation the other week?" Amber says.

"Amber--"

"Don't even deny it. I got all the details from Tyrus. Daddy confirmed. Thanks, by the way, for fucking ratting on me. You cunt. I didn't even do anything and now I'm on 24/7 lockdown."

Lily laughs. "More like you're on a 24/7 PMS. I should start calling you Period Blood."

"I don't remember saying a goddamn thing to you," Amber snaps.

Summer walks up. She pokes Amber in the side. "Are you bullying Wes? I'll have to bully you right back if you are~"

But Amber is far from being in a playful mood. "You got my family into this mess. You and your shitty little sister. Why don't you do us all a favor and fuck off."

Summer shakes her head, taken aback. "I... you mean--"

"Yeah. I mean. Look, I'm sorry that your asshole dad fucked your life over, but don't fuck our life over, too."

"I'm... sorry..." Summer stutters. "I didn't mean... do you really think..."

You take Lily's tray and toss it like a frisbee at Amber. It bonks off her skull. She grimaces in pain and wheels on you. "What the fuck!" She shouts.

Standing, you point at yourself with a thumb. "I got our family into this. Me. Not Summer. So leave her alone or I'll do a lot worse than throwing a plastic tray at you."

"Oh, that's very Wesley, Wesley," Amber says. "Fuck everything up and then wait for someone else to fix it. Bravo."

"It won't be you," you tell her. "Whatever it is you think you'll be able to accomplish against an organization that can kill witnesses right under the police's nose... you're wrong. You'll get yourself killed. Stay out of it."

"Try and make me," Amber says, stands, and stalks off.

"Bitch needs Midol..." Lily says. She glances at Summer. "Oh, stop whimpering and come sit already."

After Amber's little temper tantrum, and finding out what happened to Aunt Cerise, Summer is sullen and downcast all day in class. She hardly responds to anything you say to her, only little murmurs -- yeahs and oh sures.

Finally, in American Lit, it comes to a head.

"...which makes absolutely no sense," Talia is saying. "Even granting that present-day languages might not be preserved five or ten thousand years into the future, there are better ways to warn future humans of radioactive waste sites than things like *menacing earthworks*. Do you know what any explorer is going to say the very moment they see a place with a bunch of jagged, obviously human-made spikes sticking ten or twenty stories high out of an obviously human-made concrete labyrinth painted Vantablack? They'll say to themselves, 'wow, this looks like a place of honor. I bet some past generation's highly esteemed deeds are commemorated here. I should go and check it out.' Is that not precisely what we did with the Egyptian pyramids? Wouldn't you agree those earthworks are a little menacing too? This is basic, rudimentary human behavior we're talking about here. Sheer stupidity. Total ignorance." Behind her, the whiteboard says that today's discussion topic is Henry David Thoreau. "And do not even get me started on cats that change color. The absurdity of it. It boggles the mind..."

You glance behind your desk to see how Summer is holding up to the lecture. She has her cheek in her fist, and she's staring out the window.

"Summer? Are you--"

"It is my fault, isn't it," she says.

You shake your head.

"If you weren't involved with me, you wouldn't have been there that day. You wouldn't have seen me getting kidnapped. None of this would have happened. Because you're dating me... you almost got killed... your aunt got shot. And who knows what else is gonna happen next."

"Amber's just being a bitch," you tell her. "None of this is your fault."

She covers her face with both hands. "I'm so sorry," she says.

You reach for her. The bell for lunch rings. Most of the students are only too happy to be released from the purgatory of Talia's rant about nuclear semiotics, but Summer's rush to get out of the room is spurred by much more than that. "I have to go to cheer practice," she says, probably a lie, gathering her bag and her books, sniffling back her tears. "I'll see you later."

She hurries out.

You sit there in the quickly emptying class, wondering what to do.

"Trouble in paradise?" Talia asks you.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh, sure I would."

You actually agree, on second thought. Talia is weird enough to take a story like this in stride.

>[x] Get her advice. A neutral third party might be beneficial.

[ ] Don't tell her. Better not to reveal too much.

Talia sits at a desk facing you. You explain everything in a whirlwind recitation, beginning with Summer getting kidnapped, ending with Amber's hurtful comments this morning, and sparing no details between, even the lurid ones. Talia listens placidly to every word, silent, but attentive.

"That's some story," she says when you're finished.

"Yeah," you agree.

"What do you want me to do about it?" She asks.

You shrug. "I dunno. I just needed to vent, I guess."

"Do you mind if I offer some unsolicited advice?" She says.

"I would categorize this as very much solicited advice."

"Right. Your immediate priority is to go find Summer and shower her with a lot of hugs and kisses. She needs you right now. Your second priority is to preempt whatever your sister might try."

"How?"

"This Gideon person. He was after that prophecy book, right? It stands to reason the Instrumentalists are, too. That gives you one -- no, two people who have a link to the situation and can be of some help. Amelia van der Boom and Olivia Bosphorus. If some unwitting third party... like, say, me. Were to visit Bosphorus Rare Books and inquire about this thing, do you think Gideon would come running? I think he would. I think Gideon is watching that place like a hawk, and would come rushing in to see who's trying to abscond with the secret prophecy. Then some enterprising person like Tyrus Kang could be ready and waiting to apprehend him, and drill him for information."

"You... want to use yourself as bait?" You say.

"Sure."

"No offense, but... why?"

She cocks her head. "Do I need any other reason than that I care about you?"

"I guess I -- didn't realize that you cared a whole lot. Not that the sex isn't great. But."

Talia taps her forefinger to the tip of your nose. You cross your eyes to stare at it. Uncrossing them to look back at her face -- you see she has just the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

>[x] Go with her plan.

[ ] Too many variables, too much could go wrong. Nix it. You can come up with a better Plan B.

You find Summer where you expected her to be: up on the school rooftop, staring forlornly at the quad below. She comes here when she wants to get away from people -- you had to endure a couple tutoring sessions here, with the wind flapping your hair and your notebooks all around.

"You're persistent, huh," she says, glancing back.

"It's not nice to lie to your girlfriend about where you're going. I might start to think you're cheating on me."

She turns fully around. "We should break up."

"Why?" You ask.

"Because you suck? Because you're a stinky loser who doesn't even know how to wash her own hair? Because ever since people found out we're dating, my reputation has gone like completely down the drain with no hope of recovery? Because every time you eat me out, you bite my clit and you KNOW that hurts like a mother, and you're only doing it to stop me from finishing before you want me to? Because I'm going to get you killed if you keep dating me? Because I'm a stupid useless bitch and you have at least, like, five or six other people you could date instead of me, and you'd be even happier and be so much less stalked-by-a-cult with any one of them?" Tears are rolling down her face. "Mostly because you suck, though. Mostly that's why. So I'm breaking up with you."

"Well, I'm not breaking up with you," you say with a shrug.

"See! That's why you suck! You don't even listen to your own girlfriend!"

"Nothing that happened is your fault. If you don't believe me, fine. Believe that I believe it."

"I'll find someone else to date first, then," Summer says, adopting a callous tone. "Then you'll have to break up with me."

"I doubt it. Not because you couldn't if you wanted to. You absolutely could. You could get with way more people than I ever could. But you won't. Will you."

Summer sniffles. "What makes you so sure? Huh? You've already seen me fuck other people."

"I don't know. Maybe you would. It would be pretty fucking retarded, though."

Summer draws a sharp breath. "You--"

"Running off and ditching someone just because there's a little trouble? I know you're kind of dim sometimes, but come on, Summer. Use some common sense once in a while. Honestly."

Summer's voice trembles. "You are such a fucking--"

"It's your choice," you tell her. "I won't stop you. But I don't think this is what you want. You know, someone wise once told me that you can make it through anything that comes your way, if you stick together with the people you love. I think that's true. Don't you?"

Summer's face twitches. "Love..." she says. She takes a step forward. "Do you mean that?"

"Uh."

"Do you love me, Wes? Don't bullshit me."

"I'm not exactly loving the way you're handling the current situation," you say. "But..." You give her an uncertain look and say: "Yeah. I kinda love you."

She pulls you into a hug that threatens to asphyxiate. You struggle against her, but it's futile. "Sum...mer..." you rasp.

"You fucking weird smelly little perverted moron," she says.

"I... can't... breathe..."

"I love you, too. I'm so sorry everything's so fucked up. But I do. I love you. I really, really do!"

"I'm gonna... pass out-- unf--"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeats, kissing you on top of you head. "Wash your hair. I love you. I love you."

"Cool," you say with the last of your breath, but it could be easily mistaken for a cough. You're beginning to see spots at the corners of your vision when she finally lets go of you.

"Let's fuck," she says.

You look around. "...Here?" You say between gulps of air.

She nods. Oh boy.

---

Amelia glances uncertainly from you to Talia. "You... want to... what?"

"I want to go to your girlfriend's store, pretend I'm looking for books on prophecy, and have Olivia offer me that Russian fur trapper's diary. This, I expect, will bait out Gideon. Then Tyrus Kang can nab him, and find out what he really knows about what's happening. Shall I tell you the plan a third time, or do you have it all now?"

Amelia glances around the diner as if to ensure no one else is listening in, then leans across the table. She hisses, "This is insane on so many levels. I knew you were crazy when you pulled that fake blindness act, but you have got to be kidding me."

"I am blind," Talia says.

"You're not blind!" Amelia shouts, smacking the table. "You're not blind!" Patrons are gawking, so she calms herself down with a couple deep, bracing breaths.

"You know these Instrumentalists quite well, don't you?" Talia says. "Maybe you know more than you're telling, too."

Amelia looks at you. "I told you all I know, Wes. They have esoteric interests. I used to let them browse the shop once in a while, while Olivia was on her sabbatical. I never had any idea they were violent psychopaths."

"Now you know," Talia says. "And knowing..."

Amelia stares at her.

"Is half the battle," Talia finishes for her.

"Yes! Now I know! Which is why--" She lowers her rising voice to a whisper again. "--which is why I think this little scheme of yours is insane."

"Maybe it is. But I think you're attracted to insane," Talia says. "You wouldn't date a woman like Olivia Bosphorus, otherwise." She rises and gathers her purse straps onto her shoulder. "I'll be coming by the shop around 8 PM. Make sure to let Olivia know. And be careful how you do it. I expect Gideon has that place bugged. Maybe other people do, too."

Amelia's eyes follow Talia out. The she shoots you a scornful look. "What are you thinking, Wes? Telling someone like that about sensitive things like this?"

"If we're all alive by 9 PM," you say, "feel free to punish me."

Amelia shakes her head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"So would you," you say. You reach under the table and take a quick feel. "That's what I thought," you say, confirming it. Amelia's mouth trembles.

---

You sit in the back of the beamer with K-Mom on one side of you and Amber on the other. N-Mom is up front with Tyrus. Bringing you and Amber along was Dad's idea -- he figured if Amber saw some progress being made on the "stopping insane cultists from killing you all" front, she'd calm down.

Dad radios in now. "I'm at the rear entrance with Marquis and Stasi. We'll let you know if we see any movement on our end."

Tyrus holds up a tablet for you all to watch. You see the POV from right around Talia's chest, the camera bobbing with every step, as she walks down the sidewalk. She comes upon Winter, sign-spinning out front of Bosphorus Rare Books. Winter pauses occasionally to point at passersby and hurl invective like: "you! Yeah, you! Get your butt in here and buy some books! Hey! Don't look at me like that! What else are you gonna do with your time and money, huh? Loser! Get back here!"

She's wearing a bear costume. A big, fluffy teddy bear costume with a giant head and a circular cutout for her face to poke through. It's adorable. Whether she has an inborn knack for spinning signs or took it upon herself to practice for the job, you're not certain -- but she has the moves, all right. She bends over and rolls the "RARE BOOKS FOR DISCOUNT PRICES" sign across her shoulder blades, making it turn through a full revolution. At the end of its transit, she shrugs it airborne and lets it fall nearly to the ground before kicking it like a hacky sack back into her waiting hands, only then to twirl the thing on one fingertip like a Harlem Globetrotter with a basketball.

"I think you've found your calling in life, Winter."

"...Huh?" Winter says, turning to find Talia standing there. She stops twirling the sign and holds it steady down by her knees. She looks mortified. "Oh. Go buy some books, Ms. Berenstoin..." She grows angry, then, as Talia just stands there instead of heading inside. "Don't look at me like that! ... Stop it! Stop looking at me! I'LL HIT YOU! GO BUY SOME BOOKS!"

"That's Gideon's kid, right?" Tyrus says.

"Yeah," you confirm.

"Should she really be seeing this shit? Her daddy's about to take a beating if everything goes to plan, and that's if he's lucky. I don't want to traumatize the poor girl any more than she may already be."

"Trust me," Amber says, "she deserves it."

"Do you have to be such a bitch about everything?" You ask.

"Does Winter?" Amber fires back.

"She seems like a sweet girl," K-Mom says. "I agree with Tyrus."

"I'm... kinda with Amber on this one," N-Mom says. "After everything Summer's told me about her."

K-Mom gives her a displeased look, to which she says: "what?"

"Summer told me she wasn't supposed to be on-shift tonight," you say. "Leave it to Winter to be in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time..."

[ ] Create a diversion to get her away from the bookstore.

>[x] Don't interfere.

"Look, look! Commonalities of Akkadian and Assyrian deluge myths, a first edition!" Olivia, at the top of the ladder, holds the leatherbound book aloft for Amelia to see. "I forgot I picked this one up in Paris!"

"...You went to Paris?" Amelia says.

"It was beautiful. City of light! City of magic! Of course, I got mugged by a Romani beggar. But that's all part of the experience! Oh, I'd love to go back... I even got to visit the hidden apartment in the Eiffel Tower!"

Amelia shakes her head. Hearing about Olivia's travels isn't the highlight of her day. It stings. "I'm really not too into the ancient near east," she says. "I wouldn't be able to tell an Akkadian from a Hittite..."

"You haven't studied it enough. It's the cradle of civilization! Hey, take me to the third shelf there." Amelia steers the rolling ladder a little ways down the stack. Olivia grips both sides of the ladder to keep steady and goes, "weeee" like she's on a roller coaster. Coming to a stop, she motions down at Amelia: "hand me that purple one there."

Amelia passes the book up. "Thelemic eschatology?" She says. "Did you take a closer look at this one? Any good?"

"It's not too interesting," Olivia says. "Such a letdown. Nothing of Crowley in it, and no new ideas. The little shop in Providence where I found it was just darling, though!"

Amelia gazes heavenward. "I bet," she says, tightening her jaw. Every question about the books leads to a description of the interesting locales they came from. All places Amelia didn't get to see, and likely never will. It's hard for her to stay annoyed at Olivia with the view she's got of Olivia's backside, though. She could stare at that fat ass all night long. Calm down, Amelia, she thinks to herself...

"Did you ever think of Dewey decimalizing this place?" Amelia asks. Not for the first time.

"Oh stop."

"Just asking."

"I have a system!" Olivia insists. "SO much better than Dewey!"

Amelia glances between a few volumes at eye level. One is a collection of Gaelic legends. Another is a book of zeppelin engineering drawings from the 1890s. A third is a Japanese translation of Dante's Inferno dating from 1920. "What's the system, again?"

"It would take too long to explain, Mel. Just trust me! Hey, can you pass me up that book about Grecian aqueducts?"

"A system only you understand is just fine if it's only for your use," Amelia says. "But it confuses customers. No one else can find what they want."

"Maybe that's better!" Olivia says. She turns and peers down at Amelia with big, bright eyes. "When you can't find what you want, you usually end up finding what you never knew you needed in the first place! And that's--" She holds up a finger, but almost loses her balance, and hurries to catch herself by gripping the ladder even tighter. "...that's the joy of looking through any book collection," she finishes, sounding dizzy.

There's a chime from the bell above the door. Amelia and Olivia share a serious look. It's time.

"...Winter?" Olivia says.

Winter, still in her ursine getup, plops down on a rolling chair behind the checkout counter and kicks up her bear feet. Unzipping them, she turns her bear feet into bare feet. She pulls off the costume's oversized head and holds it awkwardly under an arm as she sits there fanning herself. She's plastered with perspiration. "This sign spinning gig is real work. Isn't Cali supposed to be temperate or something? It's like 100 degrees out there!"

Olivia tsks. "I thought we had a customer."

"You do," Winter says. "You're welcome. I brought her in for you."

Talia pokes her head around the corner now, holding her purse in front of her with both hands. She searches for Olivia at eye level, before realizing Olivia is up a ladder. "I would have come in either way," she tells Olivia, glancing up.

Olivia slides down the ladder like a fireman. Talia can't help appreciating the way it makes her jiggle in certain places. Neither can Amelia.

"If it isn't my favorite customer!" Olivia says.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Maybe if she had any other girls to say it to," Winter cuts in. She's leaned way back in the chair, a cracked-open copy of Ken Jennings's Trivia Almanac in her hands. She sips a bottle of water. "You're the first customer all day."

"Your patronage means just so much to us!" Olivia says, putting the positive spin on it.

Talia nods. She reaches into her purse and produces a handwritten list: "I'm looking for a few specific things this time. Interests and hobbies of mine, you know."

"Oh, you can't find them on your own?" Amelia asks, grinning.

"Hm? Oh, sure, I can find pretty much all of it," Talia says. She reads from the list. "Let's see. Based on how the store is organized, Grecian aqueducts should be on the top shelf there, right?" Olivia smiles and pulls free the book she so recently put away. Talia nods. "And... Melanesian creation myths should be somewhere around..." she walks to an adjoining aisle and browses for a short moment before saying, "right here. Right."

"You have got to be kidding me..." Amelia mumbles.

Talia returns with the book of creation myths in hand. "But the last time I was here, I came up short in a couple spots, so I thought maybe you girls could help me out."

"Of course!" Olivia says. She circles around the counter, nudging Winter and the rolling chair she sits in out of the way, making Winter totter precariously and pull an angry face. "What is it you're looking for? If, on the incredibly small off-chance I don't have it in my collection -- I'll do my utmost to source it for you!"

"I'm interested in Russian mysticism," Talia says. "Especially on the frontiers of the old Russian Empire. Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Siberia, Kamchatka, the Aleutian isles--"

Olivia snaps her fingers. "I just recently got a book in about that topic!" She directs Talia to follow her to the appointed aisle. "Russian Alaska was such an interesting place. Back in the 19th century, fur tra--"

The bell above the door rings again. Talia glances around the corner of the shelves, and sees the man who entered. Not Gideon. She ducks back behind the stacks for cover, and feels the fear coursing through her. Connections form in her brain. Does this make sense? It makes too much sense. Of course he'd be one of them.

Olivia falls silent. She hasn't seen the person who entered. She's figuring this must be Gideon, and that the sting is nigh. But there is no sound other than a series of low thuds and ruffling pages. And then Amelia saying: "sir? Excuse me, sir? What are you doing?"

Olivia comes out into the main aisle of the shop that stretches between the entrance and the checkout counter. Winter is missing. Confused, Olivia peers over the top of the counter, into the space between countertop and floor, and finds Winter huddling there, animal panic in her eyes. Olivia turns quickly back towards the new visitor, who's walking back and forth among the bookshelves, knocking books loose as he haphazardly searches for what he wants.

"W-welcome to Bosphorus Rare Books..." Olivia begins, but the man doesn't stop. "Uhhh... may I help you find something?"

Buridan brushes past Olivia as if she doesn't even exist, and carries on his search in a different aisle. Meanwhile, Talia finds shelter in a little alcove, and whispers for the folks outside to hear: "send someone. Send everyone."

Olivia follows Buridan into the aisle where she'd been keeping the fur trapper's diary, just as he's pulling it out. She realizes at last what's happening. Voice firm and level, she tells Buridan: "I can't let you take that. You and your friends are no longer welcome at Bos--"

Buridan pulls a sawed-off shotgun from his jacket, aims it thoughtlessly at Olivia, and pulls the trigger. Only because Amelia lunges and tackles Olivia to the ground does Buridan miss, instead putting buckshot holes through the books and shelves opposite the two women. They scream. So does Winter. Buridan doesn't bother taking another shot, instead ducking around the corner and trying to hurry off. But reinforcements are rushing in from either side: Tyrus from the front entrance; Alabaster, Marquis, and Stasi from the back.

"Give it up!" Tyrus shouts. He and Buridan exchange gunfire from opposite sides of the aisles as Tyrus pursues him through the store. Bullet holes pepper the walls. Marquis, meanwhile, uses this exchange as distraction to sneak up from behind on the same side as Buridan. He takes a hard swing with his baseball bat. But Buridan, wheeling, intercepts the blow and gives Marquis a firm kick to the chest, disarming him and knocking him back. He drops the bat and tosses a thick, heavy book at Marquis, nailing him in the face.

Stasi gets off a clean shot at Buridan that hits him in the bicep, right around where his heart should be -- but he merely goes off-balance for a moment before dashing for the basement stairs. Must be wearing Kevlar. Alabaster lunges and tackles Buridan the top of the staircase, and they tumble down it together. Buridan smacks Alabaster in the face with the very book he's trying to steal, but Alabaster won't be repelled, and tries to gouge Buridan's eyes. They roll around on the ground, Alabaster savagely grunting, Buridan making not a sound. They exchange punches, claws, and kicks.

Tyrus comes running down, two steps at a time, followed by Marquis and Stasi, but Buridan manages to roll himself free of Alabaster's grip and escape behind one of the rows of shelves. He deliberately drags the nearest shelf down, toppling it to its side across the central walkway, where it vomits books into an obstructive pile. The group smells the distinctive reek of gasoline and can't react in time before there's a blaze of fire that quickly spreads and engulfs the entire row of shelves from wall to wall, centered on the toppled-over shelf and pile of books in the center. Buridan must have hurled a Molotov. Using the fire as cover, Buridan breaks a window along the basement's ceiling that abuts the alley behind the store, and crawls through.

Alabaster, Tyrus, Stasi, and Marquis run for the front entrance. Alabaster is radioing back to the Kekis already: "Watch out! Buridan got out behind the alley! He came in from Homer Ave, so he'll be headed you way!"

Talia steps out to meet the group.

"You know this psycho?" Marquis asks her, breathing hard, speaking accusingly.

"Sort of."

"Sorta? You sounded like you know the fuck out of him." He puts his helmet on, grabs his bat from the floor, and runs for the back exit, to get on his motorbike and try to pursue Buridan that way.

The fire downstairs is still blazing. Olivia and Amelia rush past with a fire extinguisher and some thick felt blankets, respectively. Winter is on the phone, frantic: "Fire! I don't know! It's a fire, my guy! Send us some firemen! Bosphorus Rare Books!"

"No! No!" Olivia shouts over and over, spraying thick flumes of CO2, trying to salvage her collection. Amelia presses the blankets to the places where the flames are licking highest, to try and smother it. Winter is the real MVP here, though: she comes racing down with a bag of rock salt slung over her shoulder, slits it along the bottom, and kills the incipient fire at the source. The flames die almost in an instant. All that's left are embers for Olivia and Amelia to tamp out.

Olivia is despondent, and Amelia breathing ragged, as they survey the ruins of easily 1000+ books gone to mostly ash in mere moments. The room is choked with black smoke and a fire alarm blares incessantly.

"So that's why you have all this salt in the back..." Winter says, rubbing the small of her back.

"Yeah... that's why..." Amelia mutters.

"Oh my God..." Olivia moans, tear-choked and lying over the still-hot remnants of the books. "These were some of my best ones..."

Amelia hugs her and draws her back to a sitting position on her knees. The entire front of Olivia's blouse and skirt and caked with ash and singed bits of pages. Amelia pats her back like she's a fussy baby while she clutches her face and cries.

---

K-Mom hops into the driver's seat of Tyrus's car and fires the engine. She pulls away from the curb, watching over her shoulder to keep from hitting the car behind you, then cutting the wheel hard to get onto the road. She cuts off a motorist -- who slams his brakes to avoid a collision and honks indignantly.

Buridan is northeastbound on a motorcycle, whizzing down Homer Ave just like Dad said he'd be, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Sirens wail on the distance as N-Mom puts out the alert that the suspect in this weekend's cop killing has been sighted at Bosphorus Rare Books.

"Run him down!" Amber shouts. "Knock the fucker off his bike!"

K-Mom gets up alongside him. She and Buridan both blow past a red light at the intersection, almost causing a pileup. "Get ready!" She barks at N-Mom, who rolls down her window and readies a pistol. When Buridan points his sawed-off shotgun, though, it's not at either of your moms -- but rather directly at you. K-Mom slams on the brakes without a second thought, and lets Buridan get away.

"You had him!" Amber shouts.

"I... couldn't," K-Mom says. She looks at N-Mom for reassurance. N-Mom nods.

Up ahead, Marquis catches up to Buridan on a motorbike of his own, and you watch the two disappear around the corner in hot pursuit.

People are honking at K-Mom, since she's parked in the middle of the street, so she pops a bitch and returns to Bosphorus Rare Books, where the cops are already out in force to see what the fuck is going on.

---

"Berenstoin. B as in boy, E, R, E, N as in Nancy..."

You watch from a short distance away as Talia gives her statement to the cops. She half sits on the hood of a police cruiser.

"Samuel. Yes." She looks at the photo the cop holds out to show her -- an image from the security cameras at the police station. "That's him."

"This man is your brother?" The cop says.

"Yes."

"Have you had any recent contact with him?"

"No. Not for several years now. This was the first time I've seen him since..." she looks at the sky, thinking. "Probably my 19th birthday."

"Do your parents or any other loved ones have any contact with him?"

She shakes her head. "None I know of. You'd have to ask them."

Another cop comes up. He whispers something to the first. The first then tells Talia: "we're having a hard time finding your records. Could you spell your name for us again?"

She clears her throat. "Try under Eli Berenstoin."

The two cops share a look. The second one gets back into his cruiser and types it into the miniature keyboard on the dash. "There you are. You still live at Oakfield Apartments? #322?"

Talia nods.

The first cop asks, "do you have any reason to suspect Samuel may be targeting you?"

"None," Talia says. "He wanted a book. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Right. We may want to ask you some more questions in the coming days. Stay in town until we say so. And call us right away if he reestablishes contact, all right?" The cop hands her a card.

"I doubt he will. Thank you, though."

---

A little ways down the curb, Olivia is also giving her statement. "Oh, you better believe I'll call you! IF I don't kick his skull in first!"

"We strongly advise you not to attempt approaching him if you--"

"I will pound his ass! Pound. His. Ass!"

Amelia gently lowers Olivia's gesticulating arms for her. "We'll stay away from him if we see him," she assures the officer.

"He's lucky I didn't get my hands on him!" Olivia says.

---

"My daughter's been through enough," N-Mom is telling a cop. "And so has her sister. I'm not subjecting them to a statement that won't even help you boys. I just want to get them back home safe, ASAP."

"Of course, Agent Keki. But--"

"No buts. You have enough to go off of. Don't you? So stop wasting time and get to finding this cop killer before he kills again. Or are you going to make Alabaster Soliloquy's private security do all the legwork? You know, this is why I wanted the FBI to take over. You people are totally incompetent..."

You slide to your butt and sit along the outside wall of the bookstore with Amber. You're exhausted.

"You know what I'm not hearing in any of these statements?" Amber asks.

You shrug.

"The fact that Buridan's psycho support group is having their next powwow at Darkbloom's evil lair."

"Do you want to tell them?" You ask.

"Fuck no. Fuck cops."

"Then why are you upset?"

Amber turns towards you. Knees crooked, she rolls a pebble under her thumb on the ground between her feet. "Maybe the pigs track down Buridan and arrest him, maybe they don't. He's just a cog. Who runs the machine?"

"You're thinking David Darkbloom?"

"I don't know. But if it isn't him, then he knows who. And I'm gonna find out."

---

Ophelia takes a seat at the table in one of the school library's meeting rooms, and Noah gently closes the door behind them, locking it. With the dying sunlight gleaming in from the south window, the room is golden-hued. Noah plays his fingertips across the slider that turns the meeting room's glass walls an opaque, smoky black -- affording them some privacy. He sits across from Ophelia, plugging in his laptop to the bank of sockets at the table's center, while Ophelia is already browsing hers.

"All right," Noah says, tilting his chin up as he peers at his screen, reviewing his work. "So I was stuck on orthogonalizing these vectors in the general case. It's just bookkeeping, but I need to know there's a unique solution for any given n or it really doesn't pay to continue my current line of inquiry here. With boundary conditions it's trivial, but when I--"

Ophelia pushes his laptop aside and crawls across the table on all fours. She grabs him by both sides of the face and rains kisses on him -- lips, cheeks, forehead, neck. "Stop talking about math," she breathes.

"Oph-- Ophie--" Noah gasps, struggling a little, leaning back, hands in the air. But he can't fight it. He doesn't want to fight it. He kisses Ophelia back. They breathe hard through their noses and their glasses fog up, so they toss them aside as Ophelia crawls into his lap. She's as small and warm and desperate for affection as a kitten.

Legs wrapped around Noah's lap, Ophelia says: "I feel you..." Her face is cherry pink and her voice is so trembly that it's hardly coherent, but she isn't going to hold herself back.

"We shouldn--"

"Why not?" Ophelia says, anger tinging her voice. "All our coevals are active. My sisters. Amber is active. Even Wesley is active. Well, why not us? I want you. The moment is right. Don't fight it."

"Ophelia-- please--"

Ophelia grips the lapels of his uniform's coat and bows her head, grunting in frustration. "Noah... if you reject me now... I'll never forgive you."

"I don't want to reject you," he says.

"So don't. Lay me down on this table and fu--"

"My father doesn't want us together."

"Who cares!" Ophelia shouts. She weakly tugs at his jacket. "Are you your father's slave? Will you be his slave forever? Are you going to push aside a real, warm girl who wants to give herself to you because of what your father might think?"

He rubs his eyes. "I love you," he says with some difficulty.

"I love you, too."

He swallows hard. "We could be caught, you know. Here in the library."

"It's not likely. But the small chance of detection makes it more... exciting, doesn't it?" She wiggles a bit in his lap.

Against his better instincts, he surrenders and kisses her back, this time more deeply.

---

"Do you have a few moments?" Olivia asks.

You glance around. Dad and the Moms are all still hectoring the local police. They could be a while.

"Just a few," you say. You stand and follow her and Amelia into the store. Amber, of course, tags along.

Inside, Winter is sitting on the floor, piles of singed books arrayed around her in a semicircle. She's meticulously salvaging partial pages and pairing them with the volumes they go to.

"Having fun?" Amber asks.

"Tons," Winter says without glancing up. "Jigsaw puzzles were, like, my thing back in the day. I could do a 10,000 piecer in less than a week." When Amber meets this with a surprised look, Winter finally meets her gaze and says: "there isn't very much to do when you're living in a cabin in the butt-end of nowhere, Alaska. Same reason I'm big on trivia. Nothing but old almanacs and Jeopardy reruns to keep me company when dad was on the road."

"Bullshit," Amber spits. "I know you're a cheater. That's the only way you did so well at the quiz bowl match. What'd you do, suck the judge's dick to get the answer key?"

"Try me," Winter says.

"Who invented peanut butter?"

"George Washington Carver. Snoooore. No wonder I kicked your butt. You can't think of anything harder than that?"

Amber balls her fists. "What's the world's third highest mountain?"

"Kanchenjunga," Winter says.

Amber's right eye twitches.

Amelia settles in across from Winter and starts assisting with the game of 52,000 page pickup. They fish pages and book spines from the garbage bags Winter loaded them into. Amber huffs, shaking her head. Winter grins cheekily back.

Olivia motions for you to follow her to the checkout desk. So you do. And so does Amber.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met," Olivia tells Amber.

"Shut the fuck up and get to the point."

Olivia cocks her head and smiles confusedly.

"This is Amber," you tell her. "She's my older sister."

Olivia blinks. "Oh! Then this pertains to you as well."

Amber gives her an impatient glare.

Olivia produces a notepad and a photocopy of the page in question from the Russian's diary. In the margins of the notepad, it seems she''s been scrawling several of her passes at a more thorough translation.

"I decided to break my own rule and try my hand at solving the riddle!" Olivia tells you. "Now, Mel informs me you have two sisters, right? Amber, here -- daughter of Alabaster and Rose Soliloquy... also Ophelia, daughter of Alabaster and Whitney Soliloquy... formerly Carte... and formerly Price... or so my research says."

You nod.

"Of course. Well, like I told you a little while ago, prophecy can be something of a fool's errand. If we could predict the future with any accuracy, we wouldn't spend so much time worrying about it!" She giggles, and then continues, "but some people in history have been more adept than others. I think our Russian friend here was one of them. His name appears on the manifest of Vitus Bering's Kamchatka Expedition, and I happened to be reading about that recently... several of the men aboard claimed phantasmic visions for decades afterwards... well, never mind. The details aren't important. The point!" She holds up a finger. "This diary could be a genuine artifact of spontaneous oneiromancy -- the power to see the future in dreams!"

"Wow," you say placatingly, raising your eyebrows.

Amber is less willing to play along. "Okay. She's nucking futs. Cool. I'll be outside."

"Girls," Olivia says. "Please. I think this prophecy is about you. Well, the three of you. Including your other sister."

---

Noah is buttoning his shirt up as he stands at the window. "I think you planned this," he says.

"I think you were an accomplice to the plan," Ophelia counters. She straightens her skirt. "You are the one who shaded the glass."

He turns his head. "...Do you feel any different?"

Ophelia thinks. "Less than I thought I would."

Noah nods. "Agreed."

"Maybe it takes until the tenth or eleventh time to feel different," Ophelia offers.

There's a brief silence. Then Noah says: "We must keep this a secret."

"I promise not to tell. But secrets get out. You should make it a clean break, and tell your father we're involved. Maybe you don't have the courage for that."

He shakes his head. Turns for the window again. "Do you actually want to help me with my research tonight?"

"Absolutely. I would love nothing more. I just... had to get... that, out of my system." She coughs. "I may need to again, later on. Frequent study breaks are only healthy..."

Noah grins despite himself.

"Thank you for asking my help tonight," Ophelia adds. "I am always... honored... beyond honored, when you ask me for advice. Although I have to admit... I don't understand what this current topic of yours is for."

Noah turns. "What would you say if I told you that the universe is cyclic in nature? That at the end of this universe there will be another Big Bang, birthing the next universe to come, and so on, for eternity?"

"I have heard of such conjectures."

"It's not conjecture," Noah says.

END OF EPISODE 6.

When the police disperse and the Keki family leaves, Talia is among the last people left outside Bosphorus Rare Books. Olivia, ever solicitous, approaches her and lays a hand on her arm. "Are you feeling all right? I know this evening has been rough for you. Is there anything I can get you? Some water, a bite to eat?"

"Surf and turf sounds fine, thank you."

"I'm on a bit of a budget at the moment. How about a bowl of shrimp flavored ramen and... a bowl of roast beef flavored ramen?"

"I thought I heard something about you being a world traveler," Talia says. "Doesn't that take some serious funding?"

Olivia nods. "That's why I'm on a bit of a budget at the moment. I'm not... exactly... flush with cash right now."

"Wesley did pay you for my books, right?"

"Oh, yes! And thank you for incurring even more debt to shop at my store! It was so thoughtful of you. But I had to pay some bills with that money, and..." Olivia's stomach rumbles.

"Not taking well to an all-ramen diet?" Talia asks. "If you ever need some variety. Eggs and tuna are cheap, too. You could--"

"I've had more than enough tuna omelettes lately, thank you."

"Of course," Talia says with a sympathetic nod. "Silly me. I should be going, Olivia, but I appreciate the hospitality."

"Before you go!" Olivia calls, touching Talia's arm again to stop her turning. "I just have to say... we not only enjoy, but desperately, desperately require your continued patronage. And so we do sincerely hope that you haven't been soured on coming back to the store just because you were nearly murdered by your homicidal maniac of a brother on our premises!"

Talia stares at her.

"Family! Right?" Olivia says, laughing and rolling her eyes.

"In all honesty--" Talia begins. But Olivia cuts her off: "Before you answer, you'll want to know that we're rolling out a rewards program for frequent shoppers, and you're eligible for the shopper's savings card! You like cards, right?"

Talia can't lie. "I do like cards," she admits.

Olivia motions at the front entrance of the store. "We're still open for a little while tonight," she says. Talia follows her inside.

Winter is still sitting on the floor puzzling together the half-ruined pages of burnt books. Amelia is sweeping up, her hair tied back with a bandana. Talia wanly waves at them, but neither seem as enthusiastic about her patronage as Olivia is.

Talia follows Olivia back to the huge, oaken, intricately carved and finely grained checkout counter. Olivia takes a seat behind it and Talia waits to be filled in on the details of the rewards program. But Olivia just smiles stupidly up at her.

"Was there something you needed help finding?"

"How do I get my shopper's card?"

Amelia glances up from her sweeping. "Shopper's card...?"

Olivia shushes her, the harshness of it making it come out sounding like "tchhh!" Then, folding her hands and resuming a pleasant smile, Olivia says: "we're still finalizing details. When the time is right, you will receive your card! In the meantime, feel free to shop for books as normal, at full price and with no discount."

"I feel a bit misled," Talia says.

"I see! Well, I wasn't trying to mislead you. I just didn't expect you to come back inside and ask for your card as soon as I told you there was a card. I thought I'd have enough time to figure out how the card would work before you asked me for it."

"It all makes sense now," Talia says. "You didn't lie to me, you just told me something you knew was was untrue."

"Yes!" Olivia agrees.

Talia half turns and points at the exit. "I should go--"

Olivia leaps to her feet, bracing herself against the checkout counter. "One of our rewards is a free weekly Tarot reading! Would you like to have your reading now?"

"Not really. Tarot is nothing but superstitious nonsense."

Olivia slumps back into her chair. "Well. Yes. But it's fun superstitious nonsense..."

"She did me the other day," Winter says, glancing up. "Apparently my energies are all wonky. I'm either going to find the love of my life or have, like, major catastrophe this month."

"Congratulations and/or condolences," Talia tells her.

From a drawer, Olivia pulls a deck of cards so large that it almost seems novelty sized. It's a gorgeous Waite-Smith Tarot deck that appears to be many decades old, but pristinely preserved, packaged in a balsawood box. Olivia's hunch here is correct. Talia has a hard time saying no to interesting-looking baubles, and eyes the deck curiously. Olivia shuffles. Talia waits passively for what's to come.

"I can feel lots of positive energy emanating from you! I'm sure you'll get an auspicious reading!" Olivia says, and begins the deal. She arrays the cards in a semicircle, flipping them over one by one. "Let's see... ahem. The Tower... The Devil... Wheel of Fortune, inverted... Ten of Swords... ...um... Death."

Olivia stares at the upturned cards in mute bafflement. Talia lets the moment linger before asking wryly: "give it to me straight, doc. How long do I have?"

"Members get other special benefits, too," Olivia says, making her face bright again, sweeping the cards into a pile and then putting them back in their box. "How would you like a complimentary massage? I'm a registered masseuse, you know!"

"What?" Amelia says. She drops her broom with a clatter to the floor and marches over to the counter. "Are we turning this place into a--" she glances over her shoulder at where Winter is still busily piecing burnt pages together. She lowers her voice not to be overheard. "Are we turning this place into a brothel now?"

Olivia giggles. "You always jump to conclusions! Honestly, Mel... well, if you want to help me serve our customer, then by all means, I'm sure Talia here could use it!"

Amelia glances at Talia. Then back at Olivia. She grabs Olivia by the hand and ushers her to a far corner, where they have an animated but whispered back-and-forth that Talia is polite enough not to listen in on. When they return, Olivia is smiling as brightly as ever. And Amelia seems put out as she goes back to sweeping.

"So what do you say?" Olivia asks. She pumps a fist. "Are you ready for the fivest-star massage you'll ever get?"

"As ready as I could ever be. Just one question. Where will you be doing it?"

Talia is intrigued to discover that the back room at Bosphorus Rare Books has home furnishings in it: a coffee table in the shape of an ellipse, a sofa with pillows and a blanket on it, a minifridge, a microwave, a television set, and more. It's an apartment. Complete with decorations like potted plants and pictures on the walls and a small but ornate grandfather clock with built-in metronome. The bowls and plates strewn about leave little doubt Olivia is living here. It's a cramped space, but by the same token warm and comfy. The room is trapezoidal in shape. The ceiling on the side of the entryway is much lower to make way for the shop's second floor on the other side of the wall, while the ceiling opposite the entryway is much higher because it has the entire space to work with. Where the ceiling is higher, there's a black wrought-iron stepladder leading to a grated mezzanine. A study-desk and some bookshelves that must contain Olivia's personal collection are arranged up there. A closet-sized bathroom is tucked in one corner below the mezzanine, its door open to reveal the most economical use of the floorspace possible -- toilet, sink, and shower packed in with hardly any room betwixt.

The whole place reeks of sandalwood incense.

Olivia clears the coffee table off and lays a towel across it. "You can strip now!" She says.

Talia glances all around.

"Don't be shy," Olivia says. She strokes Talia's arm. "Massages are much more soothing in the nude. Trust me! I am a masseuse, after all!" When this fails to move Talia, she frowns with one side of her mouth. "Hm. Would you be more comfortable if I got naked, too?"

"Oh, certainly," Talia says.

Olivia follows through on her offer, unbuttoning her coat, peeling away her blouse, shimmying free of her pencil skirt. It's a cock-stirring sight for Talia. She watches Olivia getting undressed and appreciates the supple, almost fat softness of Olivia's body. Olivia's tits are nicely sized, not the ridiculous torpedos of a cow like Amelia, but certainly more than a mouthful. Her tummy seems nice and squishy, her thighs thick. She has a well-trimmed bush above her cunt. She's gorgeous. And she's absolutely unashamed to be naked in front of a virtual stranger like Talia.

"Now you," she says.

Talia sets her purse on a small table beside the sofa and gets naked, too. If Olivia is surprised to learn that Talia has a cock, it doesn't show. She just smiles at Talia in encouragement as Talia steps free of her thin top and skirt. Talia's cock, shaved and half erect, hangs between her legs, twitching a little, and threatening to go fully hard at the slightest touch.

"How about we shower first!" Olivia suggests. She leads Talia into the tiny bathroom, gets the water flowing, and beckons Talia to join her in the stall. There's barely enough room for the two of them, and Olivia has to press up against Talia's body for them both to fit. Talia is much shorter than Olivia, so that squeezed together like this, Olivia's wet tits are almost directly in Talia's face. Talia's cock presses against Olivia's thighs. Olivia doesn't seem to mind at all, even as Talia's cock starts to come to life.

Olivia uses some bodywash to soap them both up. Her hands run soft, lazy circles around Talia's front and back. She pauses to give Talia's ass a sumptuous squeeze, and plays her fingertips across Talia's balls from behind. She washes underneath them, and in between Talia's ass cheeks, too. This gentle, teasing attention has Talia's cock stiffening by the second. With an impish grin, Olivia grips Talia's cock loosely by the base, gives it a couple tugs to soap it up, and then rinses it clean. Then, flipping it up so the head is pointed at the ceiling, she traps it between their bodies, the tip of it pressing up into Olivia's soft belly.

"You're more excitable than I expected," Olivia giggles.

Talia, mouth dry, nods.

"Are you expecting something more than just a massage?"

"Are you?" Talia asks.

"Why don't you wash me off now?" Olivia offers. With some guidance, Olivia gets Talia to lather her up and wash her clean. Emboldened by Olivia's own boldness and teasing, Talia takes liberties. She feels Olivia up, enjoying the give of her butt and the heft of her breasts. She gropes Olivia all over and even cops a feel of Olivia's cunt. Olivia laughs and lets Talia's fingers do as they please. Talia grows bolder still. She juts her hips forward and rubs her cock on Olivia's tummy, dry humping her. The give of Olivia's soft belly makes Talia's hard cock practically sing in pleasure. When Talia, unable to resist the urge, begins to suckle on one of Olivia's nipples, Olivia yelps in surprise, and then dissolves into peals of delighted laughter. Then she reaches behind herself and shuts the shower off, saying "I think you're all clean now. Ready?"

---

After they dry themselves off, Olivia has Talia lie prone on the towel-draped table. Since her cock is still hard, Talia chooses to flip it back and lie with the tip pointing towards her feet, so that she doesn't have to put her weight on it during the massage. She folds her arms and lies with her face resting atop like a pillow, eyes closed.

"This is sure to get you qi flowing," Olivia promises, kneading the balls of her palm across Talia's back. "It's a method of Shiatsu I picked up in Sapporo." Her thumbs press down on Talia's shoulder blades and turn in fast, hard circles. Talia grits her teeth and sighs. It hurts, but it feels kind of nice, too -- a pleasing pain.

Olivia opens a bottle of scented baby oil and drizzles a not-inconsiderable amount all over Talia's back. Talia's skin becomes shiny and slick and warmer than usual as Olivia's magic hands keep up their work.

Talia isn't expecting Olivia to get up on the table herself. She startles when Olivia straddles her, and goes breathless as Olivia rests her bare ass on her back. Olivia's entire weight, which has got to be close to beginning with the number 2, settles on Talia's much slighter frame. Olivia leans way forward, then, pushing down on Talia with both strong hands, forcing Talia's back to pop. Talia is caught between the sensation of her vertebrae being realigned, and the sensation of Olivia's cunt hair tickling her down by her tailbone. She tries not to make a sound, but can't help herself, grunting and sighing as Olivia the amateur chiropractor plies her trade.

As slippery as Talia's back is from the application of the baby oil, Olivia never seems to have a firm seat atop her, and her weight constantly shifts to and fro. This has the effect, maybe deliberate, of rubbing Olivia's pretty pussy all over Talia's skin.  

"Oh my god," comes Amelia's voice from over by the doorway. "I can't believe you're really going to sleep with this person just to keep their business..." Talia tries to glance over her shoulder, but Olivia's body obscures her view of Amelia. Olivia winks, playful, before turning to face her girlfriend.

"I'm just giving her a massage."

"Naked?"

"It's more soothing that way. Don't you agree?"

Talia is acutely aware of her hard cock still on display, and can feel Amelia's staring eyes. But then, Amelia is no stranger to such surprises under the skirt. Talia has already felt Amelia's own monster, and has been thinking about it ever since.

Olivia spins through a full 180, sitting on Talia's back the opposite way. "Don't look at me like that. If you're so upset, come and help me serve our customer!"

"You're crazy," Amelia says.

Olivia leans forward and spreads Talia's ass open. Of Talia and Amelia, it's hard to say whose gasp is loudest. Olivia either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Come on, Mel. I could use a hand!"

There's a palpable silence as Olivia crudely massages Talia's butt, keeping her spread and on display. Talia can still sense Amelia's presence, but Amelia gives no response, positive or negative. The terrycloth below Talia becomes sticky with her leaking precum, and her asshole winks involuntarily as if trying of its own accord to entice. Olivia, moving so far forward that she's practically lying belly-to-back with Talia, pulls Talia's butt as wide as she can and, without warning, begins to daintily lick Talia's anus. She darts her tongue in and out, raking only the tip of it back and forth across Talia's rear hole. It makes Talia writhe and whine a little. The feeling of Olivia's hardened nipples against her skin is an added pleasure for Talia.

When Talia lets out a particularly loud little moan of pleasure, Olivia says, "don't worry. This is all part of my technique..."

There's a rustling noise then, and approaching footsteps. Olivia stops rimming Talia, sits up straight, and lets out a low "hmm" of laughter. A second set of hands joins hers on Talia's back.

Olivia dismounts, stands up. Talia tries to rise a little and see what's going on, but Olivia gently pushes her prone again. Olivia's face fills Talia's field of vision: "don't get up. You're going to receive a four-handed massage now, all right?"

Talia tries and fails to calm herself. With Olivia and Amelia running their hands in seemingly random paths all over her oiled body, she can't. She keeps imagining that Amelia has gotten naked too. But every time she tries to turn her head to look, Olivia tsks and turns her face forward again. So Talia's mind runs wild with images of the two buxom women, fully nude, rubbing her. Her cock is leaking in a continuous stream. She involuntarily lets out little noises that sound like "unnh." Her eyes begin to cross.

Olivia and Amelia knead her calves, her back, her shoulders, her ass. In Talia's face-down position, the underside of her cock is pointed ceilingward. Oily fingers brush against it. The contact is brief, but electrifying. Talia can't discern whose fingers they were, and the massage continues as normal: four strong palms squeezing her tender muscles. A few moments later, fingers brush against her privates again, this time also tickling her nuts. The ladies massaging her play this intimate contact off as inadvertent, maybe even unnoticed, but of course Talia knows it's entirely deliberate. And as the massage continues, it focuses more and more on the lower half of her body -- her feet, legs, and butt -- and so these brushes with her privates become more frequent, more lingering, and more overtly purposeful. She still can't tell which of them is touching her at any given time, but when she feels fingernails lightly rake her cockshaft, she figures it must be Olivia, and when she feels a forefinger tickle her asshole, she figures it must be Amelia.

The women begin to jerk Talia off a little. They take turns forming an OK sign, looping it around the base of Talia's dick, gently tugging back and forth. Occasionally they do it in tandem. The baby oil makes it almost frictionless, and their grip is too loose to do anything but tease. Talia's cock gets harder than she thought possible under this dual assault, and she leaks shamelessly all over their palms. No matter to them, because they alternate this teasing handjob with the normal massage, and rub Talia's dickleak into her own skin again to mix and meld with the oil.

Increasingly the room fills with an odor that Talia distinctly recognizes, musky, acrid, and pungent. It's the smell of arousal, the smell of a swelling dick. Talia is familiar with it and loves it. But it isn't her own scent invading her nostrils right now, leaving her lightheaded. It's a more alien, stronger, and nastier smell, the smell of Amelia van der Boom's dick. Talia, unable to look, can only envision it. She does. She envisions it in all its veiny, throbbing detail, until her entire mental space is occupied only with dick and her entire accompanying mental monologue consists of nothing but "dick, dick, dick, dick..."

Olivia taps her on her folded arms. "Why don't you turn over now?"

Talia is craving for dick like an addict by this point, and that makes her obedient. So she turns onto her back, arms at her side. What greets her is the meaty, tumescent shaft of Amelia's futanari cock, looming over her head. From this vantage directly beneath it, it looks even more massive than it already is. Talia gawks at it with parted lips, the way bystanders in a Toho film gawk at kaiju. Past Amelia's massive cock is the curve of her equally massive breasts, so large that the pale pink nipples are inverted. Talia can just barely make out Amelia's smug expression staring down at her, too. Amelia leans in and rests her cock over Talia's eyes, so that the half-hardened member curves in a crescent. It forms a makeshift blindfold, obscuring the entire top half of Talia's face from view -- forehead, eyes, and nose. Amelia and Olivia can see only Talia's freely salivating, slackjawed mouth.

Amelia's cock is feverishly hot against Talia's clammy skin. Reflexively, with both hands, Talia grabs for it. But Olivia intervenes, and pulls Talia's arms back down to her side. "Don't worry about a thing," Olivia says, as if this is a favor, "we're here to serve you!"

Talia feels, then, Olivia's glossy lips wrap around her dick. Olivia makes a happy, giggly slurping noise and Talia can't help loosing a couple viscous spurts of precum into her mouth.

Amelia doesn't say a word, but lets out a displeased little "hmmph" and, wrapping her fist around the base of her dick, slaps Talia's forehead a few times with it. It makes a wet thwapping noise and sends little droplets of Amelia's own precum flying in many directions. Talia sniffs and huffs Amelia's cock stink like a sow. Amidst this abuse, in the brief intervals between cock-slaps when she can see, Talia is shocked to find that Amelia has a pussy, too, a dewy, soft, and warm looking cunt slit nestled under her nutsack. Talia can feel how Amelia's cock stiffens from slapping her around, and glimpses Amelia's cunt-cream stippling her inner thighs. Talia fantasizes variously about having her ass pounded out by Amelia's cock and being blessed with the privilege of sinking her own cock into Amelia's inviting-looking cunt. All the while, Amelia beats her stupid with dick.

"Mel, please. Stop being mean to our customer, and help me out!"

With a dismissive sigh, Amelia swings her legs over the table and settles her butt directly on Talia's face. Each of her balls covers each of Talia's eyes, and her cock drapes heavily over Talia's nose, reaching well past her jaw. Amelia's weight is smothering, enough to nearly asphyxiate, and every one of Talia's labored breaths is tainted by Amelia's sex -- masculine and feminine alike. Amelia slouches forward and goes prone, lying fully over Talia's body, to help her girlfriend suck Talia off. Talia's overtaxed brain threatens to melt completely as now two sets of lips slide up and down her straining dick. Without consciously deciding to, Talia puckers her lips and kisses Amelia's turgid dick in appreciation for the blowjob.

There's a difference in technique. Olivia's fellatio is fast-paced, almost businesslike, but enthusiastic. Amelia's fellatio is slow, sensual, and wet, if a bit apprehensive. Of course Amelia, having a cock of her own, knows best what makes cocks feel good. The two women swap Talia's cock back forth between them, one sucking on it while the other jerks it off. They alternate this with intervals where they both wrap their lips around the shaft from either side at the same time and slide them up and down in tandem. This double suckjob makes the room fill with sloppy noises and paints their cheeks with Talia's slimy cock juice.

"She's kissing my dick," Amelia says.

"How thoughtful of her!" Olivia says. "Maybe she wants to perform fellatio on you too?"

"Maybe she wants me to have sex with her face," Amelia says, aggressive catch in her tone.

Talia nods eagerly.

So Amelia rises onto her knees, angling the head of her cock downward, and commands: "open up, then." Talia can only obey. At once, Amelia shoves her rampant futa dick down Talia's throat like it's just a pocket pussy, and is perfectly pleased to discover that Talia has a weak gag reflex. Talia's flat little chest heaves and she makes a couple guttural sputters, but once these pass, she can swallow Amelia's entire impressive length with ease. Amelia lets out a long, low, pleasured sigh of relief. It feels just so good to sink her aching cock into a warm, receptive hole. "That's it," she says. "See what a real cock is like?"

"Don't insult the customer," Olivia says.

"Oh, I think she likes it," Amelia sneers, and despite the sweet relief of fucking a fresh hole, can't bid away the aggressiveness overtaking her. This always happens when she has sex like a male and mounts the peak towards a masculine orgasm. She gets rough, even mean-spirited. "She knows this puny thing she's got between her legs is nothing compared to mine."

Olivia makes an adorable pouty noise, but won't try to interfere with her girlfriend's pleasure. Instead, she tries to make the experience as pleasurable for Talia as possible. She cups Talia's balls and rubs them soothingly. She circles her index finger around the pale opening of Talia's asshole, and slowly worms it into her. She tickles Talia's prostate, licks her balls, and jerks her swollen cock. Since Olivia is trying to give Talia such a full-service blowjob, Amelia takes this as permission to act even more selfishly. She grips the edges of the table, throws her head back, and ruts in Talia's throat like Talia is a flesh onahole. Olivia is relieved to find that Talia's cock jerks and spasms in response to the brutal mouth-rape -- Talia likes the rough use.

"Feel free to climax whenever you feel like it!" Olivia tells her. She punctuates this by sinking a little lower and putting her mouth to Talia's asshole. As before, she rims Talia with dainty, darting licks. Meanwhile, she uses both her oil-slickened hands to jerk on Talia's cock with corkscrewing motions. Talia lets out a gurgling groan around Amelia's raping meat pole and then starts to squirt her smelly cum all over Olivia's face. Her cock fires off in pulses, painting Olivia's skin and hair a slimy white. Olivia doesn't mind getting cummed on, and keeps teasing Talia's asshole with her tongue through the whole thing.

"You call that cumming?" Amelia says. She bears down and starts to jackhammer thrust inside Talia's gullet. Talia isn't ready. Sputtering, gag reflex finally kicking in, she reaches up and pushes against Amelia's groin to ease her up. But Amelia is far past caring and is much stronger than Talia, whose resistance is growing weaker by the second from a lack of oxygen to her brain. Talia turns blue, her eyes roll into the back of her skull. In and out, in and out, Amelia saws her dick with careless disregard for Talia's clear distress. Amelia's chubby body ripples with the force of raping the hole beneath her. Then with a couple of final thrusts that seat her entire length balls-deep down Talia's neck, Amelia lets the cum course from her horsecock in thick, almost soupy ropes. The pleasure of it makes her bite her lips and flex her ass and roll her eyes. She sperms Talia just as deep as she can, planting her genetic material directly in Talia's stomach.

Only when she's done riding out her earth-shaking orgasm to its fullest, and can't wring a single drop more from her cockhead, does she pull out of Talia's mouth. Talia makes a defeated "pwah" as the cock squelches from her lips. Degraded, plastered with fuck fluids, glassy-eyed, stinking like cum, gasping and heaving for precious air, Talia can't help burping. A bubble of spunk forms in one nostril before popping like overinflated chewing gum. Her face looks like a glazed donut, with cum running in rivulets down her chin.

"Thanks for shopping at Bosphorus Rare Books!" Olivia says.

Talia refocuses her vision, and finds Olivia squatting between her legs, idly masturbating while licking her cock. "You're welcome," Talia says.

But Amelia isn't finished. Still hard, she circles to the other side of the table and lines her genitals up with Talia's. She wants to drive the point home: "It's so small. Look at this thing. What a useless dick you've got..."

It's not that small at all, but Amelia still completely outclasses her. Talia whimpers, half in shame and half in masochistic pleasure.

"Did you fuck Wes with this thing? Did she even feel it?" Amelia forces Talia to roll over. Mounting her, chin on Talia's shoulder, she rasps: "you want to be a woman? Let's make you a woman, then."

With that, she fucks her cock into Talia's tight asspussy. Talia goes rigid, sets her jaw, and lets out a choked "ghhh--" of pain. But as Amelia gets up on her haunches, wraps her hands around Talia's shoulders, and begins to fuck like a stallion in a breeding mare, Talia's muscles loosen again. She melts into a limp, gooey, drooly puddle. Amelia's dick is somewhere up past Talia's navel, and her mating press is grinding Talia's cum-button into oblivion. Talia's cock goes soft, making her feel even more pitiful, but it leaks cum in a near continuous laminar stream, as rolling bitchgasms tear through the core of her being. Talia has always felt like a girl. Amelia is turning her into a whore.

Talia glimpses, half concealed by the doorjamb, a pair of eyes and a swarthy face: Winter. Talia is too fucked-out to care at being caught, and makes eye contact with Winter while all the while Amelia relentlessly makes her into a Dutch wife. Olivia doesn't notice, either, and steps in front of Talia to say: "you don't mind licking me, do you?"

What Olivia wants is more than simply being licked: she wants to be eaten out, and she juts her hips slightly forward to beckon Talia to do it. Talia obliges. While being railed from behind, Talia mashes her cum-streaked face into Olivia's cunt and just about suffocates on the wonderful taste and smell of it -- the bush above her vulva traps her unique feminine arousal so nicely. Olivia coos and sighs in relief. She watches Amelia fuck Talia senseless and enjoys the warmth of Amelia's baby batter getting swabbed around inside her pussy by Talia's eager tongue.

The table rattles, threatening to crack in two, as Amelia approaches orgasm. This one is even more powerful than the first. She rests flat on her feet in a squatting pose astride Talia, sinks her cock inside completely, and blows a load in Talia's ass so thick and voluminous that it spills back out in globs all over the towel and the floor below. Talia jizzes in splurts from this firehose of piping hot dick milk that Amelia unleashes. The moan Talia makes against Olivia's slippery cunt makes Olivia yip in delight.

As Olivia and Amelia dismount her, Talia lies splay-limbed and totally dazed on the table, leaking cum from both ends, and in a puddle of her own spunk too. With hardly any time to catch their breath, Amelia immediately grabs Olivia about the waist, bends her over the arm of the sofa, and whispers breathily into Olivia's ear, "I need your pussy... I need your pussy... I need it, fuck, fuck..." Olivia laughs, and puts up playful resistance, but in the end obsequiously lets Amelia bend her over and fuck her already cum-stained pussy.

Talia looks towards the apartment's doorway again. Winter is still there, watching with wild eyes. Talia rises to support herself with one arm, and stares back at her for long moments. Then, feeling like she should prove something, Talia rises to her feet and gets behind Amelia. Without asking for permission, she fucks Amelia up the pussy. Rather than react with anger, Amelia moans sweetly at being penetrated and picks up the pace inside Olivia. Together, Talia and Olivia use their bodies to bring pleasure to both sets of Amelia's genitals. It isn't too long before Amelia, shrieking in ecstasy, cums.

Talia plants a load inside her, but she's conscientious, and anyway more than happy to play the sub to a girl with a cock so big. She sinks beneath the still-mated pair of girlfriends, face upturned, and does some cleanup duty for them. While Amelia and Olivia whisper sweet nothings at each other, Talia uses her face as a jizz rag, lapping up all the fluids that drip and ooze and leak from them. Amelia's sperm, Olivia's girlcum, and Talia's own juices... she siphons it all up. What doesn't go in her mouth ends up splattered across her face. She got her bite to eat at BRB, after all.

By the time it's over, Talia finds that Winter has vacated the premises. She idly wonders how that peeping tom will take what she saw.

---

Amber's bedroom isn't what you would expect of an anarcho-collectivist-primitivist-fascist-nazbolite, all frilly pink and stuffie bestrewn. She has the decor sensibility of a fairy princess and the remorseless hatred of a junta strongman who throws dissidents from helicopters. That mix has never made sense to you, but it suits her just fine, and she never gets what you mean when you bring it up. But if Amber's personality is discordant set against the fluffy coziness of her bedroom, Aunt Vivian is a level beyond. Her svelte velvet gown, shimmering a little where the light hits it just so, with lacy fishnets and deep crimson platform shoes, and dangling pearl earrings, and intricately braided, gilded brooch describing a series of Celtic knots around a central garnet, make her look like an exquisite vampire, something from the over-stimulated brain of one of Anne Rice's Habsburgianly degenerate inheritors. Vivian isn't a tall woman, shorter in fact than both you and Amber, but in her platform shoes and dressed like this, she can seem to tower. Especially when Amber is made to stand ashamed and afraid before her.

It goes like this. One moment you're hanging out with Amber on her bed, discussing what Amber intends to do next vis-à-vis the Current Situation, and the next Vivian barges in without so much as knocking, to give Amber a tongue lashing:

"You think my father has something to do with this?"

Amber, scooching herself away from her headboard and standing up, doesn't mince words. "He's part of this, yeah."

"You think my father would take actions that endanger this family? That he would put Wesley's life at risk, Cerise's life at risk, yours?"

"Fucking of course he would. You got a point here? Or are you just gonna--"

Vivian slaps her. There it is: that ashamed and afraid bit that makes Amber look suddenly somehow a lot smaller than Vivian. Amber, face reddening, reels. She stares at the floor.

"Someone needs to bring you to heel," Vivian says. "Since your parents cannot or will not be the ones to do it, then I suppose it will have to be me. Whatever scheme you two are concocting, you can forget it entirely. If I get so much as an inkling that you've reinserted yourself into any of this nasty business, I'll beat both of you bloody. Am I making myself understood?"

"Yes ma'am," you say, eager to avoid getting slapped as well.

Amber lifts her head up, meets Vivian's gaze with glinting defiance in her eyes. "I don't think I follow. You'll have to speak more clearly."

"Wesley, you may go," Vivian tells you.

"Let her stay and watch," Amber says. "She's fucking me too."

Vivian gives you a look. "Is that so."

"Um," you say. "...Too?"

"It seems everybody gets a ride on the Amber Express lately," Vivian says. "The last time I performed cunnilingus on her, her genitals were dripping with semen. Amelia van der Boom's, if my tastebuds don't deceive me. But I couldn't spank a straight answer about it from her."

"From... Amber or Amelia?" You ask.

"Either of them."

"Oh, don't be mad," Amber says, making her voice girlish. "It's not *my* fault I let strange people spunk in my pussy. You made me all slutty... and Wes talked me into it..."

"Take off your clothes," Vivian says.

You hop up from Amber's bed. "I -- really should be going..."

"No," Vivian says. "Amber is right. Stay and watch. You will benefit from seeing her punished."

Vivian takes a seat on a nearby chair. It's low to the ground, even for a woman as small as her, and she sits with a wide stance. The chair is one of several arrayed around an equally low, round table where a tea set is laid out. You knew your sister and your aunt sometimes had tea parties, but you never suspected they got so raunchy.

Amber isn't wearing much to begin with. Just her ankle socks, shorts and a thin cotton tank. She peels the tank up and off, tossing it aside, baring her pale chest. Still defiant, she sneers: "what are you gonna do? Spank me?"

Vivian just stares at her.

"I'm sooo scared," Amber says. She takes a couple steps towards Vivian. Waggles her fingers. "Oh no, I'm gonna get spaaaanked. What will I do?"

You watch on, mute, just waiting to see how Vivian will react to this bratty behavior.

Amber makes a fatal misstep. She gets close enough for Vivian to strike. Like a Venus flytrap ensnaring prey, she wraps her arms around Amber's waist and pulls her in. Hugging Amber to her body, putting her cheek to Amber's cheek, Vivian whispers harshly: "I told you to take off your clothes. All of your clothes."

"Hey-- not so rough--" Amber grunts. Vivian ignores this, undoes the clasp on Amber's denim shorts. Tugs them down by one leg until they're bunched around her knees. You see Amber's plump little mons, bare and shiny. Vivian keeps an arm around Amber's tummy to pin her and prevent any thoughts of escape.

"Step out of those, please," Vivian tells her, making plain that the word please does not a request make.

Amber complies, raising first one leg and then the other, shaking her feet to free them, leaving her shorts rumpled on the floor. Vivian keeps her held fast through the whole process. Now Amber is stark naked, save her brief white socks, making for even more of a contrast to the fully clothed older woman holding her. Vivian kisses Amber's cheek with parted lips, like some depraved molester from a JAV who finally got ahold of a schoolgirl on the train. The kiss leaves a shiny bit of saliva on Amber's face. "Yes, Amber, I am going to spank you. That and so much more. Be good now, and lie across my lap, or this will be ten times worse for you."

Not so tough anymore. Amber does as she's told, and lies herself across her aunt's lap, to await the coming punishment. She looks pathetic draped over Vivian like this, her arms and fiery hair dangling towards the carpet, her bare ass pointed at the ceiling.

Vivian spanks her. Although you've often thought Vivian may have some form of anemia, wan and weak as she is -- here she shows surprising strength. The force of her slaps to Amber's tush leave angry welts and resound with meaty thwacks. It's got to sting. Amber is reduced from a snotty brat to a pathetically sniveling and frightened little girl. Vivian lands only four good, hard spanks before Amber is begging for mercy: "Vivian-- stop-- stooo-oooooopppp-- ooooowwww--"

But Vivian won't relent. THWACK. "Show me some respect," Vivian says.

"I'm sorry!" Amber cries, wiggling like an inchworm, failing to kick herself free. Vivian keeps one hand to the small of Amber's back while the other rains vicious open-handed spanks to her butt and inner legs. "I'm sorry, aunt Viv--"

THWACK. "Refer to me properly."

Amber corrects herself. "Mistress! Mistress!" She punctuates it by kicking herself rigid with each cry, her every muscle straining. "Mistress! I'm sorry! Don't hit meeee..." But Vivian is pitiless, and carries on beating Amber red and raw. And now along with every sharp slap, Vivian takes a moment to grope and molest the globes of Amber's ass. You know from experience that the warm pain of being slapped burns much hotter when the skin is squeezed, and just as you'd expect, the groping makes Amber cry even harder. Vivian is doing this for her own demented fun, though. She likes to fondle Amber, you can tell -- a smile creeps across her lips as she feels up her niece. There's a steady rhythm, then: a hard spank, making Amber yelp -- then a few moments of Vivian rubbing her hand in a rough circle around the freshly reddened cheek, making Amber whimper and whine. This pattern repeats for minutes on end.

"Mistress, why..." Amber moans.

"You know why." THWACK.

Feeling like you've had the wind knocked from you, and knowing Vivian won't let you leave, you sit back on the bed and watch her beat your older sister into submission.

"You have become such a little whore," Vivian tells Amber, "and you need some proper discipline." She slips a finger between the crack of Amber's ass, and from how Amber's eyes go wide, you can guess what just happened there. "You've been using your cunt as a sperm receptacle."

"Mistress, no... it's not like that..." Amber insists.

Vivian establishes a slow piston motion with her finger, sodomizing Amber as nonchalantly as she would pet a cat. "Liar," she spits. "Cum gutter. That's all you are now, Amber. An empty-headed little cum gutter."

You can tell from the squelch Vivian's finger makes that Amber's pussy is creaming up under this awful abuse. And, honestly, you're getting wet too just watching it happen. Vivian is beautiful and cruel, and the thoughtless way she molests Amber, as if this is all so routine, makes your heart race. To the finger she has up Amber's butt, Vivian adds a couple more to Amber's pussy. She fingers Amber's lower orifices with a practiced ease. Amber, sniffling, shows her gratitude: "thank you for tickling my kitty, mistress," she says, and smiles through the pain and tears.

"Sit up in my lap," Vivian commands.

With help, Amber rises and sits face-to-face with Vivian. Amber is a full head taller in this position, but it's obvious who has control. Amber pulls some hair behind her ear and hunches forward to kiss with Vivian. Vivian keeps fingering her, anally and vaginally, palm flexing. From this vantage you can see how wet Amber's "kitty" has gotten, her sticky juices getting all churned up -- you can also see how brutally she's been beaten. Her ass and thighs are abraded in spots, and a tiny trickle of blood seeps from one particularly deep and nasty welt. Amber is in too much pain and pleasure to sit still, so she writhes sensually in her aunt's arms while they make out together.

"Your sister is watching," Vivian tells Amber.

"She can watch, Mistress," Amber says.

Vivian stops fingering her. With both hands, she spreads Amber's ass wide for you to see. Amber whines in the new pain it causes. The pale pucker of Amber's asshole is slowly winking at you, and her pussy is trembling like gelatin below it. Vivian grins at you over Amber's slouching shoulder.

"Did you talk Amber into letting someone ejaculate inside her?" Vivian demands.

You glance away. Of course Vivian already knows the answer, so there isn't any use denying it. "Yes," you murmur.

"Then this is all your fault," Vivian says. "Take off your clothes, slut." You do as instructed. Vivian watches unashamedly as you bare your underage body to her. When you're nude, Vivian says: "get down on your knees. Kiss your sister's booboos better. Show her you're sorry."

This extravagantly dressed older woman has you both in her thrall. She's got you both naked, and now she toys with you as she pleases. She tongue kisses with Amber, keeping Amber's ass spread open as you slink to your knees and scooch towards them. Pursing your lips, you kiss your older sister on her asshole. You make it a loud, wet smooch. And then you trail kisses all over her wounded backside -- yet more big wet smooches, that smack and leave her shiny with saliva. When you feel satisfied that you've soothed the ache in her butt, you return to where you started, her asshole, and do what comes naturally. You make out with Amber's anus as hungrily as Vivian makes out with her mouth. You lick, suckle, and caress the warm little hole with your tongue. You taste her inner walls. You shower it with adoration like it's your lover's mouth.

Amber giggles. "She's kissing my butthole," she tells Vivian.

"And I am masturbating your cunt," Vivian says. "Aren't I so nice to you?"

Amber nods enthusiastically. "Yes, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress!"

"Who does this cunt belong to?"

"To you, Mistress! My cunt belongs to you!"

Vivian is unenthused. "Yet you will persist in letting strangers taint it with their semen. Won't you."

Amber chews her lower lip, ponders. Vivian forces an answer by suddenly clasping Amber around the throat. Amber, trembling, her asshole clenching around your slimy tongue, at last nods. "I'm sorry... I... I can't help that I'm such a slut..."

"Did you like it when Amelia used you as a semen tank? Did you feel somehow fulfilled? Is that all you aspire to, Amber, being a hole for cocks to cum in?"

"I'm a hole for you, Mistress," Amber pleads.

Vivian hocks a wad of spit across Amber's face, slaps her, and says: "prove it, then."

She pushes Amber to the ground. Then sitting back in her seat, drawing her knees so far apart they point at opposite walls, she hikes her dress to reveal she isn't wearing panties. Vivian is maybe twice your age or more, but her pussy looks like it belongs to a middle schooler. It's hairless and puffy, the labia so severely turned-in that the fleshy lips actually overlap, giving her slit the appearance of two curtains drawn one over the other.

Immediately this view of her pristine cunt is obscured by the ginger crown of Amber's head. She buries her face in her Aunt Vivian's crotch, her mouth and nose nestled against the older woman's genitals with undignified desperation to please. Vivian pets her. "There you go. Do you smell that? Breathe it deep." Amber does so, little chest heaving, creating an audibly vacuous nose as the arousal-tainted air rushes through her nostrils. "Kiss it, too," Vivian instructs, and the room fills with the tender noise of Amber kissing Vivian up and down her cunt-slit.

Vivian luxuriates in her niece's pussy licking. Her eyelids flutter shut and she grins to herself as she grinds up and down on Amber's lips. With no forewarning, she sprays Amber with her own ejaculation. "Mistress-- mmmf--" Amber grunts as Vivian begins to squirt, laces her fingers through Amber's hair, and tugs Amber's face to her creaming cunt.

When Vivian has her fill of Amber's oral service, she beckons for Amber to sit in a chair beside her. You, not so ordered, stay sitting on your knees to await what's next.

Vivian claps twice. "Samantha," she calls.

Dad's fuckbunny enters the bedroom. "Yes!" She says. "If you are ready then I am ready! Let's do it!"

You have no clue what's going on, and neither, apparently, does Amber. "What the hell--" she begins, but Vivian silences her with an upheld palm.

"Master Vivian wanted me to give you matching emblems okay!" Samantha explains.

"No fucking way," Amber marvels. Her face is still covered in spit and cum, her hair matted.

"This is henna," Samantha says, holding a tube up. "It will last for a month or so! If you like the design, I can make it permanent... so this is like a trial run!"

Amber looks at Vivian. "We've talked about it," Vivian says. "So do not act surprised. Now it is time for you to be more than just idle talk." She puts a hand to Amber's navel. "I had better mark you as my property, if you're going to be running around letting people use you like a street whore... they can rent your cunt out for as long as they need to cum inside it, but it will always belong to me..."

Samantha gets on her knees beside you, but she has a singular purpose in her sights. She uncaps her bottle of dye and begins to daub it across Amber's milky white skin, staining it a deep, pinkish crimson. Samantha chews her little tongue and furrows her little brow as she concentrates on emblazoning Amber's groin with this stylized heart-shaped brand. The heart itself is jagged, thorns protruding, surrounded by swoops like fishhooks, with symmetrical wisps here and there between. The heart and its accents describe the shape of a uterus and its ovaries. It's a womb tattoo, of course, overlaid on Amber's skin about precisely where those parts of hers are inside her body. A temporary tattoo, for now, but soon to be made permanent.

Vivian snaps her fingers. "Wesley. Be useful. Make Amber cum while she's getting branded."

You sneak underneath Sam Smatters as she works, and get your face in Amber's crotch. Dutifully, you suck the cum from your sister while she receives this unique brand, the one ID'ing her as a piece of property held in whole by Vivian Ada Darkbloom. Amber's eyes are rolling to the back of her skull by the time Samantha is done festooning her. She's petting your head and bucking her hips while Samantha's surprisingly steady hand continues its surprisingly steady work. When all is said and done, and the womb tattoo is finished, Amber runs her fingertips across the glossy ink, testing it, while you bury your tongue up her gash and stare her in the eye.

"Now me," Vivian says.

You glance over in shock. Vivian's dress is off, although her earrings and brooch remain. Naked save for the jewelry, she has Samantha brand her, too. Amber watches with mouth agape, and Vivian succinctly explains. "I own you. You own me." She swivels her head, looks at you severely. "Make me cum now, too, worthless sow."

As you did for Amber, you lick Vivian out while she gets tatted. Vivian's puffy pussy smells and tastes as clean as it looks. Sharp, almost tart, but not unpleasant. And man does she cum. She squirts like a fucking bitch when you make her orgasm, and she doesn't see fit to warn you any more than she warned Amber. Your face, to her, is just a toilet. She showers it with her fragrant pussy juice like it's the more casual thing in the world, all while idly praising Samantha for how well she duplicates the first tattoo's design.

In the end, the two are a matching pair, and though their heights may differ, their wombs turn out to be exactly in line when they stand tummy-to-tummy, kissing. Their lips kiss; their ovaries kiss. Vivian wraps her arms around the small of Amber's naked back and whispers: "what do you think?"

"I think it's gonna show if I wear my normal clothes."

"Good. This is what I want."

"And what am I supposed to say when people ask why the fuck I got a tramp stamp?"

"Tell them you're my tramp. And that I stamped you so they would know it."

You have to wonder just how this will fly with Dad. But that's for those two to worry about.

"Should I do her, too?" Samantha asks, pointing at you.

"No," Vivian says. "Her cunt belongs to someone else."

"Who's that?" Samantha asks.

"Summer," you say. And you don't need to think. You pet your groin, envision a matching brand for you and her like Amber and Vivian now have. "My cunt belongs to Summer Denali."

"Oh," Samantha says, capping her tube and setting it aside. Then: "Do you think she would mind if I licked it for you?"