Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Date Night===
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"Yeah, 'please wait right here Furia, I'll return in a moment.' Asshole." Furia rubbed her arms through the leather jacket, less for warmth than for comfort. ''Gotta get mine back from fuckin' Coby. Asshole.'' A low rumble sounded, followed by muffled shouting, and an incredibly old promethium burner pulled into the alley. Its exhaust was dark with oil, and the body was black, though by intent or just years in the hive without washing, she couldn't tell.

"Please, Miss Angron, I believe we'll have company in a few moments." Furia stepped forward, taking a moment to rub the old roof, then opened the surprisingly heavy door. The car rocked when she slammed it shut, and Doug wasted no time in cutting a complicated path away from the building, then the block.

"What, you steal this bucket?" Furia snorted, then became sullen. She hated that snort.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." She eyeballed the grinning Doug. "Come now, 'rob the robbers' and so forth. It was a chop shop. Although I believe they were attempting to restore this particular vehicle." Doug turned a few more times and a dive came into view. Called Fulton's, it had window open to the street, menu plastered inside for the world to see. He hopped out, leaving the chugging engine to idle, and after a few minutes he returned with a brown bag, bottom dark with grease. Furia snatched it up the moment it touched the console: a grox burger appeared and half-vanished into her gorge, followed by a handful of fries.

"Charming." Doug smiled and kicked the car into reverse, feet levering off the accelerator and onto the clutch to engage the manual transmission, then shifted into gear and took off, driving nowhere in particular for the next three hours. Furia looked around the vehicle, recognizing it as one of the old model musclecars, the design originating from far before the Crusade.

Aircars–and the newer gravcars, since miniaturized gravitic inciters began to replace vectored repulsor engines–were better for the environment and far outperformed the older models in nearly every way. Still, many liked the sleek lines and stirring rumble of the old promethium combustion engine cars. Furia and Hana counted themselves among this number, as did quite a few nobles and rogue traders, and a small number of the less fortunate. 

But this wasn't a pleasure car, or a weekend burn-racing vehicle. The headliner had long ago peeled away, exposing a beige foam that scraped free at the slightest touch, turning into a cloud of itchy fiber-dust. The dash was cracked and only the tachometer gauge seemed to work; the steering wheel was peeled, flaking away; the horn button was fractured and faded, a faint swoop and dash the only mark of whatever logo had once occupied the space. Still, it moved, and though the car didn't have a holo player it did have an audio system, a dash-mounted radio. Doug, smoothly working the accelerator and clutch, shifted back into gear as they pulled away from the intersection. The shabby school that had caught Furia's eye earlier glided mournfully by, just as desolate as before. She finished the grox burger, greasy and cold, and leaned back, satisfied, listening to the radio. The song playing now was too soft for her taste, too spiritual. ''Instruments aren't half bad, though.''

The guitar spooled up into complex patterns at a decent speed after the cheery chorus. Furia took another drag, listening to the tune as the guitar and keyboard took turns playing with the same riff, back and forth, up and down. The refrain started again, the drums sounding almost like clapping hands, then it all dropped back into the verse. "Boatissotvuh? The fuck is that?" 

Doug replied with a sly grin, "I don't think you'd be interested if you knew, Furia."

The guitar picked up once more, the song crescendoing with fast tremolo picking. The other instruments sped up to match for a time, and then they all stopped at once.

"Hey listener, you're listening to to KT107.79, Archeorock Classics! Keep. Listening."

The servitor's voice droned with a singularly disturbing cheer, somehow reminding Furia that underneath the servos and cogitators there was a living, breathing person. ''Or what's left of one.'' The train of thought quickly fled from the annoying squelch of the next song. Furia fiddled with the knob, trying to find something better, but it spun uselessly, long broken. She slammed a fist into the dash and the radio simply sagged, like a punching bag losing filler, too worn and tired to resist. The song blared on and she felt the irritation flare back up. Furia's hand shot down to the console and snatched up the lho box, pulling out another stick and lighting it up.

"Who listens to this shit." The tone and delivery of the phrase put it solidly in the category of statement, but Doug replied anyway. 

"You're just not..." His head rolled slightly, eyes staring into the distance, "...listening correctly."

Furia glared at Doug with one eye, temple throbbing. The look told him that, if the car were to flip or smash into something, he'd certainly be injured, and she'd be fine.

"How the fuck do you 'listen' wrong, what does that even mean?"

Furia sucked down the poor quality tabac, flicked the withered husk out the window and reached for another. Instead her hand lit on Doug's. She felt a quickening of her blood, her pulse just elevating, before his hand rolled over, revealing the desired lho-stick. She took it and another match flared up, smoke leaking out the cracked window. 

"Listen to the drums, Miss Angron. Ignore everything else."

Furia happily tuned out the whine of the other instruments and the singer, listening to the slow but lively cadence of the snare and hi-hat, punctuated by the heavy thrum of the big bass drum. Her pulse slowed back down, and the vein in her neck even let up a little.

Doug's voice came again, soft and controlled. "Good, now the bass. Not the bass drum, but the five-string."

The low, relaxed sound of the bass guitar seemed to spread out over the percussion, filling up space, giving the song body. Furia felt her head begin to nod along a bit, foot tapping in rhythm, before the vocals started back up and shook her out of it.

''Pick up the pieces!''

"Fuck that." Furia hit the radio again, harder, and the sound fizzled out. Her hand went back to the door handle, thumb bracing to lever it open. She felt the itch return, the need for adrenaline, for anything to drown out the returning feelings. A vox buzzed and Doug lifted the one he'd taken from Winhus to his ear. At the same time his other hand plucked the lho pack from the console. A harsh voice rumbled out of the vox, throwing clipped words. To any normal human it would've been a dull chatter, but a Progenitor could hear it all plain as day. Furia wasn't paying attention to the voice, though, she was distracted by something else. Without any hands on the steering wheel the car was starting to veer off to the left, into the oncoming lane. Doug didn't brake or slow down, instead listening intently to the man on the vox while he calmly offered a lho stick to Furia. An aircar appeared from around the block ahead and continued on its path, apparently oblivious to the old musclecar crowding into its lane.

“What the fuck're you doing there's a-” The lho stick quivered again and Furia finally took it, even as adrenaline from the oncoming collision helped tamp down the itch.

The long and complex invective on the vox, punctuated by “Skating- 'Lens-eating- Dumbshit motherfucker!” wound down, and the voice finally asked a question.

"Where are you?" 

Doug's throat shook and jumped as he imitated Winhus' quavering peal. "I'm-uh, I'm-I'mI'mI'm by the-the-the school."

"Why aren't you at the fuckin' corner of Septer and Carmine? You stay in your fuckin' territory if you want to keep workin' for me, want to keep the Slide comin'. You hear me?"

"Ye-ye-ye-yes, I just," Doug exhaled with a hearty chuff, as if he was coming to a difficult decision, "the Ar-ar-arbites came."

"Yeah, and you paid 'em off like you do every month, 'cuz you're not a moron. Or are ya? Am I gonna have to find another dealer?"

"No, it wasn't Agissa, I puh-paid him off and another came. Lucky I-I-I didn't have any of the stuh-stuff there at the time." Doug began to hyperventilate, just slightly.

"What, you find a hiding spot or you use it all yourself already?" Annoyance chased after anger, the man's voice almost boiling through the old earpiece.

"Nuh-no, I sold it all, I need more."

The low breathing of the dealer grew louder, heavier. "You expect me to believe that shit? You can barely get the fucking skaters to buy from you."

"I ran into a, uh, a noble." Doug glanced over at Furia, briefly looking over her face and arms, "Real scarred up, dyed hair, black sheep of the family. Lotta money." He looked down at the nearly empty box of lho-sticks. "Cleh-cleaned me out." Doug's tone changed slightly and the quivering almost disappeared, the literal truth of the words masking the context.

The dealer paused, taken aback by the honesty in his voice, "Good. Good. He gonna be a repeat customer?"

"I duh-don't think I'll have to wait long," Doug looked back at the Lady Primarch and winked, "before I 'see' her again."





High above, Arthur Palucs and Miranda Magnus settled into their chairs at Delpeuch and he smiled to himself. ''No one gets seats at Delpeuch, I was lucky.'' The restaurant was one of the more exclusive in Startseite, and even his well-to-do family made a point of eating here only on special occasions. Arthur smiled wider as Miranda ordered, hair swaying gently in an unseen breeze.

"Just a water... and the kehpe mushrooms with gallus du Barry, please." Miranda smiled and Arthur's face went slack. He barely noticed the waiter turning to ask him next.

"And you, sir?" Arthur composed himself and acted nonchalant, calmly looking over the menu. After a few moments he realized he had no idea what any of it was, he'd never ordered for himself. ''Play it smooth, Castor.'' He inhaled, put a hand to his jaw, then bobbed his head up in sudden revelation. "You know, I'll just have what she's having, water and all."

"Very good, sir." The waiter took their menus and departed, then brought back a pitcher of ice water.

"So, what was it?" Miranda leaned forward just a bit, the perfect image of her knowing grin ruined only by the headband, with its creepy, color changing eye. He could swear that eye bulged a little bit as she looked to the side, distracted by the waiter momentarily.

''Why does she wear that, anyway?'' Arthur shuddered as he remembered a Navigator he'd half seen once, long ago, but shook it off when she turned back to him, still smiling.

"It was 'On the Movement of the Unseen Sphere' in, uh..." His mind blanked momentarily as the lurid glyph appeared in his mind, threatening to swallow him whole. "..well, I guess the language didn't have a name."

Miranda laughed it off, nerves showing through regardless of her effort. ''I'm gonna kill you dad.''

"Well, it's okay, you made it through."

Arthur smiled winningly. "It was worth it, nosebleed and all."



"O'course, Garlan, I'll send her right over." Doug nodded, taking down the murmured instructions, then hung up.

"So, that's why you wanted me to come along? Make it easier to lie?"

"Of course not, Furia. I couldn't depend on you for that. I didn't even know you were here until I saw you standing by the school." Doug smiled. "I must say, I wasn't expecting you to actually follow me." Furia turned, eyes opening just a little farther than necessary. "Or ''were'' you following me?"

"What, you gonna give me the third degree?" The words were partially muffled by another draw from the lho-stick, pinched between her lips, "You don't know me, don't know what I've been through." Her hand slid up to the door's handle, thumb flicking the lock over.

"No, I suppose I don't." Doug looked at her evenly. His eyes were examining her, but without judging. "Do you know Selphy?"

"Icy's little toady? Yeah, I've seen her around. Always picking away at that little adjut, trading gossip. Not to mention that fuckin' hair." Furia exhaled forcefully, visibly exasperated, and fingered the door handle. ''I could just tuck and roll out of here, away from this fucker.''

"Yes. She had quite the Slide problem at one point.".

"Bullshit. How would you know that? You've only been here a few weeks at the most."

"Seven months, actually, I didn't have a junior commencement."

"Still, seven months. I would've heard about something like that in the past seven months. Especially with The Twins and Isis, everyone would've known. And then Isis woulda started a goddamn crusade against 'Drugs in thuh Skool!'" Furia waved her arms loosely and heard Doug snort, a grin creeping onto his face.

"Yes, I imagine." Doug turned, his face mild and smiling. "But no, this was longer, about three years ago. Maybe she picked up the habit during her first weeks of school at Imperator High? She's from a noble house. Talbot, I believe, the casino owners. Still, possession of slide in the Upper Hive stays on one's record for quite some time."

"Bullshit." Furia finished the lho stick and started another, more slowly. She was slightly disturbed by how certain he seemed, how casual about telling her. Furia's hand settled onto her lap and her pulse slowed back down a little. Doug tugged something out of his ear, a small earplug, it was followed by another from the other ear and they disappeared into the blue jacket. He slowed, then sped up, then slowed again. Furia's ears perked up.

"Do you hear that?"

"Yeah, like a whining...grinding...squeal."

"Yes." He repeated the action, drawing strange looks from the few pedestrians around. "How many do you hear?"

"Sounds like... three." Furia looked frankly, normally at him for the first time since they bumped into each other.

"As I feared, terrible." Doug turned, then turned again, going back the general direction they came from. "A word of advice, Furia. If you should decide to steal and modify antique vehicles." He looked sidelong at her, smirking. "Promise me you will not overtorque the bearings on your stolen crankshaft. Unconscionable."

Doug floored it and the sudden jerk made Furia's heart jump. Almost immediately a plume of white vapor erupted from underneath the hood, accompanying the low whistle of overpressure shrieking from the radiator cap. "And do put on your seat belt."

Furia braced herself on the A pillar and dash, not trusting the worn old safety apparatus, then smiled as her adrenaline picked up again and the itch faded away. The car whipped around a corner, all steam and squealing, tires screaming across the rough road. It didn't take long for the Arbites to appear behind them, lights flashing, vocal warnings ringing out. Furia pulled the green cap on once more, tucking stray bits of hair back in. Her well-practiced single finger salute sailed freely out the window along with a dazzling smile.

The chase, thankfully, wasn't very long, the car straining more and more as it lost overheated coolant. They rounded the corner, then pulled in front of the very building Doug had picked Furia up by hours ago. The Arbites were catching up fast, only held back by the cloud streaming proud and high behind them. Another cloth appeared from Doug's jacket, darting quickly over various surfaces, including the knob Furia had fiddled with earlier, followed by a bottle of clear, foul-smelling liquid, spraying here and there.

"We should depart, Miss Angron. Ladies first."

Bundling her hands in the leather jacket's sleeves, Furia pulled the handle and opened the door. She gave the old musclecar an affectionate pat before vaulting over the boiling hot hood and barrelling through the building's entrance. A man inside stood at the sound, arc flash hood pulling up to reveal confused eyes. A glowing dot emerged from behind the car he was cutting up and flared as he indulged his own vices.

"The fuck're you doin' 'ere?" His words slurred slightly around the quivering lho-stick.

Furia felt a presence behind her and turned to see Doug breezing in, the bottle and cloth once again vanishing into his blue jacket. He picked through the remains of the shattered door, Arbites lights visible in the mirrors of the car they'd left outside. The chopper's eyes went wide with recognition.

"You!" He ducked back down behind the car, metal clanging as he fumbled for something.

Furia began to move again, adrenaline kicking in as she anticipated the confrontation. A hand alit gently on her shoulder, an almost subvocal suggestion following.

"Let's leave them to the Arbites."

Doug pulled her low once more, and a second later stub rounds began pinging and clanking around the shop above their heads. They crept quietly around to the back, Furia chucking wrenches, bars, pipes and anything else she could get her hands on at the low counter by the door, drawing the man's attention away. The alley came a few seconds later and they quickly made their way towards a side street. A figure flashed by and Doug turned, pulling Furia's cap off and settling it onto his head. A hand settled on her waist, the other gently clasping her neck, thumb under her jaw. His face drew dangerously near, and she felt a sudden urge to close the gap. The figure returned, interrupting the moment, laspistol drawn and readied.

"Halt, in the name of the Emperor!" Furia turned, throwing around her bloodred hair, her expression far more terrifying than any municipal-grade laspistol could hope to match.

"What the ''fuck'' do you think you're doing?!" Furia twisted her armband around, revealing the World Eaters' device once more. The gun dropped instantly, and the Patrolman fell back a step as if he'd been slapped in the face.

"My-my Lady." He bowed his head, and Furia couldn't help but smile at the change in his attitude, "We were following a- there was a- we're on official Arbites business here!" He paused, then added. "M'am, I need you to leave."

Furia sighed theatrically, suppressed anger flowing out in the act. The man quailed visibly, as if he could see it wending its way through the air, seeking him out. "Fine. We were looking for some more privacy anyway." She slapped Doug's surprisingly firm rear and he cracked a dopey smile.

"Wimmen, euh? Cain't live wit' 'em, cain't live wit'out 'em, euh? Euh?" Doug laughed, letting his top lip ride up to reveal a pair of enormous buck teeth Furia could swear he didn't have a second ago. She sniggered uncontrollably.

"O-of course." The patrolman replied, now even more confused. Furia pulled Doug bodily, almost jerking his arm out of its socket, and they strode past the man.

Doug slowed her as they drew away, and looked back. "I trust we can count on y'all not ta tell anywon what ya saw back here, right?" He guffawed again, buckteeth looking obscenely fake to Furia. She rolled her eyes, inadvertently enhancing the effect of his disguise, "I hate seein' Fiat muhself."

The officer somehow paled further, eyes glazed, body shaking and hands bucking wildly. After a moment he realized they were still staring, and Doug visibly licked his monstrous incisors. The action seemed to rouse the officer.  

He nodded, swallowing heavily, and they departed. "Thankee kindleh!"

Doug clamped a hand on the sliver of flesh visible on Furia's hip, loping off beside her with a hunched gait. She shot him a withering glare, but he simply beamed, buck teeth wiggling, and she couldn't help but laugh again.

"Fiat only applies to the press..."

"An' you 'spect a Patrolman to know that." Doug hee-hawed again. “It's a good thing yer cute!”

Furia looked down at the hand on her hip, laughing. "You're still gonna pay for that."

"Ah know."