Writerverse: Mini Table of DOOM! (I'm sorry)
More The Church and Its Orbs. I hope you enjoy!
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I should be thankful Wren’s parents have decided to let me stay in their home “out of charity” -- it’s a fashion among certain purple orbs to be nice to no souls to show what good people they are. That principle guides Harmony Sexual Reeducation Center to offer their scholarships to no souls -- I’ll be taking advantage of that soon.
Now that I’m a no soul, Wren’s parents could all too easily decide they don’t want my supposed corrupting influence to destroy their dear daughter’s character, but they’ve decided to show off their generosity instead. Somehow, though, I can’t force myself to be truly grateful -- being a charity case aggravates me. It’s better than being homeless or living in squalor, but I don’t like being seen as an example of their good character rather than an actual person.
At least the guest room I’ve been given provides comfort and privacy. The walls are the usual popular beige, with just a hint of gloss to the paint. All the furniture’s made of wicker in a darker shade of beige than the walls, including the chest of drawers, nightstand, desk, desk chair and armchair for lounging in. The carpet matches the walls. The only color comes from a baby blue miniature floral pattern on the sheets and curtains. Of course, those curtains and sheets have a beige background a shade bin a shade somewhere between the walls and the the furniture itself. Wren’s family seems to favor beige and blue -- unlike what their daughter used to favor.
Someone knocks on my door, and my heart leaps into my throat. After Wren received her purple orb, tensions have run high. Nobody knocks on my door, anyway -- while I might be the Vickerstaffs’ charity case, they mostly ignore me.
“Hey, Gemma?” a voice calls through the door. It’s Wren.
My stomach twists as I slide off the bed and approach the door. Talking to Wren used to be so easy, but, after her orb, that all changed. I plaster a smile on my face and let her in, trying not to wince at her outfit. Instead of one of her usual black and neon ensembles, she wears a baby blue skirt that hits her mid-calves and and an ivory blouse with a flat, rounded collar and short puffed sleeves. While pure, bright white may be the color of death, ivory has been a recent popular choice for women’s shirts. Wren even has hair extensions that reach halfway down her back, since Tevarenese women are supposed to have long hair.
“Hi, Wren,” I murmur.
Her smile looks as fake as my own feels. “How’ve you been?” she says.
“Okay, I suppose,” I mutter, though it’s a lie. Wren wouldn’t have had to ask even a week or two ago.
“That’s good -- you feeling okay about...stuff?” she says, avoiding my eyes. Her arms hang by her sides, and she bites her lip. Wren always bites her lip when she’s hesitant or nervous.
I could stab the awkwardness in the air with a knife, and I’m sorely tempted to do so. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a knife right now. By “stuff,” Wren means my upcoming trip to Harmony, which we still need to plan. How could I feel okay about going undercover at a sexual reeducation center to search for any leads on my kidnapped friend?
“Okay enough,” I mutter. I avoid her eyes, too.
“You’ll be fine,” she says. She pauses, and the air hangs almost heavy enough to suffocate me “It’s a good thing you’re available to do it.”
“What do you mean?” I say, getting the feeling there’s more to this than being glad I can be “convincing” as a so-called “sexual deviant.”
“Well, I’m not exactly...gonna be around to help much,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m sorry -- it’s my orb, you know?” Wren’s voice sounds wrong -- too quiet, subdued and just submissive.
“What about your orb?” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You know…”
“No, I don’t know.”
Wren sighs and bites her lip again. “It’s --- things are different now.”
I raise an eyebrow, still with my arms crossed. “And how are they different?”
“I’m actually expected to behave,” she says. Her eyes don’t hold their usual shine, and it hurts me to see her look so defeated. “There are real consequences for stepping out of line. Some people seem to think purple orbs can do what they want, but...social pressure, yeah?”
“Social pressure can kiss my --”
“-- Gemma,” Wren hisses, narrowing her eyes and finally looking at me.
“What happened to the rebellious Wren I became with friends with?” I have to ask. My chest hurts, because the Wren before me isn’t any Wren I know.
Her anger, such as it was, dissipates. “It’s not so easy being a rebel when the stakes are so high.”
My jaw drops. “What? And the stakes weren’t high when we uncovered the prostitution scandal? Remember how that involved threatening a priest? Oh yeah, and hacking the CIN to spread the word after we’d gathered enough information?”
“CIN” stands for Computerized Information Network -- computers connect to each other through it and can trade information. It’s tightly regulated by the government, and they’re always watching it. Home computers aren’t allowed to connect to it -- only government-approved facilities can make use of the CIN. After all, “to misuse the CIN is CINful.” Bad puns don’t make good warnings, in my mind.
A lot of people don’t even have computers -- no souls technically aren’t allowed them, though the no soul neighborhoods are supposed full of CIN-enabled machines. They’re said to scavenge discarded machines at great risk to themselves. I think CIN-enabled computers must facilitate the no soul smuggling networks.
Wren stares at the ground, biting her lip again. “I kinda knew I’d be okay because of my parents. At least...I thought so in the back of my mind,” she murmurs. “So...it was easy to pretend the consequences didn’t exist. I’m sorry, but I...can’t do that anymore.”
“Why not?” I mutter, refusing to understand this. I do know the consequences have grown much steeper for Wren now that she’s an adult, but I don’t like it. After all, I risked so much when I helped uncover the prostitution scandal, and I had no rich parents to protect me. Why can’t Wren do the same?
“Because I don’t want to be arrested, or worse,” she says. “You got off easy.”
“What?” I gasp. “Got off easy? I was made a no soul, if you’ve forgotten.”
“And you weren’t arrested for assaulting a priest with a holy object, were you?” she says. “My parents had to have been behind that.”
She has a point, but I’m not willing to concede anything. “So? I had no idea they’d do that. And that assault wasn’t planned, anyway.”
“I can’t just pretend things don’t matter. Things matter. Everything freaking matters,” she says, shaking her head. “My parents won’t always be around to save us.”
Wren’s right -- everything does “freaking matter.” Her parents won’t always be around to save us, but -- I’m willing to risk my very life to lie to Harmony, and she’s saying she won’t help? How can I stand for that? How can I convince her to stand up for what’s right?
“Don’t you care about Kai?” I say -- it’s a low blow, but I have to get through to her.
Her eyes start to shine, as if she might cry. “Of course I care about him -- but I can’t help. I just...I’m not like you,” she says.
“What do you mean by that?” I mutter. “Like me? What am I like, exactly?”
“Brave,” she says. “I’m not -- brave at all. Not really. I was only pretending.”
My cheeks flush to hear her call me brave. I don’t think I am, not particularly. All I’ve done is what’s necessary to do the right thing, and I was never the most important party in our investigation. Is that bravery?
“You really think I’m brave?” I say.
Wren laughs, a harsh sound devoid of joy. “Are you kidding me? The way you distracted the librarian when we hacked their CIN computers? The way you wandered into a riot because you thought you saw golden boy Kai there? Don’t start with the false modesty,” she mutters.
Hearing that makes my cheeks flush even worse. I found Kai at a riot on the edge of a no soul neighborhood after my bus had been diverted from its usual route. Wondering what a popular boy would be doing there, I’d barreled my way through screaming no souls and armed Morality Riot Police to demand an explanation.
“I suppose,” I murmur.
“You suppose?” Wren raises an eyebrow. “Face it, you have more guts than I ever will.”
Do I? Maybe I do, but I get the feeling Wren does have guts -- she’s just too scared to use them. I truly can’t stand to see her give up like this.
Is there any way I can reach her?
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I should be thankful Wren’s parents have decided to let me stay in their home “out of charity” -- it’s a fashion among certain purple orbs to be nice to no souls to show what good people they are. That principle guides Harmony Sexual Reeducation Center to offer their scholarships to no souls -- I’ll be taking advantage of that soon.
Now that I’m a no soul, Wren’s parents could all too easily decide they don’t want my supposed corrupting influence to destroy their dear daughter’s character, but they’ve decided to show off their generosity instead. Somehow, though, I can’t force myself to be truly grateful -- being a charity case aggravates me. It’s better than being homeless or living in squalor, but I don’t like being seen as an example of their good character rather than an actual person.
At least the guest room I’ve been given provides comfort and privacy. The walls are the usual popular beige, with just a hint of gloss to the paint. All the furniture’s made of wicker in a darker shade of beige than the walls, including the chest of drawers, nightstand, desk, desk chair and armchair for lounging in. The carpet matches the walls. The only color comes from a baby blue miniature floral pattern on the sheets and curtains. Of course, those curtains and sheets have a beige background a shade bin a shade somewhere between the walls and the the furniture itself. Wren’s family seems to favor beige and blue -- unlike what their daughter used to favor.
Someone knocks on my door, and my heart leaps into my throat. After Wren received her purple orb, tensions have run high. Nobody knocks on my door, anyway -- while I might be the Vickerstaffs’ charity case, they mostly ignore me.
“Hey, Gemma?” a voice calls through the door. It’s Wren.
My stomach twists as I slide off the bed and approach the door. Talking to Wren used to be so easy, but, after her orb, that all changed. I plaster a smile on my face and let her in, trying not to wince at her outfit. Instead of one of her usual black and neon ensembles, she wears a baby blue skirt that hits her mid-calves and and an ivory blouse with a flat, rounded collar and short puffed sleeves. While pure, bright white may be the color of death, ivory has been a recent popular choice for women’s shirts. Wren even has hair extensions that reach halfway down her back, since Tevarenese women are supposed to have long hair.
“Hi, Wren,” I murmur.
Her smile looks as fake as my own feels. “How’ve you been?” she says.
“Okay, I suppose,” I mutter, though it’s a lie. Wren wouldn’t have had to ask even a week or two ago.
“That’s good -- you feeling okay about...stuff?” she says, avoiding my eyes. Her arms hang by her sides, and she bites her lip. Wren always bites her lip when she’s hesitant or nervous.
I could stab the awkwardness in the air with a knife, and I’m sorely tempted to do so. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a knife right now. By “stuff,” Wren means my upcoming trip to Harmony, which we still need to plan. How could I feel okay about going undercover at a sexual reeducation center to search for any leads on my kidnapped friend?
“Okay enough,” I mutter. I avoid her eyes, too.
“You’ll be fine,” she says. She pauses, and the air hangs almost heavy enough to suffocate me “It’s a good thing you’re available to do it.”
“What do you mean?” I say, getting the feeling there’s more to this than being glad I can be “convincing” as a so-called “sexual deviant.”
“Well, I’m not exactly...gonna be around to help much,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m sorry -- it’s my orb, you know?” Wren’s voice sounds wrong -- too quiet, subdued and just submissive.
“What about your orb?” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You know…”
“No, I don’t know.”
Wren sighs and bites her lip again. “It’s --- things are different now.”
I raise an eyebrow, still with my arms crossed. “And how are they different?”
“I’m actually expected to behave,” she says. Her eyes don’t hold their usual shine, and it hurts me to see her look so defeated. “There are real consequences for stepping out of line. Some people seem to think purple orbs can do what they want, but...social pressure, yeah?”
“Social pressure can kiss my --”
“-- Gemma,” Wren hisses, narrowing her eyes and finally looking at me.
“What happened to the rebellious Wren I became with friends with?” I have to ask. My chest hurts, because the Wren before me isn’t any Wren I know.
Her anger, such as it was, dissipates. “It’s not so easy being a rebel when the stakes are so high.”
My jaw drops. “What? And the stakes weren’t high when we uncovered the prostitution scandal? Remember how that involved threatening a priest? Oh yeah, and hacking the CIN to spread the word after we’d gathered enough information?”
“CIN” stands for Computerized Information Network -- computers connect to each other through it and can trade information. It’s tightly regulated by the government, and they’re always watching it. Home computers aren’t allowed to connect to it -- only government-approved facilities can make use of the CIN. After all, “to misuse the CIN is CINful.” Bad puns don’t make good warnings, in my mind.
A lot of people don’t even have computers -- no souls technically aren’t allowed them, though the no soul neighborhoods are supposed full of CIN-enabled machines. They’re said to scavenge discarded machines at great risk to themselves. I think CIN-enabled computers must facilitate the no soul smuggling networks.
Wren stares at the ground, biting her lip again. “I kinda knew I’d be okay because of my parents. At least...I thought so in the back of my mind,” she murmurs. “So...it was easy to pretend the consequences didn’t exist. I’m sorry, but I...can’t do that anymore.”
“Why not?” I mutter, refusing to understand this. I do know the consequences have grown much steeper for Wren now that she’s an adult, but I don’t like it. After all, I risked so much when I helped uncover the prostitution scandal, and I had no rich parents to protect me. Why can’t Wren do the same?
“Because I don’t want to be arrested, or worse,” she says. “You got off easy.”
“What?” I gasp. “Got off easy? I was made a no soul, if you’ve forgotten.”
“And you weren’t arrested for assaulting a priest with a holy object, were you?” she says. “My parents had to have been behind that.”
She has a point, but I’m not willing to concede anything. “So? I had no idea they’d do that. And that assault wasn’t planned, anyway.”
“I can’t just pretend things don’t matter. Things matter. Everything freaking matters,” she says, shaking her head. “My parents won’t always be around to save us.”
Wren’s right -- everything does “freaking matter.” Her parents won’t always be around to save us, but -- I’m willing to risk my very life to lie to Harmony, and she’s saying she won’t help? How can I stand for that? How can I convince her to stand up for what’s right?
“Don’t you care about Kai?” I say -- it’s a low blow, but I have to get through to her.
Her eyes start to shine, as if she might cry. “Of course I care about him -- but I can’t help. I just...I’m not like you,” she says.
“What do you mean by that?” I mutter. “Like me? What am I like, exactly?”
“Brave,” she says. “I’m not -- brave at all. Not really. I was only pretending.”
My cheeks flush to hear her call me brave. I don’t think I am, not particularly. All I’ve done is what’s necessary to do the right thing, and I was never the most important party in our investigation. Is that bravery?
“You really think I’m brave?” I say.
Wren laughs, a harsh sound devoid of joy. “Are you kidding me? The way you distracted the librarian when we hacked their CIN computers? The way you wandered into a riot because you thought you saw golden boy Kai there? Don’t start with the false modesty,” she mutters.
Hearing that makes my cheeks flush even worse. I found Kai at a riot on the edge of a no soul neighborhood after my bus had been diverted from its usual route. Wondering what a popular boy would be doing there, I’d barreled my way through screaming no souls and armed Morality Riot Police to demand an explanation.
“I suppose,” I murmur.
“You suppose?” Wren raises an eyebrow. “Face it, you have more guts than I ever will.”
Do I? Maybe I do, but I get the feeling Wren does have guts -- she’s just too scared to use them. I truly can’t stand to see her give up like this.
Is there any way I can reach her?