Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The red truck continued on its way up the road. 

It had been a day saved up for. Money put aside to make it. But it had been achieved. There had gotten to be a day in the Reid Park zoo for the Ruiz-Borges family. With the children - neither old enough to be near hitting double digits yet - having their own tokens to mark the small holiday. 

Before...potentially...something that was not to be today’s concern. 

A young girl smiled at her souvenir. It was one of those small pressed coins, where you chose an animal and your pennies got turned into one penny with the animal! Patricia personally thought it the coolest thing! How did they do that? How did they make the pennies into this? 

She’d chosen to get a giraffe! Animals were the best - the child having set herself on being a vet or working in a safari - and of them giraffes were the best in her mind! With their cool spots and horns and how were they so tall?! What did they see from so high too?! Other than over trees!

The slightly older young meanwhile had chosen to get the animal that could actually talk! A parrot print! 

“So kids, what was your favourite animal?” Their mother asked with a content smile, as she continued driving behind the wheel. 

“I don’t know, should we see if we can guess first?” Their father then affectionately mused to their mother.

“I liked the giraffes best!” Patricia called out, holding up her coin on display of that beast! Showing it off, to show it to her father who had turned around.

“That’s because you’re a giraffe!” Oliver immediately sniped.

Little Patricia gasped in offense, tugging her coin back and quickly looking at her older brother.

“No I’m not!” 

“Yes you are!”  

“I’m not!”

“Then why do you have a giraffe neck?!”

“I don’t-”

“Kids please! This has been a nice trip, let's not argue now.”

“Mama, he said I have a giraffe neck!”

“And he is going to apologise to his sister, for saying unkind things. Aren’t you Oliver?” 

A grumbling mumble from the boy.

“He won’t!” The younger girl cried out.

“Oliver. Apologise.”  

“Apologise Oliver. Patricia you don’t have a giraffe neck - and a giraffe is a very good choice of animal.” 

Both parents spoke up at this point.

“At least I don’t have a pig nose!”

“Patricia! No!” The mother sharply scolded. “You do not retaliate!”

“Why not?! He started it!”

As this childish squabble with children continued on...a phone started to ring in the background. 

In the pocket of the father in the car. One he very much hoped, as he turned away to check that it was not who it might be. For they were not supposed to be calling today. Today was a holiday. Nothing- nothing that- 

“Kids! Kids you need to be quiet - kids! ” A yell that caused the children to finally fall silent. Confused faces turning back to their parents in the first. They could not see their full faces. None of them 

And with that their father finally answered the phone. Where he seamlessly switched from speaking Spanish to his family, to English to whoever was on the other end.

Patricia and Oliver knew what was being said but could not tell what was going on. Especially as their father sounded more and more worried…and then...pleading. 

“Wh-”

“Shh!”

And like that, the worry had spread like a terrible contagion. Infecting the children of the car as well. 

Chapter Text

Some would run from duty. Across the sea, cutting ties forever with everyone and everything that they had ever known - if that is what it took to be free. To try to decide their own way. To find their own, forever denied, individual happiness. 

Others would take a duty they never had to follow and bind themselves so tightly to it nonetheless. Sacrifice their own freedoms, all of those choices and happiness that they could have brought them for the sake of it. 

Ms Patricia Ruiz-Borges was the latter. As surely as what paved the road to hell.

A brown woman in a country fundamentally built for white men. Something she could not forget -  persistently forced to remember that with almost everything she did, at the places she went, even before she had taken up the fight. 

The world was not right.

She wanted to help change it. 

She was out every night for the sake of helping with that. Ever the field agent who believed on getting her own hands dirty. Sometimes literally so in the muck and grime. To make it better for everyone and not just a select privileged few. To drag the social issues and flawed, corrupt systemic patterns into the limelight society and force that change. Tearing down these things one by one. To bring basic civil rights still denied, unionisation amongst the exploited, justice to those without - change. 

Everyone should have their causes to believe in, she herself believed as brightly as any flame. 

And for that, a revolutionary road paved by what some roads could be. 

Even for Vegas itself, she had her specific notions that went right down to the casino industry itself. With its stranglehold across the city and bring about serious economic reform on the financial landscape. So that it was not just the mass corporations but local businesses, little people, who got to thrive and grow and experience that alleged and guarded American Dream. 

She was walking a road that may have its unimaginable costs. 

...and what did pave that road, again?

-----

With a bag full of Students for Democratic Justice posters and a hand that briefly touched her chin, the UNLV sociology major, considered her options. 

Option 1, she could come back later on tonight when there were less people here who might see her. But then that was counterintuitive to what she wanted the posters up for. Especially as there is far enough chance of a security officer noticing and feeling bold enough to rip a poster down.

Option 2, there was a crowd right now. That meant not only might the college never know who did it, but there was a big enough crowd that at least some people had to notice  - and even one was a difference. Also if someone did catch her and tried to discipline her in front of all of these other students? There was a good chance that she could use all of the people here as an advantage. 

Patricia decided to go for the strategy of option 2 here. 

First: a look to the left, right and then behind her. No college staff could be seen here. 

And just like that, the young woman was already in motion. Moving her way through the crowd. Walking along - then step aside, bag drop, poster out, stick it to the wall. A resolute nod. Push out. Keep moving again to get along to the next one again.

First one down, with a lot more to go. 

-----

AN: The poster said this was the right place to go if you wanted to get involved with the protest? Is that still the case? 

MODERATOR: Hey! Yeah this is the right place to go! Are you interested in joining us?

AN:  I’m not sure what I would be supposed to do. It’s a march right? Is there signatures?

MODERATOR: There is a march yeah and there aren’t signatures no, anyone can come. But if you’re unsure about them, then it’s not just about the marches! Have you seen the petition?  

AN: I don’t think so. Could you send it?

MODERATOR: Of course! Every little bit helps! 

-----

For all the meetings so important to her and that she took such efforts into getting people to actually go to them, for the various societies Patricia actually being there was a rare sight. 

You never did.

Today was not entirely an exception to that. But Patricia was someone who both knew well and appreciated the marvel that was technological communication. So it partially was.

As Trish pinned her phone to her shoulder with her head tilted to the side, as she currently heaved several heavy bags of donated groceries towards a set of boxes. Hair tied up in a high bun and wearing a red UNLV t-shirt. 

“And remember, that’s only option 1. That you link arms and hold the line in person. You don’t have to be in an actual line, to help us hold it.”

She put the bags down. Trying to carefully adjust her position, so the phone did not fall as she crouched - only for that to fall. The phone fumbling and hitting a thankfully carpeted floor.

Patricia quickly picked it back up, as she started peering more into the bags and starting to take some of its contents out. Sorting into what each cardboard box was labelled as. Made it easier to get done later. 

“Option 2,  you could always be support. Never underestimate the value of a water bottle or saline solution.”  

More in that box - and this one suited another.

“And option 3, if you can’t be support there, then you can be support behind the scenes. Write to your representatives. Speak up and don’t let anyone tell you to shut up.”  

These bags were empty now. Patricia moved to pin the phone back to her shoulder and once again was on the move, going to get some other bags to bring over.

“Sign those protests. Pass them on to anyone who will give half a damn to listen.” 

She moved them over as she spoke, moving even faster than before. 

“And remember! No matter how it gets out there, know that in doing this fight we are already sending them a message. We are showing that people care. That they demand better!”

A crouching down with the bags then, by the now marginally more filled boxes. Once more a hand freed to lift to her ear. Not once had Patricia stopped talking even with this exchange and a near slip of the phone again. It awkward to move it like this. 

“That whatever they think they can get away with, they cannot. We see them. We know what they are trying to do -  and we are not just going to stand on by.” 

Such a serious face and so many emotions carried within and outwards from it. Volume increasing as with the passion that poured into each and every word. 

“We are going to fight. We are going to push back. Every single thing that every one of you does, does just that. Together we are making something far greater than any one of us. Just as how every individual brick goes towards building a home.” 

A moment to take in a breath of air. 

“Does anyone have any questions?”

-----

MODERATOR: Hey everyone! Just a reminder that the care-box drive delivery for the tent city is happening tomorrow! There’s still plenty of time though if anyone has anything lying around in the cupboard they’re dying to get rid of, or coupons, or spare change they’d like to donate.

Anything at all is more than nothing, but if yous want a guide here is a link on where to start!  

-----

It was with an emblazoned “Eat the Rich” shirt on and hair tied up high in a bun, that the college woman arrived with her peers at the tent city.  

As the searing Vegas heat blistered down upon them all. Patricia would feel the back of her neck starting to become unbearably hot within no time. Where the sun may once again start to blister at flesh. A familiar ache.

They started unloading the boxes from the truck, as the people started unloading them as fast as possible. 

Hauling them up and trying to put them down, without either breaking the box contents or themselves. 

“We have some without gluten here if anyone is allergic - and Dev! You mentioned formula? We didn’t get much but we have some baby stuff in that box over there - Cam has got it with her! She should have it laid out in no time” She spoke in a voice as certain as it was kind. 

-----

Patricia was the meerkat today. Hanging back as the others pressed on forwards, deeper into the tunnel.

There were no security measures here, that would have some manager out hollering at a homeless person for rummaging for food in the bins. No alarm that would blare and signify a trespass. But the police did sometimes search here. Chase people off. So, Patricia had to be vigilant. To be ready to spot them and run - to sound the alarm, before they could be reached. Caught.

Here the meerkat thus was.

Looking around methodologically, making sure not to miss anything. Eyes straining in the dark, ears straining to see if she could hear anything that wasn’t coming from behind her - or the overall Las Vegas din. 

Of a city that livened even more at night.

-----

A different sort of deadline ticked on ever closer and several personal messages missed, on a phone. 

-----

The time had come. 

It was not so much a march as several rows of lines. A barrier meant to say but one thing: you will not get past us. With arms looped between each other. Holding firm as the pigs sent to evict this Tent City drew ever closer. Clad and ready. 

Patricia, like many others here, wore a bandana and sunglasses to protect her face. Learned from theory and truly terrible, painful experience. As she stood at the very frontline.  

Part of a chant in such furor that it boomed out. Barely even able to make out a single individual's voice, amongst the roars of the mass. 

“We won’t move! We won’t move! We won’t move! We-”

-----

It had become a disaster. 

The pigs had hit with a force that despite all efforts, had forced the protest to scatter - and then scarper as fast as possible, to regroup and recoup as best they could. Knowing that otherwise the pigs would use their injuries and disorientation, as opportunities for easier arrests.

It was a triage now. 

The person before her was sobbing, with eyes streaming and red. One Patricia was attempting to currently help, tilting their head back with one hand and tipping a water bottle into their eyes with the other.  Attempting to flush the pepper spray those pigs had sprayed into eyes. Using her far too frequent experiences with this. That and what first aid knowledge she had. 

Speaking reassurances, a stoic measured expression, whilst every emotion of hers ran rampant in her head and heart. Aching with grief and fury as everything had gone so terribly wrong. 

It was chaos still, once she had done that. Holy crap the yells and cries, as Patricia limped back, twinges of pain up her ankle as she did. Causing a hiss, as a white hot flash flared on a bad step.

She took a quick account of everything going around her. Trying to figure out how to prioritise here….Right. Go. 

“You -” A direct point to him from Patricia. Absolutely commanding authority with everything about her right now. From her voice to her tone and the way her posture had straightened. 

All directed to the man dancing around, uninjured enough to do so, but clearly panicking to much 

“Get some water to them-” Another point. “You! Don’t just leave them sitting there!”

“And you- run down and see if you can get any more water! We’re down too much, we need more if we’re going to keep this up.” 

The instructions continued.  Such surety seemed to come from her in this time of crisis. Despite the fact that, holy crap did she feel so incredibly powerless right now. The tent city was being evicted. Her people were scattered and injured. There was so very little she could do for anyone...she was...helpless….

Holy crap.

But it couldn’t be allowed to limit her there. 

That serious authoritative face and act right now,  holding together an entire group's acts and conviction with her own.  A cool outward head to help the people who needed it most right now - she knew no good would come of any anger. She couldn’t fuck up right now, which is what not keeping a cool head would cause. She’d keep it together. Had to. She would not abandon these people.

But oh how the fierce grief and rage at the injustice of this all was there. At those with too much power to ever want to change. With the little people below having too little to matter for the fucking rich, privelaged, heartless bastards! With how those pigs could justify such horrible things done. 

“And what about me?”

“You, help him over there! He could use more hands!” 

-----

MODERATOR: What the pigs did is disgusting. Taking a peaceful protest and gasing and running us down. Ask anyone who was there and they can list some disgusting acts! 

The fight isn’t over though. Not for justice or compassion. It’s not unmovable this loss, no matter how much they try to portray it.  There are good people in the world who want to do good things -  such as every one of you.

That’s what we need. That’s what will give us that push. Even the fact we are all still here - no matter how they gas us or beat us or intimidate us or lionise us as some villains on the news - shows just that. Along with how they fear exactly what we can do, or else why would they have the need to try to stomp us out so harshly?! If there was really nothing we could do against them.

Whoever you are and whatever you do, you have your own power here.

And here is some of what you can do to help:

-----

A dorm room, where it was clear that her favourite colour was red. 

Slumped over a table, now cleared of an empty pizza box but remaining covered in various textbooks. No move to change the Black Sabbath band shirt she had fallen asleep in and the bun on the top of her head was by now a messy one. Despite how stern and tightly it had been tied. There were dark circles on brown skin under brown eyes, which accompanied all of that. Bleary and dry. 

She could not remember the last time she had gotten a full-night's sleep. She could not afford them - and Ms Ruiz-Borges was paying the price of that. Never not busy was very unhealthy. Both physically...and scholarly. An unimaginable fatigue entrenched, coiling it’s way in and spreading like a web. 

In this utterly exhausted state, Patricia was currently trying to do an assignment for her college. Her grades have been slipping recently. A consequence that she was trying with difficulty to fix.

A click on a new tab, only to realise with squinting, bleary brown eyes that she had clicked on the wrong one. It was an ebay tab, for a coin she had wanted to get. 

She had always thought them cool, how much they could vary even now, as well as over time. The various patterns, designs and just what could be said and told over each and every one of. She was also fascinated by the implications behind them and how they factored her other interests  - all that history and change to money across the world, which people put so much value in for awful reasons as if it was some constant, unchangeable thing.

Liking to do her best to collect coins, as much as she could. But there was a disappointed grunt from Patricia though. As those same eyes took in just how much the price had gone up since she had last purposefully looked...inflated again.

And thus she had to make the decision to click off the bid. 

As once again a mouse moved to make sure to click for her assignment this time and not something else like a forum page...only for it to trail off for a long moment. As Patricia rubbed her eyes. Forcing herself to get them back in focus.

Before she tried again.

Chapter Text

“Are you going bourgeoisie on us Trish?” 

“As if!” Was playfully scoffed by the latina woman, as she took another drink from her cider. Her favourite drink here by far, she enjoyed the fruity taste of it. 

“Just someone with an employee’s discount.” She finished off answering as she placed down the cider, next to the hot curry she had ordered. Picking up her fork. 

At a table at the Synecdoche, which has a crowd of several young adults all gathered around. Each with a post it note stuck on head, ready for a fun drinking game that was about to start. The sort that Trish thought was a blast.

Most of the young adults were UNLV students. Ones who ran in the same sort of social reform circles - and would direct you to one, should you display even the slightest interest in going to one. For some, perhaps even before you had. 

And this place was indeed somewhere that Ms Ruiz-Borges was employed, working here as a waitress. Hate the systemic oppressive and exploitative structures of capitalist society she may, but she was also a student who was trying and struggling to fund herself enough to eat and keep studying at the same time.

So working here she was! 

And Synecdoche had become a place she was at a lot, with its now multi-purposes.

“Come on there, you’re starting to sound like some of those articles. Millennials can’t afford housing because they are too busy buying coffees in the morning!” Another at the table teased, jabbing their fork towards the original.

Causing Patricia to snort and have to urgently swallow her own forkful of curry, not wanting to choke.

“Touche. You have me there.” The subject of that meanwhile, responded in grace and with a sip of beer to that.

-----

“Your turn!”

A series of drunken laughs around the table, several rounds into the game now!

“The Republicans are ruining it’s image!” 

“An elephant!”

Some cheers and an awww all around, as one then took the scrawled on post-it-note of their head and called - “I knew it!”

“Well there you go - your hint got guessed, take a drink!”

Another swig of the glass. 

“Your turn! What’s on me?”

“It…”” A humm. “...has really cute paws!” 

Playful, mocking jeers all around.

-----

The table was laughing as Patricia hurried in and sat down on her seat.

“Hey Trish!”

“Hey!”

“Hey! Sorry I’m late! There were some students who wanted help getting on the forum - and I think we may have just gotten ourselves some more recruits.” Patricia updated them, pleased at this fact, as she shrugged off her bag and started taking her red jacket off. 

“Well. Perhaps we should just be glad that Trish actually showed up to something …” Someone then spoke up, in a voice that was far more ill-amused. A glare shot at Patricia, as a finger traced the rim of their glass.

And just like that, the table went quiet. Except for one that awkwardly laughed as they very intently stared at the food they were cutting.

An estrangement that had been brewing.

...Patricia herself was taken aback by the comment too. But even with her own expression to it...she was aware it was not exactly an unwarranted. 

“...I know...I’ve been busy. But I’m here now!” She answered them. Serious face on as almost always, but giving a firm smile. 

“Great.”

“...Excuse me?” 

“I’m just saying. Great! Good to see you at the bar at least.”

At this point, Patricia had to say it. 

“What’s your problem here Reese?”

“My problem?”

“Yes yours! Look, if I’ve done anything to upset you-”

“Guys maybe we shouldn’t-”

“There’s uncertainty about that Trish?”

“Clearly not, but it wasn’t personal. You guys know that! I’ve said why-”

“And you think it’s a good reason?”

“Yes! Don’t you? We’re all fighting for the same thing here, aren’t we?” 

Loyal to each other, to the good fight and to the people who needed them to fight it! 

“Yes, we are.” 

“Then why are you-”

“Because you weren’t there again, Trish! It will be a blue moon before we see you at any one of the meetings! And then just slot back in here like nothing ever happened! And what? We’re all just supposed to act like you have always been here?” 

“No! I’ve never meant it like that.”

“You haven’t?”

“You know I haven’t. And it’s not like I’m just not around - we have the march next week and we’re going to have to move things around before that. So if we don’t get it done now, these people are going to be waiting for far too long. That’s not fair on any of them. It’s not right.” 

“Don’t act like we don’t know that Trish. We’re arranging that too. At meetings. But we can do that and still see each other. Talk to each other. Help each other at the meetings!” 

“I help set them up! And I’m on the forum, working to get-”

“And you think that’s just fine?! That’s how we just have to reach you? A forum?”

Silence fell upon the table. 

With a tension that could be cut with a knife. 

And...Patricia leaned back. Looking back and forth. Taking in the table that had gone mum. Nobody speaking up. 

“...Is...that how all of you feel?” And so Patricia had to ask. 

As a feeling of hurt was ebbing in her chest. 

While some looks were exchanged with various members at the table. 

“You are...gone a lot Trish...It would be nice for you to actually be at an SLC meeting. Or even chat, without having to arrange a few hours here. We’re...just worried about your balancing. That’s all. Right guys?”

-----

It was another shift in Trish’s waitressing job at the Synecdoche. 

And once again as always - and could very much be an increasingly heated point of contention -  Trish was on the move. Moving around the back of the kitchen this time. Pinning up a new order and letting the chefs know what was reported to her. Making sure there was a note of it for them.

Before finally heading out back to the front, notepad in hand- only to see a gathering of her coworkers had formed. Right at the bar. Hushed whispers all together. 

...Huh! She couldn’t stop for long but-

“What’re you looking at?” The young woman queried as she approached her coworkers. Looking out at the rough direction. 

“That new guy in your section,” One of them answered her, as another gawped and a couple others whispered to each other. Him thumbing over to point out who he was talking about, what he had been the one to notice.

“Look what’s on his neck!”

Patricia had a suspicion this was going to be something sexual, when she looked more intently there. It was common where she worked, with it being as close as it was to a sex shop.

Which, deadass, meant it was a big surprise when she realised what it actually was. Eyes widening and mouth dropping agape.

“That, is exactly what you think he is wearing.”

“ What? Is he-”  The bafflement and concern mixed in with it was obvious. Never having seen anything like this before!

“Yup.”

Patricia did not know what to make of that. Was this...suicide related?! Was he in need of help?! Should she be going over there for that?!  But looking over, she didn’t think it looked long enough to be used for that? No way you would throw that over something. There was a reason she hadn’t straight away spotted that the man was not wearing a tie, even with someone telling her to look right at it. And if it was racist then why would he be wearing it around his own neck? So was this some sort of twisted sex thing?! Or political? Or had he lost a tie and thrown something else on instead?!

“Lucky much Trish.” Her coworker sarcastically spoke, as he gave her a heavy pat on the back.

“Have fun with the weird guy.” 

With her notepad in hand, Patricia would indeed be heading over to the man wearing a noose in very short order. Getting right back to work. Option one was the only one. Puzzlement wasn’t grounds to not serve him. 

She just had to force herself to look at his face and not his neck, while she proceeded to start the speel - 

“Hello sir, welcome to Synecdoche! My name is Trish and I will be your server for today. Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

-----

She could not and did not know that a plan had been set in motion by this customer. One, that would have her used as unknowing bait, set to inevitably die.

All for the sake of him gaining more information, on the current state of his wife’s operations. 

So, without that knowledge? 

What the server herself thought of him, was that the man had been polite, which was a far cry from some customers. If still strange with the noose he wore. 

He’d had his order, paid and left.

But now the server was back here at the table to collect the tip that he had left.

And just like she had not expected this customer today?  She had not expected her incredibly niche interest in coin collection to be so relevant at her job. 

A look of shock and then awe on her expression, as once more she was momentarily stunned. Picking up the tray to look closer at what had been deposited upon it.

It was harder to identify it at first. With just how blackened the metal was. As well as the fact that she did not recognise the strange symbol inlaid upon on, compared to any she had seen or researched before.

 But she very quickly recognised it for what it was - a Roman denarius! 

Excitement briefly bubbled and brewed at the coin itself and the questions that it’s unique features brought her! Intrigue piqued and a happiness soaring with it. But that was quickly dimmed as reality hit a reality-minded woman. For the man had left an ancient denarius! That...had to have been on accident right?! Instead of actual change. Nobody would just tip with a historic artefact. Which- holy crap!

And...crap, this could be something really important to him. She knew it was for her, her coins.

If she moved quickly she might be able to catch up with him, before he disappeared.

“Sir!” Patricia called out, as she went to snatch the coin up and-

The moment her hand actually made contact with the metal, it felt like a sharp jolt was sent up it.  The coin dropped right from her hand then, as it shot backwards at the shock, clattering right down back to the table. 

And Patricia did something she almost never did - she froze. 

“Trish! Is something the matter over there?”

Patricia Ruiz-Borges was in a place that had people in it. All over. From the band to her co-workers to those who just wanted to eat and drink. But it…didn’t feel like that. Trish wasn’t sure what was telling her brain that, but it did. 

With a particular sensation, that distinct sensation which she felt right now. Crawling up the back of her neck. As...confusion grew across its features. 

“...I…” She ultimately  shook her head.

No it was nothing it...it must...option one. It must have been static electricity that was it. There was not an option two as what else could it be? 

“The guy’s just left something!” 

With a small internal hesitance, Patricia picked it up again. To her relief, there was no shock this time. Which supported static electricity. Yeah. That was all. What else could it have been? 

“Sir!” She tried again, heading towards and then out the door in a rush with the coin in hand.

Another call as she pushed past it. 

"Sir!"

But by the time she got there - left, right and ahead she looked - the man wearing a noose was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

The red truck was almost more brown and grey than it was any sort of red anymore. Rust claiming it and flecks of paint fading away to both weather and time. Even the seats that two now sat in as it drove - constantly pressing on forwards - were worn down. 

It was an ancient motor that should long since have been retired, instead of driving down a road. Which is why it had been many years ago. The car was no more here, than they were actually driving on any road. Instead, this entire landscape was a mental construct. Shared by two. One of whom was the shade of a fallen angel attempting to convince an atheist that they actually were real.

“That’s an option,” A wide-eyed Patricia answered, hands very tight on the steering wheel, as she kept going through the motions of driving ahead.

“But it’s not a very convincing one.”

“So you say my host,”

That “Saluriel” in his strange attire spoke again. Patricia was not sure what this all said about her own head, that she had constructed something like this. 

“And yet you yourself are suspicious. Or we would not be here.”

Patricia was...mostly concerned. As a person would be in a situation like hers, completely divorced from all that was supernatural. To her this development indicated something else, that was not positive.  

“My mental landscape, you say. I can believe that this is a dream. But an angel being in my head is a different story. You don’t exist.” An adamant, singular shake of the head as she signalled and turned left.

“Fallen. I no more serve Him than you do.” 

“You’re a demon then?” Patricia did not at all sound convinced as she spoke. She was also not sure how they were attempting to phrase that as something better, more palatable for her to agree with. 

“Are you?”  

This did catch Patricia’s attention. Looking over at him, at the question.  

“What do you mean by-?”

“I have seen you. What you do. You have built your entire existence on rebellion, have you not?”

“It’s not rebellion for rebellion’s sake.” Patricia quickly insisted even with her looking back at a fake road now. Quick to correct a common accusation directed towards her.

“Nor was mine.” 

...This did intrigue the woman there, that. What may or may not be being said by it. But she had to remind herself this was a figment of her head. 

“Dedication to a cause is an admirable trait.” Saluriel continued on in her quiet stead. 

“Everyone should have something they believe in.” Patricia firmly, automatically at that, answered that at least to her head-figment.

“Yes. They must. No matter how hard it may have to be fought for.”

“It’s always hard.” Trish just grimly responded to the hallucination.

Always hard and people get hurt doing it.

“...I could be of assistance to you there.”

“No. You couldn’t.” Patricia was deadly serious in her answer here.

She was very much against stigma towards others - but she was also very much concerned on what a part of her brain starting to talk to her meant. She could not afford to see anyone about this. Everything she said and believed in would be discredited. She would be that crazy delusional girl who heard voices.  She knew how this worked, she’d read in her sociology studies about that happening to figures before to nullify and make ridicule of their voices.  

Holy crap that idea was terrifying.

And she also had to admit that even if this was kept a complete secret...this was still frightening to her too. She did not want hallucinations and delusions either. 

“I will assure you again, of your own sanity.” The voice seemed to pick up on that, lowering significantly there.

“If I start believing what you’re saying, then it’s even worse than I thought.” The sarcasm came thickly from the young adult there. 

“I do not blame you for this...contrariness either. Mortals can be so and this is not the first time someone unaware, has picked up my coin. But it would be better if we could reach some form of concordance between us, my host.” 

“You would need to prove it.” Came from an atheist with no belief in the supernatural being expected to believe this. 

One with another unspoken question. Not allowed to dare enter or stay long in her own mind.

 What would happen if she did?

“And how may I do that?”

“I’m not sure, if you want the truth of it. I don’t think you’re real, so I hold my bias there.” She freely admitted. 

But she did think about the question, all the same. Eyebrows doing that serious furrow which they always did with her. Although both hands were too occupied to touch her chin, at the moment. 

“Option 1 I ask you something about yourself. But I can’t prove if it’s real or not either way. Option 2 I ask about me and that defeats the point. I know about me. Same for option 3, I ask you about history and if I know it’s right then it may be I know it, but if I’m not sure then I can’t prove it here and now.” She managed to list, contaring each of her own presented options. 

Some silence fell over the car briefly there, as a concord was not reached. 

Before Saluriel spoke up again then on a seemingly unrelated topic. 

“This is a strange choice of space.”

The silence lingered another moment, as the young woman’s expression shifted in the quiet.

“It has memories to it,” Patricia admitted to herself, with a strange nostalgia there. Growing with a small headache, starting to form in her head...although ache wasn’t really the right term for it.

Memories. More of those than she could count here. With how long her family’d had this car. 

“Good ones?”

Patricia’s face took a decidedly more wry turn. Many things held, in those eyes of hers. Before giving a pointed look at the image in the seat next to her.

“You know it’s more complicated than just that.” 

She continued to feel that strange pressure, meanwhile. Dull but budding just behind her eyes. Starting to feel that bit worse, almost pulsate, with each beat of a heart. Which had her expression somehow managing to become even more serious.

“I see.” A curiosity seemed to faintly colour words there, from him. 

But by then Patricia’s gaze quickly snapped back ahead again to the road. She had realised something now, feeling t in her hands and seeing from the corner of an eye. 

She was veering off the road she had been travelling on. Going a different route, a side road. 

The wheel had angled away from her. 

“What the-?!” Patricia’s grip on the wheel had tightened in a split second, immediately attempting to right her course. It should have been easy - but then it did not budge. As it felt like she was pulling not against a wheel that had casually drifted, but something being dragged by an impossible force. Forcing it away.

As that pain behind her eyes continued to pulsate.

A grunt of sheer effort escaped from Patricia, as she continued to try to tug it. Heaving her entire body weight against the force. Including lodging a knee and forcing that as leverage. The headache worsened immeasurably 

It was like she was trying to pull it from cement that somehow had a gravitational force to it. It was not moving her way - all she was stopping, was it from going further the other way. It was held in a complete deadlock. Drifting but not set.

And then Patricia realised that this was her own damn mental mindscape!

Body and mass meant nothing here. It was hers to move as and control as she saw fit! If she thought the wheel was going to turn - then it would.

She continued her strain to physically move it, but then that was added to her efforts.

Visualising as she stared at that wheel. There was one in her hands in the red truck that was driving down the road. She was changing direction as she wanted it to go that way. She was turning the wheel right - it would turn right! See and feel it go that way. 

Another pained sound escaped Patricia. A hiss between clenched teeth. As the headache became more like something was being driven right into her skull. 

But then the pivotal thing happened.

The wheel moved. A twitch at first. 

Another.

And then-

A broad swerve as the truck took a violent dive to the right. Forcing Patricia to just as much scramble to right the truck back, before it went careening off the fake road.

And then finally - finally - the car was righted.

Back on Patricia’s own chosen course. Going exactly where she wanted it to drive. As Trish herself seethed, even with this victory of hers. Drawing an obvious conclusion fast.  

“That was you!” The accusation came furiously . 

A faintly surprised expression from who it was directed at, swiftly smoothed back into something more neutral. 

“I had thought that you believed me to not exist? If that is so, then how could I have done that?”

“That’s not the point!”

“I was only attempting to show you what you needed to see. If I may-”

“Do it again and I’ll find some way to kick you out of this car.” Patricia was having none of that though. It was abundantly clear that she meant every word of the defiance that she spoke. Her threat. Even if she did not know how to kick a hallucination out, she would work on it until she damn well did. 

“...my apologies, my host. I will refrain in the future.”

A harsh glare to him. 

“I meant what I just said.” She warned again, with every measure of authority that she could bring to muster. 

“As do I.  Know, that I do not wish to estrange you Patricia.” 

-----

Eventually...option three had been gone with. At least to rule it out. The scientific method instead of assumptions without preparation. 

“...we could go back to something when I’m awake. If we did option 3 then, I could look it up after you answer and check. That way you can answer about something obscure enough I would have no clue on - and I can verify if it’s true or not after.” 

Everything had been correct. Obscure facts listed by Saluriel and then fact checked by a student used to fact-checking. One who knew well that there was no way she could know about any of these, in the back of her head. Not even coming across it online.

A question directed towards her.

...What did Patricia think? 

A panic was further fostering within her currently, as she tried to rationally decide that in a situation which was definitely not very rational. Remaining on business, but absolutely stunned and failing to think of alternative explanations here. Facts were stocking up in one column. 

“You make an argument that I don’t know where to put.” A hand was placed on Trish’s chin at this point. Giving honesty here. As she leaned further forwards towards her laptop on the desk.

An offer then, given to her in return. Of another sort of display entirely. Said to be simple. 

Met with skepticism at first.

This will not work, if you see it like that. You have to believe it will work.

Patricia could not help but be reminded of Peter Pan and the ‘I believe I can fly’ from there. 

“If I don’t think I can do it, then it’s not going to work?”

A confirmation of confirmation bias being relevant here. 

But admittedly...after the first test that he’d just passed...part of her was now torn on this. She was a woman based on facts. Thus she was less certain with the facts that the test presented to her. She had to take them into account. It was in her nature. As troubling as those facts were here. 

Troubling...heh...yeah. Of course it was! Either answer, as much as she tried to convince herself of one! But...another part of her entirely...in her mind, was almost intrigued...at something it had never dared allow itself to be before. At an impossibility.

Some might say of her after all, that she was always still a dreamer in her own way, was she not? Everything about her. 

That which went: what if it was? What if something does happen when she agrees to this? What if even some of what he implies is real?  What if she’s not just delusional with a voice in her head with weird facts? Holy hell, what would she do then..?

Chapter Text

Holy hell, what would she do then? 

After a coin had been conjured from elsewhere into a feeling hand, the proof had become undeniable. As skepticism had fully slid into an intrigue of a young woman who had never dared to imagine supernatural magic as a reality, only to now learn it was.

The answer to that question had turned out to be simple enough. 

Act well - and unionise . 

Now, here she was days later. A plan sketched out as boldly as ever and something new rehearsed over. 

It was dark again as Patricia headed down the tunnel. But she knew the way. It was a route she had gone down many times before - and always a risky one. With a low chance of success. Pigs routinely swept this place with its particular location. If they caught anyone roughing it here or helping those who do, then they would see you off. ‘Not the place for it’, they would say.

But she was actually walking achingly slow today. Small shuffles. Each carefully placed, so as not to cause too much of a sound. No big abrupt movements, as she walked with that heavy cardboard box in her arms, a care package for those who need it.

Caution. From the novice at going invisible. 

Visualizing the area around her. A heavy and straining effort in its aided but still new nature, to tug a ‘blanket’ over her. One that could not be seen through. Muffling sound. She had attempted to do it exactly as she was guided to do, but ultimately you could not know standing alone in a room.

This was her first actual try of it at a place where it may just be put to test. As she continued her creep on forwards, eyes scanning out. 

-----

“We did it!” A thrilled college student grinned so broadly as she sat on her bed. A bright shine to her. 

“They looked right at me and they didn’t see it! It got delivered!”

A reply, saying how hadn’t she been assured of just that?

“Yes you did! But that’s a different thing.” A happy - no, ecstatic - laugh from her. With her optimism managing to scale through the roof. Such a relief at the success and all the possibilities it may mean! 

Feeling far lighter than she had in some time. 

Bubbling more than any creek ever did. 

-----

The pattern persisted, as much as one could form within such a short space of time left. Before an unknowing lure was found by a unknown demonic murderer.

Normal help was maintained of course. Anything that could be. But some new tactics also got to be occasionally tried. Planning and experimenting with someone who knew these sort of tactics and another who knew this sort of movement. 

Nothing ever too extreme. But there was one that was geared far more ‘offensive’ than the others. 

Coiled snakes, slithering in the ground. A writhing mass squirming and hissing loudly enough, that nobody could miss it. Approaching badged beasts on patrol, ready once again to try flush out homeless people for the crime of sleeping. Variations of colours and sizes making it hard to identify what the fuck was in there and if it was venomous. Picking out individuals from the shifting mass, essentially impossible. 

The youngest one screamed as he saw it. The swarming, heaving, rattling mass with flashing and snapping fangs. He swore something fierce. Then louder as the snakes seemed to lunge for him. Snapping but never actually reaching at him, as he scrambled back. Something promptly followed with a ‘fuck this’ - him turning and quickly leaving the aggressive animals. He would be promptly followed by his partner. One who while more silent, had gone several shades paler than before.

 With this scene straight out of a surreal nightmare, now come to life for them. 

And just like that - they were flushed out, moving out from the slithering creatures.

Only a short while after that, the ‘snakes’ then dissolved back into a goop. 

They shouldn’t be back either, it was thought. For the risk and if there were that many snakes there after all, surely the rough sleepers would be thought to avoid the area too?

...Nobody had even had to be hurt by this either. They never would have actually bitten the pigs. It was just a bad scare. Something they deserved, but without crossing over any sort of moral line. 

And that, had worked! It had done the job better than many other tactics ever had before!

Which Patricia had just witnessed firsthand. 

As a voice whispered so, into her ear. 

-----

An offer. 

She had seen first hand several times now, how much better she could help with this coin, him, magic. 

Patricia could continue to just do that. 

He was willing to work alongside her, to see these things done.

But....there was something which she needed to agree to first. 

Chapter Text

Unknowingly set as bait, to inevitably die - only to then not die. 

Patricia Ruiz-Borges, had thought she had known pain before. Witnessed it in its horrors with a growing awareness. Experienced it herself.

Then there was today. Proving everything else a terrible underestimation.

Hellfire had ripped through an amateur’s shield, like a knife through butter. That had been the worst pain that the young woman had ever felt. Screaming in utter agony, as brown skin had reddened and then blackened. Cracking. The overpowering stench of burnt meat. As flesh, hair and t-shirt alike had parts rendered naught but a charred mess of ash. The corrosive, searing heat unbearable, bringing her crashing down to her knees on stone. Even as she stopped feeling as much as she should, as some charred nerves barely felt pain - or anything else - anymore by the end of it.

That had perhaps been what allowed Trish to get back up, from the horror show of an injury. To help push that monster back. That and a simple, familiar, outright refusal to stay down.

By now though, Patricia looked much less like that. That part-charred nightmare. 

As she veered closer to her dorm. The veil and simple willpower against the strain of the veil, having gotten her back through the strip. 

The girl still looked like a burn victim. A good chunk of her hair remained entirely gone, along with patches of her clothes. But her wounded skin was no longer blackened, like something that had been coated in a roaring flame. Instead, it had subdued to a painfully blistered reddish-pink. Horrible for her, but more manageable for body and mind to work with. Especially in comparison to the initial agony of when she started to feel more again there. Something which had left even her healthy skin turning a deathly shade that looked anything but. Agony returning in a cruel force.

This was a comparative mercy. A relief. 

Although now she still wished there wasn’t the occasional breeze today. Further hurting what was exposed and sore.

“Thanks.” Patricia whispered in a strained breath, a tangible relief felt there. Along with fatigue. As her non-wounded hand tugged again at the one remaining strap of her rucksack. Her injured one being carefully kept as still as possible.

A hiss of a voice in response, that was by now becoming somewhat more familiar as well. 

Patricia gave a weakened but grateful smile. Although it badly stung her lips to do so, even more than careful hushed talking did, causing it to fall again.

“Hey, I appreciate it. You...helped a lot today.”

Otherwise she would have been dead. And…the smile firmed up into something else. 

“Do you think that bitch is going to be coming back?” There was a venomous harshness still, to how the student asked this question. Despite the pain in her voice. 

If she does, you know what to do now, my host. As you know you will have my aid. 

And if that just isn’t how it was with monsters. Whether corporate in their towers, the power-crazed with their metal sticks, or the far more literal ones who can throw fire. 

Kept on coming back.

“Yeah, well, this plan didn’t work too well.” She muttered grimly, going over it in her head. 

“She caught up and...” The woman winced. Very aware of her still aching burns that ached more still at the involuntary wince. Just as much as she was at that sheer terror she had felt with something, someone, so powerful hunting her down. A monster.

How had she even known where Trish-?

Are you saying that you wish to-?

“Not giving up.”

Never. 

Or she would have given the coin to that fake Becca-Susan. A coin which if anything, this incident had proven all the more that she badly needed. Imagine if she had not had it and a monster like that had shown up?! 

She would have been even more powerless!  Fuck, she’d barely been able to do this today. She knew, that if she’d been without it? Who even knew how much more people could have been hurt by that thing! God...just...crap it could have been even more awful...so many...defenseless...against that...

At least with Saluriel, she could learn to do something more, better than what today led to. 

“Just that I’ll need to think of another way to handle it, if she comes back.”

She just needed to plan what. There was option one:

“Do we have anything that could tell when someone like her shows up?” She asked.

“Some sort of watch, or alarm.”

I can show you how to construct wards. Those could serve such a function. 

“That sounds like something. How far out can they go?” An interested answer. One accompanied then by a hiss and harsh blinking of eyes. As her blisters harshly flared up in their stinging. Whether solely from being aggravated by a breeze or from healing too.

She listened intently to the answer that she got, as she tried not to make a sound at her blisters again. Explaining wards, their strength and how they may be countered. As by now, Patricia was finally within sight of her dorm building. Which is why there were several quick steps, to a place she could drop her veil. 

“...I don’t think a barrier would work.” A very shaky, thin voice, as the healthy remnants of brown skin paled once more at the current flare-up of pain.

Another rattle of breath, that veered close to a whimper. But not quite allowed to be. Attempting to hold it all together here. Collected. Even as those rattling breaths became heavier instead.

“These are dorms, they have house staff. I don’t want anyone who comes in for cleaning or checks to get hurt. Unless...if it’s for my room. A panic room. They send emails before they ever go in there...and it’s somewhere to retreat to.”

A dead end of one, which wasn’t good.  But the whole place was too many floors up for it not to be - and Patricia more than knew the value of a place to fall back to. To regather and recoup.

It was better than nothing. 

Trish adjusted the remaining strap of her bag again. Not wanting that to swing onto her aggravated, injured side. Although parts of her were gradually hurting less as the flare faded more. If still prickled. Like with her face. As its expression looked very wry, serious in her thoughts. 

Her steps remained quick though. Taking her where she needed to go. 

“Option two, or as option three in addition to the former,” A back-up started to be constructed in her head, as she peered out and then stepped out of the place she had dropped her veil. Continuing to try to get back to the dorm they were talking about. 

“Is a false ward possible? Something that those with magic would sense as there and would to break. But those who don’t have it wouldn’t notice. Then if I could make one of those... foci you mentioned, we could try to make it into an alarm system. If someone tries to use magic to get through the door, which most people don’t have, then that foci could be set up to send some sort of sign to one I have with me. Like an alert text.” Patricia tried to theorise and ignore the prickling trying its best to distract her, causing another grimace that felt like needles digging. 

She didn’t know much about magic, but she was attempting to patchwork together something workable as she did keep going.

But shortly after, while Saluriel himself seemed paused in response...Patricia had stopped in her tracks. She’d reached the door, where she was instead now looking upwards. The expression on her burned face, had already been wry. 

So there was no sudden frown or furrowing of her sole remaining eyebrow. 

But there was a different sort of weight upon her. As that curse of another breeze, horribly nipped skin and wafted loose pieces of hair and cloth. Some strands lost to the wind. 

Here. 

She...she’d been heading back here, after the fight. But it was actually hitting now. 

She was back. 

Trish...hadn’t really thought she would be, when she had first ran for her life. At least not for some time. She didn’t know where she was going yet. Was still attempting to plan. But she was definitely bugging out. Refusing to stop even as someone had tried to get her to.

An exhaustion wore through into eyes there, as they looked back downwards again. 

God. How much had happened since this morning? Attacks. Meetings. Warnings. Defence against the hateful and now just as much hated. Offers. What she did not know enough about. Those people and what they had said and done.

A question was asked on her sudden silence.

Trish gave a tiny shake of her head. Before getting out her keys and unlocking the front door. Entering into the complex before she was seen or there was another breeze. Angling to be sure the door did not hit her side as it came back. She was doing what she always did. She’d been exhausted before - more than just exhausted - even if this was a different kind. She just kept getting up and doing what was next. 

But yes. She also had those thoughts, that she was wanting clarified. Would see clarified. With exactly where this march was going. A sociology masters student. One who knows the value of sources. Of how information can be distorted. 

She remembered what that woman had said - “That’s what he does.”

Ms Ruiz-Borges’ voice remained hushed when she spoke next. Resolute in what she was saying, but not wanting this overheard. 

“Is it true what they said?” Patricia asked, as she headed towards the first set of stairs. Healthy arm at the bannister side.

With what?

“I’m not going to...go unquestioning into anything. Monoc. Nicodemus. Is it true what that woman-”

Patricia never did learn her actual name. It had been Becca and Susan and then confessed to be neither.  

“-said?”

No. He is a leader, yes. One worthy of admiration. But he is not the man she claimed him to be. He is not a man in a tower, ignorant of those below. He works for a greater cause.

“Actually or allegedly? Because I could say Jeff Bezoz is a ‘ philanthropist ’.” Patricia countered the argument swiftly as she headed further up the stairs. 

“And I’m not sure how much you’ve heard of him, but I can tell you he sure doesn’t give that pittance out of altruism.”

Tiny pocket change from him, adored over on the news. Propaganda for his image. As his workers scraped by for terrible wages, in appalling conditions. Fired and left to the wolves at needing to go to the bathroom for too long! 

You could ask the same of anyone, my host. Could others not question why you do what you do? When you know your own sincerity, as do those who know you well. Do they not? As I know him. 

“I-” Patricia started to skeptically answer that as well, before sharply cutting herself off. As she paused abruptly, right where she was on the stairs. Painful prickling of skin, as a surprise and wariness flickered across her features. All of it very palatable, a shudder of a heart missing a beat. 

Saluriel did not need to ask why this time. Because he could see it just as well as she, through the very same eyes. 

She wasn’t up at her floor level yet. But she had turned a corner that had brought her into view of the fact that there was no longer a door on the doorframe of her place.

It was gone. Not just open - no longer there at all.

A small step backwards as the back of her neck prickled. Flight or fight possibilities running through her head - as well as possibilities about what may have happened. A fear. 

Eyes searching left then right

No-one was out in the hall. There was no blood or marks burned onto the hallway walls. Or anything else but the familiar grime and peeled paint marking it. The door across the hall wasn’t even opened either. No people milling about, checking what a door being taken off its hinges was all about.

Her mind raced as it formulated what this could mean.

Option 1, could mean this had happened some time ago. Old news already reacted to. Before, that monster Rosanna had come looking here where...she could have hurt more people. In her sick hunt. 

Or option 2, it could mean it was recent. She had come here - or back again, option 3 -  after, from that ‘portal’. An ambush for the injured, like pigs could do for their arrests. A veil could hide sound too. Trish knew enough from her novice lessons to confidently say that. It wasn’t that it was old news the door, it’s that it wasn’t news at all yet.

All reasons would account for the lack of anyone else here. One was much worse than the others. Although none could entirely rule out a trap. 

Whispers from Saluriel then, into her ear. Advice, on sensing if any magic had been set, before she dared set foot through that doorway. Reminding on what he had said about wards. 

It was not something she knew well on how to do. The young student had been eagerly learning - but there had been no cause to have to try sense any of this before. No practice. But of course, she followed the guidance to try here. Trying to base upon what Saluriel said she was to look for. As she took the risk of one lone whispered word. Pulling with a deal of strain, on what she had before to slip away from the crowd. Focusing. An amateur sheet, like a very heavy towel, tugged. 

A slow step forwards. Each movement was careful. As she was just as carefully trying to remove her bag from her shoulder. All the more difficult with the fact that she was trying to use only one arm to do this.

For while Patricia may only know a few magic tricks - she had not forgotten the mundane and its tricks. Years of just using whatever you could.  

Another slow, careful step. Edging forwards. Shuffle. Ever closer to that doorframe. But not stepping in front of it, as she maintained her focus on the novice veil. Keeping quiet as she did. The sort of fearful paranoia, that came with someone who had by luck and the very skin of her teeth, survived a sorceresses murder attempt not even an hour ago. That still bore raw, painful scars from that vicious, dogged murder attempt.

Her posture adjusting, with her hold on the bag. Unburned shoulder tilting back. If there was a trap set, or someone waiting on the other side of the frame for her to step in…they would react. Even if they just came out looking for who threw the bag, or attempting to strike in that direction - her neighbour’s door was far enough that she would be safe and Patricia herself would see for sure then.

Patricia pivoted and threw that bag through the doorframe. Taking several steps back herself, as she did. 

There was a loud clatter that she heard as it hit something inside.

...But otherwise no response. Alright. No-one then? Was this from earlier? 

There was a dread to this. But also nothing left to try now. There was at least no magic set to go off at the door, she could tell that now. Or it would have gone off at the bag. If she saw someone in there, she still had her veil too. Give her time to react to any crap.

Patricia cautiously, nervously moved forwards then. Stepping in towards her apartment, only-

A step back. A veil dropping in sheer shock. 

“You!” 

“Ah my dear, I think we should talk”