More Milly stuff. I need to make something out of her.
A letter, folded neatly in her bag. It drove her, that simple correspondence, like a dark horse at the end of a whip, beating out a mad path with black black hooves. She knew something like that would come, a snap crack from the cattle prod. Why was she relating to cattle nowadays? Old habits died hard she supposed as her clunky feet hit the pavement, falling heavily on the ground.
It didn't take her very long to reach the place. An abandoned warehouse, of course, rarely patrolled by the police. It was one of those stoic buildings that had gradually melted into the backdrop of Meridian, neither here nor there in the minds of passerbys. It was the perfect safehouse for her...friends. She hesitated to call them that. They had an agreement, the four of them, a tenuous contract that said Milly scratched their backs, so that they'd scratch hers. It was dark inside the building, but preturnatural eyes cut through the inky blackness better than most. The scrappily dressed woman found her way between old cartons, and broken down equipment. "Shannon.....Shannon?" She called the leader, the head houncho, the asshole. Shannon was top dog in the little group who called themselves the Hartford Three. Dumb name, as far as Milly was concerned, but apparently it had some meaning behind it...a kiche joke. Her own voice answered her back in a lonely echo, haunting yet slightly comforting. Shit, maybe she'd get out of doing anything at all. She was, afterall, nothing more than a neonate. True, a motivated neonate, but a weakling nonetheless.
Then it came, the telltale click of a gun being uncocked...or cocked perhaps. Milly hoped it was the former. Then the voice affirmed her hope. "Yeah...Mill, come on in...always a pleasure, you know." It was that knowing tone that made Milly want to scream. Shannon had a sublime way of reading people and then using that against them. Typical user, and she'd fallen right into his repetoir of tools, out of her own necessity, out of her own humanity. Perhaps tonight though, she would be grateful of her bonds.
"Pleasure? You know I'd love to say that the sentiment was mutual...but you're too much of a jackass for my tastes." She saw him, stepping out from behind a stack of pallets, his shadow looming tall and broad-shouldered. While she was sure her supernatural prowess could best him in a physical fight, she often wondered how difficult it would be. This thought had disturbed her through many a day's slumber.
"Oh come on Mill, you know you love Loki, and somewhere deep...deep inside...you know you love me and Randal." He was mocking her, as always. Deep, deep inside. Been there, done that. Narrowing her plain blue eyes Milly took a step forward, and then past Shannnon. Entering through the broken glass door she found herself in the office area of the old warehouse. An over turned wooden desk sat rotting in the corner, and a three-legged chair leaned up against the wall. This was Shannon's effective bedroom/study. A row of books sat on the floor, mostly old mystery novels and true crime stories. Milly almost laughed everytime she saw that small collection.
"Shannon...I need something from you. I need a lot from you. I know you have friends, I know you have tons of 'em. And I need them. All of them." Her voice was commanding, even though it didn't really need to be. But she didn't waste energy on classic tricks of the trade. No, this was all Milly. Honesty was the best policy with Shannon. Staring in the face of blunt humbleness seemed his only weakness, and it proved no different this time. But, as always, he requested a balancing of the scales with something in return.
"Oh Mill, you sweet little thing. Meeting you in that cafe was the best thing that ever happened to us three. Anything for you...anything." The words were soft, but the tone was lecherous, hollow. Milly didn't know what price Shannon would exact from her, and she didn't care to think on it just now. The important thing was the his cooperation.
It was happening already.