"Almost there, sweetheart." Marginalia lit up as the woman turned pink. "I'm more of a facilitator."
Selling an Idea
Dezi Sutton, despite her professional proclivities, often found herself in the same situation; one that many queer folx around the world often ended up in.
In her cozy, eclectic apartment in Three-Portlands, with the warm glow of an amber lamp, Dezi stared at the letter in her hand and said one word:
"Fuck," Dezi checked her calendar. How is rent due again, already?
Throwing the letter into a pile of fellow discarded notices, she went to her bedroom, pressing a non-descript panel on the wall. It moved with her hand, sliding forwards, and then gliding to the right with ease, revealing a cache hidden behind the panel. There were a handful of items, none more significant than a porcelain mask that sat in a cradle, nestled in the middle; but that wasn't what she was here for.
Her manicured hands found a small metal box, brass and tarnished, tucked in the back. With practiced ease, she slid it out, careful not to disturb any of the other trinkets that decorated the pseudo-safe, least of all the bone china brush. The box opened with a satisfying click, to a deeply disappointing sight.
Five, ten, fifteen… shit, I'm four hundred short. Dezi looked around, trying to see if she had squirreled any other cash away, but, no — as happened nearly every month, putting off selling items to collect more led to only problems. At least at this point, she mused, I'm used to the stress of it by now?
She considered her options.
I could pull a job? No, I don't have anything ready to go. I don't have anybody who owes me, and it's not like my bank account exists in any meaningful way… She frowned, the honest part of her having known what the answer was from the onset. She shook her head, returning the box to the designated corner, grabbing a few of the smaller, more innocuous trinkets on the way out, wrapping them in silk with care and stuffing them into her satchel.
She looked in the mirror, seeing her brown skin, manicured eyebrows, wicked smile and flowing hair, nodding.
Better get into character, Dezi turned back to the hidden compartment. With a careful reverence, she lifted the mask from its home, holding it before her in the air. As she looked upon Marginalia, she smirked, trying her best to summon the bravado that the idea thief so effortlessly exuded. Her fingers began to sparkle, light glowing out and casting a pearlescent hue across the hidden treasures, as a warmth began to fill her chest.
A second later, the glow faded, and Marginalia returned the empty mask to the place of honor in the wall, closing the panel up behind her.
She spun on her heel, smiling to herself on the way out.
Time to go fence some ideas.
As Marginalia walked into Fabnormality, the premier queer bar in Three Portlands, she grinned, feeling the eyes that were immediately drawn to her. It's not that she was here to meet anybody, but — well, who doesn't like being desired? With renewed confidence, she strode across the dance floor, turning down a hallway and descending a flight of stairs.
As the thumping music gave way to muffled bass, she set her eyes on her destination. At the end of the hallways was a plain door that to any but the initiated, would be summarily ignored. This was the kind of place where you needed to know somebody to get in. Luckily, Marginalia knew many people.
The person sitting on a stool by the door watched as she approached, casually, yet, overt in their observation. The market paid extra for tight security, and you couldn't get in unless you had a pass—
Fuck! Marginalia realized, blinking and trying to not let it show. My pass is still in the wall, god damn it. I… I'm not walking all the way back just to come here, I can… I can figure this one out.
Marginalia had grown up around those who found wallets, lifted unnoticed baubles, done what they could do make their way in life, and, as much as she respected them, it wasn't her style. No, the idea of picking a pocket felt… uninspired.
I'm not that dull, she reminded herself. There was always another way, and she loved finding it. Pausing against the wall, to 'tie' the laces of her thigh-high boots, she considered her options. I'm going to have to let them know that I should be allowed in; I don't have my pass, but you don't need one to get in. It just makes it easier, rather than having to prove your friend is really inside, waiting for you.
As she methodically laced each layer, pulling them tight against her fishnets, the door opened, two rich assholes walking out, acting as though they owned the world.
Of course, she rolled her eyes. Clients.
That did, however, present an opportunity. As they passed her by, Marginalia's hands shimmered beneath a pair of red leather gloves, tipping forward and bumping into the close one.
"Fuck, I'm sorry!" She mimed platitudes as the two men leered at her. "Didn't mean to get in the way of you two boys having your… fun."
The close one sneered in disgust, shaking her off and motioning with his head towards the stairs; the other followed after, having forgotten all about Marginalia. She grinned, tying a practiced knot and striding towards the door.
Shame, she thought, looking over her shoulder at them cockily walking away. I won't get to see the looks on their faces when he gets kicked out of his own penthouse.
She could imagine it, though, and that was still pretty good. As she neared the doorperson, they stood, clearly recognizing her, opening the door and tilting their head.
Of course they would recognize me, she thought, laughing to herself. After all, I 'deserve to be here'.
As the sound of music was replaced with a familiar din, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to be back in her element.
"I'll have a Caesar," she said casually as she approached the bar, locking eyes with the muscular woman behind the counter. Marginalia quirked her eyebrow, and the bartender returned the look with a nod and a smile. As she watched the bartender's shoulders flex, as the cocktail was shaken, a voice came from her left.
"— believe somebody else would actually order a fucking Caesar!" a cloaked figure said, laughing openly. "It's just so—"
"Cut it out," another hidden figure beside her replied in a sultry, feminine tone, swatting at the first one's shoulder playfully. "We're in public, babe."
"Fine," the first intoned, as the pair looked up, finally noticing that Marginalia had been staring.
If you're going to talk about me, at least do it to my face.
Before she could move any closer, the second figure held out a hand in apology, nodding and trying to resolve things amicably. Luckily for them both, the bartender had returned, and Marginalia was far more interested in her.
"Here you go, darling." The bartender set down her glass, speaking in a husky tone, ragging out each consonant with a mischievous lilt. "You have to be an interesting woman to order a drink like that. Can I get your name?"
"What, are you flirting, or just a fae trying to trick me into dropping my guard?" Marginalia tittered. "For what it's worth, your appearance did pull me in, but you'll have to do more than just that to earn my name."
"You're too smart for this place." The bartender pressed her arms against the bar and flexed her muscles. "My name's Mina. What are you doing down here, in our little chaotic den?"
Marginalia smiled at the woman, turning her back to the bar, attempting to appear aloof as she scanned the crowd, drink in her hand.
"You seem to be on a roll, Mina," Marginalia emphasized, "why not keep guessing?"
"Oh, that's your kind of thing, is it? Fair play." Mina began to clean behind the bar, as she kept the majority of her focus on Marginalia. "Obviously, you belong here."
"Obviously," Marginalia said, the concept burning a hole in her pocket, metaphorically.
"You don't seem like a buyer." Mina shook her head.
"Oh?" Marginalia looked back and watched Mina from the corner of her eye.
"You're not an asshole," she stated simply, chuckling to herself. "Are you here to find somebody to hire?"
"Almost there, sweetheart." Marginalia lit up as the woman turned pink. "I'm more of a facilitator."
"You're a thief," Mina said simply, as if it was always a fact that both had known.
"What? Have a problem with my career choice?"
Marginalia held her breath. As cool as she was playing it, the same doubt she had felt many times crept back in. A moment later, she felt Mina's breath on the nape of her neck.
"Not at all, honey," Mina whispered. "I like a woman who knows how to use her hands."
Fuck, Marginalia waited a second for her mind to reboot, hot under the collar, sipping from her cocktail..
"Speaking of, I do need to get down to business." Marginalia set down her drained glass, sliding it across the bar towards Mina. "Maybe I'll see you around?"
"Here's hoping," Mina leaned forward and posed one last time. "See you later, thief."
As Marginalia began to walk into the crowd, determined to find a buyer, she paused. Turning, ever so slightly, she winked at Mina over her shoulder.
"It's Marginalia, by the way. See you next time, Mina."
By the look on Mina's face, it seemed her reputation had proceeded her. That, or she had affected Mina more than she had thought. Either way, she counted that as a win.
Things had certainly been easier on other nights, and Marginalia found herself running into dead ends more often than not. It seemed she arrived right after a concept shipment arrived, and stock was full at nearly every concept vendor. Anybody who made an offer lowballed her laughably; she might need the cash, but she wasn't desperate.
Not yet.
Not as long as I still have Ernie to see, Marginalia had saved her favorite idea trader for last. That status wasn't because he was the best, nor was it because he gave her the best prices. He had helped her out when she was in a rough spot, and she did the same. Other thieves and vendors might vie for notoriety or power, but Ernie?
Ernie was happy in his corner, and she loved him for that.
Approaching the warm tent, a lean-to that Ernie had decorated with trinkets carrying concepts, ontologic cores and more, Marginalia saw his bald head poking out from behind a workbench.
"Ernie," she called in a sing-song voice. "Have I got something you'll want."
When he popped his head up, it was not wearing the welcoming grin she expected.
He looks anxious. Her eyes narrowed. Why?
"Marginalia! So— Sorry, I'm just a bit busy tonight." His attention was still clearly elsewhere.
"What?" Marginalia walked lazily into his makeshift stall. "Don't have time for your favorite idea mover?"
"I just—" Ernie paused, looking around, eyes darting to and fro. He nodded his head, telling Marginalia to come closer. She obliged, and as she neared, Ernie continued in a whisper. "Look, I've got a big ticket item tonight. I sell this? I'm set for months. Sorry, I'm just not in a place right now where I can spare the— "
As Marginalia craned her neck over his bench, she caught the edge of a box before he snapped it shut, glaring at her.
"Keeping secrets now, are we?" Marginalia scoffed, turning to look at a trinket on the wall. What does he have? I would have heard about anything major, or at least, rumors would have spread. There haven't been any major heists lately, so…
"Do you mind?" Ernie said more firmly, making it clear that she should leave.
Thankfully, Marginalia was not the kind to follow directions.
"How dangerous is it?" She took a swing — and struck gold.
"You're killing me here." Ernie begged, sweat pouring down his brow. "What can I do to get you to leave?"
Marginalia smirked, opening up her bag and removing the few concepts she brought with her. They were gnarled, hand carved figurines, exotic and unrecognizable. The stones shimmered with flecks of crystal, embedded into the form.
"Okay." Ernie was frantic. "What am I looking at here? Luxury, brand names?"
"Those are exclusive luxury concepts." She gestured at the small statuettes. "Guaranteed to make any item one-of-a-kind."
"Anything more interesting?" Ernie dismissed her baubles. "You and I both know that's nothing."
Marginalia rolled her eyes, putting them back into her bag. She gently lifted another piece, stone, ancient and significant. "What about this?"
"Margie." A nickname Marginalia hated, that only he could get away with using. "So what? What is this, just a museum concept? An artifact?"
"Ernie, it's better than just a museum artifact." She leaned in, conspiratorially. "It's an ancient artifact, stolen and displayed within the British Royal Museum. Anything you want to falsify provenance on, use this and you're guaranteed to get away with it."
Ernie paused, looking conflicted. On any other night, Marginalia knew that she would have caught him, but… he just couldn't take his eyes off of his prize.
"I just… can you come back in a week?" Ernie was apologetic, but unwilling to waver. "Tonight's just bad timing."
"I can't." Marginalia was worried, her honed mask cracking. "Look, I need to make rent. Can we cut a deal here?"
Ernie hemmed and hawed for a few seconds more, before shaking his head.
"Marginalia, you know that I will always go to bat for you," Ernie said, apologetic. "Listen, my buyer is coming sometime soon; if you hang around at the bar, come back when they're gone and then we can talk, okay?"
Marginalia acquiesced. Instead of picking up her artifact, she left it on the tabletop.
"Don't forget your—"
"Keep it for now." Marginalia interrupted him in a less-than subtle maneuver. "That way, if anything happens to it before I come back, you'll owe me. More."
Ernie laughed, nodding and squirreling the piece within a hidey-hole as Marginalia drifted away from his stall.
That box… Marginalia was unable to ignore a mystery that interesting. Just how bad is that concept of his?
As Marginalia wandered her way through the weaving corridors of stalls, carts and displays she made sure to steer clear of a few that were… objectionable. Not that she was one to talk, but, there were always degrees of morality.
There were vendors who found rare concepts, those who worked with thieves to secure items for buyers, those who treated things like it was a flea market — all of those were reasonable, and generally, pretty good people. You had identity forgers and other specialty artisans, each living and dying by their morals and reputations. And then, there were the stalls that stole concepts as you walked by, those that employed more… violent tactics in their recovery. And worst of all? Some stalls had recently started to sell mass-produced, simple concepts: ideas like 'sharp', 'shiny', or 'toxic'.
Marginalia didn't know exactly how they 'mass-produced' an idea, but — any solution she could think of was exploitative or dangerous.
I'm not stupid enough to get into bed with somebody like that, no matter how gorgeous, she thought, passing one such stall with a very pretty man behind the counter. She didn't have a 'code of honor', per se, Marginalia preferred flexibility in her approach.
Her one rule, the one that had saved her time and time again?
Don't take stupid risks, she reminded herself, or you'll get stupid prizes.
Reaching the end of the cluster of stalls, leading back into the bar, she caught sight of a few people she had seen here before, running into them as she came to buy or sell an concept: idea thieves, like her. She paused, considering approaching them to say hello.
As much as I keep to myself, a little networking never hurt anyone.
Before she could make her way over, however, a figure bumped into her from behind. Immediately, Marginalia's hands began to shimmer as she mentally checked her sense of self, searching for any incongruence. If you lose sight of who you are, then you won't even notice when somebody steals part of you.
Things seemed to check out, though.
Letting her guard down, glow fading, she recognized the person who had tripped into her. As they sat, dazed on the floor, blushing and rubbing their elbow where they hit it, Marginalia frowned.
"Inoh." Marginalia shook her head. "Haven't you learned to look where you're going yet?"
Inoh shrugged, and gave her a sheepish, still relatively-innocent look. "Sorry, Marginalia, didn't see you there. I was just—"
"Rushing?" Marginalia said, hand on her hip.
"Yeah." They rubbed the back of their neck. "You know me," they offered, as if it explained everything. Unfortunately, it did.
Inoh was a young idea thief, one she had given a few tips to during visits to the market — they weren't very careful, nor were they talented, but Inoh was kind. Marginalia had seen what happened to people who were kind down here; she did what she could to prevent that from happening again.
Extending her hand, and helping Inoh to their feet, she continued. "What are you in such a rush for?"
"Oh!" They bounced excitedly, buzzing uncontrollably. "I was just heading back to a few people I met, we're…"
Inoh looked around, surreptitiously.
They're not subtle, Marginalia rolled her eyes.
"We're pulling a job. A big one. Do you want in?"
No, her gut instinct told her immediately, before the rational brain interjected. Well, I do need rent… maybe I'll hear them out?
"I'll consider it." Marginalia still kept her guard up. "Who are you working with?"
"They're just over there," Inoh pulled towards the group she had spotted earlier. Sighing, Marginalia followed behind.
As she did, she began to riffle through her bag, looking for a small metal rectangle; finding it with ease, she opened the clasp on the end, as it opened like an accordion, revealing many blank white cardstock cards, and a single card at the front, embossed with a cursive 'M'. Her idea thief 'concept card', a little thing concept thieves had started a few years back, for when they met others like them.
Each concept card was embedded with a powerful ontological core, representing the thief; one that could replicate and sustain itself, even if the idea was taken from it. The blanks were just that: empty surfaces, ready for an idea.
As they approached the group, Marginalia saw a few members reach for their waists.
Guns? Marginalia tensed, ready to flee. Or their own cards?
Maybe they hadn't decided which to grab yet, either.
"Hey, guys," Inoh said, brimming with enthusiasm. "This is Marginalia, I was telling her about the job."
A larger, older thief who looked like he belonged at a dock scowled. "Inoh. What did I tell you about talking about our plans?"
"I just—" Inoh stammered, before Marginalia took pity on them. She cut forward, extending her concept card.
"You can trust me," Marginalia acted uninterested, allowing the gathered thieves to reach out and pull her concept from the card. It wasn't just a way of identifying them, it also served as a record of their exploits, previous jobs, and other notable details.
In other words, Marginalia was showing off.
If that's not enough, then they're too slow for me anyways.
A girl with a rat's nest for hair spoke next.
"I've heard of you before, you pulled that Hoarder job, right?"
"The weapon?" Marginalia knew exactly what they meant. "That was me."
The group closed in, whispering amongst themselves. Marginalia picked at her nails, casually and disinterested.
God, they take their time, don't they? She dug an imagined fleck of dirt from under her index nail. I'm about ready to leave this generic rogues gallery and go back to something more fun. Like Mina.
Before she gave up, however, it seemed they had reached a consensus.
"We need somebody who can move big ideas," the gruff one said, crossing his arms. "Interested?"
"How big?" Marginalia dug for information. "Actually, scratch that. Who's the buyer?"
"You don't care what we're stealing?" The man failed to mask his surprise. Marginalia had fun, where she could, and this was no exception.
They're all the same. Marginalia was unimpressed by Inoh's 'friends'. The same buttons, the same triggers, and the same tricks to catch them off guard.
It was a bit boring, she would admit, working with people at this level, but… maybe the job would be worth it.
"What we're stealing isn't relevant, because I know that I'll be able to do it." Marginalia crossed her arms. "The employer is far more meaningful for me to know before signing up. So?"
"We're stealing a shipment of refugees, anomalous ones." The man spoke casually, as if it was a daily occurrence. "The CI wants those cover stories to infiltrate the… kinder groups, to get their people on the inside more easily."
"No thanks," Marginalia immediately dismissed the group and snapped her card case shut. "Not quite my speed."
"Are you sure?" The gruff tone was now wavering, the slightest hint of desperation leaking in. "It pays well, you'll get a fair cut."
"I don't 'do' war crimes," Marginalia tossed her hair to the side. Ignoring the man, she turned to Inoh. "Look after yourself, okay? Remember what I told you."
Inoh looked conflicted, but nodded slightly. "Th— thanks," They made no move to leave the group.
"Fine." The man riffled through his pockets, and pulling out his card case. "If you ever decide that your 'morals' are less important than, you know, living the good life? Come find me."
She grabbed his concept, sticking it onto an offered blank. 'Porter Black', it meant. A man who would do anything, for the right price.
For a moment, Marginalia considered crumpling it up — but she knew it was better to stay neutral, than make more enemies. There may be no conceptual honor amongst idea thieves, but she still had manners.
She slid the card into her bag, forcing a smile, and departing for the bar. As she turned, she began to frown, thinking about Inoh.
You can't save them all, she reminded herself. The best you can do is save yourself.
By the time Marginalia had returned to the bar, unfortunately, Mina had been replaced by not only somebody far less interesting, but one who did not know what a Caesar was. Even when explained, he struggled with the idea of it, asking 'why would you want to drink that?'
Oh well. Marginalia looked him up and down once more, leering. At least the idiot is pretty to look at.
As she idly sipped on her drink, and wondered if Ernie was finished with his deal, she watched the cloaked figures out of the corner of her eye. They hadn't moved, nor done anything to warrant further suspicion, but, Marginalia felt off.
They're here for something, so, what is that something? A beat later, a thought crossed her mind. Or, who is that someone?
Before she could think on the topic any longer, the relative consistent murmur of the bar-cum-bazaar was interrupted by shouts, screams, and a vortex of noise. Her eyes darted around trying to identify the source.
God damn it. Marginalia slammed her drink down and stood up. This better not be fucking Er—
The familiar baritone scream that cut through the crowd only confirmed it: this was Ernie's fault.
Weaving through the fleeing crowds and curious onlookers alike, Marginalia stalked purposefully towards the back corner that housed Ernie's stand. As she did, light began to bend in strange ways, the images of the world beginning to bend and distort. Pausing, Marginalia took a breath, and centered herself ontologically.
You are Marginalia, thief extraordinaire. Marginalia felt all extents of her body, physical and conceptual. You cannot be forgotten, nor will you forget yourself.
Mantra ingrained in her mind, Marginalia continued into the chaos of the market, repeating it mentally as she did.
She turned a corner, and where Ernie's stall had been was— well, yes, one could argue it was still 'Ernie's Stall', conceptually, but, in practice?
The world seemed to be folding in on itself there, radiating fractals extending from Ernie's workbench, where the box had been placed on top. She saw Ernie, hunkered down in the back of his stand, struggling to remain conscious, let alone to maintain his grip on reality. Shape and colors distorted in a kaleidoscope of noise, bright enough to burn her eyes, as Marginalia considered her next steps.
"What the fuck did you do now, Ernie?" she yelled, her voice echoing, distorting and seeming to bend along the curves of shifting reality.
"I swear!" He sounded as if he was behind her. "It just did that on its own!"
"What? What fucking concept did you bring here?" Marginalia edged closer towards Ernie, as best as she could given the ever-changing non-Euclidian space the stall now resembled. Objects twisted, shifting in meaning, morphing between connected and disconnected ideas all the same. It extended out, like an aurora, strongest centered around the dangerous concept, weakening as it went further out.
Marginalia grabbed a piece of chalk from her bag and marked a line on the ground, where she best guessed the field of influence stopped; a few seconds later, she looked back.
The line had been replaced with a deep, red gouge in the floor, as if laughing at her.
Fuck. She dropped the chalk. It's growing.
"It's not important!" Ernie still protested, but Marginalia'd had more than enough bullshit for one night.
"Ernie. Tell me what the fuck that is this fucking second, before your mind is too abstracted to remember. What were you selling?"
Ernie froze, brow creasing as he concentrated, trying to dig up the ever-drifting memory. The twisting fractals grew larger now, threatening to engulf him.
"Instability!" he shouted in a moment of fleeting lucidity. "It's 'instability'."
Who the fuck would bring a concept that dangerous to a place with so many fucking people?
But, of course, she already had her answer. Ernie would.
"I—" Marginalia took a step back, staggered by the expanding nexus of change. What the fuck do I do? I'm… I'm not fucking prepared to handle something like this, if I had time, sure, but—
From the other side of the stall, Marginalia saw a woman striding towards the swirling chaos: the cloaked individual from earlier.
"Hey, wait!" Marginalia tried to warn the woman. "You don't know how dangerous this—"
Seemingly ignoring her warning, Marginalia watched as the woman carelessly walked into the field of fractal shifting, shaking her head. As Marginalia held her breath, waiting for the worst to happen, the woman spoke.
"Fucking idiots." The woman reached a hand into her cloak as she strode towards the box in the center. "Can't even manage a simple fucking idea. This was supposed to be a cute date, not… whatever the fuck this is."
The cloaked woman had reached the center of the sphere of influence, and as the light, sound and objects distorted around her with the intensity of a winter maelstrom — nothing happened to the woman.
What the fuck is she? Marginalia was horrified. The only beings with that much conceptual stability are deities, extraplanar entities, or… no, she couldn't be an Icon, right?
Of course, as Marginalia would later realize, it didn't quite matter what the woman was; that wasn't relevant. What was relevant was what the woman pulled out of her cloak.
Her hand emerged with something that looked like a metal, skeletal frame of a cube, one foot wide in all dimensions, braces leading towards a spherical void in the center that seemed to distort all light that passed through it. Marginalia didn't recognize what it was, and she made it her business to know about things like that.
With a lazy flick of her wrist, the woman flung the cube at the center of the instability. It hovered in the air, looking like it might shift and change. Instead, the colors, lights, surfaces and sounds began to normalize, reverting to their intended meanings. The sphere of chaotic influence shrunk, constrained by the small spherical void in the center; the box shrunk, compressing the entropy until it was almost the size of a fist.
The box disappeared with a perfunctory 'pop', and the bazaar had returned to normalcy, in as much as the bazaar was normal, mind you.
Ernie stood up gingerly, glancing between Marginalia and the woman, face stuck fluctuating between fear and gratitude. The cloaked woman, seemingly, paid him no mind; she had turned, and was advancing on Marginalia.
Shit. Marginalia panicked. What the hell is she doing?
She considered her escape routes, but— the crowds had come to see the commotion, crisis having been seemingly averted, and she wouldn't be able to make a break for it in time. She was out of options.
"You were trying to help him, weren't you?" The concealed woman stood before her, neutral but intrigued.
"I— I wasn't just going to watch." Marginalia shrank into herself. a bad habit from her past. "Not with this many people around."
Despite the roar of the crowd, there was a distinct moment of silence. A beat later, the woman tilted her head.
"Interesting." The woman acted casually, as if there hadn't just been a disaster unfolding. "Let me buy you a drink."
That wasn't a question, Marginalia, nevertheless, nodded in cautious agreement. "Lead the way," she managed.
The cloaked figure turned, and walked towards the bar, Marginalia hesitantly following in tow, giving a passing shrug of confusion to Ernie.
I can yell at him about his stupidity another time. It's not like I have a choice in this. Maybe if I play things right, I can still salvage tonight.
As she caught up with the cloaked woman, Marginalia saw her companion sitting at the bar, her face no longer concealed. She was pretty, silver hair and green eyes, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. She reached out her right hand to the approaching woman, and Marginalia spotted a gemstone on her right ring finger.
The other woman, sitting and turning back was also visible now. She had dark wavy hair, flowing inside the back of her hood, like smoke, her sharp sculpted brows quirked.
She looked like a woman.
That fact, in context, deeply scared Marginalia.
Who the fuck is she?
"Sit," the dark-haired woman said, patting a seat at their tall table, again, not providing a choice.
"How can I—" Marginalia sat, before the silver-haired woman cut her off.
"We dropped our conceptual filters. Just for you. Feel special?"
"Honored," Marginalia quipped in pseudo-sarcasm. "Why… who… what do you want from me?"
The dark-haired woman seemed to ignore her question. "You were drinking Caesars, right?"
Marginalia nodded, and the woman signaled to the bartender to mix another for her. As she waited, she looked between the two women, who had locked eyes, and seemed to be engaged in a silent conversation. Marginalia tried to assess her options, but, from where they sat, she had no way out.
They planned this. Marginalia felt like the proverbial rat in a cage.
"You know," the dark-haired woman began abruptly. "I liked the trick you pulled."
"The trick?" Marginalia turned slightly to pick up the proffered cocktail from the bartender. If I can just bide enough time to figure out—
"You know, the one you pulled with the railgun? Pretty elegant, we thought."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—
"Little mistake," the woman smirked. "You left your ontological signature behind when you forced the final reset of the system. It was buried in pretty deep, but—"
"We know all about digging up dirty little secrets," the silver-haired companion smiled wickedly. "Not to mention, we have the best conceptual bloodhound in the biz. Tracking you down was trivial."
They're Hoarders, Marginalia realized, every cell in her body screaming to run. I can't let them catch me, otherwise—
She couldn't spend her life in a box, Marginalia had made her choice. She kicked the table with her knee, sending the cocktails flying. At least, her own; it seemed the dark-haired woman had anticipated something like that, holding the other two drinks in the air.
When Marginalia turned to try and flee, she saw the silver-haired woman standing, blocking her way.
"Oh, don't worry about running." The silver-haired woman rolled her eyes.. "We don't give a shit about 'justice'. Hell, I was impressed, that was fucking hilarious. You know they think it's a toaster?"
Marginalia was completely out of her element, and despite every instinct telling her not to, she gave up.
"Well then." Marginalia sat back down and wiped up her spilled drink, begrudgingly. "What the fuck is going on here?"
"We should probably introduce ourselves." The dark-haired one pushed her hood down, hair cascading out as she did. "My name is Heather, and that's Lillian."
"And… you work for the Foundation?"
"Ehh?" Lillian tilted her hand back and forth. "We work at the Foundation."
"There's a difference?" Marginalia came across more dismissively than she meant it. Thankfully, the women shared a glance and laughed.
"Yeah, there is." Heather relaxed and leaned back in her chair, sipping from her fruity cocktail. "Namely, I get to make the choice I want to make, no matter what the higher-ups say."
"Then, pray tell," Marginalia said, trying to find her calm. "What do you want?"
Heather looked like the cat around her cage, leaning in. "How would you like a permanent position? I could use somebody as fearless and talented with concepts as you on my team. You're the first concept thief we've met who is competent enough without being a massive piece of shit. Interested?"
"What's in it for me?" Marginalia's curiosity betrayed her suspicion.
"You mean, other than a salary and a place to stay?" Lillian kicked her feet up on the stool beside Marginalia, heels thudding onto the padding. "You'll get to do things you could only ever dream of."
"Plus," Heather added, "we'll keep your little secret. Nobody needs to know that you are Marginalia, you can just be whatever cover story you want; and as long as you stay loyal, that never has to change."
"So…" Marginalia considered her options, if she had any. "You're blackmailing me into a job?"
"Partially?" Heather quirked her head and started laughing. "But you still have the final choice. Say no, and we'll give you a few days head start."
I… Marginalia was stuck, trying to figure out the right answer. As much as I fucking hate working for 'the man'… She paused, looking at Heather. They do seem like they hate it as much as I do. Obviously, if they're going to blackmail an idea thief into secret employment, but… I'm not seriously considering this, am I?
"You are absolutely considering this," Lillian's green eyes were piercing, as if she reading her mind. "You were good by yourself. With Heather and I? You'll be the best."
It seemed, to Marginalia, that she could only do what a thief did when presented with an unprotected gem: even if it was a trap, you still took it..
"Tell me how you did that trick, and you've got yourself a deal."
"Just one of the many toys you'll get to play with." Heather extended her hand, which Marginalia grabbed. "Welcome to the team."
Marginalia grinned, leaning back in her chair with renewed confidence. Obviously, these two understand the level of professional and talent I have, and they can see just how uniquely skilled I am. After all I—
Marginalia froze, the rest of her self catching up. That wasn't her true self, no, that was the part that knew it 'deserved to be here'. Isolating the rogue concept mentally before it could integrate fully into her sense of self, she held a hand to her temple, fingers shimmering as she extracted the errant idea.
Looking for a host, and noticing the bartender coming over to yell at Lillian to get her boots off the seat, Marginalia made a quick choice, pushing the concept onto Lillian's heeled boots. In a blink, the feeling was gone, and the bartender stopped in his tracks, seeing that everything was exactly where it was meant to be.
"Actually." Marginalia blinked, hesitating. "I…"
"Cold feet already?" Lillian rolled her eyes. "What'd I tell you, babe, you were never—"
"It's not that." Marginalia unfolded her hands, interrupting Lillian's aside. "But I want to make sure I earned this job. On my own merits."
"What are you talking about?" Lillian was, uncharacteristically, confused. "Did you not steal the railgun?"
"No, I did, I just—"
Heather, who had been watching this exchange with raised brow, took that moment to interject.
"What did you just get rid of, there?"
"You noticed?" Marginalia hadn't expected a non-thief would see anything. "I left my pass at home, so I stole an idea off of some rich prick outside. I moved it onto her heels," inclining her head at Lillian's feet.
"Oh my god! Lils, she made your boots 'deserve to be on the stool', that's—"
"That's fucking great!" Lillian immediately joined in the shared bemusement. "So, what's your problem, Marginalia?"
"I…" She paused, taking a breath in. "Look, I just wanted to make sure that you actually wanted me, not just the woman who you 'knew' 'deserved to be here'. Does that make any sense?"
"Crystal clear," Heather gave her a soft smile. "You're speaking our language. In fact, I'd say that proves that we picked the right person; you'll fit right in."
Huh. Marginalia hesitated, before the corners of her mouth turned up. "In that case, when do I start?"
