Sanctuary

Chapter Eight - Nigel

"Ha! You're running an illegal Underground community and yet you're still such a cop." Nigel followed him towards the nightstand at a leisurely stroll that was forced. He focused on the photo, though he watched Michio pick the open bottle back up out of the corner of his eye. "I'd say no to the offer anyway. The smell of that shit always reminds me of dear ol' Dad." Michio hesitated with the bottle halfway to his mouth as Nigel put a finger on the photo, dragging it towards him across the beat-up wood of the nightstand. Instead of taking another swig, Michio set the bottle back down.

"Sorry," he muttered, but Nigel knew he didn't mean he was sorry for drinking. The moment Nigel left he'd start back up again. And that was fine. Whatever. He was allowed to, he was an adult and all. No, instead he was sorry about what had happened to Nigel and his family in the past, sorry to have dragged it all up. Maybe he should be sorry, because the memory was a lump in Nigel's throat and a twist in his stomach. But Michio had his own memories he was dealing with. The picture and the alcohol made that clear enough.

The picture was creased down the middle, like it was used to being folded in half, with the corners bent and ragged from regular wear and tear. It showed two women at what looked to be a party, colored lights and a shadowed crowd of people behind them. They were wearing the kind of clothes that were in style over a decade ago, back when clear vinyl over brightly colored cotton clothes and clear face masks were popular. One of the women sported a braid of bright green hair that hung over her shoulder, her face mask trendily clear so the painted purple of her lips was visible. A teardrop shaped glass pendant hung around her neck, the kind of pendant that held glowing tufts of moss. She was grinning madly with a flush to her cheeks, a flush likely gained from the half full martini glass in one had. Her free arm was draped over the second woman, a lady with a more elegant sense of fashion and golden-brown skin that shimmered in the light of the camera's flash. Her black hair was pulled back into precise bun and her brown eyes were rimmed in sharp black liner that complimented her skin tone. The crease in the photograph ran between the two women at the point where their shoulders met, cutting them off from each other with an odd pettiness. It was like he only cared about one of them, but didn't dislike the other enough to tear her out of the image entirely.

"Which one was your wife?" Nigel asked without lifting his eyes from the picture.

"The one with the black hair. Her name was Gael."

"And the other one?"

"A friend."

A friend? But not a good friend, if the crease was any indicator. Or at least a friend he wasn't always on good terms with.

"How long ago was it?"

"Weren't you here to tell me something?"

Nigel slid the photo back over towards the bed.

"Yeah. So you know all those rumors about the President's new stepdaughter?"

"I've heard a lot of rumors, you're going to have to be more specific."

"Specifically the rumors that they haven't released any publicity photos of the new happy family because the girl is a dirtskin? Or hey—remember what what's-his-name said about seeing the auto on the ground floor, coming back in from the Rim? Those rumors. They're true. The President's stepdaughter is a dirtskinned Rim girl."

Nigel waited for Michio's stunned response, but got a slow blink and a bored irritation instead.

"So?"

"Soooo that's our in!"

"In for what, Nigel? If she really is the First Daughter—which I highly doubt—then what do you expect me to do with this information? Hold her hostage? Take revenge? Start a rebellion?"