hold the ropes

You've never seen Morgan Sibley like this, but that's not saying much. Since Wander showed up at the docks with a grin and something too polite to be a demand but too self-assured to be a plea, you've only met her and Tobias on a handful of occasions—usually to negotiate Wander's contract, once or twice in passing at the market. You know her business persona, and Wander's stories give you only an imperfect lens to the human behind it; you can tell it bothers ver more than ve wants to let on that vis parents spend so much time away from home, but ve speaks as warmly of them as of vis siblings, and you know all too well that spending more time with their children doesn't always make someone a better parent.

And you know Morgan and Tobias love their children. If the way they poured over that contract—calm, encouraging, asking attentive questions about timelines and safety, never once stumbling over a pronoun—left you with a scrap of a doubt about that, the look on her face now would shred it.

"We need to go," she says without preamble as the crowd continues to disintegrate around you. Tobias is nowhere to be seen—gathering the other children, no doubt—but you take her meaning well enough. "Can you make a stop for us?"

You take the money she brandishes with a surprised blink, but the answer is a foregone conclusion. "Where?"

She explains in clipped fragments. It's a good idea, thoughtful and easy to carry, though as you nod along you find yourself already planning a few extra stops; the ring will need to survive hell with ver, after all, and you have a mental checklist of people Morgan has never met who might pitch in for something a little more durable than what the money in your hands can buy.

When she finishes you hesitate, and regret it a little as she raises her eyebrows expectantly, because what does a person say about something like this? You've delivered grief to doorsteps before—a handful of times, fewer than some captains, still more than you wish—but in those cases there are facts to recite, experience to fall back on. There was a storm. There was an illness. There was an accident. I'm sorry. Here nothing is certain but the unique anxiety of hope.

You settle, because her time is worth more than a half-stranger's dithering right now, on, "Wander's got a good head on vis shoulders."

Her laugh sounds like the creak of wood seconds before it gives out. "If that was true, we wouldn't be doing this." She buries one hand in her hair, a gesture you've seen often enough from Wander that in any other circumstance you would smile. "If that child comes home I'm killing ver myself."

She doesn't mean that, but she doesn't need you to tell her what she means, either. "I'll meet you at the Justice Building," you say, pocketing the money and nodding her away.

She thanks you, but she doesn't put herself through an extra farewell. You can't blame her.


find me continuing to mine titles from Laura Veirs' "Salvage a Smile"

this is the NPC reaction thing I listed in the filler tracker; it started out as a piece of Valentín's bio, and then ended up not fitting, and then I got indecisive about whether I actually wanted to bio him out at all, but I still wanted to finish it, partly because hey! suddenly there's a reason to figure out who the heck Wander's parents are! \o/

I don't think it's come up elsewhere, and I was vague about it here, so: Valentín is trans and (for a variety of reasons) his relationship with his family growing up was [see-saw gesture with one hand], so that's part of why he agreed to hire Wander younger than he usually would—basically well, I don't know a thing about this kid's home life, but I do know that I can offer ver one (1) supportive environment, so let's do that.