When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Eighty - Cleanup In Tristan's Pants

EIGHTY

Cleanup In Tristan’s Pants

As Tristan and Catherine walk by many stations on their way to the buffet room, she recognizes within some of those work areas a few of the non-refundables whom she “studied” in the first coatroom in the hallway, during her outing alone, while Tristan slept.       

The women’s eyes are no longer dead like they were when their owner was tied up and drugged, but they’re not all alive either. In other words, they’re normal, for non-refundables. And since none of them now looks at me as if she had a recent heart to heart with me from deep within herself, you were right, healer, when you said that they wouldn’t recall sharing anything at all with me, from deep within. But it’s not because they don’t remember. It’s because it never happened. I see that their designs aren’t ruined, so they obviously didn’t all just fall to the ground like I believed that they might, after they were physically released from those long bars. I do see smudges, but those will no doubt be ignored. So, the contest continues. Weekend play does.

During hers and Tristan’s travel to the food room, Catherine’s eyes also meet up with those of non-refundables who blocked her immediate return to her master, after themselves returning from forcing their way into the buffet room, and then being turned back quite abruptly, with dishes slapped from their hands. Some of the women still have bits and pieces of food, or colour stains from it, on their bodies, mixed in with their art. Catherine is wondering why the women have not rid their designs of such impurities when Tristan speaks up. “That has to be against the rules,” he remarks. “Colouring.” His tone of voice is so very even that Catherine is not certain whether or not he is serious or jesting.

Hundreds of women, in the grand room, with each belonging to a station in here for another eight hours or so, before being forced to move on to a station of a different kind, far away in the world.

When the couple walks by the wall panel in the hallway that opens up into the secret room, Catherine finds herself clearing her throat, and immediately worries that Tristan will read so something into it.

What was that? What the hell am I doing?

Maybe the thing is that you don’t want to lie to him, healer suggests.

No. I’m just so tired, like you said. I wonder if anyone’s found the shattered television yet. Why is nothing happening? A ex-true is missing. And just where is Laura? What if . . . What if I didn’t choose after all, not to run, because there was never a choice, because I made up it all up? Maybe something that I dreamt? But my body art is okay, and if I’d slept, then surely I would’ve harmed it, so . . .  I . . . Waking-dreaming thing that . . .

Did you enjoy the master/canvas hour?  Healer interrupts the mental babbling that threatens to continue.