I apperate another glass of scotch, wishing Taurus was here. “We are all invested in an honest dialogue—good and bad. That’s why we’re here. We’ll discuss things that happen in public, and if it ventures into non-community business, we will say so.”
“The agenda is loose, guys,” Lily says. “There are two items: there’s a problem we need to understand, and how do we fix it?” Her tone is calm, but I see that she’s annoyed as hell.
I don’t think her mood is going to get any better.
The Blade Tries Not Kill Everyone
TALIA
Ilet Lily keep control after she asks the big question.
If there were a dais and a gavel, if there were a stage with footlights, I imagine I would stride up to the edge and let my authority fall across these assholes like a shadow of doom. Instead, I’m relegated to the background so no one can accuse me of ‘bullying them’ by disagreeing with their shit take.
Lily sits upright, her voice slicing the sudden hush cleanly as she taps her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Well? Anyone? You’re the people who wanted this meeting, yes?”
Her tone is more aggressive than she normally is, and I don’t know how long that will last, but it makes me hopeful.
The silence in the circle is thrumming, almost electric; it’s one of those silences where everyone’s breaths synchronize, and the stillness is so dense it has gravitational pull. The crickets out here singing are like a bad cliché, but they’re also comforting to me. Nature will always be on my mate’s side if she needs it, and that helps me calm down a bit. These people want her to shrink,compressing into a smaller and smaller version of herself until she fits into their boxes again.
I won’t let her do it, no matter how many of these fucking meetings we have.
Lily lets the silence ride after her demand for what feels like at least five minutes. She wants them squirming so she can wring the admissions out of them like water from a dirty rag. I can tell by the way she’s staring intently but not giving the crowd even a crumb to snack on. It’s a good plan; if they felt this was so damn necessary, then they need to open their mouths and voice their shit.
Everyone’s eyes darting up to the sky or sideways to a plant or the pool—anywhere but at each other. They’re too scared to say the shit they’ve been whispering or emailing or DM’ing to Deli’s face, especially with me looking back at them. I like that, but it’s also going to make this shit drag on forever.
Finally, Lily leans forward and holds out the physical object she and the cat call the ‘stupid stick.’ It’s a plastic, sparkly baton they intend to use to control the crowd; holding it gives you the floor, and you can speak until you give it up. I think that’s immature as shit and adults should be able to do this without it, but I yielded to their expertise on the dumbasses who live here.
“Okay, let’s go alphabetically. Deli, we’ll start with you,” Lily swings the thing towards my surprised woman as if tossing a grenade.
What a coward; she knows the cat didn’t ask for this damn intervention.
My new mate recoils; she wasn’t prepared to be asked to speak first. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She looks fromLily to the stick, and then to me, as if I might leap across the coffee table and save her. If she could get away with disapperating out of this situation, she definitely would.
But she can’t, and Lily knows it.
I try to project calm vibes to her, but the bond between us only allows so much without being obvious. Deli’s hands knot in her lap and one finger tugs on a cuticle until it bleeds. She looks to the sky as if pleading, which isn’t normal for her. I know the feeling of terror when asked to say something that no one wants to hear. There’s creeping knowledge that if you say it wrong, it’ll be your head on the block, and you won’t be able to stop it, but you have to do it anyway.
Lily’s still holding the stick, her expression vexed. “Deli?”
The cat makes a sound between a squeak and a gasp before she says, “I don’t want to start. I’m not one of the people who asked for this meeting.”
I see Lily’s jaw set, just for a second, before she snaps back into her performance of patience. “We’re going alphabetically,” Lily says. “That’s you. We all have issues, and we all have to start somewhere.”
A shudder runs through Deli’s shoulders, and her lips flatten into a frown. I know she’s working out that Lily might not be entirely on her side, but instead of letting on, she clamps it down hard. She’s afraid of being the one to say what everyone will hate, but she’s trapped by her own position here. I feel trapped, too, and I give her an encouraging stroke over the bond to help. We knew the point of these meetings was to leave us exposed and raw. This is just another part of that desire among the people she cut off when she got pregnant.
I want to slice them into ribbons, but I promised not to.
Minutes go by as Lily stares at Deli, and Deli stares at the floor while the rest of us stare at them both. I feel the impulse gathering in the room, the collective urge to scream or bolt or tear the whole situation apart just to relieve the pressure. Before anyone else can step in, I do it.
I clear my throat and say, “I think we start with people not on the Council, Lily. That includes me, but I don’t want to go first, since I’m not the one who called this meeting. You should make the people with a stake in this begin.” My voice is measured, as if I’ve practiced this script a thousand times. I try to pitch it so Deli realizes that I’m running interference for her.
Lily’s gaze lands on me. She’s annoyed, but she’s also relieved that she has someone to argue with. “The Council is precisely why we’re here,” she replies, stick still in hand. “We need to hear from everybody in order, including us; it’s only fair.”
I nod. “True. However, I think we can let the people who have something urgent to get off their chest lead. Otherwise, everyone will wait until the last possible minute to say anything real.” I look around to see if anyone’s picking up what I’m laying down. “And you two Councilwomen won’t be able to answer any of their questions or charges.”
The cat looks at me as if I’ve just thrown her a lifeline. Her knuckles are white as Lily’s mouth purses. The introvert doesn’t enjoy being redirected when she’s finally speaking, but she also doesn’t want to look unreasonable in front of the others.
There’s a power play going on, always, and she’s calculating her next move, but I don’t know why.
