Brigid Fitch
Character
Another day. Hours dragging by. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, she'd been staring at this terminal for hours, writing up reports on reports. Interpreting graphs, making diagrams, rehashing things that had already been rehashed a million times, every grain of novel or interesting information removed, watered down, made grey and lifeless and boring.
Like me. She thought with almost despair, but did not have the energy, the enthusiasm, for real despair. This was not what she had wanted from her life. But she couldn't complain. After all, compared to most of the people she'd known growing up she was hugely successful. Had a decent paying job in a respectable business. Had a ship, old and battered though it was. Had a decent looking, employed, not unkind boyfriend. Had an apartment that was clean, even if it was overpriced. She had come from nothing, from a family that squatted in an old building with three other families. Had worked her way up by being sober and punctual and serious and dependable. Success they called it.
"Hey Doll, you got that report almost done? If not I'm gonna have to get you to stay late. If you are, me and the other managers are going out drinking, I'll take you with me, show you what it's like going out uptown."
Oh God. Him again. She had, at last count, 8 different managers and bosses. Probably more now. He was the worst. He knew she was seeing someone. He knew she hated being called Doll. Either way she lost. Stay late for unpaid overtime, go out and have to go with him because of goddamn company politics. Because he was someones son, above reproach. And he expected her to be pathetically eager, grateful for his attention. If she wasn't she would never even get promoted. Might even get demoted, or fired, and a more receptive pair of pretty legs moved in to fill her spot.
She was still thinking about this when she realized that she was standing and he was not. That he was in fact on the floor, blowing small bloody spit bubbles, one leg of her chair sticking out of his chest.
Huh.
So this was what it was like to snap then? She had always sort of wondered. No panic, no deciding moment, it was just done and she was left in a strange little bubble of calm and clarity. Now what? Stay, be discovered by security eventually. Turn herself in? Go home and hide?
No.
Frak it.
It was done and she hadn't wanted this life anyway. Time to go and be alive. Whipping out a small compact, she used the mirror to remove the few small blood spatter that had landed on her face. The rest blended in quite well with her dark, professional, boring business suit. No one would look at her with her mousy brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail and think murderer. Not yet anyway. Checking his pockets, she found his wallet and took what credits she found. Why not? What was thievery after murder?
That done, she turned and left, palming off the lights, shutting and locking the door to the small closet that passed as her 'office'. He would not be found right away. Their security was not good, she had several hours she suspected. Headed for home. There were several things she had to see to before she could leave, and soon home would not be safe.
Home. From the terminal here, transfer all the credits into one account. Change clothes. Plain brown pants, a white undershirt. Pack a bag with anything else she might need. No more business clothes. Never again. After a moments thoughts she found a roll of electrical tape, and cutting up an old sock, managed to make a makeshift ankle sheathe for a medium sized kitchen knife. She was a hardened killer now after all.
A small smile spread at that. A tiny laugh escaped her. Soon she was on her knees, eyes watering as she roared with laughter. This was mad. It was mad and she was doing it anyway. Why not? Because it was crazy? Because society told you you couldn't? She had lived as society wanted her to, and it had made her seriously consider stepping in front of a speeder. Gasping for breath as the laughter finally faded, she wiped a bit of spit off her mouth with the back of her hand. The cat watched her from the corner of the room. She hated that damn cat. It had been a house warming present from Johann's mother. She suspected the woman had picked it because of its spiteful behaviour on purpose.
Rising, she strode over to it and took it by the scruff of the neck, opened a window, tossed it out, closed the window. There was a fire escape, she wasn't that cruel. They were on the thirty-second floor after all. After a moments thought, she dumped its food out the window as well. There. Now it had a fair chance. Just like her.
Opening the cupboards, anything non perishable and easily transported was added to the duffel bag with her clothes. Just then she heard an insistent pounding on the door. Oh. Oh dear. That was quick. She thought she'd have more time.
"I know you're in there! The whole building knows you're in there!"
Oh.
Just her landlord. Moving over to the door she opened it.
"Yes?"
"Yes?! What do you mean yes?! In here laughing like a loon! This building is for professionals! I knew I never should have let you in! Never liked the look of you! Rent is due tomorrow! If you're even an hour la-"
Throughout this, the man had been waving an accusing finger in her face. With hardly a thought, she leaned forward.
Krrrsh-snickt.
That was roughly the sound a finger being bitten off made. Spitting it out casually, she cocked her head to the side and looked at him, his mouth hanging open, staring at the stump where his finger had been, at the blood gushing out.
"I would have that seen to if I were you."
With that she closed the door, smiling. A foul taste in her mouth but happier than she had been in years. She stood for a moment. Went back to the other cupboards, removed the cleaning chemicals, scattered them over the floor. Pulled out the spare linens, pulled the ones on the bed off, threw about the clothes she wasn't taking. Johanns clothes. Clothes were easily replaced anyway, he'd live. Moved over to stand by the window she'd tossed the cat out of, surveyed the apartment one last time. Grinned, lit a match and tossed it. Lit a second match, since tossing matches is a very good way to put them out, walked over and used it to light a scarf leading into a puddle of something that was probably highly flammable.Watched the flames for a moment, before shoving the bag out the window, with herself following soon after. She had thirty-two stories of fire escape to climb down and she'd just set a fire after all.
About half way down, she tossed the duffel bag over the side. Nothing in it was particularly breakable after all. That made the climb slightly less difficult. Eventually she reached the bottom, by the time she did, she was not the only one using the fire escape, flames were licking out the windows. There were yells of panic. Contained anarchy. Taking up her bag once more, she strode off down the street.
It was getting much more likely that she would be stopped.
Her first stop, the only one she had planned, was at an automated banking terminal. A few quick button presses and her life saving were spat out of the machine. Not a lot, but that was all right. The new voice, the one that just acted, suggested that maybe money was not as necessary as she had always been taught to believe. You could just take things, if you wanted. What were people going to do to stop you really? Here at least, in this middle-class neighborhood. No-one would actually just kill over things. And when she got out of here.. Well. She would just find better weapons than a chair leg, her teeth and a kitchen knife. Society could take its rules, its laws and its expectations and stuff them. She was playing her own game now.
Credits were mostly added to the bag, a few stuffed into her pockets.
Exiting the terminal, she headed for the spaceport, and her elderly Aggressor assault fighter. Her inheritance from her father. He'd never really gone into where he'd gotten it, and she'd never asked, it was always just clear that you didn't ask what daddy did for a living, or had done, since towards the end mostly what he did was drink. In any case, the ship ran fine, although most of the weapons didn't work. It was fully fueled up, and had basics supplies on it, she used it rarely enough, the odd weekend excursion, back when she and Johann had still been trying. Pretending to be interested in each other. Pretending that all the life was not already sucked from them.
On the way, a flash of color caught her eye, and she stepped into a store for a moment, paid for something, added it to her bag, and continued on. Reaching the spaceport, she thought once more of Johann, guiltily. Well. Mostly guilty that she didn't feel guilty. Stepping into a holo-terminal, she called him up, he would still be at work.
"Johann, what can I do for you?"
"It's me."
"Oh. I'm at work, what did you need?"
"I know you're at work, I called you didn't I? I.. I stabbed my Manager. And I let the cat go free. And I bit the landlord. And I burned down the building. I have to leave. I'll never be able to come back. I'm free. I'm free, do you see? You could come with me."
"Is this a joke? ....It's not. You're not joking. You're insane."
"Maybe."
"I'm going to call Security."
"If you have to. Johann?"
"Yes."
"I'd rather have loved and lost... then have to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life. Bye Doll."
Ending the call, she grinned. She'd gone through the motions, he'd refused, now she was completely free, her own person. He probably would call security. As soon as her file was pulled up they'd know about her ship. Time to leave now.
Boarding her ship, she took off, not waiting for clearance. What were they going to do? Shoot down a civilian craft? probably piloted by some stupid rich kid too drunk or ignorant to go through the proper channels? Unlikely, not here.
As she made her way out of the atmosphere, into the safety of space, as she set a course almost at random, and moved to the refresher, pulling the bright, vibrant hair dye that had caught her eye out of the duffel bag, grabbing Johanns spare razor, still here from their last trip, she realized she was going to need a new name, an alias.
All that ran through her mind was;
Brigid Fitch, I'm really not.
A joke, from her childhood. Shared with a best friend, when they were coming up with the best names ever, snickering together like only little girls can. Months later she would see her friend run down in the streets. It seemed like all the fun in her life had died that day too.
"I will be everything we always wanted to be. No more shoulds, only wants. Life."
She whispered to her reflection, thumbing on the razor, running it over one side of her head, grinning.
Like me. She thought with almost despair, but did not have the energy, the enthusiasm, for real despair. This was not what she had wanted from her life. But she couldn't complain. After all, compared to most of the people she'd known growing up she was hugely successful. Had a decent paying job in a respectable business. Had a ship, old and battered though it was. Had a decent looking, employed, not unkind boyfriend. Had an apartment that was clean, even if it was overpriced. She had come from nothing, from a family that squatted in an old building with three other families. Had worked her way up by being sober and punctual and serious and dependable. Success they called it.
"Hey Doll, you got that report almost done? If not I'm gonna have to get you to stay late. If you are, me and the other managers are going out drinking, I'll take you with me, show you what it's like going out uptown."
Oh God. Him again. She had, at last count, 8 different managers and bosses. Probably more now. He was the worst. He knew she was seeing someone. He knew she hated being called Doll. Either way she lost. Stay late for unpaid overtime, go out and have to go with him because of goddamn company politics. Because he was someones son, above reproach. And he expected her to be pathetically eager, grateful for his attention. If she wasn't she would never even get promoted. Might even get demoted, or fired, and a more receptive pair of pretty legs moved in to fill her spot.
She was still thinking about this when she realized that she was standing and he was not. That he was in fact on the floor, blowing small bloody spit bubbles, one leg of her chair sticking out of his chest.
Huh.
So this was what it was like to snap then? She had always sort of wondered. No panic, no deciding moment, it was just done and she was left in a strange little bubble of calm and clarity. Now what? Stay, be discovered by security eventually. Turn herself in? Go home and hide?
No.
Frak it.
It was done and she hadn't wanted this life anyway. Time to go and be alive. Whipping out a small compact, she used the mirror to remove the few small blood spatter that had landed on her face. The rest blended in quite well with her dark, professional, boring business suit. No one would look at her with her mousy brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail and think murderer. Not yet anyway. Checking his pockets, she found his wallet and took what credits she found. Why not? What was thievery after murder?
That done, she turned and left, palming off the lights, shutting and locking the door to the small closet that passed as her 'office'. He would not be found right away. Their security was not good, she had several hours she suspected. Headed for home. There were several things she had to see to before she could leave, and soon home would not be safe.
Home. From the terminal here, transfer all the credits into one account. Change clothes. Plain brown pants, a white undershirt. Pack a bag with anything else she might need. No more business clothes. Never again. After a moments thoughts she found a roll of electrical tape, and cutting up an old sock, managed to make a makeshift ankle sheathe for a medium sized kitchen knife. She was a hardened killer now after all.
A small smile spread at that. A tiny laugh escaped her. Soon she was on her knees, eyes watering as she roared with laughter. This was mad. It was mad and she was doing it anyway. Why not? Because it was crazy? Because society told you you couldn't? She had lived as society wanted her to, and it had made her seriously consider stepping in front of a speeder. Gasping for breath as the laughter finally faded, she wiped a bit of spit off her mouth with the back of her hand. The cat watched her from the corner of the room. She hated that damn cat. It had been a house warming present from Johann's mother. She suspected the woman had picked it because of its spiteful behaviour on purpose.
Rising, she strode over to it and took it by the scruff of the neck, opened a window, tossed it out, closed the window. There was a fire escape, she wasn't that cruel. They were on the thirty-second floor after all. After a moments thought, she dumped its food out the window as well. There. Now it had a fair chance. Just like her.
Opening the cupboards, anything non perishable and easily transported was added to the duffel bag with her clothes. Just then she heard an insistent pounding on the door. Oh. Oh dear. That was quick. She thought she'd have more time.
"I know you're in there! The whole building knows you're in there!"
Oh.
Just her landlord. Moving over to the door she opened it.
"Yes?"
"Yes?! What do you mean yes?! In here laughing like a loon! This building is for professionals! I knew I never should have let you in! Never liked the look of you! Rent is due tomorrow! If you're even an hour la-"
Throughout this, the man had been waving an accusing finger in her face. With hardly a thought, she leaned forward.
Krrrsh-snickt.
That was roughly the sound a finger being bitten off made. Spitting it out casually, she cocked her head to the side and looked at him, his mouth hanging open, staring at the stump where his finger had been, at the blood gushing out.
"I would have that seen to if I were you."
With that she closed the door, smiling. A foul taste in her mouth but happier than she had been in years. She stood for a moment. Went back to the other cupboards, removed the cleaning chemicals, scattered them over the floor. Pulled out the spare linens, pulled the ones on the bed off, threw about the clothes she wasn't taking. Johanns clothes. Clothes were easily replaced anyway, he'd live. Moved over to stand by the window she'd tossed the cat out of, surveyed the apartment one last time. Grinned, lit a match and tossed it. Lit a second match, since tossing matches is a very good way to put them out, walked over and used it to light a scarf leading into a puddle of something that was probably highly flammable.Watched the flames for a moment, before shoving the bag out the window, with herself following soon after. She had thirty-two stories of fire escape to climb down and she'd just set a fire after all.
About half way down, she tossed the duffel bag over the side. Nothing in it was particularly breakable after all. That made the climb slightly less difficult. Eventually she reached the bottom, by the time she did, she was not the only one using the fire escape, flames were licking out the windows. There were yells of panic. Contained anarchy. Taking up her bag once more, she strode off down the street.
It was getting much more likely that she would be stopped.
Her first stop, the only one she had planned, was at an automated banking terminal. A few quick button presses and her life saving were spat out of the machine. Not a lot, but that was all right. The new voice, the one that just acted, suggested that maybe money was not as necessary as she had always been taught to believe. You could just take things, if you wanted. What were people going to do to stop you really? Here at least, in this middle-class neighborhood. No-one would actually just kill over things. And when she got out of here.. Well. She would just find better weapons than a chair leg, her teeth and a kitchen knife. Society could take its rules, its laws and its expectations and stuff them. She was playing her own game now.
Credits were mostly added to the bag, a few stuffed into her pockets.
Exiting the terminal, she headed for the spaceport, and her elderly Aggressor assault fighter. Her inheritance from her father. He'd never really gone into where he'd gotten it, and she'd never asked, it was always just clear that you didn't ask what daddy did for a living, or had done, since towards the end mostly what he did was drink. In any case, the ship ran fine, although most of the weapons didn't work. It was fully fueled up, and had basics supplies on it, she used it rarely enough, the odd weekend excursion, back when she and Johann had still been trying. Pretending to be interested in each other. Pretending that all the life was not already sucked from them.
On the way, a flash of color caught her eye, and she stepped into a store for a moment, paid for something, added it to her bag, and continued on. Reaching the spaceport, she thought once more of Johann, guiltily. Well. Mostly guilty that she didn't feel guilty. Stepping into a holo-terminal, she called him up, he would still be at work.
"Johann, what can I do for you?"
"It's me."
"Oh. I'm at work, what did you need?"
"I know you're at work, I called you didn't I? I.. I stabbed my Manager. And I let the cat go free. And I bit the landlord. And I burned down the building. I have to leave. I'll never be able to come back. I'm free. I'm free, do you see? You could come with me."
"Is this a joke? ....It's not. You're not joking. You're insane."
"Maybe."
"I'm going to call Security."
"If you have to. Johann?"
"Yes."
"I'd rather have loved and lost... then have to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life. Bye Doll."
Ending the call, she grinned. She'd gone through the motions, he'd refused, now she was completely free, her own person. He probably would call security. As soon as her file was pulled up they'd know about her ship. Time to leave now.
Boarding her ship, she took off, not waiting for clearance. What were they going to do? Shoot down a civilian craft? probably piloted by some stupid rich kid too drunk or ignorant to go through the proper channels? Unlikely, not here.
As she made her way out of the atmosphere, into the safety of space, as she set a course almost at random, and moved to the refresher, pulling the bright, vibrant hair dye that had caught her eye out of the duffel bag, grabbing Johanns spare razor, still here from their last trip, she realized she was going to need a new name, an alias.
All that ran through her mind was;
Brigid Fitch, I'm really not.
A joke, from her childhood. Shared with a best friend, when they were coming up with the best names ever, snickering together like only little girls can. Months later she would see her friend run down in the streets. It seemed like all the fun in her life had died that day too.
"I will be everything we always wanted to be. No more shoulds, only wants. Life."
She whispered to her reflection, thumbing on the razor, running it over one side of her head, grinning.