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No. Not going to allow it.
He dressed in extremely modest clothing – he would even go so far as to say he was practically cross dressing. Only females covered themselves completely. But it felt like something of a victory, a refusal to play into his mother’s plans that he could control.
Satisfied with that, knowing it was only a small thing but clinging to it desperately, he stowed his gear back in his locker.
The door burst open at that moment, and he turned. He was completely unsurprised to see Orza and Kirs there. Just like before, he didn’t even try to fight as the two of them grabbed him by the arms and marched him from the locker room, out of the stadium.
Though he was confused about it. Normally, they were content to just walk around him, guiding him on his mother’s order like a lost youngling. They only did this when they were parading him in front of paparazzi. But he didn’t even look drunk now. And aside from the modest, nearly effeminate clothing, he didn’t even look unusual.
But this was a fight he’d long ago learned to accept his loss in. He allowed them to drag him out to the hover and toss him inside, confused but not overly concerned. Yet.
That all changed when he realized where they were taking him. What they were doing.
Chapter 5
Sandy
Okay, so she was definitely being treated like a prisoner here.
Frowning, Sandy tapped at the windows of the room she had been locked in. Literally locked in. She had checked all the doors and windows. None of them opened. She was debating the wisdom of trying to break the glass, but she was at least three stories off the ground, and she wasn’t entirely sure she even could, because the material she was tapping didn’t feel like normal glass.
It had been three days since she’d arrived here.
She hadn’t seen Rane again. She hadn’t seen Elffa again. She hadn’t even seen the creepy ratchi guys. Food was delivered to her through a dumbwaiter style system, and no one came to ask if she needed anything else.
As far as comforts were concerned, she was fine. The bedroom was lovely. The bed was a hanging type, suspended on a long, thick, single rope off the ceiling, inside a little nest-like, teardrop shaped, wicker basket. All the pillows were shades of beige and white, but they weren’t uncomfortable. There was no blanket, not even a sheet, and she didn’t know enough about these people to know if that was a deliberate snub or just how they did things.
She also had a private bathroom – with no window at all. Inside was a shower, no bathtub, that she had used to scald and freeze herself in turn trying to figure out how it worked. It came equipped with a bunch of toiletries. However, there weren’t any pads or tampons or anything equivalent that she could find. It wasn’t a big deal, as she’d had her ovulation turned off as part of the immigration process so she wouldn’t get pregnant, but it was still something of an oversight.
It wasn’t the only one either. She didn’t know how much the bird like, slender ladies of this planet ate, but it definitely wasn’t enough for her. She was still hungry, and since she was locked in with no one to communicate with, she couldn’t even ask for more food.
She hadn’t bothered to unpack. She took what she needed from her suitcase each day, and washed her clothes in the shower each night because she didn’t know where dirty laundry was supposed to go, and she didn’t want to risk any of her stuff being taken.
She was ready to leave at the first chance she was given.
The problem was finding a chance.
She didn’t have a combot or any other communication device, and her phone, of course, didn’t work out here. She had no idea where the embassies were either, and had no way to look them up. She wasn’t above just walking back to the city, but the problem was that there wasn’t a road. The hovering cars just flew over the tops of a lovely, picturesque forest spread all around the mansion. She’d have to hike through wilderness to get to the city she could make out in the distance from her bedroom window.
Not ideal. Mostly because her orthopedic shoes weren’t good for hiking.
But if it was between that or remaining locked up…
Sandy turned from the window and went to sit in one of the low, egg-like chairs in the corner. There was a board here for a game she didn’t recognize and didn’t know how to play. Or maybe it was a decor piece she was seeing as a game board, she didn’t know.
She crossed her arms, thinking. She needed a plan.
Logically, she knew she should be afraid or something. She’d clearly stumbled onto some weird mother-son drama she definitely did not sign up for. Drama that, for some reason, led to her being imprisoned in a mansion. There were danger signs and red flags all over the place, and she was ready to pull the cord.
But she wasn’t freaking out. She was calm as she tried to think of a solution. Partially because she didn’t actually fear for her welfare – at least, not yet. No one had given any sign that they were going to hurt her. Accidentally starve her, maybe, but she hadn’t sensed any hostility yet. Mostly, she was just waiting.
Patience, her grandmother had always said, was a virtue. And they had it in spades. It took a long time to crochet a blanket or knit a sweater or embroider a pillow. Those kinds of projects required a fine touch, a fair amount of planning, and a lot of patience.
So, Sandy was calm. She wouldn’t make a scene until it was time to do so. Besides, troublemakers were treated harshly. If they knew she was trying to get out, her prison would get that much more secure, and that would be detrimental overall.
So, she waited. She plotted. She planned.
Part of her was curious though.
