- Merlyn
Temperance - Middle Path, Patience, Excess, Lack of Balance
Folliet Bard is having the worst date of her life.
“So what do you do for a living?”
Jake is a relentless interrogator. He heard people like talking about themselves, so he assumes asking endless, probing, personal questions is the height of charm. And maybe it is. Sometimes. But Bard doesn’t like her job, her life, or herself. Talking about them bums her out. Frankly, she came out for a different kind of personal probing. So she tries to steer the conversation anywhere else.
“I mostly stare at my phone. Do you play Marvel Snap?”
“No. But seriously, what’s your job?”
Bard shrugs, drinks. “I’m an FBI agent.”
“Oh my god. That sounds exciting.”
“Eh. It’s a lot of paperwork.”
And it was. The wrap up from the Lucius incident was so tedious that her pressure was higher than before. She had turned to Mentor for some release, and Jake’s profile looked absolutely deranged. But his apparent sociopathy was apparently just social obliviousness. Not the disaster she was looking for. Online dating did her dirty once again.
Her Mentor dating interface was different from Bro-Dog’s. Rather than a single chick with low standards, she was offered a plethora of really bland dudes with Jake as the only interesting stand-out. Choosing him didn’t trigger a new personality for her to learn, but rather a warning that no one is perfect and happiness depends on moderate expectations.
Bard is moderately disappointed in Jake.
“Did Mentor give you notes on how you should behave during this date?”
“Ha, yeah.” Jake scoffs. “I don’t need a lesson on how to talk to girls.”
“Hmm.” Bard rubs her brow. “I wonder how Marta’s date is going?”
“Who’s Marta?”
“Doesn’t matter. So you don’t trust Mentor?”
“Oh, I trust it, I just don’t need it. It’s a time saver, that’s all. Found you in a hurry, but I can take it from here. Same with investing. It feeds me hot tips, but ultimately, I pick which crypto to buy.”
“You’re buying crypto from a chatbot?”
“Gonna retire in two years.”
“No worries about Ai hallucinations? Like how they provably fuck up current events?”
“I don’t follow current events. Doomscrolling’s bad for your health.”
Ugh. Bard hates the term Doomscrolling. Victim blaming bullshit. Fuckers are wrecking the whole planet and they think we should just ignore it and die happily ignorant.
She looks at Jake’s vacant smile. Guess it’s working for this guy.
Kill yourself and then him. says the pressure. It’s our only escape.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
But of course she can’t. Jake’s not a killer. Probably. She’ll do some digging later. But for now, violence is off the table. She looks around the bar. It’s Ir-ish. Oak, brass, and green bottles. Maybe getting plastered is the answer.
“What are you looking for in a relationship?”
“Honestly?” Her mask slips. “I was feeling restless and was hoping to fuck a stranger to take the edge off.”
“Oh. Well, we shouldn’t have sex until we really get to know each other.”
“Perfect.”
There’s no escape. We’re doomed.
But the pressure is wrong, because her phone rings. It’s Merlyn.
“Excuse me. I don’t have to take this.”
She walks away from the table for some privacy. Then out of the bar. Then down the street, and out of Jake’s life forever.
“Yo! What’s up?”
“Hey, girlfriend!” says Merlyn. “How was Lucius?”
“Fantastic. On fire. At his best, you should’ve heard him. Dead now, of course. But doing really great until then.”
“That’s wonderful. Good for him. Should not have tested us. But I’m glad he went out on a high note.” says Merlyn. “Listen, they found Tracy Turbin. He’s dead.”
“Oh no.” says Bard. “Who is that? Did we kill him?”
“I don’t think so. He was the oldest member of congress. And that’s saying something. I haven’t seen his autopsy, but I’m guessing he died of being an extremely old fuck.”
“Well, rest in peace.”
“Sure, but also, he was the tie breaking vote. The balance of power. In two months there’s gonna be an election to replace him, and the opposition will definitely snag his seat. The Regime's reign of terror will soon be in jeopardy.”
“Is that good?”
“Who cares? The future has nothing to do with us.” Merlyn considers the future version of herself to be a separate person to whom she owes nothing. It’s enlightened daoism. Or dissociative madness. Either way, she lives remarkably stress free. “The Regime’s gonna go bonkers over the next two months. Move up the insanity they had planned for the midterms. For sure. I’ve seen it in the ancient texts.”
Merlyn is referring to the writings of the Secret Fraternity of Like Minded Anonymous Psychopaths. A cabal from the dawn of time that hid a path to world domination in cave drawings, cuneiform, and ugaritic. None of it makes sense to Bard, but Merlyn’s pretty smart, so she doesn’t dismiss it out of hand.
“Great.” says Bard. “What does that mean?”
“Means somebody’s gonna do something stupid. May as well be us. You in?”
Go to her.
“Yes. Sounds fantastic.” Bard is still hustling from the bar. She does not regret leaving, but she is getting thirsty. Not a fucking camel. She ducks into a corner store. “How do I get off work? The Bureau has me investigating, like, thirty fucking cases. Do I quit?”
“Nah. You just shot a guy. I’ll write you up. Say you need some stress leave.”
“Oh. Do I?”
“Nah, you’re good for another couple. But fuck off anyway and come have fun with us.”
“Would you fix me if it wasn’t to your advantage?”
“Absolutely. I wanna fix all my little psychos.”
“Even Lunar?”
“Can’t fix perfection. But the rest of you, yes.”
“You’ve certainly gathered a lot of us.”
“Every multinational business consulting firm is top heavy with psychos. We’re just more honest about it.” Merlyn sniffs. “Do you want in or not?”
“Of course I do. I love stupid shit.” Bard shoplifts some whisky. “Did you read my report on Narc X switching to Mentor?”
“Yes. Kinda. No. Ansley did. You can talk about it with him.”
“Okay.”
“Why so casual? I blatantly ignored your report. You hate filing paperwork that no one reads!” Merlyn gasps. “Are you drinking?”
“I’m a little drinky.”
“I wanna be drinky!”
“Well come get drinky, girlfriend.”
“Where are you?”
“Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Too slow. We’ll meet halfway. At the spot.”
“Kay! I’ll start pre-drinking. Lunar can drive. You need a ride?”
“Nah, I’m good. See you soon.”
Bard hangs up, then steps into traffic. Stops a Corolla. Has a moment of clarity and lets it go. Stops a Challenger instead. Flashes her badge.
“FBI. PTSD emergency. I’m commandeering this vehicle. Get out.” She pauses. Considers the traffic situation. “Actually, you drive. I’ll pour the whiskey.”
River Valley Civilizations
Holy Prostitution for Baal