by Katarina Kane » Tue Jul 18, 2023 6:44 pm
Katarina's daily routine, at least in public, was likely one of the circles of Hell so far as Ryn was concerned. Lots of sitting at a desk, sorting through paperwork -- including, she might be able to tell, a significant chunk of Ryn's, filling out the reports for her. She regularly visited the medical bay for tests and treatment; went to the gym to do laps; went to the firing range to practice with the pistol; went to the motor pool to work on her car. Mundane tasks, repeated over and over and over again, like a bear pacing in a cage.
As Ryn watched -- and really watched for the first time -- she could see how the Voice had settled into Katarina's life. Small, little things -- a passing agent, told to bring her coffee, or deliver paperwork to another office, or to change a radio station, or to pass her a particular spanner. The reverb in the voice, the eyes glazing over, the instant obedience. It wasn't as if she was ordering anyone to do anything totally against their wills or the like -- no one dancing for her amusement or fighting over her; no one lured to their deaths. Heck, Katarina had given Ryn more invasive orders when they were practicing together; this was nothing, really. But it sure was frequent; much more then when she had first arrived. It wasn't entirely clear that it was all intentional, either -- it could well have just been her asking for favors, or for assistance, and not realizing that she was having that sort of effect on the human members of the society. She was clearly used to people somewhat existing in her orbit -- something that had happened when she had signed a record deal, perhaps; used to her agent and recording studio staff and international handler bending over backwards to help her out. Had she always had some of the Voice, just subtler than this? Was there any real difference between a diva and a Siren? One way or the other, she was certainly placing herself on a different level than the mundane staff, be it intentional or not.
In private, peering through the thin cracks in what passed for a window in her less-than-welcoming chambers, Katarina came more to life. Listening to music and singing along, quietly, moving her body to the music in ways that fascinated (and confused?) Ryn; watching some terrible television -- remnants of her life outside the concrete walls of the society. But there was also more obsessive behavior here, too. Each morning, she'd break down and clean her pistol, her hands flying over the weapon with familiarity beyond what one would expect from a new recruit or a 'brain-dead pop star'. And in the evenings, lying on her bed, Katarina winced as she used a pair of tweezers to remove a handful of glistening, aquamarine scales from the small of her back, leaving the red, angry skin underneath. She'd place the scales in her dresser drawer, locking it away, and would rub a variety of goops and creams on her irritated back -- some she had picked up from the medical bay; others that the Wyldclay had handed her in strange jars with unfamiliar writing on it. And she'd soak it in the tub, wincing as the hot water ran against her irritated flesh, but knowing that the water somehow made things feel better and safer.
And such was the life of Katarina Kane; day in and day out; a new, settled routine. At least until Ryn started slipping up. It took a day or so for her to quite figure out what was going on -- and Ryn's first notion that Katarina might have figured out she was being watched was a slight increase in her speed; being five minutes early to her appointments and the like.