Chapter Two: Not Untrustworthy

Bellavie perked up as she heard footsteps approaching. She pulled herself upright in her chains and puffed a few stray strands of hair out of her face, then put on her most winning smile. Someone had finally forgotten about her. If it had taken even a day longer, she was sure she would have withered away and turned to dust. Thankfully it hadn't come to that. It was finally time for another first impression.

The first thing she did was dress up her cell. Fortunately, she was chained above a drain, so the... unavoidable mess of being alive mostly took care of itself. Still, there were certainly improvements to be made. Bellavie chose not to believe that the mess and smell of her cell existed and then, with a moment of focus, pushed on that disbelief. To her senses, her cell became totally clean.

Immediately, she began seeing flickers of movement or moments of distortion in the mirrors that lined the walls of her cell. She thought she could hear her name being whispered from behind her too. Bother. Disbelief had arrived early today. Bellavie channeled doubt again, asserting that mirrors don't belong in prison cells, so they couldn't be there. That one was easier to project, as it was more inherently unbelievable than a messy cell.

Next, she took care of her own appearance. She refused to believe that she was dressed in rags that had nearly fallen apart, or that her hair was a matted and ragged mess. She simply couldn't be malnourished and filthy, and she certainly wasn't untrustworthy. This part was more difficult, even when she closed her eyes and tried not to feel her clothing change or her body fill out. Changing how she perceived herself wasn't ever easy, but it was the only way she could lay the trap. Slowly, she could feel the truths that she denied fade away, replaced by the next most likely thing.

She opened her eyes and inspected the changes. Her clothes weren't nice, but they were at least modest. She was still very skinny, but no longer practically skeletal, and her hair fell more neatly around her shoulders. Not perfect, but it would do. It would have to.

Her target finally reached her door. He was a young man, probably not even in his twenties yet. Not particularly tall, but decently built, with dark skin and shaggy black hair. His gold-brown eyes were sharply attentive, and he walked with a kind of unconscious readiness. Not tension, like how most of the prisoners, though it wasn't confidence either. He was simply alert and focused. Hopefully he was dumber than he looked.

Thankfully, she didn't see any spark of familiarity in his expression as he peeked into the room. She didn't think she recognized him either, though her own memories were drained not too long ago, and she couldn't be certain what she had lost. He inspected Bellavie, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hi there!" she called before he could start walking away. In her first attempts to draw people in she had gone with more dramatic approaches—crying, begging, screaming in agony—but people here were used to that kind of thing. What really intrigued them was a friendly face willing to have a conversation. That was hard to believe here, but people wanted it so badly that they were willing to take a chance. Usually. "You seem lost. What're you looking for?"

The man hesitated. Not untrustworthy, she thought at him. Not suspicious. Not strange. She focused hard, trying to force her desired perception into his mind. 

"My name's Bellavie. I've been here for a while, so I know how to navigate the harum-scarum pretty well," she said conversationally. "I could guide you, if you'd like."

He turned to face her, head tilted. "Harum-scarum?"

"That's what I call our lovely prison. We're all like prey, like hares, and we're all scared." She pulled on her chains, making them rattle. "Too scared, really, so no one trusts anyone else. The Vicarts don't take off your cuffs when they dump you in here, you know, someone has to help you out. Problem is, most people are too worried about everyone else taking all the food or bullying them into service or something. No one wants the extra competition that setting someone else free would introduce, even though we could have strength in numbers." She forced another smile. "I don't suppose..."

Not right to leave her locked up. Not untrustworthy. Not strong enough to be competition, Bellavie projected.

The man took a step into her cell, then glanced over his shoulder. Had he heard something? Would he know what it meant?

"What's your name?" Bellavie asked quickly, trying to draw his attention back.

"Ashilis," he said tersely. "If I help you down, you'll tell me about this... harum-scarum, was it?"

"Sure will!" she said, "I'll show you how to get food, how to deal with the 'Rators, the Throttlers, and even the Patrol if you're so inclined." Bellavie wasn't sure if any of those groups were still active. Probably not. She thought she had been hanging here for... a while.

Ashilis eyed her, obviously weighing his options.

Not untrustworthy, Bellavie pushed again.

Finally, Ashilis nodded to her. He walked over to her side and began to undo the clasps on the chains holding her in place, starting with the ones around her ankles. "Why aren't these things locked? If the Vicarts want to keep us contained, they could do it easily."

Bellavie shrugged, trying to hide her excitement at finally being freed. "Maybe there are too many of us to have locks and keys for, maybe they want to encourage competition and distrust, maybe they just don't want to have to come in here. I find that the cause usually matters less than the effect."

Ashilis grunted his agreement as he undid the final lock on her arm. Bellavie immediately fell to her hands and knees, limbs trembling. Ashilis caught her by the arm and tried to help her up, but she hadn't needed to support her weight in a long time, and her muscles were screaming at the sudden exertion. She couldn't waste this opportunity. She couldn't.

Bellavie slowly rose to her feet, leaning heavily on Ashilis for support. It annoyed her that she had to rely on him, but at least he seemed thoroughly fooled for now. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little out of shape."

"That's understandable," he said, "I guess that tour will have to wait." Ashilis looped her wrist chain over his head and got his shoulder under her arm. It left her other arm hanging awkwardly at chest-level, but she appreciated the support. She appreciated the advantage he gave her even more, though. If he tried anything funny, she could wrench her chain backward and crush his throat.

She relaxed her disbelief on her cell's appearance as soon as they were outside, though she kept her appearance alterations up. "Just for a bit, I promise. Especially if we can get our hands on some food."

"You should probably start telling me how to go about doing that, then," Ashilis said, marching her through the common room. Bellavie kept an eye on the other prisoners, hoping that none would recognize her. Just to be safe, she let her hair fall down around her face, and hunched into Ashilis' silhouette.

"Right. There are basically two ways: the first is to cultivate and harvest one of the morogrib, over there," Bellavie said quietly, nodding towards the patch of tall mushrooms growing in the far corner. "Then you cook it on one of the copper plates there. Competition for the fields and plates is pretty rough, though, so you usually have to wait until most people have gone to sleep or try to muscle your way in. Your other option is to take the food from someone else. Either by force or as part of a trade, like I'm doing with you."

Ashilis frowned, eyeing another prisoner that was walking in their direction. Were they glaring at her? She started searching for the right belief to suppress, but they passed by without a word.

"And how would I go about cultivating one of these morogrib?" He asked.

Bellavie's smile twitched. She didn't have time for this guy to go about doing things the nice way, but neither could she discourage his kindness when she was relying on it—or at the very least on his willingness to cooperate—for survival. "They grow fast as long as it's dark enough, but they still need a little water and some kind of fertilizer to grow at a reasonable speed. Even then, it'll take a few days for a fresh mushroom to reach edible size."

Ashilis' frown deepened.

"You could join up with one of the gangs if you want to get your hands on some food quickly, but I wouldn't recommend that unless you're ready to commit." Bellavie glances at him. "You could also just steal some. Last I heard, the 'Rators had quite the stockpile prepared to fuel their little economy."

He chewed his lip. Bellavie glanced around, but didn't see any reflections nearby, so she started projecting again, as strongly as she could manage. Stealing isn't bad. The 'Rators don't need it. Not untrustworthy. This was the final push. If she could just get some food from him then she'd be back in the game. Doubt gripped her, as always, but she forced it down.

"Tell me about these Rators," Ashilis eventually said.

Gotcha, Bellavie thought with satisfaction. "They call themselves the Orators. They have a kind of miniature society set up down here. They have social castes based on the number of words they can remember the definitions for. Those in the top ten or so are in charge, and get treated like nobility. They get the best food, don't have to do any work, and lounge around all day coming up with stories to tell the lower ranks."

Ashilis glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "And that makes them qualified to lead?"

"Oh, of course not. They're not the most well organized group, but between you and me, I don't think they're trying to be. They have strength in numbers, a system—however flawed—to rely on, and a clear path to greater comfort and power. Their leaders even provide them with occasional entertainment. That's more than most get in the harum-scarum." Bellavie said. "What I want to know is how many words they've just made up."

"So if someone new is captured and dumped in here, and they haven't had any of their memories eaten yet, they might just suddenly jump to the top of the hierarchy?"

"If they know a ton of words, maybe. It takes a while for the Vicarts to start ripping knowledge out of your head. They usually start with basic memories like... well, I don't really know. Specific scenes or moments, I guess. After that, they move to personal information like where you used to live or what your job was. You only start losing stuff like words after most of that is gone. People don't usually last long enough to get to that point, though."

Ashilis fell quiet. Not for the first time, Bellavie found herself trying to read his thoughts from that intense expression. Was he the kind of person who got bothered by inefficiency, or was he more concerned by the loss of his memories? Had she slipped up somewhere and raised his suspicions? He did seem perceptive, and more than a little thoughtful. That was an impressive mindset. Most people let themselves fall into a routine. Stop thinking, stop worrying. There's no point in making friends that you'll surely forget about by next month. Just survive until tomorrow. Always tomorrow...

Bellavie shook herself. She had been drifting, but Ashilis' slowed pace roused her. They had reached the other side of the common room, near the door they were taken through to get their memories drained. She squirmed in Ashilis' grip, feeling a spike of panic, but he didn't take her through the door. Instead, they walked into the small cell nearest to it. A bad one, too close to the entrance, and its floor had a more extreme slope than most; the ground at the door was probably a foot higher than the ground along the far wall. You never wanted to be the closest thing on hand when one of the Vicarts got peckish, and that slope would be annoying during one of the floods.

Ashilis set her down on the far side of the cell, then leaned up against the wall beside the door. "How long do we have between feedings?" He asked.

She slumped against the wall, head back, eyes closed. "That depends. I think the Vicarts try to avoid selecting the same person too soon after a feeding, but a dozen or so prisoners are dragged through that door every day," Bellavie said. "Sometimes they don't keep the best track of who's turn it is."

Ashilis folded his arms. "Give me an estimate."

Bellavie waved a hand, sighing. "Three days is the fastest turn around I've seen, thirty is the longest. Since you're not a part of any gang and your cell is so close to the door, you'll probably be taken more frequently than most."

He started pacing. "Any way to record information?"

"Well, the 'Rators sometimes compose 'oral histories' to try and keep some of their memories intact. They make all the middle-ranked members of their groups memorize them, just in case. Some other people have tried crushing the morogrib into a paste and writing on the walls, but it doesn't keep long, and food is too precious to waste like that." She clutched her stomach, then fixed Ashilis with a pointed stare. "Speaking of..."

He glanced at her, then sighed. "Right. Sorry. I'll see if I can get you something. Wait here." Ashilis hesitated beside the door, much as he had outside her cell, then marched out, leaving her alone.

Bellavie allowed herself a moment of relaxation. She needed to let Ashilis get out of eyeshot, but more, she was just so tired. Even supported, she barely had the strength to walk from her cell to this one. Her legs felt like liquid, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and not even think about moving for the next few days. Perhaps her hope that she'd only need a bit of food to get her strength back was a little more outrageous than she thought.

There was still more to do, though. The wash basins were only fifty or so feet from Ashilis' cell. It might as well have been a thousand. There's no way I can make it there and back in time, Bellavie thought. Then she waited, stewing on that idea.

Slowly, her ever-present doubts creeped in. They infected everything she believed, poking holes in it all with maybes and might have beens. This time, she clung to them, encouraging them to shred her reality down into manageably ignorable chunks. Was it really impossible for her to get there in time? Was she really as weak as she felt? That couldn't be true. That wasn't true.

Strength began to build in her body, and Bellavie shoved herself off the wall. She started at a crawl, but soon had the strength to climb up to her feet and walk. It was a strange feeling. She kept stumbling, despite feeling stable. Her legs just wouldn't do what she told them to. They worked well enough for now. What would've been agonizing minutes of crawling could be cut down to a short stroll this way.

When she reached the wash basins, Bellavie folded her arms and scanned the group of people cleaning their clothes. She selected the one she thought seemed least confident—a mousy young girl that kept glancing over her shoulder—then started projecting. I'm doing it wrong. The clothes are ruined. I should give up.

Disbelief whispered in Bellavie's ears, and she saw several people recoil from their wash basins with horrified expressions on their faces. That bloody umbra just wouldn't leave her be today. Her target yanked her hands out of the water, shrieking at whatever distorted reflection Disbelief showed her. She scrambled back, then turned and scampered away, leaving her clothes soaking in the basin.

Bellavie gaped. That had been too easy. She had been ready to whittle away at the girl's motivation until she wandered off or fell asleep, but Disbelief had actually been helpful for once. She almost didn't want to go and claim her prize. Who knew what the rotting thing was planning?

She shook herself, reigning in her doubt. It wasn't easy to accept, but this was the best chance she was going to get—trap or not—and she knew better than to waste opportunity. Bellavie slunk over to the abandoned basin and clambered inside, pointedly not looking at her reflection in the water. The cold immediately sank into her bones, but better to be cold than constantly keeping up her projected appearance. She quickly scrubbed herself clean, then changed into her freshly stolen garments. They were awful rags, but at least they still had the general shape of clothing.

Bellavie fled the wash basins as quickly as she approached, before anyone could get a good look at her, or think too hard about the effects of Disbelief's presence. Coming here had been risky, but it wasn't like she could hide in a cell forever. That would defeat the point of tricking someone into releasing her in the first place. If someone recognized her and tried to do something about it, then she would deal with those consequences later.

Her body put up an even greater fight on the way back to Ashilis' cell, but she managed to make it back to her spot up against the wall before it gave out on her entirely. She had to spin up another projection so she didn't look like a soaked rat when Ashilis came back, but at least she would only have to keep that one up until she dried off for real.

Just a little longer now.