Time for Yesterday

December 1st, 2075

Redmond.

Still-life, with craproaches.

Callista Valentine- Heartbreaker to her syndicate and the Seattle Shadows and Victoria Dean to the fashionistas and culture vultures of the 'plex- took a look around her apartment and sighed. It was a nice place, as far as the Redmond Barrens went: the furniture was actually furniture, there was food on the table and locks on the door, and even water and electricity most of the time. There was even Matrix coverage. By Barrens standards, this was living large.

But only by Barrens standards. Callista hated it, hated the cheap, mass-produced crap that infested every corner of the apartment, from the couch to the silverware, hated the artificial taste of the soy and the spotty matrix coverage and the rationed utilities. She'd gotten in with the Mafia to get out of places like this. Now she was a stringer for Rowena O'Malley, the Capa her own bad self, and was a publicly recognized fashion model with her face and her curves plastered over half of Seattle and she still lived in a goddamn hole. Not for the first time, she considered dumping this life and moving on to simply be Victoria Dean, model, and abandoning this place. She had a lease on a sweet upper-story condo on Vashon Island itself. Would it be so bad to simply be normal? she asked herself for the hundredth time.

For the hundredth time, she said yes. Yes it would. Full-time modeling meant more money- maybe- but less respect. There would be more people and better living, but less excitement. There would be no Valkyrie, no Aodhfionna, no Chloe, no Rowena. She would die comfortably and slowly, but she would still be just as dead, even if it took her body some time to catch up.

Shadowrunning and working for the Syndicate might have many qualities, but boring was not one of them.

Heartbreaker's reflections on her situation were broken by the beep of her commlink, and she smiled ruefully and shook her head as she threw the message onto her AR feed. The ghostly, pale-blue letters hovered in her vision, an invite from her friend Trip to grab a drink at DeClerry's. She tapped out a rapid reply, letting Trip know she'd be there. Slipping into her room, Heartbreaker stripped out of her shorts and t-shirt and into a pair of low-slung grey Lyric of Portland jeans with black celtic knots on the back pockets. A black 6-Tees babydoll tee followed it, this one armored lightly, and black synthleather calf boots with two silver buckles and stiletto heels went on last. She took only a second to admire how her curves filled out the jeans and t-shirt, smiling slightly at how far the ugly little mutant girl had come before slipping her Ace of Coins jacket, settling the up-armored, stylish, highly-customized black juggernaut hide so that it hung open enough to flash the v-neck of her shirt and the green, lacy edge of her bra but still stayed closed enough to hide the small holster in the jacket that held a Colt Agent Special and an extra magazine of .45 hollowpoint.

After a moment of fiddling and a few minutes of pulling her hair up into a messy bun with dangling forelocks, Heartbreaker was satisfied enough with her appearance to head out. Slipping a certified credstick into her pocket, Heartbreaker left her room, intending to go tell her little roommate that she was leaving for a few hours. As she got to Aodhfionna's door, however, she heard a feminine giggle, a soft voice, and a quiet gasp. Heartbreaker paused, her hand raised to knock on 'Fionna's door, then lowered it and shook her head, smiling. Good thing she was leaving, the little redheaded elf sounded...busy. Idly, she wondered who it was. That Ancients rider with the cheek scar and the wicked smile, the one who had the little Jack-o'-Lanterns patched onto his jacket to represent how many scrapes he'd survived with the Halloweeners? Or maybe that sweet little Laesa dryad with piercing voice and the big green eyes? Heartbreaker shrugged. Could be anyone, and it wasn't her business.

Turning away from the door, she composed a brief message in her head and tossed it through her Caliban as she headed for the door.

>>>>>Headed to DeClerry's to see Trip. Back later. Stay safe, have fun. Not in my bed. 'Night. -HB<<<<<

Thirty minutes later, the black Yamaha Rapier- An XS, not the newer one that was just a clone of a Suzuki Mirage- rolled to a stop in front of DeClerry's, parking across the street. Heartbreaker slid out of the bike's saddle and unbuttoned her jacket back to its pre-ride look. Helmets were for people who didn't have a bones with a tensile strength measured in tonnes, so Heartbreaker only had to strip her riding gloves off and slip them into a pocket before she was ready to face the nightlife.

DeClerry's was a working-class bar, few frills, dim lighting, a good selection of beers and hard liquors, and even a short wine list from Thomas Vintners. It was an unassuming joint full of fairly normal people, and if a few Finnigan Soldatos asked VJ to "hold onto something" for a couple days or if the more ethnically diverse members of the clientele were hassled a little more, well, that was just DeClerry's.

Heartbreaker walked up to the front door, past a pair of Harley Scorpions and a Honda Artemis. The bouncer on tonight, an Amerind-looking young man with high cheekbones, black hair, and a lined coat over jeans swept his yellow eyes over her briefly, then smiled and nodded slightly. "She is in back. The booth by the bar." He said in a deep, resonant voice.

Heartbreaker nodded and murmured, "Thank you, hon." Then she breezed through the door, casually ignoring the sign that prohibited weapons, holowear, paranormal critters, and active Foci. Once inside, she looked around, her nightshade lips curling up into a small smile as she surveyed DeClerry's. There were a dozen tables scattered about, and the bar was a long, shallow arc with two bartenders behind it, both young men, one a swarthy, muscular ork and the other a pale-eyed human with black hair and an easy smile, both dressed in T-Shirts bearing the bar's name, polishing glasses and mixing drinks. The sides of the bar were lined with semi-circular booths, and a small, upraised area to the left of the door held a trio of pool tables. The ceiling was high and the lighting was low, and the air held a thin haze of cigarette smoke. Tonight there were maybe two dozen people in, a variety of colors and styles of hair, clothing, and accessories standing out against the old, scarred wood of the bar and the tables or clashing with the bright red plastic of the booth backs.

Heartbreaker strode up to the bar, scanning the back of the bar underneath the overhang of the loft that held VJ's office, propping a hip on a handy barstool until her eyes settled on her friend, Trip, sitting in the corner booth to the left. Heartbreaker took a moment to examine Trip- she was a shadowrunner, she wouldn't meet her own granny for brunch without a full report and a fireteam- and was pleased to see that the other woman was alone and in no obvious distress. Sauntering over, Heartbreaker slid into the booth opposite Trip and greeted her in accented Sperethiel

"Hoi, Trip. How's biz?" Heartbreaker asked, smiling at the other woman.

"Hoi yourself, Akarenti!" Trip greeted her, the redhead's throaty voice delighted. She half stood and leaned across the table to kiss the air near Heartbreaker's cheek, and Heartbreaker did the same, glancing down to take in the sleek black BodyLine skirt and top Trip was wearing. As they sank back down into their seats, Trip commented, "You're looking well. I see 'Victoria' is making quite a splash modeling V.I's latest unmentionables."

Heartbreaker chuckled. "And I see 'Chloe' has come into some new threads herself. The hair's nice too, but I'll miss the blonde." She replied in a teasing tone.

Trip snorted and shook her head. "That name's two lives dead and you know it." She chided, and Heartbreaker blushed. Trip was a diminution of Triple, because Trip was- like Heartbreaker herself- a clone, and not the first copy of her original source. The original, a shadowrunner, had died three years ago, and the first clone had been killed by Trip herself a year and a half later. The beautiful, red-haired elf with the pearly skin and huge blue eyes before Heartbreaker was the third of her line, the second production model cloned off of a dead woman named Chloe.

"Sorry." Heartbreaker responded softly, and Trip shook her head.

"It's okay, I was just teasing." Trip patted Heartbreaker's hand, then picked up the bottle sitting on the table, a Thomas Vintners red, and poured Heartbreaker a glass. Sliding it across the table to her friend, Trip asked, "So how have you been? I know the Brass job is still sitting sour with you. You holding up alright?"

Heartbreaker picked up the glass and took a mouthful of wine, letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing and nodding. "Our work isn't always pretty, but I'll be okay. Move forward, that sort of thing." She shrugged one shoulder. "I try not to think about yesterdays, you know?"

Trip shook her head and picked up her own glass. "Slitch, please." She said a trifle sharply. "You know that's not healthy. What you've done is as much a part of you as what you're going to do." Her voice softened, but it filled with quiet passion. "We have to take time for yesterday, even if its only a moment to reflect on whether you want yesterday to turn into tomorrow." She sipped her wine again and blushed, saying, "Sorry, I'll get off my soapbox now."

Heartbreaker stared at Trip for a moment, surprised. After several seconds she blinked and said, "Wow, Trip." Sighing through her nose Heartbreaker added, "Maybe you're right. Its just that the last few days, every time I think about my life I wonder where I went wrong." She shrugged. "You're right, helping you geek Brass isn't sitting right, especially out in the open like that." She gave a minute shake of her head. "But that's not the only thing. I just...I dunno, forget it." She sat back, her glass in her hand, and Trip smiled gently at her.

"You wonder why it is you kill people for a living, have your ass in the window of every lingerie shop and glossy in Seattle, and you still live in Redmond." Trip said flatly. "You wonder if you made the wrong choices, if you went one way instead of another and you could be normal, or safe, or rich, or whatever it is you want when you're lying awake in bed in the middle of the night."

Heartbreaker goggled at Trip for a moment and Trip chuckled, draining her wineglass and pouring another. "Welcome to being a shadowrunner, honey." Trip said ruefully. "We're the only profession in the 'plex outside really expensive joygirls and joyboys that can make thousands of nuyen for only a few minutes work, but most of us live in barghest sties and eat unflavored soy." She smiled wryly. "Every shadowrunner thinks the same way you do. For most of us, every purchase, every job, every saving or expenditure is calculated to get out and live that high life you dream about." She chuckled softly and added, "You have it better than most. At least your public face is already in that life. Most 'runners will die before they get a chance to know the luxury that Victoria Dean enjoys."

Heartbreaker looked down into her glass, then tossed off the ruby liquid and poured a second, her eyes distant. After a moment's reflection she asked, "What's that have to do with going wrong?" She met Trip's eyes. "Maybe I'm being selfish for wanting more, sure, but what's that got to do with self-doubt and choice?"

Trip rolled her eyes. "That's kind of the point. It doesn't." She responded dryly. "You haven't gone wrong. You're famous, yes, and you live in a drekhole apartment in a totally fragged district of the 'plex anyway, but that doesn't mean you went wrong. People know you, like you, try to emulate you. Your job pays for your apartment, your food, your clothes, everything you use in your day to day for what, twelve hours a week?" Heartbreaker nodded and Trip continued, "Thought so. Sure, life isn't what you wanted it to be, but its a good life. You're completely supported on a day and a half of work. You're beautiful and popular, and the Syndicate affords you the respect they reserve for any made member of the family." She patted Heartbreaker's hand lightly. "You're twenty two, kid. Little young to be worrying about where your life has gone. At this rate, you'll be able to get out by the time you're thirty, or work up to something like a Consiglieri position in the family and be set for life. You haven't gone wrong," Trip finished with a small smile, "you're just jumping the gun."

Heartbreaker blushed, then needled, "Doesn't all this about looking forward and not getting where I'm going yet kind of go against what you said about needing yesterday?"

Trip shot her a look, then replied, "No, idiot. That's what I was saying. You have to look at yesterday to know where you want to go tomorrow. What you've done, what you haven't done, whether you can keep doing it or do it again." She gulped her wine. "Like I said, you have to take time for yesterday."