"Come back here, you dick!"
Mainbrace's belligerent yell bounces off silent, rusting warehouses. She's trussed up and hitched to the tramline rails down by the old docks; the bastard had to shoot her with a tranq dart to do it, and hasn't even pulled it out of the meat of her thigh, and she's pissed off.
Unfortunately, The Literalist knows knots.
"This isn't even a proper trolley problem because there's only one track and nobody here and there hasn't been a trolley on this route since they defunded it in 2002! Asshole! And that's partly your fault, because you kept pulling this stupid shit and they couldn't afford all the road closure and passenger delay compensation shit!"
There's an embarrassed sort of cough from the shadows.
"I'll fucking kill whoever you are!" Mainbrace adds, swivelling her head to look that way as best she can. This is not the best position to be in, should some other wandering villain stumble on her. Not the best at all. She struggles again, rope biting and chafing.
"I mean," Nocebo says, in a resigned way, actually in her helmet today. "Seems like a waste of healthcare, but—"
"Shit," Mainbrace says, quieter, going still.
"I'm gonna—" Nocebo says, gesturing cautiously towards Mainbrace's hands. "Please don't hit me."
Mainbrace grits her teeth, looks away, and nods. Endures Nocebo's ginger but surprisingly effective plucking at The Literalist's knotwork. "Done a lot of this?" she bites out after a minute or two, rubbing a newly freed, deeply rope-bitten wrist against her side.
"Are we making conversation, now?" Nocebo says, in a stubborn, unhappy voice. "I can give you a hand with your ankles, but I don't want a boot in the — anything. And maybe you'd prefer to do it yourself."
Mainbrace shifts uneasily, twitches a shrug. "Maybe you'd rather not do any more than that," she suggests gruffly. "I've got a duty to help people, you...don't."
Nocebo pauses, makes a dreadful, mournful noise, and starts helping with the rope on Mainbrace's legs.
"Numbness? Tingling? Pain?" she says, not looking at Mainbrace.
"Well, I was joking, but maybe you do tie a lot of people to train tracks—"
"Train tracks?" Nocebo says, joking along, but in fragile and prickly way; "this time of year? Bit windy for it."
Mainbrace opens her mouth; closes it. "If it hadn't been you..." she says, reluctantly.
"Could have been somebody else without any duty to help," Nocebo says swiftly, and darts back from her as the ropes slacken.
Mainbrace sits and flicks a quick glance up at her and away. "Thank you," she says, equally rapidly.
"It's not safe to leave people restrained unattended," Nocebo says, stuffing hands in pockets. "Circulation. Nerve damage. Joint damage. It's—" and she shrugs into silence.
"He didn't do a good job?" Mainbrace kicks at the ropes.
Nocebo shrugs again. "Doubt he's taken many rope classes," she says dourly. "I'm gonna—" and she jerks her head: away.
"Yeah." Mainbrace rubs the nap of her neck. "Yeah, okay."
"Are you — are you using official resources to google sex things, Mainbrace?"
"Piss off," Mainbrace says, hunched over the office computer. "I'm following up a lead."
(And it could be true.)
Lieutenant Tennessee hesitates, chewing his lip. "If you're trying to meet people—" he starts.
"Your girlfriend asked me to solve the mystery of why she hasn't had an orgasm in six years," Mainbrace cuts him off. "I've noticed a weird thing here — nobody's ever witnessed you and Doctor Foreplay in the same room together, Tennessee, if that's your real identity—"
"Forget I said anything," he says, already on his way out of the room, hefting his coffee mug like he'd like it refilled with something stronger. "Please get laid, in fact, Brace."
"Piss off," Mainbrace says, unhurriedly closing browser tabs as if she's got nothing to hide.
