Starry Skye

The Sadie Hawkins

3/20/2024 11:58pm

"Ah, Starry. We've been waiting for you."

It was Cat Tracer, the second most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula. And love of my life, some years ago.

Except it was those years ago now, again, here, in the past. Her present. Where the old toothless hag had sent us to save Hettie, the Fire Breathing Plasma Moth. Who was the love of my life now, as much as anything.

"Hi Cat. Who are your friends in the suits?"

The heavy syndicate types were lined up behind her in the electric light of the warehouse. They did have nice suits. Looked a little like pinstripe, mohair, houndstooth, seersucker... but made of iridescent fabric, colors and sheens I'd never seen. Fabric that could have only come from the impossible animal trade.

"I can smell them from here," I added. "Smells like death."

One of the heavies reached inside his jacket.

Cat gave him her side eye. The side eye I'd fallen in love with, once upon a time.

"Let's keep things civil, shall we Star?" she asked. "We've gone to great lengths to bring you here. I think it's time we had a little catch up."

The Sadie Hawkins

3/10/2023 11:50pm

It wasn't surprising Dip Squealer didn't know anything about Cat's heavy connections. Dip might know a lot, but ultimately he's just a dumbass among dumbasses. Real pros would never have anything to do with him, and their secops would keep Dips and dips like him out of any serious loops.

But the exospectral quill shards, and the liquid crystal bluefur, and the colors nobody's ever seen before -- that sounded exactly like the exotic animal trade. The seriously deep dark animal trade, specializing in the impossible to find--the extinct, the mythical, the hyperreal. And there was a place in deep in the most rotten underbelly of Uranographia Fields where that kind of trade took place: Shady Bottom.

I wasn't about to hail a cab or take the monorail. So I took to the rooftops. This used to be my element--using my agility and star-class dance moves, leaping over ledges and pirouetting over pipes and diving over neon signs and laundry lines. There was a reason I'd been known as the most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula... before my time on the Sadie Hawkins. Before Hettie, the Fire Breathing Plasma Moth.

But then there was Cat Tracer. There was a time we were tight. Real tight. Things fell apart there at the end. But I sure don't remember any fancy clothes syndicate guys hanging around way back two years ago. Which was also now. Seems like I should have known. And where was I, these days, anyway? Some kind of rule about not heading yourself off in the past...

Before long I'd leapt and flung myself over the rooftops of Uranographia Fields all the way to Shady Bottom. One of the decrepit warehouses had a loading dock open and the lights on. Almost like they were waiting for me...

The Sadie Hawkins

7/3/2022 11:59pm

Dip Squealer was always exceptionally informed.

"This isn't fair!" he squealed. He was tied to a bed in a cheap love hotel in the Night District, but not for fun.

"Neither was forcing me to give up the Rusty Jade," I answered, my legs up on the little coffee table. "That was just rude."

"Aw, bygones and all that, amirite? You woulda done the same."

This was patently false. Dip was just a douchebag.

"I know a number of others in town might want some payback too. You're generally not worth anybody's time, but if I've got you on ice they might just want to drop by and have a word or two."

"Aw, Starry, I just know we can work something out. What, are you short a little? I got a few little nest eggs, stashed here and there..."

"Yes you always know just what everybody's up to, and how to take a little piece, don't you Dip?"

"Seriously! We can work a deal! I'm turning over a new leaf! You name it, Starry."

"What's Cat Tracer up to these days?"

"Aw Starry, you know I wouldn't know something like that. She's big time!"

"That didn't stop you when it came to me, did it, Dip?"

"Aw Starry, no offence. I ain't talking about daring, or skill. I mean she's gone big time. Working with a syndicate these days. Heavies. High class types. Fanciest clothes anybody round here's ever seen -- decked out in exospectral quill shards, liquid crystal bluefur, colors nobody's ever seen before. But they're hard cases. You know Blind Larry? And Curly Kate? Snuffed 'em both. Nobody's sure why, but Cat's in tight with them. But everybody knows that. Nobody'd cross Cat these days."

Dip looked up at me from the bed.

"But you don't know that, do you Starry?" he said. "Something everybody down here in the Night District knows, but how come you don't?"

Dip started to get a real thoughtful look in his eye.

"Goodnight, Dip," and I went in for another nick with my sleepy ring.

The Sadie Hawkins

12/7/2021 11:57pm

"So, Dip, you're looking well."

It was Dip Squealer. I knew him long before he removed his mask.

"Starry Skye. It's been awhile."

I had to think back about how long it'd really been. A lot longer for me than him.

"The Rusty Jade heist, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah, you treated me exceptionally fair, I must admit. It made me kind of... feel there might be something between us? If you know what I mean?"

I did. But unfortunately it wasn't like Dip thought it was.

"Yeah, well, I was wondering if maybe it was time to ask for a little favor in return."

"Oh yeah?" Dip nuzzled a little closer. Which made it easier to nick him with my sleepy ring.

The Sadie Hawkins

7/17/2021 11:12pm

In the Night District, everyone wears a mask. Literally. It's considered common courtesy. Why put me in the position of being able to identify you in a line up? This way, everybody's freed up to relax.

The Night District is also quite dark. Inside and out. Sometimes only lit by the glow of the paint on our masks, or the path down the main thoroughfares.

Everyone moves silently. But we're attentive, and no one makes contact when moving through the dark. Unless it's an intentional lift or a plant or a stab or a prick.

"Ginger-corn," I tell the waiter.

But for all its anonymity, I can read the place like a book. Who's on top, who's calling the shots on this block, who just made the biggest score. The signs are all there, in the dark.

No doubt eyes are on me too. I'd been a regular, more or less, and while I'd been gone for years, subjective time, I was just here a few weeks ago in this timeline.

"Antares, Algo, Electra," says a familiar voice behind me. Everyone speaks in code in the Night District too.

"Ear, horn, and eye!" I reply. "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

The Sadie Hawkins

3/5/2021 11:58pm

I knew the captian's fashion fancy would be a dead end. Not only was Cat Tracer, the second most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula, not interested in fashion, she always worked alone.

Like me.

Which is why I knew there was only one person who could track her down. That is, the number one most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula.

Me.

So how do you hunt a quarry that leaves no tracks? How do you follow a cat that leaves no trace?

You look for the absence that it leaves in its path.

I would start in the Night District. The place all the rest of the less amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpockets in the Tarantula Nebula called home.

My home.

The Sadie Hawkins

10/21/2020 11:51pm

"Fashion?"

"Yes," the captain said.

Cat Tracer, the second most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula, wasn't interested in fashion.

"Cat Tracer is a master of disguise. She wouldn't--"

"Remember micro-fashions?"

"Uh... no?"

"Back in this time, in the Uranographia Fields, fashion trends lasted a day at most. There was a hat in the crowd that didn't come out for another two days."

It wasn't much. There wasn't anything else to go on. But I was having trouble hiding my despondence.

"So?"

"So, who makes these fashions? I mean, they must be made ahead of time, so people can buy them in stores. Who plans them out? Who decides? And are they connected to this?

"So?"

"So we're heading to the fashion district. I'm going in."

The Sadie Hawkins

6/22/2020 10:44pm

The spy-eyes were set up so we could see everything, hovering at various distances and angles (at least as far as the Rainbow Zone's basic security allowed for, which wasn't a problem).

So why oh why did we not see her coming? And why did it work out differently this time??!!!

Everything seemed perfect. I mean, my memory wasn't *that* exact, I suppose, but it sure looked right in the spy-eye view screens. @Billy Nails and the kid roughing it up in their dusters, knocking into my table, spilling the milk. (And what is it about milk that makes people so excited? Sure, it comes in different colors, but still?).

I see the kid drop the package in the chair.

"Turn around..." I say to myself. To me, myself, that is. Not the myself on the screen.

I don't remember pausing this long. Something else catching my attention--a purple feathered sentient boa around someone's neck rears and spits--for just a split second. I don't remember that.

But it's just enough time for her to snatch it from my chair. Even in disguise, I'd recognize her silky moves anywhere.

Cat Tracer. The second most amazing zero-G cat burglar and pickpocket in the Tarantula Nebula. Holding the package tied up with string and in very clear handwriting in black pen: THE SADIE HAWKINS, and slipping it into the folds of her cloak.

And disappearing into the crowd.

The Sadie Hawkins

2/25/2020 9:38pm

The captain tracked Hettie and I down near the circular falls of Entmoor. We'd been through the hoop a number of times, and were both thoroughly doused and tired. The Sadie Hawkins was a sight for sore eyes, really.

It wasn't till after I got Hettie bedded down in the cargo hold that the captain told me his plans. And showed me the little box. And the map drawn out by the old toothless hag. It had drool stains.

"Deeeeleeever eeet. Deeeeleeeever Hetteeeeeeee."

Yes the old toothless hag was there too.

We're headed for a gate, or a place in this dimension where the fabric of reality can be bent. Where the old toothless hag can bend it and deliver us to the Tarantula Nebula. To the Uranographia Fields.

And in our case, the Uranographia Fields of almost two years ago.

The old toothless hag says we've got Hettie's original chrysalis, and it's up to us to make sure it gets delivered to The Sadie Hawkins.

The Sadie Hawkins of almost two years ago.

Seems simple enough. I've done it once already, haven't I?

The Sadie Hawkins

10/30/2019 8:01pm

I've never seen Hettie so frisky and alive. Her swoops, her dives... I've never seen the chitin of her wings so strong and healthy, and the hairy scales that make up her coat are extra bouncy and resilient. Especially when I scratch her behind her antennae.

There's no doubt it's the... dimension that the old toothless hag has brought us to. She gave up the bridge as soon as she brought us here, and hasn't shown any more interest in directing our course. The Captain has no real idea where we are. So we keep safe distance from the fantastic outcroppings of landscape and slowly explore.

Hettie flits busily between the waterfalls, rainbows, and twisted knots of floating stone and trees, picking up and dropping off the envelopes with the great curly silver writing on them by the bucketful. And we make our rounds without needing to Pweeet the purple plasma bursts. No need to rip through the skein of space to deliver the mail: we're already here.