Page 91 of Gunslinger Girl
Frustration churned within her. “Easy to say when you don’t know the first thing about him. Sheridan fought in the war as a Patriot. That’s why he’s doing so poorly. And unlike most of the CONA folks who come here, he wants to improve things between the east and the west. Not just have some fun and go home.”
Max scoffed. “Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he can say anything if he knows he’s not going to win. Did you ever think that maybe he’s just telling you what you want to hear?”
The bitterness in his tone hit her like ice water. “It wasn’t like that at all!”
“Maybe.” Max’s mouth twisted into a humorless smirk. “But if he were elected, he would do what he was told, by Selene or whatever corporate puppeteers were tugging on his strings. He’d be lucky to be allowed to pick the color of his tie.”
Pity bristled. “For someone whose tune was all about getting me to give Cessation a chance, you’re awful quick to dismiss Sheridan.”
“Because I know people like him and where they come from.”
“Really?” She stood up. “Because it seems like you’ve forgotten that it’s where I come from, too.”
Garland put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” she snapped, and stalked out of the dining hall.
So much for worrying about whether anyone is fooled.
As much as the new, unwanted attention needled her, it wasn’t as vexing as her quarrels with Max. First the Finales and now Sheridan.
And one of them isn’t even real.
The thought hung on Pity all through the day and night, though she tried to put it out of her mind. If Max knew the truth, he’d understand, she reminded herself over and over. This was her chance to escape the Finales, to never have to play executioner again. And this isn’t going to last forever. Sheridan would be gone eventually, and if Selene did work her magic, he’d be able to help protect one thing Pity knew Max genuinely cared about: Cessation.
But nothing she told herself stopped the lingering frustration.
This time, she decided, she wasn’t going to let the divide grow between them. And while she couldn’t tell him the truth, there were other options.
She found him in the theatre, touching up the paint on some faded sets.
“Get up,” she ordered.
“Excuse me?” He stood and wiped his hands on his pants, adding to the existing kaleidoscope of stains.
“You’re coming with me.”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Where? I’m in the middle of—”
“No questions.” She crossed her arms. “The sets will wait.”
“But Halcyon—”
“You trust me, right?”
His brow furled with confusion. “Of course I do.”
“Then come with me.”
Pity led him into the Gallery, up the stairs, and to the front entrance.
“Pity, really, where are we—oh.”
Max stopped as he spotted Sheridan, limned by the midday sun streaming through Casimir’s exterior glass doors. Santino and the bodyguard stood on either side of him while, outside, a sleek black vehicle idled.
