opening move - october 4th, 1986 - afternoon

the spider's eyes scorch her skin, the sun's rays in between gaps in her skirt. an interloper, strategically slotting itself into a trap such as this. hiding, spinning a web in an isolated corner of an (at the time) unused room.

"what a surprise! I was under the assumption that today's cleaning was already complete," it chitters. "it seems I was wrong. the servants' hours are longer than expected."

... "well, we have a special guest." Shannon's eyes lock into Erika's, polite smile unwavering. "our duty is to make sure the mansion is fit for use."
there are pristine sheets on the small bed, pillows are fluffed and full on the couch opposite the door. everything is in place to be used at will.

a disgustingly cunning smile. "I can be on my way then, unless you have time for a chat. I've not yet had the pleasure of speaking with you one-on-one. you've been busy, it seems," the detective remarks.

"what do you wish to inquire about? we have time," Shannon ensures.

"nothing much. just the history of this island, this building, cursory information, really," she lists.
the maid knows it like the back of her hand, relaying stories told over and over by changing voices while she tidies, no longer speaking her own words by the time she is finished. "it's a strange island I've found myself on. what do you think?" the guest questions.

"to an outsider, there is no doubt," comes her reply.

"right. just business as usual to you," Erika quips, taking a seat on the couch with her legs outstretched, nonchalantly placing the soles of her shoes on the thick upholstery.

something shifts in Shannon's posture and quickly corrects itself. "w-would you mind removing your shoes before sitting in such a manner?" she suggests. "sand from outside wears down the furniture, and it would be troublesome to remove from the fabric." and then it gets on someone's clothes and in their food and you can never quite get rid of it but it's never blamed on those who brought it inside.

"of course." the guest takes off her shoes and places them on the floor. "if it's that bad. l can't imagine... how long have you been working here?"

"well, I began full-time a few years ago... I'm not sure why you ask," the servant admits nervously.

Erika hums, stringing her words together with care. "you can't be any older than I am, and yet your seniority puts you in an intriguing position," she observes, only met with silence. "I'm just thinking out loud. no need to worry. how horrible of a guest I've been, keeping you from your work. you can carry on, you know, no need to pause for me."
and now she has a new chore, with the dirt this girl tracked inside and left on the couch. it's not too troublesome, nothing impossible to handle with a simple broom and pan, but the spider smells hesitation on Shannon as she silently dusts off the thick, lightly worn surface of the couch.
"I've found that these shoes don't fit quite right, now that I've taken them off. thank you for asking me to take them off, it's nice to stretch my toes out, in fact!" it makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "since you're already right here, would you be a dear and massage them for me?"

Shannon, taken aback by the request, glances at Erika in confusion. "I-I don't know, are you sure y-you want a stranger to do that?" she stammers, quickly distracting herself with cleaning again.

"what, none of the Ushiromiyas ever want help relaxing? I can think of a few who seem a little... tense." she grins and something in Shannon feels mocked. the furniture's body stiffens, web string brushing against skin.
to Erika's surprise, when it's done its task, it takes a seat on the other side of the couch, so light it almost hovers.

"put your feet in my lap. to serve a guest in this manner is fitting," it states, traces of pyrazine recognizable in its voice.

"it sounds like you have no choice. you could refuse, if you wanted," Erika says, a brief offering while following her direction. fabric patterned with roses and vines cling to her feet, damp and clammy. Shannon cupped the ankles, then the heels, bony palms against similarly bony soles. it took little effort for her to find soft tissue and press a small breath of relief out of Erika. "I see. I assumed you were good with your hands."

Shannon considers the possibilities of unsaid slights in Erika's words. there is little difference between a backhanded compliment and a jab, and even more of a difference between a backhanded compliment and a genuine one. she is unsure how to tell them apart when it comes to Erika. "and how did you come to that conclusion, miss detective?" she prods, fingertips breaking down the layers of tense fascia and the spider barks out a sharp laugh.

"since you've been so good, I'll tell you. it's a simple conclusion to make, based on your experience," she explains, adopting a rather relaxed position; thick ruffles of her dress spilling off the front of the couch, shifting her silhouette. "why do you dumb yourself down? doesn't it get tiring?"

continuing on as if she had never heard Erika's words, Shannon flicks between answers briefly, and none are expected from her.
"why don't you do it more?" is all that comes from her mouth.

"I think we both know the answer to that," the detective sighs, the tension in her throat more apparent than she would have liked.

"then there's no need to speak on it," she hears, and a bolt of pain pierces her foot for a split second, a strike of lightning through the metatarsals. then the shock is pushed outwards and the breath is taken from her lungs, it's not as bad but it's more and she struggles to think for a moment.
"are you hurt?" Shannon asks.

Erika had, admittedly, not been quiet about her discomfort. "a little tender," she whines.

but she never moves from her spot, despite the occasional fit of squirming, so neither does Shannon; clever hands exploiting weak points in exoskeleton-armour. a shock flies up her calf, canine yelp muffled by her hand. "wh- hah, why?" she squeaks, breathing too heavily to maintain her usual composure.

"why do you let me?" a voice replies, deeply unlike Shannon. the detective's flustered expression twists into something mischievous, satisfied, I don't need to tell you why, and soon it's twisted back with vice-like grips unwilling to let Erika keep her pride. gritting her teeth, the spider hisses, glancing at a perfectly content Shannon. taking apart her defences without even thinking twice.

then the invasive visceral manipulation eases, but the shards of fractured lightning do not dissipate from the bones. "I should be getting back to work. you have kept me for long enough," Shannon says, clothed in formality, as she pushes Erika's feet from her lap and stands. "but there's something you owe me. would you happen to have a handkerchief?"

"h-huh? shouldn't you have one, or are you unprepared?" the guest jeers, still shaken.

"that's a no?" Shannon checks. "I needed something to clean my hands with, you see. would your tongue do?"
she's quiet when she makes her request, reddened ears peeking out from dark ringlets of hair.

Erika is no less shocked, sputtering out a "huuh? No! w-what are you talking about? sick fuck!" but Shannon is face to face with her now.

"it's only your sweat. worry not," the words tasting like artificial sweetener, something about it compels her to open her mouth and stick out her tongue like a well-trained dog. she looks at the door, and then at Shannon, looming above her, and when the hand is presented, she closes her eyes and licks. even if her nose wrinkles and her mouth is stained with the taste of her own body. managing a glare, she hesitates to look at the girl in front of her, but endless curiosity drives her eyes up eventually.

for a second, Erika isn't quite so sure it's Shannon she sees. before she can think too much about it, Shannon returns, and her hand presses on the detective's mouth, encouraging it to keep licking, and when their eyes meet, the furniture's have changed. something in them fills her head with a light fog, an icepick through the frontal lobe.
"w-when will this stop?" she sneers.

"when my other hand is clean."

"I'm getting my spit on it. how is that clean?"

"you know what I meant."

"did I?"

fingers clamp on the top and bottom of her tongue and tug until she gags. a streak of unexpected cruelty. then another palm pressed to it, and she does what's asked of her.

"I won't be long. I'm not doing this for my own sick pleasure," the moth jokes dryly. Erika finds no need to laugh, consumed with something quite different. her body betrays her, fulfilling her duties with her wet tongue against skin that smells like her very own. there's something intoxicating about it that makes her stomach drop and her guts twist. her pride is trampled on, desecrated, eroded, by someone she once thought lower than herself; it makes her as disgusted as she is fascinated.
before long, the furniture's hand drops from her mouth. "thank you. for our conversation," she hears, still recovering from her daze.

"ehh? it's my pleasure. you'll have no desire to thank me in due time," Erika speaks with just enough mustered confidence to make Shannon give a small smile. the usual one.

"if you insist. I must return to my duties," she reminds Erika. she is hardly audible when she leaves, footsteps muffled carefully.

when the detective gets up for lunch, lightning crackles on the soles of her feet. she doesn't expect it when she laughs.