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Braydon managed to keep his expression pleasantly neutral for a while after the debate finished. The otter hung around for the meet and greet outside of the library's auditorium. There were more than a few tough questions from people that came to talk to him, but he answered them well. He knew that he did. The people that spoke with him all seemed surprised - he wasn't just repeating their words back at them with a smile. He asked questions back, and he got them to talk through any issues they had. Even the people that came up to him seeming frustrated left looking more contemplative. It was good. He knew that.

He couldn't help but notice Laskin off to the side. There were far more people walking up to talk to her. She wasn't having quiet, serious conversations with them. It was a lot of booming laughing and slapping on the back.

Braydon took a deep breath. He was doing well. He knew that.

After about half an hour, the number of visitors started to peter out. The library's custodial staff were working on stacking the chairs in the auditorium. There were four or five people still standing over by Laskin, and their conversation had dropped down into more tame and calm conversation. Braydon remained where he was for a few minutes more, just in case. Eventually he glanced over to Cali. The yellow perch, waiting by the door, gave a small shrug and a nod.

Braydon walked over, and she followed him out the door. They kept their voices low as they walked through the rest of the library.

"That could have gone better."

"You did well."

Braydon kept his face neutral as they stepped out into the computer lab. A few people were still sitting at them, their faces lit up by the screens. As he maintained that pleasant expression, he muttered, "Come on. You're my manager, not my hypeman. We both know that wasn't the debate that we wanted."

Cali did a good job of hiding her sigh. Her voice was quieter as she answered. "She's been doing this for over a decade, Braydon. You did fine." She glanced around the otherwise quiet library, and muttered, "I'm just glad nobody decided to do anything stupid tonight."

Braydon didn't respond. They walked through the rest of the library and up to the entrance. Through the doors, Braydon could see all of the police cars outside. A few had left since the start of the debate, when it had become clear no protestors would show up. It still seemed like an excessive amount of protection to Braydon. That was the point, of course. He knew that.

Just inside the doors, Braydon paused and glanced back at Cali. "Sorry. You didn't need to be here tonight, and you don't deserve my negativity." He hesitated before continuing. "And, well. Sorry about, uh. I wasn't expecting her to get personal about it."

There was a flash of something on Cali's face. She rolled her eyes, and muttered, "Yeah, well. Laskin likes to go for the cheap emotional appeal as much as she loves going for a low blow. We should have known she would bring Desi into it."

Braydon nodded slowly. "Are you going to tell her about it?"

The yellow perch shrugged. "I probably should. Better if it comes from me. Then I can turn it into a joke. 'So I hear that you're an example of the excellence that Black Bay has produced under Laskin's leadership. Have you written her to personally thank her yet? How about that time you and Braydon broke up, was that you condemning his current mayoral campaign four years early?' Maybe that'll finally get her off her ass to say something about all this. I mean, isn't she playing a team called the Mayors or something, for Christ's sake?"

Braydon couldn't help snorting at that. Not for the first time during the campaign, the otter was reminded how sharp Cali's sense of humour was. "See, if I could have remembered that, I could have used it as a comeback. Maybe given you a performance worthy of missing her game."

Cali rolled her eyes back at him. "Please. It's the first game of the series. If I find out it was Desi's best game ever or something, I'll find somebody that recorded it and give it a watch."

He shot her a grin. "Huh. Four years in and suddenly having a daughter in the FBA finals is no big deal, huh?"

She snorted. "If she ever tries to call me on it, I'll ask her how many of my live albums or interviews she's listened to."

"You check to see if she won yet?"

"It can wait until I get back home."

"Right." He sighed, then shrugged. "Thanks. I mean it."

"Don't worry about it. And don't forget - we still have over a month. Anything can happen."

"Right." He pushed open the door, and held it for her as she walked out. Night had fallen by this point, but the air was still hot and humid as they stepped out. Braydon nodded over to her. "Have a good night."

She nodded back, and started walking down to the harbour. Braydon turned and headed towards where he'd parked his car, a few streets over. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, trying hard not to clench them as he thought over the events of the night.

The streets of Black Bay were largely empty by now. The otter noticed more than a few cop cars parked on side streets not too far away, and couldn't help rolling his eyes. Laskin had probably had the cops on speed dial. As the protests and the strikes had gotten larger and more aggressive over the past few months, the mayor had resorted to police intervention more and more quickly. After that scuffle the other week between cops and the strikers down at the dock, there were even police coming in from Thunder Bay on rotation. They were supposed to be there for the next month leading up to the election.

Braydon was cursing his heavy, warm suit by the time he was approaching his car. He was looking forward to getting home and changing into some shorts and a tanktop. Maybe he would go for a quick jog or a swim before heading to bed, to clear his head some.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he didn't notice the figure leaning up against the streetlight nearest his car until they cleared their throat. He glanced up, and was halfway through stammering out a surprised apology when he recognized the figure. Then his words gave way to a heavy sigh, and he raised a hand. "Simon."

The fish gave a slow, languid nod back. He wasn't wearing his normal leather jacket, for once. Simon was in a plain pair of pants and a t-shirt. Braydon immediately picked out the dark blue badge sewn onto the sleeve of it - it was the symbol that showed solidarity with the various strikes that had taken place over the past six months. The sight of it made Braydon wince - tying the visible symbol to 'packs of hoodlums' had become one of Laskin's favourite talking points during the election.

Simon remained where he was as Braydon approached, but he did raise a hand in greeting. "Here's the conquering hero of polite discourse."

"One and the same." He tried to keep the brittle frustration out of his voice.

"Not going out with your team to celebrate a victory?"

"It's late. There's more to do tomorrow. Both of us decided to head home."

"And you didn't offer her a ride down to the water?" Simon feigned shock.

"It's like a five minute walk. You know that. You know that's why we held the damn debate there to begin with, because it's close to both sides of the city."

"Close to both sides, sure. But still fully on one. That's always the-"

"Simon." Braydon's head was low as he drew up level with the yellow perch. He didn't look over at him. "Not tonight. I get it, just not tonight, okay?"

Something in his voice must have been sharper than Bradyon intended, because Simon didn't respond at first. The otter finished walking over to his car, and was just unlocking it when the fish finally responded.

"You, uh." His voice was more hesitant than before, less full of scorn. He tried again. "You spoke well. I'll give you that."

Braydon blinked, and then looked over his shoulder. Simon wasn't meeting his gaze. The otter eyed him for a few moments, then asked, "You were there?"

It took a long time for Simon to shrug. "We're both working for the same thing, man. The cops gave me some looks, sure, but uh. I'd have to be pretty shitty not to come out and support you."

Braydon let out a long sigh. He turned around to face the fish fully again, and leaned back against his car. "Well. Sorry you had to see that, then."

Simon was quiet for a bit. His voice was even, and there was no trace of mockery when he asked, "How weren't you ready for that?"

"I spent days preparing for tonight. I had every talking point down, I had responses for every single topic she could have brought up. I was ready, okay." He hesitated, then inclined his head. "I, uh. I guess I wasn't expecting her to just start lying."

"But like. You weren't ready for that?"

"No. Or at least, I didn't expect her to start lying and for the audience to love it." He paused, then said. "I don't know. I said all the right things. I think I even did a good job of calling her on her lies. I was just so surprised by it that I wound up looking like a floundering dumbass."

Simon let out a long sigh in response. "I'm not here to cheer you up. You kind of did."

The two stood there in silence, neither of them fully looking at each other for a bit. It was odd - all of the conversations that Braydon had had with Simon over the past few months had been aggressive, if not openly hostile. He'd always had to remind himself afterwards that they were on the same side in this, particularly whenever the perch got into criticizing his political tactics or the possibility of even making a change by running. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a civil conversation with Simon. Maybe not since before Braydon had broken up with Desi.

It was Simon that broke the silence. His voice was leading when he spoke. "So what now?"

"Now?" Braydon shrugged. "Now I keep doing what I've been doing and hope that I can turn this around in the next month."

"I thought this debate was supposed to be the moment where you turned it around?"

"Well now it's some point in the next month." To Simon's incredulous look, Braydon sighed and stood up straight again. "The campaign isn't over, alright? Tonight was awful, and I may have shot myself in the foot, but I can still make her fight for it."

"Right." Simon's voice was flat. There was a look on his face that instinctively made Braydon nervous.

"What?"

"I- we were holding out for tonight. I've sort of been hoping that this would be the night you would pull everything together and prove me wrong about, uh," he made a vague gesture, "all of this."

"You haven't believed what I was doing would make a difference from the start."

"No. I could hope, though."

Braydon kept eying Simon. He looked the fish up and down once, and then asked, "What are you planning?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"It sounds like something I should worry about."

"You tried to do this your way." Simon paused, then inclined his head. "You're going to keep trying to do this your way. I get it. We can't wait or hold out for your way to work."

"The strikes and protests haven't exactly turned public opinion in Black Bay. People outside, sure, but I wouldn't call 'your way' a resounding success, either."

"Not yet." Simon gave a long, slow shrug. He stopped leaning on the streetlight and stood up straight, then nodded to Braydon. "Have a good night. I really am sorry things went this way tonight. You've put yourself out there, and a lot of the reason you did that was for us. Thanks."

With that, the fish turned and started walking in the direction that Braydon had come from, down towards the library and the marina past that. Simon watched him go for a bit, as he passed into and out of the glow of streetlights.

Everything about the conversation felt bad to him. Simon was being too hesitant - kept coming too close to the edge of saying something and then retreating. Braydon almost wanted to follow after him and demand to know what Simon and his group were planning.

It was late, though. It had been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be just as long. He would have a full shift of work with undoubtedly a lot of questions levied his way, and then he would be back on the campaign trail as soon as he finished up.

So instead Braydon turned back to his car. The door had relocked itself because he'd spent so much time talking with Simon. He unlocked it, slipped in, and let himself sit in the hot seat with his head tilted back for a few moments. Then he started it up and headed home.

Simon started coughing almost as soon as he swallowed. The stinging heat spread out from his throat to coat the entire back of his mouth, and he felt himself drifting backwards as he hacked and wheezed.

Across from him, Sid immediately started laughing. The enormous tarpon shook her head and reached out to grab the bowl that Simon had dropped. Next to her, Jensen let his gaze wander back and forth between Simon and the bowl in mild concern.

After a few moments, Simon managed to catch his breath enough to wheeze out, "Fuck, Sid."

"Please. This isn't even anything strong."

"I feel like I'm cooking."

"See, this is why everybody says lake fish are weak."

"Uh huh." Jensen's voice was even. He was now firmly eying the bowl. "I'm fine with people saying I'm weak if I don't have to deal with, uh..." The pike gestured over at Simon.

The yellow perch had stopped coughing enough to right himself. He kicked his legs to push himself back down towards the table the three of them were gathered around. A few of the other patrons at the bar were staring, but Simon ignored them as he reassumed his spot. He was still gasping a bit, but the heat was already starting to dissipate.

"I'm glad we waited until the end to try that," he said. Across from him, Sid shrugged, and stuck her hand into the narrow opening on the bowl. She pulled out a couple of the hard-shelled snacks, and popped them into her mouth. Simon shuddered as the tarpon crunched down on them, his throat wanting to close in sympathy. Instead, he cleared his throat, and said, "Any last items of business before we break?"

Sid shrugged dismissively. Jensen just let out a sigh, then spoke. "I still don't like how disorganized this all feels. Would it really have been such a big deal to bring Maureen in on this?"

Simon didn't miss the look Sid shot his way. He swallowed back his own frustration, and kept his voice calm as he responded. "We've been over this. We don't exactly want somebody taking meeting minutes for something like this."

"I know." Jensen hesitated, but continued on. "It still would have been nice to have somebody with a memory and a head for logistics like that. I keep being afraid that somebody's going to be late, or that somebody's going to make the wrong move."

"If they do, they do." Simon shrugged. "Look, we're not breaking into a bank vault or something. It's not like we need perfect timing and synched up actions. It's a container ship. We get out there with our people, we climb the sides, we're there. It's about as simple as that."

"Besides," Sid cut in, her voice sharp, "Maureen's the type of person that causes actions like these to turn violent. You don't want somebody like that on something like this."

Jensen inclined his head at that, though the action was reluctant. He and Simon had both learned to trust the tarpon's extensive experience with organizing at this point. Simon appreciated the pike's acquiescence. Maureen had given him bad feelings from the moment she'd first started showing up at the organizing meetings. The eel was always a bit too loud, and calling for a bit too much violence. Sid had told him that you sometimes got people like that during larger protests and sustained actions like these - people who were probably just getting into resistance actions and who were a bit too passionate.

It had been a very deliberate choice to exclude Maureen from this particular action, and to try to keep her in the dark about it altogether. Simon still felt mild annoyance whenever he thought about the one meeting the eel had stumbled in on by accident - she'd gone right to talking about cracking heads and wrecking shit. They'd managed to keep her away from any of the other planning meetings, but it had left a bad taste in many people's mouths.

Simon fell into his own thoughts as Jensen and Sid kept speaking. At some point he was dimly aware of Sid going over the full details of the plan again, just for Jensen's benefit. Simon let his gaze wander. There were only a few other people in the legion hall that night, and all of them were members of the harbour workers' union. The yellow perch easily picked out the dark blue badges sewn into the cuffs of their sleeves.

The legion had become the main place that Simon and the other two used for social meetings. Prior to Jensen being voted in as the union head a few months ago, Simon and Sid had been hesitant to talk about their plans anywhere that wasn't one of their secret meetings at The Dredless's wrecked hull. The union election had made it clear where the union's feelings lied, though, so they'd let themselves relax a bit and use the legion as a secondary base of operations. Simon glanced at the faces of the other fish that were present. He didn't recognize any of them as participants in the action tomorrow, but he wasn't too worried.

Simon's gaze flicked over to the television behind the bar. The bartender was just flicking through the channels. The yellow perch just watched, barely registering what he was seeing, until something caught his attention. He straightened a bit, then called over, "Hey, could you go back to that?"

The bartender and a couple other patrons glanced over at him in surprise. The bartender shrugged, then flicked the channel back. Simon leaned forward some as a basketball game came back up on the screen. Players in blue and players in orange were rushing back and forth across the court. Simon watched intently until he saw a green fish out there as well, dressed in a blue jersey and panting for breath.

"Never could follow that stuff," Jensen commented. Simon didn't look over at him. "Even after that kid from here made it to the big leagues. That, uh, Del... Desm..."

"Desdemona," Simon finished for him. He tried to keep any heat out of his voice.

"Uh huh." Jensen and Sid were both quiet for a bit, before the pike asked. "Uh. So you actually get it?"

"No," Simon admitted. "Mostly looks like walkers running back and forth a bunch. I went to watch a few games when I was in high school, but that was just to cheer from the sidelines. I just try to keep up whenever Desi's in the playoffs."

"Right. So what's happening?"

Simon took a moment to study the screen, his eyes wandering over the infographics. "Uh. Game six of the series. They play to seven. And it looks like the Tides, Desi's team, are playing the Mayors. Mayors are winning."

Sid snorted. "Yeah, that sounds about par for the course right now." The tarpon waited for a bit before asking, "You ever reach out to her again about speaking up?"

"No. She made her choice."

"You spend enough time walking, may as well be a walker." Jensen shrugged. "Fuck her."

"Fuck you."

"She doesn't get an off just because she's your friend."

"I can be pissed at her and still tell you to fuck off."

"Jensen." Sid's voice was sharp. Simon didn't have to look over to know that she was giving the pike a warning glance.

The three of them fell into an uneasy silence. None of them had raised their voices during the exchange. Over the past few months of strikes and protests and organizing, they'd learned to disagree with each other, often strongly, but keep it quiet and contained. Sometimes one of them needed the other two to shut up, and all three of them were fine with that.

After a few more minutes, Simon shook his head, and turned away from the TV. "I have no idea what's going on. It's just nice to watch and check in sometimes."

The other two didn't comment. Sid reached into her bowl and pulled out a couple more of the small snacks, popping them into her mouth with a satisfying crunch. She chewed, swallowed, and then spoke. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day. We should all get some sleep."

Simon and Jensen nodded. The three of them paid for their booze, thanked the bartender, and started for the door.

Jensen was just saying something about needing to grab some breakfast food on the way home when the door burst in off its hinges. Bright lights shone in, blinding Simon. Before he had time to react, somebody had hit him in a full body tackle. Voices were shouting, and whoever had tackled Simon pressed him against the floor. He still wasn't even sure what was happening when the person holding him wrenched his arms around behind his back, and he felt the metal of the handcuffs squeeze around his wrists.

By the time their condo building came into view, Noah was almost having to jog to keep up with Desdemona. She'd been walking at a brisk pace, her head down, ever since they'd left the stadium. He didn't think she was aware of how she'd been picking up the pace the whole way.

When the elevator doors slid shut, Desi finally let a breath out. The tall fish's shoulders slumped. Noah knew better than to ask her what was going on yet, or even to reach out and touch her. Instead he just stood beside her, watching as the numbers ticked up.

When they reached their floor, they made their way over to their condo. Desi opened the door, and Noah followed her in. She closed it behind him, and then just stood there, not moving. Her hand was still on the doorknob. She didn't look up or towards Noah - she just kept her eyes focused on the shut door.

"Desi?" the parrot finally asked.

It took a long few moments for the fish to respond. When she did, though, her voice was low. "I fucked up."

Noah eyed her for a few moments. He had an idea of where this was going, but he still pushed. "You won the game."

"We sure did." Desdemona's voice was flat. She sighed, then turned and walked by Noah towards the couch.

He followed her, keeping a step or two behind. "No, I mean you won the game. That's what reporters were saying - you guys were down two players partway through the fourth quarter, and you won the game. Game seven of a playoffs series. Best game of your c--"

"I know," she snapped. He fell silent as she reached the couch, and then flopped down onto it. It wasn't exactly uncommon for her to come home and collapse onto that particular couch after games - Noah knew that she liked to run herself ragged during games. Normally when she collapsed like this it was in satisfied exhaustion. This time it felt more like she was throwing herself at the couch. She lay there, her hands covering her face while she took deep breaths. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, but still showed strain. "I know, okay?"

Noah watched her for a few long moments, considering. Then he turned and walked over to the fridge. He grabbed a couple beers, and walked back over to the couch. He took a heavy seat in the tiny bit of the couch she wasn't occupying - he had to nudge her feet over with his hips as he sat. The parrot cracked open the first beer, and Desi groaned through her hands.

"Playoffs, Noah. No drinking. You know that."

"You just finished a series. You can have one drink." He put the open beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then opened the second beer for himself. "Come on, sit up."

She groaned again, though this time it was obvious that she was exaggerating it. She dragged herself up into a sitting position next to him, and just slumped there on the couch for a bit. After a long while she reached out and took the beer, and took a deep swig.

Noah watched her out of the corner of his eye. Once she'd had time to swallow and take a few more deep breaths, he spoke. "So, uh. Home?"

"Home." Desdemona didn't look at him as she confirmed his guess.

"What about it?"

She didn't respond until she'd taken another sip. "Braydon apparently got his ass kicked. Simon and his people got their asses arrested. My mom keeps telling me the whole fucking city's either going to explode or the aquatic side's going to keep going to shit if this election goes the wrong way. And here I am, walking into stadiums every night to play basketball, and not doing a fucking thing."

Noah nodded very slowly. He gave her time to take a few more drinks, and then he said, "And you want to be there."

"I don't fucking know what I want." She sighed, then leaned over sideways to press against his side. The kea reached out his free wing to wrap around her shoulders. He knew she wasn't putting her whole weight against him - more than a few experiments with that had taught both that he couldn't support her height and muscle. He squeezed her shoulders, though, and took another sip as she went on. "Not as if that's anything new."

"So that game tonight?"

He felt her tensing as she thought about it. Her voice was hesitant when she responded. "If we'd lost, I would be off the hook, and I could go home and... I dunno. But I wish we'd lost." She paused, and then continued, her voice firmer. "Fuck. I wish I'd just let us lose."

Noah snorted and shook his head. He felt Desi twisting to look over at him, and didn't have to see her face to know she was raising an eyeridge at him. "Sorry. The idea of you letting yourself lose is, uh. Rich."

"I think I've made it clear I'm fine with losing."

"Yeah, for sure. But only if you go down swinging." He took a drink and let her think on that.

The two of them were quiet for a while after that, both slowly draining their beers. After they finished, Noah got up and took their empties. He started walking over to the kitchen, and called over his shoulder.

"How long until that election?"

"A month and change?"

"Will the playoffs be done by then?"

Desi shrugged. "Maybe. Dunno. Depends on how long all of the series go."

"Cool." Noah tossed the empties into a bag with the others, and then returned to the couch. "So... where does that leave you?"

Desi let out a very long sigh. She slumped forward, and covered her face with her hands again. "That leaves me playing at least for now. And when I'm done in the playoffs, we're going to Black Bay."

Noah nodded. His voice was delicate as he asked his next question. "And if you're still in the playoffs by the time the election's coming up?"

Desi didn't respond for a very long time. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant. "I guess we figure out what happens then."

"Alright." The kea reached over and patted the perch's shoulder. Her muscles were tight under her scales.