You close your eyes and begin. It isn’t like the crude work of taking apart Chelsea, this time you are working within the imago, changing it. As your imago takes shape within your mind, you realise that hundreds, maybe thousands of points of contact between the physical and mental components. It’s more than a little daunting and, maybe for the first time since moving your base of operations to the Straussler’s house, you feel a little uncertain about what you are doing.
The feeling only lasts a moment though. With a grim resolve settling in – perhaps borrowed from Frank – you set about your task. Each connection you find between the physical and mental parts of your imago is like a little clasp. It is a simple act to reach out mentally and flip it open. The loose connections seem to waver for a second and then part.
The tricky thing is doing it again. And again and again. As you undo each connection you have to move onto the next. Find it, undo it and move on again. It is painstaking and exhausting work and you feel yourself faltering as you progress. Just as it seems to be too much, a sudden surge of strength from within yourself revitalises you and you find yourself continuing with a renewed pace. Frank’s Malacandra ousiarch perhaps?
Slowly the physical parts of your imago start to drift away. You let them float away without stopping them. You doubt you’ll ever need to be Will Prescott again.. You risk opening your eyes for a second and almost lose your connection to Frank’s body in shock.
The body on the metal sheets is barely recognisable as you anymore. It’s barely even recognisable as human, just a ragged mess of bloody flesh and bone. You close your eyes tight again and don’t open them as you remove the last few strips of pale skin from your body.
“Put the mask of Chelsea on the book,” you say to Joe through gritted teeth. You don’t want to do it yourself, that would mean opening your eyes again. “And the doll on top of it.”
You move onto the next step, splitting Chelsea’s imago in two as well. It’s a little easier to unclasp it this time. Whether that’s because the imago isn’t attached to anything, or because you are getting a little more practised, you are unsure. After that you bring the two sets of mental imago together, merging Chelsea’s mind with your own. Connections spring up and writhe as you bring the them together. You’d swear that you could feel an almost volcanic warmth at the back of your mind: the staggering sense of arrogance and entitlement that belongs to Chelsea. To you as well now.
With that done you move onto putting yourself back together, drawing Chelsea’s physical imago around you. It slips round easily, helped in part by the presence of her mental imago within you. You risk opening your eyes again. Though your body still a bloody mess, you can sense the ghost of Chelsea’s form around it. It seems to float their, the potential of it all hanging in the air.
But it won’t amount to anything until you connect it altogether. The process is laborious, finding each connection and snapping it back together. It is amazing to watch though, as Chelsea slowly appears piece by piece on the ruined mess of your body: The flawless skin, the golden hair, her delicate nose and perfect smile. They all take shape on you, joined finally by her ample breasts – round and magnificent and somehow able to hold half of Westside in their thrall.
The last connection snips into place and you find yourself sagging. Your legs are weak, your breathing shallow and you are drenched in sweat, but it seems to have worked. On the ground in front of you is Chelsea Cooper, or at least someone who looks very much like her. There is only one way to find out for sure.
You swipe your hand across your face and return to your body.
The change is instant. You’ve been in this body before, with its different perspective and centre of gravity, but when you hopped into Chelsea earlier today it didn’t feel like this. It didn’t feel this right. Slowly, and with a grin forming on your face, you push yourself into a sitting position.
“Stars, I feel drained,” mutters Frank. He’s sank to one knee.
“Did you get the number of that truck,” laughs Joe. “The one that ran you over.”
Frank growls unhappily, then he turns his gaze on you. You meet his eyes and smile one of Chelsea’s insincere smiles. “Who am I talking to?”
“Chelsea Cooper, of course,” you say. “Silly.” Frank’s eyes narrow, and even in his weakened state his hands clench into ugly looking fists. You tap at your temples with a finger. “Oh I know what you’re looking for. Buried in here somewhere I’m still Will Prescott. I am, and I’m running the show too, but I’m also Chelsea Courtney Cooper,” you say, pronouncing your new name in full and using a sing song voice. “Everything that she had, every nasty little trick she knew, it’s all in here now. It’s not like using a mask or a mind band either, it feels right. It feels like it belongs. I’m the best of both Will and Chelsea now.”
Frank gives you a dark look. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that”
“Dude,” you say, suppressing your Chelsea-side. “Would I lie to you… uh on second thoughts don’t answer that. You’ll understand what I mean once I get you two inside someone.”
Joe’s face immediately brightens. “You’re gonna put us into people like that?”
“I said that was my plan,” you reply, just a shade testily. “It’s not changed.”
“I thought you were just trying to annoy Frank,” mugs Joe. His brother shakes his head wearily. “You were serious? We’re gonna be Cheerleaders?”
You pause before answering, turning your thoughts inward to the little lever that you use to switch between your pairs of ousiarchs. You summon Glundandra, in the hope that it provides you with a little inspiration. “Mmmm, that where Chelsea’s… that’s where my power base lies. I want to see what I can do with it… and…” The sigil of Glundandra flickers into life in the open palm of your left hand.
“And have a little fun, yeah,” asks Joe keenly.
You smile wryly. “Maybe a little fun,” you admit.
“So you’ve gotta have some ideas already,” continues Joe. “Please say Maria.”
You tilt your head to one side. No, Maria isn’t the right choice for Joe. You need him somewhere he can make the most of his Viritrilbian ousiarch. A name pops into your head almost immediately, and you recognise the inspiration instantly too – it’s clearly from your Chelsea half. “Kendra,” you say, maintaining the wry grin. “I think she’d benefit from having you inside her Joe.”
Joe chortles in response. He doesn’t have the same insight that you do, not without Chelsea’s memories, but he has your Prescott memories from the copy of your anima inside him and he remembers Kendra well enough.
“What about me,” ask Frank, his voice tinged with bitterness.
“The Garners,” you explain, recalling your earlier thoughts in that direction.
“What, both of them” asks Joe, a little incredulously.
“Remember, we’ve got the Malacandra essentia from Rick, and the spare Sulva too,” you add. “Eva for you Frank. Your self control would make a big difference to her.” Eva’s temper is well known throughout Westside and Frank nods thoughtfully at the indirect compliment you have paid him. “And you can train Jessica to use her new ousiarchs too.” That actually forces a smile out of Frank. Jessica would be more likely to follow orders than Joe ever was, you decide.
“What about Aparijita’s essentia,” asks Joe
The other two spare ousiarchs that you have, he means. Perelandra and Catilindria. “I hadn’t though that far,” you admit. That might be a better fit for Maria, or maybe Cara. You resolve to decide later though.
“So,” says Joe casually, a little too casually. “When are you going to make the switches?”
“Not today,” you reply. “Look how much it took out of Frank. We’ll have to do it another day.” Not to mention that you are keen to get back to your new home and become better acquainted with your new body. But Joe does have a point. Who are you going to swap first? Frank or Joe?
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