Who could afford to purchase my honor?

There's little enough for Victra to do in this city that she finds herself falling into a respectable but rather boring routine. Every morning she exercises: runs through the whole city, swims through the ocean to the farthest buoy, goes to the gym and shames muscle-bound men who think they can out-lift her. She practices with her razor until her muscles start to ache. She sees Jesse; she sees Lincoln. She tries to read something but usually fails. She works on the movie when she's scheduled. And she drinks every night. It leaves a lot of down time, during which she finds herself at loose ends.

Today, she takes the long way back to her apartment. Her razor's curled around her arm like an overlarge bracelet and there's still a light sheen of sweat on her. She feels good, from the endorphins exercise has given her. She hears a rumble before she sees the bike, a low roar that breaks through the relative monotony of the city around her. She likes that. She turns her head and sees the speed and grace with which the bike and its rider move, weaving through other cars, the street.

By chance, the woman on the bike seems to be headed for the shop just in front of Victra and she slides into the driveway with a sharp turn. Victra grins.

"Nice bike."