Overdrives Alley - Main Bar
Contents:
Jesse
Sunday evening, just past Eight, and Jesse is circling the pool table, frowning in concentration. Judging by the sparse clientele, he's just running the table by himself. Judging by the trail of empty longnecks, he's been at it for a while.
Compton lumbers in. Weighted down by his heavy parka and a pool cue case he manages to navigate the main door clumsily. Stomping his feet a few times he leave clumps of slush behind and move in towards the tables himself.
"Winning?" the big guy asks sarcastically.
Jesse bent over the table, raises his eyes and grins under his hat brim. "Hard to say." He stands, lifts his cigarette to his lips, and raps his knuckles on the side of his head. "Crowded in here. Can't tell who's up and who's down. You?"
In the usual Invisible manner Compton raises his right hand in a hang loose sign, before pointing to the left with his index and middle fingers, "Breaking even." he retorts before shrugging his way out of the coat and turfing it on a nearby bench.
Jesse responds with a peace sign, taps his left breast, and nods. "Could be worse." He returns his attention to the table, speaking with lacunae and pauses, his focus on the last few balls remaining on the brightly lit sea of green. "So what's doing? Anyone around?"
"Pobbles fucked." Compton starts. "And I hear Penny's bent on some smack he came up with." He opens the case and draws two black aluminum poles from the case that he threads together. Fucking slick pool cue. Seems retirement with a gold card has its benefits. "Keene and Hiro's watching TeeVee."
"See Keene, tell him I'm down with the White Star. He can keep running P.R. with the Muckity Mucks, I'll run solidarity with the Zapatistas." Jesse, finally, takes his shot. Sinks it. Paces around the table without lifting his eyes, sweeping chalk up to the end of the cue, and begins staring again. "And we should get the mouse to give us the rundown on that Mecca thing."
Eyes squinting as Jesse hovers around the table, Compton seems to be deep in thought processing and translating your slang and ciphers in to meaningful strings of ideas. "Right." he says with all the convictions of a drunken prom date. "Who’s your man?"
Jim comes in from the street.
Jesse takes another shot, misses, and straightens his back with a frown. He tilts his head to one side. "Huh?"
Jim strolls into Overdrive's Alley, makes his way to the bar and slaps twenty dollars down. He winks to the bartender, and says: "One bourbon, one scotch, one beer."
Jim sits down at Long wooden bar.
"Yer Star, would I know him... and you gonna finish soon?" Compton says standing next to the pool table Jesse is playing solo on, "Otherwise I'm goin for a round."
Jesse points to the cue ball with his stick, shaking his head no. "All yours." He sniffs. "Little danzig looking mofo. You know him. We did laundry together, I think." Jesse turns to retrieve a longneck of Budweiser from the nearby beer puddled table and takes a long swallow. "Anyhow. Peaches can keep running his game; I just want him to be cool with me running this angle my lonesome."
Jesse sits down at Battered old pool table.
The bartender give Jim a harsh look, but he ignores it. "Come on man, deal it!" he responds. After a short while of rummaging around, the bartender grabs Jim's order and sets it before him.
"Ahhhhh!" Jim says, perusing his alcoholic cornucopia.
Talking, partly to himself, the bartender, and perhaps partly to the Holy Father as well, he says: "Since it's Sunday, I'll /only/ drink myself stupid. Promise." With a wink and a gulp, his bourbon disappears.
Compton props his fancy pool cue against the table and starts collecting the balls to re-rack them.
Gulp! There goes the scotch. Jim smiles broadly as he zips the burning hellfire down his throat. He begins looking around, and notices the pair playing pool, and nods to them in an informal greeting.
At your table Compton frowns for a moment shaking his head, like he's about to deny any knowledge of the guy - a reflex perhaps before the fog of various impurities of the liver lift and his brow crinkles up with recognition, "Right. That tough guy at the meetings. So he's cool then?" Compton asks with a hint of surprise in his voice. "Fuck me. I thought we were alone"
Jesse tugs at the brim of his hat, nodding in the direction of the bar "...Cougar." He turns, gesturing with his cigarette for the older man to rack faster. "Yeah, cool as shit. Got his six."
Compton finishes his preparations and collects the triangle. Stepping back he declares, 'Your break... Wanna shoot fer beers?'
"Naah. I got beers. Let's shoot for 'ludes. Piggy cleaned me out at Doom Friday night, but I hear you took all that and his shirt at hold'em when I passed out." Jesse, twisting his right hand to chalk his stick against the cube in his left, walks to the end of the table, grinning. "Keep taking advantage of the kids, you're gonna rack up a karma neither one of us is gonna like."
Isaac has connected.
"Just fucking shoot." Compton states. Obviously ticked for being fingered in such a dastardly crime and for taking shame from the wastrel as he digs a mitt full of horse pills from his trouser pocket and dumps them on the side of the table. "Eye fer eye, punk."
Jim looks over to Isaac, wincing slightly at the labyrinth of facial injuries. He then lights up a smoke, and begins to destroy his beer.
Isaac enters the bar, looking around warily, with a few flakes of snow already upon him.
Jesse bends, planting his weight on his hand, and grins up at Compton, then throws himself behind the stick, rising on his toes with the force of the break. Sinking back on his heels, he tilts his head to one side, gesturing invitingly at the table. "All yours, old man."
Jim finishes his beer quickly, and then calls to the bartender, "A pitcher of..." he recognizes Isaac, and looks over to him, "Hey... Isaac, right? What're you drinkin? Come on over here man, look like you've been hit by a Mack truck."
Isaac walks up to the guy and eyes him. "I don't really feel like getting alcohol anywhere near this..." He motions to the cuts on his face. He does approach and sit on a stool.
Isaac sits down at Long wooden bar.
Compton grimaces at Jesse, like he's already ruined his night, "Aw fuck man, hold on. Lemme grab a pint." and stomps off to the bar leaving his cue on the table.
The 'pint' is in fact a pitcher of the house draft. (Most likely recirrculated swill from the trays under the tap.)
Compton then returns to the table sans glasses and just takes heady draughts from the lip of the pitcher himself, before wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve and picking up his cue.
Jim laughs a hearty laugh. "You know, after knockin back a few, it don't hurt as much. Come on. Kieth's. I'm buyin." With that, Jim orders a pitcher of Keith's and two glasses, slapping his money down.
Isaac looks at him weirdly and shrugs. "Your money, I guess... What's got you in such a happy mood?"
Jim smiles. "Well, for one, I just started drinkin. For two, I got me a steady gig down at the Dubliner Pub."
Jim pours them both a glass, and raises his. "To life, liberty, and the pusuit of getting fuckin' shitfaced!"
Compton leans forward and braces his bulk against the table which groans under the guy’s weight. Closing one eye, he jerks his head aside flipping the top of the Santa cap over to the other side of his head and takes two long practice shots before letting go on the cue ball.
Isaac rolls his eyes. "You got a job at a bar, are your celebrating by going to /another/ bar to drink yourself stupid? That’s really smart, I'm sure they appreciate you not giving them business."
Jim grins. "I come here for the atmosphere."
Jesse rattles his stick loosely in his hand, slouching against the wall. "So what's with the brit seeing jesus?"
Isaac snorts. "At least some businesses don't change depending on the year..." He eyes his glass and finally gulps some down.
Jim smiles at Isaac's drinking. Then, encouragingly, "Come on, if you get drunk enough, I promise to drag you over to a booty palace, and we'll make asses of ourselves in front of naked ladies. Trust me, it's good times."
The white ball slams in to the assembled mass of other balls sending them careening about the tattered felt. Three go down. 2, 5, & 10.
"Beats the fuck outta me. Is a little weird, ya know? Even for Po-boy... Tables still open." Compton states and lines up for his next shot.
Isaac shakes his head at that. "Sorry. I'm trying to get Uta to understand the concept of one partner, and I need to set some sort of example if I'm gonna have a chance at it."
Compton lines up for a bank shot, trying to sink the 13 & 14 balls in the corner and center pockets respectively. Misses of cource, but it was a nice idea. "Fuck"
Jim grins and a belly laugh issues from his throat. "Women. I don't even bother trying any more. Take what you can get, and enjoy it man, looks like you could use some joy." Jim looks at Isaac's wounds, but leaves the question unasked.
Jesse takes another pensive swallow from his beer, without moving his weight from the wall. "I haven't seen it yet. Just heard around the room that britboy's gone all godfreak, and now Penn's with it." He sighs, shaking his head, and unfurls his slouch, walking over to bend over the table. "Four in the corner." Fluid movements from the elbow, the stick snaps, the ball falls. Precise. Measured. He walks to the pile of pills on the edge of the table, pushes three in Compton's direction, picks up a fourth and dry swallows it. "One back here." He pats the felt, bending again to line up his next shot.
Isaac takes another gulp and says, "This is what I got when I tried to be nice to a woman. Didn't even get to say a word to her before she slammed me into the back of a bar. She must be pretty skilled to have gotten me over the bar and into the beer shelf.... but who knows."
Jim laughs again, drawing the attention of a few disgruntled bikers. "Man, that's classic. Like I said, take what you can get. Leave what you'll... get assaulted by." He takes a liberal gulp of half his beer, and puffs away at the cigarette.
"We've been cooped up in that shit-hole too long I say." Compton does say, and lifts his pitcher to his mouth again and sucks some more back leaving a film of foam on his 'stache. Damn, looks skuzzy. "We gotta get out before they have us going door to door with fruit cakes."
Compton guffaws in to his pitcher, "...fruit cakes..."
The one banks off the far rail and lands solidly in the chosen pocket. Jesse plucks another pill from the table, pauses to wash it down with beer, and looks back to the table, blinking and shifting his balance. "Seven." Then, a bit unsteadily, he taps the corner pocket closest to him. "Here."
Isaac wrinkles his nose at the cigarette, but drinks a little more of the beer. He doesn't say anything, but he looks at the two playing pool.
Compton steps forward and bends down, plucking the remnants of the chalk cube form the sticky floor before applying it to the end of his expensive cue, "Anyone talk to Dave about it? He'd know what'd possessed the limey shit I'd guess."
Jim continues drinking, and quickly pours another glass. "So, Isaac, what's goin on in your world, man. Other than the crazy chicks, I mean."
Jesse leans forwards to line the shot up, nearly miscues, and fails utterly to sink the seven.
The thirteen, however, does wobble its ponderous way into a corner pocket. "Huh." Jesse stands, leaning on his stick, and gestures at the pills. "That one for me, or one for you?"
Isaac shrugs. "Just trying to get business together. I got a bid to make a custom sports car for a certain person in town, but I'm having some trouble getting the parts."
Jim raises an eyebrow. "Really now? Well, maybe I can help. What sort of parts would these be?"
"Me. I'm highball... and friday. I could use another beer toots." Compton’s says smugly and spreads his legs and leans down for his next shot. "14, in tha middle." and sinks it.
Isaac shrugs. "I haven't organized it very well yet, I'm pretty busy with the shop. Why, what can you do?"
Another 'lude makes its way over to Compton’s pile, and he paces the tables a few times eyeing up his next shot.
"Goatfucker."
Jesse eyes the pile of pills, slides two more to join the two already moved towards Compton, and walks to the bar, fishing in his back pocket. A crumpled knot of currency s withdrawn, untangled, and counted through. A strange snarl of suspiciously high denominations and chickenscratch. "Pitcher of whatever's cheap." Two bills are straightened, flattened, laid on the bar.
Jim grins. "Well, I know some guys. They deal in parts, and the like." The way Jim says that word, "parts", implies some sort of illicit aspect of the subject.
Isaac doesn't seem to believe Jim. He takes another sip and then says, "Well if I think you can help, I'll let you know. Anything I can't find, I'll probably make myself."
Jesse walks back to set the pitcher next to Compton's beer-in-progress. "Oh. Whatsis skipped town, so you may have to start paying for it over at the pot."
Jim shrugs. "I'm just saying, if you need a hand up, lemme know. Business is rough, I know it." With that, he takes an alarmingly large gulp of beer, refills his glass and calls to the bartender. "One bourbon, one sc-"
The bartender interrupts Jim with a guffaw in the midst of his romantic George Thorogood moment, and serves up one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer.
The 11 ricocheted off the 15 and goes wide. But the 15 falls in. "Aww shit. Fuck cunt bitch... forgot to call it." Compton says in irrational disbelief from himself. "Yer up slim."
Jesse, tilting his head to one side, stares at Isaac's smirk. He raises an eyebrow but stays still, leaning back against the table, legs crossed in front of him.
Jim gets down to some /serious/ drinking, taking both the bourbon and the scotch in quick succession. Apparently, in an attempt to murder his liver.
Compton circles around to Jesse and his beer, but stops when he catches Jesse's look, and gazes back the way he's looking. Adding his own considerable glare.
Isaac looks back at Jim and says, "Slow down, man. No need to kill yourself yet and besides, it lacks some originality."
Jim grins, and gulps down half the beer in a flash. He fires up another smoke, and turns slightly in his stool to regard the pool players, puzzled by their nasty looks.
Jesse snorts when Isaac looks away, shaking his head, and turns back to the game. Stretching broadly, he circles the table, then lines up the shot again, gesturing with the stick at the seven ball, and then at the corner pocket. A miss.
Compton gives up with the 'Fuck you. Die' look and goes back to hunting the elusive 11 ball.
Jim looks over to Isaac, and takes a long drag. In a low, joking tone, he says, "Making friends are we?"
Isaac laughs for a moment and says, "I don't think those guys like us watching their game."
This time it is a long shot down the length of the table to the far pocket. The shit is clean and dead straight and the 11 joins his brothers. With a smirk Compton goes for the chalk, "Some peoples larvae eh?"
"You didn't call it." Jesse picks up a pill, looks at it, and grins at Compton. "That's a penalty. One for me." He swallows the pill.
Jim grins again, but says nothing, option instead to finish his beer and suck on his smoke.
Compton's mouth opens and closes a few times fish-like, and his ears pink up. For e brief moment he looks like things are going to fly, but he turns to his beer and says a defeated "Shit" to the gods of dead nights buried behind the walls of this dive.
Isaac waves his hand to ward away the smoke and watches the closing game intently.
Jim's gaze is pulled towards the mural of the naked lady behind the bar, and he puffs whimsically as he studies her curves.
Compton adjusts the grimy Santa’s cap on his head and takes another belt from the pitcher, and continues a more subdued conversation with Jesse.
At your table Compton says "So, you ah... See the note? In the hotel?"
Jesse shakes his head no, leaning against the table again and waiting for his turn. He lights a fresh cigarette, eyeing his beer where it sits n the corner, and thinks about the distance to it.
At your table Jesse says "What note?"
At your table Compton says "Tha one 'bout who ratted us out to the papers and cops? Ya know the tapes..."
At your table Jesse says "Yeah. That's the White Star guy. The one who sent the note."
Jesse finally musters the will and stands, padding over to the little end-table in the corner on which the cluster of empties sprouts. From them, he plucks a half full longneck of bud, and upends it, swallowing the last.
Compton stomps around to the far side of the table and points with his cue at the green and white 12 ball and says, with much emphasis on Jesse understanding him, "That fucking ball" then taps the pocket closest to him, "In this fucking hole... got that?"
Isaac takes another gulp of beer and then dismounts from the stool. He leaves a couple of dollars on the bar and says, "Take care of yourself."
12 ball goes down the hole and Compton sneers smugly at his handiwork.
Jim nods. "You too man."
At your table Compton says "That's yer man? Right on. We gotta get a crew together and go collect this shit."
Compton's next shot sinks the 4. Low ball. Scratch.
"...Yeah." Jesse, slow to respond, speaks thickly from a far away place. "Yeah, I get it already." He nods again, adjusting his hat. "Crew-wise, yeah. Count him in. We gotta get his six next week, show the colors a little." Jesse grins, sliding around the table to line up a shot at the Six. "Fuckers forgot what fear was." The shot misses.
Jim finishes his smoke, and walks out the door, nodding to the pool players as he leaves.
Jim heads out to the street.
Jim has left.
"It pisses me off ya know? Here I take all this flak being with you guys because we're a bunch of terrorists..." Compton rants as he stalks the table again, "Yet they totally ignore the fact that they have a rat in the house. More than this fuck should take it up the arse. I didn't fucking retire and move here to wind up hiding my ass in the dark because some shit has a moral dilemma with our reality."
Jesse shrugs, surreptitiously taking another pill - that's six. And we should be doing things by seven, really, but Jesse's motor control is already slowing dangerously. "So? So it's not like we're not gonna shiv him, we get a chance. I'm just waiting to meet the guy."
"But it's the principle." Compton says emphatically, "I'm kinda old to be notorius ya know?" and lines up on the 8 ball. "8, top left."
Compton misses of course.
Jesse chuckles softly, moving to line up a clear shot at the six. The sedatives must be kicking in - the cue wobbles out sideways and caroms off the rails. "Fucker." Jesse stands, gestures to the eight. "Your shot."
Compton grimaces at the 8 ball, as if to intimidate it in to behaving. "8 ball. Dead center."
Compton stands up straight looking pretty darn smug. He plods over to the remaining pills and sweeps them back in to his hand, which quickly disappear in to his pocket. "Suck it up punk." is his words of wisdom to the loser.
Jesse exhales faintly, and gives a vague shrug, reaching out slowly to lean his stick against the wall. "Huh. Damn. I wanted to fight that ugly dude, too."
Compton disassembles his cue and packs it away. Then dons his heavy coat, "Common, we'll go find god-man. He'll fix you up."
Jesse wriggles into his coat and nods, mumbling something and following in search of Pobble.
And The Laurel and Hardy of the underworld wander off in to the night.
Friday, May 23, 2003
Penthesilia comes in, out of the bitter nights cold. She's covered in ice crystals, and looks like she's spent half the night in an ally. She also seems relatively unaffected by those facts, heads straight to the cig machine
Penny immediately removes herself from the payphone/cig machine area, winces tight "Players pull-thing sticks," some advice, but don't mistake it for friendly chit-chat. Penny drags long on a palmed cigarette and eyes the phone like she's expecting it to ring.
Penthesilia nods, and grunts once. Clamping one huge fist with a flat palm, she applies a quick, sharp blow to the side of the machine, causing a pack of Lucky's to eject. Sighing with resignation, she sucks one of the cigs out, and lights it up with a battered Zippo. Sighing heavily, she murmurs, in a heavily accented voice. "Christ. Out of normals. Have to settle for shit now. Thanks for warning." She removes herself from the cig/phone alcove, and sits down on the stoop
Penthesilia pulls out a book, and opens it up, staring not at the pages, but at a note stuck between the pages. She studies it intently, but the look on her face suggests that she might burn holes in it if she had the ability. Something about the note irks the hell out of her.
Penny drops back into another half-lean on a stool. Wobbling on approximately three and a half legs, it holds Penny up but only just. It's so quiet in here, what with both doors closed, you can hear the cigarette burning down. Hiss and crackle. The air in here stagnant and unmoving, smoke halos her instead of expanding up. She keeps looking from the phone to the street, to the phone and every now and then over to you.
A bouncer peeks his head out the door, makes a kind of nod toward Penny "Still here," he observes.
She goes "Yeah. Still."
The bruiser, let's call a spade a spade, makes a such-is-life shrug and closes the door, the yellow sliver of light cut back out of the stoop.
Penthesilia claps the book shut with a *BANG* in one large palm, and places it back in the battered army duffle slung over her shoulder. Slowly bringing herself up to her feet, she shakes her hair out, the ice turning into dripping rivulets in the warm air. She frowns as her Lucky goes out, and spits it out indignantly. Turning on one heel, she stalks over to you; pissed...not at you, but pissed. Pray that she is kind to whomever it is. Tilting her head, she asks in a rough voice "Hoy...you mind if I ask quick question?"
And the pay-phone starts ringing. Just like that. It's a loud, stuttering ting-ting-ring noise. The pocked and rusty thing has just the kind of dimensions that speaks of unreliable hooks and receivers that fall dead, often.
Still smoking, Penny's eyes shift from the phone to the advancing shadow/brick-wall and quirks a brow "No, go ahead." She says this calmly, near serene like she has the patience of a saint.
Penthesilia remains motionless for the moment, eyes sliding over towards the phone, "That for you? Answer first, if you need."
The closer you get, the easier it is to see - Penny's eyes-like-saucers. It probably isn't possible for her to get up again. "Ladies first, hm?" She thinks she's funny. The corner of her mouth twitches a smile on and off.
Penthesilia contines her statue impression. There is just a faint cracking of knuckles, as a clenched fist barely moves against a massive palm. She trembles slightly, as if something inside continues to build with each ring until it finally reaches a crecendo. Moving faster than her bulk implies, she nearly rips the handset off the hook, and yells at the top of her lungs a stream of foreign obsenities. Sounds Arabic, or maybe Hebrew. When she hangs up the phone, her mood seems improved, taking a deep breath. "There. Better. Okay."
She pauses, and then finally remembers why she came here in the first place "Hey. You regular here? Know something about homeless person, killed near here, not long ago?"
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Your phone (or possibly another nearby) rings if you are ICly anywhere near it.
OOC: Type 'answer Chase' - or 'options' - if you have a coded cellular, or page Chase to reply. Note that those about you cannot hear this message and you may wish to rp the phone ringing.
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Penny watches all this with placid awareness; like instances appearing through the water. She does not flinch or shrink at the violent gestures, nor is she surprised when not a second later the phone begins to ring again. It is persistant, it is hounding and demands a proper address. The system of levers and switches it takes to keep making the sound sound like they've begun to wind down, though. The ringing is also excessive and wastes the phone's precious reserves.
"Heard about something. Who's asking?"
The corners of her lips tug upward at that. "I am asking. You need name, you can call me Penni". Said with complete unawares of the amusing little situation Fate has just set up, in regards to the names people have.
Penny waits briefly for an answer but can't ignore the phone and can't endure another outburst. She tips off the stool, boots thumping across the tile, shuffling through butts and bottle caps toward the payphone.
(Directed into the phone) Penny says "You should be here," and her hand covers the end of the phone. She's talking to someone else now, a hard edge of suspicion underlining the question "You a cop?"
It starts with a few snorts, almost as if she were clearing her throat. It turns into a deep throated derisive laugh after a little more coaxing. "No. Am pissed off homeless woman who gonna beat shit out of man cops refuse to find."
(Phone) Chase is eating chips right into the receiver and being generous with the *crunching* noises. As such, it's several seconds before he's swallowed the mouthful of salty treats and is able to speak. And don't be dirty!
"What the shit girl. You in Afghanistan??"
Penthesilia grumbles "Fuckin' Republican, small dick. Think he can play Darwin."
(Directed into the phone) Penny tips her head that way, the cord of the phone twisting with that metal creak "Yes. God and I decided it was time to go walking through the motherfucking holy land during bombing season." You had that coming. "You know where I am. Just get here."
Penny clicks her cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
Penthesilia smirks for a moment "It very overrated.
Penny hasn't looked away in the meantime. Her hand moves blindly, knowing the terrain of the phone, hooks it. These things all work the same way. "Yes, we agree. It wasn't meant to work out that way. But there was a m.." Penny stops.
Penny make a concious, visible effort to stop. But her mouth keeps moving at an incredible rate "..moment when one of those marys would've got on that cross /fo/ him and well. Something had to be done. You know how it is, always a man on top."
Abruptly this monologue changes. She lets go of the phone and tugs out another cigarette from the depth of a pocket. Doesn't light it, tucks it behind her ear. "Got a feeling they just don't know. They don't know a lot."
Penthesilia mmmms softly. Okay, maybe she can play with this delusion "Early Gnostic Christianity, used to be very female-run. Community groups. Matriarchy. Paul and others, put quick end to that. Now it all suck." She pauses for a moment, attention to get this train of thought to switch tracks "So what do you know, about person killing homeless?"
it's gone, the thread disappeared like so much smoke into the atmosphere. Her left hand touches briefly to the inside right. Penny keeps her hand there, holds or adjusts something hidden. "We only know what we see. There's a lot of /bad/ little boys running around this part of town. Ruins the atmosphere. Stick around this place long enough and you might see what I mean."
Chase walks in off the street.
Chase has arrived.
As if on cue, Penthesilia looks over her shoulder at the man walking in through the doors.
Penthesilia turns back to Penny, and mumbles softly "Yeah. Well. Thanks, anyhow."
Snow still on his shoulders, Chase walks in cursing the world in Spanish. That language not being associated with cold climates, it's little wonder he shows no outright love for the chilly weather. Boots stomp off some sludge as the thick man grooms his feet for indoor use. This is about the time his lazy gaze registers other forms.
Oh but he was expected.
And he's no boy.
Penny lifts some kind of elaborate, almost fingerless wave to Chase as he makes his presence felt, letting the wind blow in. She points two fingers to the left and smiles. With less obvious movement, Penny ticks the cigarette from behind her ear and extends it to him.
"I mean it. He thinks he's invincible. Needs to be put down, is what. Stick around," Penny searches pockets with her left hand, some slick damp trailing across her leather jacket.
"Tits."
That's for the cigarette that's needed to warm his soul. Chase can't help but to look up at Penny's new large friend. But it's a cursory glance, because what's more important than tall women right now, is FIRE! And out comes a zippo, orange flame's got the cure for what ails ya. It's held to the cigarette's business end as the thick fellow enjoys the first smoke of the new day... or is it?
Penthesilia tightens her jaw for a moment, pressing the small of her back against a nearby wall as she sits down on a rickety looking stool "Sound like you know him. Personal like."
Penthesilia blinks and suddenly tights, and if struck dumb. Like a bolt, she is on her feet, and barely manages to stammer out an explaination "Will be back. Emergency has come up."
Penthesilia quickly stalks out of the bar, not even waiting for anyones reaction
Penthesilia walks into the streets.
Penthesilia has left.
"God tells me you're a treasure and wanted me to say thank you for last night. Well. I wanted to say thank you, he's just a gloryhound." Amazing she can deadpan that. Penny tugs Chase nearer by the pocket of his coat, her fingers move in and out, smuggling a cigarette from him. "Also. That kid with the mo's gonna buy it soon. Isn't he."
"Huh? Last night?" He's lost as to what he did last night besides mooch some of yer smack. Chase exhales as his boots scuffle towards Penny under the pull of her fingers. But he let's whatever it is that happened last night fly off into the abstract and moves on. "Who, Vulch? Dunno. I suppose if he keeps lettin' girls with lip piercings suck his arteries, he might. 'S not good for one's health, ya know." Tap tap. Ash onto the ground, to mix into the dirty snow.
"The ride, for the ride. Guy was," she moves her hand to her mouth, the index and middle spread and make a downward gesture and leaves it at that. "No see," pointing to the crumpled paper ontop of the stacks. It's folded open to and article about the dead homeless. "I think I remember he was asking around for hired hands. Worked for someone giving someone else the business."
Touching the cigarette to the corner of her mouth "Light me, hey?"
Duly, he does so. The zippo was still out, and snaps open again for a repeat performance. "Oh. Yeah." It's clear from his face, he's not a fucking clue. Chase turns back out into the snow day, vaguely spotting the large departing form of... well i'm not gonna repeat that unpronounceable name. But he thumbs back to her, "Sup' with the ogre?"
"Says her name's Penny. Wants a little payback." She inhales deep and moves smoke through every gesture "Sorry for that outburst, I couldn't stop her and god agreed it wouldn't be the wisest course of action to try and reason with her." It's all a bit more matter-of-fact than the Penny you're accustomed to. A little to everything's-alright eggs-in-one-basket.
"Penny meets Penny. Does that make you like... the mini-me in that relationship?" The zippo's finally tucked back away in one of Chase's bagillion pockets. There's some smoking going on, the thick dude peeks into the pool hall proper. "Let's get a drink, yo."
Penny tips off the stool again "Aight," follows you inside. "But no stick tonight. M'not so good with the leaning thing okay? More of the same slick appears on the stool's dark-stained wood and where she touches the doorframe.
Chase opens the door leading to the pool hall and enters.
Chase has left.
So then, scratch all that shite about snowy mornings 'n such. Because it's nighttime, yeah. Chase leads, he's good at that. Might even make a halfway decent Salsa dancer. Did I just say that? *vomit* Towards a table, he kicks at one of the chairs with a heavy boot and lets fly open the flaps of his long coat. Into the chair with a grunt, he's already eyeing the waitress.
"So then, I trust you fags got me note, eh?"
Penny drops into the chair, the study and won't fall apart chair, like a stone. Was she asleep? She keeps blinking, looking around. Huddling inside her coat, Penny slides her ass to the far edge of the chair so she's low. Inconspicuous.
"Yeah," like it's just coming back to her now, little enthused "yeah! That shit for reals?"
"Pffft?" Brows scrunch. "Of course it's real. Came from my ass." Cigarette still smoking, Chase is finally able to make eye contact with the waitress and it seems their table is high on the list of things to do for the working girl. After a lung's worth of inhaling, he turns back to Penny and talks more. "So then, whatcha gonna do 'bout it, is the question..."
Penny ashes to the floor, arm still extended ignoring the smoke "Oh come on," smothering a first response "It isn't a question, Chase.. " looking from right to left "..we'll be restoring things to their natural order." Tightly fisted, Penny ashes again and looks to the tabletop for a drink that isn't there yet. Nothing but wet rings and other people's napkins. "Simple."
A few silent nods, Chase understands. "'S about what I would do I suppose." And here comes Janet. Well, that might not be her name, but she bears an uncanny resemblance to Janet Dewitt from 'Three's Company.
"What can I getcha?" She asks, all sassy like. She may look like Three's Company, but she speaks like Flow from Alice.
"Bushmills on the rocks, please." Who knew Chase was capable of saying please. You turns to Penny as 'Janet/Flow' does, expectantly.
"And fer you, sugah?" Where the shit did she get a southern accent up here.
You say, "SoCo, beer chaser. Whatever's on tap" ending the order with a now-go-away tone. Penny isn't seeing the waitress, doesn't know whether she looks like Janet or Chrissy, fixed on the tabletop. Might put the waitress off a little but this isn't a place know for it's service, friendliness or particularly mild-mannered customers. Once she's gone, Penny picks up the thread again "Know where he lives?"
"Nu-uh. But that's not the problem, right? I mean, I could just trance out 'n finger his ass pretty easily." Chase responds, turning back from Janet/Flow to Penny/Penny. "or, get a mouse jockey on it. Ether way, that's not the hard part... Ya'll might get lip fer pulling something like that off. At least while the big cheese is in town. Might, ya know, wait till he takes his old ass away."
"That fuck's let him run around getting away with it. He can stick it in his /ass/ f'e don't like it. Shit, it really isn't a problem. Boy's got some fuckn'nerve."
Penny starts to shrug out of the leather jacket inches at a time, menaced by its sleeves and her side. Still low in the chair, she looks at her hand under the table, wipes it to the bottom no doubt across a sea of olf gum and gunk.
Chase smiles a bit, perhaps happy or amused with Penny's degree of angst. Ether way, it's a friendly response. "Fuckin' nerve, that he does. But the old stinker didn't know, or hadn't bothered to look into it. That's what boggles my shit." The cigarette is dyeing, and Chase sucks it's soul from the filter before gnashing it dead in the ashtray. And there's drinks, and talking, and more drinks, and smokes. And so ends another night with the dead enders of the world.
Penny immediately removes herself from the payphone/cig machine area, winces tight "Players pull-thing sticks," some advice, but don't mistake it for friendly chit-chat. Penny drags long on a palmed cigarette and eyes the phone like she's expecting it to ring.
Penthesilia nods, and grunts once. Clamping one huge fist with a flat palm, she applies a quick, sharp blow to the side of the machine, causing a pack of Lucky's to eject. Sighing with resignation, she sucks one of the cigs out, and lights it up with a battered Zippo. Sighing heavily, she murmurs, in a heavily accented voice. "Christ. Out of normals. Have to settle for shit now. Thanks for warning." She removes herself from the cig/phone alcove, and sits down on the stoop
Penthesilia pulls out a book, and opens it up, staring not at the pages, but at a note stuck between the pages. She studies it intently, but the look on her face suggests that she might burn holes in it if she had the ability. Something about the note irks the hell out of her.
Penny drops back into another half-lean on a stool. Wobbling on approximately three and a half legs, it holds Penny up but only just. It's so quiet in here, what with both doors closed, you can hear the cigarette burning down. Hiss and crackle. The air in here stagnant and unmoving, smoke halos her instead of expanding up. She keeps looking from the phone to the street, to the phone and every now and then over to you.
A bouncer peeks his head out the door, makes a kind of nod toward Penny "Still here," he observes.
She goes "Yeah. Still."
The bruiser, let's call a spade a spade, makes a such-is-life shrug and closes the door, the yellow sliver of light cut back out of the stoop.
Penthesilia claps the book shut with a *BANG* in one large palm, and places it back in the battered army duffle slung over her shoulder. Slowly bringing herself up to her feet, she shakes her hair out, the ice turning into dripping rivulets in the warm air. She frowns as her Lucky goes out, and spits it out indignantly. Turning on one heel, she stalks over to you; pissed...not at you, but pissed. Pray that she is kind to whomever it is. Tilting her head, she asks in a rough voice "Hoy...you mind if I ask quick question?"
And the pay-phone starts ringing. Just like that. It's a loud, stuttering ting-ting-ring noise. The pocked and rusty thing has just the kind of dimensions that speaks of unreliable hooks and receivers that fall dead, often.
Still smoking, Penny's eyes shift from the phone to the advancing shadow/brick-wall and quirks a brow "No, go ahead." She says this calmly, near serene like she has the patience of a saint.
Penthesilia remains motionless for the moment, eyes sliding over towards the phone, "That for you? Answer first, if you need."
The closer you get, the easier it is to see - Penny's eyes-like-saucers. It probably isn't possible for her to get up again. "Ladies first, hm?" She thinks she's funny. The corner of her mouth twitches a smile on and off.
Penthesilia contines her statue impression. There is just a faint cracking of knuckles, as a clenched fist barely moves against a massive palm. She trembles slightly, as if something inside continues to build with each ring until it finally reaches a crecendo. Moving faster than her bulk implies, she nearly rips the handset off the hook, and yells at the top of her lungs a stream of foreign obsenities. Sounds Arabic, or maybe Hebrew. When she hangs up the phone, her mood seems improved, taking a deep breath. "There. Better. Okay."
She pauses, and then finally remembers why she came here in the first place "Hey. You regular here? Know something about homeless person, killed near here, not long ago?"
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Your phone (or possibly another nearby) rings if you are ICly anywhere near it.
OOC: Type 'answer Chase' - or 'options' - if you have a coded cellular, or page Chase to reply. Note that those about you cannot hear this message and you may wish to rp the phone ringing.
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Penny watches all this with placid awareness; like instances appearing through the water. She does not flinch or shrink at the violent gestures, nor is she surprised when not a second later the phone begins to ring again. It is persistant, it is hounding and demands a proper address. The system of levers and switches it takes to keep making the sound sound like they've begun to wind down, though. The ringing is also excessive and wastes the phone's precious reserves.
"Heard about something. Who's asking?"
The corners of her lips tug upward at that. "I am asking. You need name, you can call me Penni". Said with complete unawares of the amusing little situation Fate has just set up, in regards to the names people have.
Penny waits briefly for an answer but can't ignore the phone and can't endure another outburst. She tips off the stool, boots thumping across the tile, shuffling through butts and bottle caps toward the payphone.
(Directed into the phone) Penny says "You should be here," and her hand covers the end of the phone. She's talking to someone else now, a hard edge of suspicion underlining the question "You a cop?"
It starts with a few snorts, almost as if she were clearing her throat. It turns into a deep throated derisive laugh after a little more coaxing. "No. Am pissed off homeless woman who gonna beat shit out of man cops refuse to find."
(Phone) Chase is eating chips right into the receiver and being generous with the *crunching* noises. As such, it's several seconds before he's swallowed the mouthful of salty treats and is able to speak. And don't be dirty!
"What the shit girl. You in Afghanistan??"
Penthesilia grumbles "Fuckin' Republican, small dick. Think he can play Darwin."
(Directed into the phone) Penny tips her head that way, the cord of the phone twisting with that metal creak "Yes. God and I decided it was time to go walking through the motherfucking holy land during bombing season." You had that coming. "You know where I am. Just get here."
Penny clicks her cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
Penthesilia smirks for a moment "It very overrated.
Penny hasn't looked away in the meantime. Her hand moves blindly, knowing the terrain of the phone, hooks it. These things all work the same way. "Yes, we agree. It wasn't meant to work out that way. But there was a m.." Penny stops.
Penny make a concious, visible effort to stop. But her mouth keeps moving at an incredible rate "..moment when one of those marys would've got on that cross /fo/ him and well. Something had to be done. You know how it is, always a man on top."
Abruptly this monologue changes. She lets go of the phone and tugs out another cigarette from the depth of a pocket. Doesn't light it, tucks it behind her ear. "Got a feeling they just don't know. They don't know a lot."
Penthesilia mmmms softly. Okay, maybe she can play with this delusion "Early Gnostic Christianity, used to be very female-run. Community groups. Matriarchy. Paul and others, put quick end to that. Now it all suck." She pauses for a moment, attention to get this train of thought to switch tracks "So what do you know, about person killing homeless?"
it's gone, the thread disappeared like so much smoke into the atmosphere. Her left hand touches briefly to the inside right. Penny keeps her hand there, holds or adjusts something hidden. "We only know what we see. There's a lot of /bad/ little boys running around this part of town. Ruins the atmosphere. Stick around this place long enough and you might see what I mean."
Chase walks in off the street.
Chase has arrived.
As if on cue, Penthesilia looks over her shoulder at the man walking in through the doors.
Penthesilia turns back to Penny, and mumbles softly "Yeah. Well. Thanks, anyhow."
Snow still on his shoulders, Chase walks in cursing the world in Spanish. That language not being associated with cold climates, it's little wonder he shows no outright love for the chilly weather. Boots stomp off some sludge as the thick man grooms his feet for indoor use. This is about the time his lazy gaze registers other forms.
Oh but he was expected.
And he's no boy.
Penny lifts some kind of elaborate, almost fingerless wave to Chase as he makes his presence felt, letting the wind blow in. She points two fingers to the left and smiles. With less obvious movement, Penny ticks the cigarette from behind her ear and extends it to him.
"I mean it. He thinks he's invincible. Needs to be put down, is what. Stick around," Penny searches pockets with her left hand, some slick damp trailing across her leather jacket.
"Tits."
That's for the cigarette that's needed to warm his soul. Chase can't help but to look up at Penny's new large friend. But it's a cursory glance, because what's more important than tall women right now, is FIRE! And out comes a zippo, orange flame's got the cure for what ails ya. It's held to the cigarette's business end as the thick fellow enjoys the first smoke of the new day... or is it?
Penthesilia tightens her jaw for a moment, pressing the small of her back against a nearby wall as she sits down on a rickety looking stool "Sound like you know him. Personal like."
Penthesilia blinks and suddenly tights, and if struck dumb. Like a bolt, she is on her feet, and barely manages to stammer out an explaination "Will be back. Emergency has come up."
Penthesilia quickly stalks out of the bar, not even waiting for anyones reaction
Penthesilia walks into the streets.
Penthesilia has left.
"God tells me you're a treasure and wanted me to say thank you for last night. Well. I wanted to say thank you, he's just a gloryhound." Amazing she can deadpan that. Penny tugs Chase nearer by the pocket of his coat, her fingers move in and out, smuggling a cigarette from him. "Also. That kid with the mo's gonna buy it soon. Isn't he."
"Huh? Last night?" He's lost as to what he did last night besides mooch some of yer smack. Chase exhales as his boots scuffle towards Penny under the pull of her fingers. But he let's whatever it is that happened last night fly off into the abstract and moves on. "Who, Vulch? Dunno. I suppose if he keeps lettin' girls with lip piercings suck his arteries, he might. 'S not good for one's health, ya know." Tap tap. Ash onto the ground, to mix into the dirty snow.
"The ride, for the ride. Guy was," she moves her hand to her mouth, the index and middle spread and make a downward gesture and leaves it at that. "No see," pointing to the crumpled paper ontop of the stacks. It's folded open to and article about the dead homeless. "I think I remember he was asking around for hired hands. Worked for someone giving someone else the business."
Touching the cigarette to the corner of her mouth "Light me, hey?"
Duly, he does so. The zippo was still out, and snaps open again for a repeat performance. "Oh. Yeah." It's clear from his face, he's not a fucking clue. Chase turns back out into the snow day, vaguely spotting the large departing form of... well i'm not gonna repeat that unpronounceable name. But he thumbs back to her, "Sup' with the ogre?"
"Says her name's Penny. Wants a little payback." She inhales deep and moves smoke through every gesture "Sorry for that outburst, I couldn't stop her and god agreed it wouldn't be the wisest course of action to try and reason with her." It's all a bit more matter-of-fact than the Penny you're accustomed to. A little to everything's-alright eggs-in-one-basket.
"Penny meets Penny. Does that make you like... the mini-me in that relationship?" The zippo's finally tucked back away in one of Chase's bagillion pockets. There's some smoking going on, the thick dude peeks into the pool hall proper. "Let's get a drink, yo."
Penny tips off the stool again "Aight," follows you inside. "But no stick tonight. M'not so good with the leaning thing okay? More of the same slick appears on the stool's dark-stained wood and where she touches the doorframe.
Chase opens the door leading to the pool hall and enters.
Chase has left.
So then, scratch all that shite about snowy mornings 'n such. Because it's nighttime, yeah. Chase leads, he's good at that. Might even make a halfway decent Salsa dancer. Did I just say that? *vomit* Towards a table, he kicks at one of the chairs with a heavy boot and lets fly open the flaps of his long coat. Into the chair with a grunt, he's already eyeing the waitress.
"So then, I trust you fags got me note, eh?"
Penny drops into the chair, the study and won't fall apart chair, like a stone. Was she asleep? She keeps blinking, looking around. Huddling inside her coat, Penny slides her ass to the far edge of the chair so she's low. Inconspicuous.
"Yeah," like it's just coming back to her now, little enthused "yeah! That shit for reals?"
"Pffft?" Brows scrunch. "Of course it's real. Came from my ass." Cigarette still smoking, Chase is finally able to make eye contact with the waitress and it seems their table is high on the list of things to do for the working girl. After a lung's worth of inhaling, he turns back to Penny and talks more. "So then, whatcha gonna do 'bout it, is the question..."
Penny ashes to the floor, arm still extended ignoring the smoke "Oh come on," smothering a first response "It isn't a question, Chase.. " looking from right to left "..we'll be restoring things to their natural order." Tightly fisted, Penny ashes again and looks to the tabletop for a drink that isn't there yet. Nothing but wet rings and other people's napkins. "Simple."
A few silent nods, Chase understands. "'S about what I would do I suppose." And here comes Janet. Well, that might not be her name, but she bears an uncanny resemblance to Janet Dewitt from 'Three's Company.
"What can I getcha?" She asks, all sassy like. She may look like Three's Company, but she speaks like Flow from Alice.
"Bushmills on the rocks, please." Who knew Chase was capable of saying please. You turns to Penny as 'Janet/Flow' does, expectantly.
"And fer you, sugah?" Where the shit did she get a southern accent up here.
You say, "SoCo, beer chaser. Whatever's on tap" ending the order with a now-go-away tone. Penny isn't seeing the waitress, doesn't know whether she looks like Janet or Chrissy, fixed on the tabletop. Might put the waitress off a little but this isn't a place know for it's service, friendliness or particularly mild-mannered customers. Once she's gone, Penny picks up the thread again "Know where he lives?"
"Nu-uh. But that's not the problem, right? I mean, I could just trance out 'n finger his ass pretty easily." Chase responds, turning back from Janet/Flow to Penny/Penny. "or, get a mouse jockey on it. Ether way, that's not the hard part... Ya'll might get lip fer pulling something like that off. At least while the big cheese is in town. Might, ya know, wait till he takes his old ass away."
"That fuck's let him run around getting away with it. He can stick it in his /ass/ f'e don't like it. Shit, it really isn't a problem. Boy's got some fuckn'nerve."
Penny starts to shrug out of the leather jacket inches at a time, menaced by its sleeves and her side. Still low in the chair, she looks at her hand under the table, wipes it to the bottom no doubt across a sea of olf gum and gunk.
Chase smiles a bit, perhaps happy or amused with Penny's degree of angst. Ether way, it's a friendly response. "Fuckin' nerve, that he does. But the old stinker didn't know, or hadn't bothered to look into it. That's what boggles my shit." The cigarette is dyeing, and Chase sucks it's soul from the filter before gnashing it dead in the ashtray. And there's drinks, and talking, and more drinks, and smokes. And so ends another night with the dead enders of the world.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Metro. Middle of the night. Somewhere on Mars.
Rolling Fields
It's a gorgeous sight, even in the dark of night, the brilliant yellows and greens of tall grasses waving in the chill wind, rolling hills stretching off as far as the eye can see. Pure, white stars shine in the breaks of the thick, dark cloud cover above, bringing a mild, yet still chilled, warmth to the vast expanse of land.
As you reach the peak of one of the highest hills, you are able to survey the land as the scent of life washes over you. Almost ninety degrees from the hill with the huge, gaping hole, and far off into the distance there is a massive forest, several deer darting into the trees as you spot it, as if sensing your discerning eye. Immediately opposite it is a large body of water, from which the cave stream flows. Ninety degrees from it, directly opposite the cavern entrance, there rests Novus Valnastium, a large stone complex resting atop another hill, one lone tower stretching into the sky above.
A little off to the northeast (assuming Novus is north), a small, metallic-bowl structure sits. Long tethers sometimes stretch into the sky from beyond it, connecting to a marvelous airship docked above the bowl. The slender curves and high-tech metals used on the small building are a stark contrast to the ruins just fifty yards away, and it easily gives away who is responsible for such a building.
<< NIGHTZONE >>
Contents:
Standingwater
Obvious exits:
Novus Valnastium The Living Forest Clear Lake Hole in the Hill High-Tech Workshop
Standingwater is seated before a fire at the usual gathering spot. He looks... irritated. Nothing new about that.
Keene takes his time moving out of the tunnel, muttering to himself about `a decent set of stairs, you fucking savages'. He has managed to avoid getting his shoes wet, though. Gradually, he makes his way down to said spot, standing for a few seconds in silence before speaking. "Hello."
Standingwater loses some of his irritabilty as he looks up from poking at the fire with a stick. Fuckin' savage. "Ah. Mr. Keene. Good to see you. Pull up a rock. Get comfortable. There is a job that needs doing, and the Invisible College seem to be the ones to do it."
Alex wanders out of Novus Valnastium in the distance, slowly closing ground until he has arrived in the heart of the fields.
Alex has arrived.
Alex steps out of the keep and head in the direction of the cavern.
Keene, invited for once, moves over and finds a relatively flat rock to sit on, easing onto it carefully. It's disingenuous to see a man in a suit and Standingwater sitting near each other around a campfire, but so is most of the Realm. "Alright," he says.
Standingwater tosses a bit more wood onto the fire. "We've had our differences over methods. But one thing I do like about you guys is your willingness to actually get out and do something. I'm a bit of an activist myself. My early years were spent in ecoterrosim before the Verbena came calling."
Keene slides a cigarette out of his breast pocket, waves it in the fire for a second, then brings it back and takes a mild puff. He listens.
'Ecoterrorism' catches Alex's ear as he nears the campfire. His head turns a little in the direction of the two men, probably a side ways glance in their direction from behind the shades.
Standingwater pulls his hat down over his eyes as he speaks. "We have a problem. Unfortuantly, working within the system isn't working. We need something radical. Is there something you guys can do to make the Hyperion site unsuitable for building? Say, a huge sinkhole? Generally unstable ground? Perhaps a radon problem."
Alex perks an eyebrow at Standingwater's request. "That sounds like acts of terrorism," he comments, not really seeming to personally find any problem with it,"People jumped all over me whenever I talked about doing such thing...."
Keene sits silently, having no immediate reaction to Standingwater's proposal. He puffs on his cigarette, gaze tracking to Alex for a few seconds before looking back to the native. "Let's assume for a moment," says Keene, "that such a thing was even feasible in this heavily urbanized area. What purpose would it serve?"
Standingwater shrugs. "It does sound like terrorism, yes. I'm only opposed to reckless terrorism. Materials and equipment should be the primary target. Attempt to minimize harm to bystanders. Sometimes lumberjacks get hurt when they cut into a spiked tree." His attention is drawn back to Keene. "At the very least, it would delay construction long enough for the legal process to go through. We must thwart the Ironteeth in their attempts to build a new base of operations. "
"I have already start working on getting a cease and desist order to stop construction until the issues that have been raised can be resolved,"Alex comments.
Cally has connected.
Keene smokes for a while after that, thinking in a meditative silence. He ashes his cigarette before speaking again. "This is a futile endeavor. Let me explain my reasoning." He gestures with his cigarette. "Alright, let's say some damage is caused to the site. If you make the ground collapse, you're probably going to hit a snarl of utilities and wreck at least a few city blocks. The city fixes it at great expense, and Hyperion probably gets another tax deduction out of it. If you go the more man-made route -- monkey-wrenching subtle or not -- you give Hyperion the sympathy of the people and destroy the credibility of protesters." He puffs on his cigarette. "The legal battle is a noble attempt, but in the end Hyperion will win. They have the upper hand on every front that matters in this fight. Simply put, an office building that will bring commerce to the area is more valuable to the city than a playground, which in itself has been shown to be ridiculous in the media. The Node is as good as theirs, and has been for some time. Throwing more time and energy after this fight is only going to consume resources that could be used elsewhere."
Cally comes out with the blueprints, and scraps of the Daedalus.. spare parts.. and an urn.. she walks to the area where the grass is glow in the dark blue.. and kneels.. as she begins to bundle the blueprints and scraps together...
Standingwater pulls an pipe out of his pack. And what a pipe it is. An eagle carved into the end holds up the bowl with its wings. "Okay. So we don't stop construction. Can we, perhaps, sabotage the node? Make it useless to them?"
"I don't know," says Keene. "Prime is not an area I know very much about. The Magister would probably know."
"So, is it your opinion that we should just sit on our asses while the Ironteeth build their Construct a block away from the portal to this Realm?..." Alex asks tilting his head slightly.
Cally stuffs the scraps in the urn.. and kneels.. "to the Daedalus.. For a short brief time you were my Valiant steed. A moment and we soared like eagles. We were invincible. Yet with my hope, I feel you died a noble death, and I swear to you, It shall not be in vain. your protegee will of course be strong and be built from the lessons you taught me.. " with that she begins to light the blueprints and scraps..
acrid smoke, some of it black begins to filter out.. and crackle..
Standingwater squints up at Alex, "El Queso Grande is working on moving the portal to a more secure location."
Alex smirks glancing over to Standingwater. "Yeah... He has been working on that for months now,"he comments with a slight shake of his head,"I wonder what will happen first... The Construct is completed or the Portal gets moved."
Keene puffs on his cigarette. "Please," he says, looking to Alex, "throw your head underneath the wheels of the machine. Don't let /me/ stop you. If you want to keep burning up your trump cards and psychic energy in an unwinnable scenerio, go right ahead. Personally, I only get into fights where there's a shot at coming out on top." `El Questo Grande' merits Keene's attention for a second, but he represses any reaction that may have come about. "I imagine moving the portal can be done in an evening."
Cally bows her head as the smoke flows.. "ashes to ashes.. chemical reaction to chemical reaction.. Particle quantums to particle quantums.. I now release the spirit, the soul of Daedalus to be reformed on the winds of Ether." she watches as the remaining items are consumed to ash..
"So, what do you think is a winnable battle?" Alex asks,"...Sabotaging traffic lights to cause traffic jams?..."
Standingwater tosses more wood on the fire. "Then how about a fight you can win? Mecca Pharmecuticals. I understand it's been around for a while, and word has it it's a Nephandic base. It should would suck for them if the ground opened up and swallowed the place or something."
Keene smiles thinly, and seems about to fire off a riposte' when Standingwater distracts him. "Mecca Pharmecuticals? How much is known about the place?"
the black smoke finally dissipates as the personal ceremony ends . Cally looks up.. "I told you.. Create an endangered animal, release and imprint it to the building location of Hyperion.. the Red tape of trying to move said animal will give us months to move the Node."
Standingwater facepalms. "An endangered animal suddenly appears in the middle of a city?"
Keene says nothing, looking briefly to Cally, then back to Standingwater. "I've never even heard of this Mecca place before just now. Has someone been keeping a file?"
"Thomas did,"Alex comments as he takes a seat on the ground.
Cally looks to Standingwater.,., "It happens quite often actually.. in the United states..
Keene moves his attention to Cally for a moment. "What my colleagues here are trying to say, I think, is that the sudden appearance of an endangered species in an area which has not ever been known to have such would appear disingenuous. All that would occur would be the transport of the animal to a more suitable habitat."
Standingwater takes out a small leather pouch and loads his pipe with the contents. "I couldn't shit an endangered species anyway. Well, maybe an endangered plant or a rare insect. Nothing anybody is going to care about."
Cally says, "the animal would be moved.. yes.. but after the Environmental groups fought for the creature to remain there.. would Hyperion suspect we are behind it? Maybe. In any case, there would be a lawsuit, Hyperion would have to go to court before they could remove the animal . And as such Publicity for them would be turned.. It is subtle, and it will give us time to move this node.. Why are you even against it? And if they do move the animal, it will be to a refuge where it's addition would help restock the species."
"I would still be interested in what would be a worthwhile battle,"Alex comments as he leans back on his elbows.
Keene waits for Cally to finish, includes an adequate pause, then speaks again. "No. This gambit would fail. This is my reasoning." He puffs on his cigarette, giving a `one moment' look to Alex. "It would become clear by a cursory examination of the past data that the endangered species would not belong there. First, there is the matter of it being in the center of a massive metropolitan area that has been throughly sanitized of most wildlife. Further, the area would not be suitable to support most living things considering its surroundings. Any environmental group that discovered an endangered species of any kind in that area would probably encourage moving it rather than allowing it to be exposed to the negative environment of the city."
"There was a rare and endangered frog found in the urban waste land that was turned into the Sydney Olympic site,"Alex comments idly,"Tied up construction of the Olympic village for months...."
Cally says, "fine.. whatever.. you boys continue to nay say.. I had my discussion of it.. you guys figure out how to do it , but as for me, I'll back out of this endeavor. If you ever decide to come up with a unified plan I'll frankly be shocked.. you boys asked for suggestions, I gave one, and rather then consider the possibility, you have condemned it in less then a minute. fine. Do what you want.. I now wash my hands of it.. Besides, I've more important things to worry about."
Keene finishes his cigarette. "It will fail. Feel free to try it, of course. I have outlined my issues with the idea in a civil and professional manner." He looks back up to Cally. "Have a nice day."
Cally looks to Alex and gives a small smile.. At least one person has considered her suggestion.. But for the others, well.. she's tired of the my plan is better then your plan type attitude that seems prevalent..
"You were asking a question," says Keene, settling back on his rock and looking to Alex. "about winnable battles. Let me first tell you what is not a winnable battle: a head-to-head fight against a Technocratic corporation when you don't have a game plan outside of trying to play a game of `keep away'. Perhaps I just wasn't here when this all started, but were any of you going to clean the Node and do something with it before Hyperion came along? I heard it was corrupt for the longest time."
Standingwater lights up his pipe. It sure isn't tobacco in that thing. "I was merely hoping for a delay while the node was moved or destroyed. The destruction of Mecca would also be welcome, but I see no one is up for that either. I'd better start packing my bags. People who sit on their hands will get me killed."
"Abel was going to cleanse it, from what I have heard," Alex comments with a shrug,"I even erased all of the permits that Hyperion had for the site, but no one did anything to follow up on what I did."
"And I'm sure that wasn't suspicous in the least, nor not remedied during the course of a day by producing the original copies," says Keene. He fishes out a second cigarette from his pocket, not lighting it up just yet. "Trying to fight `the system' by doing what amounts to spiking the punch doesn't do anything but piss the Technocrats off and damage Sleepers. This is why I don't go for the head-to-head thing." Keene waves the cigarette through the fire, bringing it back afterward to take a puff. "That and I know when I'm sorely outmatched. You need a large structure behind you to even nick their paint."
"Actually it took them a /bit/ more than a day,"Alex informs with a making a pinching action with his fingers,"I rezoned the land for non-commercial and industrial use. They had to get in and fit that too... And as for working in the system, that is what Virtual Adepts do best. I mean, we have a cabal working in the NSA after all..."
Cally ahems.. "excuse me.. I have a question. Other then the basic premise that the technos own this land and it has a Node, mind telling me why I should bother trying to offer services in getting it? I mean.. honestly.. I've been here a little over a year. I had problems I asked for assistance, and only in one or two situations was help ever offered.. Only once was assistance given. I offered my services other times.. Many times my offers were placed aside.. you know what? don't even bother with Hyperion. Because if apathy can turn a person like me who used to have ideas and drives for this chantry to not give a shit, then those of us who stopped giving a shit a long time ago won't bother helping.. Frankly there is no respect. no interest.. no reason to help another member.. In short we have nothing in common, and no common goal. So we are going to lose here.. Fine.. As for me, so long as it does not interrupt my research, I personally don't care anymore.. I'll throw money and stuff for the chantry like a good little Traddie but frankly.. my heart is not in fighting a losing war.
"I'm very impressed," says Keene to Alex. "But all the same, all it did was cause them some moderate annoyance. Granted, I imagine it was very funny at the time." He puffs on his cigarette, pausing to let Cally speak. He seems to have no comment, since he continues with his thought to Alex. "I deal with individuals rather than trying to challenge the machine directly. The Invisible College tries to stir the people of this world out of intellectual complacency by various means. You may have called them `stunts' or `pranks'. Creating an altered state of consciousness in a person, even for a short time, nurtures the spark within all people to become more than robots. Waking people up, to me, is a much more productive venture than trying to stop a heavily militarized hive-mind driven magic-powered conspiracy with what amounts to a spoon and the Crazy Eye."
Standingwater sighs, "I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Keene. I just thought this was something the Invisible College would get into. Even just destroying Mecca would help raise spirits around here. Clearly I miscalculated the ability of the College." This said, he falls silent and just puffs away at his pipe.
Alex nods to Cally, shruggin a little as he does. "That is why I have been saying that we need to sit down and decide what it is that the Chantry is doing here. Direction. Goals. A mission statement."
Alex glances over to Keene,"But this heavily militarized hive-mind is working in opposition to what you are trying to do," he pause a moment,"And they are pouring more effort and resources into it than you have to expend."
Keene smokes. "Perhaps," he says. "But that's how it's been for a thousand years. And here we are." He looks at Standingwater for a moment at his statement, but has no immediate reply.
"The Ironteeth have only been working against us... the Traditions for a couple hundred years,"Alex states,"And in that time they have continuously been pushing the Traditions back. Sooner or later the Traditions are going to be pushed up against the wall and crushed, if they do not do something about it."
Cally sighs.. "Alex.. you were not here.. no wait maybe you were.. I tried to shock the group into trying to get into purpose.. I've received nothing but flak.. when I tried to assume the mantle of Leadership,. once I saw no one here bothered. What I got instead was protests and complaints I was infringing on their rights. Jonah came in. He did the same trick yet he was accepted as the leader. Yet tell me. Has anything changed? Has any groups worked? I've gotten some things done with my group, but as a Cabal it's not working. Mr. Keene here is a perfect example of my statement. I suggested an idea, a way to fight the Technocracy, not from the front but from the flank. I listened to what you guys wanted. Time at least to set up the moving of the Node.. Yet only Alex here even considered the idea.. the idea instead was quashed in less then a minute.. the Invisible College? Yeah they are active.. but they are without direction, punks flaunting their power, answering to no one but themselves and no one willing to reign them in.
"You mean this isn't crushed?" asks Keene. "We're sitting on Mars. I imagine we'll have to invest in parkas and hang on Pluto soon enough." He puffs on his cigarette. "Tell you what. I really don't have any ideas about how to reverse what seems to be the consensus of the human cattle out there, but I'll listen to suggestions." He looks to Cally at her comment and smiles benignly. "Such words from one of your lofty station could only be complimentary."
"I was here,"Alex informs Cally,"And your problem was that you tried to take control of the Chantry in place of a departing /elected/ leader. You were viewed as a usurper."
Standingwater just keeps puffing away. Soon his eyes aren't looking at anything within a thousand miles of here. He's not much fun now.
Cally says, "yeah well.. that was a mistake in that the guy who made Dyne Abel and myself his inner circle never bothered to make that public to the Chantry.. Had he done that that would have been worlds easier for explanation.. I wasn;t trying to take over or be an usurper.. merely trying to keep the damn chantry together until someone would take over in a democratic way.. And Keene? Don't patronize allright? I really don't want to hear it.. I spoke my peace.. It may not be true, to you, but to me it is truth.. Quite frankly.. the problem here is no one has any respect for another.. what we have done is degenerated back to the days of the creation of the Order of Reason. you know how we won back then? Because the Traditions, or what will be the Traditions were too busy lording over their own power patting themselves on the back saying how greats they are and never bothered to look out from their castle to see times a changing.. Well.. 700 years later, our Traditions has again found ourselves in that comfortable hole.. quibbling and greedily grabbing for their piece of the rock, without trying to organize and present a unified front. you want Hyperion gone? fine.. you stop trying to work with the Invisible College Mr. Keene, and work on trying to integrate them into the Traditions with the rest of us. you stop pooh poohing ideas that are not your own and listen to other suggestions. the endangered animal thing? Maybe it was not a great idea. I'll admit to that. but it could be a stepping stone TO an idea that can work if you and others took the time to examine it. build on it and see how it or something like it could be used."
Alex looks to Keene,"You yourself have said that what you are doing is just how things have always been. But they have not had any effect in countering the efforts of the Ironteeth. So maybe we need to do something different..."
Keene maintains his peaceful, probably chemically assisted expression. Cally goes on at great length, and he doesn't break character at all. He does pause to smoke about halfway through, but still seems to be paying vague attention to the surroundings. "Duly noted," is his reply to Cally when she concludes her lengthy monologue. Then he moves his attention back to Alex. "As I said. I'll at least let anybody who has an idea present it before I critique it. I'll listen to anything; I don't buy into much."
Cally looks at Jamaia.. "Jamaia.. Can I ask you something?
Standingwater manages to force his gaze back to somewhere within the same universe as the rest of the group. "Ask. I can't promise a good answer."
"Well, the whole point to fighting the construction of the Hyperion Building is to keep the Ironteeth from getting a stronger foothold in the city,"Alex comments with a faint shrug,"/If/ we can do that then maybe your effort, just /might/, have some sort of effect over the people of the city."
"Why is that a concern?" asks Keene. "I have no delusions of grandeur. I don't /want/ to run the world. I'm happy if I can open a few eyes a year. Even a handful of people who don't blindly follow authority and stop to think occasionally improves the quality of human civilization considerably. I work on the micro level -- the macro level is for people who think they *actually* know better."
Cally sighs softly.. "Jamaia.. Playing Devil's advocate.. how would a endangered creature, discovered during construction be reacted to? What would be the outcome, and most importantly how long would there be a delay in construction?
"Because given enough time and apathy on your part, the few people who's eyes you open will be back to blindly follow authority because they are overwhelmed by all of the people that the Ironteeth take over," Alex states rather pointedly,"You think that the Ironteeth as going to just let a few people slip through the cracks?... They want /everything/...."
Keene smokes. "And what do we offer in return? Isn't this all just one large power struggle with both sides having ambiguous moral authority?"
"Well, in this Paradigm War; the Traditions are trying for a paradigm that would still have room for the Technomancers way of... 'life'," Alex states sitting up and crossing his legs,"The Ironteeth have only one way how things should work."
"Interesting," says Keene. "So it is assumed that a global paradigm could be maintained that could encapsulate several wildly divergent paradigms, as well as the present Technocratic establishment?"
Cally glances at Keene and Alex to show she is at least half listening while she politely awaits Jamaia's answer..
Standingwater taps his pipe out into the fire and puts it away. "We'd get a week. Tops. The environment around here is thoroughly cataloged. There is a refuge for nearly every endangered species out there. The only delay would be in identifying the creature and flying in a specialist to pack it up and move it to a refuge."
"I said a Technomancers way of 'life'," Alex clarifies,"Not the authoritive Technocratic establishment."
"Did not happen that way in Sydney, only nine years ago,"Alex comments in response to Standingwaters statement.
Cally nods.. "allright a week.. Tell me.. what sort of Environmental impact groups are there here in Canada who would oppose such a move?
Keene gestures broadly. "Of course. That paradigm would be part of this patchwork quilt of paradigms under this mindset." He puffs on his cigarette. "Do you believe that we, as the Nine Traditions, would be able to handle power over the world on that scale without resorting to the tactics the Technocracy has used?"
"How said that we would have power over the world?..." Alex queries,"We would only have to be caretakers. Maintain the status quo."
"Hm," says Keene. "That sounds terribly familiar, doesn't it."
"No... Actually it does not,"Alex states simply as he rests his elbows on his knees.
Standingwater stands and gathers up his gear. Pack. Bow. Good to go. "Your guess is as good as mine. I haven't been in the ecology business in a very long time. Besides, where do you plan to come up with these critters? How are you going to make it look like they've been there for years rather than just being dumped there?"
Keene smokes. "Tell me why not."
"Maintaining a status quo of a diverse paradigm is /nothing/ like what the Ironteeth as trying to do,"Alex explains with wave of his hand,"They have one way of thinking and doing things. And if you do not fit in with their way then they get rid of you."
Keene finishes his cigarette. "And can we really be so sure we wouldn't start using those methods? Without the active threat of the Technocracy, the cohesiveness of the Nine falls apart. The only reason we even work together is out of a desire to survive. Once our individual Traditions started to regain power ... well, I know how the Order is, and I've read my history books."
"Well, I would rather try to do it and fail than just give up and let the Ironteeth win," Alex states with a dark scowl.
Keene flicks his dead cigarette into the fire. "I think they won a long time ago, by the way Paradox seems to work and the existence of television and modern medicine. All that's left are some fragments on the periphery they don't seem to be able to get rid of, but the wagons are pretty much circled." He leans back. "So, as I said earlier, what makes us intrinsically better? Our moral character is not without question. Our cohesiveness is reactive rather than cooperative, ultimately illusory. Further, the concept that the sheep would want to actually want to /work/ -- and that's what magic is, as it requires actual effort and competence -- is counter to everything I know about human nature." He idly picks a piece of dirt out from one of his fingernails. "Thus, I see an impasse on the macroparadigmatic level."
Cally shrugs.. "actually.. I don't know.. I have no experience in the Life spheres.. To be honest, I'm not even sure what sort of endangered creature there is here. Or rather was here..I do know that in the US sanctuaries have been lobbied for Many times successfully. I also know that many companies when exposed to the presence of a undiscovered creature at least in the US, had the property dispute tied up for years. I do know maybe.. the Technos may suspect we did something.. then again, it may not matter. I can promise you this: If you can create an endangered animal, I will help you with researching the perfect one.. for our plans.. " she looks steadily at Jamaia, and then at Alex and Keene. "I can't promise the idea will succeed. But maybe.. it can buy us some extra time.. Particularly if we had others try to stir up media and the public about preserving this animal's habitat. the plan is subtle.. and it may have the advantage to darken the Technocracy, perhaps loosen a few more from the Techno's grip.. My question then is, what would we have to lose? what sort of risks would there be? the animal we create, even if moved would still live and help repopulate a species that would almost be wiped out.. We could get an injunction to freeze Hyperion's efforts.. and the Technocracy would not be able to attack us directly thus giving us a chance to win without looking like the criminals here.
Alex shakes his head and stands,"Whatever..." he says and turns to head for the keep.
Standingwater slings the pack over his shoulder and heads off to the lake. "Sorry. Can't help you. Creating endangered creatures is beyond my skill."
"Have a nice day," Keene says pleasantly to Alex.
Alex begins down the hill, ascending the other. He opens the doors to the structure, heading inside.
Alex has left.
Keene stares into the fire for a while after Alex leaves, speaking only after he's out of sight. "I can't do much for you, even if I particularly felt inclined to. Nobody I know can make living animals either."
Standingwater heads down the hill and follows the stream toward the lake in the distance.
Standingwater has left.
Cally sighs.,. and shakes her head.,. and looks at Keene. "and you have now witnessed why we are going to lose. Because you know the damning thing? One of us can do it.. Or even know someone who can do it.. but it's easier to give up. wash their hands.. so.. I'm going to join the growing mass. wash my hands of it.. If you have any idea and can pull it off. Well give me a call.. Otherwise, I said my piece and tried my best. Sorry it wasn't good enough.
"It's alright," Keene says, looking into the fire. "You have a nice evening, now."
Alex wanders out of Novus Valnastium in the distance, slowly closing ground until he has arrived in the heart of the fields.
Alex has arrived.
Several minutes later, Alex exits the keep and makes his way across the rolling hills to the cavern. He pauses a moment to look back at Novus and then turns to head into the cavern.
Alex heads down the hill and up the other, disappearing into the cavern's darkness.
Alex has left.
Keene sits in front of the fire for a while. Then, after kicking some dirt onto it to put it out, he steps off and heads back towards the real world. Such as it is. "Ta."
Cally nods and sighs as SHE STANDS THERE . seems SHE HAS SOME DECISIONS TO MAKE.
>> Keene leaves.
>> Alex leaves a note.
============================= Mage - Traditions =============================
Message: 46/93 Posted Author
Good Luck 2003 May 22 Alex
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tradition Members,
I have decided that the Traditions are a lost cause. No one wants to work together. Everyone is happy to let the Ironteeth take over. And everyone is took scared to apathetic to do anything to make a positive impact on the world.
As such I will be leaving the Traditions. If anyone wants to get in touch with me that can contact me on my cellphone, at the Shop at Front and Parliament or at Buzzcoil.
Good luck (you will need it),
Alexander Hess (Deep Magick)
=============================================================================
Rolling Fields
It's a gorgeous sight, even in the dark of night, the brilliant yellows and greens of tall grasses waving in the chill wind, rolling hills stretching off as far as the eye can see. Pure, white stars shine in the breaks of the thick, dark cloud cover above, bringing a mild, yet still chilled, warmth to the vast expanse of land.
As you reach the peak of one of the highest hills, you are able to survey the land as the scent of life washes over you. Almost ninety degrees from the hill with the huge, gaping hole, and far off into the distance there is a massive forest, several deer darting into the trees as you spot it, as if sensing your discerning eye. Immediately opposite it is a large body of water, from which the cave stream flows. Ninety degrees from it, directly opposite the cavern entrance, there rests Novus Valnastium, a large stone complex resting atop another hill, one lone tower stretching into the sky above.
A little off to the northeast (assuming Novus is north), a small, metallic-bowl structure sits. Long tethers sometimes stretch into the sky from beyond it, connecting to a marvelous airship docked above the bowl. The slender curves and high-tech metals used on the small building are a stark contrast to the ruins just fifty yards away, and it easily gives away who is responsible for such a building.
<< NIGHTZONE >>
Contents:
Standingwater
Obvious exits:
Novus Valnastium
Standingwater is seated before a fire at the usual gathering spot. He looks... irritated. Nothing new about that.
Keene takes his time moving out of the tunnel, muttering to himself about `a decent set of stairs, you fucking savages'. He has managed to avoid getting his shoes wet, though. Gradually, he makes his way down to said spot, standing for a few seconds in silence before speaking. "Hello."
Standingwater loses some of his irritabilty as he looks up from poking at the fire with a stick. Fuckin' savage. "Ah. Mr. Keene. Good to see you. Pull up a rock. Get comfortable. There is a job that needs doing, and the Invisible College seem to be the ones to do it."
Alex wanders out of Novus Valnastium in the distance, slowly closing ground until he has arrived in the heart of the fields.
Alex has arrived.
Alex steps out of the keep and head in the direction of the cavern.
Keene, invited for once, moves over and finds a relatively flat rock to sit on, easing onto it carefully. It's disingenuous to see a man in a suit and Standingwater sitting near each other around a campfire, but so is most of the Realm. "Alright," he says.
Standingwater tosses a bit more wood onto the fire. "We've had our differences over methods. But one thing I do like about you guys is your willingness to actually get out and do something. I'm a bit of an activist myself. My early years were spent in ecoterrosim before the Verbena came calling."
Keene slides a cigarette out of his breast pocket, waves it in the fire for a second, then brings it back and takes a mild puff. He listens.
'Ecoterrorism' catches Alex's ear as he nears the campfire. His head turns a little in the direction of the two men, probably a side ways glance in their direction from behind the shades.
Standingwater pulls his hat down over his eyes as he speaks. "We have a problem. Unfortuantly, working within the system isn't working. We need something radical. Is there something you guys can do to make the Hyperion site unsuitable for building? Say, a huge sinkhole? Generally unstable ground? Perhaps a radon problem."
Alex perks an eyebrow at Standingwater's request. "That sounds like acts of terrorism," he comments, not really seeming to personally find any problem with it,"People jumped all over me whenever I talked about doing such thing...."
Keene sits silently, having no immediate reaction to Standingwater's proposal. He puffs on his cigarette, gaze tracking to Alex for a few seconds before looking back to the native. "Let's assume for a moment," says Keene, "that such a thing was even feasible in this heavily urbanized area. What purpose would it serve?"
Standingwater shrugs. "It does sound like terrorism, yes. I'm only opposed to reckless terrorism. Materials and equipment should be the primary target. Attempt to minimize harm to bystanders. Sometimes lumberjacks get hurt when they cut into a spiked tree." His attention is drawn back to Keene. "At the very least, it would delay construction long enough for the legal process to go through. We must thwart the Ironteeth in their attempts to build a new base of operations. "
"I have already start working on getting a cease and desist order to stop construction until the issues that have been raised can be resolved,"Alex comments.
Cally has connected.
Keene smokes for a while after that, thinking in a meditative silence. He ashes his cigarette before speaking again. "This is a futile endeavor. Let me explain my reasoning." He gestures with his cigarette. "Alright, let's say some damage is caused to the site. If you make the ground collapse, you're probably going to hit a snarl of utilities and wreck at least a few city blocks. The city fixes it at great expense, and Hyperion probably gets another tax deduction out of it. If you go the more man-made route -- monkey-wrenching subtle or not -- you give Hyperion the sympathy of the people and destroy the credibility of protesters." He puffs on his cigarette. "The legal battle is a noble attempt, but in the end Hyperion will win. They have the upper hand on every front that matters in this fight. Simply put, an office building that will bring commerce to the area is more valuable to the city than a playground, which in itself has been shown to be ridiculous in the media. The Node is as good as theirs, and has been for some time. Throwing more time and energy after this fight is only going to consume resources that could be used elsewhere."
Cally comes out with the blueprints, and scraps of the Daedalus.. spare parts.. and an urn.. she walks to the area where the grass is glow in the dark blue.. and kneels.. as she begins to bundle the blueprints and scraps together...
Standingwater pulls an pipe out of his pack. And what a pipe it is. An eagle carved into the end holds up the bowl with its wings. "Okay. So we don't stop construction. Can we, perhaps, sabotage the node? Make it useless to them?"
"I don't know," says Keene. "Prime is not an area I know very much about. The Magister would probably know."
"So, is it your opinion that we should just sit on our asses while the Ironteeth build their Construct a block away from the portal to this Realm?..." Alex asks tilting his head slightly.
Cally stuffs the scraps in the urn.. and kneels.. "to the Daedalus.. For a short brief time you were my Valiant steed. A moment and we soared like eagles. We were invincible. Yet with my hope, I feel you died a noble death, and I swear to you, It shall not be in vain. your protegee will of course be strong and be built from the lessons you taught me.. " with that she begins to light the blueprints and scraps..
acrid smoke, some of it black begins to filter out.. and crackle..
Standingwater squints up at Alex, "El Queso Grande is working on moving the portal to a more secure location."
Alex smirks glancing over to Standingwater. "Yeah... He has been working on that for months now,"he comments with a slight shake of his head,"I wonder what will happen first... The Construct is completed or the Portal gets moved."
Keene puffs on his cigarette. "Please," he says, looking to Alex, "throw your head underneath the wheels of the machine. Don't let /me/ stop you. If you want to keep burning up your trump cards and psychic energy in an unwinnable scenerio, go right ahead. Personally, I only get into fights where there's a shot at coming out on top." `El Questo Grande' merits Keene's attention for a second, but he represses any reaction that may have come about. "I imagine moving the portal can be done in an evening."
Cally bows her head as the smoke flows.. "ashes to ashes.. chemical reaction to chemical reaction.. Particle quantums to particle quantums.. I now release the spirit, the soul of Daedalus to be reformed on the winds of Ether." she watches as the remaining items are consumed to ash..
"So, what do you think is a winnable battle?" Alex asks,"...Sabotaging traffic lights to cause traffic jams?..."
Standingwater tosses more wood on the fire. "Then how about a fight you can win? Mecca Pharmecuticals. I understand it's been around for a while, and word has it it's a Nephandic base. It should would suck for them if the ground opened up and swallowed the place or something."
Keene smiles thinly, and seems about to fire off a riposte' when Standingwater distracts him. "Mecca Pharmecuticals? How much is known about the place?"
the black smoke finally dissipates as the personal ceremony ends . Cally looks up.. "I told you.. Create an endangered animal, release and imprint it to the building location of Hyperion.. the Red tape of trying to move said animal will give us months to move the Node."
Standingwater facepalms. "An endangered animal suddenly appears in the middle of a city?"
Keene says nothing, looking briefly to Cally, then back to Standingwater. "I've never even heard of this Mecca place before just now. Has someone been keeping a file?"
"Thomas did,"Alex comments as he takes a seat on the ground.
Cally looks to Standingwater.,., "It happens quite often actually.. in the United states..
Keene moves his attention to Cally for a moment. "What my colleagues here are trying to say, I think, is that the sudden appearance of an endangered species in an area which has not ever been known to have such would appear disingenuous. All that would occur would be the transport of the animal to a more suitable habitat."
Standingwater takes out a small leather pouch and loads his pipe with the contents. "I couldn't shit an endangered species anyway. Well, maybe an endangered plant or a rare insect. Nothing anybody is going to care about."
Cally says, "the animal would be moved.. yes.. but after the Environmental groups fought for the creature to remain there.. would Hyperion suspect we are behind it? Maybe. In any case, there would be a lawsuit, Hyperion would have to go to court before they could remove the animal . And as such Publicity for them would be turned.. It is subtle, and it will give us time to move this node.. Why are you even against it? And if they do move the animal, it will be to a refuge where it's addition would help restock the species."
"I would still be interested in what would be a worthwhile battle,"Alex comments as he leans back on his elbows.
Keene waits for Cally to finish, includes an adequate pause, then speaks again. "No. This gambit would fail. This is my reasoning." He puffs on his cigarette, giving a `one moment' look to Alex. "It would become clear by a cursory examination of the past data that the endangered species would not belong there. First, there is the matter of it being in the center of a massive metropolitan area that has been throughly sanitized of most wildlife. Further, the area would not be suitable to support most living things considering its surroundings. Any environmental group that discovered an endangered species of any kind in that area would probably encourage moving it rather than allowing it to be exposed to the negative environment of the city."
"There was a rare and endangered frog found in the urban waste land that was turned into the Sydney Olympic site,"Alex comments idly,"Tied up construction of the Olympic village for months...."
Cally says, "fine.. whatever.. you boys continue to nay say.. I had my discussion of it.. you guys figure out how to do it , but as for me, I'll back out of this endeavor. If you ever decide to come up with a unified plan I'll frankly be shocked.. you boys asked for suggestions, I gave one, and rather then consider the possibility, you have condemned it in less then a minute. fine. Do what you want.. I now wash my hands of it.. Besides, I've more important things to worry about."
Keene finishes his cigarette. "It will fail. Feel free to try it, of course. I have outlined my issues with the idea in a civil and professional manner." He looks back up to Cally. "Have a nice day."
Cally looks to Alex and gives a small smile.. At least one person has considered her suggestion.. But for the others, well.. she's tired of the my plan is better then your plan type attitude that seems prevalent..
"You were asking a question," says Keene, settling back on his rock and looking to Alex. "about winnable battles. Let me first tell you what is not a winnable battle: a head-to-head fight against a Technocratic corporation when you don't have a game plan outside of trying to play a game of `keep away'. Perhaps I just wasn't here when this all started, but were any of you going to clean the Node and do something with it before Hyperion came along? I heard it was corrupt for the longest time."
Standingwater lights up his pipe. It sure isn't tobacco in that thing. "I was merely hoping for a delay while the node was moved or destroyed. The destruction of Mecca would also be welcome, but I see no one is up for that either. I'd better start packing my bags. People who sit on their hands will get me killed."
"Abel was going to cleanse it, from what I have heard," Alex comments with a shrug,"I even erased all of the permits that Hyperion had for the site, but no one did anything to follow up on what I did."
"And I'm sure that wasn't suspicous in the least, nor not remedied during the course of a day by producing the original copies," says Keene. He fishes out a second cigarette from his pocket, not lighting it up just yet. "Trying to fight `the system' by doing what amounts to spiking the punch doesn't do anything but piss the Technocrats off and damage Sleepers. This is why I don't go for the head-to-head thing." Keene waves the cigarette through the fire, bringing it back afterward to take a puff. "That and I know when I'm sorely outmatched. You need a large structure behind you to even nick their paint."
"Actually it took them a /bit/ more than a day,"Alex informs with a making a pinching action with his fingers,"I rezoned the land for non-commercial and industrial use. They had to get in and fit that too... And as for working in the system, that is what Virtual Adepts do best. I mean, we have a cabal working in the NSA after all..."
Cally ahems.. "excuse me.. I have a question. Other then the basic premise that the technos own this land and it has a Node, mind telling me why I should bother trying to offer services in getting it? I mean.. honestly.. I've been here a little over a year. I had problems I asked for assistance, and only in one or two situations was help ever offered.. Only once was assistance given. I offered my services other times.. Many times my offers were placed aside.. you know what? don't even bother with Hyperion. Because if apathy can turn a person like me who used to have ideas and drives for this chantry to not give a shit, then those of us who stopped giving a shit a long time ago won't bother helping.. Frankly there is no respect. no interest.. no reason to help another member.. In short we have nothing in common, and no common goal. So we are going to lose here.. Fine.. As for me, so long as it does not interrupt my research, I personally don't care anymore.. I'll throw money and stuff for the chantry like a good little Traddie but frankly.. my heart is not in fighting a losing war.
"I'm very impressed," says Keene to Alex. "But all the same, all it did was cause them some moderate annoyance. Granted, I imagine it was very funny at the time." He puffs on his cigarette, pausing to let Cally speak. He seems to have no comment, since he continues with his thought to Alex. "I deal with individuals rather than trying to challenge the machine directly. The Invisible College tries to stir the people of this world out of intellectual complacency by various means. You may have called them `stunts' or `pranks'. Creating an altered state of consciousness in a person, even for a short time, nurtures the spark within all people to become more than robots. Waking people up, to me, is a much more productive venture than trying to stop a heavily militarized hive-mind driven magic-powered conspiracy with what amounts to a spoon and the Crazy Eye."
Standingwater sighs, "I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Keene. I just thought this was something the Invisible College would get into. Even just destroying Mecca would help raise spirits around here. Clearly I miscalculated the ability of the College." This said, he falls silent and just puffs away at his pipe.
Alex nods to Cally, shruggin a little as he does. "That is why I have been saying that we need to sit down and decide what it is that the Chantry is doing here. Direction. Goals. A mission statement."
Alex glances over to Keene,"But this heavily militarized hive-mind is working in opposition to what you are trying to do," he pause a moment,"And they are pouring more effort and resources into it than you have to expend."
Keene smokes. "Perhaps," he says. "But that's how it's been for a thousand years. And here we are." He looks at Standingwater for a moment at his statement, but has no immediate reply.
"The Ironteeth have only been working against us... the Traditions for a couple hundred years,"Alex states,"And in that time they have continuously been pushing the Traditions back. Sooner or later the Traditions are going to be pushed up against the wall and crushed, if they do not do something about it."
Cally sighs.. "Alex.. you were not here.. no wait maybe you were.. I tried to shock the group into trying to get into purpose.. I've received nothing but flak.. when I tried to assume the mantle of Leadership,. once I saw no one here bothered. What I got instead was protests and complaints I was infringing on their rights. Jonah came in. He did the same trick yet he was accepted as the leader. Yet tell me. Has anything changed? Has any groups worked? I've gotten some things done with my group, but as a Cabal it's not working. Mr. Keene here is a perfect example of my statement. I suggested an idea, a way to fight the Technocracy, not from the front but from the flank. I listened to what you guys wanted. Time at least to set up the moving of the Node.. Yet only Alex here even considered the idea.. the idea instead was quashed in less then a minute.. the Invisible College? Yeah they are active.. but they are without direction, punks flaunting their power, answering to no one but themselves and no one willing to reign them in.
"You mean this isn't crushed?" asks Keene. "We're sitting on Mars. I imagine we'll have to invest in parkas and hang on Pluto soon enough." He puffs on his cigarette. "Tell you what. I really don't have any ideas about how to reverse what seems to be the consensus of the human cattle out there, but I'll listen to suggestions." He looks to Cally at her comment and smiles benignly. "Such words from one of your lofty station could only be complimentary."
"I was here,"Alex informs Cally,"And your problem was that you tried to take control of the Chantry in place of a departing /elected/ leader. You were viewed as a usurper."
Standingwater just keeps puffing away. Soon his eyes aren't looking at anything within a thousand miles of here. He's not much fun now.
Cally says, "yeah well.. that was a mistake in that the guy who made Dyne Abel and myself his inner circle never bothered to make that public to the Chantry.. Had he done that that would have been worlds easier for explanation.. I wasn;t trying to take over or be an usurper.. merely trying to keep the damn chantry together until someone would take over in a democratic way.. And Keene? Don't patronize allright? I really don't want to hear it.. I spoke my peace.. It may not be true, to you, but to me it is truth.. Quite frankly.. the problem here is no one has any respect for another.. what we have done is degenerated back to the days of the creation of the Order of Reason. you know how we won back then? Because the Traditions, or what will be the Traditions were too busy lording over their own power patting themselves on the back saying how greats they are and never bothered to look out from their castle to see times a changing.. Well.. 700 years later, our Traditions has again found ourselves in that comfortable hole.. quibbling and greedily grabbing for their piece of the rock, without trying to organize and present a unified front. you want Hyperion gone? fine.. you stop trying to work with the Invisible College Mr. Keene, and work on trying to integrate them into the Traditions with the rest of us. you stop pooh poohing ideas that are not your own and listen to other suggestions. the endangered animal thing? Maybe it was not a great idea. I'll admit to that. but it could be a stepping stone TO an idea that can work if you and others took the time to examine it. build on it and see how it or something like it could be used."
Alex looks to Keene,"You yourself have said that what you are doing is just how things have always been. But they have not had any effect in countering the efforts of the Ironteeth. So maybe we need to do something different..."
Keene maintains his peaceful, probably chemically assisted expression. Cally goes on at great length, and he doesn't break character at all. He does pause to smoke about halfway through, but still seems to be paying vague attention to the surroundings. "Duly noted," is his reply to Cally when she concludes her lengthy monologue. Then he moves his attention back to Alex. "As I said. I'll at least let anybody who has an idea present it before I critique it. I'll listen to anything; I don't buy into much."
Cally looks at Jamaia.. "Jamaia.. Can I ask you something?
Standingwater manages to force his gaze back to somewhere within the same universe as the rest of the group. "Ask. I can't promise a good answer."
"Well, the whole point to fighting the construction of the Hyperion Building is to keep the Ironteeth from getting a stronger foothold in the city,"Alex comments with a faint shrug,"/If/ we can do that then maybe your effort, just /might/, have some sort of effect over the people of the city."
"Why is that a concern?" asks Keene. "I have no delusions of grandeur. I don't /want/ to run the world. I'm happy if I can open a few eyes a year. Even a handful of people who don't blindly follow authority and stop to think occasionally improves the quality of human civilization considerably. I work on the micro level -- the macro level is for people who think they *actually* know better."
Cally sighs softly.. "Jamaia.. Playing Devil's advocate.. how would a endangered creature, discovered during construction be reacted to? What would be the outcome, and most importantly how long would there be a delay in construction?
"Because given enough time and apathy on your part, the few people who's eyes you open will be back to blindly follow authority because they are overwhelmed by all of the people that the Ironteeth take over," Alex states rather pointedly,"You think that the Ironteeth as going to just let a few people slip through the cracks?... They want /everything/...."
Keene smokes. "And what do we offer in return? Isn't this all just one large power struggle with both sides having ambiguous moral authority?"
"Well, in this Paradigm War; the Traditions are trying for a paradigm that would still have room for the Technomancers way of... 'life'," Alex states sitting up and crossing his legs,"The Ironteeth have only one way how things should work."
"Interesting," says Keene. "So it is assumed that a global paradigm could be maintained that could encapsulate several wildly divergent paradigms, as well as the present Technocratic establishment?"
Cally glances at Keene and Alex to show she is at least half listening while she politely awaits Jamaia's answer..
Standingwater taps his pipe out into the fire and puts it away. "We'd get a week. Tops. The environment around here is thoroughly cataloged. There is a refuge for nearly every endangered species out there. The only delay would be in identifying the creature and flying in a specialist to pack it up and move it to a refuge."
"I said a Technomancers way of 'life'," Alex clarifies,"Not the authoritive Technocratic establishment."
"Did not happen that way in Sydney, only nine years ago,"Alex comments in response to Standingwaters statement.
Cally nods.. "allright a week.. Tell me.. what sort of Environmental impact groups are there here in Canada who would oppose such a move?
Keene gestures broadly. "Of course. That paradigm would be part of this patchwork quilt of paradigms under this mindset." He puffs on his cigarette. "Do you believe that we, as the Nine Traditions, would be able to handle power over the world on that scale without resorting to the tactics the Technocracy has used?"
"How said that we would have power over the world?..." Alex queries,"We would only have to be caretakers. Maintain the status quo."
"Hm," says Keene. "That sounds terribly familiar, doesn't it."
"No... Actually it does not,"Alex states simply as he rests his elbows on his knees.
Standingwater stands and gathers up his gear. Pack. Bow. Good to go. "Your guess is as good as mine. I haven't been in the ecology business in a very long time. Besides, where do you plan to come up with these critters? How are you going to make it look like they've been there for years rather than just being dumped there?"
Keene smokes. "Tell me why not."
"Maintaining a status quo of a diverse paradigm is /nothing/ like what the Ironteeth as trying to do,"Alex explains with wave of his hand,"They have one way of thinking and doing things. And if you do not fit in with their way then they get rid of you."
Keene finishes his cigarette. "And can we really be so sure we wouldn't start using those methods? Without the active threat of the Technocracy, the cohesiveness of the Nine falls apart. The only reason we even work together is out of a desire to survive. Once our individual Traditions started to regain power ... well, I know how the Order is, and I've read my history books."
"Well, I would rather try to do it and fail than just give up and let the Ironteeth win," Alex states with a dark scowl.
Keene flicks his dead cigarette into the fire. "I think they won a long time ago, by the way Paradox seems to work and the existence of television and modern medicine. All that's left are some fragments on the periphery they don't seem to be able to get rid of, but the wagons are pretty much circled." He leans back. "So, as I said earlier, what makes us intrinsically better? Our moral character is not without question. Our cohesiveness is reactive rather than cooperative, ultimately illusory. Further, the concept that the sheep would want to actually want to /work/ -- and that's what magic is, as it requires actual effort and competence -- is counter to everything I know about human nature." He idly picks a piece of dirt out from one of his fingernails. "Thus, I see an impasse on the macroparadigmatic level."
Cally shrugs.. "actually.. I don't know.. I have no experience in the Life spheres.. To be honest, I'm not even sure what sort of endangered creature there is here. Or rather was here..I do know that in the US sanctuaries have been lobbied for Many times successfully. I also know that many companies when exposed to the presence of a undiscovered creature at least in the US, had the property dispute tied up for years. I do know maybe.. the Technos may suspect we did something.. then again, it may not matter. I can promise you this: If you can create an endangered animal, I will help you with researching the perfect one.. for our plans.. " she looks steadily at Jamaia, and then at Alex and Keene. "I can't promise the idea will succeed. But maybe.. it can buy us some extra time.. Particularly if we had others try to stir up media and the public about preserving this animal's habitat. the plan is subtle.. and it may have the advantage to darken the Technocracy, perhaps loosen a few more from the Techno's grip.. My question then is, what would we have to lose? what sort of risks would there be? the animal we create, even if moved would still live and help repopulate a species that would almost be wiped out.. We could get an injunction to freeze Hyperion's efforts.. and the Technocracy would not be able to attack us directly thus giving us a chance to win without looking like the criminals here.
Alex shakes his head and stands,"Whatever..." he says and turns to head for the keep.
Standingwater slings the pack over his shoulder and heads off to the lake. "Sorry. Can't help you. Creating endangered creatures is beyond my skill."
"Have a nice day," Keene says pleasantly to Alex.
Alex begins down the hill, ascending the other. He opens the doors to the structure, heading inside.
Alex has left.
Keene stares into the fire for a while after Alex leaves, speaking only after he's out of sight. "I can't do much for you, even if I particularly felt inclined to. Nobody I know can make living animals either."
Standingwater heads down the hill and follows the stream toward the lake in the distance.
Standingwater has left.
Cally sighs.,. and shakes her head.,. and looks at Keene. "and you have now witnessed why we are going to lose. Because you know the damning thing? One of us can do it.. Or even know someone who can do it.. but it's easier to give up. wash their hands.. so.. I'm going to join the growing mass. wash my hands of it.. If you have any idea and can pull it off. Well give me a call.. Otherwise, I said my piece and tried my best. Sorry it wasn't good enough.
"It's alright," Keene says, looking into the fire. "You have a nice evening, now."
Alex wanders out of Novus Valnastium in the distance, slowly closing ground until he has arrived in the heart of the fields.
Alex has arrived.
Several minutes later, Alex exits the keep and makes his way across the rolling hills to the cavern. He pauses a moment to look back at Novus and then turns to head into the cavern.
Alex heads down the hill and up the other, disappearing into the cavern's darkness.
Alex has left.
Keene sits in front of the fire for a while. Then, after kicking some dirt onto it to put it out, he steps off and heads back towards the real world. Such as it is. "Ta."
Cally nods and sighs as SHE STANDS THERE . seems SHE HAS SOME DECISIONS TO MAKE.
>> Keene leaves.
>> Alex leaves a note.
============================= Mage - Traditions =============================
Message: 46/93 Posted Author
Good Luck 2003 May 22 Alex
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tradition Members,
I have decided that the Traditions are a lost cause. No one wants to work together. Everyone is happy to let the Ironteeth take over. And everyone is took scared to apathetic to do anything to make a positive impact on the world.
As such I will be leaving the Traditions. If anyone wants to get in touch with me that can contact me on my cellphone, at the Shop at Front and Parliament or at Buzzcoil.
Good luck (you will need it),
Alexander Hess (Deep Magick)
=============================================================================
//.etro: It is 8:05 pm, late evening, on Thursday the 01. day of January, 2009.
.
Downtown - Yonge and St. Clair(#113RJ)
This intersection is covered with streetcar tracks, running west and south. Nearby is Rosedale, one of the nicest residential neighbourhoods in central Toronto. There are two movie theatres within the same block, the Hollywood, and the Hyland. The Royal Bank takes up one corner, and on the other side of St. Clair is a popular little McDonalds that is connected to the subway station. Just north of St. Clair is a commercial development housing Bruno's Fine Foods and several small restaurants including Bregman's, a great breakfast place. The rest of the area is mostly made up of office buildings and various stores. Like most of Yonge's intersections, this one is usually busy with traffic and pedestrians.
Contents:
Griswold
Penny
Griswold arrives from the south.
Griswold has arrived.
Griswold step up from the south, a slight smile on his face as he walks north.
Curbed with the rest of yesterday's celebrations, Penny stands shivering. With a coat slung over her arm, she tries to light the end of a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter to no avail. From the continued repetition, it sounds like the flints long gone.
An extremely handsome European man stands before you, at about 6' 11" and with nearly 330lbs of muscle. Naturally straight blonde hair flows down his head like a waterfall, parted at the side by pointed, almost elf-like ears. This man's deep sky-blue eyes look out at you from a slightly narrow face with strong bones. Some people, gazing upon this proud, dignified man might feel an inexplicable sense of unease creep over them.
His brown leather trench coat spreads evenly over his broad shoulders and muscle-bound back and flows down past his knees, nearly hiding simple faded-brown pants, a bright new arctic blue polo shirt and faded black combat boots. This ensemble comes together to show a life of living it rough.
Griswold read your description.
There are no +view's in your current location.
+Viewable items on Griswold: EERIE
Griswold sufferes from the flaw Eerie Presence.
Griswold's eyes are pretty much trained on the north, and there is a bounce in his step. As he nears you the sound of the cigarette lighter becomes apparent and he looks to you. After a moment he picks up that you are shivering as asks, "Are you ok?" As his large frame would suggest, his voice has a low pitch.
Penny looks up, a faint crease where a smile would be on anyone else. "Need a light," the stick bouncing around her words. But because she's cold-thus-perceptive she takes it out of her mouth, the better to vocalise. Two fingers form a v around it and she gestures a circle with it at you "got one?"
Griswold shakes his head. "Nah, sorry. I don't." he says, before looking around. "It's a little cold out, are you off to somewhere?"
"Waiting for some-" it takes her a minute but once it settles in, once she gets a good look at you, Penny begins to take a step in the opposite direction. Her fingers curl around the cigarette, folded and probably bent into the palm of her hand "-one. Uh.." her coat begins to unfold with less grace in gravity than most things and she makes those little required adjustments to keep it off the ground.
Griswold seems oblivious to your reaction, and nods as he looks around. "Hope they come soon, and get you inside. You look cold." he says innocently, looking back to you and smiling warmly in return to your forced smile.
One step. Then another until there's a better distance. The traffic of other groups of people seem to be unconciously giving wide berth to this immediate square of pavement. Wind blew the trash just then or the light changed and those people have opted for the other way afterall - and on occassion one or two still pitched onward look back over their shoulders. They look at Penny because she dropped a pile of tobacco on the ground and hasn't moved, they look because she can't stop staring at you, they look because she hasn't covered up as they have to shield herself from the weather and her nose is running and her eyemakeup is smeared.
Griswold tilts his head to the side and looks genuinely concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks in a worried tone, stepping forward a little. The empty circle that the pedestrians unconciously leave around the large man follows him, he does not seem to notice this among other things.
She looks down the street again, briefly. It could be interpretted as a flinch; it is not a genuine gesture. The metal and glass tied in her hair make a faint clinking like china touching crystal; gradual clatter.
Dusting the mess of brown flakes off her hand, Penny protests "I'm /fine/. What's your problem? I just wanted a light." Pinched nerve in her voice.
Griswold recoils a step at this change of tone, his eyes widen and he automatically holds up his large hand with palms facing you. "Sorry, you just looked cold..." he says, looking over you once more.
Fierce for a moment, matching the timbre of the traffic sounds; loud horns streaming by. The noise and attitude pass almost at once and Penny lifts her shoulder, turns her head to the side cutting off direct eye-contact; a gesture that removes her profile. Provides wind-block so she can work on the lighter again and a cigarette pulled from the depths of a hidden pocket.
Griswold waits for a moment more, just standing and looking at Penny with wide eyes. After a moment he tentively says, "Ok, well. Have a good night." He begins to walk towards the north. "And get inside, before you freeze."
Penny can not run away, not in those heels but she has this innate sense; knows when an opportunity to take off has come along. Time has passed - this mystery person hasn't shown, if there was infact anyone at all. She does not hail a cab, preoccupied with the cigarette, the lighter, managing the coat.
Penny can not run away but you get the feeling she would if she could.
Griswold shakes his head softly and walkes off to the north, he can be seen head and shoulders above most of the pedestrians.
Relief comes in Mustang form with a raspy engine and a paint job that's seen better days. The worn car rounds the corner a few digits over the speed limit. It's tinted windows conceal the driver, but it appears picking up Penny's on the agenda. It's rumbles to a halt a few feet away from her, in double parked mode. The passenger's side door is punched open, and weed smoke rolls out from it's innards like Redman were at the wheel. A voice from inside, "Oi."
This is the thing about walking in heels most people don't understand; the reason women cross one foot in front of the other is that the angle of descent keeps them from toppling over. It isn't because the jaunt puts a particular accent on the hip, it isn't even necessarily appealing, this walk of Penny's, this is about functioning in near-immobile conditions.
And once given pause, the body tips toward the car. She steps off the sidewalk, off the curb keeping her balance with a light touch on the no-parking 6pm-7am sign toward the Mustang. Bending from the waist, she squints into the haze. "Oi," and gestures hang-loose with her hand, two fingers with the cigarette pointing left.
Griswold walks north to Eglinton.
Griswold has left.
"Inski." Chase looks back to the road, hands at 10 and 3 o'clock like a good driving student. The engine revs, the man's expectant. Eyes to the rear-view. Always checking his back. "Less go fer a ride, eh?" Always checking his back. So much so, he hasn't had time to spot Penny's new duds. Until.
" Shite chica, whatchoo... Makin' a few extra bucks on the side?"
Ducking into the car things hitch; her skirt, her breath, her heel in the grate. All of these things quickened in the confines of the leather-trim and tinted glass.
"Yes."
Her fingers press gently into the seam between seatbelt buckle and gearshift; a stitch in her side, sinking lower into the bucket, legs taking up a mile beneath the dash. It's the heels. Still looking dead ahead, she offers nothing more but asks "Light?" untucking the cigarette from behind that ear.
But Chase is still drinking it in. His eyes say stuff, but he just turns back to the task at hand. Driving and lighting. A zippo sits kingly above a pile of ashes in the ashtray, his car lighter being occupied by a wide band-width police scanner. It's pointed to as the car pulls out into the scant traffic.
"'M not even gonna ask."
Penny exhales, sighs really, like this is work or this isn't fun or there's something Chase is missing. Fingernails tip into the ashes and just the smooth click and sudden butane-smell seem to take the edges off her. Soft crackle at the far end, she keeps the lighter open and ducks it somewhere down and to the left.
"It's not like that," an explanation without saying too much "it's a thing I do," emphasis on 'thing' as she drags "just for the new year. Jesse can explain it better than I can" and exhales through her nose.
"Ah." It's like Chase stops her from continuing, even though her explanation is final. Into the flow they pull, the Mustang takes no quarter amongst it's peers. A right turn here, a left turn there, and straight as piss for a mile or to as some vintage Velvet Underground starts playing. The stuff before that dumb German chic jumped aboard.
"You niggers ain't set up yet, eh? 'S what Jesse said..."
True, you don't need to hear it whatever it is. Another time.
"God's got a say about that this month. s'all involved on account'a Pobble's meddlin'an' his fingers in all o" she cuts herself off, realizing with intermitent clarity that she does sound like a crazy person. The business of closing her eyes seems an easier thing, so Penny slumps over to the right putting her forehead to the cold glass of the window.
"Make any resolutions?" voiced with a kind of disinterested twinge; it's the most mundane thing she can think of to say, the most normal because normal is what's necessary for long drives out into nowhere. Then when its quiet, quiet in the relative sense; when there aren't sirens chasing down some other fool, aren't parties being passed by, aren't flashing neon adverts - when it's dark she sings along "Like a bird, you know she would fly, what can you do" can carry a tune but it's creepy "you see her walkin' on down the street" half mumbling into the elbow repropped on "look at all your friends that she's gonna meet.. you better hit her.."
"Eh..." It's not a yes or no, Chase makes a left. The whole first part, about god and Pobble, that get's a look. But it's fleeting. Fucker knows better than to ask by now. "I suppose. Well, mebbe. Mebbe I'll try and get laid this year. 'Aven't done that in a while. Mighta forgot how ta do it, though." The idea builds, Chase is giving in to it. The stubble on his chin makes some noise as it's scratched in nervous energy. Some nods, perhaps he just made that one on the spot. "Yeah, ta get laid. That's it." A moment's pause and he spots the girl riding shotgun. "Looks like that was yers to, eh?" A grin back to Penny, hooker heels and all.
Tranced out in between lyrics she says something that sounds like "to be loved" or "to be most beloved" mumbling about the season, the aeon, the darkness and desire passing. Like a scratched cd jumps around in the track, the groove of conversation is lost. A jumble of mixed up words and thoughts, burning down the cigarette is the only aide - each drag breaking up what she says so that each phrase makes sense. "He said there's no such thing as sin," repositioning herself to see and speak to you, uncoiled, the stutter of metal and glass when she turns her head "that's it's all apostelic, mysogynist bullshit." As she leans, there's a sound, like sticky tape pulling apart from the skin.
Eyes that were expecting a quip or joke in return, wait like a stood up prom date. Chase just watches her for a few silent beats after she speaks, turning back to the street without the prize of a proper reply.
"Yeah." The void is filling with some prompting conversational hooks whilst stopped at a red light. "Weed's in the glove, chica. Blow's under the seat, 'n I gotta few whip-its left from my New Year's blowout."
Penny is innocent, blameless. "Pull over, hey? M'gonna.." she half-tilts her head meaning she's gonna one or the other or something else entirely. "Where we goin'anyway?"
And it strikes you just then that she is void of that particular pique you're feeling... in a lights-are-on but no-one's-home kind of way. It starts to make twisted sense as she digs around in the folds of the coat and pulls out a small leather case - same case you saw her with last week. "Fix with me?" Unbuttoning, you can see it holds just the right things, just the right size - spoon, needle, the smell of antiseptic assaults and tucked into the other side are things both wet and dry.
A moment's consideration. "Why the fuck not." Sure, twist his arm why doncha. And so Chase pulls over, and they fix, and the rest is a narcotic blur.
.
Downtown - Yonge and St. Clair(#113RJ)
This intersection is covered with streetcar tracks, running west and south. Nearby is Rosedale, one of the nicest residential neighbourhoods in central Toronto. There are two movie theatres within the same block, the Hollywood, and the Hyland. The Royal Bank takes up one corner, and on the other side of St. Clair is a popular little McDonalds that is connected to the subway station. Just north of St. Clair is a commercial development housing Bruno's Fine Foods and several small restaurants including Bregman's, a great breakfast place. The rest of the area is mostly made up of office buildings and various stores. Like most of Yonge's intersections, this one is usually busy with traffic and pedestrians.
Contents:
Griswold
Penny
Griswold arrives from the south.
Griswold has arrived.
Griswold step up from the south, a slight smile on his face as he walks north.
Curbed with the rest of yesterday's celebrations, Penny stands shivering. With a coat slung over her arm, she tries to light the end of a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter to no avail. From the continued repetition, it sounds like the flints long gone.
An extremely handsome European man stands before you, at about 6' 11" and with nearly 330lbs of muscle. Naturally straight blonde hair flows down his head like a waterfall, parted at the side by pointed, almost elf-like ears. This man's deep sky-blue eyes look out at you from a slightly narrow face with strong bones. Some people, gazing upon this proud, dignified man might feel an inexplicable sense of unease creep over them.
His brown leather trench coat spreads evenly over his broad shoulders and muscle-bound back and flows down past his knees, nearly hiding simple faded-brown pants, a bright new arctic blue polo shirt and faded black combat boots. This ensemble comes together to show a life of living it rough.
Griswold read your description.
There are no +view's in your current location.
+Viewable items on Griswold: EERIE
Griswold sufferes from the flaw Eerie Presence.
Griswold's eyes are pretty much trained on the north, and there is a bounce in his step. As he nears you the sound of the cigarette lighter becomes apparent and he looks to you. After a moment he picks up that you are shivering as asks, "Are you ok?" As his large frame would suggest, his voice has a low pitch.
Penny looks up, a faint crease where a smile would be on anyone else. "Need a light," the stick bouncing around her words. But because she's cold-thus-perceptive she takes it out of her mouth, the better to vocalise. Two fingers form a v around it and she gestures a circle with it at you "got one?"
Griswold shakes his head. "Nah, sorry. I don't." he says, before looking around. "It's a little cold out, are you off to somewhere?"
"Waiting for some-" it takes her a minute but once it settles in, once she gets a good look at you, Penny begins to take a step in the opposite direction. Her fingers curl around the cigarette, folded and probably bent into the palm of her hand "-one. Uh.." her coat begins to unfold with less grace in gravity than most things and she makes those little required adjustments to keep it off the ground.
Griswold seems oblivious to your reaction, and nods as he looks around. "Hope they come soon, and get you inside. You look cold." he says innocently, looking back to you and smiling warmly in return to your forced smile.
One step. Then another until there's a better distance. The traffic of other groups of people seem to be unconciously giving wide berth to this immediate square of pavement. Wind blew the trash just then or the light changed and those people have opted for the other way afterall - and on occassion one or two still pitched onward look back over their shoulders. They look at Penny because she dropped a pile of tobacco on the ground and hasn't moved, they look because she can't stop staring at you, they look because she hasn't covered up as they have to shield herself from the weather and her nose is running and her eyemakeup is smeared.
Griswold tilts his head to the side and looks genuinely concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks in a worried tone, stepping forward a little. The empty circle that the pedestrians unconciously leave around the large man follows him, he does not seem to notice this among other things.
She looks down the street again, briefly. It could be interpretted as a flinch; it is not a genuine gesture. The metal and glass tied in her hair make a faint clinking like china touching crystal; gradual clatter.
Dusting the mess of brown flakes off her hand, Penny protests "I'm /fine/. What's your problem? I just wanted a light." Pinched nerve in her voice.
Griswold recoils a step at this change of tone, his eyes widen and he automatically holds up his large hand with palms facing you. "Sorry, you just looked cold..." he says, looking over you once more.
Fierce for a moment, matching the timbre of the traffic sounds; loud horns streaming by. The noise and attitude pass almost at once and Penny lifts her shoulder, turns her head to the side cutting off direct eye-contact; a gesture that removes her profile. Provides wind-block so she can work on the lighter again and a cigarette pulled from the depths of a hidden pocket.
Griswold waits for a moment more, just standing and looking at Penny with wide eyes. After a moment he tentively says, "Ok, well. Have a good night." He begins to walk towards the north. "And get inside, before you freeze."
Penny can not run away, not in those heels but she has this innate sense; knows when an opportunity to take off has come along. Time has passed - this mystery person hasn't shown, if there was infact anyone at all. She does not hail a cab, preoccupied with the cigarette, the lighter, managing the coat.
Penny can not run away but you get the feeling she would if she could.
Griswold shakes his head softly and walkes off to the north, he can be seen head and shoulders above most of the pedestrians.
Relief comes in Mustang form with a raspy engine and a paint job that's seen better days. The worn car rounds the corner a few digits over the speed limit. It's tinted windows conceal the driver, but it appears picking up Penny's on the agenda. It's rumbles to a halt a few feet away from her, in double parked mode. The passenger's side door is punched open, and weed smoke rolls out from it's innards like Redman were at the wheel. A voice from inside, "Oi."
This is the thing about walking in heels most people don't understand; the reason women cross one foot in front of the other is that the angle of descent keeps them from toppling over. It isn't because the jaunt puts a particular accent on the hip, it isn't even necessarily appealing, this walk of Penny's, this is about functioning in near-immobile conditions.
And once given pause, the body tips toward the car. She steps off the sidewalk, off the curb keeping her balance with a light touch on the no-parking 6pm-7am sign toward the Mustang. Bending from the waist, she squints into the haze. "Oi," and gestures hang-loose with her hand, two fingers with the cigarette pointing left.
Griswold walks north to Eglinton.
Griswold has left.
"Inski." Chase looks back to the road, hands at 10 and 3 o'clock like a good driving student. The engine revs, the man's expectant. Eyes to the rear-view. Always checking his back. "Less go fer a ride, eh?" Always checking his back. So much so, he hasn't had time to spot Penny's new duds. Until.
" Shite chica, whatchoo... Makin' a few extra bucks on the side?"
Ducking into the car things hitch; her skirt, her breath, her heel in the grate. All of these things quickened in the confines of the leather-trim and tinted glass.
"Yes."
Her fingers press gently into the seam between seatbelt buckle and gearshift; a stitch in her side, sinking lower into the bucket, legs taking up a mile beneath the dash. It's the heels. Still looking dead ahead, she offers nothing more but asks "Light?" untucking the cigarette from behind that ear.
But Chase is still drinking it in. His eyes say stuff, but he just turns back to the task at hand. Driving and lighting. A zippo sits kingly above a pile of ashes in the ashtray, his car lighter being occupied by a wide band-width police scanner. It's pointed to as the car pulls out into the scant traffic.
"'M not even gonna ask."
Penny exhales, sighs really, like this is work or this isn't fun or there's something Chase is missing. Fingernails tip into the ashes and just the smooth click and sudden butane-smell seem to take the edges off her. Soft crackle at the far end, she keeps the lighter open and ducks it somewhere down and to the left.
"It's not like that," an explanation without saying too much "it's a thing I do," emphasis on 'thing' as she drags "just for the new year. Jesse can explain it better than I can" and exhales through her nose.
"Ah." It's like Chase stops her from continuing, even though her explanation is final. Into the flow they pull, the Mustang takes no quarter amongst it's peers. A right turn here, a left turn there, and straight as piss for a mile or to as some vintage Velvet Underground starts playing. The stuff before that dumb German chic jumped aboard.
"You niggers ain't set up yet, eh? 'S what Jesse said..."
True, you don't need to hear it whatever it is. Another time.
"God's got a say about that this month. s'all involved on account'a Pobble's meddlin'an' his fingers in all o" she cuts herself off, realizing with intermitent clarity that she does sound like a crazy person. The business of closing her eyes seems an easier thing, so Penny slumps over to the right putting her forehead to the cold glass of the window.
"Make any resolutions?" voiced with a kind of disinterested twinge; it's the most mundane thing she can think of to say, the most normal because normal is what's necessary for long drives out into nowhere. Then when its quiet, quiet in the relative sense; when there aren't sirens chasing down some other fool, aren't parties being passed by, aren't flashing neon adverts - when it's dark she sings along "Like a bird, you know she would fly, what can you do" can carry a tune but it's creepy "you see her walkin' on down the street" half mumbling into the elbow repropped on "look at all your friends that she's gonna meet.. you better hit her.."
"Eh..." It's not a yes or no, Chase makes a left. The whole first part, about god and Pobble, that get's a look. But it's fleeting. Fucker knows better than to ask by now. "I suppose. Well, mebbe. Mebbe I'll try and get laid this year. 'Aven't done that in a while. Mighta forgot how ta do it, though." The idea builds, Chase is giving in to it. The stubble on his chin makes some noise as it's scratched in nervous energy. Some nods, perhaps he just made that one on the spot. "Yeah, ta get laid. That's it." A moment's pause and he spots the girl riding shotgun. "Looks like that was yers to, eh?" A grin back to Penny, hooker heels and all.
Tranced out in between lyrics she says something that sounds like "to be loved" or "to be most beloved" mumbling about the season, the aeon, the darkness and desire passing. Like a scratched cd jumps around in the track, the groove of conversation is lost. A jumble of mixed up words and thoughts, burning down the cigarette is the only aide - each drag breaking up what she says so that each phrase makes sense. "He said there's no such thing as sin," repositioning herself to see and speak to you, uncoiled, the stutter of metal and glass when she turns her head "that's it's all apostelic, mysogynist bullshit." As she leans, there's a sound, like sticky tape pulling apart from the skin.
Eyes that were expecting a quip or joke in return, wait like a stood up prom date. Chase just watches her for a few silent beats after she speaks, turning back to the street without the prize of a proper reply.
"Yeah." The void is filling with some prompting conversational hooks whilst stopped at a red light. "Weed's in the glove, chica. Blow's under the seat, 'n I gotta few whip-its left from my New Year's blowout."
Penny is innocent, blameless. "Pull over, hey? M'gonna.." she half-tilts her head meaning she's gonna one or the other or something else entirely. "Where we goin'anyway?"
And it strikes you just then that she is void of that particular pique you're feeling... in a lights-are-on but no-one's-home kind of way. It starts to make twisted sense as she digs around in the folds of the coat and pulls out a small leather case - same case you saw her with last week. "Fix with me?" Unbuttoning, you can see it holds just the right things, just the right size - spoon, needle, the smell of antiseptic assaults and tucked into the other side are things both wet and dry.
A moment's consideration. "Why the fuck not." Sure, twist his arm why doncha. And so Chase pulls over, and they fix, and the rest is a narcotic blur.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Downtown - Jarvis and Dundas(#131RJ)
Empty lots and undeveloped plots of useless land fill this intersection. Old, largely-abandoned factories are set up along the streetside. Development here ceased long ago, apparently. Two major homeless shelters operate in this area, given its rather cheap real-estate value. The area is mostly populated by homeless people, junkies and whores, though the occasional employee of the few operating companies in this area might be seen driving through... generally rapidly.
Contents:
Jesse
Chase
Billboard In Front of the Vacant Lot
Almost sunrise, some people don't sleep. Like the never ending patrol across the street in front of the private lot. Or, snug between two smaller imports, a black Mustang is nestled in a space barely big enough to hold it's frame. The windows tinted, the doors closed, the only hint someone's in there is the smell of smoke in passing. Though you'd hafta be near the worn vehicle to pick that up. And even closer to finger it as weed.
With the vague shuffle of a junkie or the ponderous attention to balance of a drunk, Jesse turns the corner and drifts up the quiet pavement. He is hunched, his right hand held before his eyes, and whatever is in it, he's following it, his slow and careful steps winding around manholes, pausing at crumpled newspapers, and veering towards the detritus in the gutters. Then, motionless - he stops and looks up, turns one way, then the other, then stares at the dark car before him. Alone, as it were, on the morning sidewalk, accompanied only by everyman's partner Jimmy Beam, visible when the left hand brings the fifth from under his coat for a surreptitious sip.
If she had eyes, she'd look back up. But it so happens the Mustang's lights are off, and the engine's long cold. Still, there's stirring inside, and a squeak which can be attributed to the window roller. Down the tinted glass slides, allowing a narcotic fog bank to drift into the pre-dawn air. "Oi." From dark inside, a figure's illuminated by a strange blue glow. One usually associated with Pilipino kids who trick out their Acuras with neon and play streetfighter at the local liquor store. "That whiskey?"
A nod, and Jesse looks at the ersatz pendulum in his right hand - a glass eye in a knotted condom - and shakes it. Flaccid. He looks at the car again, shrugs, and tosses the rubber into a storm drain. He offers the bottle to the window.
"Bourbon. Cheers."
It's a trade then. Chase's callused hand offers up a mostly smoked blunt through the opening, before he leans back into the relative cover to swig. Lip smacking sounds, he even wipes the bottle. "Tits." He approves and sticks his head out proper to be identified as such. Lazy eyes follow the makeshift wondrous item, then back up to Jesse. Though his square chin is sure to recoil into the depths of his ride when the first dawn of the new year threatens to rise over some buildings. "Inside?" A suggestion, and look back across to the vacant lot.
A_Raven flies high above the city streets, heading north.
Jesse nods, cupping the last of the blunt to his lips to guard the red glow from whoever might be watching. He skirts around the car, swings the passenger door open, and stares at the sky in disbelief.
"Fuck me." He coughs out smoke. "That's a big fucking pigeon."
With that, he folds himself into the car and slams the door shut.
A_Raven caws as it flies over.
Again with the squeaks, they belong to the car's window handle. The black Mustang sports equally dark glass to conceal her contents. And their number is two now.
Inside the car, Chase allows Jesse in and hands him back the bottle. Tit for tat, and the blunt's plucked back. The thick man's gaze too focused on the lot to notice the creatures native to this hood. "Missed 'r. What the shit's new, amigo?" It's asked without looking, Chase turns back to watch the patrol as the hotbox continues. The blue glow, now obviously emanating from a stacked stereo system and digital nitrate regulator.
"Fuck all." Jesse shrugs amicably, accepting the bottle once more. "Ta." He turns his gaze across the street, as though by staring he might unlock the secrets of the construction yard. "Been away, came back, far as I can tell everyone's still dumb, we're still in a hotel room, and now apparently dumb has been going to meetings, 'cause we're supposed to be organized."
Stinkface. "I've 'ad it with that lot." Chase seems cocksure, "Fuckin' central." Here he vents, and turns back to Jesse. The blunt idly smokes by it's self. "They want me ta help 'm watch their gay ass altered states." Pffffts. A big hit and raspy voice as he speaks in the safety of his aged Mustang. "Like I'm a babysitter 'r some shite, ahhh chingato."
Jesse shrugs. "We gave 'em Peachy to keep them quiet. He just churns out press realeases an' says shit with that smile of his, so the rest of us can do, uh..." He laughs. "Whatever it is we do. Had some logistical problems with the rest of our stuff arriving. Weren't planning to stay in the Holiday Inn all year."
"Yeah well. General Paris... He says do, 'n I do." There's more smoking, Chase checks the lot every 8 seconds. "Least you cabrones gotta face man. 'I walk in there and take their shite meself. Hell, gimme fuckin' Timor anyday. I'll take a sea a' gooks 'n bungy traps."
"Ask me, you should break out the black mask and pipe, man." Jesse tilts his hat forwards, leaning back in his seat with a grin. "Pull some of that old ELZN magic. Really shake shit up."
"'S not 'red' in this city yet. There's time for prep work." Chase sniffles, ashing the blunt and nudging Jesse with it as it's near dead. "I go into grease paint and go mode, there's no turnin' back. 'N I got shite ta do still."
Jesse nods, holding the blunt with his fingernails, a scant half-inch from his pursed lips as he inhales. "Way I see it," he pauses to blow smoke at the windshield. "Way I see it, we're working backwards. Stopping construction's not gonna do anything. Fucking with them isn't the same as getting anything done. People around here, I don't really see them doing anything. Aside from the martyr me jesus kids, and I try not to think about what they're doing too much."
"Japutos." Chase curses, rubbing his nose absently. With a long exhale he settles back into the fake lamb furred seat. Still eyeing the lot from a lazy slump. "Ya know, if i had the resources, shit would be churnin' in this fucker already. I woulda had hot fuckin' blow on the streets. I'm talkin' day-stopping shit, opening people up right on the damn sidewalk to spiritual convulsions. 'Stead? Instead I get to guard the 5th dimension from ghosts... Paris better make his mind up soon, I can't take this anymore."
Jesse laughs and offers the last shreds of blunt back, then takes a pull of the bourbon. "Hell. I don't even know who Paris is. Peaches takes care of all that, I just gotta keep my mouth shut and quit screaming at the Criamon chick." He shakes his head no. "Hate to say this, but if anything goes down, I trust the people at my back, you know? Those joeboos in the backyard, I wouldn't trust them to know which end of the gun to point, let alone not to hit me on accident."
"Paris is my man back in Guam. He's tactical coordinator of the 12th signal brigade, After-Math central." Chase looks down to the dead brown scrap that was the blunt and gnashes it into his ashtray. "He's the only one I trust with me life in this damn shitglobe. All them other cabrones, well, i'm just here 'cause el General says so. Till he figures out strategical advantage in Toronto theatre, i'm supposed ta play nice and forget that they relocated me Chile." A red eyed glance at the blue display, and the sun rising tell him it's time. "But all that, that's another story. Time ta beat rocks, hombre." A hand's offered over, callused and worn. "Via con dios."
Jesse nods, opening the door, and tucking the bottle between the seats. "Watch your six, caballero." He grins and tugs the brim of his hat, then slides out of the car and slams the door shut, stretching and yawning widely. "'sup, Penn?" Jesse calls over. "You headin' back holidayside?"
*Vroom and Rumble* Off the car goes. Go eat Chase, go eat.
Chase escapes OOC.
Chase has left.
There's a long dark car rolling through this part of town. Maybe one of those pharmaceuticals had a til-dawn party. Day-running lights? or just lights still on could place that car in a variety of situations. But it stops up on the corner and Penny gets out.
Doubletake. Penny?
Or an evil twin; dark hair, dark man's coat pulled out behind her. The door clicks shut behind her, a heavy and well-machined sound. A wealthy of oil and engineering. Such a simple thing. And as she moves out between garbage cans and piles of recyclables, the car rolls after her, shadowing. The window goes down and a gloved hand extends a card stacked on a characteristic fold of money.
"Penny?" He repeats himself. "You heading hoidayside or what?
Abel appears from the north.
Abel has arrived.
Abel comes walking down the street, hands dug deep into his pockets to keep warm.
The hand from the car does not waver or shake the offering but does seem strained. It is not a long or especially deft arm. Positioning tells us this person is riding shotgun, backwards. That it's low on the edge of the window suggests 'asian.' Maybe it's the cut of the glove. Penny takes the two steps back to the glove, takes the cash and card. The car peels out as she pockets the fold into a jacket clearly not hers.
"You're back." Stunned, Penny has to squint out of the sun just to get a better look. Like the hat and profile isn't enough to convince her what she's seeing is real. "I need a drink. Don't think that hotel bar's still open."
Abel
You see a good-looking young man in his late teens, maybe 19 or 20. He stands about 5'10". His one time straight, California-blonde hair has been cut and faded to a more normal blonde color and has curled a little now that it is a natural color again. His eyes are grey and have an old, far-away, feel to them, as if he's seen much more than any teen his age should or could have. He has a winning, trust-inspiring smile that frequently eases through his features and a lot of natural presence and charisma. He speaks with a California accent, almost the stereotypical surfer type, unless he's in a formal situation when he obviously tries to control it. He's on the skinny side and doesn't look very strong but is lean and moves easily on sure feet.
Currently he is wearing a pair of clean khacki cargo pants and a black long sleeve T-shirt. Over the black he is wearing a grey, short-sleeve T-shirt with a picture of a penny on the back of it. He wears brown, mid-cut hiking shoes. Around his neck, on a thin chain, hangs a small, stylized sun symbol.
Over all this he is wearing a warm-looking brown great-coat to ward against the Toronto winter cold.
Jesse points to the retreating car. "Left the bourbon with Chase." He shrugs, scratching at his sleeve. "Tats are still fresh. Itch like fuck. 'mgonna pass out. Wake me before new years, hey?"
//.etro: It is 08:45 am, mid-morning, on Wednesday the 31. day of December, 2008.
Abel stops in front of the Hyperion lot, looking at it with a bit of a frown.
You say, "Is that who.." Maybe it's the shoes, but she wobbles and puts her hand on Jesse's arm suddenly, catches herself. "Don't let him touch you with it," a not-whisper. "Don't go in the bathroom. He keeps it there."
Clearly Penny isn't going back to the hotel any time soon.
Jesse nods. "D'worry. Been pissing in Piggy's wheaties anyway." Jesse bares another yawn, tugs his coat closed, and shuffles towards the hotel once more. "Don't forget, kick me before the new year or else."
Abel turns from the lot to look across the Street at Mecca. He frowns at it as well. If he noticed the car episode or not is open to speculation. In this neighborhood deals going down out of cars are hardly out of the ordinary.
Jesse moves pretty fast for .. well for him. He's gone off the block and caught a cab back across town. Penny would do something similar except for her heels. They make the walking slow going, painful to watch her stick in the pavement cracks, narrowly missing sidewalk grates, shaking the odd piece of garbage from underfoot.
Abel read your description.
Penny(#6870PIOAC)
The refined sythesis of hard living and regular controlled substance abuse is as much a draw as it is obvious. The countenance is the portrait of the soul and the eyes mark its intentions. What is most clear is that Penny wants. Green eyes, sun-scorched dyed-black eyebrows obvious on the paler skin. Her mouth a red, ripe stain; a suggestion of violence.
Somewhere it was ordained that she have a sleekly dark skull, that she have this black hair; full on top and pared down at the sides. Buzzed into a V-shape at the nape. Slopes and curves festoon upward from both ears, shaved into the scalp like a tagger's signature, fine print. About half the hair on top has been threaded by silver wire and glass straws.
That dress is criminal; steals glances, fosters ungovernable thoughts - some more potent than others. A swathe of gunmetal silk, it drapes from shoulder to shoulder just across the neck and down to points just past the knee. Its back also mantled low into the small of the back is cut to focus on a tiny silver chain-and-pendulum and a design. Running up Penny's spine is a tattoo of shapes similar to those shaved into her hair. Same artist. Impossible heels finish the look, ankles in the bondage of iAbel nods to Penny if she comes near him, but out of politeness more than any thing else. He seems to be lost in his thoughts and his eyes havea slightly distant, unfocused look to them.
In this part of town, distant and disconnected are modus operandi. See there? No one's bothered to roust the homeless out of those corners, not even the light of day can stir them to wakeful and alert. It's this fog, this bone-chilling fog. It settles like a skein, crisscrossing awareness until things, people, are bumped into. Walking like this, half-senseless, Penny knocks into Abel's mirage.
Abel seems to anticipate Penny knocking into him and moves to catch her before she falls or snaps her ankles in those shoes she's wearing. His eyes refocus. "Are you alright Miss?"
The coat falls open, red stains inside. Some bright, some brick. Another dress bundled inside it starts to slither out. She's fast, recoiling the pieces to her "I'm" weary, cold "sorry. I'm f-fu-fine" she chatters "It's these shoes." It isn't funny but she laughs in a way that makes you think it really is her shoes that're the problem.
Abel nods and looks down at the shoes. "How can you walk in those things at all? Like, This isn't a good neighborhood to not be able to move quickly in." His california accent is pretty noticeable right now. "And you sound cold."
"Friends," she nods at some vanishing point up the street. Whoever they were, they're gone now. Steadied and righted at your side, Penny touches on a moment of clarity "And you're here. You're here," indicating the lot's fence without pointing, but a nod of her head. Like that says everything.
Abel smiles a little. The chain around his neck and the symbol on it catching the light momentarily. "Friends? I Know Jesse a little. But I don't think we've met." He gestures to the lot with his head as well. "As far as 'here' goes, I'm working on the problem."
If it were any more obvious, it would've bit her. Penny goes 'ah' and collects herself on less unsteady ground. "What binds m.. " she starts but with a wince, her head canting to the side internalizing the rest of that phrase, bites it down the way drunks hold back the naseau "Penny. I'm Penny," left hand crossed to cover that stitch in her side, the coat concealing a better portion of the gesture. "Y'know Jes. That's good, look," with a renewed urgency "could you just hail me a cab maybe? I'm not.." not so good is what she means.
Abel nods. "Nice to meet you Penny. I'm Abel. And yeah. I can get you a cab." He looks up and down the street, making sure Penny doesn't fall over. "It takes an act of God to get one in this part of town to stop though." He grins a little. He says a small prayer under his breath as he looks up and down the street, then gestures at a cab passing through in a hurry. That it stops may be nothing short of Miraculous. It actually goes by, then seems to have a change of heart and turns around and comes back to the couple.
Hiro arrives from the south.
Hiro has arrived.
New Years Eve. Nobody gives a second thought to another person just a little too full of festive cheer. It isn't anywhere near midnight. Nobody is supposed to have uncorked the champagne yet. Hiro must be a cracked-out loon. But there's plenty of those to go around, around these parts. Cracked out loons.
"PEEEENNNAAAH!"
And, with that, Hiro appears from nowhere. And collides with Penny.
He appears to be attempting to grapple her in some kind of terrible bone-cracking bearhug.
The cab, naturally. That's where Hiro came from. That's why it backed up and got so close to Penny and Abel. Providence.
And Penny, in those heels.
The hapless mass that is Hiro is not something she shies away from but that look on her face, that mask of a halfsmile. That charicature of horrified and forgetful glee straps itself across her entire body in a posture of absolute agony when he gets a hold of her.
And she screams.
"PiggypiggypiggyNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..god..god..god..god..oh..god."
Abel frowns and winces. "Carefull Hiro, She's hurt." He reaches around to make sure the three of them don't go over onto the ground.
Hiro read your description.
Hiro
Bad posture is to blame for Hiro's diminutive presence: with shoulders slumped and hands balled up in his pockets, he cruises closer to 5'6 than his modest 5'9. The polite might refer to him as 'big boned' or 'chubby': the fact remains, however, that he simply looks like a pig. Short, tousled black hair, a plain face that edges towards the porcine, and silent, placid brown eyes distorted to largeness by corrective lenses. His double-helix bears the tags of half a dozen southeast asian cultures, with a smattering of anglo-mutt thrown in on this side of the pacific.
In 1993, Rancid's release tour for their self-titled debut was met with a small riot in Des Moines, Iowa. The Wallgreens off of I-26 -- being the only business open at two in the morning -- was attacked by teenaged punk rockers. The pharmacy, in particular, suffered heavy damage and losses: an estimated street value of seven thousand dollars in valium, muscle relaxants, and ritalin. The on-duty pharmacist had his labcoat stripped from his shoulders during the struggle, whereupon it was appropriated by a Mod who went on to become a speed cook. The garment hanging from Hiro's shoulders, sleeves rolled back to half-conceal the chemical burns scorching the fabric, shows it's history. The blank white pin affixed at his collar, however, tells no stories.
A white t-shirt bears a black and red steer's head: ']D[' embossed in fixedsys font. Black cargo pants faded to grey collect around the tops of dingy white sneakers, many-zippered pockets cross-hatching the thighs.
"Ohmygoshsorryareyouhurt?" Hiro releases Penny immediately, then -- near-immediately, or perhaps most immediately post-immediately -- hugs her again, then releases her again, seems to get caught in some kind of dull feedback loop. Stops. Physically stutters. Blinks owlishly. His eyes have the look of a solar eclipse. "Sorry. Hi, Abel. What the fuck is going on?" Big, hesitant kid's smile.
Penny keeps Hiro close, her fingers sinking deep into arm-tissue, keeps him from breaking her in half. She asides to him, mouth more or less occluded by the bulging rim of his glasses, "It's Pobs, did a thing and" Hiro can feel whatever kind of gesture she makes. Something that signifies this thing can not be helped or sorted. "We uh.. " indicating Abel "just met." And to put a point on it, a wad of cash and business card tumbles out of the disarray of other-dress and gathered coat in Penny's arms.
Seeing that Penny is latched on to Hiro, and knowing theyu aren't going to topple any Time soon, Abel stoops down to scoop up the cash and card. He doesn't look at... it's not his business. "You should probably get her to a doctor. I'd help if I could, but, Like, I'm not good with that kind of stuff." He pauses a moment. "I bet Jane Connelly could help her."
"Oh," mubles Hiro. He frowns just faintly, squints at Abel, and runs a hand down Penny's side. Perhaps he's feeling up her ribcage. Mrowr. Cognition flickers somewhere in saucerlike eyes, a spark somewhere beneath the placid surface. "Who's the dirty roman?" he asks. Then: "N'thanks. Conelly doesn't like us much."
Penny insists, if a bit belatedly "I'm not /hurt/."
Whatever it is Penny considers herself, it's not one of the walking wounded. If you can ignore her eyeballs rolling to whites when Hiro does that thing with his hand, Penny might be covincing. "Nnn...noli me tangere," the words resurected in the harshest whisper.
Snaps. Clicks back into place. She nudges Hiro and thrusts her chin at the cash "Pocket that," snapped from whatever trance that was "doneednoquack," gritting through her teeth.
Abel hands the wad of Cash to Hiro. "Yeah... I know you guys don't." He says very little on the subject. Not that he looks like he doesn't have an opinion about the matter, but that he thinks it best to keep it to himself.
A dumb stare at the wad of money; Hiro stands there, in the middle of el ghetto, gawking like an idiot. The business card is eyeballed like some incredibly complex, intense puzzle. "Mmmyeah," he counters, dumbly. The taxi is just idling there, running up a bill -- Pig-boy looks back over his shoulder. The wad gets stuffed, haphazardly, into a pocket of his labcoat. "Talkatchoo later, honest abe. Me'n Pen need to get back to bible study." A stupid grin, as if this was some incredibly clever in-joke shared by all present. It isn't.
It is. But it isn't. "Nice ta" and Penny shows an absent twiddle of fingers. witched to autopilot, she lets Hiro take over. He moves her in a way that suggests this is practiced. Learned. Habitual. There's order here; jacket and dress balled up and thrown into the backseat then he takes both her hands. Wrapping them close to her body, he positions her backwards into the cracked pleather and lifts her wholly into the cradle of the rear bench beneath the knee.
The little perv.
Her head tips back and to the side, lolls before Hiro slams the door shut. Her forehead presses to the glass, fog of bodyheat rising in a halo around her head.
Abel nods. "Peace be With the both of you, and Providence guide your steps. And call me sometime Hiro... or come by St. Matt's. Like, we haven't talked in ages and I always enjoyed the ones we had." He pats a lump in one of his pockets. "Aaron's got me to go cellular now so I'm moch more reachable."
If you can't keep it in your pants, keep it in the cabal. There's some kind of argument with the driver, and the cab peels out.
Empty lots and undeveloped plots of useless land fill this intersection. Old, largely-abandoned factories are set up along the streetside. Development here ceased long ago, apparently. Two major homeless shelters operate in this area, given its rather cheap real-estate value. The area is mostly populated by homeless people, junkies and whores, though the occasional employee of the few operating companies in this area might be seen driving through... generally rapidly.
Contents:
Jesse
Chase
Billboard In Front of the Vacant Lot
Almost sunrise, some people don't sleep. Like the never ending patrol across the street in front of the private lot. Or, snug between two smaller imports, a black Mustang is nestled in a space barely big enough to hold it's frame. The windows tinted, the doors closed, the only hint someone's in there is the smell of smoke in passing. Though you'd hafta be near the worn vehicle to pick that up. And even closer to finger it as weed.
With the vague shuffle of a junkie or the ponderous attention to balance of a drunk, Jesse turns the corner and drifts up the quiet pavement. He is hunched, his right hand held before his eyes, and whatever is in it, he's following it, his slow and careful steps winding around manholes, pausing at crumpled newspapers, and veering towards the detritus in the gutters. Then, motionless - he stops and looks up, turns one way, then the other, then stares at the dark car before him. Alone, as it were, on the morning sidewalk, accompanied only by everyman's partner Jimmy Beam, visible when the left hand brings the fifth from under his coat for a surreptitious sip.
If she had eyes, she'd look back up. But it so happens the Mustang's lights are off, and the engine's long cold. Still, there's stirring inside, and a squeak which can be attributed to the window roller. Down the tinted glass slides, allowing a narcotic fog bank to drift into the pre-dawn air. "Oi." From dark inside, a figure's illuminated by a strange blue glow. One usually associated with Pilipino kids who trick out their Acuras with neon and play streetfighter at the local liquor store. "That whiskey?"
A nod, and Jesse looks at the ersatz pendulum in his right hand - a glass eye in a knotted condom - and shakes it. Flaccid. He looks at the car again, shrugs, and tosses the rubber into a storm drain. He offers the bottle to the window.
"Bourbon. Cheers."
It's a trade then. Chase's callused hand offers up a mostly smoked blunt through the opening, before he leans back into the relative cover to swig. Lip smacking sounds, he even wipes the bottle. "Tits." He approves and sticks his head out proper to be identified as such. Lazy eyes follow the makeshift wondrous item, then back up to Jesse. Though his square chin is sure to recoil into the depths of his ride when the first dawn of the new year threatens to rise over some buildings. "Inside?" A suggestion, and look back across to the vacant lot.
A_Raven flies high above the city streets, heading north.
Jesse nods, cupping the last of the blunt to his lips to guard the red glow from whoever might be watching. He skirts around the car, swings the passenger door open, and stares at the sky in disbelief.
"Fuck me." He coughs out smoke. "That's a big fucking pigeon."
With that, he folds himself into the car and slams the door shut.
A_Raven caws as it flies over.
Again with the squeaks, they belong to the car's window handle. The black Mustang sports equally dark glass to conceal her contents. And their number is two now.
Inside the car, Chase allows Jesse in and hands him back the bottle. Tit for tat, and the blunt's plucked back. The thick man's gaze too focused on the lot to notice the creatures native to this hood. "Missed 'r. What the shit's new, amigo?" It's asked without looking, Chase turns back to watch the patrol as the hotbox continues. The blue glow, now obviously emanating from a stacked stereo system and digital nitrate regulator.
"Fuck all." Jesse shrugs amicably, accepting the bottle once more. "Ta." He turns his gaze across the street, as though by staring he might unlock the secrets of the construction yard. "Been away, came back, far as I can tell everyone's still dumb, we're still in a hotel room, and now apparently dumb has been going to meetings, 'cause we're supposed to be organized."
Stinkface. "I've 'ad it with that lot." Chase seems cocksure, "Fuckin' central." Here he vents, and turns back to Jesse. The blunt idly smokes by it's self. "They want me ta help 'm watch their gay ass altered states." Pffffts. A big hit and raspy voice as he speaks in the safety of his aged Mustang. "Like I'm a babysitter 'r some shite, ahhh chingato."
Jesse shrugs. "We gave 'em Peachy to keep them quiet. He just churns out press realeases an' says shit with that smile of his, so the rest of us can do, uh..." He laughs. "Whatever it is we do. Had some logistical problems with the rest of our stuff arriving. Weren't planning to stay in the Holiday Inn all year."
"Yeah well. General Paris... He says do, 'n I do." There's more smoking, Chase checks the lot every 8 seconds. "Least you cabrones gotta face man. 'I walk in there and take their shite meself. Hell, gimme fuckin' Timor anyday. I'll take a sea a' gooks 'n bungy traps."
"Ask me, you should break out the black mask and pipe, man." Jesse tilts his hat forwards, leaning back in his seat with a grin. "Pull some of that old ELZN magic. Really shake shit up."
"'S not 'red' in this city yet. There's time for prep work." Chase sniffles, ashing the blunt and nudging Jesse with it as it's near dead. "I go into grease paint and go mode, there's no turnin' back. 'N I got shite ta do still."
Jesse nods, holding the blunt with his fingernails, a scant half-inch from his pursed lips as he inhales. "Way I see it," he pauses to blow smoke at the windshield. "Way I see it, we're working backwards. Stopping construction's not gonna do anything. Fucking with them isn't the same as getting anything done. People around here, I don't really see them doing anything. Aside from the martyr me jesus kids, and I try not to think about what they're doing too much."
"Japutos." Chase curses, rubbing his nose absently. With a long exhale he settles back into the fake lamb furred seat. Still eyeing the lot from a lazy slump. "Ya know, if i had the resources, shit would be churnin' in this fucker already. I woulda had hot fuckin' blow on the streets. I'm talkin' day-stopping shit, opening people up right on the damn sidewalk to spiritual convulsions. 'Stead? Instead I get to guard the 5th dimension from ghosts... Paris better make his mind up soon, I can't take this anymore."
Jesse laughs and offers the last shreds of blunt back, then takes a pull of the bourbon. "Hell. I don't even know who Paris is. Peaches takes care of all that, I just gotta keep my mouth shut and quit screaming at the Criamon chick." He shakes his head no. "Hate to say this, but if anything goes down, I trust the people at my back, you know? Those joeboos in the backyard, I wouldn't trust them to know which end of the gun to point, let alone not to hit me on accident."
"Paris is my man back in Guam. He's tactical coordinator of the 12th signal brigade, After-Math central." Chase looks down to the dead brown scrap that was the blunt and gnashes it into his ashtray. "He's the only one I trust with me life in this damn shitglobe. All them other cabrones, well, i'm just here 'cause el General says so. Till he figures out strategical advantage in Toronto theatre, i'm supposed ta play nice and forget that they relocated me Chile." A red eyed glance at the blue display, and the sun rising tell him it's time. "But all that, that's another story. Time ta beat rocks, hombre." A hand's offered over, callused and worn. "Via con dios."
Jesse nods, opening the door, and tucking the bottle between the seats. "Watch your six, caballero." He grins and tugs the brim of his hat, then slides out of the car and slams the door shut, stretching and yawning widely. "'sup, Penn?" Jesse calls over. "You headin' back holidayside?"
*Vroom and Rumble* Off the car goes. Go eat Chase, go eat.
Chase escapes OOC.
Chase has left.
There's a long dark car rolling through this part of town. Maybe one of those pharmaceuticals had a til-dawn party. Day-running lights? or just lights still on could place that car in a variety of situations. But it stops up on the corner and Penny gets out.
Doubletake. Penny?
Or an evil twin; dark hair, dark man's coat pulled out behind her. The door clicks shut behind her, a heavy and well-machined sound. A wealthy of oil and engineering. Such a simple thing. And as she moves out between garbage cans and piles of recyclables, the car rolls after her, shadowing. The window goes down and a gloved hand extends a card stacked on a characteristic fold of money.
"Penny?" He repeats himself. "You heading hoidayside or what?
Abel appears from the north.
Abel has arrived.
Abel comes walking down the street, hands dug deep into his pockets to keep warm.
The hand from the car does not waver or shake the offering but does seem strained. It is not a long or especially deft arm. Positioning tells us this person is riding shotgun, backwards. That it's low on the edge of the window suggests 'asian.' Maybe it's the cut of the glove. Penny takes the two steps back to the glove, takes the cash and card. The car peels out as she pockets the fold into a jacket clearly not hers.
"You're back." Stunned, Penny has to squint out of the sun just to get a better look. Like the hat and profile isn't enough to convince her what she's seeing is real. "I need a drink. Don't think that hotel bar's still open."
Abel
You see a good-looking young man in his late teens, maybe 19 or 20. He stands about 5'10". His one time straight, California-blonde hair has been cut and faded to a more normal blonde color and has curled a little now that it is a natural color again. His eyes are grey and have an old, far-away, feel to them, as if he's seen much more than any teen his age should or could have. He has a winning, trust-inspiring smile that frequently eases through his features and a lot of natural presence and charisma. He speaks with a California accent, almost the stereotypical surfer type, unless he's in a formal situation when he obviously tries to control it. He's on the skinny side and doesn't look very strong but is lean and moves easily on sure feet.
Currently he is wearing a pair of clean khacki cargo pants and a black long sleeve T-shirt. Over the black he is wearing a grey, short-sleeve T-shirt with a picture of a penny on the back of it. He wears brown, mid-cut hiking shoes. Around his neck, on a thin chain, hangs a small, stylized sun symbol.
Over all this he is wearing a warm-looking brown great-coat to ward against the Toronto winter cold.
Jesse points to the retreating car. "Left the bourbon with Chase." He shrugs, scratching at his sleeve. "Tats are still fresh. Itch like fuck. 'mgonna pass out. Wake me before new years, hey?"
//.etro: It is 08:45 am, mid-morning, on Wednesday the 31. day of December, 2008.
Abel stops in front of the Hyperion lot, looking at it with a bit of a frown.
You say, "Is that who.." Maybe it's the shoes, but she wobbles and puts her hand on Jesse's arm suddenly, catches herself. "Don't let him touch you with it," a not-whisper. "Don't go in the bathroom. He keeps it there."
Clearly Penny isn't going back to the hotel any time soon.
Jesse nods. "D'worry. Been pissing in Piggy's wheaties anyway." Jesse bares another yawn, tugs his coat closed, and shuffles towards the hotel once more. "Don't forget, kick me before the new year or else."
Abel turns from the lot to look across the Street at Mecca. He frowns at it as well. If he noticed the car episode or not is open to speculation. In this neighborhood deals going down out of cars are hardly out of the ordinary.
Jesse moves pretty fast for .. well for him. He's gone off the block and caught a cab back across town. Penny would do something similar except for her heels. They make the walking slow going, painful to watch her stick in the pavement cracks, narrowly missing sidewalk grates, shaking the odd piece of garbage from underfoot.
Abel read your description.
Penny(#6870PIOAC)
The refined sythesis of hard living and regular controlled substance abuse is as much a draw as it is obvious. The countenance is the portrait of the soul and the eyes mark its intentions. What is most clear is that Penny wants. Green eyes, sun-scorched dyed-black eyebrows obvious on the paler skin. Her mouth a red, ripe stain; a suggestion of violence.
Somewhere it was ordained that she have a sleekly dark skull, that she have this black hair; full on top and pared down at the sides. Buzzed into a V-shape at the nape. Slopes and curves festoon upward from both ears, shaved into the scalp like a tagger's signature, fine print. About half the hair on top has been threaded by silver wire and glass straws.
That dress is criminal; steals glances, fosters ungovernable thoughts - some more potent than others. A swathe of gunmetal silk, it drapes from shoulder to shoulder just across the neck and down to points just past the knee. Its back also mantled low into the small of the back is cut to focus on a tiny silver chain-and-pendulum and a design. Running up Penny's spine is a tattoo of shapes similar to those shaved into her hair. Same artist. Impossible heels finish the look, ankles in the bondage of iAbel nods to Penny if she comes near him, but out of politeness more than any thing else. He seems to be lost in his thoughts and his eyes havea slightly distant, unfocused look to them.
In this part of town, distant and disconnected are modus operandi. See there? No one's bothered to roust the homeless out of those corners, not even the light of day can stir them to wakeful and alert. It's this fog, this bone-chilling fog. It settles like a skein, crisscrossing awareness until things, people, are bumped into. Walking like this, half-senseless, Penny knocks into Abel's mirage.
Abel seems to anticipate Penny knocking into him and moves to catch her before she falls or snaps her ankles in those shoes she's wearing. His eyes refocus. "Are you alright Miss?"
The coat falls open, red stains inside. Some bright, some brick. Another dress bundled inside it starts to slither out. She's fast, recoiling the pieces to her "I'm" weary, cold "sorry. I'm f-fu-fine" she chatters "It's these shoes." It isn't funny but she laughs in a way that makes you think it really is her shoes that're the problem.
Abel nods and looks down at the shoes. "How can you walk in those things at all? Like, This isn't a good neighborhood to not be able to move quickly in." His california accent is pretty noticeable right now. "And you sound cold."
"Friends," she nods at some vanishing point up the street. Whoever they were, they're gone now. Steadied and righted at your side, Penny touches on a moment of clarity "And you're here. You're here," indicating the lot's fence without pointing, but a nod of her head. Like that says everything.
Abel smiles a little. The chain around his neck and the symbol on it catching the light momentarily. "Friends? I Know Jesse a little. But I don't think we've met." He gestures to the lot with his head as well. "As far as 'here' goes, I'm working on the problem."
If it were any more obvious, it would've bit her. Penny goes 'ah' and collects herself on less unsteady ground. "What binds m.. " she starts but with a wince, her head canting to the side internalizing the rest of that phrase, bites it down the way drunks hold back the naseau "Penny. I'm Penny," left hand crossed to cover that stitch in her side, the coat concealing a better portion of the gesture. "Y'know Jes. That's good, look," with a renewed urgency "could you just hail me a cab maybe? I'm not.." not so good is what she means.
Abel nods. "Nice to meet you Penny. I'm Abel. And yeah. I can get you a cab." He looks up and down the street, making sure Penny doesn't fall over. "It takes an act of God to get one in this part of town to stop though." He grins a little. He says a small prayer under his breath as he looks up and down the street, then gestures at a cab passing through in a hurry. That it stops may be nothing short of Miraculous. It actually goes by, then seems to have a change of heart and turns around and comes back to the couple.
Hiro arrives from the south.
Hiro has arrived.
New Years Eve. Nobody gives a second thought to another person just a little too full of festive cheer. It isn't anywhere near midnight. Nobody is supposed to have uncorked the champagne yet. Hiro must be a cracked-out loon. But there's plenty of those to go around, around these parts. Cracked out loons.
"PEEEENNNAAAH!"
And, with that, Hiro appears from nowhere. And collides with Penny.
He appears to be attempting to grapple her in some kind of terrible bone-cracking bearhug.
The cab, naturally. That's where Hiro came from. That's why it backed up and got so close to Penny and Abel. Providence.
And Penny, in those heels.
The hapless mass that is Hiro is not something she shies away from but that look on her face, that mask of a halfsmile. That charicature of horrified and forgetful glee straps itself across her entire body in a posture of absolute agony when he gets a hold of her.
And she screams.
"PiggypiggypiggyNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..god..god..god..god..oh..god."
Abel frowns and winces. "Carefull Hiro, She's hurt." He reaches around to make sure the three of them don't go over onto the ground.
Hiro read your description.
Hiro
Bad posture is to blame for Hiro's diminutive presence: with shoulders slumped and hands balled up in his pockets, he cruises closer to 5'6 than his modest 5'9. The polite might refer to him as 'big boned' or 'chubby': the fact remains, however, that he simply looks like a pig. Short, tousled black hair, a plain face that edges towards the porcine, and silent, placid brown eyes distorted to largeness by corrective lenses. His double-helix bears the tags of half a dozen southeast asian cultures, with a smattering of anglo-mutt thrown in on this side of the pacific.
In 1993, Rancid's release tour for their self-titled debut was met with a small riot in Des Moines, Iowa. The Wallgreens off of I-26 -- being the only business open at two in the morning -- was attacked by teenaged punk rockers. The pharmacy, in particular, suffered heavy damage and losses: an estimated street value of seven thousand dollars in valium, muscle relaxants, and ritalin. The on-duty pharmacist had his labcoat stripped from his shoulders during the struggle, whereupon it was appropriated by a Mod who went on to become a speed cook. The garment hanging from Hiro's shoulders, sleeves rolled back to half-conceal the chemical burns scorching the fabric, shows it's history. The blank white pin affixed at his collar, however, tells no stories.
A white t-shirt bears a black and red steer's head: ']D[' embossed in fixedsys font. Black cargo pants faded to grey collect around the tops of dingy white sneakers, many-zippered pockets cross-hatching the thighs.
"Ohmygoshsorryareyouhurt?" Hiro releases Penny immediately, then -- near-immediately, or perhaps most immediately post-immediately -- hugs her again, then releases her again, seems to get caught in some kind of dull feedback loop. Stops. Physically stutters. Blinks owlishly. His eyes have the look of a solar eclipse. "Sorry. Hi, Abel. What the fuck is going on?" Big, hesitant kid's smile.
Penny keeps Hiro close, her fingers sinking deep into arm-tissue, keeps him from breaking her in half. She asides to him, mouth more or less occluded by the bulging rim of his glasses, "It's Pobs, did a thing and" Hiro can feel whatever kind of gesture she makes. Something that signifies this thing can not be helped or sorted. "We uh.. " indicating Abel "just met." And to put a point on it, a wad of cash and business card tumbles out of the disarray of other-dress and gathered coat in Penny's arms.
Seeing that Penny is latched on to Hiro, and knowing theyu aren't going to topple any Time soon, Abel stoops down to scoop up the cash and card. He doesn't look at... it's not his business. "You should probably get her to a doctor. I'd help if I could, but, Like, I'm not good with that kind of stuff." He pauses a moment. "I bet Jane Connelly could help her."
"Oh," mubles Hiro. He frowns just faintly, squints at Abel, and runs a hand down Penny's side. Perhaps he's feeling up her ribcage. Mrowr. Cognition flickers somewhere in saucerlike eyes, a spark somewhere beneath the placid surface. "Who's the dirty roman?" he asks. Then: "N'thanks. Conelly doesn't like us much."
Penny insists, if a bit belatedly "I'm not /hurt/."
Whatever it is Penny considers herself, it's not one of the walking wounded. If you can ignore her eyeballs rolling to whites when Hiro does that thing with his hand, Penny might be covincing. "Nnn...noli me tangere," the words resurected in the harshest whisper.
Snaps. Clicks back into place. She nudges Hiro and thrusts her chin at the cash "Pocket that," snapped from whatever trance that was "doneednoquack," gritting through her teeth.
Abel hands the wad of Cash to Hiro. "Yeah... I know you guys don't." He says very little on the subject. Not that he looks like he doesn't have an opinion about the matter, but that he thinks it best to keep it to himself.
A dumb stare at the wad of money; Hiro stands there, in the middle of el ghetto, gawking like an idiot. The business card is eyeballed like some incredibly complex, intense puzzle. "Mmmyeah," he counters, dumbly. The taxi is just idling there, running up a bill -- Pig-boy looks back over his shoulder. The wad gets stuffed, haphazardly, into a pocket of his labcoat. "Talkatchoo later, honest abe. Me'n Pen need to get back to bible study." A stupid grin, as if this was some incredibly clever in-joke shared by all present. It isn't.
It is. But it isn't. "Nice ta" and Penny shows an absent twiddle of fingers. witched to autopilot, she lets Hiro take over. He moves her in a way that suggests this is practiced. Learned. Habitual. There's order here; jacket and dress balled up and thrown into the backseat then he takes both her hands. Wrapping them close to her body, he positions her backwards into the cracked pleather and lifts her wholly into the cradle of the rear bench beneath the knee.
The little perv.
Her head tips back and to the side, lolls before Hiro slams the door shut. Her forehead presses to the glass, fog of bodyheat rising in a halo around her head.
Abel nods. "Peace be With the both of you, and Providence guide your steps. And call me sometime Hiro... or come by St. Matt's. Like, we haven't talked in ages and I always enjoyed the ones we had." He pats a lump in one of his pockets. "Aaron's got me to go cellular now so I'm moch more reachable."
If you can't keep it in your pants, keep it in the cabal. There's some kind of argument with the driver, and the cab peels out.
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