Meeting people is easy... [wherein Penny meets a cop and hears voices]

You walk north along Parliament to Wellesley.
Downtown - Parliament and Wellesley E(#179RJ)

Sitting on the edge of Cabbagetown, the homes here are nearly as old as those just south of here. However, the residents themselves are a little poorer. The old townhouses crunch together along the street, their dark-brown paint jobs chipping away to reveal the weakening wooden panels beneath. One-way streets become the norm here as well, creating no end of traffic problems. Residents park on the roadside since the homes here rarely have driveways. Small variety stores, grocery stores, hair-care salons and restaurants are all common here, all within easy walking distance of the residents of this area. With clean sidewalks, freshly paved roads and the newly added plants to create a comfortable air.

Contents:
Clairance
Obvious exits:
Corso's Books The Dubliner Pub
//.etro: It is 03:37 am, the dead of night, on Saturday the 18. day of April, 2009.

Clairance is making his routine rounds along the street. The townhouses here need little police attention, of course, but the officer is eager to spot any trouble that may revolve in or around the local pub. Clairance walks with his hands clasped behind his back, his green eyes constantly surveying and scanning the area as he walks. His pace is ginger and not filled with haste, although it could not well be described as 'leisurely' either -- an average pace.

Clairance read your description.

And so little in the way of pedestrian traffic that Penny is as evident, and just about as useless, as tits on a bull in a china shop. She's loud and .. well just loud. Singing at the top of her lungs, her head enlarged by mammoth headphones, the cord dangling and looping from neck to knee. Crossing the street she narrowly avoids getting hit by a crawling cab just outside the Dubliner. The cabbie doesn't get out to check on her - just picks up his fare and moves out, business as usual. Her singing gets a little lower around a smaller crowd of university drunks, mouth moving most likely out of sync with the track. She hun-huns a few words and bursts out again somewhere around the chorus.

The officer of the law, Clairance, doesn't seem amused in the least by this. Checking the time on his watch, he then takes a healthy stride over to where the girl -- not far from his age, anyway -- is walking. Making note of the various University students in the area, he takes the moment to gently tap the girl on the shoulder and motion above his own head for her to remove the headphones. Clearing his throat, he waits for the other to comply. "Ahem." The rookie cop seems a bit nervous as his eyes glance here and there, but this should be something he can handle easily.

There is a rustle, and the sound of footsteps as Micah steps out from the shadows...
Micah has arrived.

Micah steps out from a little gaggle of folks hanging out infront of the Dubliner, he pats one of them on the shoulder and says "Thanks man..." before walking down the street, smiling.

Those other kids clear the area; cops at this hour are all business. Business they don't need, want and fear writing home about. Those kids couldn't make bail if they sold themselves. Penny, however. Let's call her reckless. Drunk and disorderly. Blissfully unaware or maybe she's just numb. Whatever the reason, she doesn't feel Clairance's cattle-prodding finger, goes on bobbing her head, starting intently at the traffic light or cross signals.

Unseen beyond the Shroud by the majority of Quick, Flay stalks along behind Penny. Looking bemused by her antics and sucking the blissful vibes trailing behind her. His face darkens and his lips curl in to a sneer as the Officer approaches.

The police officer taps Penny on the shoulder once more, a bit of a frown forming over his features. He may go as far as to grip her upon the shoulder, but not quite yet -- unless she doesn't respond, of course.

Micah strolls across the street, jaywalking. He dances through the traffic rather gracefully, comming on over to observe the Constable and the Citizin interacting. Micah is a devout Libertarian, and he would hate to see any abuses of power.

Penny jumps and whips her body around, right forearm first. They teach this sort of thing at civic centers. Put out a good strong elbow/arm and it's possible you won't get mugged. Maybe she's that side of drunk, which is why she misses and looks surprised, caught in a stumble. Turning head then shoulders and pivoting fully, Penny's other hand wrenches the headphones off her ears. With eyes half-closed she bellows "HEY why don't you watchwhoyou'rebumpin inna! Goddamn don't be all touchin'an" It's possible to sense the eye's focus through the conduit of the voice as she slows. Slower. Staring at Clairance, she mouths 'oh shit' and backs away a few steps. Lucky for her there's no oncoming traffic.

The police officer offers a bit of a smile, nodding his head at the obviously preoccupied and perhaps otherwise... engaged... woman. "Ahem. Ma'am, I think there's a slight problem here... you see, the hour is rather unfashionable for the loud noise you were creating. So, I'll have to ask you to not be quite so loud in this area... and, are you alright? If you need to get home safely... perhaps due to partying a bit much... we can arrange that for you. Don't want to see anyone getting hurt.." He clears his throat, stepping out of the way of traffic and speaking to the lady in a polite tone.

OOC> Micah says "crap i gotta go...sorry..."
Micah escapes OOC.

Wide-eyed, Penny blusters "It's perfectly appropriate! I'm GOING to a FUNERAL" red in the cheek, red in the eye - it's probably true. Granted being drunk and singing dirges isn't the most obvious way of representing - generally and traditionally it's all black clothes, black armbands, black limos and a cachet of flowers to rival any wedding.

Penny has none of these things. She has a discman, maybe an open container and a head full of steam "I'm Fine, I'm just going" a scowl creeping past her lips and into the curve of her shoulders "going to a funeral okay so just go shove a bum offa bench o ..er..or something.."

The dead have very few liberties, and thus few libritarians. Flay has a chip on his corpus when it comes to people in uniforms, 'The Man' so to speak. Seeing the growing confrontation starting to form between this nights entertainment and the bastion of the status quo he moves between them. Of cource being incoporeal and trapped beyond a veil of disbelife it would not seem to do anyone any good.

"Oh." The officer takes a step back, nodding his head at that for a moment. "I see. Well, do you need a ride or perhaps an escort? And could I still ask you to keep the noise down, mm? I am sorry for your loss, but we still have our laws I am afraid..." He nods his head at that, confident in his approach.

Penny looks up and down the block. There. There's the cruiser. Spotting it's location, Penny makes sure her destination is in the opposite direction. This? is obvious. She was walking right for it about a minute ago while she was busy singing and waking up the neighborhood. Still she carries on at an indecent decible, possibly on her way to eleven "Oh yeah, right! We chat," elongating vowels and biting off the ends of phrase "you put your arm around me, then ease out your cuffs, shove me in the backseat and I WIND UP IN PRISON and MISS the FUNERAL. Yeah right you're sorry, you're sorry.. yeah you're sorry.." hiccupping in the middle, grief interrupted "you're sooo sorry baby.." She covers her mouth and turns, leans on the nearest thing; the hood of an old plymouth and casually vomits into the space between its tires and the curb.

"I don't have any desire to arrest you, honestly. I'm about your age, and I understand how these sorts of things happen... now, where is the funeral? I'd be happy to take you there. Unfortunately, you're not really in a state to go there yourself... you could hurt yourself, or somebody else." He says with an authoritative nod, clasping his hands behind his back and offering a weak smile.

Flay reaches forward and waves a gloved hand over Clairances eyes... all unseen by the living officer and his perspective chargee.

//.etro: Flay rolls "charisma+pandemonium" at diff 7
For a total of 3 success(es) including 2 ten(s).
OOC> Clairance says "Eep. What happens?"
OOC> Flay says "Lemme explain."
OOC> Flay says "You're experiancing a momentary hallucination. Will only last a second, but will seem real. I'll @pemit the exact results."
OOC> Clairance nogs.

Penny retches, dry heaves and shrugs off Clairance's hand. She flinches, presses herself forward to the car and twists away. "Told you to lemme'lone man," spittle dropping off her chin in a long spidery vein. "JESus mary and joseph," stubbing her toe on a garbage can, she doesn't seem to notice "you can't go where I'm goin'and anyway you got no" her tone of voice angrier, swallowing whole truckloads of bile (both real and imagined) "BUSiness at a FUNEral for a body you never met so just fuck.off.and.die."

"Oh, shit!" The rookie cop is immediately on his radio and running in the direction of the shots, quick to pull his own weapon and begin an impromptu investigation.

Watching the pig in uniform scurry off in pursuit of the wyld with a smug grin, Flay wispers across the Shroud to Penny, "Better get going chick, he won't be gone long." and turns and slinks off into the night having taken his fill.

It's like Friends, only ethnic...

Pandora's Box - Pool Hall

The ceiling is set high with churning metal fans. The blades churn a thick
haze of smoke from cheap cigars and the pungent aroma of sweat mixed with stale
spilt beer. The bar runs the length of the far wall much like a saloon in an old
western. A polished brass foot-rail gleams in the fading light of the occasional
dropped match and guttering cigarette butt.
Many of the patrons watch each other with looks of a cautious calculation. Not
only are those opposite the pool table viewed with suspicion, but also the few one
might mistake as a friend. A darkness of nefarious deed reigns within the shadows
as the lighting illuminates from the mouth down. It is as though the dark conspires
to hide the intent deep within the eyes from the light of revelation. Then again
the windows to these souls only come up black.
NIGHTZONE
--> Places and view enabled. <--

Contents:
Eddie


Penny's all alone at the bar. Backlit by the jukebox, her jacket turns different
colors; blue, muddy yellow, bright orange. Everyone else seems to be enjoying their
night. peoplecleaning up at the tables, getting decent service (lip, drink and
otherwise) but not Penny. Surrounding her, a cloud of smoke and another imagined
somewhere above. The hangdog expression does a lot to explain things as do the
number of empty shot glasses lined up in front of her.

This is a long night and these are necessary evils.

Eddie walks in, he does. Counting bills already like a gremlin. Hunger forcing him
to participate in small games with small people. Perhaps not the best night scope a
joint for local suckers, given the scarcity of actual pool playing going down in this pool hall. No cocky green studs with their own sticks. Those are the easiest. Those are the ones that'd jump to throw a game Voodoo's way. Some brown dude with a stolen outfit, underfed, and dirty. Comin' in off the streets to step into a white
man's game. They'd pounce.

But they're not here tonight. So Eddie allows his gaze to drift once this is noted.


Penny shifts on the stool and the headphones looped and hanging off its back follow
gravity, slithering into a loose pile of wire and plastic on the poolhall floor.
Mingling with cigarette butts, spilled beer and the glint of canadian pennies, the
headphones tilt and open flat, kicked underfoot by someone else drunker than Penny. Drunk enough not to notice the loss or the molded pieces of plastic cracking under the pressure of a rough and stumbling foot.

She's busy, damnit. Penny is busy making a dent in their worst whiskey. Bottom of
the barrel, rot gut, acid breath. In her left hand she has poised the next shot.
Wet, dirty and possibly ashed in,her hand is listless. A boney trap of spindly long
fingers and in her right is a cigarette. Unlit.

Over to the overworked. Eddie steps to the plate, stuffing away funny colored
money. The bright pinks and reds associated with far off places. Mainly because
there's no fish in the sea tonight, he won't need the shiny lure. A moment to look
presentable as he switches over from business to one of the few remaining lords of
leisure. Dude does that thing with the licking, and his first and last finger, and
the running them over his eyebrows in different directions.

"Hija." Eddie pretends he's not quite sure it's Penny, that girl that fucked his
game. One hand holds the lapel of his jacket in place when he leans over her at the
bar. Scavenger inspecting a bit of luck.

Oh yeah, that's all you. Slick and even. And Penny? She's all tough jawed, determined. Girl's on a mission; a kind of localized vietnam; wandering through the foreign jungles of a deep, deep alcoholic persuasion. Was that a hiccup or a hello - hard to determine under the whinging of certain other elements in the thinly populated bar tonight - a younger, irresponsible crowd. They type that are always 'on something,' always paying too much for entertainment, getting ripped off by the strung-out waitress and wondering in a passive way what exactly happened to a grand in a night.

Yes, the noise peaks and coughs. Sounds that span the room before they drift down to a bass and acceptable treble. And her hand has barely moved; elbows on the bar, liquid rolling into the fleshy white space between her thumb and forefinger. "Hnn," unable to make her mouth do the talking.

"Ju lookeen..." Well, she looks like shit. "Excellente." Slime. He'd say that to anything. Eddie smiles through the layers of grease that coat his soul. 'There's
somethin' up', you'd be thinkin'. "Can I seet weet ju'?" Fingers uncoil towards the
stool over, one between the prospective bar mates. For good measure. It's all
polite, his approach. Designed specifically for an affirmative or agreeable reply
of sorts. To get him in the door. To get him closer to your paper.

Penny wraps her fingers down around the shotglass. The motion bringing to mind two very specific gestures: the first - a pitcher looking for the sweet spot on the ball and the second - combat oriented reloading, middle and index fingers finding the bottom of the glass. The middle and index tip-shoving the glass into place at the precipice of her lip. She drops her head back and makes it quick, the reflex flinch almost entirely absent - possible she's done enough she's not tasting it.

Setting down the glass to the bar Penny swipes those same two fingers across her shirt, left to right, slurring something in a vague and breakable english "Y'c'gme a li, yah."

At some point, Hiro -- a beacon of pure, shining light amidst the darkness of dark
deeds and dark thoughts ... no. Scratch that. He's just dressed like some kind of
fairy, and is wearing one of those queer temple headlamps. Regardless, he
materializes at Penny's elbow; flicking the goddamn lamp off when he notices the
brooding patrons fixing him with their steely, opaque soul-windows. Which is good,
because the illumination -- once one is accustomed to the oozing inky blackness of
darkville -- was nearly blinding.
"'ey, Pensy," he prompts.

"Como que no." The approach; worked as intended. Hannibal loves it when a job comes together. Eddie has been granted parlay, an audience with drunk party chic. A shiny loafer swings over the seat; dude plants his flag and goes for some matches. Matches with two sticks left, only one in working order. With a bit of luck, he doesn't need the second one anyways. Luck is his venue. Fire for Penny.

Boyo sits a seat over from her, allowing the stool between to act as the platonic
friend pillow guard in a sleepover. Eddie leans over to hand off the burning match.

On that side of the hall are the normal intricacies of the human condition. The simple drink, smoke and flirtation; a casual night out for a Canadian. And like those that traffic in weather and good tidings, they - Penny and Eddie and Hiro together perhaps - seem to exist on the other side of the screen. A strangeness pervades but doesn't move beyond them; the way she drinks is to excess, the way she smokes is indecent - the way she leans across the stool for the light with her whole body, a tattooed arm extended across to even out the keel, the cut of her hair falling off her face, off her wet cheek; an accident - an envelope full of glitter opening. Even the way she bends backward into Hiro before she's fully aware he's there.

"Rosy hm, this is my friennnnd" leaving an opening for an introduction.

Hiro scrubs the back of his hand across his nose, sniffing once, and offers it to
Eddie over Penny's shoulder. "'ey, whatsit," he murmurs, snapping his fingers - as
if to indicate a handshake should be immediate. He comes across as agitated and
nervous and paranoid and full of confidence - a chemical cocktail riding the horse
in place of a personality. "'s Hiro."

A gross whistling noise as Eddie's tongue sucks out the remains of his cheap dinner
from between incisors. Eddie's attention shifts to the colored pig.
The handshakes offered up, even if it forces Voodoo to touch the puerco sooner than he intended. His pace is a tad slower; his words end up waiting till all other actions
are accomplished. "How ju' doeen', 'm Eddie homes." Mexicans slaughtered his native accent in lockdown.

All hands where she can see them, Penny's eyes drift toward the bartender. The way he looks back at her says a couple of things about the place; they don't cut you off here. And they especially don't cut you off if you've got friends. Having a five second quiet moment Penny's eyes drift toward her navel, swung out and leaning half on Hiro, half on the barstool. "Same?" even as she nods yes, already with the bottle in hand, he starts refilling the shot glasses in front of her. No sense in dirtying up new ones but then she asides to the bartender "Cup'l fer these two." New glasses afterall. Lowball - they're all out of the tiny tumblers. Lazy, Penny drags and exhales across Hiro's head, working out the numbness from her tongue "Almost godlike, habatcho?"

Hiro's hand clasps, shifts, snaps off the fingertips. He rocks back on his heels as
he extracts the digit; wedging it back into his labcoat pocket. Not much movement;
just this perpetual slouch that forces him to address Eddie around -- no, more
eclipsed by -- Penny. He tilts his head to the side, regarding the lush sidelong.
"Tuesday, huh?"

Settling back into the counter, the valet. Perceptive. Inside words. Whatever they
mean. Eddie will watch for a moment, using his decoder ring went needed. Tuesday
bit, foreign. The brown man isn't hip. This allows for a brief inventory check. Pat
the jacket, bundle's there. Pat the front pant-leg pocket, keys. Taking stock. Dude
finally reaches out for the bar pretzels as gnaws on a few.

Penny finds it funny, smiles when Hiro says it. She snifs like maybe she needs to blow her nose and bobs her head back and forth; some variation of yes. When she opens her mouth to speak again, Penny already has the next shot lined up. "Was supposed to go to this funeral with Days. Plan was we get medicated," pointing this out for Eddie's edification "you can never last through those things, all those handshakes" emphasizing the word on its first syllable - /hand/, flickflicking an ash down by her knee, somewhere in the dark between the bar and Hiro's thigh "but she never came to get me so I figured," talking mostly to Hiro's orbiting head "why not stay? Chin chin old chap" annunciating tight-lipped in a laughable east-ender accent, Penny snatches a shot and knocks it down.

A hand manifests, bearing one of Daisy's cheap GPCs, and Hiro plucks Penny's
cigarette from between her fingers, using it to light his own. "Ms. A," he states,
rather than asks. He knows which funeral. "The pig said I shouldn't go." The
cigarette is offered for Penny's retrieval. "Guess I won't. He said she was
watching me." He makes a scissor-cutting motion with index and middle fingers;
snaps again. "Like she wanted to do that. Girl was crazy. Loved her, but she was
crazy."

By this time i'd assume the other two drinks P ordered had arrived. That's a
novelty, relative strangers aiding in one's inebriation. Eddie seems quite pleased
to accept the fire water when it arrives, greeting the drink with one cheeked
puffed with munched pretzels. A few remain untouched in the palm of his hand. "Very nice." Nods, he's pleasant and giving thanks despite talk of corpses. A sip to
punctuate his approval of shit whiskeys.

"That pig has a point," infering something like agreement in a low voice, fingers held still to receive the cigarette again. The bartender approaches, murmuring "My shifts's over," hedging for a tip "so maybe you wanna close out your tab?" Penny nods a little, sure-suring him but makes no moves to reach for a wallet or anything that looks like she's pulling money out. Just nods her head and lips the cigarette, continuing when he backs off "besides they /all/ are, take Jesse" for example, she implies, clipping her words "disappears for months at a time doing stuff we can't exactly y'know, talk'bout with the PTA." Penny waves her cigarette around, pontificating and rolling her eyes. Unsteady. "I mean and they want us to act surprised.. stunned... amazed? Uh uh."

Maybe it's the hour and maybe she has a bullseye on her somewhere - some invisible 'tag' sign on her back; whatever it is, it's attracting all the wrong attention and suddenly there's some acne-faced kid standing there. Wall-eyed and grinning like he's at the spring formal getting up the nerve to ask her something. Did he think she was gesturing at him? Lidded, Penny pulls herself together and rasps "What?"

"Thought maybe we could y'know, dance."

There's other people way in the back - they're "dancing" too; a few couples crushed into eachother in the dark. She reeks but Penny is nothing if not indulgent. She spins off the stool and winks broadly over her shoulder at Hiro, leaving him to get chummy with Eddie for a few. Call it a sixth sense but there's a hundred and ten percent chance she'll have the money to cover the tab and then some by the time she gets back.

Bacon and whiskey, fine company. Even if Hiro isn't a white chic. The awkward
silence of two people left at the bar together ensues. Nether know each other for
shit. Friends of friends and that. Not that he knows Penny at all ether.

Eddie looks over to Hiro. A sip of cheap booze fills the void between them. "Pal a
jers get dead recently?" There's a curious starting point.

Bitch tried ta' touch my teeth.

It seems to take her a moment to register what you said, or perhaps she is just deciding upon how to address you. Simply enough, she smiles and lifts her hand to wave, just as you did. "Hello." Her hand lowers and she looks off to her right where a lone car is driving in the distance. "Why are you out here so early? It is early, yes?" Her dark gaze sweeps over to focus on your face. The distant car turns onto another street. (Peter is seated on a bench. Mel is standing before him.)

Peter nods quickly, and says, "Yeah, it's early." He doesn't really look away from the woman, now, even as she glances at that car. He hesitates before answering finally, resting his hands on the computer, "I wanted some fresh air. I just like being outside, really. And I couldn't sleep. What about you?"

Her eyes seem to lower further to examine his hands. She shrugs and smiles up at him. "The same. I could not sleep. I have that problem..." She pauses and closes her eyes, waving a finger in thought. Suddenly her eyes open. "Insomnia. I have that. Sometimes." Again she shrugs. "Are you learning something on your laptop?" She takes a sidestep to get a view, though it is closed. Perhaps she expects him to just open it and show her.

The city bus. Hooray for public transportation. It runs all day and night. Even those ungodly hours before 8 AM. Conveniently and strategically, bus benches are placed at most major intersection to service the fleet. This one says '360' on the front, featuring an add for the Energizer Bunny. With a noxious exhale, the smog spewing rectangle comes to a halt at the local bench. Zombified, Eddie steps off as its mechanical doors open. Maybe it's too early, maybe he stayed out all night, and maybe the headphones he wears are blaring too loud. Whatever the case, this brown fellow is in his own special 'zone'. The curb holds a steady footing, as green eyes seek out the nearest street signs. The bus pulls off and burps carbon-dioxide at him.

Peter glances up as the bus pulls up, frowning a little as he sees the smoke. He looks back to the woman, then, not seeming to get the hint to open the computer. He shakes his head, "I was just writing a letter to a friend, who lives up North."

Mel looks up, North, sort of. "Oh. Yes, well I write up North all the time." She does not seem too convincing, of course. With a little twirl of her dress, she does a turn to face the offending sight, smell and sound of the bus. Her hand fans before her nose and she makes a face. "Perhaps he is an... insomniac too," she tells Peter with a half-smile of discovery. She then turns back to face the boy on the bench. "Do your parents know that you go out when it is still dark?"

Synthetic thumps leak from orange puffy headphones. Hands in pockets, Eddie starts down southward having fingered his location from the green signs. Nodding to the beats, it's a good bet he'll be deaf by 40 if he doesn't lower the volume. But his march is halted by a red light. On the corner, his fingers trail up the side of a pole in a suggestive manner. He's working on one hell of a pinky coke nail. Glancing to the left and right, safety first, it's a priority. His pink tongue runs over 14 carrot teeth as he says something to himself in a Latin based language.

Peter glances to Eddie, and then grins back to Mel at her joke. He nods, "Maybe." Then, at the last question, he shakes his head a bit with a bit of a grin. "Not really, no. But, I might not look it, but I am old enough that it doesn't really matter."

Melantha reaches down and gathers up a bit of her dress on either side, likely to aid in walking without tripping over velvet and lace. The toes of her small boots tap as she peers down at what she has uncovered. "I will leave you to that letter," she tells Peter plainly, glancing up from her feet at him. "I am going to follow him now. He seems quite oblivious to the world. That makes me curious." She nods her head toward Eddie and smiles. Oh, a little adventure. Sure.

Red light blues. This is a long one. Built to accommodate heavy traffic from the east and west. And duly, less from the north and south. So it has Eddie waiting, see. It has him standing on the corner at 6 AM. Perfect time for mumbling. What sounds like song lyrics perhaps, muffled by the obscuring sound of the beats being poured into his inner ear.

"Eu estarei esperando aqui at que eu morro."

Peter glances again towards Eddie, curious an then up to Mel again. He nods a bit, and says, "Might be dangerous, you know. But good luck." He smiles again. He opens up his laptop once more, but doesn't start typing right away.

"I would not bother if it was not dangerous. I should not even be out here right now," Melantha states with a practiced grin that is reserved for little girls licking lollipops. She lifts her hand and waves to Peter then turns on her heel to start after Eddie. Stuck at the red light. It must be fate. A few clicks of her boots and she is soon beside him, rocking back and forth with a coy sway. Her ponytail flops around to her shoulder when she not-so-sublty turns to give him a sidelong glance.

Suspect. Dubious. Girls don't approach him. Eddie doesn't like that. Maybe Eddie doesn't like girls. Maybe Eddie doesn't like humans. Maybe Eddie doesn't like anything but his headphones. And she's looking at him now. Cool under fire, dude arches a brow. That's about when the blank red 'don't walk' sign turns green. Time to step off the curb and into harm's way.

Peter smiles again to what the woman says, and nods a bit. As she turns to walk after Eddie, his curiosity won't let him do anything but watch to see what happens. He stays sitting on the bench, though, hands poised as if ready to start typing as soon as his distraction is past.

Suspicion and Melantha seem to be bedfellows, so she takes the arched brow in stride and steps off of the curb in odd time with Eddie. If he does not step, neither does she, that is the rub. Mimicing is likely one of the faster ways to get one's ass handed to them, but that is her approach nonetheless. She is smiling to herself by now, happy to be annoying someone.

Then by the time they've reached the proverbial 'other side', Eddie's aware this isn't a chance encounter. Nothing but a flaming infant falling from the sky could make him run right now; it's too early for that kind of physical exertion. However, once aboard the next concrete curb, one of the puffy orange headphones' are removed from his ear. This of course will allow him to converse in an audible and effective manner.

"Wha' ju' wan'?" Eddie's accent is unmistakably Hispanic. His southward trek doesn't waver, no. If there's to be any sort of conversation here, it's to be a mobile one.

Looking quite equal to the task, Melantha follows, in time, step for step. To the question she gasps and points at your mouth, then covering hers as she laughs. "Is that gold on your teeth? That is amazing," she coos, leaning a bit closer, one finger pointing to your teeth while another rubs at her own teeth. "How did you do that?" She is invading your space now, nearly putting her fingers into your mouth. Like ferrets, she likes shiny things.

"Wha' da fuck..." Shooing hands swat Mel's fingers from Eddie's mouth. Attacking them like invading bees with stinging intents. His neck reflexively pulls back, bringing with them his gold capped wonders. He takes a few steps away, to put a gap between the pair longer than arm's length. "Get away from me, loca." That means 'crazy'. And his eyes seem convinced of the fact. "'S a matter whichu." That's not really a question. Still he walks.

The flailing limbs and smart remarks give her pause and she stops following. Her expression is not so much defeated or sad... no, it is something more along the lines of disappointed realization. The way one looks when told that their ex-lover is sleeping with their ex-best friend. She turns a little toward the morning traffic and tilts her long neck awkwardly to peer up at a streetlamp. The pour of unnatural light causes her to look ghastly pale.

That's noted. The pale bit. But whatever just invaded Eddie's morning walk, doesn't quite compute. Strange mimes reaching for his teeth in an early haze. Weird enough to write about perhaps, but too weird to stick around for. Like a sex crime, he backs from the scene. Wondering what just happened, who that was, and why him. After a suitable distance is placed between Mel and Eddie, and with the benefit of a few comforting glances over his shoulder to make sure this would be dental molester isn't hot on his trail, his headphones are replaced to their rightful position. Leaving in his wake, a trail of electronic emissions and curled lips.

The lamppost holds a fascination that cannot be explained - nor will it be. The molester does not follow. She does not even look after you, but somewhere in the depths of her mind, if she bothered to consider it, she would be quite pleased that she disturbed the intimdating male. Bizarre...