Streetlight rave!
--
It is telling that Daisy did not have to go to any particular trouble to find a hazard-orange jumpsuit. There was one stuffed in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The hard hat, though, was an expense, and the goggles nearly cleaned out Keene's credit card, which, as Daisy found out recently, is actually taken out in Hiro's name.
All things form a perfect circle, if viewed at a certain resolution. As above, so below.
Digressions aside, Daisy herself, carrying a toolbox under one arm and looking perfectly conspicuous, is wasted out of her mind. The urban jungle is a real 'urban jungle'. Quetzals fly overhead. Peccaries dart and squeak underfoot. Bankers seen out of the corner of her eye sport jutting penis-gourds.
Hiro does not look particularly 'better' in a canvas proletarian's uniform. The hard-hat -- off-white and stamped with a faded municipal seal -- doesn't do much for him, either. He looks, really, like an overweight city technician ... which is the entire point.
Carrying a satchel made of the same rough material as his overalls, Hiro enters the financial district on foot: joining the throngs of workers milling about during their lunch break. His own eyes are concealed behind opaque Unibomber shades -- a measure to conceal his own condition, evidenced by his dime-sized pupils. The shiteating grin, however, is more difficult to obfuscate.
Disguise is not Daisy's strong suit. Disguise is especially not Daisy's strong suit when amped to the gills on any number of high-grade disassociatives, entactogens, and stimulants. The best that can be said for her disguise -- which, to her credit, manages to resemble in most details an anonymous proletarian -- is that any passers-by will describe her eyes as being entirely black, when in fact they are brght blue.
This cunning adaptation is achieved by swallowing a palmful of pills of various description, and could likely not be accomplished again.
Daisy's box contains exactly three things, in fore-to-aft order: a portable speaker (left), one (1) Walkman containing a mix tape courtesy of Hiro, and a portable speaker (right). The latter bears a Ramones sticker, which is the sum total of Daisy's contribution to this idea.
Proferrs
Shoulder to shoulder with the neverending stream of salary men, Hiro does not jostle through the crowd: he moves with the casual, bored demeanor of a working man. This is because he is concentrating, largely, on walking in a straight line: moving any faster than 'sluggish' would require more willpower than he currently posesses.
A cop car rolls past: thankfully, he doesn't even notice.
Coming to a stop at the primary intersection, Pigboy weasels his way out of the crowd of people waiting for the crosswalk signal to change; swerving towards the olive-drab traffic control box. He pauses to stare blankly at the archeologic strata of stickers and tags: retrieving a cigarette from behind his ear, and lighting it with a quick flash of a bic lighter.
Daisy and Hiro are not in the same place.
Daisy is in a primordial wilderness. Concrete totems rise up around her. The man in front of her is a duck-billed lumbering thing, and she does double-dutch over his swinging tail to avoid it. Needle-nosed pliers twist, warp, and deform in her hand, and eventually disappear entirely if not held in her peripheral vision. She has not dropped them, but their reality is, regardless, uncertain.
Coming from the other direction, she stumbles up to Hiro. Her mouth is simultaneously dry and sticky, and the air tastes like cheap salsa. Her greeting comes out as a torrent of disconnected syllables that tumble over each other in their rush toward fresh air.
"59 6F 75 61 69 69 67 68 74, 44 61 7A 65?" Hiro's lips move soundlessly against the backdrop of urban noise: a dry buzzing serving as audial backdrop to a side-vision scroll of nuclear green HEX. Subjectively.
To the rest of the street, Pigboy drags on his cigarette, uttering a perfunct query as to Daisy's well-being. He looks back over his shoulder with the inquiry, his cigarette's cherry glowing rough textured sandpaper.
The problem, Daisy realizes, is the goddamn goggles, which are covering her eyes. This is keeping her from hearing Hiro correctly. Pushing them up on her forehead, she realizes why she put them down: her pupils are black holes that have completely swallowed her irises.
Wordlessly, she holds the needle-nosed pliers at arm's length. Twisting her wrist gives the pliers enough angular momentum to be noticeable by her still barely-functional peripheral vision. Having confirmed that they still exist, she turns back toward you.
"This is going to fucking kick ass," she claims.
"I think I'm wearing Keene's shoes," Hiro responds, staring down at the black penny-loafers that have supplanted his usual footware. He hits his cigarette again, exhaling in twinned streams from his nostrils. A sharp sniff, and he holds a gloved -- swaddled might be a better term, considering that the only gloves he could find were a size and a half too large -- hand out. "The inshtrumehnt, Mish Moneypennah."
Daisy lowers her goggles. This turns the world a uniform, monochrome shade of green; reduces its complexity; makes it much easier to see. Spinning the pliers around her finger like a gunslinger, she proffers it, tip-first, to Hiro.
"Quickly, boy," she murmurs. "There's not much time."
The bolt on these boxes is a complex affair -- requiring a specific tool engineered for the purpose of opening telco and traffic control switches. Unfortunately, the engineers never foresaw the might of a pair of Stanley stainless steel electrical pliers with ridged polyurethane grip - (c) 2007, patent pending.
Hiro bows his head to accept the pliers two-handed, cigarette dangling from his lip. The pliers fit neatly around the edges of the recessed bolt, twist, and the case pops open with a muffled click. 'Holstering' the pliers in a hip pocket, he bends to unzip his knapsack; back to the crowd, cabinet open just enough for his torso to block.
"Their defenses are no match for our iron crane technique," he drones, cigarette tilting upwards as he inhales: tip again flaring to life.
Pobble stomps along the road, looking a wee bit unhappy at something. His flashy new dress flicking about his legs in the breeze. He drags a cardboard box close behind him - it being attached to his arm by a sturdy peice of string, and apparently supported by a skateboard. Still, its slow going, what with the people and the unweildy nature of the box.
Contrary to her description, Daisy is dressed in a hazard-orange jumpsuit, canary yellow hard hat, electric blue nailpolish, and nuclear green goggles. She calls this a 'disguise'. She presumably hopes to blind anyone who doubts her questionable credentials as a line worker.
She takes up a lookout position. This largely involves her sitting on her toolbox and smoking a cigarette, nervously working her fingernails into the heels of her hands.
A few people walking down the street pause to look at the strange pair, but they are trained by life to avoid strangeness, so they wander by.
Luck would have it that Pobble happens to be on the same side of the street as the daring duo. Either their disguises are too elaborate however, or he's too engrossed in personal thoughts to recognize them. The latter is suggested by the stamping of the boots against the sidewalk.
The box wobbles on its wheeled perch, bumping up as it hits uneven ground but settling out once more.
The device -- a patchwork amalgam of electronics -- is lovingly removed from the knapsack, and Hiro sets into fitting alligator clips against contacts: snapping them into place around the metal studs of individual lights' controls. He hits the power test on the timer, the cheap LCD flashing 88:88:88, 00:00:00, 00:15:00; thumbs on the drum-kit to set it to 'breakbeat', then 180 BPM. His cigarette waggles back and forth as he works, ash scattering across the front of his jumpsuit.
Daisy Inscrutable and Pigboy leap into action.
As Hiro wires together his Frankenstein of capacitors and consumer electronics, the young punk girl flips open her case. Two (2) gloves. One (2) cans of spraypaint, red. One (1) portable stereo. The gloves go on her hands. The spraypaint goes in her hands. The stereo, on the other hand, goes in the nearby trash.
There are exactly fifteen minutes of dead air on Hiro's mix tape. Then: street rave.
Flash. 88:88:88. 00:14:59..58..57--
--Hiro fixes the device in place with a strip of jagged, hastily ripped duct tape, taking pause to look back over his shoulder again. No truncheons aimed at his cranium? Good. A glance down at his wristwatch, then up to the flashing LCD display: he synchronizes, then slams the cabinet hastily shut.
"Sound system, Ms. Inscrutable." He loops a hand around the strap of his knapsack, shouldering it, and flashes a V-for-victory high-sign in Pobble's direction.
"We got ten. Let's get a big mac," he invites, eyeing the streetcorner McDonalds.
The bedressed man quirks a brow at the neon street worker. Slowing his walk as if trying to place the fellow. The momentum of the box on wheels behind him causes it to bang into his legs, and he spins about. This makes him yank the string which pulls the box off the cart. Someone says 'Ow.' in a London accent, and with string wrapped about his legs Pobble trips onto the skateboard and finds himself heading into the wall, face first.
"Ow." Is reiterated.
With a single smooth motion, Daisy drops to her knees and slams the junction box closed with her elbows. She swings both arms around in symmetrical arcs, then adds two, slightly more jerky arcs, in the middle. A short, sharp slash follows.
Red spraypaint stains grey sidewalk. It's a symbol everybody understands: a hex nut surrounded by a circle. A slash through the circle.
NO HEX NUTS, it reads, and then Daisy's signature: DI.
Exit, stage McDonalds.
-- Purchase: One Big Mac with cheese.
-- Purchase: One bathroom token.
-- Loss: One hazard-orange jumpsuit, stuffed into the toilet tank.
Hiro is gone for some three to five minutes.
Daisy exeunt.
-- Purchase: two cheeseburger meal.
-- Purchase: one bathroom token (womens).
-- Loss: one hazard-orange jumpsuit, stuffed in the toilet tank.
-- Loss: one pair goggles (expensive). Likewise in the toilet tank.
-- Loss: two cans spraypaint, two gloves. Not in the toilet tank; rather, in the
trash with the sound system.
Total cost? Fifty-five dollars.
Outside McDonalds, Hiro emerges with a hand-held camcorder; flipping the viewscreen open, and thumbing throught the options menu. "Pobs," he calls, blinking repeatedly in the impromptu drag queen's direction -- he crosses the sidewalk to thump the Brit in the shoulder with a fist, grinning like a lunatic. The Unibomber shades are gone, and his pupils have the rough appearance of twin black holes. "Call us a cab, m'man. We got an appointment - anywhere but here."
Pobble points along the street, "I'm parked just nearby as it goes mate. Was just out dress shopping." He takes hold of the edges of his dress with each hand to show off the fine appareil.
The box must've been nocked by something since it topples back to being right way up. The brit picks it up and places it back on the skateboard. "This way.." he murmers, bringing a hand up to dab at his bloody face.
Following shortly behind is Daisy, who, in the interest of disguising herself as 'not a line worker', has painted her lips anoxic blue, her face death-white, and her eyelids bruise-black. This does not prevent her acne scars from showing through.
"Let's roll, kids," she mutters.
Sure enough, just around the corner is the big huge fat fucking Pobble-hair blue Hummer v2. The transvestite cockney digs some keys out of somewhere and pops the locks ready. It flashes its lights, like a beast awakening from slumber.
Snagging the passenger-side door, Hiro hauls himself up into the industrial-grade hooptie, still fiddling with the camcorder. The door thunks solidly shut, and he looks up; waiting for Daisy and Pobble to clamber on board.
"Park't at the corner, Pobs," he requests. "I wanna get this shit on tape."
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
You follow the trail into the trees.
Oak Grove
Contents:
Cally
Paksenarrion
Connelly
Cally makes her way over before Pobble enetered and peers over.. "Hello?"
Connelly blinks after cally announces her presence, and seems to reflexivley slip her arm from around Paksen,"Oh...Hello, Cally..."
Paksenarrion sits up a little more, blinking more sleep from her eyes. Her hands reach up and pull her hair into a topknot as she finally reaches a conscious state. "Hello?"
A new arrival's nearness is heard well before it is seen, sounding like someone is dragging something through the woods. It's not immediately obvious what the noise was when Dr Steve steps into the clearing, but once he moves out further its apparent that he has a large cardboard box attached to him by a peice of string and he's dragging it along behind him.
On top of the box is a monkey in a suit, with a cigar. (l pob's Dave) The two seem to be conversing in some strange language.
Pobble says, in Enochian, "Yeah, I would have to agree."
Cally sniffs.. "oh hello Cally? " she tries to look stern. " gee aren't we bubbling over with joy?" trying to smother the grin
Connelly smirks,"Well...you surprised me is all..." She frowns as she sees pobble come in...."Greeeeeeat..." she grumbles quietly....
Paksenarrion lets out a slow breath and stands up in one motion, looking Pobble and the monkey on his box over curiously before she looks to Cally, "Friend?"
Dave stands up, sniffing just a tad and pulling the cigar from his mouth with a tiny little hand. His fingers almost don't reach around the collossal smoke and he comes close to dropping it. He doesn't tho, and taps the dark ash off the side of the box. "Evenin' ladies." he says in his south london monkey-tongue.
Cally turns and waves blinking.. and peers? monkee?
Pobble flashes a plastic over-charmed smile at Connelly, and offers a finger waggle wave to the other two. "Sorry girls, I diddn't mean to interrupt anything. Dave an I were just 'avin a walks."
Connelly sighs,"Hello, sir. Surprise you would even acknowlede me as I am...let me see...what did you call the Irish....I am not good at remembering slurs meant for me..." Her voice is icy as she looks at the doctor, ignoring his monkey...
Cally winces and looks to Paksen her face saying.. "oh no.. not here
Cally slips away to a place where she won't get in the middle
Cally has disconnected.
Pobble's face picks up a hint of a smirk but it fades off, and a bland smile condenses onto his lips.
Dave hops forward now that the box has stopped moving and sits on the edge, tapping his giant (relatively) cigar once more. "I would 'ave to suggest that it was probably nothin' nice there luv."
Pobble shrugs, hand absently reaching to the pocket-protector for a cigarette. He goes to say something, and then stops. Like a broken pull cord talking-doll, this happens again. He shrugs.
James arrives from the lake.
James has arrived.
Pobble stands at the edge of the clearing, looking.. well, disgruntled may be a good word for it. Next to him is a 4x4x4' cardboard box that is attached to him by a sturdy peice of string. Atop the box, is a monkey. Its a monkey in a suit, with a cigar, hanging off the edge of the box and hitting the side of it with his feet.
Connelly 's sitting near Paksen, giving Pobble an sort of....icy look.....
James walks in to the grove from the direction of the clear lake. He stops next to one of the thirteen trees, and tries to take in what is going on.
Dave laughs at something, shaking its little furry head.
"Lets go Dave. We're not wanted here." says Dr. Steve (Pobble). His false smile remains as he checks the box-cord.
Dave hops up, moving back to the centre of the box and sitting down, holding on tight with one monkey-hand. "How ironic." he says quietly. With that, Pobble turns to head back into the trees, dragging the seemingly not so heavy cardboard box behind him.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
It was Pobble that convinced Daisy to write her resume in 16-point Bookman Gothic, but it was Daisy who turned off the spell checker, 'on account of it don't work right'. She's carrying a sheaf of half-crumpled resumes under her arm. The first entry reads '2006-2007 Superviser: McDonalds.'
The weather is awful. Hiro is miserable.
The weather is fine. Hiro is whining.
"It smells like someone shit on the sidewalk,"
Hiro complains, pausing in mid-step to examine the sole of his sneaker - pockmarked with fossilized gum, but otherwise unmarred by inter-city fecal matter. "And this motherfucking fog." The complaints do not cease. "It's Thursday night. What the fuck are we doing here, again?"
Daisy's fine. Daisy's peachy. Daisy took two tabs, both blue, out of Hiro's dresser this morning. Daisy doesn't know they were Aleve.
She's not trudging. She's almost skipping, though not quite; she's got to keep some measure of punk dignity. "Fucking fog," she either agrees or echoes. "Like, I've gotta get another part-time job 'cause there's this sweet system on sale down at Best Buy. I'm thinkin' Zumiez wants me. Either that or, like, booth dancing."
Hiro knew they were Aleve. Hiro couldn't find his fucking Aleve this morning.
Last night, he was speaking to God. This morning, the walls were bleeding.
"We have a m'fockin system. Hand-tooled and digitally mastered. Synchronized with the music of the spheres. We can produce a bassline that sounds like Jupiter, and you want a sony motherfucking boombox."
Hiro scuffs at the sidewalk with the toe of his sneaker, frowning into the glare of neon and halogen. He's come to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk, squinting up at some seedy dive's stand. "Why don't you just get a job as a waitress or somethin'?"
Not that one. Daisy counts out a dozen steps, stops, and turns left. Through the fog, she's a black outline floating in orange neon. Strips of duct tape at the backs of her knees glint silver.
"You think you can convince J.T. to spin some fucking Ramones every once in a while?", she asks, rubbing at her nose. "You got your system all tied up with techno bullshit, and all I want is to hear my man Dee Dee every once in a while."
Hiro's pace picks up by half a click, closing the gap induced by his lagging behind. He nearly collides with a prostitute; scowling in her direction as he falls back into step beside Daisy. "You got any idea what a pain in the asscrack it is to match the fucking ramones up to another track? You can't mix the Ramones, Daisy. I mean, it's all four-four, right, but it doesn't soun' right." Hands get wedged, straight-armed, into the side pockets of his labcoat. "The fuck we goin'?"
Paksenarrion gives the pair a curious glance as she passes thru, continuing westward. Her long strides carry her past at which point she offers a polite 'Evening..' as she passes.
Music talk makes Daisy flatline. Her forehead wrinkles into nested chevrons; she folds her arms underneath her breasts, taps her foot, waits for Hiro to catch up.
"The fuck do you care?", Daisy asks, pawing through the central pocket of her hoodie. No smokes. No pills. Not even the Valium she kiped from Keene. Then, suddenly wheedling: "Yo, Hiro. You got a smoke?"
Incongruous -- or, perhaps, entirely congruent: Hiro flashes a smile, and a casual 'V' of index and middle fingers, in the direction of the woman hailing them. If kid's on a mood swing, the thing has a diesel engine. Hands unfold from his pockets; he comes to a dead stop again, offering a crumpled packet of Marlboros up to Daisy. "You got my lighter?" he asks, patting himself down.
Yes, Daisy has Hiro's lighter. No, he lent it to her. No, she hasn't pawned it yet. No, really. Zinc-plated Zippo. No decorations.
Wordlessly, she holds it up, flicks it against her thigh, and makes fire, turning a patch of fog bright orange.
Hiro gives Paksenarrion a flat, blank look, attention swinging back to Daisy. "Fuck was that?" he asks her, as if she'd know. "Quebequoithehell?" He slots two marlboros between his lips; leans forward to flare both to life, and plucks one free to offer to the younger girl. "I thought Toronto was supposed to be the friendly city."
Daisy half-shrugs; a roll of her shoulders that conveys that she doesn't care enough not to care. She puffs on the Marlboro, complains about the mythical fiberglass in their filters, complains about it being Thursday and her being Monday, complains about Keene stacking the deck so he always winds up as the Sabbath, and exhales. By the time she finishes her protracted rant -- during which you're not allowed a word in edgewise -- she's mostly finished with her cigarette.
Hiro is used to this. He nods helpfully -- or, perhaps, helplessly -- at appropriate intervals, finishing his cigarette somewhere between complaints regarding 'Monday' and '...grilled cheese sandwiches'. Hiro hates grilled cheese: he comments on this as an afterthought: "Butter shouldn't be brown." He discards his butt in the gutter, showing an environmentally conscious soul.
Daisy flicks the cherry of her cigarette with the tip of her fingernail until it finally gutters out and pockets the butt. "Fuckin' butter," she acknowledges, turning to face the door next to her.
Orange neon announces that this fine establishment is RUMP SHAKERS and that it has been OPEN SINCE 1983. It is a NIGHTCLUB.
"Maybe I should get a webcam," she muses, staring at RUMP SHAKERS neon symbol: what appears to be a crude Algonquin pictograph of a stripper.
Who is Hiro to crush the hopes and dreams of an aspiring star?
His smile is something one receives in the laundry room at the state pen.
"I told you, Daze, there's money to be made on the internet." He made a point of plucking his zippo from between Daisy's fingers while she took her cigarette: no telling when, otherwise, he'll get it back. The lighter gets dropped into a hip pocket of his cargo pants. "I've already registered junkho.org." He pronounces it 'junkoh-dawt-oarg', so as to obfuscate the spelling.”
Daisy's eyes narrow to small and suspicious slits. She stares at you dubiously, face utterly flatline.
"Or maybe I'll just take s'more quarters out of the till," she says uncertainly. It can't be that she's figured out your con. "I've got to start that shit over, though, on account of I nearly got arrested on account of some of the states the quarters are from don't even exist. The fuck is 'Mu'?"
"'sa city in Kentucky," Hiro fires back automatically. Like he'd know anything about Mu -- that's Jesse's territory. Doc Eon and the Voltraz on the Sunken Continent! Doc Eon volume five, issue 63, part 4. The pig-boy stops dead in his tracks, blinks repeatedly. "I'm out of tune," he says, blandly. He checks his watch -- "What day am I, anyway?"
"Malkhut."
Daisy's Hebrew accent is worse by far than the Mockney bullshit she affects when she's either high or thinks she's high. Sure, she can manage the hard, gutteral 'kh'; what's amazing is that she can hold it for nearly a full second.
And never mind that Malkhut isn't a day anyway.
"'least you're not Monday. You'd be stuck doin' shit for the Sabbath's dumb ass all day. And when the Sabbath is Keene, you know how bad that gits?"
"Yeah -- that's what's wrong. Let's find a place with a bathroom." Nearing the corner, Hiro looks up; nudges Daisy in the ribs. He inclines his head towards a pair of black doors crowned by a neon blue microphone. "Drop off an application. I gotta tune in wit' saturn. Maybe they'll give you a job. Nuh - holdin' the microphone, dig."
"No shit. Saturn's my favorite planet. I get to go in the K-hole," Daisy says. Kether-Hole. The Dissasociative Hole of the Supernal Crown. The sheaf of applications get folded and jammed sideways into her pocket, and she ghosts through the fog, on toward Whiskey Saigon.
Hands wedged firmly in the bottoms of his pockets, Hiro ghosts through the door Daisy-first: scanning the establishment over her shoulder. Bathrooms, bathrooms -- yeah. There. "I'll be right back, he comments, extracting a digit to thump the girl in the shoulder, and immediately abandoning her. He's making a beeline for the men's.
The blacklight highlights in her hair, not quite washed out after the last of Kid Sinister's parties, glitter green-gold. The orange and violet and shock-blue buttons on her backpack shine like spotlights. The horn-rims of her glasses glitter with spatters of day-glo orange. Even the spent glowstick dangling from her bag sputters back to life, shining green.
Cutting through the crowd, shoulders skipping off the early-evening dancers, it's obvious that she's heading for -- yeah. There. Got it. The bathrooms, right behind Hiro, whistling as though she's actually being nonchalant.
She disappears into the men's room just after he does.
A short time passes: low voices arguing, someone colliding with a stall door, and then - then, suspicious silence. A handful of minutes passes, the possibility of a bathroom quickie steadily diminishing. The door's propped open with a white sneaker, and someone -- Hiro, as he emerges -- says: "Yeah. I'll get you somethin'. Hurry up." He's replaced his spectacles with a pair of mirrored lenses nearly matching their predecessors, regarding the club with slow, wordless langour. His emergence comes in relative slow motion; nonetheless, a straight line for an out of the way booth, painfully conscious of near-collision with other patrons.
Black, of course, reflects no colour, not even ultraviolet; not even blacklight. Daisy's hoodie has been worn to asphalt grey, but it shouldn't be reflecting any light. The quarter glows green. Her name, picked out in white, glows pale violet. Those, of course, should be glowing.
But what are those tiny violet motes, scattered like flour across the front of her hoodie, falling to the ground as she walks -- conspicuously straight-shouldered-and-even -- behind Hiro?
The weather is awful. Hiro is miserable.
The weather is fine. Hiro is whining.
"It smells like someone shit on the sidewalk,"
Hiro complains, pausing in mid-step to examine the sole of his sneaker - pockmarked with fossilized gum, but otherwise unmarred by inter-city fecal matter. "And this motherfucking fog." The complaints do not cease. "It's Thursday night. What the fuck are we doing here, again?"
Daisy's fine. Daisy's peachy. Daisy took two tabs, both blue, out of Hiro's dresser this morning. Daisy doesn't know they were Aleve.
She's not trudging. She's almost skipping, though not quite; she's got to keep some measure of punk dignity. "Fucking fog," she either agrees or echoes. "Like, I've gotta get another part-time job 'cause there's this sweet system on sale down at Best Buy. I'm thinkin' Zumiez wants me. Either that or, like, booth dancing."
Hiro knew they were Aleve. Hiro couldn't find his fucking Aleve this morning.
Last night, he was speaking to God. This morning, the walls were bleeding.
"We have a m'fockin system. Hand-tooled and digitally mastered. Synchronized with the music of the spheres. We can produce a bassline that sounds like Jupiter, and you want a sony motherfucking boombox."
Hiro scuffs at the sidewalk with the toe of his sneaker, frowning into the glare of neon and halogen. He's come to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk, squinting up at some seedy dive's stand. "Why don't you just get a job as a waitress or somethin'?"
Not that one. Daisy counts out a dozen steps, stops, and turns left. Through the fog, she's a black outline floating in orange neon. Strips of duct tape at the backs of her knees glint silver.
"You think you can convince J.T. to spin some fucking Ramones every once in a while?", she asks, rubbing at her nose. "You got your system all tied up with techno bullshit, and all I want is to hear my man Dee Dee every once in a while."
Hiro's pace picks up by half a click, closing the gap induced by his lagging behind. He nearly collides with a prostitute; scowling in her direction as he falls back into step beside Daisy. "You got any idea what a pain in the asscrack it is to match the fucking ramones up to another track? You can't mix the Ramones, Daisy. I mean, it's all four-four, right, but it doesn't soun' right." Hands get wedged, straight-armed, into the side pockets of his labcoat. "The fuck we goin'?"
Paksenarrion gives the pair a curious glance as she passes thru, continuing westward. Her long strides carry her past at which point she offers a polite 'Evening..' as she passes.
Music talk makes Daisy flatline. Her forehead wrinkles into nested chevrons; she folds her arms underneath her breasts, taps her foot, waits for Hiro to catch up.
"The fuck do you care?", Daisy asks, pawing through the central pocket of her hoodie. No smokes. No pills. Not even the Valium she kiped from Keene. Then, suddenly wheedling: "Yo, Hiro. You got a smoke?"
Incongruous -- or, perhaps, entirely congruent: Hiro flashes a smile, and a casual 'V' of index and middle fingers, in the direction of the woman hailing them. If kid's on a mood swing, the thing has a diesel engine. Hands unfold from his pockets; he comes to a dead stop again, offering a crumpled packet of Marlboros up to Daisy. "You got my lighter?" he asks, patting himself down.
Yes, Daisy has Hiro's lighter. No, he lent it to her. No, she hasn't pawned it yet. No, really. Zinc-plated Zippo. No decorations.
Wordlessly, she holds it up, flicks it against her thigh, and makes fire, turning a patch of fog bright orange.
Hiro gives Paksenarrion a flat, blank look, attention swinging back to Daisy. "Fuck was that?" he asks her, as if she'd know. "Quebequoithehell?" He slots two marlboros between his lips; leans forward to flare both to life, and plucks one free to offer to the younger girl. "I thought Toronto was supposed to be the friendly city."
Daisy half-shrugs; a roll of her shoulders that conveys that she doesn't care enough not to care. She puffs on the Marlboro, complains about the mythical fiberglass in their filters, complains about it being Thursday and her being Monday, complains about Keene stacking the deck so he always winds up as the Sabbath, and exhales. By the time she finishes her protracted rant -- during which you're not allowed a word in edgewise -- she's mostly finished with her cigarette.
Hiro is used to this. He nods helpfully -- or, perhaps, helplessly -- at appropriate intervals, finishing his cigarette somewhere between complaints regarding 'Monday' and '...grilled cheese sandwiches'. Hiro hates grilled cheese: he comments on this as an afterthought: "Butter shouldn't be brown." He discards his butt in the gutter, showing an environmentally conscious soul.
Daisy flicks the cherry of her cigarette with the tip of her fingernail until it finally gutters out and pockets the butt. "Fuckin' butter," she acknowledges, turning to face the door next to her.
Orange neon announces that this fine establishment is RUMP SHAKERS and that it has been OPEN SINCE 1983. It is a NIGHTCLUB.
"Maybe I should get a webcam," she muses, staring at RUMP SHAKERS neon symbol: what appears to be a crude Algonquin pictograph of a stripper.
Who is Hiro to crush the hopes and dreams of an aspiring star?
His smile is something one receives in the laundry room at the state pen.
"I told you, Daze, there's money to be made on the internet." He made a point of plucking his zippo from between Daisy's fingers while she took her cigarette: no telling when, otherwise, he'll get it back. The lighter gets dropped into a hip pocket of his cargo pants. "I've already registered junkho.org." He pronounces it 'junkoh-dawt-oarg', so as to obfuscate the spelling.”
Daisy's eyes narrow to small and suspicious slits. She stares at you dubiously, face utterly flatline.
"Or maybe I'll just take s'more quarters out of the till," she says uncertainly. It can't be that she's figured out your con. "I've got to start that shit over, though, on account of I nearly got arrested on account of some of the states the quarters are from don't even exist. The fuck is 'Mu'?"
"'sa city in Kentucky," Hiro fires back automatically. Like he'd know anything about Mu -- that's Jesse's territory. Doc Eon and the Voltraz on the Sunken Continent! Doc Eon volume five, issue 63, part 4. The pig-boy stops dead in his tracks, blinks repeatedly. "I'm out of tune," he says, blandly. He checks his watch -- "What day am I, anyway?"
"Malkhut."
Daisy's Hebrew accent is worse by far than the Mockney bullshit she affects when she's either high or thinks she's high. Sure, she can manage the hard, gutteral 'kh'; what's amazing is that she can hold it for nearly a full second.
And never mind that Malkhut isn't a day anyway.
"'least you're not Monday. You'd be stuck doin' shit for the Sabbath's dumb ass all day. And when the Sabbath is Keene, you know how bad that gits?"
"Yeah -- that's what's wrong. Let's find a place with a bathroom." Nearing the corner, Hiro looks up; nudges Daisy in the ribs. He inclines his head towards a pair of black doors crowned by a neon blue microphone. "Drop off an application. I gotta tune in wit' saturn. Maybe they'll give you a job. Nuh - holdin' the microphone, dig."
"No shit. Saturn's my favorite planet. I get to go in the K-hole," Daisy says. Kether-Hole. The Dissasociative Hole of the Supernal Crown. The sheaf of applications get folded and jammed sideways into her pocket, and she ghosts through the fog, on toward Whiskey Saigon.
Hands wedged firmly in the bottoms of his pockets, Hiro ghosts through the door Daisy-first: scanning the establishment over her shoulder. Bathrooms, bathrooms -- yeah. There. "I'll be right back, he comments, extracting a digit to thump the girl in the shoulder, and immediately abandoning her. He's making a beeline for the men's.
The blacklight highlights in her hair, not quite washed out after the last of Kid Sinister's parties, glitter green-gold. The orange and violet and shock-blue buttons on her backpack shine like spotlights. The horn-rims of her glasses glitter with spatters of day-glo orange. Even the spent glowstick dangling from her bag sputters back to life, shining green.
Cutting through the crowd, shoulders skipping off the early-evening dancers, it's obvious that she's heading for -- yeah. There. Got it. The bathrooms, right behind Hiro, whistling as though she's actually being nonchalant.
She disappears into the men's room just after he does.
A short time passes: low voices arguing, someone colliding with a stall door, and then - then, suspicious silence. A handful of minutes passes, the possibility of a bathroom quickie steadily diminishing. The door's propped open with a white sneaker, and someone -- Hiro, as he emerges -- says: "Yeah. I'll get you somethin'. Hurry up." He's replaced his spectacles with a pair of mirrored lenses nearly matching their predecessors, regarding the club with slow, wordless langour. His emergence comes in relative slow motion; nonetheless, a straight line for an out of the way booth, painfully conscious of near-collision with other patrons.
Black, of course, reflects no colour, not even ultraviolet; not even blacklight. Daisy's hoodie has been worn to asphalt grey, but it shouldn't be reflecting any light. The quarter glows green. Her name, picked out in white, glows pale violet. Those, of course, should be glowing.
But what are those tiny violet motes, scattered like flour across the front of her hoodie, falling to the ground as she walks -- conspicuously straight-shouldered-and-even -- behind Hiro?
Friday, February 07, 2003
Pobble's head falls back until he's able to view Abel.
"Do you do?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest. His right hand fingers crawl across his left hand to the wrist and rub there, flaking off what looks to be dried blood.
"You should try. As a meeting ritual for our Cabal. Meet and greet.. I made it just for you.."
Abel shakes his head to Pob. "'Fraid not, but, like, thanks for the offer. I gave all that up when I first left 'Frisco." It doesn't look like he has fond memories of that part of his life.
This new abundance of objects appears to confuse Daisy. Surrounded in a landslide of smoking matterials, she makes feeble grabs out toward the joint. Finally, she catches hold of it, takes a single, long drag and passes it over toward Pobble.
"No shit, you're from the Bay, too?", she asks, then echoes, to Hiro, "No shit. He's from the bay, too."
Pobble takes the beast, managing to catch some falling burningness on his hand. Doesn't seem to bother him. He takes only a small draw, his eyes showing that perhaps he's already where he needs to be. Still, he makes another offer to Abel. "We left Frisco too. Brought it with tho." he scrunches up his nose again, sniffing before retracting the offer for long enough to have another small drag. "Sure?"
Hiro's eyes appear to be crossing. He stares up at the field of stars, blinking slowly, and slowly sinks backwards onto his elbows; exhaling in a long, narrow stream. "Zesty condiment, Pob my man," he congradulates the chemist, eyes rolling backwards to fix on a half-eclipsed approximation of Abel's eyes and forehead. "From the bay," he declares, extending a fist towards Abel; presumably to be thumped. "My -man-."
Abel nods to Pob and grins. "I'm sure." He thumps Hiro's proffered fist.
Very well. The blue meanie heads on back to Hiro.
Hiro's hand twists away, accepts the indigo zeppelin with an overdramatic flourish. "Muchos grassyass," he thanks Pobble, or -- perhaps -- merely states: the local choice of seating will result in a great deal of grassy asses. Another murderous drag, albeit slightly more casual, and he passes it off to Daisy again. "Whatchoo on, anyway?" he asks the punk girl, smoke curling out around the words.
"Blue. Thing," Daisy says. Obviously, she's on some kind of coherent speech inhibitors.
Pobble grins up at the sky. "Toldyaso." he says. Something seems to occur to him at that moment and he rolls over onto his belly to stare at Abel. "Where the hell did this Realm come from by the way?"
"S'huge," Daisy comments. "Hope the Nodes aren't here in Toronto."
Abel shrugs and talks with Pob, though he seems just a bit confused and amused by Hiro and Daisy. "Don't know. I think maybe one of the nodes are in Toronto, though."
Hiro's eyes roll about in their sockets of their own volition. He waves a hand meaninglessly. "Been thinking," he comments - uh oh; here it comes. His finger points, apparently to his surprise, at Abel. "You know anything about gnosticism, m'man?" Lovely. Completely lovely.
Pobble sighs semi-inaudiably and relaxes back onto his back. His eyes close and he zones out, concentrating only on the voices of those around him so that they are all that's real.
"Fuckin' Gnosticism," Daisy agrees, bobbing her head in time with Hiro's inquiry.
Abel shrugs a little to Hiro. "A little. Learning with the Chorus you pick up a bit on things like that." He grins. "What's the question?"
Hiro snaps his fingers in Daisy's direction, a nonverbal indication of her bogarting the furry blue wyrm. "Ah, yeah," he continues, gaze rotating to fix on Abel again. "So, the gnostic premise, right, is that the god that lords over us here, he's this like blind idiot type, right, like Cthulhu-style blind idiot god. Right. So. I was readin' the bible, 'cuz I blew the transformer outside our hotel and I was up, so - yeah. Dig: Genesis, right. All this shit about the earth and beasts'n, hell, Man takes a day just to cook up on his lonesome, for our great biochemist in the sky. But, like, no attention to the heavens. Totally glossed over. Firmament and all dat nonsense, you dig, but no mention of other worlds, other stars, et cetera et cetera." He's obviously rambling; it'll be a bit before he gets to his point.
The furry blue thing is rapidly shrinking throughout Hiro's speech, as though she's resolved not to exhale until he's finished talking. Lungs hardened to bricks of ash and scar by chainsmoking, she's able to take in a surprising amount of smoke before exhaling.
Abel is sitting with the Invisible College. "Well it's something like that," he answers Hiro.
Rhiamon wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Rhiamon has arrived.
Millia walks from the forest, carefully picking her way though it as she heads into the fields. She must be in a good mood as seh is humming softly to herself as she strolls along/
Rhiamon returns to the grasslands, and strolls along the established path, idling picking a stalk of grass, and swishing it through the night air.
Siomen steps out of the ruins with Geero in hand, he glances around slowly
"So: islike," Hiro is sprawled out on the grass, snapping frantically at Daisy for the relinquishment of his furry blue joint. Pobble is kicked back somewhere near his feet, eyes closed and zoning out. He's speaking to Abel; struggling to convey some complex concept. "Now, yeah, dig, I'm not an atheist or nothin', def. not gnostic, kinda a-gnostic, agnostic, you dig." A-gnostic. Counter to thought. What an amusing slip. "But, rez, maybe th' reason that gets glossed over in the bible is 'cuz this demiurge, this sub-god, the bloke who like mindlessly, needlessly tortures us, he only has dominion over the Earth. Right? You diggin' this? He glosses over the heavens, there's that whole lack o' data in the bible, 'cuz he doesn't recognize them. Because his vision is, wotsit, occluded. Pretty much every astronaut who's left Earth's talked 'bout this feeling'f immense peace, calm, they come back talking all this 'one world, one people' stuff, dig. Maybe they get in contact with the real deal up there, the over-god."
Rhiamon waves her grass stalk to Millia and Siomen, never forgetting Geero, as they come into her field of vision.
Abel considers Hiro for a moment. "Well, as a Monist, I believe in only One God... Men and women wrote the bible. And just because something may be missing from it doesn't mean it was never written or never there. There are gnostic books and all sorts of religious works out there that never made it into the bible. The Chorus looks at Gilgamesh as one of theirs and he deffinitely traveled to other worlds."
Millia seeing Abel and Rhiamon smiles and waves to them both. She stops just behind Abel listening in on the current topic of conversation.
Siomen nods to Rhiamon and smiles, he glances to the others and tilts his head, only catching part of the conversation at hand, sounds interesting.
Abel reaches a hand over his shoulder for Millia to take and smiles at her. "Hey Millia, The One's peace be with you." He nods to Siomen. "Hey Siomen, Geero, long time no see."
Hiro mulls this over wordlessly, eyes returning to the starry void overhead.
"Stephenson -- Neal Stephenson, you dig. He cloaked the entire concept in science fiction, but he believed that the old testament was guarded religiously, so to speak, kinda like, keepin' backups. Maintaining clean data. They tried't again at the end'f the bible, unnerstand: the whole 'pox upon thee' spiel to dis-dis-uh-courage, discourage people from altering the data. You think the information quarantine, the whole upkeep of the torah and the old testament broke down? That it's 'dirty' now, rez -- infected with opposing memes?"
Kid's totally out of it. It's doubtful he's noticed the new arrivals.
"On account of they're outside the range of the Sphere of the Archons. Dig: they call them the Lords of the Air. Satan. One of his titles is: 'Lord of the Upper Air'. Maybe it's vacuum," Daisy speculates. She's really reaching here; she waves the joint in the air, as though clearer thoughts could be summoned up from its vapour.
After a contemplative moment, she continues: "You plot all this shit out in gematria -- I don't do gematria, mostly, my man Hiro here does gematria -- and you come up with this: YHVH is balanced. In Y-H-V-H, Yod has a value of ten billion: the apotheotic ten. 10^10. Look that up on the charts, and you find it's a multiple of the firmament; the air itself. Hod has a value of the apotheotic eight. That's the same value as Earth. Which is why Y and H are together. Y-H. Heaven and Earth. V-H are his lesser domains: the fire and the waters, one of which he created the djinn out of, and the latter of which he moved upon. God moved upon the waters. No power over the waters, dig? On account of that he had to get them out of his way. Which is why when you're in a bathtub full of ice water or in space, the Archons can't see you."
Daisy is speaking at the same time as Hiro. It's difficult to pick out either's words.
"But all those are false elements. Which is why 'Elohim' -- six letters -- is the true name of God. Yod-heh-vau-heh is a decoy for idiots."
Siomen continues to listen to the conversation and frowns as he tries to puzzle out what the guy is going on about, he nods to Abel "it has been awhile"
Geero is totally fixated on the stalk and attempts to swat at it like a kitten.
Rhiamon grins, and weaves a figure of eight with the grass round Geero's paws, watching him swat at it. "Siomen ? I think his reflexes are improving.."
Siomen smiles "you've noticed, i have been trying to improve his gear systems little by little, but he is actully doing half the improving himself, like a child learning and tracking familiar patterns"
Millia takes Abel's hand smiling using it as a balance as she sits down with the group, "May the One's peace be with you as well. Interesting topic of discussion today."
Pobble looks pretty comatose.
Out of it for sure. Sleeping. A big throaty snore bursts from his lips and wakes him with a start. He sits up straight, having the grace to look embarrassed. He whistles to himself, very very quietly and shuffles back in the little group to make room for any potential sitting newcommers. "I agree wholeheartedly." he comments. A nod. A cigarette. Bosh.
Abel continues to consider Hiro and Daisy, and looking like he's enjoying the amount of thought going into the discussion. "Like, I'm afraid I don't know Gematria but I know some people who do in kind of an off hand way. And I've never read this stephenson guy. I don't know if the Bible and Torah were quarentined like you say, but if they were suposed to be, then with Translation, yeah it's been 'dirtied.' Part of the reason the translation to the vulgate from latin was because the information might be changed... not because, like, it was putting the info away from the priests and clergy to the masses.
Rhiamon beams at Geero, and rubs his head affectionately, adding absently, "And it wasn't written in Latin to start with. That was a couple of translations down the line..."
Abel shakes his head. "I don't think that was the main reason, Siomen. Orthodoxy is tricky stuff. Maybe some thought that way, though."
Hiro's head twists, his eyes roll, and this all comes to a head in some kind of half-assed focusing upon Siomen. "Nrrrgh," he ammends eloquently, undergoing a convolution of limbs to carpe malus: seizing Pobble's cigarette from between his fingers, and taking a prolonged, soddening drag before carelessly handing it back. "You should dig on Gematria, Abel-man," he recommends. "Shit. Fuckin' -- shit, yeah, and Stephenson. Memes-as-demons, man. Crazy." And he collapses back into the grass.
"Its all like that movie." Pob interjects. "With the guy who sees the bleeding woman in mehico.. an the bloody woman on the bed, and in the tube train." He nods, making perfect sense to himself. A big drag on that cigarette. The short sleep seems to have regressed his consciousness stakes just a little bit.
Rhiamon looks at Pobble, "Stigmata ?"
A big drag on nothing, since Hiro steals the cigarette just as he goes to smoke. Pobble doesn't notice. He looks to Rhiamon, "Where? Oh. Right. Yeah. Maybe."
Siomen looks at Abel "well think about it, most religions were not even born until Christianity was converted to English, mostly because the common man had never the choice to follow anything else. When Christianity was Latin, the common man listened to this priest and went, ok, i don't understand what he is saying, what he must be saying is right since God is who he follows. They followed because they believed what they were listening too was the correct path, Even if to them it was gibberish. When they actully converted it to English or Latin became a more common language to the populace, religions were born because people finally had a choice.. no i don't want to follow christianity because now i understand that i don't agree with the views"
"Look, it's easy to prove," Daisy says to Abel, as though explaining simple math to a child. The joint wobbles between her fingers and nearly falls into the pile of cigarettes at her feet. She's nodding as though she agrees. After a moment, she begins in on the explanation:
"The nature of matter is reproduction and degeneration. The, uh, heresiarch" -- she seems uncertain about the pronunciation of that word "-- the heresiarch Valentinius wrote 'Mirrors and fatherhood are deplorable, on account of they unnecessarily reproduce the material world'. He meant that the reproduction of material things degrades its essence. So if the essence of the Bible is reproduced into many forms, its essence becomes degraded, even if the words don't change. Which is why, uh, mass production is, uh, destroying nature; the Platonic essence, the ur-object, is being, uh, spread into these /objects/, man, and --"
She stops.
"-- shit. Where was I?"
Rhiamon rolls her eyes slightly, "Christianity isn't exactly an old religion.."
"You were giving me that joint," prompts Hiro, having totally lost the thread of conversation.
Pobble takes the cigarette back from Hiro and promptly drops it with a coughing fit. He looks at Siomen. "Say what? Most religeons were not pre-english Christianity?" he sounds incredulous, and cockney. Similar to how street vendors in london sound when they ask you who else would have such incredible deals.
Siomen glances at Pobble "I took christianity as an example you can place the same ideals on other religions too, and expecually look at the ones where it is not known to general populations, like witchdoctors in tribes, the whole tribe follows what a witch doctor perscribes because they have no clue how he is getting his information and so assumes it the right path because they do not understand it"
Rhiamon looks at the people sprawled on the grass. "I take it you're Invisible College members..?" she enquires.
Pobble nods vigourously, streching his legs back out as he sucks the last of the cigarette. Reaching up at this opposite angle, he plucks the last of the blue meanie from Daisy's fingers and hands it off to the pawing Hiro. "Indeed we are." His smile widens, "How on earth did you guess?" it continues to widen, until threatening to split his face before realizing its overstepped its bounds and relaxing.
"Of course, this isn't all of us."
Hiro had given up on the endeavor; slumping back down into the grass. It's very likely that his eyes are, in fact, literally wobbling -- a kind of lazy decaying orbit wobble -- in their sockets; scrutinizing the joint suddenly delivered into his hands. Why didn't he just snatch it up himself? "Much obligated," he mutters at Pobble. Obliged? Settling into place, he begins the decimation of the beast.
Rhiamon says "Well, there's two new cabals in town, 's far as I can tell. One Eastern, one not. You don't look eastern to me..". She turns back in time to twith the stalk from Geero's hand, and grins as he beeps indignantly at her.
"Sorry matey, but I notice we're being rude. Didjoo want any of the blueness?" he makes a vague gesture to the side, the wrong side. Correcting himself he motions to the large blue beast that Hiro has in his possession.
Rhiamon shakes her head, "No thanks. I work in language. Don't like it smothered..
Pobble wrinkles his nose at that.
Pobble says something in a language you don't understand.
"Neurolinguistic," it's amazing Hiro gets that word off, "programming?" The question has a hopeful slant to it; he probably wants someone to rant at about 'deep structures'. Daisy thought those were subterranean houses. The blue meanie is nearly decimated, now, anyway; he passes it off to Pobble.
Rhiamon raises an eyebrow. "I noticed a deterioration in your pronunciation a while back."
Pobble it seems just wanted to show off his cognitive abilities. He looks pretty wasted, but then you saw him earlier. He seems both more and less wired now. He sucks on the corpse of the joint in silence.
Rhiamon raises an eyebrow. She says something in a language you don't understand.
"That was choice of essence. I should reiterate. Language is hardly smothered by the intake of *all* foreign essence. Look at musical genius and Shakespeare's psychoactive habit,” sayeth Pobble.
Hiro looks between the two, entirely flabbergasted, and shrugs wordlessly. He collapses back into the grass, eyes rolling back in his head.
Rhiamon shrugs. "I'm not used to taking foreign substances. Well..except for mead."
Pobble says, "There's a lot to be said for it. A whole kaboodle. Its effects on the thought structures have a great impact on reality potential." A phone starts ringing from within one of Dr Steve's pockets. He reaches in and extracts it, the ring tone has a techno vibe to it and is sampled. One of those overly fancy and expensive phones. "Hallo?" he says into the device. "Oi oi monks." Nodding follows, with some muttering, and Pobble stands up. "Shit."
Pobble brushes himself down and tosses the last of the blue meanie to Hiro. "Pigboy, I need to go and pick up my Monkey. He's double parked in the box and has spotted encroaching police personages.
"Do you do?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest. His right hand fingers crawl across his left hand to the wrist and rub there, flaking off what looks to be dried blood.
"You should try. As a meeting ritual for our Cabal. Meet and greet.. I made it just for you.."
Abel shakes his head to Pob. "'Fraid not, but, like, thanks for the offer. I gave all that up when I first left 'Frisco." It doesn't look like he has fond memories of that part of his life.
This new abundance of objects appears to confuse Daisy. Surrounded in a landslide of smoking matterials, she makes feeble grabs out toward the joint. Finally, she catches hold of it, takes a single, long drag and passes it over toward Pobble.
"No shit, you're from the Bay, too?", she asks, then echoes, to Hiro, "No shit. He's from the bay, too."
Pobble takes the beast, managing to catch some falling burningness on his hand. Doesn't seem to bother him. He takes only a small draw, his eyes showing that perhaps he's already where he needs to be. Still, he makes another offer to Abel. "We left Frisco too. Brought it with tho." he scrunches up his nose again, sniffing before retracting the offer for long enough to have another small drag. "Sure?"
Hiro's eyes appear to be crossing. He stares up at the field of stars, blinking slowly, and slowly sinks backwards onto his elbows; exhaling in a long, narrow stream. "Zesty condiment, Pob my man," he congradulates the chemist, eyes rolling backwards to fix on a half-eclipsed approximation of Abel's eyes and forehead. "From the bay," he declares, extending a fist towards Abel; presumably to be thumped. "My -man-."
Abel nods to Pob and grins. "I'm sure." He thumps Hiro's proffered fist.
Very well. The blue meanie heads on back to Hiro.
Hiro's hand twists away, accepts the indigo zeppelin with an overdramatic flourish. "Muchos grassyass," he thanks Pobble, or -- perhaps -- merely states: the local choice of seating will result in a great deal of grassy asses. Another murderous drag, albeit slightly more casual, and he passes it off to Daisy again. "Whatchoo on, anyway?" he asks the punk girl, smoke curling out around the words.
"Blue. Thing," Daisy says. Obviously, she's on some kind of coherent speech inhibitors.
Pobble grins up at the sky. "Toldyaso." he says. Something seems to occur to him at that moment and he rolls over onto his belly to stare at Abel. "Where the hell did this Realm come from by the way?"
"S'huge," Daisy comments. "Hope the Nodes aren't here in Toronto."
Abel shrugs and talks with Pob, though he seems just a bit confused and amused by Hiro and Daisy. "Don't know. I think maybe one of the nodes are in Toronto, though."
Hiro's eyes roll about in their sockets of their own volition. He waves a hand meaninglessly. "Been thinking," he comments - uh oh; here it comes. His finger points, apparently to his surprise, at Abel. "You know anything about gnosticism, m'man?" Lovely. Completely lovely.
Pobble sighs semi-inaudiably and relaxes back onto his back. His eyes close and he zones out, concentrating only on the voices of those around him so that they are all that's real.
"Fuckin' Gnosticism," Daisy agrees, bobbing her head in time with Hiro's inquiry.
Abel shrugs a little to Hiro. "A little. Learning with the Chorus you pick up a bit on things like that." He grins. "What's the question?"
Hiro snaps his fingers in Daisy's direction, a nonverbal indication of her bogarting the furry blue wyrm. "Ah, yeah," he continues, gaze rotating to fix on Abel again. "So, the gnostic premise, right, is that the god that lords over us here, he's this like blind idiot type, right, like Cthulhu-style blind idiot god. Right. So. I was readin' the bible, 'cuz I blew the transformer outside our hotel and I was up, so - yeah. Dig: Genesis, right. All this shit about the earth and beasts'n, hell, Man takes a day just to cook up on his lonesome, for our great biochemist in the sky. But, like, no attention to the heavens. Totally glossed over. Firmament and all dat nonsense, you dig, but no mention of other worlds, other stars, et cetera et cetera." He's obviously rambling; it'll be a bit before he gets to his point.
The furry blue thing is rapidly shrinking throughout Hiro's speech, as though she's resolved not to exhale until he's finished talking. Lungs hardened to bricks of ash and scar by chainsmoking, she's able to take in a surprising amount of smoke before exhaling.
Abel is sitting with the Invisible College. "Well it's something like that," he answers Hiro.
Rhiamon wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Rhiamon has arrived.
Millia walks from the forest, carefully picking her way though it as she heads into the fields. She must be in a good mood as seh is humming softly to herself as she strolls along/
Rhiamon returns to the grasslands, and strolls along the established path, idling picking a stalk of grass, and swishing it through the night air.
Siomen steps out of the ruins with Geero in hand, he glances around slowly
"So: islike," Hiro is sprawled out on the grass, snapping frantically at Daisy for the relinquishment of his furry blue joint. Pobble is kicked back somewhere near his feet, eyes closed and zoning out. He's speaking to Abel; struggling to convey some complex concept. "Now, yeah, dig, I'm not an atheist or nothin', def. not gnostic, kinda a-gnostic, agnostic, you dig." A-gnostic. Counter to thought. What an amusing slip. "But, rez, maybe th' reason that gets glossed over in the bible is 'cuz this demiurge, this sub-god, the bloke who like mindlessly, needlessly tortures us, he only has dominion over the Earth. Right? You diggin' this? He glosses over the heavens, there's that whole lack o' data in the bible, 'cuz he doesn't recognize them. Because his vision is, wotsit, occluded. Pretty much every astronaut who's left Earth's talked 'bout this feeling'f immense peace, calm, they come back talking all this 'one world, one people' stuff, dig. Maybe they get in contact with the real deal up there, the over-god."
Rhiamon waves her grass stalk to Millia and Siomen, never forgetting Geero, as they come into her field of vision.
Abel considers Hiro for a moment. "Well, as a Monist, I believe in only One God... Men and women wrote the bible. And just because something may be missing from it doesn't mean it was never written or never there. There are gnostic books and all sorts of religious works out there that never made it into the bible. The Chorus looks at Gilgamesh as one of theirs and he deffinitely traveled to other worlds."
Millia seeing Abel and Rhiamon smiles and waves to them both. She stops just behind Abel listening in on the current topic of conversation.
Siomen nods to Rhiamon and smiles, he glances to the others and tilts his head, only catching part of the conversation at hand, sounds interesting.
Abel reaches a hand over his shoulder for Millia to take and smiles at her. "Hey Millia, The One's peace be with you." He nods to Siomen. "Hey Siomen, Geero, long time no see."
Hiro mulls this over wordlessly, eyes returning to the starry void overhead.
"Stephenson -- Neal Stephenson, you dig. He cloaked the entire concept in science fiction, but he believed that the old testament was guarded religiously, so to speak, kinda like, keepin' backups. Maintaining clean data. They tried't again at the end'f the bible, unnerstand: the whole 'pox upon thee' spiel to dis-dis-uh-courage, discourage people from altering the data. You think the information quarantine, the whole upkeep of the torah and the old testament broke down? That it's 'dirty' now, rez -- infected with opposing memes?"
Kid's totally out of it. It's doubtful he's noticed the new arrivals.
"On account of they're outside the range of the Sphere of the Archons. Dig: they call them the Lords of the Air. Satan. One of his titles is: 'Lord of the Upper Air'. Maybe it's vacuum," Daisy speculates. She's really reaching here; she waves the joint in the air, as though clearer thoughts could be summoned up from its vapour.
After a contemplative moment, she continues: "You plot all this shit out in gematria -- I don't do gematria, mostly, my man Hiro here does gematria -- and you come up with this: YHVH is balanced. In Y-H-V-H, Yod has a value of ten billion: the apotheotic ten. 10^10. Look that up on the charts, and you find it's a multiple of the firmament; the air itself. Hod has a value of the apotheotic eight. That's the same value as Earth. Which is why Y and H are together. Y-H. Heaven and Earth. V-H are his lesser domains: the fire and the waters, one of which he created the djinn out of, and the latter of which he moved upon. God moved upon the waters. No power over the waters, dig? On account of that he had to get them out of his way. Which is why when you're in a bathtub full of ice water or in space, the Archons can't see you."
Daisy is speaking at the same time as Hiro. It's difficult to pick out either's words.
"But all those are false elements. Which is why 'Elohim' -- six letters -- is the true name of God. Yod-heh-vau-heh is a decoy for idiots."
Siomen continues to listen to the conversation and frowns as he tries to puzzle out what the guy is going on about, he nods to Abel "it has been awhile"
Geero is totally fixated on the stalk and attempts to swat at it like a kitten.
Rhiamon grins, and weaves a figure of eight with the grass round Geero's paws, watching him swat at it. "Siomen ? I think his reflexes are improving.."
Siomen smiles "you've noticed, i have been trying to improve his gear systems little by little, but he is actully doing half the improving himself, like a child learning and tracking familiar patterns"
Millia takes Abel's hand smiling using it as a balance as she sits down with the group, "May the One's peace be with you as well. Interesting topic of discussion today."
Pobble looks pretty comatose.
Out of it for sure. Sleeping. A big throaty snore bursts from his lips and wakes him with a start. He sits up straight, having the grace to look embarrassed. He whistles to himself, very very quietly and shuffles back in the little group to make room for any potential sitting newcommers. "I agree wholeheartedly." he comments. A nod. A cigarette. Bosh.
Abel continues to consider Hiro and Daisy, and looking like he's enjoying the amount of thought going into the discussion. "Like, I'm afraid I don't know Gematria but I know some people who do in kind of an off hand way. And I've never read this stephenson guy. I don't know if the Bible and Torah were quarentined like you say, but if they were suposed to be, then with Translation, yeah it's been 'dirtied.' Part of the reason the translation to the vulgate from latin was because the information might be changed... not because, like, it was putting the info away from the priests and clergy to the masses.
Rhiamon beams at Geero, and rubs his head affectionately, adding absently, "And it wasn't written in Latin to start with. That was a couple of translations down the line..."
Abel shakes his head. "I don't think that was the main reason, Siomen. Orthodoxy is tricky stuff. Maybe some thought that way, though."
Hiro's head twists, his eyes roll, and this all comes to a head in some kind of half-assed focusing upon Siomen. "Nrrrgh," he ammends eloquently, undergoing a convolution of limbs to carpe malus: seizing Pobble's cigarette from between his fingers, and taking a prolonged, soddening drag before carelessly handing it back. "You should dig on Gematria, Abel-man," he recommends. "Shit. Fuckin' -- shit, yeah, and Stephenson. Memes-as-demons, man. Crazy." And he collapses back into the grass.
"Its all like that movie." Pob interjects. "With the guy who sees the bleeding woman in mehico.. an the bloody woman on the bed, and in the tube train." He nods, making perfect sense to himself. A big drag on that cigarette. The short sleep seems to have regressed his consciousness stakes just a little bit.
Rhiamon looks at Pobble, "Stigmata ?"
A big drag on nothing, since Hiro steals the cigarette just as he goes to smoke. Pobble doesn't notice. He looks to Rhiamon, "Where? Oh. Right. Yeah. Maybe."
Siomen looks at Abel "well think about it, most religions were not even born until Christianity was converted to English, mostly because the common man had never the choice to follow anything else. When Christianity was Latin, the common man listened to this priest and went, ok, i don't understand what he is saying, what he must be saying is right since God is who he follows. They followed because they believed what they were listening too was the correct path, Even if to them it was gibberish. When they actully converted it to English or Latin became a more common language to the populace, religions were born because people finally had a choice.. no i don't want to follow christianity because now i understand that i don't agree with the views"
"Look, it's easy to prove," Daisy says to Abel, as though explaining simple math to a child. The joint wobbles between her fingers and nearly falls into the pile of cigarettes at her feet. She's nodding as though she agrees. After a moment, she begins in on the explanation:
"The nature of matter is reproduction and degeneration. The, uh, heresiarch" -- she seems uncertain about the pronunciation of that word "-- the heresiarch Valentinius wrote 'Mirrors and fatherhood are deplorable, on account of they unnecessarily reproduce the material world'. He meant that the reproduction of material things degrades its essence. So if the essence of the Bible is reproduced into many forms, its essence becomes degraded, even if the words don't change. Which is why, uh, mass production is, uh, destroying nature; the Platonic essence, the ur-object, is being, uh, spread into these /objects/, man, and --"
She stops.
"-- shit. Where was I?"
Rhiamon rolls her eyes slightly, "Christianity isn't exactly an old religion.."
"You were giving me that joint," prompts Hiro, having totally lost the thread of conversation.
Pobble takes the cigarette back from Hiro and promptly drops it with a coughing fit. He looks at Siomen. "Say what? Most religeons were not pre-english Christianity?" he sounds incredulous, and cockney. Similar to how street vendors in london sound when they ask you who else would have such incredible deals.
Siomen glances at Pobble "I took christianity as an example you can place the same ideals on other religions too, and expecually look at the ones where it is not known to general populations, like witchdoctors in tribes, the whole tribe follows what a witch doctor perscribes because they have no clue how he is getting his information and so assumes it the right path because they do not understand it"
Rhiamon looks at the people sprawled on the grass. "I take it you're Invisible College members..?" she enquires.
Pobble nods vigourously, streching his legs back out as he sucks the last of the cigarette. Reaching up at this opposite angle, he plucks the last of the blue meanie from Daisy's fingers and hands it off to the pawing Hiro. "Indeed we are." His smile widens, "How on earth did you guess?" it continues to widen, until threatening to split his face before realizing its overstepped its bounds and relaxing.
"Of course, this isn't all of us."
Hiro had given up on the endeavor; slumping back down into the grass. It's very likely that his eyes are, in fact, literally wobbling -- a kind of lazy decaying orbit wobble -- in their sockets; scrutinizing the joint suddenly delivered into his hands. Why didn't he just snatch it up himself? "Much obligated," he mutters at Pobble. Obliged? Settling into place, he begins the decimation of the beast.
Rhiamon says "Well, there's two new cabals in town, 's far as I can tell. One Eastern, one not. You don't look eastern to me..". She turns back in time to twith the stalk from Geero's hand, and grins as he beeps indignantly at her.
"Sorry matey, but I notice we're being rude. Didjoo want any of the blueness?" he makes a vague gesture to the side, the wrong side. Correcting himself he motions to the large blue beast that Hiro has in his possession.
Rhiamon shakes her head, "No thanks. I work in language. Don't like it smothered..
Pobble wrinkles his nose at that.
Pobble says something in a language you don't understand.
"Neurolinguistic," it's amazing Hiro gets that word off, "programming?" The question has a hopeful slant to it; he probably wants someone to rant at about 'deep structures'. Daisy thought those were subterranean houses. The blue meanie is nearly decimated, now, anyway; he passes it off to Pobble.
Rhiamon raises an eyebrow. "I noticed a deterioration in your pronunciation a while back."
Pobble it seems just wanted to show off his cognitive abilities. He looks pretty wasted, but then you saw him earlier. He seems both more and less wired now. He sucks on the corpse of the joint in silence.
Rhiamon raises an eyebrow. She says something in a language you don't understand.
"That was choice of essence. I should reiterate. Language is hardly smothered by the intake of *all* foreign essence. Look at musical genius and Shakespeare's psychoactive habit,” sayeth Pobble.
Hiro looks between the two, entirely flabbergasted, and shrugs wordlessly. He collapses back into the grass, eyes rolling back in his head.
Rhiamon shrugs. "I'm not used to taking foreign substances. Well..except for mead."
Pobble says, "There's a lot to be said for it. A whole kaboodle. Its effects on the thought structures have a great impact on reality potential." A phone starts ringing from within one of Dr Steve's pockets. He reaches in and extracts it, the ring tone has a techno vibe to it and is sampled. One of those overly fancy and expensive phones. "Hallo?" he says into the device. "Oi oi monks." Nodding follows, with some muttering, and Pobble stands up. "Shit."
Pobble brushes himself down and tosses the last of the blue meanie to Hiro. "Pigboy, I need to go and pick up my Monkey. He's double parked in the box and has spotted encroaching police personages.
Thursday Feb 6th. Hooray.
Pobble picks up his cellular phone and begins to dial.
The phone is picked up at the far end.
Keene says "Hotline."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Wotcha cock mate?"
Keene says "Ehh. Not a lot. Just tooling around, taking in the sights."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Where you at mucker?"
Keene says "I'm at this tropical conservatory. The one in the note I left. It's a nice enough place, if you don't mind the humidity."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "I just rolled in to be honest guv, and I'm facking lost as all shit. Its like a bloody maze around here."
Keene says "OK. I'll see if I can't talk you over to here. What are you by now?"
From afar, Jet would be happy to help you out icly
(Directed into the phone) Pobble pauses. Looking around maybe. "Jarvis.. and College?"
Keene says "You're pretty close by. Let me see if I can't find you outside."
Keene steps out of Allan Park.
Keene has arrived.
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Gotcha mate."
Pobble clicks his cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
Keene walks out of Allan Gardens, phone to his ear. He looks around intently, trying to find his lost comrade as he takes his phone from his ear and puts it back in his pocket in a smooth movement.
Keene clicks his cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
There is a click as the phone at the far end is hung up.
Keene is looking at you.
"Evening, Pob," says Keene. "Lucky that you happened to be in the neighborhood. I haven't gone too far from here in the past day or two. There's really quite a lot to see." He starts walking back towards Allan Gardens. "How was your trip?"
Pobble snuffles quite considerably as he comes to stand next to you, wiping away a telltale dusting and dribbling from his left nostril. Most attractive. Those pupils are dilated good, perhaps the result of a new batch. He talks quickly, and his head is in constant motion, looking about, desparately trying to take in all the surroundings.
"Fucked mate, really really fucked. Don't ask. Last time I buy a fucking Lexus. Peice of shit. Expensive peice of shit."
Millia steps out of Allan Park.
Millia has arrived.
Millia wanders out of the gardens, heading past you all quietly.
Millia walks west along College to Church.
Millia has left.
Keene, unlike Pobble's amphetamine augmentations, has a nice mixed booze and Valium flow to him; which is to say he /seems/ normal unless you start dealing with reflexes. Of course, he's so accustomed to operating like this that he hardly seems impaired. He walks nice and slow back towards the gardens, even as Millia zips right by him, to be sure that Pobble doesn't get out of arm's reach.
"What happened to it? Did it break down somewhere, get stolen, what?"
Millia arrives from the west.
Millia has arrived.
Millia walks under the archway and enter the gardens.
Millia has left.
Pobble has a phone in his hand, and he seems to notice this and licks the back of it in a straight, quick line before depositing it in his labcoat. He takes a deep breath, then sniffs. Deep breath. Calm.. Well, Calmer. "So this is it eh?" he says absently, to himself mostly. "What mate?" Confusion. A moment passes, and he stops moving towards the building. "Oh. Right. Broke down. Kaput.. I gave them shit, told them I'd sue etcetteraa etcetteraaaa." He heads onwards, starting to come down from the brief coke fix. "I'm thinking a Hummer to be honest as the next gig. Get everything in then eh."
"Hell to park the thing," comments Keene, as he heads inside.
Keene walks under the archway and enter the gardens.
Keene has left.
You walk under the archway and enter the gardens.
Pobble nods. "Yeah. Fuckin right." Yes, he does seem to swear a lot. Maybe its just the drugs talking, I hear they can do that nowadays. Talk that is.
A set of double doors made of ornate metal and glass.
Keene walks along at a leisurely pace, moving in the general direction of the conservatory. "Too bad about the Lexus, all the same. Next time we'll have to get an Etherboy to look at your ride to be sure everything works for a few years." He fishes his flask out of one of the pockets of his jacket, offering it to Pobble. "You want a drink, man? You seem tense."
Pobble stops dead again, staring at the flask. Only a second passes before he catches himself, and he nods - smiling his appreciation. A big fat swig, while he fishes about in a pocket for something. He comes back with a tiny sky blue pill, rolling it between his fingers before dropping it with the second swig. "That should be better.." Screws the top back on, hands it over. "Can I interest you in anything Guv?
Keene allows for Pobble's usual appetite for liquor, smiling very faintly while Pobble equalizes himself with a few bolts of smooth Canadian whiskey. Keene sinks his money into two things: his suits and his liquor. He only drinks top shelf. It's no wonder that he doesn't have much else to his name. Still, it's not like he can't get anything he wants with a moderate application of his natural talents.
"I'm good for right now," he says, accepting the flask back graciously and returning it to the inside of his jacket, continuing the trip towards the conservatory. "I'm just starting to really feel the numbness spread. But thank you, as always."
Pobble grins wide, showing off those British teeth. They're not all that bad, slightly crooked but shiny white. Better than many specimens from across the sea. "Anytime." Now he's in the swing of things. Middle ground, a nice haze that'll last. The thing with Dr Steve is that he'll get slightly high just thinking about taking drugs. Once they're down the hatch, he'll start to think he's comming up within a minute or so.
The game face appears, same one as used when dealing with murderous drug dealers and crack whores. He's entering the Zone, trying not to embarrass you too much maybe. Trying to improve your sparkly image.
Keene appreciates Pobble's occasional attempts to not horrifically screw things up for Keene's image management plans. Were it only Pobble and Hiro, Keene would have a fairly easy time keeping them in line, but the more volitile members of the cabal require almost two Keenes to keep remotely civil.
All the same, Keene doesn't seem too concerned about anything at the moment. He gradually makes his way across a bridge and into the tropical conservatory, humming to himself tunelessly as he walks.
Keene enters the conservatory
Keene has left.
The scents in the room bring on another sniffling fit as the pollen and cocaine mix in unpleasant ways within Pobble's nostrils. "Facking stinks in 'ere donnit?" he says, rather delightfully. A big ubersniff is followed by a hacked up wad being spat onto a nearby treetrunk. Looking around he recomposes himself, "Where to now?"
Keene cruises along at a leisurely speed, not watching Pobble as much now. The calming influence of whiskey helps Keene out of tough spots a lot more than reasoned arguments or applications of Ars Mentis. He moves along through the gardens, following a careful path that he memorized the first time he came to the realm.
"Alright," he says, "just follow behind me, and I think we'll be let in. We have to pass by some landmarks in a particular order, though I don't know which ones are important."
Pobble nods silently, falling into step right behind you in a slightly annoying way. Not purposefully annoying, just coinkydink. "Lead on Peachy."
The drugs numb the rage. Keene, instead of muttering, merely chuckles: he proceeds to follow the exact path he took with Hiro earlier to get into the realm, down to every last pause or hiccup in pace. Ultimately, he passes through the two columns that are actually germane to the lock sequence, reaches the back door, and opens it up -- crossing over into another dimension.
Keene slips between two colums in the Conservatory. A small door behind the pillars swings closed just thereafter.
Keene has left.
You slip between two columns and through the Gate.
A Dark Cave
Now that was a bit on the weird side. Doctor Steve looks suitably disorientated as he spins about in the cave, slightly stupid looking grin crawling its way onto his lips. "Groovy.." he murmers..
It almost seems he'll leave it at that, but he can't seem to resist a loud 'Wooop', just to hear the echoes.
Keene steps into the cave with a squish, steadying himself on the wall as he emerges from the swirling blackness. He waits patiently for Pobble to follow, letting him orient himself and indulging his woop before starting onward again. As one would expect, he complains about `nature'.
"They really need to put a sump pump in here or something," he says, beginning the slow process of moving along the edge of the stream into the main part of the realm. "A sump pump, a boardwalk, maybe some torches ... I mean, how much could it cost to make some philgosten-powered torches? We're members of the Hermetic Order, for Christ's sake, can't we pop for some lights?"
You say, "I hear ya." He follows behind you, as carefully as one can be while mildly wasted.
"You know.. It occurs to me that maybe we could just put one of those things in here, all lit up like."
He stops for a second, clicking his fingers in an attempt to clarify his thinking. "One of those things like they have in Florida. Scooty scooty with the big fan?""
"A hovercraft, Pobble," says Keene, moving forward towards the opening of the cave. "Me, I think a boardwalk with a golf cart would be just as well. I think they like the peace and quiet."
He continues along, gradually getting back out into the open air. "Wait until you see this," he says.
Keene heads upstream, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
Keene has left.
You travel along the streambed, against the current. Slowly, you ascend the slopes and crags of the cave, until eventually a pillar of light lances through the darkness.
Cavern Entrance
Faint Light dips in through the massive opening at the rough, craggy end of the cave, casting a quiet bluish glow to everything within the cave entrance. The breeze which was only hinted at deeper within the cave can be heard whistling at this hole. The stream continues up and out of the cave, disappearing off into the rolling fields before you.
You walk out of the cave, your eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. Entering the grasses of the field, you walk for a ways, until you have reached the highest peak.
Rolling Fields
"Now that took forever." says a somewhat pissed off looking Pobble.
The fields and hills and views don't seem to impress him all that much. A bus stop or indeed a newfangled style hovercraft probably would more so. He takes a deep breath, causing him to sniff and wipe at his nose.
"Remind me to bring the Box next time so I don't have to go back so quickly."
Connelly looks at the person talking,"What? Who would *WANT* to leave here?"
Abel wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Abel has arrived.
Keene leads Pobble out of the cave, looking a bit winded himself. When he and his companion get to the top of the hill, he stops, putting his hands on top of his thighs. Yeah, it's break time for the suit. Hermetics don't walk through musty old caves if they don't have to. He's definitely going to consider putting together an `improvements' fund so that the trek can be made a bit less strenuous. For the benefit of others, of course.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Keene says. "These guys build big. I mean, look at all this," as he gestures with his right hand. "There's got to be a frigging ton of Nodes under this group's control to maintain all this. I bet Tass comes out when they sneeze."
Keene's attention then moves to Connelly, blinking once. He must not have noticed him initially.
Abel walks out of the hole in the hill not too long after the others, carrying a lit candle to light his way.
Pobble snickers, taking something from his pocket and slipping it into his mouth. He chews for a few moments in silence, the look on his face illustrating that whatever it was, wasn't that plesant.
"I can only imagine.." he says, scanning the horizons. The response to his complaints draws his attention finally, as if he'd forgotten about it. He goes to say something, then stops. Then goes to speak again, and stops. Shaking his head, he gives up on the whole 'trying to speak' malarky.
Connelly sighs..."This is one of the most beautiful places around...reminds me a little bit of the land around the Ruins of Tara..."
Keene gets his wind back, straightening back up and smoothing his suit carefully after a moment or two. "I'm not too familiar with those," he says, "but you're right, this is a very pretty Realm. I'm just not accustomed to having access to a Realm quite this large, you see. The largest one I'd ever been in before this one was the size of a small, very cramped house."
He smiles graciously, moving over down the hill a little bit to greet Connelly. "I'm Steven Keene; that's my associate, Dr. Alder. We're part of the Invisible College." He puts out his hand to shake with a practiced cheerful expression. "And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with this evening?"
Abel sees a group congregating ahead and makes his way toward them. "The One's peace be with you," he calls, announcing his presence with word as well as the light of the candle.
Connelly nods,"Dr. Jane Connelly, ER Trauma specialist, and Verbena.
Abel is looking at you.
Connelly doesn't offer her hand, as she is sitting in the grass...and that would require her to stand up...considering she looks like she just woke up...
Pobble waggles his thin fingers, not seeming to be the hand shaking type. He moves to stand near Keene.
He has the audacity to sniff at Connelly. Really sniff, as if smelling something pungent.
"I say. Would you happen to be Irish?" he asks, with just a hint of obnoxiousness. The call of the One's peace draws his gaze away and a wan smile is offered to the approaching kid.
Keene gets a feeling of imminent doom. Such a feeling is common whenever Pobble starts talking about what Keene has broadly categorized as `British Isles issues' in his presence. This is, unfortunately, one of the areas where his immense powers of persuasion simply find no purchase. Not that he hasn't *tried*...
Fortunately, Abel comes along, and provides a wonderful distraction. Casually retracting his hand for the moment, he orients himself towards the younger man with a congenial expression.
"Good evening!" he says. "And may the One's peace find its way to you as well. Steve Keene, Invisible College." He puts out his other hand to shake. Why? Because that's just what he does in social situations.
Jess wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Jess has arrived.
Dr Pob wrinkles his nose, slight distaste showing briefly. It doesn't last however, being replaced with a wry smirk as he twils about, labcoat and blue 'pigtails' flying out with the movement. There's a muttering with the motion, and those with acute hearing may catch what could be the word 'Fuckers'. Maybe not tho eh?
He flashes a more charming smile to the Abel fellow. "Awright mate." he says jovially enough. Any traces of the previous moment's incident have vanished. This incident vanishing has been accompanied by a further dilation of the pupils.
Abel makes hs way to the trio and smiles as he looks at the unfamiliar faces. He accepts Steve's hand though. "Abel Elison, Beacon in the Ark Cabal and Singer of the Chorus."
Jess looks around curious and heads over towards Abel now
Connelly looks, and sees Jess coming.....and waves! She looks to Abel,"Well...as I said....Jane Conelly, Verbena, currently no Cabal, as I have not yet been officially recognized by the Circle....er...sorry...Chantry Head
"Ah, Mr. Elison, a pleasure to meet you," says Keene, who seems to be as happy as anything shaking hands with anybody who comes by while tossing his name and the name of his cabal out there. Indeed, Keene is in the process of shaking Abel's hand firmly, disengaging it just before the procedure becomes tiresome.
His attention then moves from Abel, to Pobble, and then towards another new face: Jess. "Good evening," he directs to her.
Jess smiles brightly to Keene "Hi." she replies as she steps a bit closer to Abel.
Abel nods politely to Connelly. "Ms. Connelly."He then turns to see who Keene is talking to and Grins when he sees Jess. "Hey Jess. Like, What's up?"
Noticing that his compadre is getting into the Social Swing, Pobble goes as far as to offer his hand to Abel for shaking. He's smiling a big fat happy smile. "Awright." he reiterates, hand stuck out there for shaking. The other hand makes a wave for Jess as he glances briefly over in her direction. "Oi oi." he adds.
Abel sees Pobble's extended hand and shakes it as well with a smile.
Jess slinks an arm around Abel for a hug before letting go with a smile to Pobble
Pobble beams at the hand shaking, hastily moving over to put his hand in the shaking queue for the newest arrival - Jess. His free hand slips into a pocket, comming back with a crumpled cigarette which he slips behind his ear, held in place by the material of the bandana. This handshaking isn't so bad. He seems quite keene on pressing the flesh with Jess and Abel.
Jess is looking at you.
Jess blinks and looks at Abel "Who is this?"
"Hi," says Keene to Jess just after she asks Abel for information, allowing Pobble to act as hand-shake proxy. "I'm Steve Keene, and this," indicating Pobble, "is Dr. Alder. We're with the Invisible College. It's nice to meet you, miss ...?"
Abel lets Keene introduce himself and his compatriot.
Jess hooks a thumb to herself and Abel "We are the Beacon in the Dark... my name is Jess."
Pobble nods his assent. "You can also call me Pob. Or Dr Steve." He nods again before flashing another smile. The actions seem to happen in order, as if he currently can't do them simultaneously.
Keene smooths his tie against a small breeze. "Hello, Jess. It's very nice to meet you and your cabal." He looks to Pobble. "We're off to sight-see a bit. It was very nice to meet all of you."
Pobble looks to Keene, confusion forming films over his eyes. "You're leaving me for these people you hardly know? That's not a terribly nice way to welcome me to town mate, issit?"
Abel nods. "Alright Pob." He turns to Keene. "Would you like someone to show you around the realm?"
"I was hoping you'd come with me," Keene says, with the patience of a parent with a dull-witted child. His attention returns to Abel. "Oh, I've been given the tour -- I'm just going to give Pob here the benefit of my experience."
Jess nods "Well good luck.. dont let the animals btie:
Abel grins. "Oh. Alright then. Well peace go with you, then, and Providence guide your steps."
Understanding dawns on Dr Steve's features and he nods, relaxing to a point close to comatose and moving over to Keene, ready to head onwards. "I need to pick Dave up too. I left him in the box." Another smile to all but Connelly. "Nice ta meetcha folks."
"Yes, very nice to meet you all. We'll be careful." With that, Keene begins the careful, deliberate process of leading Pobble along, heading towards the ruins. "Mind your step, Pob..."
Pobble beams once more, heading off into the melting fields with his guide.
Keene has left.
Pobble picks up his cellular phone and begins to dial.
The phone is picked up at the far end.
Keene says "Hotline."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Wotcha cock mate?"
Keene says "Ehh. Not a lot. Just tooling around, taking in the sights."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Where you at mucker?"
Keene says "I'm at this tropical conservatory. The one in the note I left. It's a nice enough place, if you don't mind the humidity."
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "I just rolled in to be honest guv, and I'm facking lost as all shit. Its like a bloody maze around here."
Keene says "OK. I'll see if I can't talk you over to here. What are you by now?"
From afar, Jet would be happy to help you out icly
(Directed into the phone) Pobble pauses. Looking around maybe. "Jarvis.. and College?"
Keene says "You're pretty close by. Let me see if I can't find you outside."
Keene steps out of Allan Park.
Keene has arrived.
(Directed into the phone) Pobble says "Gotcha mate."
Pobble clicks his cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
Keene walks out of Allan Gardens, phone to his ear. He looks around intently, trying to find his lost comrade as he takes his phone from his ear and puts it back in his pocket in a smooth movement.
Keene clicks his cellular to disconnect the call and hangs up.
There is a click as the phone at the far end is hung up.
Keene is looking at you.
"Evening, Pob," says Keene. "Lucky that you happened to be in the neighborhood. I haven't gone too far from here in the past day or two. There's really quite a lot to see." He starts walking back towards Allan Gardens. "How was your trip?"
Pobble snuffles quite considerably as he comes to stand next to you, wiping away a telltale dusting and dribbling from his left nostril. Most attractive. Those pupils are dilated good, perhaps the result of a new batch. He talks quickly, and his head is in constant motion, looking about, desparately trying to take in all the surroundings.
"Fucked mate, really really fucked. Don't ask. Last time I buy a fucking Lexus. Peice of shit. Expensive peice of shit."
Millia steps out of Allan Park.
Millia has arrived.
Millia wanders out of the gardens, heading past you all quietly.
Millia walks west along College to Church.
Millia has left.
Keene, unlike Pobble's amphetamine augmentations, has a nice mixed booze and Valium flow to him; which is to say he /seems/ normal unless you start dealing with reflexes. Of course, he's so accustomed to operating like this that he hardly seems impaired. He walks nice and slow back towards the gardens, even as Millia zips right by him, to be sure that Pobble doesn't get out of arm's reach.
"What happened to it? Did it break down somewhere, get stolen, what?"
Millia arrives from the west.
Millia has arrived.
Millia walks under the archway and enter the gardens.
Millia has left.
Pobble has a phone in his hand, and he seems to notice this and licks the back of it in a straight, quick line before depositing it in his labcoat. He takes a deep breath, then sniffs. Deep breath. Calm.. Well, Calmer. "So this is it eh?" he says absently, to himself mostly. "What mate?" Confusion. A moment passes, and he stops moving towards the building. "Oh. Right. Broke down. Kaput.. I gave them shit, told them I'd sue etcetteraa etcetteraaaa." He heads onwards, starting to come down from the brief coke fix. "I'm thinking a Hummer to be honest as the next gig. Get everything in then eh."
"Hell to park the thing," comments Keene, as he heads inside.
Keene walks under the archway and enter the gardens.
Keene has left.
You walk under the archway and enter the gardens.
Pobble nods. "Yeah. Fuckin right." Yes, he does seem to swear a lot. Maybe its just the drugs talking, I hear they can do that nowadays. Talk that is.
A set of double doors made of ornate metal and glass.
Keene walks along at a leisurely pace, moving in the general direction of the conservatory. "Too bad about the Lexus, all the same. Next time we'll have to get an Etherboy to look at your ride to be sure everything works for a few years." He fishes his flask out of one of the pockets of his jacket, offering it to Pobble. "You want a drink, man? You seem tense."
Pobble stops dead again, staring at the flask. Only a second passes before he catches himself, and he nods - smiling his appreciation. A big fat swig, while he fishes about in a pocket for something. He comes back with a tiny sky blue pill, rolling it between his fingers before dropping it with the second swig. "That should be better.." Screws the top back on, hands it over. "Can I interest you in anything Guv?
Keene allows for Pobble's usual appetite for liquor, smiling very faintly while Pobble equalizes himself with a few bolts of smooth Canadian whiskey. Keene sinks his money into two things: his suits and his liquor. He only drinks top shelf. It's no wonder that he doesn't have much else to his name. Still, it's not like he can't get anything he wants with a moderate application of his natural talents.
"I'm good for right now," he says, accepting the flask back graciously and returning it to the inside of his jacket, continuing the trip towards the conservatory. "I'm just starting to really feel the numbness spread. But thank you, as always."
Pobble grins wide, showing off those British teeth. They're not all that bad, slightly crooked but shiny white. Better than many specimens from across the sea. "Anytime." Now he's in the swing of things. Middle ground, a nice haze that'll last. The thing with Dr Steve is that he'll get slightly high just thinking about taking drugs. Once they're down the hatch, he'll start to think he's comming up within a minute or so.
The game face appears, same one as used when dealing with murderous drug dealers and crack whores. He's entering the Zone, trying not to embarrass you too much maybe. Trying to improve your sparkly image.
Keene appreciates Pobble's occasional attempts to not horrifically screw things up for Keene's image management plans. Were it only Pobble and Hiro, Keene would have a fairly easy time keeping them in line, but the more volitile members of the cabal require almost two Keenes to keep remotely civil.
All the same, Keene doesn't seem too concerned about anything at the moment. He gradually makes his way across a bridge and into the tropical conservatory, humming to himself tunelessly as he walks.
Keene enters the conservatory
Keene has left.
The scents in the room bring on another sniffling fit as the pollen and cocaine mix in unpleasant ways within Pobble's nostrils. "Facking stinks in 'ere donnit?" he says, rather delightfully. A big ubersniff is followed by a hacked up wad being spat onto a nearby treetrunk. Looking around he recomposes himself, "Where to now?"
Keene cruises along at a leisurely speed, not watching Pobble as much now. The calming influence of whiskey helps Keene out of tough spots a lot more than reasoned arguments or applications of Ars Mentis. He moves along through the gardens, following a careful path that he memorized the first time he came to the realm.
"Alright," he says, "just follow behind me, and I think we'll be let in. We have to pass by some landmarks in a particular order, though I don't know which ones are important."
Pobble nods silently, falling into step right behind you in a slightly annoying way. Not purposefully annoying, just coinkydink. "Lead on Peachy."
The drugs numb the rage. Keene, instead of muttering, merely chuckles: he proceeds to follow the exact path he took with Hiro earlier to get into the realm, down to every last pause or hiccup in pace. Ultimately, he passes through the two columns that are actually germane to the lock sequence, reaches the back door, and opens it up -- crossing over into another dimension.
Keene slips between two colums in the Conservatory. A small door behind the pillars swings closed just thereafter.
Keene has left.
You slip between two columns and through the Gate.
A Dark Cave
Now that was a bit on the weird side. Doctor Steve looks suitably disorientated as he spins about in the cave, slightly stupid looking grin crawling its way onto his lips. "Groovy.." he murmers..
It almost seems he'll leave it at that, but he can't seem to resist a loud 'Wooop', just to hear the echoes.
Keene steps into the cave with a squish, steadying himself on the wall as he emerges from the swirling blackness. He waits patiently for Pobble to follow, letting him orient himself and indulging his woop before starting onward again. As one would expect, he complains about `nature'.
"They really need to put a sump pump in here or something," he says, beginning the slow process of moving along the edge of the stream into the main part of the realm. "A sump pump, a boardwalk, maybe some torches ... I mean, how much could it cost to make some philgosten-powered torches? We're members of the Hermetic Order, for Christ's sake, can't we pop for some lights?"
You say, "I hear ya." He follows behind you, as carefully as one can be while mildly wasted.
"You know.. It occurs to me that maybe we could just put one of those things in here, all lit up like."
He stops for a second, clicking his fingers in an attempt to clarify his thinking. "One of those things like they have in Florida. Scooty scooty with the big fan?""
"A hovercraft, Pobble," says Keene, moving forward towards the opening of the cave. "Me, I think a boardwalk with a golf cart would be just as well. I think they like the peace and quiet."
He continues along, gradually getting back out into the open air. "Wait until you see this," he says.
Keene heads upstream, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
Keene has left.
You travel along the streambed, against the current. Slowly, you ascend the slopes and crags of the cave, until eventually a pillar of light lances through the darkness.
Cavern Entrance
Faint Light dips in through the massive opening at the rough, craggy end of the cave, casting a quiet bluish glow to everything within the cave entrance. The breeze which was only hinted at deeper within the cave can be heard whistling at this hole. The stream continues up and out of the cave, disappearing off into the rolling fields before you.
You walk out of the cave, your eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. Entering the grasses of the field, you walk for a ways, until you have reached the highest peak.
Rolling Fields
"Now that took forever." says a somewhat pissed off looking Pobble.
The fields and hills and views don't seem to impress him all that much. A bus stop or indeed a newfangled style hovercraft probably would more so. He takes a deep breath, causing him to sniff and wipe at his nose.
"Remind me to bring the Box next time so I don't have to go back so quickly."
Connelly looks at the person talking,"What? Who would *WANT* to leave here?"
Abel wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Abel has arrived.
Keene leads Pobble out of the cave, looking a bit winded himself. When he and his companion get to the top of the hill, he stops, putting his hands on top of his thighs. Yeah, it's break time for the suit. Hermetics don't walk through musty old caves if they don't have to. He's definitely going to consider putting together an `improvements' fund so that the trek can be made a bit less strenuous. For the benefit of others, of course.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Keene says. "These guys build big. I mean, look at all this," as he gestures with his right hand. "There's got to be a frigging ton of Nodes under this group's control to maintain all this. I bet Tass comes out when they sneeze."
Keene's attention then moves to Connelly, blinking once. He must not have noticed him initially.
Abel walks out of the hole in the hill not too long after the others, carrying a lit candle to light his way.
Pobble snickers, taking something from his pocket and slipping it into his mouth. He chews for a few moments in silence, the look on his face illustrating that whatever it was, wasn't that plesant.
"I can only imagine.." he says, scanning the horizons. The response to his complaints draws his attention finally, as if he'd forgotten about it. He goes to say something, then stops. Then goes to speak again, and stops. Shaking his head, he gives up on the whole 'trying to speak' malarky.
Connelly sighs..."This is one of the most beautiful places around...reminds me a little bit of the land around the Ruins of Tara..."
Keene gets his wind back, straightening back up and smoothing his suit carefully after a moment or two. "I'm not too familiar with those," he says, "but you're right, this is a very pretty Realm. I'm just not accustomed to having access to a Realm quite this large, you see. The largest one I'd ever been in before this one was the size of a small, very cramped house."
He smiles graciously, moving over down the hill a little bit to greet Connelly. "I'm Steven Keene; that's my associate, Dr. Alder. We're part of the Invisible College." He puts out his hand to shake with a practiced cheerful expression. "And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with this evening?"
Abel sees a group congregating ahead and makes his way toward them. "The One's peace be with you," he calls, announcing his presence with word as well as the light of the candle.
Connelly nods,"Dr. Jane Connelly, ER Trauma specialist, and Verbena.
Abel is looking at you.
Connelly doesn't offer her hand, as she is sitting in the grass...and that would require her to stand up...considering she looks like she just woke up...
Pobble waggles his thin fingers, not seeming to be the hand shaking type. He moves to stand near Keene.
He has the audacity to sniff at Connelly. Really sniff, as if smelling something pungent.
"I say. Would you happen to be Irish?" he asks, with just a hint of obnoxiousness. The call of the One's peace draws his gaze away and a wan smile is offered to the approaching kid.
Keene gets a feeling of imminent doom. Such a feeling is common whenever Pobble starts talking about what Keene has broadly categorized as `British Isles issues' in his presence. This is, unfortunately, one of the areas where his immense powers of persuasion simply find no purchase. Not that he hasn't *tried*...
Fortunately, Abel comes along, and provides a wonderful distraction. Casually retracting his hand for the moment, he orients himself towards the younger man with a congenial expression.
"Good evening!" he says. "And may the One's peace find its way to you as well. Steve Keene, Invisible College." He puts out his other hand to shake. Why? Because that's just what he does in social situations.
Jess wanders up the hill to the peak, from the cave beyond.
Jess has arrived.
Dr Pob wrinkles his nose, slight distaste showing briefly. It doesn't last however, being replaced with a wry smirk as he twils about, labcoat and blue 'pigtails' flying out with the movement. There's a muttering with the motion, and those with acute hearing may catch what could be the word 'Fuckers'. Maybe not tho eh?
He flashes a more charming smile to the Abel fellow. "Awright mate." he says jovially enough. Any traces of the previous moment's incident have vanished. This incident vanishing has been accompanied by a further dilation of the pupils.
Abel makes hs way to the trio and smiles as he looks at the unfamiliar faces. He accepts Steve's hand though. "Abel Elison, Beacon in the Ark Cabal and Singer of the Chorus."
Jess looks around curious and heads over towards Abel now
Connelly looks, and sees Jess coming.....and waves! She looks to Abel,"Well...as I said....Jane Conelly, Verbena, currently no Cabal, as I have not yet been officially recognized by the Circle....er...sorry...Chantry Head
"Ah, Mr. Elison, a pleasure to meet you," says Keene, who seems to be as happy as anything shaking hands with anybody who comes by while tossing his name and the name of his cabal out there. Indeed, Keene is in the process of shaking Abel's hand firmly, disengaging it just before the procedure becomes tiresome.
His attention then moves from Abel, to Pobble, and then towards another new face: Jess. "Good evening," he directs to her.
Jess smiles brightly to Keene "Hi." she replies as she steps a bit closer to Abel.
Abel nods politely to Connelly. "Ms. Connelly."He then turns to see who Keene is talking to and Grins when he sees Jess. "Hey Jess. Like, What's up?"
Noticing that his compadre is getting into the Social Swing, Pobble goes as far as to offer his hand to Abel for shaking. He's smiling a big fat happy smile. "Awright." he reiterates, hand stuck out there for shaking. The other hand makes a wave for Jess as he glances briefly over in her direction. "Oi oi." he adds.
Abel sees Pobble's extended hand and shakes it as well with a smile.
Jess slinks an arm around Abel for a hug before letting go with a smile to Pobble
Pobble beams at the hand shaking, hastily moving over to put his hand in the shaking queue for the newest arrival - Jess. His free hand slips into a pocket, comming back with a crumpled cigarette which he slips behind his ear, held in place by the material of the bandana. This handshaking isn't so bad. He seems quite keene on pressing the flesh with Jess and Abel.
Jess is looking at you.
Jess blinks and looks at Abel "Who is this?"
"Hi," says Keene to Jess just after she asks Abel for information, allowing Pobble to act as hand-shake proxy. "I'm Steve Keene, and this," indicating Pobble, "is Dr. Alder. We're with the Invisible College. It's nice to meet you, miss ...?"
Abel lets Keene introduce himself and his compatriot.
Jess hooks a thumb to herself and Abel "We are the Beacon in the Dark... my name is Jess."
Pobble nods his assent. "You can also call me Pob. Or Dr Steve." He nods again before flashing another smile. The actions seem to happen in order, as if he currently can't do them simultaneously.
Keene smooths his tie against a small breeze. "Hello, Jess. It's very nice to meet you and your cabal." He looks to Pobble. "We're off to sight-see a bit. It was very nice to meet all of you."
Pobble looks to Keene, confusion forming films over his eyes. "You're leaving me for these people you hardly know? That's not a terribly nice way to welcome me to town mate, issit?"
Abel nods. "Alright Pob." He turns to Keene. "Would you like someone to show you around the realm?"
"I was hoping you'd come with me," Keene says, with the patience of a parent with a dull-witted child. His attention returns to Abel. "Oh, I've been given the tour -- I'm just going to give Pob here the benefit of my experience."
Jess nods "Well good luck.. dont let the animals btie:
Abel grins. "Oh. Alright then. Well peace go with you, then, and Providence guide your steps."
Understanding dawns on Dr Steve's features and he nods, relaxing to a point close to comatose and moving over to Keene, ready to head onwards. "I need to pick Dave up too. I left him in the box." Another smile to all but Connelly. "Nice ta meetcha folks."
"Yes, very nice to meet you all. We'll be careful." With that, Keene begins the careful, deliberate process of leading Pobble along, heading towards the ruins. "Mind your step, Pob..."
Pobble beams once more, heading off into the melting fields with his guide.
Keene has left.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)