Hunting Mr. Dark

Pool Hall - Back Room

The walls of this room were possibly once white, but are now stained nicotine yellow with yet dirtier splotches in places. The dark red carpet seems newer and less obnoxious than the one found in the main hall. Tall lamps stand in each corner of the room, shaded so they cast their light upwards giving the room a certain ambiance.

The central space is occupied by a trio of well used couches with newish slipcovers in dark shades - One green, one red, one blue. Arranged into a vague triangle, a low table sits between them with a black ashtray sat upon it. Against one wall is a stocked mini-bar sealed with a padlock and next to this a rack has been mounted on the wall containing poker chips and cards, similarly locked. The mood of the room is shot to peices by what sits squarely against the far wall opposite the door: The porcelain goddess. One shiny clean toilet with a wooden seat and lid, sitting next to a washbasin. A little way down towards the right corner hangs a payphone. A noticable thing is that it is overly quiet in here, perhaps the walls have been soundproofed as none of the sound from the adjacent hall carries over.

Obvious exits:
Door [O]

You paged Quiet with 'Hey'.
You paged Quiet with 'Listen, can I talk to the dead girl?'.
[waiting... waiting... waiting...]
Long distance to Quiet: Penny shakes you.
From afar, Quiet is shaken. Wha?
You paged Quiet with 'Dead girl.'.
Quiet pages: Which dead girl. There are lots.
You paged Quiet with 'I wanna talk to her. Can I talk to her? The one we were looking for. that one.'.
Quiet pages: How did you wanna talk to her?
From afar, Quiet shakes you.
You paged Quiet with 'Hi, I'm back. Sorry. SO yeah - wanna contact her. Just a sec'.
Quiet pages: Just gotta gimmie the how and I'll be glad to give it a try. :)


You paged Quiet with 'I want to summon her, if she's open to it (spirit 3/corr 1)'.
Quiet pages: You don't need Spirit 3. Just spirit 2. May I join you?
You paged Quiet with 'I knew that. Honest. Join away.'.

Quiet will be joining you in three seconds.
Quiet has arrived.

OOC> Quiet says, "I knew you did. Otherwise I'd have to take your magick license away. ;)"
OOC> Quiet says, "Go ahead and pose what it is you are doing."

Penny has a bad photocopy of the girl. The girl in question. It's upside down on the table and she's trying to make it levitate, trying to make it stand up on edge and turn around to face her. Penny says to the photocopy "Look, your parents .. /and/ your mentor were worried sick. We know you're over there so just come this way. Come over here and tell us who got you. We're all really sorry.."

OOC> Quiet says, "Extended ritual?"
OOC> Penny says, "If you wouldn't mind. With a wp spend first?"
OOC> Quiet says, "I don't mind. How many rolls?"
OOC> Penny says, "3 - one to get her attention, one to bring her across and one to send her back."
OOC> Quiet says, "That would actually be two different effects. attention/bringing across would be one. Sending back would be another. How many rolls for the first effect?"
OOC> Penny says, "we get a reduced diff here in the sanctum, too so.. whatcha think - diff 5? // 2"
OOC> Quiet says, "werks for me"
OOC> Penny says, "Right on."

[Ed Note: TOTALLY forgot I wasn't actually IN The sanctum, perhaps A Sanctum... props to Quiet?]

OOC> Quiet says, "Bombs away. Fire off the dices."

[Willpower] Penny spends a Willpower point.

Penny rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 5:
5 8 5
Achieving 3 successes, resulting in a complete success.

Penny rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 5:
10 4 8
Achieving 2 successes, resulting in a moderate success.

OOC> Penny dances!
OOC> Quiet says, "Woot! Very nice."
OOC> Quiet says, "Go ahead. Make one more pose and then I'll come in."
The paper tilts up.

Even Penny's surprised - she's never attempted something so basic this sober. "The thing is, if you were rubbed out by the same people we're semi/quasi hiding out from? We really need to know, so could you come talk to me?"

The paper tilts up and then it falls off the board. It flutters to the ground where it lays for a moment. Then it trembles and the girl's eyes blink. She gazes up at you. "Who... who are you?" The soft, spectral voice seems to echo oddly from where the picture lies.

Penny pivots the chair and plants her feet on either side of the paper. She leans over, elbows to knees and says in her nicest, most convivial voice "Aw sweets, I'm Penny. Your mentor sent us chasin'after you but you were way ahead of us, weren't you."

"I... I can't be here." She says softly. "He'll know! And he'll find me." The girl sounds fearful. The paper flutters and sweeps along the ground a few steps. As if she were trying to run. "What... what do you want from me?"

"No one can find you if you come on out," she coaxes and offers her hand "Come on out. It's safe up here with me. Come on up and tell me who did this to you, that's all I want you to do - just come up here and talk to me." Penny kicks the chair back and gets down on the floor where the paper is.
"I /can't/ leave. I'm bound... I can feel it." The paper shivers again and then she says, "What do you want?"

You say, "Who bound you? Who put you there? WHO? Are you alone?" She's furious and kinda freaked out. Why won't she come out? Penny's actually breaking a sweat. "Who put you there?"

"The dark one... the wax man." The girl responds, her voice still has that hollow echo. "There are so many here... hundreds.. I don't know for sure..." She sounds really scared, alone. "I'm with the Frankenstein... he killed me."
Penny seethes, hands fisted "And there's no way to get out? None at all? No door? No window? Hundreds?" Piecing in together, Penny shrieks "He put you inside the figure? WHY? What is it making you do? Does..." and exactly what was she going to say. She's lost her ability to talk, just gaping at the talking piece of paper.

"We are all trapped here... we hear dark whispers from those who have been there from the beginning. That we shall be consumed... burned up. A ritual of some dark purpose... I don't know. But I'm so scared. Dying is one thing... but this means I will never..." Words trail off and the paper quivers a bit.

You say, "Okay, okay. Don't.. I'm coming to get you." Somewhat bravely, Penny declares this with a voice not entirely forceful "Okay? I'm coming. We're coming and .. just .. don't tell anyone. Is there anything you /can/ do?"

"Nothing... there is one here... a little girl. Somehow she got free... but she stays behind. Because if he knows, he'll replace her." The paper trembles again a moment. "I'll see if she can find you... oh no... I hear him... he's coming..." The words trail off and she screams. And then the paper bursts in to flames.

Penny reaches to put out the flames - you never know what Pobble's left laying around. Or that fucking monkey. Who is cowering behind a chair to Penny's left. She takes it out on him "Couldn't you be the least bit helpful Dave? You could've TOLD me. That fucking creep from the record store. And ENID, .. Daisy'll be so disappointed. Dave, get out here. You're on recon. Don't even START" when the Monkey starts to disappear "you know what's going on here," she points to a nebulous space between herself and Pobble's lab "so don't even pretend like you're just working for him, okay?" Penny, she's hysterical.

Pobble opens the door and enters from the main room.
Pobble has arrived.

Okay so like, this is how it is:

Penny's out of sight but her hat and jacket are draped across the back of that first couch. Get a little further into the room and there's Penny folded up in some medatative state. Nearby is a pile of ashes. Dave's still chittering in a corner some kind of crazy-sounding shit about Penny torturing spirits.

There is the sound of a key rattling in the lock, one.. two.. three. Click, clock, clack. The door creaks open, the motion coinciding with the exhalation of noxious smoke from the entering individual. Haloed in the barlight-through-drugsmoke haze, Pobble strolls into the back room with a bottle of beer in his non-smoke holding hand. He stops, peering across at David L with eyes that would be curious if they weren't struggling to focus through the haze of potent narcotics. "Whots going on 'ere then?"

You say, "Your monkey's got no balls." A declarative.

Penny's eyelids flutter and her posture slackens. Her spine cleaves her to the couch and she hauls herself up with an elbow climbing into the cushion. "Went a little astral to check it out. We have a little problem," she goes on, not missing a beat "the kid we're supposed to be returning to her Mentor is not-quite-dead and I don't really know if it's responsible to return her ghost to her Mentor or not! I mean.. if something had happened to me I know I'd want to be with you guys in whatever unfinished form. It totally beats an eternity of lonely wandering y'know? All pathetic and unresolved but impotent at the same time?"

"You what what?" Pobble wanders over and plonks himself down next to you on the couch. The motion causes him to expel another little burp of intoxicating fumage. Thin silver topped fingers proffer the black smokestick in your general area as he swigs from his bottle. "That hermetic wench is dead but not forgotten? Where'd you find her?" Putting the bottle between his legs, Pobble extracts a small baggie of white powder from his pocket and throws it at Dave. Dave grabs it and burrows his way into one of the couches. There are sounds of sniffing.

"Mr. Dark put her in the Frankenstein statue.." indicating with pointed finger that she is not in fact having you off "..it's what she said. And there's hundreds more like her. And it's Mr. Dark's doing. Scared the shit out of me when I couldn't pull her through to me. But we have to get her." It isn't nobility or anything like it, in Penny's voice has crept a familiar note; greed. "We're getting paid to and should live up to expectation if not legend." Penny unfolds her legs and pulls the bottle out from between Pobble's. She swigs "So go find that map in Hiro's mess and we'll be on our way."

"Ha ha." exclaims the good Dr sucking down a hearty dose of narcotic bliss as a metaphorical pat on the back. "So I was right. Crazy fucker Cornelius was up to no good the whole time. Can't fuckin' make a wax crowbar my ass." He makes a little wave, "Don't need a map, I knows where that place is well enough." The far couch makes a snorting noise then chitters quietly. Pobble purses his lips, reacing forward to ash into the central cigarette-waste disposal container. "Intrestin'.. Interestin interestin intrrestingg." Repetition causes slurring. Steve lies back lolling head lazily against the back of the couch. Something registers and his noggin rolls to one side - your side - and he asks dazily "You want to go now? Like.. right now right now?"

"No, I want to go when I've had time to think about how stupid it would be to steal a spirit from whatever jail it's stuck inside from really what amounts to an unknown enemy. Keene would kill me for thinking so no, I do not want to wait and /think/. I want to go right now, right now." She was saying all this as she was getting off the floor, getting her jacket, picking up markers from the pen/cil jar. Penny's ready.

Pobble says, "Joo yoo think he's a neffanzi?" The smoke between his lips waggles up and down spuriously as he queries. A hand lazily pats pockets, checking for supplies in the face of unexpected action. Drugs, check. Weaponry, check. Monkey under sofa snorting cocaine, check. Inclination to elevate one's position from couch, absent. Pobble closes his eyes for a moment, "Not later later?"

You say, "Now now, right fucking now. Get up, get that fucking monkey and let's get in the car and drive. I don't know shit about what he is but I want him to know we can't stand that kinda shit. Not a fucking minute of it." She checks her own pockets; nothing but lint. "Look I don't wanna kill the guy, I just want to get the kid so you got a gun or something? Just in case?"

The chemist nods, and seems to concentrate a moment. Dave saunters out from under the couch and moves to Pobble's side as he stands. The smoke is stubbed out and he stretches, yawning. "Fine fine.. I just hope you know what you're doing since I have no fucking idea what's going on." Moving towards you he wraps an arm about your shoulder, "If this all goes town the shitter," A solemn nod, "It was good." Dr Steve's face melts to one side, making it hard to choose in favour of these words being serious doubts as to the survival of the dastardly duo this evening.

[Ed Note: Then, speak of the devil... ]
As Pobble steps out...

Keene comes in from the main hall.
Keene has arrived.

Smells like something burning. Dark in here but not as dark as it could be.

So Pobble just stepped out for a smoke or maybe to find something to lock Penny in the office with. Either way he's not here and she's making notations in a glossy unfolded map of the Wax Museum. "Ready?" manic, crazy look in her eyes "Oh. Steve." What she says, what she calls you when she's disappointed.

Keene comes in from the bar, spritzing his coat with a little Febreze bottle as he closes the door behind him. He looks over at Penny with his usual unreadable expression, continuing to spritz himself while making his own assessments of the situation.

"Hello, Penny. What are you up to?"

Penny says, "See this is exactly what I was telling Ste" confused a minute "-Steve. .. STEVE!" So annoyed, she grabs the map up in a fist, not realizing. "This is just what I said to him, I JUSt said it to him. He wanted to go later and not now and I knew YOU'D agree with him" accusing Keene of something clearly apparent to her "I hate it when you gang up on me." Like the pout could last long. "The point is she's not quite dead and her Mentor's still paying, right? He didn't say she had to be in one piece, right?"

Long distance to Quiet: Penny is scening out some more of the preamble. You're welcome to watch.
Quiet will be joining you in three seconds.
Quiet has arrived.

"I was told," Keene says, after a moment's consideration of Penny's incoherent rambling, "that he wished to know what her disposition was. We had no power to prevent her death, since we were informed of this well after the fact. Or so I believe."

Keene fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and rests it between his lips, digging in his pocket for a lighter. "How dead is she, anyway?"

Penny says, "So what, you think he was fishing for info she was actually more dead than alive? Like ..maybe he sent her off on purpose? I never even thought'a that." Her fidgeting paused for a moment, she comes back to life pulling at her clothes - she knocked something over, a paper cup rolls and bumps into an arc on the floor. Inbetween wiping down the wet, Penny looks up at matches hanging off the edge of the table, indicating with a nod "You got anything we can put her in? Like a spare Ronald or something? She got bound once so we can throw her in something til we get back to the loft... y'know, so we don't lose track of her."

As always, what Keene chooses not to answer is more telling than what he actually decides to acknowledge. He walks over to the table, picks up a match, strikes it against something convenient and lights up. The cigarette soothes the turbulence within, at least for a while.

"Does it have to be particular?" asks Keene. "A particular size, a particular shape, a particular color?"

"Nah, anything really" Penny seems sure of it but adds "Bigger than a breadbox? Duffle sized? The thing is we gotta go now and get her and find out what he's doing with the other hundred or so he's got stashed there." She's just about packed up and ready to go.

"Charming," Keene says, completely deadpan. He puffs on his cigarette, turning to head towards the door. "Off we go once again, to our imminent deaths. I'm going to make sure this is on my expense report. I probably have something in the car."

OOC> Penny shakes Quiet
OOC> Quiet wakes up. Eh? Wha? Ya need me for sumpin?
OOC> Penny says, "Yeah. We're leaving (with an invisible Pobble) for the Wax Museum."
OOC> Quiet says, "Okay. My alter evil is there already."
OOC> Penny doesn't want to scene with him; unless he's somehow bugged the pool hall's office and knows who I am and why I'm coming.
OOC> Quiet says, "He's always there unless he's out for some reason. Whether or not you see him."
OOC> Quiet says, "Cornelius lives there."
OOC> Penny says, "right so. off we go, non-chalant to unbind a spirit."

-= Jones and Greens =-

There is a mixture of various ethnicities and social backgrounds within this small area, a melting pot all come into one. The very businesses appear to take a culturally diverse avenue of theme. Many smaller stores here can be found selling foreign foods and other rarities such as special health items. Besides the consumable goods, other fine import stores are littered about as well, making this small area more interesting for those that enjoy window browsing.
The nickname of 'Tourist Lane' has been placed upon the area, proving that out-of-towners often stay at a small cluster of higher class hotels. Both those visiting for vacation as well as business reasons can be found in almost equal amounts. Small stands of maps, newspapers, and novelty items can be found down the lane to take advantage of those visiting the city.

Contents:
Phineas
Obvious exits:
Dark Horizon DH

OOC> Penny lets Keene set.

Driving in a black luxury sedan -- an Infiniti of some variety -- Keene and Penny take a trip from the bad part of town to another bad part of town ... the tourist district. The vehicle rolls into a nearby parking garage, where it makes its way to a certain part of the structure that is statistically unlikely to be disturbed by most car thieves or homeless people.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Keene sets the car alarm and begins walking towards their destination. Across his shoulder is his messenger bag's strap, with the bag itself having weird dents in it from an over-large object within.

"This is an exceptionally poor idea, you know," Keene says, deadpan.

Phineas has disconnected.

"Pobble thinks so, too. Don't worry." Penny's a bit keyed up. Sugar-high of a variety unknown to even six-year-olds. She's putting on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses as they walk down the block toward the Wax Museum. The pair look strange among a vacationing crowd, "I wouldn't do this with your approval anyway." She chews the cap off a marker and tips it felt-side down in her back pocket. When it bleeds out, it'll just add to her urban hippy look.

"You realize," Keene says, reaching into his coat, pulling out a hip flask, and taking a swig from it before holstering it once again, "that you need me alive to collect on whatever boon he'll give us for this job."

He puts his hands in his pocket, watching traffic idly as they grow nearer to the museum. "Because I would rather not get Chased."

"Shoulda parked closer."

Penny's head is now in the game. Because when questioned, witnesses usually describe how the angry young person elbowed and shoulder their way through the crowd. So she throws her shoulders back and affects a pleasant, if not sunny, air. She takes a hold of Keene's hand, fellow tourist and tugs him as they close on the doors to the museum.


"Subtle," Keene says, being tugged along. He keeps at least one hand on his bag throughout.


A very nice, plastoral looking building in the busier part of town. Recently rennovated, it has a pleasant facade to it, completely with a large hedge around the property, manicured lawn and topiaries of animals.

You enter the waxworks. The large double doors swing open for you.
Dark Horizons Waxworks - Main Room(#1957RJ)

This room is not particularly large. Just an entrance room, really. Heavy black curtains hang over the windows in front, shutting out almost all of the ambient light from the world beyond. The room is lit only by real candles and gas lamps. The air carries an old, almost must scent to it, giving you the sense of walking in to a building centuries old, even though it is a relatively new rennovation.
The walls are mostly wood panelled but not in any particular order. Chaos seems to be theme of the decor. The ceilings are high. Ridiculously high seeming, as if they extended far beyond human vision, in to the pitch depths up above. Something may be lurking up there, even now. In several spots there shelves are set in to the wall. Each shelf is empty. The books themselves appear to be sunken in to the walls, giving the room an even odder feel. The floors are completely bare of any sort of coverings. Just finely polished stone. In the center of the main room is a series of ten chairs. The really nice kind, with deep seats and thick velvet cushions. There is a circular table in the middle of them with two books displayed.
Off to the left side is a smallish office. In the back center of the room, you can see a pair of doors, oaken. One door has the face of a smiling demon, a brightly polished brass nameplate under it says Fiction. One door has the face of an angry, almost leering demon, another brightly polished brass nameplate under this one says Fact. There are no visible handles, just a hole in each open mouth with tongues sticking out.
+views available

Contents:
Cornelius
Obvious exits:
Fiction FI Fact F Out O
Keene enters from the street.
Keene has arrived.

OOC> Cornelius says, "Please, pose entry. I will be Quiet's extension for scening until otherwise notified that the NPC Cornelius has shown himself."
OOC> Keene says, "K."

"Wow look at the doors," she whispers, pretending awe. Convincing. And when she thinks no one's looking, Penny grins at the table and chairs, mutters something under her break to Keene and steers him toward the doors "So which shall we check out first, fact or fiction?" Some kind of open-ended joke, they stare.

The museum is empty. Or so it seems. It's extremely quiet and the lights are extremely dim. It would seem that no one is home at the moment.
Keene has a messenger bag over one shoulder that has weird bulges in it. It contains something larger than the bag really ought to contain. He acts the part of a tourist perfectly, having a true gift for deception. Everything from his eyes to his body language reads `sucker' rather than `terrorist'.

"Fiction sounds neat," the suited man says.

Penny was headed that way anyway. But the word 'neat' coming from Keene is enough to stop her mid stride. Puts a bounce on it, heel to toe "But Tommy I heard there was one of *the president* in Fact - can't we go there first?" She blocks the door and handle to the Fiction room; full-on - vamping it up horror-story-style. The door swings open and she leans backwards into the tilt.
It even creaks.

Keene generates a put-upon expression as Penny whines at him, moving to intercept her. "Jen-Jen," he says, generating a cutesy name on the fly, "if we go see the President now, it won't be as special as if we saw it last. Hey, be careful --"

He jerks forward into the Fiction room, as if to try to pre-empt her from a spill. Keep moving, Keene.

You enter the door marke Fiction.
Dark Horizons Waxworks - Fiction

Welcome to the hall of Fiction. The hallway is filled with a series of scenic wax sculpture of infamous men, women and monsters from literary history. Each one of these is done up fantasically but with enough of a sense of reality in them to create an air of true menace. This hallway breathes life in to dark figures in fiction, the grand literary tradition of horror, both modern and gothic. Each scene seems to be worse than the last. The gore. The expressions of agony, of torment. It's a difficult thing to look at for long. Unless you like that sort of thing.
This hallway is fairly long, wrapping around to the side, probably heading back the way you came. The floors here are rough, unworked earth it would seem. The ceiling here is extremely high, invisible to the eye. Very dark up above. Occasionally you can hear a menacing sort of scrabbling noise in the rafters. As though something were following you as you move along the displays. From somewhere in the darkness, light fog trickles down. It leaves maybe a foot worth of cover on the ground, hard to penetrate.

+views available

Obvious exits:
Out O

Cornelius enters from the main room.
Cornelius has arrived.
Keene enters from the main room.
Keene has arrived.

Penny who is Jen-Jen (Jenny jenny who can I turn to?) makes a grab for Keene on his way past her, slips onward expecting the door to swing shut. Did it? The noise was absent and it's lack settles down into the pit of the stomach. She scuffs her boots down the hallway, commenting as she goes along "Poor Lizzie, doesn't she always get a bum rap.."

The hall of Fiction is extremely quiet. Silent like the grave. Your voices echo strangely in this place. With it's foggy bottoms and large, open tops. Everything here feels... wrong. In a very subtle, difficult to define kind of a way.
OOC> Penny says, "awareness rolls?"
OOC> Cornelius says, "Yes. Awareness + Perc, diff 7 for the moment."

Keene rolls perception+awareness vs 7 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 0:
8 4 10
Achieving 3 successes, resulting in a complete success.

Penny rolls perception+awareness (7 dice) at a difficulty of 7:
7 -1- 2 5 3 5 3
Achieving 0 successes, resulting in a failure

Keene grabs onto Penny, trying to keep her upright. Once they're through the door, though, he releases her and adjusts his messenger bag strap. "Wow, this place is creepy," he says, the master of understatement.

OOC> Penny says, "You'd think MY odds were better."

"Jeepers Freddie," she elbows him and laughs in a pretty careless way "You should hear yourself. I bet it's just the temperature change - all that dry ice in one place tends to get a little on the stale side a few hours in." On the whole Penny's pretty blase. Or good at faking blase.

Penny's good. Keene is better. He laughs in that overly loud American way, making an exaggerated `spooky' face. "But bad ventilation is spooooooky," he says, like Count Chocula.

+view of Frankenstein's Monster:
Dark, dreary gothic village setting mayhaps provide you with some sense of where this takes place. Several small vllage huts are in the background. A moon hangs high in the sky. Apparently some of the fog generators must be above this display because it is foggy also, excess spilling to the walkway. In the scene you can see Frankenstein's Monster in all of it's terror and pity provoking grandeur. It stands there, face weirdly illuminated by a greenish light. In it's arms is a small, broken body. A young girl with a wilted daisy still clutched in her right hand that hangs out loosely. Her eyes are glassy, lifeless. She seems to stare out at you, jaw broken and hanging. The monster itself has a mixed expression of horror at its actions and savage triumph.

"Come this way," sounds cheerful and curious about what's around the next corner. Penny turns in toward the dark, gothic village setting. "Now is that what they're paying to see?" She looks at the broken kid-statue, arms folded, head tilted - judging. She walks to it's side - not to get a closer look but maybeb to keep out of it's direct line of sight.

Keene, meanwhile, blunders forward and transposes himself between Penny and the statue -- reading her body language, knowing how this game works. He stares at something inconsequential off to the side of the statue, doing his best cow-eyed tourist impression. "This reminds me of that movie, with the guy," he says. Keene works for Clear Channel. He knows all about inane banter.

The display of the Frankenstein's monster seems almost brooding. The girl's vacant eyes quite oddly seem to follow Penny's movements. You don't see them move... but wherever she is standing, the eyes seem to be looking.

OOC> Penny says, "I'd like to do another roll. Matter/Prime myself - raise my body temperature the better to melt the statue's two pair of eyes."
Cornelius pages: How do you mean, exactly? Not sure how that effect would work.
You paged Cornelius with 'As a foci-related effect: Wax melts at 138 degrees so via foci: Penny can write 138 degrees on her hands with the magic marker and radiate body heat of that temperature, using prime she can hurry along the damage to whatever trap is keeping the girl's spirit lodged in the figure.'.
Cornelius pages: Mmm. You would need a lot of successes for body heat alone to have that impact. Unless you were very close to the statue. Like, right next to it on the display.
Long distance to Cornelius: Penny intends to put her hands on it.
Cornelius pages: Okay... then pose the action first and then I'll call for rolls.

Concealed briefly, Penny backs up into Keene and casually writes all over the backs of her hands. The Sharpie stink is strong. New. "Open the bag, just unzip it" Penny's turned Keene around to explain with brief gestures and in some other language what it is she intends to do. Melt the eyes, break the cage, catch the girl and run. Really fast.

Keene unzips the bag casually, making it look like he's looking for something. "Shoot, I should get a picture of this for Leroy," he says, but unzips the bag too far -- a box-shaped object falls out, sliding onto Penny's feet. It isn't very heavy. Meanwhile, various papers also fly out, causing Keene to chase after them and gather them up in his arms. "God damn it!" he says, fumbling with the various sized press releases he gathered off the fax machine for this purpose. Nothing like a klutz to draw attention away from a peyote-soaked maniac.

You paged Cornelius with 'this is where I'd turn and hit the statue.'.
Cornelius pages: As a formality, please do me a favor and pose stepping on to the platform to do this.
Long distance to Cornelius: Penny didn't see a platform in a desc.
You paged Cornelius with 'Did I miss it?'.
Cornelius pages: I am sorry. It's nothing specifically statted. And unneeded really. Don't sweat it.

When Penny steps close to the display and she passes the area where that is the boundry of the scene, the air ripples slightly and she simply vanishes from sight.

Cornelius pages: When you step across the boundry, you feel a faint tingling of your skin. Then you find yourself standing in a forest at night. In the distance is a small gothic village where the lights are lit. The air is extremely chill and there is a breeze blowing. In the distance you hear the sounds of an animal.

Keene continues scrambling around, picking up papers around him. Something in the back of his mind warns him something is wrong -- and he turns, seeing (or rather, not seeing) Penny. He keeps picking up the papers, putting them all in the bag and zipping it back up. For a few moments, Keene considers the situation. What to do?

He decides to try something -- Keene picks up the box-shaped object he'd left on the floor (actually, a very small hamster cage, complete with wheel) and eases it past the threshhold of the boundary of the scene with his shoe, waiting to see if anything happens.

You paged Cornelius with 'You think I'd be able to tell if I just stepped into the spirit world? awareness roll?'.
Cornelius pages: Without the roll you can tell you're inside of some kind of pocket spirit realm. Like a mini-realm, subject to whatever rules were established during its construction. it seems very real however.
Cornelius has disconnected.
Sorry, Quiet is not connected.
No one to page.
OOC> Penny says, "... great."

Penny & Piggy take it outside.

[Ed Note: There were two-and-a-half really great poses here that weren’t in my /recall. Sean, please please tell me you have them in your buffer or something. I’ll cry if you don’t.]

Something something about smoke coming out across the ceiling from the library. And Penny BANGS out the door and declares “I’m going out.”

Something something about Hiro in a chair hooked up to something with wires, pants around his ankles, a roll of pennies in his mouth. He, too, declares “I wanna come.”

Something else like: Penny says “So come,” sly? Did she know what he was up to? Hmm. “Nobody’s stopping you.” She fiddles with the door. Something something about the other magic word, KET, to open the door.

Nothing happens.

Penny looks up at the uncooperative door. Her eyes move from edge to edge, then spots it "Who set the deadbolt?"
Hiro loses the wires and pulls up his pants, fiddling unsuccessfully with his belt. He looks up at the question, and promptly looks away. "I didn't want to be interrupted," he answers coyly, stripping off the rubber gloves. "Let's go."

*click*

Industrial - Factory
-= Jones and Lynx =-

To the west the more residential area is left behind while the long stretch of road spans towards the east. The apartment buildings and other stores of consumer goodness dwindle to nothingness while warehouses start to appear every so often. Many of the old factories that have become the namesake of the district have ironically closed down to instead become storage for different goods.
The street becomes more and more filled with holes, the pavement wearing thin and causing vehicles to bounce up and down on the pot holes. Quite frequently large trucks can be seen making their way down the roads. They haul lumber, paper, or some other material out to their destination, be that one of the local warehouses or the docks. During all hours there are the sparkle of lights, both day and night shift available in most of the factories that are still in operation.

Obvious exits:
Cowpunchers
===============================| +IC Time |================================

Current Time: Mon Feb 02 23:09:15 2004

Time of Day: Evening Weather: Sleet
Moon: Waxing Crescent Temperature: 34F (1C)

===========================================================================

A bar that has a good few cowboys milling about it.

Hiro makes his way into the Cowpunchers.
Hiro has left.
You make your way into the Cowpunchers.
Cowpunchers - Main Room(#1194RIJMs)

Loud country music assails the senses, issuing forth from a jukebox in the corner. Leaning over the bar next to the door must be 'the newcomer', a man around 55 years old. He's usually cleaning the bar with a rag when he's not drawing a beer from the taps in front of him. The usual liquors are available on the shelfs behind him, reflected in the mirror that says "Cowpunchers" with a red hat tipping up in a ya-hoo move over a lassoo.
Weekday evenings, this bar is filled with older men, having a sociable drink before going on home to the wife. But on weekends the place fills up with the factory workers relaxing before the dreaded work week comes once more. At these times it gets rowdy, when the cowboys that still live on the ranches to the east of here clash with the factory workers. Most fights wind up on the street, out of respect to the owner's age, but occasionally the cops have to be called in.



Contents:
Hiro
Echo
Ingrid
Kiet
Dennis
Matt
Petra
Obvious exits:

OOC> Dennis says, "Sorry, guys, the 'Puncher is pretty much ICly closed for a family get-together. :("
OOC> Penny says, "lock the door?"
You make your way to the streets outside.
Industrial - Factory
-= Jones and Lynx =-

To the west the more residential area is left behind while the long stretch of road spans towards the east. The apartment buildings and other stores of consumer goodness dwindle to nothingness while warehouses start to appear every so often. Many of the old factories that have become the namesake of the district have ironically closed down to instead become storage for different goods.
The street becomes more and more filled with holes, the pavement wearing thin and causing vehicles to bounce up and down on the pot holes. Quite frequently large trucks can be seen making their way down the roads. They haul lumber, paper, or some other material out to their destination, be that one of the local warehouses or the docks. During all hours there are the sparkle of lights, both day and night shift available in most of the factories that are still in operation.

Obvious exits:
Cowpunchers North on Lynx East on Jones West on Jones
Hiro comes out of the Bucking Bronco's doors.
Hiro has arrived.

Alabaster Smith comes into the area from the east.
Alabaster Smith has arrived.

Hiro *zzzp*: he's tugging on the zipper of his pants, having just christened the entrance to Cowpunchers to express his disdain for the locked door. The closest bar in town, and they lock the doors. Lam-O. "You got a cigarette, Penny?" he asks, turning away from the offending establishment.

Alabaster Smith is just in time to catch that interesting little act as he wanders down the street. An eyebrow quirks.

Penny pats herself down. Jacket pockets first; outside, inside. Jeans. Breast pocket. Nothing. Then she digs around in that bag of hers. "Lucky you," Penny tugs out a silver cigarette case; hard to miss what glitters on the outside - the initials VAV. Flips the case to Hiro and digs around for matches or something, finds something else instead. The way her hand slows, stops and tenses sends out the 'wrong' vibe "The fu- I swear to god if that fucking monkey's been in my bag..."

Alabaster Smith seems, it might seem, to have been headed for Cowpunchers, but his attention is diverted by the unusual pair, who he studies in some brief detail.

Hiro pauses, cigarette case snapped open, fingers poised in mid-air. He gives Penny a sidelong look, shows teeth. He's the only one that seems to get a kick out of the chimpanzee. Looks away, then, to hide the expression - busines himself with fitting a cigarette between his lips, patting himself down for a lighter. Snap - there's one, flourescent orange bic. Spark - flash - inhale.

Penny stops, pulls her hand out - clean. "You're so fucking sexy Piggy," walks up to him, takes the lit cig from his mouth while he stands there, electric in some way. His charisma goes a long way with her, it would seem. So right. Penny walks up to him, steals his smoke and fixes his pants and shirt for him. Buckles his belt. Puts a hand through his hair.

None of this is sisterly.

"What'd they say when you went in?"

Alabaster Smith quirks an eyebrow again. "Pardon me," he calls. "Is the establishment closed, or are y'all just hanging out?" He's got one of those Deep South accents you can scrape roadkill off the grill with.

"Barn party. Livestock, no pants, bad scene." Hiro directs this at Smith, over Penny's shoulder. Simultaneous response, like. His hair doesn't improve with Penny's ministrations - it's a lost cause. "Heypennsygrabthefortyouttamybag," he mumbles, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
Hiro pages: record bag. No records. A forty ouncer and a zip-lock bag full of pills and powders.

Clearly Hiro's hands are useless. Or useful but only in a very specific manner for a very specific task. Penny circles him, cigarette burning down in her mouth, works the knot out of the twist-ties keeping the record bag closed on his back. She tugs and tugs. And tugs. Gets her hands down in it, small rattling, plasticky rustling noises slither down the uplifted glass fourty ounce-er. She keeps her hand in the bag, murmurs something into his ear.

Alabaster Smith watches the Hiro and Penny, expression amused yet mostly neutral. "Ah see. A barn party. Hmm. Pity, Ah was hoping to save some souls and get a drink."

"Blue goes down, red goes up, yellow goes sideways." Hiro reaches back - plucking the cigarette from between her fingers. Hits it, long and hard. Exhale around the words: "The rest's self-explanatory." He beams inexplicably at Alabaster - ashing his smoke in the gutter. "You wanna hit the forty, preacher?"
Penny and Hiro are to the left of the door to Cowpunchers. Penny is smoking even though Hiro has his hand out, waiting for that cigarette to be returned. Her hands are otherwise occupied, a fourty in one and the other deep in his record bag. Her mouth couldn't be closer to his ear otherwise she'd burn him.

"So I says to 'r, I says... Ma'... don' bother me now, man, I got my headgear on..." To avoid having their conversation rained out by this abysmal weather, Pobble and Cash are sticking close to the sides of buildings. They approach in a conversational gate, Cash getting wet away from the protection of Pobble's super villain umbrella. He walks head down, watching his feet tromp through puddles in the production of micro tidal-waves. Cash continues the end of his antic dote trailing his fingers over the memory of his orthopedics aids.

Pobble strolls. Or rather, he would stroll were he not king pimpin' and combat booted. So its more of a strut. Well. It would be a strut if he weren't so obviously wasted. Lets call it swaggering. All S's, so lets call him shitfaced. Pupils agape, if they were mouths they would be the mouths of persons who had just seen the ghosts of their long dead parents, agape, all slack jawed. The irises have given up hope and gone into hiding. A cigarette dangles precariously from a thin lip as if stuck there with superglue. Another cigarette clings for dear life to his begloved silver tipped fingers. The umbrella is held waveringly, the black and white alternating segments twisting around through some wrist action chicanery.

Alabaster Smith smiles broadly at Hiro. "That's a generous offer, Brother, but Ah shall pass for the moment. Get me started on preachin' and Ah might need it later."

Hiro continues to drag on his imaginary cigarette - only, hey, now it's real - Penny's a thief and Hiro's smoking all her cigarettes. The attractive silver case drops into his pocket. Fresh flash of butane flame, flashed peace sign at the approaching duo. "Oi, assholes," he greets.

Penny hasn't seen Pobble or Cash yet, isn't even aware that the cigarette's gone - must be holding her breath or something. She tugs him and the bag back into the uncovered light outside the door to the bar. "Nnnsweet. I need.." She palms something out of his bag, pockets it and lets go of the straps.

Under the thin awning, Penny sneezes. She puts the other hand back in her bag, digs.

Hang Loose. Loose indeed, since the gesticulation brings about the downfall of the tragically fated cigarette between Pobble's fingers. Appropriately the finger-formation is replaced with a request for another cigarette. Brain catches up with reality, and fingers find the substitute cigarette on the lips. It is removed, after a long last-cigarette-on-earth drag. The rain-pearled umbrella toting yeti flashes a most charming smile as he moves with his companion to stand near the dastardly duo outside Cowpunchers. "Good evening, my droogan brothers. And sister." As he says the latter, he eyes Penny with a strange look. It's about half a mile away from enviousness, and three quarters from lust. Pobble taps his nose, and the expression vanishes like Houdini. "What transpires in the shadow of the house of slaughter?" he asks dreamily.

"Far out." Cash throws some fingers in pairs to Hiro and Penny, accompanied by a complicating ghetto sign ending in a *snap*.

"Whadda ya..." The rest of this greeting is interrupted by something square that grabs Cash's attention as his steps have taken him into proximity. Soaked jeans cry when he bends down to pick up said shiny blue square. Flipping the lost BlockBuster's card in his hand, he eyes it as a prize and nods to himself. It ends up back in Pobble's chest, handed over to the space cadet. "We should check into this." He whispers back, then "Whadda ya doin'.... man." for the two loiterers and company.

Echo comes out of the Bucking Bronco's doors.
Echo has arrived.
Echo steps through a void into the OOC Nexus.
Echo has left.

Alabaster Smith watches the others, studying them with a pleasant, unchanging smile, choosing to remain silent for the moment.

So now Hiro has two cigarettes, and he doesn't even notice it. Reality can't be as muddled as his head: teeth bared in a grin, squeaking with grinding-away enamel. Happy birthday. Both smokes wedged between index and middle fingers of the same hand, burning against one another. He jerks backwards at Penny's insistent tugging, stumbles, nearly falls back. Doesn't seem to notice, aside from an untrusting look aimed at the treacherous ground--
--attention snaps up. Fixes, somewhere between Pobble and Cash.

"Reckon them shitheels closed their cow club to us cattle rustlers, pardner," he drawls. Then, in more appropriate english: "So we've taken our sex and drugs to the street, where it belongs."
Jon comes into the area from the west.
Jon has arrived.

OOC> Jon waits for an idea of the scene before jumping in.

Hiro and Penny are on the doorstep of Cowpunchers. Hiro's smoking two tandem cigarettes: Penny's behind him, rooting through her bag. Pobble and Cash approach across a stretch of asphalt, Smith stands off to one side, scrutinizing. The vibe is manic, crazed, drug and drink fueled.

Penny was eyeing the corner of the building; specifically the darker, more sheltered area. Interrupted.
Pobble.
Penny moves sideways; away into some shadow only to be headlighted. There's a look - a fast gesture waved to them, to Cash and Pobble - not a good-bye. She seems to find her spine a minute later and calls to Pobble The Bear "You just stay the fuck away from me," she points with her left hand "you stay away," backing away, a tremor in her voice, hissing "He said it wasn't /time/.. Hiro keep him away from me.."

It takes a while for the idea to leave his cranium, some grand plan for free porn rental using this found BluckBusters card. And true to this, Cash seems detached from this group for a few beats as this scheme works it's self out. The obvious catch being, BlockBusters doesn't carry porn.

"Fuggin natzis... They don' even have porn, man." Cash utters in disgust, turning back to his friends that brave this weather. Of course without a mainline view of the inner workings of this drunkard's dome, these words are meaningless and out of place. "I'm still cookin' ya know. I got some mad kabob I put together."

Pobble, standing with a giant black and white segmented golf umbrella to stave off the downpour, stands near Smith, Hiro and Penny. Eyes that are suggestive of some kind of drug induced haze channel surf, flicking between the pair and the static fuzz of no-person somewhere between them which is only visible to the befurred man. An approximation of outrage crawls onto his features, but it's definately a half-arsed effort by the muscles. The desired look is missed, and the expression that shows up in it's place is more like.. senile old man thrown into bath of jam. Penny's actions cause him to step back a few, raising his cigarette holding hand palm outwards. "I haven't come for it. It's not time." Somewhere in the London drawl there is a sympathetic tone of apology. A blue blockbuster card is dropped into a pocket.
[Public] Eri has joined this channel.
Huh? (Type "help" for help.)
[TIC] Penny (Thursday) says, "Speaking of Steampunk, Wild Wild West is on TNT."
[TIC] Pig Boy (Saturday) says, "nice"

Jon comes up the street with an umbrella over his head. The umbrella is black, and says 'Interzone Records' on it. He's walking at a good pace, a mostly smoked cigarette in hand. He pauses as he gets close to Cowpunchers and drops the cigarette butt on the soaked sidewalk, stubbing it out with his boot. He pulls a pack of Marlboro's from a pocket along with a black Zippo lighter. He removes a cigarette that's just a touch crumply from being in his pocket and straightens it out with his fingers. Once he's finished he lights the cigarette and puts the pack along with the lighter in his pocket. It takes a bit of work and time, but he gets it. Just his luck, that the minute he gets it all worked out, the rain stops. He mumbles under his breath as he exhales smoke. "Fuckin' rain."

Hiro looks away. Just like that - not his scene. Flicks something into his mouth, riposte off the thumb of his left hand, tips his head back for a long moment to catch some dirty rainwater - wash it down. Hard swallow of minimal liquid and something small'n knobbly. "Lovely day, inn't?" he asks Cash, after a moment: passing off his second, longer cigarette. It's a sad, soggy affair - barely burning with its twin.

It's not a particularly welcome offer, but Cash accepts it none the less. If not only to fulfill the symbology that weighs it, but to continue the pass eventually over to Pobble. Perhaps the unhappy and wet cigarette can snuggle up with a BlockBusters card and spoon a bit. "Whatever. This place never stops with the rain. And I need some more red soda, fugger." A search begins behind the denim flap of Cash's jacket and ends when he pulls out a flask to unscrew.

Penny discovers a ledge to lean on and positions herself where Pobble can't see her face. She disappears along the side of the building using Hiro as a shield. Her voice thins to a sometimes heard rant about time and it's meaning for another five minutes.

Then it's quiet. As the rain stops, there's a sound of something metal hitting the blacktop; and rainwater sluicing off the roof, tapping that metal in pairs of clinks. Other noises; interior distortions of conversation and music and one shuttle of gravel under a sliding foot.

Pobble takes the cigarette, it finding a home next to the cigarette he already has lit. Taking a puff on both at once he seems to look straight through Hiro at Penny for a moment before shrugging his rain laden fur clad shoulders and focusing his attention back on what blocks his perception of what he was seeing anyway. Umbrella spins, splaying out droplets everywhere and with a deft flick of the thumb it pops down as he angles it into some empty air. He sounds suddenly tired, swaying with the motion of demasting the rain deflector. "They kicked us out? Christ. I've not even been inside yet and they kicked me out." He'd sound angry if he diddn't sound so drug addled. "This is, an outrage." Sucking again on both of the cigarettes he twirls, swinging the brolly up under his arm like a baton. Looking about as if for a manager, he nearly spears Hiro with it's overly pointed end.

Jon puts his cigarette between his lips and puts his umbrella down. He exhales more smoke as he removes the cigarette from his lips. "Fuckers in there comin' up with reasons to kick people out?" He says it loud enough for anyone around to hear. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I bother walkin' my ass down here." If he notices any hint of drugs in Pobble's voice, he makes no sign of it.

Hiro jerks back, recoils from Pobble's Penguinesque assault upon his person. He looks back and to the left (back, and to the left...): flicks the remainder of his cigarette off into the gutter. Buckle-down of the snaps on his record-bag. One last look between his partners in crime. Then, gone, not a word, retreating around the side of the bar - mumbled words, scuffle, straining noise, thump of meat against wall.

Alabaster Smith may be a preacherman, but so far he hasn't shown any signs of objecting to the presence of booze, tobacco, or other drugs. He just keeps to himself, watching, listening, keeping dry.

Enid comes into the area from the west.
Enid has arrived.

From afar, Hiro tries to get you to your feet and against the wall, so you're not all sprawled out in the dust. Then books inexplicably.

"I hope he's goin' ta make soda..." Cash watches the techni-colored lab coat stalk off in silent retreat. Rain still dripping from the tip of his thrice broken nose. The presence of a preacher man settles, hunched outside an establishment of ill repute amongst scallywags. Long hair is parted, the better for Cash to see with. And above the fallen Penny and besides the wet fur man, the drunk drinks from his flask and smiles.

"Hey man." Cash offers to evangelic watcher.

"Bastards." says Pobble, turning to look towards the entrance to Cowpunchers. "You're all a bunch of bastards." He doesn't shout, and any trace of anger has dissapated. Mustered with the sucking of two cigarettes and expelled with carcinogens to the wind. An umbrella pokes from under his arm in a manner that still threatens to skewer the unwary as he turns to Cash, casting a perplexed look at Penny along the way. "Oi reakon," he begins, but then turns to nearby Jon, "Do this often do they?" he asks, voice fading in the brief five word question from curious to apathetic run off. Hand swings in a wide arc, palm open, cigarettes dangling. Apparently he wants Cash's flask.

Alabaster Smith dips his head. "Brother," he replies to Cash. God only knows what Smith's reasons for staying are. Maybe he just likes the ambience.

Everyone stands near Cowpunchers. Except Penny, who's slunk into a niche. Cash seems Drunk. Pobble looks fucked and sometimes agitated. Penny is hiding and rambling.

---------------------------------[ Glance ]---------------------------------
Enid................Punk rock Goldilocks. Skinny. 20ish. Half-finished tattoos.
Height: 5' 4 Weight: 110 lb Age: App: 2 Cha: 4
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jon.................Tall, lanky young man with a slender build and very dyed hair.
Height: 6'3" Weight: 145 lb Age: App: 2 Cha: 2
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pobble..............
Height: 5'10 Weight: 140 lb Age: App: 2 Cha: 3
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cash................
Height: Not Weight: 177 Age: App: 2 Cha: 2
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alabaster Smith.....Tall, thin, red-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed
Height: 6'1" Weight: 170(?) Age: 30 App: 2 Cha: 4
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Penny...............Tall. Hot. White hair.
Height: 5'9" Weight: 123 Age: App: 3 Cha: 3
-----------------------------------[ - ]------------------------------------

Jon chuckles, smoke coming from his mouth in little puffs as he does. "S'like anything else, man. Bunch of uptight bastards decides they wanna keep a certain class of folks out, they'll come up with any goddamn reason to do it. Doesn't even have to make sense." He shrugs it off. "I've been kicked out of my share of places cause people didn't like my look. Whatever that fuckin' means."

A moan.
A hand then. On the cornerpiece of the building.
It must be Penny where Hiro propped her up before he ran off. No explanation. Nothing. Man left in a big hurry. From experience, some know that's never good. The hand, Penny's hand, keeps readjusting itself like she's clinging to the edge of the world.

Penny rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 6:
<6> 4 3
Achieving 1 successes, resulting in a marginal success.

Enid rounds the corner, swinging her motorcycle helmet in one hand and whistling. Oh, somebody's in high spirits. You'd have to be in high spirits to try to whistle out a melody from psytrance. She passes in front of Cowpuncher's just in time to hear Jon opine about The Man keeping him down, a complaint that she answers by bumping into him with her shoulder. "You!" she says. "I don't like the look of you, Sickert. You're ugly an' you smell funny an' I wanna cigarette." She's at least thoughtful enough not to help herself to contents of his pockets, instead she extends a hand and wait. Of course, as she's waiting the realization slowly dawns on her that they're not alone here, at night, in front of a nightclub. She gaze darts self-conciously from one side to another.

Long distance to Pobble: Penny is channeling god, talking to it. Penny's done a massive quantity of herion to achieve this calling-forth. I'd roll to sense were I you.

Pobble rolls 4 (4 dice) at a difficulty of 6:
<10> 5 5 2
Achieving 1 successes, resulting in a marginal success.

Cash rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 4:
<5> 2 <8>
Achieving 2 successes, resulting in a moderate success.

"So like... what're you doin ova there, Penny." Someone finally comes round to it, as Cash hands off his flask to be hit. Pobble gets a ripe whiff of the stuff, it's running down each side of the silvery flask and mixing with the rain water. The denim man steps over to where Penny makes sidewalk angels.

"Get yer act together... man." Cash tries to coach the girl back off the cement.
"Damn the Man. Next thing you know Music Town will take over." Enid's arrival brings a wonky smile to Pobble's lips with a sideways nod. "Awrighty." he says, and then he twitches just a little. As if a bee had just stung him in the side. It's not pain however that flash-marks his features but.. a look of loss. It dissapears as quickly as it came. While still facing Jon and Enid, eyes swivel to look sideways towards Penny's hand. Harsh drags on the twin cigarettes, in the waiting-for-scentencing fashion. Arm with umbrella takes flask. He begins to turn, suddenly appearing confused.

Jon bumps forward a little as Enid shoulder blocks him. "Well, I don't like your looks either bitch, and you dress funny." All the same he pulls out his slightly crumpled pack of Marlboro's and black Zippo and hands them to Motorcycle Mama Enid. "Here. I'm not gonna fuckin' light it for you." He tries to look stern and offended, but he can't help it, a bit of a smile tugs at the corner of his eyes "Where's your bike?" He pokes her in the leg with his umbrella.

Enid loops her arm through the faceplate of the helmet so as to free up both hands for cigarette-lighting. She bends her head down and cups her hand around the Zippo, not that it needs protection from any stray breeze. "'Round the corner," she says, tossing the lighter back to Jon. "Good luck findin' parking out here on a club night." As her tunnel vision expands to include the rest of the crowd in front of Cowpunchers, she smiles up at Pobble - the sort of sunny and beautific smile possessed only by children and happy drunks. It wavers in the face of Pobble's confusion, and Enid turns that expression on the white-suited Alabaster Smith. "Reverard," she drawls, exhaling smoke. "You've wandered a bit far from home, haven't you?"

Alabaster Smith smiles at Enid broadly, giving her the full attention of his personality. "Sister," he declares, "Ah am at home anywhere on God's green Earth. What brings you here?"

It pours out of her, an eerie language so gutteral at times it could be finnish and so sharp it may be japanese but it's definitely not english. The tone of the conversation Penny carries on seems to be a series of questions, one after another, sometimes interrupting herself. Tongue too full and heavy to round out the words properly. Penny stands up again with Cash acting as ballast, dry heaves and coughs. Too many pills. Or something.

With a last double drag, the twin cigarettes are flicked away bouncing off the wall to fizzle out on the rain drenched sidewalk. Pobble's look of confusion snaps away as he takes a swig from the flask in his hand, causing him to drop the umbrella which was held by his elbow. Itching palms it seems, now free fingers rub at the red gloves and looking back to Enid he says "Sorry. Bear with me a second." Tone has shifted to verging-on-sadness as he turns to head over to Penny, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. Eyes find Cash, and he asks "Whaddshe have?"

You whisper "It isn't time yet but it keeps .. moving. Circulating. Like it's in the blood. . and it just wants to slip out." to Cash.

[TIC] Pobble says, "You saying anything understandable?"
[TIC] Penny (Thursday) says, "Enochian"
[TIC] Pobble has Enochian 3!

Jon continues to draw on his cigarette. He shoots a glance at Smith as he talks to Enid. He adopts his best 'bad ass' posture, though he is far from bad ass in appearance. He doesn't make any aggressiv moves or anything, but he gets that big brother pose by Enid, protective. "Who's your friend in the suit Nid?" As Penny heaves and coughs and Pobble speaks, his attention turns there.

[TIC] Penny (Thursday) is asking where it came from, where it will return to, what it wants; those things we never worked out that night on the beach.

Enid leans against Jon, not necessarily because she has any difficulty standing, but because cramps her friend's attempts as bad-assittude. She taps ash off of the end of her cigarrette. "Just takin' in the local color, Reverend. That's the Reverend Alabaster Smith, Sickert," she says, gesturing towards the man in the white suit. "Here to bring salvation to the great unwashed masses. Say hello to the nice man. He ain't gonna bite," she teases, but her sunny mood is short-lived as Penny begins to dry heave and speak in tongue. "Well. Shit." She looks to Pobble for confirmation or reassurance or, well, something. "She alright?"

Matt comes out of the Bucking Bronco's doors.
Matt has arrived.
OOC> Matt says, "whups.. not here. sorry."
Matt makes his way north.
Matt has left.

"I dunno man. Mebbe she's the one that drank the last of the -red- soda." Helpful, much like a mailbox, Cash's center of gravity is low and provides Penny with rock in her trouble turbulent existence. Though the Cash ship sways over its anchor, but it's never uncontrolled in its drunken stupor. With an economy of movements, Penny is twirled and stood straight in an Aikido dance move.

Alabaster Smith grins toothily at Jon, and offers a hand. "Evenin', Brother," he greets. "As the lady says, Ah'm Alabaster Smith, a humble man of God here to do His works." He glances to Penny, eyebrow arching, as if affronted that she might show him up. "Ah do believe the Lord is sending us a sign."

Jon kind of casually leans forward and shakes Smith's hand, his attention distracted to Penny now. "Hi, I'm Jon Sickert." He keeps watching Penny even as he brings his hand back, "Red soda, booze, fuck man, she's on something. And I don't think it's friggin' Jesus." He lets Enid lean against him with no problem as he drops his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out. "I don't know what this would be a sign of, other than some people can't handle their shit."

Alabaster's interjections bring a curious look from Pobble. Although the situation doesn't seem to be all that humorous, his lips twist into a sardonic smile. "You have no idea." he says. Passing Cash's flask back to it's rightful place - Cash's hand, the unobvious humour passes and he nods to Enid with a reassuring 'Trust me, I'm a Doctor' look about him. "She'll be fine." From a pocket, Pobble pulls a handful of something, picks one, deposits the rest back and presses whatever it is into Penny's hand. "You'll be fine Pens." he says again, pulling a half drained plastic water bottle from another oversized pocket and giving it to the woman.

Dennis comes out of the Bucking Bronco's doors.
Dennis has arrived.
Zoe comes out of the Bucking Bronco's doors.
Zoe has arrived.

Alabaster Smith smiles broadly at Jon. "The Lord, He works in mysterious ways, which is another way of saying He doth maketh the weird shit to happen, and leaves us to interpret it."

Penny is dry heaving, steadied by Cash near the doors to Cow Punchers. Pobble stands close by. Near the cluster stand Jon and Enid, Enid leaning on Jon. Alabaster smith stands against a wall near Jon and Enid.

Enid looks from Cash to Pobble and finally to the shakey Penny, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Somehow, she's less than reassured. "You think so?" she asks to Pobble, taking a drag on her cigarette as if she's been suddenly reminded of her own need for some medicine. The reverend's explanation is what finally calm her, and she lets out a sullen, "You've got that right," in agreement.

Dennis slips out of the Cowpuncher, gives Zoe a nod of farewell, and walks on down the street.
Dennis makes his way west.
Dennis has left.
Zoe goes home.
Zoe has left.

A little baggie is still clutched in her hand, a clue. Penny doesn't quite go limp but she's not the same person that was just out for a beer with her homes Hiro. A little paler, well. A lot paler. Hardly a contrast with her wet white hair plastered to her head. She stares at Cash with dilated pupils and a slack, sad smile. "He never goes completely," sounds rational. But she can't hold her head up and the second, the very second Pobble touches her, Penny tenses and buries her head on Cash's shoulder, like someone touched with a live wire.

Pobble's hand comes away from her hand, red and wet.

Examining her through the wet strands of his hair, Cash looks at the back of Penny's skull while she mans up to the doc's orders. "She'll be cool, man." Not that he sounds any more comforting in the matter now that he's retrieved his flask from sir Pobble. It's hit, his 30 proof breath travels and steams in the cold air. Penny's head resting on the swaying shoulder, Cash slowly infests her with the drunken swagger that snakes in his spine constantly. It's contagious, and now that she's allowed her weight to be placed atop of the squat Jew, unavoidable. "Far out." Cash digs it, he never goes completely. That'll be comforting in lonely times.

Jon watches the scene and nods idly at Smiths' words. "I suppose. I never put much stock in God myself." He notes the red on Pobble's hand. He doesn't say anything, but he does keep his gaze where the action's at. "Where you been tonight? I ran by the store and you weren't there. I thought you were closing?" That's it make light conversation. He feels for his cigarettes and lighter and doesn't find htem in his pocket. "Gimme my smokes."

Pobble lets out a long low sigh as he stares down at his fingers. Silver daubed with red. Red on white, red on red. For some reason or other, this turn of events doesn't seem to surpise him. Neither does the fact that Penny spasms when he touches her. The bloody finger smears something onto the bottle in his other hand and he holds this out to Penny as he takes a step back, reaching into his pocket and taking out another pair of cigarettes. He lights both, sucking in and speaking around them. He's starting to look tired.

[TIC] Penny (Thursday) says, "this feels weird. this scene. drama. but maybe not in a good way."
[TIC] Pobble says, "Enochian symbolic equivalent of 'Chill' written in blood on the water bottle. It does seem weird."
[TIC] Pobble says, "I feel ya."
[TIC] Pobble says, "I'm the one that usually does all the falling down in bloody heaps."

Enid has returned the lighter, but she produces Jon's pack of Malboros from her jacket pocket and stuff them back into his. "I had to go pick somethin' up for TC," she says, eyes downcast as she makes some attempt to keep from staring at the Penny-related commotion. "An' now I need a beer," she says in the same sort of way that people usually say they need oxygen. "You drinkin', Reverend?" she asks, turning towards the door.

"Funny you should put it that way," Alabaster comments to Jon, "for He has much invested in you." He shakes his head at Enid. "Sadly, Ah fear my time right here is done, and Ah have to take care of some business."

Penny drops the baggie, takes the bottle and slumps into Cash. In tune with his wobble, her eyes kinda roll up back into her head. She curls the bottle inward toward her chest and 'hnnns' humming her way back to functioning "I cut .. myself. Didn't I. Shouldn't have touched ..me .. P-p-pobs I'm not ..ss-safe." Her eyes roll over toward the other trio, says "Oh.. shit," like she might cry.

Jon watches Smith and gives the man a vague smile before he turns back to Penny and that ensuing drama. "Dude, there anything one of us can do to help? I mean, she ain't lookin' any better." He gives an unsure look to Enid as if seeking her advice silently. "I mean...shit like this can get bad quick sometimes."

Enid's mouth forms a straight line. "Night then, Reverend." She catches Jon's look and gives him a barely perceptible shake of her head. "C'mon." She looks right past him at the bleeding girl. "I think it's time for us to go inside."

Shaking his head, Pobble turns back to Jon, Enid and Smith. Cigarettes waggle between his lips as he says "She'll be fine. Honest." He does sound quite certain of this as he reaches down and picks up his umbrella. "Home's not far Pens. You can rest soon." Straightening up as demanded, Pobble begins to lead his companions up the road with a tired smile to Enid, "See you soon.." A nod to John, "Thanks guvna."
OOC> Penny says, "Night guys ..uh ..sorry it got so weird. Blame it on the rain?"
OOC> Enid laughs. "No problem."
OOC> Pobble says, "Yeah, next time it'll be much worse. I mean, better."

Jon nods to Pobble then looks back to Enid. "Come on, I'll buy you a beer." He heads toward the bar then.
OOC> Jon laughs. "Nah, thanks for the RP. Weird is okay :)"
Enid disappears with Jon into the club.
Enid makes her way into the Cowpunchers.

Power Play: A scene.

Hiro slouches in his seat. This is not indicative of boredom, or uneasiness, or intoxication -- part of what defines 'Hiro' as 'Hiro' is simply that he slouches. An ashtray balances precariously on his chair's left arm, full of cigarette butts and ash and roaches and bottlecaps, overflowing to the critical mass point, teetering on the brink of a mess Daisy will have to clean up, because it's Daisy's job and Hiro is Friday and Hiro does whatever he damn well pleases, thank you very much.



He hits the joint, greasy brown with resin, and passes it to the right, to Penny. His eyes are fixed on the dome dominating the coffee table, an antique stock ticker liberated from eBay.



"We gonna do this?" he asks Penny.

Penny has her legs kicked over the right arm of her chair. She could be touching heads with Hiro if she were high. Taking the joint from him, she inhales a few times, cough-talking "We-gon-na-do-this," snorts smoke out her nose.



How the Invisible College got their hands on one of the first Edison Universal Stock Printers, on ebay no less, was definitely due in some part to Pobble's ever expanding collection of connections; amazing what money will buy. Penny, glazed but interested, can't take her eyes off the thing - a victorian masterpiece of brass, mahogany and a large roll of spooled white paper - "..it looks like an upended turn-table, really" she continues some internal monologue outwardly "and when we ask it to, the spirit will turn over the gears and .." she passes the joint back.



"Listen up," puts her fingers on the plaque, covering someone's name obscenely-wealthy-at-one-point. Who she's talking to isn't quite clear "Tap that little thing over there." Maybe she meant Hiro. 'That Little Thing' is the paper-forwarder. "You should try talking to them, ..it, with me, y'know?"

Hiro says, "Ok, is there any specific system for describing rotes here?"
Hiro says, "Like how we should break it down or something?"
Quiet says, "You can describe it to me now. I've not seen one yet. I assumed there wasn't but that is a failure on my part. I'll check with Oblivion."
Hiro says, "OK. We're using the stock ticker as a kind of ouija board. It's a relic -- a symbol of power just because of it's antiquity. We've wired it right into the fuse box. A computer microphone -- one of those cheap plastic boom mics people use for dictation and like net teleconferencing -- is wired directly into the current, and the ticker has a fresh roll of paper. It's two-way communication, so we can speak to it and it can respond through the stock ticker. We're trying to contact the largest, oldest electricity spirit in residence -- the big one, the one Hiro's already nicknaming 'Old Man General Electric'. The big kahuna that was in charge of the generators. The idea is that the ticker acts as a beacon, to draw the spirit in to speak to us."

Quiet pages: Thats fine. Two of you pose the beginning. Then make the first roll. Then the second pose. Then a second roll. Using anything to modify the DC of your roll?

Slouched in his high-backed chair, Hiro gives something like mumbled assent; exhaling a viscous cloud of marijuana smoke. He straightens, or at least tilts his slouch forward: laying fingertips against the edge of the stock ticker. Eyes close half-way, either from concentration or intoxication. He clears his throat, taking this very seriously -- steampunk telegraph machine his own postmodernist ouija board.

Hiro rolls arete (3 dice) at a difficulty of 5:

<8> <5> <10>

Achieving 3 successes, resulting in a complete success.

The paper moves inch by inch, threading itself through the mechanism to make contact with the two alphanumeric wheels. Penny sits back and takes the joint from Hiro again, tokes.

She exhales over the dome, then the perspective changes dramatically. The smoke seems to displace itself inside the glass dome and expand it outward, super-imposing and image of itself the full width of the table.
Penny rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 5:

<5> -1- 2

Achieving 0 successes, resulting in a failure
Penny watches the dome, stunned to a more upright position "That wasn't supposed to happen."

The air slowly takes on a charged feeling. Like the sense before a storm, the tingling of the static in the air of electricity looming in the distance.

"Hsst," Hiro hisses through his teeth, all don't-anger-the-spirits touchy about this shit. Maybe his favorite porn site was down this morning. A deep breath, released through bared-clenched teeth... which Pigboy didn't brush this morning. Fingers splay out, pinkie to index spread across the rim of the machine's base. "Imagination at work," he recites, enunciating each syllable carefully. No, no sanskrit, no forbidden languages. Corporate slogans.

Hiro rolls arete (3 dice) at a difficulty of 6:

4 3 -1-

Achieving -1 successes, resulting in a botch!

Quiet winces. At least it's a 0.
Hiro says, "Yeah :b"
Hiro says, "smoking dope and invoking forbidden powers. I don't see how we're going wrong.."
Quiet says, "Now all you need is some hideous Lovecraftian book."

"Would you fucking concentrate? Fuck, man fucking thing maxed out Pobble's Centurion for the quarter.." - of course, he doesn't know that yet, she asides "don't tell him, okay. Okay. Okay okay" her best Joe Pesci "just let it happen, right?" She closes her eyes and lowers her chin to her chest; not quite zen but it'll do.

[Willpower] Penny spends a Willpower point.
Penny rolls 3 (3 dice) at a difficulty of 6:

5 <9> <9>

Achieving 2 successes, resulting in a moderate success.

Quiet says, "That would give us a total of six unless I can't count."
Hiro nods.

It happens again; a ghost of the ticker expanding outward toward Penny and Hiro - and then past them. Past the table and the down to the floor, the image increasing overhead like a projection until it loses all resolution.

Penny reaches out into the space in front of her, chipped nail polish throwing off points of light, like morse code. "Do you see it yet?"

Eyes flicker shut, open slowly. Hiro snatches his hands back from the machine as if shocked: fingertips rubbing together, fidgeting. He kipes the half-smoked joint from Penny, takes a long hit to 'center himself'. Exhale, a long narrow stream. Tone formal, offering the weed back to his partner in crime:

"Lord of Turbines," he murmurs. "We offer praise. Who brings illumination, driving out ignorance? Who drives civilization? Who powers our city, steam, fire, and current?" Pause. "Tell us your name, that we might return to you what is yours, that your wires might live again, that the machines might sing your praise."


The feeling of static in the air continues to build as the charge grows. From the microphone you can hear what sounds like interferance coming through. A faint whine comes from the speaker, must be really bad reception from the otherside. Slowly your hair begins to stand on end. "Who.... summons...." Comes a crackling voice from the microphone. Small metal objects slowly begin to slide to larger ones as the feeling intensifies. Outside you can hear a rumble of thunder.


"I... am.... Arcer." The crackling, staticy voice has the sound of a voice rusted from disuse.

Fuck. Hiro doesn't remember all the right honorifics. He's read too many comic books and not enough hermetic texts. But he's winging it, right? If John Constantine can bind the lord of plagues, he can make a deal with a generator. "The Invisible College seeks barter," he says, quietly. "We wish to return to you the glory that was once yours. Your turbines are full of dust, your wires silent, your home under the sway of foreign current. We would make the city's power lines yours again." Pigboy looks at Penny sidelong - like, do I sound pompous enough? Is this flying?

Totally pompous. Penny gives Hiro a look like he's just in from outerspace "Hello Arcer," fingers twitching til she makes fists on the table, reflexively chatting like it's a regular sort of phonecall "I'm Penny and that's Hiro. We're part of The Invisible College and if you don't have anything better to do, we'd like to invite you to stay with us." She looks up, briefly, to check the status of her hair-on-end "..provided you can find some way to not charge the air around us all the time."


"Ahhh..." The voice comes, carrying the hollow echo of a metal chamber that is empty with the faint crackle of electricity. "The turbines.... they are silent... I... I have been sleeping.... for a long time...." It does, indeed, sound almost like an old man. A confused, sleepy one, but an old man. The thundering outside settles down but the static electricity and magnetism can still be felt in here. "Where... where have the men gone... who shall tend the turbines... who shall check the wires and monitor my gauges..." There is a thunk as the televisions suspended by chains bang against each other.

"Everything is wrong... they left... Home Office... orders. Why will you do this?" It asks, confused tone becoming curiosity.


Hiro's questioning look turns into a frown. He was feeling very Hermetic for a moment. Clears his throat, returning his attention to the ticker. "The.. uhm, details." Pause. "Well, Arcer. They no longer believed in you. They left a long time ago. We do believe in you: we'd like to see you prosper. We've made this place our home, and we'd like you to do what you've always done. We'll help you - we'll give you back the city's wires, turn your turbines back on, repair the place so you can do what you're meant to do. In return, all we want is for you to look after us like you looked after the others. Only we won't abandon you like they did."

Another look with Penny. Under his breath: "That better? Jeeze."

You say, "The price of progress, Arcer" Penny explains further giving Hiro the nod, still convivial - chatty when she's high "the men left when their methods became obsolete. But now we're here. There are seven of us but we're not like the men that left. We can restore you to a purposeful existance," she lowers her voice, eggs on "We can give you a strength they never could. Do you want that?"

"Strength...?" The voice rises in inflection, the word rolls out on the waves of static through the microphone. "Yes... I had strength once... before they left. They abandoned me..." Your hair rises up more now as the spirit becomes more aroused. "More efficient... generation methods... turbines... not worth replacing... operating costs too high..." It recites as if snippets of the past flash back from its memories. "Agghh.... they abandoned Arcer! I served them.... and they broke the covenant!" Everything in the room is charged up now as everything arcs off to everything else. Even yourselves. Not dangerously so... just odd. You can tell it is upset.

Hiro lights a fresh cigarette: hands -- just barely shaking, controlled -- cupped around the tip, cheap dayglo-orange bic flashing butane blue. Flare of the cherry in the ill-lit room. "Arcer," he murmurs, plucking the smoke from between his lips, exhaling with the words. Keep cool. "We ain't interested in efficiency. We're interested in you. Fuck them, man--" So much for formal language and high ritual. "--bottom line hounds, dig? They don't know shit about shit." Pointed jab with his cigarette's tip, to drive the point home. "We're here to make a new deal."

Penny subvocalizes to Piggy "Say something nice to it now." She settles back into her chair and digs around in both pockets of her jacket. Tugging out papers and a dime, she kicks her feet back up and starts the process of rolling again. "Tell it about the parties we throw and what kind of energy we require." She's utterly relaxed, in her element. This is her thing and educating Piggy is the most fun she's had in weeks. "Stay cool, just be cool. hard part's over."

"New... deal.... A new contract." It's voice suddenly surges. "I will re... renegociate with new owners." Arcer finally replies, the static level dropping rapidly so that it's only slightly abnormal in here now instead of Dr. Frankenstein's Lab. "What are the terms...?"

Hiro looks, again, to Penny: she's rolling a joint and he's on his own. He taps ash onto the mouldering pile and leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. "You help us, we help you, Arcer. We make this place run again, we keep it running, we give you access to the greater city." Nova-flare of the cigarette in the flickering light; will-o-wisp trail as the cherry drops. Tobacco and marijuana smoke hang in the air in a haze. "You give us power, you keep us safe, you listen and watch to what happens in your world and keep us posted. It's like..." Pause. "Like a symbiotic relationship."

"Ah..." The crackling voice responds after a long period of silence. "I will... consider this offer..." The voice echoes a bit in the speaker. "Bring me.... bring me copper. I wish to taste fresh copper... five pounds... bring this tomorrow. And I will bring my answer."

...and Hiro, Hiro's grinning like the cat that got the canary. Or the pig that ate the truffle. Or whatever. "You got it Arcer," he answers.

The static feeling is all but gone now. "I will go.... and don't forget... to turn lights off... when you're not using them... don't waste energy..." And then, as it came, so it is gone.

A Job To Do

Old GE Plant - The Invisible Loft

Skylights[1] flank a high, peaked roof, mirrored surfaces reflecting washes of neon and blacklight in mingling pools across the ground below. No natural light reaches this place - it exists independent of the cycles and systems of the world outside, time distorted to the infinite now of a dexedrine binge.
The area is dominated by a circle of seven high-backed chairs[2], surrounding a low coffee table[3]. Twin televisions hang from the roof by heavy iron chains - tilted at an angle to bathe each half of the ring in the warm glow of artificial reality.
Curling womblike around the periphary, the majority of the floor has been sealed off behind an amorphous plastic shell: bulbous and twisted as if exposed to immense heat, with a hue varying from embryotic pinkish-red to mouldy green. Veins of fiber optic cable run through the shell, a circulatory system in pulsating blue and purple. Piles of bedding[4] cling to the walls at irregular intervals. A solitary airlock[5] is the only access to the laboratory without.
Beyond the curving walls, the magic happens. Machinery once found on the factory floor has been reconstructed in bizarre mechanical simulacra[6]. Cabinets and work surfaces bear the dull oxidized finish of refurnished metal - a slick, glossy sheen drawing uncomfortable aesthetic parallels to an animal's organs. Plastic, metal, and glass tubing snake through the whole: an interconnecting network linking the machines.

[Footnoted +views set.]

Contents:

Obvious exits:
Library

Closet Exit

Keene is sitting in his given chair around the coffee table, tapping intently at a PDA. A cigarette idles between his lips as he sets up his schedule for the next several days, taking note of several key lunch meetings.
"I need to find a good dry cleaners," he mumbles to himself, tapping at the sketch area and circling that part of his schedule.

There is a strange little high pitch singing noise in the air before a small, bright purple imp appears near where Keene is sitting. Of course. Messenger imp. Flashy.

The Hermetic pauses in his PDA-tapping when he hears the familiar singing noise. Being trained around Bonsagius magi makes one accustomed to old-fashioned ways of communication. Saving his progress and turning off the PDA, Keene leans forward when he sees the imp.
"Hello," he directs to it, putting the device back within his coat. "how may I help you today?"

"Greetings to you Keene, from Master Bartius of Seattle." The imp bows low to Keene. "Master Bartius sends me to express concerns that he has. An apprentice member of his Chantry came to Erin's Vale to visit family. And she has disappeared here. The good Master suspects that she may be dead for he can not reach her. Could you do Master Bartius a favor, see if you can locate the apprentice?" The imp inquires of Keene

"Of course," says Keene, automatically straightening up when he hears the word `Master' in Bartius' title. "I'll need her file, of course, but I can set to work on finding her right away afterward."

"Very well! She was here for the holiday. There is not too much you should need from us. But here is her file... with picture." The purple imp says, producing a file from thin air, offering it to Keene. "Any help you can provide will be appreciated. You will hold the Master in your dept." The imp bows again and vanishes. A faintly bad smell remains. Stupid imp jokes.

Circulating @ Interzone

Downtown - Montrose District(#454RJ)
-= Jones and Clarke =-

Small shops line the streets, obviously an older part of the city, the initial settlings of Erin's Vale can be seen here. Some of them are reconstructed, new paint and wood being replaced on their structures, while others slowly decay from age. For the most part the small shops still manage to have a quaint appearance, allowing those that enjoy to pursue the history of the city to see some of it still evident.
It was the introduction of a night club near the eastern side of the street however that caused some of the old fashioned store owners to cringe. It caters to those of more extreme and eccentric tastes, bringing a whole new variety of patrons to the area come night. It was the introduction of that club that opened the area to other less savory businesses. From time to time a patrol car can be seen, coming to look for those women of the night that are rumored to linger around the corner of the streets every so often.

Obvious exits:
Interzone Records IR

Daisy has arrived.
Daisy walks into the record store.
Daisy has left.
Compton has arrived.
You walk into the record store.
Interzone Records - Main Room

Everything used to be something else, and Interzone Records used to be a bowling alley. Some traces of the original layout remain: the sunken floor, the shoe counters where the cash registers now sit, and most notably, the wide open spaces where the lanes once were, now filled with row after row of CD's and records, sorted by genre and artist.
The walls are a testament to Erin's Vale's rich history as a stop on the Pacific Northwest touring circuit. They're covered from floor to ceiling in psychedelic-inspired posters, from cracked and fading Fleetwood Mac and Pink Floyd tours, to recently-printed memorabilia from The White Stripes and The Donnas. Just as the walls are covered in posters, so the counters and record bins are plastered with stickers, in some cases several layers deep, covering the history of punk rock, from The Ramones and Stiff Little Fingers, to bands that are still practicing in the garage.
Near the counters, a small alcove has been devoted entirely to local bands, showcasing their music and littered with advertising fliers for local nightclubs, bars, music halls, and theaters - any place with a stage.
Over the sound system, there is music playing. Always.

*Places and +views available*
Contents:
Daisy
Enid
Obvious exits:
Side Door Out
Compton walks in off of the street.
Compton has arrived.

In a way, all used record stores have certain things in common. They're covered in posters. They're covered in band stickers. The Violent Femmes play on the sound system. There's a little punk girl with strangely-colored hair in the aisles, bopping along to the music while she returns CD's to their appropriate bins.

They descend like plagues of locusts, Daisy and her ilk do, and don't let up until they've shoplifted or purchased every last goddamn copy of _ROCKET TO RUSSIA_. And so, locust-like, Daisy and her ilk decend, though today's ilk -- Compton and Penny -- suggest that she's a gutterpunk, rather than a high school punk. She wanders up and down the aisles, not purchasing anything in particular but, rather, maneuvering so as to allow Enid no possible line of sight that encompasses Penny, Compton, and herself.

They're clever that way.

Though the probable cameras render it entirely moot.
Daisy and Penny walk in side by side, the former ahead of the later. Must've been her idea. So Penny tosses her cigarette outside while Compton's got the door. She follows Daisy down aisle ten, boots skidding on the unwaxed floor. She turns a shoulder to the stacks, flips through some cds in the dollar bin and yawns.

"What're we supposed to be looking for?"

It's asked of Compton while she de-lints her pockets.
The old guy, slips in last and quickly busies himself in the vynil section.

"Judas Preist, the one they sued em' for in court. You know, like the actualy exhibit A one..."

One second he's at Blue Oyster Cult, then another on the opposite wall at the Dead section and then again at the Jimmy Bufett row. His presence is slippery, moving in and out of your attention like a lazy trout in your mind. It's not that he actually disapears, you just simply manage to miss him.

Friends don't let friends shoplift The Ramones. Enid isn't looking, of course. She twists on the balls of her feet as if putting out a couple of cigarettes while she returns albums to their rightful place in Rock Music, A-M. She pops a great big bubble of pink gum and chews it loudly, though not so loudly that it can be heard over the music.

"Dude. P-dogg."

P-dogg must refer to Penny, because it's in that directly that Daisy's facing, and it's in that direction that Penny's not responding. Maybe the music's too loud. She repeats:

"Dude. P-dogg."

She's holding up a fine example of the contents of Aisle 10: a spoken word album whose album cover depicts William S. Burroughs' drooping features looking askance at an incogruous swirl of Technicolor. The album's title is so psychedelic as to be unreadable.

"Did you get Hiro a Christmas present this year?"

Cornelius walks in off of the street.
Cornelius has arrived.

The record store is positively crowded. The Violent Femmes segue into The Velvet Underground, with Lou Reed singing "Sweet Nothin'" in his cracked and ruined voice. Enid hum along, with great enthusiasm and little talent, when she's not popping her gum. Her hands are kept busy returning CD's to their bins.

"Thought he was some kinda Buddhist..." Compton perks up from behind a crate of Steely Dan.
The door to the music store swings open. A very wet old man bearing a strong resemblence to a drown cat steps inside the shop. "Ach... it is cold out there." Cornelius observes keenly. Momentarily dazed and confused by the visually blinding display of psychadelic 'art', he blinks his eyes, shaking his head. "My god..." Murmurs, turning immediately to a display.

l Cornelius
This is an older man. Slight, sort of frail looking. Top of his head has a sort of dusty look to it. In truth it's just what remains of his white hair clinging to his bald head in light little whisps. Ice blue eyes are behind wire rimmed glasses. Skin is pale white, wrinkled, looks almost like paper. Cheeks are lightly tinted red, just a bit of color there. Nose is hooked, downwards and his lips are thin, set in a line of disapproval.
Slender, scarecrow-like body appears to be loosely clad. The shirt is a plain blue dress shirt with a golden green tie that hangs down in front. The pants are light cotton dress pants, a black color, neatly pressed looking. Shoes are nice but kind of scuffy looking. Carries a cane in his left hand. Ebony with a silver cap in the shape of a smiling woman's head.

"Yeah," says Daisy, drowning out Lou Reed, "he was some sort of Buddhist, on account of it having something to do with his Japanese ancestry, and then he pretty much dropped that in favor of something what I don't know what it is."

Dextrous fingers busy themselves in the racks. It's apparent (now that she's attracting attention) that she's not shoplifting -- she's interweaving CDs from her purse with CDs on the rack.

That's right, P-dogg isn't paying attention. Her fingers are tracing across an Anti-Flag section, staring intently at the back of the cd zoning out. "Daz-ee baby, slow down," Daisy's getting much too far ahead of Penny "there's totally no cameras here" catches her eye just then, implies there couldn't be "it just wouldn't make economical sense. Surveillance in a bowling alley? Do you know how much space there really is here? I mean have you ever seen what goes on behind the pin machines? Me and this guy once, you remember Johnny Irish?"

A clear, shining example of the kind of person that hangs around in record stores. She's rocked, talking a mile a minute with no end in sight. "Well Johnny and I got into this thing one night after Jesse roped the wrong guy,.." Penny's still holding that cd at a strangely conversational angle "like that guy? Daisy - like that guy," pointing at Cornelius "only black and he had kindof a gut." How the guy in the story relates to the guy in the store is anyone's guess - it makes sense to Penny, so she continues "Anyway so the point is we had to get outta the bar so we walked through an alley and ducked in this door, but like we had no idea where it went and it was the scariest.shit.ever."

Enid is certainly an odd little creature. She returns a handfull of Misfits albums to their rightful place, then moves up the aisle for Leonard Cohen. "Mr. Shobaz!" she calls out to the old man, once he's recovered from the former bowling alley's bright interior decorating scheme. "I wasn't sure you ever left your waxworks!" She glances sidelong at Daisy and waves Leoard Cohen's 'The Future' in a way that isn't the least bit threatening. "We've got a whole section over by the counter for local bands," she says. Chew. Pop. Chew. "Or yu can just leave 'em at the counter and we'll sort 'em properly."

"Hardly ever Nid, hardly ever. But I had some shopping to do. I recalled that you sold... records here. So I wanted to see what kind." Looking around slowly, a wry smile touches his features. "Nothing that I would imagine that I would listen to." Observing the others in the shop, he pauses looking at Daisy, as if he recognizes her before looking back to Enid. "Can you reccomend something?"

Laughter comes from Compton, now over at the 'C's and digging in to the Clash. Apparently the thought of local hillbillies mashing instruments being to Daisy's liking to be... unlikely.
"Right. Well," Daisy says, voice wavering sheepishly before it finds its strength. "We ain't exactly local, having just moved, as we did, from San Francisco and then to Toronto, and then after that to right here. I guess as I don't have to be sneaking them into the racks anymore.

Hand goes in purse; hand comes up with gum; gum goes in mouth, then back again for a CD, which she tosses underhand in Enid's general direction.

"Anyway. Yeah. We're the Invisible College. Not to diss on my man Lou, but you could throw that on, if it happens that you want to." She turns back to the racks. "I suppose I'll clean up your racks, then."

Enid weaves out of Rock A-M, passing Compton at 'C,' where she makes approving noises of his taste in music, assuming that loud bubble gum popping sounds are approval. The cocks her head to the side as she attempts to read the old man. "Classical? Like, Verdi or Vivaldi or some other Italian guy? Wagner? Not that Wanger's Italian, but," she gives a vague little wave of dismissal. "Jazz? Kletzmer? There's this band called the Kletzmatics that...well...you've gotta hear 'em." She snatches Daisy's CD out of the air with her free hand. "Thanks," she grins at the gutterpunk. "We'll make you a proper label and file you under Local and Rock I. You gus got any gigs yet, 'cus I've got a promoter friend who's breathin' down my neck for new acts."

The older fellow ponders this for several moments. "I will try... the... ah, Kletz-matics." Cornelius says, thoughtfully, glancing at the others before looking back to Nid. Rowdy kids. Probably going to try to jump him or something outside of the shop. Can't trust most young people. Degenerates, all of them!
Penny moves around to where Daisy put down the Burroughs thing and picks it up then surprises everyone; see she WAS keeping up "Christmas, huh." An absent gesture, her hand goes inside her jacket with the cd. She looks down like there's something moving around her feet "...has it been a year already?"

Penny looks a little green.

The smile on Daisy's face is so broad that it has to be put on crooked, half of it jammed up into the little cheek-room she has to spare and the other hanging relatively limply in the corner. It shows off some reasonably poor dentition and ill-considered dental hygeine, but that, if anything, is par for the course.

"It's been a year for most of us, Penny dear," says Daisy, eyes tracking Enid back toward the counter -- she IS going to put that album on. "I dunno how long it's been for you."
Enid sends Daisy's album flying across the counter, where it's caught by the red-haired punk working the register. In a few minute, it will be heard over the sound system, depending on what kind of priority the counter boy grants it. Now she waves Cornelius along towards the Folk section and looks around for the Kletzmatics. "They do this sort of funky Eastern European folk music, mostly in Yiddish, at least I think it's Yiddish," she mutters. Chew. Pop. "It sounds kinda like coughing up a hairball."

This gets a raspy chuckle. Cornelius walks over to the section she indicated. Fingers, like dexterous spider legs, click the records along before they slip one from the rack. He studies the front of it, then the back on it. Eyes always on those pesky kids.

Daisy, sotto voce to Penny, eyes rolling as hard as they can: "Euuch. Goyim."

Compton is old, to make a point. Well, much older than the 'kids' he trucks with. As he wanders the store, popping up here and there in his peculiar way it could be noted that he's older than the rock he checks out, older thena the Punk he puruses and older than the crap 60s Folk Music he avoids like the plauge. Each of the eras of music have washed over him like a ocean of Pop culture and yet he remains. Salty and crusty as any sea dog.

Enid looks down at Cornelius in all of her blonde (at the roots, anyway) haired, blue-eyed goyish glory. "I think you'd like it. It's traditional, but it's not like they're all falling asleep while playing their accordions and squeezeboxes and stuff. Todd Ashley was totally listening to this when he started Firewater." She looks expectantly at the much older gentlemen before her face falls and she says, "Umm...forget I said that. It probably doesn't make any sense to you."

"Indeed. It does not." Cornelius grins, moving through the store to the front with the one record. Setting it on the counter, he asks. "How much for the purchase?"

Top priority, of course.

What burst forth from the loudspeaker is not punk. It starts out breakbeat and noise. Noise and something spoken - it rises, tidal, and fades like the undertow - always there but just out of range to be heard. A silvery ting is flipped into the mix, shuddering with the vocal. It's not English. It's not Spanish or anything instantly recognizable - maybe Scandanavian - as a matter of fact it *does* sound a little like Bjork. But then again, maybe not.

Penny ta-ta-tas with the bassline and touches Daisy's elbow and guides her, the beat nodding her head, toward Compton in a very pointed and specific way. Paranoid.

The redheaded clerk at the counter puts on the album: it's always good to have one last-ditch local band to pull out in any musical discussion; something that no one else has ever heard of; something that stops the escalating erudition in its tracks.

The music on the CD isn't what one would expect from Daisy. It's an intricate wash of pop culture -- here and there, you can pick out fragments of jingles from commericals of the 1980s, distorted quotes from old movies, soundtracks running both forward and backward. The vocals, cigarette-roughened and husky, aren't English. The vowel sounds are wrong, and rasping back-of-the throat noises -- as in Hebrew or Arabic -- predominate.

Maybe the vocals are Daisy. It's hard to tell.

In any case, she glides along with Penny, casting a sidelong (and not altogether comfortable) glance at Cornelius. Behind Compton, she stops, peeking out around for another look.

Daisy says, "Ignore the fact that Penny and I pretty much posed the same thing. I'd be damned if I was going to rewrite the whole thing just to avoid redundancy."

The red-headed boy behind the counter rings up Cornelius' order. Enid lags behind, leaning against one of the bins with her head cocked to the side as the music starts. "Hmmmm." Her chewing and popping slows to a near-halt. "Like Halou meets The Sugarcubes. You guys do this kinda thing live or are you strictly a science fair band?"

During the debut listening of the Colleges latest offering, COmpton appears next to Cornelius at he counter with an armfull of Carly Simon records and asks the red headed kid, "Yo, where's the shitter?" in his completely accentless voice of slow death. The kid points to a partially blocked doorway in the back.

Off Compton goes with a spyness in his step that wasn't there before. What? He doesn't like listening to Folk music...

Blindly unaware of any of the interest in him, Cornelius takes out some wrinkled bills, putting them on the counter. Waiting for the boy to give him his change, he glances around the room one more time, observing. Curious.

The red-haired boy makes change for Cornelius under Enid's watchful gaze. The yellow-haired girl rests a hand on her bony hip and glares at the counter boy as if to make sure he does it right. "You got time for me to come by the waxworks tomorrow night, Mr. Shobaz?" she asks. "I've got the night off." It's a store full of music-lovers and gutterpunks and Nid wants to spend her free time with a guy old enough to be her grandfather.

"Totally. Though they're, like, invitation-only, or did we stop doing that, Penny?"

Daisy leans back against the counter, rolling her shoulders in a sort of an approximation of a shrug.

"We got sort of a vibe we're generally going for. And we usually only throw parties to premiere a new piece. Hiro comes up with them, mostly, and Jesse mixes."

Penny looks dead-on at Cornelius; she's very clearly on something. It's an extreme stare - wide eyes and bitten lip. Because she thought it was an aside, Penny asides back "We stopped until," and she makes this hand gesture; a complicated riff on sign language. Daisy should translate for the curious.

Penny looks greener.

"It would be quite acceptable Nid. We can start with the basics." Cornelius turns and meets Penny's gaze. Offers her a grin that might be friendly. But what are the chances of that. And it's gone. "See you tomorrow. I have procured the tools you will need." Holding the CD, Cornelius makes his way for the door. To the lovely outside.

It isn't ASL. It does, however, seem to remind Daisy.

"We stopped until Monday turned to Saturday again. It's some kind of ritual inversion or sommat, right?, where maybe the public sphere becomes private and whatever?"

Grinning at Enid, not having bought anything yet, she makes for the door, Penny in tow.

Penny probably doesn't realize it but the Burroughs cd is still in her hand. And as an anchor to Daisy, she can not help but be pulled by gravity in the direction she leads. Technically Compton should be leaving with them but he's ..still in the bathroom.
And who knows how long old men really take.

Cornelius walks out of the record store and onto the street.
Cornelius has left.
Enid has disconnected.

~FIN~