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Post by Cali on Feb 17, 2012 0:32:48 GMT 1
I was outside Mass Effect discussion section when I smelled an intemperate odor in the air. At first, I thought Mr. Glow was concocting one of his anti BioWare stews which he would no doubt revel in come the release of the titular game. The smell of rain and dew in the alleys was getting troublesome, so I instead decided to drop in. Tilting my fedora I lit up a Winston, the tip burning a hallowed orange as my wingtip hit the door, my fingers twisting the door's knob.
Walking in, the stink was non other than from the dynamos of a machine. No spinwheel or factory aroma however. I gazed upon a bot in the center, with the name "baby" scribbled on its nametag. I immediately took a drag on my cigarette, finding my head shaking about. The audacity of these synthetic vermin. I couldn't blame them for they knew what they were doing about as much as what their creator was having for a midnight snack right about now.
I turned and walked out. I refused to have a beer there, deciding it would be best to just head to my apartment and grab one of those watery ones out of my fridge. Even that would have been better. The local district attorney, Mr. Buch, or even the police chief Rascarin would come take care of the skin job sooner or later. In the meantime, I was going to stop to get a pizza. God knows I wanted a mushroom and pepperoni topping right about now.
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Post by Knightfall on Feb 17, 2012 0:51:25 GMT 1
It can happen at any time, on any star. That hollow moment when all the world seems emptied. Doesn't matter if you're standing in a crowd; a feeling that if you shouted at the top of your lungs, no one'd be around to hear you. Stare into their eyes all you'd like, kid, they ain't gonna stare back at you.
No breath on your neck, no pause, no pulse. Just a parade of mannequins, taking up space, walking roads that were never meant for them. You reach out and take one by the hand, and there ain't nothing to 'em. Walking advertisements, still life in motion.
"Bring your friends," baby says as he catches you by the arm. His voice is drawn, even, recitative. Eyes blank in a way humanity can't manage. "We are friendly and sexy, and we will find you if you hide, and we will find answers if you have questions.
"Bring me and more."
Pull your arm away. Behold the hollows of baby's eyes as he disappears back into the crowd. You knew a man named Cali once. Maybe one of you will buy the next drink.
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Post by Cali on Feb 17, 2012 1:23:33 GMT 1
At the pizzeria I sat sipping a cola and staring at the theme art on the wall in front of me, waiting for my order. I was in too deep a thought to think of what theme it was, this thought revolving around that bot I left behind. It couldn't be counted as turning a blind eye, because it was outta my jurisdiction. I was a private dick, not a constable.
The pimply teenaged waiter brings my pizza, I murmer a "thank you" just before he turns and struts away wordlessly. I stare at the pizza, the mesh layer of wetness and grease upon its cheesy thorax, littered with tasty brown charred mushrooms and salty, meaty pepperoni. The crust like the calloused fingers of a lovely farmgirl and the moles of burnt cheese scattered like craters of the moon.
I decided to pull out my phone and text Knightfall. If it wouldn't please him, it would torture him, which was exactly what I was hoping for. Some call it passive aggressiveness, I call it a character trait. I smirk as the text is sent, taking the Winston out of my mouth and laughing. Immediately afterward I am yelled at by the manager for smoking in the venue, which I promptly put the stub out, embarrassed.
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Post by Knightfall on Feb 17, 2012 1:59:54 GMT 1
Phone rings.
Speak of the Kentucky Devil.
Find your legs and break from the crowd, brush past the folks and their clockwork souls. There's a time and a place for everything; contemplating machinery in the middle of the road ain't something I'd be quick to suggest.
baby's standing outside the pizzeria, diggin' his feet into the concrete as he tries to walk through a closed door. Nothin' for it. Push the thing aside and let it try walkin' through a wall for a spell.
Cali's looking over his shoulder, holding a flame in front of a cigarette. He looks the other way. Coast is clear. Flame meets tobacco. Take a seat across from him. Try not to curse when you see he didn't save you a slice.
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Post by Cali on Feb 17, 2012 2:24:04 GMT 1
At first I thought I was caught by the manager again for lighting one up, but then I saw that the figure had sat down. As my left hand was returning the cigarette case to my breast pocket, my free hand instinctively reached for my vinegar filled squirt-gun sidearm. My muscles were paralyzed when I gazed upon him. Knightfall himself. He arrived so impeccably that it was inconvenient. Perhaps the man (who, despite me, was actually from the grand state of California) knew my habits, and therefore I was easy to trace. Not a very convenient perk to have in a time such as this.
We stared at eachother for several minutes, so long that I didn't feel the cigarette burning in between my fingers. By the time I arrived, my stomach was already digesting the medium pizza that I ordered. Cheese, pepperoni, and portobello mushrooms swirling around in my belly, the nutrients being harvested and broken down. I saved none for him, and for that, he was properly disgruntled.
But as my stomach digested the pizza, his eyes digested my face, savoring the guilt, shock and humiliation upon my mug. Those eyes, like a terrible doll's eyes stared me down, and I was losing the contest.
It was only the from a wave of adrenaline from the building fear that I snapped back to an unsettling reality. That bot was still out there, and neither of us could do anything about it, and thus we spent this time silently and inactively quarreling with ourselves. It was ironic, but quite a moment of clarity on my part. Perhaps it was either the nicotine from the Winston, or the protein from the pizza's meat, or perhaps the caffeine from the cola which was sucked down to cubes of melted ice. Either which way, I felt a nip subtract comfort from the top of my spine, sending a chill way down, when I saw "baby" shuffling along the crust of my peripherals outside the window, still soliciting the fruits of whatever seedy business he was in.
Lord almighty. The irony. The malignant, tarty irony.
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Feb 17, 2012 9:05:42 GMT 1
Someone called me. Interupted my Photoshop meditation session. I went in and see what the fuss is all about.
Then I saw tension between Knightfall and Cali.
Like any decent artists, I shrugged and headed back to the sanctuary and continuing my Photoshop meditation, hoping to finish that daunting task up ahead, that involves with nutbag turians and a Cereal Killer
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 17, 2012 11:28:02 GMT 1
I see a girl dart round the corner. Maybe later today I can kid myself that her sudden move was the reason I followed, or the whispers of her funny accent I overheard. Maybe I was suspicious, right? But already I know that's not it. I know who I am and what I do. I'm the DA. I'm Mister Big, around here, or... something that sounds like it. I'm the drunk who walks the blue and black streets with a flask of whisky. I'm the guy chases young women around instead of crooks, and catches still fewer.
But hell. Is it so wrong, to be a lech on top of everything else? Is it so bad to miss those old times, the things I used to treasure? Friendly staff? Sexy girls? Et cetera? She speeds up, as if she can read my thoughts. Damn it. Hold on a sec, I hear myself beg. Hold on, baby.
I follow her and feel my eyes sting from the stink of the place as her footsteps grow duller. She's in a hurry... hold up. Maybe something really is wrong here. Slapping my back and sides against a dirty wall like a well-trained walrus, I listen close and stick my fingers in my pocket.
The banhammer is still there. It feels pretty greasy from last time, but it's there. That's all I need it to be. Technically I shouldn't even have this thing with me. I'm not admin, for chrissakes. Not really.
I hear something else. "Jewell of bless," or something. "Jewel of bless, jewell of bless." Huh. It's another voice. Like a cheap parody of moderating I pull on the hammer and then drop it, reaching for my canteen of the good stuff. I drain it until the aluminum feels lighter, like maybe I could break it if I wanted. Maybe I could do something. And I round the corner.
There's nobody there, not... anymore. There are small, foreign footsteps. There's fresh cigarette ash. There's a shadow of someone else, still watching. And there's a giant... motherfucking........
And just like that I feel like old times. Yeah... I like this.
And I get to work.
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Post by Cali on Feb 17, 2012 21:27:05 GMT 1
Not even an hour later the brim of my hat was tilting into the open egress of the DA's office, looking around. Buch wasn't there, but the odors of Irish whiskey and absinthe were. He stepped out not only a few minutes ago and probably wasn't coming back for the night. I stepped in closer into the center of the room, my wingtips over the cheap french carpet.
My head looks toward the wall, seeing the usual things I find in his office: Red Dwarf poster, a couple of paintings from the local artsy lady Tillian, a stack of musical albums with David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust neatly placed on top, as well as a photo of Ryan Reynolds with a cluster of darts stuck into his mug, mustache and demon horns scribbled onto them. Most telling of all, the banhammer and its holster were nowhere to be found hung up on the rack. I of all people knew that Buch didn't go out on the beat with it all the time. Business was being taken care of.
Sighing, I think about lighting a cigarette, but I digress. Enough tobacco for the day. It was four hours past miller time and I wanted to satiate my curiosity on this matter and have the report on his desk when Buchy got back.
I did my best to keep my eyes open when mingling through the filing cabinets, because if I closed them I'd see Knightfall's angry stare. The only reason I got out of there is by ordering him a pizza and a drink, which seemed to even the field, but still left us with a disquieting amount of malignant tension.
After shuffling through several files I come to the racketeering section, my finger hitting a manilla envelope titled "SilverMU". I hear a bell go off in my head, my hand yanking the file out of the rusty metal drawer. This was what the bot known as 'baby' was soliciting.
I looked through the file, the typical MMO racket that was sweeping the nation. "baby" himself wasn't listed in the known members section, and I promptly filed a memo. The photos inside depicted several anime style characters within the operation, which prompted me to suggest intervention from international affairs. I then see a scantly clad anime girl, suggesting that I should probably let vice know about this as well. Then I see the old fashioned musket in her hand, making me mark down down a note for the police's arms trafficking squad. Then I see the animal ears on another obviously human anime gal, my hands making a note for animal control.
The myriad of problems astounded and disgusted me. The filth and corruption in this world. The paper was written and on Buch's desk as I strut out, turning off the lights and exiting the building. The distant clacking of the banhammer meeting the exterior of the bot echoes through the near empty streets. I smirk, knowing justice has been served.
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