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Chip, The Moat King and Martha - Wednesday, August 21st, 2075 – Late Night - Bainbridge Island Chip stared over the side of the boat and into the water. Water was tricky for him. He couldn’t fly, but gravity and even mass were concepts that he would frequently bend, if not outright break. He’d even scaled up a building vertically once just to see if he could, which he did, just by walking up the side. The novelty quickly wore off because there was rarely anything interesting on the tops of buildings. Usually all that was up there was the sky, the flying robots known as drones and a cityscape that was largely devoid of any interesting astral presence. Just grey looking buildings since they weren’t living things. No, the interesting stuff happened on the ground and occasionally inside of those buildings. The water though, well he’d sink in the water, which he hadn’t expected.The first and only time he ventured into the water to see what it was like he’d got lost underwater for an hour. There was also the fact that he moved really slow while in the water, like he was moving through pudding, which wasn’t fun. He didn’t have to breathe, but he couldn’t swim and he basically had to walk across the bottom, which got really steep and dark in some places that he dared not venture, at least not until he was bigger. So as the boat docked, Chip stepped off and without pausing long, the school boat headed right back to the school. This left Chip with a problem that didn’t occur to him until minutes later. Mother Bear seemed to have forgotten to get him an air taxi. Sure he waited, but none showed up for him, which was frustrating. Normally he traveled with Julie and she told the taxi drones where to go or he hitched a ride with a stranger by staying hidden in the astral, but he had a problem. That problem was his pack. He had his commlink in his pack and it had so much promise; access to an entire world of information from the matrix and with it he’d have the ability to call flying taxis. At least he thought so. The problem was that he had no idea how to use it. However, if he stowed away, he couldn’t hold onto his bag and this was a problem. Stowing away meant hiding on another plane of existence, the astral, which was parallel to the physical world, but he couldn’t take his bag with him. He was essentially tethered to his gear. So Chip strode over to a bench, sat down and thought about it for a little while. Then he remembered that sometimes metahumans got drunk and got on air taxis. That was okay, because drunk people were easier to convince than sober people and Chip dealt with a lot of drunk people on the third shift in Touristville. Then he smiled, because he’d had practice with just those kinds of people. Chip had his influence power which was one of the few that Julie had given him when she’d first summoned him. The first time he’d used it had been on Fuzzy, who he hadn’t understood had been an entirely different Fuzzy, not future Fuzzy, who no longer existed. Probably. And that’s when Chip decided not to think about that future, which may no longer exist, or at least wouldn’t in the future, and he decided not for the first time that the whole thing was confusing and frustrating. Chip thought it was strange that Julie had given him a power that she didn’t approve of, but he figured that he just wasn’t using it in the correct way or on the correct people. So for now he decided to use it when he had no other option. This seemed to be like one of those times. So he waited on the bench near the air taxi pad for a drunk person until fifteen minutes later when the telltale astral signature of one happened by. He could tell that they were drunk because their astral signature, the colors of their emotions were all muddled and because he was half walking, half stumbling. From his spot on the bench, Chip used his influence power on the drunk person, stood up and held up his bag. “Hey,” called Chip, “Can you hold this until you get off the air taxi and then give it back to me?” The drunk person was a very fat older human with long hair and a face which Chip thought was unfortunate looking, at least by metahuman standards. The spirit could tell what a person’s hair and eye and skin color were if he spent enough time looking, at least most of the time. However, it was easier to tell people apart by their hair length, height, weight, facial features and if they augmented their body with cyberwear or bioware, which tended to show up as dead spots, grey and devoid of any astral presence. The drunk human rounded on Chip and he looked at the dark skinned, barefoot ork in a school uniform and frowned. “gently caress off, trog,” he slurred. Chip stood very still as he thought about that. He knew it was a slur for orks and trolls and that it came from the word “troglodyte” which was a person who lived in a cave. Though Chip wasn’t sure if this man even thought he was a person. Technically he wasn’t a metahuman or an ork. He knew that much, but he definitely was a person. Julie had told him so. Meanwhile, as Chip hesitated and said nothing, the man turned away from him and towards the air taxi pad as a taxi landed. “What I thought,” he grumbled. Chip wondered if he should let that go or not. He had options. The man was drunk and he probably wouldn’t resist an influence power again. He could also track him via his search power, again one he’d been given when he was summoned and that Julie normally used for small items that she couldn’t find. Chip technically couldn’t find people, but he could find objects, even if he didn’t have the object and he could find the man later by his shoes or shirt or whatever Chip saw. He didn’t even need to have it on him, he just needed to see it. Though the less tech it had and the less common that item was, the easier it was to find. He decided on the former and influenced the drunk racist. As the man ascended the stairs, Chip swayed him with his power. The man bent down to tie his shoelaces together, which he didn’t question. Then as he rose to his full height again he continued to walk forward before he tripped and tumbled down the ramp, swearing and cursing. “No, you gently caress off!” shouted Chip. Chip walked away from the man and when he was out of sight, he jogged towards one of the other air taxi pads just in case the man called the police. After fifteen minutes and another ten of waiting, a much drunker male elf with short hair and a much more fortunate face stumbled out of a sedan and towards Chip’s newfound air taxi pad. Chip used his influence power and approached the drunk person. “Hey,” called Chip, “Can you hold this until you get off the air taxi and then give it back to me? I’d really appreciate it.” “Wuh?” asked the drunk man, “Uh…Sure, whatever.” He took Chip’s bag in his hand and when he looked up again, Chip had already disappeared into the astral, leaving the drunk guy holding the bag. This didn’t confuse him as the influence power provided a perfectly mundane and boring reason for the man to hold the bag for the trip and then give it back, though it would fall apart under scrutiny. Still, he eventually boarded the air taxi and Chip, who currently existed only in the astral, literally a parallel plane of existence, boarded the air taxi and then did a little happy dance. Now Chip really had no idea where he was going. He knew that he’d stay inside of the metroplex because air taxis couldn’t cross into Salish territory which surrounded the metroplex. More than a few times he’d gotten lost while hitching a ride, but that was okay because the city was fun to explore. At least as long as he didn’t go to Sea-Tac again, which was the metroplex’s main airport. The air taxi landing pads near the airport had security spirits and they’d menaced Chip on more than one occasion after hitching a ride, though it was menacing in the way that told him to get lost. Still, not knowing where he was going was better than dealing with large bodies of water. So Chip waited, unable to look outside as spirits couldn’t see through windows. The man had passed out in the seat and the air taxi seemed to know where to go. Happy dance now complete, he sat down, hidden in the astral until eventually the air taxi touched down some minutes later. The door opened, but the man didn’t stir. He was still passed out. Chip continued to wait, but nothing happened and so Chip appeared back in the physical world. He grabbed his bag, which meant he was basically tied to it again and he lingered to make sure the man was okay. He had been nice enough to hold his bag, even if Chip had persuaded him with his powers. So he might as well make sure the guy didn’t throw up into his mouth and choke or anything else along those lines. “Is this cab occupied?” asked a lady, who noticed the drunk guy, and her voice turned exasperated, “Oh come on. What’s hap...Oh, I do not need...Wait...Is that the Moat King? Passed out in a cab?” She laughed wickedly to herself. “Oh...Oh this is delicious. I think it’s time to call security?” “I got this,” said Chip, “He’s really drunk and I’m making sure he’s okay.” Chip didn’t look at the lady. Instead he made sure that the man healthy. He was and he wasn’t, decided Chip. He was alive and breathing, but definitely unconscious. Chip could use a healing spell on him, but it wouldn’t do anything for the alcohol. There were spells like detox and antidote, but Chip only had the heal spell which was more for physical damage and not for the removal of toxins. Not even Julie had those spells yet. So Chip looked through his bag, which had a small medkit in it, not his professional bag, but his simple kit. Inside he found an unused stim patch. He only had weak ones, but he was pretty sure it would get the man up for long enough to stumble home. “What are you doing?” asked the woman. “Giving him a stim patch,” said Chip, “He passed out. I’m trying to get him home.” “What?” she asked, “Well...Oh no, not before security gets here. Security. I need help.” Chip peeled away the protective covering on the stim patch and slapped it on the man’s hand. The man instantly began to stir, but he’d probably need a little bit to get up. So Chip fished around in his bag, retrieved a bottle of water, cracked the top and gave it to the man. “Hey, you passed out,” said Chip. “Waddufuck…” groaned the man. “You passed out,” repeated Chip, “I put a stim patch on your hand so you could get home. It’s a weak one, so you should be fine, but you’ve got about twenty minutes until it wears off and you pass out again.” Behind him, as Chip turned briefly to look at the woman, he stopped looking at the elf, the so called “Moat King” and took in Chip’s shoeless form and orkish features. A small note of panic threaded through her voice. “Security!” shouted the woman, “There is some SINless ork here with no shoes and he’s...Well just get here! Now!” Chip sighed. Not that he needed to breathe, but because he’d picked it up from metahumans, people who did breathe, as a way to communicate his frustration. All he needed was for the man to drink the water, tell him he was okay and then stumble home. Chip considered using the influence power on the woman, but security was already on the way. It would probably be odd if he used it again and she said everything was fine. Still, he lingered. “Drink the water,” said Chip. The man messily drank the water. “Thanks,” he croaked. The elf stared over Chip’s shoulder at the woman. “gently caress, not her,” groaned the elf. “Yeah, she’s sort of making problems,” said Chip. “Always up...My rear end at the uh...HOA meetings,” complained the man, who raised his voice, “Hey, Martha!” Chip tried to get the man to drink more water, get up, anything, but instead he decided to yell at the woman calling security on Chip. The elven man raised his hand and pointed a lazy, accusatory finger at her, his arm steadied by Chip’s shoulder. Sirens blared in the background. “Your husband is cheating on you, Martha!” slurred the man. The man laughed and Chip saw the man’s aura mix yellow and a violent red, a mix of delight and spite. “With your old au pair!” he shouted, but soon lost track of what he was saying, “He was...Was um...You know, with the girl.” His arm wiggled on Chip’s shoulder, accusatory finger wavering. Still, he rallied and began to shout again. “You know, the one you hired because you were too lazy to make your own kids a loving sandwich!” Chip took the elf’s pointed chin in his hand. “You have eighteen minutes to get home and pass out,” said Chip, “The more time you spend yelling at her, the more likely your face smashes into the pavement when you finally pass out. I’ve seen it happen. It’s not pretty. Go home and sleep this off.” The man finally looked at Chip. The woman was screaming now, but Chip tuned her out. “Home?” he asked. “Yeah,” said Chip, “Go home. Right now.” “Sure,” said the man. He stood up and used Chip to balance himself. For his part, Chip zipped his bag back up, shouldered it and finally tuned in to the screeching woman and the sound of sirens, which had stopped just outside of the air taxi. The spirit tried to let the man go, but he teetered and almost fell. So now Chip was not only tethered to the physical world, but he was slow. He didn’t sigh as he was frustrated enough to be beyond pretending at metahuman ways to show his frustration. Instead his aura turned dark red and hints of black with that frustration and the beginnings of anger. It was unseen to all present as they couldn’t see into the astral and outwardly, he looked calm. Outside, a man in a uniform stood, which Chip understood to be a police officer, his arms folded. However, Chip noticed something curious. The man had arrived in a golf cart. Chip had seen golf carts once on one of the islands close to the school as they had golf courses, but usually they carried people in funny looking clothing with bags of clubs and balls. This guy was a fat human with a push-broom mustache in a...Chip had to focus...A black uniform and he had a weapon on his hip that Chip was pretty sure was a taser. His aura was deep blue in a way that Chip thought was very self-serious and he looked from the elf, to the woman and then finally to Chip and Chip saw a low, ugly red spread through his body, which Chip didn’t like at all. Then the “officer” spoke to the woman, who’s aura was several shades of red and black as well, though violently so. Seething rage, Chip decided. “What seems to be the issue, ma’am?” asked the “police officer”. The woman’s aura, currently red with indignation pointed at the drunk man and Chip. “Him...Thief!” she bellowed, “And him...Never! In all my life!” Chip was fascinated by the woman. He’d never seen someone so angry before and he’d seen Minuet try to gun down Marco in Julie’s apartment. “Ma’am,” said the “police officer”, ”Please calm down.” Chip beamed in delight as he saw the exact opposite happen. Her anger, already like a fire, grew and consumed what little self-control she had left. With a shout, she took her purse in her hands and threw it at the drunk elf. She became a single shade of violent red rage. “Normally I have to eat some pretty powerful stuff to see something this cool,” said Chip, to the elf. “Me too,” said the elf. He collapsed onto Chip and laughed at the woman as the fat “police officer” struggled to keep her away. “Ma’am,” said the security guard, more forcefully, “Ma’am, please! “Ma’am! I am a representative of Safe and Assured...gently caress...gently caress!” She’d slapped what Chip was pretty sure now wasn’t a police officer. “Safe and Sure Security Strategies Incorporated!” he yelled, “I’m here to keep you safe! I’m the only person on duty so don’t...” As the man argued with the furious woman, Chip moved the man away from the air taxi pad. Beyond the trees that surrounded the pad, he saw people exit their rather large houses and gather around. Then he realized that this was a lot like the Bainbridge and Vashon Island as they had large houses with manicured lawns just like here. So he asked the elf a question. “Is this a suburb?” asked Chip. The man wiped away tears with the hand that had the slap patch on it. “Gated Community,” he said, “Gable Ends.” “Where’s that?” “gently caress, I needed this. She’s a loving tyrant.” Chip poked him in the side. “Where’s that?” pressed Chip, “I need to get home.” “Oh? What?” he asked, “Oh...We’re in Bellevue.” Security drones were beginning to hover overhead and more golf carts and even a real “police” cruiser showed up, though they all seemed to be empty as well. It seemed like the security guard was alone and just summoning his automated “backup”. This did not stop the woman, whose rage had focused on the security guard. The elf slapped the golf cart. “Lead on, MacDuff,” he said to the cart. The cart zoomed away, past golf carts and the single security cruiser and flying drones and lookers on. Chip saw houses and manicured lawns and fences around the houses. “Is that why it’s called a gated community?” asked Chip Chip pointed to a passing house, then another and another until the man got what Chip was asking about. “Oh, no,” said the man, “Those are just individual security systems. They keep out the riff-raff.” Chip wondered if the man had sobered up or if the stim patch had worn off and this was the peak before the crash. “Riff-raff?” asked Chip. The man nodded as they got onto a small roundabout with a fountain in the middle. Chip liked the twin dolphin statues in the middle, but he preferred actual dolphins. The man drank from his bottle of water. “Oh yeah,” he said, “The trash from Redmond Barrens. About oh...Ten or so years back they tried to crack this place open like they did with other communities.” “Was that the Crash?” asked Chip. “The second one, yes,” said the man, “But they never cracked this one open. Or at least they never got too far.” “Why?” asked Chip. “I convinced the community to put in a moat,” said the man, “Surprisingly it worked. Martha voted against it. One of my staunchest critics, bah. We were one of the few unraided gated communities in Bellevue. Property values for the entire community soared, including my own of course. Now she complains that my moat is too expensive, but who knows when the next crash will come? Absolutely no vision. And now all the communities have a moat, but we were the first!” The elf seemed very pleased about this and finished the bottle of water. Then he tossed it onto the street. “Uhhh...Hey…” said Chip. “Such a good return on the investment,” he said, “They laughed at first when I said to put in the moat. They laughed! But after the gangs took over Shady Acres they weren’t laughing. They weren’t laughing after they burned Holly Glen and Blue Spruce Rise! I’d already contracted out the drones to dig the moat. Then I bought the digging drones. And then I rented them out. I made an absolute fortune building moats until the rabble were finally beaten back.” “You shouldn’t litter,” said Chip, with a frown. The man waved a hand dismissively at Chip. “Young man, we use drones to pick up our trash,” said the man, “Totally automated. If it spends more than a minute on the ground I’d be surprised.” Chip was still annoyed, but impressed. “You can have someone out here to pick it up that fast?” he asked. “Someone?” he asked, horrified at the thought, “We use drones my boy, drones! We want as few outsiders as possible. Even that single security guard is a concession that I grudgingly made at the HOA meetings, no. A lot of the old laborers turned their backs on good people like you and me and opened the gates to other communities.” Chip noted that the man included him as part of the community. Though he didn’t correct him, maybe the influence power was working better than intended. “Potential infiltrators, the lot of them,” snapped the man, “Untrustworthy scum. We learned our lesson from other communities. And we learned it the easy way by watching and adapting. We want the absolute minimum of outsiders.” “So drones do everything?” asked Chip. “Just about,” said the man, “Yes, the gated community is truly the model for the future.” “I thought it had a moat, not a gate,” said Chip. “It has both, though if we start calling them moated communities that’d be fantastic for marketing” said the man, “I’ve been saying that for years...Anyway, the gates, yes. Behind the moat of course. Ten feet tall, three feet thick, pure plascreet. My idea as well. Just in case we need to man the battlements, you know?” “Who mans them?” “Why, the drones do, of course,” he said, “What, you think I’m going to sit up on a wall with a gun?” The man scoffed and shook his head. “Preposterous. We have drones for that.” “Oh.” “Does your community need a moat?” asked the man, “I have very reasonable rates.” “I live on an island,” said Chip. “Ah yes,” said the man, “Very sensible indeed. Ten feet of moat is horrendously expensive. The property values I mean...Astronomical! But what is an ocean if not a...Well...A giant moat? But still, some enterprising hooligan can simply use a boat. Why shouldn’t islands have moats on them too?” “I have no idea,” said Chip. Chip wanted to leave, but if there was water all along the community then he’d have a seriously hard time getting out. “Gable Ends first I always say,” said the elf, “Unless I’m trying to sell a moat to another community. And really, in sales, you’ve got a product, sure, but you’re really selling yourself you know.” “So you’re the moat man?” “The Moat King!” exclaimed the man, excitedly. “Why not the Moat Emperor?” asked Chip. The man didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm and instead patted Chip affectionately on the shoulder. “A wonderful sentiment,” he said, “And I appreciate you recognizing my nobility. I even bought a title from Tir Tairngire, though I haven’t visited my holdings. Traveling so far is too unsafe ever since they shot down that semi-ballistic airliner a few years back. However, a marketing team that I paid very well said that focus groups didn’t like the moniker of Moat Emperor that much. So I’ll simply have to content myself with being the Moat King. Instead they call me a king, like I’m some sort of common air conditioner salesman or that I sell...Ugh...Used cars. For gently caress’s sake II have an actual title.” The Moat King laughed mirthlessly at this and then pointed. Beyond the gated houses was something that looked a lot more like a medieval castle. Or at least the outside of one. “There,” he said, “My abode.” Unsurprisingly, it had a moat and as well as fifteen foot walls. They briefly stopped at the edge of a long driveway and a no poo poo drawbridge dropped. Chip almost left right then, but he figured he could jump from up there if he had to, so he stayed. After all, he wasn’t getting out of the gated community otherwise as he wasn’t sure if he could do ten. So as he contemplated, the golf cart then zoomed inside and Chip saw a few security spirits that gave him suspicious looks. “You have spirits?” asked Chip. “They’re mostly in the moats,” said the Moat King, “Part of the premium package. You can see them? You’re awakened?” “Something like that,” said Chip. “I’ve made an absolute killing selling security with this toxic shaman scare,” said the Moat King, “People are absolutely petrified. I have a small side business in long term contracts with spirits you see. Not everyone can afford to put up a moat, more’s the pity.” “Uh huh,” said Chip, “Hey, look, I really do need to get home.” “Ah, of course, of course!” he said, “I mean of course you could send for your personal vehicle, but I’ll send you home in my own. Complete and total three-hundred and sixty degree safety. Normally I only use it for my clients but well...You did help me humiliate Martha…” Chip stepped out of the golf cart and as if realizing this, the Moat King stepped out of the golf cart as well. The elf sneered at it. “Totally open on all sides,” he said, “I could have been shot. What if there had been an IED? And not a single security feature to speak of. How dreadful. I’ll need to bring this up at the HOA meeting. Be on with you foul contraption! Go!” The golf cart, now riderless, drove back towards the drawbridge, which descended and then departed and the drawbridge ascended once again. Meanwhile, a sleek sedan pulled up and the door opened for Chip. “Just tell the car where to go and it’ll take you there,” he said, magnanimously, “Help yourself to the refreshments of course. One good turn deserves another since you shared yours with me. Normally I’d never accept a drink from a stranger or any that I didn’t personally test, but you seem like a good sort and did help me out of quite the situation.” “Oh, thanks,” said Chip. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” said the Moat King, “I’m spending far too much time out in the open. A sniper might take me at any time or a drone may drop an explosive. One can’t be too careful. I must retire to my fortified lounge. Unless you wish to come inside? I have an amazing wine selection and a machine to make sure that none are poisoned. You know, in case you were worried.” The man laughed nervously. Chip considered. He’d never tasted wine, but aged wine seemed like it might be extremely interesting. However, the security spirits were paying extremely close attention to him. If this man decided he didn’t like Chip, he’d have to abandon his bag and run to get away. “I think I’ll be okay,” said Chip, “I have places to be tonight. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” “You’re much too kind,” he said, “I’m not sure how to reward you. Money is a bit vulgar in the circles I travel in…” Chip thought about it. A little money wouldn’t be bad. Julie was going to need it for her farms. “I do know some people working on a project,” he said, carefully, “I don’t think they’d turn it down.” “It’s...Not security oriented, is it?” he asked. “It’s to feed the hungry,” said Chip, honestly. “Volunteer to help those in need much, do you?” “I do.” The Moat King took a moment, wavered, sighed and then nodded. “I suppose in this world of ours the nuyen is de rigueur. So long as it’s for charity I can part with some,” he said, “A noble thing you do. Practically a saint. Working out in the open with people. I would of course but...” The Moat King fumbled in his pocket and produced a credstick. Chip couldn’t see the contents of it as the readout screen was in glass. “It’ll go to a good cause,” said Chip. “Do make it out in my name,” said The Moat King, who lowered his voice, “And send me an invoice. I’ll write it off in taxes.” Chip had no idea what he was talking about, but he shrugged. “Okay, sure,” said Chip. The Moat King beamed. “Wonderful! Thank you my young friend,” he exclaimed, “Oh, and if you need any moats or walls or security spirits on that island of yours, feel free to look me up. There’s only one Moat King and that’s me. I’ll be sure to give you a discount. Five percent...No...No...For friends? A full ten percent. How does that sound?” “Uhh...Sounds great!” said Chip. “Outstanding!” exclaimed The Moat King, “Now remember, one can never be too safe! Remember where you were during the Crash! Wouldn’t it have been better if it had a moat?!” Chip got into the car and the door closed behind him, cutting off any potential response. Soothing music piped through the speakers and a gentle, female voice spoke to him. “You are safe here,” said the voice, “You are totally secure. No one can harm you.” He had to take a minute as he didn’t know any addresses and neither the soothing music nor the affirmations of safety ever stopped, but eventually he figured out he could use landmarks instead and spoke the name of the closest one to Touristville. At least one that wasn’t the ACHE. No way could he get that close to it. The astral was way too polluted. “Take me to the Space Needle,” he said. “Planning the safest and most secure route to the Space Needle,” said the voice, and half a second later it said, “Route plotted. We will arrive in one hour.” Chip couldn’t see out of the heavily window of the vehicle, but if he could, he would have seen the Moat King as the stim patch finally ran out. As the drawbridge lowered and the car drove away, the Moat King had passed out while standing and fallen down face first onto his precision manicured lawn. -- Chip gets a credstick and will loot the complimentary snacks and drinks from the Moat King town-car. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 11:31 on Mar 7, 2021 |
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Mar 2, 2021 05:02
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Moat King, trapped by his own insecurity and not even properly protected. At least the farm project gets to benefit from his complete lack of perspective.
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Mar 2, 2021 16:04
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Chip's perspective is fun. I guess he got a very good influence roll on the Moat King? Guy seems like he normally wouldn't appreciate waking up to an ork stepping inside his cab.
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Mar 3, 2021 13:25
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GO CHIP GO!
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Mar 3, 2021 23:57
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Those are some truly awful people of the Gated community. The Moat King is especially pitiful because it's obvious he's not even remotely happy. Everything about him screams of an overwhelming trauma. But it makes him act in such an overwhelmingly paranoid fashion that also screams of his own self-importance. Martha is hilarious in being such an awful person that she can't even coherently finish being an awful person before losing her temper and sabotaging her own attempt to get people in trouble.
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Mar 7, 2021 01:14
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Glad to see more content Ice! This is my favorite thread to follow.
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Mar 7, 2021 02:45
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Chip, Gas Mask, Shades and Shar - Thursday, August 22nd, 2075 – After Midnight - Downtown Seattle Chip’s bag was near full to bursting. The Moat King hadn’t skimped on the snacks and certainly not the drinks. All in all, Chip had over a hundred mini bottles of alcohol. Technically he had more if you included a few dozen empties that had rolled under the seats that he'd collected. The empties went inside of his bag out of habit as he would comb the beaches for garbage to recycle while bored. This was not the normal amount of alcohol kept in a car, even a company car, but he didn’t realize it at the moment. In fact, Chip was too busy cleaning up the entire car as he wiggled and squeezed his around the car from front seat to back and then front again. Not a single thought was given to exactly what purpose this many bottles would have in a single car. Yes, the young spirit had stuffed as many of the complimentary snacks and drinks as he could into his bag, though Chip had no idea what was in them. At least at a glance. To him, bags, cans, bottles and anything made from highly processed materials had little to no astral presence. The more processed an item was the less presence there was, all the way down to none for the most highly processed materials, foods, drinks, that sort of thing. It meant that each bag, candy bar, soda can and bottle label was a uniform grey. So he was curious and since what he had the most of was the mini bottles he cracked open a bottle and looked inside. Hidden inside was a liquid that was very much active in the astral, containing color and history to be sampled, which he did. What hit him first was the taste, which he didn’t care for, but by digesting it he experienced the fermentation process of some grain he couldn’t identify and found it to be quite interesting. He didn’t commit to analyzing the history of the alcohol though. Not enough time. A thought struck him. Due to the close proximity of the cans and some plastic cups to the bottles, he again experimented by pouring in an entire mini bottle and as much of the can as the cup could hold. After all, he’d been to parties. He’d seen his friends putting alcohol into drinks and well...No, he’d been wrong. The uniform grey mixture in the can, highly processed, only diluted the color and complexity of the alcohol. He sipped anyway and found the original memories to be more difficult to access and he’d have to drink all of the bland, sugary, fizzy solution to get at memories he already possessed. His experiment had been a bust. “Maaaan,” complained Chip. “You are shielded from all harm,” continued the woman’s voice through the car’s speaker, still accompanied by music, “You are out of harm’s way. Every caution is being observed. We are attentive to your safety.” It had been nearly an hour and not only had the affirmations of safety not stopped, but they hadn’t repeated either. Still, he was getting to where he needed to go even if it was far slower than he could run. He had nowhere to be tonight, he’d never rode in a car all by himself before and he’d spent time making sure all of the trash was taken care of. Plus he wondered how many unique affirmations the car could come up with. As he was in no rush, cleaning and experimenting, listening and reliving the history of the fermentation process took about an hour. Only then did the car briefly break its unending stream of affirmations. “We are approaching the destination,” said the car, “All is calm. The situation is serene.” There was a sudden and sharp “thunk” sound that rapped across the window. The calming music grew louder in intensity. “One moment,” said the car, “A foreign object has struck the window. The window is reinforced plasteel and is rated to stop fifty caliber rounds fired from a Ruhrmetall SF-20 heavy machine gun. Your person is secure.” “Hey, what struck the car?” asked Chip, “What’s happening outside?” The car slowed to a stop. “There appears to be a disturbance,” said the car, “Rerouting around the disturbance.” A few seconds passed. “Reroute failed,” said the car, “Rerouting around the disturbance. Reroute failed. This vehicle is alerting the authorities. I might also remind you that you have two out of your twelve free high threat response team extractions left this year as per your contract with Safe and Sure Security Strategies Incorporated. Would you like to send for HTRT?” “What’s HTRT?” asked Chip. “High threat response teams are small teams of specialists trained in unconventional warfare, foreign internal defense, direct action, counter-insurgency, special reconnaissance, information operations, counterproliferation of weapons of mass destruction, security force existence and extraction of high value targets. This vehicle can call HTRT at any time and the average response time for this area is two minutes thirty-five seconds for HTRT to arrive on scene.” Chip stretched his brain around what all of this meant. “They hurt people?” asked Chip, "Is that would they do?" “They would neutralize any unsafe presence around you in order to assure your complete and total safety. As a guest of Moat King Incorporated you are authorized to a complimentary service of the HTRT if you contract with Moat King Incorporated in order to protect your community. Would you like to contact the Moat King Incorporated home office to discuss a contract with complimentary one time HTRT service?” Chip thought better of it and decided not to. As a spirit he was already pretty safe from normal harm. Also in his opinion the car had turned from interesting weird into exploitative weird and figured it was about time to leave. “No, I don’t think so,” said Chip, “Can you roll down a window so I can see what hit the car?” “That would not be optimal for your safety,” said the car, “Rerouting around the disturbance. Rerouting failed.” “Roll down the window,” said Chip. “This vehicle can display what is outside without rolling down the windows,” said the car, “Would you like a display of what is happening outside?” This wouldn’t help as Chip couldn’t see through glass or see the display screen. “No,” said Chip, “Just roll down the window.” There was a pause before the window rolled down and suddenly Chip was blasted with shouts, the occasional sharp explosion and smoke. A man’s voice on a bullhorn was immediately heard. “...Order of Knight Errant Security Services, you are hereby ordered to disperse!” Through the smoke Chip saw hundreds of people stream by the car both on the sidewalks and the street and move southwards through the park around the Space Needle. Some were coughing, some wore gas masks, almost all wore the same kinds of outfits and so it was hard to keep track of individuals in the crowd as it moved. Chip saw the source of the gas as well which looked to be some sort of cylinder that had landed close to the car. Before he could take a closer look at it, several people descended on it, their water bottles open and in seconds the tear gas grenade had been put out. Another one fell and this time someone with an oven mitt on their hand, like what Oli used to pull hot food out of the oven, picked it up and hurled over the heads of the crowd and back at the police. People kept moving. “Rerouting around the disturbance,” said the car, “Rerouting failed.” Chip was excited. Not in a pleased way, but instead he felt animated for there was pain here and people in need. It was a place where he might fulfill that itch to heal people. He’d been to the protest at the park, but this seemed different- More intense. Through the smoke he gazed upon the crowd and with his astral sight he could see the colors of pain and suffering mixed in with anger and frustration. As a spirit of healing, he was drawn to that pain and suffering. So he made a snap decision, took his pack in hand and crawled out of the window. “Please stay in the vehicle,” said the car, “This vehicle cannot ensure total safety if you leave. All is peaceful.” Chip began walking with the people as they moved forwards and got closest to a pair of people. One of them wore a gas mask, long sleeved shirt, jeans and boots. The other wore much the same clothing with some subtle variations, but he had on a hoodie pulled tight and wore shades. The latter didn’t seem to be doing well and hand on the gas masked man’s shoulder. Even with the police not far behind, hundred feet or so, even with the gas billowing, even with the noise and near overwhelming fear radiating from the crowd, they walked away from the police. “What’s happening?” asked Chip. “This is an illegal protest!” yelled a police officer on a bullhorn, “You are ordered to disperse! Go home!” The man in the gas mask looked to Chip. “Cop riot,” he said. Chip began to keep up with him. “What’s a cop riot?” “It’s when the cops riot,” he said, “When they decide to beat the poo poo out of anyone they see. They barely bother arresting people. They just go loving wild. It’s bad out here tonight.” The man pointed behind him back at the police officers. About hundred feet back, beyond the crowd of retreating people, there was a line of Knight Errant police officers, batons in hand and firearms raised. Above them were a number of small roto drones that looked sort of like a much smaller version of the VTOL flying taxis that Chip had taken before. There was also one ten foot tall walker drone which to Chip looked something like a headless metal chicken, but where the wings normally were there were large cylinders that tapered off into a gun barrel. “Weird,” said Chip. “You better get out of the smoke,” called the gas masked man as he moved away, “The cops are just firing off gas grenades at whatever and beating the poo poo out of anyone who’s too slow. A lot of regular people in cars have been sucking gas when the cops gently caress with us. Just randos huffing gas. They get beat down too. The cops have lost their loving minds. Again.” Again the man pointed and Chip saw a number of police officers who broke off the line and with clubs out, they brutally beat a person on the sidewalk, multiple clubs rising and falling. There was no way Chip could get to whomever was getting hit though and reluctantly he turned away. “A curfew is in effect!” came a voice from a loudspeaker all the way back from the line of police, “Any found violating this curfew will be arrested by the Knight Errant Police Department!” Chip moved through the smoke, though it was thin here due to the crowd dealing with it even as they retreated. The amount didn’t matter though as it didn’t affect him like it did other people here due to not having metahuman physiology. Then without a word, the man in black searched his pockets and produced a pair of shades for Chip to wear. “Thanks,” said Chip. “Had an extra pair,” said Gas Mask, “It might already be too late, but better on than off if you’re coming with. Psycho rear end cops are literally gassing people in their cars.” Chip put them on, but they were made from glass so he couldn’t see them. So he just put them on his head and began walking with the crowd, his bag now slung over his shoulder. Meanwhile, the man with the shades clutched the shoulder of Gas Mask clutched his chest and began to have a coughing fit. Chip checked him out, but couldn’t find any obvious wounds. “What’s wrong with him?” asked Chip. “He sucked a lot of gas and got flashbanged a few times,” said Gas Mask, “He’s hosed up pretty bad. I’m getting him out of here so he doesn’t get beat down or worse.” “I can help your friend,” said Chip. “You a medic?” “Basically,” said Chip. “Not a lot of time...gently caress…” Gas Mask looked at Chip, halted and looked at the man, who was coughing hard and beginning to wheeze as he breathed in. “Hey buddy,” said Gas Mask, to the man, marked as little different in look than Gas Mask by his shades, “It’s only a few blocks away. Can you make it?” Shades wavered for a moment, but then gave a shaky thumbs up as he attempted to steady his breath. They both began to walk again. “We’re good for now,” said Gas Mask, “Keep it rolling. We don’t have time to stop. I appreciate it though. You’re a medic? Not with the protest though, right?” “Yeah,” said Chip, “And no, not with the protests.” “What can you do?” he asked. “First aid,” said Chip, “I don’t have my main bag with me though. It’s too bulky to just carry around. I just have my basic kit so I don’t think I can do much about his breathing without magic.” Gas Mask stopped and looked at Chip, though this slowed down Shades whose breathing didn’t sound good at all. With the full covering of the gas mask, it was almost impossible to read him. Then he began to walk again, Shades’ hand tight on Gas Mask’s shoulder. “You got mojo?” he asked, slowly. Chip stared uncomprehendingly before the man spoke again. “Magic,” he said, “You do magic?” “Yeah,” said Chip. “Medical magic?” “Yeah. Just the heal spell though.” “Holy poo poo. Don’t do it out in the open,” said Gas Mask, “If you do magic out in the open the cops will swarm you, beat your rear end and arrest you and it’s a serious fight to get them out of jail. And that’s when they’re not rioting. One mojo user got killed two weeks ago. A cop hit her with a baton, she hit the pavement wrong when she fell and a group of them pushed away the other volunteer medics until she bled out. loving murderers.” “Why would they do that?” asked Chip. “Medics keep us going,” he explained, his tone bitter and angry, though muffled by the mask, “They get us back on the line. They keep us out of the hospitals where we’d get arrested. They keep us from getting crippled or dying. Or hell, they reliably get you snacks and water because you’re sweating like hell and burning calories all night. The medics keep us rolling.” “You need something to eat or drink?” asked Chip, “I’ve got water and snacks.” Chip jangled his bag. Gas Mask looked back at Shades, who hadn’t heard and was still wheezing. Then he looked back to the still advancing line of police. That line wasn’t really connected to anything like a building though. The park around the Space Needle was too open for the small number of officers to possibly cover. Gas Mask continued. “Cool of you to offer, but no. We got our own. Anyway, our medics are pretty top tier. No skillwires or hardwires or anything, because if you’re at a protest or a riot or whatever and you’re wireless, those get sabotaged. Suddenly you don’t know poo poo. You don’t got skillwires or hardwires, right? I don’t think you would, but I don’t want them to burn you out.” “Uh, no,” said Chip. “Cool. I heard that even with VR it takes weeks to basically train new medics so they’re high priorities for harassment, arrest or just straight up murder, though that’s rare. So be careful showing off those skills. They get volunteer security to guard the gently caress out of them, especially after Emmy.” “Emmy?” “The murdered medic,” he said, and briefly bowed his head, “Rest in power.” “Oh.” Chip thought about what it might mean for someone close to him to die. The thought of sudden and permanent disconnection was an uncomfortable one and he remained quiet for a time as the bullhorn roared and the police swarmed and beat anyone who fell behind. They moved away from the park around the Space Needle and east onto Denny Way. “Where are we going?” asked Chip. Medic tent,” said the man in the gas mask, “We’ll see if we’ve got the numbers to regroup and push again.” “Where’s that?” asked Chip. “Denny Park,” said the man, “We’re going down Denny Way because it’s wide enough and with enough side streets so the cops can’t kettle us. The protest is loving on. gently caress, no, the riot is loving on. Full on in the full metroplex basically everywhere and I doubt they have the numbers to clear the park. Not tonight at least. It’s just a couple minutes walk. This way. Come on.” Chip had a nervous feeling. Was this it? Was this the massacre? No, he decided. No, it was too late at night for this. Also Julie, Fuzzy, Kenji and Mother Bear weren’t here. It was just him. Still, he felt uneasy going to the future sight of a massacre. It didn’t stop him from following though. Meanwhile, low flying drones pushed forward from the police lines and made their way overhead. They emitted pulsating, disorienting lights and the voice of the police bullhorn spoke through all of them, near deafening. Multiple people clutched at their ears. “This is the police!” roared the voices, “You are violating curfew! Anyone not indoors will be subject to arrest!” From within the crowd, a number of people pulled out small, handheld devices. The drones that hovered overhead were focused on by thin beams of light. At first, Chip had no idea what was happening. The light beams were focused, but they obviously weren’t weapons, just light. Still the drones dodged either to the side or upwards, but always forwards with the crowd still strobing lights and roaring their deafening orders non-stop now. Ten seconds later, the crowd seemed to refocus the lights and the hovering drones, dozens of beams focused on a few grouped too close together. After a few seconds of sustained light, one of the drones wobbled, veered into another drone and crashed both of them into the ground. People emerged from the crowd and smashed the drones with their shoes, boots and in one case, an entire garbage can dropped by a troll from several feet up. The drones were smashed to pieces in seconds. As another drone was focused down by those lights, someone from the line of police fired off a tear gas grenade. The grenade was poorly aimed and it smashed into a low flying drone which sent it careening into the side of a building, but it didn't break. That suddenly changed when someone picked it up by its tail and smashed it against a wall of an upscale soy-kaf shop. A cheer went up before the defenders seemed to melt back into the crowd or hustled down side streets. The rest of the drones retreated behind police lines and when the police spoke again, the speakers on the drones were not nearly so deafening when the drones were near them. As the crowd that Chip moved with slowly fled the cops, down a side street came a much larger crowd. The emotions of the crowd that Chip was with was a mix of fear, anger and joy depending on the person, but the crowd that came down the side street was red hot incandescent with rage. Their rage was intense as Martha had been, maybe even more intense. Chip couldn’t tell. There were just so many people and their rage seemed to be radiating off them in the astral like heat. Where Martha's rage had been a fire, the combined rage of the crowd looked like an inferno. “Oh, that’s not good,” said Chip. “What?” asked Gas Mask. Chip pointed at the crowd. “Oh gently caress, the elves,” swore Gas Mask, “Hey, get an arm under this guy. We need to move faster.” Then he pitched his voice. “Hey everyone!” he called out, “Eyes right!” This caught the attention of the crowd and more people shouted. People began to pick up the pace, some jogging, some walking, but no one ran. “Why?” Chip grabbed Shades’ under the arm and soon they started moving faster as he allowed himself to be moved along. It was actually pretty tough for Chip as he wasn’t particularly strong. “There’s going to be a fight.” “But why?” “You didn’t hear?” asked Gas Mask. Chip shook his head. “You know that terrorist attack a little while back? The elven restaurant?” “I heard about it,” said Chip. “Lone Star blew it up.” “Wow. Really?” “Yeah they loving did," he snarled through his mask, "It was a microwire bomb too. Sick fucks. People just got cut apart...gently caress, I’ll tell you later if you stick around. Just get the gently caress out of the way. The elves are out for blood tonight. The pics just got splattered all over social media maybe two hours ago and it spread super loving fast. People are already dying.” “Is every night like this?” asked Chip. “gently caress no,” he said, “This poo poo is crazy.” The crowd of retreating protesters sped up and briefly mingled with the oncoming crowd of elves, who basically ignored one another. Though he heard them grumble angrily, heard them swear, heard them scream and he felt distinctly uncomfortable as he walked through what felt like a fog of rage. “Murderers!” screamed an elf. “Die you loving breeders!” screamed another. “gently caress you! gently caress you! gently caress you! gently caress you! F-” Chip’s body grew warm from the rage and he shivered as hate washed over him. Despite himself he turned his head and saw that the elves were lighting rags stuffed into bottles on fire in their hands, which he thought was strange. Then he saw that person toss that bottle and douse in the street just short of a line of officers and Chip instantly understood that they were flinging fire at the police. More bottles were lit and flew. Someone fired a gun, whether towards the police or from the elves Chip had no idea. The crowd gasped in fear, spread out, halted only briefly and then surged forwards with a bellow of renewed shouts. Chip saw a gas grenade aimed at point blank range hit a woman in the leg. Even through the din he heard a sickening crack and she went down screaming. He almost went to her despite the fact that Shades needed help, but he wasn’t sure if he could cast a spell when distracted by so much concentrated hate and rage. Then he saw a molotov cocktail, a word which he’d learn later, splatter across an officer as they ineffectually raised a firearm and began to flail and scream. The line of police broke for a moment. The large drone behind them, the one that looked like a headless metal chicken, hosed down the officer with spray almost immediately, but the line of police began backing up under the furious assault. “Quit lagging,” said Gas Mask, “We need to get the gently caress away.” Chip realized he was staring. He’d never seen so much pain before. So much rage. So much suffering. It was horrifying and mesmerizing. As a budding connoisseur of experiences this was new for him. Yes, he’d seen the future of Denny Park, but he hadn’t lived it. The memory of that future space for a while had been a part of him before he’d given it away to Oracle, imparted as part of Julie’s own experiences which she'd used to lure in the tiny, unthinking spirit that had been him and then building him up to his previously smaller, conscious self. In fact it’d been part of that home in the deep astral that he’d constructed for himself. This though, it was like he’d exited through the car window into another world. Not an experience imparted to him or consumed and relived, but he lived it moment by moment. A world of rage and anguish and fear and pain and violence and fire. And that experience, life at its most raw, at least so far, had briefly paralyzed him. It had all come at once and in the moment it was too much for the young spirit to process. “What?” asked Chip, dreamily. “Keep your eyes forward,” said Gas Mask, urgently, “Don’t get left behind. That’s going to get ugly.” “It’s already ugly,” said Chip, quietly. Gas Mask slapped Chip’s shoulder and squeezed and with his guiding hand, Chip allowed himself both to be led away and support Shades. Despite the shock of it it, Chip kept moving, but as that happened the spirit cried out as something hit him between the shoulderblades and nearly tipped him and by extension of Chip supporting him, the wounded Shades over as well. He and Shades stayed standing, but only just as he heard sporadic gunfire from behind. “You get tagged?!” asked Gas Mask. “Tagged?” asked Chip, unaware of what that meant, feeling oddly calm, until the meaning caught up to him like that gel round had, “Oh, yeah. Tagged. Yeah I think so.” Gas Mask looked over at Chip’s back. “No blood, you’re good!” he exclaimed, over the conflict behind them, “Gel round in the back! Nonlethal! It's still there too! Didn’t even rip your clothes! Must’ve hit someone else first! Lucky it wasn’t a foot up or it would’ve hit your head!” Chip was glad it wasn’t a real bullet, but he was shocked. Someone had shot him. Maybe not him on purpose, but he’d still been shot with a non-lethal round most likely coming from police lines in the chaos. Spirits were tougher than most people and the bullet hadn’t actually hurt him at all, but it had still shoved him. He wasn’t invulnerable though. A live round might actually hurt him. In fact it might hurt him enough to banish him. Only now did he realize that he was in danger. “This way!” yelled Gas Mask. They cut southeast down Sixth Avenue and many of the crowd followed them despite the fact that Denny Park was only two blocks away. Stray gel rounds from the police were fired east and some of those shots somehow missed the mass of hundreds of elves and would fly into the retreating crowd beyond. Without the cops following them as they were now occupied by angry elves, the street was clear and became much quieter after one turn and a few dozen feet. Eerily, it even had cars moving down the road like nothing was wrong. Businesses were open. A few shoppers, their auras confused, looked on from alleyways. Some emerged, but they immediately retreated as the crowd he was with walked by despite a total lack of harassment. As briefly as Chip had stepped into that world of anger and violence and fire, he’d left it. Minutes later after a brief stop to check in with Shades, who was wheezing but moving, they followed the streets and moved at first southeast, then northeast, briefly southeast and then curved north again onto Dexter Avenue. They emerged at the southwest portion of Denny Park and it was blissfully free of police or violence. The park had tall trees, though they were much more spaced out than Blake Island’s forest. Also they were a little sick, most likely from the acid rain that occasionally fell. There were paved paths that cut the park into quarters like a wide X. There was a dog park in the distance, though there were no dogs as well as a playground, but of course there were no kids either. And as they moved with the crowd, they found a parking lot in front of a small, one story building. In that parking lot was a medic station and it was crowded as people milled about or streamed in. Finally, they got Shades to the medic station though the medics were busy. A number of people were waiting to get their wounds tended to, more were getting something that looked like splashes from a gallon of soy milk poured into their eyes, though not all at once. A few people were bleeding, but not badly. Some people looked shaken and sat down. Pain was here in the astral. A lot of it. In some cases an extreme amount, but Chip didn’t want to abandon Shades as he was still wheezing. Most people just milled around though, chatted, ate food or drank water. By taking the longer and safer path, other people had gotten here first and so latecomers mostly waited for medical attention unless their wounds were severe enough. “I’m going to get some help,” said Gas Mask, who looked to Chip and lowered his voice, “You’re not bullshitting when you said you can do magic?” “I can,” said Chip. “I’ll talk to the medics then. Maybe they’ll get uh…” and he turned to Shades, “What’s your name?” Shades wheezed out something incoherent. “Yeah, just stay with him,” said Gas Mask, “I’ll be right back.” Shades looked miserable. His hands were on his chest, hoodie pulled up tight, but he pulled off his hoodie to reveal a tight, black t-shirt as he tried to breathe. Chip dropped his bag, opened it and pushed aside the hundreds of mini bottles, cans of soda, snacks and pieces of fruit. Mini bottles spilled out as he pulled out his medkit and he quickly put them back inside as he didn’t want to litter. He checked his medkit for something to help. Inside the kit was gauze, bandages, a black wireless tool for medical diagnosis that looked like a hockey puck that needed to be laid on the skin, safety pins, tweezers, sterile eye dressings, sterile gloves, antiseptic spray, sticky tape and more, but it was primarily for dealing with wounds, not with breathing problems. He did have a pulse oximeter, which once clipped onto a finger it would measure the amount of oxygen a person had inside of them, but since it was an electronic display readout he’d need help reading it. He decided to do what prep work he could and clipped it to Shades’ finger, but that was really the extent of what he could do for breathing problems. As Shades wheezed, Chip felt helpless. He was a spirit of healing who couldn’t heal this person. Though Shades was putting on a brave face, inside he was scared. Chip could see this sickly yellow color of fear building and building in the astral, spreading like an emotional cancer. Unable to help him more in a medical sense, Chip thought about what else he could do. His spells and powers were of no use. The heal spell wouldn’t remove what was in his throat and lungs, just alleviate the damage for as long as he cast it before the ingredients in the gas made his breathing difficult once more. Then Chip remembered that Julie had given him the ability to talk to people. He wasn’t fantastic at it, but it meant that he was less alien and more like a person to the point where Julie called him one. Chip offered his hand to Shades, palm up and Shades took it. “I’ll stay with you,” said Chip, “Focus on breathing.” Shades nodded gratefully and continued his wheezing breathing. That breathing didn’t get any better, but it didn’t get any worse either. That sickly yellow emotion was still there, but it wasn’t spreading like a cancer anymore either. For a few minutes Chip just held his hand. This was what he could do and for those minutes he didn’t feel helpless anymore. He still hadn’t processed what had happened, but he could focus on that until he had the time. Those minutes ended when a woman who wore a simple jeans, but a heavy armor jacket with two bright strips across it to make a plus sign on both the front and back. On her face she wore a surgical mask and a pair of shades. Her hair was dyed purple and was tied back and up and she wore a shirt with a big plus sign on it, which was barely perceptible to Chip. She looked at the wheezing Shades and came down to one knee to meet him eye to eye as she readied her kit and brought out her tools. “All the chairs are filled, sorry,” said the woman, “What little we got. I'm going to have to treat you here. I’m going to ask you some questions. I hear you wheezing. Can you talk?” Shades shook his head no. “Okay, first thing, do you consent to being treated?” she asked, “Just nod your head yes if you do.” He nodded vigorously. “Good. Give me your hand.” She looked at the pulse oximeter, her own in her hand. Then she looked to Shades and then to Chip. “It’s mine,” said Chip, “What’s it say?” “You haven’t looked at it?” she asked. Chip couldn’t even read it. “It’s complicated,” he said. She raised an eyebrow at that, but looked back to her patient and put a hand on his back. One of those diagnostic tools was in her hand, the one that looked like a hockey puck. “I need to lift the back of your shirt,” she said. She was already doing so, but she was explaining herself as she worked, which seemed to calm Shades even more. Now that his shirt was lifted in the back, she pressed the puck to his back like a stethoscope. “Okay, I want you to take a deep breath,” she said, “In…” Shades wheezed as he breathed in. “And Out…” He wheezed as he breathed out. She moved the puck. “And in…” In, wheeze, out, wheeze, over and over again. Moments later, satisfied, she pulled out a piece of medical tape and stuck it to his back. “Do you have any dizziness?” Shades hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Is it getting better or worse?” she asked, “Nod for better, shake for worse.” Shades shook his head for worse. There were a few more questions, but eventually the woman stood back up, went to the medical tent and came back with an inhaler. She showed him how it worked and soon he’d taken a few breaths of the bronchodilator. After a short time she asked him again. “Better or worse?” she asked. “Better,” he croaked, but no longer wheezed. "Normally I don't ask, but I don't how tight those noises you're making," she said, "Do you think you need to go to the hospital?” Later Chip would learn this was a trick to impart seriousness. A trip to the hospital during a protest was a last resort, but it did get the message across. “No hospital,” he said, his words clipped by his lack of breath. “Fine. No hospital, but you’re done for the night,” she said, “You got someone to watch you at home?” He hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Okay,” she said, “If this gets worse, you’ve got to go into the hospital. It’s so you don’t suffocate and die. I don’t like these numbers, but they’re climbing. You just sit here and breathe. I’ll get someone to sit with you.” “I’m sitting with him,” said Chip. The woman gave Chip a look. “I’ll ask someone to sit with him in a minute,” she said, “A guy told me you can do something for some of these people. Was he honest?” Chip figured that thing was magic and he nodded. The woman bit her lip and looked to the side. “Are you willing to do that thing?” she asked, her tone serious. “I was made for it,” said Chip, honestly. She looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “What can you do?” she asked, her voice low. “Just the heal spell,” whispered Chip. She nodded and sighed. “I’d kill for a trained sanologist,” she complained, “Or some more bronchodilators. Or gently caress, just some slip tip syringes. The cops stole ours. We’re down to using squirt mustard bottles to use eye wash.” “That sounds unsanitary,” said Chip. “Yeah, well,” said the woman, suddenly annoyed, and she frowned at him, “Too much of one thing, not enough of another. They can be 3D printed, but that takes time and expertise and our last 3D printer expert hasn’t talked to us in a few days and we don’t have their blueprints. We’re not under pristine conditions here. We’re doing aid out of a makeshift shack with donated supplies and they’re as sanitary as we can make them. Can you deal with that?” Chip shrugged. “I meant to say that I have a few I can share,” said Chip, “I didn’t mean to criticize. Sorry.” Her frown and annoyance eased. “Donations are always appreciated,” she said, tiredly. He opened his medkit. Normally Chip shared what he could part with: Food, water and care. Things that he’d already experienced. Things that he had no need for. He had a need for his kit, which was well used, but people were suffering and if she could put it to use, she could take what she needed. It wasn’t specifically him that had to do the healing so long as he helped. “If you can put it to good use,” he said, somewhat suspiciously, “You know how to use it?” She barked out a laugh. “I was going to ask you that since you were having problems with the oximeter,” she said, “I know how.. Any chance you can part with anything else? This is a good kit.” “It’s pretty basic,” said Chip, “I have my professional bag at home.” Another raised eyebrow. “You sure you’re not a sanologist?” she asked, “Well, whatever. Hey, you.” She looked to Shades. “Lend me your hoodie for a second?” she asked, “I’ll get it back to you.” Shades shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Great,” she said, and looked to Chip, “Now you, follow me.” Chip obliged and they made their way deeper into the medic tent where a number of people with umbrellas were standing, despite the total lack of rain. Then she handed him a completely different outfit and gave the hoodie to someone else, a young ork, who was roughly Chip’s size and shape. “Doing a thing,” she said to the young ork, “Hoodie up for a second. Give me yours.” “What’s up, Shar?” asked the ork. “Can’t tell you,” said Shar, “We’ll get it back to you. You good or not?” The ork looked dubiously at the hoodie. “I know it’s spicy,” she said, “We all are. It’s for a good cause.” The ork shrugged again, pulled off his hoodie and put on Shades’ hoodie. Shar took the other hoodie and gave it to Chip. “Wear it,” she said. “Spicy?” asked Chip. “Gas,” said Shar, “We’re all spicy, but this is extra spicy. The guy you brought in looks like he got a big dose of it.” Chip nodded. He didn’t care that much, but he didn’t want to do medical work in clothing covered in gas. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time for questions,” she said, “Quick intro. I'm Shar, hey." "Hey," said Chip, "I'm..." "Not your real name," she interrupted, "Don't want to know. Handles only please." Chip shut his mouth and said nothing, even though he didn't know what a handle was. Unless she meant from a cooking pot, which he guessed she didd't. She nodded in approval and continued. "Some of these people are hurt pretty bad and I need to get to them. The park has tree cover, but not a ton of it. We’ve got eyes in the sky looking down and there’s always someone watching the medic tents even if it’s just through a camera. We’re switching clothes because that’s the best we got to confuse that all seeing eye, but you’ve got your bare face out here and everything even though you’ve got Know Shades on your head. So I guess you’re a newbie and I’m too busy to walk you through all of this right now. I was told you literally crawled out of a car window to help?” “Yeah,” said Chip, “Let’s just do this.” “Good, come this way,” she said, “I was told you got shot in the back.” “I don’t have time for…” “You do,” she interrupted, “To get looked at just like everyone else. Especially if you want to help. I don’t want you passing out from...You know.” From the drain, it went unspoken. Magic took focus and it could tax the body. The more spells cast, the more likely the exhaustion would accumulate. A normal person would pass out, but if the damage accumulated too fast he’d be banished back to the deep astral. Not for a full month as it was just from damage and not an awakened banishing him, but he’d have to wait until sunrise or sunset until he could come back. She'd made a bad assumption but arrived at more of less the correct conclusion. Overtaxing himself would make Chip effectively "pass out". Shar produced another puck, but that was a diagnostic tool for metahumans. Not only would it not work on him, but it would out him as not a metahuman as he wasn’t made of flesh and blood. Being outed as a spirit would create a lot of sudden complications in helping people. The people of Touristville knew him and accepted him, but he knew that most spirits weren’t treated like people. Plus with the toxic spirit scare not that long ago he was wary about telling others who didn't know him what he was. “I’m okay,” said Chip. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, “It’s a bad habit to diagnose yourself. It’ll only take a few seconds. Do I have your consent to treat you?” Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 22:27 on Mar 7, 2021 |
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Mar 7, 2021 22:10
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Chip looked warily at the puck. He almost said no, but he had an idea. “Could you just check for bruising without checking me with the puck?” he asked. Shar looked at the puck, shrugged and slipped it into a pocket, but it looked more like she was putting up with him. “I’ll do a spot check,” she said, “If there’s any bruising at all I’ll need to do more. Do you understand?” Chip smiled, turned around and lifted the back of his shirt. He knew there wouldn’t be a bruise. Bruises needed blood to form and he didn’t have any of that inside of him. Normal weapons were generally ineffective on spirits unless they were high powered or the spirit was a small one. The gel round had really only shoved Chip and that was it. “I understand,” he said. Shar clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she checked. “Are you sure you got shot?” she asked, “You have dark skin but I can’t see any bruising. One second while I get a light.” Chip had never been medically examined before and reveled in the newness and strangeness of the act of being treated like something he wasn’t. Not even Mother Bear had diagnosed him after he’d been hurt or if she had it hadn’t been like this. She’d just said that all he needed to do was rest since the damage had been from casting a spell. “No bruising at all,” she said, “Good. Think you’re fit to help? Haven’t scared you off?” “No.” “Good. Get changed.” Chip put on the hoodie and over the next few minutes he switched in and out of outfits as people came and left, before one pretended to take off their hoodie and eventually just left his shoes for Chip to wear, though it was with the utmost reluctance and he did hang around. “Shoeless,” she said, “I’m surprised your feet aren’t cut to ribbons. You’re not wearing those spray on shoes, are you? The clear ones?” “No,” said Chip. “I mean, I thought...” she said, her tone frustrated, “Well, those are mostly for women. I'll have to find you a pair of regular shoes. No one out here is barefoot. Can't believe you don't have any shoes...” “I have a problem with the shades,” said Chip. Shar had insisted that he pull his hoodie on tight, wear shades and a medical mask. All of it so tight that he couldn’t see. The shades were glass after all. “What’s the problem?” she asked. Chip hesitated. “I can’t see through them,” he admitted. "Not at all?" she asked, confused. "No," said Chip, "I can't see through glass at all. It's like trying to look through a wall. I'm blind if I wear them." Shar stared at him for a few seconds. Though he couldn’t see her expression hidden behind the shades and medical mask, understanding flooded through her aura. This was it, Chip thought. This was the moment that he was outed as a spirit and things got so much more complicated. He’d have to be quick, move into each room, heal them and escape with his stuff. He could do it, but… “You have Macneill syndrome,” she said, “You only see into the astral.” “I…” He actually didn’t. Spirits just naturally saw the world that way. Sasha had Macneill syndrome and she was afraid that others would find out. Looking at someone with astral sight without someone was considered extremely rude, akin to peeking on someone while they were dressing or in the shower. To look at their emotions, totally unfiltered and without their consent. “You poor thing,” said Shar, suddenly. Her emotions filled with a warm orange of compassion and she hugged him. “That’s why you couldn’t read the pulse oximeter,” she said, “Electronic readout. Do you normally need help with that? Or did you just turn off your commlink because of the riot?” After all of the fear and hate, nearly bathing in it, the close proximity of compassion was nourishing. Not that he could eat it, which he felt was a pity, but it helped center him. Eventually she pulled him back to look at him. “I just got a new one and I haven’t been able to set it up yet,” said Chip, awkwardly, “It's in my bag. I got it from a friend. It was made special for people who can’t see um...Regularly.” “Got it, okay,” she said, and her tone was suddenly gentle, “Look sweetie, you just put on those shades, hold my hand and I’ll guide you to where you need to go. Is that okay?” Chip hesitated, but nodded and put on the shades. Shar fussed over him and made sure that his hoodie was pulled tight and that his shades were on straight, which he oddly appreciated. He’d never been blind before, even if it was just temporary. For the first time in less than a year of consciousness after being summoned by Julie, Chip couldn’t see the astral, the very emotions people and rhythm of magic in the world. He could only feel it and only dimly. Shar took his hand and guided him into the building. What Chip felt in the room was pain and suffering and the unmistakable feeling that life force being on the outside instead of in. “A lot of bleeding?” asked Chip. “Yeah. The smell is pretty unmistakable," she said, “In and out of consciousness and we don't have anything to give him.” Chip peeked around his shades and saw an unconscious orkish man who had gauze wrapped around his legs, blood soaked through as he lay down on a bloody blanket. Another medic sat with him and Chip quickly lowered his shades again, blinding himself once more. “I’ll take over,” said Shar, “Get back out there.” The other medic left and Shar guided him towards the unconscious man. “What happened?” asked Chip. “Flashbang went off right at his feet,” said Shar, “He was wearing a helmet, but he only had on shorts. He had to be dragged back here and he lost a lot of blood in the process. Normally we wouldn't be in here, but the cops tossed half a dozen flashbangs at the medic tent a few days ago while we were fumbling through surgery on a SINless woman." "Wow," said Chip, "Are you okay?" "It wasn't me," said Shar, "But that sort of thing has happened to me before. I remember when it happened. I was pretty hosed up until Emmy..." She trailed off and Chip looked away. Shar thought he had Macniell syndrome and he did his best to pretend he was ashamed of that, though it was pretty awkward. She didn't seem to notice. “Are we alone?” asked Chip, a few seconds later. “Yeah,” said Shar, voice momentarily rough, “You can slip them off again. Chip lowered himself to the ground and checked the man’s pulse. It was weak. “He should be in a hospital,” said Chip, “He’s in a real bad way.” “ I know he should be,” said Shar, seriously, “But he won’t get care.” “Why?” “He’s SINless. Citizens get care. Even if that care sucks and then they usually go into debt unless they've got good coverage. But for most people that coverage still exists. SINless don’t even get that option. They get turned away because the hospitals can deny that anyone even showed up. They don’t lose money on treatment. Nice and tidy little loophole they have to keep profits up. Only a few free clinics serve SINless and if they're suspected of a crime they almost always talk to the cops because if they don't they'd lose their license. He's hosed either way if he goes to get care from anywhere legit.” “And why do they get arrested?” asked Chip, who didn’t look up as he asked. “They’re arresting anyone with injuries that might look like they came from the protest. Standard. Look, can you do it?” “Did you pick the shrapnel out? I don’t want the flesh to heal over the shards. That just means more surgery.” “One second,” she said, and disappeared for half a minute before she returned. “No charts,” she said, “There are a couple big pieces, but they can’t just be picked out with tweezers. They’re in deep. The one I’m really worried about is here…” Shar lowered herself and pointed at the bandages, which was wrapped tightly save where the shards of the flash bang were. A large and jagged shard, long and thick, was embedded in the back of the man’s heal where the achilles tendon was. “We think it severed the tendon,” she said, sadly. Chip nodded, examined the site and concurred. Shar lifted the shirt of the unconscious man to check that the diagnostic puck was still attached to his skin and began carefully unwinding the bandages to change them. The man’s legs were burned and shredded and the bandages came off sticky, wet and ruined. “Oh, that’s bad,” said Chip. “Yeah,” she said, “He needs surgery to repair the tendon and skin grafts at the minimum. At least until you showed up. Can you do anything?” “How long has he been here?” asked Chip. “Maybe an hour,” said Shar. Chip shook his head. “I can’t heal wounds older than an hour with magic,” he said. Shar looked up at him sharply and her head tilted in confusion. “Emmy could,” said Shar. “How?” Shar hesitated. “She took the wounds onto herself,” said Shar, “But she could choose where they appeared. Distribute the damage. She healed fast too. Crazy fast. It's why I thought...” Again, Shar looked away and so did Chip. “That’s not what I do,” said Chip, “The heal spell is powerful, but it has a time limit. If I’d known there was someone injured here before I wouldn’t have taken so long...Just be sure. If I heal him after that hour I might tire myself out for nothing if others need it too.” She thought about it and shook her head, a pained expression hidden by her mask and shades. “No, she said, sadly, “More than an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. gently caress...gently caress!” “Then there’s nothing I can do,” said Chip, sadly. Medic hissed in anger and frustration, but inwardly she radiated sadness which Chip once again looked away from. “We’ve got other patients,” she said, as she collected herself, “But he was the worst. Come on. We’ll have them come in here.” Chip put his shades back on and was led by the hand into another room. There a man with a head wound was inside of a different office that was full of clutter. A human man, his head shaved, but with a wound to rival a goose egg a few inches above his left eye. Unlike the orkish man, this man was conscious and again had someone sitting with him to keep him awake. That person left before Chip was allowed to take off his shades. “A lot of the cops shoot for the head and the eyes,” said Shar, bitterly, “Among other places. Fuckers, Nasty concussion here. Maybe a TBI.” “Traumatic brain injury,” said Chip. "Yeah," she said, "We see a lot of that." The man muttered. “My...Head...Ffffuu…” “Right,” said Shar, “Do we have consent to treat you?” “You hear that ringing?” he slurred, “Someone...Someone turn that down.” Shar looked to Chip, her aura angry, but controlled. “A lot of the guys have this macho thing where they won’t wear their helmets,” she explained, “Some of the girls too, but mostly the guys. They'll wear armor clothing or dusters or even full jackets like mine, but they leave their heads exposed. loving insanity. I always hope that they’ll see the results and change, but sometimes you get poo poo like this. loving macho rear end bullshit.” “And he’s within an hour?” asked Chip. “Yeah. He arrived here just before you," and she turned to him, "Hey, pay attention." It took him a minute, but he did. His eyes struggled to focus on her. "You want help?" "Mmmm...Yeah?" "Good enough," she said. Chip nodded, lay a hand on the man and concentrated and imagined the formula for the heal spell in his head. Then he focused his magic and pushed magic into that formula and through it, giving it a shape before releasing it into the man. There was an audible cracking sound that made Shar shiver as the head fracture reknit itself over the course of seconds. The goose egg didn’t reduce in size, but the focus returned to the man’s eyes. He touched the wound on his head and winced. A sharp but brief pain hit Chip as the drain hit him and he felt his physical presence diminish ever so slightly until that pain became a slight but persistent ache. He’d been successful, but taking drain this early wasn’t a great start. “gently caress, ow,” said the man, “My haed...Hey, did you magic me or something?” Shar nudged Chip and he quickly put his shades back on. “No, he didn’t,” she lied, and hissed low and quiet, “We hit you with some really high tech poo poo. Don’t say poo poo like we’ve got another awakened here. You want to bring the cops down on us again?” The man went silent. “You’re fine,” she said, “Don’t say a loving word to anyone.” “Didn’t think you could lower this thing on my head any with that uh...High tech poo poo of yours?” “I fixed your concussion and your skull,” said Chip, “That lump is superficial. Superficial gets fixed last. Ice it when you get home.” “gently caress that,” he said, angrily, “My girlfriend’s cousin got bombed by these fucks. He was just a waiter. I’m going back out there.” Chip looked to Shar, who shrugged but radiated disapproval. “Wear a helmet,” said Shar. The man gave her a disgusted look and pointed at the wound. “With this thing on my head?” he asked. “Take the pain, skip the TBI,” she said, “I’ve seen enough of you here before for this poo poo. Just wear your loving helmet and tell others to do it too. Gel rounds can kill you from a headshot if they hit you too. Cops aim for the head. You know that.” He grumbled, nodded to them both in thanks and got up out of the chair. As he left, Chip removed his shades again. Shar radiated approval. “Did you leave that lump on him on purpose?” she asked. “No,” he said, “I just ran out of power. I’m not crazy strong, just above average.” “Oh well,” she said, “Happy accidents. Hopefully others will see it and take the hint because he was looking at possible permanent brain damage. Not the first one.” “Anyone else?” asked Chip. “Oh yeah,” she said seriously, “Just the serious cases though. Also, don’t say anything about this. No one is supposed to be in here.” “Right,” said Chip, “Including us.” “Definitely including us.” Over the next few minutes, Chip healed a woman with a broken kneecap, a man with a broken arm, a fractured elbow and one pair of smashed testicals. Thankfully he only had to touch the person to use his magic, not the wound itself. It was easier or sometimes less embarrassing for people not to touch the afflicted area. “Cups cost ten nuyen,” said Shar, "I get that a lot of people don't got that to spare, but people will share and there's funds floating around." “How’d that happen?” asked Chip. “Cops use gel rounds,” she said, “They’re less than lethal, but a lot of these cops are vicious. They aim for the eyes, head, throat, groin, joints, anything they can get away with. Most are piss poor shots, but they’re running smartguns. The guns almost do the war crimes themselves.” Chip nodded seriously, but he was tired. “I’m wiped out,” said Chip, “I’ll need at least an hour before helping anyone else.” Shar nodded gratefully. They both stripped off the last of their sterile gloves, which Shar took to keep from leaving any traces and she guided him towards a couch where Chip sat down. “Be right back,” she said, “Don’t move. I’m going to check on things.” “I’m not going anywhere,” said Chip, tiredly. She disappeared for a few minutes and this time Chip kept his shades...Well, not off, but tilted so he could see a little. When Shar came back, he briefly stood up, ready to go, but she gently pushed him back down again and sat next to him. He was struck in that moment that she was a head shorter than him and he wondered how in the world he’d thought that she was taller than he was. She was older too, which wasn’t a surprise. Chip was iffy on his own age. Cosmetically, mentally and emotionally he was about sixteen, his physical age was a big question mark and he'd been coscious and thinking for less than a year. Shar on the other hand looked to be in her early twenties. “Everyone who can leave has left,” she said, “Lull time.” “They went home?” asked Chip. “Some, but not most,” she said, “People are angry. They're out in the streets. You can already see the fires.” “Lone Star, right?” asked Chip. Shar’s anger blazed red and hot inside of her. Chip expected a fit of fury, but Shar’s anger was contained as she removed her shades and medical mask, displaying tusks, a large nose, a large mouth and a wide, plain face. She was an ork, just like him. Well, maybe not just like him. "You don't need to look away," she said, "I'm not ashamed of how I feel and you shouldn't be ashamed of what you are." Chip said nothing, but felt shame for misleading her. "But yeah," she said, "Terrorist cop. Motherfucker on the bomb squad in South Hill.” “Where’s that?” “Deep Puyallup,” she said, “Well, anywhere not north Puyallup is considered deep Puyallup. Central Puyallup I guess. I don't think anyone really calls it South Hill anymore. It's just the barrens. So deep it might as well be dead except a few people still live there. Some outpost they call a police station half buried in the ash. No oversight at all and for Lone Star that's saying something. The cops basically run anti-labor death squads out of it because almost no one gives a gently caress about the few SINless that work for the corps out there. All this cop did was get drunk and make bombs for Humanis. Piece of poo poo gets paid to clock in at the racism factory to murder metas while drunk. Didn’t even have the decency to blow himself up. Fucker.” “How do you know this?” asked Chip. Shar sniffed hard and her aura went flat grey, betraying absolutely nothing. She’d mastered her anger so fast that it was a little scary. “This hacktivist group called Sanction,” she said, calmly, “They’ve been doing low level poo poo for a few months. You know, doxxing and poo poo.” “What’s that?” “Uhh...Outing who someone is,” she said, “The fash. People who’ve been making some of our peoples’ lives really hard. They covered Emmy’s death pretty heavily so a lot of people have been watching them lately. We needed those eyes and they got us them, so we've been pushing their message.” Shar bit her lip and squirmed. The blue of sadness ran through her, but again she went grey as she mastered that emotion as quick as turning on or off a light, which she punctuated with a breath. “I mean it was nothing politically major, unless you were one of the people they helped, then you know...It’s major. It was major for us,” she said, “But they did this huge data dump on this cop and caught him red loving handed because he’d bragged to this girl he met a few months ago about doing some bombings. Turns out it one of the Sanction folks messing with him. Complained it was lonely out there in the barrens. Fucker. Lone Star looked the other way for years, but they loving knew. Not a stretch. Their jackboots are so high I'm surprised they're not full body suits. Now Ares owns Lone Star and they’re trying to downplay this poo poo, but people want blood. So now we’re getting a riot tonight. poo poo is going to burn. poo poo's already burning. People are going to die and dying and...And I’m just...You know...Waiting here to see who comes by. Normally we wouldn't break into a place, but poo poo has been pretty bad lately.” Then she smiled at him. One she obviously didn't feel, she patted his head and disentangled herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you,” she said, “You’re the sensitive one, not me. You see the world how it is, right?” “It’s complicated…” he said. She playfully dug him in the ribs. Chip didn’t squirm because he wasn’t ticklish and she relented. “You like saying that,” she said. “Do I?” he asked. “It’s okay,” she said, “People got secrets. Even my crew does. We’re close, but we respect that privacy. Tightrope walk. People show up, they leave, we're close, but you know, protest close. I couldn’t tell you their real their names. Or um...Not all of them anyway. A couple maybe.” “Shar isn’t your real name?” he asked. She shook her head. “Names can identify you,” she said, “Faces, body shapes, the way you walk, everything. The tech is too good. The only reason I’m uncovered in here is because someone swept the place earlier...And because I need a second to decompress. You mind if I smoke?” Chip shook his head. He didn't approve, but she was already reaching into her pocket. “No, go ahead,” he said. She pulled out her vape from her pocket, which looked like one of the ancient e-cigs, tried to take a puff and swore. “loving vape isout of batteries,” she complained, “Of course it’d be right now.” She briefly pouted, but plugged her vape into a nearby outlet, her annoyance plain on her features and in her aura. This she did not master. She counted aloud, waiting fifteen whole seconds before she pulled it off again. The tip lit up, she inhaled and exhaled, her annoyance immediately cooling off. Then she plugged it back in. “Fifteen ticketies is just long enough to get one good drag,” she said, as smoke still escaped her mouth, “And I know it’s bad for me. You don’t need to tell me.” Chip closed his mouth. If he could have blushed, he would have. She laughed and wrapped an arm around him again. “gently caress, that guy with the smashed balls,” she said, “You hit him with the magic and wham, he goes from crying to you know...Crying happy. It’s like you hit him with a drug. And now he’s back out there. loving insanity. It's a revolving door that sends out people and sends in bullshit, I swear.” “Yeah, he had euphoria,” said Chip, “Powerful.” Shar pulled her vape out of the outlet again, took a drag and plugged it back in. “What’s it look like?” she asked, “That astral stuff? I mean...You don't gotta say if...” “One extreme to the other,” said Chip, “The endorphines in his body are racing through to numb the pain. Then the pain is gone and all he’s left with is the high. Night turns to day. His spirit looked like a crushed flower, then it suddenly blooms and unfurls.” “And that flower will go on to throw bottles at the cops,” she said, “Mwehehe.” She reached for the vape that wasn’t in her mouth and immediately grew annoyed again, but let it keep charging. "Wait, gently caress, let's stop talking about that dude's balls. That's kind of weird," she said, "Sorry." Chip smiled. "It's fine," he said, "I have a question though." "Spill." "Do you really have to do that?” asked Chip, "You know, like throwing bottles?" “They're pretty fun to throw," she said, jokingly, "I prefer beer bottles myself. Grip it, sip it and whip it." She made a throwing motion and her aura bloomed yellow with happiness. Chip didn't smile though. “The violence,” he responded, "Do we have to?" She shrugged and looked away. “I was just kidding," she said, her aura grey once again, "That's not me. Just a joke..." “You know what I mean. Is the violence necessary?" “I mean, ask them,” she said, “We started out peaceful. The only times they back down is when we stand up to them in numbers. The violence gets done by them all day every day. People look away and pretend they don’t see it. They’re so used to looking away that they think nothing is happening or worse, they sit in their homes and get outraged by my mere loving existence, real or imagined, of ork on ork crime or some loving poo poo. I got talked to about death before I saw it on the trid and gently caress, I saw that poo poo early. I mean, I get it, you like...See that poo poo out in the world, right?” Chip didn't say anything, but she was oblivious. “So you should know,” she said, “I mean, no offense, you’re sensitive. Can’t not be. But you’ve got to see it.” Chip thought about how to respond now that she was looking for a response. So he went with the truth. “I think I’m sheltered,” he admitted. “That’s some shelter if you’re an ork in Seattle and you’ve never seen this poo poo,” she said, “No offense, but you come off a little weird.” Chip raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. “Okay, a lot weird,” she said, “But hey, you unbreak bones and unscramble brains and unsmash balls. Sorry...The balls thing again. Said I wouldn't...Look, I don’t care where you’re from or what you did so long as you’re cool.” Chip thought about it. “What does that mean to you?” he asked. She unplugged her vape and took a longer, more contemplative drag this time. “Don’t talk to cops, help me keep people from dying, don’t touch people who don’t want to be touched, maintain opsec and don’t try to gently caress me. Had some problems with people trying to get too handsy with me.” “Uhh…I wasn’t going to…” “Well keep it that way,” she said, a mix of sharply and playfully, which together betrayed her seriousness, “And you’ll be cool.” “I mean, I don’t even feel that way about people,” he said. Shar offered the vape to him. Chip was curious and managed to hold it between thumb and forefinger instead of his initial impulse which was to take between all of his fingers. “What, you’re ace?" she asked. "Uhhh..." "Asexual?" she restated, "None of those pesky hormones screaming at you?" "Maybe? I don't really think about it," he said honestly, perhaps too honestly added, "I'm definitely hormone free." She laughed at that. "Well ain’t you just the coolest,” she said, playfully, “So cool that I’ll share my peach green tea vape if you want. You smoke?” Chip took a puff and was curious to view it’s history, but at the last moment he realized that if he took it into himself, the smoke would be annihilated, rendered into information and its history added to himself. Most importantly it would not come out and he was pretty sure that smoke was supposed to be both inhaled and exhaled. “No,” he said. He took just a little of it into him and everything about it was uninteresting, so he gave it back to her. She took another puff and plugged it back into the wall. “Bad habit,” she said, “And more for me. You don't have to impress me.” “I was just curious," said Chip, "But why do you do it then?” She shrugged. “Imagine wanting something and then actually getting it,” she said, honestly, “Pretty novel for me.” Chip pursed his lips, which was an affectation that he’d learned so well it was almost second nature. Then he dug through his bag and shifted through hundreds of mini bottles to find the fruit at the bottom. Shar looked over and whistled low. “Look at you,” she said, “Talking all of that good poo poo about me smoking when you’ve got this treasure trove right here.” “It’s not mine,” said Chip, “I mean...It wasn’t before I took it. I can’t even read the labels.” She took one in hand and frowned at it. “Moat King Vodka?” she asked, “Experience perfect safety and perfect flavor? The gently caress? Well I mean...If you’re going to be weird, be weird and bring the loving party with you. I mean...I gotta keep on my game...Just one...One would be cool. You mind?” “Go ahead,” he said. He was barely paying attention to her at the moment as he dug around at the bottom for fruit. Out of oranges, out of peaches, the banana had been smooshed by the extra weight in the bag, but there was an apple. With a small flourish, he presented it to her. He caught her right after she’d downed the bottle and she almost did a spit take, but swallowed and coughed. “For me?” she croaked. She thumped her chest a few times, reached into her own bag, withdrew a bottle of water and took a few swallows while she tried not to cough. “For me?” she repeated. “Imagine getting something you actually want,” said Chip. Shar kissed Chip on the cheek, ruffled his hair and then took the apple reverently. “You take this too?” she asked, quietly, “From that Moat King guy?” Chip almost said it was an offering from Chinese tourists, but thought better of it. “No,” he said simply, “I also have a banana, but it’s kind of smooshed.” She sucked on her teeth. “I am kind of delicate,” she drawled. “Oh, okay,” said Chip. He closed the bag, thinking that was that. The noises she made as he closed the bag were piteous. “Give...Gimme...Noooo…Want it...” Chip frowned, opened the bag and brought out the half-smashed banana. It was perfectly ripe though. Shar peeled it, scooped the mush with a finger, ate it and shivered in delight. “I haven’t had a real one in years,” she said, "Nuhhhh..." She sucked on her fingers and blushed. “Delicate,” said Chip. She pulled a simple knife from her bag and cut up the rest of the unsmashed banana. “Ha ha,” she said, sarcastically, “Okay, you’re cool. Overcool.” “Overcool?” “Like overkill, but with coolness,” she said. She cut the slices so a few were on the top of the blade. “Grab a piece,” she said. “I’ve already eaten,” he said. Meaning he’d already eaten bananas before. There was nothing new to be learned from this type. Still, she was insistent, so out of politeness he took a slice, ate it, annihilated the matter as it fell into him and immediately discarded the redundant information. He had to do this three more times before she was satisfied as she was slicing the banana super thin and stacked them one by one on the blade like it was a serving tray. “For the AG,” she said, “Been away too long. Just a minute.” She disappeared with her banana slices and the entire apple. When she came back minutes later she sat back down with him, though she only had two wedges of the apple left. “The AG says thanks,” she said. “What’s an AG?” asked Chip. “Affinity group,” she said, “My crew. Look...gently caress...I said I was going to stay with you for a bit. They don’t know what’s up. I don’t really trust many other people with your kind of help. Magic help. Not after Emmy. I um...Wouldn’t be surprised if you needed to go. Awakened medics get targeted. I appreciate it. If you’re just here for the night or if you want to walk out, that’s the smart thing to do. Even helping people like you are right now is high risk.” “I’ll be fine,” he said. He actually wasn’t. Chip had a semi-achy, semi-floaty feeling from the drain. It was a different pain than before. It didn’t reach as deep as the ritual had done, the equivalent of lethal damage, which took shy of twelve hours to shrug off. This was just superficial damage, the equivalent of a bad headache, but full body. Something he could shrug off with rest in an hour, maybe half an hour if he was lucky. “Maybe,” she said, “Look, the cops are spread thin as gently caress tonight and Denny Park isn’t full of poo poo to burn. At least not anything that people with property care about. We’re our own little island of calm except when people stream in all hosed up. That’s not every night. Being a medic is a hazard. It's why I wear some pretty heavy armor. An awakened medic is never, ever safe. Smart thing to do is to walk. Really.” Chip was quiet for a while and so was she. They munched on their slices of apple and Chip wondered if he should break out the sugared slices that he had made if the fruit threatened to go bad. He wondered if Shar would like sugared orange slices. Probably, he decided, but maybe later. “Did more people come?” asked Chip, eventually. “Yeah, but no one critical,” she said, “It’s handled. The cops might be by super late to smash up things when most everyone leaves. gently caress with us. We'll move everyone out by then. But they might just give up. Sometimes they do when it gets this bad and this is a very bad night for them. This is a night where...gently caress, I don’t know who wins, but it’s not the cops. They win more often than not and when they win, people bleed and go in cages or even die. You’re sweet, but you’re sheltered. I don’t want to see another Emmy.” Again she looked down. This time she wasn't sad. She just went grey, something Chip hadn't really encountered before. It was like her astral presence was sometimes blank one moment and then bursting with emotion the next. Chip shelved that thought. It was hard to tell her that outside of extreme circumstances that he was effectively immortal. “Let me think about it,” he said. Shar didn't say anything, she only nodded. Chip stayed quiet as well. She only puffed her vape, drank the last of her bottled water and waited for the next crisis to come. The spirit and the medic sat in the near dark of the parks department. A building that she'd broken into. A place filled with the worst cases the night had yawned up to protect them from the police. All because she had no idea what else to do. -- CYOA Time! Is Chip interested in helping out with some medics? Or is he more of a Touristville homebody? If he joins up, he can't use his regular name. Too risky. What's the nickname that others would call him? Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 23:32 on Mar 7, 2021 |
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Mar 7, 2021 22:11
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GimmickMan posted:Chip's perspective is fun. I guess he got a very good influence roll on the Moat King? Guy seems like he normally wouldn't appreciate waking up to an ork stepping inside his cab. Yep. Influence, good rolls and also he had negatives from the alcohol. Keldulas posted:Those are some truly awful people of the Gated community. Yeah, in my head I looked at the geography of the metroplex. The Redmond barrens aren't like Puyallup. Puyallup is pretty sparsely populated save for a line along the northern end where people commute to better places. Redmond on the other hand is a slum hive. Too many people with too few resources. During the crash, they're just going to sweep west because they start starving en masse basically immediately. They crack open any place to get food or poo poo to trade for food and every gated community is a pinata full of valuables and with over-reliance on the police who were pulled back to their arcologies to protect the uber wealthy and the people who are left have zero community or solidarity. A group of people who are over reliant on a system that just ate poo poo. They just get cracked open as Redmonders sweep into Seattle to survive. Not all of them apparently though. Anyone living in one of those gated communities is probably traumatized if they lived there when Crash 2.0 hit. The Moat King is a man who made a killing on his terror by selling to other terrified people for a product that is state of the art in BCE. JUST MAKING CHILI posted:Glad to see more content Ice! This is my favorite thread to follow. Shucks. Thanks. 
Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 23:00 on Mar 7, 2021 |
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Mar 7, 2021 22:18
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That was great. Somehow Chip talking with Shar was more intense than evading the advancing cops.
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Mar 7, 2021 22:59
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Ice Phisherman posted:CYOA Time! "Rocky".
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Mar 8, 2021 06:10
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quote:CYOA Time! Yes, and his nickname is Jean E.
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Mar 8, 2021 10:14
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Ice Phisherman posted:CYOA Time! Yeah Chip gets involved. Going back to the discussion of what to name Chip, Dip seems like a fun punny alias. Or Reese.
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Mar 8, 2021 14:17
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Seconding any name that is a pun on "Chip." Would this be a good place for Chip to start learning how to use his commlink? If Chip is going to build his own set of friends and acquaintances outside of Julie and Touristville, he'll need some way to contact them. Maybe Shar would help? I'm just not sure it's a good idea, infosec wise.
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Mar 8, 2021 14:27
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Gwyneth Palpate posted:
I think he'd be better off with a burner comm link and since this is a special one he can use I wouldn't risk it with incriminating evidence.
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Mar 8, 2021 14:39
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Gwyneth Palpate posted:Seconding any name that is a pun on "Chip." His protest name is Fry.
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Mar 8, 2021 14:42
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Toughy posted:I think he'd be better off with a burner comm link and since this is a special one he can use I wouldn't risk it with incriminating evidence. I seriously doubt they make ghoul/free spirit commlinks cheaply enough for them to be burners.
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Mar 8, 2021 14:52
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Gwyneth Palpate posted:I seriously doubt they make ghoul/free spirit commlinks cheaply enough for them to be burners. Agreed that's why he'd need a second special comm link. Not worth it and not worth having alias on it with all our student friends since he'll only have the one.
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Mar 8, 2021 21:12
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I think chip should help with the medics. But make sure he doesn't keep it a secret from his friends and I think his nickname should be Dale so we can help rescue people who are in danger.
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Mar 9, 2021 01:11
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Chip helps out, his codename is Block
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Mar 9, 2021 05:25
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There's something poetic about the Touristville people making offerings to Chip (a spirit of healing and knowledge), and Chip turning to give those offerings to actual medics.  No opinion on name, but I think if Chip helps, he should tell Julie or someone who can get in touch with her. She'll probably be concerned either way but at least if she knows where he is (and optionally what he's doing) she'll have a better idea of the situation if she ends up there.
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Mar 12, 2021 06:49
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I like the names Ace or Art myself. Ace because it's a play on his conversation with Shar, and Art because he's stained glass art. The fact that they're also both vaguely names also amuses me.
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Mar 13, 2021 10:18
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All right, I got a ton of ideas, but it looks like Block wins out as people liked the pun names.
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Mar 13, 2021 20:09
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Mrs. Liu and Julian - Thursday, August 22nd, 2075 – Morning - Seattle General Hospital Through the revolving front door of Seattle General Hospital stepped Mrs. Liu. She was dressed smartly, carried breakfast for two in a bag and didn’t expect to sleep for the next few days. In fact her lack of sleep was a certainty for she’d taken a dose of Long Haul last night which would keep her awake and alert for a guaranteed four days. Since her conversation with Julie Freeman she had done much and would do much more, but she needed to succeed. If she failed this would all be for nothing and her community was likely doomed. Not all at once. At least she hoped not as a sudden dissolution would be a violent one, but still, if she failed, the gentrification of her community over the coming months or perhaps years was all but a certainty. Gentrification meant poverty, homelessness and police harassment for the mostly SINless population of Touristville. Her attention was cast briefly to the hospital. Twenty-five years ago the hospital had been declared a UCAS national landmark. It had been a prime example of 1990’s style architecture. Gone was the near blinding white of the hospitals of today and gone was the plasteel and plascrete. Instead there were older building materials like marble and steel on display. Even the revolving door was something she wouldn’t see anywhere else, though she understood its function quickly and thought it quaint. Though some things had changed. Time marches on. Drones glided this way and that. A security walker drone, about the size of a medium sized dog though with a metal body and a flat, rectangular head patrolled the lobby, ignored by most. Another drone simply was a trash can and another trash can on wheels zipped forward to trade places as it switched empty with full. And of course there were the cleaner bots, little disks no larger than a frisbee, though somewhat taller. Half a dozen kept the floors of the lobby clean. Places that ran primarily on drone power usually meant severely depressed wages. The jobs that used to be done by janitorial staff were replaced by drones and no one had to pay the drones. Maybe a large enough place had repairmen and women, but repair was almost always done by drones as well. This was bad for labor and society in general, but good for Mrs. Liu. Depressed wages meant that people were not only willing to take bribes, but desperate to do so. So as she approached the front desk, she briefly waited in line. She switched her PAN, or personal access network, from passive, which only broadcasted to hospital security and maintained her privacy to active, where it broadcasted who she was to the general public. Connie Liu, forty-one, orkish of Cantonese descent with dual citizenship in the Canton Confederation and the UCAS and her list of cybernetics, bioware and geneware. There was enough to show that she was wealthy enough to invest in herself, but it was alphaware only. The top shelf of consumer grade products and with no licenses needed for restricted tech. It was spartan for a PAN, but it was acceptable and would allow her to blend in. It was also a complete fabrication. Connie Liu was a lie. Her real identity and name had been lost in Crash 2.0 and she preferred it that way. Her old identity had died in those chaotic years and in order to escape the chaos that was Hong Kong in those early crash days, she’d bought a place on a filthy shipping container along with hundreds of other refugees. It didn’t matter where that container was going as long as it was away from the fires and gangs and the starvation of Hong Kong. “Next,” said a bored man behind a desk. The human man’s dress was a blue polo and khakis, his face inoffensively handsome, his hair blond and parted, his own PAN showed his name as “Charles” and his gaze was cybernetic. Not in the chromed out way, but in that too perfect way. Standard cybernetic eyes had a tell where people didn’t blink as often as they should. He looked through her and instead at her PAN in augmented reality in order to check her SIN. “Hello Mrs. Liu,” said the man, “What are you here for today?” Mrs. Liu palmed one of her lucky red breadsticks and leaned on the desk with that hand, credstick barely poking out. “I’m here to visit my nephew,” she said. The man’s gaze lowered to the credstick. There was the briefest lick of the lips. Oh yes, he did not make much at all. Likely his own eyes and any other cybernetics didn’t even belong to him. It made many wage laborers de facto indentured servants when their firing could mean they would be suddenly blinded if they couldn’t buy back the shoddy tech, which just meant falling deeper into debt from the poor wages. This was good for the bottom line, but terrible for security. “His name?” asked the man, his tone suddenly far more polite. “Kenji Nakamura,” she said. “Ah, one moment while I check,” he said, and then he said critically, “It might take a moment…” She and Kenji weren’t actually related, but the bribe would create that fiction and allow her access. There was an art to bribery. Too little and it would offend. Too much and it would not only be wasteful, but suspicious. Bribes were common and it was important not to stick out. One must know the going rate and of course she did because she was prepared. So she slid the credstick a little further forward to display the readout which was a hundred and fifty nuyen. The standard bribe was a hundred but she was in a hurry and wanted to expedite the process. The man pretended to look off into space as he “checked” for Kenji’s location and he leaned forward as if in thought, palm down. His own black credstick was hidden under his hand like her own. The credsticks slotted together and the numbers on the display screen of her lucky red credstick rolled off hers and onto his. Then they parted and he smiled at her. “He’s in the recovery ward on the seventh floor,” said the man, as he launched into a well practiced spiel, “He’s scheduled to be discharged in an hour. You have access to the lobby and the seventh floor. The lobby has a food court, a restaurant and a gift shop which you’re welcome to peruse. If you want to visit your nephew immediately then connect to the node, download the directions in AR and it will take you to the nearest appropriate waiting room. Please do not deviate from the given directions. If you do deviate, your commlink will alert you. Thank you and have a wonderful day at Seattle General Hospital.” Mrs. Liu nodded, stepped through security, which was a door and a single bored man. Again, she bribed him in much the same way so she wouldn’t be “detained”. Nuyen was a social lubricant. Without it things tended to grind to a halt. Then fifteen seconds later she was on her way. She connected to the local node, the public hospital mainframe and In AR she saw a pop-up. “Would you like to download the Seattle General Hospital app?” She looked at “yes” and blinked twice, which her AR contacts registered as assent. Then she rapidly scrolled past terms and conditions before the download began. An arrow appeared in midair and she was ready to go. She strolled past the food court with popups that promised breakfast from the food court automat and a few restaurants with early bird specials. One of the things she loved most about Touristville was its near total lack of AR ads and she ventured out so infrequently that her ad blocker hadn’t updated and so she was bombarded with spam. Still, she had a moment to stop in the hospital gift shop. Inside she bought a plush dog with “get better soon” written on the tag on its collar, ignored prompts ads wheedling and cajoling in the forms of buy two get one free and five nuyen off for every fifty spent and other such nonsense. With her bag of breakfast in one hand and plush dog in the other she headed to the elevator. The wait for one of the four elevators was short. She stepped in and as it opened up bland elevator music filled the tight space. Before the elevator closed a light skinned human woman with recently reinked tattoos who was roughly Mrs. Liu’s age stepped through. Not for the first time she had to remind herself that tattoos did not signify a criminal like it did back in her former country or in the east Asian districts in Seattle. The woman made eye contact with Mrs. Liu and smiled, who took Mrs. Liu’s interest as assent for small talk. “Just had them reinked,” said the middle aged woman. “I see that,” said Mrs. Liu, as she feigned interest. The elevator ascended. Second floor...Third…The woman leaned over and spoke again. “My husband is getting a heart replacement,” said the woman, “The surgery is today.” “Hmmm…” said Mrs. Liu, not trying hard to disguise her boredom, “I hope he is well.” “Oh, he’ll be out tomorrow or so the doctors tell me,” she said, with a small laugh, “Even with insurance the overnight stays are a pure robbery. I remember when I was younger though and my father had heart surgery you had to be in for a whole three days, maybe even five.” “Pure robbery,” repeated Mrs. Liu. Five...Six… “I can smell all of that good food,” said the woman, “It’s making me hungry. Is that Chinese food?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Liu, “Soup dumplings, wheat noodles, congee and fried dough sticks.” “Oh my. Chinese food for breakfast,” mused the woman, “How exotic. Are you making a delivery?” Mrs. Liu’s eyelid twitched, but only once. A number of thoughts flashed through her head. She hadn’t lived here all her life, but many of the people that did had lived here for generations. Yet food she ate every day and was easily available was called exotic. The assumption that she was making a delivery as if she did not belong here despite dressing well. The casual condescension in the woman’s eyes. “I’m seeing my nephew,” said Mrs. Liu. “Oh, of course,” said the woman, “My mistake.” The seventh level. Mrs. Liu stepped off the elevator. She didn’t seethe at this behavior like she would have when she was new to Seattle nor would she have had one of her old team quietly menace her like in her old shadowrunner days. No, those days were behind her and besides, most of her old team was dead now. Only she had retired and founded that little shop she always dreamed of. The elevator opened and Mrs. Liu stepped out. The woman called at her back. “Have a nice day!” Mrs. Liu said nothing and left the woman behind her. Living in Touristville was wonderful, but moments like these reminded her that she lived in something of a bubble. The arrow reappeared again in AR and she followed it through a set of doors, past a nurse’s station and a few drones, mostly janitorial carts that pushed themselves. There were a number of medical techs that were marked by their green hospital scrubs or uniforms. Most of them would not have any formal medical training. Instead they ran skillsofts on skillwires or hardwires that would allow them to emulate those skills. Again, much like Jimmy the dentist, most would not own the tech in their heads and that served as de facto wage slavery. The terror of debt or unwanted surgery kept wages low. Only the doctors and nurses in white had classical medical training and there were few to be seen. Skillsofts worked well for what was routine, but did not allow for improvisation or creativity. Not yet anyway. After a few twists, turns and one long walk, Mrs. Liu came to the recovery ward, checked a waiting room, found nothing and began to fret. A late night text to Julie had confirmed that Kenji would be here and by proxy, Julian, but he wasn’t here. On a hunch she approached a medical technician in green. “Excuse me,” she said, “Do you have any quieter waiting rooms?” The tech nodded and made a flicking motion towards her. The arrow that led towards the waiting room changed direction. “Just follow the arrow,” he said. She thanked him and headed in that direction. A minute later she came to another waiting room, this one out of the way. She smiled as she saw a familiar blond elf sleeping on a chair inadequately covered in a thin, small blanket blanket and he used his arm as an impromptu pillow. Julian was still asleep and as she quietly approached to sit down next to him, he was also slightly drooling. There were others here, but the room was a quiet one. The trid was silent and there was only one other person, a light skinned human who was also trying to sleep. The setup couldn’t be more perfect and she allowed herself a few degrees of relaxation. Quietly, she removed her bamboo steamer trays from her bag, opened the top just enough on the one containing the noodles and with short movements of her hand she wafted the smell towards him and waited. Fifteen seconds later, Julian stirred in his chair and his eyes fluttered open. He made those little mewling noises that one makes when waking up to a pleasant smell. “Whuh?” he asked, dreamily. “Good morning Mr. Smith,” said Mrs. Liu. “Uh...Hi?” whispered Julian, “Izzat food?” “Breakfast,” said Mrs. Liu, “I brought extra. Are you hungry?” “Muuh...Uhuh. Food.” Then she handed him his drink. Hot soykaf. His groan was low and gutteral. “Soykaf,” he groaned, “Yes please.” “Sugar? Cream?” she asked. He nodded dumbly and she began to pour sugar into the thermos. “Just tell me when,” she said. He made indistinct noises. Once for the sugar and once for the cream. She briefly took the thermos from him and he ineffectually reached out his hands and made pathetic sounds of disappointment. Then she screwed the cap back on, shook it to mix it, opened it back up and gave it to him. He sipped at first and as he warmed up, he drank deeply and greedily. Mrs. Liu produced her own thermos, though it was not full of soykaf, but hot water. It was good for the digestion. As she finished her own drink, she spoke. “I was told by Ms. Freeman that Kenji was here for surgery last night and wouldn’t be released until the morning. I thought I would be a good auntie and visit him.” Julian barely seemed to be listening. His interest for the moment was only in soykaf and food. “I hadn’t had my breakfast yet,” she said, “So I brought my own. Would you like to share a meal and chat while we wait, Mr. Smith?” He turned his head from the soykaf to the food and then to Mrs. Liu. Only now did he seem to recognize that she was there. “Oh,” he said, “Hello again.” “Hello,” she said. “It’s been a while,” he said, “Well, maybe not a long while.” “Yes,” she said, politely, “Enough of that though. I have my own personal chopsticks, but I always keep a spare just in case I meet someone else. So Mr. Smith…” “Mmm?” he questioned. “Breakfast?” “Mhm,” he said, affirmatively. She handed him a steamer tray, this one full of wheat noodles. The noodles were springy and chewy and mixed in were soy pork, scallions, fresh garlic, minced ginger, soy sauce and toasted sesame oil. She opened her own and out came the soup dumplings, or xiaolongbao. She carefully moved the fragile dumplings to his steamer tray, now an impromptu bowl and moved the noodles from his tray to hers. A little messy, but she didn’t know him well enough to eat from the bowl. “There’s some congee and fried dough sticks as well,” she said, “If you’re still hungry.” “A lot of food,” he said. “I brought extra for Kenji,” she said, “You look like you need it more though, you’re so skinny.” “I’m not sure if I should eat his food.” “It’s fine. I’ll have a drone deliver more for Kenji. More for you to take home too.” Julian drank his soykaf, inexpertly fumbled with his chopsticks and tried to eat his noodles, though he dropped more than he got into his mouth. Mrs. Liu had a hard time believing that anyone in Seattle didn’t know how to eat with chopsticks, but perhaps he was still groggy. So instead she produced a fork for him to eat with. To someone else from her culture it would be an insult, but he took it gratefully. He made pleased noises and mothering him seemed to make an excellent impression. Not to mention she’d woken him up with food. She couldn’t believe her luck. That is until he picked up the soup dumpling with his hand, bit into it and spilled hot broth down his face and blanket. She’d been so pleased with herself that she hadn’t corrected him in time. He’d bitten it at the side instead of at the top. From the distressed noises he made, the soup had been hotter than she’d expected. “Oh no,” she said, “Oh no, I’m so sorry.” “Burned myself a little,” he said, his tone strained by pain. It was true. His lip was beginning to blister. How had the dumpling gotten so hot? Her trays did keep in the heat and they had come straight from the kitchen, but that was twenty minutes ago and still, somehow, he’d burned himself. Her stomach sank into the pit of her stomach as her intended goal of saving her community grew more and more distant by the moment. Still, she moved forward, pulled the blanket away from him and began dabbing at him with a napkin she pulled from her bag. Not the blister, but the rest of the still steaming soup on his chin. “I am so sorry!” she fretted, as she repeated herself, “I have no idea how that happened.” “It’s fine,” he said, “One second.” His hand glowed white just for a moment. He didn’t touch his lip, but the burn blister began to shrink until it was overtaken by healthy skin. Mrs. Liu stopped to watch. It had been a while since she’d witnessed magic so close. “There,” he said, “All better. Maybe we should let those cool.” “Oh...Yes...Of course,” she said, shakily. She tried to keep her hands from trembling as she drank her hot water, but before she was finished taking a drink a medical tech in blue, the same man who’d directed her here, sprinted into the room and then fast walked towards them. He looked frantic. “I’m sorry,” he said, huffing and puffing, “Please do not…” He took a moment to suck more wind. Had he sprinted here? “Please don’t use magic outside of the designated areas. This is a secure area.” “Oh,” said Julian, “I’m so sorry. I just woke up and burned myself a little. It’s just a heal spell.” The tech nodded a little too eagerly. “Which is why I got an alert and why a security spirit wasn’t dispatched,” he said, as he caught his breath, “If you wish to use magic there are areas for that. We’ll go there now. If you’ll just follow me…” To Mrs. Liu it didn’t seem to be a matter of if they would. In fact, their compliance seemed expected by the way the tech talked. She knew that magic within secure areas like hospitals was taken seriously and wondered how a man like Mr. Smith had burned himself and used magic without thinking. Was the man always this danger prone? She would not allow this negotiation to fall into tatters. Not a bit. She gathered her trays and the drinks, his gently and put them back in her bag. Julian kept his chopsticks and the man had gone for the noodles, which he slurped down seconds after burning himself and making a nuisance of himself. Mrs. Liu grit her teeth and followed the tech. No AR arrows this time. The tech led them past a waiting area with an automat fully stocked with vending machine food, past tables and chairs where people sat down and had breakfast, who turned to watch the now red faced tech and into a side room that read in AR “awakened area”. The tech forced a smile. “Here,” he said, “Just in case you do so again. It’s fine here so long as you don’t use any mind manipulation or combat spells. The full list is available on the hospital’s matrix site. As long as you stick to the approved list and only cast in designated areas like here then no spirits or security will bother you.” Julian was blushing. “Sorry,” he said, as he tripped over his words, “I just…” The tech strode out of the room without another word. Julian seemed to gather himself and called at his back. “Let me know when my ward is ready to depart,” he said, and then raised his voice, “He’s in room seven seventeen!” The man disappeared around a corner and Mrs. Liu quietly despaired. She was dealing with an idiot. Not a complete idiot of course, but in that way that educated men and women often were. Idiots outside of their specialty. Maybe even inside of their specialty in Julian’s case. He should know not to cast magic in restricted areas. Julian put his hands on his hips and that was when Mrs. Liu noticed that he was still clutching his tiny hospital pillow and it was somehow covered in soup stains. Julian looked at it for a few seconds before he walked over to a vending machine and put it on top before settling down at a table. He stretched and popped his joints. Now fully awake, he turned around and smiled sheepishly at Mrs. Liu. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m a bit of a mess when I wake up.” Mrs. Liu took a seat at the table. Her negotiation truly was in tatters now even before she began, but at least she needed to try. With a brittle care she began laying out the steamer trays once again, the thermos of coffee, the thermos of her hot water. She drank deeply of the last one as her digestion was deeply disturbed and she reached not for her meal, but for the congee. The rice porridge was her go to comfort food and she needed it right now. “How is Kenji?” she asked, quietly. Julian sat down, picked her steamer tray and immediately started eating from it. She did not correct him. “He’s fine,” said Julian, “It seems that there was lingering damage caused by the ACHE in his sinuses. It was severe enough that it needed to be addressed with surgery.” “He is okay though?” “Oh yeah,” said Julian, “I had to answer some questions about some damage done to the body from the magical drain from an unrelated ritual spell. It was pretty minor, but it was awkward as his guardian to explain.” “I see,” she said. She ate her congee, its consistency almost like a pudding and she added a little extra brown sugar to it, stirred and thought. Then she found it, her way into what she wanted to talk about. Her wedge. “I am confused,” she said, “How a teacher would become the guardian of three young people. It seems like there would be conflicts of interest for the teacher to also be a parent.” “Plenty of teachers are also parents,” he said, “And some go on to teach their own children in an academic setting, but I do see your point. Within the awakened community it is fairly common for the teachers to adopt or at least foster young awakened children. They have needs that frequently can’t be met by those who are not awakened.” “Mundanes,” she said. “It’s an older, cruder word for them, but yes,” he agreed, “I prefer unawakened. Suffice it to say, unawakened foster or adoptive parents who adopt an awakened child or teenager or who have their own children awaken at home have their work cut out for them. Magic has extremely few counters from non-magical sources and a teen or child who is extremely stressed might lash without thinking or sadly, think about it and lash out anyway. In rare cases they may spontaneously manifest magic as they seek to defend themselves.” “I’ve heard of that last part,” said Mrs. Liu, sadly. She was referring to Julie of course and Julian nodded, slowly as well. That they referred to her went unspoken. “It happens and when they defend themselves it frequently turns tragic,” said Julian, “We face bigotry, though it had been simmering for a long time before it came back again with the advent of the so called toxic shaman. Anyway, with practice and discipline spontaneous casting eventually ends in most people. But for mundanes, their ability to counter adept magic is extremely limited. The only tried and true method to stop an awakened who begins using their magic is to attack them and render them unconscious. Spells fail, adapt powers deactivate, spirits are unsummoned. When you’re attempting to raise children, being willing to attack them and then doing so is a moral and ethical nightmare.” “So this is why the awakened children are raised by awakened adults.” Julian pointed his fork at her in acknowledgement before it went back into his noodles. “Yes,” he said, “A powerful enough awakened can counter outbursts without harming them. They have other tools. However, this means that in order to maintain discipline they need those adults around for the long term. The magical community is small and split up into many traditions, the community grows smaller still. So we take care of one another.” “Still,” she said, “Three teenagers? Alone?” Julian grimaced and then shook his head. From his pocket he produced a white noise generator, turned it on and slid it between a few of the steamer trays, out of sight. That struck Mrs. Liu as oddly crafty for one so clumsy. “In the style I was taught it was fine,” he said, “I had a master he was my apprentice. That style fell out of favor as well...To put it delicately...More of these children made it adulthood. Also it’s no longer three, it’s four now. I’m currently fostering Sasha Oliver until she becomes an adult.” “The girl from the disgraced family,” said Mrs. Liu, “I saw her a few times. Her fate was an unfortunate one.” Julian grimaced once more and more deeply this time. “That would be her,” he said, “Three is a lot, but four is a serious challenge in the current schooling system and even in the master and apprentice system, three tended to be the limit for a single master. The four of them are very independent which both helps and presents its own unique concerns, but Sasha is in real danger due to who her family is from the general public. The Tempo epidemic claimed a lot of lives and many people remember the holes in their families and the lost friends. Ares has been trying to paint itself as largely unaware of its role in what was an international drug distribution network and that her father and those working under him were solely responsible. It’s a lot of stress on Sasha and I’m not sure how to help her deal with that.” Mrs. Liu wondered if Julian was supposed to tell her all of this, but didn’t stop him. She wondered if he was so busy with work and attempting to foster four children and the stress of recent combat was wearing on him. The dark circles under his eyes tempted her to agree and those were rarely seen on elves due to their long lifespans and youthful bodies. “Perhaps,” said Mrs. Liu, slowly, “You might benefit from the wisdom of someone who has been through what you are going through now.” Julian had stopped to eat some noodles. His mouth full, he rolled his fork in a “go on” motion. “I am a parent,” she said, “There are no awakened in my family, but it is a large one. I must admit that my extended family does most of the day to day parenting, but when I am home I’m often settling disputes or drying tears. Do you have any children of your own, Mr. Smith?” “Call me Julian,” he said. Mrs. Liu allowed herself to see her goal come just a little bit closer. “Call me Connie,” she said. She patted the younger man’s hand affectionately. “Okay Connie,” said Julian. She nodded and allowed herself to feel the small victory. “I have eight children,” she said, “Six boys and two girls. Almost teens themselves now. I had them all at once. Ork physiology means large well...Pregnancies.” “I thought they were normally smaller,” said Julian. Mrs. Liu’s features grew pained. “The outcome, yes,” she said, “Without medical intervention it’s normal for half of the children to die at birth. The medical community is not accessible to most orks.” Julian blanched. “I didn’t know,” he said, “I’m sorry.” “It’s a quiet pain born of poverty,” she said, “Women die in childbirth and children die before taking their first breaths. Birth is a time of celebration and tragedies for us. Women are frequently in mourning while taking care of their children and they cannot cope. The family grows closer to support her. And if the woman dies what’s left is a man, though not always, obviously. The good ones stay and his family assists. Ork communities are resilient communities. They must be. What you call the nuclear family is totally insufficient for our needs. So I see you alone and I must ask…” Julian was quiet for a while. He sipped his soykaf “No family, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Julian.” Again, she patted his hand and this time she left it there. “It’s really common for awakened of the second generation,” he said, “And the first...Well...Wow. Even with all of this talk of toxic shamans in the news well...That’ll pass with time. It didn’t in my time.” “You don’t have anyone?” “A girlfriend,” said Julian, “At least I think so. It’s new and complicated and we’re very different people from very different places and cultures. She’s also a decade younger than me and is working on her English because I’m so busy.” Mrs. Liu remembered listening later to the calls Kenji made before he erased them. How Mrs. Liu had set up no less than three t-shirt shops in Pinchface’s old shop on behalf of this person, each of them rapidly dying in the economic slump and complaining about the place being cursed as they left. Only now was Min Yun now buying the gear for a liquor distillery. She was human, but the space was at a bargain and awakened talent meant exception could be made. Then Mrs. Liu began to chuckle. Julian was dating a retired shadowrunner. Hopefully she would stay retired. She wondered if he knew. “What?” he asked. “Nothing,” she said, “I think I know who you’re talking about.” Julian squirmed in his seat much like one of her children when they were caught in a lie. “Min Yun is her name, I think?” mused Mrs. Liu, “She’s close to Kenji from what I recall. Have you told him?” “She ah...No, not yet,” he said, uncomfortably, “She said she’s going to tell him.” “Do you think this is wise?” Julian hesitated and when he spoke his words were slow and grudging. “She didn’t leave me much of a choice,” said Julian, “She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I was so well...Drained...Telling her no didn’t cross my mind.” He was quiet for a long time and Mrs. Liu allowed that silence and her hand on his hand to linger. In that moment, Julian struck him as many men in his position struck him. He was young, wealthy, attractive and industrious. All the markers of success given to him by society had been achieved. This pursuit of that success rendered these young people utterly alone and in his case, without any family ties instead of them being merely weak ones. In the current economy, creating a family was an economic hardship and had been so even in her grandparents’ day. Without support these young professionals started families late and frequently never. “Is she going to tell Kenji?” asked Mrs. Liu. “We haven’t talked about it yet,” said Julian. “This is going to be a problem.” It was a statement of fact and one that he didn’t disagree with. “Kenji has approached me to be his auntie,” mused Mrs. Liu, “And I am seriously considering extending this to Julie as well. Fuzzy well...She eats at my restaurant quite frequently, but we do not speak as much as I like.” “His auntie?” asked Julian, confused, “You said that earlier, but…” “It’s a title for a respected elder from my culture,” she explained, “Auntie or uncle. One need not be related, though of course many are. Young men and women can be wild. Older, respected adults help civilize them, smooth the rough edges, temper their wildness and act as a kind of mentor. This is not always the case, again. Some are just respected elders. Kenji understood what he asked for when he began trying to impress me. He wanted a mentor.” Momentary pain flashed across Julian’s eyes and she saw that he wanted that position to be his. She addressed that pain in a roundabout way.
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Mar 13, 2021 20:10
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“Of course, one cannot be everything to everyone,” she said. “Perhaps,” he said. “Today I am going to accept Kenji as my nephew,” she said, “With your permission of course.” “Of...Of course,” he said. The man really didn’t understand what he’d just accepted. This was good. “And Julie,” she said, then added, “One can have more than one mentor.” “I...Don’t see the problem…” “Excellent,” she said, “I will speak to your ah...Girlfriend. We will confer and speak to Kenji about this. I understand that these sorts of indiscretions happen, but I would not see it damage your relationship with him. By the time you speak to him about it he will have accepted it with a minimum of ah...You might call it bad blood? We’ll cool those feelings over time.” “I don’t know…” he began. She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke frankly. “Julian,” she interrupted, “I am normally not this blunt, but I do not think you will succeed on your own. Kenji is like many young people I know. He is used to being used and betrayed by the adults in his life and the ones that he can count on are small. From my conversations with Min Yun, Kenji has come up as a topic. They are close and without care he will see you as an intruder with someone he considers close enough to be family. In order not to offend her he will not yell or scream or rage. Not at you, though he may do so privately. He will simply cease to trust you and as he is persuasive that distrust may spread.” She did feel a little bad for wielding fear like she did, but it was true. She knew Kenji that well at least, though from the debacle with her shop, not well enough. Not yet. She continued. “I have dealt with her for a few days and my dealings with her have been rough as she comes from a rough upbringing. Even if you cut it off with her then both she and Kenji would likely be offended, perhaps even moreso. So I ask that you allow me to help you resolve this. Though they are not related I can guess that much of their relationship is dictated by the politics of the family and they are from a culture to which you are foreign.” “I’ve dealt with families before,” he said. As gently as she could, she asked the question. “As an insider or as an outsider?” she asked. Julian looked away and she squeezed his hand. She wondered if those words, no matter how gently spoken, had been too harsh. Probably, she decided, but he was likely going to fail on his own. The man looked positively deflated. It was so odd that he seemed to understand what she was talking about. It seemed completely at odds with his lack of social graces before. She’d spoken about this out of desperation and thought she’d have to spend the next hour explaining to him why this mattered, but he’d understood almost immediately. He was thankfully not stupid in this way though she had questions. “And you want to help,” he said, quietly. “Do you want my help?” she asked. He considered, but not for long. “Yeah,” he said, “It turns out that I’m a pretty lovely parent.” “We’re all terrible parents when we start,” she said, “You took on what...Three full teenagers and they’ve turned out like they did? Then you added a fourth? You could do worse.” “I don’t see how,” he sighed. “You could do so much worse,” she reassured, “Trust me. You’re seeking support which is good and when that support finds you, you accept it.” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted his eyes. Elves didn’t really look like they aged ten years in a moment. Their youthfulness was too durable which Mrs. Liu quietly envied. Instead it felt like a certain weight settled onto them and in this moment, it did. Mrs. Liu stayed quiet. Just because he wanted her help didn’t mean he accepted it. Then, as if he’d come to a decision, he reached into the steamer tray, grabbed the soup dumpling, bit off the top, drank the hot broth like a pro and without burning himself. In fact, for someone who’d burned themself enough to raise blisters mere minutes ago, there was no hesitation to drink the broth. He looked at her, saw her recognition, pulled out his commlink, popped the back panel and took out the battery. He waited expectantly. Mrs. Liu was shocked, but she understood that he waited on her. So she did the same with her own commlink. Julian nodded, picked up the chopsticks that he’d traded for the fork and pointed at her with them. “I can tell you want something,” he said, frankly, “This isn’t about helping me. What do you want?” “I’m...I’m sorry?” she asked, briefly flabbergasted. Julian sighed explosively and pushed back blond hair from his eyes. The man looked like he needed a haircut. “I’ve been dealing with corporate negotiation tactics for over ten years,” he said, “They are sneaky bastards, so this is not my first ambush. Not by far. I’ve been dealing with trickery, bribery, blackmail, seduction, infiltration and every scheme and plot made to make a tool out of me. If you stick it out long enough doing what I do you eventually become professionally paranoid. I’m the corporate liaison for my workplace and so I know what an ambush feels like.” He took an angry bite out his noodles, near shoveling them down his mouth. Mrs. Liu stayed quiet until he spoke again. “I do it because no one else at my school wants to,” he explained, “I do it to protect my students. All of them. Even the ones I don’t like, I protect them so long as it’s the right thing to do. I do it because any talent we hire is either going to get noticed for their track record of success and get hired away or eventually our stable of negotiators all turn out to be losers. Or they just get kidnapped and forced into some corporate enclave to work. That’s happened a few times. Those are the kinds of organizations I deal with.” Julian quietly seethed. “I deal with disconnected, entitled parents who are literally above the law and their lawyers who represent that law that they’re above and the corporate negotiators and every corporate compliance rear end in a top hat who thinks they should have a say despite their total lack of grounding in education. I wrap them all up in red tape and play them against one another. If I’m forced to talk to one I play the fool so they make mistakes because I am so far under their notice that no one reads the reports on me, thank gently caress. For the corps, doing corporate negotiation for a high school is a low rung on the ladder and it’s still a viper’s nest. I’m the guy who wrestles with the snakes and it’s the part of my job that I hate the most.” Julian ate his noodles while Mrs. Liu reevaluated her position. Julian hadn’t been a buffoon. He’d played the buffoon in order to put her on the back foot either to get an advantage or to waste her time in order to more easily dismiss her. She’d come at him like an overworked schoolteacher instead of one negotiator to another. “And?” she asked. “And I’m exhausted,” he said, “I tried going through my normal routine but I don’t have it in me right now. So I’ll tell you what. You tell me what you want, what you have to offer and I’ll tell you if I’m interested. Kenji is supposed to be out of here by ten. My meeting with CPS takes place at noon and only because I pushed it back and I really didn’t want to do that. And I mean I really, really didn’t want to do that, but I need to make sure Kenji gets a meal in him that isn’t hospital food and that he isn’t groggy. I need to make sure Fuzzy and Julie are there as well and I haven’t even talked to them yet because I just woke up. And talking to Sasha is going to be a whole different problem that I only have a few hours to figure out. All of this while someone from the government decides whether or not to take my kids from me which will likely mean breaking them up.” Julian narrowed his eyes at her and this time it was Mrs. Liu’s turn to squirm. Then his tone became more businesslike and polite, his outburst over. “You got the better of me, which means I’m talking to you. Points well scored,” he said, “I plan to be in Kenji’s room when he wakes up and that’s going to be soon, so you have fifteen minutes. Make your pitch, Connie. I have a busy day ahead of me.” It was a testament to Mrs. Liu’s skill as a negotiator that she didn’t balk or wither. Instead she collected herself, her initial reevaluation done. He was tired, scared and exhausted and so he’d tried to put her on the defensive in order to reestablish control. It hadn’t worked in cowing her. In fact, half of that was venting, but it had changed how she would present what she wanted to him. In her mind she laid out what she had to offer, how it would resolve his problems and what she wanted in that order. “Fine,” she said, “I’ll need my commlink.” Julian made a “go ahead” gesture with his hand as he ate his food. Precious seconds were wasted putting the battery back in and she booted it up without bothering to put the cover back on. Then she pulled up her files on one Patricia Freeman and gave him the private chat logs. He read them and frowned. “These are real?” he asked, without looking up. “Oh yes,” she said, “Very real.” He said nothing as he scrolled. When he was done a few minutes later he turned off the commlink and popped out the battery once more. “So Julie’s mother wants her back,” said Julian, “The mother that abandoned her daughter in prison. The one who posts insane, racist screeds on social media it seems. And she knows about the CPS visit which she shouldn’t as she gave up her parental rights.” “That mother, yes,” said Mrs. Liu, “It does not seem like she dealt with the death of her husband well, mentally or financially.” “No,” said Julian, “She certainly did not.” “Did you ever meet her?” asked Mrs. Liu. “No,” he said, “We have negotiators deal with the obvious bigots. I can see where Julie picked up a lot of her hate from when I first met her though and I’m glad she seems to be past it. Why do you have this? This is extensive.” “Julie spoke to me,” said Mrs. Liu, “About her concerns with CPS. This ties into problems of which you were not aware. Julie has property and as a minor that property can be easily seized through legal methods. I did some research and found that someone has been talking to Patricia extensively about what her daughter owes her and what she, Patricia Freeman, poor widow, deserves for her pain and suffering.” “Yeah, I noticed the corporate lingo on the other side of the chat” said Julian, “Mrs. Freeman is being manipulated and it’s obvious. Some corporation wants to seize Julie’s property through her mother?” It was a rhetorical question. One that Mrs. Liu did not bother to answer. “gently caress,” he swore, “I knew they’d given me that property too easily.” “So it seems,” said Mrs. Liu. “So what’s the property worth?” asked Julian. Mrs. Liu leaned forward. “Everything,” said Mrs. Liu, her tone weighty, “It’s priceless. As long as she holds onto her property then people will attempt to seize it from her. The Ork Underground is worth hundreds of billions in potential real estate and though Touristville is a small portion of that, but it is also the most enticing and best developed. Many interests want her property in order to get an early and commanding lead on gentrification. They will attempt to seize the rest through legal and illegal methods. We’ve been preparing for that, but Julie’s property is something that no one has dealt with yet.” “I see,” he said, quietly. “You cannot put a price on community,” she emphasized, “Once seized, her property will be a foothold to destroy our community. We cannot allow it.” “Hmmm...You could sell out and clean up,” mused Julian, “Wouldn’t be that hard.” He was baiting her, she realized, testing her. “Why would I want money when it isn’t even real?” Julian leaned back and nodded to her. “Ahhh…” he said, in realization, “You got screwed over in the Crash.” “Yes,” she said, “Almost everyone I know did. Either from the second or from the echoes of the first.” “Screwed over bad then.” “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Liu, “Money and property does not interest me. Nuyen is just numbers on a stick, easily made and easily destroyed. Property can be taken if one cannot defend it. When all debts square to zero in the next Crash, and it is coming because nothing has been done to stop it. In fact those problems have been deepened. The next Crash will likely be worse.” “Paranoid.” “Yes,” she said, “I am in good company for it.” Her point made, he shrugged. “When that happens,” she continued, “I want a strong community at my back. Someday someone in the chaos of that time will come and they will have opinions about what belongs to me or perhaps my neighbor or their neighbor. They shall come and say, “This is mine, not yours” in so many words. Perhaps they will come with a legal claim. Perhaps they will come with both. In my experience, they tend to come with both no matter how strong our claim is and how weak and fictional theirs is. It is much easier to tell them no as a group then as individuals.” “And you want to involve Julie in this,” said Julian, disapprovingly. “Julie already is involved in this,” countered Mrs. Liu, “If nothing changes then not only will her property be seized so some interested parties can get a head start on gentrification, but as a minor she will also be seized by her mother. A person who, with basic manipulation from some corporate interest group now hates her and wants to steal and sell property. That act will doom my community and harm Julie.” “And you tell me this less than four hours before she’s taken from me.” Mrs. Liu smiled brightly. “On no, I would not worry,” said Mrs. Liu, “What I worry about is the next attempt.” “And that’s a given,” sighed Julian. “The status quo cannot hold.” Julian ate another soup dumpling, found the soup to be cold, stuck a finger to each dumpling individually and they began to steam once more. Then he touched the noodles and they began to steam. Then the remnants of his soykaf in his thermos. Finally, Mrs. Liu pushed her thermos of hot water forward. After a moment’s consideration he touched it and it too began to steam. Mrs. Liu didn’t grumble as she realized where the blister had come from. “But what do you want?” he asked. “Originally it was not what I wanted, but what Julie wanted,” explained Mrs. Liu, “She’s ambitious and smart. She wants to put that property to use.” “Doesn’t she already put her property to use as a clinic?” “Her clinic is a fine service to the community,” explained Mrs. Liu, “But her business, from what I understand, barely breaks even.” “So this is about money?” “Money to hire lawyers and buy influence, yes.” Julian frowned at her. Likely he would have frowned more if Mrs. Liu mentioned hiring shadowrunners. “Not Julie’s money,” she said, “We expect her business idea to bring in thousands of people a day. Not at first, but with luck, very soon. I would not steal her money.” “It seems like a better idea to just be rid of it,” said Julian. “I do not have a millions of nuyen,” said Mrs. Liu, “My community may be able to scrape together an offer, but it will not even approach what other interests might offer.” “I mean, I’m her guardian. I haven’t heard a single offer.” Then he grew quiet as he realized what that meant. “Which means no one is looking to buy it,” he said, slowly, “They’re going to try and take it.” “Good. You understand now,” said Mrs. Liu, “I’ll remind you that this is Seattle and this is a community of mostly SINless orks and trolls. People don’t negotiate with us. They steal and they rob and they only stop trying to steal and rob if they fail in their task. Only when we prove that we are serious about keeping our homes and our businesses will they grudgingly attempt to buy anything from us.” “What’s even this business?” asked Julian. “Dentistry.” Julian paused as he processed this. Mrs. Liu sipped her hot water. “Dentistry?” “Yes,” she said, “We can fit forty drones, but we’ll start with twenty. Julie owns the land, we have a universal permit and space to expand if needed.” “I don’t like the idea of her expanding into her apartment,” said Julian, “And didn’t you say her clinic helps the community? Why would you pull it down?” “You have it backwards,” said Mrs. Liu, “She is converting her apartment and her clinic is staying intact.” Again, Julian halted to process this. “This seems dangerous,” he said. “Yes, it is,” said Mrs. Liu, “If we keep our heads down the danger will pass, but only after the thievery and violence is done to take what is ours. Then later comes the dissolution of our community. Then comes the poverty. SINless orks and trolls do not have much choice in Seattle, Julian. We do not have better options. For us it means wage slavery, the barrens, the ACHE or to simply die. If we were humans with SINs then perhaps we might have slightly better options, but we are not. There are no other options.” “Julie is my priority,” said Julian. “And you think she is not a part of the community?” asked Mrs. Liu, “That she will simply step away?” Julian glared at her. “I don’t like this,” he said, “And I think the best option would be to ditch the property.” “Who would buy her property? My community does well, but not well enough. Marco might buy if he had the money, but he is generously providing for our legal defense. You could sell it to an interest group, but they would throw us out of our homes. Two-thousand people. Half of them are children.” The color drained from Julian’s face. Sensing weakness, Mrs. Liu pounced on that. “Thoe children will follow their parents into the ACHE or the barrens,” she said, “If they are lucky, their parents will become wage slaves and work sixteen hour days for one of the corps. The children will grow up in corporate schools and learn to be just like the parents they will barely see. And those are the lucky ones. Many will just suffer and die. Maybe not soon, but the outlook is grim for us. The world does not like us, Julian. It does not care for us. We don’t expect help, but still…” Mrs. Liu closed her eyes and bowed her head before him. “Please help me save my community.” Julian didn’t talk for a long time. He tried to say something, but he began to choke. Mrs. Liu raised her head and saw the man, obviously distressed that he may be choking on her food. She stood up, but he raised his hand, took a breath and when he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “You. Have. My. Support.” He looked distraught. He looked furious. “As her guardian, I will allow Julie to decide.” Mrs. Liu had no idea what just happened, but she accepted it. “Are you okay?” she asked. He gripped his thermos tight and his face was hard and full of anguish. The thermos of soykaf, its contents already hot, began to burn. The acrid smell began to rise. If not for the white noise generator they might have expected a fire alarm to go off, but Julian was cognizant of security. He pulled on the heat and smoke and shaped it in midair where it coalesced into an acrid ball, tinier than the head of a pin. He pocketed it casually, capped the thermos of ruined soykaf, rose to his feet and his voice was cold when he spoke “No,” he said, “I am not okay. Thank you very much for breakfast, Mrs. Liu. I’m sure that Kenji would love to see you when he wakes up.” Then he turned off his white noise generator, his commlink and its battery and strode out of the room, leaving her grateful and baffled and terrified.
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Mar 13, 2021 20:10
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So I wrote this scene months ago and I can't find my notes on it, but I remembered the rolls. There were four social rolls to determine how this would play out with a sliding scale in what everyone would get. Julian won 2 exchanges and Mrs. Liu won 2 exchanges. So they went two and two. It's a good negotiation, meaning no one gets exactly what they want, but they do get what they need. I'll detail what Mrs. Liu doesn't get in another update, but she forgot to ask about something significant that I couldn't comfortable fit into the text. What I forgot was that Mrs. Liu asked sincerely for help and I had to change some things at the very end. From the corebook on the mentor spirit of Firebringer. quote:The Fire-Bringer stole the secret of fire from the heavens and gave it to metahumanity as a gift and a tool. He is a figure of kindness and concern, but his good intentions sometimes get him into trouble and his plans may fail to work out the way he envisions them. He is a shaper and a creator, forming new things from the primal clay and breathing the fiery spark of life into them. Fire-Bringers devote themselves to the betterment of others, even at their own expense. Most followers of Fire-Bringer throw themselves into a particular cause with great zeal. Bolded mine. I thought I knew how this conversation was going to turn out for months (I do a lot of back end storyboarding still, but my notes are on an ancient backup computer that's hard to boot up after my old one was damaged) but I forgot about the drawbacks for the mentor spirit until the end. Julian has a charisma of 8 and a willpower of 5 and still failed with only 2 hits. He cannot refuse Mrs. Liu. So he's not doing so well right now. Julian succeeds in that he's going to get support from Mrs. Liu, because he is stretched to his limits and him dating Min Yun without Kenji's knowledge is a serious problem. So he gets some things. However, approval for the dentist's office was something he 100% does not want to do. With power comes problems. I'll detail what happened from his POV soon. Julian is not happy, but he is bound by his own agreements with Firebringer. I was going to leave this up to a conversation with Julie and her attempt to convince him, but I like this better. Though there will still be some interaction that will be super fun. I'm going to do some more editing of this later fyi, but I'm doing some yard work in a few minutes and probably won't be done until late tonight. Editing is probably not going to be my top priority after moving several tons of rocks uphill. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 20:31 on Mar 13, 2021 |
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Mar 13, 2021 20:19
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Fuzzy, Dave, Alejandro and Camila - Thursday, August 22nd, 2075 – Morning - Touristville Fuzzy slept in and it was lovely. Sleeping in meant something different to her than it did to other people. Lately she was up pre-dawn to get ready for her hunts, but of course she’d been at the party and that meant no hunt. She wrestled with her covers, feeling odd that she had no work morning. She might hunt a buck this evening, but certainly not this morning. Nor would there be physical therapy with Jayvon today either as Fuzzy had to meet with people from the government to tell her if she was going to stay with Julian or not. She found this to be ridiculous. Some people from elsewhere that she didn’t know were going to try to tell her what to do. Though she didn’t always get along with Julian, he had been succeeding more than he was failing lately and he did care. That was good enough for her and it would have to be good enough for the government, though her grasp of what government was was nebulous at best. Feeling antsy, she slipped out of bed to face the day. She turned on her commlink, grabbed her AR goggles, her haptic gloves and put all of them on. Technically she could have just checked her commlink directly, but the text on the commlink was still pretty little and bigger words helped her read more easily. Also her gloves allowed her to “touch” AR, which made it easier to navigate through menus and type. As her goggles booted up and connected to her commlink, she smiled as she saw her background, which was a picture of Fuzzy and Sasha in California last year when they were on vacation. It was a bittersweet memory because they’d been on that vacation with Sasha’s family. She still loved the photo though as Sasha had her arms around Fuzzy, lips to her cheek. Their cheeks had been burning from the cold, but Fuzzy’s own were warmer than normal that day. Fuzzy had learned how to set something called a “reminder” in her computer class. The class was largely self-study and pretty annoying most days, but she was finally figuring out how to work her commlink because she didn’t get a ton of practice at school as the matrix was blocked. She read the reminder. “Remember to check yore texts!” Fuzzy stared at the reminder and changed “yore” to “your”, nodded at her obvious command of the language as she could now correct her own spelling and checked her messages. There was one from Julian and it was from last night. Julian: The surgery went late, but Kenji is fine. He’s sleeping it off. I pushed back the meeting with CPS until noon. I’ll pick you up at Julie’s at eleven. Fuzzy had nothing to add and so just texted back a thumbs up emoji. She’d learned about emojis lately and had taken a liking to them. Text alone wasn’t expressive enough for her. She’d taken to smiley faces. Meanwhile, she checked to see if there were any messages from Sasha. Nothing much. Just a long string of messages from Fuzzy to Sasha, wishing her well and asking for updates. She still hadn’t learned etiquette about the “right” amount of messages to send. Just fifteen over the day, which were a mix of how she’d been doing, questions about how Sasha had been doing and then an update about Kenji in case Julian forgot to send her one. Normally Fuzzy didn’t send so many, but yesterday had been weird and traumatic in many different ways and so she felt a little clingier than normal. Then Fuzzy sent one more. Fuzzy: Thinking about you. <3 There was a text from Marco and she pulled it up with a flick of one AR glove. Marco: Hey, I had a lot of fun last night. Are you free today? Fuzzy thought about it, wasn’t sure and texted back. Fuzzy: I have that government thing today. I’ll see you after. Julie and Kenji are doing their spiritual cleaning thing, but I don’t know what’s up with that. I want to do something later though. There was no response forthcoming and she figured he was still asleep. Then she checked a text from Mother Bear. MB: I asked Coach Bolt to walk and feed your dog before he teaches spells. He mentioned that your owl was hanging around and “looking more evil than usual”. I think it was looking for you.” Fuzzy sighed. Fluffy wasn’t evil. Sure he was pitch black, had burning red eyes and could create magical fear, but she loved him. He just didn’t get along with...Well...Anyone else. She’d have to get him extra treats and plenty of petting when she got back. Puppy too, though Fluffy was admittedly much higher maintenance than her dog. With her texts done, she slipped out of the bed and onto the floor. When she stayed at Julie’s place for a few days over the summer she remembered just how cold the floor had been, but her new socks from Chip instantly warmed up her feet as they sensed the temperature of the floor. Though she hadn’t put the socks through their paces over a hard day of hunting, if they kept performing like this and lasted a month of running and hunting, she’d buy a few more. She grabbed a quick shower. When she finished she slipped into her leotard that would shift with her when she changed her shape, something she was really only beginning to experiment with and then she pulled on the rest of her clothing, including the armor jacket that her dad had given her. Then she checked the time. Eight-fifty. She frowned. Two more hours until Julian came by. She sighed and thought about what to do. As this was Fuzzy, her thoughts almost immediately drifted to breakfast. She could go topside to the docks and get some bao from that little stand she loved. Her stomach growled at the thought of meat buns. Sure she could go to Eighty-Eight Tastes of China for some solid breakfast bao, but she’d been there last night. Then he frowned as she realized that her favorite stand wouldn’t be open until later. “Maaaaan,” she complained. She grabbed her spearknife from the table, still in its blunt, “sheathed” form and secured it to her belt. Now she was ready to go but she didn’t know where. Fuzzy sat back down on the bed and thought about what to do when her mind drifted back to Sasha and she wondered if she might get her a present for when she got home. Sure they’d all gotten presents at the ritual, but they’d had to do that as it helped power it, though she didn’t fully understand why that was. Fuzzy wanted to give her girlfriend a present just because and have it waiting for her when she came back. “The perfect present,” she said, excitedly, “Yeah, I can look for one.” She headed out of the spare bedroom, into the hallway and then into the main living room. Julie either wasn’t awake yet or she wasn’t here. Dimly, Fuzzy remembered her complaining about her hair getting wet last night and needing to get that looked at. The difference in their hair wasn’t something that Fuzzy really understood, though admittedly, Fuzzy used to cut her hair with a knife. She almost went east to grab breakfast, but instead went west. The halls were almost devoid of people and many of the businesses weren’t open yet, which was odd. In the summer there had been plenty of people even earlier than this, but between the protests and the toxic spirit attacks she wasn’t surprised that people were staying clear. There were a few open shops though. It was an open air Tex-Mex restaurant that was squeezed between a homemade furniture store and a clothing store. As she approached an orkish man behind the counter he smiled at her. “Nogway,” he said, with a grin, “The fire slayer herself at my shop.” “Fire slayer?” she asked. He shrugged. “Thought it sounded good.” “Are people calling me that now?” He grinned and shook his head. “Nah. Just me.” “Okay,” she said. She stared up at a real menu just above his head for a moment and quickly found something she liked. “Can I get a breakfast burrito?” she asked. “Sure you can,” he said, “Give me a second to fire up the grill.” He turned around to do just that. Fuzzy leaned against the counter. The orkish man had brown skin, a shaved head, a well groomed mustache and goatee, a round face, a double chin, a plump body and full sleeve tattoos. The man lit up the grill and he almost reached for the soy egg substitute, but thought better of it. “Hey, how many burritos do you want?” he asked. “Can you make one big one.” “Okay, be right back,” he said. He came back with higher quality ingredients than the ones he had laying out, including fresh eggs and a red bell pepper. The pepper jack cheese was still soy based though. “This is supposed to be for Sunday,” he said, “But I figure since it’s you and you don’t come on Sundays...” Fuzzy beamed at him. “Thanks,” she said, “I would, but I’m working.” “Doing what?” he asked, “You still hunting?” Pans were oiled and filled as he prepared them, then with a deft hand he cracked the eggs into a pan. “Yeah,” she said, “Deer.” “Too fancy for me,” he said, “No more pork?” “Nah,” she said, “I ran out of pigs.” “Too bad. I only got the grease and people were still lining up for it. So...Deer?” “Yeah, deer. Deer hunting was fun at first because I had to be quiet, but I’m getting pretty bored hunting the same thing everyday. Hunting pigs was fast and sometimes they’d put up a fight. Not one single deer has charged me yet.” “You miss the thrill?” “A little, yeah. Someone mentioned that I should try hunting something bigger, but I’m not sure what I should yet.” “Hey uh...Think you can bring a little of that meat for Sunday? I mean, it is a little fancy, but meat and eggs, you know?” Fuzzy considered. Julie had told her that she’d feed her family with that farm that they’d gotten from Aztechnology. It seemed like a good turn. “I’ll ask my dad if I can drop a deer off here,” she said. “What, a whole one?” he asked, “Generous.” “Julie is doing me a real favor with helping me feed my family this winter,” said Fuzzy, “I think we can spare the meat as a thank you. Even with me sending all the kills home and them keeping the money, things were going to be lean this year since my dad took in some new people.” The man nodded at her in respect. “I know a thing about sending home my pay to my family,” he said, “At least until I moved them up here. You’re a good girl. Family is the most important thing there is.” Fuzzy nodded along in agreement as she leaned against the counter. “How’s she helping you anyway?” asked the man. “Oh, we got a farm,” said Fuzzy, “Went to Aztechnology. It was a hassle, but hopefully it’s worth it.” “You can just buy those?” “Apparently,” said Fuzzy, “I think it floats.” “Fancy.” “I guess,” she said, “Anyway, if I hunt it and bleed it, do you know anyone who could process it? Butchering takes me hours and it’s messy work. I have to do it at school because the drive over to Puyallup is so long and I have to wait on a friend to drive it over to the Puyallup border to get picked up, but if it’s just here, maybe you know some people who could do that?” “Sure, I know some people,” he said. “I’d have to keep the hide,” she said, “And still talk to my dad. I don’t think he’ll say no, but I can’t speak for him. Also, you know, can’t make it on Sunday, busy working.” The man put his hands up and bowed his head. “What will be will be,” he said, before he relaxed again, “Whether it’s here or not, I appreciate the thought.” Fuzzy smiled at him. “Uhh...What’s your name?” she asked, “I’ve never been here before.” “Alejandro,” he said. “Fuzzy.” They shook hands and he grinned. “Oh, I heard all about you, Nogway. And don’t you worry about not coming. We know you’re working. Hey, did you hear the news?” “What news?” asked Fuzzy. “Julie is starting up a dentist office,” he said, “It just hit AURS last night. People are already talking about it. Rumor is that it’s going to bring in tons of people.” Fuzzy didn’t know what AURS was, but she focused on the news instead. “I hadn’t heard about that,” said Fuzzy, “How many people?” “Don’t know yet,” he said, “Hopefully enough that it’ll break the slump. Someone said something about an anchor store but I don’t know what that is. I just know that if something big comes up then I’m in a good spot to rake in business. They say some guy is coming by in the next day or two to put the drones through their paces. I mean, I’m not going to be the first in line, but if he knows his biz then I’ll bring the whole family.” “Where’s she putting it?” “Her apartment,” he said, “Tearing it down and putting up a shop. There were a couple people who didn’t like that. Said she might not want to live here, but she asked for a place in south end so they stopped grumbling pretty fast. Hey, you want this burrito mild or spicy?” “Spicy,” she said. “Yeeeeah,” said Alejandro, happily, “I figured you don’t mind the heat.” “Nope,” said Fuzzy, smugly. He turned around and heaped some extra hot sauce on it. The smells just started to hit her nose and Fuzzy stood up her tiptoes to get a better look. Everything was sizzling and her mouth began to water. Then she remembered Sasha’s gift and thought she might as well ask. “Hey,” said Fuzzy, “Dumb question, but I want to get my girlfriend a gift.” Alejandro flipped the food with a spatula. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Yeah. Any ideas?” He thought about it and shrugged goodnaturedly. “I don’t really know,” he said, “But I’ll ask my daughter. One second.” Alejandro opened a door behind his tiny shop and called out in Spanish. “Camila!” shouted Alejandro, “I know you’re still running around with that girl!” “Oh my God, shut up, dad!” came a young woman’s voice, most likely Camila. Fuzzy stifled a giggle, though she couldn’t see Camila as the angle was wrong. Alejandro continued. “I’ll forget for a second that I don’t see you two sneaking off at night if you tell me what’s a good gift for a girl to give another girl.” There was a long, frustrated sound that emanated from the back room. In response the man menaced his daughter with the spatula. From his grin he seemed to be having fun. “Daaaaad, don’t be weird!” she exclaimed. “Don’t make me come back there!” he said, “You’re not too old to put over my knee! I’m deadly with this spatula!” “Why are you yelling about my business for everyone to hear?! You’re embarrassing me!” Fuzzy’s giggles began to escape. “Then tell me what kind of a girl would get another girl she likes! Gimmie that gay poo poo!” “You did not just say gimme that gay poo poo! You’re not gay and too old!” “I’ll say it again! You watch!” He once again waved around the spatula in a threatening manner, then he quickly and efficiently scrambled the eggs. There was no response, he scowled, waved around again and as he opened his mouth, Camila shouted at him. “Just get her a succulent or something and leave me alone!” A hand reached out from within and slammed the door. Alejandro turned around at Fuzzy, all smiles. “Yeah, family is everything,” he said, and held his hand with the spatula over his heart, “What I live and breathe for.” His eyes were closed and his dramatic moment left him unaware of Fuzzy’s suppressed laughter. Then he turned around and poked at the food. “My daughter said something about a succulent,” he said, “Don’t know what that is though.” Fuzzy turned away as she got the rest of the laughter out of herself. Alejandro froze, turned and sighed loudly. “Ah hell, you don’t speak Spanish, do you?” he asked. Fuzzy didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. As she composed herself the orkish man finished quickly and handed her a large, foil wrapped burrito. She reached for her credstick, but Alejandro waved her off. “What? You don’t pay,” he said, “Saving the place from that fire spirit and bringing the meat? You just try to pay for a burrito. Not at my shop. The Sunday meal is just coming early for you, that’s all. You save that for your girlfriend and get her something nice.” Fuzzy wasn’t allowed to pay for things in Touristville, but it was also expected that she should try so she could be refused. It was like a kind of dance. So she pocketed the credstick again. “Thanks,” she said. “No problem. Now that burrito is hot. Give it a minute. And come back and see me sometime.” She waved and Alejandro waved back. With her precious burrito now in hand she went back to Julie’s apartment and stared at the door. Was there really going to be a dentist’s office here? She didn’t know what that meant, but she shrugged. It was Julie’s place after all and she could do what she wanted with it. Then Fuzzy pulled her goggles down over her eyes again, slipped on a single haptic glove and typed the word “succulent” onto an AR keyboard and was excited when she spelled it right the first time. Then she was confused because succulents were tiny cactuses. Not that she’d ever seen a cactus, but she had taken enough science classes to know what one was. These ones didn’t have spikes though, or at least not the ones she saw. She did a little reading and found that they were small and low maintenance, though there were warnings about pet friendliness as a few were toxic. Then she wondered where she would find such a thing and once again checked the matrix. Apparently they could be found and flower shops and this gave her an idea. She immediately called Dave and after a few rings he picked up. “Hey, it’s my favorite person calling me up,” said Dave, cheerfully, “I’m at work though so I can’t talk for long.” “Hey Dave,” said Fuzzy, “I won’t keep you long. I just have a question.” “Yeah, sure,” he said, “Go ahead.” “Do you sell succulents at that flower shop of yours?” “Oh yeah,” he said, “You getting something special for that girl of yours? They’re pretty popular with uh...Certain types of women.” “How’d you know I was getting it for her?” “You deliver flowers for long enough and you just know some things,” he said, “Want to put in an order for delivery? You can use my employee discount.” Fuzzy thought about putting in a delivery, but decided against it. She wanted to pick Sasha’s gift herself. Plus she might visit Dave. It was forty miles each way into Tacoma though and that made her hesitate. “I was thinking about visiting your shop,” she said, “But you’re all the way in Tacoma…” “Oh, not anymore,” he said, “I finally got a transfer after I got jumped. Only took a year.” He grumbled and so did Fuzzy. “It’s not that much safer, but it is closer to home,” he said, “I wanted to spend more time at home after...You know...My kids need me around, even if one of them is at that school now and I don’t see her most days. I need to keep my oldest out of trouble.” Fuzzy brightened at that. “Where are you working?” she asked. “I’m working at Beyond Flowers over on Thistle street in Fauntleroy. If you want to visit I’ll show you around. Things are kind of dead right now.” “Send me the directions?” Seconds later Fuzzy got a text with an address that was only twenty minutes away. Definitely doable. “There you go. Boss doesn’t like it when I take personal calls, so I gotta go.” “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you later.” Dave ended the car and Fuzzy headed back west towards the underground parking lot. A few people called out to her and she’d wave back, but business was slow . She meandered into the underground parking lot, found Julie’s reserved parking space which she let Fuzzy use. It was seriously appreciated as long term parking in the Seattle area made Fuzzy recoil in horror when she learned how much that cost per month. In that spot, nestled in among other vehicles and a half-finished construction project was her truck and her motorcycle in its bed since she only had the one spot. Inside of the truck was her motorcycle ramp, neatly folded and she took a few minutes to attach it to the truck’s tailgate. Then she sent a wireless command to the motorcycle and watched it pilot itself down the ramp and into a corner. Then she put the ramp away and checked the sack she’d missed which was full of what looked like lawn clippings. “Yesssss,” she said, happily. She took the large bag and slung it over her back. It wasn’t exactly heavy, but it was bulky. It had almost certainly been scrounged up by Tek as he’d been doing work on her truck lately and he was the one who took the kills to the Puyallup border to meet with her dad for the handoff. Then she thought about if she wanted to drive or ride in her motorcycle, but she wasn’t sure how well she could hold a tiny plant on a motorcycle and she still had the burrito, which she took a bite from as it was now cool enough to eat. She took a bite and it really was delicious, made better by the higher quality ingredients. “The truck it is,” she said, around a mouthful of food. So she went to the front of the truck, absently patted one of the two mounted devil rat skulls on the hood, popped that hood and twisted off the cap to the multi-fuel engine as she continued to eat. She then swallowed her mouthful of burrito, held up her gloved hand and removed that glove with her teeth, shoved it into her jeans pocket. Then with her free hand she began shoving heavy clumps of lawn clippings inside of the engine. To her delight as she went deeper she found whole pieces of wood, which she snapped and shoved inside as well. Not all of it immediately fit inside, but that wouldn’t matter for long. She took the engine’s old pull cord in hand and it was a barrens modification to be sure. Then she was pleasantly surprised when it only took two pulls to get the engine started. Tek had said he’d work on that and it showed. Normally that took half a dozen pulls or more and sometimes it didn’t start at all. Over the next minute the grass and bits of wood were fed into the engine and the plasma torch inside of the engine incinerated all of it and rendered it into a fuel. Once she emptied the bag she put the cap back on, though it left her with a green stained hand and no way to clean it. She shrugged, not caring much. What was a little grass stain for free fuel that could be scrounged up? It was perfect for Puyallup where there was basically no electricity grid to fuel the track. At least where she used to live. She briefly stopped at that thought of “used to”. It was a melancholy thought. Not that the barrens was a good place, but it had been home. It still was, but it was a home that she’d left and only returned to occasionally. She shoved those thoughts aside and focused on Then she closed the hood and checked the fuel gauge. It was pretty low. The engine was old, but still efficient, but they were just lawn clippings and some scrap wood. It would get her there, but not back. Technically the car did have a full charge, but she didn’t want use fuel unless she had to. Maybe Dave might have something to burn. Then she pulled out, stopped, sent a command to her motorcycle and it drove right back into the parking space without a rider. Fuzzy then pulled out onto the city streets and then merged with the morning traffic. Now Fuzzy didn’t know how to get to where she was going, but that was okay as she had directions in AR. However, most people in Seattle didn’t drive their own cars. The fact that most people didn’t need their own cars with the advent of Gridguide, the city’s automated driving and commercial service was beside the point, but navigating the almost fully automated traffic was tricky. One could normally tell the small number of people who drove on their own from the automated traffic as the Gridguide controlled cars drove uniformly and perfectly. Fuzzy on the other hand was still a new driver. She’d gotten the hang of her motorcycle, but she really did need more practice with her truck before she tackled automated traffic. So reluctantly she gave her system over to Gridguide, punched in her intended location and tried to mentally tune out the oncoming commercials until she cleared the worst of city traffic. As the old truck’s pilot program drove around the ACHE, the enormous, black, flat topped pyramid, her truck cut towards I-99. As the truck drove itself, the wind whistling through the mouths and eyes of the rat skulls mounted on either side of her truck’s hood, Fuzzy’s attention was caught by a commercial. “Hey there hunters,” said a man with a market tested “rugged” sounding voice, “We’re having a clearance sale at Weapons World. Looking to bag that buck? Why not try out a Marlin 3468 single shot on our new VR range at home? You won’t even be able to tell the difference. With its reinforced polymer frame it’s guaranteed for years of rough handling in any terrain and with its classic high caliber 45.-70 government cartridge it can take down any critter, mundane or awakened. With the improved double-link system, it ensures a smooth cycling action.” Fuzzy really wasn’t interested in rifles as she had her bow. As if sensing this, the commercial continued. “And if you’re a bow-hunter, you can try out an assortment of bows from beginners to pros, even including the new dynamic tension bow for variable pull weights. Maybe have one of our techs install a wireless smartlink system with on site approval in less than fifteen minutes. With our patented Triple A Ares Aim Assistance software those critters won’t know what hit them. Want something a little more high tech than a bow? Come try one of our repeating crossbows.” That perked her up. Especially that dynamic tension bow. She’d heard of those. It could change the draw weight so she could hunt larger or smaller game. She still didn’t have a bow for very small game yet. “And if you need a sidearm for when you’re charged by some bad buck or boar then we’ve got what you need. Ares is having a sale on its new Predator Six that comes not only with the classic smartgun system run on our Triple A software, but a high tech nitinol smart metal grip that forms perfectly to your hand. Now ten percent off its listed price. Remember, if you’re not the predator, you’re the prey. Come down to Weapons World today and see which one you are.” Fuzzy lightly slapped the steering wheel a few times in thought with her green hand as she ate her breakfast burrito with her other. Technically she did have a few backup weapons when she used her bow, specifically her spearknife and the stunbolt spell, but her stunbolt really didn’t have that much stopping power. A handgun wasn’t something she was particularly interested in as she was pretty sure Julian wouldn’t allow her to have one at school. Also she really didn’t want to pick up any more Ares gear on account of Sasha. Still, a more reliable ranged sidearm was something to think about. As she thought, a new commercial piped up and she couldn’t just tune it out. “If you’re looking for the best Chinese food in the metroplex,” said another man, “Bring your appetite to Sweet and Savory Chinese Bistro in Capitol Hill. Home to sixty-two feet of all you can eat buffet. Like fresh dumplings or even bao?” Again, Fuzzy’s ears pricked up at the mention of bao as the truck automatically pulled to a stop at an AR streetlight. She was nearly at the highway, but she waited for the light. “We have that too,” continued the commercial, “For over ten years we’ve been serving piping hot and fresh delicacies. One low price covers all you can eat and more. We’re located at 748 11th Avenue. Sweet and Savory Chinese Bistro is the home of the sixty-two feet of all you can eat. Sweet and Savory Chinese Bistro! Come on down and save!” Now commercials really weren’t new to Fuzzy, but as she’d really only just gotten the truck she’d spent most of her time riding her motorcycle instead of listening to commercials in a vehicle. A backup weapon and fresh bao sounded good and she yet hadn’t made the connection that Gridguide was specifically targeting her. Then another commercial began. “Looking for a gift for that special someone?” asked a feminine voice, “Want to let her know you care? Why not personalize your order at La Petite Bouquet? Does she have classic tastes? She’ll adore a dozen red roses. Do you want to surprise her with something more exotic? Come view our wide selection of genetically engineered flowers. Want to express your creativity? We 3D print vases that you can design from home, on your way here or while you browse. And whether you want to pick up your gift yourself, have it delivered by drone or by one of our friendly delivery experts, we’ve got you covered. La Petite Bouquet. It’s your choice how you say I love you to that special someone”. Fuzzy’s chewing of her burrito slowed to a stop as the commercial ended. Hunting supplies had been interesting, the Chinese food had been something she’d just thought about, but now she was heading to a flower shop to pick up something for Sasha. The gears in her head turned and clicked as she understood what was happening. She was new to commercials, but it creeped her out how specifically she was targeted by the Gridguide ads. “Creepy,” she said. Well, she was turning onto the highway now and away from the worst of the Downtown area traffic as the truck took the onramp onto I-99. So she put her burrito in her lap for the moment, swallowed her mouthful of food and put both hands on the wheel so she could turn off Gridguide and turn off the commercials, but before she could disengage Gridguide, the radio started screaming at her, which was bizarre and disturbing, but worse was that it was familiar screaming. Fuzzy froze and listened as the screams from the Touristville attack, the very corridor she’d been in, played back to her on the radio. After several seconds of this, a man’s voice, solemn and angry spoke up. “These were the sounds of the recent terrorist attack on the Ork Underground, mere feet under where many of you live. Unlike his opponent, Governor Kenneth Brackhaven is willing to say the words, “Terrorist toxic shamans”. And unlike his opponent, he opposes Prop 23 that will recognize the so-called new district that spawned that terrorist mage. Your vote for Governor Brackhaven and your vote against Prop 23 are votes for law and order.” There was a short pause as Fuzzy’s mouth hung open. “I’m Governor Kenneth Brackhaven,” said the governor, “And I approve this message.” Fuzzy closed her mouth with a click of her teeth. Unwilling to listen to a single second more, she disengaged Gridguide and soon she was driving on her own down the highway. She drove in silence for a while, thinking about how she felt and quiet seething started to build. This lasted for a few minutes until she was pissed. She considered turning off the highway to stop and take a walk, to turn around and head back to Julie’s place and call it a day, but instead she found her punk playlist, turned up the volume to ten, rolled down her windows, blasted her music, stepped on the gas, picked up her burrito, took a violent bite out of it and listened to the rat skulls scream as wind whipped through them as her armored pickup truck peeled down the highway. She didn’t mutter or yell or scream or curse. She didn’t need to. Her truck said it for her. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 02:08 on Apr 1, 2021 |
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Mar 16, 2021 11:01
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Getting back into the swing of things with more updates. Feeling creative and prolific again. I do hope that ending was Mad Max enough. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 11:41 on Mar 16, 2021 |
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Mar 16, 2021 11:03
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It’s great to see you back. I appreciate your work. Just wanted to say thanks!
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Mar 16, 2021 18:05
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It may be a 75 year old song for Fuzzy, but The Decline by NOFX is a roughly 18 minute song, perfect for the drive
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Mar 16, 2021 18:39
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I appreciate how despite all the jockeying back and forth between Mrs. Liu and Julian, the thing that is actually the deciding point was completely accidental. Firebringered! Julian being forced to help when he's already stretched thin isn't going to go well. Good to see more incidental evidence of the problems Touristville is facing. Fuzzy's bubble is also now expanding to include the unpleasantness of the city. Going from Blake Island to Touristville isn't exactly much exposure....
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Mar 17, 2021 05:15
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Geburan posted:It’s great to see you back. I appreciate your work. Just wanted to say thanks! Aww. Thank you. HiHo ChiRho posted:It may be a 75 year old song for Fuzzy, but The Decline by NOFX is a roughly 18 minute song, perfect for the drive I'd never heard it before you posted and then I listened to it four times in an hour and a half. Keldulas posted:I appreciate how despite all the jockeying back and forth between Mrs. Liu and Julian, the thing that is actually the deciding point was completely accidental. Firebringered! Julian being forced to help when he's already stretched thin isn't going to go well. Yeah. Julian is not completely his own man. Part of his power comes from something outside of him that he chose to embrace, both a spirit and an ideology. It comes from a power that he will never, ever be able to fully understand and the only way of accessing that power is through choosing to surrender to that power, which is a pretty accepted concept in many traditions of mysticism. As a kind of absolute, Firebringer does not care if you're stretched to your limit, especially since its historical and mythological archetypes are almost all martyrs. quote:Good to see more incidental evidence of the problems Touristville is facing. Fuzzy's bubble is also now expanding to include the unpleasantness of the city. Going from Blake Island to Touristville isn't exactly much exposure.... The construction of bubbles that people live in has been intentional. Two of the main locations in the story, Blake Island and Touristville are both bubbles. And since I'm working with the idea of shamanism, one of the themes of the shaman is to exist in isolation and when they come into or return to the normal world it is with an outsider's perspective. Many people are too close to the problems to see the scope of that problem or to realize the ridiculousness of their situation. One of the shaman's as well as many religious figures' strengths historically is their combination of isolation and wisdom that allows them to come to unorthodox conclusions. How those bubbles fare over the course of this book will be up to the story, the dice and thread choice. Since I'm building towards a point there just aren't as many choices any more as I want to deliver a satisfying ending to the book, and I mentioned that, but I feel a little bad whenever I go too long without choice. I really want to stick the landing on the ending and make it something truly special and once we hit Denny Park we're going to start sprinting towards it, though I feel like I've taken too long getting there.
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Mar 17, 2021 09:00
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Julie, Fuzzy, Kenji, Julian and Chip - Thursday, August 22nd, 2075 – Late Morning - Touristville Julie stepped out of the hair salon at exactly ten-forty, her hair rebraided. Touristville didn’t have a salon and so she’d had to go topside, but not too far. Now she slipped into the small crowd of pedestrians and began to walk half a city block back to the nearest open entrance which was Touristville's north end near the Seattle Utilities Building on Seneca and First Avenue. Today for the interview with CPS she was dressed smartly and conservatively in a white button down blouse with her armor vest underneath, khaki pants, white sneakers and AR glasses with a thin, round frame. Around her shoulder was a bag which did not go with the outfit, which she held out to no one that was apparent. Chip materialized into the material world, took it and slipped it around his own shoulder. “You’re not nervous,” said Chip. It was a statement, not a question, though Julie could feel one coming up. “About the CPS thing?” “Yeah.” “No." "Why?" Julie stopped at an intersection and allowed traffic to pass. In AR she saw the streetlights change, lights which only existed in augmented reality. The ground on the road itself turned red with X's, which further emphasized that it wasn't safe to walk. "It's taken care of," said Julie, "And if it isn't there's nothing I can do about it." Then she pursed her lips in thought. "Also I think that it's hard for me to care about some stuff right now," said Julie, "This seems so small that it barely even registers." "But it might not be small," said Chip. Traffic stopped as the streetlights in AR changed again. The street itself changed in AR from red to green and Julie walked with the crowd. Though if one were to take away their view into augmented reality the street would just look like a normal street, though without any signs at all and therefore hostile to anyone not participating in the shared reality. "Yeah I know," said Julie, "My sense of scope is busted." As Julie crossed the street, she looked left and saw a recently burned down building from last night's riot. It had once been a small garage for the Gridguide cars to do maintenance and from what she understood that maintenance was one-hundred percent automated. The concrete parking lot next to it was also scorched by fire but of course it was still standing. Dozens of Gridguide taxis had also been burned or otherwise destroyed. Besides the construction crew which consisted primarily of drones, no one seemed to care. Among the graffiti, biggest and boldest and very red were the words, "Free Parking!" though there was plenty of profanity, slogans and symbols as well, was She couldn't motivate herself to care as fleet of Gridguide taxis ate up the majority of the parking spaces in the Downtown area. "Speaking of busted things," she said, "Were you out here last night?" Chip didn't look uncomfortable, but she could feel his discomfort through their emotional connection. "I'm not mad," she said, "You were off and people were hurting, right? I think it'd be weird if you didn't go to help." Then came the relief and Chip gave her a real nod. "A couple people died," he said, "I wasn't there for them though." "But you were there for other people?" she asked. "Some people," he said, "Some I couldn't help. One guy got his achilles tendon severed." "Did he get any help?" Chip didn't respond for a while, though Julie could tell from his sadness and frustration that the answer was no. They approached the entrance to the Ork Underground and a number large of orks and trolls were outside, standing around and looking menacing. One nodded to her and she nodded back. "Everything okay?" she asked. She hadn't seen this group on the way in and since this was her community she figured she'd ask. The man, a troll, almost four feet taller than the already six foot tall Julie, looked down at her. His tanned face was warty on one side, which trolls sometimes had instead of bone plates and was tattooed on the other side, though she couldn't get a clear look at it. Out of habit from prison she looked at his knuckles which were heavily scarred. It was a way of telling who was a serious hand to hand fighter from someone who just looked intimidating, though checking wasn't always perfect in a world where tissue regeneration was cheap. He wore a heavily patched armor jacket, jeans and had a pistol on his hip. He loomed over her, but not as much as he could have, which she appreciated. "No," he said, his voice a low rumble, "Riots last night. Most of the rioters didn't mess with us, but you know keebs. Can't help themselves. They tried burning down a few ork and troll owned businesses. Can't have that." The word keebs was racist slang for elves, short for keeblers. She'd heard that enough in prison. At her lowest point she'd even laughed and pretended it was funny when people talked poo poo around the lunch table in prison. That thought made her feel sick and ashamed. "No, you can't," she said, neutrally. He seemed oddly familiar. Not the face, but the mannerisms. He didn't try to hide what he was as he was geared for a fight, but he lacked the obvious identifiers. He was a brawler and the rest of them looked like brawlers as well. The confidence and undercurrent of violence was undeniable. "Which crew are you with?" asked Julie. The main raised a scarred eyebrow at Julie. He seemed to reappriase her and looked her up and down. She didn't like his gaze as he lingered on her chest and hips, but her curves up top were hidden by her armor vest at least. Her lack of display seemed to make him frustrated and she was glad that she wasn't too close to him, though she was close enough for his body odor to assault her. "And where are you from?" he asked. The question was significant. He was asking her which gang she was affiliated with. Normal people who had no street smarts would almost always answer in the wrong way, though there were basically no right ways for regular people to answer or act in this situation. On the other hand, knowing how to answer this kind of question and not looking weak was important. "Darrington," she said. Prison was a diplomatic answer, but probably not the best answer. Again he appraised her. "You were in Darrington?" he asked, "Fine, show me your hands." Darrington Correctional, which was a prison run by the now defunct Lone Star, made its money not just by getting paid to house inmates for the state, but it also forced them to work in a recycling plant. Normally ones' hands and arms had heavy scarring as the protective gear was insufficient at best. However, years before she'd gotten there the awakened had a riot and it had been so brutal that they'd been exempted from the work. Julie had worked for a short time there until Big Rita told her one day that when called she didn't need to go. "I didn't work the recycling plant for long," said Julie. He sneered at her. "Short timer?" It did have a lockup for small time offenses next to it, but those were people in for a few months max. "Not originally," she said, "I was in for the long haul." "And then?" he asked coldly. "Things changed." She wasn't volunteering information, more prying it out to figure out who his crew was. Belatedly she realized that this wasn't smart, but it seemed like her ability to gauge a threat had been busted by going into the astral and from her visit to Aztechnology. Both Julie and the gang member realized that he was being watched by the other gang members. So he spat at her feet and sneered. "Whatever, bitch," he said, "Get lost. Come back when you grow some tits." Julie's first reaction was to cover up her chest because she hadn't been talked to like that in a long time, but she declined to give him the satisfaction. The man's sneering frown turned into a sneering smile as he tried to make her feel uncomfortable, then back into a frown as he failed. Instead, Julie held his eyes for long enough to show that she wasn't afraid. He didn't break eye contact, but he did shift his gaze to make himself more menacing. If this was a bad neighborhood maybe he would have escalated, but this was the Downtown area of Seattle and topside, police presence was heavy. As he tilted his head, that's when she saw the tattoos on his face more clearly. On his neck specifically was a large spike, though there was also a lot of edged iconography, like the barbed wire tattoo that ringed his throat. Big Rita, her former cellmate and Spikes gang member had tattoos like that, though she not only had hers around her neck, but several that were longer that looped under her arms and one that dipped low around her back and chest and around her shoulders, like a chain. There were plenty more, but she'd seen enough other Spikes gang members with neck tattoos just like that to notice someone low level. She could have pushed it, but Julie decided to walk away. Not down the street into Touristville as she didn't want him to know where she lived. The Spikes weren't just some street gang, but one of the largest motorcycle gangs in the city. Technically she knew one of them, but Julie figured that Big Rita had been away in prison for long enough that someone low level was new enough that they probably wouldn't know her. Also casual namedropping was considered disrespectful. There were ways of dropping that one was a gang member, affiliated or simply known and Julie declined to do any of that. She just wanted to leave. So she picked the direction that the crosswalks were heading right now, west, and began to walk towards the west end entrance near Alaskan way. "He didn't like you at all," said Chip. "No, he didn't. Hand me your stuff," said Julie to Chip, as they walked away. He did and she shouldered his bag and she continued. "Head around the corner, drop into the astral and see if anyone is following me." Chip gave her a nod and faded out of existence in an instant. This might make her late, but she didn't want to bring problems home. It also meant several more blocks to walk and then a walk back from the west end to her home. Normally she would get a Gridguide taxi, but she had a feeling that those weren't working right now. Then she remembered that Fuzzy had a truck and a motorcycle and so Julie gave her a call on her comms. Fuzzy picked up. "Hey, what's up?" said Fuzzy. "I'm running a little late," said Julie, "There's a gang hanging around the north end. Any chance that you can pick me up so I'm not late?" "Uhhh. I'm actually on my way back right now, but it's tight. I could send you my motorcycle if you don't want to wait." "I've never rode one before," said Julie, "Think you can pick me up?" "Yeah, sure," said Fuzzy, "Where are you?" "I'm heading west on Seneca Avenue," said Julie, "If you could hurry I'd appreciate it." "Are you okay?" Julie declined to look back. "I'm not sure," said Julie. "My motorcycle is closer," said Fuzzy. Julie sighed and nodded, though Fuzzy couldn't see that. "Is it hard to ride?" "It's got these gyro things inside," said Fuzzy, "So no. It drives itself without a rider all the time. My helmet is in the saddlebag on the left. Give me a minute while I send it." "Do you know how to send it?" asked Julie. "Uhhhh...We'll see," said Fuzzy A few seconds passed and Julie kept walking forward. Not too quickly, not too slowly. "Done," said Fuzzy, "I think. It'll let you on, but it won't let you drive it if you understand. It'll take you back to the parking lot though." "Cool, thanks. Would you mind staying on the line just in case?" Another pause while Fuzzy took this in. "Sure," said Fuzzy, "I'm speeding up just in case." "Thanks." Julie kept walking down the street and then Chip gave her a feeling of relief through their emotional connection. No one was following her and so followed her own. She held out the bag and he appeared from an alley just in front of her, walked towards her, took the bag and walked next to her again. "And thank you," she said. "Sure," said Chip, "I was going to trip anyone they sent if they got too close." Julie spoke into her commlink. "We're good, Fuzzy," said Julie, "You can slow down. I'd still like that motorcycle though. I don't want to be late." "Okay," said Fuzzy, relief plain in her voice, "I'll see you at your apartment." A minute later, Fuzzy's motorcycle, a Harley Davidson Scorpion first rolled driverless down the opposite side of street in front of yet another burned out building, though she couldn't tell what it had been as the augmented reality sign was currently out of order. The chopper then pulled a U-turn and drove up next to her in front of an onoccupied metered space about twenty feet away, though the meter of course only existed in AR. Julie debtited her account so Fuzzy wouldn't get fined because it was already counting, which was a pain. There were no quick pickups and dropoffs, absolutely everything was metered down to the second. So now that she'd confirmed that she wasn't being chased and didn't have to run to make it on time, she was able to slow down while she looked for the saddlebag. Julie wasn't familiar with motorcycles, but she figured it out pretty quickly, pulled the helmet from the bag and put it on. It was a tight squeeze as it was made for Fuzzy and she couldn't fit her hair inside, so she let it hang loose out of the back. "Hey, can I ride too?" asked Chip. Julie looked to him, but it was through tinted glass. She didn't know how to move the visor up so Chip could see her face, but he didn't seem bothered. "Because it's something new?" she asked. Chip nodded and waited next to the chopper for her to get on. Again, like the helmet, the motorcycle wasn't the right fit as Fuzzy was smaller than her and had made some modifications. The seat was too small and the handlebars were too close for comfort. This wasn't helped that it took her a little while to figure out how to poisition herself on it, but again she figured it out pretty quickly. Once she was done then Chip sat behind her. "I think you grab my waist," said Julie. "Really?" asked Chip. "Uhh...No. I don't know. That's just what I've seen." Chip grabbed her around the waist anyway and he snuggled in behind her which she appreciated. Then the motorcycle revved up, they merged into trafffic and off they went. The vehicle turned on its own and the turning was smooth. Julie didn't know to lean into the turns, but she figured that out pretty quick when the chopper did it and forced her to lean. Her heartbeat sped up and in a detatched way she found it odd that this was what excited her, not an armed and armored gang member. Then she understood the thrill of why people rode these things as the wind whipped at her body and through the hair that hadn't fit into the helmet. As she moved southeast down Alaskan way she found the multi-story parking garage that Touristville had an agreement with. She stopped briefly in front of a toll gate, which then raised as the motorcycle communicated with it and then drove down into the underground parking area reserved for Touristville and right into a parking space that read, "Reserved for Julie Freeman". As it rolled to a slow halt it automatically popped out a kickstand, leaned over which tilted Julie as well and then shut off, its ride complete. It took a conscious effort to pull her hands from the handlebars as she realized that she'd held on way too tight. Then she carefully pulled herself off the motorcycle without pitching it over, pulled off the helmet, stuffed it in the saddlebag and looked to Chip. "How was it?" she asked. "Pretty fun," he said, "You didn't like it." He knew because they were still emotionally connected. "It was exciting, but no, not really," she said, "I've been on rollercoasters and they're sort of like that or at least that's the closest comparison, but I always hated rollercoasters. What really bugged me was my hair. I kept worrying about my hair getting dirt in it since I couldn't fit it all in." Julie checked her hair and there was indeed dirt in it. Grey ash in fact. She groaned in obvious displeasure. "I just had this done," she complained, and then she looked to Chip, "Don't tell Fuzzy I got dirt in my hair, okay? I'll text her to let her know I'm back." As Julie did that, Chip spoke up. "It's okay," he said, placatingly, "I know this social stuff now so I know not to tell people that you have dirt in your hair." "This time," she said, and managed a smile. "Well yeah, now," he said, unashamedly,"You made sure that I could talk to people." "Okay," she sighed, "Sorry. You do. There's no magic for cleaning my hair, is there?" Even if there was, it was a rhetorical question, so the answer was no. Chip shrugged and Julie tried and unsuccessfully patted at her hair that contained stray ashes from last night's fires. She really hoped that her apartment hadn't been disassembled while she was gone as she needed to grab her pick and maybe the dry shampoo from her bathroom, which meant more time lost. Unless... "Speed us up?" asked Julie. Chip nodded and Julie felt her perception of time slow down just a little. Normally when Chip sped up it was just himself, but he could speed other people up to a lesser extent. Julie didn't trust the jog that she put on that became a sprint, even though the hallways were mostly empty, so she slowed down until she was merely running. In just a few minutes she crossed the entirety of the west end, made it to the crossroads and found her apartment to still be blissfuly intact and noone else was here yet. So she unlocked her door, let herself inside and checked the time on her commlink. She had eight minutes. Those eight minutes allowed her to do a passable job of pulling the ash out of her hair. She wasn't happy with it, but maybe she'd have extra time later to finish the job. So she pulled out a colorful scarf, wound her box braids into a bun and wrapped the scarf tightly around it to cover up the ash. As she stepped out of her apartment with Chip in tow, it was exactly eleven o'clock and she'd done an okay job of looking presentable. There outside was Julian, Kenji and surprisingly, Mrs. Liu. Fuzzy seemed absent. "Hey Julie," said Julian, "I was about to call you but you're right on time. Where's Fuzzy?" "She's on her way," said Julie, "I think she might have to put her motorcycle back on her truck bed." "Okay," said Julian, "Our meeting is in an hour so we're not in a huge rush." Kenji hugged Julie and whispered into her ear. "Don't want to be that guy, but you got a little grey stuff in your hair," he whispered. Julie winced. "You can still see it?" "Not a lot, but yeah. Want me to stall so you can go back inside?" "No, it's fine," she said. She sighed, disentangled herself and figured she'd fix her hair later. He nodded and pulled away from her. "You look good," said Julie, "Are your sinuses okay?" "A little sore, but they don't feel like craters anymore," said Kenji, "I'm better than new." "Minus the damage to your magic," she said. "Yeeeah, well," he drawled, "It means I can just stick more 'ware into myself later. This gives me options." Julie nodded at him and looked to Julian and then Mrs. Liu. Then Julie did a double take as she noticed that he had his staff with him. "Uhhh...You have your staff," said Julie, significantly. The last time she'd seen the focus staff had been when Julian took on Pinchface. Julian tapped it on the ground once and the sound rapped out sharply. "It gives me an air of authority that's good for dealing with certain people," he said, "It reminds them of who and what I am." "Like certain government officials?" asked Julie, hopefully. Julian said nothing. He only smiled knowingly. Mrs. Liu cleared her throat. "Hello Ms. Freeman," said the older woman, "Has your day been going well?" "Uh...Well..." Then she looked to Kenji and Julian and Julie's eyes widened as she realized something. The Spikes were a racist motorcycle gang and they did not like elves. Not one bit. She didn't know why they were staying incognito by not wearing their jackets, but their gang symbol wasn't an elf's head driven onto a spike for no reason. "No," said Julie, "There's a gang doing um...They're hanging around up top on the north end. Could you see about sending some people?" Mrs. Liu's eyes widened and Julian scowled. Kenji stayed neutral. "Which gang?" asked Kenji. "The Spikes," she said, "They're not wearing their colors or patches and I didn't see their rides, but the guy I talked to had the right tattoos. I really hope you didn't come through the north end." "West," said Julian, coldly, "Through the parking lot." "Good," sighed Julie, "That's really good." "I'll contact the militia," said Mrs. Liu, quickly, "Gather anything you need right now from your apartment. Anything you leave will be dropped off at your new apartment. We'll begin construction immediately." Julie beamed at the first good news she'd heard all day. She looked to Julian who nodded grudgingly. It was apparent that he did not look happy, but Julie hugged him anyway. "Thank you..." she said, "Thank you, thank you..." "I am going to regret this," sighed Julian. He hugged her back anyway, though only with one arm as the other still held focus staff. "Construction is expected to take two days and I'll send you that invoice for the drones," said Mrs. Liu, "And we'll have papers to sign together in front of a notary and lawyers to contact and supply chains and marketing to do...It's quite the task. I had your drones checked out last night. They're fine. Not just the dental drone, but we rented some space near the docks so one of your farms can be constructed and floated as Mr. Smith requested. It should be at your school sometime tonight. I'll contact you later. Good luck with your meeting." Mrs. Liu left without another word. It gave Julie this odd buzz inside of her. Things were happening and it was weird they didn't feel real. Kenji looked to Julie. "Construction?" he asked, "Did I miss something?" "I'm starting a business," she said. "Another one?" She looked to Julian to get confirmation that it was indeed real, who sighed and nodded again. "We're going to have a long talk about this," said Julian, "But yes. Julie is starting a dentist's office. Come on, we'll meet Fuzzy in the parking lot since she's on the way." They all began to walk first north and then west at the crossroads. The tapping sound of Julian's staff echoed in the mostly empty corridors as they walked and talked. "So like what, a little office?" asked Kenji. "No," said Julie, "Um...A big one." "How big?" "I think it can fit uh...Forty drones?" mused Julie. "That sounds like a lot, but that doesn't mean anything to me," said Kenji, "I'm asking how many people will it see?" "Ummm...Five-thousand?" she said, "I think that was the max." "What, a week?" "A day," she said, "Five-thousand a day." Kenji whistled low. "We'll have to see how many people we can actually fit and how," she continued, "Also I can't afford that many drones right now. They're five thousand a piece before we negotiate that down. We got forty-percent off from Aztechnology, but I don't think they're going to give us that sweet a deal again." "Want me to work my magic?" asked Kenji. "Please." Julian cleared his throat noisily and Julie realized something. "I...Can buy these drones, right?" she asked. "As your guardian," began Julian, "I will have to look over any major expenditures that you make just like the Sunday breakfast food you donated for your community. I want to make sure that you are not taken advantage of and that you learn how to budget your money." The silence stretched, punctuated only by the tap, tap, tap of Julian's staff on the floor. He stared at Julie and the taps seemed louder as he made eye contact with her. There was something imploring and pleading in his look which left Julie baffled. He looked like he was unhappy, but he'd just said yes. Unsure of how to deal with the mixed messages, she looked away and down at the floor. Each tap of the staff felt like it was for her and Julie wondered if she'd done something wrong. Then, without speaking, Chip reached out and held her hand, which helped Julie feel a little bit better and helped her hold her head higher. He said nothing, but through his connection he reinforced her emotional control. "Are you going to be rich?" asked Kenji, as someone finally broke the silence. "Ummm...The specialist we consulted said no at first," she said, "And then he said yes once he realized how big the place was, the lack of rent and where it was located. He said it would make make a ton of money." "Did you get a second opinion?" "Uh...No." "This is Mrs. Liu's project?" "She's making it happen if that's what you mean." "Text her and see if she got a second opnion. She probably did, but make sure." Julie pulled out her phone and texted Mrs. Liu. Julie: Hey, Mrs. Liu? Did you get a second opinion after Jimmy's? Just making sure that this is viable before we start building. Almost immediately, Julie received a text with an attachment. The attached document was titled, "Business Viability Assessment". Then two more similarly titled documents were texted to Julie as well. Mrs. Liu had been busy. Connie Liu: Yes. I contacted several experts last night for a rush job. They basically confirmed Jimmy's original assessment. There were people who were even more optimistic due to heavy Gridguide coverage, the high concentration of wealthy clients in the area as well as a number of marketing strategies which are detailed inside. This is most likely going to be a profitable project. And then a few seconds later she further added. Connie Liu: Remember to stay away from the north end exit. We're trying to get them to leave peacefully and see if anyone invited them or if they invited themselves. Julie: I will. Thank you. Julie put her commlink away and continued to walk with the group. "She got a few assessments," said Julie, "I'll take a look at them later." "Make sure to read them." "Don't you trust her?" "Look, I trust auntie," said Kenji, "She's auntie by the way now. Said yes when I woke up." "I'm glad for you." Kenji smiled at her and continued. "It's just a good habit for you to either check things yourself or have people you trust check things for you. Don't just blindly rely on people. That's a good way to lose everything." "Yeah, you're right," sighed Julie, "This is all just happening so fast." "Which is why you need to be on top of things," said Kenji, "We'll both talk to auntie, read over the findings and talk to some experts later." "You're being oddly helpful," said Julie. "You're about to make that money," said Kenji, "I want you to make that money, which is why you should talk to the right people." "Like you?" she asked. "Oh no," said Kenji, "I don't know anything about dentistry or running a business or whatever. I'm good at finding the right people though and finding the right people is a skill all its own." "That makes sense." "It's kind of weird though." "What's kind of weird?" asked Julie. Kenji shrugged. "I just didn't figure that you wanted to chase that money," said Kenji, "I figured you wanted to run a service or something. You know, something small time. Chasing that money doesn't seem very you, you know?" "I don't really care about money," said Julie, "That's not the point." "What's the point?" asked Kenji. She gestured with her free hand to the nearly empty corridors. "People need to work to eat," she said, "There's no work. Things were good over the summer but that's over, or at least for the moment. I'm told that there have been slumps before and they know how to handle them so no one is starving or getting forced out of their homes because things are different here. If this continues for much longer though then things will get worse, especially if Prop 23 passes. The money is to make sure the community survives. Mrs. Liu told me that an anchor store would solve a lot of problems and that Touristville has been looking for one for a long time." "And an anchor store does what?" "You know how one big store will have a bunch of little stores around it?" asked Julie, "Little stores that couldn't bring in business on their own?" "I guess so, yeah," said Kenji. "This is going to be the big store that brings people in..." she began. "...And all the little stores benefit." "Yeah, I think that's it." Julian sighed and Kenji looked back to him. They locked eyes for a moment and after a few significant glances then teen seemed to catch on to what Julian was trying to communicate. "Just so you know," said Kenji, "This is probably going to be dangerous." "Yeah, I gathered." "No," said Kenji, "I don't think you get it. You think you do, but you don't. Not your fault. It's just outside what you normally do." Julie looked at him coolly. "Then why don't you explain?" she asked. "Sure. There's an old saying. Mo money mo problems. When that nuyen rolls in you're going to get buried in problems." "You seem sure that it's going to make money." "Your apartment is getting torn down and Mrs. Liu is moving quick," said Kenji, "I'm from the ACHE. You get a feel for opportunity when it happens and sometimes it comes quick and springs up fast and you got to be on it or you'll lose it. Mo money mo problems though. My cousin talked about it a lot when he got successful. Doesn't matter high or low, you get people trying to drag you down, people who didn't know you pretending they do, people you did know now don't know you anymore, some people above you trying to stomp your fingers as you climb, some people above trying to give you a hand only to pick your pocket, how to keep from changing when that money comes in, how to stay safe, all that stuff. If you're successful, things are going to change and a lot of that isn't for better." "I don't care about the money though," said Julie. Kenji tilted his head, leaned in and shook it slowly at her. "Yeah, that doesn't matter, because other people do," said Kenji, "People are going to see a poor, young ork girl with a record, or at least who used to have a record, doesn't matter...Well they see her moving up and they think about what that says about them as you leave some people behind and approach others. You've got to think about how to protect yourself and that means taking this seriously. So I want you to repeat after me." Kenji cleared his throat. "Mo money mo problems." Julie figured she might as well entertain him. "More money more problems," repeated Julie. "You're making my ACHE self come out," said Kenji, exasperatedly, "You're not taking it seriously. Mo money mo problems." "I just said it though." "This isn't a thing you say just once," explained Kenji, "Until you get it, and I mean really get it, you're going to repeat it until you understand. And when something bad happens I'm going to look at you and you're going to say it so it sinks in." There was a pause as they continued walking. Kenji frowned at her. "So say it," said Kenji. "Uh...More money more problems," said Julie. "When people say they know when they don't and they hate you for it," he began A moment of hesitation and then she spoke. "More money more problems," she repeated. "And when people you know say they don't know you no more," he continued. "More money more problems." "And when the people you trust betray you." "I..." she began, but stopped. "It's going to happen," said Kenji, "You want to keep this place alive? Well there's people who will hate you for it. You're taking from someone else's rice bowl. They don't like that. They'll try and come at you through the people you trust. Now say it." Julie's insides squirmed, but she said it. "More money more problems," she whispered. "And when people come at you or the people you care about," he continued. "More money more problems," said Julie, her voice subdued. "And when people die," continued Kenji. Julie looked at him angrily, but Kenji wasn't kidding. "I've seen a man killed over two nuyen," he said, his voice cold, "You're loving with a land deal worth way, way more than that. If this was anywhere else? I'd say yeah, make that nuyen. All the ones and zeroes. Watch those numbers roll. But you're at the heart of money and you're loving with that money. People don't like it when you gently caress with the money, especially when they think it's their money." Kenji tilted his chin up and his eyes were cold and deadly serious. "And when you're isolated and you've got only a few people you can trust," he began, "When everyone else has their hand out or their middle fingers raised or they're holding that knife behind their back to put it in yours. When the real gangsters who run this poo poo, the kind who wear suits and ties and own everything see you trying to play. When people betray you. When people die. Mo money mo problems. That's what that means. It's the game and it's the same everywhere and you don't know how to play or even that you're about to start playing." Kenji let that linger for a moment. Chip squeezed Julie's hand and she took strength from him. Then Kenji's tone turned gentle" "So you take this place and you sell it to someone else who'll do the job and take that target off your back. You wash your hands and be thankful you never tried to be queen." "I don't want to be a queen," whispered Julie. "Mo money mo problems," he said, "If you're successful then that crown will find you." Julie shivered, blinked back a stray tear and set her jaw. She'd work through this and find a way because as far as she knew there was no one else to hand this off to. She looked away from Kenji, but the mantra sunk in. As she walked to the parking lot she repeated the phrase under hear breath. She'd been told what that meant, but being told and experience are very different things. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 01:28 on May 17, 2021 |
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Mar 19, 2021 00:47
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Some notes from rolling. Julie attempts to bypass the Spikes gang member at T-Ville's north end. He has info to give. Julie immediately fails 2 v 4. on etiquette. She's better at it now, but she only has charisma 5 and etiquette 3 (the etiquette recently upgraded). She gets no bonus from street cred as he does not know her. Julie does succeed on a perception roll of 3 and the rolls her gangs knowledge skill and gets a 2. His tats identify him as a member of the Spikes and she is able to head off trouble by talking to Mrs. Liu about it. She could have pushed it with another etiquette roll, but this would have had negative consequences if she failed. She could have tried intimidation, but that would have started a fight if she'd lost. Later, Kenji talks with Julie. I roll Kenji's judge intentions and he gets a 3 to read what Julian wants of him, which is to tell Julie that this is a bad idea. Kenji gives Julie a rundown on the philosophy of "mo money mo problems" and I do a little subtle characterization with how they say the same thing. Kenji attempts to convince her to hand the project off and fails 5 to 7. Julie rolls extremely well. I then roll composure, because this still hurts. What Kenji told her was disturbing. She crushes it with 6 hits out of a necessary 3. Julie understands that starting this up is necessary and does not know who should could possibly hand this off to. End scene.
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Mar 19, 2021 08:31
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Julie remembers Big Rita is coming (when was that again?)
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Mar 19, 2021 17:59
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Great update. Small editing things: "It was apparent that he did not look happy, but Julian hugged him anyway." Gender confusion. Julie and Julian have always been a little tricky in the same story with their pronouns, but I think that Julian is hugging Julie, not Julie hugging Julian. There was another small typo which was probably just voice to text, but I can't find it.
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Mar 19, 2021 19:15
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Julie, Fuzzy, Kenji, Julian, Chip and Sarah McDonald - Thursday, August 22nd, 2075 – Noon - Vashon Island An air taxi touched down and from it emerged three teens, one spirit, a teacher and a held succulent. They went to see the dreaded representative from child protective services. It had been a lucky thing that they’d started for their location an hour earlier as the first air taxi pad had been damaged by the riots and there had been a line. So they were expected to be on time instead of late, but they all still needed to rush. “Taxi!” called Julian. He held his commlink in the air to call a taxi, but he didn’t stop as he left the pad. They were on Vashon Island which was just south of Blake Island. This was a concession just in case Sasha was expected to leave as the lightly populated island, at least by Seattle standards, was considered safer compared to the metroplex. This was no longer a concern now that Sasha wasn’t here, though the fact that she wasn’t here was a concern in and of itself. Julie checked the time and it was now eleven-fifty. “Where do we need to be?” asked Julie. “It’s a little office,” said Julian, “It’s just down the road. My commlink says it’s eight minutes until a taxi gets here because the coverage out here is so spotty. We’re going to have to jog. Let’s go.” “Want me to speed everyone up?” asked Chip. “Please,” said Julian. Again, Chip sped everyone up. Four was about his limit for people he could speed up at a time, though that could grow with raw power. They needed to keep more or less together as Chip’s range wasn’t infinite. So as they followed a winding road which was the only road they saw with a sidewalk. As they moved they quickly passed through what were essentially the suburbs of the metroplex. Time slowed just a little and Julie felt what should have been a jog turn into a sprint. This held up for about five minutes until they found that sprint slow back down to a jog. “You’re moving too fast,” said Chip. Everyone turned around and Julie realized that the group was only as fast as their slowest member. Chip had taken Julian’s focus staff and after five minutes, Julian had stopped, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Everyone gathered around him. “We’ve got five minutes left,” said Fuzzy. She still held her succulent. It had been awkward to run with it, but she’d kept her gait smooth and she hadn’t even begun to sweat. Kenji looked fine as well, though Julie noticed that his eyes were different colors. He grinned at her. “Dog helps me run,” he said, “It feels pretty good.” Julie was starting to sweat and she had begun to tire out near the end and was both glad that she hadn’t been the first to stop and embarrassed for Julian that it’d been him. “Need to get in shape,” said Julian, as he caught his wind, “Too much teaching and not enough exercise.” He straightened, hands on hips, then looked to Fuzzy and then down at the weapon on her hip. “Give your weapon to Chip,” he said. “Uhhhh...Why?” asked Fuzzy. “I don’t think CPS would like it if you go in armed with a magical, transforming weapon into an interview,” explained Julian. “So that’d be bad,” said Fuzzy. “Yes,” he said patiently, “It would be bad.” She grumbled, but gave her spearknife in its “sheathed” form, essentially a blunt knife, to Chip, who took it and put it in his bag. “You okay, Chip?” asked Fuzzy. Chip raised the staff and spearknife high into the air. “I don’t have lungs!” he exclaimed, excitedly. Kenji cracked up. “Oh yeah, right,” said Fuzzy. “I wonder what it’s like to be out of breath,” wondered Chip. “Four minutes,” said Julie. “Let’s walk,” said Julian, “My map says it shouldn’t be too much further.” Julian hesitated, but then in AR, a red arrow dropped out of the sky just behind a treeline. “The office is just over there,” he said, “We should be able to walk the rest of the way. I don’t want to show up any sweatier than I already am. Though if you could speed us back up, Chip, I don’t mind a fast walk.” “Okay, sure,” said the spirit. The walk that they all took now was quick, but still identifiable as a walk. They came upon what Julie felt like was a village, or at least in the style. The space was dotted with rows of trees, there was a cafe, a brewery, a winery, a few restaurants and an open field. People were here and they went about their business in this public space. It struck her as odd, because Seattle really didn’t have many public spaces like this. Besides a few parks, space was at a premium. “Man,” said Kenji, “These people are just living their best life, huh?” The brewery’s outdoor section was about half full with people whose best life included pre-noon day drinking. A few people waved at the teens as they looked, which struck Kenji in particular as bizarre. “What are they doing?” asked Kenji. “They’re waving,” said Julian. “Yeah, I get that, but why? If I saw someone wave at me in the ‘plex I think they had a hustle going or wanted to mug me.” “People are friendly out here. Just wave back.” Reluctantly, they all waved save for Kenji who looked away. “I don’t think they need any moats,” said Chip. Everyone looked at him, but he shrugged. “I met a guy who builds moats,” he explained. “Okay, whatever,” said Kenji, “Let’s keep it moving.” Julie shook her head and kept moving. They had to take a side street, past a line of trees was a coffee shop named “Roy’s Roastery”. “Oh, is this like a coffee meeting?” asked Kenji. “What, actual coffee?” asked Julie. “Yeah,” said Kenji, “Just looked it up. I could go for some. I haven’t had real coffee in ages.” “No, it’s behind it,” said Julian, “Come on.” They passed by more people and onto a gravel road. About thirty feet behind the coffee shop was a dingy little prefab synthwood building that looked like the coffee shop had a particularly large shed or maybe a detached two car garage. “Wow, this isn’t sketchy at all,” said Kenji. “CPS isn’t exactly the most well funded,” said Julian, “And a lot of government buildings are closed due to the riot. This is the best place they’ve got on short notice.” “Nope,” said Kenji, “Not sketch at all.” There was no sign as to what its purpose was either in AR or in the physical world. There was only the arrow that Julie had set up to mark the place out, which now disappeared as Julian ended the program and wiped at his brow with his hand. “What’s the time?” asked Julian. He took his focus staff back from Chip. “Two minutes before noon,” said Julie, “We’re on time.” “Should’ve remembered to have a taxi waiting,” sighed Julian, “That’s what I get for only having three hours of sleep.” Julian tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Then he knocked. “I thought you got sleep at the hospital,” said Kenji. “I did,” he said, “Three hours worth. I had some things to read over last night and then someone woke me up early. I was hoping for four, but here I am. I’m going to order a coffee for myself, but I can’t leave, so Chip, would you mind picking it up?” “Can I try some?” asked Chip, “I’ve never had coffee.” “Two coffees,” said Julian, “And you said you wanted one, Kenji?” “Yeah, thanks. Maybe see if they got any pirouettes.” “What’re those?” asked Fuzzy. “Thin little cookies you put in coffee,” he explained, “They’re crunchy and chocolatey.” Julie really did want something chocolate, but she’d just eaten a huge meal last night at Mrs. Liu’s. “I’ll just have some mint tea,” said Julie. “I want a cookie,” said Fuzzy, “Oh, and maybe a sandwich. I’m hungry.” Julie loved her friend, but in this moment she quietly resented her as Julie wanted coffee and cookies and a sandwich. “A sandwich sounds good too,” said Kenji, “I am beyond hungry. Post surgery hungry.” “I’ll put in the order,” said Julian. Two minutes later, exactly on time, a taxi rolled down the gravel parking lot. Julian looked down at his commlink as it chirped at him. “Oh, my taxi finally showed up,” he said, with a sardonic grin, “Just gonna cancel that…” A caucasian woman, short and obese, with short and lank brown hair framing a round face stepped out of the car. She wore a red sweater, black slacks and a pair of black soft sole wedge heel shoes. “Excellent, excellent,” she said, her voice high and a little nasally, “Right on time. Thank you for coming, thank you. We’re on a tight schedule. Very tight. Please follow me.” She reached into her pocket, retrieved a maglock keycard and slipped it into the slot. The door’s maglock beeped and it unlocked the door. Then she opened the door and pocketed her card. “Come, come,” she said, “I’m Sarah McDonald, your caseworker from Child Protective Services. I’m sorry that we have to meet under these sorts of circumstances, but here we are.” A young, human man with light skin in a colorful barista's outfit walked quickly towards the outbuilding, gravel crunching under his shoes. Julie was confused because he only seemed to be carrying a single cup of coffee. Though this made sense when Sarah McDonald reached out one pudgy hand. “Here you are, Ms. McDonald,” said the man. “Thank you,” she said, “Give my regards to the owner.” He nodded and headed back while at the same time she turned and noisily slurped from the cup of coffee. Then she smacked her lips and then without talking to anyone in particular, she spoke. “Whenever I work out of this office I get a coffee,” she said, “It’s so wonderful to be appreciated.” She waddled inside. Julie detected a kind of manic edge to her and wondered at how she was doing. So she opened her sight to the astral and was taken aback when she saw a spirit floating behind the woman. Not a normal spirit, nothing dangerous, but one of the messenger spirits called watchers. This one looked like a thin, sickly humanoid with a bird’s head and it was about two feet tall. It wore a burlap sack and had crow’s wings growing out of its back, though the wings didn’t flap. Instead it glided or hovered in midair. Unlike most spirits, watcher spirits don’t fight or cast spells. They tended to act as messengers or as surveillance. Upon being noticed, the spirit materialized, looked at Julie and flew into the building as everyone else walked in. Spirits were commonplace enough at school that this didn’t really startle anyone. “Ah, you noticed. Please mind the watcher spirit,” called Ms. McDonald, “Completely standard when dealing with awakened cases. It is obviously not mine as I am not awakened, but it is here for your protection to ensure that no one accuses any of you of using magic on me to influence my decisions.” “I see, okay,” said Julie, “That makes sense.” They all walked into a simple waiting room with a few dusty chairs and a simple synthwood coffee table. “Oh, what a lovely specimen of watcher,” said Julian, his tone intruigued, “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen an American Goldfinch as a head, but it’s got the wings of a crow. How fascinating.” “Oh uh...Yes,” said Ms. McDonald, “I was told you were an academic Mr. Smith.” Ms. McDonald looked at the watcher spirit and it faded back into the astral. “Oh, just call me Julian,” he said. He extended his free hand to her. She hesitated, but reluctantly took it. “I was just marveling at the spirit is all,” he said, blithely, “Now, I know everything is on the up and up, but I do know a thing or two about watchers and their link to their summoners. I assume that this one has had their link severed so we don’t have any prying eyes? I just want to confirm that before we go any further.” “Oh yes, of course,” she said, “It’s all very standard.” “Oh good,” he said, “I’ll just confirm that for myself.” “Please do not use magic!” she exclaimed, “You’ll taint the entire process!” Julian halted, frowned in thought and then smiled at her. “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” he said, “It’s so sad that we can’t just trust one another.” Ms. McDonald relaxed and gave Julian a helpless shrug. “If there was anything I could do, I’d assist you,” she assured, “But the process is the process and it’s for everyone’s best interest.” “I suppose that’s so,” said Julian, “So you won’t mind if I question it without magic.” “Um wait…” “Spirit!” called Julian. He tapped his focus staff on the ground twice. The spirit appeared in front of Julian in midair. “I don’t think…” babbled Ms. McDonald, “Mr. Smith. Please. Think of the…” “You know,” said Julian, as he spoke over her, “That my teacher's voice and the voice I use to call spirits is basically the same voice? Spirits just respond to me when I call them.” He turned away from her and to the spirit. “Oh spirit,” said Julian, his tone friendly, “Is your link with your summoner truly severed?” The watcher spirit blinked stupidly and then after a few moments and then shook its head side to side. “The...The process...” sputtered Miss McDonald, lamely. “Oh my,” sighed Julian, “Someone is watching. I can’t imagine this is legal. Ms. McDonald, do you know the summoner of this spirit?” “Oh oh...Um...I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea,” she fumbled. “Oh, not a problem,” said Julian, “Watcher spirits are simple spirits and they cannot lie if asked in the correct way. The entire process has been tainted and since you don’t know I can ask the spirit so you can record who summoned this spirit in order to reprimand them. Then when I’ve confirmed the identity of the…” The watcher spirit suddenly vanished. Julie checked the astral. The spirit wasn’t just gone, but it had been banished. It hadn’t been a violent process, but a dismissal, which had meant that the summoner had been listening, probably panicked and then didn’t want to be identified even though Julie wasn’t sure if that was possible. Watcher were pretty dumb, but apparently so was the summoner. Julian had bluffed the summoner into dismissing their own spirit. “Oh, that’s odd,” said Julian, his voice full of confusion, “The spirit was banished? No, it was dismissed by their summoner. That shouldn’t be possible unless they were listening in and didn’t want to be…” As he trailed off, his face went from naive and friendly to confused and then it became a deep frown. That frown was turned on Ms. McDonald and the master shaman’s grip on his focus staff tightened and the wood softly creaked under the pressure. “Kids,” said Julian, carefully, without turning away from her, “I want you to go to the coffee shop and wait for me. Except for you, Chip. Would you mind staying?” “Uh, sure,” he said. “Good,” said Julian, “Just take a seat and don’t move unless you have to.” Chip did so. At the same time, Julian’s eyes glazed over and his AR contacts lit up as he connected to the matrix. “Miss McDonald, this is all too much. I’m contacting my lawyer.” His grip tightened on the staff and his knuckles popped and cracked. “Would you be so good as to stay with me?” he asked, “I’m sure that this is some big misunderstanding.”” Miss McDonald’s eyes were wide and she stayed very still. “I-I-I no...No...No...I didn’t. I mean...I-I didn’t know...I-I mean...M-Misunderstanding...Yes, of course...” stuttered Miss McDonald. For her part, Julie stared at Ms. McDonald and tried to read her aura. Reading auras frequently required subtelty and plenty of interpretation, but it was easy to see the black terror squirming around in her. Fuzzy glared at Miss McDonald, her fists balled up. Kenji looked bored. Chip watched them all, statue still and unblinking. “Come on,” said Kenji, “Let’s go get coffee.” “I’m not going anywhere,” said Fuzzy, angrily. Fuzzy began to radiate menace, but Kenji put her hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine,” said Kenji, “This is a big misunderstanding and we’ll only make it messier if we stay. Grab your plant and let's go.” Fuzzy obviously didn’t believe Kenji and as she looked at the cringing civil servant, she decidedly turned her back on Miss McDonald and stood still for a good ten seconds, her arms folded. This was the Puyallup way of showing open disrespect. That someone wasn’t a threat or worth acknowledging. Then Julie realized that Fuzzy probably didn't want to turn around, but had put her plant on the coffee table. Once Julie picked it up Fuzzy opened the door and left. Kenji looked back to Julie. “It’s fine,” said Kenji, “Come on.” Julie turned to face him, but before she could talk he gave her a significant glance. She nodded and they both began to leave as well. Kenji closed the door, but not all the way. He held it open and listened through the crack as Julian spoke. “Hey Spencer,” said Julian, “Yeah, it’s Julian. I think we’ve had some sort of incident at a CPS meeting. Uh huh...Yeah. I need you down here immediately. And could you send a neutral bonded awakened to investigate? Uhhh...Actually, make it two...No, three. From different firms. I want to eliminate any potential bias. Yeah...Yeah, those ones sound good.” Kenji finally closed the door with a soft click. “What’s happening?” whispered Fuzzy. “Maybe we shouldn’t...” whispered Julie. “We’re going to go get that coffee,” said Kenji, loudly, “Hey, did you catch that new Neil the Ork Barbarian trid?” “But someone just tried to spy on us,” complained Fuzzy, “And they did a really bad job of it.” Kenji frowned at Fuzzy, but Julie had picked up on what Kenji was trying to do. “I haven’t seen it,” said Julie, slowly, “Can we rent it? I think this is going to take a little while.” “Yeah,” said Kenji, who cracked a yawn, “Woo, tired. You think you’d get good sleep when you’re put under for surgery, but that shows what I know. Let’s get lunch and a coffee and watch a trid while we wait.” Julie and Fuzzy followed Kenji while Julian and Chip waited for a lawyer and magical investigators to show up. There was an outdoor trid tank which Kenji got them to play the newest Neil and they sat in plasteel patio chairs near a stone fire pit. The prices were outrageous, especially to Fuzzy and Julie. Soykaf was king in Seattle and real coffee was definitely a luxury that started at thirty nuyen for a small. “I’m not that hungry,” said Julie, “I can wait.” “Julian said to eat, so eat,” said Kenji, “I do not get food this good at school so I’m taking advantage of it. If you really want to starve then I can’t stop you, but I’m looking at real coffee and the right side of the menu.” “What’s the right side of the menu?” asked Fuzzy. “Oh, that’s where the good stuff is,” explained Kenji. So it was that Fuzzy got herself a soda as she wasn’t a fan of soykaf or the sip she took of Kenji’s coffee and some chicken soup and a roast beef sandwich. Julie had tea and a veggie club sandwich though she didn’t touch it. Kenji had coffee and started with smoked salmon and avocado on strips of rye and a cheese danish. Meanwhile, they rented Neil the Ork Barbarian: Unbowed, Unbent and Unchained watched it on an outdoor trid tank. The staff had been reluctant at first, but then had become nothing but accommodating once Kenji flashed a silver credstick and mentioned a hefty tip. Julie noticed that they just so happened to all be facing the gravel road and were in sight of the front door of the prefab. The trid began to play and showed a long, panning shot of bleak, desert scrubland. A narrator began to speak. “The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the barren land which dominates large portions of the Theran empire.” “What is this?” asked Julie. “Neil the Ork Barbarian,” said Kenji, “It’s dumb fun. Don’t worry about it.” The narrator continued talking. “It looks pretty dumb,” said Julie, reluctantly. “The dumber the better. Trust me.” “But…” “Just pay attention to the trid,” said Kenji. He pointed past the trid and at the road and Julie understood. They were going to watch the road and the prefab building. The trid was meant to look distracting, but not be distracting. So she pretended to watch the trid with Kenji. "Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian", gasped a poorly costumed soldier. "Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!" returned Neil the ork barbarian. Neil was dressed in loincloth clad and carried a two handed double headed axe. His body rippled with ridiculous amounts of muscle that was enhanced by equally ridiculous amounts of body oil. The story, casting, acting, costuming, camera work and so much more was all terrible, but at least the fight choreography and special effects were excellent. This was demonstrated by a four minute long one take fight scene as Neil dispatched poorly dressed soldier after poorly dressed soldier. As the scene ended the barbarian’s greataxe bit deep into the shoulder of the final poorly dressed soldier. High pressure blood fountained from the wound and covered Neil’s body in fake blood. “Whoa,” said Fuzzy, “This is just like my LARP.” So it was that they watched the road and the prefab while pretending to watch the trid. Kenji ordered dish after dish and kept eating and Julie kept her emotional connection with Chip open just in case. A taxi drove down the gravel road, dropped someone off and they went inside. Julie checked with Chip and everything was tense, but normal. The taxi left and came back several times and Julie was sure that it was the same taxi dropping people off over and over again. As time passed and the trid flick continued to play, Fuzzy was absolutely engrossed in the orksploitation sword and sorcery style film. An hour and a half of tense waiting later as the credits rolled, Julie got an emotional nudge from Chip. It was a feeling of finality that signaled that something was over. “Oh man,” said Fuzzy, “That was great. Did you see the way the bad guy sorcerer guy’s head got lopped off and then caught on fire after Neil finally figured out how to make his magic axe work?” “Yeah, it was pretty cool,” said Kenji. “What’d you think, Julie?” “Ummm…” began Julie, who hadn’t paid attention at all, “It was okay…” “I want a flaming axe,” said Fuzzy, excitedly, “Or I could magic up my spearknife I guess. So I could have a fiery spear or an icy knife or an electric bo staff…” While Fuzzy continued to rave about the movie, Julie nudged Kenji and looked over at the prefab. The taxi was called back and right on time, Julian and Chip exited with Ms. McDonald and a number of other people who Julie assumed were lawyers and investigators. They’d gotten there fast. And now, with the scene all quiet, Julie looked down at Kenji’s latest plate. If they’d been allowed to build up they would have been stacked high. “You eat enough?” she asked. “Oh, you’re right, I should get a cookie to go or something.” Julie rolled her eyes. Kenji grinned. “I had a pudding cup after I woke up in the hospital,” he explained, “There was other stuff, but I had zero appetite until about an hour ago. And I had basically nothing for twelve hours before my surgery. So yeah, I got hungry.” “How can you be hungry?” asked Julie. “Oh, after surgery?” he asked, as he smoothed over her misstep, “The drugs wore off. Then my stomach is growling.” Julian and Chip got into the taxi, drove up and opened the doors. “I hope you enjoyed your meal,” said Julian, “I just wired the funds. Now get in. We’re heading back home.” Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 14:05 on Mar 20, 2021 |
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Mar 20, 2021 13:46
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Rolls: So there were four things to notice about the meeting. The person with the highest roll notices. 1. This was in a prefab building. Semi-sketchy. Kenji notices with 4 hits. This is sketchy. Yes there is a good reason for using a prefab building. There was just a riot and government buildings were closed down. But the place is a weird, unmarked building on a gravel road behind a coffee shop. So it doesn't look like a deathtrap, but it's weird. 2. Sarah McDonald does not look like a CPS worker. Yes she looks like a bureaucrat, but she is a social worker that works exclusively with children under an arch-conservative administration in her fourth year. This is something only Julian would notice and he does with a instruction roll (he has 20 dice minus one for being a little tired from the run) and gets 6 hits to her impersonation skill of 4. If Sarah McDonald was a real social worker in a cyberpunk dystopia under an arch-conservative administration she should really look beyond burnout and be in grim, death march mode. I'll talk about this next update. 3. Julie notices the watcher spirit with 2 hits on assensing. Technically Julian had a higher roll, but I wanted Julie to have some spotlight time here. 4. If the watcher spirit could talk it probably couldn't describe its summoner, but Julian caused it to present itself to him with a leadership roll of 6, which was high enough that I consider that a crit. Julian bluffs the summoner of the watcher spirit 5 hits to 3 and causes the summoner who watched all of that to unsummon his spirit, giving away the game. However, nothing is learned. I roll impersonation for Julian to see if his cover as a naive educator is blown in secret. Snacks and drinks are had while watching a schlocky Neil the Ork Barbarian film. Kenji posts up and watches the front door with Julie while pretending to watch the trid. So passes the easy first swipe at Julie to steal her property by seizing custody. It ends in a failure for whomever took that swipe. End scene. Everyone gets 2 karma Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 14:12 on Mar 20, 2021 |
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Mar 20, 2021 14:03
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Ice Phisherman posted:"Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian", gasped a poorly costumed soldier. Yay, literal Eye of Argon dialog! 
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Mar 20, 2021 14:11
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Yond Cassius posted:Yay, literal Eye of Argon dialog! I'm glad someone noticed.
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Mar 20, 2021 14:12
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