12 | Location: Taxon Mall, The Bazaar, and later: The Dodgy Jammer | One Stage of Grief

[electro_girl]

When normal people experience loss, they might mope around their house or drown their sorrows in a half-dozen cocktails at some dive bar. If you're in Taxon, the traditional approach is sending out a broadcast announcing what, or who, is gone and soak up the condolences.

But Gwen Raiden has never once considered herself "normal", nor "traditional."  And neither, for that matter, did Party Poison. Boy was the epitome of going against the grain.

Lately, people have been coming and going, but she hoped Party Boy's absence was just like the last time, and that he'd suddenly appear on the shores of the beach, or in the middle of a playground, or something. But no dice. The Killjoy was gone, She hoped wherever he went was a hell of a lot better than this.

But meanwhile, Gwen's stuck here, feeling like she lost a good friend. It's a new feeling, and not particularly nice. This is why she doesn't have friends. Who wants to feel like this? It sucks. It's a lot easier to watch people leave when you don't give a damn. And she's dealing with her loss in the healthiest way possible.

Stealing.

It feels good. It feels like an extra little screw you to the aliens. She's not even being to slick about it. She's good at not getting caught, but what does she care? Party Boy would love the rebellion, after all. Maybe she should have treated him better, shouldn't have thrown him out of her house, and now she kind of feels like she's paying him homage. Call the sheriff, call the big men in green and fur suits, send her to some spit of land in the middle of nowhere. Send her an army of hamsters with pitchforks. She could use a good roast. In the meantime? You'll see her cruising the Taxon Mall and then later, the Bazaar, stashing away the occasional trinket and strolling away in smooth, long strides, ignoring any bleating Extras because Party hated them anyway, and because she doesn't give a damn.

. . . At the end of the day though, she does end up at a bar. Go figure.

[OOC: Run into her wherever you like. This odyssey takes place throughout the day and ends at the bar at night.]

Comments

[At the end of the daaaaaaay]

[imperial_long]

He slips into the bar quietly, a dark man in dark clothes; the Dodgy Jammer's shadows are kind to him.

She is at the bar, drowning her sorrows to use a cliché. Long thinks he knows why-- he only recently brought the wonders of a strong whiskey (and inadequate words) to Glitch after DG's passing, and Long has not been ignorant of the missing dot of Party Poison-- of the absence of a head of too-bright hair from his library-- of a return to Queen's English unmarred by the presence of such terms as motorbaby and crashqueen.

He moves to Gwen's elbow (although not too close unless she reflexively spin and stick her charged hand into the face of whoever approaches her).

" 'Gone. The saddest word in the language. In any language'," he quoted, quietly.

[electro_girl]

She smiles lightly--and not a little sadly--at the familiar soft voice, cradling her martini in black-gloved hands. She lowers her head a little, not looking at him and not needing to, and nods. Leave it to Mayland Long to have some wise quote on hand.

"Why, Mr. Long, whatever do you mean?" she jests, though unable to keep the sadness from her voice that makes it clear her heart just isn't in it.

[imperial_long]

He doesn't answer at once, having a seat on the bar stool next to hers and motioning the bartender over.

"Teacher's, thank you; you had probably best bring the bottle," he says to the Extra, and laces his long fingers together on the bar top.

He doesn't pretend to be fooled by Gwen's jest.

"The city is rather grayer for his absence, isn't it," he murmurs.

[electro_girl]

She won't even attempt to continue any attempt to play coy. Somebody else in this city besides Party knows Gwen more than she'd like.

She stirs around her drink a little bit. "It is," she agrees with no trace of jest or dishonesty. "You'd think they'd have kicked him out after he started throwing bombs at the robots. Not when he's being a good boy, making no waves."

[imperial_long]

"I have long since given up trying to make sense of their methodology," Long answers with a sigh.

His whiskey arrives, one bottle and one glass. Long lifts it and has an slow sip, holding in his mind's eye the memory of a shock of magenta hair, filthy fingernails, a love of comic books.

"We ought do something in tribute," he muses.

"....well, that is to say, I ought," Long amends guiltily. "You were already doing so. That was a charming little fan you took from the psuedo-Japanese stall at the Bazaar."

[electro_girl]

She grins at him briefly, and gives a little fluid shrug, turning her legs slightly toward him so as to better face him. A party for Party? She shakes her head at the notion before realizing she never spoke the thought out loud.

"Damn. And I thought I was so stealthy." She flags down the bartender for another Redcoat. "It was overpriced," she says back to Long. "You want it?"

[imperial_long]

"You did not," Long corrects with a little snort. "You were-- you were flaunting." Yes, he thinks that's the correct word for her brazen thefts, gestures serving as defiance.

A little shrug at her offer of the fan. "I suppose I could put it on the wall. My new dwellings have very little decoration yet. Save for your dragon," he says with a small, amused smile.

Long's own thoughts had not run to a party, although if Gwen suggests it he will not be opposed. But in himself he's just not that extroverted.

"Tell me. Do you know how to pick locks?"

[electro_girl]

"Maybe," she concedes with a nod. Whatever it was, it was a wasted effort. She threw Azkadellia under the bus at that jewelry store in the mall so she could escape security, which was easy enough. One little shopkeeper in the bazaar tried to chase her, but all she did was duck down an alleyway to evade him, and that was the oldest trick in the book. Extras.

"Needless to say, I probably shouldn't show my face there for awhile." A pause, as she considers. "Or maybe I will. Test their long-term memory. Maybe provoke Taxon's law enforcement to show their faces and have a go at me."

She shrugs, as if all of this is just child's play to her. Because it is.

And when Long asks her about picking locks, she can't help but be delightfully curious. "Off the record? What do you think?" She smirks. "Typically in this business I do my job and don't ask questions, but, tell me. What would an...enlightened, law-abiding man such as yourself need to know about such a thing?"

[imperial_long]

"You wish to draw out that, how shall we call him? Their watchdog?" Long asks, brows arching eloquently.

"I applaud the sentiment but I doubt the efficacy. But you must do as you see fit."

He curled his strange fingers around his glass and sipped at the whiskey, then slouched on the bar, head lower than the glass which he held up in one hand, peering through the amber liquid and turning it in his fingers.

His lips twitched at her words, then spread slowly into a broad, white smile.

"Oh, my dear, dear Miss Raiden, I am not enlightened. If I were I would not be here," he said with absolute conviction. Taxon, he was very certain, was a necessary step on the path towards enlightenment, but no creature who had achieved attainment would be forced to dwell in such illusion. And suffering. And be confronted with loss.

"Nor am I always law-abiding, but either way, I consider that the picking of locks is both a useful skill and one that Party-- were he here-- would find a fitting tribute as well. Yes?"

[electro_girl]

She thinks on that one for a bit. She doesn't necessary want to draw out their watchdog. But she doesn't fear it, either. Gwen is the epitome of indifference, so she only shrugs a non-answer. If he comes, he comes, and Gwen won't go down without a fight.

"Not a bad sales pitch," she says, raising an eyebrow at him appreciatively. Yes, Party would approve. Isn't that what this entire day is about? Who is Gwen to decline him? "I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed. I thought you were going to hire me." She got that more than she got any request for thief-mentoring, and it catches her a bit off-guard. "I have half a mind to make you sign a non-compete clause," she continues playfully. "But yes, Mr. Long. If you want? I'd love to show you."

[imperial_long]

Long laughs in answer. "But my desires are really very mundane things, Gwen!

"Should the aliens see fit to manifest a book of poetry from the Qin dynasty, and put it behind bars, I solemnly swear that I will posthaste engage your services. Should they place a crate of Lapsang Souchong leaves in some guarded compound, I will immediately summon your most excellent self. Goodness, if they place philosophical reconciliation with the universe inside a jar, behind barbed wire and steel doors-- why, I shall swear over my services past, present, and future to you without hesitation if it will procure your larcenous abilities!"

He grins into his glass at his own supremely absurd litany, eyes gleaming golden with humour. Another sip-- the whiskey is quite good; either he has lost the ability to tell the difference or they have improved their imitations. No matter.

He waves one hand in dismissal of his own words. "Until then, I am sorry, but I have nothing that needs stealing. You will have to philosophically reconcile yourself to that disappointment."

He has what he wanted though-- her promise that she will teach him-- and he is pleased, which shows in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

"Splendid. I have read a few books on such in the past but never gotten around to the practical applications. Such endeavours are better undertaken with a master."

Despite himself he remembers Yung Chung-Jo. I am not to be your master. Your master has to be stronger than you are-- has to tell you you are a fool and make you to know it. And make you feel content in being a fool. How could I do that for you? I'm old. You are too strong for me; you are full of chi.

On Yung's words he'd crossed the ocean, seeking a sage, a teacher.

He somehow doubts that Gwen Raiden is what the old man had had in mind. Or that lockpicking is the route to enlightenment.

Still.

He has another drink.

[electro_girl]

As he talks, Gwen signals to the bartender to set down another drink, and remains pretty amused at the little light in Long's eyes as he barrels through his eloquent Longian polysyllabic ramble. He's right. If there was anything here worth a planned heist, she would be all over that. But her line of work fell pretty flat in Taxon, she'd learned that soon enough.

In the meantime? A little practice goes a long way, just to keep herself in shape. Picking lots was pretty much as basic as basic got, but she's never had anyone ask to learn before.

"Hands-on trumps books every time," she agrees as the bartender places the drink down. "I learned at this stuffy little boarding schoolin Wisconsin my parents packed me off to. I had my own digs on my own floor, on account of my condition. Lots of time to myself, so naturally I found all sorts of ways to pass the time."

She smiles with a clouded mixture of bitterness and fondness. "Learning's almost more fun than mastering. When you're learning, there's at least one more thing to get better at."

[imperial_long]

"I do enjoy learning," Long admits. As if one couldn't tell.

He rotates his glass on the bar's counter, one elbow in a suit jacket propping himself up.

"Boarding school," he echoes. "What an appalling-sounding invention. Doubly so in Wisconsin."

He's never actually been to Wisconsin, and has concocted a possibly unfair impression of the place that revolves mostly around cheese.

[electro_girl]

"Thorpe's Academy," she muses, shaking her head. It's about time for another sip, and she savors it. It's a little stronger than she'd like, but she'll deal.

"I got out of there as soon as I could. Los Angeles was a lot more..."

New. Different. Greedy.

"Open-minded?" She shrugs, as if that's not quite what she was going for. Whatever, it's no matter. "So you never answered my question, Mr. Long. Don't think I didn't notice." A pause and an expectant look. "Is this desire for a new skill just to pass the time?"

[imperial_long]

"Coastal cities always are. The salt of the ocean has an eroding effect upon the institutions of regional thought," Long says, pretending not to notice it wasn't the ward she really wanted.

He has another swallow of his own whiskey. He'd developed a taste for it on coming to America-- not that one could not find the full gamut of Asian liquors in San Francisco, everything from sake to huadiao jiu, but.... when in Rome.

"Mostly to pass the time," he admits. "Partly because I do think Party would approve. But there is nothing in particular-- no lockbox or door-- that I am trying to open, if that is what you are asking.

"I like puzzles, Gwen. Whether word-puzzles or logic-puzzles or mechanical-puzzles. Locks fit into the latter category."

[electro_girl]

She smiles because yes, that was what she was asking. Truthfully, she might have been more surprised if he did have something in mind to access, but then again, Long had a way of keeping Gwen on her toes when it came to her assumptions. She could get a good read on him now and then, but most of the time the man kept his cards close to the chest, where not even she could see.

But no, apparently one of those surprises doesn't include a planned theft, and though Gwen is a little disappointed, she gives a yielding little nod of acceptance and a faint knowing smile. A puzzle man, really? Never would've guessed...

"Fair enough," she says softly. "Happy to exercise your mind, then.

[imperial_long]

"You are exceedingly gracious, then," Long says with another wave of one hand, and has another swallow from his glass. Problematically this seems to empty his glass.

This puzzle at least is easily solved; he grasps the bottle and pours a second.

"How did you get into theft professionally, when you moved to Los Angeles? I cannot imagine it is the sort of career one presents one's curriculum vitae for."

[electro_girl]

"I got my first job when I got caught, actually," she says, thinking back on it with a little smile. What? She loves telling a good story.

"I was young. Not as careful. And hungry. The guy didn't dress too well for the fancy digs he lived in--that I was too desperate to notice. So I watched the guy for a week. Saw when he got his morning paper, when he left for work and when he came back. One day I disabled his fancy pants computer alarm system and slipped right on in. Turns out, the guy who owned the place was some rich hermit and the guy I'd scoped out was just his brother."

Another sip. "Mm," she says into her glass. "He at least had the decency of letting me fill up my little sack of goodies before surprising me. I guess he was impressed I'd gotten through his alarm. When he saw what I could do..." She shrugs. It was all uphill from there. "That was my big break. Word got around, and I got good. Then I got better. With some of the clients who hired me, you had to be worth every million."

By the time her story finishes, she sees that his glass is full again, and can't decide if it's been that way since the start, or that he's drunk another full glass. Either way, she clearly needs to catch up. She calls over the bartender.

[imperial_long]

Long listens. He likes stories and he likes Gwen and that would be enough, but he's also inherently curious.

And he's from the 1980s, so while he's learned quite a lot about later times from Taxon, some of what Gwen is saying is a little bit lost on him.

"How do you disable a computer alarm system?" he asks with several blinks at Gwen, brows arching up and down in interest and with rather more animation than happens when he is strictly sober. "Is there a methodology for this or is it simply-- zzzzap!"

(He does the onomatopoeia rather enthusiastically.)

"Of what does a computer alarm system consist? Computers are only beginning to be a thing for my world you see, at least on a, a, a, commercial scale."

[electro_girl]

"For me?" She smiles--more at his cute little imitation than anything--and makes a little motion with her hand, though it's safely gloved. "Just a quick zap. But that doesn't mean there's no methodology. I can either fry the thing, or get it to let me in. I can control electrical particles on a subatomic level, you see. That way, I can manipulate the device myself, and get in and out without anyone knowing I'm there."

A pause, because, okay, she's misleading her friend a little bit. "Of course that first time, I just fried it. I got a handle on that other stuff later. That stuff is pretty complex, I'm sure you can imagine. Any alarm might be different. Video surveillance, motion sensors on doors and windows, vibration sensors in case someone breaks the glass...

"By the time I'm up and running, Mr. Long, the world loves their technology. It makes them feel safe."

[imperial_long]

Cheek resting on one hand, eyes fixed on Gwen, nodding here and there as she explains more of how her lightning works. He thinks of storm clouds that night in Honan, of the driving rain and the rolling boom of thunder.

His mind is prone to flights of intricate imagination even without glasses of whiskey in him. As it is, he listens to her words and constructs a fancy of the lightning striking (although he distantly knows that did not happen; there would have been scorch marks, Yung Chung-Jo's body would have been burnt) the brilliant length of him, and lightning transforming him on a subatomic level, electricity arcing through his molecules and changing and rewriting until he was not what he had been.

Lightning destroys and creates, and not even the xian live forever.

Her words of technology making people feel safe make him laugh, an abrupt, deep laugh that sounds a touch like rolling thunder in its own right.

"So it has always been! From copper knives to the first guns in Sichuan. Man builds marvelous toys and thinks he is safe because of the works of his hands. Illusion. All illusion.

"For this man you were the lesson sent by the Buddha that his computer-safety was illusion. I imagine you have taught this same revelation to many others," Long says with a white smile that broadens the more he thinks on this. It's very funny.

"Actually you would be an instrument of enlightenment multiple times over. First in the stripping away of the deceit of safety! And then reminding them that attachment and desire creates suffering, when they realize their valuables are gone."

There's no judgment or censure in Long's animated tones, just deep humour. He curls his free hand around his glass and lifts it again.

[electro_girl]

"Enlightenment."

She shrugs, watching him with some amusement, not that she's taking any of his words to heart. "If only everyone else could see things that way. I'm not robbing them, I'm freeing them from their bonds of materialism."

She takes another sip, smiling through her glass, feeling its warmth tingle in her face. Not bad.

Gwen casts him a mischievous look. "Would it break your heart if I told you I'm just in it for the money?"

[imperial_long]

He grins in answer to her sly look. "Not at all! You do not need to be aware that the universe is using you for a purpose to still perform that purpose. This is a lesson my ego and I am still learning."

Mayland Long ponders the depths of amber liquid left in his glass and the presumed cosmic truths contained therein. He rotates the glass with one hand.

"The beauty of enlightenment is you don't need to find it in this lifetime. We have many lives ahead of us, and behind us, and all things, even Taxon, are transitory...."

He sighs, and drinks. "Ummmm. I should probably not drink and philosophize. Not at the same time, at least. Alcohol is a great poison and I am very sorry that I ever made its acquaintance. Here, permit me to save you from such error in a spirit of, of, of compassion for all living beings."

This said with a white smile as he attempts to swipe Gwen's own glass away from her.

[electro_girl]

"Oh no, please, go on," she urges with a grin and a few exaggerated hand gestures. "I mean all I'm hearing is blah, blah, enlightenment, blah, but it's soothing, really. Like classical music."

Her reaction time is definitely halted a little bit, but her instinct kicks in. Instinct for what, she doesn't even know, because within a second she's reaching for the glass...and then jerks it away-- and in doing so, knocks over the drink--as if his hand is on fire.

Not his. Hers.

But it isn't until the martini glass spills over onto the counter that she realizes it was nothing but blind instinct--she still has her gloves on. Of course she does, she always does. Especially with Long. What the hell was she thinking? She just spazzed, like seeing a spider on your arm and gasping and slapping it away only to realize it was just a piece of lint. "Sorry," she says to Long, a little awkwardly. "Sorry," she repeats to the bartender, who's now looking at her.

Maybe he was right about the drinking.

[imperial_long]

Reactions, and reactions...

Gwen doesn't think hers through, and neither does he-- normally he might will himself to stillness but in the moment his body is operating with delayed higher-thought responses. All the flesh knows is that this woman has hurt him before.

Long draws back with the speed of a snake from the toppling glass and Gwen's own motion, twisting into a position on the bar stool that is half-a-crouch and would probably be comically ridiculous (especially given that so-prim business suit he is wearing) if not for the fact that his white teeth are bared, not in a smile, but in something more animal than that, and his eyes are quite wide, bright and golden. One hand is flat on the bar top, fingers spread like a bird of prey's.

For a few seconds the very awkward moment holds in the wake of Gwen's apology, no sound but the faint sound of drops of booze hitting the floor.

Long relaxes. Carefully he reverses the instinctive motion, foot sliding back off the bar stool, returning to the floor, upper body turning to face the bar again, instead of facing off with Gwen in a fight-or-flight response.

He clears his throat.

"You have nothing to apologise for. I should not have reached for your drink. I intruded into, how does one say, your personal space. The fault is mine."

Yes, this isn't awkward at all.