taxonomites | 04 | Location: Osten/Taxon Forest | From the shadow that's creeping up behind you

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04 | Location: Osten/Taxon Forest | From the shadow that's creeping up behind you

You know that nagging feeling that there's something you have to do? It's not like forgetting to turn the stove off or lock the door before you leave the house. It sucks a little less. It's like having a to-do list sitting on the kitchen table, and every time you walk through the room, you get a glimpse of that one little last item. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, I'll do it tomorrow. And tomorrow turns into next Friday, and Friday turns into a new year resolution.

Talk to Party. She hadn't spoken with him much since his little extra bombing spree or his stint in jail. He probably wasn't too thrilled about her leaving him in the dust, but if she were to go back, she'd . . . probably do the same thing. She'd managed to go a couple decades without getting caught, and she wasn't about to start now. Maybe she'd have to give him a few pointers about doing the crime and not doing the time.

When she'd finally run out of excuses to avoid him, she sought him out on the tablet and made her away across the city. She could have called him, sure, but what fun would that be? So she dressed in black spandex, braided her hair down her back, and tracked him down to the center of the Taxon Forest. Thankfully, the trek was less Blair Witch than she thought, although she was relieved when she saw the back of his red-headed self.

He would be gathering fresh food in the dead of night. Probably thought he'd fly under the radar. His feet made rustling noises on the ground and she occasionally saw his eyes flash this way and that--likely for any followers. Gwen felt that slight rush of excitement--kind of what she felt before taking out an armed guard or taking that first step into freedom after stealing whatever juicy prize she'd been hired to snag--and made her way up a nearby tree just so she was almost right above him. She strapped herself in, tied the rope around the branch, and when Party Poison approached, she hung upside down and lowered herself like a spider in the darkness.

"Hey there, stranger. Long time, no chat."

Damn, she was good.

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The cans of dog food were gone and that leaves Party with an empty feeling in his stomach, growling and rumbling and just generally making him absolutely exhausted. Tired, but he can't sleep, like there's a buzzing in his skull because of everything. At least they had blankets, though. Thanks to a certain S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.

He's ever watchful and ever flighty--that's Party's nature--but lack of sleep and food and general stress'll do that to a killjoy, even one as (in)famous as Party fucking Poison.

He's gathering a few things here and there, nothing big, always what little they need to barely survive, and the moment he hears the voice he panics.

Dropping his current supply of what seemed to be berries, Party whirls around to smack the other with his cast, automatically moving into a defensive position. He's not Kobra, but he still knows self-defense, and the fact that the voice is familiar hasn't registered at all.

Okay, so sneaking up on the most paranoid person in Taxon was probably not the best decision Gwen ever made, but she was a girl who knew how to roll with the punches. She swung back and up to avoid being hit in the face and even she had to admit, it was a pretty close call. Guess she was a little rusty.

"Chill. I'm not a pinata," she hissed out in the darkness, prepared for a less clumsy evasion of any other attack. Her voice sounded very hushed and thick, an effect no undoubtedly caused by the quiet setting. It was kind of nice. She wasn't really one for hanging out in the woods. How Party even managed to discern good foods from bad in the sea of green shrubbery was her guess.

"I was just in the neighborhood."

Party calms down and the glare on his face is words enough: a silent, unsaid watch it because if Party had his gun working, oh boy. Gwen would probably be toast.

"Viva la Fiesta," He mutters, wrinkling his healing nose and scratching at his hair, looking agitated. Rightfully so. He turns, and his own voice is a little throaty, the sound of a lingering cold surfacing. That's what you get with radiation everywhere.

"Sorry--I just, I..." He trails off, feels an odd lump in his throat. He's happy to see Gwen, though, just... Just..

He bites at his lip, fidgeting with his fingers. "Heya, Tumbleweed," he manages. "I've been wanting to talk to you anyway..."

She flips herself around--a little somersault in the air to unhook herself--and lands her feet on the ground. Unlatching the belt from her waist, she offers Party a slightly apologetic smile. It's not because she just scared the crap out of him and is lucky she didn't just get herself killed. She mistakes his awkwardness for confirmation that her abandonment back on the rooftop put him off.

How to handle this? Gwen isn't master at this kind of thing. But she swallows her pride because there's worse things to have to apologize for. Killing him, for instance? She had to do that once. Now that was awkward.

"Yeah. Look, sorry I left you up there with that guy. It was nothing personal, I just..." There's a lot of ways she can finish this sentence, but because it's Party, she manages to be as honest as she can. "...had a way out, and took it. Figured he'd let you guys go if you played nice."

Party's barely paying attention. He has a hard time picking up social cues on the best of days, though he's better than his brother, and after a few moments of her speaking--and her apology isn't really that much of a big deal because there's nothing for her to be sorry about--he blurts everything out.

"Look I know things went Costa Rica and it almost got me and Kobra Kid ghosted, but we're dust angels anyway, that's fine--it's milkshake, babe, but--I mean--if you'd... I just..."

He exhales, slowly, taking a deep breath and huffing. A few strands of red hair get caught in the crossfire, but he quickly brings a hand up to brush it away from his face.

"That thing you were looking for. I promised I'd get it to you--I fuckin' promised, and poof, gone with the wind, tumbleweed. I really.. I really wanted to get your thing. Y'know, for you? You're..."

Word vomit. Party feels like he's speaking too fast because he just doesn't do this, it's weird.

"You're a ladyjoy, a Killjoy, one of us, I just.. I let you down, tumbleweed. High and dry offa crap coast."

Gwen blinks. That's his problem? That he didn't manage to get the Stepford Sheriff to give her back something that still might not even work back home? She's surprised, visibly surprised. He didn't even know how important it was, how special it was to her, and he got himself all worked up for not getting it back for her?

It was a gesture she isn't shown very often. Her words are lacking that sharpness and edge in favor of a certain soft thankfulness and maybe a little sadness. "I hate to say I told you so, Party Boy. I didn't get LISA back home by just asking for it."

Her breath came out in a sigh, and she shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes are steady and firm. "If it's here, I'll find it. Believe me. And if not?" A pause. Even when she hadn't get gotten it, it had been a long time since she's lived without at least the thought of LISA in her mind, without the dream of one day being able to just--touch someone. Did she know if she could do it? No. It was like a blind person getting their sight back--for a few months, maybe, a year--just to get it taken away again.

But she fibs, just a little, because it's easier. "It sucks. But I lived my whole life this way and made a whole gallon of lemonade out of lemons. I think I can manage. Anyway, you can beat yourself up all you want, but you're in the clear."

"S'not... fair," Party manages. He's an expert and being able to tell when people are hiding something when it comes to hopes and wishes and fears, and he genuinely believes Gwen is just saying that stuff to get herself to feel better. It's what Party would do in the situation, anyway.

"I shouldn't be in the clear because things just aren't milkshake. I meant every single word to you, Tumbleweed. You flying off to stay high and dry? That's you lookin' out for yourself. That's fine. That's--that's not something you should be sorry for. Killjoys never go back on their word. Not like this. You should be able to do that stuff, or whatever it is, you know? Touch people? Without those," he pointed to the gloves, and then raised his own gloved hand. "It's.. It's fucking bullshit, Gwen."

"I've sung that song a million times," she says, and it's true. But there's only so many times you can utter the words 'It's not fair', and she had so many times she lost count, before they start to settle in as one of those great things they call reality.

He has no idea how unfair it really is. No one really does. That is just the way it is. But Party at least tries to understand, and that puts him one step above...most people she's ever met.

"But then I decided to make something out of it. Did a whole bunch of research, learned to pick a lock, and now I'm worth a lot more than a decade of presidents. So as far as fair goes?" She shrugs again and leans back against the tree. "I got it to swing my way, throw me a few bones."

"Its still..." Party's getting caught up in the details, in the idealism, in everything. Gwen may be okay with it but its pushing the redhead's buttons.

"Eveything..this is the kinda stuff I fight for, back home. Being right. Being loud and proud, 109 in the sky, blasting off to the back row with no apologies. Its--its not fair... its..."

He raised a hand. "You can't even hold anyone's hand..." is that a glimmer of disappointment?

"You're really making me feel better here, Party Boy," she deadpans, but behind the joke lies, as it usually does, a hint of truth. There are times for pity parties, and Gwen has occasionally shown up waving flags and handing out tee-shirts, and there are times for wading through it, one way or another. Sure, her form of wading was always criminal, but it turned a negative to a positive, and all that.

And maybe Party's frustration with not being able to do anything about it came from some other bigger helplessness. The kind only a place like Taxon could bestow upon its kidnappees. Figures he had to latch onto the one thing that would disappoint him.

"I could once, for a little while," she continues, with a nostalgic smile. It was easier doing that here, in the forest. She guesses it's the solitude. "It was..." There was no word, except maybe: "...Nice."

"Sorry." He sounds as genuine as he can, because...well, he is. He's unsure why he's so worked up when he doesn't really know her well, either. Especially since he could give two shits on a stick for other killjoys that weren't him or his team. Granted most of them tried to take supplies, but... well.

He's staring at his own hand, looking sullen for a moment, gaze unreadable before he looks up, that same passion in his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, not being able to do stuff, I haven't really..either. Well yeah, but first for..uuh.. with a robot." Yeah, because that makes a lick of sense.

Her eyes widen. "A robot," she repeats, and tries to take it in. No judgment, Gwen, everyone's got their thing...

"Well that's..." It doesn't make her feel better, but it doesn't make her feel worse, either. Although it throws her reading of Party off a couple notches. What it does do is make her notice his hand. In the darkness, it looked like he'd wrapped it up somehow, and she hadn't questioned it. But she realizes now that one hand's in a cast.

"What happened to the arm?" she asks, wondering how bad things got after he left the rooftop. Things had been so bad on the ground, the thought didn't occur to her that something worse was going on upstairs.

That didn't work. He frowns, shrugging nonchalantly. "Its a zone thing." Even though he wasn't sure that even helped his case. Still...

"Sheriff," he responds, holding the cast aloft. "Kobra Kid kicked and I punched and steel-toed boots won over. It uhmm kinda sucked." Yeah, understatement of the year. Party frowns, looking thoughtful for a few seconds before licking dry lips.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, tumbleweed. I'll help you find it."

She nods, but doesn't say anything. What can she say? Her powers turned out to be pretty useless against the sheriff, other than giving her a pretty bad case of frizz-head, but she still wonders if maybe she'd given herself a little more juice, a little more concentration...

Hopefully, she won't have to find out. And hopefully, Party stayed the hell out of trouble. That might help.

"No worries, sugar bear. It might come in handy." Maybe not against the new law enforcement, but she had a feeling that immunity didn't apply to everything and everyone in Taxon. It's gotten her out of jams before. She smiled and looked at him. "Bright side."

"I just--I... you.."

He just apologized, and that's enough, isn't it? What the hell?

"You know. Its totally cool. I mean, bright side. Yeah. It's..you're cool, tumbleweed." And as an afterthought. "Don't uh.. don't listen to Kobra."

"Not a huge fan of me, is he?"

Gwen didn't mind. She's never been one for the popular crowd, and people didn't exactly jump at the chance of being her best buddy. Sure, men's eyes followed her when she walked into a room, and she'd always gotten a little kick out of being the center of attention when the time's right. But that was usually until they figured out she wasn't normal.

"But he seems to be pretty protective over you." The concept had been pretty foreign to her before Connor. And even now, she views it through cynical eyes. Even through love, people screw people over. She's living proof, right?

"That's not what I mean," Party offers a tiny, tiny smile. "I mean, Kobra and I, we just didn't grow up like normal folk. That's not really the point. I mean if he tries to, uuh.. Tell you something..." Eh, fuck it.

"Whatever. Gwen? Thanks for your concern, Tumbleweed. I.. I appreciate it." Party's smiling ever-so-slightly. The nerves are gone because he's skirted whatever it was he wanted to say and he's pretty happy about that.

"I mean--you liked me enough to go visit me. Even if it's sneakin' up like a goddamn drac. Means a lot to a Killjoy, y'know?"

Gwen let's the skirting go. She's not an idiot, and she's pretty good at reading body language. Being a good thief pretty much makes those two things part of the job description. But she knows when Party likes being evasive about stuff, like, say, his name, and she knows better than to press him.

She shrugs, her smile playful. "I'm a thief." She'd kept that tidbit to herself, mostly, and after her ninjaing up the roof Party might have had some idea she had a unique set of skills. But there's just something about the isolation of the forest, and if anyone were going to have a job for her, it'd be Party. "Don't want to get too rusty. And way better than a phone call."

Party returns the tiny smile with one of his own, finding himself easing slightly. Gwen's got the closest thing to trust Party can dish out, anyway, and that's evident in the fact that he's actually having a conversation with her that doesn't involve how to escape or how suspicious and crazy everyone in Taxon is.

"I think I figured that out when you Spider Man'd up the building, and then pulled a Catwoman over there." He jerked a thumb towards the direction of the tree, glad he didn't squeal like a little girl. Which he probably would have done, in all honesty.

"Phones.. Still kinda weird me out. I'm used to radio transmissions. And Tumbleweed? I'll keep that in mind. You're a regular superhero, totally slaughtermatic. Milkshake, even, and I can always use milkshakes. Especially superheros."

She'll take the Catwoman comparison, but her face visibly wrinkles in disgust. "I'm no superhero. Thief, remember? Not exactly using my powers for good." She paused, and gave a little awkward laugh. "Tried once. Didn't take."

And that's all she'll say about THAT. Thinking of Connor and Los Angeles (at least post-hell) hurt. Never being able to explain herself, apologize, make up for what she did. Or, hell, fight about it at least. Or hey, maybe she did it all for nothing and she would still be dead. Doesn't matter now. She quickly changes the subject.

"Not big on the technology either. Goes against my nature," she explains, emphasizing the hands.

Party can't stop the chuckle that escapes from his voice. "That's okay. People seem to think I'm a big damn hero when all I do is run around the desert shooting laser guns at everyone." Which is an oversimplification, but it's Party's odd way of saying 'Maybe I sort of get it?'.

He reaches out with one hand and it looks like he wants to touch Gwen's gloved one, but he hesitates, licking his lips and lowering it in an oddly shy manner before nodding to himself. Party's not good on social cues, but he knows when someone's about to remember something bad. There are just certain things you don't talk about to a Killjoy, after all. Everyone had their buttons.

"You should tell me sometime," He says softly, trying to sound as innocuous as possible. "We'll trade war stories. You might be able to one-up me, though. The whole Dragon thing."

"It's the outfit," Gwen responds immediately. And maybe the hair. Something about colored hair--in Gwen's case, colored streaks--just sends out a message. "Guys like us pretty much ask for it. It's just up to us to prove them wrong."

Who wants to be a superhero anyway? Too much baggage, too much pressure. If Angel had been human, he would've had big wrinkle lines in his caveman forehead. Living on the other side proved to be a much easier lifestyle. If anything proved that, it was the last few months.

"It's my big finale," she says with a little flourish of her hand, smiling in spite of the darkness still lingering there. "I bet you have a few good ones up your sleeve, though."

The outfit. Party looks around for a few seconds before plopping right down on the ground, curling his legs up tailor-style. He figures one paranoid Killjoy and a cat burglar would be able to hear if something--or someone--catches up with them, and he's too tired to scope out the rest of the area.

"Well, it's pretty slaughtermatic," Party points out, motioning to Gwen with a flourish of fingers that's reminiscent of jazz hands. "I got stories, yeah. Seven years in a desert with my brother, a demolitions expert, a mad scientist and a 9 year old little girl'll do that to you. This one, it involves three Waveheads, a junkpunk, us, a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W and 8 Exxies. That's when I found that rocket launcher, anyway..." There's a smile on his face--a grin, and then a thought occurs to him.

"Say, Tumbleweed. If you're a thief, what kinda stuff did you steal?"

Gwen folds her arms. "I know the lingo's your thing, but you do realize 90 percent of what you just said isn't English?" She's picked up on some of it, but at some point or another, she's going to need a translator. A nice handy dictionary would do. "But the seven years in a desert thing? Kind of putting a few pieces together."

She doesn't sit on the ground, but relaxes against the bark of the tree. "Lots of stuff," she replies, ever-so-enigmatically. It really didn't matter here, in this place and with these people, but habits will die hard. But she does try to elaborate a little bit more, just enough. "Did a lot of bagging for high-end clients. Mystical artifacts, plans, weapons...sometimes just plain 'ol cash. Lucrative business for a gal like me." Her smile is a bit cynical, one that seems to have seen it all and isn't necessarily too impressed.

"Magic, huh?" Party's excited. There's no magic in the desert, no mutants. Just radiation and dust. "That's really shiny." And it was. He's looking at Gwen, staring, a half-smile on his lips. The lingo comment did catch him offguard, and he bit his lip before deciding... well? Fuck it.

"Alright, then, tumbleweed. Here's Party Poison's lesson. Waveheads are Killjoys who hang out at Wavebars. They use a buncha drugs because they think its somehow rebellinng even though they're just as high. Junkpunks are the hoarders, the barters, the merchants of the wastes. Tommy Chow Mein's the best of the best. Sometimes, he even has stuff like coffee, or cigs." He pauses.

"With me so far?"

She tilts her head to the side. The expression on her face, not so much complex, pretty much amounts to 'Riiiiight.'

But she's good at gists. "Sounds kind of like L.A.," she says, putting the pieces together. Druggies, sellers and buyers, good food if you knew where to look and especially if they were a client.

"So where does super paranoid Party Boy come in?" she asks, and it's only poking fun at him a little. So far, it doesn't sound too bad. "I mean the one who has to forage for food in the woods at night to eat."

Party's not sure why he's describing all this stuff to Gwen, but it's nice to just..blab. Even if it's explaining stuff he just sort of knew. He makes a mental note to ask about magic because that stuff's weird, too, but Gwen asks another question and Party presses his lips into a thin line.

She could mean a number of things, of course, but Party doesn't really consider himself paranoid. He is, but he simply takes a short breath before waving his free hand around in a movement similar to jazz hands.

"Killjoys gotta be suspicious. We all ran away from Battery City to live out in the zones, in the desert. There's a pill for everything in Battery, dulling your senses, a monochromatic city as told by Better Living Industries. One for anxiety, one for food, one for your cold, one to prevent withdrawal, one to improve your mood, one to make you smarter.." He thinks Gwen gets the gist so he sums it up simply: "I think I had about 6 pills to take before Kobra woke me up and made me realize it was turning me into a zombie. Shit, Tumbleweed--that's just the medication they let you know about. They lace everything. Food. Water. Sometimes, there are rumours--you know? Sometimes even the air. I mean, they can send robot flies to spy on you, that's a proven fact. Who knows what else? Battery City..." He trails off, shuddering.

"I'll deal with all the ladies of Zone 3 before I step foot in Battery City again. This place? This place is just like it. Horrifying. I'll.." He pauses, before waving his hand dismissively. Too much guilt about leaving Grace behind.

"Is that whatcha meant?"

Okay. Now the contrast between Party's home and Gwen's just got a whole lot wider.

"Yeah. Read a few books as a kid that pretty much are big warning signs for that kinda stuff." She nods, as if Party might be surprised this electro-thief reads. Brave New World, 1984, she had loved the future-set, technology-heavy dystopias. "Had to do my research. I went through a phase where I thought I was...like this...to show everyone technology sucks." Or maybe she was just jealous. She shrugs. Adolescence.

"Turns out, without it? I'd be pretty much out of business."

But that leads her down another trail of thought. "L.A's not that bad. Mostly people addicted to phones and reality shows and computer-generated vaults. There's a few monsters under the bed but, for the most part: zombie free."

She lifts and eyebrow. Party, do you get her hint? She's picked up how awful he is at, well, picking things up, so she finishes before he can answer. "This place might not be like the desert, sugar bear. Do I look like a zombie to you?"

Party gets the hint. Or he thinks he does, but its probably the wrong hint. Or..well. The red head sighs and scruffs his hair up, exhaling loudly.

"You're not a robot. You're really shiny, Gwen. The definite answer to a dust angel, tumbleweeding through Taxon like God's revolver, twice as shiny and louder than anythin' else. You're really milkshake, y'know? Ladyjoy material if I ever saw one."

He gives the other a tentative grin, unsure of himself. "Plus you read. That's.... cool. Why?"

"Thanks," she says, a little uncertainly. Gwen...can kind of interpret that as a 'you're a cool chick,' and she's never one to reject a compliment., but it's buried under a forest of lingo. Milkshake? Milkshakes are good, right? Unless someone's singing about them on the radio, and Gwen's pretty sure that's not Party's thing.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not a bookworm. I've got a whole library in my house and...I'm not even sure they're real books, actually. I read a lot when I was in school. Mostly to try to figure out...you know."

And mostly to pass the time. That was then, this is now, her expression says.

"Yeah, the whole X-factor. I don't have the patience with books, that's Kobra's deal. I like comics. Drawing." It sounds totally lame in comparison to Gwen, but a lot of stuff does. Hell... Gwen's a fucking superstar. With a sizzzle, literally.

"You'd fuck BL\ind.'s shit up, that's for sure. Eveything is electric, even..."

And Party sits bolt upright before scrambling to his feet. "You--yes! That's it! This is milkshake, tumbleweed!" He rushes to her, grabbing clothed arms and all but jumping up and down. "You're a rock n' rolla saviour, you are!"

The fact that Party doesn't have the patience for books makes sense. He's constantly looking over his shoulder, driving around, and let's not forget the bombing tantrum. They were opposites in that way. It takes a lot of patience to do what she does. Keeping absolutely still for sometimes hours, waiting for just the right moment to take out a guard or opening a safe. The hilarious mental image of Party waiting inside an elevator shaft, knees bouncing up and down and looking back and forth. 'Can we go now? How about now? Do we kill that guy?'

His sudden spurt of energy and grabbing her arms yanks her back out of that amusing little fantasy. Her skin's completely covered, of course, but it's not often people intentionally touch her, cloth or no cloth. "Try the next door," she replies, looking at him with some amusement. "I may be hot stuff, but I'm not in some comic book. Don't give me too much credit."

Party isn't paying attention. He's a touchy guy, once he's excited, once you gain his trust and Gwen for some goddamned reason has more of Party's respect than anyone else that's not Kobra. He goes to touch the other's cheek before remembering that being fried is a bad idea but instead of backing away he simply unholsters the bright yellow, hand painted laser gun.

"This thing shorted. And it's been shorting ever since the Sheriff incident. This--the particles or whatever--it's all electricity. I bet with the right touch you can fix it and I can get my zapper back," He puts it in front of Gwen's face, like the poor girl's blind and needs to see it up close to get the details.

"You're more than hot stuff. No need to doubt yourself, you can do anything you wanted. That's why you're an awesome thief, right? The best of the best or somethin'?" And something else occurs to him, something that makes him hesitate, lick his lips, even.

"You said.. you ended the world, right? Helped save everyone from the big bad, that you were in hell?"

She considers him, taking in what he's saying and what he clearly wants. "I could either fix or or fry it," she replies, "But it can't be any worse than it is now." There could be a shortened wire...but what the hell does she knew about laser guns? Not much.

"Kind of, only backwards," she answers, a little eye-roll directed more at herself than at Party. "Hell, kicking some demon ass, sacrificing. Never got to see how it all turned out." See how she just skirted right by that whole betraying thing? Party's definitely shown he puts all his cards in loyalty, and Gwen's not exactly sure the smart thing to do is burn that bridge and let him in on her big betrayals back in L.A.

That was then. She'd learned, and she wouldn't do it again.

Right?

"Where are you going with this, sugar bear?"

"I'm sayin' fight the good fight. If there's a dish-rag's chance of survivin' out in the zones, it's you. Pump up the slaughtermatic jams, be the anti-matter for the master plan. Turn up the volume and just. Go. You know?" Party's talking with his hands again, but at least he's backed up away from Gwen.

"Tumbleweed, if you can--if--if we get all this worked out, the hamsters and Kobra Kid and all that stuff, our universe.. I mean. Technology I've got can definitely help your cause. And we can take it--especially with you, we can fight Better Living Industries and hit the asphalt, treating the yellow lines like no man's land. Right? Right?"

Her eyebrows raise and she raises her hands to say Okay, okay, ra-ra, I'm with you. But it's half-hearted. He looks up to her, God knows why, and that's just a bad idea. It might've felt good if she, you know, actually deserved it. But she doesn't. And does she want to?

You know what they say. A tiger can't change her stripes.

"You're big on the pep-talks, huh?" she asks with a knowing smirk. "But if you're asking me to live in the desert, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm used to a life of luxury. And really, I played a minor roll in the whole good fight thing." Seriously, her eyes say. She's so not who you think she is, Party. Even if she tries.

"It kinda just blurts out," he admits. He's never considered himself to be much of a leader but it kind of comes naturally, at least it had with his group. Now? Now he has no idea what to do, and he's got a brother who's more than crazy and a thief he should be wary of, but instead...

"Luxury must be nice." It's easier to comment on that, because he's trying to hide his disappointment. He's shit at a pokerface, though, but after a few seconds there's a small grin peaking out, small teeth surprisingly clean for a desert rat.

"S'okay, Tumbleweed. I'm still going to grab you whatsit. I never thought I'd be getting drugs or whatever for people, but..." He shrugs. The gun is still in his hand, and he waves it around. "You fix this and I'll be closer to it, that's for sure. I mean, if you can. I wanna take it apart and find what exactly is wrong..." He trails off. He's rambling and he knows it, and instead he puts his gun away and ruffles his own hair in thought.

"You wanted to see me to apologize?" He asks, mind backtracking. "Why... I mean, y'know? You got nothin' to be sorry for in my eyes." Honestly? He's pretty damn tickled.

"I can show you sometime, you know," she says, carefully. She remembers how stubborn both he and his brother are about the fasting thing. "You don't have to live like a rat because you're used to it, Party." That's right. She's trying to tempt you over to the dark side of luxury, Party. Deal with it.

"I'll try," she says, nodding toward the gun in his hand. Her hands lock around her knees in a gesture of ease. She'd much rather talk about him than about the Sheriff, but isn't that what she came here for?

"For bailing," she answers, simply, and then takes a breath. "Don't get me wrong, you were sloppy. And I wasn't about to get my ass kicked for you and your hothead brother's mistakes. And it wasn't like I had a grand 'ol time down on the ground..."

Okay, Gwen, a little less excuse, a little more explanation. He thought she had his back and she didn't. Case closed.

"Anyway. That's what's what. Just figured I should explain a little. But I'm glad he didn't rough you up too bad." She looks at his arm.

Gwen's saying things and Party's feeling his mood flip-flop, the unusual alliance they've struck dangling over his head. For a minute he thinks the whole thing is easy, so, so easy, but then he remembers that absolutely nothing in his life has ever been easy and his face hardens slightly.

"I'm flattered you thought enough to apologize," He says honestly. Sincerely. It's weird, even apologizing for something, and the redhead's facial expression is caught between mild surprise and--how odd, is that a flushed face? "I mean, it's all milkshake, dust angel. I probably woulda bailed, too." That? That was a lie, but he feels the need to make Gwen feel better for some reason. If she's even upset about this--though he has a feeling the brunette doesn't just apologize willy-nilly.

"Don't know each other well enough yet." That parts sincere, and he taps on the cast with a finger, a hollow thunk-thunk-thunk acting as a drumbeat.

"Nah, he cant' rough up a Killjoy. It's Kobra that did this, believe it or not. He didn't mean to, but the Sheriff does this weird phasing thing. And--Honestly?" Because that last thing is bothering him.

"I don't trust anything this city has. Food. Extras. They're fucking drones with no personality, programmed anti-matter, real loose. They're as bad as exxies, as bad as dracs. Shit, Tumbleweed, I'd definitely remove the stick from my ass if I could, but everything here is too like Battery for me to actually try right now."

"Don't get used to it. I don't do it very often." Or, ever. "But you were the first one to give me the straight intel on this place when I got here, so I guess I owed you one."

But she's relieved he's cool with it. And that the Sheriff didn't tear off his arm, or anything. Then? Gwen might have felt a little actual guilt instead of just 'Am I off Party's good-list?' guilt.

"I take it that 'right now' leaves room for the future?" she presses, and then with an unapologetic smile, holds her hands up. Alright, alright, she won't push so hard. She'll take it, Party. Eat all the dirt-stained Taxon Forest fruit you want.

She looks up into the night. "Think we should get out of here? Or were you planning on sleeping out here, too?"

"I'm a survivor, not an idiot. If someone can prove to me its not poison, I'll bite the bullet." Party's chuckling slightly, looking amused as he watches Gwen's body movemeny. In an odd way he thinks they're kind of similar. Gwen has a lot more grace and a tendency to be quiet, sure, but they're both highly adaptable, theyreh both...

Woah. Woah woah. Woah.

Even in the dark, Party's face is about as red as his hair. The choice of words...and..

"I--you...but what? I just..." for a second he looks and sounds more like Kobra Kid, all lanky frame and stuttered, choppy sentences.

"You want to go somewhere? With me? I mean--uuh...you're inviting me..away?"

Gwen's eyebrows raise, catching on to her new-found ability to fluster the boy. It was fun and useful to play coy with clients, bat the eyelashes and flash the smiles and the occasional show of skin, and there was always something to gain in return. Power, influence, more cash, they're trust, you name it.

This was a little different. Either her charms are really working overtime on Party Boy here, or he just isn't used to people. Girls. It was a 50/50 shot, but Gwen's ego leaned toward the former.

"I was thinking...out of the woods," she says, her voice laced with plenty of 'duh.' "Life of luxury, remember? I don't eat in the woods, and I don't have sleepovers." A beat, before adding playfully: "So don't get any ideas."

"No no no no no," Party's shaking his head, trying to gain what little bad-assery he had left now. Looking like a fool infront of an apprent world class theif? Not a good thing. He's sure if he's thinking with his brain he'd probably realize that this was a weakness Gwen could exploit, could run him for all he's worth (which is probably a can of PowerPup and chuffed electric guitar). But he's too busy being flustered at the slightly short woman.

"That's totally not..you know." A laugh, one that sounded way too forced. "Lay off the nitro, tumbleweed. Jesus, you'd think sunshine ain't got a four and two ones on you."

Saisfied he'd covered it up (though he was still blushing and can't, for some reason, make eye contact), he spoke again, glancing to wherever he had come from.

"But..I can go. Sure."

She smiles only very faintly at his indignant denial and shrugs like, Well, look at me. She rises to her feet and gathers her rope from the tree. "There's no gun to your head," she says. Which reminds her.

"I'm just saying it's getting kind of creepy here. Life of luxury, you know. I don't plan on sleeping out with nature. Hey, you want me to take that?" She asks, pointing vaguely to the...what was it? A laser gun?

She doesn't know if she could fix it. But she figures a good poking around won't hurt.

It's instinctual, but Party simply grips the gun tighter, the bright yellow and black striped thing (http://poisonousparty.livejournal.com/1742.html#cutid1) with kanji painted on it, the same logo on the holster as was on his back and was now graffitied all around Taxon. Party Poison.

Still, he gives Gwen a cautious look, even though he's the one that offered it to the other. "Let me disassemble it first, huh? And since you wanna go somewhere else..." He shrugs, and it's unclear if he's imitating her previous body motions or if flailing like an idiot is true to the Killjoy name. Which it kind of is, at least for the redhead.

"It's all electricity. Most of Battery City is. Cars, even. That's why my baby looks like shit, I picked her out and scavenged her when I was like, 16." But Gwen's not a motorbaby and doesn't want to hear about cars. Instead he takes a few steps forward, motioning his head in a silent 'shall we?'. Kobra's asleep, after all, and Party could use some warmth.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

04 | Location: Osten/Taxon Forest | From the shadow that's creeping up behind you

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Suuurree LJ just don't send me my notifs, that's cool

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