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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"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.

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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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