taxonomites | 09 | VISUAL | FLATS ABOVE DODGY JAMMER | IN THE MIDDLE OF A GUNFIGHT, IN THE CENTER OF A RESTAURANT

Party clicks on the tablet and it's not the usual place--instead it's a room. It's sparse, but in the background all of the furniture has been upturned, and the door behind him as two interesting additions: a spider logo familiar to anyone who's seen Party's car or street side graffiti, and three locks on top of the ones the place already has. Somewhere to the left among the trash and the upturned mattress there's what looks like the beginnings of another art project, something fresh, a skeletal little creature.

The redhead--he's bleached and dyed his hair back--rubs his eyes, frustrated, and gazes at the screen for a few minutes. The cornered, wild dog look is back, fiercer than ever.

"Those glitches? There has to be some sorta pattern. Some cross-eyed message from the Angels of God, some anti-matter we can throw into their master plan." Oh yes, Party's back. "But that's what I gotta explain, motorbabies. Listen up."

He tilts his head to the side. "Apparently Kobra Kid and I went all Costa Rica and started streaking with no lights home. Pumpin' up the volume isn't going to do anything but it got the attention of the Sheriff. I'm thinking that's why it happened so soon." It's a theory, but Party has many, swirling in his head. "Think of the last moment you pissed off an Extra, did a glitch occur after that? It could be some form of punishment..." He snaps his fingers, corners of his mouth twitching. Trying to act casual and not at all suspicious about this last statement, the most important one. Hoping his usual pokerface can't be read by anyone out here.

"You zonerats and diesel darlings forget whatever me and him told you. The sun is my mother the desert is ymy father and I am Party fucking Poison and I'm sung about from the hymnal of the wastes, raised with JuV Halls and Ritalin Rats and angels made from neon and fucking garbage."

There's a grim smile. "We don't even remember our real names." The same poker face. "Christened in acid rain, hear?"

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"Your brother asked pretty much the same thing, you know," Glitch pointed out. "Only you've got a better way with words."

Really he couldn't quite follow everything Party said, but it all sounded dramatically epic. He could get behind that, he's a sucker for a rousing speech. "So: no, there's no pattern, there's nothing you did to provoke them and nothing you can do to prevent them. I've never done anything wrong and I get hit with them all the time."

The man called Glitch let the name thing go; he had his own reasons for hanging onto an alias.

There's a hint of pride in his voice, jaw set a little high. Oh yeah, of course Kobra asked. "Kobra Kid isn't stupid," He pointed out, with a slight 'atta-boy' tone. And then, because he's either paranoid or has a habit of over thinking things or maybe both (probably both):

"Okay, so you don't think you messed with 'em, sure, but what if you did? I've been thinkin'. There could be a whole different culture up there for the fuzzy beasts, follow? And wars. 'Cause I can't think of any place where no wars exist. Anyway--so what if you did something that annoys them but you have, like, no idea you're doing that? Ever just think and think and then get carried away?"

"You have no idea," Glitch remarked, wry. Time was all he'd wanetd to do was think, and he'd try so hard and get so lost in his own fragmented thoughts that he'd need someone else to rescue him. Now, with a full brain and endless, impossible puzzles to try and figure out? He wished it would stop.

"But that's...actually a good point. We don't know that much about what they're like." Hamsters. Sharks. Men in towels. "All I know is they believe this place is our home, they're always watching us, and about a year and a half ago they called me inspirational. I think that's why I get picked on."

"If it's our home, though, why not just erase our memories of previous homes? Why make sure we know? They want us to fight back." Party's paranoia is on a role, especially now that he has someone to bounce off on. Good job, Glitch. "Dr. D says the best offense is to hunker down and get off the grid. I always thought it was stupid--and I'm not about to lay low--but what if we try to get to know 'em more?"

He holds up his hands, and there's panic in his eyes.

"Not kumbiyah levels, just.. maybe understand what we're doing to make the fuzzy exxie bastards go all glitch-y on us. Not Glitch, but glitch, if you follow my jive." Did that even make sense?

"There's gotta be others. Can't all be automatons. Shit, Glitch, even people in Battery City wake up and realize what's goin'. So we get to them. Start a revolution, a freedom fight, a gunfight in a restaurant. Pull the pin, let the world explode."

Good job. He's ranting now.

Suddenly Glitch wished he'd fought harder against the agonizing existential identiy crisis Cain had dropped on his head and just started calling himself Ambrose. Fortunately he was spared the spiral of furious self-loathing that thought usually inspired by Party being absoltuely terrifying. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Is there any chance at all you're being metaphorical with that...carnage-y bit?"

Party says nothing. His lips tighten and his brow furrows, but his pokerface is pretty damn good.

"Isn't it obvious?" He says at last, and then quickly locks the feed, changing the subject as fast as he drives.

"DG," he says simply.

...oh shit, son. Good job. Stuff being on fire is suddenly irrelevant, that's kind of a big deal for a scarecrow.

"What about her?" Glitch's pokerface? Not so hot.

"Kobra thinks she's killjoy material. I think he may be right." There's a guarded tone to his voice, staring Glitch down.

"How long you been here, exxie cityrat?"

Glitch knows an insult when he hears one. He also knows he's been called worse and so raises his chin, defiant.

"Two annuals, twenty days," he replies easily. "I've been here longer than anyone, for what it's worth. What do you mean, 'killjoy material'?"

"Yeah, what a happenstance." Party's sneering, mainly because when he's alone without Kobra his mind spirals.

"Killjoy material. Like us. Not like us exactly, but...she's got spunk. A fight. A spark that you and a lotta your cityrat friends." His lips part, his head shakes.

"I think you gotta be watched is all. Don't trust you. Or the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W."

"Well," Glitch begins and raises his eyebrows. "Ditto. I don't much trust you or your brother either."

Which is why he's absoltuely certain the Killjoys' revolutionary plans are anything but metaphorical.

"And yeah, DG's really feisty and shiny, what are you getting at?" He's already threatened one brother over her coming to harm and is fully prepared to make it two.

"Kobra? At least he knows where his loyalties are," There's a bit of venom in his words--after all, he still thinks Glitch is all but lying down. "Which brings me to this whole shindig." He takes a deep breath, tries to remember Glitch probably doesn't know much lingo (doesn't look that smart, kinda meek, almost straw-man), and begins:

"You disapprove of Kobra and DG, or whatever it is your cityrat shenanigans imply? You do anythin' to Kobra? Expect a grand clap so big you'll be pickin' dust outta your ears because I shoved a fistful of sand so far up your exxie--"

Easy.

Party takes a breath and tries again.

"Don't go hoverin' around like a genie," He says simply. "DG can take care of herself and Kobra's never hurt anyone he liked since I've known him, inside or out the zones. And that's all my life."

That registers as an insult: not the crassness, not the exxie cityrat nonsense, but even the questioning of his loyalties...

Glitch's expression hardens, but he makes himself focus, to make his point without letting emotions (spark) get in the way.

"I'm not planning on doing anything to anyone," he begins, speaking as clearly as possible. "And yes, DG's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And I'm actually not at all worried about your brother or you ever harming her."

Which was absoltuely true, funnily enough. There was no reason to doubt that they liked her. But...

"What I am worried about is...am I right in thinking that finding trouble, or having it come looking for you, is another Killjoy trait?"

09 | VISUAL | FLATS ABOVE DODGY JAMMER | IN THE MIDDLE OF A GUNFIGHT, IN THE CENTER OF A RESTAURANT

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