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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I fret, it's what I do, and need I remind you the countless times it's saved your sorry ass from charging in to a buncha goddamn Exxie trash?!" Has Party...lost his temper?

The redhead takes a deep breath and his hands fly to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Look.. Come on. I'm just trying to protect you, I don't need your fucking temper right now. Come over here and rest a little, will you?"

"Need I remind you of the countless times I've saved your stubborn know-it-all ass from getting yourself dusted?" Kobra snaps back, trying not to think of the time when he couldn't save Party.

"I don't have a temper!" Kobra yelling, voice scratchy, completely voids his statement. "I don't need to rest, I'm fine."

Yelling on a tablet, huh? They rarely fought, but when they did... Party's just glad they're not near each other now because one of them was going to start swinging and there was no Jet to stop them or Grace to start crying.

"You're not fine, you're a lunatic runnin' on half cycles. Your pistons aren't up to date and you're gonna wind up running yourself ragged so shut the fuck up and get your scrawny ass over here before I dust you."

"Yeah and you're one to talk," Kobra retorted. "Hit your red line a long time ago, motorbaby."

Huffing he takes another drag of his cigarette. "I'd like to see you try," he smirks, the kind of smirk younger siblings have perfected.

"Fine," He's hissing now, a growl that's more than an annoyed brotherly tone. He's had it up to here.

"I'm only trying to protect you from god knows what since I've been here before you and I'm your older fucking brother. I can handle myself, and I've been doing just fine. Don't give me your crazy wavehead stories, you're not and the whole reason I'm here is because you need a place that's not outside like DIE Diner."

"I can fucking handle myself perfectly on my own," Kobra snaps, impatient now. "Just cause you're older means nothing." he finishes his cigarette and throws it away.

"I don't need you to find me a place. I'm not a halfgrown cityrat."

wrong thing to say. The redhead glares at the blonde, taking the tablet in hand and narrowing his eyes.

"Don't fucking start," he snaps. "You're my brother and its my job. Age or not. Get off your high horse."

"I'm not a job," Kobra snaps. "you get off your fucking high horse. I can look after myself and I'm fine where I am."

God fucking dammit. Party gives Kobra the look, which moves into a heavy, lead-fueled sigh.

"Kobra... Just..." He's reaching for straws.

"Keep warm or I'll kick your ass. I have shit to do."

"Just do whatever is so important then," Kobra snaps. "I would hate to interrupt you being a tragic hero." And with that the visual cuts off, the electronic equivalent of Kobra storming out angrily.

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

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