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Paul stalks away from the sink, digging out his cigarettes with one hand while punching buttons with the other to send a visual broadcast to anyone who happens to have their tablet on.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, a long exhale, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Paul Smecker here," he says, his words short and clipped, all business now. It's just like filing a goddamn police report. Just the facts, ma'am.

"The kid calling himself Party Poison stole a personal possession of mine. The thing that showed up here with me from home," he says. Doesn't feel the need to elaborate on what it is, but while they are all here from different worlds, all here with different backgrounds, he's learned enough to know that apparently everyone gets to bring something. He doesn't know who has what, except Wyatt-- Wyatt has the horse, the horse he'd made for his son. Something important.

Paul would bet that everyone here cares about what they brought with them, on some level.

"He took it a few months ago, when I was distracted by icing his broken nose for him. He's refusing to return it, and his brother, at least, is threatening armed force if I attempt to take it back."

"In short, Party is a thief, and I advise keeping an eye on your possessions while you're in his vicinity. Maybe his brother's too for all I know. They're clearly operating on a survival level where they can't comprehend respecting the rights or property of others. So watch the things you don't want to lose.

"And if you're listening, Party? I hope to Christ you don't try and steal from someone who'll break your neck with their fancy superpowers. For your dumbass sake.

"Paul Smecker out."

He stands there a few seconds, smoking furiously, then turns on his heel to go to where he keeps the janitorial stuff, the broom and mop and scrubby brushes and the Chlorox.

He's got a mural he doesn't want on his building any more.

[ooc: Takes place immediately following this thread.]

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Of the roughly eighteen bazillion things Glitch thinks he and Paul ought to eventually talk about (but won't if he has any say because merciful gods no, just no, and some more no) this is probably the simplest, and best responded to in the simplest terms:

"Y'know, I kinda can't stand those kids."

For reference he's curled up on the settee in his office in the palace, a glass of wine in the hand not holding the tablet. There's a bit of rebellious spark in his eyes because...well, everyone else seems so keen on giving those damn kids as many chances as they can to hang themselves, and he's fed up with it.

Paul glances at the screen, smiles crookedly at the sight of Glitch despite himself-- he looks comfortable-- and taps the tablet on for a private response.

"At the moment I agree with you."

He's moving up the stairwell so the visual's jerky and stop-go, light and shadow intermittent, until he reaches the rooftop and sets his armful of cleaning supplies down. The tablet is bathed in (fake) sunlight again.

Paul takes a deep breath, looks out along the city skyline for a moment before back to Glitch.

"They... remind me of someone, someones I knew back home. Brothers. Dumb kids who did dumb shit but--"

Paul breaks off, shakes his head. Because while there's some similarities, at the end of the day Connor and Murphy aren't here and certainly aren't these kids. Connor and Murphy murdered in the name of God, something he made shaky peace with and then changed his mind and then did it again over and over in the time he knew them, but Connor and Murphy, when they stole from him, did it in entirely different ways.

Peace of mind. Sense of ethics. Knowing who the hell he was.

It's getting on a year now he's been in Taxon. He pretends he has most of those back. Does okay with it most days, so that these kids show up and he lets himself be reminded of just the funny things about Murphy, about Connor, and pretends there's a similarity there when there really damn well isn't.

His Irish boyos had always respected him. Fucked him over, fucked his head inside out, but they'd respected him.

Paul realizes he's staring at the skyline again, shakes himself.

"Sorry. Miles away. Anyway, I was likely cutting them some slack due to a superficial resemblance to some not-quite-as-dumb kids I missed. It won't happen again.

"What'd they do to get on your nerves, oh most mild-mannered of geniuses?"

Glitch sips his wine and lets Paul go. He, of all people, knows to wait out a mental meandering as it tends to be worthwhile.

Setting the glass down he tugs at a lock of hair, listens to the explanation, and snorts.

"Who, me? I think you mean sparkplug-sucking exxie cityrat blah blah blah, etc." A sigh. "They sorta remind me of the little thugs who used to harrass me back home. Aside from that, they seem to think DG's one of them, which is just a mild annoyance until you factor in their desire to and propensity for getting the aliens' attention, and if she gets mixed up with that..."

He frowns and shrugs. "Plus they're dangerous and unpredictable and I'm worried about what they might do to my c-- to the city. And I have no idea what to do about it."

Threatening them just pissed them off. Reasoning with them didn't work. Helping them got your belongings stolen, apparently. How do you negotiate with that?

Paul smiles, a bit wolfishly, a bit impishly. "I'm a chiptuned scarecrow, a cityrat, a robocop, exxie trash.... oh, and a pig."

A semi-nostalgic little snort. "Gee, I've never heard that one before in twenty years of having a badge."

He listens to the rest of what Glitch has to say, a little frown on his face for the mention of DG and potential involvement.

"She's smart, Glitch, she's not going to let herself get mixed up in whatever harebrained thing they start next," he says, trying on the role of reassuring comforter which he has never been that great at but hey. "As for what to do..."

Paul scrubs at his face with his free hand, then smiles wickedly. "We could try calling up that sheriff asshole and siccing him on them again for my iPod," he offers. Pause, beat, then he sighs and shakes his head.

"Okay, I'm not serious there. That feels too much like collusion for me. Besides, I refuse to accept that the mass of us who are for the most part not unreasonable immature dicks can't handle this stuff on our own."

The litany gets a chuckle, partly because it's ridiculous but also because Glitch is, very privately, endlessly amused that he hasn't gotten the scarecrow label yet. Matter of time.

"Yeah, she's brilliant. She's also got little to no impulse control when it comes to fighting the good fight and literally jumped off a cliff because her friends were doing it."

That was not one of their collective proudest moments.

He shakes his head at the idea of the sheriff, glad Paul wasn't serious. "We should be able to but...I dunno." His brain runs through a few variables at a speed which still makes him dizzy and he tilts his head. "Or maybe we can't. Can you think of anyone not in their age group that they don't regularly go all Costa Rica on?"

"Jumped off a cliff," Paul repeats, because it seems like the thing to do. "Right. Well. Have you-- spoken to her about your misgivings?"

The question gets him to thump his head back against the wall and shrug. "Damned if I know who they do and don't get gun-wavey around. I mean..."

Paul rubs at his face, then grins humorlessly. "I'm probably not the best person for it. Me and Party, Christ. We share a sin: we both like to hear ourselves talk. Doesn't make for a conversation. I don't know.

"Why would you want the person to be outside of their age group? Because me, I think that anyone over thirty they're going to look at as an automatic sellout to the hamsters. Rebellious fuckin' youth, don't you know."

Illyria cares nothing for the quarrels of humans. They are but children's games. But this place...causes her more restlessness than she wishes to admit. It is another place she must adapt to. Without a guide.

"He bested you." She looks at him, detached but curious. "Are you to allow his thievery to go unpunished?"

Someone new. Paul gives the woman a cursory glance on the screen, and keeps digging cleaning supplies out from under the counter.

"Hello to you too, Blue," he says off-handedly as he wrestles with the mop. "'Bested' isn't the word I'd use. He stole from me, meaning he's lost my trust, and I've now notified the city he steals, meaning every person here he meets will probably be just a bit less likely to extend the hand of assistance. Or at least, not without precautions on their part. So really, he's pretty much fucking himself over long run--"

Paul grunts as he wrests the mop free from where it's been jammed.

"As for punished? We're all in this fucking prison already. I can't do anything worse to him than the hamsters already have, I'm sure.

"So. You're new."

She pays no attention to his insolent greeting, nor to his observation about the prison. Her existence in this place is sealed, that much she is certain. Her powers are great, but the walls of this city have proven to be greater.

"Trust," she sneers. "A flimsy thing--no sooner gained than it is lost. It is a muted understanding humans seek to feel safer. It reigns you in, like puppets, strings guided by emotions stronger yet."

She stops, her eyes still locked on him. Eager to teach, eager to understand. "You have been wronged. Yet you leave justice up for others to seek in your stead?"

Paul sighs. "Ah. You're another of the better-than-thou non-humans. Ready to lecture me on the inferiority of my species. Gotcha. Frankly, if it comes to being told what a moron I am for trusting people, I prefer the kid who was here before. He was sometimes funny."

This mortal does not pay you anything like proper respect, Illyria.

Paul rolls his neck side to side, rubs at the back of it with one hand. "No. No. There's no 'justice' here to enforce. He's a dumb damn kid who did a stupid thing and is going to learn the consequences of theft in a closed society."

She simply cocks her head at him. His brusqueness is offensive, as is his ignorance, but it is not hers to correct.

"And if he learns nothing?"

"Then he isolates himself and lives with the consequences of doing that. I'm not his father."

"You misinterpret mistake for habit. Transgression--and deceit--are as common to humans as breathing. If he learns nothing, he will steal from you. Again, and again. What, then?"

Paul laughs shortly.

"No, he won't steal from me again, because I won't make the mistake of letting him near my shit again. That's what this whole thing was: a warning to everyone else not to let him near your shit. If you're having trouble comprehending that, I really can't help you, Blue."

The last time they spoke didn't go over so well, and even though it's not a situation of life or death, it's still important to someone, so a very cowed Willow turns on the feed and responds.

"Um... Did you ever get it back? That thing he took from you?"

Paul gives the tablet a double-take when the message comes in a little while after his announcement. It's the redhead, the witchy one. Rosenberg. He purses his lips before tapping a button to reply.

"No." He's tempted to just leave it there; their last chat hadn't left him feeling too delighted either.

"Maybe he was glitched, hm?" So much for leaving it there.

It's more than Willow had expected, honestly. She hadn't really thought he would answer... or give much of one if he did. The sentence offered after his curt answer is taken eagerly, even as Willow tries not to show that she's working on being better and trustworthy.

"He might've been. Do you think the sheriff might do anything about it? I heard he turned up while I was gone..."

She'd offer to go get it herself, but somehow she doesn't think that would end very well.

"I was being sarcastic," Paul sighs. "He stole it... over a month ago? Two? And is refusing to give it back now. I'm pretty sure this is just plain theft.

"As for the Sheriff? He might, but I don't exactly want to call in the agent of the hamsters. I have to live here; I don't have to accept their smiling satire of law and order."

"Oh..." Her expression falls completely. In her desperate effort to do something, anything, right, she'd completely overlooked sarcasm as a possible answer. And now she feels stupid.

"Maybe someone can get it back for you. Probably not the sheriff... He didn't sound too friendly from what DG told me."

"I don't care if he's friendly or not. I just said that I don't want to call in the creation of the people who are, you know, imprisoning us here."

Paul rubs at his forehead. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I wasn't suggesting you do that." She's really starting to remember why she dislikes him so much. He talks to her like he thinks she's a child. It's humiliating and really annoying. "I was just making a point that I don't think he'd be a good idea anyway even if he wasn't one of them."

Geeze. Talk about bullheaded.

"I know it hasn't always looked it, but I'm one of the good guys. I don't like the idea of thieves running around any more than you do, especially not when they're taking really important things. If I see or hear of what he stole from you, I'll let you know."

"Fine. Your point is made, however redundant it may have been." His tone is clipped, flat.

"Good to know. And it's not that I think you are one of the 'bad guys', Willow; it's that the last time we talked you hung up on me-- for what reason I still don't understand other than that I wasn't agreeing with you about not needing to worry about vampires.

"It doesn't leave me with a great deal of confidence in either your empathy or your calm under crisis."

"Because you seem to have this thing about people who are trying to help you," Willow explained, looking a bit more annoyed than worried now. "You make them feel like children. Case and point, you're doing it again."

And maybe back then she'd been dealing with a lot of crap, maybe they both had. But apparently whatever the case was, they would have to agree to disagree and just be civil because every other time Willow tried to extend a helping hand, she got it chopped right off. And she was tired of that.

"Look, I just want this place to be as nice as we can make it. That's all."

"No. I have a thing about people who say they're trying to help me but don't actually listen to what I'm saying, because that doesn't really help. And since it's pretty clear you and I won't see eye-to-eye on this issue or probably any other, I suggest we try and steer clear of each other to save ourselves both further migraines.

"I appreciate the gesture. Really. I'll let you do it in your way, I'll work on it in mine."

So much for trying to salvage what was left of this one. Willow just let out a huge huff of frustration. "Fine." Remind her never to try again with him. It was a lost cause, clearly.

And with that, she cut the feed. No use beating something that was dead and would never live again.

The prisoners were a long way from their respective worlds. The things that they had brought with them - whether they were mp3 players or carved horses or frozen palaces - mattered. They were a final link to the place that they were supposed to be and a reminder of the world outside this hated city.

DG was suitably horrified by Paul's revelation and, when she switched on the tablet to reply, her expression was serious.

"What did he take?"

It was probably easy to guess that she intended to try and get it back.

Paul gives DG an assessing look over the tablet.

"Something personal," he says guardedly. He's well aware of what Glitch has said about DG's impetuous nature.

"I'm not asking for people to go get into a confrontation with these kids on my behalf, DG. I don't care if you think they'd listen to you or not."

"I'm not planning on getting into a confrontation with them," she assured him. She was determined to be their friend, no matter how difficult the brothers made it at times. They needed friends, people to give them a reason to listen, more than they needed ordered they'd just ignored. "I just want to help. If there's a chance they'll listen to me, it's worth a try."

Paul shrugs, face stuck into a wry grimace.

"Then you can ask Party if he'd like to return what he took from me, and see how far that gets you. He definitely knows what he stole."

DG suspected that Party knew - or thought he knew - a lot more than he appeared to know, so she didn't doubt that. What she didn't know was whether he even realised what he had done was out of order. The killjoys had their own moral code.

"I will." Even if it didn't get her far in the end. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Just don't get yourself in trouble," Paul sighs. "Good luck."

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[visual / locked] oh god my angst and tl;dr. YOUR TURN

[visual / locked] TL;DR angst? In MY Taxon? (it's mroe likely that you think)

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