skinandbone (
skinandbone) wrote in
taxonomites2013-04-07 03:13 am
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[Location: The Market] Stalling out
This is completely terrifying.
Somewhere at the outskirt of the Market, Metody has rented a stall with the last of her money and some very fast talking. She sits at the front of it, giving the world a tense, edgy smile.
She is not wearing her environmental suit, and that is completely terrifying. Appearances matter and no one looks friendly in a black space suit, and so it is stashed under the tablecloth. In it's place, Metody is wearing her impression of business dress: Electric pink jeans, a green blouse, a blue net scarf and a blazingly purple jacket. She's done something complicated with a pink ribbon to one arm, and there's a band of carved ivory flowers holding back her hair, and okay, it's maybe not the most staid of outfits, but the jacket means it's professional, right? And so does the scarf.
Her wares are displayed as attractively as she could manage: on one side, delicate carvings of bone - little boxes with geometrical or botanical themes, long strands of interlocking beads, flowers with petals so thin that light shines through them, intricate ivory hair ornaments. On the other side is meat of the operation, ha ha: purplish venison steaks and what looks at first glance to be chicken thighs and cutlets, but is actually rabbit. She's even got a(n ivory) plate of samples with frilly toothpicks sticking out of them, and neatly hand printed recipe cards.
There is paper and string to package up the meat, and little boxes for the jewelry and carvings, and if no one buys anything, she is facing a long walk home followed by another meal of yet more freaking venison and rabbit.
She might just try eating grass and rocks instead. Or she'll try staring at the crowd and willing them into purchasing.
C'mon. C'mooooooooon.
Somewhere at the outskirt of the Market, Metody has rented a stall with the last of her money and some very fast talking. She sits at the front of it, giving the world a tense, edgy smile.
She is not wearing her environmental suit, and that is completely terrifying. Appearances matter and no one looks friendly in a black space suit, and so it is stashed under the tablecloth. In it's place, Metody is wearing her impression of business dress: Electric pink jeans, a green blouse, a blue net scarf and a blazingly purple jacket. She's done something complicated with a pink ribbon to one arm, and there's a band of carved ivory flowers holding back her hair, and okay, it's maybe not the most staid of outfits, but the jacket means it's professional, right? And so does the scarf.
Her wares are displayed as attractively as she could manage: on one side, delicate carvings of bone - little boxes with geometrical or botanical themes, long strands of interlocking beads, flowers with petals so thin that light shines through them, intricate ivory hair ornaments. On the other side is meat of the operation, ha ha: purplish venison steaks and what looks at first glance to be chicken thighs and cutlets, but is actually rabbit. She's even got a(n ivory) plate of samples with frilly toothpicks sticking out of them, and neatly hand printed recipe cards.
There is paper and string to package up the meat, and little boxes for the jewelry and carvings, and if no one buys anything, she is facing a long walk home followed by another meal of yet more freaking venison and rabbit.
She might just try eating grass and rocks instead. Or she'll try staring at the crowd and willing them into purchasing.
C'mon. C'mooooooooon.
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"Sweetheart, I dunno how to tell you this, but your world is fucked up."
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"But I suppose everyone thinks that about their home."
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He drops them to look beseechingly at Metody. "--you do at least have pot, right? Weed? Grass? --not the stuff that grows on the front lawn?
"....unless you have incredibly lax local zoning regulations."
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"Bong: a water pipe used for the smoking and inhalation of cannabis, tobacco, and I guess other drugs."
He gestures at the shape of an imaginary bong under his hands. "Usually has a tube up for breathing in the smoke? And a bowl-y area for the stuff? Frequently made of glass? Tell me if I'm ringing any bells here."
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"You smoke hemp?"
Metody's expression isn't so much shock as incredulity.
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"Well... yeah! On occasion! Marijuana is vastly to be preferred, but since I can't yet find either here, I'd take hemp if I could get it. You're not gonna go all prude on me, are you?" he asks, misinterpreting Metody's incredulity.
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He gives Metody a long look, then pats at his tummy, which, despite the weeks of canned food during the snow, has not appreciably suffered.
"Sweetie, I dunno what it looks like, but I think we can take it on good faith I don't need an appetite stimulator.
"I do dope to get stoned as fuck. We are just speaking totally different languages, aren't we?"
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"I mean, I can think of two or three other things that'd be much better and easier to obtain, and that's just off the top of my head. And I hardly ever drug, except for religion."
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"...oh."
He rocks back on his heels a little, hands jammed into his pockets, studying his toes in his flip-flops a moment before giving a casual shrug.
"I kinda had some bad experiences with the harder stuff. And 'sides, I can deal with charges for possession of weed, if I gotta. Coke or meth? Ain't worth it. No way.
"....so.... what, religion-- you're doing what, like peyote for that then?"
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"Oh, golly, no, I'm inland Eastern. Mostly goldleaf and summerdust, depending on the ceremony. I used to do locations and banishments, so lots of ghost powder and red, but not so much anymore because it's too hard on my heart."
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"--it sounds like, all pretty and stuff though. Your drugs have great names. Summerdust. Goldleaf. That's miles better than 'methamphetamines'. Although I guess ecstasy and angeldust are pretty names. Except angeldust is seriously not pretty to use," he says, scrunching up his nose as he babbles.
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There's a battered chair behind the counter. Metody isn't in it anymore; at some point in the conversation, she stood up.
"What's angeldust do?"
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Jeremy flip-flops back behind the counter (what are boundaries) and flops into the chair.
"Uhmmn... makes you tweak like crazy," he says with a squint and a rub at his jaw. "You don't feel pain but you go pretty psycho-- aggressive behavior, violence, stuff like that. One guy killed a girl and ate her freakin' lung cuz he thought she was the devil. Naaasty stuff."
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"...why would eating a lung stop a demon? Wouldn't that just give it a road to influence?"
"We have stuff that has bad side effects like that, too. It's not in common use, though. I mean - look at the consequences."
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He looks quizzically up at her question. "...it doesn't really make you logical," he says after a bit. "I don't think he was like, thinking rationally about eating the lung, you know? He was all ARGLE BARGLE YOU ARE EVIL I'M-A KNIFE YOU AND THEN MAYBE CHEW ON YOUR FACE. Not that I knew the guy or anything."
He stretches back in the chair, nodding a little. "It's illegal as hell in our world. What're your policies like?"
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"I think that even someone very high back home wouldn't eat part of a demon. But maybe we're more wary than you guys?"
"On drugs? Home brew isn't regulated, really - I mean, how could you? But you're responsible for what you do or neglect to do while on drugs, or what's done while on stuff you provided to someone else, and you've got to be of age, and it's illegal to transport past a certain distance."
"And certain things are definitely regulated."
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He scratches at his belly and wonders if he's actually starting to believe this whole place is real or if he's just going along to get along, now.
Oh well, drug-talk's more interesting. "Huh," he says. "Our laws are kinda whack, I dunno. I mean there's a lot of soft stuff like weed that's technically illegal but nobody really cares, and then there's the cocaine and crap like that which is all, shit, gangs and such, so people smugglin' it in and getting shot over it and stuff. I've thought about moving to Amsterdam a few times. Maybe I should just move to your world instead."
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"We've got lots of people who move stuff illegally, especially to other parts of the country where the right plants don't grow."
"Why Amsterdam?" And she's not even going to think about Jeremy in her world. It'd be like watching a kindergartener blunder through a four lane highway.
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"--I don't mean here, obviously. Here, I think everything exists." He knuckles at his eyes and wishes he had some sunglasses.
"Cuz Amsterdam--" he yawns, "--has really loose drug laws. Weed's legal and most other things you wanna shoot, puff, snort, drink, or whatever.
"You selling anything?" he asks, and then, realizing that can maybe be taken in one way given their current conversational topic, he clarifies, "I mean, any of your stuff here?"
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"I mean, theoretically. No one does, for obvious reasons. They're really dangerous, and if you make a mistake it's dangerous too, because - " Because. Because. She jerks her train of thought onto some different rails before she says anything too revealing.
" - I'm selling everything, really. Venison, the carvings...I can do custom work, too."
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He grins lopsided at her words. "I meant, are you having much luck selling anything?"
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"Oh! I sold some meat, several hairpins and a pendant. And a powder box, but I think that was a one off thing. And I talked up a butcher," - it was his fault for going near Metody in the white apron - "and I'm going to see if I can't get him tho buy some meat regular from me."
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He skritches at his belly then leans forward to look at the things that are still on display. "The beads are sweeeeet. But I still want a bong. Or maybe a guitar pick! I wonder if it'd break."
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