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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 19, 2014 19:33:31 GMT -5
{ Location: Slade Bronden's Apartment }
Slade checked her reflection in the windows as she passed them. The electric blue tone of her hair hadn't faded at all yet, which was a great sign. Maybe she'd keep it for longer than a week this time. She took a deep breath, watching the embers at the end of her cigarette glow bright orange before turning abruptly to cross the street. The walk-up to her apartment was less than a block away and there was still half the stick to go. Both brows, colored a slightly darker, deeper blue than her hair, drew together as she quickly pinched the filter and lifted her chin to let the smoke and vapor leave a trail behind her.
It was a filthy habit and she hated the taste the overly processed tobacco─ all she could get a hold of lately─ left in her mouth, but it was one of those things that helped keep her awake and meeting deadlines.
The sky was rapidly darkening and the temperature was already dropping─ pretty standard for the time of day, even with the serious climate control the steam tunnels were able to offer the City. It had been a relatively busy month. With the abrupt, and very public resignation of Esarhaddon Faerun, Fourth District's now former Council-Elect, Slade had been completely occupied slogging through public documents and digging around her sources in the Tower to find out if there was anything more to the story. Well, anything more than the already-sensational, but straightforward fairy tale love that apparently blossomed between the Councilwoman and the Emperor of Marru'Khyr. That the woman had chosen to abdicate her position due to the resulting conflict of interest wasn't something Slade wanted to have an opinion on: it was just fact. Faerun's resignation and the fact that two other seats on the Council had been vacant for an extended period of time had certainly kept her in plentiful supply of writing material. There was a pause as she adjusted the bulky scarf and crossed both arms, pulling the heavy coat tighter around her slender frame. The access door to her walk-up was only a few feet away: Slade took one last long drag on her cigarette before eying the remainder mournfully and putting it out. She tucked the filter into one of her coat pockets, her fingers brushing against at least several days worth of others─ she needed to remember to dispose of them properly before she left in the morning. The smoke was hastily exhaled before she peeled the fingerless glove off her right hand and pressed it palm-down to a black, shiny pad recessed into the side of the building and near the door. A quiet chirp of approval sounded and the access door unlocked, the automated welcome message playing as she stepped inside. It was a nice touch, really, and part of the reason she'd chosen to live in Second District instead of the much more generic residential areas in First District. The District just had more character, especially since Floraelia Devinian started sweeping renovation projects in an effort to make the housing more appealing─ and accessible─ to those who served the City without being on its payroll. Being a Journalist for the Sigma City Tribune had its perks. She'd somehow managed not only to avoid a waitlist when this building had become available, but she'd gotten the exact unit she wanted: a studio loft with a killer bathing room.
Another shining touchpad awaited her right hand but this time the door clicked and slowly opened. It was a happy sigh that eased out as the door was gently nudged shut behind her. Already she was sliding out of the coat and unwrapping the scarf and kicking off more stylish versions of the boots the Peacekeepers wore. The lights flickered on automatically, revealing the smallish, but fairly well-kept studio. Soft music drifted down from the loft where her bed looked incredibly warm and welcoming. Slade stepped to the right, where the squares of tile were the only things that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space: there were no partitions or walls in the unit─ the furniture served as the only marker for what each portion of space was used for. The other glove slipped off easily and both hands cupped under the kitchen's fountain. Lukewarm water almost immediately started pouring into her hands: Slade paused for a second, letting it pool before leaning forward and using it to rinse her face. Both shoulders slumped as she stood there for a moment, letting the stray droplets drip down into her sleeves and collect on her collarbone. Need to stay awake. . .
She shook the excess water from her hands and buried her face in a towel. A few minutes later, with the sound of coffee brewing, she crossed from tile to glossy hardwood with sock feet, pulling an elastic from its usual home around a delicate, bracelet-covered wrist and using it to tie the thick of her hair back. Her sweatpants called invitingly from the loft, but Slade ignored them. She was comfortable enough and dressing down too much could end in her dozing off before the night's personal deadlines were met. The workspace she'd meticulously set up was on the opposite side of the kitchen, next to the sizable windows that, on a clearer day, allowed for a decent perspective on the street below─ it was really the only downside to the unit, no spectacular view. The “terminal,” as she called it, was really a well-made leaning bookcase with a built-in desk that took up most of the wall. Slade sat down carefully in the highly-stylized-but-somehow-comfortable chair pulled up next the espresso-finished woodwork and waved a hand over what seemed to be empty space. Her apartment was completely modest except when it came to this beautifully designed custom network. A sharp, light blue projection manifested, voicing the readable query:
”Password?”
”Omega050237.” Slade's voice had the same strong rolling lilt all those who were born in Vascxious Sigma possessed.
A large square lit up in the center and immediately all of her feeds started scrolling. There were current articles from the other papers, private messages waiting to be checked, and special items she'd earmarked for later reading. A new message pinged just as she was moving to swipe away some of the digital clutter. When she tried to scroll past it, the window stuck, pinging again. Slade leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and flicking the message open.
Hey Slade. Thought this might catch your interest. You'll never believe who my source is.
One brow soared upward as she rechecked the sender. Tëruan Slovchk, one of her off-and-on friends at the Times. They kept in touch when it was convenient, like when she needed some information from him or vice versa, but usually she was the one to break radio silence. Something must have struck a chord if he was contacting her. Attached to the message was his newest article, published today, with a damning headline. Slade skimmed through it, stopping dead when she realized what Slovchk was actually accusing Ouroboros of, and through a company located in the newly Council-Elect-less Fourth District. She opened a reply and tapped out rapidly:
I'm assuming that source of yours is really reliable, because that's a really heavy accusation. Do you have more?
She hit send, and couldn't stop her fingers from tapping on the side of the desk as she waited impatiently for him to get back to her. One swipe brought the article back to the forefront and she read more carefully. Her instincts were screaming. If Ouroboros was really doing something like that, the empty Council seat couldn't be a coincidence. The titan of a corporation's CEO had to be involved. She didn't even wait for the ping when the message alert flashed.
We should meet. Dinner?
Slade rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but bite. Something was up. Probably her next big story.
You're buying this time. Want to meet in the Basilica?
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 21, 2014 15:12:16 GMT -5
I was thinking my place. Not sure about anywhere public.
Gunmetal blue eyes thinned as her fingertips struck an irritated cadence on the desk's edge. One of two things was happening: Either Slovchk was fucking with her, which was well within the boundaries of their sporadic relationship, or he'd stumbled on something serious enough to warrant survivalist caution. Considering that they were both members of the free press and had very little to fear in terms of violent reaction to what they published. . . Slade would normally be inclined to believe it was the first option, but what was already published was heavy enough that he might actually be worried about retaliation. It's not every day that one of the biggest corporations in the Trade City gets accused of fixing a market for profit─ especially a market as important as medical. She hadn't realized she was staring off into space until the next ping sounded.
Look, I trust my security, and I think I'm going to need your help. . .
Slade sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering what the odds were that the never-wrong burning sensation of honed intuition could be ignored. There was definitely a story here, but she had the sinking feeling it wasn't one that would come together, wrapped neatly, for any specific deadline. Anything that potentially involved members of the Council had that drawback. Ping!
I'll order takeout. And I'll make Azalethan pastry bombs.
The corner of her mouth twitched. The man knew how to bribe her. Really, it was expected: asking her to jump over to Third District with last minute plans when she was already exhausted from work─ the same kind of work he did─ demanded some measure of compensation.
Slade. Still there?
She tapped out a quick response and punched 'send.'
Start on the bombs now. And you better have coffee. The good stuff.
She signed off and shut down the terminal before she could change her mind, making a mental checklist of what needed to be taken care of before she left again. Dax, the perfectly pitch-black cat that was apparently unwilling to vacate the warmth of her bed and come say hello, needed to be fed. A thermos of coffee was in order. An extra layer or two needed to be added to her clothing: just because Vascxious Sigma was well-lit even during the night hours didn't mean the bit of warmth that came from the sun didn't make a difference even with the steam.
Sock feet padded across the smooth flooring and into the kitchen where the rustling sounds of heavy paper and the soothing stream of dried food pouring into a bowl finally roused her furry companion from her naptime. The sound of purring just barely preceded Dax's rub against the side of her leg, which was followed very quickly by insistent, reproachful meowing─ as if she hadn't been fed in days. Slade absently put the bowl down and turned, crossing the floor to climb the sleek panes of steel bolted to the side of one wall and served as the stairway to the loft. The rumple of blankets, arranged into a Dax-sized nest was carefully avoided in favor of the closet door that was halfway open. Slade took out a heathered grey long-sleeved pullover and slipped into it, adjusting the hood so that it rested flush against her shoulder blades. An earth-tone suede jacket that had probably seen better days but was also incredibly warm soon followed suit, the hood of the sweater automatically pulled over the collar and readjusted.
It only took a few more minutes before Slade was ready to go back out into the cold. An expert wrist-flick had her box of cigarettes open and one of the filters gripped by even teeth. The thermos of steaming coffee was considered precious cargo and kept very close. As soon as the door closed behind her Slade lit up and moved with purpose toward the nearest transit hub. Third District was technically right next door, but that didn't mean Slovchk would get a pass. . .
{ End Scene: Location Change - Third District: thecache.boards.net/thread/19/street-level }
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 27, 2014 23:29:26 GMT -5
{ Location: Slade Bronden's Apartment }
Slade burst into her own apartment, wanting to cry in relief when the automatic lights flickered on. She spun 'round to close the door behind her and firmly bolt it, turning the handle and pulling on it to check that it didn't give even a millimeter. As soon as her safety was assured the Journalist leaned against the door, letting her breath come out in hard exhales. Her forehead pressed to the cold steel of the more modern door and both palms splayed against it to support her weight. Goddess knew something need to hold its own right now. . . Any trace of stoicism she'd been nursing crumbled away from her features as her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clenched─ it was difficult to tell she was crying from sound alone. Only the redness of her features and the sudden inhale against leaking sinuses really gave it away. One hand pounded weakly against steel before she took another breath and exhaled slowly, opening her eyes only when Dax rubbed up against the side of her boot and meowed at her. Slade straightened and rubbed a fist across her face and under her nose.
”Don't act like I didn't feed you, feline.”
When the completely-black cat paused, settled on her haunches, and meowed back at her reproachfully the Journalist couldn't help but give her a small smile.
”You're the biggest little shit. Fucking cat.” Her tone was affectionate; Dax didn't seem to mind─ the little furball immediately started purring.
Slade checked the lock again before moving to the kitchen sink. It took a second to peel off her fingerless gloves before smoothing both sleeves away from her wrists. Open palms cupped under the instant flow of room-temperature water and were used to splash her face several times, both hands pushed all of her hair away from her face after the last round. Her lip was swollen and really tender to the touch, she realized as the tip of her tongue exploring the split caused shooting pain to radiate throughout the sensitive area. She just stood there for a moment, encouraging the numbness that was sure to follow. . .
Her mind was like a live wire. She could remember the scent of cherries as 'Odette' pitched forward, sinking teeth into her lip. Slate eyes snapped open. The numbness wasn't going to come on its own. She was too keyed up. After wiping her hands on a towel Slade pulled her comunikay out of its usual pocket and flipped it open. A few seconds of prying and she'd ripped the key out of it, tossing it onto the counter where Dax immediately started batting at it. Her slender frame turned so that she could lean against the stone's edge as she flipped through her contacts quickly, stopping at 'Jax.' She rapidly started typing.
Hey. Serious need. The usual, heavy on the rec side. Need to feel good. Plan to stay a minute? Anything you want.
She practically punched 'send' and absently pet Dax, staring at the screen as if it would manifest a quicker response if she was intense about it.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 29, 2014 10:34:09 GMT -5
The Journalist shut the device and set it on the counter. Forty-five minutes really meant thirty, if Jax was running late. Slate eyes searched for the illuminated time-keeper embedded on her coffeemaker. Both brows knit together skeptically. Was it really not even midnight yet? The time-keeper earned a squint of scrutiny before the outside button was depressed on her comunikay, the smaller outside screen confirming the time. Fuck. The time wasn't important, really, it was just that─ though her hours were a little odd─ there was still some semblance of a schedule to maintain. She just wasn't sure how she was going to stay awake for it when she was already pretty exhausted.
The sound of the key skittering across the kitchen tile and the resulting thud of Dax's pursuit startled her into jumping.
”Shit! Dax, c'mon!”
She ignored Slade's admonishing tone and batted the key until it slid to a stop, caught where the tile turned into hardwood. Slade sighed, straightening and turning her back on Dax to start making coffee. The normally heavy supply of sugar and flavored cream was eyed critically: the Journalist was happy to note both were in good order, knowing that Jax would appreciate it. She couldn't just ask him over in the middle of the night and not have any coffee to offer him. A flurry of movement caught her eye just as she moved to close one of the overhead cabinets: her nuisance of a cat somehow managed to scoop up the comunikay key and was tossing it into the air and jumping after it like it was running away. Slade exhaled slowly, willing herself to stop freaking out at every little thing. If she didn't get her shit together Jax was bound to notice and she wasn't sure she was up for talking about it. The tips of her first two fingers touched the obviously swollen flesh of her lower lip carefully, realizing there was no way Jax wouldn't ask about what she'd been up to. Not that the whole asking him to plan to stay over for a while wasn't unusual enough to warrant a question or three. The sound of boot heels clicking on tile were a sharp reminder that she hadn't taken the time to make herself comfortable yet─ she'd been too busy assuring herself that she'd not been followed and she was in a safe place. Slade gasped and both palms hurriedly started patting the front of her jacket, relaxing only when the stiff edge of the envelope could be felt. The Journalist sighed in relief. If she'd somehow managed to lose all the documents after what she'd gone through to get them. . .
Slade shook her head at the thought and moved to climb the steel panes leading up to the loft, those gunmetal-colored eyes sweeping the length of her studio to make sure everything was in its place for Jax's arrival. There was only a worn blanket thrown over the side of her couch─ obviously well-loved and meant for comfort─ that she should probably fold and put away, maybe replacing it with one of the newer throws she'd collected in an effort to replace that one but just couldn't beat the warmth it offered. About halfway up she heard the comunikay go off on the kitchen counter and glanced at it, knowing it was an update from Jax most likely moving up his timeline. A hint of a smile pricked at the corners of her mouth before she remembered it hurt to do that. The Dax-nest was offered a passing glance before the Journalist took off her jacket, pulling the envelope out of the interior's wide front pocket and shoving it into the drawer of her nightstand without looking at it too closely. Maybe she'd pull it out again when Jax left, but right now she didn't even want to think about it. . .
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Nov 29, 2014 22:01:10 GMT -5
Jacob Davenor paused on the sidewalk in front of Tower Twelve and checked his wrist-counter: Leing had managed to bob and weave through traffic with so much skill that he managed to shave another two minutes off of Jax’s projected arrival time, a feat the dealer couldn’t help but note and appreciate. Leing acted as his driver and part-time bodyguard, as well as a go-between with a certain cross section of clients who trusted him more than Jax. Truth be told, Leing had once been a small-timer with his own list of clients, but when Jax had started cutting in on his territory, Leing did the smart thing and decided to join up instead of getting pushed out. The short, stocky Vascxious native still handled the majority of his original client list with the caveat that Jax always took his cut, and otherwise made a salary of his own running interference and errands for his boss. Leing was trusted, and that exactly why Jax liked to keep him around.
The dealer turned back to the vehicle and leaned down over it, sticking his head back into the open door to catch Leing’s gaze.
“Don’t wait up, but be at my place bright and early. We’ve got to mobilize the network first thing.”
The other man gave Jax a mock salute which the dealer acknowledge with a grin before standing back upright, closing the door, and tapping on the vehicle’s roof twice to signal Leing that he was clear to head out. The driver peeled out rapidly as Jax strolled across the sidewalk to the short-bridge that acted as a side entrance into Slade’s building on the third floor – fishing into his picket, Jax grabbed the keycard the journalist had given him some years back and flashed it past the door handle, signaling the street-locks to disengage and let him into the well-lit third floor hallway. As the lock clicked back in place behind him, Jax brushed a bit of snow from his shoulders and straightened his jacket’s lapels out before stepping around the immediate corner to his left and politely rapping his fingers against Slade’s door to announce his arrival before waving the card in front of the handle, disengaging the lock and letting him into the apartment.
The dealer closed the door quickly behind him in order to ensure Dax didn’t get the bright idea of escaping. Jax wasn’t the type to like pets much, which was something that Slade’s cat had realized early, meaning that the damn thing made a point to be extra-obnoxious when her tall, grey-haired human friend came to call. Dropping the bag of leftover’s on Slade’s counter and starting to remove his coat, Jax called out towards the loft.
“I’m here. What’s the emergency?” Jax knew that something was up, and the journalist would have realized that her old friend would see right through the peculiar nature of her message.
“I brought some food from Kelvik’s, over in third. You’d better eat something, since I’m sure as hell not taking any of it back.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 29, 2014 23:08:23 GMT -5
True to form, Dax stopped her pursuit of the key to watch intently when Jax entered the apartment. He barely had a chance to touch down his fancy shoes on the tile before Dax was weaving between his ankles, purring as if he was the first pet-dispenser she'd seen all night. When he inevitably stopped and offered her any sort of look, the uniformly-black feline paused and made eye contact to issue the most insistent meow cat-sized lungs would allow.
Up in the loft Slade sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots, letting them stay where they fell on the floor. Newly liberated sock feet padded across the floor so the Journalist could lean into her closet and pull out a change of clothes, holding them close as she turned around to return to the 'stairway' and greet Jax downstairs. It wasn't that she totally intended to ignore his first question─ well, actually, she kind of did.
”Never heard of it, but I'm not in Third all that often.”
Slade tried to offer a hint of the mischievous smile that would normally accompany those words and hide how exhausted she was. It wasn't her playing coy; she was simply not the kind of person that let anyone see how hard she'd been hit─ or bit in this case, and there wasn't really any hiding that, now was there. She didn't realize how hungry she actually was until the food smells started hitting her. Slate eyes darted first toward the bag then down to where Dax was doing her best to be the biggest ham in the world at the man who was least likely to find her shenanigans endearing. The Journalist paused and finally made eye contact with her Dealer, trying not to bite her lower lip with the effort it took to keep her poker face on.
”Thanks for coming. I didn't really give you any notice. . .”
Jax was sharp and she looked pretty rough. The darkness under her eyes that marked her as an insomniac were much more prevalent than usual and almost looked like actual bruising. Her hair was pretty much lifeless, having gone through the whole running-a-marathon part and then the running-for-survival part. What she'd tell him about her night was still up for grabs though: Slade wasn't sure she wanted to relive the experience just yet. One thing was sure though: there was a good chance she wasn't in the clear yet.
”Want some coffee?
She cleared her throat, not necessarily avoiding his questions, but not knowing how to answer them in a way that would preserve her stoicism as well as provide actual relevant information. She stared at him, shifting weight from one foot to the other as Dax tried again, rubbing silky fur against the leg of his pant with a rumbling purr.
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Nov 30, 2014 17:33:32 GMT -5
Jacob Davenor took his time pulling out the various containers of food and strategically placing them across, the counter, opening the top of each one of them so the still-warm hours d’oeuvres could waft their aromas throughout the kitchen, undoubtedly giving Slade a sudden, intense hunger. It was all part of the plan, really, considering that Jax really did have no intention of taking any of it back, and considering how Slade normally operated, once she started eating she would continue to snack on whatever was laid out until there was nothing left, after which she would then proceed not to feed herself again for at least 12 hours.
Once his work was done, Jax leaned against the counter next to his coat and crossed his arms, eyeing Slade as she came downstairs and proceeded to avoid his questions. As usual, Jax would play along only up until a certain point.
“It’s a good joint – you’ll like the noodles, if nothing else. Now, what happened to your lip, did you get in a fight with a coworker, or have to make out with a Doberman for a story?”
Up until that point, Jax had done his best to ignore the insistent purring and meowing of that damn cat Dax, but he finally bent over far enough to let the little critter smell the tips of his fingers, which she did for a good minute before deciding that his hand had passed the requisite inspection, and therefore he could now begin petting her. Jax did so reluctantly, all the while watching Slade intently.
“Yeah, but I’ll make it. Sit down and eat before all that shit gets cold.”
Much to Dax’s disapproval, the dealer relinquished his primary task of petting her to walk right to the requisite cabinet and start putting together the ingredients necessary to make coffee, turning his back on Slade as he did so and, perhaps thankfully for her, releasing her from his always-scrutinizing gaze. That didn’t mean the man didn’t keep talking, though.
“Don’t worry about the notice – you picked a good night, in all honesty, I need to keep myself off the radar and out of trouble for a few hours. You want some of this too, right?” The answer was a forgone conclusion, but the man always asked regardless as he dished enough ground coffee out to caffeinate a small Akrathi tribe. “Tell me how you like the chicken, I thought they got the spice just right.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 30, 2014 19:33:22 GMT -5
Slade was already watching the containers of food with hawk-like precision. His plan was working and her stomach rumbled in response. Ah, there it was. Jax never did let her tendency for noncommittal answers to just slide. Well, mostly.
”Well. . . That second scenario is partially true. I don't know about making out, but the bitch definitely took a chunk out of me.”
Her attempt at humor came out kind of flat, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The tone was too dark to be properly comedic. Besides, she needed to keep a close eye where Dax was concerned. Slade knew Jax wasn't her biggest fan and she really didn't need her resident furball to go picking fights with him just now. The Journalist ignored his hard stare, still trying to get a grip and prevent any meltdowns in the near future. That he stopped focusing on her right when she approached her breaking point either meant he knew exactly where it was and was offering reprieve or she'd successfully distracted him with talk of coffee. Somehow she wasn't holding her breath that it was the latter: they'd known each other for far too long for that. Slade suppressed a shiver and hugged the change of clothes tighter to her chest, settling herself with watching the spread of Jax's shoulders as he maneuvered through her kitchen with a degree of familiarity that happened to be quite comforting just now.
”I should take a shower first. . .”
Even she didn't think that was as good an idea as eating right now: the stomach grumbling was impossible to hide as she took a step closer, peering at what he'd brought hungrily.
”Mhm,” the murmur of assent was absent, an afterthought while her main focus was on what food container was going to be decimated first. Chicken was as good as any, she decided, offering a sidelong glance Jax's way before grabbing a fork out of one of the drawers and taking the entire container─ adding a couple of those cream cheese pastry thingys on top of course─ with her over to the couch. After carefully setting down the mostly-folded clothes on the coffee table and curling her lanky form up into the well-cushioned corner Slade went to work, scarfing it all down as if she hadn't eaten four or five hours before. Really, running for your life will do that to you.
”The good stuff is in the overhead cabinet, to the right.” Somehow she'd managed to pass the information between bites. Jax would probably wonder if she was even taking the time to chew everything. If he opened the door she mentioned he'd reveal a supply of liquers that were meant to be paired with coffee. Jax might not need the alcoholic addition, but Slade's nerves were raw. . .
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Nov 30, 2014 21:20:50 GMT -5
Jacob let the coffee steep longer than usual in order to make sure it was strong enough to take a decent bite out of his ass – even though the dealer tended to drench the beverage with sugar and creamer, he still liked the strong taste of good, hearty coffee, so he took his time in making it so that it’d come out right. Too many people took it weak, especially in this city – Jax knew that Slade wouldn’t mind the extra kick.
“Who took a bite out of you?” Jax had to wonder for a moment whether the word ‘bitch’ in this case was a reference to an actual dog, but given Slade’s usage of it in the past, he figured it was probably meant to imply ‘crazy woman’ in this case. “What happened?”
Jax momentarily thought to ignore Slade’s notation about ‘the good stuff’, turning to look over his shoulder at the journalist as she settled on the couch with her food. Shaking his head, the dealer went to the designated cabinet and pulled out a good liqueur, unscrewing the top with a small amount of ceremony and adding just a bit to one of the cups. Jax hesitated momentarily, the edge of the bottle hovering precariously over the second cup, but with a grimace he pulled it back and recapped the damn thing, setting it back in the cabinet and picking up both mugs.
Jax leaned over and set down both coffee mugs on the table and took a minute to remove his sportcoat, folding it very carefully and laying it across the far arm of the sofa. The dealer skillfully maneuvered around the coffee table and took a seat directly next to Slade, grabbing for his mug and blowing on it to dissipate a tiny amount of heat before drinking. The coffee was good, though it lacked the sweetness it would have gained from the liqueur – Jax made sure not to think on that regret too hard.
Instead the man focused his attention on Slade again, his eyes locking on her face, peering from behind his raised mug.
“Now: Are you going to tell me what happened?”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 30, 2014 22:02:28 GMT -5
”Mmm.”
Slade let her eyes close in appreciation of the warm food, exhaling steadily before going a little easy on the hard pace she'd set. She wouldn't answer him until he came over with the coffee. At the clink! of the mugs the Journalist scooped the last of the chicken into her mouth before setting the now-empty container down and gathering up her mug. A quick sniff told her Jax had spiked it, but not to her liking. Now was so not the time to be shorting her on alcohol, but she'd remedy that later when she went to refill the cup. A quick sip burned her through the center and the tension that started building the moment her Dealer had entered the apartment degraded somewhat.
”Does the name 'Odette' mean anything to you?”
Caution had to be exercised. Slade didn't know what she could pass on to Jax that could involve him in ways he didn't need to be, and though he was very skilled at keeping himself off radar Slade had no intention of subjecting him to unnecessary risk. For fuck's sake, he was the only person she trusted to take care of himself because she sure as shit wasn't able to worry about anyone but herself─ she wasn't in the market to make him any sort of target. The thought was triggering and she recalled something Odette had said before Slade split. I’ll have to remember to thank Slovchk . . . when I see him.
Slade shuddered, claiming another long draw of coffee before meeting Jax's stare.
”Something new kind of. . . grabbed me.”
Suddenly her tone dropped and became much more serious.
”I had to go out to Seventh to meet a source. Turned out to be a fucking lunatic. I can't explain it. I've never been scared to meet anyone before. It's always so cheesy when a credible source wants to meet in abandoned maintenance sheds. . .”
Another sip of coffee and grey stare slid past Jax. There was little enough color in her complexion already. . .
”I don't know what happened, Jax. I walked in, and from the very first moment I wasn't in control. This source was. . . I don't know. She was so focused. Honed. She knew exactly what she wanted from me, exactly how it was all going to go down.”
She swallowed hard, remembering the cold shock of fear in her veins and the scent of cherries and other things. . . Wisps of electric blue fell into her face when she shook her head, refusing to gauge Jax's reaction to what she was saying. She sounded fucked up about it; she didn't need to look at him and see whether or not she looked fucked up reflected back at her. She finished off her coffee and stood.
”I'm going to grab some more. . .”
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Nov 30, 2014 23:42:44 GMT -5
Jacob considered Slade’s question as he stared over the top of his mug, letting the warm steam waft into his sinuses to unsettled the cold that had been threating to form for days. The name didn’t seem familiar to the dealer, and it certainly wouldn’t have matched anyone on his client lists. Still, the underworld of Vascxious Sigma was a massive place, and Jax knew whoever Slade was referencing could well be operating right under his nose without difficulty.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”
Jax silenced his own follow-up question by taking a drink instead, occupying himself with the pursuit of imbibing more caffeine. After a long, drawn-out sip, the dealer set the mug down on the table and turned back to there he had lain his sportcoat. As he listened to Slade tell her story, Jax fished the transport container he had brought Slade’s requested product in front the interior pocket of the coat and set it on the table in front of her, making no other mention of it save its presence as he doggedly turned his attention back to his coffee.
When Slade had finished her story, Jax let himself ponder over her words before coming back with anything. What she was describing was a higher class than Jax himself usually ran into in his dealings – hell, the average low-baller in the steam tunnels tended to have personalities like rats: scared and fidgety, but vicious when provoked. Not many players were as cool as the journalist was making this ‘Odette’ woman out to be, and considering how well Jax understood Slade’s personal fortitude, for her to be so shaken up meant that her description wasn’t just journalistic embellishment. The dealer kept his eyes on his friend as he set his coffee back down, the liquid-gold now half-vanquished.
“So then what’s the story? It sounds like you are getting into some serious shit, Slade – is the scoop really worth it?”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 1, 2014 11:57:51 GMT -5
Slade paused halfway to the kitchen tile, casting a steel glance over her shoulder at Jax.
”I'm not too clear on what my choices are right now,” she finished, moving toward the pot of coffee and the cabinet full of goodies.
She realized that without giving him more context and, most importantly, more identifying information her Dealer wasn't going to be able to piece together what was bothering her.. Hell, she wasn't even sure what was bothering her.. People had taken liberties with her personal space before─ that part never got easier to deal with, just less of a sensitive occurrence over time. Granted, it wasn't often a woman doing the assaulting in Slade's experience, but a gender difference wasn't enough to throw her off this much.
”Did you see the article the Times published today, well yesterday, about the financial dealings of Ouroboros?”
The question was casual, spoken as the Journalist acquired her favorite liqueur and filled her mug about halfway with it─ coffee with her alcohol was how she liked it. Ignoring the fact that Jax was probably watching her with that eagle-eyed gaze of his, Slade closed the bottle and just set it on the counter, knowing it was going to see more use tonight. Coffee topped off the cup and created a pretty, swirling collection of milky browns and golds. The marbled pattern was allowed to settle as Slade returned to the couch and curled back up next to Jax, carefully avoiding any physical contact.
”She's the source for it. The Times won't be publishing any more exposés and I. . . Well, through some uninteresting journalist-to-journalist stuff, I got handed the keys to the kingdom.”
She sighed and took a long sip, savoring the sugarcoated sting.
”The thing is, Ouroboros isn't clean. Normally I'd be all over this, without question, but this source. . . She's looking to aim a cannon in the corporation's direction and she's not even shy about it. She just wants to see it burn and I don't really know why. It doesn't sit right with me. I'm not a weapon anyone can just pick up and throw. I choose what I write about, not some crazy bitch in a mood to play games.”
The sneer that twisted her mouth was just jarring enough to reopen the split Odette inflicted on her, saturating her mouth with the taste of blood and providing a stark reminder of why she called Jax in the first place.
”I just know it's not over and somehow I've got this feeling that walking away is the kind of mistake I can't be making right now.” I’ll be checking in on you.
The tip of her index finger lightly patted her lower lip and provoked a wince as if she hadn't expected it to hurt. She'd already told Jax way more than she intended, but she also knew the information was safe with him. The tip of her tongue rubbed against the tear cautiously, wetting it so she could throw back a good amount of coffee without further damaging it. After setting the mug down she finally noticed her requested 'product' and jerked her chin to indicate it.
”The fun stuff mixable?” Her brows rose and her hand gestured toward the half-empty cup to clarify.
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 1, 2014 12:49:39 GMT -5
Jacob Davenor took another swig of his coffee as he watched Slade mosey herself back over the to the kitchen to refresh her drink. The dealer smiled wryly – he had a suspicion that he hadn’t made the drink strong enough for her liking, due to his tendency to err on the side of caution where alcohol as concerned. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to ‘freshen’ her beverage with some hard knocks after he’d poured it, and yet she never confronted him and told him to stop being stingy with the liqueur. Then again, she was an observant broad, and had probably noticed Jax’s aversion to the stuff and decided it was a sore subject. Smart girl.
Slade was putting on airs, and Jax had a thought to make a point of it out loud until she mentioned the article about Ouroboros. The man kept his face neutral and his voice totally even as he answered, but his internal organs did a little two-step number at the thing being brought up.
“I skimmed it. Something about their bankrolling Virhees secretly, right?”
Truthfully, Jax had done a hell of a lot more than skimmed the thing: the revelation of Ouroboros being behind Virhees was a big one for the dealer considering his long-standing relationship with his contact inside the biomed company, and the fact that one of his main suppliers was suddenly under increased scrutiny certainly had the man a little on edge. That somehow the Virhees connection was coming up in Slade’s work too made the connection all the more troubling.
As Slade sat back down, Jax discarded his now-empty coffee mug on the table and reached back into the inside pocket of his sport coat, still folded beside him on the couch, and pulled out his own personal pack of Ciphers. Pulling one of the smooth, dark-blue cyllinders out of the pack, he unceremoniously stuck it between his lips and taped the little bulb on the side of the filter, heating the chamber and vaporizing the liquid drug contained within. Jax took a long, slow drag from the thing as he listened to Slade’s story, making sure to exhale away from her side of the couch while he felt the stimulant effects creep across his nervous system – Slade may have wanted Downers, but suddenly Jax wasn’t in the mood, especially while he was trying to think through the increasingly-complex situation the journalist was laying out for him.
“So, then the bite was a threat. A warning-slash-reminder.”
Jax had run into some lowlifes who ran in the street gangs in Azaleth City who used to do shit like that, mark their targets when they wanted them to do something as a visible threat of the violence to come if they failed to follow through on whatever it was they had forcibly promised to do for the gang. It was a violent, territorial style of business that became popularized in organized crime at one time or another, but that kind of scare tactic was atypical among the soft-bellied crime-lords in Vascxious Sigma, who tended to be no more violent than your average admonished puppy. The city had set it up nicely that way, though – violence was pretty much the only punishable crime, and the punishment was severe enough that the enterprising lowlifes stuck to trafficking illegal items and left each other well enough alone, leaving the gang-wars and violent taking-of-territory to their friends in the Azalethian cities. That was exactly why Jax had the kind of relationship with the various arms of Big Sister that he did – he could damage his competition without having to risk being wrangled for being aggressive and losing his entire business. The atypical nature of this ‘Odette’ that Slade was describing, along with the Ouroboros link had Jax more than a little worried for the jounralist’s safety, and he didn’t hesitate to say so as he took another drag off the cipher.
“I don’t know, Slade. For one, Ouroboros is huge – anyone going after them has to have big aspirations, big resources, or both. That company isn’t one to be fucked with – they’re more militarized than the Peacekeepers, and twice as nasty. It sounds dangerous.”
Jax knew that his warning probably wasn’t what Slade had been hoping to hear, but the dealer was nothing if not consistent, and therefore had to be honest about his opinion. Likely that had been exactly why she had called him.
“But, writing a story is on the up-and-up, and even if Ouroboros doesn’t like it, they’d be in deep if they tried to disappear you. This ‘Odette’ isn’t restricted the same way.”
In other words, it seemed to Jax that the strange, lip-biting contact was the one to watch out for. Looking to the case, Jax snagged the thing quickly off the table and opened it, pulling out the small, glowing blue orb and holding it over Slade’s cup, waiting for acknowledgement that it was okay before dropping it in the warm liquid.
“Give it about two minutes, then fish it back out.”
The jasper would slowly dissolve into the liquid as it set in the cup, adding a mellow, mildly-hallucinogenic high to the already-intoxicating beverage. Taking another drag on his cipher before setting it down in the coffee table and taking his mug for a refill, Jax kept contemplating the journalist’s situation.
“I can ask around, see if anyone has eyes on an Odette, but she doesn’t sound like the kind of player who runs in my circles. Maybe you should investigate her while you are following your Ouroboros leads.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 1, 2014 14:43:13 GMT -5
”That's the one,” she'd confirmed the article for him as an aside.
”Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought. She definitely had no problem getting close and I'm pretty sure ninety percent of the interaction was spent with her hands on me in some way or another,” she added darkly. ”I'd almost be able to convince myself my memory is wrong or that I'm making something out of nothing except that. . . well, this!” Slate eyes locked onto him and a sweeping motion drew attention to the fact that the bite was currently bleeding.
”It wasn't just that she was handsy. It was how. Definitely gave me that 'trapped in too-small a space' feeling. That first impression though, I walked right into it.” She knew she was losing coherence on it, trying to express what she'd actually felt. Articulating vague things like 'feelings' had never been her strength. She shook her head and tried again. ”Like, I'd passed whatever eval she had in her head and it was just time to put strings on me. I went in there blind, unprepared. Fuck. She knew exactly what her game was,” she knew she was reiterating the same point and it made her feel some type of way that Jax would be able to read into it and realize how helpless and exposed she felt.
She took a breath to try to settle herself, cursing how quickly she was responding and how much space Jax left for her to fill.
”It wasn't supposed to be me meeting her. She'd been expecting the other Journalist. But it didn't seem to phase her, she just adapted. Knew who I was the second I told her my name. Said she'd read my work. Why the fuck did I tell her my name. . .”
Slade knew exactly why she'd given it to the woman. Because she'd felt compelled, because Odette asked for it. The Journalist wasn't the type to give in to pressure just because it was there. On some level, it pissed her off that she'd just flipped belly-up with no resistance. That Odette had been able to steamroll her with a couple of forward gropes and a lovebite infuriated her, but she couldn't discount her fear entirely: her instincts were always good and there was a chance much worse would have happened if she'd ignored her fear and offered real resistance. Slade couldn't feel the liqueur's effects yet, but she had to be experiencing them already─ under normal circumstances she wasn't this talkative. At least, that's how she rationalized the conversation.
She watched with slightly-too-wide eyes as he pulled out a cipher and lit up─ a surprising, but not unwelcome gesture. It had been a while since Jax had imbibed in her company. There were reasons they didn't use together anymore, but the thought was casually repressed in favor of watching where his lips met the blue-tinted cylinder. A couple more seconds passed before her gaze slid past him, noting that Dax had found a way to very stealthily make a nest out of his coat on the far side of the couch. Finally he started talking again, laying out what she hadn't taken time to consider just yet because of an inability to move past the shock of meeting her source. He got a couple of nods from her, acknowledgment of the accuracy of his assessment: that was about where she stood.
”My only threat is from her until I publish something and give Ouroboros a reason to watch me. They'll be under scrutiny already, and coming under fire from a separate publication helps protect me. Sort of. The original Journalist goes silent, but then I go live. There's a limited window of time where, if I get gone, it'll look highly suspicious so they can't touch me. But I get the feeling Odette's wanting a series, not just one or two articles. She handed me enough to write a novel on, or so she made it sound. That sets me up for a long haul and I doubt Ouroboros is going to sit with their hands in their pockets while I go about publicly shredding them─ which I can't pull any punches on because then I've got the fucking source to worry about if it's not to her liking. This is so not cool, Jax. I've got to pick the least risky avenue, but they're all riddled with mines. . .” Slade was distracted by the Dealer's movement as well as the glow-y little ball. Her head tipped forward in consent before she really thought it through─ she was looking for an excuse and Jax had given it to her. The question was, did he know that?
”Two minutes. How long does it take to start working?” Slade eyed the change of clothes, knowing she absolutely needed to take a shower before her ability to was compromised.
The stocky outline of the Dealer's form caught her eye again as he refilled his mug.
”Only if you can trust who you're asking. I don't want her line of sight trained on you for any reason, especially since you're connected to me.”
It might have sounded like she was worried about him, but really she cared whether or not Odette could guess that Slade was trying to find out more about her. Well, that and maybe she was a little concerned. Jax was her drug dealer and he made house calls. Brewed a mean cup of coffee too. She didn't want to try to replace him. The Journalist leaned forward to eye her coffee dubiously, the corner of her mouth twitching a little when she realized it was turning gold. Okay, of all the things Jax passed her way, this one was probably the most pretty.
”Is this going to put me to sleep?”
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 1, 2014 16:18:24 GMT -5
Jacob managed to judge how much coffee he had poured into his cup by the sound it made rather than looking, considering that the dealer was too busy looking over his shoulder to watch Slade to bother being visually precise with his caffeine intake. She sounded scared: she did a good job of hiding it, but the way she described the encounter would have had to be a terrifying ordeal, and it made Jax all the more nervous as to just who this bitch Odette was, and moreover what her game plan would be.
That threat method of robbing someone of their personal space pissed Jax off. He’d been personally subjected to that when he had been locked up in Azaleth, and a big part of the reason the dealer stayed as fit as he was had to do with the incentive to be able to ‘deal with’ anyone who ever decided to get up in his face like that again. It could be a harrowing experience, even for a perennial tough-guy like Jax, so the dealer understood Slade’s reaction to the woman. It was a loss of control, and no one really liked to lose control when their life was suddenly on the line, especially when they weren’t prepared for it.
“I’m sure the reminder is the point – she did it to continually fuck with you. It’s just a psychology tactic.”
Jax replaced the coffee pot and took his steaming mug back to the couch, but instead of sitting stood near enough to it that he could set his mug on the coffee table and reclaim his cipher, letting the cylindrical drug delivery system hang loosely from his lips as he continued talking. As he idly puffed at the thing in between words, Jax noticed how sharp all the colors around him were getting, and caught the peculiar sensation of his thought process speeding up. The cipher was starting to work, and that meant Jax would cut himself off shortly. He never did much these days when it came to getting high – just a little bit of an edge made him feel more productive.
“You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, Slade. Don’t beat yourself up over it, no one would handle that kind of situation well, and if they say they would they’re fucking lying.”
Jax took one last, long drag from the cipher, at the end of which the little blue light on the filter turned red, letting him know that the chamber had been exhausted. He set the spent stick back down on the table and replaced it with his coffee, which he took a sip of. Jax couldn’t bring himself to sit anymore – the combination of the conversation, the caffeine, and the cipher had mixed together to string him up enough that he felt fidgety. Briefly, he contemplated adding some of Slade’s liqueur to his coffee to try and balance the ups with some downs, but chased that thought out of his head as soon as he had it. Better not to go down that particular road.
Jax focused acutely on Slade, again speaking over the rim of his coffee cup as if he were the lead actor in some kind of buddy cop film. “All your options look bad, but you have some time on your side. With your contacts, there has to be a way to get some info on this Odette bitch. While you look, write the article, but maybe keep it lighter than it has to be at first to draw out the information you have and give yourself more time. Ouroboros won’t be happy, and you’ll certainly be in their crosshairs, but it at least gives you time to make a plan.” And it gives me time to find out what the fuck is going on with Virhees.
The whole situation carried a set of personal implications for Jax, but the dealer kept that to himself for the time being, both to protect his personal business and because he didn’t want Slade worrying about him on top of everything she had to deal with herself. It might have been narcissistic of him to think she’d care about what he’d get himself into, but despite all of Slade’s mixed fucking signals as to her general emotional state regarding Jax, he still figured it would bother her if he got himself knocked off. At the very least she’d have to find a new dealer, and that was an irritation he knew Slade didn’t want.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ve got eyes and ears around the underground. I can let you know if anything pops up. That stuff shouldn’t put you to sleep – they tell me it does a hell of a job taking the edge off, though, and that you’ll see colors like you won’t believe.”
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