|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 8, 2010 22:50:10 GMT -5
Day 8. Semi-private.
The tall (even by Pz-zazz standards), insectoid sitting in the cafe's corner is doing a poor job of hiding his nervousness. His Super-tall Mezacoytal Lipid Latte with sustainable organic creamer and an extra shot of chlorophyll is growing cold. He really can't stomach anything right now, but he still makes a show of sipping the drink whenever curious eyes turn his way. At least this location caters to the insect crowd; he doesn't have to fumble with a cup that isn't shaped for his hands. What passes for hands, anyway.
Periodically, he catches himself staring too long at the door. When he does, he tugs on the too-short sleeves of his threadbare suit and quickly looks away, maybe up at the garden hanging from the ceiling or down at the packet he's clutching too tightly in his other hand.
He shouldn't be here. But he's gone too far to back out now, and he's still alive. Maybe he'll live long enough to see the results.
He shifts in his seat, then looks up again as the door chimes play an aria, announcing the arrival of another patron.
|
|
|
Post by Kup on Mar 9, 2010 0:09:14 GMT -5
The patron in question has no intention of buying a drink. In fact, he couldn't make much use of the drinks served here, anyway. The robot doesn't swagger, but walks with the sort of confidence that comes only of having faced some of the worst the universe has to offer and coming through the other side.
Somewhere along the way Kup's managed to acquire secondhand clothing in dusky shades of desaturated grays that get lost easily on his own gray-green armor. On his head is something that might have once been a fedora, but has lost its shape to the ages. A thread-bare trench coat hangs down below his knees and opens to reveal a plain light blue-gray (heavy on the gray) button-up, collared shirt that is so nondescript it nullifies the existence of most of this sentence.
He's even wearing pants.
He doesn't seem as awkward in the clothing as one might expect from a robot accustomed to nakedness, but this is hardly the first time his travels have taken him some place where even the robots get dressed.
Having been directed here by Silver once he found the bugger (took half a day longer than Kup had wanted, something he's pretty annoyed with himself over), he now finds himself scanning the room, optics narrowed. His gaze alights on the tall bug in the back - more or less standing where Kup had been told to expect him - and the robot ambles over before settling into one of the insectiod-seats like it was built for him. He looks up at the other expectantly and gets right to the point.
"What d'ya got?"
|
|
|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 9, 2010 17:51:42 GMT -5
The bug twitches when Kup starts toward him, then visibly jumps as the robot just...just outs with it without any preamble or delicacy or, or, or anything! And they sent a robot, here! Don't they know how conspicuous that is! His wings hum nervously beneath his jacket. He looks like he has a slightly idealized idea of how such dealings go, and this isn't it.
"I got, um, um...," his mandibles click together a few times, "this, um, here." He shoves the packet across the table toward Kup. "Um, details, deposit..stuff..." his voice trails off, and his wings hum again beneath the suit.
"It's...he's...it's from a long time ago," he says, almost apologetically.
The packet contains the required deposit and expense money, as well as several newspaper clippings that span the last two decades. Most cover fires, huge sweeping fires that took out large chunks of property, all almost exclusively in the slum and warehouse districts. A few took place in middle class areas, the targets good will and social work centers, health clinics that helped those without the funds to pay for the high-priced doctors.
Even on Pz-Zazz, there are a few who at least pretend to altruism.
The arson articles all end about ten years prior, with the arrest of a group of individuals supposedly responsible for all the fires. It makes mention of how the arrest was made possible due to the work of an informant, someone in the group who turned them in.
There are a few other articles, all small and likely from the back of whatever periodical they were clipped from. They pick up about two months after the arrest article, and are scattered, sometimes with a a few days between them, and sometimes as much as nine months.
These articles all gloss over the deaths- murders- of various street people. Hookers, homeless, druggies- the dregs of any city. Based on the dates, the incidents have been increasing in frequency in the past year.
"He's the last one, and the cops can't find him, and he needs to be stopped," he says softly, jaw clicking nervously again. His multi-faceted eyes dart around the cafe. There's supposed to be someone here keeping an eye on him, but he hasn't seen anyone yet.
|
|
|
Post by Spinister on Mar 10, 2010 22:29:51 GMT -5
There are a pair of very human-looking aliens sitting at the bar. Well, on the bar. They're human in height, as well. One wears the casual business suit and has the look a society playboy with more money than he knows what to do with. His hair, fashionably trimmed, is a dark auburn, and his skin is tanned, almost burnt-looking. He almost looks interested when arson is mentioned, but when his partner pokes him, he busies himself with his spicy cinnamon-analogue drink.
His partner is dressed fairly like an accountant and nowhere near as fashionable or good-looking. He simply has something like a black coffee, and he's reading a small newspaper, that neatly conceals his wandering gaze.
They are Singe and Hairsplitter, out of 'uniform', so to speak.
And behind Kup, almost as if he followed him in, is Spinister, very much in uniform. A Pz-Zazzian police uniform, to be exact, cut and overlapped in a few places to still allow his transform. Of course, Spinister couldn't have followed Kup in - there were no footsteps, but perhaps the crowd covered them.
Spinister simply stares.
|
|
|
Post by Kup on Mar 10, 2010 23:08:35 GMT -5
Kup suddenly gets the impression that someone is a few paces behind him. Without getting up, he spins towards the other robot, his hand flexing as though he were preparing to summon something from subspace, optics narrowed... and then they widen again as he sees what that robot is wearing. He groans.
"You've got to be kiddin' me," he mutters, palm on his forehead.
He turns back towards the insect and gathers up the files the other set down, looking them over as he mutters, "Damn, seems like they'll let just about any sort wander around here these days."
He could be talking about the fact that murderers are obviously walking free, but he probably isn't.
|
|
|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 11, 2010 0:04:30 GMT -5
The very nervous bug gasps when the old mercenary does his sudden spin and almost ducks under the table. Then he notices that it's one of Pz-Zazz's finest, and not some evil creature come to murder him. Well, at least that's what he's hoping. He may try very hard to be a good citizen these days, but he's seen enough of the Pz-Zazz police force in his day to know that they aren't always there to protect and serve.
Sometimes, the cops are there to protect and serve themselves.
Kup's comment, though, is puzzling and the bug's mandibles click together again as he tilts his head and blinks. He says softly, "It's Pz-Zazz. The whole point is that anyone can just wander about, if they can afford it."
Then his head twists to look at Spinister, "Um, hello Officer. You're not Planch'ard. You're new. What happened to Planch'ard?"
Did they give him a new handler this time around? And why? Planch'ard was fine last night when they set this up. He frets, because he doesn't really want to know.
|
|
|
Post by Spinister on Mar 11, 2010 21:07:40 GMT -5
"Then there are those still walking who shouldn't," Spinister says mildly, looking obliquely at Kup, at the make of his terribly nondescript clothes. Already, he's hooked into the datanet - ah, the police subscription is so very handy - cross-referencing the likely manufacturers, the distribution pattern, and what second-hand store would have been likely to carry such things. He looks down to Kup's feet - does he have shoes? To what, if any dirt may be there, and to back out a ballpark spectral analysis, compared to the spectrum of the lights in the place. The datanet isn't really set up in such a way to make useful links, and Spinister doesn't get much, if anything, but he has three minds to do the processing, three perspectives on any situation, and he would be remiss if he didn't provide all of his selves with a complete picture.
Spinister is an evil creature, and while murder is always on his mind, he isn't particularly planning to kill the insectoid right now or even in the future. He just finds it handy to have a plan on file of how to kill everyone he has ever met.
He points up at his badge with one finger, relatively long and thin for a robot of his era, though nothing like some of the more spidery realities. He has no rank insignia, no medals, no 'scrambled eggs', and he's in blue, not white. His uniform seems brand new. The implications are clear: he's a rookie, and on Pz-Zazz, rookie is nearly synonymous with statistic.
Spinister says quietly, "Planch'ard has been assigned... elsewhere." He neatly avoids being too specific about Planch'ard's rank or exactly what Planch'ard does. This case is old. Cold. Of course Planch'ard would have more pressing tasks. The insectoid would be right to feel affronted and forgotten.
Singe puts some red pepper flakes in his drink. Hairsplitter frowns.
|
|
|
Post by Kup on Mar 11, 2010 23:17:38 GMT -5
Kup is not wearing shoes, and the mud on his feet comes from a number of places, but particularly the alley next to the cafe, since that's where he transformed so he could get dressed.
He looks over at the papers and news reports and snorts. "And this guy stopped being able to afford it. I see," he observes grimly. His optics narrow as he listens to the exchange between the bug and Spinister.
"And what was this... Planch'ard s'posed to be doing, anyway?"
Please don't say they're supposed to work together, please don't say they're supposed to work together....
|
|
|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 12, 2010 19:49:52 GMT -5
The nervous insectoid blinks slowly.
Reassigned elsewhere? That could mean so much more than what it seems.
"But...but...he knows all the details. He's been...he's always been my-," he breaks off before he actually says handler. It may have been awhile since he's been down this road, but he still knows that there are some things you just don't say aloud in mixed company.
Oh dear, oh dear. He may actually have to give out his name to the new guy, if Spinister is rookie enough to ask for it.
His head swivels back to Kup. "Um, the guy you're looking for, he's only stayed on their books because he, er, cleaned the wrong street, so to speak." In other words, the mark killed someone that meant something to an influential person.
"Planch'ard, he said that the department had a vested interest in the collar. I'm fronting the expense-," not really, but the department thinks he is, "-but they want to make sure it's handled 'properly,' whatever that means."
|
|
|
Post by Spinister on Mar 14, 2010 19:09:23 GMT -5
Planch'ard could be dead. He could just be assigned to the graveyard shift. He could have been pushed into a management job where he'll get nothing done and be overworked to death. He could have been busted down a rank. He could have been shifted elsewhere for knowing too much. So many, many options.
Spinister might even know the answer, but does it really matter at all? Planch'ard isn't here now.
He says quietly, "I'm just here to make sure the bounty hunter does his job." Spinister knows of a Kup, and despite Kup's clear reaction to seeing Spinister, Pritie really doesn't need to know that Kup and Spinister are lightly acquainted.
First appearances are always deceiving.
|
|
|
Post by Kup on Mar 14, 2010 21:44:43 GMT -5
"'Course I'm doing my job," Kup snorts. "I don't get paid otherwise." There's a general assumption is that bounty hunters are motivated largely by greed, and Kup doesn't seem interested in proving that assumption wrong to the bug. Spinister may suspect otherwise, of course.
"Bit young to be playing my baby sitter, aren't you?" he asks the Decepticon standing behind him, looking up at him from the corner of his optics. Then he looks back down at the files and sorts through them one more time before back up at the bug.
"Fronting the cost, huh?" He looks up and down the other. "So what's your stake?"
|
|
|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 15, 2010 11:12:38 GMT -5
Ah, finally, something goes as he expected.
The bug sighs at Kup's question. He puts his "hands" down flat on the table and stares at them for a few seconds before quietly answering.
"A clear conscience. Wasn't right then, isn't right now, and I shouldn't have gotten messed up in it. Been spending the last several years since-" his eyes cut toward Spinister, then back up to look at Kup "-since I er, changed professions scraping this together. Knew it wouldn't be cheap."
Oddly enough, almost everything he says is fact. The bug is motivated by his conscience, he does regret his past, and he has been working very hard for the last five years, yet spending little of what he makes. If either Sliver's group or the department checked his accounts, they could easily see that he had been stockpiling cash all that time, each week's deposit never varying by more than a day's pay. They would also see that at precisely half past eight this morning he had withdrawn the exact amount needed to procure one of Silver's retrieval specialists.
But it isn't his money in the envelope.
"I...I just want it to be finished."
|
|
|
Post by Spinister on Mar 17, 2010 18:09:05 GMT -5
"Wouldn't be the first time I've played nursemaid," Spinister drawls softly. To someone older than he is, even. But he won't change Kup's oil pan if it leaks, sorry. There are places someone who can get in anywhere just does not go.
Spinister thinks a moment. Pritie's story fits with the actions he has undertaken, but it is sparse, and that is... the mark of a good liar. Bad liars make up all kinds of details, and some of the details don't fit, so then they make up more lies to cover their mistakes, and they eventually end up contradicting themselves. Good liars keep as close to the truth as they can and keep it vague.
Not that Spinister would have believed Pritie, anyway. Belief is a bad habit to start.
He asks, rather starkly, "What do you expect out of me?" He lets it hang just who he means - Kup or Pritie.
Meanwhile, Singe dumps a bottle of hot sauce in his drink, and Hairsplitter buries his face in his newspaper.
|
|
|
Post by Kup on Mar 18, 2010 20:48:33 GMT -5
Yes, but look at just where Spinister has gone with the last guy he played nursemaid for!
Kup looks long and hard at the bug, but his expression is, for now, neutral. He gives no indication whether or not he believes or disbelieves the insect, but given how expressive he usually is, that by itself probably says something.
To anyone familiar with his normal demeanor, anyway.
As Spinister asks his question, he grunts, just over a growl, "For you not to do more damage than the criminals." He glances up at the bug and gives the faintest smirk.
"I just don't trust the cops around here."
|
|
|
Post by SceneMod on Mar 20, 2010 13:25:37 GMT -5
Pritie's mandible click rapidly together and his wings buzz, "No one trusts the cops. But not having them around is worse than having them around, most days."
He tilts his head back toward Spinister. "Expect? I stopped expecting things from anyone in the department years ago. I-" he breaks off as a brightly dressed girl wearing a cafe apron walks up carrying a tray of mostly empty cups and one ceramic mug. She's young and peppy, reptilian, with a fifties inspired bright yellow wig, and looks rather happy with her lot in life.
She smiles at Pritie and says cheerily, "Just need to get that empty cup from you, honey, and remind you that the lunch rush'll be startin' in ten. Gotta turn the table before then or it'll mean my skin." She laughs, "But it's molting season, so I'm not too worried!"
She keeps chatting without pause as she collects the cup, turning her smile on Spinister and taking in his uniform. "Pretty. Different, but pretty. I like bright colors. 'Case they didn't tell ya down at the One-Eleven, cops get two freebies a day." Her voice lowers as she takes the one mug off the tray and sets it in front of Spinster, a couple of folded napkins beneath it, "We don't advertise it, but we got some robot-friendly brands under the counter for special customers- like cops. My last boyfriend, he said it was good stuff." She smiles at Spinister again before bouncing away and disappearing through the stockroom door.
Why yes, she completely ignored Kup.
Pritie twitches a bit, the continues, "Like I said, I don't expect anything of you. I just felt obligated to let Planch'ard know I was doing this, since I know that Weveil is still leaning on the department about it from time to time." Because he leans on Pritie about it a lot. "He wanted someone to work with the bounty hunter, to keep it 'legit', he said." Pritie stands. "I need to get to work. Took a half day for this. There's contact procedures and such in there, too, but really, I don't want status reports. If you need more money, or more background...I...I can try and help. But I have to go. Right now."
The bug then tries to leave, inching past Spinister and trying to walk normally instead of scuttling toward the door.
|
|