|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Jun 01, 2010 1:23 am
Marcus was really starting to enjoy the freedom that came with his new abilities. Yes, he was more physically awkward, but hiding under three layers of cloth wasn't necessary any more. Walking around like a heap of laundry was hot, besides. With the city heating up, Allowing his skin to breathe was nice.
At the moment he was finishing up a meal at a quaint little bistro, on the patio. He'd found the place on a nicer side of the Middling, near the Uppers. Before, in his cloth heap, he wouldn't have dared come around here unless it was an emergency. Now, it was just a nice stroll away.
The spaghetti had been nice, if a bit spicy for his tastes. He'd had to lift his trunk at every bite, but he was getting used to that. Now he just waited for the lovely waitress to come back so he could order some dessert, and maybe a coffee.
Meanwhile, he watched as the sunset played on the buildings of the city. The patio itself was in the shade; Marcus had always disliked eating in the full sun. Besides, with his violet skin, he wasn't sure he could recognize a sunburn on himself anymore, if it happened.
He could feel the tiny blip in his mind that was the pair of business cards he had given Mr. Campbell, somewhere to his left. They were stationary for the moment. Those cards were going to come in useful, later.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 01, 2010 11:28 pm
To say the Carnegies had a large family would be an understatement.
They had family everywhere.
Uncle Mick and Aunt Jen that ran the Russian sushi shop in Downers; Seamus' second cousin, Tabitha, studying to be a pilot for the government; his grandparents on his aunt-in-law's side, who made Persian carpets in Middling's marketplace; his darling niece and her live-in lover, who didn't really do much of anything except for hang out in the Scene and play duets for the crowd.
And then there was his other cousin, James. James had managed to marry into an Uppers family, but he still had his own little business on the side that often required a little information from the Carnegie grapevine. On the sly, because James had gone to great lengths to disassociate himself from the Carnegie name in order to acquire his particular position, and Seamus' father and uncles and grandpop were all quite proud of James' success.
Carnegies thrived on this sort of thing. Even Seamus, who didn't mind so much dressing up as a waiter in order to infiltrate the Uppers' restaurant, passing a note to James along with his present company's late afternoon meal. It was a lot like a spy game, in a way, with James their double-agent.
He walked back home in success, loosening his cuffs and tie just a bit under the heat of the summer day. His mind was so distracted by how smoothly the operation had gone that he nearly missed the tell-tale alert, the sense that something in particular was in his proximity.
More specifically, someone.
His eyes slid over the bistro, stopped, and then back-tracked, staring.
He wasn't hard to spot. Perhaps what was most disconcerting was the fact that no one else had seemed to notice or care that there was a strange, half-elephantine teenager sitting idly at an outside table. Seamus' eyes flickered to the other diners in confusion.
"Huh."
Seamus learned that he now had a bad habit of blithely approaching potentially dangerous strangers. He also had a bad habit of acting like a proper Carnegie when this occurred.
He strolled up to Marcus' table, like any other waiter, pulling out the pad of paper tucked into his shirt pocket and its accompanying pen, clicking it once, professionally.
"Anything else for the Monsieur?" He told himself that it was because he rarely got the chance to splash on a French accent, and not that he was as crazy as his brother. "Dessert? Perhaps the public's favorite, a Pink Elephant. Or, if you are looking for something a little lighter, we also offer a special plate of Elephant Ears with the dinner menu. Deliciously fried to perfection," he added, helpfully.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 12:44 am
Wiping his mouth before setting the cloth napkin down, Marcus sighed with relief. He had felt the presence approaching, and had gone for the dagger with a third hand like too many times before. Hearing the brat crack jokes meant he wasn't going for the throat. Marcus leaned back to give a relaxed look.
"Y'know," he said lazily, "For someone to go out of their way to make snide remarks on appearance, you sure do get it wrong." Marcus jerked his head in one direction, to point out the sign of the place in green, white and red. "Bistros are Italian."
He gestured to the chair across the small table. "Care to join me? I'm sure we could order you a bottle of warm milk, with so many of you kids about."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 2:02 am
"Non, monsieur," he disagreed airily, smiling more over the fact that he was not yet dead. "The Italian dogs stole le bistrot from sweet Paris. I do not acknowledge those mongrel colors." He waved his pen dismissively at the sign, clicking it once more before storing pen and pad back into his pocket, slipping into the proffered chair.
"Actually," he dropped the accent cheerfully, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles. "I'm Irish. Or was it Scottish? British. I could care less."
At this point, it was moot anyway. Those places didn't exist anymore, except in the cultural mind. Seamus and Murphy had long ago figured that out.
"Warm milk?" he scoffed. "Please. I've been able to legally drink you under the table for the past six years. Don't mistake me for one of these rugrats running around." Seamus was 27 going on 22. He'd earned his adulthood, rightfully so.
"I apologize. But I felt that calling out your skin tone might've been too racist," he explained, delicately. And what a delicate subject it was.
Plus, Seamus couldn't come up with any purple dishes.
There'd been a tickle at the back of his mind since this whole affair began; something that he rightfully interpreted as less-than-passive interest from his goddess, though she refrained from speaking up.
He decided that if it mattered, she would tell him.
"By the way; Seamus, Seamus Carnegie." He offered a hand to shake, grinning. "The pleasure is all mine, of course."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 8:46 am
Marcus had his doubts about the godling's age, but it was best to let a sleeping dog lie. Unless Campbell showed his face again. Squabbling over who was older was pointless anyway, without birth cerificates to settle the score. All that was needed was to know your own age.
Marcus was momentarily surprised the man-child had the gonads to mention the skin. He was the first to do so. It was bound to happen eventually, though. Marcus shrugged and made a non-commital face behind his trunk. "It's not racist if you don't belong to a race. You're not exactly going to find the elephant district around the city. Besides, from what I've seen, you're the only one who isn't set to freak-factor five."
Cautiously Marcus took the hand. "Marcus," he said in reply. "You put a lot of importance on that name, I see."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 12:59 pm
"I like to think of myself as a special case." His voice was breezy, matching the amusement in his eyes. "Unique. One man in a hoard of cats and dogs and elephants and druggies and snakebirds and little tattooed bandit children."
He thought of them all very fondly, of course. Except for Quinn. Quinn was a rapist if Seamus ever saw one.
"Because being a Carnegie is an important thing," he explained, giving his hand a hearty and polite shake before releasing the cautious boy. "It means legacy. Honor. Freckles." He laughed.
"I'm curious, Marcus. How come people aren't givin' you a second look?"
It could be that they were just used to Marcus, but Seamus knew even Valeriu received plenty of stares in his most well-haunted spots.
"Jedi mindtricks?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 3:58 pm
Marcus felt along one of his tusks as he explained. "It's more of a Jedi light trick. Normal people see a hologram of some fat shmuck I would be without half the changes by the voice upstairs. Hell, I used to be a skinny s**t. Now I'm captain lardbucket, and nothing I can do changes that." He paused for a moment, remembering. "Hell, even other Godlings don't see some crap that's gone weird with me." His extra arms weren't real, he knew, but they were real enough to him.
Marcus listened to the redhead go on about his family. "Interesting that you still contact your family. My family were Uppers automatons. Tried to make me one, too. Do this, say that. Learn piano and table manners. Take over the company. I didn't want to end up a brainless robot." Three and a half years of separation, and he had no real interest in going back there. Even if he was going to sneak in and steal a large sum of money or other things, he didn't want to risk having to explain the last three and a half years, no matter how well his parents taught him to lie.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 5:17 pm
"Hologram, nice. But 'ey, it's not all bad. The ladies love a fluffy man," he said, quite seriously. "Get some bling and they'll be all over you." He nodded, setting his chin in his palm leisurely. "Hm. Doesn't seem to be anything I can see, either," he admitted. It was true - Seamus had the ability of Sight, but it wasn't the kind that would apply to Marcus' hidden limbs. More of a mix of shamanism and premonition. "Truth be told, I got the carrot instead of the stick. Five years younger and a nifty tattoo." He was pleased, entire face creasing in a smile, like the cat that caught the canary.
"Heh, yeah, I still talk to my family. Got a twin brother who's pretty much been pouting like a kid since he found out I'm in the Game instead of him. Jealousy," he whispered, knowingly. "I've got family in Uppers too. S'not that bad."
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
"Parents just want the best for their kids. And that usually turns out to be the best that they wanted for themselves. It just so happens that a CEO is the best thing a robot can be." He grinned.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 6:29 pm
Marcus shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. It's just an image. Any girl going to kiss me would get a mouthful of Shnozz." He emphasised it by giving it a shove, and it pendulumed back and forth for a few moments. "And as for what you can't see," Marcus began, picking up a spoon and a fork from the table with his mental hands. He drummed them on the table in a beat before tossing them to the plate. Nothing fancy, but he had no idea how it looked to the observer.
"Telling my family would have been a mistake. Letting the upper echelon of the Uppers know about the game would be a mistake beyond bad. You wouldn't want them to start making laws about us, would you?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 8:45 pm
Seamus' eyes followed the swing of the trunk with something like amazement, his head following in a surprised tilt as the spoons tapped upon the table, seemingly by themselves.
"Impressive." And indeed, Seamus was impressed. "The things you could do with that." Seamus envisioned slapping his brother in the back of the head. Over and over and over and over.
"Hm." He curled his fingers more over his jaw. "Well, all of my family knows, to an extent. Nothing super major, but I'm sure some of them have figured it all out from what I've said. And knowing might be a good thing," he added. "What about laws for us? The Blacksuits as they are are a major pain in the a**." He grimaced.
Seamus could not so easily get around the barricades, not like Valeriu could. He had cards that matched a face five years his senior.
"Botox, sirs. It's magnificent. Takes the wrinkles right out. A shame I got into a fight with a lawn mower..."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 9:29 pm
Marcus saw Seamus eyeing the cutlery. It had had the intended effect, but he hadn't expected to see so much reverence in the man's eyes. "Sure, there are things I could do with that," he said sarcastically, lifting flattened hands to point to his face. "But it's a package deal. One moment you're thinking 'man, that would be nifty' and the next you're having to wipe your nose at your waistline."
And now with the blacksuits. "Blacksuits can kiss my fat a**. There's a simple rule I follow: if you want to get past the checkpoints without a hassle, just don't go through the checkpoints."
Absentmindly, Marcus scratched his shoulder with his nose. "You never said what you can do, besides a bad French."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 9:47 pm
Seamus grinned. "I didn't know elephants had to wipe their noses," he said, straight-faced. "At least you have thumbs. Babar just had horrible, mutated toe-hand-things."
"Hgg, easy for you to say, Jedi Hologram. You can use the Force. And you don't have family spread out across the seven seas that you have to make routine visits to, or else they start calling and complaning." He grimaced. "God, my sisters alone've already driven me half mad."
Bunch of harpies.
"My French is impeccable," he sniffed, haughtily, crossing his arms behind his head. "My brother an' I've spend years perfecting our accents. You just don't have an ear for it." His lips quirked imperceptibly, hiding his devilry beneath. "As for me - Jesus hands, premonitions, and visions. Can't quite raise the dead yet, though."
Someday. Maybe. That'd be pretty awesome, but Seamus was pretty sure he'd end up in a fight with one of the gods of death over it, and that was never worth it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 10:23 pm
Marcus rolled his eyes. "Babar also didn't sick. And also was a king, if I recall."
He let the man rant for a while. It was always important to let a man b***h when it wasn't directed at you. A guy couldn't be seen to be whiny in the middle of anything, and especially not in front of woman. Besides, if they think you're a shoulder to cry on, you can learn a lot of them, without them realizing they said a thing.
Marcus perked up when Seamus started talking about his powers. "Premonitions and visions, huh? Have you seen how the game will play out a few hands from now?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 11:00 pm
"Nothing like that." He shook his head. "It's stuff like seeing a blood-red moon and knowing something bad will happen, or knowing not to take a certain way home."
He picked up the napkin, discretely folding it into some horrible mockery of origami.
"The visions are different. I can see something that's happened in the past, near-present, or future, but I can't tell which one or when exactly." He grimaced. "Usually pretty bad things. Painful, gruesome murders. Terrible deaths."
He'd seen some pretty bad things, most of which he stayed tight-lipped about.
"I was walking by an alley when one of 'em hit me. S'like watching a film," he explained. "Though backwards. I saw that girl - the one in the newspapers? Saw how she died, right there, in that alley."
He still couldn't shake the look in her eyes from his mind. They were burned into his retinas.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 11:43 pm
Marcus could see the guy had gone through a rough a rough patch with the visions. He moved closer as if to pat him on the shoulder, but then Marcus remembered the man across from him could actually see the real him. He backed off.
Deciding to use distraction instead, he found a practical means. "When you said Jesus hands, what do you mean? You can heal things? What kinds of things?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
