nexus_crossings | Vice & Guilty Pleasure

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Vice & Guilty Pleasure

Seated on a metal crate is a little green man with a big green head. He's dressed in a nicely tailored suit and tie, an overlarge pair of sunglasses and a smug aura of superiority. The crate he's perched on is made of buffed, cobalt blue metal and plastered with all manner of stickers that have warnings in an alien script. There's also a VERY tall blue-skinned man dressed in all black, whose hair isn't hair so much as it's a riot of wires and plugs, busy hauling in more of these crates and stacking them up around where the smaller man is loitering.

He's got some kind of tablet in one hand, a martini in the other. (Stirred, thank you. We're not animals here.) After a sip, he smacks his lips in an exaggerated, refreshed manner and asks:

"So what's your vice? Everyone's got one. Gimme your guilty pleasures, kids."

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"What is this a census on poor life choices?"

There's a thin young man in a flannel and jacket wandering by who's stopped to ~~make sure he's not hallucinating again~~ watch the freak show working. Or well, loitering while the Help work, in this guy's case.

"Booze, probably."

"If you're still living, they must not have been that bad. Here's to round two."

He raises that glass again and flashes a pointy grin. "Booze! Hell yeah. What's your poison, then. You're gonna be judged ruthlessly, though, heads up."

"I'm not exactly picky, but I've had some shit drinks."

A thought occurs, and Josh can't help the small smirk that flits across his face.

"I'm a tequila guy, these days."

"Tequila?"

The little green guy turns at the waist to holler back at the tall blue fellow.

"HEY, NEIRIN. We had tequila yet? That was that clear shit made from a cactus, right? Tasted like paint thinner? Right? Was that it?"

"I didn't think it was THAT bad. Though I mean, I'm definitely not that picky. What you asking for? I dunno if we brought any with us." Neirin looks over all the crates he's brought over so far.

"Well, it's like anything else. You get what you pay for. Unless you're in Mexico you gotta spend a bit more to get good tequila."

Josh snorts and shakes his head at these two.

"Did you have 'em mixed or shots? And did you do the salt and the lime if you did shots? Y'mightve been doing it wrong."

"We just drank that garbage water straight from the bottle. Because if there's a process involved, I am not about that life. I drink to get trashed, not to learn new skills. That's what templating is for."

He waves for Neirin to resume stacking crates. Back to work, stooge.

"Well, mixing it with stuff probably would have helped, in retrospect... Too bad we're... HE'S lazy. I'm not." Neirin shrugs and goes back to his crate-lugging, but not before poking Shark on his big ole head.

"Hey man, your loss. If you're just gonna straight shoot shit, might want to try a good whiskey instead."

The process is all part of the fun for Josh, but whatever tiny alien invader man has incorrect tastes.

"Have you ever even tried to bite citrus when you have modded teeth? What's even the point. Like I said, when I drink, I'm on a mission."

Shark leans forward now, squinting at Josh. "...You juicin' on something?" Funny how prolonged exposure and poor eating can be mistaken for drug use, right. "Just curious."

"Nah man."

Josh shakes his head. His life is warped enough without drugs, thanks. Though getting high with his group of friends used to be pretty fun every once in a while back when he had friends.

"I stick to booze these days."

"Well, here. Lemme hook you up. NEIRIN. We got anymore of that C-S Malted? Might as well unload it on this guy." And get rid of that horrible, horrible beer. The only reason they have it is they got it for free. Places just give that swill away.

Edited 2016-03-11 01:30 (UTC)

"You wanna give him THAT? Alright..." Neirin checks for the correct crate; it's one of the larger ones and full of cheap, unpleasant cans of beer. The label has a star with a smily face on it. He pulls out a six-pack of the stuff.

"Free sample?"

You don't say 'no' to free beer unless it's already open and you didn't see it get poured.

"Sure, why not. Thanks, guy."

"Enjoy. Cuz I'm not." Seriously, the stuff is just the worst-tasting beer. Weak, watery, some kind of weird added flavour, just awful and artificial. And you got a whole six pack of it, Josh! Rejoice!

"The kinda thing you don't mention in polite company." And really now, not the kind of stuff you want to hear coming from this old man's withered lips. He's wrapped up against the cold -- virtually head-to-toe -- and looking at the green man's space crates with overt interest.

"Do I look like polite company, grandpa?" Shark sneers as he tips his glass towards Kaz, the toothpick with two olives speared on it lolling from one side to another. "Unless you're talking about, like...Flashing school kids or something. I mean, that's what old hobos like you do, right?"

"You look like a pickle in a suit, to be brutally honest. And no, my vices involve perfectly legal activities between consenting adults." He shuffles closer to the boxes. The glyphs almost look Japanese, but not so much on closer inspection. "What are you peddling here?"

Edited 2016-03-08 05:36 (UTC)

Rather than answer the question, Shark hurries to stand up on the crate and smashes the glass on the ground in front of Kaz's feet. "The fuck?! The fuck you say to me, old man?! You wanna go?! You wanna fuckin' GO!? NEIRIN! GET OVER HERE!"

Uh oh, callin' in the muscle.

Neirin is just finishing a smoke behind some boxes when he hears Shark get in a huff over something. He saunters on over with his brows raised.

"Someone startin' trouble, boss?"

"Hey calm down, buddy! It was just fucking joke." Miller's arthritic hands are raised and shaking. This is more from cold-induced palsy than fear, but whatever defuses the situation. Neirin gets a sneering look. "You can call off your uh, space zombie goon."

"NEIRIN! You hearin' this guy?! Smear this hairy asshole across the landscape!" C'mon, Shark, if you've been doing your research, you know that's not possible here. AV Field and all. But maybe this is just more about flexin' in the face of racism. Gotta make a reputation here about being tough if they're gonna pull the business he's looking to do.

Neirin busts out a short laugh after giving this newcomer a look-over.
"So, who let this crusty old grampa out of his museum exhibit? This guy really pissin' you off, boss?"

Well, Miller fully understands the AV Field, so he's more than happy to push his luck. "The curators were kind enough to let me out for the day. Heard the freak show was in town and I wanted to have a look for myself."

"Of course he's pissing me off! He called me the P-word!" Oh no, not the P-WORD. Pickle is apparently a big deal back home. "I don't care how old you are, buddy, no one gets a pass on this shit on MY watch. Not to MY face."

He's looking impatiently at Neirin as if wondering why the mordesh hasn't creamed this old bugger yet.

Neirin laughs again at the old-timer's remark.
"Boss, he ain't anything to worry about. He's someone's old racist grampa and probably lost. Why don't you try sellin' him something?"

"Yeah, what kind of salesman are you, anyway? You going to turn away a potential customer?" Miller goads, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Got a fat pension check burning a hole in my pocket!"

Shark looks FURIOUS for another two seconds before it gives way to impatience, and then annoyed resignation. Talk of acquiring money will always be the strongest instinct his kind has.

"FINE. Fine." He then lowers his voice and leans forward at the waist, his gloved hands stuffing into his pockets. "I got shit like you wouldn't believe. Gear that'll make you feel like a god. Probably good for those old-ass bones of yours, huh? At least make you forget about that time you broke your hip for a bit. Granted, I can't slip you nothin' right here in front of the whole world. Worlds. Whatever. But you show me the cash and I'll show you the stock."

If you're gonna be an old man, might as well get into character. Miller glances around in dramatic, elderly paranoia and speaks in a hushed voice, "I'm not about to go flashing my money for all the thieves and muggers to see. All sorts of hooligans around here."

If Josh is still around, he directs Shark and Neirin's attention to the teen. Sorry kid, you're a whippersnapper.

"Just gimme a sample, huh?"

"Old man, we are the hooligans. But sure! Sure! Hey, I'm always about setting up the first hit for free." Shark, after gesturing palm out for the guy to wait and relax, reaches inside his jacket and soon pulls out a little baggie full of some manner of white powder.

"On the house!" Shark declares as he hands it over.

"You got some big, green balls doing this out in the open," Miller says as he accepts the offered baggie. He lifts up his shades to give it a curious look. "What is this? Extraterrestrial blow?"

Neirin overhears this little exchange while sitting on a crate (doing important assistant things on his tablet like future angry birds) and busts out a laugh. He sends a knowing smirk Shark's way. Whatever could be so amusing?

Shark ignores whatever the hired help is giggling about. Instead, he just looks around the Nexus pointedly, then puts out his arms.

"Who's gonna stop me? Are there cops here? Judges? You a narc? Is there even a slammer here? C'mon. Besides, I'm just slipping you some candy. Some nose candy. It's not on me what you do with it. Feels real good on the gums, though, I'll say that much. Refreshing."

Neirin gets a glance and Kaz bites back a follow-up comment about blue balls.

"None of the above, but there's plenty of lawful-minded types who might not be happy about the kind of wares you're peddling." The sample gets pocketed. He's not about to take a bump of that here and now. Certainly not before a chemist takes a look at it. "You'll probably find a bigger customer base and less interference in the Underbelly. More competition, though. Might need more than the one thug to keep you safe."

"Protection from what? The place where no one's allowed to even land a punch? And Neirin's certainly not a thug. He's my legal assistant! Isn't that right, Neirin?"

Legal assistants apparently dress in all black and big intimidating coats where ever these two come from.

"Near as I can tell, that only covers bodily harm. Gets a little more loosey-goosey with property." See: the Dr. Hill vandalism incident. "And are you really going to trust the AVF with your life?"

"Listen, pappy, I'm hardwired to care about my business first, life second. Don't act like I scare easy just because a wino might try to cut me." Although there is that note about his cargo...

"Are you saying that you know someplace an enterprising clone can keep sensitive materials safe? Cuz if you're not, that's starting to sound like a threat. You sure you wanna trust your hairy ass to the AVF?"

"Well, as it so happens, my uh, grandson runs a private military company. He's in the process of expanding operations to include the Nexus. Kazuhira Miller. Look him up sometime if you need someone to handle security. He's a smart, hard-working young man. Blond hair, sunglasses like mine, impressive physique." He's totally shredded.

Shark looks to be thinking it over. "...You know, maybe I will. Let the guy know I'm comin'. Name's Litigation and Prosecution Specialist Lawyer. Easier to just say Shark, though." A clone with a nickname? Private ambitions? This guy's playin' with disaster here.

"A lawyer, huh? Who dabbles in drug sales?" And god even knows what species this pickle-man is. Kaz makes a mental note to do more sniffing around before getting in too deep with this one, but hey, networking is the name of the game right now.

"You have a card? I'll pass your name along the next time I see him. He's been so busy lately -- working his fingers to the bone, that boy! Scarcely has a moment to spare for his dear, old granddad." If Kaz is going to suffer the indignity of this curse, he's going to play it up.

"Hey, it's like they say; why not make money off your hobby? And this dump seems like a great place to set up a lemonade stand and not have it fuck things up back home. Y'know, just keepin' hands clean, business tidy."

And at the mention of a card, Shark dips a hand into his jacket and pulls one out with a flourish! It's made from some kind of thin blue plastic with a metallic sheen. If bending is attempted, it will prove amazingly resistant to being broken or creased. Kaz will find himself looking at a mish-mash of alien text, but gradually, they tick over into english letters, spelling out the name. Or, well, title? Litigation and Prosecution Specialist Lawyer: Illium Division. Neat; is that the Nexus translating things, or the card's own functions? Also, there's a nice blue logo in one corner like a starburst.

Although the blatantness of Shark's production annoys him a little, have a Dorian approaching to investigate. He hasn't gotten bored enough to get around to sampling the Nexus' more illicit offerings yet, but the prospect is on his rainy day to-do list and Shark's question is relevant to his interests.

He just wishes, snob that he is, that it was subtler.

"Is that supposed to be a sales pitch?"

Smug, meet arrogant: Arrogant wrapped in the form of an unblemished, strikingly beautiful, and seemingly innocent-looking young man. Who also happens to have been summoned by the word 'vice' like a warped genie.

A Protostar? Subtle? Ever? It's not in their genes! Literally, it's genetically programmed for them to always aim to make a big production of things.

"Depends," he replies with a smirk and an upward tilt of the chin. "What're you looking to buy?" He also gives the guy an subtle look up and down. Cassian, well-bred, well-raised, probably one of those idle rich brats who're looking for the next thrill. Perfect.

And what a production it is. Now that he's close enough to pick out the alien writing on the boxes, Dorian can tell this is far from your average seedy exchange in some London back alley. He's interested, but also not quite foolish enough to dive in headfirst without some vetting.

"Something new. I'm always looking for something new." A smile, and he spreads his hands. "But I'd be remiss if I jumped into business with someone so... oh, shall we say, brazen, before I knew they had protections against the wrong kind of attention."

Is the flashiness backed up by something in case whatever passes for authorities or some good old white hats come calling? Because a few new experiences aren't worth the trouble of getting caught or developing a reputation so soon. Access to the Nexus is too valuable for that.

"Hey, morality is subjective between races, right? Same goes for worlds! Melting pot of this size, who's to say what's good or bad around here? One man's vice is another man's transcendence! But I follow. You don't want this getting back to you mom. Just want a little boost for the next mixer. I know how it is!

"Don't worry about protection. Not for my sake, anyhow. I may talk a big game but I've gone pro at covering my tracks. And others' tracks, if need be!"

It's a good sign for a hedonist when a dealer uses the words 'morality' and 'subjective' in the same sentence.

"We're on the same page, but subjectivity means plenty of people aren't going to be as open-minded." It makes him wonder, though; Just how large and permissive is the Nexus? That's something he'll enjoy feeling out for himself over time.

"Enlighten me; How does a professional cover for his clients in a hub like this? It seems like the size would make it quite the frustration, if business was good enough."

Edited 2016-03-13 00:22 (UTC)

"Hey, what grounds does someone have to object over what another guy puts into his body? That's autonomy. That's being an adult. And I'm just here to supply a demand. Can't fault a business venture when I'm just filling a need I didn't create. That's the spirit of capitalism!" Good justification.

"And that's simple: just don't let the juice trace back to you. I mean, I haven't exactly said I'm selling anything questionable, have I? I'm just making conversation while Neirin hauls in some freight!"

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Vice & Guilty Pleasure

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