NEW ARRIVAL :: AN UNDERCOVER COP, NERD, AND ALL AROUND DISASTER

[super_cool]

Freddy’s pretty sure he’s dead. He’d like to believe everything – the heist, the getaway, the bloodbath back at the rendezvous – was just a fucked up dream. He’d like to. There’s no hole in his cheek, no bullets in his gut, but he’s still wearing the same clothes – black suit, white shirt, and black tie – and they’re still soaked with blood. There’s blood in his hair, splattered across his face, and coating his hands.

He’s sitting on the curb outside of something that resembles the type of cheap convenience store familiar to someone from Los Angeles during the late 20th century. Next to him is an open bag of Doritos, four empty bottles of shitty beer, plus two more unopened bottles of that same shitty brand... and also a welcoming pamphlet.

While he’s not exactly feeling any better than he was when he first woke up, the alcohol is at least helping him settle into a sort of numbness. He opens the pamphlet and reads. Most of it fails to register.

‘Do you have a question for the Nexus?’ the pamphlet says.

‘What the fuck?’ is all that comes to mind. He sighs and rubs his temple, before burying his face in his arms. It's been a long goddamn day. Thinking it over though, he does actually have a question:

“Does everyone who dies get sent here? Or is it just like”–his voice still sounds hoarse, so he coughs into his fist and clears his throat–“only certain ones?”

He tries to brush his hair back, but his bangs just flop back into his face. He opens another bottle. Don't worry, he’s not going to cry or whine about shit. He may be a hot fucking mess, but he’s still a tough guy, okay?

Comments

[super_cool]

That is something to think about. There are still so many questions. What is a Yahar’gul? What was that about hunters, earlier? And, of course, the mention of Great Ones-- but no, there is still an inkling of self-preservation that tells him not to press Micolash too much.

Not now that he’s got such a positive message to focus on. Can he really use his time here to become a better, more competent person? Someone who doesn’t do things like accidentally kill civilians while carjacking or get involved in relationships with criminals he’s been lying about his identity to?

“I’m gonna’ do that,” he says. "What you said. Transform." Fuck yeah. He's going to become somebody who doesn’t do those things. He's going to fucking try, anyway. Maybe not right away, but as soon as he's feeling better. He's going to work on self-improvement. He must. "I don’t gotta’ wear a cage though, do I?” He taps one of the metal bars with a slight grin.

He might be a little drunk, and still really confused, but at least he no longer looks ready to cry? Good job, Micolash??

[grantuseyes]

Getting Micolash going on his favourite subjects are usually the worst ones, so good call. Sidestep that until you've got more Insight, Freddy. Otherwise, your frenzy bar will max out in two seconds.

Okay, enough video game jargon.

Micolash lightly claps his hands together in a happy little display of Freddy's newfound conviction. Yayyy! He still doesn't notice or care that his bloodied hand is now getting red on the other one. "The first step is always inspiration and the second determination. Well done, well done."

Although he makes a face when his cage is tapped, one hand travelling to its collar as if to ensure it remains in place. "O-Ohh, no. Unless you have interest in suppression of will to heighten your Insight, of course. And even if you were, you would have to grant me time to craft another..."

[super_cool]

It was a very light tap, okay.

The cop has his wits together again, now that the eldritch reality Micolash lives and breathes has been draped over by a thin sheet stitched of some positive encouragement. Should he feel patronized? Micolash is clearly not well and probably homeless. What does it say if he’s the one that’s being patronized here?

He’s torn between wanting to get as far away from Micolash as possible and feeling some sort of responsibility toward his fellow deceased. Should he offer buy Micolash a sandwich, even though Freddy doesn't have very much money himself? Is there some sort of shelter that he needs to take Micolash back to?

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and dashes inside the store. He tries to be quick, even though he vaguely hopes that Micolash will wander away in his absence. When he returns a few moments later, it’s with some paper towels for Micolash to wipe his hands.

[grantuseyes]

(Un)Fortunately, Micolash is still put when Freddy returns, happily tapping his fingers on his knees, watching passer-by and watching...nothing. His eyes actually sometimes flit upwards or aside and move in degrees, as if they're following something in motion that just plain isn't there.

He's startled out of his observations when Freddy comes back, seemingly almost confused that his new friend came back at all. Maybe he forgot he left? Maybe he's just absent-minded. Micolash also stares at the paper towels before gingerly taking them. "Thank...you?" He seems mystified as to their purpose, instead just unfolding it. Maybe there's a message inside?

[super_cool]

“It’s for the blood,” he says. He’s not sure Micolash gets it, so he mimes at wiping his own hands. It’s bad when this human trashcan is helping somebody else with self-care.

Man, Micolash looks so fucked up. He must be on drugs. How can Freddy just leave him here in front of 7-11? Is there an authority figure around? Someone who can help take this whole situation out of Freddy’s hands? Of course not.

“So, you live around here, pal?” He will make sure Micolash gets home safely. Never mind that Freddy himself is swaying slightly, and will possibly pass out on a bench tonight.

[grantuseyes]

Micolash looks down at his own hands when the demonstration is given, voicing a small, "Oh!" once the realization sinks in. He starts wiping it up even as he adds, "A bit of blood isn't much to worry about it, is it? Hardly a problem. All depending on what the blood is from, of course, but..." No worse than getting jam on your hands after making a butty, if the scholar's nonchalant tone is any indicator.

When he's got the worst of it off, Micolash absentmindedly folds the napkin again and tucks it into a pocket. He's thinking instead about how to answer the question of where he belongs. "Ohh, I spend most of my time in the grand library. Have you been there yet? Quite lovely. Plenty of research material to be had..." Freddy might not be the only one who has to crash in improvised locations.

[super_cool]

So Micolash is homeless, but secretly camps out at the library. That's no long term living arrangement, but fuck it. That's a problem for another day.

“Sounds awesome,” he forces himself to smile. “Do you mind if I walk back with you?”

He's also really hoping to find a thrift store along the way. Someone with as much knowledge of blood as Micolash must know how sticky it gets as it dries. Not fun.

[grantuseyes]

Let's all take a moment to be thankful that Freddy is an LA cop and has probably dealt with his fair share of colourful homeless folk. Might be the first he met who wears what looks like a massive, iron laundry basket on their head, but hey. At least Micolash's not one of the poor souls who resorts to nudity or eating live pigeons, right? The City of Angels is fucking wild.

"Oh, if you'd like to," he drones sleepily, already looking back in the direction the library lies. "Good for future reference, correct?"

Micolash soon pushes himself up onto his feet with a lot more dexterity than one might expect from a man with a towering cage on his head. He must be terribly used to balancing with it. And going places without his shoes tied, considering he's already shuffling on his way without bothering to lace up.

[super_cool]

Micolash is an odd bird all right, but at least he’s not belligerent. Because yes, Freddy may be a cop, but look at him. This is a tiny train wreck.

After throwing away his empty beer bottles and grabbing that bag of Doritos, he starts tagging along after Micolash. There they go, the skinny kid in a blood-soaked suit and the towering figure of the tattered scholar wearing a birdcage over his head.

Freddy makes sure to keep Micolash in the corner of his eye, but he’s more focused on looking around him, both for a thrift-store and so that he can keep track of where they are going. He looks tired, like someone in a stupor making their way home after the bars close... after getting caught in a shoot out.

Conversation with Micolash has proven to be completely exhausting, so small-talk and the smug cop questions he's supposed to be asking in these situations are abandoned in favor of hyper-focusing on the self-appointed task at hand: getting Micolash ‘home’ safe and sound, and as quickly as fucking possible.

[grantuseyes]

It's thankfully not a far walk; five blocks at worst. Micolash seems fine with no small talk or continued chatter as they make their way there. He mutters to himself instead, more wrapped up in that to begin with. Dreamily murmuring about 'Kos some say Kosm' and 'grant us eyes', repeating the phrases with others equally strange.

Arrival at the grand library brings Micolash to a stop at its steps, then turns himself around to see if his tag-along made the trip as well.

"Here we are, here we are," he says cheerily, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Almost possible for a man to get lost in there, it's so large." Or, you know, slip under the radar and overnight there in some overlooked nook or neglected aisle. "It really has been such a pleasure. I do hope we speak again..." The scholar offers his hand stiff and hesitantly. Having to momentarily review the situation and determine if handshakes are proper at this juncture.

He, of course, has forgotten about the issue of getting any further blood on him. It just plain won't register as offputting.

[super_cool]

Freddy tuned out Micolash's mutterings, so they didn't bother him. The short walk still may as well have been the Bataan Death March, though.

“Oh yeah?” says Freddy, staggering up to the building shortly after Micolash. He looks up at it without much interest. Not that he’s some cretin who can’t appreciate a library, but finding a good (comic)book to curl up with isn’t on his mind. He’s regretting not finding a change of clothes earlier, and also still not sure if it’s right to just leave Micolash alone.

“Uh,” he glances down at that awkward outstretched hand, “I don’t wanna’ get blood on you again.” What if Micolash touches the walls, or the books? Innocent library patrons shouldn’t have to deal with Freddy’s disgusting blood all over anything. So instead of shaking hands, he passes Micolash the bag of Doritos. He's backing away now.

“Take care, man--"

[grantuseyes]

What a pair these two make. Both doddering along for their own reasons; one from questionable sanity and sleep deprivation, the other with blood loss.

The offering of crisps is taken in confusion, Micolash now looking over the little package and being mystified with the crinkly cellophane. "Oh, goodbye," he says offhandedly, more absorbed now in trying to figure out what this bag is made out of. As clean a break as Mr. Orange can hope for.