Jan 19 07:58:43 108 PA - Tall Order for Work
From Chronicles
Jan 19 07:58:43 108 PA.
THE ALIBI
The sub-freezing afternoon marks another frozen, dreary day. Inside, the mid-day lights are still up with the stage pulled back for maximum dance room, the club on the verge of changing to the Friday Night Blitz. DJ Tanner is tucked into the booth, running down his playlist and double-checking his board, while the club is rapidly filling as the first wave of TGIFers sneak out early. Sebastien is draped over a chair at a table near the bar, the remains of a dinner -- a small bar sandwich -- mostly consumed before him. Clad in clothing of an entirely different sort, he seems a little early to the party. His sort isn't likely to arrive for another four hours, at least!
Even on a Friday, Gabriel wouldn't normally be at a club of any sort at this hour. There are just so many other things to be done. Yet for whatever reason, he is here today, this late afternoon. As he steps in the door - quickly closing it behind him so as to keep out the winter - he slowly removes his small wool cap and gloves, simply surveying the room with a steely eye. Always too many people. Only good place to get away is Yakov's and Tradewinds, but he's had his share of both coffee and Russian cuisine for the week. Slowly, he begins to plod toward the bar, his boots leaving mushy boot-prints of slush upon the ground. No one special is noticed yet. He's just wandering in, obviously deciding simply what it is that he wants to do, and how to spend his evening.
Sebastien smiles up as a scantily-clad waitress takes his plate, nodding that he's done and grinning at her as he says something that earns him an amused look. She tilts her head and gives a note of distress, and Sebastien follows her gaze then, catching sight of the slushy tracks being dragged inside by Gabriel. "Friday has just begun," he muses, voice just becoming distinct enough to hear over the din, and Sebastien passes her a tip before following the man towards the bar. Hopping a stool, Sebastien bellies up and watches the 'tender down the bar, mixing someone else's drink. His painted face never turns towards Gabriel, but he does lean towards the man to half-shout over the music, "You look ridiculous!"
Such a shout is a pretty common thing to be heard in any bar, be it a nightclub, a speakeasy, or a bar for the regular Joe. Thus it is that Gabriel treats it with total indifference, though brushing aside a few scantily-clad waitresses himself, using nothing but gentle motions and kind words. Of course, they'd probably prefer money, but at least he isn't directly insulting to them. After scanning the counter for a while, he selects a spot and plops himself on a stool in the half-on, half-off manner typical to his style. One foot on the ground, one foot on a rung - a good way to relax and be able to dive for cover quickly, both at the same time. After setting his hat and gloves on the counter, and nodding at those next to him, he waves the bartender down and orders something. Something that arrives in a translucent brown bottle. Gabriel passes credits across, then pops the top off using a cheap metal key from a Swiss Army type knife that emerges from one of his smaller pockets.
Sebastien inclines his head to the 'tender, and orders, "A rum and coke, s'il vous plait!" He smiles at the man while digging out some money, and after the exchange drops off his stool and peers down the row. Walking down five stools and sliding in beside Gabriel, Sebastien peers at the older man and muses, "So the Abominable Snowman walks into a bar..?"
"...and says 'Don't piss me off, or I'll rip your goddamn fucking Chinese Commie throat out.'" Gabriel offers the man... a smile? Then his eyes quite clearly examine Sebastien at length, and in great detail. After a few long moments, he turns to his bottle - another non-alcoholic fizzy soda, as per usual for the man - and tilts it to take a long drink. It is then set back on the counter, then smiles and says some polite words to a young woman in a short dress who takes the stool on his other side. Turning back to Sebastien, he asks, clearly trying to remove his drawl in order to be absolutely clear: "What the fuck are you wearing?" Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried, the tone is incredulous.
"Is that some kind of D-bee?" Sebastien asks, giving his head a small shake. Apparently he's not quite sure what a Chinese commie is. "I don't get your punch line, monsieur," he utters flatly, and takes a swig of his drink. The young man does appear artfully made up, his scars not nearly so apparent under all of that. He's watching the DJ as the lights turn low, before catching the accusation and turning back at Gabriel. "Like you have any room to talk! This is not Fort Greely, Gabriel! What is this?" He waves at the man, laughing. "You look like Tornaq mounted a human again. This is a club!" He rolls his shoulders, dancing a little in place, and ducks his head with a broad grin. "In an hour enough bodies will be in here that you will melt and my nipples will no longer be able to cut glass."
Gabriel's eyebrows both arch in unison, and it certainly appears as if he's going to reply with perhaps a bit of worldly wisdom, but nothing comes of it. Instead, he takes a pull from his bottle again, and before it reaches the counter, groans audibly as the lights dim. His drawl is unleashed in all of its glory. "I wish that this fucking city just had a bar. Someplace I guy could just go to have a drink, shoot the breeze with a few strangers, maybe shoot a round of pool, throw some darts. But no, it's either a dive, a strip-club, or..." he waves his hand to indicate the room "... a nightclub. Where the girls wear clothes that leave them almost naked, and apparently the men do as well." He clears his throat quietly, then asks, "I'm here for a little quiet relaxation, which apparently I won't find. You here for the exciting nightlife?"
"Mostly," Sebastien confesses, with a wild smirk. "Oh, not as much 'excitement' as I used to have. Now I go home solo, to a beautiful woman who does not understand this place. But I still do enjoy the dance, the spectacle of it all." He waves at his liquor and adds, "And I try to not drink around Monique. She wants so badly to match me, and she'll never be able to. I'm afraid of what will happen if she tries." He sighs then, collapsing dramatically against the bar, and opens an eye to peer up at the older man. "Gabriel," he speaks, voice muffled by the cushion of his arms, "this is not your world. This is the precipice of Armageddon, the last fortress of Man before the gaping maw of Hell itself. Look around you. Half these kids won't see forty, and you're an old man. In Chi-Town you might live to be a hundred and twenty, a hundred and forty years old? Here you're lucky to see sixty-five. You think they have the *time* to go to your bars?" He scoffs, and reaches to down most of his drink in one drag, apparently unaffected by whatever liquor content it holds. "Speaking of which, if you don't want to live forever, I have a proposition for you."
The older man - pointedly older, apparently - pulls his gaze away again, briefly enough to sip from his fizzy soda. He exhales a long breath... not a sigh, just a long exhale, before turning to Sebastien. "That may be," he replies to the first statement, "but I didn't earn my good health and longevity overnight. I worked at it. My ancestors worked at it. If people worked at it today, they could have it, too. Problem is that people want things, *NOW*. Not usually willing to put in the work to get it, just expect magic to happen." Gabriel waves the neck of his bottle in the direction of the dance floor. "If these people applied themselves a little, this city could be a better place." He then turns and responds to the other man's final words. "I'm quite happy living forever, thank you. As long as there's a purpose to it. No purpose, no reason to live." He nods a chin toward the cyber-knight whom he would not use kind words to describe in current clothing. "What've ya got?"
Sebastien lifts his head with a smirk. "And you think sitting and drinking quietly is healthier than all that dancing? It's good exercise." He turns his attention towards the dance floor, musing, "Then again, so's the sex." Flashing a look back towards Gabriel, Sebastien accuses, "You're just jealous you no longer fit in leather! I have a client. He claims some new weapon is being used on civilians caught in the middle. A 'peculiar fate' befalling towns, though he is cagey. He says he has the science handled, the means to investigate, and just wants bodyguards to get him up there and back unmolested. Eight hundred miles round trip. I've only heard the pitch, my next step is to do some research on my employer. But I could use someone with overland and scouting experience."
The older man nods shallowly for a while. "Eight-hundred miles. In my time, that's a stroll in the park. This time, where every fucking thing in the woods is like a tank? Not so much. Not just dealing with hiding from the five senses, you know? But yeah, I've the scouting experience you need. Tromped all over the South Pacific islands, Southeast Asia, even into India and motherfucking China with my Raider team. But in this day, eight-hundred miles without any support - mentioned - that's rough." Gabriel turns and sips from his soda again. "So someone's hired you? I'm honored that you'd ask, but rather seems like I'd be the one getting in the way, you with your robot horse-thing, fancy swords and laser beams. I can only handle one weapon at a time, if it comes to combat." He clears his throat again and drums his fingers. "So who is this 'client' and yeah, like you're asking, why does he give a fuck?"
"That's the point," Sebastien notes. "I'm good up close. You get me at bad-breath distances and I'll tear apart an Enforcer. But between here and Iowa, Wisconsin, wherever they plan to take us? There is a lot of open ground, and if I'm fighting every piece de merde we see I won't last more than a day." He tilts his head and shrugs. "I'm the last line of defense. I need someone out front. And then I need someone way out front. And I need someone who can see trouble coming. This only works if we have a good handle on what we are doing, where we are going, and who we will see in the mean time. If we never fire a shot, I'm happy. No repairs means I keep all my earnings. Moreover, I will run this show. This means that all repairs will be paid before we divvy earnings." He looks aside at Gabriel, and flashes a smile. "If you can tag trouble from a quarter mile with that rifle of yours, maybe this is better than playing Hero?" He taps the table, and pushes his glass forward. "Your contact is staying at the Happy Days, and you may find him at the Nightingale. He is Alexandre Benet. I suggest you meet him, try to get a feel for why we are going. Tell him I vouch for you -- my job was to get the job. I will try and find two others; I think a foreward scout on a flying vehicle and a mage or a sensitive would be best, but first I want someone to fly the route and get an idea of what we're up against, and what cities we can use to camp at in the middle."
Gabriel offers up what help he can. "I've been modifying my rifle. Still looks like an L-20, packs the same punch as an L-20, but it'll do the job. Good scopes. Assuming that my armor mods hold up too, I'll walk a decent point. But yeah, you should get some aerial support for this one. Miss Erica, she's the only one around here I know who flies." He nods to the side and rolls his eyes a bit. "Well, I suppose that Miss Celaeno has that flying thing of hers, but she isn't exactly subtle... and not exactly the kind of person I'd trust with my life, based on what I know about her, and what I've done with her. You probably know better than I." After a little more thought, he continues to suggest, "Miss Tizrah would have done well for you. Miss Sage is a sensitive, from what I understand. But perhaps Leonard would be a better option. Someone with eyes, punch, and the ability to bug out and re-group." He turns his eyes back to the dance floor and wiggles his bottle towards it. "Is that it? You heading off to dance - I'm sorry, 'exercise' - and send me to Happy Days?" The older man seems nonplussed, neither offended or impressed, though he does offer, "Thanks for thinking of me. I appreciate it."
"Sometimes," Sebastien says, "You need the voice of experience." He gives Gabriel an amused look, and mutters, "Even if it does mean hiring Old Man Winter." Then, more brightly, he wonders, "How are you set for a vehicle? Erica would work in the air, but..." He makes a face. "She has no respect for me, nor my leadership. I think she'd like the assignment of floating above with her rifle, but I can't see her following orders, nor being especially subtle. Being the foremost person requires some indifference. We may divert around danger instead of simply blasting. I think Celaeno is better suited, to be honest." He shrugs and adds, "Plus her cycle has the endurance to scout ahead without refuel in a trailing vehicle. Well, I'll staff." He reaches to nudge Gabriel with an elbow, noting, "And I'll make sure our scouting team has a video recorder and can draw a map! Mon Dieu, the lake..." He mutters some curses in his French tongue, and slips from the stool, flashing another smile before darting off. To 'exercise.'
The older man says to Sebastien's back as he walks away, "I can drive a trac.... well, maybe not." He then turn up his bottle again glances around, and starts up a spirited conversation with a young woman in a scandalously short skirt and a top that only barely does a better job of covering her nipples than the other man's mesh. Such is this strange place that Gabriel can only shake his head at.
