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Continued from Part 5

Adam has fallen asleep in front of the TV again. The static washes the room cathode blue and casts a shadow web across his face from the symbol spray painted across the screen. He scored himself a hand me down set a week ago, trading a badly stepped on 20 bag from some toothless hick fuck who whistled when he drawled. When he got the set home he immediately sigil rigged it to pick up and broadcast the dreams of his neighbors in the surronding rooms of the Claremont. This is possible with older sets mainly, as are quite a number of other psychic/ magickal applications: Telepathic filter, possession blocker, 'Statimancy'( the art of seeing the future in static) and it can also function as a communciations medium with Ultraterrestials, Tulpas and all those other horrors lurking under the belly of the 21st century that nobody seems to believe in anymore.
Carlos explains Television as a magickal weapon to Adam, as well as who the real magickians of the world are, a dream of dinosaurs is touched upon briefly and Brian concludes his business with Adam )
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Pt.5 :".... and the horse you rode in on."

Brian is staring down the barrel of his pistol, dead into the neurOptic implants that have replaced Mama Bishōjo's eyes. The implants looking back up that barrel don't blink, they flicker in intervals, the solid black disk of 'pupil' floating in a milk white pool of BioGell Smart Proteins and photosensitive cells. The illusion is almost perfect, the saucer sized 'JellyEyez' lend Mama Bishōjo the appearance of a Japanese Anime character, an effect only heightened by her shock blue hair and what must have once been a beautiful red leather kimono. But if you were to look closer then you would see, even in the dim light of the phosphorescent graffiti, the rivers of broken blood vessels flowing under the ash gray skin stretched taut across the skull and crashing into the shores of scabs that line the edge of neurOptic implants.
In which the nature of the Otaku Boyz are explained, we learn a little more of Adam and come to question his 'magick', an escape is made and Brian makes a decesion )
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PT.4 4:10am:Deep down on the Endorphin Farm
Read more... )
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Part 1.
Part 2.

Pt.3: 3:13am: A question of diplomacy.

Rasheed and Brian are sitting on a bus stop bench on Baptist Boulevard, the long stretch of road that acts as the unofficial dividing line between Voodoo Town and Gallows City. Rasheed leans back and spreads his arms along the spread of the bench, while Brian leans in forward, his hands clasped in front of his face as if in prayer. Both men smoke their cigarettes with an air of private contemplation, neither one offering a word, as they watch the flames light up the apartment complex across the street from them.

"I thought you said you were a 'courier'?" Brian says, without emotion or expectation of a response, but rather out of a need to fill the void of silence.

"I am." Rasheed says blowing out a ring of smoke thoughtfully into the still night air. "You just assumed that when I said 'courier' I meant 'delivery boy'..." Rasheed raises a single hand, cutting Brian off before he can mutter a protest "...and you'd be right to the extent that I do in fact perform delivery work. No matter the time or the place, or the law of the land for that matter, there's always going to be real money to be made working as the Go-Between."

Brian shrugs a 'so what?' and Rasheed flicks his cigarette into the empty street and sighs.

"But what you have to keep in mind is that a 'courier' does more than just transport commoditys. It also means being an agent, someone charge with the retrieval and safe passage of information, it can mean being a guide to those who don't know the city, and believe me when I say i've played Virgil to many a Dante..." Rasheed laughs and Brian nods politely pretending he knows what his 'partner' is on about now.

"...but for me, when I say 'Courier', I mean a diplomat, a man of charcter if you will, who has been entrusted with the bearing of a message."

"That was a message?" Brians says motioning with a slight nod to the fire that is now pouring out of the windows and lighting up the street an Autumn orange.

"Nah man..." Rasheed snorts "... that was a warning."

Brian turns and looks over his shoulders at him. Rasheed is sitting back passively, his glasses mirroring the burning building, a twin dance of flames where his eyes should be. Sirens now begin buzzing faintly and a few of the locals are stepping outside in their robes and nightgowns to take in the show.

"Come on", Rasheed croaks, "We got one more job and then you can take your happy ass on home."
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Pt.2A friend in need is a friend indeed

Read more... )

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