Log:Days of Rage Revisited - Part I
| Days of Rage Revisited - Part I | |
|---|---|
LET'S GO FUCK SOME SHIT UP! | |
| Participants | 28 July 2017 Remembering days gone by.. |
| Location | |
| When Cressida ventures into society, there aren't many places where she 'fits in' so to speak. With her hippy-dippy appearance and her space-cadet way of carrying herself, the fallen star has a tendency to stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, the lack of shoes gets her tossed from nine out of ten places; it's a total bummer. What do people have against bare feet?! I mean, other than the hygiene thing. Jerks. But here? This place? Oh-em-gee, y'all. She is totes at home. Or, well, as at home as she can be in the modern mortal world. Shuffling into the bakery, she finds herself here totally by random chance. Coming to a stop a few paces in, she surveys her surroundings with dreamy sort of look and a half-baked smile hanging crooked on her features. A galaxy in miniature zoops around in a lazy orbit circling her noggin; a rogue comet breaks free and passes cleanly through the forehead of a nearby customer. In and out, there is no reaction from the patron and it gets back in line with the rest of her celestial bodies as she starts to walk deeper into the establishment. Approaching the counter, she shimmies up to it sorta sideways -- like she's sneaking up on it -- and glows a bit more brightly once she comes to a standstill. And that's it. She just stands there and contemplates what to do next. Cressida ain't no good at interactions, yo.
Bare feet /should/ be a bad thing, here at Cat-22 as well. But it's a remarkably permissive place, this anarchist collective, where the Youngbloods' 1969 album 'Elephant Mountain' has been playing on repeat lately (well...not on repeat, because it's a record, but over and over again). ~ Fill the emptiness of right now, ~ wails Jesse Colin Young, over some dark and sumptuous guitars. Sitting on a stool behind the middle counter is a young man. Well -- a youngish, oldish Wizened, with silver in his brown hair and silver wire-rimmed glasses perched on his face. There is a portable Underwood typewriter on the counter and he clack-a-lacks away at it with his inkstained fingers. It's actually several moments before he glances up and notices her there -- though it's the light that catches his attention, first. Normally, it would be someone else (namely his HBC), but there is no cat present in the cafe at the moment, at least not downstairs. The twinkling bits around her take his eyes from the page to her face. And C.B. just /stares/ at her, for a long moment, because, well. Look at her. Plus, there's something else -- something about her that tickles his brain, though he doesn't yet know why. Clearing his throat, C.B. slides off the stool and picks up a little pad and a fountain pen sitting there. "Uh, hi. Getcha something?" He has that clipped, enunciated way of speaking, mottled by what's clearly a lot of smoking and drinking, plus a little Maine thrown in for good measure.
Bare feet represent freedom. FREEDOM. Society tells us to wear shoes but why? Oh sure, blah blah blah protection and blah blah blah hygiene but everyone knows that it's really just the MAN trying to keep our toes under its .. thumb? Shut up! TOES NEED TO BE FREE TO WIGGLE. Don't try to convince Cressida otherwise. Others have tried and they have /failed/. Of course, it doesn't change the fact that she ultimately gets tossed out of places all the damn time. Ahem. Anyhoo. Where were we? When C.B. speaks up, the star brightens considerably -- both in expression and actual illumination. "Hello!" she says at a volume that shows she hasn't quite mastered her 'inside voice' yet. It's not quiiiiite shouting but it's a burst of enthusiasm that tends to draw notice; a few heads turn. And although the mortals here cannot see her moons or planets, they /can/ see that she glows a bit. Even to their eyes, her edges seem to be haloed in light to a certain degree. Weird. Wyrd. She thrusts out her hand -- to shake! handshake! -- and smiles radiantly at the Wizened in front of her. But something whispers at the very edges of her memory and star-filled eyes squint at him. "You have a face," she states with hesitancy. Does he? Does he have a face? She's .. uncertain.
For the time being, at least, Cressida is welcome to wiggle dem toes. C.B. hasn't done anything to curtail her freedom, i.e., he probably hasn't even noticed. Nor does he advise her to keep her voice down, or anything else of the sort: as cranky as he is, he has a generally high tolerance for Wyrdness in this, the Collective he founded. He just snorts and shakes his head when she says hello, eyes blinking closed for a moment as he does so. Her hand is met with his own, bony, inkstained one. He has a handshake that's just a little too hard and a little too jerky, like maybe he's overcompensating for something? "Yeah," he says to her, nodding, head slightly tilted. "I'm told it's incurable." Pen is tapped against pad, then leveled at her. "Y'know, you look a little familiar...too. Somehow." He bites his lip. Hasn't been the most sociable guy around until very recently, and anyone from back then would be old by now...wouldn't they?
Squint-squint-squint. Think-think-think. She's fighting against a brain that has been soaked by so many drugs, so many memories, so many years between here and there. But before she can connect the dots, his hand slides into hers and she has to devote her attention to: The Handshake. This is Serious Business(tm). The moment they are skin to skin, her expression becomes super focused and her planets and moons and stars and comets and asteroids and /everything/ come to a sudden stand-still. She grips his hand tightly and leans in a bit, drawing in a deep breath. "Okay," she says lowly, everything in her solemn tone and coiled-spring body language telling him 'let's do this'. "..on three: one-two- *pause* THREE!" And then they are shaking hands! Up! Down! Up! Down! Her handshake is firm! Confident! Perfectly executed! If things are too hard, too jerky on the other end? Bah! She doesn't notice, doesn't care! She is having a /ball/! HANDSHAKE! When it is over, she throws both arms into the air victoriously and her universe shoots out from the center that is her, whirring about in a brisk orbit once again. "Well done! Very enjoyable! Would shake your hand again anytime! My name is Cressida! And you are...? Did you already say?" Are people looking at her, at them? Probably. Soon she will be back to wondering who he is, where she might know him from, but for now? She is basking.
Pretty much the moment this begins, C.B. can tell this is a mistake. Now, he gets it. There's a lot of Wyrdos in this town. There's November, with her rainbow-goddess-whatever and lack of belly button. Rorschach, the big, dark cockroach. And now this Cosmic Thing, who treats handshakes like they're the most dire of dire actions. I mean, C.B.'s not exactly low Wyrd himself, but he acts pretty human, if only to try and hold onto a vestige of a past that goes slipping away more and more every day... But I digress. The handshake was, indeed, flawlessly executed, except not really because there is lightning sparking all over C.B.'s fingers -- lightning that doesn't hurt or shock Cressida, fortunately. "C.B.," he tells her, when she asks. He pronounces it 'Ceebee,' but they are initials, of course! "It's a pleasure, or something." Sarcasm? Yes it is. He's dubious, yet amused. "You want coffee? A muffin? Some Schnapps?"
The corners of her mouth go wide when she over-enunciates: "Ceeeeeebeeeeee." There is a pause and one can almost see the mental note being scrawled. Slowly. "Ceebee. C.B." Cressida tips her head to one side and stars rain out of her colorful nebula locks, the sparkly shower fading out of existence before hitting the floor. She's still looking at him like she is trying to pin his face to a faded memory but .. alas, the connection isn't being made. YET. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ceebee," she says in a practiced way that would make one guess that she studies regularly out of a manual entitled 'How to Make Friends: An Elemental's Guide to Social Interactions'. When he mentions food and drink, she leeeeeans back to peer at the display. "Do you have anything with sprinkles?" she asks before shoving her illuminated hand down the front of her shirt. Uh .. ? Good god, what is going to happen no-.. the fallen star pulls two crumpled, sweaty dollar bills from her bra? And slaps them onto the counter. Two dollars! TWO WHOLE DOLLARS! She's, like, rich. "Have you ever broken a window? I wanna say I saw you breaking a window once." Squint-squint-squinting again. Think-think-thinking again.
"Yeeeeep. Ceebee." Now that their hands have, presumably, parted, he's just standing there behind the counter, arms folded, watching her carefully. Not in the way a mortal would watch a Wyrdo, no. Just in his own extra-special way. Which is to say: endless skeptical. Lightning echoes somewhere in his irises, like there's a far-off storm swirling back there behind the blue and silver. "You got it." "And we do have something with sprinkles, actually." He eyes the money, but doesn't move to take it right away. Might be best to let the sweat dry a little, first! Or something. To the bakery counter he goes, using tongs and wax paper to serve her up an ENORMOUS frosted cookie that's absolutely rife with sprinkles. This thing is easily the size of a plate and probably costs more than two dollars, but he clearly doesn't care. It's not until she accuses him of breaking a window that he stops. Very suddenly. And stares at her, hard. His palms land on the counter and he leans into her, peering at her over his glasses which, oh yeah, he's still wearing. "Not just once," he admits, a little quietly, like -- maybe this is something he only wants her to hear, since she's One of Him. "Why?" His lightning-sparked eyes move all over her face, desperately trying to place her now. "Have you?"
Everything costs two dollars -- mostly because that's usually all that Cressida has on her and she doesn't feel like that should be an impediment to her acquiring things. People might not /realize/ that things cost two dollars but that's their problem, not hers. For as long as she's been wandering this Earth post-Durance, she has a surprising shaky grasp on financial matters and the value of things. There are reasons for this -- disinterest, living on the fringe, trouble keeping up with inflation, blah blah blah. Mostly, though, she is fairly skilled -- very skilled -- at getting people to just give her things so the star just doesn't really pay much attention to the cost of things because it doesn't really concern her. And C.B. gives her a cookie. See? It costs two dollars! Cressida twinkles -- TWINKLES -- with glee when she sees this treat that is larger than her HEAD and hops excitedly from foot to foot when he brings it to her. She even makes grabby hands (gimme gimme omg gimme yaaaaaas) and all the stars in her eyes go shimmery at the sight of all. those. spriiiiiiinkles. But then he stops. Suddenly. And stares. This serves to focus her memory too and leaning in, she peers very closely at him. There is only a sliver of distance dividing her nose from his; her galaxy orbits around them both. A planet passes through his head, then a comet. It doesn't feel like anything -- they're just figments, after all -- but if noticed, it still can be startling. "Oh yes," she whispers into the space between them, her lips spreading into a slow, near-devious grin. "I have broken many, many things." There is a long pause, stretching over several heartbeats. "...Ben."
Granted, the Collective is particularly...not-picky about what it charges people. Cash only is the rule, but it's also a place where you can barter. And money is bartering, even if it's not enough. So it could be Cressida...or it could be C.B.'s own secret softheartedness. Whatever it is, he takes her money! Into the old-fashioned register it goes. He actually looks up at those twinkling stars and laughs -- yes, the grumpus can sometimes be moved by the various adorable oddities of the Changeling world. But all that good-heartedness starts to fade as she gets so close to him. /Too/ close. That's what happens when you take a very, very paranoid person and get up close and personal with them. His eyes get wide; his lips purse, and he slooooooowly starts to back away from her -- until she says The Name. "Jesus!" he suddenly exclaims -- hissing through his teeth. Fists go down on the counter and now /he's/ leaning back into /her/, white lightning crackling all around his arms and into his hair. "You knew me back then?" Not even trying to deny it. Wide and crazed as his eyes are, he nods a little when he looks her over. Of course. Look at her. A not-unknown sort of element (haha, get it?) back in that day. "Wait a second." He bites his lip, leans in a little more. "Days of Rage. I KNEW it!" C.B. snaps his fingers and points at her. "I remember you, too. What was it, what was it. You had some nickname..." He racks his brain for it, the lightning going berserk now.
Lightning is going wiz-bang cray! When C.B.'s fists go down on the counter, she mirrors the Wizened and does the same (well, minus the electricity). BANG! Her light gets dialed up to 10 though and her galaxy expands in a faux Big Bang, filling the room with celestial bodies in miniature. People are drinking their coffee, reading their books, and remaining completely unaware of the comets that shoot through their bodies or stars filling their mugs. Still, it's impossible to ignore the growing sense of /alien wrongness/ in area and a few people pick up their things, leave the establishment. They don't know /why/ but things feel /weird/. Wyrd. But Cressida is is unaware -- either she's oblivious to it or pays it no mind. All her attention is devoted to C.B. and her impish grin has grown to manic proportions. "Yes! YES!" she near-squeals, wiggling excitedly and quickly hopping in place. "Dippy! The guy I was with back then was calling me Dippy!" Uh .. wonder why? Totally random nickname, right? RIGHT?! She reaches over and slaps her hands over top the crackling Wizened's fists and leans in even closer to /his/ lean. "LET'S GO FUCK SOME SHIT UP!" Whoa whoa whoa .. slow your roll there, chica.
"Dippy, yeah!" C.B.'s eyes are silver-dollar sized by now. They get so big when he's in the thrall of something, and the lightning? It's nothing compared to her celestial bodies, but it crackles like crazy -- all up in his eyes and hair and around his arms -- as the memory courses through him. "You're the one who helped me throw the goddamn barrel through the bank window, weren't you? Those PIGS thought they could stop us, but we brought the war home that day!" He's actually raising his voice a bit himself. Forgetting himself in this, even though he's the one standing behind the counter here... He's loud enough (albeit not /that/ loud) that a creature trots down one of the tubes from upstairs. While shaped like a Cymric cat -- just like the ones painted all over the walls -- it's clearly a Hedgebeast Companion. Its fur is made of fluffy gray and white paper, and its eyes are huge and yellow. There's too many humans around for him to talk, so he lands on the cat tower in the middle of the cafe and MROWLS at the top of his kitty voice. C.B.'s eyes spark over to him and he makes a pained expression. "Aww, c'mon, Yossarian, don't get on my case." He wets his lips, calming a little now, but the lightning hasn't stopped as he leans into Cressida. "Look, back then, we had a /reason/ for all of that, okay? I like having a reason for things. If I /don't/ have a reason, I start to get a little, you know." He pantomimes twirling his fingers around his ears. "So. We got to have a reason. A message. It's /important/, Dippy, okay?"
He's excited! So she's excited! Which makes him more excited! Therefore she's more excited! IT'S AN EXCITEMENT LOOP! Her orbits are starting to get out of whack, moons bouncing off planets and knocking them off-kilter. A few stars go rapidly through their life cycles, becoming red giants before going supernova. Aaaaahhhh! Chaos! CHAOS! Thank goodness it's all just imaginary; otherwise, we'd all be in trouble. A faux star dies by a patron, a black hole forming and drawing other nearby figments into it; the customer continues to sip his coffee and read his book, completely unaware of the sucking void right next to his head. Cressida gives C.B.'s hands an enthusiastic squeeze and then peels away, hopping off and grabbing a chair. She picks it up and starts to loft it up over her head -- what is she planning to do with it? Hopefully not throw it through the window /here/. Likely, she's just arming herself and will be taking it with her to wherever they are going. Hopefully. Yeah, let's hope that is what she's doing. But then a few things happen: 1) C.B. tempers the situation by being the voice of reason. 2) CAT. Yes, she can see that it's a Hedgebeast. But it's still a cat. Cressida /loves/ cats. Her heart nearly beats out of her chest with joy at the sight of the animal and she politely puts the chair /down/. The star even smoothes her hands over the cushioned seat lest she wrinkle-crinkled it. See? Better! Now, a reason. She needs to come up with a reason. How about... "Because?" Hopeful smile!
"HEY! HEY! HEY! DON'T THROW THAT IN HERE! DIPPY, PUT THAT DOWN!" C.B. is not above raising his voice, although some of the other folks who work here poke their heads out of the back to see what the samhill is going on. Granted, it's not at all unusual for C.B. to be arguing with people up here. Just a week or two ago, some of those people happened to be cops. Good thing for everyone that Yossarian saves the day. He stands up, mrowls again, walks in a little circle, and sits down. As cats do. "I'm gonna get it from him later," C.B. mutters under his breath. Then he looks at Cressida. Looks at Yossy. Looks at the other people he works with, watching him. Then he leans in and grabs Cressida's hand, his eyes vibrant, a kaleidoscope of blue and silver and lightning. "You know what?" he murmurs to her. "Fuck it, why the hell not. I'll think of a reason. I always do." Maybe it comes from the excitement of seeing someone else from those heady days, a very important time in his life before everything was stolen from him...you know how it goes. Or it could just be that he is also batshit crazy. Either way, he yells some excuses to the other people behind the counter, grabs the paper he was typing on and stuffs it in his messenger bag before sliding it across his head and running around the counter, swiping Cressida's hand, trying to drag her along. "Hurry up before I change my mind. Yossarian, I'll be back for you later!" he hollars.
"I wasn't gonna!" she replies when C.B. gets all shouty, the star smoothing out the seat cushion again as if to say 'see?'. "I was going to take it /with/ us so we could throw it out /there/." It seems perfectly logical to her. Pat-pat-pat, nice chair. She smiles an innocent smile. You can practically see the halo. Twinkle! But /cat/. Cressida can't possibly concentrate on chair nor chaos when there is a cat present. She clutches her hands over her heart and starts to wander towards Yossarian, her starry eyes going wide, wider, widest. "Kitty," she breathes and then starts to reach out. To pet. To pick up. To love. To steal. To steal? No, she'd /never/. Not a Hedgebeast companion, anyway... But C.B. is grabbing her hand and she's getting pulled along and -- OH YEAH -- they are going to fuck shit up! There will be plenty of time later to cuddle kitties; for now, there is chaos to sow. She actually bellows: "WHEEEEEEEEEE!!" ...because that is what you say when you are about to instigate some civil unrest. | |
