| Logs |
2002 January 27
| Weston |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Weston Logs |
What's a person like you doing...?
The rooms that the group occupy are not spacious by any stretch. They look suspiciously like they might have been offices once. The beds are identical to the ones that were in the barracks downstairs. There is a desk in each room and a second footlocker. A small hand-held computer is on the bed, sitting on the pillow.
Bethpage knocks on Pitch Black's door.
Pitch_Black is sitting next to the desk, most of a semi-automatic pistol spread out on the desk in front of him. He doesn't bother to look up. "Yeah. C'mon."
Bethpage comes quietly inside, and says, "Pitch?"
Pitch_Black says, "Hey, Page."
Pitch_Black puts down the weapon and sits back. "Got you too, huh?"
Bethpage nods, and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. "Yeah. It's been awhile... nice to see a familiar face, though."
Bethpage adds, "Long damn way, to get here from there. --Any idea if the room's bugged?"
Pitch_Black smiles ruefully and begins to reassemble the gun. "For what those are worth, in our line of work." He shakes his head, "No idea. Not that it matters... I think they already have all the dirt they need."
Bethpage nods ruefully to both and shrugs. "Yeah. Say, does it seem odd to you that we two were the only ones that got roughed up? Everybody else seems to have gotten gentler treatment-- drugs instead of a beatdown. What does that say to you?"
Pitch_Black grins a little. "Maybe they figured we're easy marks. I'm an anachronism, y'know. Just meat and no chrome."
Bethpage nods, "Maybe. They would certainly know that about you, if they know our dirty laundry... be sloppy not to know. Suggests everybody's got more chrome than we do, to me, that either makes them too expensive to smack around, or too tough. Even if the crazy one doesn't look it."
Pitch_Black says, "Makes me wonder why they bothered with us."
Bethpage grins. "No false pride? Me too, kinda... but I figure it's a moot point. We're here now. I'm more interested in what we can do that the others can't. Who's destined for what roles, y'know?"
Pitch_Black says, "I'm a washed-up professional headkicker. Either they expect me to beat someone up, or I'm the meatshield."
Bethpage says, "You kick ass. I'm pretty sure that's your job here too, unless you've got hidden diplomatic skills you never mentioned that work real good with mutant aborigines."
Pitch_Black smirks, "No, I'm not much of a diplomat. Least of all with mutant indigs." He takes a breath. "I don't like this at all. It doesn't make any sense. Why drag a bunch of low-rent cutters out of retirement for this gig? I'm not exactly Sonny Chiba."
Bethpage says, "I'm kinda curious what I'm supposed to sneak up on and do the Spiderwoman thing with in a big damn backyard with like one other guy in it that we need to talk to before we kill, personally."
Pitch_Black says, "Maybe they're just gathering data. Maybe we aren't intended to come back."
Pitch_Black says, "That would explain how they know the whereabouts of the one remaining person on the world's smallest continent."
Bethpage says, "I don't think so, Pitch."
Bethpage says, "They told us to find the zombie, right? That doesn't make sense if they already know it's their last Special Ops guy."
Bethpage says, "I think that part of the deal's on the up and up. What scares me is the retrieval... it'll work fine if they do what our silver-tongue said, and we don't really talk to them again til they pick us up. That means they need us back, and able to talk."
Pitch_Black frowns and checks the action of the pistol, before placing it on the table again. "I don't understand why they'd bother with us... if they have the wherewithal to dig up the ugliest deep-darks we've all been doing our best to walk away from, why bother with a bunch of low-key hustlers? Not 100 percent of which is apparently all there?"
Bethpage says, "If they change their minds and want our findings first, though... I think we'll having kangaroo for dinner for a very long time, unless you have a bright idea that I don't."
Bethpage grins at the mention of Kavanaugh.
Pitch_Black says, "If that turns out to be the case, I did ask for bullets, Page. One for you, one for me, if it comes down to that."
Pitch_Black says, "Just don't tell the codger. Suicide's a sin."
Bethpage smiles, and rises to go. She walks to gently touch Pitch on the shoulder, a rare gesture for her sizeable personal space. "Thanks, Pitch. It's good to have a friend in this."
Pitch_Black says, "Hey, Page."
Bethpage says, "Yeah?"
Pitch_Black says, "It's Yang."
Pitch_Black says, "My name's Yang."
Bethpage doesn't crack a smile. "Thanks... Yang."
Pitch_Black hehs. "Fei isn't a very butch name."
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