| From: | Mach mach@****.caltech.edu |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Dancing with the devil |
| Date: | Mon, 26 Jun 2000 23:10:52 -0700 |
>>>>>[Poor man was scared out of his wits. Especially when I mentioned
his daughter. He couldn't have faked that. Nobody is _that_ good.
Not even me.
The meet:
+++++include video: Valley_contract_mtg.vid
The image cuts sharply in. The moderately crisp, color, 2-D view is
shot, appearantly from a camera concealed in a synthleather purse
sitting on the edge of a sink in a bathroom best left described as
"unclean." Country-pop drivel intrudes into the room in a dull, muffled
warble. Little can be seen of the purse's owner, other than tight
blue-jeans and the edge of a jean-jacket, as she leans over the sink
close to the mirror. While the person by the mirror is digging up some
makeup, a someone in the background produces an echoing dry heave with
the gut-wrenching flourish of finality. The sound is quickly
accompanied by a gurgling flush, followed by the person leaving the
stall, washing up, and gargling. As she passes behind, the camera
catches sight of a rather industrial-looking woman glaring enviously at
the woman in the foreground. A door opens, and unfortunately lets in
some of the song's twanging chorus, then wheezes shut.
Stepping back, the blond woman, too attractive for the environment, but
at least dressed properly with denim and too-tight black tube-top
ensemble, bears a serious expression and checks her watch. "Showtime,"
she says resolutely and picks up her purse. The perspective wobbles
terribly while small red letters: "JITTER COMP" blink plaintively.
>From its vantage point near her hip, the camera sees the bathroom door
open a mere crack.
"That has to be him, this time. Has to," she says. A second later, she
draws her breath in sharply. As she turns, the human that was in the
room has vanished and been replaced by a younger elf with raven-black
hair. Shaking out her long, straight tresses, she reaches into her
purse and finds something to tie it back into a ponytail. She pauses a
moment to splash her face with water, then makes her way into a
working-man's bar. The jukebox wails on about its unfaithful girl, as
she makes her way through the crowd towards a booth in the back of the
bar along the wall.
Some glance in her direction, a few stare, but the elven man sitting in
the booth she is approaching barely gives her a second look. He is
shifting in his seat and trying to watch the whole room at once while
failing to hide his anxiety. When she slides into the booth across from
him--laying her purse on the table, tilting its view on its side--he
nearly spills his beer. "Uh," he manages. "Um, I'm meeting someone."
"So am I. Mind if I sit here? Too many jerks at the bar...," she
replies nonchalantly.
"Um, I'd rather be alone when they get here," he says, looking down the
bar. The man's tough hands and weathered face evidence the years that
his race would normally hide. Finally taking a good look at her, the
regret that crosses his face is obvious. "I'm sorry, but could you
just go?" he asks, pained, and not a little scared.
"So, like, who're you meeting?"
"Somebody.... Just, find somewhere else to sit, please?"
"I could. But I shouldn't, if you're Mr. Valley."
"Valley?" H e seems distractedly puzzled for a moment. "Did you say
Valley?" he blurts, eyes widening, and then quickly looks around to see
if he's drawn too much attention. "Yeah...Taff Valley..., right."
"So, what's your real name? You don't look much like a 'Taff.'"
"Are you...Quicksilver?" He doesn't sound like he would believe that.
"No. Julia." She waits, then says in good-humored impatience, "Still
haven't answered my question."
"Joe. Um, my name is Joe. How'd you know I was here? Did he send
you?"
"Quicksilver? Yeah. Owed him a little favor. Said I should meet Taff
Valley at this _gorgeous_ sinkhole and tell you everything is going to
be alright, and your daughter is going to be safe. Oh...and he wanted
me to have you use this." The purse-eye-view jostles for a second.
Julia's hands reach past the camera cupping a small device. "Stick your
finger in the hole. It won't hurt much. Quicksilver just wants a drop
to make sure you're you, is what he said."
He reaches his hand towards hers, and she expertly cups it looking like
all she is doing is holding his hand. He does not even flinch, but a
few seconds later, pulls his hand away, rubbing his middle finger
gingerly with his thumb. The camera jiggles again as she returns the
device to her purse, and then slips a data disk to him in a similar way.
"This is supposed to have the pass-codes so you know if its really from
him or not."
"I feel like I just made a deal with the devil," Joe sighs like a man
staring a Catch-22 cocked, loaded, and pointed at his face.
"Maybe you did. Don't know, but you could do a lot worse," she claims,
reassuringly.
"You know him well?"
Before she can answer, a burly human is standing, precariously, in front
of their table.
"Hey, pixie-chick," he bellows, drunkenly. "Loose this pansy, and I'll
show you what a _real_ man can do." He doesn't seem to take much care
with his words, since a couple of Ork males down the bar have already
begun to take notice, and not in a positive way.
"Later, handsome, later." Julia's pats the man's meaty hand playfully.
"Right now I'm on the clock, and this boy's paying for the dance. But
I'm sure to be free later, so why don't we meet then?"
The clue manages to burrow its way into his thick skull. "Uh uh...no
way am I payin' for it." He wobbles. "I got plenty of bitches
just...," he slurs, demonstrative finger-pointing nearly throwing him
off balance, "just beggin' for me."
"C'mon Bob. Time to call it a night," another human anounces from
behind him, and leads him off with a hand on his shoulder.
After things have returned to what passes for "normal" in a bar, Joe
asks sheepishly, "You're a hooker?"
"Jeeze, Joe." She holds out her pristine hands, feathering her fingers
and blocking most of the purse's view. "Do I _look_ like I work in a
factory?"
"Uh...no."
"You don't approve, I take it?"
"Well. Hey, it's not my business. You just remind me of someone,
that's all."
"Your wife?" she asks. Joe shakes his head and looks at anyone but her.
"Your daughter?" That gets his attention back. "And you don't want her
to end up like me, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I don't want her to end up like me either."
Julia slides out of the booth and, picking up her purse, leans to place
a kiss on Joe's cheek. "Take care of her," she whispers in his ear.
Turning, she threads her way out of the bar, and into the Seattle
Barrens' night.
+++++end include]<<<<<
-- Quicksilver <23:01:35/06-26-61 PDT>
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