(Sink or Swim) Too Close

[Star]

Jul 2014

From Nous to Star

Jul 2014

(Sink or Swim) Too Close

Sep 2014

(Sink or Swim) Too far

Dec 2014

(Sink or Swim) Scrambled Eggs and Hash

Jan 2015

(Sink or Swim) Homework

Continued from From Nous to Star...

Down Capitol Mall, and just over The River, is Four Walls. Sitting within sight of Raley Field and The Ziggurat, it's immediately apparent that the address Star has given Nous isn't... conventional. It's not an apartment. Or a house. Or a condo.

It's an abandoned, slightly dilapidated theater. A ventrue capitalist could probably venture why it failed: too small to compete with the new breed of megaplexes, and too large to have the cut-rate ticket prices of the smaller ones. It's the Jan Brady of the Cinema Bunch.

Of course it has nothing to do with the garish orange siding.

Check the address again? Yes. This is her destination. Star's out front, doing something to an equally old and dilapidated motorcycle. A large piece of molded plasti-fiberglass is on the ground next to it.

[Jhet]

[RI]http://i.imgur.com/nEJ0iKp.png[/RI]
Good sense. Not common sense. Some might think of them the same, but culturally-philosophically-they’re just a little bit different. Good sense is not driving your own car and parking it somewhere it will be seen by people you don’t want seeing it. That’s not common sense, because it isn’t a common problem. It’s good sense because it keeps your car and in some ways you from harm.

It is good sense that caused Nous to rent a car; a simple 4-door sedan. She makes sure that it’s not a bright color, or some super charged muscle car. No, she wants a Ford, or a Chevy, or something that no one will notice. That’s what she’s driving when she pulls up to pick up Star.

She pulls up, windows down in the summer evening weather. It’s hot. It’s always hot. Finding the right place isn’t hard. Sacramento tries to be bigger than it is. That and GPS makes finding an address really stupid easy.

“When’s movie night?”

She waves Star into the car. She’s dressed in a way that Star had not seen her before. Shorts, tribal outdoorsy looking shirt and scarves tied around her in places scarves don’t normally go. Add to that the feathers and ribbon in her hair, strands of beads functioning as a belt and necklaces, and about 8 too many bracelets and all she’s missing is face paint and she would fit better as a witch doctor or shaman than she does in modern day Sacramento. She also faintly smells of glaucoma medication.

She answers her own question, “Not tonight. Get in.” She gives the command statement like there’s zero chance of him not getting into the car.

Inside the smell of a glaucoma medication shop is much stronger, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. As soon as the door closes she's off driving again.

"Do you remember Shaniqua? I hope so, because we're going to meet her.

[Star]

He shrugged, grabbed his backpack, and hopped in. Did. Not. Blink.

Guardians. Masks. It's a thing, yo. Allegedly, somewhere, there was a wall of fame for the best undercover costumes. At least, that's what he'd been told. Honestly? He was pretty sure it was just a way to get him into the Smurfette costume.

It's not easy to infiltrate the Macy's Day Parade.

"OK. But, ummm." He didn't even have to sniff. "If, uh, w'ere gonna 'praise it and blaze it'? Can you give me a heads up? How strong it is. Like, on a scale of one to ten. I'm not so hot at judging, and when I over-smoke, uh. Ummm. Well. I throw up. A lot."

Just get that out there, right now.

What? He didn't have glaucoma, but he sure didn't want it. Preventative medication, yo.

"And, that?" He waved a finger up and down at her. "Kinda hot. Just sayin'. In case you go to Rage again."

He buckled up. All. Business Work.

[Jhet]

"What?"

She looks back and forth between him and the road.

"You're not smoking anything. Maybe when it's all over you can try some of the 'In Living Color' that the guy gave me."

Her hand moves to the volume control as the CD flips to the next song. She's driving straight considering the smell in the car, and not at all slow and two hands on the steering wheel like it's done in high school 'when there's hot boxing occurring after the varsity football game and some cheerleader is getting waaaay too hands-y with the starting QB in the back seat of your mother's Toyota Corolla'. Not like that at all. Straight and narrow, that's how she's driving. At least there's not a crave case from White Castle sitting in the back seat of the car making it smell like munchies and desperation.

While managing to drive the speed limit, she was multi-tasking by talking over the wind blowing through the rolled down windows, the remark about looking hot going unacknowledged. Besides, she has a strict sleeper only sleepover policy in her apartment. It keeps things cleaner that way.

"Ai-ight, here's the deal. Shaniqua called and told me there's some banger in the neighborhood that's looking to clear out some real estate for his crew. Thing is, she said he's gonna do it by poisoning his rivals with some old world shit involving blood and a clock. It's messed up enough it needs looking into."

She dropped knowledge like someone dropping the microphone. Quickly and with attitude.

"I'd take care of this myself, but Shaniqua and I are working together and we don't want this getting back to her. So that's where you come in. Make sense? Also, she's got to approve of you working on this, so try to make a good impression this time."

Because the other time he'd hardly made an impression at all. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, but it's not going to work tonight.

[Star]

He was staring out of the window. Because midriff. He cracked the window. Totally not dog headig the wind in the car. He might be sick anyway.

"A-ite," he answered, mimicking her badly.

"Like, old world clocks and blood like, ummmm, voodoo?"

Did he look like Haitian? Whatevs. If there is a problem, yo, I'll solve it. Sha-ni-qua. Nous was busy. Making contacts, working the streets. Maybe he could learn something.

"But, ummm. How do I make a good impression? Any, uh, pointers?"

That's a legit question. Shaniqua aside? He'd never really figured that out anyway. He looked over, to prove he was Being Serious. And kept his Eyes Up. Even if he was just looking at the side of a frizzy head.

[Jhet]

"Yeah, old world voudon and shit. I don't know, I haven't seen what he's getting it from. That's what it sounds like though. The clock makes me think he's got something that might actually work though."

He looks about as Haitian as she does Swedish. So that's obviously not the issue here. Making a good impression is always something.

"You make a good impression by doing to following two things. Listening to what people say, and participating politely in the conversation. Do it in that order. Just don't try to be something you aren't."

She listens to herself talk. When did she get so smart: or rather when did she start to sound like Oya?

"It works with women too. Listen, respond, listen, listen some more, respond. And for oracles' sake, look them in the eye, not down their shirt. There's nothing that will get you into hot water in a conversation quicker than looking at a woman's breasts instead of into her eyes. I guess that goes for men too, but there's nothing there to look at so... it's easier I guess?"

She's giving etiquette lessons now? Wait, what?

"Enough of that though. Take notes, because I don't want to repeat this part. Omar is the leader of the 'Hot Hands' gang. Or that's what he calls them. I don't know, he thinks just painting a red hand on a wall is a creative tag or something. Down the block is '13 Heavy', which is at least better named because there used to be thirteen of them. Shaniqua heard Omar talking about this poison thing, so it's your job to figure out who has the knowledge, where it came from, and how to get it back in the dark."

Her driving is getting them closer to the neighborhood where they first met Shaniqua. She's driving slower now. Just right on the speed limit. Her head turns to survey the areas the car is moving through. She's keeping her eyes open for something, maybe Shaniqua, maybe something else.

"You have something to protect yourself? You know, just in case?"

Something in her voice suggests that she isn't talking about bulletproof vests or a riot shield. She's talking about something that fights backs. She knows he's going to be have enough shielding to keep himself safe, it's the return that she's more concerned about.

[Star]

He turned back away to watch the traffic and where they were going. Long fingers went up to rub an eyebrow and toy with that one eyebrow hair that was a little -no a lot-- thicker than all the others.

"Well, for starters... ummm. About all I know about voudon is that you get hush puppies when you ask for it in a Cajun restaurant. So... just saying. But I can break clocks."

Just in case this was actually a thing, and he wasn't getting hazed, she ought to know where his expertise level was. Someone may or may not have skipped 'Defence Against the Obscure Fallen Dark Arts' class. And if she was hazing him? Next time Shaun White was looking for snow bunnies for a board party, he was so pitching her. Besides. Guy had to be Tremere anyway.

"Second, wow, seriously? I wasn't looking down your shirt. I was laughing at your shirt. Honestly? You didn't, you know, strike me as that type. To try so hard. Or, I guess, to try like that. Whatever. If you want to roll with the peep show instead of, ummm, being a strong, intelligent woman? Go with that tummy."

Since we're being all, snarky and stuff. He knew how to listen. Now he was responding. He'd just never needed a play book for the socially, economically, and HGH vertically challenged like Chiquita.

Lastly? Common Sense and an Imagination, yo. Armed. And. Dangerous.

"Omar of Hot Hands is talking about the blood and clock poison. 13 Heavy is a player. Uhhh. Is that we know?"

Just because he's imagining doing shots off of her abs trading quips, doesn't mean he isn't listening. Because Smiley's People. Highly effective individual, yo.

His head swiveled to track the littler girl on the purple bicycle. His contact.

Yes, he was totally being trolled by Nous.

[Jhet]

“I’m pretty sure that hush puppies have nothing to do with voudon. I’m pretty sure that’s just something to do with Louisiana and Cajun cooking. So unless there are shriveled chicken legs on the menu, I’d stick to the gumbo.”

She glances down at her exposed midriff and back and forth between it and Star.

“I have a thing that we’re doing and there’s a part that needs to be played. You know how some people say to dress for success? That goes for blending in and disguises too. You dress for the part you need to be playing.”

She’s playing a part. She’s always playing a part. Fate requires that its actors perform the tasks it sets for them. Sometimes she needs to expose her midriff and wear Daisy Duke shorts. Sometimes that means dressing in all black and standing over someone in the middle of the night while they are sleeping to scare the ever-loving piss right out of them. The roles she gets to play are not decided by her alone. They’re a combination of so many moving pieces that it’s foolish to try to argue with what fate is requiring.

So she dresses the part—even if she is from the suburbs.

“And just because I’m dressing one way doesn’t mean I’m not still a strong and intelligent woman. Use the tools in your toolbox. This ‘six pack’ is a tool in my toolbox and I use it when necessary. It doesn’t make me any less strong or less intelligent.”

Back to the matter at hand, she nails down the details. “13 Heavy is the opposing team. If you get them involved, you get out quick. They’re the ones on the receiving end of the package being prepped. Omar is the guy. It’s up to you to figure out how to get a look at the info and to take care of it. The only thing else I know is that no one wants the boys in blue showing up. That includes yours truly.”

She does a lap around the block to see if they’d picked up a tail somewhere for whatever reason and when she decides she’s okay she
pulls the car up nice and slowly to the curb near Shaniqua’s front lawn.

“Yo girl, whatchu got goin’ on?”