ArchivedLogs:Small Mercies

Small Mercies
Dramatis Personae Mercy, Ryan, Skye
In Absentia	2017-08-24 "We are trying to do /business/ here."
Location <NYC> The Bazaar - Queens
This was once a Flushing office building that rented to startups, rapid growth industries, and fly-by-night operations who don't want any questions asked. Since the first zombie outbreak, it has lain largely empty, and as of late it has been converted into an immense indoor marketplace. The lobbies are packed with food vendors and the hallways lined with kiosks selling a dizzying variety of goods, flea-market fashion. Various offices are given over to groups of merchants selling similar wares: one dedicated to books, another to computer components, and a rather popular one selling (perfectly legal) weapons...at least during the day. Rumor has it that the Bazaar's night market is becoming the go-to place for trade in illicit goods. But night or day, the place is bustling with activity, noisy and raucous commerce in many languages (though predominantly Mandarin and Spanish). Chances are, you can find anything your heart desires here...if you're willing to pay the price. It's late, but you could hardly tell from the lively scene in here. In the hallway the rich and spicy smells of many different pop-up stalls are competing for dominance; in several different corners there is entertainment happening (a string quartet playing in one office; a trio of impressively athletic hip-hop dancers putting on an exuberant show to loud music down the hall; somewhere upstairs a burlesque performance in what by day is a bookstore, a young woman with a captive audience of mostly Latinx teenagers weaving animated stories by candlelight nearby. And through it all, people hawking wares of all types and an enormously eclectic crowd of folks come to buy them -- some stalls and blanket-spread vendors advertise quite openly, everything from "KNIFE SHARPENING" at one place to "BABY TURTLES" another; other people's clientele just seem to know where to head and who to talk to. Through all this here is Ryan -- blue jeans, a black tee reading 'Be nice to sex workers' across its chest in hot pink font with a little smiley face beside, blue newsboy cap pulled down over his dark hair, Oakley sunglasses. Totally Incognito mode. It's not working, not /really/, and somewhere along the way he's had to fend off one excited inquiry as to whether there's a /super secret/ show here /tonight/ that he's playing, one angry and possibly drunken barrage of semi-coherent verbal abuse that seemed to imply he was part of a mutant-Jewish conspiracy to control the President, two hopeful (and politely indulged) requests for autographs. One thrown balled-up sock, more bemusing than anything else. Still, for all that he's managed to visit his destination -- a small and shadowy bit of nobody tucked off in the back -- and emerge from it with a small folded up brown-paper envelope of packaging. Score. Tucking his prize into a pocket, he is content now to amble, at least temporarily unmolested. Mercy is browsing the nighttime stalls, drifting from one to another, making conversation here and there. She does, on occasion, bump into people seemingly by accident before making a show of apologizing then slipping off before her unwitting, involuntary patrons notice their wallet have seemingly vanished. Some of the Morlock's time is actually comprised of legitimate business exchanges with others' money, purchasing food at one stall, clothing and weapons at others. The mutant wears a tank top covered by a tattered leather trench coat and a pair of fraying jeans, her lower pair of arms concealed skilfully as she works. Her feet are covered in dry, cracking leather combat boots caked in mud and dirt. It's not an intentional movement towards Ryan in particular as Mercy does not recognize him as anything other than another potential mark, but the Morlock has made her way close to the shadowy corners of the market. Skye has just come out of a converted cube-farm that regulars here may recognize as one of the night bazaar's casinos. She's dolled up in high Chinese fashion tonight, in a cropped short-sleeve Mandarin tunic of red satin with brocade pattern of black and gold phoenixes, sharply asymmetrical matching skirt that shows the tops of her sheer black thigh-highs (and just a hint of a garter belt strap), and black stiletto heels with gold filigree. Her makeup coordinates with her outfit, black eyeliner with gold eyeshadow smudged into smoky gray, and scarlet lipstick. There is a tall Chinese man following her, well-dressed and quite drunk. He hastens up to her, catches her by the upper arm, and leans close to whisper something into her ear. She pulls her arm free with some difficulty and turns away sharply without so much as a second glance at him, but in her haste to get away walks directly into Ryan. Then staggers back, teetering. Her drunken suitor gallantly stretches out a hand, but it looks like she'd much rather just take an undignified fall. Ryan has probably not been paying the Most Best attention to where he's been going /anyway/, his focus divided between his phone (which he's just extracted from his pocket) and a nearby stall (which promises a variety of fresh handmade dumplings.) "Yoooshit." Brows hiking up, he stumbles -- drops his phone but catches his balance, one hand lifting reflexively to steady Skye as well. "Crap, lo siento, you good?" Maybe just a little warily. His nose is wrinkling at the Drunken Groper. The rockstar's phone clatters to the ground unceremoniously, but before anyone can step on it, Mercy has bent over and picked it up. She raises her own brows at the scene before her though she does little to intervene on any side. Glancing down at the phone, the Morlock's eyebrows hitch further up when she realizes it is unlocked. A finger from the opposite hand swipes gently at the screen, the young woman seeming a bit fascinated by the piece of technology. A minute or so passes before she flicks her attention back up to ask, "Did one of you drop this?" The young woman waves the phone idly towards the troublesome threesome before diving back into it with unveiled curiosity. "What the fuck ..." is said as she takes notice of the background image on the screen. The rockstar's phone clatters to the ground unceremoniously, but before anyone can step on it, Mercy has bent over and picked it up. She raises her own brows at the scene before her though she does little to intervene on any side. Glancing down at the phone, the Morlock's eyebrows hitch further up when she realizes it is unlocked. A finger from the opposite hand swipes gently at the screen, the young woman seeming a bit fascinated by the piece of technology. A minute or so passes before she flicks her attention back up to ask, "Did one of you drop this?" The young woman waves the phone idly towards the troublesome threesome before diving back into it with unveiled curiousity. "What the fuck ..." is said as she takes notice of the background image on the screen. "Eep!" Skye regains her balance with some difficulty. "Oh, thaaaa--I mean gracias." She completely ignores the drunk man, who's still kind of trying to follow after her. Though, hearing Mercy call out, she glances in her direction. Looks at Ryan. "Is that yours? Pretty sure I saw a phone go down. UGH!" The last bit is probably meant for the man who had been following her, who reaches for her yet again. "{Fuck /off!/}" she says in Mandarin as she edges out of his grasp, close to Mercy. "Oh man Jax would so kill for those heels." Ryan has gotten a little bit distracted! And then distracted /again/, spinning on a heel to stare at the waggling phone. For a brief moment his mouth has just fallen slightly open, kind of gaping before he remembers to -- "/Shit/ yeah that's me holy /crap/ you're a lifesaver." One of his hands is patting at his pocket in some bemusement. The phone is blinking fairly steadily with a host of notifications too long to even fit in the top bar anymore. A regular flux of emails coming in. His twitter stream (which has been open) inundated with mentions. Several unanswered texts over Signal. A rather alarming number of new Facebook and Instagram notifications. "I'd probably wither away and die, ten minutes without that, gracias, you really --" Maybe that's the end of his attention span, though. Right there, mid-sentence, because he cuts off with a grimace, with a frown, with a, "Dude can you not take a -- actually I'm not really sure that was a /hint/ that's kind of straightforward." Mercy's eyes are practically aglow, enrapt as she is by the technology in her hand. She continuously attempts to swipe away the bothersome notification messages, grumbling at them in annoyance. When Ryan begins praising her, she looks up and her expression of wonderment quickly dissipates into one of neutrality. With another sigh, she reaches out to hand it to the rockstar just as Skye comes closer to her. Having lived with the Morlocks and been on-and-off the street for over a decade, Mercy picked up a number of small fragments in various languages and is quick to recognize the curse in Skye's words. She looks up, gingerly stepping to the side in an attempt to avoid being bumped into by the other woman. Her hands clench, fingers tightening around the phone, an action which happens to lock it. Aggravation hinting on her face, she eyes the drunken suitor with distate and tries to step in front of him. "We are trying to do /business/ here." "Jax?" Skye says, narrowing her eyes at Ryan. And there it is, that light of sudden recognition. "Oh shiii--ver me timbers, I owe you like /ten/ drinks." The drunken man seems very taken aback by Ryan's interference, and even /more/ so by Mercy's. He throws up his hands. "Alright alright! /I'm/ just trying to do business, too." But still, he staggers back toward the casino, shoulders sagging. "Hey, I appreciate it." Skye tugs her skirt back down onto her hips and shakes her hair out. "Hell I'll buy you /both/ a drink just for getting that douchenozzle off my ass." "Woah, yeah, if you're into that." Ryan is now looking /up/ from the Filigree'd Heels to the rest of Skye, a bright smile lighting his face, "I mean, not what /I/ normally wear swashbuckling? But I can't say you wouldn't be a fucking /stylish/ pirate." Turning now to reach for his phone -- but too late, since his phone has now gone off to confront Douchenozzle. Once his tightly gripped phone successfully vanquishes the Foe, he relaxes, tugging his wallet out of his pocket. "Can I give you something for that? Not everyone'd have bothered to return it." He waggles the same wallet at Skye. "/Ten/ drinks," he reminds. "There's a place upstairs s'the only goddamn place to get good pulque." Frown. "/Any/ pulque, around here." It is now that Mercy registers Jax's name in conversation as she glares after the rude 'gentleman'. At the mention of the Morlock VIP, she turns her head to look to Skye though she remains silent. As she turns around fully and offers the phone to Ryan, her other hand pushes through her hair and she raises a brow at the offer of money. Something seems to shift inside her jacket as her lower hands briefly skim the inner pockets, most bulging either with goods or repossessed items. Her hand coming down from her head, she waves it in denial. "No need," she replies with a sly grin. "But I /will/ take a drink. And, hey, don't mention it." This last part to Skye. "What?" Skye stares at Ryan blankly for a moment. "Oh! Yeah no this my Zheng Shi look. Just, with gambling instead of pillaging." She spares a last glance in the direction of Douchenozzle and the casino. "Right then! I have no idea what pulque is but I'll give it a try. Let's go!"