THE FOLLOWING TEXT CONTAINS: VIOLENCE, ASSASSINATION, SWEARING, SMOKING, DRINKING AND IMPLIED SEXUAL ACTIVITY.
GREENHORN
7. EXT. PIPETOWN STREETS — EVENING
It’s nearly night in the streets of PIPETOWN. The station lights are dimming. Admittedly, it always feels kind of glum down here in the lower levels of the SPIKE. There are still quite a few pedestrians wandering the weaving conduit systems, talking to one another, making deals. Trading secrets. There are a few more people out and about tonight more than most nights. Following the meanderings of the alien out and about leads you through the conduits, towards a space, wider, more open where fans and spectators of the infamous PIPETOWN PIT are gathering. The facade is awash with flashing neon and beaming spotlights and very loud music anyone local has definitely already complained about. Flanking the PIT’s entryway are two massive banners of premium fighters for the night. A big buff gnoll champion taking on a patra–cat-type alien, this one looks like their origins are panther-like.
But rewinding back to the thick of the conduit, before actually reaching the pit…JD is found sprinting through the crowd. They’ve got a long pack strapped over their shoulders, a duffel that might just contain a bit more than sporting equipment. JD is looking a little bit more lashunta this time around. Humanoid, a bit more pink, antennae sprouting up from their mop of hair.
Perhaps JD looks a bit frazzled as they sprint and move far too fast through this crowd, almost like they’re late for something–shit–they bump into someone and scramble past them.
JD
Sorry!
SFX: (droning) BZZZTTT BZZZT.
JD pulls their comm out as they dash and see FT as the one calling them on the screen. They grit their teeth, cursing quietly. They almost don’t pick up but that honestly seems like a worse idea than the shit they’re about to get.
SFX: CHK.
JD
I’m almost there–
FOXTROT [OS]
(on comms)
You’re late again, Doe.
JD
Look the transit schedule doesn’t really account for last minute–
FOXTROT
Get a fucking set’a boosters then.
JD
You need to give me more leeway–
FOXTROT
Boss doesn’t give anyone fucking leeway. You here or what?
JD
Yeah–yeah. I’m almost there.
FOXTROT
Almost isn’t here—
JD hangs up and figures they’ll deal with FOXTROT giving them shit in person when they get there. They look up to a series looping, swirling fire escape steps taking them two at a time.
It’s one hell of a long way up. JD has to stop mid-way to take a breather, they shape-shift in the meantime into the gnoll they usually take on for these gigs before they clamber up the rest of the way, stepping up onto the roof.
FOXTROT isn’t the only one here. She’s waiting with another person, a drow with a sharp gaze. JD’s only seen him once before, never on any of the few gigs they’ve been given so far. That’s PIQUE, he’s only around to be IZOLA’s eyes and ears when people have been fuckin’ around.
And, unfortunately, JD’s been on thin ice since they got their position. Not intentionally.
FOXTROT
About fuckin’ time.
JD bites their tongue though they normally would have given her lip for that comment after the thirty flights of steps she just had them climb. They pull off the pack and start setting up the rifle parts inside it. Who forgets to pack a second rifle, anyway?
If they had known they were going to be some sort of personal delivery boy–and glorified punching bag, honestly–for the mob they might have considered being murdered by the mob instead of joining it.
They make quick work of the assembly, ignoring PIQUE’s eyes on their back. He’s also known as the resident sharpshooter, aside from IZ in her heyday. Not that JD is really intimidated, honestly, this guy is a little bit of an a–
Anyway, after JD sits back, rifle assembled in record time, PIQUE addresses them.
PIQUE
You know why we’re here, yes?
JD looks to him, heart racing against their ribs.
JD
Yes.
PIQUE
Tell me.
If they fuck this up their job’s on the line, surely. This has to be some sort of test. Not a great one, mind you.
Of course they know why they’re here. A match like this draws the attention of a crowd, a big one, with a lot of big names placing big bets.
JD
We’re offloading. One of Boz’s. The tomcat that’s been rigging the matches.
PIQUE
You know what he looks like?
Though PIQUE asks it like a question, it isn’t one. JD better know what this guy looks like, and of course they do. They did their homework. Studied the file like they were supposed to. They know this guy’s been rigging matches, sneaky about it. It isn’t obvious but he’ll place bets loud enough to get people to follow his lead and opt different. At least that’s how he started before–
JD
Yeah.
PIQUE
Find him, then.
JD takes a second to re-organise their thoughts but FOXTROT speaks up before they can even process.
FOXTROT
No way. We’ve been tailing this guy for years we’re not putting this in the greenhorn’s hands! They lose this guy and it’s–
PIQUE
All over for them.
He looks at FOXTROT and they exchange some sort of understanding. FOXTROT frowns.
FOXTROT
And for you, if Iz finds out.
PIQUE slides a dark look to FOXTROT.
PIQUE
If she does. I will know who it is that spoke to her.
FOXTROT glances between PIQUE and JD before she grits her teeth and steps back.
FOXTROT
Fine. You two play your stupid games. I’m not here to get blasted by this slimeshit.
JD watches FOXTROT throw her arms up and walk off to avoid watching whatever disaster is about to unfold. JD’s eyes flick to PIQUE who still watches them expectantly.
Oh… He’s… For real. JD takes a deep breath. This isn’t exactly new to them but it’s… Sure been a while since they handled a long-range weapon.
They shift into position behind the rifle, acutely aware of PIQUE’s eyes on the back of their head. Certain he’s waiting for JD to get cold feet.
Not that it’s too complicated handling this weapon. JD gets pretty comfortable. Turns out its just like riding a–Oh there’s the target now. Tomcat–literally a patra–with an orange coat and an overzealous smile. He’s sporting a long sleek jacket and talking to a couple of his cohorts.
JD
Spotted–
PIQUE
Take the shot.
FOXTROT
(warning)
No–
JD keeps an eye on the tomcat in the long jacket. If they shoot now it’ll be absolute mayhem and panic. It might deliver a message and a real flair but if they miss, their ass is as good as grass, as the ancient saying goes.
JD can only vaguely hear FOXTROT giving PIQUE shit as JD watches the tomcat enter the building.
PIQUE
(unsurprised)
You lost him.
JD doesn’t answer, doesn’t step away, they only wait. Watching the crowd dissipate as they file into the PIT. Earlier, they read the file, sure… They also did a little bit of recon, spoke to a few guys who might have known the guy. A little bit of luck really, they happened to be out of the house for a change of scenery and overheard a conversation or two.
FOXTROT
(frustrated)
Fuck. See–
JD re-angles the rifle.
TRANSITION: The argument between FOXTROT and PIQUE fades into distant conversation getting clearer. It turns into laughs and jokes with some guys from a bar they can’t remember the name of. A drunk human wraps an arm around JD’s shoulders–wearing the lashunta-face from earlier–and slurrs a mention about a tomcat that likes to have a lucky smoke just before the match begins. The tomcat likes to celebrate even before the betting rig is in full motion.
Left wing, third down, private business balcony.
They take aim, watching the tomcat step into view, and before even thinking, JD pulls the trigger.
He’s down before anyone can hear him scream.
The world goes silent around them. JD holds for fifteen seconds and then starts packing the rifle away, behind them, PIQUE and FOXTROT are silent.
When JD catches FOXTROT’s eye she’s livid even if she tries not to show it.
JD
We’ve got an hour to put some distance.
8. INT. BITECLAW HQ — MORNING
They’ve been talking to her for hours while JD was excused, sitting on one of the seats outside IZOLA’s office. They grit their teeth and pick at a loose thread on the armrest. It’s fine, FOXTROT’s been angling for them since they made her look like a fool the day they were brought in here.
So now they wait for the other two to throw them under the bus because they were late, because they’re new, because they did the job better than either of them and they’re now both threatened by the new mob errand kid.
The door clicks open finally and PIQUE emerges first but doesn’t even look at JD, dusting off his jacket and playing hard to read. Then FOXTROT emerges and she casts them a look and they can’t read it though JD wants to read frustration.
FOXTROT
Iz wants to talk to you.
JD
Yep.
She eyes them and when they don’t get up for her she scoffs and starts off, JD watches her disappear around the corner, admittedly hating this feeling squirming in their gut. It reminds them of…
FLASHBACK: TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO
A younger version of JD, newly adult, probably, sits in a chair in front of someone offscreen who speaks.
M [OS]
I’m sending you off-planet.
JD looks miserable.
M [OS]
It’s for your own good.
CUT: JD is staring at the floor in IZ’s office, matching the JD in the flashback but looking like a gnoll once again.
IZOLA [OS]
(sighs)
Sit.
JD looks up at her and if they had more gumption they’d defy the command but a part of them is already resigned to the inevitable. They sit in the chair in front of her desk.
IZOLA
What happened?
JD
(terse)
I was late.
IZOLA watches them, unmoving, prompting them to say more because her steely eyes are prying, always digging for the truth. JD doesn’t have anything to hide. They’re just being stubborn, really.
They sigh.
JD
I was late, Pique asked me to take the shot so I did.
IZOLA
How did you know, about the balcony?
JD picks at their jumpsuit sleeve and shrugs.
JD
Lucky guess.
They lie because it’s fucking embarrassing. Not necessarily picking up recon, but definitely picking up recon because you’re afraid of losing the crime job that’s gonna get you out of your shit-hole apartment.
IZOLA
Don’t lie, JD.
JD looks away.
JD
What did Foxtrot say?
IZOLA
It’s like you knew what his routine would be.
JD’s eyes sit on an old stain, light brown at their feet where, no doubt, a couple people have been killed.
IZOLA’s voice is somehow less gruff when she speaks this time.
IZOLA
How did you know?
JD doesn’t take their eyes off the stain, they fixate on how they could probably get it out, it’d be harder now for sure, easier when it’s fresh. They concede.
JD
I did a little recon… Night before.
IZOLA is silent and they can feel her gaze on them though they keep their’s on the floor, waiting for the shoe to drop.
FLASHBACK: JAKOBIE’S BAR.
JAKOBIE’s bar… It’s a tattered run down thing, like most things are in PIPETOWN. What it lacks in cleanliness and quiet it makes up for in the close knit family feel. This place is crawling with gnolls of all kinds. There are a couple other alien types, it seems a little bit like you have to know a guy who knows a guy to really be welcome here.
Or you just have to be really good at lying about it. JD is at the bar, looking human… Mostly. They still aren’t great at it but it’s dark in here and they pass. Probably could have managed orc a little better, though. They’ll have to practice that one later.
Someone sits beside them, it’s the gnoll JD bumped into the other day when they were running away from FOXTROT, the little one with the spiky hair. Her eyes are half-lidded when she says…
???
You’re new.
JD looks amused but doesn’t answer, twirling their drink.
JD [NAR]
Happened to be passing by Jakobie’s decided to stop in for a drink and some guys were just talking.
Their gnoll companion gives them a curious look. JD leans back and casts a glance over their shoulder at a group in a booth not too far away, drunk, laughing and talking.
CUT TO: BACK IN IZOLA’S OFFICE.
IZOLA
Jakobie’s isn’t ours. That’s reckless.
JD
They can’t keep track of me.
They flick their eyes up to meet hers. She holds their gaze, serious, before her lips curl, amused.
JD is surprised to see it but knows better than to remark on it, they hang on that smile instead instead, some smidge of approval. JD shifts in their seat, pretending like that didn’t feel amazing.
IZOLA
It takes… a long time to trust new people in the family. Years of proving themselves.
IZOLA leans forward in her seat, looking them over, almost searching them for something.
IZOLA
Who are you, JD? To know to do all of this.
JD frowns, eyes trailing around the dusty temporary space.
JD
I can answer a lot of your questions, Iz… But I…
They hesitate, choosing their words carefully.
JD
I left a lot of stuff behind. I’d be putting people at risk talking about. But… It won’t interfere here. I promise you, you’d be the first person I’d tell if it did.
IZOLA watches them, calculated, reading every part of their face that isn’t even really their’s as if it’s an open book she can parse through.
She picks a data stick out of her jacket pocket and holds it out to them.
JD hesitates, looking to her and the data stick in her hand. They stand and reach out a hand to take it but when they tug, she holds firm, meeting their gaze.
IZOLA
There is a lot of loyalty in you, JD. I hope we can trust you to extend it to us just as we do the same for you.
IZOLA’s look is hard. JD isn’t entirely sure if this was a mis-step on their part or if this an extension of gratitude. They nod, regardless, and she lets go of the data stick in their hand.
IZOLA
Good. This is payment, for your shot today.
JD
(uncertain)
Thanks… Iz.
IZOLA
Mhm.
IZOLA ends their meeting with a single nod and a wave of her hand as she turns toward the large dusty windows, overlooking parts of PIPETOWN.
JD takes a deep breath and turns on their heel, eager to get out of here… Admittedly eager to celebrate. They were so sure this was going to end worse than it did.
They stop at the door just before leaving as IZOLA speaks up and catches their attention one more time.
IZOLA
Doe.
JD turns to look over their shoulder at her.
IZOLA
(exasperated)
Don’t be late, again. I grow tired of Foxtrot’s endless complaints, yeah?
JD can’t help the weird little smile cross their face, nerves fried, fluttery feeling in their chest overwhelming them… Data stick full of credits in their hand.
JD
Ah… Well. I make no promises.
IZOLA chuckles quietly and waves again. JD is already down the hall, they turn the stick over in their hands and have to stop walking for a second eying the number on the readout.
Five… fifteen thousand. For a second they falter, staggering at the sight of the number. This can’t be right can it? They look over their shoulder, having half a mind to check in with IZOLA before they get too far.
But IZOLA doesn’t make mistakes.
They push the stick into their pocket and start off again, a bit more of a hop to their step.
9. INT. JD’S APARTMENT — EVENING
It’s quiet in the apartment, the type of quiet you might hear a clock tick-tocking in if they still made that sort of thing nowadays. Instead the only sound is some low mysterious hum of electricity JD could never find the source of.
The light overhead simulating daylight has turned off which means all they have left to light the way is their comm unit. And the display screen on the data stick that reads fifteen thousand credits. They’ve been staring at it for a little while waiting for something to wake them up from the dream.
Nothing really seems to, this stick is real in their fingers, and try to read it any other way, that number still says fifteen thousand. They can’t even remember how long it’s been since a smile crossed their face like this but their cheeks are starting to hurt.
Gently they tap it on the counter, feels like a night worth celebrating. Sure doesn’t feel like a night to stay home being miserable and scrolling the dark web for secrets.
They think on it… Weighing pros and cons. The cons always win… Really…
They tap the data stick once more, sharp, on the counter.
SFX: TAP.
Fuck it. They’re going out tonight.
10. INT. SOME LOUD CLUB IN PIPETOWN — NIGHT
PIPETOWN is not particularly known for it’s party scene–Drifter’s End is the real hotspot, so they hear–but there are still places to go when you know where to look. Here the club is big, looks like it would be really underground, back home on a real planet. Though, technically it’s quite literal here if you want to consider any inhabitants of the SPIKE as living under ground.
The music is loud and there are all types of alien here looking for a good time, dancing and getting rip-roaring drunk. JD would be lying if they weren’t considering doing the same. They’ve decided to try out an orc tonight, that under-bite sure is nothing to sneeze at. Moving their mouth around these tusks is a bit more of a challenge than they originally expected but hey. Everyone in here is drunk already. If they slur their words a little, they doubt anyone will notice.
They certainly practised enough on the way here.
Right now, JD is looking for a drink, happy to get a little bit tipsy, eager to have a good time and let themself loose. It’s been years. They figure they owe it to themself to experience the full party atmosphere at least once in their lifetime.
Admittedly, this isn’t their scene. Not in the least. They bump and squeeze and push through a crowd that’s more than eager to touch them back.
It’s… Honestly a miracle they even make it to the bar.
The bartender has some extremely good recommendations, currently well within JD’s current pay-grade.
Of course they didn’t bring the whole stick here. They’re eager, not stupid. They know better than to flaunt a nice pay-check but they’ll allow themself a little indulgence here.
A smile crosses their face remembering the fifteen now sitting nice and heavy in their account, taking a sip of their…quite expensive drink.
??? [OS]
Well, now, that smile’s worth a million credits.
JD startles when someone sidles up in the very recently vacant seat beside them.
???
Hey sweet stuff, ya need a drinkin’ buddy?
JD eyes the gnoll beside them. The same spiky-haired one as both previous encounters… Wow this is really becoming coincidental… Not that she would know it, they’ve given her a different name and face each time. Her name’s FRANKIE, though. They caught it last time they were trying to be human.
JD
(amused)
I might. You aren’t just trying to pawn a freebie off me are you?
They give her a conspiratorial side-eye, playing a bit harder to get. She’s cute. They’ve learned from last time she likes it when they make things a bit more difficult.
FRANKIE
(gasp)
Hello? You wound me like that already and I don’t even know your dang name.
(tsk)
So what if I am? You really gonna turn me down?
FRANKIE leans against the bar, giving them her best side-eye in turn. It’s really good, admittedly, or JD’s single drink is strong enough to fluster them… Which is … Very possible. They’ve got real rotten stamina with proper booze. If they’re not careful it could mean a much messier, much wilder night–
Okay that sounds good but they’re still looking to impress the BITECLAWs.
Against their better judgement, JD orders the two of them a drink, with a little wave to the barman, holding up two fingers.
JD
Whatever she’s having.
FRANKIE
(grinning)
Aw shit, seriously?
JD
Yeah, seriously.
They smirk all amused, twirling their empty glass. FRANKIE turns to the barman and orders a drink with a wild name they might remember later.
JD
Does that not usually work?
FRANKIE
Tch. Course it does, I’m just playin’ with ya. What’s your name, cutie?
JD
Jack.
FRANKIE
(incredulous)
Jack?
JD snickers.
JD
Wow. Yeah Jack, that not impressive enough for you?
FRANKIE giggles.
FRANKIE
Naw–it’s just…You look way too sweet to be a Jack.
JD
You know… If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming on to me a little bit.
FRANKIE
Oh, buddy. It’s a lot more than just a little bit.
JD can’t help looking away that time, weird little grin on their face. They have to be real careful now. Embarrassment doesn’t show on an endiffian the same as it does on folks whose bodies are… You know… More solid. Honestly it would give them away, their skin rippling like ribbons about to shift their shape.
Which is pretty fucking embarrassing in its own right, but can also be terrifying on, say, an orc whose skin shouldn’t be able to do that.
JD
Ah. Well… I guess I better figure out what your name is, then.
The bartender slides a couple of drinks their way. These are small squat glasses with a block of ice that fills most of the cup so you know whatever drink FRANKIE’s ordered is… strong.
JD eyes it, hm, worried about this one if they’re already being so candid.
FRANKIE
Maybe, I’ll just have to make you earn it.
JD raises an eyebrow at her after taking their eyes off their drink and looking to see her smirking, deviously.
FRANKIE
Yeah… Maybe a little wager, whoever finishes their drink first, gets their reward.
JD
(snrk)
Sure. What are we wagering?
FRANKIE
If you win, I’ll tell you my name. I win, I get to take you dancin’.
JD sucks a breath sharp through their teeth, pretending like this is a difficult choice, but really, they can’t seem to take their eyes off her. Even if she does have trouble written all over her.
JD
You know, I’m not much of a dancer… This doesn’t seem like much of a reward for you.
FRANKIE
Ehh it’s more about getting drunk and horny anyway. So what about it? You in?
She picks up and rattles the ice in her drink, casting them another side-eye. JD eyes her a moment, small smirk spreading across those orc fangs before they turn to their drink and lift it, giving her the signal.
FRANKIE counts the two of them down and knocks the drink back easily into her maw, JD, admittedly doesn’t try too hard because they’re sure this thing will knock them out cold when it hits them in the next ten minutes. They take a swig and can already feel the liquor hit warm in their belly. They set their glass down just as FRANKIE slams hers on the bar.
FRANKIE
Hah!
JD
Ah, looks like you got me beat, Frankie.
FRANKIE eyes their glass, turns her attention to them proper –wait, fuck, knowing her name was a part of the wager wasn’t it? The liquor is already messing with their focus here–but a sly little grin crosses her face.
FRANKIE
Y’know… If I didn’t know any better, seems like you might have even wanted that dance.
JD chuckles, embarrassed, saved maybe by the loudness of the music, maybe by the loose tipsy energy between the two of them–maybe FRANKIE missed their little slip… Whatever the case, she doesn’t mention it, though they wish she would so they can give her a reasonable cover up to replace any suspicions she might have.
JD
Don’t get your hopes up too high. I wasn’t lying about not being much of a dancer.
FRANKIE hops off her stool and approaches them, looking over their outfit. She reaches up to something by their neck and fingers a tag they missed. She gives them a curious look before she tugs it off their jacket, tossing it aside with an amused little grin. FRANKIE, now real close, leans in a little closer.
FRANKIE
(amused)
I think… You are lying.
FRANKIE traces a finger up their neck to their chin where she gives her claw a little tap against it. JD stares, stunned long enough she grabs the collar of their shirt and yanks them into the the throng before they have even half a chance to react.
The dance floor is pulsing with energy, bodies colliding and sweating–for those who can do that sort of thing–it’s absolutely electric. JD is not really one for dancing, or partying all that much but tonight is different. Euphoric. It’s the best they’ve felt in a long time.
Things are changing, as of tonight. Looking up. Maybe ABSALOM STATION won’t be so bad. Maybe they’ll even grow to like it.
Although… that could also be the booze talking. FRANKIE’s hands wrapped around them, keeping them close adds to the blurring of their worry into the bass background beats. They’re sure there’s supposed to be embarrassment in there somewhere but they can’t find it anywhere. Being here, right now is easy. Easier than anything’s ever felt for them.
But, well, everything’s easier with credits in your pocket.
11. INT. ??? — MORNING
JD is laying in some bed, buried deep in a duvet. They stick their head up above the mound looking absolutely wrecked as they blink awake. It’s bright in here. Like the literal sun is beaming straight through the windows into their corneas. Even though any light down in PIPETOWN is a sad and fake reproduction of…
Wait a minute, where did they end up…? They squint through the throbbing pulse behind their eyes and aching in the seams of their skin. They peer around, confused as they take in the exposed piping painted gold, massive framed artwork and movie posters. Expensive props… Is that a wall of custom revolvers? Do people still actually use those?
This place is definitely way too nice of a place to be their own apartment, also about fifteen times bigger than their literal shoebox of a place–
This is also about the moment they start to realise that they’re half naked–No–A bit more than half. Actually there’s still a gnoll hand partway down their pants. They lift the duvet and trace their eyes up to the gnoll it belongs to–FRANKIE–oh… Much more of a fun night than they can currently remember.
JD makes the effort though, retracing their steps from the bar, the dancing, the loud pulse and thrum of the music. FRANKIE’s hand tugging them out into the sharp cold air. She mentions her place but the two of them are already making out in the tight-knit nooks of the conduit.
Hmm.
JD carefully pulls her hand out of their underwear, gritting their teeth as they watch the grey-blue of their orc skin tremble.
FRANKIE beside them is absolutely dead weight. They have to take a second to check her pulse before being reassured she isn’t actually dead. They get out of bed when they’re sure she’s still breathing and start rummaging around for their clothes.
Their clothes which are scattered all around the large messy space, among various other articles of–probably her–way-too-expensive clothing. Part of them considers nicking a few to pawn for credits before they remember that they’re sitting on fifteen thousand. Fifteen. Okay, focus.
JD finally finds their pants by the kitchen island and pulls out their comm to check their messages… Finding a … Worrying amount of pokes from TANGO this time.
JD
(whispers)
Shit…
And they set their phone down on the kitchen island, making quick work to get themself dressed as quietly as they can manage it.
On the counter the message from TANGO is still visible: [here till 7 then im splitting].
JD gets themself mostly assembled before they scramble out the door. Sorry, FRANKIE. They’ll have to make it up to her some other time…if they ever get to see her again.
They, admittedly, hope they do.
12. EXT. BEAN THERE GONE TOMORROW — EVENING
TANGO sits at an ‘outdoor’ table with a cup of coffee by a stand that seems to do specialty energy drinks. It looks like it might be a temporary set up, a stand that pops up around PIPETOWN here and there, avoiding ruffians, probably. There’s not too much of a crowd here, because it’s 7 and the only type of drink most people are angling for after hours is booze. The stand is already starting to pack up, the many-tentacled alien behind it cleaning up spills from the day and folding up the decorative overhang as they sigh towards a final customer placing an order.
TANGO turns her gaze up from the cup she’s swirling. She looks way too big to be sitting idly here at the small fold-out tables and chairs.
JD [OS]
Sorry I’m–
TANGO
Late. Yeah.
TANGO replies without turning around. She kicks the other chair so that it opens itself up for JD to sit. They look like shit, honestly. Even as a gnoll there are obvious bags under their eyes and their fur is a tattered mess. That hangover is really pulsing around in their brain and banging hammers behind their eyeballs. It’s never bright down here in PIPETOWN and even less so now. But as the neon signage flickers to life against the fading overhead lamps that simulate the setting sun, they still find themself squinting and scrubbing their eyes. They plop down on the seat and scrub their face.
JD
Look, I know Foxtrot gives me a hard time but I just got done with a gig that paid well so kick my ass for having a good time or whatever.
JD can feel TANGO’s gaze on them and they honestly wish they could give more of a shit that they were about to be told off for fuckin’ around again but they really don’t.
So it really throws them off when TANGO offers them her sunglasses snickers and she says:
TANGO
Relax, kid. Been fuckin’ with ya the past few hours. Must have been a hell of a party. You look like shit.
JD shoots her a look, taking the sunglasses. They can’t help smile a bit thinking about last night and about FRANKIE. They’re really regretting not having stayed a little longer. Whatever. Not everything is in their control these days. They really have to let things go.
They slump back in their seat. TANGO offers them the cup of coffee she was swirling.
TANGO
It would have been hotter if you’d got here twenty minutes ago.
JD takes it with a snort, sipping on cold sludge before they decide to pull out the slim pack of smokes they’ve been safekeeping. They peek inside and there’s only two left.
JD
Twenty minutes ago I woke up with a hand in my pants so I think I made pretty fuckin’ good time, things considered.
TANGO
Dude.
(snorts)
Gimme one of those.
JD
It’s my last one.
TANGO
I don’t give a shit, you made me wait out here like a loser for almost thirty minutes.
JD sighs, and offers her their last smoke before tossing the carton onto the table. TANGO takes it, watching them as they light their’s and leaning in to light her’s on their lighter.
JD
Is it twenty minutes or thirty now?
TANGO exhales smoke rings.
TANGO
Check the time stamps. Was it your hand?
JD
What?
JD is checking the time stamps, thank you very much, and it’s only been fifteen minutes. They were lucky–in more ways than one–that they woke up not too far from here to begin with so they made great time in their mad scramble.
TANGO
In your pants this morning.
(eck)
I dunno how the fuck you smoke this archaic shit.
JD shoots her a look as TANGO puts out the smoke they just handed her.
JD
It was fifteen minutes. You make me leave someone else’s apartment just to rake me over the coals this morning or what?
TANGO grins all amused.
TANGO
You got Foxy in some shit yesterday with your smart mouth, I think I’m allowed to have a little fun with you, considering.
(snrk)
Also, it’s practically evening now, genius.
JD rolls their eyes and scrubs the grunge from their face. The sludge that’s supposed to be coffee helping only marginally with the pounding behind their eyes.
TANGO
Boss wants you on cleanup forreal now, Doe. Means you’re on call after eight, lickety split, too. None of this being late shit.
JD flicks a surprised glance to TANGO.
JD
Yeah?
TANGO
Yeah. I suggest y’get yourself a ride, you’re gonna need it. Used even. Whatever you gotta do. Shit’s serious now.
JD
Yeah, yeah. Got it.
TANGO
You take this seriously she’ll put you on recon, soon. Whatever the fuck you said… You did good.
TANGO snorts and stands, getting ready to leave.
TANGO
You’re on call starting tomorrow night.
She gives them a little wink, turning away.
JD
Wait–Tang–
She stops, glancing at them.
JD
Um, Thanks.
JD can’t help the racing of their heart in their chest, the swell of pride they hadn’t felt in years. Maybe things could really change for them. Yeah it’s illegal, but maybe they’ve found a proper niche. Finally fit somewhere.
TANGO scoffs.
TANGO
For what, stealin’ your last smoke?
She laughs and turns away, heading off.
TANGO
Later, Doe.
JD
Later…
They watch her leave, leaning back in their seat. They take a long drag of their smoke and exhale, small smile spreading on their face as they watch the plume dissipate.