THE FOLLOWING TEXT CONTAINS: BLOOD, ASSASSINATIONS, MOBS AND CRIMES. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. (RATING 18+)
CLEANUP
13. EXT. TATTOO SHOP — AFTERNOON
It’s a hole in the wall, in a dark corner of ABSALOM STATION’S PIPETOWN… Which is saying a lot because the CONDUIT is made of nothing but small dark corners among even smaller and even darker corners. A leaky pipe around here is making a dripping sound. A group of three stands in the middle of a tight corridor while pedestrians weave around them irritably.
FOXTROT and TANGO stand on either side of JD–who is making another attempt at human, though they look really pale in the face and even a bit green–as the three stare up at a door on a tiny landing. There’s a spiral staircase that stops at their feet.
FOXTROT and TANGO said that this little spiral staircase leading up to a red door with tagged graffiti on it was a tattoo parlour. Calling it obscure would be like calling a backdoor the main entrance. It doesn’t have a big window, it barely has a sign in flickering half-eaten neon.
TANGO’s hand is on one of JD’s shoulders as JD looks… Quite worried about… Getting a permanent fixture on their constantly shifting skin.
JD
A tattoo…? You’re um… Joking, right? This is a bit overkill isn’t it?
FOXTROT snorts derisively because, honestly she’d rather be anywhere but here, babysitting the greenhorn whose not so green anymore (at least… Figuratively). But since TANGO was assigned to escort JD on their date night she decided to tag along, winding up, well.
You know, here.
FOXTROT
(distracted)
Yep. Everyone gets one, JD. You’re not exempt.
FOXTROT doesn’t look up from her comm as she texts, and even in the evening glow of ABSALOM’s lamps they catch the thick black ink covering part of her shoulder. Of course, it sure couldn’t be something small.
JD lights a smoke, trying to play off how nervous they are. Even though the other two are essentially waiting for them to commit.
JD can’t help hesitating. They can already feel M’s hand swatting them up the backside of their head and telling them off for making, what could be the stupidest decision of their life.
JD
(wary)
I mean… Iz knows I’m loyal to the Biteclaws. I don’t think ink would make a difference–
TANGO gives their shoulder a squeeze, calming them for a half-second, slowing their nervous roll… While FOXTROT only grins and tries to make it worse.
FOXTROT
Relax, kid. It only hurts for a few hours. Then you heal and you peel and–
TANGO
Not for me it didn’t.
TANGO winks and FOXTROT rolls her eyes.
FOXTROT
You just have a high pain tolerance. Plus the way they do it for scales is different.
JD
(grumbles)
It’s not the pain I’m worried about.
TANGO
(at FOXTROT)
You’re just jealous you cried.
FOXTROT
(flustered)
I didn’t cry! It was really smoky in there and it started getting to me that’s–forget it! You!
(to JD)
Yes it’s mandatory. You should be excited about this. If you’re getting ink it’s because Iz trusts you. Idiot.
FOXTROT rolls her eyes, exasperated and JD drops their gaze, they take a long drag of their smoke and exhale.
JD
Easy for you to say, that shit’s permanent.
FOXTROT
Yep.
JD
My whole thing is being not permanent I don’t know if you noticed.
FOXTROT seems to be getting some wild and sick pleasure out of this, she just smirks and says:
FOXTROT
Aw… Are we an inconvenience to you?
JD
(defensive)
That’s not what I said.
TANGO sighs.
TANGO
Relax, Foxy.
(at JD)
Rejecting the Bite Mark would offend Iz… A lot. We gotta know everyone’s committed or the whole thing falls apart.
JD glances at TANGO who gives them a serious nod. JD relents.
JD
Fine, fine. Let’s just go.
FOXTROT
Finally.
FOXTROT pulls the smoke out of JD’s fingers and drops it on the ground, stepping on it.
FOXTROT
Chin up. This’ll be good.
FOXTROT taps the underside of JD’s chin and starts up the steps.
JD frowns as they look to TANGO, stalling for time just a little bit longer as their nerves twist themselves into knots.
JD
There a reason you both came with me, for this?
TANGO
It’s not just for you. All new recruits made official get a tatt and everyone gets a chaperone. It’s Protocol.
JD
So I get two?
FOXTROT calls down from the top of the steps.
FOXTROT
We know how squirrelly you can be when you don’t want to do something. Now, would you get up here already?
JD’s frown deepens as they glance between the two of them. TANGO looks too amused for her own good as she starts up the steps after FOXTROT.
JD
Only because you kidnapped me that time.
TANGO
You coming or what?
JD watches TANGO make her way up the steps and almost has half a mind to bolt with both their backs turned. They’d get away with it, for now, but they’d never live it down with IZOLA, later.
Besides… that would only be proving FOXTROT right and somehow that feels worse than being marked permanently for the unforseeable future. As an endiffian shifter with permanent ink…
JD
(annoyed)
Yeah. Yeah.
They take the coiling steps up to the door TANGO holds open for them to step inside.
CUT TO: INSIDE THE TATTOO SHOP
It’s hot in here. The air is thick with smoke, flavoured so it doesn’t smell like the smoke FOXTROT put out for them earlier. It sure smells like some sort of fruit instead. Sweet and sticky but oddly calming. JD muses for a half second about investing in an e-cig so they can wean themself off their smoking habit.
The lights in here are colourful in the spots where they aren’t bright white for the artist to see what they’re doing. Nobody else is here but the artist in question and this ragtag group which makes sense for an after-hours special.
TANGO nudges JD over to the counter with a kasatha sloughing bags and equipment off their shoulder behind it. They’re pretty sure they heard FOXTROT call them BLOT as an alias at some point.
JD waits at the counter, placing their hands on it, patiently, until FOXTROT stands beside them, mockingly imitating them until JD drops their hands with an irritated ripple.
BLOT
Gimme a sec. I’ll be right there. Doe, right?
FOXTROT answers before JD can.
FOXTROT
(amused)
The one and only.
She winks at them and JD narrows their eyes.
BLOT
Funny. Aren’t Jane ’n John Doe-s a dime a dozen on this scrap heap?
FOXTROT
But nobody’s like ours.
She reaches to pinch their cheek and JD slips just out of reach. They hate when she gets like this. They’re just lucky they’re taller than her and, generally, have more fluid controls to their body than humans do.
JD
Anyway.
JD addresses the artist as they set up their work station, without looking over. This kasatha’s tall–even by JD’s standards–wearing a mask covered in graphic lettering. Their skin is also decked out in artwork from head to toe, both in ink and holo-tats.
BLOT
The usual?
Again, FOXTROT interrupts before JD can speak for themself. Whatever. Their stomach is busy tying itself in knots, maybe it’s for the best.
FOXTROT
It’s why we’re here so late.
BLOT
I ought to start charging more. Last one took till midnight the guy was so big.
FOXTROT
Eh, you can be the one to tell IZ that. It’s steady work.
The BLOT chuckles.
BLOT
Yeah, yeah, got it.
They finish setting up their station and look over at the two of them, amused little squint to their eyes as they look JD over for the first time.
BLOT
Oh… Doe. That’s so much more clever looking at you now.
FOXTROT glances at JD with a grin.
FOXTROT
Told you it needed more–
JD
(frustrated)
Can we just get this over with.
FOXTROT snickers, lifting her hands and stepping back to hang out with TANGO who starts chastising her for giving JD a hard time. JD grits their teeth. Embarrassing.
BLOT
You can just flip that part of the counter up and step over here. I’m almost set.
JD hesitates before moving to sit on the bench as instructed. They watch the artist set up their station as their thoughts race, quietly watching BLOT get ready. They can commend the organisation at least, every little bottle is labelled and all of the needles are sanitised. BLOT affixes a glove to each one of their four hands.
BLOT
Nervous?
The question breaks through their thoughts and startles them out of their observations.
JD
Not really.
The lie doesn’t seem to convince BLOT.
BLOT
Doesn’t hurt too much, drones on after a while.
JD
I’m not nervous about the pain.
BLOT looks up at them and a set of their hands pulls JD’s arm out of their jumpsuit sleeve and rolls up a part of their tank top.
BLOT
Is it the undead comment?
JD
(distracted)
Hm?
BLOT
Sorry if I offended you, before–careful this is cold.
BLOT’s warning is too late as they spray JD’s arm with a cold liquid. The feeling is sharp enough against their skin, JD tenses, resisting a reflex to the cold. But their skin still splits in a spot, a small seam breaks apart and knits together again. JD’s eyes flick to BLOT who hesitates, and then wipes their cloth over the area again.
Great, the whole point was to come here in a disguise. Regardless, JD tries to play it off, pretending like it didn’t happen.
JD
I’m not really–
BLOT
Human? Or undead.
JD
Offended…
BLOT stops their work and holds JD’s gaze. JD… Whose skin betrays them and ripples just enough in quiet embarrassment.
JD
Sorry…I’m–
BLOT
A shifter… Endiffian, right?
JD is at a loss for words, their eyes flick to TANGO and FOXTROT exchanging sweet nothings before they turn their attention back to BLOT.
BLOT
(amused)
Relax. I’ve tattooed more than one of your type before. It will be easier in your base-look.
(pause)
Though… I know that’s personal.
Personal is putting it pretty mildly.
JD
I don’t… make it a habit to reveal myself to anyone.
JD wasn’t prepared for this. The only other person who knows what they actually look like… Who isn’t dead is M and she… Well she’s…
Well anyway.
If there’s anything they’ve been taught it’s to use it sparingly. And they aren’t about to reveal it in front of three different people for some ink.
BLOT
I can ask them to leave. You’re here now. They did their part.
JD nods–admittedly anything to get FOXTROT out of the equation is welcome. This new information throws them for a loop. They were already on edge knowing they’re about to be permanently marked, any endiffian bearing a scar of any sort always has to work the shift around that scar because it just stays put. It’s sometime you avoid if you have any say in it.
But–on top of it all–the artist wants them to sit in their base form in public for fuck knows how many hours.
JD counts the tiles in the floor at their feet and tries to collect their nerves. They pull a smoke out to fidget with, though they really wish they could light it up. The effects of the previous one are already waning. Is their hand actually shaking? Ugh.
BLOT sidles up into their line of sight again, eyes smiling. Trying to be amicable. JD puts the smoke away when BLOT glances at it.
JD
(wary)
I don’t know if I can do this…
BLOT
I can give you a mask.
JD glances at them.
JD
Okay…
Well, one crisis mostly averted. JD is still struggling to swallow the bile in their throat. They can feel the weight of M’s disappointment sitting on their shoulders.
She’s not here. What the fuck does it matter what she thinks anymore, anyway?
BLOT pulls up a spare mask–with the same scribbling text all over it–and offers it to them. JD takes it and watches BLOT as they turn away.
JD sits with the mask in their fingers. They want to ask… Since BLOT’s tattooed endiffian before. Maybe that’s a good thing… Maybe it isn’t as taboo as they think… But maybe that’s also some sort of defying factor. Maybe those endiffian don’t make use of their shape-shifting. They don’t really know too much about others like them. Not past themself and the one who raised them.
Enough. They’ve put this off long enough. JD affixes the mask to their face and swallows the nervous bile crawling up their throat.
They shift their shape back to their base, their mind still racing, the closer they get to being marked.
They don’t want to do this.
They have to do this.
BLOT glances over their shoulder before turning to them, two separate needles in their hands.
BLOT
Ready?
JD
Mhmm.
BLOT
Okay.
BLOT settles JD into position on their side as they start up the little buzz of the needles.
BLOT
It’s going to startle but I can work around any reactions you might have. Try to relax.
JD
Right.
BLOT sets to work, placing the stencil, framing it just right. New recruits don’t get to see the framing until the end. JD’s not sure if that’s worse or better.
Luckily, BLOT works fast and the numbing pain of the needle stops them from thinking–from worrying about anything else as they work. Even their skin stops pulling apart in startled ribbons after a few minutes.
They pick a spot on the wall and wait for it all to be over.
14. INT. JD’S BEDROOM — MORNING
JD is standing in front of a full-length mirror. It’s early morning, the streetlights are breaking dawn past their open curtains. This is their bedroom, in the new place they got after scoring that fifteen thousand cred.
It’s a much nicer place, still in PIPETOWN because that’s where most of their work is. But they’ve actually got a bedroom that’s separate from the rest of their apartment. It feels unreal, a proper luxury. Even when they were living with M, things were pretty tight.
Anyway.
JD is looking over their tattoo, still fresh, cleaned up. Jagged marks across their skin at the shoulder like a slash.
Or a bite.
JD hasn’t been able to swallow the worry since they got it done. They fidget with a smoke they haven’t lit yet, trying to pull themself out of the stress, the worry at their feet trying to pull them in.
They sure hope they’re right about what they thought BLOT was implying.
FLASHBACK: AT THE TATTOO PARLOUR
JD is at the desk while NAME plugs the data-stick with credits into their comm.
BLOT
You’re all set.
JD
Yeah… Thanks again.
They force a smile and turn to leave.
BLOT
Hey, Doe?
JD stops, looking over their shoulder.
BLOT
Just… Let it heal right, before you play with it.
CUT: JD grits their teeth. They should really follow the artist’s advice, try to shift it around once it’s healed. They’ve already scoured the holosphere for any information on endiffian and tattoos but there’s nothing really concrete.
They can’t move a wound and sure would prefer not to shape-shift too much because it hurts like a bitch.
JD puts the smoke away, they step closer to the mirror, out of curiosity, they try to isolate the ink… And gently shift it around.
They grit their teeth, even budging the ink in an open wound hurts… They honestly should have expected that. But when they look into the mirror, some of the ink has shifted, changed. JD stares in disbelief.
If JD can change the shape of their tattoos when healed… They’re about to be a whole other flavour undetectable.
They look at themself in the mirror and a little smile spreads across their face. Oh… This is going to change the game for them immensely.
SFX: ZZT ZZT.
JD locates their comm and checks a message from a character by the name of KYNG: [little birdy told me there’s gonna be a shakedown at the CR tonight, might include pissin up biteclaw territory]
JD replies: [whose shaking?]
KYNG: [haha wouldnt you like to know]
JD sighs: [would yeah]
[ygot a time?]
KYNG: [after hours–11]
JD: [thanks kk]
KYNG: [yup were square now]
JD scoffs: [ok you wish but ill let you believe it]
KYNG: [wtf]
[asshole]
[fine]
JD snickers and glances back to themself in the mirror.
JD
(amused)
Fuck.
15. INT. THE CASINO ROYALE — EVENING
THE CASINO ROYALE is way too grand of a name for this terrible little establishment. This place is more of a smushed hovel with aspirations of grandeur. Everyone wants to be the PIPETOWN PIT but very few make it out to be that prolific. This place is no exception to that rule. Admittedly the hopes and dreams conjured by it’s title, really make showing up here feel even more dismal and depressing.
JD take the steps down into this literal hole in the wall to claustrophobic air that’s thick with booze, smoke and regret.
Good thing JD isn’t here because they’re looking for a good time. They’re here on that tip KYNG gave them. Sporting their orc look–sure hurt to shift that tatt, they did their best to work around it–hoping it’ll be enough to keep people from bothering them. Their outfit is a sleek jumpsuit and cap, janitorial-chique if you will. Keeps them from being noticed most of the time.
For the duration, JD keeps quiet, listens to conversation swimming around them. They sidle up through thick crowds, cheering and booing at tables. They get the information they need, a few loose lips talking about what’s going to happen in about and hour. JD shifts their shape–ouch ouch ouch–to confuse whispers between smokes.
They’re not here to stop things from happening. They are here to give BITECLAW an upper hand, though. Once they have a better picture of what’s about to unfold, they slip up to the bar and gesture to the barkeep who leans in to listen. This is BITECLAW territory so when they show their new mark, the barkeep only nods their confirmation.
Mission accomplished. Ten minutes before trouble, JD slips back up the stairs and waits around the corner, pulls up a smoke and exhales.
The brawl breaks out in various gunfire, laser fire, and smashing glasses.
They sit in their silence for seventeen and then slip back inside, get to work.
This is their routine, these days, a tip lines up at a normal hour for a shakedown at an ungodly hour. JD doesn’t even wait for IZ’s command to be on the scene.
It’s lead to a disagreement or two, between them both, IZOLA hates that they keep doing it but can’t fire them for doing a good job. If anything she starts to give them more leeway, drip-feeds them intel on bigger gigs.
She can trust them but she keeps them at arm’s length. And though they can feel it, when JD brings it up with FOXTROT and TANGO they scoff, can they blame her? She’s not an open book.
Yeah, yeah, alright, neither is JD. She prods them once in a while for more about them but they skirt it cleverly every time. They try to, anyway. They can feel he hesitation with each misstep.
Anyway, the long hours get longer and the long jobs get longer and soon JD is in a rhythm of sleep, eat and work and not much else in between. Their tattoo heals up, turns out they were right about BLOT’s suggestion. The ink in their skin can be changed, floated around like its another part of them. They can turn it into any symbol they want… Which means they use it to their advantage on gigs now. When the Bite Mark gives them access, the tattoo is conveniently present. But once they’ve got that access, it’s fair game, representing the competition to keep giving the STEWARDS the runaround.
When IZ found out… She didn’t like that too much either. But they managed to talk her down from her frustration.
JD can feel like they’re really walking a fine line between secrecy and loyalty. These aren’t one in the same, but to some like the BITECLAW family, they get mistaken a lot.
It’s isolating. JD buries themself in work not to think about it too hard. The work becomes an easy rhythm for them. Keeps them from laying about overthinking. Every good job puts them on IZOLA’s good side, so maybe enough good deeds will keep them from having to spill anything too personal.
It’s… Really only a matter of time before something goes… A little bit wrong.
16. EXT. AN ANTIQUE AND USED KNICKKNACKS SHOP — NIGHT
The walkway the antique shop is on is quiet, but its the middle of a Fifthday so most are out working the long afternoon hours of the day. The only ones still out are loiterers.
It’s an anonymous message that’s brought JD here in front of an antique-and-knickknacks shop of all things. It isn’t unusual for them to get a message from unknown number asking to meet them about a tip. Typically its in public over drinks. Even playing field. This one’s a bit different. The shop looks nice, almost too nice for the area. Well they’re here now, they know better than to let a hot tip run cold.
JD’s looking like a gnoll because this face is starting to become their business attire. It also keeps a lot of people out of their way, turns out people don’t really want to mess with gnolls. Besides… They’re starting to kind of like the look for themself.
CUT TO: INSIDE THE SHOP
JD peers inside while, overhead a bell rings to signal their arrival. It’s cluttered in here, thick with trinkets and doodads, some refurbished, fixed, others not so much. JD sends a message to the unknown number they’ve now labelled, “E” that reads:
[Here. Out front.]
They take a few moments to browse, looking around for anyone inside, patron or otherwise. But there’s nobody here and JD is starting to get a little bit… wary.
A fleeting thought hits them: wouldn’t it be awful if this didn’t turn out quite right?
SFX: SHK.
A curtain behind the counter pulls aside to reveal a much smaller gnoll. Easily a head and a half smaller than them, it’s jarring because gnolls are not usually short, let alone that short.
JD
You, E?
E
(scoff)
Yeah. I’m E. JD, right?
JD
Mhmm. Said you had a tip worth tipping so here I am.
E
So here you are.
JD can’t get a read off this guy. Coy, there’s a caution to his dance with them. Behind them, the bell against the door jingles again. JD picks up an item and moves over to the register, nonchalantly. They lean in to speak to E in a tone that’s even quieter than their usual.
JD
We didn’t talk a trade but I’ve got credits if the info’s good, I can pay good.
E
Not really a credits kind of guy.
JD frowns, watching as E’s gaze looks behind them to the other patron. Is it caution? JD’s still struggling to figure out this guy’s motive. He didn’t give JD much to work with in the messages either. He takes the item JD brought to the register, looking it over: some intricately painted layered set of nesting dolls. The outside shell is palm-sized.
JD
So what do you want for it, hm?
E
Eager.
JD
Don’t like to waste my time.
E
I like secrets, JD. I’ll trade you mine if you trade me one of yours.
JD
(guarded)
Okay…
Behind them they’re starting to feel the hesitation, the looming of the other patron. They keep track of them but don’t make any sudden movements. This is starting to feel like a set up… But what would anyone really want with some cleaner? Aside from the STEWARDS, at any rate.
JD
Let’s say you tell me yours and I’ll let you pick one of mine.
E
I dunno. You seem like a guy whose got some sort of limits. My info’s pretty good.
JD takes a deep breath.
JD
Look, I don’t play games, E. You have to give me something to go off. What do you want to know?
E
Your initials are in everyone’s mouths these days, JD. Getting pretty sure of yourself, pinning everything on Barkfangs.
Shit. They’ve… Made it a habit to pin the last few clean-up gigs on BARKFANG. Any stick-it to BARKFANG cracks a smile from IZOLA, they’d be lying if they weren’t chasing it the last few times.
It’s fine. E can’t pin anything on them, there’s no proof. Who is this guy?
JD
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
E
Don’t play stupid with me. I’ve been keeping tabs on you. Past little while. Been giving my boss a real run around. Some cleaner leaving Barkfang traces. How do you do it?
JD
Ah, this is a set up.
E
(amused)
Don’t be stupid. This is a shakedown.
Well… The mob’s never really needed evidence to kick your ass.
Right on cue, the other patron behind JD lunges at them. Varying degrees of valuable items clatter to the ground as a much bigger gnoll’s hand wraps around their wrist. With a subtle flick, JD’s hand falls apart to slip the gnoll’s grip on them.
The big guy swipes to grab ahold of JD just as they step back. His claw snags on their shirt but tears through it without hitting skin.
SFX: SMASH.
He hits a table full of junk, stunned.
JD stumbles back, wraps their hand around the door handle. Just before they leave, they catch E’s irritated glare.
They don’t stick around to find anything out about what that means. But the look sits in their memory for a long time that night.
Stupid moves.
17. INT. IZOLA’S OFFICE — EARLY AFTERNOON
IZOLA always seems to find out about stupid moves no matter who makes them. Which means JD is no exception. While they were flying high from her approval not too long ago, IZOLA is staring them down. The last thing she said was:
IZOLA
What were you thinking?
And JD hasn’t answered because the truth is they weren’t really thinking. They were banking on a hope they’d have intel she’d be happy about. But JD’s just been hesitating here because any fake answer they can come up with that won’t make them seem desperate for another look of approval from her.
IZOLA sighs. She rubs at her face. She looks tired and that’s never a good sign.
JD
I was just trying to get on top of things. Barkfang’s been breathing down our neck for a while, but maybe I got…
(pause)
I got messy giving them a run for their credits.
IZOLA
You don’t get messy.
JD
Not usually, but when Foxtrot’s giving me almost three weeks of nonstop work you get messy.
JD tries to lighten the mood, attempting a little joke, a little camaraderie which doesn’t go over as well as they’d like. IZOLA gives them a thoughtful look.
IZOLA
You need a break. We have pushed you too far.
Panicked, JD sits up straighter than they have been.
JD
No–I mean–It’s fine. I can handle it.
IZOLA
No. You are right. Even our best and brightest need some down time. You have been very diligent.
Normally that compliment would send them soaring but right now it’s suffocating.
JD
I want to work.
IZOLA
JD.
She looks at them and that look halts them in their tracks. It’s sympathy. It’s an attempt at understanding. It’s awful but it’s final.
JD sinks in their seat and wishes they had enough daring to fidget with their e-cig in here.
IZOLA
This is not a punishment. Everyone needs a break. Take the rest of the week.
JD
(incredulous)
The week?
IZOLA scoffs.
IZOLA
Should I make it two?
If JD wasn’t so frustrated they’d probably pick up on her amusement in that tone but they don’t. They grit their teeth and slump back in their seat.
IZOLA
It’s a good thing, JD. Enjoy your spoils for a change. Visit friends and family.
JD drops their gaze to their feet, disappointed, there’s a seam between two tiles, a small crack that pulls particles of dust down into it like the start of something awful.
IZOLA
Just, stay out of trouble.
18. INT. JD’S LIVING ROOM — LATE AFTERNOON
Quiet in their apartment, JD sits on their couch, an electronic cigarette sits between their fingers. They’ve got furniture and carefully selected mood lighting, piles of clothes on every surface of varying shapes and sizes, a coffee table with anything but coffee on it. It’s littered with cigarette butts and digital pods, ashtrays, energy drinks and a few puzzles they use to keep their hands busy while they think.
They sit in the silence, no shitty electric hum they can’t find the source to, no more terrible overhead daylight simulator. They sit and they scroll until their comm buzzes in their hand.
SFX: ZZT ZTT.
A message pops down and it surprises them for a moment, eyes widening, excited, maybe it’s a gig. The BITECLAWs can’t survive without them for longer than a day or two–they halt mid-drag on their smoke.
JD taps the message, opens it… and their expression drops into a frown, irritated.
<<[I know you are upset. I understand… It would be nice to hear from you, all the same. Even if it is to give me some shit. Please.
I love you,
M xoxo]>>
JD turns off their comm after reading it, toss it onto the coffee table, nudging one of the puzzles onto the floor. They stare up at the ceiling but they’re not really staring, they’re seething.
A younger voice, like a memory, echoes as they drag on their e-cig, a few of the lights along its smooth surface glowing as they do.
JD [OS]
<<How long am I supposed to even hide for?>>
M [OS]
<<For as long as I tell you to.>>
JD scowls, exhaling the pink smoke out of their nose before they stand, shoving the e-cig into their pocket. They were thinking of getting some air anyway.
19. EXT. THE STREETS OF PIPETOWN — EVENING
It’s mid-week so, not exactly the busiest time for PIPETOWN’s rowdy bunch. JD is hauling a small load of laundry slung over their shoulder because the message they got earlier frustrated them enough–and this is not a result of their boredom and the growing squirming pit in their stomach–they needed to go and listen to a bunch of hulking machines hum loud and annoying for a couple hours. They’re looking lashunta now that they’re out of the apartment, wearing an only slightly nicer jumpsuit than they usually do. It’s red, not usually the type of colour they’d wear but fuck it, they’ll stand out for a little bit.
Whatever, it’s not like they’re on the clock right now. They can afford to be a bit more presentable and feel marginally better in skin that isn’t exactly their’s.
This isn’t because of the boredom.
20. INT. WHIRLPOOL WASH — CON’T
It’s quiet in here… Too quiet. They were hoping someone else would be washing clothes this late, let their thoughts be rattled by more than one machine, maybe they’d even have shoes or a helmet or some big pads to add a bit of thunking around to it all. Maybe they’d even pester JD into some small talk.
Now it’s just sad. Ugh. JD heads over to the wall of machines picks their clothes out by colour and setting two washers to start. There’s no thunking but at least now there’s double the rumbling to take their mind off their frustration. They slump down in a seat and scroll their non-work comm for someone to talk to. Maybe plan something to do after this… It’s dismal. They’ve worked a lot but haven’t had much of a go at making any proper friends on ABSALOM since they got here.
As awful as it is to admit it, they’re getting pretty lonely… Which is saying quite a lot, they didn’t exactly have much back on EOX either. Just them and…
They eye the last message M sent them, sighing and pocketing this phone.
They’re sitting in a laundromat, evening time mid-week looking for a distraction and finding absolutely nothing. Mid-week! Nobody else has laundry to do?
They stare into the swirling whirlpools of the washing machines… Even these machines are just nice enough not to make any grating crunchy sounds as they work. This is, somehow, making them feel even more miserable.
JD pulls up their work phone, scrolling a few times to hover over FOXTROT… But no… Do they really want to talk to her? They’d have to admit they’re bored, or worse, lonely and they’d never live that down. TANGO would be ok…though they wouldn’t really consider the two friends or anything, besides. She’s probably working. They scroll past PIQUE… BLOT… That’d just be desperate. KYNG sits there for a second but even that feels like it’d be soiling a professional relationship…
And knowing KYNG, he’d get them into even more trouble than they’re already in.
The thought of just messaging any one of their contacts for a casual connection embarrasses them enough they put the phone away and turn their attention to look out the window instead.
It’s not a fantastic view but, arguably, nothing down here is. Though, they always liked the glittering look of lights in the conduits made by people at work or home off-work. It’s hard to differentiate business from leisure down here, a lot of everything kind of looks the same this far down the SPIKE. It doesn’t really matter whether you’re the SPARKS, PIPETOWN or BOTSCRAP. They’re reminded a little bit of an article they read, science thing, talking about bio-luminescent cave lichen. In most of the images that stuff was blue, PIPETOWN’s lichen blinks in orange, pinks and reds this time of day, while folks with day-lamps settle into the golden hour. Couple spots now and then feature green and blue but they’re few and far between.
JD pulls out their e-cig, twirling it in their fingers, as they observe passers-by. The clutter of PIPETOWN’s conduit system makes it generally easy to get around unnoticed.
It’s why it takes them several minutes… Maybe twenty or thirty before their eyes seem to register the guy up in the fold… Could be some sort of balcony… They’re crouched, shuffling with something.
Behind JD, a crusty little voice speaks up.
???
Sorry we don’t allow smoke in here.
JD doesn’t take their eyes off the figure up on the landing, looks like a bag. The figure is taking something out of it.
JD
(distracted)
Yeah… Okay.
They slide the pen back into their breast pocket.
???
We don’t take sticks, also, transfer-line only, you pay at the desk.
JD
(frowns)
For a laundromat?
JD’s eyes keep gravitating towards the figure, something’s not right.
???
Keeps riff-raff out.
There’s a small glint, a scope catching light it shouldn’t be catching out of the corner of JD’s eye. It’s a thought that crosses their mind they don’t completely register until they turn to the owner of the laundromat, a ysoki who stands, eyes wide, frightfully still. A red circle between their eyes that spurts… Delayed. Slow.
Everything feels thick, the ysoki drops in front of them. JD drops over them, not thinking, only doing, using the benches as cover. They only vaguely remember to check the ysoki for a pulse, heart leaping into their chest, relax, just because there isn’t a pulse doesn’t mean he’s dead.
…well…
They take a deep breath and when they look up, the figure in the fold is gone. Count to ten to settle their heart rate, to push away the panic. That was a close one. They check the ysoki’s pulse again, no heartbeat, no response. He did get shot right between the eyes.
JD
Fuck.
And then they get to work.
CUT TO: WORK.
JD shuts the blinds to the laundromat and flips the sign to CLOSED. The lock is broken on the door so they’ll have to keep an eye on it… But nobody’s shown up other than they have tonight so they doubt they’ll be getting any visitors. They unzip the top part of their jumpsuit and cinch it tight around their waist. They tie up their hair into a ponytail and sort out the bleach.
In the back-room, JD opens up the janitor’s closet. Puts on some gloves tugs out one of the containers of blea–both containers of bleach when they realise one’s mostly empty. They sigh. Even on their day off they’re cleaning up shlop.
Of course it’s more than a little bit welcome this time.
Ysoki are… Much lighter than humans but they sure bleed just as much from the head. Good gods they left for five minutes and this guy’s bled out his entire body’s worth. JD frowns, while they try to think about how to toss the body. There isn’t exactly a freezer here but… they imagine this place should have a dumpster… Wait.
CUT TO: THE BACK ALLEY.
Uh… Well like any old business they’re supposed to have a dumpster but it sure isn’t here, the ghostly shadow of one still exists where it should be. Looking up the schedule, the pick up isn’t for another two days. This is sloppy. Whoever it is. It sure isn’t BITECLAW.
Well, they have about ten minutes before the wash is done, the dry takes longer but if they can get maybe a good twenty-thirty in there, they can hang the rest up in their apartment.
They glance down at the jumpsuit they favoured and though it’s originally red, the spatters of blood mean they have to take some care later to wash it out anyway. They sigh and light their e-cigarette. They really liked this one.
CUT TO: BACK INSIDE WHIRLPOOL WASH
JD tears through what was once a plastic bag made for holding onto clean clothes. They set it down on the floor not too far from the body, take a drag, exhale.
JD
(musing)
So who the fuck are you, making enemies?
They pull the body from its pool of blood gingerly and set it on the plastic sheet. Here they take a second to look it over. Seems like the ysoki might be GOLDCAST but JD can’t honestly be sure. He’s not BITECLAW at the very least… So they don’t have to be too careful about cleaning the entire mess.
But, you know, they’re here now, might as well take care of it enough to get their laundry done. JD takes a moment to wrap up the body nice and tight and sets it aside. Moving to mop up the bloody mess on the tile. It’s sunk into the grout. Normally they’d hate this, grout’s a bitch to clean.
They let it slide this time, cleaning it good and proper. They wash their hands, put away the supplies and transfer their clean laundry over to the driers. Keep the split, maybe they’ll dry faster this way and they can be out of here with dry clothes in the next twenty minutes.
CUT TO: SNOOPING THROUGH THE OFFICE.
JD is in the reception office looking through files and folders and registers to pass the time. Curious about this near-hit of theirs. They find the employee registry.
JD
(quietly)
Rodney Ratts… Mm… Unfortunate.
JD glances over to the wrapped bundle they’re still not sure what to do with and bow their head like they might if they were tipping a hat.
JD
Rest in peace, Rodney. Sorry for smokin’ in your laundromat… I know you didn’t like that but well… That’s about all I know about you.
Almost as if Rodney, from another plane, answers their call for forgiveness with a rebuke. They’ve run out of the juice in their pod. They tap their e-cigarette.
JD
(scoffs)
Wow. Nice guy, even in death.
They stick the pen in their pocket and this is when they hear the jingle of the front door opening. JD jolts upright–okay they weren’t exactly paying the utmost attention here and this person’s entry caught them off-guard.
They slip towards the janitor’s closet, and it seems like whoever stepped inside didn’t see them duck out of the way. JD peers carefully around the corner, as a gnoll with familiar spiky hair and a sleek fit steps into the picture. She looks extremely disgruntled, muttering to herself, even.
Wait a minute… Is that… FRANKIE?