Participants:
| Scene Title | Bad Influence |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Brian and Deckard have some innocent business to take care of involving swords and assault rifles. They inadvertently get caught in the crossfire of a girl fight in progress in the process of taking care of said business and before it's all over everyone is really confused and going into the Exotica seems like a super idea. |
| Date | December 21, 2008 |
"I think they keep me out of the loop on purpose. It's not my fault, it's not like there are training courses on being a terrorist. Or whatever the fuck we are. I mean seriously, how am I supposed to know how to handle all this shit? I'm doing my best. I really am. I'm trying my hardest to make these things work, but I mean.. come on. Helena is awesome. I love her, but she's younger than me. I always get shit from everybody else, like I'm the scapegoat for everybody, but I'm not the only one who screws up. I can't be." Brian is talking. A lot. His hands are on the wheel of the car as he turns a corner. Deckard is his lucky audience in the passenger seat.
"I mean, how much have I sacrificed for these people and I don't even get a thank you, or a good job, or anything. I've been sliced in half by an Asian. I should at least get a hug for that or something. But no, the only thing I get is, 'you should change your face.'" Brian says, the last bit as if imitating someone. The voice is kind of stupid. "I don't want to change my face, I've had my face for a long time. I'm attatched to it, you know?" The young man asks, looking over to the passenger set.
The 91 Dodge Spirit lumbers through the gloomy streets of brooklyn. There isn't a lot of traffic, it's a wet and rainy day. Though the raindrops have tapered off for now. Leaving wet streets and people with umbrellas for no reason.
"Where are we going again?" The car comes to a stop by the sidewalk.
Pam is just walking out of the strip club, having come out of the back entrance. Her backpack is slung over her shoulder, and she's wiped the makeup off her face so she just looks like a tired, wholesome kind of girl. If you ignore where she just came from, anyway.
Deckard is smoking, which means that his window is cracked despite the cutting snare of cold wind that stings at his ears. A new pair of aviators keep it out of his eyes, and the heavy overcoat he's wearing keeps it out of everywhere else. Long face turned out to watch the slow passage of cars parked at meters and wet, wet snow piled thick and grey on the sidewalks, he is listening. Why not? To the average member of Phoenix, it may all be stuff they've heard before, but he's not average, and he's not a member.
"I feel you, but at least you're not the guy who was caught collecting dirt for the 'bad guys.' Took Teo a month to even tell me what you people call yourselves." Hoarse voice muffled rough around his cigarette, he lifts his clean-shaven chin at a row of parked cars nearby. Conveniently, one of the meters is currently open. Not far from Pam's path, either. Might have something to do with the fucking awful weather. "Pull in there. How old is Helena?"
"Well, I mean.. You don't care what people think of you though. So that doesn't count." Brian points in, going to pull in. "Don't you hate us all, anyway?" He asks, in all seriousness, taking his time about parking. "I'm not a very good parallel parker." The man mutters, making this evident by his several attempts to get in the spot perfectly.. doesn't work out so well.
"I think she's nineteen." He murmurs, giving a shrug. "I mean, I know like Alexander the Great was pubescent or whatever when he was conquering crap, but.. I don't know. I'll stick to her for whatever, but I dunno.. She should take some treat your employees good classes or something. Or bake me a cake or something." He gives another shrug. "Hey look, it's HoneyNipples." He points out the windshield.
One of the filled parking meters is occupied by a glossy black town car, a high maintenance looking middle eastern bombshell who is, to the people in the car, dressing down a chauffeur who is poking at a very very flat tire. Outside the guy's car, if Pam's out there, Nalani in her trench coat with it's fox fur collar, with black glossy hair that spills in no natural way across the fur is berating her driver. "What in the name of god did you driver over, tell me what you couldn't see in the road. I am stuck in the middle of brooklyn Edward. Brooklyn. Does this look like Manhatten? No. This is Brooklyn! Do I look thrilled to be here?" Nalani towers in the snow on her stiletto boots that aren't fake crocodile, that's for sure. SHe looks around, drawing her jacket more closed with her gloves. Well, could be worse. Could be harlem. She stamps her feet in disgust, looking to see what buildings are around her.
Pam pauses to pull her hood up over her hair; she misses Brian's pointing because she's busy eyeing Nalani, lips pursing into a disapproving line. That really doesn't look like fake fur. At all. Pam's eyes narrow; her expression turns to a full-out glare.
"I don't hate you, just—" Nineteen. Whatever Deckard was going to say next is lost while the gears in his brain try to grind past that particular lock. Nineteen. The wind steals ash from the tip of his smoke, and nearly the ember along with it. Nineteen. "Did you just say…nineteen?" he seeks to confirm, brows leveled over the stylin' rims of his sunglasses. "And she's the one in charge. Alexander the Great. Jesus Christ." Normally there might be some kind of critique on Brian's failure to parallel park in a timely manner, but Flint just stares over at him a moment before levering himself out through the door and into the cold.
And lo, there indeed is HoneyNipples. Boots tracking noisily through the ice and slush, he stares at her much as he stared at Brian before he reaches back to slam the car door closed behind him. Great. Super, even. Nalani's griping takes a moment to sink in, but as long as she's a distraction — well. Whatever. Decks looks her over and turns to crunchslosh his way back around the trunk of the lemon parked behind Brian's car.
"Maybe twenty." Brian corrects, giving a little shrug. Then he tilts his head, "You're right, Jesus was really young when He started doing stuff too. Like the synagouge thing." Then Deckard is getting out. Brian remains inside, switiching from drive to reverse dramatically.
The car putters back and forth as Brian struggles to get it perfect. Finally he kills the ignition. And gets out. Locking the door, he goes to walk around the front to inspect his parking job. Two feet from the crub. Summamabitch. He grimaces for a moment, before the loud complaining of woman gets his attention. How annoying. His attention goes to Edward. "You need any help bro?"
Edward looks grateful for a reprieve from his harping employer when Brian offers help. "I could. I need to switch tires" The suit dressed man unfolds from his spot by the back tire, averting the gaze from his boss and going to the back of the crown car to pop the trunk. A flap popped up, a full new tire there. 'Can you get that out?" He's already grabbing the jack.
Nalani meanwhile is whipping out her phone, pressing numbers with a roll of her eyes. "Maureen? Yes. Tire's blown. Mr Grant is changing it and i'm stuck out in this god forsaken hovel of brooklyn. In front of…"Nalani raises a brow at Pam's scowl when she see's in before her gaze travels to the building they are in front of. "Oh god Maureen i'm in front of a strip club. Exotica" She hangs up then. her assistant is only good for whining at. Her gaze still lingers on Pam. "Can I help you?" She asks, in her muddled english accent.
Pam frowns at Nalani. She doesn't usually, but the woman outright asked her, so… "Not really. And you can't help that fox that died so you could prance around wearing it on your coat, either. But if you'd consider not endorsing cruelty to animals in the future, that'd be just peachy."
"I think you're missing the point, chief. How old are you? Twenty?" Deckard bites out past cigarette and past the suspect jimmying he's doing with a few long bits of metal at the trunk lock about crotch level. As feeling his way through doesn't seem to be working as well as he might have hoped, he eventually glances down, and pop, clunk. The trunk cracks open.
At about the same time, the exchange between Nalani and Pam sinks in, and he hesitates. The gentlemanly thing to do might be to go over there and diffuse the situation. Unfortunately he is about as much a gentleman as he is a member of Phoenix. He braces the heel of a gloved hand against the open trunk lid and levers it the rest of the way open.
"Twenty two." Brian corrects, before turning his back to Deckard and going to Edward. "I can do it for you bro. My piece of crap pops tires like bubblewrap. I've got enough practice." He tries to avoid the gazes of Pam and Nalani. And instead goes to make himself busy with changing the tire. "Got the spare?" Shit, there's going to be a woman war. Do not make eye contact.
Nalani eyes Pam and her comments. 'What makes you think that this is real fur?" It is, the woman's not about to lie. She could do something else, instead the woman opens the door to the towncar, yes, she opened it all on her own, and retrieves her purse. Pony! that's right, a rich turquoise blue purse in which she fishes out a business card holder and passes it over to Pam. Nalani's name, position and phone number. "If you like, and have objection, then by all means your welcome to schedule a visit and discuss it with me. That is unless" Nalani looks up to the sign of the building they're adjacent to. 'your too busy not wearing anything"
Edward's got the same idea as Brian. Don't make eye contact. 'Thank you sir. just the tire, we can get this done sooner yes?" he knows it'll get done sooner and he can get his employer out of the cold faster. He's already sliding the jack under and pumping the corner of the car up.
"It looks like real fur," Pam says flatly; she holds up her hand in the universal gesture for 'stop' and doesn't take the card. "If it's not, I apologize. I'll skip the appointment." Her cheeks pinken. Now it's her turn! "What makes you think I work here?" She might lie.
When Deckard paces back around from behind the shield of the open trunk, it's with a sword in one hand an AK-47 in the other, both lifted in plain sight so that their weight falls back across his shoulders. Normally this might be a risky move to make right out in the open, but conditions between Pam and Nalani are deteriorating quickly, and somehow or another, most people are finding other things to be interested in. "Hey, Eastwood, pop the trunk."
"Busy, Jackie." Brian calls out, as he's unscrewing lugnuts. He is not about to send a naked copy over to pop the trunk. Not only is that a risky move, but it's cold. Shrinkage. So with one hand he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. It is tossed over to his own car with more force than necessary. The young man continues to ignore the PamNalani fight. Just fix the tire and leave before you get fire breathed on you.
"Same way that you determiend that what i'm wearing was real. By looking at you" It's spoken with what can't be mistaken for anything else but condescention. "Edward" It's barked out. "Are you do…. Fuck me…" Nalani's caught glimpse behind Pam of Deckard, with his gun and his sword. 'Edward fix the fucking car now!" The business card is flung at Pam while her gaze is squarely on Decakrd. "You'll put those down right now" She adds weight to the words, add's compulsion to them.'
All this causes the other man to look towards Deckard to see what cause the unease in his employer. Well. A sword and a gun, big gun, just might do it. "I think, sir" spoken to Brian. 'That your companion might not be… wise at the moment?" If he happens to help brian get the wheel off faster, well, so be it.
Pam's eyebrows go up; her mouth hangs open a little. She looks like a stripper? But the makeup's gone and everything! Blushing more, she takes a step back, blinking rapidly. The business card lands on the ground, and she looks over toward the trunks and tire-changing, finally. Her eyes pop wide open. "What the hell?"
Oh shit. Stuck outside of the side of Brian's car because the dickhead is too busy lugging nuts to pop the trunk, Deckard has inadvertently been forced to lock eyes with Medusa. Cigarette defying the laws of physics in its hang from the corner of his mouth, a heavily wind-ruffled Flint hesitates and…leans slowly to set both weapons down into a lean against the closed trunk. When he straightens again, all black glasses and black overcoat and black gloves, he looks…really confused.
"Those are toys." Brian informs calmly. "Props, not real."He looks over to Pam and reasserts what was just said. "Props. We have drama class to go to. We're in a play together." Brian says, as casually he can. The tire is popped off, and then the young man goes to replace it.
He pauses though, to stand. "I threw the keys at you Jackie.. Just put the props in the back and we'll get to class real quick." Brian says, before going to replace the tire. His hand is shaking a wee bit.
'Go into Exotica" Nalani's not taken her eyes off Decakrd. Brians not a threat, Pam's not a threat. man with big fucking gun and sword, a threat. "You should really go into Exotica" The same heavy weight laoded on the shoulder of those words. Even as Nalani stands her ground, a glance to Pam and then back to Deckard. She doesn't need eye contact to convince the guy to do it.
Edwards just keeping his head down, and the tires switched out. Brian eyed gratefully and nods. 'Almost done and then we can go. Sorry to disturb you and your…. teacher."
Pam blinks rapidly. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" she demands of Deckard. Disapprovingly. Pam disapproves of everyone. Watch out, Brian.
"I'm…" says Deckard to Pam, not at his most intelligent. He looks down at the key and the gun and the sword. All things he should probably be doing something with, if he can't quite remember the order. And then to Exotica. There are boobies, there. Also maybe angry terrorists and FBI agents who want to crack his head against things and yell at him. Definitely just maybe, though. They may not be in there. But boobies are a certainty.
After a moment spent looking puzzled between all parties gathered, Deckard turns to trudge for the strip joint without another word.
We're losing him.. We're losing him.. Quick! Quick! Tire replaced, Brian on his feet. The man walks alongside the path, one hand flying up at Deckard's chest to keep him from pursuing his current route. He whispers harshly. "What the fuck are you doing!? Get in the car." He demands. And he's the stupid one.
"Hey Honeyni—" Oh shit. That's not her real name. What was it she was called? What did Deckard call her? It wasn't honeynipples. "hey." He says a bit awkwardly, giving Pam a little wave as he goes to pop the trunk and put the two 'props' in quickly.
Nalani's eyes narrow at Brian. "He's going to go into the strip club, your going to go sit in your car and leave us be" Same exhertion to Brian. Same compulsion, persuasion set to Deckard. She turns her gaze to Pam. "Cow are bread for meat. These foxes were bred to accompany clothing. If you don't like it, that's fine, it's your choice. Edward, i'll be in the car. Tip the kid" SHe steps then throught he slush so she can bend over and slide into the car, the door closing shut behind her with finality as if to seal her off from the filth and such that was brooklyn. Edward jsut peels some bills out of his wallet and sinks them into brians pocket. Thanks kid.
"What a bossy little bitch," Pam mumbles to herself, still flushed from annoyance. She turns about and heads for Deckard as well. "You probably shouldn't go in there, he's right. I don't entirely understand it, but maybe you should stay out."
Hand on chest. Cigarette still drooping, Deckard halts his advance upon the Exotica to look down at the five-finger stop, and then up at Brian past it. "She said to go in," is his simple explanation, provided a little stupidly. Brow furrowed again, he leans some of his weight forward as if to push past. Annoyed. "It's warm and there are mostly naked ladies da—oh. Hey." Honeysuckle. Deckard looks her over, hesitant again. Boobies in there, boobies out here. He is kind of at a standstill. Fifty fifty. "About the alley thing…"
The sword is in the trunk, but now Brian is going towards the door of the car, leaving the automatic rifle out in plain sight. Taking the money, he goes to enter his own car. It's warm in there. Opening the door he slides in, closing the door behind him. Then wonders why he's in there. Furrowing brows, he goes to exit again, to finish packing the trunk. "Jackie, get in the car, let's get out of here."
Edward jsut glances to the flip flopping guys, stopping, staying, going in, going out and he glances to Pam. "You might want to be Wary of them Miss. They seem a little… odd" and with that, he's starting through the snow to head towards the drivers side so he can get his employer out of here, all the stuff cleaned up.
"And?" Pam demands. "Who cares what she says? Seriously. And yeah, I would like to know about that time in the alley. And also, gun. Gun out." By the last she's hissing the words.
"I don't. It just seems like a good idea. I haven't been in a while, and you'd tell me if you saw anyone weird. Right?" A little more at ease now that his own system of logic is sort of filling in the blanks, Deckard nods up at the club and settles a hand across Pam's back with intent to steer her in the same direction when he starts thataway. "I'll buy you a drink and explain everything. Starsky'll get the gun."
And then Brian is back in the car. Passenger's seat. Why? It was closer. Whatever. Now his face is pressed to the window, as he watches Deckard not get into the car. What the fuck is wrong with that guy. He looks about himself, realizing he is not in the drivers seat. Weird.
The black town car, carrying it's inhabitants rev's to life and with the blinker on to warn any cars hind that it's pulling out, off goes Nalani and Edward to some place, to leave the others alone to their life.
No touching! That's Pam immediate instinct. She glances over her shoulder at Brian and the car, then back at Deckard. "Are you possessed again? Blink twice for yes."
Oh right. No touching. Picking up on that signal somehow or another, Deckard's hand backtracks an inch or so, hovering as if in search for a more appropriate region to get grabby with. Eventually it just falls back to his side, temporarily defeated. "I'm not possessed again. I just — I like Strip Clubs. Christ, everything I do is subject to interrogation. Am I that nefarious? Should I grow a fucking moustache so I can have one to twirl while I'm tying you down to the railroad tracks around back?" Brian and the AK-47 are semi-forgotten, though he does a mild doubletake upon noticing that the guy is sitting in the passenger's seat. Weird.
Slowly, Brian migrates to the driver's seat. If he's not going to get in the car screw him. He is not going to subject himself to bare boobies again. The window is rolled down a bit. "Call me later or get a cab." He yells out as the car starts. With the weapons safely stowed in the trunk, the poorly parked vehicle begns to vroom off.
Pam turns about to blink as Brian yells and starts to drive away. "Um. Your ride's leaving," she points out, rather unnecessarily. "And your life is weird, Mike. And that's kind of funny, coming from me." She slides a hand under her hood to massage the side of her head. "An explanation would be great. Sure. Drink. Sure.
"My ride is an asshole," Deckard mutters a little less emphatically while he watches Brian pull out, all the hot air gone out of him in a huff of smoke. His cigarette is flicked into an icy puddle and he nods, leading the way. Still intent on going to the place in france where the naked ladies dance. He will explain once they are inside and have booze.
"That's a bit h… well," Pam says. She doesn't really know Brian, see. So she just sighs, puts her hands in her pockets, and goes into the strip club with Deckard.
In through the door, the blast of warm air that greets them both would be enough to convince even the most obstinate hater of naked people that they've made the right decision. Deckard nods a lazy greeting to the bouncer at the door, who frowns at him. Familiar routine, there.
And on to a table. Witty enough not to select one close to the stage, he leads her around to one near the back corner of the bar instead, where he sets to shrugging out of his overcoat and mumbling an order for whiskey and 'whatever she wants' to the waitress who slinks after them.
Pam doesn't hate mostly naked people. She's not into self-loathing. Also, everyone is naked under their clothes, or so some people say. "I'll have a beer," Pam tells the bartender, tugging her hood down and starting to pull her coat off. "So," she says as quietly as she can and still be heard over the music, "Guys who go around possessing people?"
 December 21st: Steamingly Rancid? |
 December 21st: Red and Black |