Participants:
| Scene Title | Bootylicious |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Because pirates. See what we did there? |
| Date | November 12, 2018 |
Marlowe's throne room
In a world where the usual way to travel is by boat, it pays to be able to teleport everywhere. Have we meta’d about this before? Likely so. However, it bears repeating, since that is what Miles is doing right now, and right into Marlowe’s throne room. We can call it that, right?
Before he’s even shimmered into existence, a relatively smug “Ta da!” that comes from the direction of where he’s about to be, and when he snaps into focus he’s holding a bag that looks like it’s full of things. Full of things, Marlowe. How excited are you? “I expect you to be suitably grateful.”
He doesn’t wait for a retort as he sets it down, moving toward somewhere to sit — a couch, a chair, whatever. “I hear there’s about to be some robot hookers.”
Whether or not he's accustomed to the screams of girls accompanying his appearances, Miles is in for one when he appears near to where a young lady is presently engaged in discussion with Marlowe. That is to say, the lady was airing her grievances. And then she lets out a squeal of surprise that has her backpedalling into a protective railing that keeps her from slipping off the gangway leading to the seat that Marlowe claims. Her proverbial throne.
Marlowe, in turn, lifts a hand to cover her mouth and hide the laugh. It doesn't do anything to stifle the mirth that glimmers in her eyes. Or the excitement that Miles' presence brings, as often comes with a delivery from one such as he.
"Jenny, come on, it's impolite to scream at people," Marlowe eventually recovers, standing and coming closer, and turns to coolly address the young lady. "But don't worry. I'll make sure to have someone come look at the wiring around your shop, make sure it's not because of a leak somewhere. Myself if I have to, 'kay?" Her tone is reassuring and dismissing all at once. "You'll get a fair rate." With a nod and a quick pat on the shoulder, she sends the woman off.
Only once they're alone does Marlowe retrace her steps and finds another rail to lean on. "Oldest profession in the world and now it's getting taken over by machines too? Nahhh," she notes semi-dismissively, her gaze straying to the bag, then to Miles' face. "Whatcha got for me? If it’s good, I promise I’ll be suitably grateful." A crooked smile spreads over her lips as she leans in.
Whether he’s accustomed or not, he probably enjoys is a little bit too much. He makes a gesture much like a tipping of his hat to the startled young woman as she departs — ‘much’ like it instead of ‘exactly’ like it because he is not, in fact, wearing a hat. But one can imagine.
“You mean Namiko lied to me? Say it ain’t so,” he says as he turns back to Marlowe with a little sad shake of his head, as though he can’t believe what the world’s coming to these days. “I was looking forward to not having to cuddle after.” He doesn’t sound serious, at least — or not totally, anyway.
As for what he’s brought her, well. “Nothing much,” he says a little smugly. “Just some near perfect grow lights to replace the ones that got busted. No need to thank me. Just knowing I have your love for life is enough.”
"Namiko wouldn't lie to you, please. At least, I would never say such things," Marlowe counters him, a finger waggling in his direction. "Plus, didn't you know? Cuddling is the best business. Quiet, and easier on the machinery."
But speaking of machinery, his mention of grow lights immediately gets an interested 'ooh?' from Marlowe. "Hm, I don't know about for life, because my love is priceless, okay," she says as she pushes off the rail to round closer. The woman's ability often has her stepping in for a closer look, for a touch.
A beat passes. Marlowe glances from the product to the man. "But, I'll take diamonds."
“Ugh.” However, it doesn’t sound serious, and Miles just swings his legs over the arm of the chair where he’s seated, leaning back against the opposite arm. “Well, just keep it in mind for the future. You’d have at least one regular customer.” He says it flippantly, and with a half-smile, so again…not serious. Possibly, anyway. It’s difficult to tell.
“Good enough for me,” he continues at Marlowe’s decision, and his smile widens. “So how’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a minute. You’re too busy being on top of the world.” Literally, considering the building she’s in. “Just don’t forget all the little people who contributed to your rise.”
“Mmm,” Marlowe muses, an appreciative sound rolling off as she comes to lean against the back of Miles’ chair. The better to hold her thoughtful gaze upon his person. “I rather enjoy the give and take nature of our arrangement, it’s true,” she says after. “I’m going to have to tell Namiko to stop revealing all my business secrets to guys who get around though.”
The tease is waved off, because for anybody unfamiliar with the woman, they might detect a sense of menace lying underneath it. But not for those like Miles, who only receive the good-natured ribbing from the leader of the building’s syndicate group. In response to his comment about the little people, she laughs and pushes off the chair back.
“You want a drink?” She crosses over to a section with a cabinet, opening a compartment and pulling out a bottle of dark brown liquor. The bottle, though unlabeled, looks an awful lot like a bourbon container. “I’m hardly the one you should be saying forgets about where she came from, or how she got here,” she says, pouring out a double for the man. She even brings him his glass so he doesn’t have to get up. See? What service. “Though I have heard some rumors about some new faces showing up ‘round the Pelago.” Not that there aren’t new faces popping in and out all the time from the area, given that nature of their world. Marlowe’s ‘small talk’ comes with the seeking of information, which could at times be just as if not more valuable than diamonds.
Miles takes that thoughtful gaze in stride — or at least it seems like he does. He does, however, add, “Don’t worry, I won’t give anything away. I’d say I want to make sure I get first dibs, but I don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you want to be a beta tester for.” He winces as though imagining all the things that could go wrong with robot hookers. Well, one thing in particular, really.
As for a drink, he nods. “I’m not going to say no,” he says, watching her get that bottle, and then bring him the glass. “Wow,” he says as he takes the drink, lifting it to her with a nod of thanks. He takes a sip, studying her a little bit more thoughtfully himself as she goes on. “New faces?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Maybe,” he continues after a moment. “I saw Mad Eve the other day.” His mouth twists a little bit at this, as though he’s loathe to admit it. “She was saying something about…something like that. Maybe. Honestly I’m not sure what the hell she was talking about. I don’t know why anyone new’d want to come over here, though. Seems like submerged city’s a lot like all the other submerged cities.”
"Mad Eve! How's the ol' girl been," Marlowe sounds wistful, returning to lean on the chair back as she sips on her drink. "She say anything about me? Was it good things?" A bright smile forms as she studies Miles, brows lifting in doing so. "And you should know why. Submerged or not, this is New York City. If you're not careful, you'll run your hull into the torch of Lady Liberty. If you're not even more careful, you'll get dressed up like her and do a show at the Palisades." She laughs lightly, despite the dark humor touching upon the edge of it.
"But listen, you hear about anything or get anything good about them, drop by sometime and I'll make it worth your while." Her glass tips slightly in lieu of a pointed finger. "Dibs on your choice of robo-companion, even." That might be the even bigger tease, were it not for the glimmer in Marlowe's eyes.
“She might have,” Miles replies with a shrug. “Like I said, it’s hard to know. Next time I’ll record it and play it back for you, maybe you can understand her better than me.” He swings his legs back down, settling one foot on the floor instead and crossing his other ankle over his knee. The dark humor does at least get a little chuckle, at least slightly amused. “Only in New York,” he remarks, though he leaves it at that.
He tips his head to the side as he studies her for a second or two, before he nods. “Sure thing,” he says. “You’ll be the first one to hear about it.” He pushes himself to his feet then, “You got anything you want delivered? I could squeeze in a trip.” Of course, for all she knows, his dance card could be totally empty, for all he sounds like he’d be doing her a favor.
The notion of Marlowe being able to interpret Mad Eve’s ramblings gets a light, coy smile out of the woman. “Now now, we shouldn’t go about insulting the elderly,” she remarks with a snort of a laugh and a flap of her hand to cover her mouth. It’s funny, and not at all meant to be insulting of the aged seer captain. Teasing, sure, but all with a degree of understanding and respect.
At the teleporter’s offer to deliver something for her, Marlowe glances to the grow lights and then nods. “Take those lights down to hydroponics if you would. They’re going to shit their pants with excitement. Maybe it’ll get them off their stoned butts to work on the power grid faults, finally. And tell ‘em to give you a couple fives for them, from my batch.” The five-star rated batch reserved for Marlowe is bound to fetch a good price, if he wanted.
Before he pops off, Marlowe also asks, “Say, Miles. You don’t got a girl yet?”
Miles just snorts at the joke, too, though it should be noted that he glances to one side and then the other, as though just slightly worried that Eve would somehow be there to hear what they’re saying. She’s not, though. It’s fine. Everything’s great.
He reaches down to grab the bag then, carefully settling it over his shoulder. “Sounds good,” he says. “Thanks.” And he would have started to go, too, but her last question brings his gaze up again, and he squints, tipping his head to one side.
“A girl?” he confirms, like he hasn’t heard her right. “Would I be itching to get in on some hot robot action if I did?” It’s a joke too, though, without any bite to it. “Nah,” he continues. “Why, are you looking to settle down? I think I’d make a good King of the Pelago.”
He'd be right to worry, even if Marlowe doesn't seem like the type on the outside, there's always that niggling possibility she could be recording this conversation. Just think on that, Miles. As it is, when he notes how he'd make a great King of the Pelago, she breaks out into a crooked smile and circles over to his side. Eyes travel up and down him in evaluation, and Marlowe lightly chews on her lower lip. Doesn't take a mind reader to know what that look says…
Until that expression shifts into a wider, brighter smile and she utters, "Nah, babe. I don't think you're ready for this jelly. But, maybe some day." She chuckles lightly and steps back, giving him 'space' for the pop though he doesn't need it. "Take care, Miles."
