Do A Fairy A Favor


felix_icon.gif marla_icon.gif

Scene Title Do A Fairy A Favor
Synopsis Believe, Felix. BELIEVE.
Date November 24th, 2008


Though it's less than two miles square, Chinatown is home to some quarter of a million residents. Cramped, ancient tenements are the norm, though the fourty-four story Confucious Plaza standing at the corner of Bowery and Division does boast luxurious accommodations by comparison. Mulberry Street, Canal Street, and East Broadway are home to streetside green grocers and fishmongers, and Canal Street also boasts an impressive array of Chinese jewelry shops. .

Despite the horrible cold, there are -still- way too many street vendors in the narrow lanes of Chinatown. Fel's let his idle curiosity get the better of him, and is meandering aimlessly among the various dealers in trinkets and useless junk. He looks weary, still in suit and overcoat after work, just coming out of the door of one of the little hole in the wall restaurants.

Oh, Marla has been waiting for a chance like this. Not that /this/ chance is particularly special or anything. There are lots of people filing in and out of restaurant doors and just generally milling around, whether around the street vendors or busily strolling. But this man looks both preoccupied and all by his lonesome as he steps through the door, an excellent combination.

The invisible woman's footsteps quicken into little padding motions on the walk, barely avoiding the trampling feet of other passerby who (after all) cannot see her. In another few moments, and perhaps one more after that, Felix will feel a cold and disgustingly wet ~~raspberry~~ on the back of his neck if he does not change directions suddenly. Pbbbbthhb.

Oh, ewwww. Girl cooties. Nonconsensual girl cooties, without even dinner and a movie first. What the hell? Marla's treated to the comic spectacle of a grown man whirling first this way and then that, trying to determine just who assailed him, and how. The crowds around him obligingly part a bit, because Fel just flicked on the 'crazy guy' light. Or was that snow, or spit, or what?

Not snow, no, but spit yes. Marla can't get in a second shot even if she wants to, because of that flailing neck; so instead, she slips closer to the confused man. Still perfectly unseeable, of course. The second she gets close enough, she strays in towards his ear and goes: "Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyaaaah nyah—" before ducking right back out again.

What's she's done isn't threatening. Not in a violent sense. But Felix abruptly stops short, after that startle, and goes pale. He doesn't go for the gun under his coat, because shooting passers by in an attempt to kill your own personal hallucination is a real quick way to get locked up for life, nevermind losing your badge. Instead, he turns for one of the lesser alleys away from the bustle of the shopfronts, and heads that way briskly.

Right after him Marla goes. There is an audible 'crunch', like that of an apple being held and chomped on. She chews this as she trails Felix into that alley, her footsteps thudding softly and merrily behind, swallowed up by all the other-people-noises around them. Once they're away from hustle and bustle, though, she goes? "Whassamatter? Gotta ghost in your ear?" Nom, nom. The accent is a Canadian one. Clipped, somewhat; a low woman's voice.

This time he whirls again, but he's striking out with a hand - there's a hint of that superhuman speed, but it's far from his usual blur of motion. Trying to grab her, if there is a 'her' to grab.

Felix doesn't succeed in closing around a wrist or arm, but he /does/ strike Marla's hand and knock the apple flying, much to her irritation - which she immediately makes vocal. "Hey, now look what you've done." How odd. There now is a medium-sized, round green apple with a bite missing from it just a little distance down the street, still wobbling a little.

"And not even a hello or /anything/. Man, and here I was thinking a man like you would be /glad/ for some company. If you're not, like, a serial killer or something."

Well…..that might be in doubt. Because he goes still, freezing in place, but it's the poised quiet of a cat by a mousehole. It's the light in his eyes that might be a hair frightening, for all that he's just some skinny guy in a businessman's tailored suit - the glint of something not quite sane. "Who are you?" he says, tightlipped.

"Oh, great. You /are/ a serial killer." The voice can be heard traveling a short distance, though not farther away from Felix. It seems to be going towards that dropped apple, if one is to follow its direction. If the somewhat startling flicker in Felix's eyes is noticed, the emotion does not extend itself into her speech. "And the question is, Simba, /who/ the fuck are /you/?"

He pauses to remove his glasses, polishing the lenses with a scrap of cloth t ugged out of his coat. "I'm not a serial killer," he asserts, flatly. "Show yourself." He desperately yearns to go home, hide out in that tiny shoebox of an apartment. But there's no point in showing this imp where he lives.

Before Felix's eyes, the apple twinks out of visibility again, as though it had never existed on the plane of reality at all. There is another 'crunch' not long after. Eeewww, but at least Marla is making sure to bite on the side that had been lying face up. "Look into your heart, magoomba," she intones, full of impressive and mysterious heaviness. "I'm your fucking /spirit guide/. You know what what I look like. Just /believe/."

"You can't be my spirit guide. You don't sound like Johnny Cash," Fel observes, the corner of his lip quirking up unwillingly at that, as he replaces his glasses, pushing them up his nose with an oddly Hiro like gesture. Only Fel isn't cute and round-cheeked and appealing, but gaunt and grim, instead.

"Because you're miiiiine, I walk the liiiiiine," comes the answering bawl. "And how do /you/ know. Do I /sound/ like I'm an old dead guy? No. I could be his reincarnation or whatever and you'd never /know/ it, dog." Oh, if Marla could choose a moment to make sense. Because it is obviously not this one.

Fel snorts, and goes through the pat down ritual, eventually producing cigarette and lighter, before cupping his hands around the Zippo, guarding the little flame against the breeze that creeps down the alley. "What do you want?"

"I want you." Marla's voice goes fainter all of a sudden, then stronger, as if she had reached down towards the ground for something and is just coming back up. She thinks. Then, "Yeaaaah. That's it. I want /you/ to reexamine your fucking /life/. Being a goddammed serial killer ain't /right/, man."

"There are serial killers in New York, but I'm not one of them," he reiterates, calmly, clinking the Zippo closed, even as he rolls the cigarette to the corner of his mouth to speak more clearly. "I agree, it isn't right. Best to find one and preach to him."

There is a soft and utterly exasperated sigh. "That's what they /all/ say, man. Me? I can help you. But you gotta /want/ to change. Admittance is the first step."

Felix actually smiles, sidelong. "An how can you help?" he wonders, swinging into motion again….turning down a cross-alley, head bowed against the bitter cold. Heading for Confucius Plaza.

Another crisp bite, another careless succession of chews. Marla tags right along behind Felix like a particularly bothersome spirit. Which, all things considered, she almost is. "I can make you /better/. Listen, man, don't you /wonder/ why you're hearing me right now? Maybe this is how it was meant to happen."

"Either you're a hallucination and I need to alter the dose of my meds, or you're an annoying Evolved. If you can heal me, do it. If not, best to shove off," Fel advises, hands t hrust into his pockets as he clumps along, coming around a corner into the bustle that's the street in front of the entrance of Confucius Plaza.

"Awfully smart hallucinations you got, then." Chompity. "And not so /fast/, y'know? Fine, I'll leave you, but keep in mind that the journey to spiritual, uh, /cleansation/ is long one. You best start /believing/ in yourself, and then your conscience, because as long as you don't there's /nobody/ in this world that's gonna save your sorry ass."

"If you're willing to show yourself, come in, have some tea," Fel invites, gesturing towards the entrance to the apartments. He's apparently serious.

This, at least, succeeds in cutting Marla's diatribe off. There is a tiny silence, as though she is puzzled. "…no, no. I couldn't do /that/. Tell you what. You work on getting the…ah… the 'I believe' thing down, and then I'll reconsider your offer."

And then Felix will see - no, really - four disembodied fingers handwiggling at him in a wave. No knuckles or palm or anything. Just those top digits, which then promptly disappear again. "Later, dog."

"What, I don't believe in you, you die? Who're you, Tinkerbell?" Felix says, dropping the cigarette half-finished in a convenient puddle. The littering bastard.

Another pause. This one is a little more distant. "If I do, I hope you feel /horribly guilty/ about it. For shaame. Geez."

'I've done enough fairies enough favors I feel I'm owed a few," Fel notes, wryly. "I know I'll see you around. Or not, as the case may be," And with that, he's heading in through the apartment doors.

November 24th: Hot Dogs And Irony

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

November 24th: Welcome Home, Honey
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