I Was Told To Find You


cat_icon.gif ling_icon.gif

Scene Title I Was Told To Find You
Synopsis Ling finds Cat and shares information.
Date August 21, 2009

The Rock Cellar

A comfortable place, located in the basement of 14 East 4th Street. The red brick walls are covered with memorabilia from various icons of rock and places in rock history, creating a feel similar to that of a Hard Rock Cafe.

The left wall has two bars separated by swinging doors which lead to and from the kitchen. Directly across from the entrance is a two foot high stage with all the equipment needed for acts to perform there. The right wall has three doors marked as restrooms: two for use by women and one by men.

Thirty square feet of open space for dancing and standing room is kept between the stage and the comfortable seating placed around tables which fill the remainder of the Cellar.

The lighting here is often kept dim for purposes of ambience, and when performers are onstage the place is loud enough to make conversation difficult. Just inside the door is a podium where location staff check IDs and stamp the hands of those under twenty-one with a substance visible under UV lights at the two bars and by devices the servers carry. On the podium's front is a sign with big black letters that just about explain it all: If You Don't Like Rock 'N' Roll, You're Too Late Now!

Preparations are being made for a Friday night's business here at the Cellar now. Bartenders are stocking up, making fruit slices, filling tubs with ice. Servers are arriving one by one over time, the chef is busy in the kitchen. Very few people are present beyond those members of the staff, however; the stage is dark. A few customers dot two or three tables around the place.

One table in a shadowy spot is in use by a solitary female occupant with a pint of Guinness stout in front of her. She's reading over something which might be sheet music. Could this be the person named Cat?

Ling is hesitant as she looks around, feeling very much like a fish out water between being in such an unfamiliar element, and looing so out of place in her long black business skirt and jacket. A sigh escapes her lips as her eyes finally settles on a single woman with a glas of beer and reading materials in front of her, and Ling can't help but make a somewhat disgusted face. Still, she marches forward, making her way to the table with very deliberate movements. As she reaches it, she knocks once on the table, looking down at the woman. "Excuse me," she begins dryly, "Would you happen to know where I can find a woman named Cat?"

She looks up slowly, taking a moment to study the face of the person who just approached and knocked on her table. Cat takes a swallow from the pint and sets it down before speaking. "That'd be me," she provides, gesturing to an empty chair with one hand. Her eyes are calm and now tinged with curiosity. What's this about? This person doesn't have an instrument with her, she's dressed for some sort of office it would seem.

Cat is clad in a casual manner. Sleeveless t-shirt featuring Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, shorts, athletic footwear. She watches for the woman to sit and go about the reason for her presence.

Threading strands of hair behind her ear, Ling gives a half smile as she looks down at Cat, eyeing the seat across from her as she contemplates sitting. Instead, however, she opts to remain standing as she looks downward . A moment of rummaging through pockets occurs before a a small card, a business card baring the Rock Cellar's name, is placed face up on the table. THe woman places a hand on her hip, motioning to it. "I was told to find you," she remarks quietly, "by a man who didn't give me his name."

"That's interesting," Cat replies as eyes briefly dip to the card then lift back to the woman's face. "In regards to what?" The pint is lifted again, she drinks a bit more, still observing the mysterious one. She doesn't seem unaccusomed to interesting people finding her. Perhaps she's a victim of the infamous Chinese curse. The one which goes 'may you live in interesting times'.

Ling gives a side long glance to the rest of the room, eyes narrowing a bit. "In regards to Refrain," she replies in hushed tones, hands retreating uncharacteristically to her pockets, a sure sign of nervousness on her part. "If there is somewhere more private," the woman continues, "it would be most appreciated."

Now Cat's attention is fully secured, if it weren't already. She rises, leaving her pint and the printed material where it lies, then heads toward the interior portions which aren't in public view. They can have their conversation somewhere backstage; Cat doesn't wish to drive the manager from her office or even let her have a sighting of this sort of thing. Not a word is spoken until that secluded spot is reached, then she faces Ling.

"Refrain is very interesting."

"An understatement, to say the least, Ms. Cat," is Ling's reply as she follows slowly behind Cat, coming to a full stop a good few feet behind her. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't so willingly give my name, I'm afraid I only know yours do to our mysterious mutual acquaintance," she says coldly as she looks around. "But this acquaintance has asked that I talk to you about Refrain."

"Here we are," Cat replies with a quiet chuckle, "so talk to me. I'm listening."

A smile crosses Ling's face as the Chinese woman begins to pace. "I'm glad to see you know the virtue of getting straight to the point as well as I, Ms. Cat. Alright, then. I am here to tell you the details I know about Refrain. Origin, suppliers, dealers, side effects…" Ling wondered for a moment if she should be worried about doing this. She knew better. "To be frank, I don't know as much as your friend seemed to think, but I will tell you what I know, and answer what I can."

She's listening, and to that end Cat avoids speaking. Words in the form of questions may or may not come later; now is a time for hearing alone. And this she does, intently. Ling's pacing is calmly viewed, Cat herself is poised and still. She has the air of someone raised in money and society, perhaps. A blue blood. Or an attorney.

"I'm sure you know the basics of Refrain," Ling begins, with a tone befitting of a teacher. "An odd, glowing substance with a distinct blue hue, often carried in syringes due to it's injectable only nature. Of peculiar note, however, is what the drug is capable of. I'm sure you've heard stories, but to be clear, Refrain is a hallcinogenic, a very potent and specific one."

"So I'm told," Cat replies in the opening silence affords her. The expression to her features invites continuing with what Ling has to share, her questions still held back as she returns to quiet.

"Make no mistake. What you hear is true. Refrain is a strangely specific form of drug, allowing one to… relive memories, if you will. Flashbacks. Almost always positive ones, as well. It is truly the best kind of high." She sounds almost like a saleswoman as she speaks, trying to shill the drug on Cat even now. "There is a small chance of a bad trip, a terrible, terrible memory, but I'm unsure of the rate at which this happens."

Ling says, "Additionally, the druug is highly addictive, though few know this, particualrly not those the drug is being sold to," she continues, with a bit of a snort. "An unfortunate matter, but that's the way these things go."

And here cometh the first of Cat's questions. "What form does this addiction take? Is it physical in the variety of opiates, merely psychological, or both?" Her opinion of the topic and the chemical remains shrouded beneath her calm demeanor.

Ling purses her lips, and then nods. "Both, it seems. Physical due to the drug, and… I'm sure you can understand how something such as reliving good memories can be addicting as well." She glances back to the door, then back at Cat. Her sense of nervousness is going away, and the information seems to be quicker now. "Beyond the addictions and the small chance of a bad trip, I know little else of what side effects the drug has. It's very new, I'm unsure of where, exactly, it comes from. So, that remains to be seen."

"I see," Cat states speculatively. "Is the physical addiction mild, or severe as in the case of opiates?" She makes no comment on the reliving of good memories and the particulars of a bad trip. She has, by the means of her own ability, experienced both.

Ling pauses her pacing, making a motion of remembrance with her left hand. "The latter, as I've been told," she replies frankly. She wasn't sure exactly why she was being so honest, but then, someone had paid for this information. No sense screwing a paying customer - unless it was at the request of another. "The only thing, Ms. Cat, that I can tell you offhand about the drug is its distributor." With that, Ling fully ceases to pace, and turns to face Cat with a grin, but it was not a mirthful grin. Her face carried almost a hint of malevolence and pride as she looked at the woman. "Though, I'm sure simply from my presence you might have guessed who put it out on the streets."

"You're a dragon who flies," Cat replies, "if I were to go by stereotype alone. Drugs are, to me, an abomination. I can't see the point in their use. But I also believe in the freedom of will; the right of others to make their own decisions. People grow up educated in this nation about the consequences of chemical use. If they still make that unwise choice, that's their affair. The world has far larger issues to contend with in any case."

Ling gives a nod to Cat, turning away from her. "Most astute," she replies, her attitude growing increasingly condescending, her confidence having returned. "Your assessment is correct. The drug has been put on the streets by The Flying Dragons. I know not where Liu and Song Ye got the drug, as I was under the impression they didn't make it themselves, but I don't believe that's entirely relevant," she remarks with a dismissive wave of her hand. As Cat finishes her little… speech, almost, Ling lets out a terse chuckle, turning back to face the woman again. "You're welcome to think whatever you want. It's of little concern to me."

"Is it reproducable, and is there a targeted marketing to a geographical area or segment of the population?" Cat asks. She doesn't seem at all affected by any measure of condescension. There is information to be had; she both seeks and collects what comes.

To this, Ling only offers a rather nonchalant shrug. "I couldn't say either way on either matter, I'm afraid. I know much, but not everything," is all she offers, once again threading a lock of hair behind her ear. "To be honest? I'm just the seller. The primary one, but just a seller."

"What else do you know, which we've not covered?" Cat asks in that same calm tone. She doesn't pace, she in fact hasn't moved throughout this exchange. The brunette of five feet and eight inches carries herself as largely unflappable; the only thing evident is her curiosity.

Ling loos thoughtful for a moment, and then shaes her head. "I believe that covers anything I know," she remarks, looking to the door. "And thus covers the extent o my payment, unless you have other questions."

"I would ask who paid you to bring me this information," Cat ventures, "but I don't believe you'll answer." Ling is watched in speculation for some moments, the panmnesiac perhaps wondering if the assessment is true to the mark.

Ling lets out a low, terse laugh. "I don't particularly care if he wanted me to tell you or not, but to be entirely honest, he didn't give me his name. In fact, he seemed to avoid it. All I know is that he was very deliberate and sure of what he wanted." Mostly true, though she can still remember the distinguishing mark on his face. Not that she cares if Cat knows that.

"What did this man look like?" Cat inquires. Her head tilts briefly to one side, then rights itself.

Ling lets out a sigh and shrugs again. "He'd have been pretty nondescript if it wans't for the scar. That's all I remember."

"A scar," Cat muses. There are a lot of scarred men in the world. That alone doesn't tell her much. A few steps are taken as if she were starting to lead Ling back toward the public areas and the door, but she turns partway back to inquire "Where was this man's scar? How long did it run?"

Ling rolls her eyes as furtively as she can, looking at the woman with an annoyed expression. "His face. It looked like something out of a bad movie my father would have liked. I'm afraid I can't answer the latter, however. Rapture is a dark place," she comments, frowning.

There's a nod from Cat in reply to that answer. "Thank you for this enlightening visit," she offers. Then her steps resume. Soon she's back in the Cellar's main area and approaching the table where she left her reading material and pint of stout.

Ling wrinkles her nose as the woman makes her exit, having become a bit annoyed by the end of the conversation. Still, she followed the woman out, watching her carefully as they approached the table where she had been seated earlier, mulling something over in her head as she followed Cat.

She sits, their business concluded, and lets the visitor depart. Attention goes to her reading material and the stout in short order, Cat takes a brief drink. At some future time, she will consult the camera footage for the exterior of the building and secure a photograph of Ling from it so she might inquire about her identity. It could happen within hours, days, or perhaps even a few weeks.

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