Moby Bone 2: Boning For Justice


satoru_icon.gif mortimer_icon.gif

Scene Title Moby Bone 2: Boning For Justice
Synopsis Mortimer stalks Toru and asks him to bone For Great Justice!
Date September 3 2009


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.

Morning in the general Chinatown area finds Toru on his way home from a night at work, where anything odd that may have happened recently has apparently gone completely unnoticed by the lad. He can't be in every corner of the club all night, after all, nor does he always see Logan before heading home. So this morning, while the streets are still relatively unpopulated, he's dressed in a strangely fancy getup for anyone who's used to seeing him in street clothes - a black suit, very Reservoir Dogs, though his hair is still done up in orange spikes. He's really just wandering down the street with his hands in his pockets, casual-like.

Wearing a long dark grey trench coat with blue jeans under it, and black boots with near-matching black gloves on his hands, Mortimer has been following Toru since he left the club. Having gone to watch who came in and out, just for future reference, and generally being creepy, he found someone of interest.

He's closed the distance between the two, and soon he's standing just four feet away, walking in sync right next to him. "Moby Bone, what have I been doing for the past three or four months? I can't remember, and it's a little confusing."

—- Yeah, this guy is definitely in the top ten on Toru's list of favorite people. When listed in reverse-order, at least. And so when the familiar 'nickname', though not so much voice, picks up to his side, the boy recoils a bit, sharply taking several steps backwards, staring at the guy. He'd realized he was being followed, he just kind of figured it was a coincidence.

Hands out of his pockets, though still vaguely at his sides, he looks Mort over cautiously, to make sure there're no— lightsabers or rocket packs or anything there. "Look, man, I don't want any trouble, aight? I ain't got nothin' you want, so how about you just walk away?"

"You've got something I want, you have the power to bone things, and I want it." Mortimer keeps his distance as well, not getting any closer, though the fact that he has a trench coat on could mean he's armed with anything, anything! "I won't harpoon you, I'm busy tracking down a serial killer. You know how serial killers are, they're the Anne Rice vampires of killers, overshadowing spree killers with their romance and charisma. The only pure and blessed type of killer is the spree killer, no rhyme or reason, not any particular motive except what you were thinking at the time. Don't you agree?"

A bit of maniacal laughter later, he backs up into a trashcan and decides to plant himself right there, taking a seat. "When I catch this killer, I want you to help me torture him. When you make bones, does it hurt them to break the bones?"

And with that simple request, it seems as though any bad history between the two of them has begun to be forgotten. Harpoon? What? That couldn't have happened. "Sure, yeah, that's cool. I dig it." He lowers his hands, at least, though continues to eye Mortimer suspiciously. This could just be some crazy plot to get him to listen, and while it's working, he's going to at least play it cautiously.

"You know, for a crazy guy you kinda got a messed up sense of right and wrong, y'know?" Redundancy, but who cares? "But, uh, yeah, I guess it would. I mean, I never really tried it myself 'cause it hurts plenty enough when you're just doin' the bonin', but if you break it.. I mean, that's like open wounds and shit, right? Usually they don't stay still long enough to do like a solid arm boning or whatever, so mostly I just get a thick layer in place of the skin. Bleeds enough if you break it, probably hurts too."

"It's perfect! After I finish with the fishing hooks, you can turn his entire body except the parts that would kill him, into a bone. Then I can drive nails into it laced with fiber glass and alcohol…" Mortimer's casually snickering to himself as he goes over the various tortures in his head, seeming intent on savoring this particular kill. "Let's exchange numbers, and if you hear anything on someone called Azrael, you call me. If you hold up to your end of the deal, I won't shoot a harpoon up your ass. That work for you?"

Running a hand over his hair, Toru takes in a deep breath.. and lets it out. "I think… how about I give you my email address, huh? I don't really— need you trackin' me down through my phone number." May as well lay it all out on the line. "I think I might hafta think out the logistics of your idea a little too. Don't really know how well it'd work like that in particular, but.." He shrugs. "Well, whatever, anyway. You're gonna want a lot of restrainin' shit 'cause people can get really damn strong when you're changing their molecular structure. Other'n that.. I guess I'm game to help out, I ain't got nothin' better goin' on 'sides the job."

"An email will be just fine, Moby Bone. I suddenly wish I didn't choke that stripper, she's probably too angry for me to sleep with her. Oh well, you win some you lose some." Mortimer, too excited to stop smiling at the moment, holds his gloved left arm out, waiting for some sort of paper. "I don't suppose you could introduce me to some nice Chinese women?"

Toru digs around in his pocket a minute for a pad of paper and pen, scribbles his email address on it in a painstakingly legible scrawl, and hands it over. "Dammit, man, did you follow me all the way from goddamn Burlesque? Don't touch the fucking merchandise; jesus." He shakes his head, sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. "God. And no, I don't pay mind to no Chink girls, there's probably plenty of places if you hit up shady restaurants and act like a rich white guy, though. I dunno, just don't be.. fuckin' crazy."

"I woke up after an explosion from three or four months ago, my face was in a stripper's thighs, and my first instinct was to choke her. I think I've been hiding in my subconscious." Mortimer shakes his head, taking the piece of paper to look it over. "Don't forget to check your email every day, if I need you, well, you have to be on time. You know what the Mad Hatter did to the Rabbit when he was late for the very important date."

"Right, yeah, I get it on my phone, homes. Just— I think you might have problems if you got your face that intimate on a lady and you decide you gotta kill that bitch, y'know?" He shrugs, though, waves his hand dismissively, and is almost about to walk away until that last comment, at which point he — pauses. "— You're going to put marmalade in my pocket watch?"

"And then set it on fire and watch it burn through your chest." Mortimer promptly adds with a friendly smile, then starts heading down the street. "I'll remember proper stripper conduct next time. Good night, Moby Bone!"

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