too high to jump in jail; too low to dig, I might just touch Hell.

[pressthatbutton]

On this fine (cloudy, cool) afternoon in Chicago, there are a few people out and about and rockin' out.

Katja is downtown at a Trader Joe's. Just outside of one, actually, struggling with the two bags of stuff she's just bought, trying to get them to stay in the baskets of the little town bike she's recently acquired and swearing a lot in Russian

Comments

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark is downtown near the Trader Joe's. This is perfectly normal and should not be questioned, because Sark is everywhere. This can be mostly blamed on Bristow or the fact that sometimes a guy just needs to wander aimlessly about the city and what? Do you need to know every intimate detail about why Sark is out wandering downtown?

Of course, Sark is realizing that this is a bad idea as there are certain REDHEADED STALKERS in the area that he does not want to engage. He is not scared of her. It's just taking every ounce of willpower he has to not shoot her dead in the street.

And that would be bad. Not that he actually cares, but, uh, prison. He did that. It wasn't very fun.

SEE SARK. SEE SARK TRY TO SLINK AWAY. FAIL MISERABLY AT SLINKING, SARK. FAIL MISERABLY.

[pressthatbutton]

Katja's almost gotten the bags to stay in the stupid little baskets (and has made about ten billion mental notes to buy larger bike baskets as well as buy all the stuff she can get her hands on to poison those who invented tiny bike baskets to begin with). They're still a tiny bit precarious, sure, but she's not really going all that far with them, really. Just to her apartment a few blocks away. It should be too bad unless something weird leaps out of the Rift in front of her or something, right? The only thing posing the problem right now is the godamned baguette. Why the hell did she think she should get a baguette anyway? It's not as if she has anything to eat it with at home, and didn't buy anything to eat with it here. Whatever, it was there, calling her. 'I'm a baguette, buy meeee.' When one has expendable income, the food at the store talks to one a helluva lot

[sarkraticmethod]

ALL THE COVERT OPS TRAINING IN THE WORLD AND HE CAN'T GET AWAY FROM ONE BLOODY RED-HEADED STALKER.

Sark hates his life. And like anyone who is far too accustomed to the world making him its bitch, he just stares at her in quiet resignation of his fate, because staring at her is the only thing he knows to do at her that doesn't involve all the death ever. She is a good person to stare at. Possibly it's the hair. Or the crazy.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," he finally concludes after an obscene amount of staring blankly at her.

[pressthatbutton]

No, Sark. No, you can't.

Katja blinks at him when he says that, then makes a dubious face at him, though it's not nearly as exaggerated as most of her expressions are. "I don't know, I quite like seeing you around," she says. "Makes one feel at home in a new city, to see familiar faces now and again. Things to do, people to torment, all in a good, well-rounded day." Besides, what would he do without their paths crossing periodically? Might start thinking things were all well and good in Chicago-land, as much as a wanderer can do those sorts of things. She's doing him a favor, really! A very...convoluted favor. Bringing him the absurd topping on what are probably already very strange days. Wouldn't do to get used to the strange.

The dubious expression drops off her face a moment later, and she continues, in all seriousness, "I have french loaf." And staaaaares right back at him.

[monitorthebirds]

Hawkes hasn't really figured out what his opinion of this city is. He really ought to be back on the Saratoga with McQueen and the other Wild Cards, fightin' Chigs, bein' all lifetakin' and heartbreakin'. It's not like there's not plenty to do in Chicago and that Prophet guy thinks they're helpin'. It's just... Not what he's used to.

The best thing about this place, however, is that they clearly don't know nothin' about Tanks, which is a plus. He can appreciate stuff without havin' to worry about anyone peggin' him as a Tank and tryin' to string him up or somethin'.

That said, he is currently wandering around the Pier, because he has decided he likes the water. It's a thing. Especially since there weren't exactly any lakes or whatever in Philly... Or space.

And curiouser and curiouser, there is a girl... Doin' handstands. This is very odd and should be questioned, which is precisely what Hawkes is going to do.

Have a very tall dude trying to tilt his head like an owl at you, Huck. "What're you doin'?"

[callinallfreaks]

Huck didn't notice the giant guy coming up to her, which is why she topples over in a rather undignified heap when he speaks. Hey, it takes a lot of concentration to do a proper handstand for any length of time when one is a gangly teenager.

She makes a frustrated noise when she falls over, and then mutters a few things that sound a bit like "owfuck fuckin' fuck" before sweeping her hair out of her face and looking up -- and up -- at Hawkes.

"Doin' handstands," she says. "Whatsit look like?"

[monitorthebirds]

"I got that," Hawkes responds, flatly. He switches tact without missing a beat and asks, "What're you doin' it for?"

Seems kinda silly to him, really. Why would you want to stand upside down like that? Unless it's some kind of weird training exercise, but she ain't exactly military or special ops or nothin'.

The problem with getting most of your proper societal behavior cues on a miltary base in space is that you kinda really don't get much of a crash course in... A lot of things.

[callinallfreaks]

Huck shrugs, looking vaguely amused at this guy who wouldn't get why you do handstands. "Dunno, I jus'...do 'em," she says. "Fer fun, y'know?"

Then she stands up and brushes herself off, picking up a few of the coins that fell out of her pocket while she was upside down. She jingles them around in her hands, counting them, before shoving them back into the pocket of her jeans. "What, y'ain't never seen handstands b'fore, 'r somethin'?"

Her general attitude might be that of a cocky teenager, right down to the way she's got her arms crossed in front of her and her head tilted to the side, but there's a genuine curiosity under her belligerence. She knows about wanderers; she's wondering if this guy might be one, because he's asking those questions like a kid might rather than someone who just wants her to stop wandering around upside down on the end of Navy Pier.

[diatomic_life]

While tossing groceries into the saddlebags on her motorcycle, Kat notices Katja struggling with her groceries. Kat happens to think that cooking's pretty awesome. She's good at it, when her power doesn't get in the way and accidentally fucks up the reaction she was aiming for. Physical chemistry's not nearly as awesome, but well, it's still chemistry, and chemistry is awesome.

Right. There's a woman struggling with groceries. Kat finishes putting hers away and opens up her bag, pulling out two bungee cords, walking over to her, holding them up.

"It's definitely hard to go grocery shopping just for the amount you planned on getting, huh?" she asks, offering the bungee cords to Katja. "The other day I just went in for a loaf of bread and came back with over fifty dollars in groceries. Now, mind you, it was a fantastic lasagna, so I'm not complaining, but when you're on a bike, it's gotta be murder. ...or you could be getting just what you planned on, and you don't have the transportation to support it. Maybe."

[pressthatbutton]

Katja looks up at Kat as she approaches, and sure, her eyes flick over the woman's face and all that, but they quickly zero in on the bungee cords. "Aha!" she exclaims, as though she'd found them herself and not had them handed to her by a random stranger. A random stranger on a motorcycle, which is pretty sweet. From a distance; Katja's not too keen on the things themselves, much prefers her boring old pedal bike, though she did fancy owning one a bit ago. But that was when she had no steady income and a life of being poor has taught her a thing or two about spending extra money in a place she can just as well bike around in

[diatomic_life]

"Oh, I know how awful it can be when you're hungry but you walk into a grocery store and then everything's extra delicious looking, but you've got an experiment set up and you're wondering what you can actually find the time to cook rather than what you want to cook, and then you're wondering if it's really a good idea to cook in your lab at all, considering what's in there," Kat rattles off at the speed of light, gesticulating wildly while she talks. It's a good thing that Katja already took the bungee cords or else they'd be flying around with her hands which would mean that someone would get hit in the face. And she doesn't really want to hit Katja in the face. It's a very nice face, and it should stay that way. "Sometimes, I wonder if they put something in the air in grocery stores that makes you lose the ability to properly make decisions." Which is actually a brilliant idea, now that she thinks about it. She gives Katja an odd look at the idea of baking nasty things into pancakes. Something's definitely off about this one. Maybe

[pressthatbutton]

"Exactly," Katja agrees, giving the groceries the evil eye. Damn things made her buy them, and okay, maybe there's a little bit of hunger gnawing at her stomach, but enough to make her buy all of this. Surely! Surely there is some nefarious plan in place at this Trader Joe's. "Even if what you're cooking in the lab is supposed to ultimately be edible, usually not by yourself, you know. It's not fun if you eat your own experiments; the looks on the faces of the other people when they realize you've just fed them what is, essentially, excellently-prepared dog food are always priceless. Or when they realize their tracheae are closing up, but then it's mostly just the fact that you can see the dawning realization on their face that maybe your salad wasn't as delicious as they thought. Or it was, and if they can help it, they will never eat another delicious salad with strange orange fruits in it again. And they probably won't, because they'll be dead

[crashiscoming]

Scout's been very quiet for some time. She hasn't really been anywhere--not the Conrad, not her new living place. She hasn't killed in a while, and it's getting to her head. She's mostly been wandering the city, spending nights where ever she can find shelter and following random people, resisting the urge to kill them.

She's doing that now as her gaze falls on Arlin and she moves to fall into step beside him, looking away to stare at the ground--and his feet--and watch each step he takes. She's not going to say anything, not yet; it wouldn't matter if she did, because he probably won't understand a word that passes her lips.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin glances down at her when she falls into step with him and makes an exasperated face. Well, he's not going to his flat now, and this is exactly what he needed to round off the day. Shitty hit, blood all over his shirt, and now some tiny girl falling into step with him as if she knows him. He'd thought that sort of thing would only happen once in his lifetime, really.

He walks on in silence, though does change his course a bit so he's not aiming toward the neighborhood he lives in 50% of the time. But the girl isn't going away; somehow he's not surprised. So eventually, he stops, staring down at her. "What?" he asks, not particularly nicely.

[crashiscoming]

Scout stops as he does, and continues staring at his feet, like they will give her all the answers she will ever need. "What what?" she demands back. "What what slut tut?"

She has a tendency to just say words. She's actually quiet for a brief minute, before glancing up through her messy bangs to glare at Arlin. "What?" she growls again.

[kineticmachine]

And this one is even more batshit insane than the rest of them combined. It's funny that the thing that makes Arlin wonder how this became his life isn't the monsters falling out of Rifts or the talking animals or the people with wings but the crazy girls that follow him around.

"Do you just imitate whatever words people say to you?" he asks, lip curling a bit. Because if so, he's not even going to bother with this whole situation. Or at least, that's what he thinks.

[designed2kill]

Luka is wandering around downtown, as is her usual habit in the afternoons. She's been keeping an eye out for Arlin recently--she's been wanting to ask him a question ever since her conversation with Rachel. (While it's true that she saw him previously while he was giving out the assassination assignments and while they were taking out the CLF nest, she was aware that those weren't the right times. Those times were for work, not asking idle questions.) So when she spots Arlin she moves quickly to catch up with him.

"Hello, Aaron," she says. "Can I ask you a question?"

[kineticmachine]

Arlin glances down when she catches up to him, giving her a brief quirk of the lips and a nod as greeting. He's not entirely surprised she has something to ask him, either.

Besides, while he's not pleased with the fact that she's shown up right now, she's not someone he feels the need to keep away from his personal flat and therefore he can get out of this shirt (and maybe fix up the aborted stab wound the teme inflicted on him). And he can talk to her about the things he was somewhat avoiding talking to her about.

"Certainly," he says. "What is it?"

[designed2kill]

"Is punishment right or wrong?" Luka gets right to the point. "Rachel said I should ask you about it."

[kineticmachine]

Rachel. Of course. She couldn't leave well enough alone, could she? Not that Arlin knows that Luka's the one going up to her, but whatever. He doesn't like anyone who yells at him about things she doesn't understand the whole of, whether or not he's willing to tell her the whole.

He sighs. "The answer to that question is entirely subjective, and based upon circumstances," he says. "Though I suspect that is not an answer that would please Rachel, were she to hear it."