[Another day, another dollar. Whoever is working the music has a sense of humor turning out the 80s hits. Love is a battlefield, the lady sings. It was never a big favorite of the old man but no one asks him. That's one of the many perks about the job is that there are few times when he is cornered for questions and none of them are about what he thinks. The last time he got up close and personal with an employer it didn't end well. Not at all.
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving
( ... )
[Vagabond and rambling man both sound better than criminal wanted in more than one state. Larry will take that in polite conversation any day of the week. Whatever it takes to stay safe and hidden. That's what has let him stay free for so long.
Then along came the City. There's no record of his past crimes or records, it's like a whole new start. All in all he has been relatively clean. The straight and narrow isn't his path of personal selection, but he takes the shortcuts that ensure his way of life remains the same. So far he's been able to keep the diamonds and Mr. Orange in his way. No easy feat, and certainly not one without its disruptions.
Knock on wood.]
The good times make it shorter, the bad times... [he shrugs because it goes without saying.]
Longer. [He fills in not because it's necessary but because it's what comes off the tip of his tongue first, anything else pushed back by another sip of water, then another. There isn't a record here for any of them, which is nice, though it wouldn't have been nearly the same for him even if they had; none of those papers had Arthur on them at least. Nothing here quite resembles any specific real waking locale or concept but it's quite the hodgepodge of influences. Again he's struck with the likelihood there have to be other lucid dreamers here, actively building, or who have. Someone made this place.
Would that be the way out? Logically? But what's logic here?
He lifts the bottle because it's still pretty cold and touches it to his forehead, which is not, using his other hand to fumble out his device and send Yusuf a distress signal - which is to say a hey, got a minute? equivalent before resting it on his knee.]
Being stuck here...must get to you if you're used to traveling.
[Not vagabond but road warrior? Or not. Either way, it
( ... )
[Boy does he have some stories. Stories about himself and this city and misery. Not all of it is from love. When do you get to see your mother after decades exactly as you remember her? Or what about falling off the wagon a few times? That's happened too.
He takes a sip to keep him from sighing. There are plenty of missteps and shitty memories here. He feels more than a little lucky that there are far more good ones to be found these days. Damn lucky.]
It does some days. Then again, I never gave settling down a real try you know? Challenge keeps a man sharp.
[Brown eyes are watching Arthur idly. Looks like he can keep with it a little longer.]
Think you can keep something down? I know that the bar has a few lunch menu pieces if you need it.
[Just being a good co-worker, Mr. Argyle. It's the White way.]
[Arthur can't help it; he smiles enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle deeply. Brother? Just a spin of phrase he's well aware, lingo, but he can't remember anyone using it on him even colloquially. The word 'challenge' gets as much of his attention but in a different way; he'd never looked at it that way before, the matter of being 'trapped' here. If this was the prototype program, training in environment building (it could have been - the test of finding one's way out, cheating the maze) then maybe, he would understand a bit more the lack of convention, the lack of rules applied in the way they hadn't known enough about to strictly play by.
He thinks about those movies where you wake up and everything was a dream.
Still. A challenge. Huh.] Hadn't thought of it that way.
[ It's more a mumble, thoughtful though it is as well
( ... )
I'm not anybody's Mary Sunshine but I try to keep a bigger, brighter picture in mind. If you don't got that then don't expect other people to do it for you, I figure. Though I dunno if you noticed in this City there are people willing to do some pretty desperate shit to make a stranger smile. Baked goods, parties...shit like that.
[Which could be because of age or magic girl canons. Things that Mr. White may never, ever understand.]
Gettin' there. Gotta make sure you won't fall down or nothing. Especially alone.
[The old man wags a finger as though it's actually something Arthur has a decision on.]
[That is something Arthur has noticed and maybe that out of everything confuses him the most - the niceness, a niceness which doesn't line up with the definitive motivation or reaction of projections in the dream at all which again points him back to the working theory (one of several) - they aren't projections. But what then, dreamers? Remotely? Or all hooked up in the same happy suspect basement? Who knows. It makes his already aching head pulse a bit more uncomfortably, like it's trying to push his skull into a new alignment.
White's words however elicit a half smile as if to say well to the bit about falling and then there's just a ginger nod of his head for the inquiry as he tucks his device away again. ]
Yeah. Shouldn't take long, [ he says and doesn't specify friend or driver or flatmate, but in fact all three are accurate in some sense - or past tense for the second maybe.
The pause is a cross between amused and something like resigned to the possibility as he adds, ] -unless he gets lost or something.
[Seeing as it's almost a break right here. Larry has no idea about the theory of this place being a dream. For some reason it really has not crossed his mind. His dreams are sometimes very real, but never in a way that they keep on rolling like this. It's too episodic. And the highs are too high. Happy dreams usually get to a ridiculous point before bursting. At least his do. Everyone is different.
In his head gunshot wounds make it all pretty fucking real.]
[Arthur shakes his head because no he doesn't mind, the most he's ever thought of objecting being kept to anywhere he might live (you can't get the smell out, and while he wouldn't mind about say, a couch, the suits are another matter.) This being none of that, he doesn't have the place to mind, much less a reason to, but he also declines the offer - polite though it is. ]
No - but thanks.
[ Maybe another day, but the scratched, dry threat of his throat already tells him better not and the swimming of his head throws in a second
( ... )
[Chesterfields don't have a filter. It's an old line, older with all of the new types coming on in now with their filters and flavors. The old man's brand is said have a more rich flavor. It should for what it costs.
He doesn't get why Arthur is crushing his bottle. Funny how they are watching one another, out of habit or because that's how you keep company with people you hardly know. Maybe both.]
First change I could. Took a car [with Mr. Orange] and we circled around the whole place looking for a freeway entrance. Then one of those times that we thought we got home, tried on out. Looked like a goddamn horror movie.
[ He nods, takes mental note, resting his hands on his knees with the water bottle flattened and set to his side. This dream does cater to both the absurd and upsetting, from what he's seen and heard though a lot of it is the latter. Six months is a long time and yet in the scope of things maybe not enough. Arthur still doesn't feel he has a good grip on it all at least - not an absence he's fond of either.
If it didn't seem redundant, he'd shake his head but he thinks he's been doing more shaking and nodding than anything else lately so he just says,] No highways I guess? What did you see - on the border?
[There's a slight expression of oh in recognition regarding Los Angeles. Right. He remembers that one - like the City had gone on some kind of epic genre kick and not the kind of kick he'd have been hoping for anyway. Zombies, he's remembering, and then the network transmission of the equivalent to a city being annihilated - just a dream he'd kept saying to himself.]
So would I. Then zombies.
[Have put money on it, he means and laughs.
The laugh is still light, thin in an effort not to rasp, but it's genuine, dry and wry as ever at the absurdity of the situation which he knew to be par for the course in the City but seeing it at hand was different, is a bit different each time in fact - traveling City and zombies or whatever else got thrown at them.]
[Just a dream...that's what they say in the movies when they want you to lie to yourself or someone is lying to you.]
Oh ho. So you saw it too?
[The mini Romero impersonation. Larry himself puts his arms out and quirks his head to one side. A smoldering cigarette disrupts what would be a zombified slack jaw. Oh well. Enough to get a point across.]
Dumb shit. Worth seeing for yourself though instead of always wondering if that was the chance to go...
What there was to see, sure. [ Arthur musters up something like a laugh for the impression - because the point does get across and White is perhaps easy to laugh around, or something. Logic is a bit fuzzy right now of course, like everything else. The next words are sobering in a way, or Arthur's mind is just trained to go sharp at things implying exits, or both.
Rubbing the back of his neck again, he tests his weight when he stands, resting a hand on whatever's close - back of a chair, table, whichever - and deeming it likely he won't keel over again, lets go, stands still, slips a hand into a pocket thoughtlessly. ]
Stupid not to at least check. [ He agrees - because pretty much everything is worth seeing for yourself, dream or not but especially a dream - the chance to go, the chance to wake up.
Too much happens in a dream, reality gets waylaid. The hand at his neck moves round front to smooth down over his mouth and jaw before dropping to his side. ]Not a lot of people seem to want to go back though - not as badly as I'd
( ... )
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving ( ... )
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Then along came the City. There's no record of his past crimes or records, it's like a whole new start. All in all he has been relatively clean. The straight and narrow isn't his path of personal selection, but he takes the shortcuts that ensure his way of life remains the same. So far he's been able to keep the diamonds and Mr. Orange in his way. No easy feat, and certainly not one without its disruptions.
Knock on wood.]
The good times make it shorter, the bad times... [he shrugs because it goes without saying.]
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Would that be the way out? Logically? But what's logic here?
He lifts the bottle because it's still pretty cold and touches it to his forehead, which is not, using his other hand to fumble out his device and send Yusuf a distress signal - which is to say a hey, got a minute? equivalent before resting it on his knee.]
Being stuck here...must get to you if you're used to traveling.
[Not vagabond but road warrior? Or not. Either way, it ( ... )
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[Boy does he have some stories. Stories about himself and this city and misery. Not all of it is from love. When do you get to see your mother after decades exactly as you remember her? Or what about falling off the wagon a few times? That's happened too.
He takes a sip to keep him from sighing. There are plenty of missteps and shitty memories here. He feels more than a little lucky that there are far more good ones to be found these days. Damn lucky.]
It does some days. Then again, I never gave settling down a real try you know? Challenge keeps a man sharp.
[Brown eyes are watching Arthur idly. Looks like he can keep with it a little longer.]
Think you can keep something down? I know that the bar has a few lunch menu pieces if you need it.
[Just being a good co-worker, Mr. Argyle. It's the White way.]
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He thinks about those movies where you wake up and everything was a dream.
Still. A challenge. Huh.] Hadn't thought of it that way.
[ It's more a mumble, thoughtful though it is as well ( ... )
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[Which could be because of age or magic girl canons. Things that Mr. White may never, ever understand.]
Gettin' there. Gotta make sure you won't fall down or nothing. Especially alone.
[The old man wags a finger as though it's actually something Arthur has a decision on.]
You call someone to get you?
[If not a cab. A roommate, a friend...]
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White's words however elicit a half smile as if to say well to the bit about falling and then there's just a ginger nod of his head for the inquiry as he tucks his device away again. ]
Yeah. Shouldn't take long, [ he says and doesn't specify friend or driver or flatmate, but in fact all three are accurate in some sense - or past tense for the second maybe.
The pause is a cross between amused and something like resigned to the possibility as he adds, ] -unless he gets lost or something.
[ He's not sure if ( ... )
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[Going or coming.]
Mind if I smoke?
[Seeing as it's almost a break right here. Larry has no idea about the theory of this place being a dream. For some reason it really has not crossed his mind. His dreams are sometimes very real, but never in a way that they keep on rolling like this. It's too episodic. And the highs are too high. Happy dreams usually get to a ridiculous point before bursting. At least his do. Everyone is different.
In his head gunshot wounds make it all pretty fucking real.]
You can have one if you want.
[As a courtesy.]
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No - but thanks.
[ Maybe another day, but the scratched, dry threat of his throat already tells him better not and the swimming of his head throws in a second ( ... )
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He doesn't get why Arthur is crushing his bottle. Funny how they are watching one another, out of habit or because that's how you keep company with people you hardly know. Maybe both.]
First change I could. Took a car [with Mr. Orange] and we circled around the whole place looking for a freeway entrance. Then one of those times that we thought we got home, tried on out. Looked like a goddamn horror movie.
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If it didn't seem redundant, he'd shake his head but he thinks he's been doing more shaking and nodding than anything else lately so he just says,] No highways I guess? What did you see - on the border?
Anything?
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[Larry shrugs before licking his lips. He then takes another drag.]
I mean with the surf not far off, I figured there'd have to be a bridge then, some land mass. Not so much.
[As for the other time. Heh. He scratches behind his ear.]
The other time the City was going places or something? It looked like Los Angeles outside. I would have put money on it.
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So would I. Then zombies.
[Have put money on it, he means and laughs.
The laugh is still light, thin in an effort not to rasp, but it's genuine, dry and wry as ever at the absurdity of the situation which he knew to be par for the course in the City but seeing it at hand was different, is a bit different each time in fact - traveling City and zombies or whatever else got thrown at them.]
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Oh ho. So you saw it too?
[The mini Romero impersonation. Larry himself puts his arms out and quirks his head to one side. A smoldering cigarette disrupts what would be a zombified slack jaw. Oh well. Enough to get a point across.]
Dumb shit. Worth seeing for yourself though instead of always wondering if that was the chance to go...
[Exhale in a sigh up into the air.]
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Rubbing the back of his neck again, he tests his weight when he stands, resting a hand on whatever's close - back of a chair, table, whichever - and deeming it likely he won't keel over again, lets go, stands still, slips a hand into a pocket thoughtlessly. ]
Stupid not to at least check. [ He agrees - because pretty much everything is worth seeing for yourself, dream or not but especially a dream - the chance to go, the chance to wake up.
Too much happens in a dream, reality gets waylaid. The hand at his neck moves round front to smooth down over his mouth and jaw before dropping to his side. ]Not a lot of people seem to want to go back though - not as badly as I'd ( ... )
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