Tangled Currents - Rocky, Stormy Waters subthread Options

[adamu]

Thursday, 21 November, 2075, 1609; The Skeleton, Redmond Fall City Road & 196th Avenue NE, Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex

The Skeleton was in Redmond.

But it was in Touristville.

But it was still in Redmond.

It was just a little north of the southern edge of Touristville.

Do neighborhoods have edges?

Sure. Could be where one municipal authority hands off infratructure maintenance to another. Could be where you cross a street and the property values go down. Could be that all the residents on one side of the street speak a different language from the others.

The southern edge of Touristville was all these things. Sort of.

It was where the municipal authority handed off infrastructure maintenance to...no one. It was where there were decent property values and then suddenly there weren't eny values at all, because all the titles had been lost in the first Crash. It was a street you crossed and speaking any dialect of English unbastardized by CitySpeak could get you dead.

But mostly the edge of Touristville was the limit of Knight-Errant's patrols. It was a limit invisible but well known to the denizens of both sides of the line.

The Skeleton was in Touristville. So it could conduct business, and people with cred would come there. But it was close enough to be a beacon of light to all manner of, well, people from south of that invisible edge.

And there in that intersection of civilized commerce and hopeless anarchy was where Rocky fit in these days. The place had money, and so it could pay him. Enough to live on the right side of the line. And Knight-Errant or not, the element to the south meant it would always need him. Or someone like him.

They were a nightclub. A hot one, with a long reputation as the place to see new acts. They employed a competent, professional security well versed in the handling of drunks with too much privilege and too little sense. But not many of that team could bring the presence Rocky could to a confrontation. And when booze or pride had robbed the troublemakers of their last senses of self-preservation, well, then Rocky had a lot more than his presence to call upon.

But now it was only four o'clock. Or so. Hours until the lasers and ear-splitting sound systems and throngs of eager young flesh and posing gangers from the nowhere to the south. Some days Rocky liked to come in early, while it was still peaceful, get his head right for the evening.

As if his head was ever right these days.

Most of the place was closed, getting cleaned, stages set up, booze and food shipments getting laid away. But the front bar was open. Mostly only the locals knew about it. It was a nice place to drink. Dim, clean, polished, stylish, plush. Expensive. Expensive enough to keep out the riff raff, at least until the music and drugs came along with the night.

Rocky walked in. Well enough before his shift that he could sit down. The waitress, her name was Trixie - maybe - brought him some soykaf. There were maybe a dozen people here. All human. The skeleton had a thing about metas. The thing was it didn't like them. A few got in. And of course a troll like Rocky had specific uses, so he was here. But he was the exception that proved the rule. Some salesmen from the car WeaponsWorld across the street. Joygirls chilling before their own shift started, blowing what little money their pimps had left them on an hour of feeling human. Daphne was there. He liked her. She always came in alone, never knew when. Sometimes every day, sometimes not for a month. But she always had a smile for everyone on the staff. Rocky had no idea what she did, but apparently she had money - she dressed very well, had the money to stay looking young even though he was pretty sure she wasn't, and she was a good tipper. Soon something would happen to her.

But for now she was just walking to the powder room, and on her way she slowed down and said, "Hey Rocky. How's tricks?"