This Clay Earth: Prospectors' Savior

Funka Genocide · 03-02-2005, 11:13 PM

Wind.

It was that strange hot wind that blows through your window as you head down Boulder Highway. Your so hot all you can think about is ice cubes, whatever concerns you might have at the moment: business deals, legal proceedings, rent money, drugs, children, nuclear war. Nothing, all your concerns were replaced by that stinging desire for something liquid and cool, just ice. It becomes like a mantra as you hit the exit, and despite your discomfort, you are somehow free for those few minutes on the freeway. Thats the magic of Las Vegas, so many dire pitfalls around every shining corner, but you're still free.

The American Dream.

.................................................. ...................................

The afternoon sun glazed the top of his bald head, another Joe Nobody (Greg Richards) walking down the gaudy street known forever the world over as "The Strip". He stops in front of an old plastic newspaper dispenser, he fumbles through his coat for some change.

Its odd to be wearing a coat when its 110 degrees outside, odder still that the bald man seems perfectly comfortable, a few modest sweat beeds on his forehead, nothing so extravagant as puddle arms. Its actually quite miraculous...

quite.

He retrieves his prize from the dusty dead air within the box, a freshly printed Las Vegas Times. He thumbs through it casually, detached, the way a man who had no interest in news might, who only wanted the newspaper as a convenient excuse to stop and loiter about.

Although no one would notice in any case. Old habits die hard.

Another man, the second player in this farce. He wears a wide brimmed ten gallon hat, and boots that might as well say "shit kicker" in neon letters along the side. An unlit Marlboro hangs placidly from his mouth, he coughs once to get the bald mans attention.

The accent is thick, and utterly predictable.

"Excuse me sah, but would ya happen to have a light?"
.................................................. ...........................

Across the street, in front of a giant representation of a Coke Bottle, a scrawny looking kid in torn jeans (Daniel Savage) stares upwards. The sun reflects at odd angles from his disheveled black hair as the Vegas wind tussles it about. He looks concerned, or perhaps the sting of staring at the sun was getting to him.

Even though it wasn't the sun he was staring at.

Wings, an irredescent blue, like what he thought an ocean might look like.

"Big fuckin' bird" he said to himself, then headed back inside the arcade.

The God Bird flew on...

.................................................. ................

a few blocks down the street...

"Janet! Janet! hold up!"

He was running down the escalator towards the main lobby, his tie flung over his shoulder inadvertently.

She stopped and turned to face him, a look of slight annoyance on her face.

"You forgot your keys, I ran all the way from the board room, you're a fast walker you know that?" He had a smile on his face, the smile of a child who expects to be rewarded for being a good boy. It was odd to see that expression on a 30 year old man in a business suit, comical.

She extended her hand and took the keys from him. "Thanks Jack, I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't attached." an old cliche, those typically conveyed a sense of connection, didn't they? Who knew anyways?

She hurried out the door, towards the street where her car wasn't parked.

She hadn't drove her car today.

a question popped into her mind: I wonder who's keys these are?

simple enough question, the answer though...

.................................................. ...

He could see the well dressed man standing in the same spot she'd left him for almost a whole minute. He had become so fascinated by the spectacle of a broken heart he'd left the slot machine dormant. He'd already made enough today anyways, the tragedy playing itself out in front of him was far more entertaining anyways.

He sat up, his cup of quarters jingling with his every move. "Find the treasures of Egypt!" scrawled in overly loud lettering around the plastic change container. He walked to where the man was standing and placed his hand on the strangers shoulder.

"Better luck next time man" he said with a genuine smile. The man looked like he'd just been awoken from a dream, he coughed once and looked at the man with his hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess you're right" he couldn't explain the reaction, but Jack felt a little better.

Jack went back up the escalator to wherever casino managers went. Nick Granger exited through a set of automatic glass doors. He set the cup of change, about 300 dollars in quarters he estimated, on a bus stop bench. He walked on down the street, a homeless man got sloshed later on that day.

.................................................. ...........................

At a Denny's, a few blocks from the news stand.

It was early afternoon still, and despite all odds, there were only two patrons (Job Jameson, Zack Trillian, both sitting at different tables, most likley not even aware of eachother) in the restaurant. Two young men, both had the look of college freshmen, that slightly cynical, though uncontrollably optimistic ennui that surrounds men getting used to the concept of manhood. Only two, how strange.

and unfortunate for the waiting staff, college kids didn't typically tip well.

.................................................. ..................................

The artificial wind of an open window on the freeway had died down, that pergatory awaiting all travelers at the end of their flight, a stop light, held the man in its grip. The bizzarely dressed man checked a watch that no longer ticked. He made an appreciative sound, and then he wasn't there anymore.

...............................

Ok everyone, heres the scene, everyone is within a few blocks of everyone else, and SS's character is starting a conversation with a man in a cowboy hat who he doesn't know. Vergil just teleported out of his car for some reason or another (I'm going to PM Dante with more information which shall be revealed later on)

Something about to happen, something kind of big, but for now lets go with the conversation between Greg and the cowboy, as well as a few internal monologues from everyone else if they feel like it.

Use the sign up thread for discussion.

Darth SS · 03-02-2005, 11:46 PM

Greg patted his pockets, and muttered under his breath.

"Seriously, it's like people never check at a friend's house when their children go missing..."

Greg got through his jacket, having found nothing. He then checked his pants, and handily produced a zippo with a little badge on it. Hooray for broken dreams.

"Here ya' go."

Funka Genocide · 03-03-2005, 12:08 AM

The cowboy lit his ciggarrette and took a long drag. The smoke curled arund his head as he exhaled slowly through his nostrils. The fire of the lighter reflected eerily off his glassy eyes. Up close the cowboy was larger than he appeared to be from a distance. There was a strange odor in the air, smokey, though not quite the flavor of ciggarette smoke.

"thank ya sah, I appreciate the consideration" he smiled a wide smile, his teeth were the dingy yellow of a nicotine addict. "ya wouldn't happen ta know what time it is, would ya?" he asked as he gestured to his wrist in the universal sign for watch. Or impatient ass hole, though not in this context.

Bob The Mercenary · 03-03-2005, 02:26 AM

The waitress tripped over her words. "Excuse me? What was your order?"

"Pancakes with bacon." Zack repeated his order. The waitress didn't bother to write it down.

"And to drink?"

"Hot chocolate."

"Should be out in a few minutes."

"Thank you."

His friends from his hometown were used to his unusual habit of ordering breakfast in the early afternoon, so he found the waitress' uneasiness strange.

He also found the relatively vacant nature of the restaurant strange. He figured everyone must be out gambling their life savings away. Good for them.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the rather professional-looking fake I.D. he had purchased from a street vendor. He fiddled with it for a while, focused on the shine the foil logo gave off as the sun hit it. He had no doubt that it wouldn't work in an attempt to get into a casino. He looked way too young for his age already.

He put the I.D. back in his pocket, then looked up. He once again focused his attention on the other customer sitting across the diner. Zack had been momentarily peaking at him then away, then back for the entire duration of his stay. He was always uneasy around people and always thought they had a reason to stare at him, so he played along with the game, thinking the only way to stop a stare is to stare it down.

The other guy never stared back.

He figured the guy was just another harmless customer here to get a meal and settled down in his booth.

"Sorry for the wait. Your meal is ready." The waitress returned with a forced smile. She set the plates down and walked away. Zack immediately dug into the tower of syrup packets and ripped them open one by one, practically drowning the circles of hardened batter in his dish. A passerby would've thought he was eating cereal.

"They never give me enough." He sighed and dug in.

Dante · 03-03-2005, 06:26 AM

...and wait.

A small group of people was carousing in the streets, made up mostly of young, skimpily dressed women orbiting two well-dressed men, who were red in the face with the alcohol which their winnings had won them.

One of the men leered drunkenly at a young blonde hanging off his arm, and in a remarkable display of thespianism, she smiled back and cooed as he stuffed a twenty dollar bill down the front of her blouse, resisting the desire to knee him in the groin and make off with his bulging wallet.

Money, in enough quantities, made everything palatable. And after all, a girl had to make a living... in any way she could.

The entourage passed in front of a shadowed alley, the bright lights illuminating them turning it into a strange reverse eclipse - the light swallowing the darkness.

And as they passed, the darkness returned... to frame a blue-clad figure.

Vergil stepped out of the alley, walking evenly, purposefully, through these streets where the masses milled around in uncertainty until the greatest certainty of them all claimed them. Oh, they had lives, of course. Families to raise, parents to support, dreams to fulfill... in many ways, the city was a book, and the people, its stories. Or you could say it was a tapestry, the lines of many lives coming together to form an ever-changing picture. No doubt philosophers had more analogies.

To Vergil this was all perfectly meaningless.

He glanced at his watch. Time. Where had it gone? Thirty long years, searching for Dante... no, not thirty years. Less. There had been sleep. There had been survival. He remembered.

He remembered a face, a coat, a bald head. An accent, a huge hat, and a uselessman's excuse for clothing. Rows of figures, images and faces. Around them, lights glowing in the darkness, huge icons, people clad in strange outfits that made him look plain, filling the buildings which were like shrines to the neon gods above them. He remembered a name.

Las Vegas.

He remembered this from the vision which the Cherokee shaman had given him in the form of a ball of peyote and a lie-down on a stinking couch as the old man had fed his baby grand-daughter milk.

Find them, young man. That is all I can tell you.

And as the images swam into focus, he suddenly found that he was there, watching them. The thick accent curled off from under the hat, following the trail of smoke. Behind them, he could see the same rows of figures and images he had seen in the vision - here and now, he recognized them as magazines on the racks at a newsstand.

For one of the few times in his life, Vergil was unsure. He had a place, which was here, and a time, which was now.

Beyond that, he had nothing.

So Vergil did the only thing he could do - watch...

My Lead Airbag · 03-03-2005, 11:08 AM

Job thought nothing of the man sitting across the room. He didn't have any reason, and besides, there were much bigger things in life than random starers. For example, the perfect cheeseburger, and how far away from it this Denny...thing. Job had always regretted going to New York City. He hated the city, hated the unneeded hustle, the teeming masses of crowds that were more and more pissed.

But that Stage Deli burger...it was a glorious beacon, and every time he had another piece of beef with cheese on top his mind wandered. So what if he guy across the way was currently eating syrup with waffle bits? Jobwas trying to reclaim that one bit of burger ectasy.

After sadly scarfing down the burger, Job set about munching on the accompanying fries, wondering if the waitress's tip should be deduced because her employers couldn't acheive perfection.

Cloud Strife · 03-03-2005, 12:47 PM

Nick enjoyed doing that, leaving some of his winnings for the day in random places. Felt pretty good, even if it was usually picked up by a homeless man lookin' to get drunk. Besides, Nick had more than enough money to live off of, anyway. Pulling out his car keys, he pressed the unlock button on his romote, and the bright red Ferarri flashed its lights twice, signaling that the alarm was now disabled. He got in, turned the key, and drove off towards his home in the suburbs, not having a second thought about the hopeless man he had seen in the casino lobby.

Archbio · 03-03-2005, 03:43 PM

There was no point in going back inside to search for the keys' former owner. If they had belonged to someone who had assisted any of today's two meetings in the board room, they wouldn't be missed long, Janet Weir figured, and they were safe with her now. Why did she have them now quickly imposed itself as a much more important question, and really the only way she could make sense of that first question.

Who had these keys belonged to? Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe that wasn't the point. What were these the keys of?

Weir stopped walking at once, and looked down into her hand, at the keys, the metal reflecting a different shine than her palm's moisture. Then, she looked along the street, trying to find a match for they keys. Even though the matter of the keys hadn't stopped her from starting on her way home, she hadn't went too far, and any of these cars could belong to these keys. Or rather, she corrected herself, any of the cars in this city. There was no point in looking too hard, and maybe the keys had come to her only to be collected; for no immediate use.

It wouldn't be the first time.

VA_Ninja · 03-03-2005, 04:36 PM

"This machine's fucking busted!"

Daniel watched with increasing amusement as his opponent gave serveral heavy kicks to the Street Fighter machine. He flicked his hair back, the young man swearing up a storm.

"Sure, it was the machine. Doesn't matter though, pay up," Daniel said with a smug grin and his hand out to accept the token of his ill-earned victory.

"No way! Double or nothing! This time, we switch sides. Let's see how you like getting the shitty joystick."

.....................................

Patting at his new stack of ten $20 dollar bills tucked neatly away in his pocket, Daniel stepped back out unto the Vegas Strip. Money was everything in Vegas, and conning selfish fools out of their money proved to be a valuable revenue source. No, not conning in his mind, but rather "using his talents to relieve those with the burden of excess income. He liked ephamistic shit like that.

Looking to satiate his hunger, Daniel looked for anything to fill his stomach. A Denny's a few blocks down...no, got a bad case of the runs last time. Eventually he settled on a cart vender just outside the arcade. Munching away, we wondered why that man on the other side of the street wore that huge coat in this swealtering heat.

Darth SS · 03-03-2005, 10:32 PM

Greg checked his watch, then said, "7:11 ironically enough."

He slipped his lighter back into his pocket, and then pulled out a small notepad and ran through it one last time to ensure a court wouldn't come down on him.

Would it kill people to care about their children?

03-02-2005, 11:13 PM	#1
Funka Genocide Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Apr 2004 Location: Las Vegas Posts: 4,566	This Clay Earth: Prospectors' Savior Wind. It was that strange hot wind that blows through your window as you head down Boulder Highway. Your so hot all you can think about is ice cubes, whatever concerns you might have at the moment: business deals, legal proceedings, rent money, drugs, children, nuclear war. Nothing, all your concerns were replaced by that stinging desire for something liquid and cool, just ice. It becomes like a mantra as you hit the exit, and despite your discomfort, you are somehow free for those few minutes on the freeway. Thats the magic of Las Vegas, so many dire pitfalls around every shining corner, but you're still free. The American Dream. .................................................. ................................... The afternoon sun glazed the top of his bald head, another Joe Nobody (Greg Richards) walking down the gaudy street known forever the world over as "The Strip". He stops in front of an old plastic newspaper dispenser, he fumbles through his coat for some change. Its odd to be wearing a coat when its 110 degrees outside, odder still that the bald man seems perfectly comfortable, a few modest sweat beeds on his forehead, nothing so extravagant as puddle arms. Its actually quite miraculous... quite. He retrieves his prize from the dusty dead air within the box, a freshly printed Las Vegas Times. He thumbs through it casually, detached, the way a man who had no interest in news might, who only wanted the newspaper as a convenient excuse to stop and loiter about. Although no one would notice in any case. Old habits die hard. Another man, the second player in this farce. He wears a wide brimmed ten gallon hat, and boots that might as well say "shit kicker" in neon letters along the side. An unlit Marlboro hangs placidly from his mouth, he coughs once to get the bald mans attention. The accent is thick, and utterly predictable. "Excuse me sah, but would ya happen to have a light?" .................................................. ........................... Across the street, in front of a giant representation of a Coke Bottle, a scrawny looking kid in torn jeans (Daniel Savage) stares upwards. The sun reflects at odd angles from his disheveled black hair as the Vegas wind tussles it about. He looks concerned, or perhaps the sting of staring at the sun was getting to him. Even though it wasn't the sun he was staring at. Wings, an irredescent blue, like what he thought an ocean might look like. "Big fuckin' bird" he said to himself, then headed back inside the arcade. The God Bird flew on... .................................................. ................ a few blocks down the street... "Janet! Janet! hold up!" He was running down the escalator towards the main lobby, his tie flung over his shoulder inadvertently. She stopped and turned to face him, a look of slight annoyance on her face. "You forgot your keys, I ran all the way from the board room, you're a fast walker you know that?" He had a smile on his face, the smile of a child who expects to be rewarded for being a good boy. It was odd to see that expression on a 30 year old man in a business suit, comical. She extended her hand and took the keys from him. "Thanks Jack, I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't attached." an old cliche, those typically conveyed a sense of connection, didn't they? Who knew anyways? She hurried out the door, towards the street where her car wasn't parked. She hadn't drove her car today. a question popped into her mind: I wonder who's keys these are? simple enough question, the answer though... .................................................. ... He could see the well dressed man standing in the same spot she'd left him for almost a whole minute. He had become so fascinated by the spectacle of a broken heart he'd left the slot machine dormant. He'd already made enough today anyways, the tragedy playing itself out in front of him was far more entertaining anyways. He sat up, his cup of quarters jingling with his every move. "Find the treasures of Egypt!" scrawled in overly loud lettering around the plastic change container. He walked to where the man was standing and placed his hand on the strangers shoulder. "Better luck next time man" he said with a genuine smile. The man looked like he'd just been awoken from a dream, he coughed once and looked at the man with his hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I guess you're right" he couldn't explain the reaction, but Jack felt a little better. Jack went back up the escalator to wherever casino managers went. Nick Granger exited through a set of automatic glass doors. He set the cup of change, about 300 dollars in quarters he estimated, on a bus stop bench. He walked on down the street, a homeless man got sloshed later on that day. .................................................. ........................... At a Denny's, a few blocks from the news stand. It was early afternoon still, and despite all odds, there were only two patrons (Job Jameson, Zack Trillian, both sitting at different tables, most likley not even aware of eachother) in the restaurant. Two young men, both had the look of college freshmen, that slightly cynical, though uncontrollably optimistic ennui that surrounds men getting used to the concept of manhood. Only two, how strange. and unfortunate for the waiting staff, college kids didn't typically tip well. .................................................. .................................. The artificial wind of an open window on the freeway had died down, that pergatory awaiting all travelers at the end of their flight, a stop light, held the man in its grip. The bizzarely dressed man checked a watch that no longer ticked. He made an appreciative sound, and then he wasn't there anymore. ............................... Ok everyone, heres the scene, everyone is within a few blocks of everyone else, and SS's character is starting a conversation with a man in a cowboy hat who he doesn't know. Vergil just teleported out of his car for some reason or another (I'm going to PM Dante with more information which shall be revealed later on) Something about to happen, something kind of big, but for now lets go with the conversation between Greg and the cowboy, as well as a few internal monologues from everyone else if they feel like it. Use the sign up thread for discussion.

03-03-2005, 02:26 AM	#4
Bob The Mercenary Bob Dole Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Bob Dole Posts: 5,606	The waitress tripped over her words. "Excuse me? What was your order?" "Pancakes with bacon." Zack repeated his order. The waitress didn't bother to write it down. "And to drink?" "Hot chocolate." "Should be out in a few minutes." "Thank you." His friends from his hometown were used to his unusual habit of ordering breakfast in the early afternoon, so he found the waitress' uneasiness strange. He also found the relatively vacant nature of the restaurant strange. He figured everyone must be out gambling their life savings away. Good for them. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the rather professional-looking fake I.D. he had purchased from a street vendor. He fiddled with it for a while, focused on the shine the foil logo gave off as the sun hit it. He had no doubt that it wouldn't work in an attempt to get into a casino. He looked way too young for his age already. He put the I.D. back in his pocket, then looked up. He once again focused his attention on the other customer sitting across the diner. Zack had been momentarily peaking at him then away, then back for the entire duration of his stay. He was always uneasy around people and always thought they had a reason to stare at him, so he played along with the game, thinking the only way to stop a stare is to stare it down. The other guy never stared back. He figured the guy was just another harmless customer here to get a meal and settled down in his booth. "Sorry for the wait. Your meal is ready." The waitress returned with a forced smile. She set the plates down and walked away. Zack immediately dug into the tower of syrup packets and ripped them open one by one, practically drowning the circles of hardened batter in his dish. A passerby would've thought he was eating cereal. "They never give me enough." He sighed and dug in. __________________ Bob Dole

03-03-2005, 06:26 AM	#5
Dante Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Crushing the weak beneath the iron jackboots of tyranny Posts: 7,703	...and wait. A small group of people was carousing in the streets, made up mostly of young, skimpily dressed women orbiting two well-dressed men, who were red in the face with the alcohol which their winnings had won them. One of the men leered drunkenly at a young blonde hanging off his arm, and in a remarkable display of thespianism, she smiled back and cooed as he stuffed a twenty dollar bill down the front of her blouse, resisting the desire to knee him in the groin and make off with his bulging wallet. Money, in enough quantities, made everything palatable. And after all, a girl had to make a living... in any way she could. The entourage passed in front of a shadowed alley, the bright lights illuminating them turning it into a strange reverse eclipse - the light swallowing the darkness. And as they passed, the darkness returned... to frame a blue-clad figure. Vergil stepped out of the alley, walking evenly, purposefully, through these streets where the masses milled around in uncertainty until the greatest certainty of them all claimed them. Oh, they had lives, of course. Families to raise, parents to support, dreams to fulfill... in many ways, the city was a book, and the people, its stories. Or you could say it was a tapestry, the lines of many lives coming together to form an ever-changing picture. No doubt philosophers had more analogies. To Vergil this was all perfectly meaningless. He glanced at his watch. Time. Where had it gone? Thirty long years, searching for Dante... no, not thirty years. Less. There had been sleep. There had been survival. He remembered. He remembered a face, a coat, a bald head. An accent, a huge hat, and a uselessman's excuse for clothing. Rows of figures, images and faces. Around them, lights glowing in the darkness, huge icons, people clad in strange outfits that made him look plain, filling the buildings which were like shrines to the neon gods above them. He remembered a name. Las Vegas. He remembered this from the vision which the Cherokee shaman had given him in the form of a ball of peyote and a lie-down on a stinking couch as the old man had fed his baby grand-daughter milk. Find them, young man. That is all I can tell you. And as the images swam into focus, he suddenly found that he was there, watching them. The thick accent curled off from under the hat, following the trail of smoke. Behind them, he could see the same rows of figures and images he had seen in the vision - here and now, he recognized them as magazines on the racks at a newsstand. For one of the few times in his life, Vergil was unsure. He had a place, which was here, and a time, which was now. Beyond that, he had nothing. So Vergil did the only thing he could do - watch... Last edited by Dante; 03-03-2005 at 06:38 AM.

03-03-2005, 11:08 AM	#6
My Lead Airbag Magikoopa Join Date: Aug 2004 Posts: 1,632	Job thought nothing of the man sitting across the room. He didn't have any reason, and besides, there were much bigger things in life than random starers. For example, the perfect cheeseburger, and how far away from it this Denny...thing. Job had always regretted going to New York City. He hated the city, hated the unneeded hustle, the teeming masses of crowds that were more and more pissed. But that Stage Deli burger...it was a glorious beacon, and every time he had another piece of beef with cheese on top his mind wandered. So what if he guy across the way was currently eating syrup with waffle bits? Jobwas trying to reclaim that one bit of burger ectasy. After sadly scarfing down the burger, Job set about munching on the accompanying fries, wondering if the waitress's tip should be deduced because her employers couldn't acheive perfection. __________________ Former Forum Names: BMHadoken, BiteTheWaxTadPole...krylo made me do it, really. RP Fight Lord RP Story Sage Retired.

03-03-2005, 12:47 PM	#7
Cloud Strife Stranger in a strange land. Join Date: Aug 2004 Location: Walla Walla, WA. Posts: 2,846	Nick enjoyed doing that, leaving some of his winnings for the day in random places. Felt pretty good, even if it was usually picked up by a homeless man lookin' to get drunk. Besides, Nick had more than enough money to live off of, anyway. Pulling out his car keys, he pressed the unlock button on his romote, and the bright red Ferarri flashed its lights twice, signaling that the alarm was now disabled. He got in, turned the key, and drove off towards his home in the suburbs, not having a second thought about the hopeless man he had seen in the casino lobby. __________________ You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.

03-03-2005, 12:08 AM	#3
Funka Genocide Sent to the cornfield Join Date: Apr 2004 Location: Las Vegas Posts: 4,566	The cowboy lit his ciggarrette and took a long drag. The smoke curled arund his head as he exhaled slowly through his nostrils. The fire of the lighter reflected eerily off his glassy eyes. Up close the cowboy was larger than he appeared to be from a distance. There was a strange odor in the air, smokey, though not quite the flavor of ciggarette smoke. "thank ya sah, I appreciate the consideration" he smiled a wide smile, his teeth were the dingy yellow of a nicotine addict. "ya wouldn't happen ta know what time it is, would ya?" he asked as he gestured to his wrist in the universal sign for watch. Or impatient ass hole, though not in this context.

03-03-2005, 03:43 PM	#8
Archbio Data is Turned On Join Date: Jun 2004 Posts: 3,980	There was no point in going back inside to search for the keys' former owner. If they had belonged to someone who had assisted any of today's two meetings in the board room, they wouldn't be missed long, Janet Weir figured, and they were safe with her now. Why did she have them now quickly imposed itself as a much more important question, and really the only way she could make sense of that first question. Who had these keys belonged to? Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe that wasn't the point. What were these the keys of? Weir stopped walking at once, and looked down into her hand, at the keys, the metal reflecting a different shine than her palm's moisture. Then, she looked along the street, trying to find a match for they keys. Even though the matter of the keys hadn't stopped her from starting on her way home, she hadn't went too far, and any of these cars could belong to these keys. Or rather, she corrected herself, any of the cars in this city. There was no point in looking too hard, and maybe the keys had come to her only to be collected; for no immediate use. It wouldn't be the first time. __________________ 6201 Reasons to Support Electoral Reform.

03-03-2005, 04:36 PM	#9
VA_Ninja :3 Join Date: Oct 2004 Posts: 395	"This machine's fucking busted!" Daniel watched with increasing amusement as his opponent gave serveral heavy kicks to the Street Fighter machine. He flicked his hair back, the young man swearing up a storm. "Sure, it was the machine. Doesn't matter though, pay up," Daniel said with a smug grin and his hand out to accept the token of his ill-earned victory. "No way! Double or nothing! This time, we switch sides. Let's see how you like getting the shitty joystick." ..................................... Patting at his new stack of ten $20 dollar bills tucked neatly away in his pocket, Daniel stepped back out unto the Vegas Strip. Money was everything in Vegas, and conning selfish fools out of their money proved to be a valuable revenue source. No, not conning in his mind, but rather "using his talents to relieve those with the burden of excess income. He liked ephamistic shit like that. Looking to satiate his hunger, Daniel looked for anything to fill his stomach. A Denny's a few blocks down...no, got a bad case of the runs last time. Eventually he settled on a cart vender just outside the arcade. Munching away, we wondered why that man on the other side of the street wore that huge coat in this swealtering heat. Last edited by VA_Ninja; 03-03-2005 at 11:00 PM.