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[callbacks]

[Remember that one Spectre randomly accosting people for interviews on fuck all? Looks like some teenage D-bag in shades actually saw fit to entertain her questions. Oh dear. The brief interview doesn't get nearly as much unreal air as li'l Miss Invidia of poisonous fame, but it's playing here and there today. The brief clip might not merit any attention at all, except...]

...local establishment you think more Invidians should know about?

[The kid lights up suddenly without actually smiling, rising up a little on the balls of his feet with his hands still jammed in his pockets.]

Shit, dawgs, you have no idea. You got yourselves a national--or, like--at least a municipal treasure sitting like a bereft and sack-clothed widow at the corner of Ignored and Abandoned. You assholes don't know what you're missing. It's a downright indignation, the lack of patronage enjoyed by this magnificently unironic piece of shit business modeling. Hold on to your asses because I'mma need you to get 'em parked pronto-mundo in the chairs at Mr. Dudeguy's BBQ and Foot Massage-While-You-Wait.

[He takes a breath, and it's at this point the interviewer really should have moved on, but it's too late. It's always already too late.]

Got a long-standing nation in my imagination
All staycationing in line at the bee-bee-queue,
Awaitin' pork and grilled onions while Granny get her bunions
Caressed lovingly in the hands of a master in toe-fu,
By which I mean podia-shiatsu-jutsu-fu,
Though you could probably order tofu, too, I mean, I ain't the boss of you
If that's the shit you want to order smoked and spice-rubbed for you.
Uh, anyway,
All I'm sayin' is it's the sweetest jerk-and-rub of a release
Your mortal soul can experience post-cease.

[...Did he just--]

You know, if that's how you feel about it. Anyway, yeah. Check it. Cat does a sweet kebab.

[In any case, business is now booming at BBQ and Foot Massage-While-U-Wait. Lines are out the door and around the block. A full street away, a hunched, furtive-looking blond is bargaining in desperate, hissed tones with a seller of hoodies.]

Please, no, I'm begging--no. I can't give you the sunglasses, I'm on a strictly no shades-trades platform. Can't you just--holy shit.

[Sensing someone looking at him, he stiffens and turns away further. He will ollie off this entire layer if he has to, Jesus.]

Comments

[crypddyd]

[Lion still can't watch the screens for long without his head hurting, but seeing someone OTHER than Esme is enough for him to stop to watch.

Then all that happens and he just squints at it]

...I have no idea what he just said... but he must be another Eidolon...

[He also has no idea that said person is nearby being accosted for his shades since he's kinda in Lion's blind spot. Oops]

[callbacks]

[Oh, shit.

...]

I dunno, idols are more of a pop thing, I'm pretty sure. Sounded more indie rap to me. Sick flow, right?

[mAYBE he won't recognize him despite having literally JUST SEEN HIM.]

[crypddyd]

...

[He blinks slowly, so confused]

No, Esme is the one that makes people sick. I think this was actually rather good?

[He legit understands 1/3 of the words he's saying]

[callbacks]

[!

Be still his... already still heart.]

Yeah! That's what I'm saying, those beats were--not illing. Very cool and awesome, is what I mean. Sweet.

What's the deal with Esme, though, I thought everyone around here thought she's the shit.

[crypddyd]

It certainly is pleasing to the ear. Very different from any singing I've heard before.

And...she doesn't have everyone under her control. Some of us are from... elsewhere, and still have our senses. Have you... hm.

[He's done this once with Phoenix, but it's still awkward]

Have you spoken to a girl named Rei?

[callbacks]

...No?

[um;;]

Are the TVs the main part of a cartoon supervillain mass hypnosis machine. Have I made the classic blunder of lowering the shield of ironic detachment for a passingly kinda attractive broad on a big screen.

[crypddyd]

Oh, no please, calm. How to explain... the people here, they seem rather flat, yes? Like they are more like unimportant characters in a story instead of real people?

Or actors in a play? That is because they are not fully aware. But there are some here that ARE aware. Like you and I.

[He pauses to make sure he's following before continuing]

[callbacks]

I mean... yeah. [He rubs the back of his head uncomfortably.] Figured that's just how it is and I'd fall back asleep eventually. Or not asleep-asleep, but... you know what I mean. Back to the whole not-thinking-about-it thing. I didn't think it was a big deal.

You're gonna tell me the size of the deal is slightly bigger than I was considering it to be.

[crypddyd]

It's... quite a bit bigger, yes.

[There's a flicker of pity on his face]

But if you wish I will walk away now. I don't know if you can return to sleep, but I would not blame you for trying.

[mementomoritz]

Here.

[Someone reaches past him, proffering... a pair of glasses?]

[Medic smiles winningly at the hoodie salesman. Salesspecter?]

You said you wanted glasses, right? [They're... basically nothing like Dave's glasses, a pair of clear lenses with thick rims of red plastic, and judging by the way she's squinting a little they're obviously prescription lenses. But hey, a trade's a trade. Maybe he'll take it?]

[callbacks]

[Medic, no. Medic, you need those--

But yoink, the salesspectre grabs them entirely without qualms for inspection. HMMM, let's see how that sweet, sweet envy plays out.

The awkwardly-hunching boy gives Medic a startled, incredulous look.]

...Hi?

[mementomoritz]

Hello!

[Medic, being Medic, takes this as obvious acceptance of the offered trade and picks up a hoodie from the table, holding it out to the sunglasses guy.]

Does this work, or did you need a bigger one? [Look, she's not gonna question it. Dude needs a hoodie, she can help him get a hoodie. This is not even remotely the weirdest thing she's just rolled with.]

[callbacks]

Girl, I can't just--don't you need those? Dude's gonna keep them, look at that asshole.

[The Spectre is, in fact, trying them on. He looks ridiculous.]

[mementomoritz]

[She flaps a hand dismissively, seemingly unworried at the whole situation.] Oh, I can always come back and figure something out later- you seem like you're in a hurry.

Besides, I'm only a little myopic- it's what, -3.00 diopters at most? I just need to avoid trying to operate any motor vehicles until I can get them back and I'll be fine!

[callbacks]

[Well. At this point, Dave's sort of autopiloted into holding the hoodie against himself. Looks like it'll fit. And the Spectre titters to himself and tells Medic "Sold!" as he squints himself through her prescription lenses.]

Uh... [Well, he isn't going to argue with words like "diopters" and negative numbers with decimal points.] All right... I'm not signing autographs or anything, though. Not unless you've already got a pen.

[On goes the hoodie, up goes the hood. No time even to take the tag off. His shit is SAFE.]

[mementomoritz]

I have at least seven pens on me at all times. [What if something scientifically interesting happens and she can't take notes on it? Unacceptable.]

But I don't think I need an autograph for anything? I'm just keeping an eye out for other Eidolons.

[callbacks]

[...]

You're scoping out idols?

[How many times can he get away with half-deliberately misinterpreting the same exact word in the same exact way...]

[schardynfreude]

[Oh, someone else has noticed alright. It's fine. Chiron will just caaaaasually lean against a wall here and not look directly at the. boy? Seems young in spite of himself.

Hard to tell sometimes, really.]

You have quite the mouth on you. Did they censor you in realtime, I wonder, or is there an editing room?

[callbacks]

Fuck.

[Despite the flat delivery of the word and the lack of visible expression, the boy jumps and half-turns to look at Chiron. He stares for a few seconds without a word, but, well. It's not a lack of words that's usually his problem.]

Don't think that shit's typically done live. The station strings together a bunch of clips to make like a feel-good local color montage to do their citizens proud, so heart-warmingly diverse in every dimension your ribs'll still feel the static tingles from the metaphorical fuzzy sweater by the eleven o'clock crier. So. Yeah. Left some percussive cussing on the cutting room floor there.

[As he mumbles on and on, he slowly takes the back of his T-shirt collar and pulls it up over his hair, like this too-little, too-late stab at masking his identity will help in any way.]

[schardynfreude]

This place doesn't always work as things did in the living world. Cut corners, fewer details, so there's really no te--what are you doing?

[honey put your collar back down you're going to be more conspicuous that way]

[callbacks]

Like you just said. Cut corners, fewer details. I'm like a ghost and it's like a sheet. It could work.

[schardynfreude]

[He opens his mouth to argue that people aren't that stupid, but then he looks around. These people aren't as dull and fast sleepwalking as those in Limbo, and yet they are still only Spectres.

...waitasecond]

You're aware of your situation. Oh! Well, then--yes, we ought to get you somewhere slightly safer in that case.

[callbacks]

...Who's we.

[YOU CAN'T GET HIM TO NO SECONDARY LOCATION. STREET SMARTS!]

[schardynfreude]

Myself and the others who are also aware. It's a much smaller number than you'd think.

[callbacks]

...Oh. I mean, if you're talking about the I See Dead People thing, I kinda thought the number'd be like .5 on average. You know, just based on casual observation.

[He glances back at the hoodie seller, who is absolutely oblivious to the finer points of their conversation.]

What do you mean, 'safer.' Didn't seem like you were concerned until I said the G-word.