Logfile from M3

San Angeles - Northern Residential

This is the Northern Residential area of San Angeles, it's majesty completely awe inspiring. Skyscrapers and stratascrapers tower above the ground, spiraling into the sky and nearly brushing the clouds themselves. Highways and roads run like spaghetti through the city limits, above the ground in multi-layers, bringingpeople wherever they need to go. Atop many of the largest skyscrapers are smallparks, where the residents can get a small taste of nature. This entire area is a beautiful example of modern technology in action, complete with birds and many animals such as deer and bunnies.

Contents: Contents:

Edward Hampton's Apartment <EHA> The Seraph's Roost <TSR>

San Angeles Memorial Stadium

North <N>: San Angeles - Northern Outskirts

South <S>: San Angeles - Business District

Southwest <SW>: San Angeles - Western Mall District

Southeast <SE>: San Angeles - Historical District

Domino arrives from the San Angeles - Western Mall District.

Domino has arrived.

San Angeles security force. Potentially the best in the world, residents sacrificing privacy for the freedom absent of violence of any sort. The little spy cameras were everywhere, and what wasn't everywhere was seen from above via the floating spy drones or what have you. Point being, it was pretty damn safe.

But not safe enough for one particular Agent. After having quite a few of the cameras in a particular section of the Northern Residential short out - constantly - the repair men had finally just decided to leave them for the morning, certain the problem lay in the wiring below ground. Which was half true. After all, it was raining.. and who wants to be out in the cold, cold rain?!

The Agent crouches a bit tighter under his little tar black canopy, water trickling down his dreadlocks, along that hard chin. Slithering along those reflective shades as they watch the streets below. Djinn of Nihilism indeed, but he had Attuned. That EYE quietly whirring in it's socket... watching. Waiting. Patient as a stone.

The Fool is simply here on -- a bit of business. He's got things to report, you see. Precious, valuable information, and he'd certainly like to deliver it personally.

Okay, so it was more like a surprise visit, but still...

Lacking umbrella -- rain? what rain? -- and pretty much any other accoutrements, Feste walks down a particular street in the Northern Residential area, casual as casual can be. So what if he's wet? That's what the jacket was for, anyway. Pft. Obviously these Californians have never been to London...

[OOC] Domino takes there's no big weapons? ;3

[OOC] Feste says, "Psh, not even. :D"

[OOC] Feste carries a custom .45 and nothin' else.

Contact. The Agent's attention suddenly shifts aside, towards the ground. Those reflective shades revealing the lack of an umbrella on an Unknown. His own black tarp would keep him safe from the spy drones that occasionally whirr overhead, as he waits on the roof - but it certainly wouldn't keep him from keeping his EYE on things. The quiet whirring increases, just a little, as Domino reaches up to adjust his shades. A glint of gold

Mmm. Heat signature reveals a single weapon, small pistol by the looks of it. A quick flip through the X-ray spectrum of light confirms. Domino pushes his shades back up, hiding that golden Eye once again. A faint frown on his features, but he makes no move - yet. Rather, he digs down beside him, pulling up a tiny monitor. And flipping through the tapped security cameras, to the hall.

"... I see you." He murmurs.

Okay, so maybe it is raining kinda hard. And maybe it is a bit of a walk. Maybe he *is* quite wet. Okay, yes. This was not a good idea. (at all.)

Silently cursing fate, rather than his own ineptitude, Feste continues on his merry way, UTTERLY OBLIVIOUS of anyone watching him. Why they be watching /him/? It's San Angeles. He's just some musician. Eesh. (okay, so maybe he's a little bit armed. but one most consider Feste's paranoia, and the times...)

Domino

"Yeah. I see you, baby.."

Domino. Known to his friends as... Domino. Yeah. He's not exactly the most sociable person in the world, but what does one expect? This particular 'Agent' is a rather tall guy, nearing six foot five, his features pointing to a heritage bound in Pacifica or in the caribbean. Dark brown skin, smooth and mostly hairless from heritage, pulls tight across a body designed for effeciency. Not the bulk of a weight lifter, but without the pot belly of your usual couch potatoe. Something akin to a runner, perhaps, his face lacking the strong definition of a person of african heritage - instead just a little rounder. A little more blank, which makes reading this taciturn all the more difficult. Deep brown hair usually kept in several dreadlocks, the length of which leaves them to fall just past his jawline. The hint of a personality, at least.

He is a cyborg, at least. This much is clear. His left arm is quite metallic in nature, with no pretense of synthskin to keep it from prying eyes. What that metal arm leads too, however, is generally kept neatly hidden underneath Domino's garb. Even part of his face seems cybernetic, a band of metal that replaces a strip of flesh from his left eye to his left ear. Both of which have been replaced themselves, though the left eye seems to be just a little more complex than standard cybernetic replacements call for. Wonder what thats all about? His clothing is simplish, earth tone dress pants and an untucked shirt, overshadowed by a long duster. For the pocket space, of course. And he is almost never found without his favorite visor shades, designed so that when he's wearing them - one would have to look hard to spot the cybernetic band in his face.

Paranoia? Paranoia's nothing to /effeciency/. And the Agent was, if nothing else, horribly, horribly efficient. Not to mention effective. He knew that the Director's highest chance of being hit again was while he was recovering in his own apartment. And both the Mavericks as well as Masters had shown their lack of respect for the No Violence law of San Angeles.

Not to mention, our dear Domino had his 'orders'.

A faint grunt from the Agent, even as he places the monitor near the edge of the building, still under the tarp. As he begins buckling something around his waist... just in case.

Oh, Feste fully intended to go see the Director. However, an assassination was -nowhere- in his plans. Not at all.

Feste pauses a moment, looking up towards the building that Abernathy lives in. Yeah, that's it alright. He idly brushes back soggy bangs from his face, and resumes his trek. Onward, towards..... wherever.

If only he knew. Then he might have a reason to be afraid, instead of the irrational fears he currently harbors.

Click. Clack. The soft zwirr sound of a repel rope being fed out into a stable mount, preparing for the worse. Preparation was the key, of course. Domino lifting up both pistols, one at a time, checking them. A quick lock and load. Make sure the chamber's clear. Run through the manual checkups, hands moving without really needing to think about it anymore. Just keeping an eye on the monitor..

As the Unknown heads to the elevator. Now, if he gets off on the Bad Floor, well... things have to happen. Sure, there's the risk that it might be a resident who actually LIVES on that floor, but! Domino'd been watching the building all day. He knew who lived on that floor, for the most part.

And Feste...does not live here.

Sure enough, the Fool heads for the elevator, blissfully unaware of Domino's presence. He's too busy figuring out how to put what he's got to say in such a way that they (they being Interpol) will appreciate it and pay him more. Yes. Because...that's the way of things.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Hello ... ... the gossip-about-everyone-else ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Indeed.

A pause. The Agent freezing, now, as he ducks back under the tarp. That left Ear of his catching the distant whum of the spy drone, loooong before it comes into sight. Bionic. The monitor's glow reflected in those shades as he watches the security camera, noting the button pressed.

Go time.

One last thing to put on, of course. The Agent strapping - removable metal cleats onto the bottom of his combat boots. Tiny sharp studs that wouldn't really impare his manuverability too terribly much. But certainly would make quick work of the window. Another adjustment to the shades, one last check to be CERTAIN the face wasn't familiar to this floor...

Before there's a flutter of duster. And nothing but the soft zinging sound of the line as it rubs across the edge of the roof.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Feste cannot help but note the time passing by. With each second that passes, Feste loses time. Time to listen, time to read, time to... not die? Whatever. Why does this stupid elevator always take so l-- oh. There it goes.

The doors open, and Feste steps out onto the appropriate floor. Reckoning time, perhaps? Alas, the Fool is still clueless.

Feste *has* been up here before, of course, just not... in the past few days.

Daryn arrives from the San Angeles - Western Mall District.

Daryn has arrived.

Whirr, thump. Whirr, thump. Whirr, thump.

The reflected world in those shades pauses, zooming in on a section of the wall - before it blurrs and whirrs upwards once again. Repeat a precisely three times, as the Agent repels right down the side of the building, that duster flaring out in the evening rain, little droplets of water sent sparkling to the ground. One last jump, now, Domino putting quite an EXTRA push to this one as he swings out and down. Bringing up the heels of his combat boots, now, a dark blot in a world of dark blots. This one just happens to be getting bigger, very quickly. And headed for the window.

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Snootchie bootchies, little nootchies!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Alpha transmits, "Snootchie Bootchie to you too, big nootchie!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Good eve."

[Radio: (F) Public] Big Bad Sword Man transmits, "So the mercenary has finally lost his mind."

[Radio: (F) Public] Ebony Fox transmits, "That didn't take long."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "He never had it in the first place."

[Radio: (F) Public] Big Bad Sword Man transmits, "Hrm...a point, Sir Gemini."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo cackles.

[Radio: (F) Public] Alpha transmits, "I think he's just having fun today."

Huh. That's an odd noise.

Feste pauses only momentarily to listen to it, dismissing it as simply the noise of an apartment complex full of living, breathing people. It's no biggie.

Undaunted, the Fool continues on his way. (dun dun dun! maybe melissa was right, and it is a serial murderer at the door! *gasp*) Of course, Feste's still walking down the hallway at this point. Not quite there yet, nope.

Target located.

The Agent grimaces just a bit as the window quite quickly zooms towards him. Bracing for the impact, on the offchance the window DOESN'T break. After all, thats... painful. Probably could break a leg on top of it. Thankfully enough, or unfortunatly enough, the removable cleats do their job.

A loud, rather resounding CRASH as a dark shape drops straight through the window. The whirr of a zip line being cut loose, the blotted fiend only stumbling for a moment before he's running right for the Fool!

"DOWN!" Comes the single, barked order.

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "I have fun every day, my dear."

Down? What's that supposed to mean?

Feste pauses, confused. Down? Wha? It's not long before he actually sees Domino, and... obeys, promptly too. omfh! What's going on? ack!

[OOC] Daryn says, "<Domino> You've been deemed too bishounen to be near Abernathy! You are to be imprisoned for your own safety!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Alpha transmits, "Well that's great to hear! I'm having a pretty good day myself, I made sandwiches and salad, and...salsa."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Salsa? ¡Olé!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Frickin' nuts is what you are."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Are those anything like peanuts?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man pauses before answering. "Yes. Yes they are."

[Radio: (F) Public] Alpha transmits, "Yep! and chips of course! Let me know if you want me to save anything."

The Agent follows protocol. Perfect protocol, in fact. A faint 'clack' as a Scorpion pistol is drawn from it's holster in that duster, Domino's other hand - the cold, hard metal one - immidiatly snapping down to grip the back of Feste's skull. And push his forehead a bit harder to the ground. The barrel of that pistol placed up against the back of Feste's neck.

So, precisely WHAT protocol is Domino following, again? Lets just put it like this; It ain't Interpol's.

Wait. Shouldn't the San Angeles security be here by now?! No whirring of the security force. No little spy drones moving in for the zap. Nothing. It's just Domino and Feste, now. "Hello." Somber. Utterly, totally, and completely somber. As if the two were having a conversation about the weather while waiting for the bus. "Come here often?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "If there are any left over, I would gladly accept them."

[Radio: (F) Public] Alpha transmits, "Okay!"

Oh, but Feste knows -that- sounds. The Fool tenses up when he feels that cold metal on his skin -- but then, who wouldn't?

"Good eve," he responds, equally courteous and calm, despite the obvious stress he's under now. Come here often, eh? ...great. Who could this be? That-- brother of his? Who?

"Occasionally, when invited or I feel I merit a face-to-face conversation," he continues. "And yourself? You accost visitors as a hobby, or are you a professional?"

"Hobby. Never could get into ships in a bottle." comes the equally calm and quiet answer. The Agent glancing over his shoulder, that left EYE of his whirring quietly in it's socket. No other heat signatures. Whoever it was came alone. The hand disappears from the back of the Fool's skull, but the gun is only inched away.

"Up. Turn. Walk. In that order." Conversation!

[OOC] Domino can see himself explaining this later. "What were you doing?!" "Apprehending an unknown figure sneaking into the complex." "He used the elevator." "Very sneaky, sir. No one would have suspected it."

[OOC] Domino says, "And just what were you doing watching my complex?!" "I wasn't watching it. Just coincidence." "You rappelled down the side." "Just passing through is all.""

[OOC] Feste says, "But you broke my window!"

[OOC] Domino says, "It didn't open in time."

[OOC] Domino says, ""The window doesn't open." "Thus the problem."”

[OOC] Domino says, "You tackled him!" "I slipped. Cleats are hard to stop on, on a hard floor." "You had a gun!!" "I was searching for my keys. That came out first.""

[OOC] Feste says, "Then what were you going to do with the keys?!"

[OOC] Domino says, "Making sure they didn't fit any of the doors. Never can be too safe, sir."

"Oh. Lovely, sir," Feste replies. Charmed, we're sure. Especially at gunpoint.

As the pressure is relieved (somewhat) Feste gets to his feet -- slowly, with hands outspread. See? No weapon, I'm harmless... Of course, there's nothing else he can do. There is a gun being pointed at his head, after all.

"Such a damn shame it had to rain today, yes?" Feste adds. Oh yes. Because he's -wet-. Blargh.

Daryn is a night owl. He has always been a night owl. It is easier to be a night owl when you are a mercenary, a rocker, or even just a lunatic. It's just plain easier. He has heard the shattering of some very sexy glass, and thanks to having actually been in Abernathy's apartment when he was trying to drop off some missile silos, he managed to more or less guess that it may have been his apartment. A distant thrum of an engine roaring is heard, and as Daryn and his HoverVespa come into sight of the apartment, it appears that it indeed is Abernathy's apartment that has been broken into. Or at least his hallway. Close enough for Daryn! And that can only mean one thing. Someone is trying to assasinate him! Daryn isn't known for his cause-and-effect thinking.

The roar steadily grows lourder. ThruuuuUUUMMM! Daryn's hoverbike jolts upward into the air, hovering far higher than is probably safe for control purposes, and then he smashes his fist into a button.

Music begins to play, loudly, from the Vespa's speakers. Pure hard rock. Someone sings, "DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T WANNA LIVE IN THIS TOWN! DON'T TRUST YOU! DON'T TRUST ANYONE AROUND! CAN'T STAND YOU, AIN'T GONNA STICK AROUND, I WASN'T BORN FOR LOVING I WAS BORN TO RAISE HELL! (I Wasn't Born For Loving, I was born to raise hell!)"~o

"No! Damnit! No!!", Daryn smashes another button, and the hoverbike's backthrusters ignite and send the method of transportation right through the window, destroying any remaining bits of glass still attached to the pane. He pushes off of the bike as it tears through the hallway and backflips onto his feet, the hoverbike crashes to the side and careens into a wall that isn't occupied by Feste or Domino. Daryn reaches for his mighty weapon (his electric guitar) and says, "Let go of the Director, Bitch!!", and then he blinks, because it's a man, not a dog reploid, holding the gun to someone's head, and it isn't the Director, "Er... I mean...", Daryn stammers a bit, glances around as the music from his hoverbike blares, "Unhand that lady, sir!"

"Quite." Comes the pleasant enough answer from the tantric Agent of the Hour. A single hand dipping into Feste's jacket - considering that there's no resistance given - and pulling out that pistol. As if Domino knew PRECISELY where to look to find it. A single glance is given towards the weapon, before his thumb flips the safety on. And drops the piece into his big pockets. The other hand still holding the pistol, but keeping it within a space of five to eight inches of the Fool's head. Too close to be kicked away, too far to be properly knocked away. Giving himself enough reaction time. Professional. "Got a name?" A pause "... and a purp-"

But before the Agent can quite fully begin his interrogation - he winces. That left ear of his going nuts with the sudden blast of noise, the cybernetics kicking in to quickly heighten the tolerance before he goes deaf. The Agent slowly turns his head towards the window - to watch a vespa float in midair. With a heavy metal guy attached. Crash, bam, BOOM! Window explodes inward, Vespa goes roaring and bouncing past Agent and Fool to crash into a far wall. Smoke and tiny pebbles bouncing off the Agent. Who hasn't.. moved. Hasn't even shifted facial expressions.

"Hi." He pauses. Duster flares. Out comes what appears, for all intensive purposes, to be a GRENADE! Very old fashioned. There's even some yellow label thats been ripped off of it. Bite, pull, drop, kick. And now? Aside to Feste:

"Run. Elevator."

Oh, fun. Now he's unarmed. Feste idly bites at his lip, pondering what the hell he's supposed to do now. Greeeat. "Oh, yes, of course," he replies, giving no other answer--

--except an emphatic "gud i himmel!" as Daryn blazes in on his Vespa, music blaring. OW THAT'S QUITE LOUD.

Feste stares, dumbly, as Daryn dashes in to (presumably) save the day. And-- "I'm not a lady, sir," the Fool retorts, sounding quite indignant. That's the second time they've gone and done that, too. How rude, and yet -- how chivalrous. Alas. "But thanks for the thought, of course."

Oh look. Is that a grenade? Feste's eyes widen at this, and the order to run to the elevator. "But it's a bloody grenade," quips the fool. "And you want me to get to the bloody elevator? What are you, a lunatic?" Complain complain complain. Nonetheless, Feste makes tracks for the far side of the hall.

~o"I hate you! And I hate this town! I mean you! And this pitiful town! I hate you! You just make me laugh! I wasn't born for loving, I was born to raise hell, I wasn't born for loving, I was born to raise hell!"~o

Daryn blinks at Feste, "Oh, uh...well...Hell. Er... Unhand that...pansy, sir?", he mumbles a bit, always willing to compromise, and then notices the grenade as Feste points it out, "Oh bloody...", he starts to run forward in an attempt to let the blast of the grenade propel him forward, but the problem is that there is less of a 'blast' then the sudden emergence of popcorn in vast, probably illegal quantaties. The popcorn covers the entirety of his body and Daryn is soon lost within the little puffs of corn and possibly butter. "GHrfffh!!", Daryn manages in a muffled sort of way. Apparently he's going to try and eat his way through. He refuses to be done in by finger food. He REFUSES! And Feste's ... something ... is on the line, he must protect The Fool!

"Yes."

Comes the single, solitary answer to all of Feste's questions. All at once. It was easier than replying to each and everyone of them, after all. Rushing down the hall after the Fool, and ducking into the elevator as well. Just as yellow, buttery kernels go rushing past to crash against the opposite window, a few spilling in. Domino - hitting a button. For the roof. A pause..

Before he lifts that gun again. Barrel towards Feste's temple. "Name and purpose for visit? Any fruits or vegetables? Weapons of mass destruction?"

[OOC] Daryn says, "<ABernathy> *opens the door* Hey, free popcorn Oannes!"

[OOC] Domino grins. "And the popcorn grenade?" "I thought it was a mint." "... It's the size of your hand." "I really like mints."

Damn. -Popcorn?- Feste finds himself terribly, terribly amused at this. A popcorn grenade? Orville Redenbacher should sue.

Feste successfully returns to the elevator, only to find he's been followed by...that other guy. "Damn," Feste murmurs. Damn damn damn. What's with his luck these days?

"Feste, none of your goddamn business, no, and not unless you count poetry," the Fool deadpans, eyes narrowing slightly. AGH. Can we please stop with the guns pointed at his head? Please? Just a little? And pansy? Oh well. That's at least a step up from fruitcake. (sorta)

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... on his channel. "I'm sorry......go home ... ... safe....I'm ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: :just ... ... nothing coherent.

Daryn manages to chew through some of the popcorn and spot the elevator... He crawls out of the popcorn and stumbles over to the elevator, push the down button a few times, and then he'll watch the 'up button' and count. In his head. He'll be able to figure out where it's going by how long it's lit up, after all, though it's a bit hard to count with heavy metal smashing your skull in, and such.

"Poetry? Mmmmm..."

Uh-oh. THOUGHTFUL HUM. As if the Agent were seriously considering whether or not poetry might be considered a weapon of mass destruction. No, SERIOUSLY considering. That gun never wavering in it's tracking of a tiny little spot on the Fool's temple. The Agent seeming to not even be paying attention, those reflective shades of his watching the numbers blip. He's even started humming a bit in tune to the Muzak.

Do, do, do-do.. o/~

Ahem. "Right. Fill this out." There is a 'clack' as the safety is reinstated on the Scorpion Pistol, the pistol itself dissappearing into the duster. And a small piece of paper held out in the other hand, across the Agent's body. "It's requested you turn that and yourself into the nearest Interpol station as soon as possible, Mister Feste. All soliciations to the Directore must be approved." Somber. Serious. Utterly, totally sane. Which was the worse part of it, of course. Throughout the entire ordeal, the Agent had sounded like a jaded /infobooth attendant/. There is a quiet *ding*, and the Agent steps out through the opening doors. Onto the roof. If Feste hadn't taken the paper? It's dropped. Onto the ground. For him to pick up, of course, and fill out as is his civic duty. 'Cause who wants this nutjob back on the case?!

Feste continues deadpanning without saying anything as Domino apparently assesses poetry's threat value. Huh. How fun. As Domino hands him this... slip?! Feste's jaw simply...drops. What? WHAT? Are you *kidding* me?

"I suppose you're going to lecture me about my civic duty next?" Feste spits at Domino's soon-retreating back. "You know, that sure as hell didn't stop me *last* week!" Tsk, tsk. Someone's a bit upset. The Fool attempts to throw the paper to the ground. Of course, being paper, it kinda...sticks to his hand. He continues with this for a few more futile moments before giving up. "...damn....it... hells below! Bloody paper! Augh!" Instead, he crumples it up and shoves it into a pocket. And Domino took his gun, too...

Daryn smiles as he sees the elevator going back down. Dudedudedu. He returns to his Vespa, rights it, ,and drives it (carefully) into the elevator right as the doors open, skidding as he turns the Vespa around to face all the pretty buttons. He seems to consider them thoughtfully. Now, if he was an assassin, and he was going up, where would he assassinate a lady? Er, a Fool? Well, it'd probably be the roof, or a private room, and if not the former, he could jump down into any of the other floors from the roof, so the roof it is. He pokes the button with the edge of his guitar.r

Sweet elevator music plays in the meantime.

~"I HATE YOU BUT YOU LIKE ME (NO!), YOU LIKE OUR MUSIC NOW DON'T YOU (NO!) IT'S JUST A PITY BUT YOU WANT ME TO GO (OOOOOO!!)"~

"Y'know, that's pretty cool, nice mellow, then heavy metal playing over it. It's pure genius.", Daryn nods to himself, wiggling a finger in his ear.

"It'll be in the pamphlet sent to your address, Mister Feste." Comes the non-comment from Domino, even as the elevator doors close once again. And why, pray tell, would they close? 'Cause someone pushed the 2nd floor button one their way out! The elevator now heading DOWNWARDS. MUAHAHAHAAAA! Or... well.. I guess thats what elevators do. So it's really not that evil.

Yet.

When Daryn arrives on the roof, and the elevator opens? There's - no one on the roof. No black tarp. No little monitor. No small repelling rigging. NOTHING! Utterly cleaned out! Ah, but how did Domino get away? The trivial, always used 'slip down the elevator cable'? Or the UTTERLY ORIGINAL use of the STAIRS?! Quickly, quickly, think quickly!

"..." Feste, sneer on his pretty face, gives Domino a two-fingered British salute before the elevator doors finally shut in his face. *bing*

Aw, look. Now he can shout to his heart's content, which is exactly what he does. ARGH. HATE. SEETHE. Abernathy's gonna get an earful, oh yes he is...

~o"You're so pretty, You're so pretty, you're so fair, love your hair, (hahaha), you're so pretty, you're so pretty, love your makeup, love your nose, love your eyes, love your clothes, YOU'RE PRETTY USELESS!", the elevator doors open and Daryn flings his guitar out, "GOTCHA...arr..h.huh?", the speakers finally give out due to Vespa damage and the guitar skids against the ground with a resonating SPROING, and Daryn slowly rolls out of the elevator, "He killed him, he totally killed him just like an Eidolon would be, totally dead! Kablam! No..more of a Boom? Kaboom? Krackaboom? Kabong? El Kabong? Quickdraw McGraw? Tiny cube ma'am, tiny cube sir, where are you?", he turns his head towards the elevato...r? Now wait a gosh darn minute! "Gah! That's SO UNCOOL!", he turns the vespa around and pushes the down button on the other elevator and pushes the up one on the other one. At this wait the elevators will probably explode with so many conflicting orders.

Daryn also picks up his guitar while he's looking around for Festeness.

[OOC] Domino giggles. Daryn jumps into Feste's elevator. Immidiatly pushes all buttons. "HA! NOW YOU'LL NEVER GET DOWN!"

And the Agent? Well, he took sthe stairs. Just kinda quietly whistling the tune from the elevator Muzak as he neatly walks out the stairwell emergency doors, gives once glance up to make sure no flying vespa is about to smash his head - and just kinda walks off into the rainy evening. He'll get the other one later. He's got some pamplet to order, first.

Stupid elevator! Augh!

Feste quits yelling after the first few minutes, realizing that as fun as yelling is, it is getting him nowhere. He waits patiently for the elevator let him back out on the ground floor. Le sigh.

Daryn comes out onto the ground level a few moments later, and storms out, pointing his guitar dramatically towards Feste, "Aha! Got you.... Weren't you Eidolonized?", he blinks.

Oh great, thinks Feste. Another one.

The Fool whips around, visibly irritated, but soon drops it for a decidedly more confused look as he spots Daryn. "Eidolonized?" asks Feste. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Daryn says, "Turned into a very small cube. Dead. Kabonged, that sort of thing.", he blinks a few times, "You know?", he blinks again, "That sort of thing. Where's your, uh, murderer?"

"A cube?" Feste quirks an eyebrow. "Well, I should think not. I stand before you a whole man, do I not?" Feste looks away momentarily, hands on his hips. And to top it all off, he's still soaked from the rain. *sigh* "As for my assailant... I haven't the foggiest idea. Back to his, ah....wherever it is that he was to start out with."

Daryn says, "Oh.", and blinks again. The doors start to close in on his vespa. Eyes widening with horror, he stuffs his hand in between the door, pries them apart, and tosses his vespa out. "Useless piece of...Oh, right, gotta be careful, he's a cyborg, cyborgs are crazy."

Feste just watches with a sort of vague amusement. Yes, this must be that musician fellow. Couldn't be anyone else.

"Of course," Feste murmurs, loud enough to be heard. "Ourselves included, hm?"

Daryn says, "Yep, that's right.", he nods pleasantly, "Honestly, have you ever met a -sane- cyborg? Someone you could totally pin as -sane-?"

"Not yet," says Feste. "I shall be quite pleased when I do, I think."

"Right.", says the Daryn, "Let me know too, alright?", he seems to consider something before asking, possibly for more than the first time, "Do you know how to play the trumpet?", hopefully Feste won't mention Gabriel, otherwise Daryn might run into her and much like Back to the Future, blow up or faint or something upon seeing an infamous alt.

Feste lets his arms drop back to his sides wearily. Blah. Rough night. (he's been saying that a lot lately, too...) "I certainly will, sir.

"As for the trumpet...no, but I could probably learn in good time. Why do you ask?"

Daryn mumbles, "My band.", he thrusts the guitar in the air dramatically, "It has no trumpet section!", that is, it has nobody able to play the trumpet. His guitar prods the ceiling lightly.

The Fool watches this display, still amused, and...almost morbidly curious. "Your band? Oh, yes. Yes, I see. That's unfortunate. Are you making a business proposition, sir?"

Daryn says, "In good time, I think.", obviously referring to Feste's own statement, "Yes, business is a good thing, isn't it? Neo Tokyo doesn't very much like me or my band because it's full of Yakuza wankers, but we can pretty much play anywhere else. I think. You'll be paid per performance, not sure how much you'd be paid since Meg handles that, but she tends to be fair, if totally uncool, with finances."

hm hm hm! Feste cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly. Now it's getting interesting, it is. "Sounds like a deal, my friend." Funny how 'sir's become 'my friend's when there's money involved.

"Now I suppose I'll have to learn to play the trumpet."

Daryn nods, "That's right. Megumi might pay you more if you discuss Shakespeare with her too. She's a sucker for the Bard.", he winks, and then adds, "Sometimes we do nonprofit stuff too, just so you know, like a while back we had a San Angeles Recovery type of deal where we used the money to help pay for the damages, but we'll work those situations out."

"Oh, /really/, now," Feste comments, grinning. "Charity is charity. It's good for the soul, and all that." Yadda...yadda...yadda.

Daryn nods, "Right, unless it's evil Maverick charity, or something. Ye..eaah, you might want to have good life insurance. I mean, what with all the people chasing around after you already.", he pauses before adding, "Oh, and you aren't a Maverick, are you?"

Life insurance, right. "Of course," he adds. At the word 'Maverick', Feste blinks right on cue. "Of course not. I'm a Londoner, sir." Huh!

Feste hastily adds, "I'm also originally from Norway." Though that's a bit quieter, a bit more reserved…

Daryn's eyes widen a bit at 'Londoner' and says, "Well, I -guess- that doesn't count as Maverick.", his suspicious eyes seem to suggest that he might think differently. After all, wasn't something big blown up there recently? "Oh, but Norway? That's cool. Norway's cool. Anyway...", he shifts in his pockets and tosses a small wad of paper to the Fool, "That's my personal frequency and such, let me know when you've got it down and we'll talk, 'kay?"

Go figure. Though...just labeling himself as those things again is a bit painful. (damn nin-- mavericks)

Feste nods, catching the paper with a bit of a wink. "But of course, sir, and a good evening to you..."

Daryn grins, "And no worries, that was a joke, no worries at all. Even if it was a bad one.", he lifts up the Vespa, and walks with it out. Makes you kind of wonder why he bothers riding it, probably because it makes a sexy sound when it smashes into walls.

Sure. Feste shrugs silently, out of words for the day. At this point, he'd like to be on his way, so he can mull things over... especially this new job offer. Maybe now he can quit playing for pocket money for the tourism bureau. (ugh)

"No worries whatsoever," Feste adds as an afterthought, heading off on his own way as well.