Rigger has arrived.

Rigger appears in a flash of energy.

You enter the Torontreal - Commercial District.

Torontreal - Commercial District

Home to dozens and dozens of corporate headquarters and offices, the Commercial District is one the busiest in the city. Skyscrapers, adorned with the logos of the companies that work here dominate over the city, connected via transport walkways. Limos, taxis, and various other forms of transportation zip through the spaces between the massive buildings, trying to get their occupants to their destination as fast as possible. Traffic tie-ups are common, but usually everything gets back to normal soon enough.

Contents: Contents:

Rigger [Lab] [MH]

Southeast <SE>: Torontreal - Transportation District

East <E>: Torontreal - Northern Downtown

Southwest <SW>: Torontreal - Western Residential

South <S>: Torontreal - Western Business Zone

Rigger didn't come to Canada very often usually, but as of late she seemed to wander here more often than not. Business of some sort or another this time had dragged her here, though it had long since been concluded. None the less she wandered almost aimlessly around the busy district currently stabbing a spoon into a small cup of green icecream. Mint chocolate chip.

The Fool's reasons for wandering over here are (for today only) very specific. You see, he needs a trumpet. Yes, a trumpet. Why? Because playing a trumpet for Order and Chaos is better than singing for the City of London's tourism bureau. Yes.

So our intrepid Feste is similarly wandering, slightly less than aimlessly, trying to find a music shop or something of that sort. Yeah. Something like that.

Rigger tucks the spoon with a good large gob of icecream into her mouth. Mmm. Her eyes half-lid as she continues along the sidewalk. As she approaches Feste from behind she sidesteps to move around him so she can continue on completely, blissfully, unaware of who he is. At least she would have been had her eyes not slid to the side to peer at him from the corners out of curiosity. The fact that he's familiar merely gains a slight smirk from her. "H'wo."

Hmm? Feste pauses momentarily, glancing over at Rigger-- oh! hey! Yes. We remember her, don't we. "G'day, m'lady," Feste answers, with a courteous (though somewhat awkward, as he's bowing sideways) quarter-bow. "What a pleasure to see you again."

Rigger manages another slight smile as Feste bows. Awkwardly it may be but it was still an endearing gesture. She scoops a bit more icecream up while granting the fellow a nod of greeting as well. "Icecream?" She offers while holding the loaded spoon up towards him. Whether he accepts or not she continues on, "Hadn't expected to run into you again. Doing well, I hope?"

Let's see. a: Rigger helped Feste that one time with Freeze Man. b: Rigger poisoned Abernathy. a: Rigger has ice cream...

A seemingly wins out over B, as Feste chuckles lightly and accepts. "Why, thank you." *munch* "Mm. Yes, I suppose I am. And yourself?" minty. mm.

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "Good evening."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Good evening!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Mm. Evening."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Guten Abend."

"So what has you out here, oh fool?" Rigger asks with an amused smile as she spoon-feeds icecream to Feste. She had enough herself, and it wasn't incredibly good icecream either... So sharing was alright by her.

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Yo."

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "... Dynamo. Just the man I was looking for."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Really now? And what can I do for you, blondest of them all?"

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

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "OOC: We need to have a contest to determine just who IS the blondest of them all. XD"

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "I'd like to challenge you to a duel, though I certainly wish I could've been less blunt about it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Oh, a duel? I was wondering when one of the old guard was going to choose to strike out against the young, beautiful, efficient upstart who's been stealing all of their business while you're all so busy hating each other."

[Radio: (F) Public] Bass transmits, "Efficient?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Blues transmits, "...I want to see this."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Dude, you think you're pretty? That's sick."

Mmm, ice cream. Of course, Feste has absolutely no problems with being spoonfed ice cream. It's /free/. And it's /ice cream/. Are you kidding me?

"Mm. I'm out shopping, actually -- looking for a trumpet." Casual as ever, of course, as if shopping for trumpets and being spoonfed icecream was entirely normal.

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste laughs.

[Radio: (F) Public] Blues transmits, "Dynamo, I'll give you 20,000 to fight him in Tartarus."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "The onus of location is ever on the challenger, though I'd be happy to fight within the arena... and line my pockets."

[Radio] Transmission detected: ~thwwt~ ... ...

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic chuckles. "You know the rules. No long-distance fighting. And... yes, Tartarus /does/ seem like a good location right now."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "Now?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "I shall be there with bells on, Dagwood. The game's afoot!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Dude, no one wants to hear what about what you do in your spare time. Your pockets are your OWN business!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tetsuo Sakizaki transmits, "...bells?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tetsuo Sakizaki transmits, "Christ..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Bass transmits, "I'm afraid he lost interest a long time ago. I'm the new model."

Rigger lifts her eyebrows sharply at that. "A trumpet?" She tilts her head to the side a moment in thought while scooping up another bit of icecream. Its' idly offered over towards Feste again as she thinks on that. "Come to think of it I could probably use a new bow and strings for my violin. It's been awhile." Smiling in amusement she looks again towards the icecream-lover pointedly, "Maybe we could play sometime, though I don't exactly know if the two instruments would sound good at all together by themselves."

Ooh! More ice cream! (score!) Feste, of course, accepts once more, and hmms thoughtfully through his mouthful of minty chocolate goodness. "Well, I can't actually play." A pause. "Yet. But I'm working on it, I assure you." The Fool idly brushes the bangs out of his face and tucks them behind his ear before continuing. "I didn't know you played the violin, m'lady Rigger. You must be a woman of many talents. As for... an ensemble such as...that... I don't know either. I'm sure violins and flutes go together much better."

Rigger laughs warmly in response. The next scoop of icecream goes to her, though. Hey it was hers, she had to indulge a bit. A wink is offered to Feste around the spoon in her mouth though before she gulps it down to respond properly. "Indeed. That and the piano. It's... just something I used to do a long time ago." Her fingers wiggle breifly in indication. "Helps to keep the fingers dexterous. And as much as that might give some people the wrong idea, I simply mean in regards to my work." Not personal pursuits.

"Mhm." Feste smirks at that wink, quite amused. Yes. Rigger merits his attention. She ought to feel special. (hah) "Oh, I wasn't going to ask... and... just what *is* your line of work?"

Rigger reaches up to tap a finger lightly to her ear where a radio earbud can be seen, if one were to look. "Keep your ears open and you might find out," she states with a slightly teasing tone. Most people usually knew once they found out her name. That he hadn't was a bit... refreshing. "A little of this, a little of that. Veritable jack of all trades, that's me."

It's Feste's turn to laugh warmly. Keep his ears open. Oh, he can do that, for sure. Makes him wonder, however, just how much she knows about -him-. Hm hm hm.

But yes. He's rather new to the whole 'War' scene, and beyond what's been presented to him recently he doesn't know too much about specific individuals... so all he knows about Rigger is that she has some fascination with engines and poisoning Abernathy. Mhm. Oh, and mint chocolate...

"I see, I see. It is, of course, the jacks of all trades that are most useful in times like these, and so..." He punctuates (or perhaps doesn't, since it's ending on an ellipsis?) his statement with a vague, airy gesture. Times like these.

"Must be why I'm in such popular demand these days," Rigger responds lightly with a hint of annoyance to her tone. It would be easy enough to assume she was annoyed thanks to her constant run-ins with the Masters. Feste himself had been there for one such incident after all... Another smile creeps over her face as she offers out the entire little cup of icecream this time. "Would you like the rest? I can't eat too much lately. Too cold for my teeth. Besides, I don't want to risk dropping any on your chest by accident."

Feste smirks lightly, picking up on the implied meaning there. Yes, he's had his own little Master problems, though he's fairly confident he's gotten them all worked out. Heh.

Upon being offered the ice cream, Feste accepts with another little bow, grinning. "Awfully kind of you, m'lady," he muses.

"It's no problem. You're doing me a favor. Helps me stick to my diet," she remarks quite jokingly. Diet? Her? Her stress level was enough for her to burn through anything she ate at the drop of a hat, generally. "So, you wish to learn the trumpet. That takes strong lips I hear."

"Well then," Feste responds, still smirking, "I'm glad to be of service, m'lady." Heh heh. At the 'strong lips' comment Feste just laughs, quietly. "Lips and lungs, I suppose. I don't think it'll be a problem." Oh so very amused, yes we are...

Rigger nods slightly, "I never could get the hang of wind instruments myself. I can sing alright, when the mood strikes me, but... I don't know. I guess I'm better at screaming." Strangely enough she wasn't making bad innuendo. At least not on purpose. Her gaze slides away to stare at a store front they walk past idly admiring some nicknack or another glittering in the window.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Who's ... New ... Western ... ... Agile ... violent ... ... ... ... ...

Feste chuckles through another mouthful of ice cream. He can't help it. This is just so... so... funny? "Well, most people usually are," he remarks casually. No innuendo here, no sir...

[Radio] Transmission detected: I'll ... ... ... quick ... ... can.

"Especially with the people I know," Rigger agrees. "Definately alot of guys that'll make you want to scream at them. Repeatedly." Oh, so bad. She can't help but grin anyway as it was true in it's own regard. "They might think they're hot stuff, but they just get on my nerves."

The Fool just keeps on chuckling, as Rigger has not yet given him a reason to stop. "Oh yes. Of course. Far too many people are burdened with the sin of arrogance of late. Or perhaps they're just the only ones standing out, due to their arrogance." A shrug. "'Tis a pity, i'faith." Smirk smirk.

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "On the risk of sounding a bit cheeky, I'd call that a farewell to arms."

[Radio: (B) None] The announcer booms: "Bass gets equipped with: Trenchcoat Mafia!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "That's okay, you look like a butt cheek too."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man laughs. "Good one, Quick."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "I try."

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "Rrgh... Shut up, Dynamo."

[Radio: (B) None] Watch Collector Flash Man transmits, "O...K... what's that all about?"

[Radio: (B) None] Reject Tengu Man transmits, "The Trenchcoat Mafia, duh."

Rigger shrugs indifferently at the remarks, "Either way it's annoying. Granted I can be arrogant, too, but I try not to be. Just at what I'm good at." Which was alot and not too much as it all related to the same thing. "No more Masters annoying London I hope?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "Try sending your tin monster after me next time. Or maybe the dog-hating girl. Or Miss Breasts. Or maybe even the creepy kid. I'll give them the same loving attention I gave you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Aww."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "How nice."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Pretty sick idea of lovin'."

[Radio: (F) Public] Blues transmits, "What about if I send a pony? Will you fight a pony if we call it a Strider?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "If I... were you... I'd be quite... worried about 'Miss Breasts'... at the moment."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man laughs.

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man snickers.

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "We don't know. It might work." "Dynamo is probably scared of women."

[Radio: (F) Public] Bass transmits, "Oh, Jiggly isn't anyone to fear."

Feste recommences attack on the ice cream, relatively unconcerned with matters of arrogance and such and such and such, even if he led the conversation in that particular direction. But Masters in London? Oh yes, he can talk about that. "No, not that I've seen," he murmurs. "Thanks be to God."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "I'm an equal opportunity employer, Gemini Man. I just haven't seen a girl worth kissing in a while."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "OOC: *resists comment*"

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man cough*queer*.

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "No mirror, eh?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man laughs.

[Radio: (F) Public] Matic transmits, "Point... to Quick Man."

[Radio: (F) Public] Bass transmits, "You're going to give a point for that? You /must/ have gone to a state school."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dynamo transmits, "I doubt you have any points to give right now, Matic. Maybe once you've stopped bleeding."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Not as pointy as Dynamo's head, but I'll take what I can get."

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... "Oh ... ... my dear god ... she ... in ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ...

"Oh that's good. Shade Man's whole 'Buffy' shtick is starting to wear on me rather heavily. Really. I nail him with a dodgeball in Battle and Chase and suddenly I'm a vampire slayer?" Rigger pauses to plant a hand on her hip while twisting to the side just a bit as if she were attempting to look at her ass. "Okay I might have the body to prance around in a skimpy skirt carrying sharpened sticks, but c'mon. That gives such a draft."

[Radio] Transmission detected: ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... bodies in the van...he ... the ... ... ... ... piled ... in the van...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ....

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... /zhat/ is another ... ... zenny ... therapist visits..."

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... bloody...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Where is she?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... York...with Silo ... probably ... terrified-trying-to-catch-her-breath gasps* Standby.

[Radio] Transmission detected: On it.

Mrf. Running out of ice cream. Feste looks down at the spoon and cup in his hands, as if worried. Of course, it's likely more about the issue of Masters in London, but... who knows? He looks askance at Rigger about halfway through her mini-tirade on Shade Man, just in time to catch that look. Hm. Oh. Feste smirks almost automatically, whilst being distracted by his radio. Sounds like something unfortunate is up.

"Of course. Perhaps if you just, ah, stick it to him, in the more literal sense, he'll get the point?" Feste comments, rather dully despite the AWFUL PUNS OH NO. And you'd better believe he's saying that on purpose.

Rigger pauses in her jesting as her expression just goes slack. She casts Feste an apologetic look breifly before it slips into a near agonized expression. "Igottago," she mumbles while turning around quickly. The puns however causes her to pause and she flashes a thankful grin at him. "I'll sharpen my skills and try to drive my point home, then."

Oh, well, that proves it. Something unfortunate *is* happening. Alas, alack, woe, etc., etc... Feste looks right back at Rigger, as if offering sympathies. "It's quite alright, m'lady. And... I wish you luck in that department." Yes. It's okay. Go on, go do your duty.

[Radio] Transmission detected: I'll head that ... myself in ... ... need ... help.

Rigger nods and gives a quick two-finger salute when turning again. Of course, Feste might want to watch that hand as it swings down to smack dat ass before she takes off at a jog. Woohoo!

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "Ah, it is good to have new clothes."

[Radio: (B) None] Snake Man transmits, "Clothesss are overrated."

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "Snake Man, you are such a plebian when it comes to the finer things in life. You would be happy if you only had a fresh mecha-rat every once in a while."

[Radio: (B) None] Guts Man transmits, "And my unconditional love of karaoke."

[Radio: (B) None] Snake Man doesn't sound offended. It's the truth, after all. "I'm easssy to pleassse."

[Radio: (B) None] Watch Collector Flash Man transmits, "I would rather have my ear sockets stabbed and removed the hard way over hearing you sing. No offense, Guts Man."

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "I, however, am not. I require regular distraction, after all, to keep my mind fresh and ready for the challenges which lie ahead. And in this case, I have found it in my new fashionable clothing. I think I will call it the Strider Line."

[Radio: (B) None] Guts Man transmits, "I need something to punch."

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "And I require an audience. Guts Man, we should go out and begin a shock and awe campaign."

[Radio: (B) None] Guts Man transmits, "Can I bring the cattle prod?"

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "If you so wish it."

[Radio: (B) None] Pharaoh Man transmits, "A Strider Line, hmmm? I hope you've finally destroyed those annoying pests. They get in the way at the worst possible times."

Ah, the ol' two-finger salute. He's been getting that a lot latel--

Feste stands unmoving as Rigger does the completely unexpected. He *blinks*, teetering on the line between outright confusion and vague amusement. Okay...that was... interesting. (and could probably bear further investigation) The Fool offers a wave in return as Rigger jogs off...yes. .o(...en vet aldri.) One never knows.

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "Let us parade through New York, the center of fashion now that Paris is under occupation, and demonstrate how to Look Good."

[Radio: (B) None] Bass transmits, "Oh, you didn't hear, Pharaoh Man? Dynamo just trounced Matic in single combat. It was very entertaining."

[Radio: (B) None] Guts Man transmits, "I look dead sexy."

[Radio: (B) None] Reject Tengu Man transmits, "Really?"

[Radio: (B) None] Pharaoh Man transmits, "Mmm. I hope someone recorded it?"

[Radio: (B) None] Pharaoh Man transmits, "It would be most entertaining, and a nice addition to our database."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<cheerfully> Good evening."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Goddag, herr Vorlaikal."

Rigger enters the Torontreal - Transportation District.

Rigger has left.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... And with the Norwegian, I see."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Ja visst."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "And me without my phrasebook."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Alas."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I could always talk at you in Russian, but I suppose that's unsporting. At least I know German, after all."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Ja, vaer sa god."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<< "So speaks a man with a mild death wish." >> Where are you, anyway?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Hva behager? What's it to you?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, I don't know. It spares me using the nonconventional methods of determining where you are. Satellite surveillance, black helicopters ..."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Tch. Torontreal."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... That was too easy."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Eh, what the hell. I'm bored."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Note how I have not given you my exact location, however. There is still sport to be had."

Abernathy sends a radio transmission.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hm. Yes, well."

Feste has, by now, ditched the empty cup of ice cream and resumed his search for a music store. Dammit, there's got to be one around here somewhere...

.

Perhaps ten minutes after the whole scene with Rigger, Abernathy sets foot in the teleporter area of Torotreal. Of course, the transportation district is a fur piece from the commercial district, and the Director has all that ground to case for a certain blond Norwegian fruitcake ...

Needless to say, it's taken him a little while to get as far as the commercial district. But nevertheless, there he is, wandering along absently with his hands in his pockets and his eyes peeled for a certain shock of blond hair. Hum, hum.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... Lovely...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Agile ... ... ... leave. But it looks like he's now the least of ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... tea ...

It's not like Feste has ever really fit into crowds. He just stands out. He's special. He is a UNIQUE AND BEAUTIFUL SNOWFLAKE. He is... genuinely puzzled.

Feste carries on with his search. If Abernathy finds him, then Abernathy finds him. For now he has work to do. Right?

[Radio] Transmission detected: The beginnings ... a ... ... New York.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Oh. Tiffany's had ... sale ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... will the world ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: They're having a sale!? DAMN!

[Radio] Transmission detected: :can be heard running off ... ... ...

Oh, good. He'll be perfectly identifiable among all the other UNIQUE AND BEAUTIFUL SNOWFLAKES -- err, original characters -- out there and wandering around. Abernathy merely continues on his haphazard way, thinking -- idly -- that it might not be too bad if he simply gets lost and never finds Feste. It's a nice night, after all ...

And then he spots a flash of blond hair around a corner. He picks up his pace a little -- ah. False alarm. That's not Feste, it's some skinny Norwegian girl in gre -- oh. That *is* Feste.

Smiling slightly, Abernathy turns to follow ... at a distance.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... ... too?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... things ... ... ... at Tiffany's.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... peace.

[Radio] Transmission detected: It's on sale.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... are a DEAD man. ... ... no sale. ... picked up ... ... of shoes ... ... ... and a fresh stick ... lipstick. But ... SALE.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... rather.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Yeah. I get that a lot.

[Radio] Transmission detected: If ... of ... are available ... ... ... small show ... on ... New York you ... like to ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... elaborate.

To think, Abernathy could trail Feste *all day* and have him not realize it the entire time... although probably less because Abby is sneaky rike neenja and more because Feste is dumb. Tch.

But the Fool's had forewarning. As Feste slips around the corner, he stops and puts his back to the wall...and waits. Heh heh heh.

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Find me yet?"

Abernathy sends a radio transmission.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, mayhap. Either that, or it's a skinny broad-shouldered girl."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Mm. En vet aldri, especially in these times."

[Radio] Transmission detected: Unless ... visual systems ... ... of phase I ... ... the ... ... ... ... parade in ... middle ... the streets..and wearing clothes. I ... the man leading them ... their Commander Bass ... ... ... be ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... I ... decline. The ... ... I ... ... Robot ... function ... saw ... ... ... at ... instead of ...

Oh nos! This cannot be. Abernathy slows his step as Feste disappears around the corner, more for the sake of the radio and a response than any premonition of danger. (danger. what a silly thought!) He smiles slightly as he gets a response -- and picks up the pace once more, just slightly, hands still in his pockets.

He heads toward the corner, no hesitation in his step -- except at the last second, as he should turn. Now, he could be suspicious and creep around it ... or he could see what the Fool intends to do.

So it is that, whistling, Abernathy steps around the corner. // You know you've got everybody fooled ... //

Oh, here he comes, here he comes. Let's hope it doesn't turn out to be a random stranger or else it's going to get REALLY awkward.

Humming softly to himself, Feste waits until he's spotted the boot. Okay, it's quite probably Abernathy. Commence Operation... something. As Abernathy comes fully around the corner, Feste lunges forward, attempting to catch Abernathy off his guard with-- a kiss on the cheek.

// Look, here she comes now -- bow down and stare in wonder. Oh, how we love you, no flaws when you're pretending... //

Wow, that would have been terribly embarassing for Feste if it hadn't been Abernathy! Fortunately, it is not some skinny albino Russian girl that steps around the corner and into the 'ambush', but the man himself. A flash of green and blond hair is all he sees, barely giving him enough time to react -- before he's set upon.

At least it wasn't as bad as he was expecting, and he blinks in surprise as the 'attack' connects ... before a slight blush colors his face. It doesn't stop /him/ from moving, however -- as he makes a grab for the Fool's upper arms with both hands, as if to hold him back.

It may be a tricky proposition. As Feste may find out from the feel of something very hard pressed against his left arm, Abernathy is -- slightly encumbered.

By a knife, the blade pointing outward and away from the Fool.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Eh it ... like there's a situation ... ... New York City.... ... a ... crew of ... including Bass.... ... ... know there's ... least on Maverick ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Spin ... online.

It helps that Feste himself draws back after landing his blow. The Fool allows himself to be held at a distance, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Ow ow ow, hurty. Is that a--knife? Feste gives it only a cursory glance. Must not think about that for more than a few seconds... ("oh. a knife. how nice!")

Despite this new development, Feste cocks his head back slightly, as if to survey his work. Aw, he's blushing. (teehee!) Grinning wolfishly, the Fool gives a small, hindered wave with a hand. "Boo."

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... Proto ... ... out ... ... earlier.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Good. ... ... ... was somewhere in ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Do ... ... any others in the ... ... ... ... it's going ... be ... ... mess. Currently watching ... going to engage."

[Radio] Transmission detected: Give ... ... ... what's ... happening.

Abernathy stares at Feste for nearly a minute at this exclamation, breathing just a little faster. (adrenaline, really.) The blush remains for some seconds, no doubt amusing the Fool greatly.

At last, Abernathy gives a slight shake of his head and narrows his eyes at Feste -- before letting the other man go and stepping back. He gives a casual -- or, at least, he's trying hard to make the move look casual -- flick of his wrist, returning the knife to its sheath. "Oh, ha ha," he drawls, softly. Is that slight quaver in his voice due to adrenaline, or just being shaken?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... I ... ... ... here ... ... someone ... a rather distinctive ... fashion ... staying ... of ... Masters' machinations. ... appears they're ... building ... ... ... Police are flooding ... area along with... I count ... ... one ... ... ...

Oh...well... this is a bit unexpected. Maybe that says something about Feste's expectations, though. Hm.

The Fool observes Abernathy's reaction with great interest and, of course, amusement, though... the quaver in Abby's voice is more troubling than amusing, for 'some odd reason'. Feste cocks his head to the side, and gives Abby a full Feste sadface. You don't appreciate my humor, do you? (which would explain the knife, really.) I'm hurt!

It takes a moment before Abernathy can reply to that -- and when he does, it's not verbally. He turns away, eyes downcast and arms folded across his chest. Drawing in a deep breath, he holds it for a full count of ten -- before breathing out, in a none-too-quiet sigh. "I should have expected that," he addresses the ground in a quiet voice.

Aww... he's gone and done more harm that good. Alack. He really should have remembered that Abernathy was bloody *paranoid*, after all...

Feste looks away, straightening up and clasping his hands in front of him. Still bearing the Sadface, too. "Yes, you should have, but I'm sorry for startling you." The apology, it seems, is genuine.

Of course, this is Feste we're talking about, and if you *really* want to get paranoid about it...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... ... ... control here.... ... police and Repliforce are ... routing the mobs down.... ... the aggitators ... to ... ... a rather ... ... in the crowd...

[Radio] Frequency Cracked! +setintercept to save it.

Cracked Frequency is saved.

Yes, well. At some time the paranoia has to give, just a little. Abernathy shifts slightly, putting his hands in his pockets and still contemplating the ground. He almost opens his mouth to say something, then bites his tongue, eyes fluttering closed. No, that would be infelicitous. But ... anything else would be difficult. "It's ... I should learn to calm down," he finally murmurs. "It's fine. Apology accepted."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Hrmm. Might as well tae care of this now. Hey, Slim, you listening?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Slim Shady?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "No, Slim Slowass, also known as Agile."

Hm. Feste redirects his gaze back to Abernathy, no longer so -- apologetic. Okay, he's fine, good, let's move on. "Oh, excellent." Next please.

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "O.o"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Very eloquent, sir."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I salute you."

Abernathy breathes in, breathes out, and gets his game face on once more. Only once the ice is back does he glance over at Feste, favoring the no longer contrite with a sardonic smile. "So what brings you out this way, other than an opportunity to torment the bystanders?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Riiight, anyway, if he really doeswant to pretend to be faster then me, then I want to challenge him to a race."

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "I thought you were too scared to face me, Lazy Man."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Riiight. .... Who are you talking about?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Oh, it's on, Slim. I figured we'd do this nice and proper and set a time, so that way I can have an audience laugh at you as you stare at my backside."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "So, how 'bout next...Tuesday?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "You're on. I'll be good enough and let you chose the spot."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "That's all you're gonna be good enough to do, bub. Well start in San An, end in New York. Unless that's too far for you."

Feste gives a small, affected sigh, deliberately aimed at Abernathy. Of course, who else would he sigh at? "Oh, not much. I'm looking to buy a trumpet." Not pick up women. Trumpet. (yes.)

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "Fine with me. What time?"

"That's novel. Guitar not doing it for you?" As the press of the crowd is getting a little worse, he turns to pace a little closer to Feste. Better. Now he won't have to raise his voice to make himself heard, or run the risk of getting swept away from the Fool. Why, Abernathy's standing nearly arm and arm with the other man -- not that he'd be forward enough to make that not 'almost' but actual. "Or has something else come up?"

Look! He's learning to ignore Feste's airs. Teehee.

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Whenever. I'm a busy guy, I might have to burn an orphange or summpin. Most likely later, though."

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "No excuses to run away, bucko! I'd hate to go over there and drag your sorry ass all the way to San Angeles. I'll be with my radio on.."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Right, see you there, Slim."

[Radio: (F) Public] Agile transmits, "Good luck..because you'll need a whole lot of it."

The Fool shrugs. He's just fine where he is, next to the wall, of course. The decrease in distance is ignored or simply not noted.

"Something else," Feste offers, switching his 'aloof' switch to the 'on' position. "I've been offered a job, but it requires that I play the trumpet. I figured it might help if I actually procured one first, and all..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Luck? You kidding me? I don't /need/ luck. I'm like greased lightening. I'm the Sultan of Speed and the King of Quick. Heck, I'd even go so far as to say I'm as good as canned Jesus."

Abernathy folds his arms across his chest once more, shifting his attention out to the crowd wandering by. No, looking at him will only encourage the Fool. "Interesting. Dare I ask by whom? And -- can you even play the trumpet, dear Fool, or are you thinking of learning as you go?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Canned Jesus?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "In cassse you're too ssstupid to pick that up, Maverick, he'sss fassst."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "If I ain't mistaken, Jesus ain't canned. He's still airin' onna major networks, and t'Catholic Church and Protestant denominations still get good ratin's."

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

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "He's a classic, The Lord is."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste /laughs/.

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Brilliant, sir, brilliant!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Thankye, m'lord, I try."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Ahha, so you do. I am none to be called 'm'lord', however."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "I want some canned Jesus. Do they sell that in stores?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Oh. Okay. Yer'lord?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "No, try again."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Nah, Jesus is best served fresh."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I'm inclined to agree, here."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Strangely enough."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "I recommend ye local Church, they probably do a good Jesus every Sunday."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Ain't he been dead for awhile?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Why, no!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "THE KING IS ALIVE!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "And that's the brilliant thing about it, sir."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, amused. "Amen, brother."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Hmm. Interesting."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "As opposed t'extratiresome."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Jussst out of curiosssity, what'sss your top ssspeed, Quick?"

God forbid you should encourage the Fool.

"That, ah, other musician fellow. Daryn Luna is name, I believe." A pause, for thought. "And no, I can't. Not yet, at least."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Quick Man is Top Man? Man, I KNEW he was a recolor!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Faster then Agile's."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Damned toy companies, tryin' t'pass off cheapass paintswaps as new toys, don't bother even /remoldin'/ t'dammned thangs..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "...okay, that guy isn't right. Who gave him a radio?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "'course I ain't right. I'm a Democrat."

"Ah! Him. Yes, I'm well acquainted with him and Order and Chaos." A slight smile touches Abernathy's face, one of faint reminiscence. "Actually worked with them once myself, though rather by accident. Good luck in that, then. He's -- interesting."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "If you think Quick isss the sssame asss Top, then you're an idiot. They don't even look remotely alike."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Liberal left, and all that."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Oh no? They both 'ave, like...TWO ARMS! AND TWO LEGS! AND ONE HEAD!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Ssso do you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Oh, Democrat. That explains a few things."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Only on alternate Tuesdays.".

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Isss thisss where you ssstart pransscing around sssinging 'if I only had a brain'?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster growls, annoyed, "And that's -MISTER- Idiot to you. I'll have ye remember that f'future reference, young fella me lad!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "'course not. Don't like brains."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Hrmm. Okay, you're vaguely amussing. You got some sort of newsletter?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Pray tell, what is the difference betwixt regular Tuesdays and alternate Tuesdays?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I'm curious."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Give up, Shyster. The idiots can't even be bothered to address me as Doctor."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Now, liver, on t'other hand...intestines, kidneys...they're good in soup. And if y'got some of those geletin pig's blood cubes..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster says stubbornly, "Matter o'principle, sah."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "/I'll/ address you as Doctor, Doctor."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Doctor Doctor Doppler?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I see."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Yes. Doctor Doctor. And what principle would that be?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Not *all* of us are idiots, thank you."

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

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Some of us are morons."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Willfully ignorant, myself."

[Radio: (F) Public] Guts Man transmits, "Heheheheh, like all of you that aren't Robot Masters."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster answers smartly, "Principle of conservation of moments. If you have a lever and fulcrum..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Exactly. Me, for example. Not an idiot."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Not that you're included in that, m'lady Rigger."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Well at least /someone/ can be bothered to address me properly. I did not spend all those years earning doctorate to continue being called Mister."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Preach it, Guts."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Well. Terribly sorry, herr Doctor."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "And good evening, Dr. Matthews."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh? There are two doctors? How wonderful."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger snorts quietly, "And it took me a good ten odd years before folks started admitting I even have a doctorate myself. I still have to remind people on occasion."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Doctor Doctor."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, cheerfully: "Exactly!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Actually, there are quite a few Doctors, sah. I know it's hard t'believe, but BBC kept changin' the actors between t'television seasons, and then they used a different guy f'that movie they did..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh my."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Yeah. Same phone booth, 'tho."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Wouldn't be the same without t'phone booth."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Ah, well. I suppose that's alright, then."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Yes, yes, indeed."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Never did show the woman doctor, sadly."

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

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "There was that medicine woman show ..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Really? So she was a sentient antibiotic or summich?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "She was a doctor, of course."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster says, puzzledly, "A sentient antibiotic with a doctorate?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Not sure. Never saw it myself. Abernathy?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Well...I s'pose our education system 's fairly liberal these days, equal opportunity and all that..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Why are you people talking about shows that are older then...something old? Man, get with the times."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Maybe I should go enroll t'green tupperware stuff in t'back o' me fridge. It deserves an education, it does."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I beg your pardon."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Lissstening to thisss conversssation isss like lissstening to the blind talking to the ssstupid."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "They *did* do a remake of it, only she was a black woman with an inner city background working in San Angeles."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "At least it's not like listening to the deaf talking to the stupid, sir."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "I believe Cleaver cleaned out the fridge last week."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Don't snakes see with their tongues?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "No, no. Mister Hissing Person is quite right."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "It was interesting, but they switched actresses in the middle of season three and it went downhill from there."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "We're talking. They're listening t'us. We're blind. They're stupid."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh, I see."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster says sagely, "Makes sense."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, thoughtfully: "At least we're not deaf."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "That would be inconvenient."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, " No it doesn't."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Exactly my point, sirrah."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Dunno. Death's cool. He's got t'whole scythe and pale horse and stuff."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Death? Where?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Well, ye said, 'least we're not Death..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh, you are mistaken, sir."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "But I imagine things might be much better if we were mute."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "*mutters* Death is overrated."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I said 'at least we're not /deaf/'."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "...So we -are- Death?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "No no no."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Unless... wait."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Are we?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Dunno. Check if yer lost weight."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Abernathy, may I please have your autograph?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "No, we're not. Why are you people still catering to this nimrod?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Yes. Get me a pen."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh destroyer of worlds?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Bunch of peasss in a pod. Goodnight."

[Radio: (F) Public] Guts Man transmits, "I have a big pea."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Nimrod. Honoured Greek hero, he was. Fine mythological figure."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Quite, quite."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "I don't know, I find death rather properly rated. Something I wish to avoid."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Isss it in your ssskull, Gutsss?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Yer guys store veggies in Skull Man?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy, dryly: "And who do you want me signing that autograph to?"

The Fool smiles warmly, even if it's more because of the things being said over the radio. Teehee, teehee. This is great. But er. Back to the topic at hand.

"Oh, yes. I know," Feste murmurs, in a much lower tone. "First hand. I expect it shall be very...interesting."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Frost Man makes nice slushies."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Sometimes, but only when we ut him in cold storage."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oh, oh, to... ... ...to... oh, forget it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Guts Man transmits, "No. It's this regular sized pea I stuck through that machine that made the giant banana monster a couple years ago."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Ehhh, dunno, Doc Matthews. A Frost Man slushie dun sound as it'd taste good t'me. We don't know where he's been. And I'm sure he's very fattening."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "... You *are* fickle."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Like that pea. Fattening pea, it must be."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Can I at least have a pen?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Goodnight Quick, Gutsss. Try and ssstay sssane, in ressspect to resscent conversssation."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Sure. Want this Sharpie I found in my pocket?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Yes. Very much."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger coughs quietly.

Yay for the radio! It was actually kind of funny to be chatting with Feste via radio while standing TWO FEET AWAY FROM HIM, but, well. Such is the way of the world, and it has moved on. "Do tell me if anything comes of it, hm? I'll be happy to show up at one of their concerts, should things work out for you." He pauses, then puts out his hand silently. Hand over the pen.

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "I'm afraid to ask if this autograph includes the usage of paper, or just adequate bare skin."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Mm. I might have to think about this."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "...a good question, lady."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Sane is as sane does, Snake."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster says, disapprovingly, "So he's one o' /those/ celebrities."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster tsks.

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy clears his throat quietly.

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "You've broad enough shoulders for a name as long as his, I think. Go ahead."

"Oh, excellent." Feste, of course, has no problems speaking over the radio and all that good stuff. mhm.

As Abby extends his hand, Feste...stares at it, and idly reaches into his pocket for the Sharpie. What? But...sharpie...tourist deterrent...aha. Feste grabs at Abernathy's hand, opened Sharpie already armed and ready in the other. Once this is done, Feste writes two letters in thick black ink: N O. This done, he caps the Sharpie and smiles. Teehee.

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste /snrk/.

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy says mildly, "Damn you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Give me that."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "No, it's mine, you can't have it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster says sympathetically, "Ye have sinus trouble, y'lord? Sounds like a nasty blocked nose yer had there."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "...Ah, this brings back memories. Minus the sound of a stapler clicking in the background, that is."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I'm still not a lord, and yes. It is a quite unfortunate chronic problem that I have."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Put some ice on it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I think I just might."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shyster transmits, "Recommend a good antihistamine, Stillnota'lord.""

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Mmm. I'll take it into consideration, of course."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Thank you very much, kind citizen."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "That reminds me. Dr. Matthews?"

Curiously, the one thing that Abby does not have in his capacious pockets is a sharpie. Or, for that matter, any sort of pen. He will need to rectify this.

Not expecting this particular turn of events -- or perhaps expecting but not believing -- Abernathy stands there as his hand is drawn on. Apparently, his palms are ticklish, as his hand twitches, smearing the ink -- and smearing it further as he snaps a hand out, aiming to grab Feste's wrist. SHARPIE! I MUST HAVE IT! PRECIOUSSSS!

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Ah--hey!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Yes, Dr. Doppler?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Do remind Pavel that he still has my paperweight."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "I'll do that. Though the only paperweight I've seen in his office is a compressed heap of metal. I think it may have been Dr. DeVry."

[Radio: (F) Public] Guts Man transmits, "What? Did you lose his stapler again?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "I do not have his stapler. However, he does have my paperweight."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "No, wait. Sorry, my mistake. DeVry is what he uses for his ashtray."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Ah, how can you think of DeVry....and /not/ laugh?"

La la la. Writing is fun, but writing on /people/ is even *more* fun. Feste blinks as Abby makes a grab for his lovely Sharpie, pulling it back towards himself on reflex. "Ah--hey!" Mine! It's mine! ARRRRARARAR.

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Being told 'Bend over for the next man you see and serve your function as a breeder rather than wasting our time by playing doctor' by the fellow rather negates any amusement I might have over the fellow's well-deserved demise. I think I might go have a cigarette now, though."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Those are awful for you, m'lady."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man laughs. "Well, okay, DeVry DID have some style."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "I'll suffer, I'm sure."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste tchs.

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler snorts. "DeVry had his uses, but yes, the world is much better off without him and his mewling."

Abernathy pauses, seeing that he is not going to get the Sharpie without an outright brawl. And that would be truly unfortunate. So instead, he shifts to psychological tactics -- raising his eyes to Feste and giving the Fool a particularly sad look.

Feste tchs loudly, half-rolling his eyes. "I must say, sirrah! Dirty tactics, thou fiend!" cries the Fool, while LUNGING FORWARD TO WRITE ON ABERNATHY'S FACE FOR GREAT JUSTICE. He'll go for an 'L', but if he can manage an 'F.' that'd be even better! Bwahahahaha!

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I have a question."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Is sadfacing your opponent an official, UN-sanctioned tactic?"

Aw, damn. Forget this not turning into a brawl. Feste just declared war. Abernathy ducks under the attempted vandalism to UN property -- YES, that's the legal term for it! -- and lunges forward, trying to tackle the Fool about the waist. Bwahhahaha! Yes! This will get him the Sharpie!

Meanwhile, the bystanders try to ignore this.

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "No."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Whatever it takes, my friend, whatever it takes."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I mean, honestl-- *muffled oof*"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste *thud*. "...er, well, try telling that to their Director." *cough*

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Okay, then turn up your radio's audio speakers. I'll give you a moment."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "...what?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "NO, YOU CAN DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, MR. DIRECTOR PERSON!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Don't encourage him!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Abernathy transmits, "Why, thank you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "There. Did he hear that?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "He's trying to steal my personal property!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "More power to him."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger murmurs quietly, "I suggest a strategic attack to the rear, Director."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste mutters. "I daresay he did. And-- well, fine!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste *sputters*.

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I beg your *pardon*, my lady!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Yes?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Thievery is a prerequisite for all UN officers. Didn't you know that?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "You're going to give him ideas!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "...Yes."

[Radio: (F) Public] Paradigm transmits, "Ah, yes, Doctor, but what with these suggestions of attacks from...ahem, behind, one wonders exactly what it /is/ that they are stealing."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "My pen!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Paradigm transmits, "Is that what they call it these days?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "He's trying to steal my Sharpie."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Really? Hey, if that's true, then /I/ could be a U.N. Officer!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Yes, that is what they are calling it these days."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Yes, you'd certainly have the mentality for it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Paradigm transmits, "Fascinating."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wild Fungus transmits, "My time, my freedom of thought. The lack of nausea I was experiencing before you spoke. You might be the cause of my indigestion, but I somehow doubt it. Thieving b******!!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I think some people prefer 'permanent marker', but Sharpie is what I'll always say. Brand loyalty and all that."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Cool."

Oh crap. Feste is easily tackled to the floor, *almost* releasing his grip on the Sharpie as a result. *oof* After a moment's pause, Feste renews his attempts to draw on Abernathy's face. HE WILL NOT BE DENIED

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Still, a swift attack to the flank has always been a sure-fire S.W.A.T. method. I don't see why it wouldn't work now."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "... ... because!"

Nuh-uh. As appealing as Abby's pale skin might be to draw on, he will not allow that. What's worse is all the nattering the Fool -- or just fool -- is doing on the radio. The Director's eyes narrow behind his glasses, and he does the only thing that comes to mind to SHUT FESTE UP.

That is, grab at the back of his head and kiss him. Dammit, man, be quiet!

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger chuckles quietly, "Men are so amusing when squealing from various inventive tortures." She pauses breifly, "Maybe this is why I don't get dates often."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Yes, welmmfmfmfmm!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Nah, I'd say it's 'cuz yer a hardcore b****."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "When I stand here, you know what I see? Other then an overturned cheese truck. Morons. A whole city of 'em. I mean, Wily wants to mae their lives better, and they don't wanna let him. It's sad, really."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "It's probably that whole 'dictator' thing he's got going for him."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Humanity has never understood what's best for it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "At least he gets things done. The U.N. just sits on their rears at talks at each other all day."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Humanity doesn't understand what's best for it because, in spite of us all sharing common factors, we are individuals and not one collective whole. The needs of one are not necessarily the needs of another."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "So?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "So, the point is that we each have to decide for ourselves what is best for ourselves, and work to establish that in our lives."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "It's not something that can be treated in one lump sum."

Erk. Squinting one red eye, Feste continues with the struggle, wielding his mighty Sharpie for chaos, flippancy, and the Fool's Way, until--

And right in the middle of his bloody sentence, too. But there's your proof that it WORKS. Feste continues squinting -- mother of-- ?!? Oh-- /oh/? Well. Isn't this nice.

Bystanders? What bystanders? YOU SAW NOTHING

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "I need fuel at regular intervals, Crash Man needs vodka, Aqua Man needs a swift kick in the grill daily, see, we aren't all the same, either. And Wily provides for us juuust fine."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Even so, there are still some common factors that can be addressed, but usually are not."

[Radio: (F) Public] Paradigm transmits, "Collective hysteria. Mob mentality. Documented instances of humans acting with group concensus. At a sufficiently macro scale, where discrepencies average out, it /is/ possible to statistically analyze and predict human behavior."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "True enough. So, why aren't you?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Wild Fungus transmits, "If someone else is doing it. It's okay."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Even cattle stampede at times. I admit we've got our faults, but if we didn't have some merit none of you would exist."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Because caring for the good of humanity is no longer my concern. They have proven themselves on the whole to be a base society without redemption."

Abernathy doesn't let up for nearly half a minute; long enough to insure the whims of the global broadband group mind have drifted away from the topic Feste started. Only then does he let the Fool go, and hisses, under his breath: "Now. Will you give me the pen, or should we go elsewhere to continue this little conversation? People /are/ staring."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Well, according to some of you, Wily has no merits. Now, I know that's not true by a long shot, but lets assume for arguement's sake it is. Since Wily's the father of all robots, and since he, supposedly, has no merits, then humanity having merits has no effect on our exsistance."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wild Fungus transmits, "Everything Humanity creates is artificial. They create amazing simulacra of life. But some feel plastic is superior to flesh, or that flesh is superior to steel. We all have a common need for life. We've all earned that."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wild Fungus transmits, "If you don't like your neighbours, find another Slum, good sir.".

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Wily is not the father of all robots. There were robots centuries before Wily was even a twinkle in his mother's eye... And I've met her. Regardless, while Wily has my respect as a scientist, I'm still going to rip his beard off if he ever touches my ass again."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wild Fungus transmits, "Doctor Wily, has a poorly groomed moustache. Not a beard."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Grams is great, innit she? And his moustache is stylistically ahead of the times, get it right."

The Fool merely looks up at Abernathy, eyes a bit on the wide side, looking slightly...bewildered.

"Well, given what it's gotten me thus far, I vote we continue elsewhere," Feste responds, still bewildered and thus lacking his usual amused, oftentimes mildly sarcastic tone. (squeak.) "And that's not *my* fault, now is it?" Psh, who cares about the people!

[Radio: (F) Public] Rigger transmits, "Surprisingly enough I don't care enough about his facial hair to keep track of what disgusting style it's in."

[Radio: (F) Public] Quick Man transmits, "Your loss."

Hah. So there was a way to put the Fool off his balance without getting him violent. Abernathy leans back slightly, then shifts to a kneeling posture and offers Feste a hand up. "Any thoughts on where 'elsewhere' might be?" he asks, calmly. No, he did not just kiss this man. Aha! "Or shall we go find your trumpet first? And no. It's not. But I thought I'd point it out."

"Oh, well, thank you very much," Feste murmurs, taking the proffered hand and rising to his feet. "Elsewhere. Hm. My trumpet is immaterial; I can get it later. And no, I didn't really have any ideas as to where elsewhere may be." A pause, as Feste caps the vorpal Sharpie and brushes his bangs out of his face. "But then, elsewhere is anywhere and everywhere. We have limitless possibilities. I'm sure you'll think of something, brilliant as you are."

Abernathy rises to his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets once more. Ah-ah, look, but don't touch. Ostensibly. At least, now. "Ha. You flatter me. About all I can think of right now is a certain apartment." He gives a slight thoughtful pause, frowning. " ... But considering the way you've taken to my couch ... "

Feste lingers there on the ground for a moment, sadfacing at Abernathy while regripping the Sharpie. MUST NOT LOSE IT.

"But I -like- your couch."

"Well, yes. I'd assumed as much." Abernathy stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives Feste a dour, sober look. "Though I must wonder what happens if someone wanders in and catches you sleeping there at an inopportune time." He taps his fingers idly against his forearm, dour look deepening to a frown. "My brother comes to mind."

Ooh. Point. Feste gets back up on his feet, pocketing the Sharpie FOR NOW. "Oh. Yes. That would be unfortunate." A pause as Feste resettles his hair. Getting tackled tends to get it all out of place and such, and we can't have that. "So, then, what do you suggest?"

Of course Feste knows what the obvious answer is. He'd just like to hear it from Abernathy's mouth.

Aha. And Abernathy seems aware of this, as he raises his eyes skyward, as if asking heaven for patience. "Your apartment, of course. Or we could scandalize Lady Evan's custom, though I'm not sure she'd appreciate that." He continues to tap his fingers against his forearm, though he glances down at Feste now.

Yes, that's rather what he was waiting to hear. Feste grins -- almost wolfishly -- and looks off, towards those pesky bystanders. Just what do they think they're looking at?

"Something tells me m'lady Evan would not entirely appreciate that," Feste replies, bemused. "Therefore. Away we go, then, and anon, ere I think of something else to do."

"You know her better than I," Abernathy comments, airily, and pivots on one foot -- ostensibly to walk back to the teleporters. "Heaven knows I'm just some freeloader who occasionally drops by to make them wonder who the hell YOU pissed off to warrant me dogging your steps like some overgrown puppy." He glances back over his shoulder, and favors the Fool with a positively wicked look. "Shall we?"

Aww. Feste laughs not-so-quietly at Abby's description of himself. Well, let's see. That's really not too far from the truth, if 'them' means 'Raleigh'. Beyond the regulars, most of the people of the Plague Rat never bothered to get to know each other.

Let laughter be his answer, as he begins forward, following Abernathy.

Ah, London. City of hell and getting lost a lot. Good thing Abernathy remembers the way to Feste's apartment, or else they'd be really lost. Which would be rather depressing. But! Thankfully, this is not so, yadda yadda ... actually, Abernathy has been surprisingly quiet as they walk, mostly keeping his thoughts to himself. London is interesting enough to occupy him.

He could've just let Feste lead. Then he *also* wouldn't have his back to the Fool, which may be dangerous. In this situation, anyway.

Feste whistles the whole way there -- yes, the WHOLE way. *whistlewhistlewhistle*

He carries right on whistling once they get to Feste's apartment complex, where Feste starts to speed up. Still whistling, mind you. He walks RIGHT UP TO ABERNATHY, and once he within striking distance, he withdraws the Sharpie and attempts to draw on Abby's face again. From behind. (oh nos!)

Oh, not again. Abernathy blinks, senses prickling as Feste sneaks up behind him. So he simply stops in his tracks, and makes a grab for the Fool's wrist -- despite the fact this will likely end with him getting SHARPIE MARKS on his FACE. "Tsk. Frisky, are we?" he comments.

Yes, again! Feste is determined to mark his territ-- err, mark Abby's face. Because it would be *really funny*, dammit. The Fool struggles with it a moment, and then relents. His stop came up, you see, so he beelines for his apartment.

Fickle, fickle, fickle. Evidently the preemptive attack was just not worth the effort.

Abernathy lets Feste go, somewhat bemused by that turn of events. He stares after the Fool a long minute, rubbing at the slight smear of sharpie over his right eyebrow in a troubled manner. He pulls his fingers away from his face, peering down at the black streaks on them -- before giving a shake of his head, and tucking his hand away in one pocket of his coat. Only then does he follow after Feste.

Tra la la. The second phase of this mission can wait until they've moved inside.

Gee. Why does this set alarms off in Andruw's pretty little head? I wonder.

Feste, however, is utterly unconcerned with such nonsense as being in the moral right. So no matter what may happen, he continues. La la la. Goes up the staircase, successfully ignores any other denizens of the complex (few in number) and unlocks the door.

[Radio: (B) None] Junk Man snarls the words. "GAH! If Gre tries to find me, tell him I'll be on the exact other side of the world from wh-wherever he currently is! Aargh! *click*

[Radio: (B) None] Grenade Man cackles.

What was disturbing for Abernathy was the undeniable feeling that this was all quite suddenly -- no longer in his hands. So when he does follow Feste up the stairs, it's with the same hesitation and bemusement of before. But follow he does, which could be seen as something like a lack of sense. Not that he's ever shown very much. He slips in to stand behind Feste.

"After you," Feste says, airily, upon opening the door. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... hoy. Is there ... ... ... o' ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... would be ... how can ... ... you?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... delivery ... you ... Care ... ... France.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ...What? ... ... Louvre?? ... ... being ... to ... Australian ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: I c'n ... ... anywhere y'want ... ma'am. ... ... y'might... ... ... to ... me less if I explained WHY I stole 'em.

"Are you going to try and draw on me again if I put my back to you?" Abernathy asks, without budging from his spot. Somebody's suspicious.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... you're the ... I ... you ... recovered ... ... ... ... ... you ... the decency to own up ... ... I suppose and ... decency ... ... the things. Very well ... ... ... of Resolution Point.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Just don't hurt him Iris....please.

"Of course not," comes the still-airy reply. Feste shall keep holding the door open until Abernathy goes through. Yeah. Hurry it along, why don't we?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... right ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... him Iris! Wail ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Don' make ... ... ya'll scales.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Just ... ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... you ... not ... ... <SNORT!>

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... Okay now ... hurt you.

[Radio] Transmission detected: But I'm not ... the mood to ... it.

[Radio] Transmission detected: I ... I had some more ... Brush's burgers ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: Brushed ... ... ... hurtin'. ... heart bleeds I'm sure...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... the attitude ... assume ... ... ...

"I'll be very disappointed if, having said that, you do it anyway." Abernathy's tone is matter of fact as he points this out -- but he nevertheless does step around Feste and inside the apartment. Of course, his first act is to -- head to the couch. Turnabout, after all.

[Radio] Transmission detected: Mebbe. ... don' ... to anythin' ... a firs' date tho' ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... need to have ... ... one sometime then.

[Radio] Transmission detected: :tchs ... ... "What ... ... g'night? I'm ... scales."

"Oh," Feste replies, mildly unhappy or at least sounding that way. "Well, then. I'll save it for later."

He steps in after Abernathy and shuts the door -- rather quietly. Slamming the door would not at all be healthy for the ears, after all. And oh look. Is Abby going to take over his couch, now? how fitting!

Andruw Nisse's Apartment <ANA>(#4457Ten)

Andruw Nisse's apartment is ill taken care of, but due to its little usage, it stays in good shape. It's outfitted with a small kitchen, living room, bathroom, and single bedroom. Cozy little place, really, with a window looking out on Hyde Park.

Cozy, really, if not for the books scattered EVERYWHERE. Now we know what this man does in his spare time. Other than that, it's relatively spotless, although the furniture looks decidedly on the old side. He could use some decorative advice, though...

Obvious exits:

Out <O> leads to London - Historical District.

Abernathy has arrived.

Why, yes. Abernathy is going to take over Feste's couch, a fact he demonstrates by sprawling on said couch full-length. Of course, it does take dislodging a book or two, but once he has, he's on the couch, feet propped up on the opposite armrest and hands tucked behind his head. He favors the Fool with an insincere little smile, which makes him look particularly coy -- and the smeared black mark above his white eyebrow turns coy to roguish. "Only if you give me one will I consent to it," he says, primly.

Feste draws his Sharpie from his pocket, and promptly discards his jacket. You don't, after all, wear jackets inside. (really!) He cannot help but smile at Abby, with marker on his face. It's just so... incongruous, and yet so appropriate.

"I don't know why you put up such a resistance, sirrah. After all, it goes quite well with your, ah... color scheme."

"It's a part of my nature," Abernathy replies, in the same prim tone. You don't wear jackets inside -- unless you're Abernathy, who has neglected to take off his coat. Hah. Such a rebel, he is. "You spend as much time digging in your feet and stubbornly resisting the system as I do, and it turns into a really bad habit." His insincere smile widens just a little.

"Tch, tch. Such a stubborn mule we are." Feste idly twists the cap of the Sharpie -- not off, just twisting it. *twistytwistytwisty* It's fun. Really. You ought to try it sometime.

"I suppose I could go see if I have another one," he continues, still fidgeting with his own marker. "I probably do, somewhere. Failing that, I could always give you a hilighter. I *know* I've got those." No, this is not an unusual topic. Not at all!

"Quite. Right down to the whole 'never breeding' thing," Abernathy replies, cheerfully enough. It seems the primness has fled for a moment.

He wiggles his shoulders slightly, getting a little more comfortable on the couch and watching Feste with a wary eye. "Why, that would be delightful. And a highlighter would be just as amusing; your hair is the perfect color for it, after all." A wicked gleam appears briefly in his eyes.

Getting more comfortable on *Feste's* couch. The Fool can't help but feel a little twinge of territoriality as Abernathy makes himself more comfortable. And--

Oh no. hair + hilighter == bad.

"You wouldn't," Feste murmurs. EVIL. Narrowing his eyes, he heads for the kitchen, where there might be a sharpie available.

"...while I'm over there -- care for some tea, perhaps?" There's a bit of rather wicked sarcasm in his tone. It's self-defense.

"You, dear sir, were the one who decided drawing on me would be really funny," Abernathy drawls. "I would indeed. Besides, it does wash out. Eventually." He leans his head back slightly, eyes slitting closed as he does so. He looks so -- comfortable. Possessive. Rather like a cat, that way.

The offer of tea causes him to tense up slightly, though it's quite unnoticeable with how relaxed he is right now. "No, thanks anyway."

Mmf. Yeah yeah yeah, so what? Feste shrugs and disappears into the next room.

So much for the tea, Feste thinks as he hunts for the correct cabinet. Guess that's what I get for trying to be hospitable. The Fool idly looks over his shoulder, spotting some part of abernathy-on-the-couch. He hasn't run off yet, how nice, or...something.

The sound of various things being shuffled around within the confines of a cabinet can be easily heard as Feste hunts for another Sharpie. Lessee. Hilighters, pens, broken pens, broken hilighters, pencils, broken pencils... hey look, a stapler! ... rulers, index cards... meh. No Sharpie. (of course, this is in part because F did indeed just procure the one he holds so dear.)

Paranoia: Making interpersonal relations strained since the dawn of time. Abernathy remains right where he is on the couch -- until Feste starts making noise in the kitchen. He opens an eye then, glancing over toward Feste in the kitchen. Satisfied that he won't be bothered for a moment, he stretches his arms above his head -- then slides off the couch, to prowl around the apartment. Look at all these *books*! Which -- would be what he's doing. He didn't have much of a chance to do that the last time he was here ...

Andruw Nisse owns many, many books.

Milton, Shakespeare, More, Chaucer, Wilde... the variety is stunning, really. He's got quite the collection -- mostly old things, mythology, poetry, and suchlike. Well, come on. He's an English major. What do we expect him to own?

Of course, there are more modern books as well. Feste-Andruw doesn't limit himself to pre 23rd century literature. Even if most of today's stuff sucks. Hey, is that a copy of Galatea's Lament? Hm!

Meanwhile, the Fool himself is still rummaging around. Eh. It's looking like he doesn't have another sharpie, so hilighter will have to do. Green, or blue? It comes down to which F would rather have in his hair. Yep. Blue.

It's that lattermost book that gives Abernathy momentary pause -- and he actually picks it up with a slight, weird smile. Almost fond, that smile, as he begins thumbing through the book, practically oblivious to the world. From time to time he'll pause, running a finger along a familiar passage a moment before going back to flipping through it.

Aha. There's the blue one. Feste takes it in hand and heads back out into the living room, after one wistful, longing look at his teapot. (tea ;_;)

"Well, you're just going to have to make due wi--"

Feste stops upon seeing Abby with a certain book in hand -- and a certain smile on his face. What...? Feste can but stand there, observing. Perplexed.

So lost is Abernathy in thumbing through the book that it takes him a moment to recognize he's being spoken to. He tucks a finger in between the pages of the book to mark his place and shuts it, before glancing up with Feste. Some mild puzzlement is on his face. "Hm?" he inquires, guileless.

"Find something you like?" Feste asks, simply curious, slightly cautious. He isn't quite sure what to make of this, other than that... Abby's got some fascination with the Cossack's work.

"Oh. Well." Abernathy smiles faintly, though not with the same wistfulness as before. "Yes, I suppose. I already have both his books, but -- ah." He shifts the book around in his hands, taking his finger from the place he was marking and simply closing it. "I was wondering which edition this was, and how closely you'd been reading it." It sounds a little lame, but has the usual ring of truth.

Likely story! "Really," Feste replies dully. I don't believe you for a second, and there's something you're not telling me. Howe'er, this does not override our marker fight.

Feste holds up the blue hilighter. "Want this one?"

Abernathy blinks once, and stares at Feste -- he caught the subtext there, and, as a consequence, carefully puts the book down with no further mention of the matter. That is, beyond a simple acknowledgement: "Really. And that will be fine, though the question is more if *you* like it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Nistro transmits, "*Elvis Voice Emulator(r) by Replisoft* Introduce The King of Rock ÔNÕ Roll¨ to your children -- and grandchildren -- with a musical teddy bear. WeÕve got mousepads, magnets, and much more! YouÕre a fantastic audience. Thankyouverymuch¨!"

That's right, put it down. "Blue is fine," Feste says calmly, holding the marker out for Abby to take. "I always did prefer it to neon yellows, oranges, pinks and greens, at least in terms of hilighting things..."

"Fair enough," says Abernathy, trying to get away from the serious -- discomfort -- the whole book issue brought up. "Though I do prefer orange myself." He takes the hilighter from Feste, uncapping it once he has it in hand. Checking that it's not dried out, dontchaknow.

Feste is eager to give Abernathy an opportunity to get away from it; simply stated, he doesn't really want to know. Not right now. Perhaps later.

"Whatever. You'll have to settle for blue. So. Now that we are both armed..."

So now that they're agreed to keep off the topic, Abernathy seems to have calmed down a little. Satisfied his weapon is loaded, so to speak, he clicks the cap back on the hilighter. Only to take it off again, almost immediately, as Feste speaks. "Are there some kind of formal rules for this, or can I just knock you over and start scribbling now?"

Rules. Hm. Feste twists the cap of his Sharpie once more, to take it off. Armed and ready.

"Rules? Formal? It's a marker fight, man. There aren't any that I'm aware of..." ...which of course means that Feste is quite vulnerable, having not taken the first shot.

LET THE BADDLE BEGIN.

"Ah. Well then." Abernathy, being a gentleman, leans in -- and draws a pretty blue stripe on Feste's nose. Or tries to, anyway. Aww, he's so cute like that. Of course, if Feste doesn't move, the blue stripe is going to turn into writing in Cyrillic. MWA HA HA.

A fruity blue stripe, oh no!

Feste idly tabs his radio off. Who cares about RM internal communications? He has other things to be concentrating on. Thus the stripe is allowed.

Feste, on the other hand, writes in ENGLISH...because. Yes. Grinning, he moves in for what's been his original target all along -- Abby's forehead. He *will* put an F there. YES.

You deactivate your radio.

You deactivate your radio intercept ability.

It doesn't LOOK like an F, though, because Abby ducks. So it's more like some mutant bastard lovechild of an F and an integral sign. That terminates somewhere near his hairline. But he didn't duck merely to avoid getting branded, oh ho ho, as he intends to tackle Feste, as warned beforehand. The better to sit on his chest and start coloring his hair.

Alas! Feste is once again caught offguard and tackled about the midsection. Damn that soldier's reflexes. The Fool goes down with an 'oof' and a 'thud'. oh nos!

A quiet cackle of satisfaction arises. The Fool is now at Abernathy's MERCY, a fact that he capitalizes on quickly by attempting to pin the Fool's arms and straddle his chest, uncapped hilighter waving dangerously near that pretty blond hair.

That would be quite a feat, wouldn't it? Feste struggles in an attempt to prevent that awful fate. Yes, that would be TERRIBLE, argh. Plus, y'know, he has to get his attacks in, too...

Oh, well. That was a given; it wouldn't be as fun. Either Feste's struggles actually prove effectual, or Abernathy decides that immobilizing this early on would make it boring. For whatever reason, he abruptly gives up on trying to pin Feste, and instead slumps to the floor by the Fool -- making a grab for a fistful of hair as he does. And beginning to scribble industriously. Pretty Pretty Princess Feste, with blue highlights!

oh nos! The Fool blinks as Abby just up and quits -- seemingly -- and slips down to his side. Well, we can't have this, can we? Before Abby can scribble all over more than one handful of Feste's hair, F flips over and recommences his SHARPIE ATTACK.

Abernathy is now piebald. Good thing his clothing is black. He narrows his eyes at Feste -- his right is looking rather bruised from all the Sharpie ink around it -- and leans forward to return the earlier favor with a bright blue 'A' scribbled on Feste's forehead.

Mm. Abby is going to turn into either a raccoon or a demented panda by the time Feste's done. Of course, there's the matter of this 'A' Feste has managed to get while throwing defense to the wind in an attempt color as much as possible. Yes. It's... an A.

The Fool briefly closes his eyes and laughs -- as if this weren't amusing enough already. Besides, that tickles. (teehee)

Abernathy taptaps the 'A' with his pen, adding several pretty little dots to Feste's forehead decorations. "Appropriate, isn't it?" he muses, amused -- before reaching forward with the pen, taking advantage of the Fool's dropped guard to give him a pwetty bwoo mustache.

"A for Andruw," Feste comments, still laughing quietly. Trying not to, really, but failing. "And also Adrian. And Abernathy. Hm..."

Feste attempts to repair the butchered 'F' on Abby's forehead, trying not to laugh too hard at all this. eeeeeeee.

"There, see? We've got you outnumbered. You need to change your name, dear Fool. It's breaking the trend." Abernathy is branded with an F. An F -- like a FOX! Sadly, the F only gets further messed up as Abernathy leans down, touching his lips to the Fool's -- and relying on the potential distraction to doodle a line of dots down Feste's neck. Mwa ha ha.

"Dammit, hold still," Feste murmurs, half-annoyed and half-terribly amused. Of course, then Abby manages to thoroughly distract him. Well! The Fool can just distract right back, can't he? By returning the gesture? (and, of course, taking the opportunity to draw lines on Abby's cheek.)

"Mph," Abernathy declares, before pulling back, with nice new lines on one cheek. "Oh good. You're learning to fight dirty," he adds, before attempting to color Feste's left eyebrow blue in one long scribble. "So how do we determine who 'wins', anyway?"

Hm. The Fool shrugs, despite his rather awkward position. "Y'know, that's a very good question," he replies, bemused. And yes. he *is* learning to fight dirty. Guess who he learned it from!

"I've never actually played this game before, so I'm really just making it up as I go along," he adds, swatting at Abernathy's hand.

Thus temporarily defeated, Abernathy tosses the pen to his other hand and begins scribbling on Feste's face again. Since it's his off-hand, the scribbles are, needless to say, much more scribbly than they might otherwise be. "Oh, I see. If it's 'the last man left with a bare patch of skin wins', this is going to get much more interesting."

"Mm. I don't know, but I somehow doubt it will go *that* far. Besides..." Ehr. Wait a second. Feste has fully parsed the meaning of that statement now. If only you could see the sweatdrop.

"...ah... that's awfully scandalous."

Abernathy pauses at that statement, the game look of amusement flickering and dying in his eyes. He leans back, sitting upright once more, and caps the hilighter with a *click*. Almost at once, and unconsciously, he begins twisting it between his fingers. His gaze shifts way from Feste, resting somewhere else in the apartment. "Isn't it?" he says distantly. "Extremely scandalous, point of fact. Forget I suggested it."

Oh dear. Feste sits back up soon after, looking, of all things -- slightly worried. Well, as worried as one can look when one has a blue moustache and a big, fruity blue 'A' on one's face.

But the Fool thinks better of it, trading the worry for amusement. "Yes. Just think of what the *tabloids* would say." A pause, as Feste smirks gestures to illustrate his point. "'Interpol Director Settling Down With Some Tall Blonde Girl? Expert analysts: 'But we thought he was gay!'"

To say nothing of the impressive black patterns that Abernathy is sporting. But he shows his usual lack of self-consciousness as he rests an elbow on one knee, leaning his chin against his fisted hand and regarding Feste with cold, sober eyes. "Oh, yes," he breathes. "I can. Especially the ones that don't think we're shacking up but prefer the far more sensationalist idea that I forced myself on you." He pops the cap off the hilighter with a thumb, then quickly slides it back in place. Rinse. Repeat. *pop-click* *pop-click* *pop-click* ...

Heh. "And did you? I'm dying to know. Heaven knows I can't wait for the next edition of the Enquirer-Sun. I absolutely *have* to know more about your personal life." Feste's tone is airy, flippant, and irreverent -- are we surprised? The Fool is, inwardly, a bit bothered by this change in demeanor. Dammit, Andruw, you had to get all touchy, now look what you've done. This is all your fault.

*clickPOP* Abernathy pulls the cap off the hilighter, inspecting the nib thoughtfully. He pulls a single hair that's more bluish than blond off, and flicks it aside, before capping it once more. Though his attention is apparently focused on this mindless tasked, he speaks to Feste without hesitation. "You should know, as a self-professed corrupter of words, that what they write will be more truthful in the eyes of the public than anything I could say." He pauses, then drops the pen. Fidgeting just doesn't do. "Much as I would like it otherwise."

"So much for ideals, ha? Truth, justice, beauty -- who cares, when I can read about famous people and what they do when no one's looking?"

There's no hint whatsoever that Feste is anything but amused by that train of thought. While the Fool finds it amusing, Andruw finds it... disheartening. Disturbingly true.

"Make sure you don't just leave that on the floor," he asides, quietly, before continuing on his mini-tirade. "But you knew these things already, so why are you telling me?"

"Because I, like the rest of the world, serve only for the sake of amusing you," remarks Abernathy. "Unlike the rest of the world, I've been wise enough to realize this." He plucks the hilighter up off the floor as bid, and tucks it in the pocket of the coat he's still wearing, in defiance of custom. "And, hell, why not make sure somebody's happy before I die? Thus, since you seem to enjoy me telling you things I already know, I do it."

Feste pauses to take all this in, eyes glimmering.

"...oh, really? Brilliance!" he crows. "I wonder who the genius was that came up with that, yes?" Abby's stealing of hilighter is ignored. Feste has many hilighters.

"As for you, well, you are the very flower of chivalry. How kind of you, to go out of your way to make me happy..."

"It's widely believed that I'm insane." There is a certain gravity to this words that Abernathy's look of dour humor doesn't quite dispense. "I thought I might as well have fun maintaining the illusion." To accent the words, he salutes Feste -- not his usual analyst's salute, but a full, crisp, military affair.

"Ah, ja visst! Me too, and I wholly support you, sirrah." Mm. Toeing the line between wit and nonsense again, apparently. Feste airily waves off the salute. "At ease, soldier."

As ordered, Abernathy relaxes. He draws his knees up to his chest and tucks his arms around them, resting his chin on one knee and continuing to regard Feste through slitted eyes. "You would," is all he murmurs. Then he lapses into silent staring.

That's cute, in an odd sort of way. Feste tchs... sighs... and meets Abernathy's gaze, in typical, semi-dramatic fashion. Two can play at this game.

Abernathy arches a brow silently, in a 'oh hello' sort of manner. So it's to be a staring contest? ... Well, Abernathy'll lose. For all the cybernetics he's got, his eyes are rather lacking. So, instead of maintaining the pretense of actually having a chance at winning, he sweeps his eyelashes a little lower in a demure look -- before getting up and sauntering over to the couch and sprawling on it again.

Feste siiiighs. "Oh, I see how it is. And they say -I'm- fickle." He, for his part, just sits there on the floor, watching Abernathy. Hmm hmm hmm. He ought to think of something to say.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to stay here," he adds, softly.

"I make a business of fighting fire with fire," Abernathy murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. He rests his boots on the arm rest once more, making himself comfortable in that insouciant, feline way of his. "And fickleness isn't much harder."

He pauses at the question, thinking on it, before his own expression -- and voice -- softens. "I won't impose."

"Oh. Sound policy, that." Feste shrugs helplessly, still watching Abernathy like a hawk.

"It's not an imposition. I have a couch for a reason," replies the Fool, amused.

"Collecting books and dust? Yes, that's a good reason," retorts Abernathy. He continues to gaze up at the ceiling.

Not fair, not fair! Feste chuckles. It's rather nice, though, when people actually make an attempt to be witty around him. Kinda fun, too.

"Tch. That isn't what I meant, but the moment's lost anyway. I am all too happy to return favors."

Abernathy breathes out in an uneven way that might be the beginnings of a laugh. "Naturally. Though I must admit I feel a little cheated."

Feste quirks an eyebrow. "Oh /so/? Do explain, my dear Abernathy."

"/You/ got the pleasure of my couch, free of charge or much harassment. *I*, however, must endure your particularly incorrigible humor until I decide to flee your apartment, barking mad or however I make out." He smiles at the ceiling.

Aww. Feste slowly gets back up on his feet, mock-frowning. "I'm hurt, sirrah. And I offered to make you tea. I mean, really!" Tch. Well, what could Feste do to make it more *hospitable* for you, *Abernathy*?! We're sure he's got a few ideas.

Abernathy gives an airy flick of one hand, dismissing this. "Oh, I'm sure you are. Nothing sadder than a crying clown." Hello, I am Adrian C. RANDOM-AFT Vorlaikal. "How was I to know you wouldn't put arsenic or something in it? Poisonining is very funny." A low, grating note in his undertones implies that there is a lot of sarcasm in that.

Oh, crying clowns, ha ha.

"Let me put it this way," Feste answers, raising a finger (index, mind you), "you're a lot more amusing alive than bleeding internally. Besides. Arsenic ruins the tea, and cyanide the flavor. This is *tea*, my good man."

A sad crying clown. In an iron lung.

"Oh! Glad to hear it. So why not use something, hm, tasteless? Botulin's always a good choice." Abernathy pauses. "British and their tea. I thought you were Norwegian, anyway. Shouldn't this be pickled herring or something equally bizarre we're bickering over?"

woe!

Feste rolls his eyes, very much *annoyed*. "I *am* Norwegian, thank you, but I've lived here for eleven years. Some of the culture's spilled over." Tchah. Feste mutters under his breath -- pickled herring? fft. that's english kippers, bub.

"And I don't *know* how to poison *anything* beyond the obvious. Identify 50 different species of fish, yes. Sail a boat, yes, and much more. Calumny and flattery are my tools -- not poison." Sigh. "But we could bicker about fish. If you want."

"Fish have scales," Abernathy mutters, almost under his breath. "And gills. And two-chambered hearts, and cold blood, except for tuna. Some fish have lateral lines. People eat fish raw and get parasites and live the rest of their lives unpleasantly." He pauses. " ... perhaps you should take up poisoning; it's really more interesting than fish."

Further rolling of eyes. "You know your biology, at least. These are not the interesting things about fish." Feste meanders over to the couch, taking a seat on the arm of it. Got tired of standing up.

He crosses his arms and continues in his 'I am Norwegian and therefore know much more about fish' tone. "I would rather learn a trade that is worthwhile and valuable in terms of supporting oneself and one's family than learn one of destruction. Simple as that, my friend."

"Oh. I see. Whereas I am very happy to play my diplomatic games and serve as a destructive parasite feeding upon humanity. Poison becomes *so* much more useful." Abernathy gives Feste a wolfish, but hardly amused, look. "I do believe we differ in that, sir. But then, I support my family by killing the opposition. Sort of a predatorial way to look at things, no?"

"Ahh, so we do, so we do. Kind of hard to feed your family with blood, though, isn't it?" An almost offhand question. Feste is, as we've said, very practical. Well, no. Andruw's very practical. So Abby's reasoning kind of clashes with his own internal logic...

"Parasitism, dear Fool. That's what the remainder of the human race I *didn't* kill is for. Support." Abernathy shifts slightly, so he's sitting more upright and less sprawl. "The farmers and fisherfolk are to be ruled with an iron hand, after I've gotten rid of the lawbreakers and warriors and disrespectable sorts like that." It's hard to tell if he's serious or sardonic. He may be both.

Feste taps his fingers on his arm, beating out a random, on the spot rhythm. "Oh, well, then. I suppose I'll just take my lower-caste self and my lower-caste tea and go to bed, then. You can feed off me in the morning." He sticks his nose in the air, just ever so slightly.

Abernathy grins. It is a not-nice grin, with canines bared. "Come now. Haven't you heard the rumors that I'm a vampire? Think of what you've invited into your home -- of course I won't wait until the morning to do any feeding."

Feste slips off the arm of the couch, smiling right back. "Try not to hesitate too long; I might get bored and wander off." Why else invite a vampire into your home, other than it'd be fun and interesting?

"Sleepwalking?" Abernathy drawls -- and slithers off the couch again, slinking over to the taller man. He tilts his head back, pink eyes narrow, and manages to look just a little malevolent despite the random splotches of black all over his face. This will need cleaning up in the morning. "Wasn't that how one of the useless women in Dracula met her end?"

"But Abernathy, how could I ever sleep with a vampire in my house?" asks Feste innocently, looking down at Abby. "Thankfully also, I am not a useless woman." Smirk.

"How could you not? To do otherwise would just invite scandal. Or narcolepsy." Abernathy gives Feste a quirky smile. "And I couldn't be more thankful for that. Weren't you going to go take your tea to bed or something?"

"Better scandal than living forever more as a member of the undead. Or so one would *think*." Feste smirks at the second answer -- oh, we bet you are.

"Ah, did you want me to leave so quickly?" alas. alack. woe.

"So one would." A pause. "No, not -- exactly. I've a question for you, before you go seek your eventual end by tea-drowning, or whatever."

"Oh? And what's that?"

Any pretension to humor that Abernathy had left flees. "When will I be allowed to talk to you as a person, instead of the Director to a Fool?"

Feste... just wilts. The humor disappears from his face, changing into a tired frown. You... what...? It's not that the question itself is so troublesome, but rather...

"Adrian," Feste murmurs, "when did you want to start?"

This gives Abernathy pause, and he swallows ... thinking before he answers that one. "When I feel as if I won't frighten you away, Andruw."

Andruw-Feste closes his eyes, resigned. "I... you... I can't guarantee..."

Well. Those sound pretty hollow and false and weak. Way to go, Andruw.

"...I scare *myself* away... I..." I want to, but I'm already frightened. (I don't want to be scared.)

"Then." It's more of a declarative statement than an introduction to further speech, and Adrian sets it off by folding his hands behind his back and waiting a solid half-minute before saying anything more. "If it's easier for you to keep me at arm's length, I'll dither around with the mask more." He almost starts forward -- it shows in the tensing of his muscles -- but stops, keeping his hands folded demurely behind him. "Honestly, I have no intention to knife you in the back or ... "

He considers the ridiculousness of this statement for a moment, then gives a slight shake of his head. "Never mind. You have every right to be afraid, Andruw." Then he smiles an honest, bright smile.

"Anyone would be, of death.

"Now, would you prefer I stay here or just let myself out?"

Andruw just -- just -watches-, unable to... well... the Fool's confidence allows him to do things that Andruw could never do...

"I... I'm not afraid of that..." Well, wait. He is afraid of that, just...not when it comes to Abernathy. "It's..."

Oh, but you have every right to be afraid. Andruw swallows, suddenly afraid of what Abernathy will say next. He -- suddenly feels so damned vulnerable...

"I don't know," he replies, and there's no doubt that this is completely, entirely true.

For some reason, Abernathy finds this whole situation terribly funny -- though he manages to restrain his mirth to one short bark of laughter, and nothing more.

"Oh good lord. I do believe that we're going to dither each other to death, or commit suicide after driving each other insane.

"Fine," he continues, and slinks over to the couch for the third time. He flops down once more, this time only taking up half of the furniture, and kicks off his boots. "I'm staying here, since I sure as hell don't want to go home looking the way I know I do. If you decide you want me out -- " He peels a cushion off the back of the couch, and makes of it a makeshift pillow. Then he pulls his coat up around him, and gives Andruw an amused look. " -- wake me and tell me. If not, well. Feel free to use the rest of the couch; it's yours, and you know I don't normally bite."

With that, he curls up with his makeshift pillow and closes his eyes. Obviously he *does* fully intend to go to sleep right there.

For once, there just aren't words.

Andruw finds himself the butt of a joke for, well, the first time in a long time. After having been on the opposite end for so long... it's rather strange to be laughed at. Mildly bewildered, Andruw walks around, to the back of the couch -- the end Abby's on. Thinking, at first. There are many...conflicting emotions, here. He just... isn't sure. What to do, what to feel, what to think -- it's all a mystery to him.

Feste might have taken the spare room on the couch, just because, but Andruw, apparently cannot bring himself to do the same.

"Good night," he whispers, before retreating into the other room.

Pink eyes slit open for just a moment at that whisper. It's almost hard not to catch it.

"Sleep well, Andruw," he bids in a murmur. "And may the nightmares be mild."