Open Post 002

[2020mod]

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musebox • rules • character list

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[viced]

Alright, alright. [ He patted his shoulder, reassuring. If it would mean that he'd be satisfied, he'd at least get a drink.

He could use one, at this point.

How many people in the City was he going to find that he knew? ]

Unless you puke on me, then all bets are off. [ He was joking, mostly.]

[retropolis]

Just one, it'll take no time at all. It's just good hospitality. I can't let you go without--

[ He shakes his head. It's pretty easy to fall back into social adequacy, even while drunk, now that he's had some time to let his crisis unfurl. He'll take pleasantries where he can get them.

He pats Maskin's chest with his other hand, laughing slightly. ]

Don't you worry, I've got a stronger stomach than all that. [ He grasps a little at his tie as he stumbles again. ] So, what kind of writing do you do? Fiction?

[viced]

Oh no, nonfiction, actually. Dry, policy shit that nobody really wants to read.

[ He waved a hand. No need for the guy to realize he was a bestseller, or anything. At least not right now, not while he was drunk and stumbling. The poor guy needed a good cup of coffee, some asprin, and something to eat. ]

Tell me about your books? I bet they're better than the adoring public knows. Sometimes the subtext is hard to pick up on.

[ Christ knows his was littered with it that nobody ever picked up on. ]

[retropolis]

Nonfiction, hm? Now, now. Don't be so hard on yourself, I find politics quite interesting sometimes... y-you need to at least keep up. Otherwise... well, you know. You write the things.

[ He hiccups and tries to stand straight again, moving away from Maskin enough that again he only uses his shoulder for support. He shakes his head. ]

God, nothing important like that. They're-- [ His expression turns sheepish again, or as much as it can when he's this drunk. ] I don't suppose you've heard of C.M. Guarde, have you?

[viced]

Oh. [ His eyebrows lifted, his mouth parting into an expression that for the briefest of moments, was very Mitchell Hundred. Wide eyes and curious, before he toned it down, as if he were thinking about it. ]

I think, if I remember right, I heard something about them, yes. I'm afraid I don't do a lot of reading for pleasure these days. I'm often a bit slammed, but I remember them hitting big a while ago. What was it, seven or eight years ago?

[ He didn't do much of anything for pleasure, but he'd at least sell it that it was business, instead of Mitchell just being his usual, boring self. Everything had to have a purpose, after all. Entirely efficient, like a well-oiled machine. ]

[retropolis]

[ Nelson's face flushes mildly, deeper than the redness already caused by alcohol. He can't help it, he's not exactly proud of the book series' reputation, though he's relieved that Maskin doesn't seem overly familiar. ]

About that, yes. It was just a whim for a little extra money, honestly, I didn't anticipate anything like -- um... by the way, I don't know what you've heard, but it is just a crime series. Mature, maybe, but nothing like-- [ He clears his throat, and puts his finger to his lips. ] Don't tell anyone. I prefer the, uh... anonymity. I'm sure you understand.

[ A pause. He shakes his head again. ]

Well, I guess not, if you write about politics. You'd want a name, then.

[viced]

Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I know how it is, wanting to be a little anonymous.

[ Oh, did he know. He lifted a shoulder. ]

Being famous has its downsides, you know. It's nothing like being a movie star, or anything, but being a well known author means everyone wants to know what you're working on next, and if you're still single...

Well, it's awful, at times, but the payoff's worth it.

[ Or it would be. ]

[retropolis]

It isn't just that. I could handle a little interest into my availability, were it not to come at the expense of my dignity and reputation. And, uh, peace, obviously. Such as it is...

[ Nelson shrugs a little, managing to walk slightly more steadily as the fresh air helps sober him up at least that much. He recognizes the area more now; they're close. ]

We're getting close. [ He nods. ] Of course it is nice to have money.

[viced]

Heck, it's always nice to have a little bit in the bank, huh?

[ He kept leading him on. There was a difference there, but maybe he'd always been the abnormal one. Nelson seemed like he wanted the personal attention. Mitchell, however, never had. He was intensely private, to the point that he forewent most recreation and enjoyment in an effort to keep his privacy just so.

He lets his hand drop, once he seems to have at least some control over his balance. ]

The problem with the press is that they always forget to give you any dignity, really. Once they start smelling blood, they call everyone else to circle around. There's so little balance.

[retropolis]

Oh, I know. Believe me, I know just how awful the press can be. I've had -- you know, I've known people who've died b-because of what the press had to say about them. I could never--

[ He shakes his head, breathing slowly. ]

I just can't. I want to be known for the good, not the... shameful. Not that it matters now. The world doesn't recognize the good, the great, or even the decent anymore.

[viced]

I know it doesn't. I'm, ah, that's the point, by the way, of my books.

To try and remind people that we're all good people. That we can do great things.

[ That imports could do great things, if the world would let them. It just seemed like it kept moving on, leaving the rest of them to fade in to the shadows, or become one with a regime even he couldn't support.

And he'd always relinquished most of his scruples for power. ]

[retropolis]

How's that going? [ Nelson chuckles bitterly, leaning against Maskin again. ] No offense. I'm sure your book is very good, but I can't say I've noticed much change.

[viced]

I know. It's never going to happen fast, especially not by writing a book.

[ He doesn't hold him up this time, or at least not help him outright, but he doesn't step away. No need for the guy to stumble and break his nose on the concrete. ]

But it lays some groundwork.

[retropolis]

That's what you hope, at least. [ He looks forward sadly, wiping at his eyes again. He points down the block. ] Sometimes it can't even do that. Not just books, but anything. You try to drum up some hope and some sense, but they just--

That's my house, by the way. Right down there.

[viced]

Ah, great. [ He led him in that direction, but it was slow going. ]

It might not do anything, but if I just leave it, I'd feel even worse about it. It's a moral obligation kind of thing, you know?

[retropolis]

[ Nelson stops for a moment to lean against a mailbox, breathing slowly and hiccuping again. He fears for a moment he will vomit but it's just a false alarm. ]

Why? [ His eyebrows furrow a little curiously. ] You're not one of those, uh, imPorts, are you? What's the concern in it for you?

[viced]

[ He laughs, and shook his head. You never knew who you could or couldn't trust in the import community. ]

No, I was born in New Jersey, I'm just a guy with an actual sense of right and wrong. This is a civil rights issue, and I can't just let injustice slip right by like that.

[retropolis]

Civil rights. [ Nelson clicks his tongue, rubbing his temple. ] I suppose you could put it like that if you had to. I don't know if I would... exactly... but obviously these people need some kind of help.

[viced]

They do. [ He lifted a shoulder. Shrugging. ] The problem is that there aren't enough people out there to help them. Not enough allies on our side.

[ He knew it was ironic, that "our side" was really just their side. ]

[retropolis]

[ He catches that, but mostly subconsciously -- the "our." He doesn't comment, though, fearing he's too inebriated to have heard or interpreted correctly. ]

No, there aren't. It's too hard to ally lost causes.

[viced]

[ He didn't catch the slip, thinking that Maskin was on the side of imports, but he shook his head. ]

It's not a lost cause. I wouldn't have signed on like this if I didn't think there was something here. Imports shouldn't be treated like this, hell, nobody should.

[ He snorted, soft and bitter. ] History shouldn't repeat itself, you know?

[retropolis]

[ He stumbles forward again, blinking wearily. ]

I think that depends on what the history is. This, though -- well, no, of course no one should be treated like criminals unless they've really done something.

[viced]

I agree, and while some imports were shitheads, a good portion of them never did anything but try and make this place better. [ He looks around, at the swath of houses, curious. ]

Which one is yours, anyway?

[retropolis]

At the end of the block -- around the corner, I mean.

[ He points to the brownstone at the corner. He clears his throat a little, nodding briskly. ]

A world should never turn on heroes. No matter who they are or where... or where they come from. That's not the way to get anything done at all.

[viced]

[ He leads nelson that way, but they're still far enough away that it's a bit of a hike. For a guy who rarely ate much, he sure as fuck moved like a pro still. ]

No, it's not, but we're all human, and unfortunately, fear is a powerful motivator. It's sad, but it's true.