PRIVATE Bail, Booze, and Heywood

[Copper Gallagher]

Location: Arroyo District, Santo Domingo
Time: 8:45pm
Tags: @Tyler "Minx" Dawson



"All released inmates please stand in a single file line as you wait for your transportation."


Copper, glued between two three-hundred pound Russians that reeked of ass in a can, was ready to tear her brains out if the NCPD guard forced the sweaty juicers to shuffle against her one more time. She felt nauseous. Fire broiled under her paling skin and the hoary sweat that was pooling at the bottom of her trustee hoodie made flips erupt inside her belly. Night City's smoggy air was no respite, the city was it's usual ribbon of neon-lit misery. The Arroyo District's streets were packed with heat, their red and blue lights making Copper's head pulse as they patrolled the inner corner lines of the penitentiary, scoping for the fugitives long harbored in some rathole near Watson, probably.


It wasn't like she cared. The only thought that breached the radiating pain racking her skull was her next drink and gig. Drink. Gig. Two words that kept the bile coming up her throat locked away and stayed her fists when the Russian monstrosity twins decided to raise their arms for a stretch and pollute the air further with their blinding stench. Count to ten, Copper. She thought, remembering that anger management gonk she saw on a vid explain that math can somehow make you less angry. If that didn't work she thought about the Valentino soldier that ripped a guard's toupee off during breakfast and wore it on his chin, a prank that earned the sorry gonk seventy-two hours in BD torture; Copper laughed for him, since he wouldn't again.

"Inmate Michims, stand on the sidewalk. This is your last warning!"

Old Man Michims was bent inside some innocent vehicle's window. Him and the driver exchanged words, then he turned, running a finger through the four strands of hair still standing on his pock marked dome and skidded back over to the grey slab with a plastic box nested in his left palm. "Lighten up, Philips. If it weren't for me, you'd have nothin' to do on release duty. 'Sides, can't a free man bum a cig?"

The mention of cigs caused an uproar, as Michims' freckled ass was wont to do. Whistles sounded in desperation as fifty inmates swarmed the old geez for a light and drag. Copper joined the chaos, grunting as she pushed the meatsacks in her way to snatch a cig flying across the asphalt. Officer Philips tried to calm the sweaty stampede with the back of his baton, but there were already four bruisers running off down the street, and another was kicking his foot into a parked patrol car window causing the anti-theft siren to blare across the district. More raced over to the broken vehicle, they packed in like fish and without missing a beat- sped off towards City Center, leaving an overweight Philips to chase after the bumper, screaming into his radio for backup.

Police began to disperse out in their coordinated waves, weaving in formation, some took vehicles, others ran off on foot after the continual runners that were technically free anyways. Not that it mattered, protocol is protocol, or whatever the hell they said when herding the released outside like cows. Copper wanted to bolt too, but she was too sick to make it two blocks without eating concrete, the black eye and canine tooth currently missing in her mouth told her it was a bad idea from the jump. Call it an idiot's intuition.

Eight offenders remained beside her as their supervision hauled ass deeper into Santo Domingo. Seven of them looked like upper class gonks, eyes wide, hands shaking from the disheveled mess that exploded in their faces. They all probably wanted to go home, which made their position leagues better than ninety-percent of the slum that came from jail. Copper couldn't judge them, her hands were shaking too, just for a different reason.

"You enjoy the show, Gallagher?" Michims snaked up by her right, like a pest. He ignited the cig hanging off her lip while she stared around, her heel could dig a hole in the concrete by how much it bounced.

"Yeah, real preem quality stuff. You missed your calling, Michims."

The old man perked up at the comment, his green smile coming into her peripheral. "Think so? Shit, Gallagher. There's a real finesse to it you know, a certain--"

"No, I don't f*cking think so." Copper snapped, shoving the old man out of her vision hoping her headache went with it. "You pull the cig trick every time you're released. The shit's old, like you. GO away." she stomped a few paces to her left. It'd been an hour since her release, her ride, whoever it was, needed to get here fast. Yeah, she didn't have the eddies to pay them for the bail or the ride, but she'd figured it out later. Unless it was a 6th Street coming with iron and a grudge. Then she was screwed.

Nightfall came quick. The sun, black, and the stars, overshadowed by the pink and orange neon projecting from the corpo skyscrapers cramped inside the city's mass. Copper's puffed on her second cig with her head sitting on her bruised up knees. One of the offender's wives offered her a water and a cropped tee when they saw her feverish skin. Copper took the shirt, better than the orange hoodie she was burning in, but unless the H20 was a H2-Pistol there wasn't much use for that tonight. They left in a laugh, Copper wasn't trying to be funny, by the time Michims wandered off to the nearest trash can she was in the pissest of her poorest moods. A shitty start to her night, but really, it just started, and there was more than enough time to shift that around. Her cig was halfway through when lights consumed the flourescent lamps that landmarked the penitentiary's entrance. Had to be her ride, final-shitting-lly.

Copper strung up and galloped over to the passenger window with a pep in her junkie step. She should've been careful, anyone could be in that vehicle, and truthfully, she scoped out the ride with an approved glare, whoever this was, they knew their shit. Her enhanced fists rapped on the glass in desperation, ready to force it down if the driver wasn't fast enough.

But, they were, Copper stuck her head in, taking in the woman appearance's with a brief look and zipped her eyes around the interior while speaking. "Hey, f*ck the bar. Tell me you got some booze on you now and iron. We need to hit up Heywood." she spoke fast, and got in the car faster.

Her body crawled through the open window and plummeted in the seat with a relieved rasp. "Comfy seats. Shiiit, this is a nice ride. You build this yourself?" Copper eventually settled.

Her scrawny arm made its rest outside in the cool air, and she faced her driver, this time, giving the woman a full once over. Scoping her out, checking her hostility. If no interference came, she'd take a drag, blowing the smoke towards the window. "By the way. I don't have the eddies. But, some gonk in Heywood owes me. Take me there and I'm outta your hair. Deal?"

 

[Tyler "Minx" Dawson]

Attire (+fishnet shirt)
Truck

In her defense, she had a perfectly good reason for being late.

Minx couldn't recall through her alcohol-induced haze whether she or her cousin had found the bar initially, but she did remember the argument over who would drive. Somewhere between the third and fifth round she had stopped paying for the drinks, and the rest was now a blur. The night had ended like most of theirs had the tendency to since they'd gotten to the city: with the both of them escorted from the premises.

It was another testament to one of several things she had learned since getting to the city, another glaring difference between the life of a nomad and whatever this 'normal' was. A nomad's relatively calm was Night City's unbridled chaos, leaving little wiggle room in between. Nobody ever seemed to appreciate that.

Somewhere between getting kicked out of the bar and the present moment she'd lost track of her cousin, and maybe she would have been more concerned if it weren't for the buzz of alcohol and the couple lines of synth-coke they'd shared earlier in the night. It also happened that at that exact moment she remembered that she had somewhere to be right then - and had for about an hour now, if she'd been keeping track of time right, which she obviously hadn't been.

Amidst a flurry of curses she stumbled her way to her truck, catapulting herself into the driver's seat and fumbling her way through pulling out of the lot. On her way to the lockup she sent her cousin a hastily written message half-assedly explaining her whereabouts, figuring he was smart enough to pick up on the rest.

The second she coasted to a stop the woman she could only assume to be her passenger for this little impromptu journey bounded over, and Minx watched as her newfound companion situated herself in the passenger seat and took her own time settling in. Not that Minx took much time to care, preoccupied instead with getting her lighter to catch and actually spark her spliff. When it finally did she grunted in satisfaction, taking a drag and glancing in the direction of her - client? - she wasn't really sure what the proper term was, other than that she was here.

All it took was the single mention of a drink for her to perk up, she nodded towards something on the passenger side floor. "Got a case of beer down there, otherwise, uh," She glanced over her shoulder, "Probably got another one back there, and the flask in my jacket, if you're curious." Her grin was mischievous as ever. "Call it some kinda old family recipe." The best kind, if you asked her: the one that put you flat on your ass after a single shot.

"As for iron…" Shit, who was she to say what was laying around in the back of her truck nowadays? "Not sure I can help there, but my cousin might have somethin'." Not that he was around just then, but he always had a certain knack for showing up when he was needed - and most especially when he wasn't needed, but that went without saying. Minx didn't say anything more as they pulled away, stealing a look at her of-yet nameless partner-in-crime. Or, well, second partner-in-crime. "Heywood, yeah? Sure." A little out of the way maybe, but just about everything in the city was.

Her laugh came from behind a lung full of smoke. "Truck's a custom job, yeah. More where that came from, if you like what you see." There was a certain something to her raised eyebrow and crooked smile that said she wasn't just talking about her own set of wheels.

@Copper Gallagher

 

[Malcom "Short Track" Dawson]

"NO! BAD GATOR, STOP EATING THAT!" Car horns blasted Malcom from every side as he swerved between lanes, narrowly missing the shit-pile van that'd been trying to pass him. The nomad would have flipped the van off as it passed, but his other hand was too busy trying to wrench the passenger seat headrest out from between clamped jaws.

"Happy! NO!" suddenly there was a violent crash and Malcom's head slammed against the roof of the custom built jeep, another barrage of angry horns blasting him from behind as the gator in the back seat caught air - all four clawed feet leaving the ground. In the few seconds it took for the reptile to plummet back into the seats, it hissed and ripped away hard, shredding the headrest between metal teeth and tearing the metal frame from Malcom's grasp.

"Shit! FUCK, DAMNIT, DAMNIT!" he couldn't help but scream, his voice choppy as his jeep bounced down the road - half the wheels bouncing over the median and the other half still on the actual road. Yanking the wheel hard, he sent the jeep into a sharp spin as they approached a left turn in their path. Crash, the whole vehicle rocked as it dismounted the median - rubber burning as the armored tan and red beast swirled into oncoming traffic. More horns, these ones blasting past them at speed high enough to peel paint. Malcom may have screamed again just then, though he would never admit it.

Headlights zipped past like rockets, breaks screeched and then there was a final crash as the jeep slammed into the curb on the other side of the road - bounced over it and then went screaming into a narrow alley between two rundown buildings. Malcom slammed on the breaks and the alley behind him filled with dust and smoke before he the jeep came to a sharp stop. Silence suddenly, all except for the traffic behind them and the hiss of the engine. Malcom breathed hard.

"Goddamn it Happy!" he turned over in his chair, one leg mounting the center console as he jabbed a nubbed finger at the gator in the back seat, "I told you, no eating the seats! Seats are seats, not food!"

The gator stared vacantly into the middle distance, chrome teeth tucked into an unknowing smile as Happy thought of...whatever it was that biosculpted gators thought about. Probably about how tasty the synth-leather was. Malcom sat there quietly for a long moment, finger nub jabbing at the gator who smiled back. Oh that smile. It was so cute. How was it that your pets always knew how to get out of trouble?

"Oh I can't stay mad at you buddy, come here!" Malcom clamored over the console and fell face first into a hug with the gator, his black combat boots springing up onto the dash as he wrapped his arms around the Biotechnica branded scales of his best friend. "You gotta stop eatin' Buttercup though. She has been good to us!"

He patted Buttercup's door affectionately. This old girl had seen them from Florida to Night City. A lot good memories in this jeep. Whipping a nostalgic tear from his eye, Malcom eventually groaned back into a seated position and adjusted himself. "Alright, boy. Time for us to see where the fuck we is." He tapped a few buttons on the screen built into the the dash between the driver and passenger seats, summoning up the map he'd been following before Happy got hungry. Minx had disappeared on him during their little bar crawl and he knew better than to go back to camp without her. Last time he did that, Pa was all in a tizzy about it.

"He'll be fine" Malcom had said about his cousin, whose gender always eluded him - but whom he was happy enough to refer to as whatever he pleased in the moment. Minx didn't seem to mind so, neither did he. Either way it hadn't mattered, because Pa insisted that neither of them should leave the other in the city on account of them not being on great terms with some of the NUSA law.

So he'd been following Minx's tracker through the city. At first he thought she'd been slammed up by the badges, but then her little blip started moving again. Wherever she was going, it looked like it was back into the fun side of town. Which for Minx, probably meant a bar. Luckily for him though, the little blip was not another two blocks away. He could make pretty good time.

"Alright, Minx. Here we come!" he threw Buttercup into reverse, "but first, one for the road!" his mind clicked and the bodyweight injector melded into his bones revved on. All at once a flood of Synth-coke entered his bloodstream.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he rolled the windows down as he hollered and the rubber beneath him squealed. Someone dove out of the way and another blare of horns as the jeep rocketed back into the street.

"SORRY!" and then he was gone, jetting towards @Tyler "Minx" Dawson 's GPS blip.