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Remember Me?; tag: Blake
Topic Started: Aug 18 2014, 08:24 AM (143 Views)
Riva
Unregistered

Date: August 8, 2014
Time: 10:30 pm

“Before everything went to sh**, we were friends. Good ones, Ah like to think, or as good a friend as Ah can be. Ah’m not the touchy-feely kind of gal, Ah’m bad at keeping in touch, but y’all probably know that already. Ah just keep sh** casual. But if there was a guy that needed a shakedown, the fear of God put in ‘em, he was there to hold ‘em down. He wouldn’t be all ‘oh Riva, put him down’ or ‘people’s legs don’t work that way’. He was down for anything. He had my back…”

The brunette took a quick swig of her drink, making a face as the acrid taste of the Heineken hit her tongue and the back of her throat. Awful stuff, but product placement called for it. She set the green bottle back on the small wooden table afforded to her in the confessional booth, looking back at the camera as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, pausing a brief moment before giving a silent huff of laughter.

“The sh** we’d get up to. Like the time we spiked Gibney’s shampoo with Nair. Or we planted those buttplugs in Jamie’s briefcase… Ah can’t say buttplugs on television? What the sh**, homme, there ain’t no other word for buttplugs!... whatever…” Riva scowled at the unseen producer off camera, hazel-hued gaze diverting away from the lens at that moment. “And thing is, he didn’t have to do this shit for a livin’, lookin’ through garbage for worker’s comp evidence or chasin’ after informants. He has his own money, enough to buy Maddrox that fuckin’ Lambo or Ferrari or whatever the hell that was, Ah’m no good with cars. But he worked with us, hung out with us. He was one of us…”

Taking a deep sigh, the brunette’s gaze turned hard. “And he turned on us, strikes a deal with the f***in’ devil herself. Took lives to save ours. So yeah. This a****** texted me last week, wantin’ to talk…”


Blake was a reminder. A reminder of how badly things had gotten, of terrible choices. What was lost and what might have been haunted her every day, and though the hole they had gnawed in her chest no longer grew, the emptiness was still there. She buried herself in her work rather than acknowledge it, acting out for the camera, going along with whatever case Jamie assigned her. They were welcomed distractions, but some things could only be ignored for so long.

“Hey, hey, look who that is. Oh shit!”

The handful of patrons and the store clerk all gawped and whispered excitedly among each other once they recognized the surly Cajun as one of Mutant Town’s PIs, taking selfies as Riva browsed the aisles of the liquor store. Crop top, ripped jeans, motorcycle boots, her ensemble would probably be torn apart by TMZ in the morning, at least once they stopped trashing her haircut. Customers cheered as she scowled and flipped off their cameras.

“Can y’ fuck off already, an’ YOU. YEAH YOU. QUIT TAKIN’ PICTURES OF MY ASS,” she bellowed, glaring at the pack of bros at her back through their reflection in the glass beer case as she slammed the door shut. The culprits whooped and cackled and ran off, cheering each other with high fives and ‘god she’s so hot when she’s pissed!’. Riva gave a wordless growl of frustration, stalking back to the counter and paying the clerk for her booze with a crumpled wad of cash and withering looks. A six pack of Guinness floated off the counter and trailed behind on a golden wave of telekinesis, Riva taking back to the sidewalk and muttering to herself, “the fuck is wrong with people?”

Behind her, a small camera drone flitted about, ever present, gears whining almost mutely as the lens focused on the night’s protagonist. Riva sighed, running a free hand through jet black hair and pulling it away from her face, doubts on the verge of sending her back the way she came. This was stupid. This would accomplish nothing. But a small voice in the back of her thoughts, that scrap of compassion left after all those trials in tribulations, reminded her of a particular night at Sal’s and the events that transpired. She owed him, perhaps not her life, but at the very least a talk.

Before she knew it, she was at his door, eyes roaming over the weathered brick façade. From the outside, the place looked like a dump, but most of these renovated warehouses did. She failed to see their appeal. She glanced up at the security camera above the doorway, then to her personal techno-chaperone buzzing at her back before knocking on his door. He should be expecting her, after all, she’d texted that she’d be dropping in, but the wait dragged on forever thanks to the pressure of the cameras and her own lack of desire to be there. Right when she’d decided to fuck everything and just go back home, the door opened, and Riva stood there in silence for an awkward and too long beat.

“Ah… brought beer,” she stated, the six pack floating over her shoulder and into her hands. The camera drone panned back, just enough to capture the entirety of this cringe-worthy scene. The late night rendezvous between the PI and friend turned felon. Fuck’s sake, she practically handed this one to the producers on a silver platter. Eying the probation bracelet on his ankle, Riva smirked. “Nice anklet. They make them in men’s sizes?”
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Overkill
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation
Blake didn't hear his phone buzz on the dirty work bench, the music was too loud. Rage Against the Machine blared out as he toiled away underneath the half completed Subaru. Half the pieces he had bought before being arrested had been seized by the police. He guessed some of the random little pieces of technology and electronics had been confused with items he had used as part of his Black Dart endeavors. Still there was enough left to get to the wrench work he had been too busy to do when he had been working with XFI.

It needed to be done too, it was the only car he had left now. The Ferrari had been left parked in Mutant Town for long, and despite Blake's best efforts, they wouldn't release it without him showing up in person. It had been in impound for a while, and then it got auctioned by the cops. He gritted his teeth at the thought and forced himself to focus back on the task of bolting the center differential into place. He had one bolt in and was struggling to hold the big hunk of metal in place while getting in the second bolt when an unmistakably Riva-esque knock slammed out from the door. Blake's eyes shot from the diff to the door and back. He jammed the second bolt in as quick as he could and hustled over to the door, hoping he hadn't made her wait too long.

The door swung open and his music claimed its freedom, escaping into the late summer night. Blake himself didn't look his best, he was sweaty and dirty and his hands were covered in black grease. The Brit looked tired and his stubble was a little overgrown. A couple of new scars showed on the his lower arms and there was a little one just under his left eye. The ex-investigator's was bare foot, wearing just jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a few dirty marks scattered across it. He took a deep breath and swallowed as he realized that everything he had planned to say was stupid. In that moment it rapidly became really awkward. He cringed slightly as he visibly deflated. The camera drone whirred slightly and he glanced up at it with a sneer. Great, the while world was going to see this too. The cajun broke the tension however, with beer. For a moment it almost felt like old times.

As Blake smiled at the six pack, Riva noticed his anklet. Both tracking device and null tech all wrapped up in one. She teased him about it and he smirked for a moment. When he replied his accent was far far weaker, just a tinge now. He couldn't be so easily identifiable anymore.
"Why, you want one that'll fit you?"
He jested back, smile widening. Maybe the friendship wasn't entirely erased yet. Maybe there were enough foundations left in the ruins to rebuild. He sure hoped so. The Brit stepped back and pushed the door wider open.
"Uh, come in come in."
He invited.

The place was pretty tidy, not a lot left around. Stacks of cardboard boxes sealed with tape lay around, labeled in vivid by contents. Cutlery Stuff, Pots + Pans, and Plates An Shit lay off to the left, while on the right sat Games Movies Consoles and Other Clothes. The area around the car was a tip though, with tools and parts haphazardly laying everywhere. Blake pointed Riva towards the kitchen bench which was the only good surface to put things down left. He turned back towards the door and had to quickly swing it mostly closed to stop the little drone following in.
"Sorry, but my shit isn't for your bloody show. You can watch from outside, it won't be particularly interesting, just talking."
He explained slightly aggressively. Then he smirked as a thought crossed his mind.
"Unless I say something wrong in which case you'll get to watch Riva paint the walls with my organs."
He said with a chuckle.

With the door closed and the drone hovering outside the window like a shunned puppy, the ex-con moved over to the bench to join the woman who had once been his friend. Whether she still considered herself that or not, he didn't know. If he was a Magic 8 Ball though, he probably would have said 'Outlook Not Good'. Blake paused awkwardly, searching for something to say. The music was still loud so he fumbled the remote out of his pocket to turn it down to background volume instead.
"There, that's better... So, uh..."
The male scratched his head nervously. It was probably still a sore topic, he didn't want to bring it up but he felt like he had to.
"Sorry about Ed. I heard... Sorry I couldn't make the funeral and everything. You doing ok?"
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