needlebomb | inbox.

i'm just covering my bases
and honestly, i'm offering u a cool deal

but yeah. just dropping off or handing it off
whatever ur comfortable with. picking up the cash n bringing it back
all in the down, too.

fine. whatever.
i can help.
temporarily. this isn't going to be my whole thing. don't get your hopes up.

that's fine. i don't always do this
i'm just also kind of short on cash

there's a motel we can meet at
base of operations for the week, yeah?

now?
yeah, okay. tell me how to get there.

yeah, sure.
i'll send u a pin for it
just click it and it'll show u the map

can't you just fucking tell me?
i hate these things.

[ he's exasperated, because he's fucking sick of using this weird phone computer thing and even more sick of hearing about how common place this level of technology is for people 20, 30, 40 years ahead of him. but - whatever. he taps the push-pin looking motherfucker and gets taken to the digitized atlas looking motherfucker and assumes that the hotel looking motherfucker is the particular motherfucker he needs to get to. fine. got it. ]

nevermind. i got it.
i'll be there soon.

see u there

[Tate's finally gotten far enough into modern technology to for once feel like he's a step ahead of someone and he'll be damned if he's not going to take advantage of that. He packs up his stuff and heads out however, making the arduous trek to the dainty lamb, a sleazy motel in the Down that's pretty much only used by hookers and the johns that rent them. But it's in that puddle of sleaze that you find unusual amounts of respect for privacy and keeping your nose out of other people's business.

When he gets a bit closer to the motel - which has two storeys surrounding a parking lot - he tells Marcus to go to upper 113 where the door's left lightly ajar as he's inside. The room's got a stale smell to it - piss, vomit, maybe something else and Tate's anxiety is the main contributor to the chill that also fills it. He's got a few bundles set out on the bed and looks up with a start at the first sound of not being alone.]

Hey.

[ Marcus hasn't thought about Vegas at all over the last few days, but the motel makes him think of Billy, a pang of guilt running through his ribs. He still doesn't know how time works here; he doesn't know if he's just gone, if Billy went back to their hotel room after Marcus killed his dad and just couldn't find him - he wonders if Billy thinks he abandoned him, if Saya spent her afternoon looking for him. He thinks, briefly, of Maria, when he sees the flash of red lingerie on one of the whores sitting under the buzzing neon lights at reception. The guilt that runs through him again hits him in a different way, this time.

Marcus is walking slowly through the hall up to 113, worried with each creak of the floor beneath him that he'll be caught being somewhere he's maybe not supposed to be. It's a bit of a relief when he enters the room and finds Tate here, rather than, like, a gang of dudes ready to jump him and kick his ass. Wouldn't be the first time somone's lured him somewhere to give him a few bruises. ]

Is this where you live?

[ He sweeps his eyes over the bed, the stains on the walls. The oppressive atmosphere has Marcus's shoulders all tight in the thin black blazer of his uniform, the knot on his tie a little loose. Tate called this a base of operations, but Marcus doesn't know if this is really a temporary thing or not. He looks at Tate, finally, voice still low like he thinks he's trespassing. ]

Not judging. I used to sleep under a bridge in puddles of God knows what. I just thought Dominants had it better than this.

Edited 2021-02-12 15:38 (UTC)

No. I live by the beach.

[Tate doesn't recall if he said that to Marcus or not the other time they were together, walking away from Autonomy into the open air; even if he did, the two of them were in different states at the time and memory doesn't always hold. Which is actually something that works in his favor because he gets the feeling Derek'll be unimpressed if he lets more people crowd into their space - or just know about it.]

But I spent a lot of time in places like this when I was a Sub, before I got a contract.

[Making ends meet wasn't fun back then.]

Believe it or not, this is one of the nicer ones.

[ Right, the beach - Marcus goes quiet, keeping any thoughts he might have about Autonomy and the night after entirely to himself. He swipes his nose with the tip of his thumb, brushing over the cut on the bridge of it that still hasn't healed, and puts on that usual sly smile of his. Better to look vaguely amused and unaffected than it is to look uneasy about being here. ]

Oh, no, it's perfect. Love the roaches. Adds a real refreshing, Miami flair.

[ Marcus chooses to avoid sitting on a free square of the bed, or on a chair, or... anywhere that expresses any kind of comfort, really. He just stays where he's standing, back to the door, like he could leave at any time. ]

... Why'd you come to me? We don't even know each other.

When I got here, I was pretty fucked over by the place - but I got some cash doing things like this, to start. I figured there's gotta be some karma to the universe, so I thought I'd offer you something similar. That an' I don't really have a lot of people here I can trust not to fuck this up, or who won't get on my case for what I'm doing.

[God Bless Derek's sweet heart but he'd probably just scowl at Tate, get annoyed at him for not coming to him first for help. But how's Tate supposed to explain the hole he ended up in financially? He just needs some cash, quick, and there's no better way to get that than to deal. And don't worry, he tells the hypothetically judgmental voice of Derek in his head, he's not involving Kavinsky in this. You can chill the fuck out, bro..]

You threw back molly like you knew it like the back of your hand. You're not gonna piss yourself if someone gives you shit. Actually can sense that you'd probably stab them before they stab you - makes for a good assistant, if you ask me.

[Tate lights up one of his last smokes in the pack, and sits on the bed next to his shit.]

You can use the cash, right?

[ Karma. Oh, man, if Marcus didn't need the money, he'd just roll his eyes, overstep, launch himself hard into some big, melodramatic tirade about how there's no such thing and ultimately fuck up enough to make Tate retract his offer. Life is just shit, though, plain and simple - doing good deeds won't rack up points with the fairness police, and keeping your head down and tossing the occasional dime to the underprivileged won't avert your next regularly scheduled disaster. But - whatever. Marcus feels like a bit of a charity case here, and that gets under his skin a little, but money is money. He learned pretty fast after Sunset that you take cash where you can get it. ]

Yeah.

[ Marcus draws his eyes to the stash on the bed, drifting over and thoughtfully grabbing the first package that calls out to him. He's actually not all that well-versed in drugs, and between throwing back the molly to look tough and showing up in this place high to all hell, he completely oversold how familiar he is with this shit, but - he feels better, having Tate believe he knows what he's doing. ]

I just don't want you to think this is a thing. I can help you out until I'm back on my feet, but once I get a contract or a real job, I won't want to do this anymore. You okay with that?

Yeah, I get it. No strings attached, you're free to walk whenever.

[Tate isn't going to fight Marcus on his need to assert his own power over his choices, non-committal as he may be. He lets Marcus handle the goods, wrapped as they are and in separate baggies and containers. He pulls his backpack closer to him by the bedside, rooting through it to pull out a small journal. It's not his personal one, it's a red leather booklet that he opens and then looks through some written down notes on pages that appear to be blank to other people. Thanks, Kavinsky.]

Three of these gotta be dropped tonight, by four am. How many you think you can do?

[Tate yawns against the back of his hand.]

I can write out the rest, just burn after reading, y'know?

All of them, I guess. I know my way around well enough by now.

[ Marcus doesn't really care about Tate's journal, or whatever, but he does try to catch a glimpse of what he's written down in passing and wonders, when he sees that the pages are blank, if Tate bought a new journal specifically for this. Marcus throws the package back down on the bed, careless. ]

You gonna pay me before or after?

Can you wait 'til the first payback? I'll give you a cut straight from what he swaps for the big one.

[Tate nods toward the brick that's probably the most valuable of the items on the bed; it's not worth more than a couple grand and the quality is shit but Tate's trying to finance his life up from the bootheels here. You gotta start with the shitty drugs and then move into the more refined shit later. He shoots Marcus a look, then cants his head to the side.]

I'm kinda broke. I got stuck in a weird situation where I have to pay for a Sub's shit here for a month. It's why I'm doing this in the first place.

[ Marcus was under the impression that Dominants had an easy life, here, and he's kind of thrown by Tate saying that that's not really the case - a better person might show concern for this Sub, ask what they did to get put into so much debt that they needed to be financially provided for by another person, and the self-preserving part of Marcus does want to know the details here so he knows what to avoid moving forward. But - ]

Seriously? You want me to wait? How do I know you're actually going to pay me, then?

[ More immediately, he doesn't want to get in trouble with the law - when Lin isn't here to spring for his freedom - if he's not going to get something out of it. Marcus has his guard up, now, wondering if he should be walking. ]

I'm gonna need something.

What d'you want, then.

[Tate's voice gets a bit of an edge to it, like he's annoyed this isn't going his way - because he is. He is already five steps ahead in plotting this out and here Marcus is, thinking of pulling on the brakes. He huffs a bit, setting down the notebook and looking up at Marcus with an intense eye to eye stare. He'd really prefer if the guy didn't ditch on him, but he's not sure what he's got to offer.]

I can't spare anything more than a couple joints, product wise. I had to invest to work my way up. I got about fifty bucks which you probably can't spend on your own anyway. I'm already getting you a mixed tape. You wanna rob me of my vinyl too? Or do you wanna just get your dick wet with a blowie and this is your way of asking?

I don't want any product.

[ Drugs are easy enough to come by without dipping his fingers into what he's supposed to be pushing, in Marcus's experience - he'd rather just get the money than muddy up these waters. Marcus is unphased by most of what Tate is saying, though he still gets a little awkward at the implication that he wants something physical here; he just closes his eyes, briefly shakes his head and holds up his hand. ]

You owe me a favor. A real one.

[ Marcus doesn't know what he'd need, exactly, but currying favor with a dominant who has ties to shit like this seems better than burning this bridge before he has to. He's spent a long time lone wolfing it, and, honestly, that is his preferred state, but he can make Tate someone he can go to for help in the future one day without acknowledging that he actually needs help. That's a good card to have. ]

I might need something in the future, and I'll just - cash in. No questions asked. Okay?

[This feels reminiscent of something, to Tate. Promises exchanged like currency, more valuable than most. He has to respect it, the way Marcus comes up with this rather than going for any more material gain. Tate cocks his head to the side like he has to think on it, like it's a weight he plays back and forth in his brain - but he's already made a decision on it. He'll do it - if anything, favors are the easiest things to commit to. If you commit to them at all.

While it's true that Tate's not loving the idea of being on call so to speak, there's no saying he'll ever really have to do whatever it is Marcus wants. Marcus could disappear tomorrow, for Christ's sake. He ends up playing with a matchbook from the bedside, striking a match and letting it burn out idly before dropping the charred remains in the ash tray.]

Deal. That mean we're good to go, then? No other stipulations, or any questions?

[ Marcus isn't stupid - he knows, full well, that Tate's word very likely means nothing. He wanted something from Tate now, and the only reason he backed down and asked for something less material was because he felt pretty compelled to not rob him blind after he made his case to Marcus; if Tate doesn't follow through on the favor, then, whatever, Marcus won't say he didn't see that coming. He always has a backup plan, for when people let him down like that - sever all ties, salt the earth, burn that relationship to the ground. Works like a charm every time.

So Marcus shrugs, raising his hands again, less to stop Tate from talking and more to show surrender. He's done with the pushback, done with looking this particular gifthorse in the mouth, and as he steps forward to examine the packages again, he ignores the stress in his stomach warning him that this might be a bad idea. Getting into trouble here is the last thing he needs. ]

No other questions. Just... tell me what I'm doing.

Edited (asdfg) 2021-02-16 07:05 (UTC)

Alright. One sec...

[He fishes out a smaller notepad from his bag, and holds open his journal to one of the several blank pages as if reading from it - fingers splayed to keep it in place. He takes the cap off his pen with his teeth, spitting it onto the bed and scribbles down a few messy details onto the pad of paper, mostly single names and locations paired with times. There's four, maybe five, and after a hesitant moment he jots down the people who're going to give something back - either in goods or the amount of cash.

Then he lets go of the journal, rips the paper from the pad, and holds it out to him. Then he leans back against the headboard, taking a moment to just sit and see if any other questions happen to crop up. It feels like this is a done enough deal, but Tate's not really feeling the idea of getting up and leaving. He doesn't hate Marcus. Might just like him, actually.]

You can stay here if you like, I have it booked for the week. I know that it's not really that much better than the common areas but you could probably smoke here uninterrupted or something.

[An attempt at - offering more than words, maybe?]

Whenever you get things done I can come back and meet up - cut you your share and give you more work if you want it.

[ Offering Marcus a temporary roof over his head actually does seem to warm some of the frostiness he's still carrying with him. He likes his roommate, but he hates the dorms, and being able to step out or have somewhere to just... fuck himself up in without being seen or judged, that'd - that'd be really good. Marcus hesitates, not sure how to express his gratitude, but he does his best. ]

I... I'd actually really appreciate that. Thank you.

[ He runs his fingers back through his hair before taking the names of his first set of clients. He's torn between feeling kind of excited about having something solid to do and wake up to, if only for the next few days, and feeling anxious about what he's getting himself into. It's nice to have a purpose, though. Better than being trapped and isolated like he has been for the past, like, decade. ]

They're not going to...

[ Again, Marcus hesitates, crumpling up the list and shoving it into his front pocket. Marcus isn't the kind of guy to get shy over shit like this, but - well, he still hasn't figured out his quota, and he still doesn't know how to bring it up. He takes a breath and just plows forward, taking the list out of his pocket and focusing on unfolding it and smoothing out the creases, just so he can keep his eyes down and his hands busy while he asks what he has to ask. ]

They're not under the impression that they can pay me in... anything else, right? Like - nobody's gonna try to blow me for an extra 8 ball, or whatever?

No, but they might try to play you that way. Or ask for extra - use your own discretion?

[Tate's trying to seem like he knows what he's doing, but in honesty he has no clue. When he did runs for Kavinsky, he just did what he was told and got the job done. Masterminding the whole thing is a lot more detailed and puts a lot of pressure on him to get everything nailed down. But Tate's never exactly been great with covering all the bases and not fucking something up along the way. But after trying to put the decisions on Marcus for that, he has to backtrack a bit.]

I mean, don't do discounts but get laid if it benefits you.

[He knows Marcus is anti-system, anti-city but...]

But no, whatever. Be firm and don't take any shit and you should be fine.

Be firm and don't take any shit.

[ Easy enough. He can do that. Tate isn't giving Marcus a ton of direction here, but that's fine - he doesn't want to come across as someone who needs their hand held, and if all he has to do is posture himself like the shitheads at King's and pocket whatever he's given, he thinks he can skate by anything else that comes up. Marcus nods, mumbles something about how he's got this handled, and shoves the list back into his pocket. ]

Gonna make my first drop tonight. Few hours until the sun sets, so -

[ He shrugs, gesturing vaguely at the room. He's gonna stay here for a while, and he's not saying as much, but the half-hearted nod and the fact that he isn't kicking Tate out of what is, apparently, his room now, is hopefully invitation enough for Tate to stay around until then. ]

Cool.

[Tate could leave it at that but there's a silence that settles between them like freshly fallen snow; it's not heavy and overbearing and honestly, he doesn't mind it. He doesn't offer to go with Marcus because he's not interested in being too buddy buddy, and the whole point of getting his help with this is to delegate some of his own responsibilities. But he'll linger, loiter, and sit around half because he's paying for the place but also half because he wants to be there.]

You eat yet? I haven't.

[He says honestly, chewing at his lower lip - he only seems to remember that he needs to when he's around people who keep him regulated or when he thinks of other people first and then himself by extension. He doesn't remember the last time he ate offhand and doesn't have an appetite.]

I'm thinking pizza.

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