[indent][indent][color=934641][h3]Ｅ ｉ ｍ ｉ  Ｎ ｏ ｘ[/h3][/color][/indent][/indent]
While Poole was deciding which song to choose, a small blink on Eimi’s Holo-Link S3 flickered a few times, complete with an inaudible rumble on the countertop that tickled her skin through her clothing.  Eimi picked up her head and slid her elbow from the counter.  Her eyes morosely moved to look at the screen. [i]Loser Boy decided to make a move,[/i] a small, half smile gently tugged her lips, [i] Excellent.[/i]  She quickly plopped the butt of her cigarette between her smug lips, as her dead eyes somehow managed to lighten with unmerciful excitement. 

Several buttons and commands were automatically adjusted by her fingertips, [color=934641]“Your pixel army can't save you, now, boy,”[/color] she quietly rumored to herself.  The cigarette hanging from her lips moved with her speech, and she leaned back in her chair. She was lost in the coma of New Age Technology, intoxicated not on some cheap liquor (God, cigarettes and alcohol just didn't mix well with her, anymore), but on the deep sweeping motions of her digital exercise.  Holographic fantasy tanks with too many weapons and artillery options to not be seen as gaudy moved along a fine coordinate grid.

Sometimes, Eimi really enjoyed herself, like, right now, as she completely dismissed any interaction Poole was having in front of the Jukebox -- by using temporary digital stimulation to escape reality as she congratulated herself for having predicted and strategized correctly. The little jerk, who probably still lived home with Mommy-dearest, was about to get annihilated.  [i]This was too easy,[/i] her smug grin completed itself as her playful eyes narrowed.  

The music and lyrics to Spirit in the Sky echoed somewhere in the background of her mind, which should have sighed with annoyance at Poole’s classically, predictably old choice. It wasn't that bad, but his Born-Again Christian attitude could get really tiring, after awhile, and only rarely was it amusing.  It was clear, Poole had [i]been through some shit,[/i] but everyone on [i]The Absolute Magnitude[/i] had. So, what was the point? With his age, he should know better, out of all people, God is dead. Just like Wesley…

Just like Wes.

Her head tilted sideways, and her short, dark hair dipped in a guilty design onto her covered shoulder. A small pout protruded the dying cigarette further from her mouth.  She pulled it out nervously and snugged it inside the ashtray. The neck crinkled into its snuffed ashes as her fingers twisted prominently.  Her forefinger then pressed one of the bright green buttons, turn-based operations filtered through the signals.  He was going to lose.  She had the kill switch for him. He might have stood a chance if he hadn’t taken such a long break between turns. [i]Maybe he had probably been eating dinner with his family like a good boy.[/i] It didn't matter, she was about to shut him down.  Unfortunately, snark aside, the exposition of him wasn't feeling as pleasurable, now, Wes having somehow managed to make his memories known in her conscious, again.  She kind of wished he had been a harder opponent.

Eimi leaned forward in her seat, a subtle attempt for comfort on her part, [color=934641]“Say, ‘Good by-,’”[/color] her head quickly turned around as commotion clattered through The Hall. Deevee was--? Her Holo-Link was instinctively put to sleep with the side press of her thumb. The projection blinked and faded, blindfolded into the pocket of her dark pants. Her fingers swept several strands of hair caught on her cheek from the humid ambience, and the untouched Spar-Letta soda didn't even catch her eye as she slid from the tall legged chair, swooping her brown, leather backpack around her. [i]Loser Boy’s gunna have to wait.[/i]

She had to go mess with a different set of losers.  However, they were probably more so adults, even if they didn't always act like it. (She had no idea who Deevee was, right now.) Her boots skidded through the slick, dusty floor and rounded through the exit. And, somewhere, upon passing through The Hall, Eimi's sticky fingers picked up on the grimy scent of money in a wallet, now nonchalantly swiped and resting next to the Holo-Link. Familiarity aside, free money was free money. 

Her palm caught hold of the frame and swung her body towards the action. Her gun was already out by the time her body came to a hault, triggered and ready to fire.  Jeremiah's fist was grinding its way into the bouncer's face. [i]What an idiot.[/i] By the looks of the crime, it was [i]only[/i] Jeremiah who needed saving, maybe. There was very little if any redemption in that.

She lowered her gun as her eyes shifted about the garbage of flesh slinging. A diddle rattled in her pocket, breaking the nominal noises of a petty street fight. She knew that noise. It was the opposite tune of the jingle she had heard hours earlier when she beat her first opponent on the turn-based MCSG. A ghosted gaze hazed over Eimi’s face. The clichéness seemed all too unreal, yet here she was.  It was real as can be, [color=934641]“You are the spitting image of a fucking loser, Jeremiah,”[/color] she mumbled to herself.  And, now she was, too, if not by associating with him but because, she lost that stupid children's game. Who loses games against children who still live at home with their mothers and eat family dinners together? People like Jeremiah, probably, and again, now, her, as well.

Interrupting her brooding mental tantrum were four larger men, walking through the alley way.  They seemed pretty ominous in size, like Poole but not really -- maybe more brute-ish, if that were possible.  Yeah, it definitely was. They were living proof. 

[i]What the fuck… Why not?[/i] Jeremiah was indeed one of her crewmates, and she needed to release the tension somehow or another. Her gun was immediately raised, again, almost embarrassed to have been lowered originally.  With her elbow bent and the other arm extended, her right foot took several advances before her lean body leapt into the air and whipped one of the men in the face with loaded metal. Her body landed, retreating several swift steps backwards before advancing again, physics and geometry at her side as she squatted her legs and tackled the man at his lower abdomen, knocking him off balance.  He might have had a ‘Deer in the Headlights’ look if she wasn't bashing it maroon with her gun.  

If Jeremiah wanted some sort of redemption, he would distract the other three big guys long enough for her to get this pawn knocked-out. He had a hardhead, though -- most brutes did.  And, sure, she could have used bullets, but goddamn, if only making a mess didn't feel so bloody good, right now.  Plus, with the wallet she nabbed, she had a decent sum to afford a good dry cleaning for her blazer. She wasn't about to give up on this opportunity, as her feet restricted the big guy's arms.  As muscular as they seemed, they were exhaustively helpless against the raging teenager, [color=934641]“Try to beat this, Loser Boy!"[/color]