[right][sub][@Opposition][@Valor][/sub][/right]

Despite it being such a clear liquid, Lott and vodka had a colorful history. It had become her prefered liquor of choice after the rest had betrayed her and left her alone in the shower curled up in the fetal position with her brain beating against her skull like a subwoofer.  However, it’s unquestionable loyalty wasn’t the only thing her old comrade vodka had going for it. Once, an APEX sales rep had taught Lott that his go to trick when trying to seduce business partners over drinks was to keep ordering vodka tonics. As the night wore on, he’d swap to straight seltzers while keeping the booze flowing for his financial prey to loosen their inhibitions and their purse strings. Lott took his tip and reversed it: she’d drink vodka while everyone else sobered up on water.

The bartender—not the Ultrabartender but the Ultraforgettable bartender of nondescript appearance and lackluster style—had been trained to stand there and make sure nobody completely raided the open bar. It was a typical Central Party party move, rationing their liquor like the thirsty political coat-tailers were in a soupline, but Lott’s boss paid their wages. He didn’t even blink at all as the publicist filled her glass to be one stray cigarette flick away from turning into a molotov. Even without it being a firebomb, it was enough to burn her throat in a painfully delightful way as she drained it at an alarming rate. A tap on the table rang the bell for round two, and she drifted from the table. Didn’t want to look unprofessional and chug her second “seltzer” right away, especially with some geek breathing down her neck. Lott moved, but was close enough to hear the outburst: [b][color=#035096] “Besides— Gatch and his goons are too easy these days. I’m a ghost, Samsara. A spooky ghost.”[/color][/b]

Lott froze and half-turned towards the woman at the mention of Samsara. She tried her best to not appear interested, which wasn’t a difficult task for the human cog, as she gave the woman a once over. Lott couldn’t be sure if the other woman was or was not a ghost, but she was certainly ghastly. Perhaps it was an unfair assessment from a woman who also looked like the living dead, but at the very least Lott dressed like she was going to be buried in it. On the other hand, the disorderly woman dressed in clothes that should’ve been banned, burned, and buried. Yet somehow the fashion criminal wasn’t just talking about Samsara—they were talking to him. 

For a moment, Lott was certain that her brain had imploded in on itself, or perhaps her eyes had malfunctioned and was still rolling playback that she was going to save for later. But no, despite the toxins raging inside of her what she perceived was, in fact, reality. Samsara was there, in the flesh. In fact, he was nearly in arms reach. In fact, he was reaching out. To her? Lott held her breath. No, it was to [i]her[/i], the pile of dirty laundry hiding under a cheap, convenience store dyejob. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her as he fondled underneath her jacket. To anyone else, the sight should’ve been disturbing. To Lott, it was disturbing for the wrong reasons. Samsara Washington liked women like that? No, this must’ve been a game. Nobody could ever be attracted to anyone in a jacket like [i]that[/i]. He was trying to make her jealous, that was it, he was just trying to make Lott jealous.

It worked. 

[b][color=#035096]“Aren’t the Reclaim people done with him yet? I am. Send him my way. I’ll rip off his other arm. The flesh one. Am I right?”[/color][/b]

It was that point in the night where Lott could no longer feel her face, but she hid whatever horrified look she certainly gave the woman by draining her drink. If anyone caught it, perhaps they’d mistaken the look for a loyal subordinate in shock. In reality, it was the look of a woman hazily calculating if she could get away with ripping off the loud girl’s arm—assuming, of course, she could rip off an arm in the first place.  Lott disengaged and retreated to the bar. There was nothing more she wanted in the world right now than to see Samsara’s young floozy girlfriend (no, she couldn’t be, could she?) live up to her word and become an actual ghost, but Lott could settle to just slowly die from yet another drink.

As Lott swished the poison around in her mouth and waited for it to kill her or, at the very least, kill her worries, she watched in a quiet fury as the loudmouth continued her soliloquy. For a moment Lott felt like she was the only one suffocating, except she quickly became aware that all of the air had been sucked out of the room. The bit—Lott swallowed the thought, for even in anger she would never think such a thing—the punk in the jacket was now hoarding all of their oxygen, using it to fuel her incendiary comments. Someone should stop the woman before she incited a riot. Lott, honestly, should’ve stopped the woman, if only in the name of good press for the Mayor, but she saw the looks the Neo-Ludds were tossing at one another. It wasn’t her fight, and the way Samsara stepped back was enough to let her know he wouldn’t be waiting too long before moving on if something happened to his girl. In the end, Lott could spin whatever happened to benefit Gatch. 

But then the rent-a-cop moved in to diffuse the situation and blow up all of Lott’s hopes and dreams in one fell swoop. Lott chugged her drink and slammed it on the table hard, causing the Ultranobody behind the table to jump. The peacekeeper had given the troublemaker a warning. A warning! Would she put her in timeout next and have her face the wall? Take away her toys and make her go to her room? What a farce. Lott approached the pair, the fire in her belly fueling her to stand up to the familiar-looking enforcer. Even with her heels, Lott had to look up so she could stare down the security woman. 

[b][color=lightgray]“Excuse me, but a warning?”[/color][/b] Lott’s voice didn’t even hint at her previously felt frustrations. She spoke in a hushed tone with the pacing and programmed pattern of a convincing robocall.  [b][color=lightgray]“In less than five minutes this woman has threatened the well-being of one candidate’s health, drunkeningly wrestled with another candidate, and attempted to provoke some kind of violent reaction from known volatiles. Not to mention, she is clearly hiding [i]something[/i] under her jacket, which is already criminal enough in its own rights even if it isn’t smuggling contraband.” 

“I have read through the safety protocols outlined in the contract with Knight Enterprise. Twice.”[/color][/b] Something about the legalese in contracts made the former auditor hot under the collar. Like a derringer springing out of a sleeve, Lott’s phone practically materialized in her hand and it moved up to her face. [b][color=lightgray]“Contact Knight Enterprise.”[/color][/b] 

An actual automated voice seeped through the speaker, impossible to clearly make out to anyone but Lott. Lott covered the mouthpiece with her hand and stared at the peacekeeper, [b][color=lightgray]“Situations like these must be treated seriously for the safety of the candidates and those in their parties. The proper procedure is to detain any potential security issues and remove them from the room for later questioning and proper threat assessment.”[/color][/b] To the phone, [b][color=lightgray]“Option three. Extension Six-Two-Five.”[/color][/b] Back to the hired goon, [b][color=lightgray]“Your handler is slow to answer. Perhaps by the time they pick up you’ll have reconsidered and properly perform your responsibility when it comes to public safety. If not,”[/color][/b] Lott gave an attempt at a sincere smile, [b][color=lightgray]“I truly hope they only give you a warning.”[/color][/b]