“You won that argument so hard that poorly-dressed lady went into cardiac arrest,” said Theresa jokingly.
“Well done, ma’am!”“Nonsense, dear. I would say that it’s arguable that there was even an argument, seeing as how I hardly bothered to acknowledge her presence myself, instead simply offering my assistance to the proper party present so they could preferably prevent any further perversions of the peace. Delegation,” said Lott with a nod, as if there was something profound about it.
“Although you are quite right about her dreadful outfit.”Lott’s eyes glimmered as Theresa filled her cup with the perfect pour. At this rate, her young intern wasn’t just deserving of a simple gold star made out of cheap foil and weak glue—she was a star, deserving to be rocketed up into the sky where all could imagine to see her if not for the light pollution. The Space Force was a fitting aspiration for the intern after all assuming, of course, if she could hang. In the blink of her eye, which was more like a few seconds, Lott swapped her glass with the bottle of vodka and filled what was now Theresa’s glass to within a few millimeters of the brim. She clinked the bottle against the glass with the calculated expertise of a proper lush, for not even a single droplet splashed over the rim, and then pressed her lips to the bottle and drank deeply.
“Anway, forget that woman,” said Lott with a gasp for air.
“You have most impressed me, Ms. Theresa, and I cannot wait to hear how things went with Mr. Faren.” Naturally, if the girl had come back to her to share a victory drink then she must’ve completed her first assignment. Otherwise, she’d be drinking on the job and that’d be properly irresponsible. Lott took another sip of pure fire and looked around at the Swathe Street Square. It was still dense and busy with hanger-ons even though none of the candidates were shaking babies or kissing hands, but not busy enough that they were completely hidden in the crowd. She deftly tore the label off of the vodka with a practiced yank and pocketed the evidence, leaving just the hint of residue on the bottle of spring water. Extra fancy spring water, hence why it was a glass bottle and not something less prone to shattering into a hundred million pieces. Probably had a french name.
“So dear, do…” Lott’s eyes narrowed as she saw a familiar blur make its way through the crowd towards her.
”Do make yourself scarce, actually, or you might be eaten by a shark.”She tapped Theresa on the shoulder as she walked away from her intern. Lott imagined herself a hero sergeant diving on a live grenade to save her squadron as she moved to block Theresa from the harmful aura of poison that radiated off of any lawyer, regardless of their intentions.
"My dearest Ms. Lott Ramana how are you doing?”” Johnny said approaching her like a law goon would. A mysterious cigarette was in his mouth as he took a drag, exhaling fumes of life onto the bleak existence that was the reclaim zone.
"You caused a poor security guard to faint and almost caused a fight, I never took you an evil genius mastermind. I guess I was wrong in the end.” He said exhaling smoke away from her.
"Mr. Lovecraft, I thought you’re type still peddled the whole ‘innocent until proven’ nonsense,” said Lott, her voice its usual level of deadness. She wasn’t wholly unhappy to see the lawyer, which for a lawyer was saying a lot, although his accusation for her being evil, genius, or a mastermind were all wrong. She’d happily work for one, excel even, but she was the puppet, not the string puller.
"Anyway, I have never been better,” she said. Her body hurt, her eyes burned, whatever good her meds were doing were taken two steps back by the uppers and downers coursing through her veins. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, but she had an intern to impress. Instead, she took a swig of that unmarked bottle. Just fancy water; it was the electrolytes that made her eyes squint.
"Do you believe it’s wise to be seen consulting the enemy, considering your employer’s...spirited eccentricities?""You thought wrong, I’m just a law aficionado who can make or break cases with a flick of my wrist,” he said as he killed the synthetic tobacco with another breath causing the cigarette to wither and wiggle in his grasp as if it was trying to escape but to no avail.
"The Pirate Queen did not include a fraternization clause in my contract, I can talk to or flirt with whom I’d like to. Speaking of drinks,” he said eyeing that saucy little unmarked bottle thing in her hand.
"I was going to buy you one but you ran scampered away so fast like a hit and run drone. Maybe I could get you one later?” he said, smiling at her before he dropped the cigarette ashing it under his heel. Snuffing it’s poor tobacco ridden life from existence within the reclaim, sending it to the king size pack in the sky.
"A generous offer considering it’s an open bar that happens to be stocked by my employer. Technically, we’d be buying you a drink to give me. Besides, I’m currently hydrating,”” she said as she waved the bottle in front of Johnny’s face, uncertain if there’d be any fumes just like she was uncertain about what he meant by later.
"Don’t think I’d be done with this for a while.”Johnny’s face just deadpanned, maybe it wasn't painfully obvious but Lott may have been drinking a
Lott tonight.
”No, not at that sad excuse of a party. Perhaps the Duat where things are much more cyro, the music can take you into the edgezone and the patrons have a story to tell.” Did Johnny just quote Duat’s tagline, who knows?
"Stop being a sad little publicist for a moment and live on the edge or fall into futility.”” Lott stared past the man with a vacant look. There wasn’t anything little about her sadness. She would’ve very much like to go to Duat and let a little of that sadness out, maybe sashay her way up to the mic and let her anxieties spill out in the form of a slowed down cover of what was once a cheerful song. Yet, something else Johnny said cut her to the bone. Fall into futility? It was a funny thought. Futility was home to her. She’d been born there, raised there, learned how to drive there and how to drunkenly wrap a car around a post there. It was a warm, fuzzy blanket with a familiar smell she just wanted to wrap around herself.
"I can’t…” because she was working. She couldn’t because she didn’t know Johnny that well, which was probably the whole point of him asking her. She couldn’t because he could be spying for his boss. She couldn’t because she didn’t want to be recognized at Duat and have him spread word to his work buddies about how she got drunk, dressed up like an idiot, and sang power ballads. She couldn’t because this was obviously a trick, a prank, or some kind of joke, since nobody in their right mind would want to buy her a drink. Lott’s lip sucked in. It was the biggest sign of anger she could ever manage to muster.
“I can’t believe you. I might not be the brightest piece in the game, but I’m not utterly clueless to how it’s played. Did Petrukov put you up to this? Keep Gatch’s publicist busy while we run some kind of smear campaign, or did your gravediggers hit the bedrock and you went after some new dirt to dig up?” said Lott, crossing her arms.
"I asked because you’re a cute saucy little thing, but your old lady vibe is cramping my generosity for a drink,” he said, frowning as he went to look up to the night sky, his face illuminated by Neon Lights from a advertisement nearby the light looked for some skin to dance upon and it happened to be Johnny’s.
"Besides, my wage slaves do all the work and I’m off the clock. All I do is look pretty, give orders and talk to pretty ladies.” Johnny rolled out a shrug with his big shoulders.
Lott looked down at the smeared, ashy remains of Johnny’s slow death. If the Pirate paralegal was interested in talking to pretty ladies, then Lott couldn’t begin to fathom why he was even wasting his breath on her. She gave him the once over. His suit, to the untrained eye, was fine, but she knew a knock-off when she saw a knock-off, and his haircut was more aggro than appealing. The scars, she’d give him this, weren’t bad, but he just wasn’t her type. Not enough cash spent on chrome or cashmere. More importantly, she knew that she wasn’t his type, or at least for his sake she hoped she wasn’t. She only ever attracted sad, pathetic losers.
Most importantly, she was still on the clock—drunk, yes, but getting paid to get drunk. This was toeing the line of unprofessionalism. Beyond it, really.
"Then if I see any pretty ladies I’ll be sure to send them your way, Mr. Lovecraft,” said Lott.
"Now, unless there was something else, this old lady actually does have a job to do that is a bit more involved than just speaking to pretty faces.”"You’re no fun, maybe you can send your new attache over. She seems more fun,” he said huffing in fleshbag defeat. She was just playing hard to get, they’d have a drink day.
"When the pirate queen wins this little election, I’ll host a party at the Duat and you can come. The only condition is you’ll have to leave your sass at the door.”"Speaking of winning, I got a video of a Gatch goon beating up a poor decker at that function. That will be on the labyrinth soon, face it Lott, Gatch doesn't have a Lott of time left. You should come join the Pirate Queen’s team, she’s not touchy feely like the men you serve,” he said as he looked at the video still-image on his phone, damn this was so slick.
And there it was: the real reason one of the Pirate’s maties was hounding her down. Lott had seen through the cloak, so Johnny had sprung the dagger. She caught a glimpse of the image on his phone and her pointer finger subconsciously extended.
“Even if the Mayor was capable of losing the election, it’d never be to some fading influencer grasping at one final attempt to remain in the limelight before sequestering themselves off to a lifetime of singing and dancing competitions mass produced for reality TV. I know you enjoy working for such a pretty face, but perhaps you should reconsider the position you’re in, Mr. Lovecraft. You’re more capable of a lawyer than you let people believe, and surely are smart enough to know that most pretty faces are just heavy makeup, good lighting, and beauty augs.”
“Likewise, we both know what you have there is nothing,” said Lott, gesturing with the bottle towards his phone.
“Your people say it’s one of Gatch’s rentals knocking down an innocent computer geek, we say it’s an independent contractor acting on their own accord hired who roughly handled a situation involving a potential security threat. It’s all hearsay. So don’t act like your full house of nines and tens is any good when we’re playing Euchre. Save yourself the time, throw in your hand, and just delete the video."The Pirate Queen is hot that’s a fact, you know if she wins you won’t be able to yell at those kids hosting loud parties anymore. You should consider this a fact of life now, your old lady ways are coming to a quick real-death. It’s known that security are contractors, duh but you guys still hired them. They represented the parties name, now when Wire Girl sues the city you’ll be tearing your hair out and looking for the last of the Shirley Temples at hand.” He put his phone away in his Lovecraft pants.
"It’s not a full house you’re right, but it's a wave to rock the ship so to speak. Besides you don’t care about this campaign, I’ve seen your look before. You can’t keep your eyes off Samsara, you’d wish you could sit in his lap but Gatch is all you could get. Not that you like Gatch like you do the Labryinth techno-god, but if that’s the case I guess a chumbag like me never had a chance with a cred-chasing minx like you after all.” Johnny removed another Kill-gore cigarette lighting it up with a sad Zippo before puffing out blue smoke.
"I guess I was foolish to like you like that after all.” Johnny felt a little sad but in the end the woman of the Reclaim Center always have non-Johnny friendly motives after all.
Lott’s eyes narrowed. An actual look of annoyance, or a natural reaction to the puff of smoke? Johnny was a lot of talk, but his shotgun approach to speaking meant he sometimes hit the truth even when he was spitting out slander. He was right about her not caring about the campaign, but he was way off if he thought she didn’t care about her job. He wasn’t even in the same universe if he thought the reason why Lott idolized Samsara had anything to do with capital. Some cool could be bought, but not Samsara’s. That was natural. He wasn’t cool because he was rich, he was rich because he was cool.
"Johnny, let me tell you something,” said Lott. No more Mr. Lovecraft nonsense. Her voice was cool, but in the cold way, not the sunglasses way. It was ice. It threatened to give him frostbite. She stepped so close to him that he would be able to feel the chill on his neck.
"You lost all chances with me the minute you turned your gun in for a lawbook. There’s no bite to your bark. Anyone can buy me a drink. Heck, Stella often gives me them for free. You know what I could really go for?”There was something else Samsara had on Johnny (and frankly everyone) beside coolness, and it was the real reason Lott couldn’t look at anyone else.
“I want to be terrified,” she said, her voice almost an animalistic growl. Samsara? He could destroy the whole damn world if he wanted. The thought excited her.
“And has-beens like you don’t scare me.”"I think you’re sick Lott, the only thing that will terrify you is that you’ll die alone,” he said backing away from her before turning around and walking away from the PR Witch - damn she really was a bad one.
Lott huffed as the lawyer walked away and a sneer cracked through the porcelain on her face. She had turned out to be Johnny Law’s type after all. How disappointing. He’d probably never even was a Scrapper, probably never even killed someone. And how could she possibly be scared of dying alone? APEX had already beaten the life out of her years ago. Her body just hadn’t noticed. She took another swig of the bottle. It’d catch on one of these days. Until then, she had an intern to corrupt into a model task rabbit.
Neziul
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Evil Ghost Note
