2013.28.10:Babylon

Just past dusk, perhaps an hour after the sun has gone down the traveling rave that is Babylon has opened its doors and the people have flocked inside. This week it's an old warehouse's fourth floor that has been converted for Babylon's needs. Lights are mounted here and there to provide enough of an ambient glow to show off the gold decorations here and there. The large, if signature 'BABYLON' sign hangs over where the DJ and the Bar have been set up. Boys and girls dance in cages set on piles of large crates that have been decorated to look like enormous six-sided dice. Tables line a ring around the central dance floor as music continues to be pumped out through the speakers which surround the floor.
<OOC> Never says, "Music at the moment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSueMT8-iAY"

Shit. It's gay night? Damien thought it was /goth/ night. Maybe it used to be goth night, here, tonight, but it's not now; these things get switched up every now and then. So, he's the only one, in the entire club, who is dressed in all goth regalia. He is actually dressed a lot like Neo from the Matrix, with big black boots that offer a few inches of height. He has a cranky sour-puss face, which is in no small part to Fergie being played. Really. "..this music is so conformist." He even says to himself, on his way barward; which is a useless gesture, since he has precisely zero money for drinks.

Gay bars have better music. Showing up in her usual flamey sparkle pants, Vicky has a new babydoll tee on. This one reads: 'resistance is futile (if <1 ohm)' - white letters on a dark grey background. Short makes getting around in a crowd of people hard, so she's tied a half dozen of those really thin, long glowsticks into her hair after curling them. Mostly blue and purply-pink, with one of two white ones for contrast.

Gale may not be gay, but he has plenty of gay friends. Hell, it's the -Goth- scene, come on. This club really isn't his scene, but it gives him a chance to down some drinks, and possibly score some drugs, and that's the important stuff! He lounges at the bar, sipping at his drink as he watches the dancing, raving crowd, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Van's been absent, which by Brick's count means 'only responding to my texts three or four times an hour.' That's practically missing persons report territory! Absent his usual only protesting excuse for sobriety, he isn't even pretending. He'd done a little magic science at home to 'dilute' his whiskey into transparent, scentless "It's just water, man!"-fluid and carefully transfered it to a Dasani bottle (...eight Dasani bottles) in an attempt to avoid the DRACONIAN MEASURES certain organizations take about allowing you to bring outside ethanol into their establishments. Those measures being asking you not to and not letting you in if you don't comply. Drastic! Sadly, this is a mafucking rave, and bouncers at mafucking raves aren't about to let mazey-eyed dudes clutching outsized bottles of Dasani in either hand in before he's ditched 'em. Brick's insistence that "no, man, it's just to hydrate, look, smell it!" had not in fact elicited smelling. Bouncers at raves don't smell shit you hold out to them. They don't care what chloroform tastes like. So the sullen Brick had been forced, FORCED by cruel society to plunk himself down outside the stairs on the bottom floor and wino it up for the fifteen minutes or so it'd taken him to smash his entire collection of transparent, odorless whiskey. A lesser man would probably be hospitalized, but goddamn magic livers, man.

Thus divested, he swaggers up the stairs, pelts the bouncers with eight different forms of ID (apparently he's a navy officer with a mind-melting security clearance licensed to drive eighteen-wheelers and is an "Official Registered Non-Organ Donor, Organs Not to Be Recycled Under Any Circumstances") and slithers into the noisy space. He's in a pair of black jeans and a black T with a rotoscoped Harrisson Ford across the chest, HAN SHOT FIRST across the top, BUT EVERY LIVING CREATURE NONETHELESS DIES ALONE along the bottom. And the first PC halo he stumbles into is Vicky! "Heeeey!" he oozes from his cocoon of exhaling alcohol. Vicky's just trying to worm her way through the crowd, shortly, and Brick gets cheerfully physical with the press of bodies, parting a Red Sea for her. ...I mean, that implies he's making people bleed, which is not the case. "Y'a circuit engineer or just a fuckin' poser?" He's grinning foolishly, obviously not intending any actual hostility.

"Built m'phone," says Brick with unwarranted smugness, pulling out a brandless phone that nonetheless superficially resembles your standard touchscreen-model smartphone. "From a template, sure! Telecommunications is forever b'yond me. But still. Gotta make things. 's what being a person's about, right? Making things." Other things that being a person is about swirl through his inebriated head. "Drink things. Fuck things. Love things. Eat all the things. This is what being a person is." Gnomic! Hearing a guy shriek his despair over the noise of a rave is, like, unlikely, but for the sake of Damien not just posing at himself all night long, the fates align and Brick's attention is magically diverted to Siouxsie Sam over there. "There is a man," he says, practically utters, dispensing cosmic wisdom left and right, "who needs a drink. Do you need a drink? Lemme get you a drink and we can get him a drink and we can all drink and be human."

"Not bad!" Vicky says, scoping out the phone, "I work for Randall Benedict, CEO of Desert Island Games. I was in the Pit for a while before he decided I did better juggling his problems than he did. I'm Vicky." Not offering her hand - it's likely a bit warm and damp from the dancing and the crowd. Ew. "Sounds like you've been hitting the X already." she says, laughing, then nodding. "Sure! Drinks, love, maybe not so much the fucking, but the -living-, that's why we're here, right?" she says, brazenly sliding one arm around Bricks - or trying to - "You know that guy? He looks a bit emo to be in this crowd. Unless he's trolling for a new Daddy."

Everyone knows that kid from high school who -tries- to dance but just can't. He tries to fit in and can't, tries to be cool...and can't. Never...is that guy. He's =never= (get it?) gonna pick someone up in here - or so he would think. Moving around from group to group, he eventually wanders into a group of people who seem to be only a few years older than him - at least by their faces; they're dressing as though they were all older, more adult and had more money. Holding his coke in one hand as though it were an albatross around his neck, he does his best to become absorbed by their mob. Eventually someone asks what his name is and all he can respond is "Never..." which the guy assumes to be a refusal to answer rather than an actual name. Shrugging, the guy simply dismisses the boy and starts to crowd him out of their little reindeer games. Never then shifts group as the music shifts. This new tune - with its upbeat tempo - draws a bunch of women to the center of the room where they all seem to dance in unison. Sure enough, some local university's dance team remembers the routine from this song and simply MUST show off.

<OOC> Never says, "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaBfnmVwDt8"

And as Brick approaches Damien to offer him a drink, and Vicky in tow, the goth just takes a long, deep breath -- exhaling just as quickly. "There is nothing more I wish for than to drink a beverage, perhaps, a chardonay with thou, good alchemist sir," His head hangs sadly for but a moment, before continuing his reply, "Sadly, thy water would bring no refreshments to mine lips, nor alcohol dull any sense. For I have been damned -- damned to be .. forever alone, in darkness." His acting is incredibly poor. Still, with the dramallamas here, he'll fit right in!

Brick's life's been a little heavy on the testosterone lately; while he's not remotely sexually predatory with Vicky, it's clear he enjoys her snagging him, draping an arm over her shoulders in reply (why is everyone in this town so goddamn short! he can't even drape right it's more like a, a hang, pff, whatever). "Nuh uh, but I see his PC halo." ...he doesn't say that. "Nuh uh, but random acts of alcoholism are my bag and he's th'only person wh'seems as uncomfortable here as I am." ...uh? Uncomfortable? Brick, you move like a tiger here. The fuck are you talkin about, uncomfortable?

"A new daddy?" he adds absently, not seeming to understand, in between failed attempts to flag down a bartender. Brick's totally the kind of guy who -does- get bartenders' attention, but that's what makes his helpless inability to do so so hilarious. He sort of lifts his hand and gets a sparkly hope in his eyes every time the genderless thing slinging vodka sours shifts past him, but he seems invisible to the, uh, guy or girl. "You guys got retroactive gene retailoring now? Family editing's sweet. I guess they haven't got complete postnatal mitochondrial rewrites down yet?" For a drunk he seems pretty good on his cutting edge medical nanobiology. "I got all sortsa names," he goes on, gradually running backward through what Vicky'd said. "Got my label, got my cover ID, got my name of choice. Birth name's off the table, I--" And then he's awash with gratefulness as the bartender fiiinally produces him the bottle of whiskey he'd been pleading for and gets a hundred in return.

That was all before Damien's pose! Then Damien's pose happens! Yay keeping the action moving! And, umm, Brick has successfully been struck dumb. "I, I." he says, wide-eyed. "Is this a thing?" he hisses to Vicky. "They weren't like this in the eighties!" ...in the eighties? You were, what, two, Brick?

It's okay, those whippy, curled glowsticks could be considered a halo! Draped upon, Vicky looks up and laughs, used to dealing with rpedators, though not always of a sexual inclination. It's easy: give them what they think they want until you can distract them with a nicer, juicier piece of meat! "It could happen. They could dig deeper with some tailor virii or something. I mean, isn't genetic tailoring all about changing the basic line up? And what if that newly inserted gene happens to be carried in someone else? Rewritting your genetic code WOULD, indeed, give you a new daddy. At least, in terms of forensics." Vicky says, then smirks at Damien when he goes into his melodraaaama and shakes her head. "You want a Mai Tai, then?"

Gale lounges back against the bar, sipping his own drink as he watches the goings on around him. He offers a nod to Vicky, as if he recognizes her...before his gaze lands on Damien. He arches an eyebrow and his gaze slowly moves over the man. It's typical clique judgement. He sees another Goth and is mentally judging him. He brushes his fingers back through his long, dark hair as he takes another sip at his drink before he steps over to the man. "Evening," he offers with a raise of his Whiskey with ice in greeting. He takes a long sip and cocks his head to the side before offering a many-ringed hand. "Gale."

Never spies the huge figure of a man, Brick, and wanders over to the DJ's alcove and slides up beside the guy to play a song that should get people snickering - if dancing a little. A spot light starts to shine around the room, picking out the biggest - buffest of the guys and illuminating them for a while during the introduction to the song. Never, having spread his tiny bit of evil, slinks back down from the DJ's alcove and finds a small spot by the side to see how much - or how little his gesture has brought guys out of their shells or sent them running. After a few minutes - once the spot light passes the guy on and moves to another, both men and women seem to pester and bother them as though wanting prove of the claim made by the light. Some women - given a quick peek into a guy's pants or shorts - just recoil and start fanning themselves as if attempting to hold back the urge to faint... into the guy's lap. Wandering back over to the bar, Never lets out a deep sigh and watches people come and go without ever noticing him. He is, for all purposes, the flower on the wall.

<OOC> Never says, "http://www.mediafire.com/listen/jzw9kfk7xclvfa8/Dickmatized.mp3"

"None of you understand!" Damien is near tears, now. There's no real rhyme or reason for him to be this bent out of shape -- especially with this type of happy-go-lucky (or at least, fuck-me-hard) type of music playing in the background. "I am a thing, an undead thing with delusions of unspeakable hungers, who, cannot be melded into this society; who will not conform, oh god, this is just too much." With his hand over his heart, clenching the black fabric that guards it, he rushes through the crowd -- right through the dance floor, interrupting people's sexy-groove-time. He doesn't care. He's upset beyond all reason, and needs some space away from all these ... conformists.

Brick's player sniggers at Vicky's joke, but Brick himself doesn't get it; he's still kind of in crouched alert mode over the damned, daaamned!, having missed out on the past couple decades of the evolution of the popular image of the vampire. ...well I guess Interview was in 1976 but shut up. "Maybe some kind of exorcism?" he says cautiously, cracking the neck of the whiskey and glug-glug-glugging direct from the bottle like the gross motherfucker he is. He passes it to Vicky automatically. And then a wild Gale appears! This new one seems to speak the same language as Brick, anyway, which is a comfort. He's not, like, buff; it's more like he's made out of fleshstone or somethin, his body intensely lean and hard. Certainly athletic, but more of the running-around-and-hitting-people-a-lot variety than the deliberate exercise kind. Or, in fact, of the I-was-grown-in-a-vat kind, but shhh! At any rate, he's athlete enough that he does catch the spotlight briefly, but he's too clueless to actually register it's on him (facing the other way). And then the wampire man is fleeing! "Is that normal?" he reiterates his previous vaguely shellshocked question. "Are you gonna talk that way, too?" he adds with suspicion, his gaze falling on Gale. This involves him turning his head far enough to get blinded by the spotlight pointing at him; anyone watching closely might see the extra membranes on the surfaces of his eyes peel shut as he squints into the light, covers his face. PFf, he's not being sporting, no fun, the spotlight zips off to some other studly dude.

Gale gets a wave from Vicky and she smiles at him. "Heya!" Chirping her greeting before turning to stare as the... crazy man in black goes crazier and runs off. "I.. hope he finds someone to love him soon. Maybe he needs a puppy. But not a real one. A dead one, with buttons for eyes and, you know, cuts on it's wrists." Shaking off that mental image, she has to hop up to get on a seat, catching the bottle as it is passed over and taking a shot of it before handing it back - she's not much of a drinker, and being so small means she's likely to be tipsy in pretty short (hah!) order. When the light hits Brick, she laughs! "So it /WAS/ a summer sausage in your pocket!" Flicking him shit because he just seems like the kind of guy that can take it and dish it back in spades. Gale seems completely shocked and caught off-guard with Damien's flight. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, and as he feels numerous eyes on him at this point, he responds by downing the rest of his drink in a swallow. He turns to the bartender. "Another Jim Bean Honey with ice," he states as he pushes it towards the bartender. He glances at Vicky and Brick and sighs heavily. "Fucking Vampyres, man. Such losers. Makes me sad." He shakes his head and picks up his refilled drink, sipping at it. "Not in an...openly wail at the world kind of sad like that guy. More a...get frustrated and drink more kind of sad."

The flight of the vampire - similar to but never made into a cover for 'flight of the bumble bee' is noted by Never with an eyebrow raised in question. He's just not sure what to make of that guy. It's almost like he's a vampire drag queen - a Vamp-Queen. Over-the-Top drama, over-the-top wardrobe. Drama. Oi. Catching sight of the many guys who are haloed by the spot light he smiles at his small touch of fun and takes a sip of his coke - and spits it back into the cup. Ugh. Must be flat...or spiked one of the two. He tosses the full container into a nearby trash bin and continues to circulate around the room. This time he decides to make for one of the smaller crowds - one with a 'fleshstone' quality of a guy. Pausing only to put on a pair of black, hipster glasses, he glances back to the DJ as a new song hits the room and can't help but smile at its irony.

<OOC> Never says, "http://www.mediafire.com/listen/2dy97p46dy44pro/Jonny_McGovern_Sexy_Nerd_.mp3"

"I'm not sure I can actually maintain an erection out of the presence of my SO anymore," says Brick doubtfully, prodding at his package through his pants. He's not obviously obscenely hung. It's a dick. Y'know, approximately dick-sized, inasmuch as one can get a measure of that kinda thing through clothes. "Then again, I haven't tried. Vampires?" Brick doesn't hear the I/Y distinction. He offers the returned whiskey to Gale when he goes to order, but apparently Gale wants something SPECIFIC and CLASSY with ICE and shit pff. "Isn't that classified information or some shit?" You're so good at opsec, Brick. So good. "I thought people didn't know about them. Fuckin' parasites," he complains. The approaching Never gets some idle interest from him, even a casual salute that seems to say "hey, I've noticed you're encroaching on our space and I'm cool with that."

"I think this conversation has officially hit www.tmfi.com land." Vicky says, then translates: "Way, way, way too much fucking information comin' outta your mouth. Seriously, do I look like I care if you're impotent? And if I did, why in the world would you tell other people you have issues getting your dick up?" Vicky says, incredulous before looking at Gale and arching an eyebrow in a 'can you believe this shit' kind of way. Moving her butt from the stool tot he bar, she leans back and flags down one of the bartenders, ordering up a double of spicy cinnamon whiskey. Mm, fireball.

Gale blinks at Brick. "Vampyres? The Goth subculture who like pretending Anne Rice wrote them...only badly?" He takes another sip of his drink, giving Vicky a 'where the hell did you find this one?' look. He takes a sip of his drink again, glancing between the others curiously.

Vicky lifts her shoulders helplessy. 'I dunno know!'

It was more of a 'my sexual world has coalesced around a single individual' remark! "Pff, what, so you can talk about my cock but I can't?" Brick snorts. His eyes narrow thoughtfully in Gale's direction; he's still not really getting it. "Oh yeah, all that estrogenous Orlando Bloom shit," he says, a man incapable of distinguishing between your mere Earth celebrities. "There are people who lifestlye that shit? Are there people who lifestyle Mario Kart? Maro Kart seems way more rewarding." The kindest thing you can say about the way he's treating his bottle is that he's not prolonging its suffering.

Never impishly shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing to the ground after having his gaze met by Brick. It's a response to the casual salute that seems to say "oh my god, you looked at me while I encroached your space and you didn't kill me or stuff me into a trash can. Thanks." Turning to Gale he raises an eyebrow in question since the word 'Vampires' can't be easily missed in most conversation, along the same way 'Blow job' 'I have a bomb' and 'Do you think the rash will go away' just seem to have a resonance that can't easily be missed. "He was over at the Crypt the other night," he dares to interject into their conversation. "...pulling the same stuff. Kinda weird if you ask me...tragic." Yeah - like he has room to talk about social tragedy.

<OOC> Never says, "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svpLw7e-4ds"

"Isn't that the Rule? Girl's can talk about cocks in public but guys can't?" Vicky tosses back with a faint smirk to Brick, glancing to Gale and lifting an eyebrow before looking at Never. "Hey, I'm Vicky. That's Gale, and this guy is impotent." Bitch. "Actually, I didn't get a name, but he gave me booze." Which may be why she's saying some of the shit coming outta her mouth. "So this is normal for the 'vampire' lifestyle? It doesn't pay to do blood." she says snarkily, trading cash for her drink and taking a sip of the whiskey.

"What?" Brick looks baffled. "I said I'm real sexually attached to my boyfriend, Vicky, not that I can't get it up. It's that whole 'steak at home' bullshit." He shrugs. "I dunno shit about vampires of any description. I been away, missed this..." He sniffs. "Devolution of goth culture from the post-punk Banshees scene into this people moaning about their damnation stuff." Listen, Brick's a very cogent drunk, mmkay? "I am Lieuuuu-tenant Nathaniel Smith, only not really. Number Thirty Seven'd be m'proper designation. Experiment 27b-6." He salutes again, no one in particular this time, his chin slightly upraised as if facing a general on a podium, somehow managing to make it a textbook example and incomprehensibly mocking simultaneously. "Or just Brick. 's my name. Brick. Who're you?" Peeratnever.

Yes, Vicky, KEEP DRINKING. That'll solve all that diarrhea of the mouth real well. Emptying that double shot in quick order, likely too quick, the girl sets the glass down behind her on the bar and blinks real slow, before grinning. "Oh. I don't have that problem." she says wryly, voice starting to slur a little as the liquor in her belly gets to that poor, tender liver of hers. "

"What if I were to tell you that my nickname's Never. Just...Never. That cool...Brick?" he asks. The strippling of a guy hopes that, yet again, he's thought to be blowing people off when, in fact, he is actually telling them his name - at least to the best of his knowledge. When the woman mentioned impotency and then Brick mentioned boyfriend, he can't help but give the guy a look from head to two as if something weren't clicking. This guy's gay? To cover his curios glance he quickly shifts the subject to something mentioned in their small group "Wait...did you say 'Experiment'? Like...Captain America kind of experiment? That's kinda cool actually." He nods a bit and tries to make his face a mask of stoic calm when, in fact, he's trying not to look like a creeper caught with the curiosity bug. Military. Gay. Experiment? Yup - love Babylon. And with that - the music changes to something more soulful and sultry. Babylon's signature colors: black and gold.

(ooc) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jPba9WJCzE

"A little freakier than Captain America, but I'll spare you the details," says Brick. "Pretty highly classified, 'm not really s'posed to talk about it at all. But fuck authority." He hoists his nearly-empty bottle of whiskey jesus that's a lot of whiskey pray for Stamina 6 pray. "Fuuuck authooorityyy," he intones, and then kills the rest of the bottle over a wince-inducing fifteen seconds of glugging. He shifts as though going to throw the bottle, then catches himself, looks momentarily ashamed, and sets it politely back down on the bartop. "So I'm Brick," he says confidingly to the pair of them, "'cause 'm like one through a plate glass window. How come you're Never?"

Brick and Never. Snarking off something about ravens and NeverMore, Vicky sways and leans back on the bar on her hands. There, that's a bit more stable. The swirling lights catch her attention and she watches them before looking between Brick and Never, grinning. "Is it me, or does that make anyyyyyone else think of Lil and Stitch? Hee! I'm experiment six-two-six!" Wooooo!

Never answers, "Never gonna live through this. Never gonna get someone. Never gonna get out. Never ... a lot of things. Almost been killed by stupid stuff a few times. Got five lives left. But I somehow managed to get through it. Name seems to have stuck." Seeing Brick finish off the bottle of whiskey he asks, "You want another?" without much of a thought - as though he's not hurting for money but doesn't have much to do with it. The music shifts into a techno-trance mix with no words but plenty of base. It's much like you'd imagine - the music draws people out to the center where they can jirate and grove to the tones but it's mostly an excuse to press body against body.

(OOC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6scxiuiftKY&list=PL6073B6B31460D33C&index=17

So much pop culture! It's not that they didn't have internet in magic space, but the connections were sporadic and iffy. It was more like the Technocracy would periodically dump a huge backup of parts of the interweb onto various satellites. So pop culture filtered in sporadically. Brick doesn't get the Lilo and Stitch joke. "Have you met other experiments?" he asks blankly. "They didn't look anything like me, did they? I'd need a full report." Well, he does look a little like Stitch. If you're shrooming and also blind.

"Well that's depressing shit," he goes on, rounding on Never. "Doezzat count as substantially less gloomy than the angstpire back there? 's just as wallowy. Just a little less showy, maybe." Scowlyface. "And yes, I always want another."

"That's a shitty reason to be called Never. Unless you count things like: Never gonna have a broked heart. Or Never gonna die. Or Never going to have stomach ulcers..." Does she even really know what she's saying? Looking more than a bit soggy with drink, Vicky rests on her hands, body sort of sagging between her shoulders and hips. Never seemingly produces a bottle of whiskey - the same brand, year, make, etc. and hands it to the man. Not that he was hoping to be invited into the coversation of the 'cool people' but the boy came prepared. "Hey," he begins, "...it's just life. It's only depressing if you let it be. Lots a people got it worse than me. But I just forget about them - or leave them in a ditch or something. Ya know...no worries." With a faint flex of muscles that aren't there, he tries to puff himself up a little - as though this guy who could pass for seventeen - could somehow compete with Brick. Yeah, totally a sarcastic show to hopefully gain a snerk or grin of approval. "Well, yeah," he turns to answer Vicky's comment. "It just kinda stuck. Besides - when you're here - do you really want to be reminded of the 'real world'?"

Brick coughs a laugh at Never's last observation. "Y'think this place isn't th'real world, man? Man. Seething bodies and bad AC and HIV and shit birth control and drugs that kill you slow and music way louder than anyone needs it? Maybe f'r you this's escapism, but for me it's, like, gritty aesceticism."

"And crazy people talkin' bout experiments and vampires and crap." Vicky slurs, one of her hands slipping and the girl almost going flat on the bar before delayed relfexes kick in. Sitting up, she rubs her face, swaying without that four point support system to keep her stable. She's starting to get that pale and greasy-sweat look to her. "Where's the loo?" Never blinks in surprise. How does Brick know those words like 'Aesceticism'? With a confused look upon his face he leans in to the athletic 'experiment' task, "Gritty what?" Yeah - he's not exactly an academic scholar. Handing the bottle over to Brick, he takes a step back and attempts to form a rough triangle or other geometric shape with himself and the others so that he's not crowding any one. "Over there," Never points behind some columns and towards an area in the back.