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Log Title: Meet Nemesis

Log setting: The projects, late in the evening.

Log Cast:
Nemesis
Trace
Nadine

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Once upon a time, this was Trace's neighborhood. As he turns into the courtyard, he moves as though familiar with the concrete river stretching behind him, the cracks he trods upon, and the scraggly, strangled bushes that cling miserably to the fringes of this 'courtyard'. But also the boy's steps hold a definite hesitance, as though he's going to turn and walk back at any moment. Tiny, skittish glances are occasionally cast over his bony shoulder. Nothing intimidating about this little bluecap. The slight creature moves like one too long used to fleeing, a skittish deer without the cliche grace to accompany it. One hand sweeps up to quickly tuck a handful of blue braids back behind one ear, and he scans the surroundings. Hazel eyes fall upon you, bright and surprised. Intimidated, yeah. He stops in his tracks, studying you intently while he has the chance, because it's almost certain that upon a direct gaze he'll quickly look away.

A taxi pulls up, dropping off Nadine.
Nadine has arrived.

Nemesis swivels his massive head, like a python hunting in the Amazon which finds it has a small goat in the general vicinity. "Who da fuck are YOU?" The deep bass rumble of a voice comes out, like thunderclouds ont he horizon rumbling their anger at being seen. "And what the fuck some little hungry ass white boy doin' scramblin' around here alone at night?" Well, it's an odd sort of protective instinct that flares within the ferocious behemoth as he eyes the tiny blue-haired waif of a boy, even stalking right on up with a rumbling grumble in his immense chest, partially a growl, partially a purr. In the jungle, the urban jungle, the lions run from Nem tonight...

Not often you see taxi's pull up in this area of the woods. Little Red Riding whore is on her way to grandmother's house and she's taking the cheating route - cab! Nadine whisks her Skin-der-ella form out of the taxi, tossing a few bills at the driver. No time is wasted by the foreign cabbie. Off he goes, not wanting to stick around any more then necessary. Now, let's see if Red, or in this case Blue, can make it to Grandma's without running into the big bad Wolf.

Just as expected, Trace instantly drops his eyes and shies back a step. "Ain't hungry," the boy pipes in protest. "Useta live in the projects... I know how to take care of m'self." Then again. He sucks in his lower lip to gnaw on, and timidly runs his eyes back to the wall of muscle before him, finally pulling to a halt on those black eyes. And in the depths of his anxiety, there is also something deeply and intrinsically impressed, even very nearly envious. How wonderful it must be, to live invincible. To be like this one, and surely never be afraid. He wets his lips and stands caught in the dark eyes for a moment and chokes out, "Gotta friend what lives 'round here. But.. but I dunno. He... he's prolly sleepin'."

Nemesis flickers his dark eyes over towards Little Blue Riding Hood, and well, his demeanor softens. It's a lot like being beheaded will a dull scimitar, though, the huge wall of Zulu manflesh just couldn't be -unintimidating- if his life depended upon it, likely. A grumble bass mumble of greeting, something along the lines of "Hey, Nads..." is heard as the beast lowers to his haunches in a squat, one inked and scarred up hand balancing splayed fingers on the ground to prop the behemoth as Nemesis lowers himself to peer at Trace, stating in that growling rumble, like a huge black dragon come down to breath the fetid steam of its breath and talk tot he guy with the sword, "Cool." You can live. A bit of the ferocity disispates, though the voice still sounds like someone pissed in Godzilla's Cheeri-ohs. "Now tell me who you are. And don't gimme no fuckin' line about not bein' hungry. You'sa hungry assed little white boy, and I know it."

And there he is..the big bad wolf..Nemesis. Nadine's nose crinkles as the bass rumble of his tone causes tremors in the ground beneath her feet. Hold it steady boys. This one's gonna hit 5.0 on the rictor scale. A crooking backwards of the chin is offered. Some kind of pleasantry. "Hey," she murmurs, a bit of distance in her demeanor. You'd be cautious too when speaking to a man big enough to make ya living pretzel. Feet shuffle, displacing weeds and grass beneath the expanse of the rubber soles of her boots. And look who else is here. It's that other blue haired wonder - Trace. "He isn't no hungry assed little white boy." If her opinion counts for anything. "He's cool." Hear that Trace. You are cool in Nadey's book.

Trace gasps and pulls away from daunting black eyes to give Nadine a glance. What's she doing here? But it doesn't matter. He's not alone anymore, and these two even seem to know each other. He can use that. "Hi Nadine," he greets quietly, and then looks back to Nemesis, the movement of lifting his eyes dragging with an 'underwater' slowness. He pulls in a breath and says, "M'called Trace." A glance back Nadine. "Nadine's my friend." See? I'm friends with her, you're friends with her, so that means... So it doesn't mean shit, but maybe there'll be no rending little street artists assunder tonight. "She, um. She gimme some steel a few weeks ago." One hand reaches up to shyly touch high on his chest, near the collarbone.

Nemesis arches a fur-covered eyebrow, massive hands sweeping the collection of motley crimson snakes that are his hair back into a gathering, one used to bind the group. "Trace. Mmm. I'm Nemesis." Thoughful, something churning in the behemoth's skull like the little cogwheels of a cartoon cross section, Nemesis glances between the two of you, his permascowl etched upon his wide features. A moment passes, after which he apparently accepts Nadine's opinion and the little feller's statement. "You got balls, Cracker." He states to the small lad, and something bordering on a smile, if a smile could look just not natural on features which frown way too much to be healthy, breaks across his face. A pack of Marlboros appears in a gnarled hand, and goes between the two of you in an offeratory gesture. "Shit. Not hungry means ain't nobody gonna help me eat all the food the old lady down the hall keeps giving me. Like I'm starving or something. Ain't got the heart to tel the old bat I'm a vegetarian." Daaaamn. if that's what tree huggers look like these days, pass the roughage.

Nemesis flickers his eyes to Nadine, after a moment, the gargantuan black Titan a bit lost as he stumblesover, "You, ah. Y'know. Hungry?" Awww. The big bad wolf sitting down for tea with the Hodd.

So what does Lil' Blue have in her basket of treats today? Muffins? Cookies? Crack? Nah, just a regular ole cigarette. Wirey, slender fingers raise an unlit ciggie to her lips, putting it into position for the fire that is no doubt soon to come. Quick, efficient motions lend to the igniting of the nicotine filled rocket. Next stop on this journey? Lung-City and the La-Bronchi Tar Pits. The sweep of russet eyes finds Trace once again. Smoke stained lips twist a glimmer of a grin for the kid. "And I'm going to impale more steel on ya too, right?" Cause like didn't he mention something about another jabbing the other night? She looks back to Prince Alarming as he bellows out another comment in his voluminous tone. Sure enough, if ever there was a person that looks liked they were in need of a force feeding, it's Nadine. Skin and bones, with really the skin on the side. She's so skinny even Kate Moss is envious of Nad's svelt form. "What did she make?" Like the old lady and what not.

"Casseroles. Got a lot of sausage, eggs, and cheese in it. Smells like onions, too." But the casserole dish was mighty good, yessir indeedy. Wrinkling his wide nose, nemesis' ocular attention seems drawn to the littler male, his expression still thoughtful. "I hearda yer Ma, you know? Bitch ever comes around here, she's in for the fuckin' fight of her life." The last one, the tone would seem to imply. One can alsmost feel the shift, as the great black predator gives off that phremonal mixture stink in almost palpable waves. Quick, rut with it and run away! Or both at the same time? "C'mon. We'll get some food inta the bothayous. Got somethin' for you, anyway, Nads." Dark eyes flicker to the skeletal female Bogart. "t'make up for the snowstorm th' other day." Aww. It's kind of cute, int he way large baby celocanths are cute little fellows. With a bit of trepation, a mammoth tree trunk of a black skinned, scared and ritually branded arm extends a hand easier bigger than the boy's face down. "You comin'?

A tiny, chalk-dusted hand lifts as Trace waves away the offered cigarette and mumbles, "I don' smoke, but thanks." Nadine's words get a grin, and he bobs his head and says, "Nape 'a the neck. I saw the perfect piece in a head shop the other day. One that looks like a nail... That'd be cool, coz.." He was about to say more, but stops at Nemesis' words. Entirely stops. "My.... my ma?" Fear flashes bright into hazel eyes, and his lips part. His ma? How would this man know her? This *must* be investigated, but then that deep thunder voice is rumbling again and he can't even listen really. Still getting over this. His ma? He purses his lips and finally the last words sink in enough to invoke a response. "Yeah, m'comin'." How can he not? You know his ma! Too bizarre. He still looks dazed.

And Nadine..well she's coming cause well..Nemesis is bribing her. Gifts? He wants to make up for making it snow the other day all over her parade? Well, let's see what Santie-Paws has under the tree for her today. Just so long as it's not under Gracie's tree. Cause well NO ONE is going to touch Gracie's tree. Ya dig? You just leave that tree alone. It's /her/ tree! "S'go.." she announces, as if they weren't going until she proclaimed it was okay to get a move on. Ya know, confidence is a great thing to have and all.

The boy's spooked gaze finally focusses on.. a hand. An impossibly large hand. And he's supposed to put his there? He swallows, looks up, and then timidly slips his hand into Nemesis'. Clever little fingers are dusted with chalk from today's artwork.

Nemesis nods, finally, and the immense hand clasps the tiny chalk-dusted one offered it as Nemesis offers the same elbow to Nadine, ever the gargantuan Rhett Butler. And lookit that grin, all wide ivory teeth as straight and perfect so as to lend tot he idea he's been tot he dentist a dozen times int he last year, almost. "Cool." Have us a right good time. I even got a bottle of drink up inna fridge. Somewhere." Probabl ypacked with lettuce and things, to feed the Tree Hugger from Hell. "Be a goddamn party. Folks won't know WHAt to think, me havin' guests." And the idea itself seems to tickle the rumbling fellow who would be ox-like, but well, they don't even build oxen that immense. It's kind of like Ving rhames and Queen Kong had a luv child and shaved it nicely before dipping it's head in blood and sending it off to play nice with the street kids.

A meaty elbow offered up? Does Miss Scarr-ed-and-let take it? Ayep. The slender body of a paled hand fingers the offered elbow. Through the loop, the thread of sews about Nem's offered appendage. Let's get this chicky to the food..stat before she wastes away and becomes a walking, talking, stick figure. The shard of her cigarette falls to the ground, discarded. She's ready and willing captain, can this ship take off and head towards its final destination?

'Bottle of drink' makes the younger boy tense, and he doesn't quite stop his steps, but does pause for a heartbeat's hesitation. "Not wine, is it?" he asks hopefully. "I.." No way to explain without sounding like a freak. "If so, I mean, I'll jest pass..." Yeah, like he has the courage to dislodge his hand from the mammoth grip. Another jumpy glance cast over his shoulder, and then he looks up at Nemesis hopefully. Because he *doesn't* want to leave, now. He's got know what you have to do with his mom. He *will* find out.

Nemesis shakes his head as he leads the two of you into the buildingmarked 'One.' "Nah, little man. Not wine. Stuff gives me gas." With a light chortle, there, for effect. Nemesis, drunk, is a horrible thing to contemplate. Maybe he props up next to the jukebox and sings Pasty Cline tunes.

[The group heads up three flights of stairs to arrive in Nemesis� apartment.]

Apartment 302 -- Building One

Books. Ye gods, the tons of books someone has hauled up and put into this place. Old books, their spines cracked and faded, sit next to newer books with glossy paper dust jackets. The sum of every wall is coated in books stacked in a motley collection of wooden shalves of various styles, the intelectual Shangri La overflowing onto the floor and even crates, tables, and little pine dollies. Worn and beaten Persian rugs coat the floor of the place, the tiny kitchen off to one side filled with utensils and pots all stacked and hung neatly. Music flows out of hidden speakers, the aching, gut-wrenching sounds of industrigoth and the ear-biting strains of gangsta thrash providing a subdued but eclectic background noise.

There is a small television here, new, tuned to CNN and with the volume down to nothing, resting atop a stack of worn literary magazines and journals. Light is provided by dimmed faux Tiffany lamps, the only furniture not covered in copious stacks of paper or books being a large wooden futon pushed against the wall opposite the door and a large executive desk chair whose leather is cracking with age situated astride a large, beaten cherry Broyhill desk. The ambient air is warm and slightly musty with the redolent aroma of wood decomposing, the oddly out of place library or Leonardo's study cozy despite being choked with tomes.

You feel your perceptions change...

Nemesis� fae desc:
Gargantuan in build, Nemesis was designed by some cosmic sculptor to rival the brutal raw strength and collosal size of a Titan. His ferocious energy of raw intimidation seeps off the aged giant like a dangerously powerful cologne. He towers seven and a half feet high and an assured four hundred pounds of solid mass all coated in mottled grey-black skin and an assortment of grisly scars which criscross over his exposed flesh. His collection of lengthy dreads drip with fresh blood in this Seeming, his shirt as well coated in wet gore. Four steel spikes have been driven in a horizontal line down the center of his forehead and end at the bridge of Nemesis' skeletal nose, dividing evenly the beady, ferociously bloodshot and hideously rage-filled eyes. Pointed ears hold a collection of macabre earrings, most bones or serpent skulls. His wide mouth is filled with protuberant teeth the color of aged ivory; if anything, Nem is even more frighteningly menacing to the eyes that can See him as he truly he is.

A great sword, its curved blade wickedly barbed and notched, is strapped to his back with a rope of some grisly matter. Bare feet end in yellowed claw-like nails, the knee-high snakeskin breeches keeping him decent are torn and ripped to reveal seeping wounds and greyish sinew beneath in spots. Tiny skull-shaped metal buttons dot the crown of his head like a tiara, his neck and hands coated in burned brands of Maori spirals and dots.

Nemesis steps through and closes the door securely, still grinning a bit as he raises his shirt a trifle to show, amid the scars and Maori spirals on his obscenely cut stomach and ribs, a layer of a few three penny nails piercing hsi skin. Shuffling over with that same brutish, slightly menacing stalk, he starts rooting about int he fridge for a moment or two, coming up with a casserole dish and a gallon jug of milk. LOoking back at the two of you, he murmurs, thoughhis voice all of the sudden is more complex, more filled with gravel and even a bit of a.. tenor? in there somewhere as opposed to the smooth baritone, "Now just be cool, y'all. You're both gonna be juuust fine."

The room is precisely the same, though the books all murmur a bit, and glow with an odd reddish hue.

Holy mother of fucking god! Nadine's eyes widen. What the hell was in that cigarette she just smoked? Did someone douse it with angel dust and not tell her? Is this some sort of perverted version of the Saturday morning cartoon show with H.R. Puff-n-Stuff and today's book a Hunter S. Thompson novel instead of something like 'The Bugs in My Backyard'? Her hand unfurls, arm moving away from Nemesis. He's like..he's like different and shit. Wooooooah. Her own hand sweeps in front of her eyes. Is it the same? Yes it is. "Uhhhhhhhhh....k.." she near whispers, uncertainty teaming in her tone.

Familiar. It's a very familiar rush, and Trace seems to enjoy it, slumping back against the recently closed door and letting his eyes fall closed. Ohhh... Old memories rush in to greet him. Ancient swamp adventures and dear, magic friends. He brings his hands slowly up to rub at his eyes, but even as he does, something occurs to him. That means *someone* here is... Different. And while it *could* be Nadine, Trace's suspicions tell him otherwise, so when he opens his eyes again, they lift almost immediately to Nemesis. A sharp breath hitches up in his chest, and he flattens himself against the door and looks upon the Redcap with open, wide-eyed fear. Just be cool. Just be cool. But the only other one he's ever known has been his mother and her scary friends he sometimes glimpsed while he was Sneaking and Spying like he was told never to do. "Oh," he whispers softly. Then, "I guess... that's how you know my ma."

Nemesis nods, his head even more massive, and somehow, the savagerthat seems to bleed over into the way he normally looks is inherent. There's nobility there, like pure bred lions and jaguars, like the blood of kings in the huge behemoth's veins. "Yeah, Trace. That's how I know your mother." It's actually, weirdly, a much morepleasant voice this way, calmer, somehow more deep of a rumble but lighter in tone, as though his growls and breath were an operatic aria waiting to happen. Bloodshot eyes go between the two of you as he reassures Nadine with a softly murmured, almost a coo, "No, not a drug, Nadine. THis is the thing I wanted to show you. World's a different place, when you know how to look. Things are never what they really -seem- to be." Something in his eyes says he know she knows this. And thenthe thoughtfuly giant slips a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, perching the things onto his nose as he thumbs for a book, flipping through pages with a swig of milk, narrowed eyes searching until he holds the dusty tome out to the two of you, setting the milk jug down. "Know what the name 'Nemesis' comes from, bychance?" Much better grammar in this Seeming, too. And still that odd air, that mix of regal, raw sex and infused primal intimidation. Like looking at a huge ivory sitadel which just happens to have fertility rites going on around it. The ancient Greek quasigoddess of righteous anger and retribution, the text that crawls before you onthe upturned page claims. And it even has a lithograph, but the lass in the photo has better boobs than Nem, by far. Kind of a female Atlas, really.

Feet stumble against the ground as Nadine manuevers over towards a chair. Sit, yes sit. Drug or not she has to have a seat. This is like weird. And as far as the lessons go, Nadine leaves the answering to said questions to Trace. He's the veteran of the bunch. She's just having her cherry busted here, and we all know how traumatizing that can be to a young woman. Ya know? You only loose your hymen once. Anyway...back to the seat. Mismatched limbs bend, lowering her into a seat with a heavy thud. Dark eyes invariably draw their gaze back to Nemesis. How can she not look? A giant covered in a sheen of blood, caressed in the hue of red - a masochistic masterpiece to some extent.

"Nemesis..." Trace locks his timid gaze on the 'Cap and swallows again. He has to push away from the door to get himself moving, and it takes effort, like he aquired a velcro back during the last three minutes. But once he gets himself moving, tiny steps bring him closer until he finally stops near the open, extended book. His eyes drop, and he studies the goddess. Without lifting his eyes, he says softly, "Nemesis. Pudge tole' me bout ya. He was... a friend of mine a long time ago. He made me magic toys and told me stories that were All True." He finally looks up with effort. "You... was that you? About the corbies and stuff? Did you use your bare hands?"

Nemesis also takes a chair, though it'sa lot like, in a motion, a primitive king being seated upon a throne. something in the way he moves, and holds himself, the vicious-looking pointy-eared regalia of masochistic bodily mutilation. Drip. drip. Blood falls from his head, only to dissipate into puffs of reddish mist which quickly vanish as they leave his personal space. Listening to the boy for a moment, Nemesis nods behind a grims mile, the sort of smile of one not overly proud of the actionin question, but not about to deny it. Rather like the grim old samurai, who -has- to go back to war. "Yes. I did." Shutting the book, he espies Nadine and comments, "Nads, I'll trust younott o talk about this, please. It's a very big secret, and one I could lose my head for." He doesn't bother explaining that he has no intention of doing such, and the trust of the gesture, the fact that she's sitting there, might have something to say about his esteem. Settling back in his chair, Nemesis removes his glasses, a fond little grin coming to his lips. "Anywhoot. The Fox, it seems, has claimed your Dreams, Trace. If he asks, please tell him my only concern, really, is that you be enlightened as to your heritage and bloodline, and shown the truth behind the sad anomaly that your mother has become. I scarce think she'll be too eager to wander into town, with my presence." Well, that batch of pins -is- kind of like a crown. Some people just -got- to have pride. it's important to the male of the species. whatever species that IS, you know. "Milk? Drink?" A slim bottleof some clear fluid is withdrawn from the hollowed-outinsides of a book entitled Spiritual Journeys by A. Am. Smirnoff, and handed almost delicately to Nadine.

Drip, drip. Nadine's eyes trail a droplet of blood as it moves in almost slow motion (Hello Steve Austin) downwards. "Uhhhhh.." she drolls, hand absently reaching for the bottle. "Thanks." Yeah, thanks...perhaps alcohol will anchor her down and help her come to terms with all she's seeing. I mean cause like this is WEIRD and shit. Fingers quickly move against the lid of the bottle, edging the cap off and carelessly chucking the plastic covering off to the side. We won't be needing that, now will we? Hungered lips clamp down upon the slender neck of the vodka container, welcoming the onslaught of liquid flowing forth over her tongue and down the back of her throat. A few glugs injested, she sets the bottle down, resting it against a covered thigh. Slowly, a nod dips forward, "Yeah...I understand. Mum is the word." She'll keep this secret alright. And besides, it's not like a hell of a lot of people would believe her anyway with her drug history and all. She'd look the fool babbling about what she's seen.

Trace shakes his head a little, dazed, and dismisses the offer for a drink. Milk, after all, is icky and only good for hiding one's peas. He doesn't watch Nadine chug the booze, for it turns his stomach a little, just the thought alone. Instead he lifts his gaze to Nemesis. "Jason'll be mad, yeah." He shuffles at the floor with the toe of one black sneaker. "He don' like other Different people givin' me magic. Just him." He shrugs. What can you do? Protective muse. A hand reaches up to touch the silver pendant around his neck. Worn by the Fox for years and years before this, it might as well have 'This Dreamer is Property of Jason Riley' engraved right across the front of it. "But I'll let him know you jest wanted to tell me stuff." He regards you somewhat warily still, inspite of your words, which *are* disarming. But... "What did you mean, 'bout my ma? I mean..." He sighs and finally now glances at Nadine. "She don't look like you no more, y'know. She killed it. With that." A nod to Nadine's bottle of vodka. "On purpose."

Nemesis shrugs his massive shoulders, noting, "I mean, Trace, that if your mother comes near you or any other child around here, she'll met the business end of Fluffy here." He taps the large blade strapped across his back with something's viscera as a string.

[At this point Trace had to go for a few, so it was said that he slipped off into the bathroom. The log, therefor, misses a few poses here.]

Milk is his elixr of choice, as ever, the massive gigantor -thing- tossing back a good half of that gallon in a serie of writhing neck muscles and a rather obviously missing Adam's apple. Maybe it's buried in all that muscle? But there stil should be at least a knot. "There's a world aside from the one people live in. Normal people, anyway. Runs concurrently, operates onthe same system of law and order and bent laws--" He gives the tiniest litle impish grinand wrinkle of a skeletal nose as Nemesis levels those dark, bloodshot irises at you across the table. "--and some of us are born into it, whether we like it or not. Fae, it's called. Imagine all the hooplah about fairies, both good and bad, you've ever heard. Now make 'em big and smal, cool and not cool, and you got it. The kid's mother? She's not cool. Very not cool. Corrupt, evil,and twisted. Trying to steal the kid's soul, only worse." he pauses, fishing out another cigarette to light and suck down the fog od life-giving Reynolds Reek, "She wants to steal his youth away. dreams. They're what our world is built on. And the bitch wants to rape the kid's soul of all of his." Well, easy enough. The unspoken assurance is that, by tone and inflection decipherable, that Nemesis plans to stop this little plot. It's kind of chivalrous, in a most fucked up sort of rather gruesome-looking Zulu way.

Swallow down that vodka AND all you are told Nadine. Come on girlie, don't let a drop of information or booze drip down your chin. Waste not, want not. Far from lucid, Nadine merely nods, chin nearly slapping at her sternum in the process. Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. I'm listening, sir. Sloppily, her tongue swipes across her lips, moistening their length in a fine sheen of saliva. Mmmm. Vodka. A kids mom wanting to take things from him? Rape his soul of his youth? And Nem is stating this is something in 'his' world. Yeah, well whatever...not like Nadine knows anything about fucked up parental units and their kids. Folks should have to get licenses to have kids. World would probably be a better place if such a thing was required. "S'world is afucked up place," she murmurs in response to all the things Nemesis just voiced. Such an astute observation from the chick with the blue hair, no?

The bathroom door opens and Trace scuttles out. This time he finds himself a seat, though opts for the floor, putting himself well below the throned one. The last of that threaded on into hearing range, and the little bluecap pulls his legs crosslegged and looks between the two. Finally he shyly pipes, "Rape my soul...? She jest... she didn't want me to draw ever. She-she'd make me tear up my art, and sometimes I was bad and did stuff anyway, so.. so she'd lock me up so I'd learn better, or break my hands...." He shudders and looks down at them, flexes the fingers slowly. "But. But I dunno, rape my soul? S'kinda.. I mean." It's hard to rise up in his mother's defense. But it's MOM, y'know? You've got this deeply buried need to be loved by the one who carries that title, no matter how wicked. "She jest... she was messed up, is all. She didn't want me to end up like dad. He, um. She said art killed him." He lowers his head, braids sweeping down to hide much of his expression.

Nemesis rumbles a soft laugh, noting with a bit of fondness, thoughthat laugh chills the bone at some primal level, "Yes, the world, any world, is a majorly fucked up place. Eloquent, my dear. very eloquent indeed." Why look, issa edumacated big old savage beastie. You remember that allusion to the Predator from the same named movies we often make to Nemesis' style of motion? Well,it holds true even more in the current state of vision or mind one is in, only more so. Now -there-, folks, is something the dark alley itself hopes never wanders in. "Thoughts, Nads?" He asks of Nadine, turning his head to espy the frail blue-haired boy, nodding and explaining, words chosen carefully out of the miasma available to him, "She ate his Dreams, Trace. His art came from dreams, creativity, hmm? Least it does with most folks. She ate it, and when he had none left, gods alone know what happened." And whatever it is, it makes even the pointy-eared mottled beast shudder slightly. "Bad shit, all around."

Nemesis settles his massive girth into place, scooping up the empty glass he brought to presumably drink his milk from. A thoughtful nibble happens before he crunches down on the thing as one eating an apple might. Take that, General Washington. Shifting those beady eyes from behind their thick Coco-Cola bottle bottom lenses, Nem looks between the two of you before swallowing amouthful of lead crystal and asking, "So. Any questions, at this juncture, of either of you? Trace, Nadine was asking for just what the Devil is going on here whilst you were attending to the call of Nature--" The rumble of his voice, made deeper by his having ingested the crystal material, allows the pronunciation of capital letters, oddly. "I thought, you being the Dreamer and all, you might could help explain it with me?"

Riddle me this, riddle me that, look at Nadine's body, it has no fat. Jacquette-skeleton (Jack's long lost sister) lounges in her chair. Skinny gams stretch out before her, body making some attempt to relax. Too bad it isn't working well. More vodka? Let's give that a try. The bottle is upended, a steady flow of liquid drifting into her agape and welcoming mouth. Down the hatch and through the gullet, come on system, enjoy this liquid bullet. With a bit of obvious effort, she turns her eyes from Nemesis and turns to regard Trace. Comfort. He is the same. He has not changed. And there is that blue hair. Yes, the blue hair. Stare, stare at the blue hair. So you were going to say Trace?

Trace watches in fascination as Nemesis crunches peacefully on the drinking glass. Wow! And his friends tell him *he* eats weird stuff... So intent is he on watching the redcap that it takes him a moment to realize he's been addressed. Well, gee, guys. Try having a pooka for a muse and see how well YOU understand the ways of the fae. "Uh. Well." He sifts through what he's been told, and finally comes up with pretty much just what he's gathered through his own experience. Really, no one tells him a *thing*. Until right now, with Nemesis here, who seems bent on enlightenment for both blue haired folk here. "There's... people who's Different, Nadine. Cept most people don't know it, or forget right away. I useta be special and not forget, but I do too now..." he sighs a little. "Um. Me, I'm a Bluecap. Jason said so. We're rare, like diamonds." He grins a little, clearly pleased and proud of his new title. "And, uh... There's guys like him, and my ma." We won't go into them. Before meeting Nemesis, he coulda gone on plenty, but Nem is seriously challenging his idea of what a redcap is supposed to be. "An' there's my Wendy-Maiden, who's cool and creepy with bugs in her hair and a bendy-twisty body. And Bonnie too, but she's mean." He scowls just faintly, but continues. "There's my old friend Kelsie, and Jason too. They have tails, and ears. And there's the Beautiful Ones, but they usually keep their noses up too high to notice you. And there's, um. Round ones, like Pudge. And they build stuff, and have rosy cheeks. And..." His brow furrows a little. He's running out of knowledge to impart, and looks to Nemesis for assitance.

Nemesis giggles to himself, a soft chuckle that sounds a stacatta cat's purring rumble deep within his great chest, as he chews what seems dinner, apparently not hip on tuna casserole or whatever it is he brought back for you blue haired folk. As Trace finishes up, he nods his gargantuan head, flecks of disspating mist blod flopping about the table. "What he said, yes. And a lot more. And we all, basically, subsist and survive ont he collective creativity and imagination of the world around us. Well, the so called real world. There's rather nasty things, too." Holy Jesus on a Pogo Stick, let's not get into the stuff that scares old Nem there. That might be pushing it for tonight, Nemmie old boy. Stick to the shiny shit. You know, Tinkerbell and Peter Pan and stuff. Ding! Lightbulb! "Kind of like Peter Pan, and Never Never Land. But then, them little sparkly fuckers really annoy me." A bit of a sour frown, another *crunch* of glass. He's down to the base now, the tough part. Eyes alight over to Trace, studiously meditative a moment, before the Big Mean Lookin' Keebler elf on steroids offers, "And after we have Jason's permission, we'll talk about the folks you and me come from. Rest assured, your Mama was an anomaly." I like to -think- so, anyways.

A flurry of names, bits of information, Nadine watches as all of those things drip casually over Trace's lips. Eyes narrowed slightly, she seemed to have been watching his mouth quite dilligently, almost as if she could see the words themselves birth in some kind of animated fashion. She pings her pong of a gaze back to Nemesis as he speaks, further explaining things. What does she do? Why nod. What else can she do? She's facing Skeletor after HeMan's shown him the power of Greyskull care of his sword. "So like it's a secret society...." Cause isn't it? She was told to keep this a secret. Shhhhh, or the big guy loses his head. And that would be bad, bad, bad. Slowly, a hand snakes into her sweatshirt pocket, cigarettes withdrawn with a somewhat shakey grasp.

Weighing the term Secret Society or perhaps just trying to look intellectual, the behemoth of a black Atlas chews ponderously after popping the last tidbit of his crystalline bonbon into his lips, thunderous great cat rumble of a "Mmmm." sound coming out of his throat before Nemesis nods, noting, "Yeah. Be a pretty fair estimation, at this stage, to think of it that way. Save we're born into it, not unlike a shapeshifter iiiis--" Whoa now, kid. Don't go overamping the poor cutie-pie's blue-tipped fuse box. "--supposedly. You know, according to legend and what not." Of course, the expresison and tone imply, WE don't believe in such. Heavens no. Why, that would be childish. Almost as bad as believing in faerie-- doh!

"It's like another world!" Trace says happily, bright-eyed, but the look fades somewhat after a moment, gently melting into something more subdued. "It's... wonderful." Except, he's less and less a part of it now. "When someone Different helps remind me, it's like... like the whole world's been outta groove, but finally just clicked back into place." He purses his lips and looks down at the rug beneath him. Well, what can you do? Bluecaps, while enthusiastic in their dreams, don't have the wheel in these matters. He looks to Nemesis as he speaks, puzzling a little at this shapeshifter business, but maybe that's just some power he hasn't seen yet. "Nemesis...?" he asks softly. "I... I'd really like to hear whatever you wanna tell me. But-but I don't know how much good it'd do. I always forget, these days."

It's a different world eh..what like some perverted version of Disney's 'It's a Small World'? It's a world of glimmer...a world of fun...it's a world where dreams are neat for most everyone....it's a land unlike ours...it's a land where men eat bars...it's a small world after all. "So like you are a born and you sort of look..." Nadine raises a hand motioning to the sadist's wetdream that is Nemesis. "..like this? And am I going to forget?" Cause like Trace keeps mentioning forgetting. Does this mean Nadine isn't going to remember this and all this time is going to have to be attributed to a drunken black out?

The bluecap nods a little, somewhat sadly. "Yeah... yeah, sorry Nadine." He shrugs a little. "You'll think, 'oh, I went to Nemesis' place, got drunk. He showed us some books and talked about folklore, some crazy greek shit." He grins a little, but without mirth. "It all goes away. I-I've gone on whole adventures and forgotten. I've had my.. my need to draw, my... creativity, I guess, just torn out all savage, an' I didn't even remember later..." He sighs softly. "That's just how it goes. If you don't believe enough, it escapes." Hey, this IS like Peter Pan! Clap your hands, boys and girls! Keep Tink alive! "And you're left with the boring old world and a brain fulla locked up friends and memories..."

Nemesis furrows his massive eyebrows, hairless in this Seeming, at both the young lad's utterance, as well as the query posed by his other blue-haired guest. "Actually, it usually hits, the shift and realization, around the onset or middling years of puberty. Eleven, twelve. When most kids stop believing--" Another of those oh-so-subtle shudders across the back of his neck. "--in their imaginations and the power of the Dreaming." SHifting a bit to regard the young man more closely, Nemesis takes another drink of milk before beginnign to nibble lightly on the plastic jug cap, responding in a slightly lowered volume, "I'll hold off until we have Jason's approval, Trace. For now, be content to know you're not alone, and that your family isn't as bad as we seem. I, Jason, and others will keep you safe." From the hallowed tone of Mistah Man's rich baritone, the term Over My Dead and Splattered Body comes to the mind. Again we may shudder at the thought of whatever would make Nemesis into a Pacifist. Cocking that bull's head, ears sagging with weight of all the metal and those odd skulls of some dead critters, Nemesis offers Nadine, "It'll probably seem like a really whacked out trip, truth be told." Jerking a curbed-nailed.. or is that thing a claw? at Trace as the waif of a bluecap gives his estimation, Conan the Librarian there mutters in a slightly saddened grumble, "What he said."

A bad trip. A drunken binge. So many possibilities. Nadine's brow cannot help but crinkle, her mind working through all the comments. Sure she goes through the effort of cataloguing them. It's a habit after all putting those little post-it notes on the brain so that later you can look and find the necessary information with ease. It doesn't seem to matter that she may remember nothing of this and all those little reminders, written with such care, will find themselves lost under the fridge only to be found when the huge icebox is moved or jarred in some way. "Things that go bump in the night. The creature under the stairs..." Jibberish or is it? Her head shakes slightly - disbelief? Perhaps. Or maybe it's just astonishment that she's here like this and staring at some live action version of Carrie meets James Earl Jones. The remainder of alcohol flows between her lips, leaving the bottle empty.

"Yeah, you got it," Trace grins. Coz the things that go bump in the night rock. He's met a few of them, and they got along smashingly. "Dreams." He lifts his shoulders in a little shrug. "But if this is all like a big shock to you now, and yer mind's goin' in circles, yer prolly fer sure gonna ferget. That's how Batiste is. He flips out, y'know? It's got so he can't even have magic no more, coz he remembers the time the Grim Beastie ate him and he gets all trembly and scared..." He realizes he's gone off on quite the ramble and clamps his mouth shut before giving a sheepish grin.

Nemesis snags the now emptied bottle from Nadine, commenting, "Yup. You got it. Boogeymen and the like aren't unheard of. Mean little sons of bitches, too. hard to put down." That damned notched, barbed scimitar at his back which makes He-Man's sword look like a paring knife likely helped. Plus the fact old Nemesis there, with his chest the size of a Buick, could likely split the building in half withe the foolish thing. Crunching delicately as one might eat Gramma Domenikos' baklava, Nemesis takes a bite of vodka bottle, label and all. Crunchy, and with a saucy coating. All he needs now is some salt, a little oreganos, and he's got some good eatin'. Martha Stewart would be so proud, too, of his Emily Post delicacy of eating. Nodding and grunting a muffled, full-mouth agreement, Nemesis swallows as Trace ends his tangential thought, giving the lad a slight grin of patient benevolence and even a quick little wink of one beady little bloodshot eye. "Again, what he said. Dreams. ALL dreams, nightmares included. And Grim's not a bad sort, once you get past that whole salivation problem he has." Crunch. Have s'more vodka crystal tonic, Nem.

Round and round she goes, where Nadine's mind stops on this whirly whirl, no one knows. Those cigarette, withdrawn minutes ago, finally finds itself raped and pillaged. Fingers work their way inside the thin paper packaging, withdrawing the prize inside, a cigarette. "So like...yeah...yeah..." You know..'yeah'. It's such a definitive term. Hands still slightly wobbly, it takes her a few tries to spark up her lighter, but eventually, she meets with success. Rock, paper, scissors, flame always beats paper don't know ya know? In some attempt to act nonchallant, she queries, smoke drifting over her lips, "How's that taste?" A head gesture crooks to motion to the main course of glass currently being consumed.

Trace is staring again. Can't help it. That is just *too* cool. "I never met him, m'self," he states distractly, watching the redcap's jaw work around the glass. A glance to Nadine, as she asks the question he'd been wondering about but too bashful to ask outright. Yep, leave matters of confidence to Nadine. "One time," he admits shyly, "I was eating fried chicken with my family.. like, my 'family' here in the city, not back home. And I wasn't payin' no attention an' I ate the bones too. But lucky f'me, nobody noticed 'cept Jason. Who din' think it was a big deal." After he relates the tale, he looks up with a blush. It sounds entirely less cool now that he's gone and blurted it out, because here's Nem chomping away on this bottle and the milk jug and the glass, and who cares about some stupid bones. He hunches his shoulders a little.

Well, Big Mamba Jamba there cares, it would seem, for a quirky little grin flickers over towards Trace like a cruise missle, rumblevoice there reflecting the mirth in his tone, "My first indicative was a chicken, too. Bones, beak, whole thing. S'posed to be pluckin' the damn thing, and I just ate it." A light shrug, Nemesis polishing off the bottle with those steel plated teeth of his, or at least they seem steel plated, the way he ever so effortlessly chomps the last of the vodka bottle down, licking his fingers as if something gooey were stuck to them afterwards. And again with the damned meditative silences as he lights a cigarette around the muffled words of, "Tastes like vodka-laced rock candy, really. But not quite as good as diamonds. THOSE are some tasty little fuckers." Pushing with a bit of a heave, Nemesis leans over the table, one of his beaten. scarred-up old branded gnarled hands reaching for the wrist of the frail woman not ending in smokey-treat tapping, asking with a bit of concern, "You alright? I mean, you're safe and all, you know." Sure. Blue-haired kid who's talking about getting eaten by grin beasts, and an African Sherman Tank with pointy ears who radiates sex out of every pore while at the ame time gorging on glass truffles and emanating that weird King Shit of Turd Hill vibe? Not to mention the wet hair and shirt. Well, come to think of it, right behind -that- motherfuckah is probably the safest place there -is-.

Ack, Nemesis would have to grab her hand laying host to her cigarette right now. He got his glass treat, why can't she have her nicotine goody? A wanton tilt grows upon her lips, tongue sliding slowly against their expanse. Let me suck on my cigarette. Mamma needs it bad. Must blow Mr. R.J. Reynolds. "I'm fine and don't feel like I"m in danger." And if that is a lie, she shows no signs of it. So maybe it is the truth. Lord knows that if Nemesis wanted to hurt her, he would have had MORE then enough opportunity by now. Not to mention Trace is here, and Trace is cool. Not like the bluecap would just sit back and be all casual and stuff if like lives were in danger and stuff. Right? He'd never get his nape piercing if something happened to Nads!

Oh, come on, Nadine. Bad as Trace wants more steel from ya, and keen as he thinks you are, you think he's gonna go up against Nemesis if the big guy starts to see red? That would take some seriously insane courage, and Trace is practically in the negative numbers. "So Nemesis, will you talk to Jason sometime? Just... I mean, ask him if you're allowed to tell me stuff?" His eyes are bright with curiousity. "I want him t'not be upset about this. But I.. I'm really curious, y'know? And Jason..." His brow furrows a little. "He just. He doesn't like to 'splain stuff. Y'know? And when he's gotta, it comes out all weird, like retorical questions an' long, confusin' metaphors 'bout golden streets and snow flakes and stuff."

Nemesis smirks a bit wryly, as if the vodka bottle burp had soured his stomach, but he nods none the less, stating to the boy, "Yeah. I'll talk to him. Easy enough to find the little fu-- feller." See red? He's coated in it, almost like some kind of odd cross between Charles Atlas and Lizzie Borden at the prom. Takin ghis hand back after releasing Nadine, Nemesis settles back into Grumpus Maximus posture, limbs that are his arms criss crossing over the pillar of Babylon that seperates his legs from his neck. "My corner of the world doesn't have gold streets, and the snowflakes are kind of dingy." Or the happy shiny red hue of fresh vital fluids. Drip. Drip. Drip. It's kind of like the Chinese water torture to be Nem's chair. Smoke leaves his lungs, the brochial orgasm finished, eyebrows furrowing into tight knots on top of knots as he sinks into his usual grumbling quasisilence, eyes and attention apparently introverting when not ficused on Nadine, who to him may as well be a spooked bunny what just sat down and asked the hunter for a lighter and a blindfold. "Good. Cause I'm not going to hurt you. Ever." Yeah. So there, snaps Jumbo the Black Elephant.

Never hurt Nadine? Well this is a good thing no? Cause we know there probably isn't a hell of a lot of ways she could hurt Nemesis. We are talking the elephant and the mouse here. Ooooh yeah, she's /reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal/ scary. Just look at her bad ass boney frame. "Yeah I figured you wouldn't." Hurt her that is.... Mama gets her cigarette back, the coffin nail striking home between her lips. Hammer those lungs with nicotine. Drive her closer and closer to her cancerous grave. Now, now there is just the problem of where to put that ash. Nemesis has done the great clean up job of finishing off all the glass containers in the general vicinity of Nadine. So what is she going to use? Eyes search, looking for the cigarette 'toilet'. "So like how long is this going to last?"

"F'you, prolly a day," Trace admits with a shrug. "S'how it is fer Bat, and reg'ler folks. Me, I'm a Bluecap. I got the blood in me. So I last seven." A tentative smile to Nemesis. "And the real Different ones, they get it forever." Probably naive words to fall on Grump ears, but the boy doesn't know any better.

Now, a child's world is like a big balloon of a youngster's virginity. All it takes is one prick, and it's all over. Nemesis, with his feral savage strength and presence, could prick the planet itself, by the look of the big lug, and watch Earth deflate. And we all remember Grace's cue and aye session the other night. But the huge monster over there lurking at his end of the table just sits there, lips twisting in cntemplation like some Clive Barker wet dream of a Zen master, eventually ejaculating the words into the air, "Forever, yes, until the Dreams shift." Well ain't that a safely poetic way to allow the kid his illusory naiivte and tell the truth at the same time? Kinda sly of you there, Nemmie old boy. But then, nothing in the rule book says an elephant can't pitch, quote the Bunny. "Be about a day, yeah, Nads, for you, maybe a bit longer." Who can tell, the massive shrug of immense shoulders finishes, "So you gotta scope my pretty face much as you can, cause your memory may or may not respect you in the morning." Heehee. A thin smile alights upon his rather intimidating mug as Nemesis takes a vague stab at the Joke Dragon.

Pretty face? That is one way to refer to it. Pretty fucking twisted is more like it...Finally, she settles her gaze upon an ashtray. Sweet mother of god, it's about time she finds one. Pulling herself from her seat, she stumbles towards the tray, depositing her carcinogenic piece of heaven within the shallow depths of the tray. "So like a day..." So like a really bad acid trip eh? Okay, she can relate..she can deal. Back to her chair she moves, falling down heavily into her seat. "Ya know boy, ya sure got a pretty mouth." Teehee. Her turn to walk down joke lane. Just look at her mouth and the little smile tugging upwards at the corners of her narrowly drawn lips. (She's not caustic, she's just drawn that way).

"F'I were you," Trace grins, wrapping his hands around the toes of his sneakers, "I'd go out an' try'n meet all the Different people y'can, while you got time." The rubber toes get old quick, so he plays with his shoelaces instead, untying them and twisting one about his fingers. They don't match at all, silver-glittery threads woven around white. "They kin' be neat. An' even if you DO remember some how, y'still won't see 'em in their different selves by this time t'marrah." He giggles a little. "There's been times I've had friends, and I didn't even know they was different. You'd go up an' meet em after someone gived you some magic, an' it's like 'Whoa! Hey, Wendy! You got bugs in yer hair!" He grins broadly.

Nemesis emits another of his chortles as Trace elucidates the finer point of glittery pointy-eared social graces, noting with a waggle so overdone it has to be as comical as all git out, eyebrows wiggling like beetled hairless caterpillars at Nadine, "So, sailor. The kid's got the right idea, if you'd like. Lookin' for a date? Lemme buy you a drink or something, purty lady?" And you know, for an obscenely massive chunk of manflesh that is to most healthy adult males what a set of Tinker Toys is to Gibraltar, he doesn;t do a half bad imitation of an extra from 'Deliverance.' "I mean, if'n you're up to it and all?" Another smokey treat gets burned at its own stake, shoed between his lips after Nemesis polishes off the last of the milk. Out? Out and about? With Gigantor on her arm, Or would that be Nadine on his arm? "Uhhhh yeah sure...." When you have a good buzz, you ride it for all it's worth. This really shouldn't be any different, right? Color this up to a new experience. And it's not like it would be the first time Nadine would be going out and seeing the world in a different light only to fail to remember the event in full clarity the next day. "So yeah, let's go out." The palm of her hands pushes against the chair, aiding herself to rise once again.

Trace hastily re-knots his pretty silver laces and starts to rise. But... hmm. He looks between the both of you. "F'is gonna be a date, I oughta get on home," he grins. "D'wanna be no third wheel." He bites his lip. Coz really, that's absurdly funny. Nadine and Nemesis are sweethearts! Hee. Well, maybe it was meant to be. After all, she mutilates for a living. And I bet Nem could get some great discounts! That finally makes him giggle, and he quickly straightens his face, like that would cover it.

Jumbo the Happy Jolly Black Giant's head swivels like he'd been shot, beady red-rimmed eyes finding the boy as the great body rises witht he fluidity of motion of a great python looming over something in de jungle, de mighty jungle, a slightly acerbic, caustic tone that likely has a bit of whatever ungodly digestive juices it takes to process glass for nutrition in. Really, Nemesis, what did you expect out of a teenager who hangs out with a Rug Waiting to Happen so much? "Quiet, you, or I tell the monster under your bed where to find the meat tenderizer." Still, there's a bit of mirth to the tone, and not the mean old nasty kind. He's such a bear sometimes, really. But he does cock his head towards the door sharply, noting to Nadine, "'Mone, Miss Daisy. I be drivin' you 'roun de town now, yassmah." Now THAT gets him to grin a bit. Sorta. Humor or not, he's a Grump, and a grumpy grump he be.

A date? A date? Uhhhh Nemesis is liable to break Nadine in two. I mean some women are just not built to handle..uhhhh....too much shall we call it force? Whereas Nemesis is one hell of a buck in the stable, Nadine's already on her way to the glue factory. "You wouldn't be a third wheel..." So that means come along Trace. Besides, if you come along you can watch as Nadine gets all googoo eyed at any other people they may run into along the way. Just imagine what a joy that would be. See the caustic little hole puncher bug eyed and bushy tailed. Well, maybe not bushy tailed. "I want a monster under my bed with a meat tenderizer..." That was more humour, right? She looks to Nemesis. Can you give her a monster weilding kitchen tools under her mattress?

Nemesis in contrast seems a bit taken aback by the idea of a date date,which may be distinguished from a simple date in that the male usually spends lots of money money on the former. It's odd, how the massive fellow seems quite intimidated, all of the sudden, by the tiny little lass, a small squeak escaping his throat before he can swallow the reaction back down. "Right. Come right on along, if you wish, Trace." For who's benefit, really, is ncertain. Get a grip on yourself, boy. Be cool, man. A hawd mutha is always cool. What could make you look cool right now, Nem? Light another cigarette. There you go. Hey, did Nads just say something buh wha huh? Right. Meat cleavers. Or something like that. "Cool. I'll find ya one and shove the li'l fucker down there. Maybe even give 'em a spatula, too, some nice cruets, maybe a pan or two if I get really medieval about it." Nemesis, who uses the term 'medieval' to describe 'really, really damn nasty,' Yeaaah. Now you're groovin', Jumbo.

"Alright, well." Trace picks himself up off the rug and dusts at his jeans, "Where you wanna go? Not the Raven, alright? Place's been buggin' me lately. An' I had their cheese fries once too often an' I'm tired of 'em." He hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and glances towards the door. "Though... I really shouldn't stay out long. I mean, I should get home. I been away too long, an' I really oughta talk to Jason 'bout some'a this stuff..." He trails off, distracted by monsters with meat cleavers. A giggle. "There's a monster what lives in the park, y'know. Swear t'god. Right there in the bushes. It threw puke at TooFar, an' so me an' Jason threw rocks at it til' it disappeared." Oh, but wait, Nadine's heard this story, and wasn't impressed the first time. Oh, well. "It was cool, anyway. But maybe that monster'd like to be Nadine's monster under th'bed."

A maggot spewing monster under Nad's bed? Well that is one she'll have to pass on. And considering she's mostly crashing at Jill's right now, it's probably safe to bet Jill wouldn't appreciate the little smarmy pests crawling around her place all over the floorboards and shit. Though, maybe they'd find Flagg and feast on him or something. That could be a good thing. But now we are just off track. They were leaving were they not, a perverted version of Three's Company? "I don't know where else to go. You suggest." Yeah, you Trace. You are the one not wanting to go to the Raven. Where should they all go?

Nemesis coughs into his hands, noting, "Got to go walkin' int he park, me. Fresh air and all. Get my jog for the day in. Yeah." And a bit of brutal melee combat never hurt when trying to keep the old corpuscles pumping. "Crossroads. We're goin' to Crossroads. Need to talk at Moth, anyway, if she's around." Well. That settled the Where To, Jeeses debate. Gathering his coat up, Nemesis sticks his cigarettes in one pocket, tossing a spare pack at Nadine from a stash in the freezer. "Extra rations. Let's hope Doctor Grimlove ain't around. Fuckin' chick annoys the shit outta me seometimes with all that 'my dear' shit." Nem adresses Trace with this last observation. "Spooky. People call ME fucked up? Have you SEEN what that chick -drinks- in her water?"

"Naw," Trace giggles, eyes impish. "But I seen her eat grass n'shit, plus she got me t'eat a bug outta her hair once. It made me see stuff." He seems wholly undaunted by the fact that Nem doesn't like his Wendy-maiden. Most people don't. So what, y'know? Chick brings him chocolate and tells great stories. It's enough to win Trace over, and he rather enjoys the raspy 'my dears', to be perfectly honest. He starts for the door but stops. Waitaminute. That's right. "The Crossroads?" He looks back at the others. "That's where Bat got eaten by the Grim Beastie. He... I..." He scuffles at the ground. "I promised him I wouldn't never go there without Jason around to protect us." He shrugs his shoulders a little. "I promised, y'know?" And bluecaps keep their promises, or try damned hard to, anyway. "So, um. Look, you guys go. Bat'll kill me if I go to the Crossroads. An' like I said, I should get home, y'know?"

A walk in the park? How totally...ugh...did he just mention spooky chicks? Who the hell is this spooky chick? He talking about the chick with the weird choices in ear decorations? Yeps, that is who they appear to be talking about. Nadine's mouth twists a frown. "I'm not sure I want to see her." Is this another no for the crossroads? Possibly. "She's weird." Uhhhhhh Nadine...you are sitting in a room with a man that looks as if he has a mini geyser of blood atop his head that keeps bursting, resulting in a steady flow of blood down the contours of his face and upper torso. And you are calling a bug lady weird? Selective subjectivity there or what? "So like it will just be you and I?" That would seem like a date. Hrm. "Ya sure you don't want to come Trace?" He said 'no' Nadine, that probably means 'no'. Don't you know to respect someone's decision when they say 'uh huh'? Obviously not.

Nemesis ever so slooowly nods his head to Trace's refusal, noting, "That's precisely why I like the place. Plus, a lot of Cold People hang out at the Raven, and it gives me a massive migraine." Somehow, Tylenol or whatever fad drug they show on the tee vee doesn't seem to be an overly Redcap way of dealing with pain. Of course, Nadine's run branding steel over his flesh, and he was cool withit, right? Sorta. There was that whole odd pheremonal tension thick enough to butter a bagel with, really. "Doc Criken's a baby-breath stealer, I think. Fucked upedness and all aside, to each they own. Just so long as I don't have to see it or hear about it, I'm down with the whole thing her an' her Blister Sister Bonnie want to cook up." A rolling shurg of his shoulders, and Gigantor lets the idea roll by. Thumbing a fresh Reynlds Wrapped Log of Cancer Waiting to Happen into his lips, Nemesis notes, I'm sure we can find some folks. Jonesy's probably hangin' around someplace. Dude seems to live in my shadow, half the time." And it's weird, but hey. When you eat glass and read books by having them tell you what's on their pages, not much really startles you. So why does he sound so desperate to believe that right outside his front door, Toofar the Cherished Chaperone will appear? Hopehope?

Trace sighs. Dammit. He's not *allowed* to go to the Crossroads without Jason. But he really does want to hear about this business about Wendy and Bonnie, because that's just really confusing and intriguing. He can't help but speak up about it. "Wendy's so nice, and Bonnie's cruel! She laughed when Bat got eaten, and later forced magic on him so he'd remember and she could drink up his fear..." He sighs and looks down at his sneakers. "Tell ya what. I'll go home an' get Jason. I'll try an' get him to take me to the Crossroads. Then I kin' be there, and you can ask him permisson. Z'at cool?" Unfortunately Trace hasn't clued in yet on Jason's 'rug potential' in Nem's eyes yet.

TooFar would be a good person to run into. He's nice, neutral, and easy on the eyes. Not to mention, uhhhhh, three's company, right? Whitewashed, her fingers press into the back of her neck, kneeding at the muscles firmly. Just a little tense? Well it has been a trying day and all, right? It's not everyday that a girl gets to see a man turn into the walking fountain of blood. Then watch that same creature make a nice meal out of glass. "Just like try to come. It's be cool if you were there and stuff..." The more the merrier and shit. It means the chances of her being left along with the sex-o-matic meat machine decrease.

Nemesis doesn't seem to keen on the idear of being left alone with the frail skeleton there, either. I mean, she hurts people and modifies their bodies for fun and profit, right? And, well, she's a she. Shes tend to be something Nemesis never has been seen too overly close to. Come to think of it, he's are, too. Maybe he just likes his personal space. Ever see a black man blush? It's the coolest thing, really, and quite comical. "Right." Nemesis rumbles out with his thunder ont he horizon tone, reaching for the doorknob to the front door, "Just try to get there. Maybe Moth'll be there, too." Whoever this Moth person is, she's the life raft from Heaven, it would seem, to the Titanic-boarded titanic hulking bloody Q-tip there.

"I... sure thing!" Trace agrees, bobbing his head. After all, wouldn't it just *suck* to have Nemesis blushing all night? Nadine and Nemmy sittin' in a tree! Heh. He twists a blue braid around one of his fingers. "I'll try my best t'get him there. But I jest, I need Jason with me or I can't go. A lotta people'd get pissed at me." Apparantly Batiste is 'a lotta people'. Well, he's a big important one anyway.

Who are we kidding? Nemesis couldn't get in a tree. He'd make it fall down and probably would end up crushing the poor, fragile little Nadine in the process. There's a visual for thought. Seeming to have a little bit more control over herself (see something long enough and become partially desensitized or something like that), she jaunts towards the door with a languid gait. It's off the great world of the oogy boogies and bug haired women. Lucky Nadine. Bet all the girls will be jealous that she got to do that on her first non-date with Nemesis.

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