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cyphorg

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About cyphorg

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  • Birthday 19/02/1933

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  1. SCENE 2: Buddha looks into the dark den beyond Nigel and his suited friend. He is familiar with such places and knows what can happen in such dark places. Out here in the brightly lit mall corridor, things might not be safe, but they are safer than in there. There might be more goons out here, but there are certainly more in there. Well, I did want a little distraction this evening. I suppose it’s time to get too it. “Sorry Jimmy, the lady has a schedule to keep. Some other time perhaps?” Buddha hands Monajane his phone again, in a less obvious manner. Through his smile, he tells her, “Just hit 5 and tell them we’re outside the fighting arena, in front of Nigel’s trying to head west.” He hasn’t any real friends in the Pilgrims, but Neon is as close it came these days. Neon sort of became Blind Buddha’s ‘sponsor’ and ‘manager’ with the nomads. He knew a good mechanic when he saw it and was always looking for a way to make an easy buck off of someone else’s efforts. I doubt that leach’ll show up with any cavalry, but he’ll know where to start look’n when I don’t show up to fix Sister Ann’s transmission before they head out. Money is the only way to motivate that weasel. With that, Buddha keeps the two of them moving deeper into the belly of the Mall and away from Nigel’s teahouse, quickening the pace slightly. He tries to keep Monajane on his left and the bully boys to his right. With a lift and tug, he repositions his saddlebags on his left shoulder to show his intent to get moving. The thought of a good brawl made his smile widen even more. “Li’l darlin’, let’s get moving. You gotta show to git to.”
  2. SCENE 2: “Truth is, I don’t…” his comment is cut short by the Asian Mr. Rogers. Turning toward the new voice in the crowd, Buddha sees beyond the lamppost leaner and to the dark, dingy den of inequity. A part of his brain, deep in the reptilian part of that brain, drools a little at the sight of it. He started this evening with the plan of getting seriously fucked up and this looks like the place to do just that. How the hell did I miss this place earlier? “Buddy? or trouble?” Buddha asks in a quite voice he hopes only she can hear. He can tell from her response that this ain't a friend she wanted to run into, but he does wonder how messy this is likely to be. Continuing in a more normal voice and for more general consumption, “You have friends waiting. Perhaps we can return to Jimmy Wah’s later?” Dropping back to a lower register, “I can’t run fast, but I doubt you’ll slow me down.” Miss Tomorrow?!? I guess I never did ask her name did I? I suppose it didn’t really matter… does it ever? Blind Buddha shrugs and chuckles to himself at the thought. Gett’n fuck’n philosophic. Must be smell’n fortune cookies. Buddha refocuses his attention and takes a better look at their two newfound friends and plans an escape route through the mall toward the West. He wonders if her spacer jacket would hold up if he grabbed one (or two) of those ‘tool loops’ and used the whole thing as a harness. It seems a little flimsy for a task like that. Might be better to just grab her with one arm like a sack of kibble if it comes to it. Heading off toward the center of the mall, escorting Monajane away from the 'tea house' and it's denizens. If she baulks and wants to talk, he won't push the point.
  3. SCENE 2: Hmmm… Not Club Terranea? Gotta listen a little closer next time. Club Terranea isn’t where she’s playing; it’s her home turf. I’ve gotten fuck’n sloppy. Running around with those goddamned Lutherans has taken my edge. Worked out well enough for the past couple of months, but maybe its time to find other company to hang with. The bullshit of wearin’ their fuck’n colors pisses me off and stoic just ain’t my style. He isn’t flush, but a good mechanic always has work in a pack of nomads and the Pavement Pilgrims are all about fair pay for fair work. Still, it’s nothing like the money he could make back in home with the Executioners, but those days were gone, those friends were gone, that home was gone, the Executioners were gone, it was all gone. This ghoulish looking pimp is right about getting out of here, true enough. It’s time to move. Move in so many ways. Shame that greasy spud doesn’t seem interested in joining us in leaving. Always better to leave in a group, makes for more targets. Still wouldn’t mind scoring a little synthcoke though. “Hrmmghh! ‘spose your right Chief. This place ain’t where we need to be.” Pimpy’s suggestion of “old Penrod's” seemed as good as any other at the moment. Given they were at one end of the mall, it made sense to just head toward the other end. Odds were, they’d pass the club Monajane’s friends were supposed to be at and with a little luck she’d recognize it when they did. Luck was something he rarely shook hands with. That bitch seemed to like busting his balls. Tossing some cash on the bar, Buddha heads out of this end of the mall. He tries to keep her nestled in his coat, at least until they reach the door. It proves a little clumsier than he had anticipated. He’s happy to let her out of concealment once they get away from the fight cages and into the more common area of the mall. “Little darlin’, most folks lookin’ for me don’t dress like that,” laughs Buddha. “He looked a damn sight more like your speed than mine.” Looking at the gold painted Buddha standing in front of the teashop; one gold, one chrome, one clean and holy, one filthy and profane, he laughs again and shakes his head. “Of course, you could be right. Maybe someone out here’s decided to gun me down to achieve enlightenment.” He laughs a little harder, but reconsiders his initial assessment of who might be watching who. Turning back to the little elfin tart with his usual smile matching the one on the gold statue, Blind Buddha reaches out and touches on of the shiny metal ribbons woven in her hair. “How ‘bout we find your friends?” he cheerfully asks before heading into the belly of the mall, away from the comfort of the fighting arena. I’m sure there’s no surviving map kiosks to tell us the original shape of this shithole. That would be too damn easy!
  4. Scene 2: He nods as Monajane bemoans the increased complexity of the phone system. He also makes the quick assumption that her friends are not likely to be listed in any local phone book and keeps the thought to himself. The knowledge of the name of a club here in the mall does make things a little more focused. It is just a matter of getting through whatever gauntlet that awaits between here and there. He now has several bits of useful information to work with though. This could be fun after all… One of the advantages of being ‘blind’ is that no one actually sees you see them. Marking the upscale spectator from across the room, Buddha understands its time to move. Who the hell was that? This’s trouble. He ain't one of Monajane’s buddies, not with an outfit like that. Mmmmm… chicken-flavored-combed-protein-loaf-on-a-stick… Buddha’s considerable belly rumbles loudly enough for Monajane to jump slightly at the sound. She hands the phone back to him with the explanation of its less than usefulness in the situation. Buddha turns back toward the bar and the drinks that have newly arrived. He takes the shot and drops it into the mug with a splash. Half of the drink is downed in a single gulp with only a relatively small amount of the beverage sloshing out of the mug and dripping off his face. “Ahhhh!…” His enjoyment of the new beverage is marred by the barely tenor voice of the ghastly fixer next to them at the bar. "Hey, Chrome-Dome," he nods, "...you lookin' to do some horse tradin'? Maybe unload that high-class?" Facing his new found fixer friend with a somewhat forced smile, “Ya’ never know? I’m always looking to better my situation.” Buddha stops to make a point to look over Pimpy’s hos and then at Monajane, all with an appraising ‘eye’. Its clear his hos are a little more than apprehensive about the situation. They clearly don’t have high standards, but Buddha is obviously at the bottom end of the spectrum they were hoping for this evening. Hmmm… a two for one sale! This night’s finally getting interesting. The thought of it all makes his smile a whole lot more sincere and mirthful. He also wonders if Pimpy has any idea who he is bartering for? Hell, I don’t even know who I’m bartering for! “It’s a little loud here! How ‘bout we blow this place! I think I know somewhere a little quieter, not far from some place called Club Terranea? You know the place? How ‘bout you get these and let’s go!” as Buddha point to his drinks and make movement to leave. Buddha keeps Monajane as shielded by his duster as possible under his left, flesh arm as he downs the rest of his boilermaker. Leaning his head down toward the sprite gasping for fresh air under his coat, he speaks as clearly as he can while keeping his voice at a level that only she should be able to hear and trying to keep his mouth from moving as much as possible. He keeps his focus on Pimpy and scanning the club for the mysterious black suited voyeur in the crowd, occasionally jumping into thermo to look for people who ‘aren’t there’ otherwise. “I think we need to leave. There’s a suit interested in you over yonder. This pimp gonna provide us with directions and an escort to your bar…. or at least a good diversion.” He releases a mighty belch, but waits until he's done before he turns his face to her, “Do me a favor and keep your head down ‘til we get out of here?”
  5. SCENE 2: "Maryjane? Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while. I've been looking for a distraction all evening and I think you'll do just fine." As he speaks, Blind Buddha looks over at the nomad getting pummeled in the cage and then the dealer-pimp at the bar next to him, scanning the crowd between for faces who have taken an interest in his new brightly bespangled companion. Turning his smile and 'gaze' to the little elf before him, Buddha carefully closes his viselike metal hand around her tiny flesh one and guides her to the bar. Releasing her hand, he positions himself with his left arm and duster forming a shelter around her against the counter. She is trying to put a brave face on, but it is clear she's still not sure if this is a safe port in a storm or a bad situation getting worse. On a positive point, with that duster he's wearing, Monajane has virtually disappeared from the crowd. On a negative note, the coat could be a lot cleaner, as could Blind Buddha. The smell of unwashed body spiced with road grime and various vehicular fluids washes over the waifish songbird. If her face blanches, it is lost in the glow of the backstage pass hanging from her neck. "I'm sure your friends are looking for you, let's see what we can do about that. How about a drink while you call your friends and let them know you're alive?" As he speaks, Buddha pulls a phone out and hands it to the sparkly little girl in his care. Without giving her time to respond, or even take the phone, he gestures to the bartender that they need a round of drinks. "Once we know where they are, we can figure out where we need to go." *If asked, he will request another boilermaker and 'whatever she's having', pointing to one the girls with the fixer next to Blind Buddha and Monajane. Of course, if Monajane speaks up with another option, he will accommodate. *
  6. SCENE 2: What a miserable night it was turning into. The weather was just one more reason to be pissed off! The nomad group he had been riding with, the Pavement Pilgrims, stopped in the parking lot of this mall to trade at their 'Autumn Rendezvous', or whatever the hell they called it. Wherever this cesspool he's landed in, he recognized the stench of toxic chemicals in the air. It reminded him of home and the chemical plants south of Houston corporate zone were the last things he wanted to be reminded of. He had wandered into the Mall in search of distraction, but was having little luck in finding anything. There was plenty of dubiously concocted beverages who's hawkers assured him had more alcohol than any other vender's. They were all watered down and foul tasting. The former was just pissing him off more. The latter was just an expected part of the experience. The sounds of violence drew him to the Far East cage fights. It was something he could relate to and an environment he understood. The liquor was no better in this part of the Mall and he had lost his last 4 bets on the fights. Maybe a little Syncoke would take off the edge. Anything to break his mood, he was getting really tired of scowling; it was getting really uncomfortable with the cowl. Pulling back on mug of what he was assured was 'beer', he spent a while looking over the crowd for a dealer who might not try to rob him blind or try to sell him baby laxative. There were plenty of rovers and some really strange local fauna. One of the Pavement Pilgrims was in the cage getting his ass handed to him. There was a fixer at one of the side bars that looked like the sort of dealer he was looking for. The punk was short and slightly pudgy and dressed in what was probably a quite fashionable lightly armored jacket and Pleather pants. His neon necklace gave his face an almost ghoulish green cast. The girls hanging on his every word were the usual sort of working girls that could be found on the fringes of civilization like this place. Just as he decided to give the punk a chance to make some money, he saw a flash of light where there had been black wall. Instinctively his optics shifted and he got a glimpse of a girl with shiny hair and big eyes. She closed what obviously was a back door of some sort. Shiny! He smiled for the first time in what seemed like days. He was surprised to find a nagging small pain subsided as he did so. It reminded him of his crappy mood and extinguished the grin as quickly as it came. Unfortunately, it also brought back the scowl. Shit! I'll have to grind down the cowl a little if things don't get any better! It's digging into my cheek. Heading over toward the fixer and his hangers on, he kept an eye on the door. Now that he knew where to look, his optics could make it out easily. There was even a sign on it that occasionally got hit by one of the strobe like, rotating lights that made the fights just a little more interesting. Just as he got to the bar when the door opened again and the strange little techno-nymph with shiny hair came out. She was about as out of place as he could imagine anyone being in this little slice of techno-chemical hell, but the hair struck him as… oddly syncronistic. She looked terrified as she tried to make her way through the crowd. She wasn't going to get far without gathering a lot of attention dressed the way she was and her hair seemed designed to grab every bit of light, especially colored light, and reflect it in every direction at once. Damn, I've seen 'disco balls' that didn't have that much flash. As she wove her way through the crowd, she came around the ghastly dealer. He stepped into he path and she came to an abrupt stop. She seemed to get a little smaller, though her eyes grew much larger. Before her was something from her worst fears, an almost stereotypical biker. He stood just over 6 feet and well over 250 lbs and a gut that boasted a lot of beer drinking. The 'wife beater' had remnants of meals past as well as road grime and engine grease. His jacket was real leather and festooned with badges and patches of events and opinions. His fingerless gloves, jeans and plated biker boots cover the rest of his body. Over everything is a waterproof riding duster and his saddlebags hang on his right shoulder, the one that sprouts an almost soviet looking cyberarm. His most striking feature is not his biker attire, but rather his head. Most of his head has been plated and chromed to a bald-head form with large ears and just smooth metal from brow to cheek where eye sockets would be. His nose and mouth are unobscured by this chrome. When he smiles, as he does now, the belly, head and smile look for all the world like the little fat Buddha statues at every Chinese restaurant you've ever been to. Reaching out his industrial style cyberarm to the diminutive glitter-ball, he smiles and with a hint of southern accent he says. You look in need of a friend, little lady. My name is Blind Buddha.
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