Yojan172004.htm

January 17, 2004

Metropolis, Hard Rock Cafe...

As Denzil enters the lights flicker and then fix on the tall leggy blonde by his side. She starts in confusion then gives a model's smile while Denzil quickly vanishes. A moment later the noise of heavy boots is heard over the music, rattling off walkways, and then a gruff voice says, "Lo, Da Denz did walk among men. Drinks all round."

As you step through the smoked-glass double doors, you are immediatly swamped by raw sound. Pounding bass from a multitude of huge amps blankets the place with the flavor of the week. Adding to the sound are the lights, stroboscopic in many colors, complete with lasers and fog. An epileptic would hit the floor in Gran Mal moments after passing the portal. The walls and roof of the Hard Rock are a maze of darkchrome piping, giving the place the look af a warehouse designed by H.R. Giger. For the most part, the floor resembles polished, black marble, save on the dancefloor. Here, squares of light chase themselves in dizzying patterns across its surface. Scattered about, shoved into odd niches or hanging from the celing, are bits of rock 'n roll memorabilia, ranging from gold records by unremembered artists, to a quite dead but perfectly preserved clone of Elvis.

As usual, the joint is packed, young people from every station jostling eachother for space at the bar or room on the dancefloor. Deftly manuvering through the gyrating, drunken hordes are several scantily-clad waitresses, delivering drinks and fingerfood to the various tables and booths scattered around the place. A pair of stylishly-dressed bartenders serve up drinks nonstop at the bar.

Denzil Royce stands at one hundred and sixty centimetres in his battered combat boots. His tattered suit is snakeskin, but the scales have worn away over the years, and time has lengthened the rips so that in places rags flutter around him. The sleeves of the jacket are short, and he wears no shirt underneath.

Denzil's face, which might once have been handsome, is a picture of cyber-punk dreams, a neat white mohawk cut topping a scalp that on one side is all polished chrome, on the other tattooed skin. His right eye is covered or possibly replaced by a red-lensed camera or sighting system, and the antennae above it twitch and move sporadically. In his neck are half a dozen circular metal plates, hinged or solid. A thigh holster holds a pistol of very large calibre, and the tough leather belt Denzil wears serves no purpose save to hold a knife collection and a slim automatic.

Yosannah's gaze narrows from across the room where she stands, arms drapped over the railing, beer bottle clasped in her hands. She regards the new arrival cooly. The young man who stands beside her continues to talk in her direction, close to her ear, oblivious that she no longer appears to be listening to his chatter.

There is a rush for the bar, where it seems the madman has put a credit-card, and in the ensuing movement he somehow gains the DJ's spot. "G'dev'nin' t'all ya bastids an bitchis out there! My name's Royce, and I is Da Denz, an' I am here to tell you drugs is good." A moment later he is caught by security and given some kind of injection which leaves him limply staggering against the wall while the DJ gets his music and his lights back under control.

A tiny crooked smirk forms at the corner of Yosannah's lips as she regards the fiasco and the man who appears to be its catalyst. She raises the bottle to her lips and offers her male companion an gratuitous nod before her leaves her side and wanders off to join the frenzy at the bar.

Denzil smiles slightly, wavering as he stands, while the red light of his eye blinks and flickers, almost as if focussing on Yosannah.

Yosannah stands as Denzil's attention seems to turn to her. She tilts he head slightly, disapproving. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against an adjacent piller. Her gaze tightens on him.

Denzil's roving eye moves on, although it dips half-black for a moment in a wink, and his gaze passes on to the dance floor, the tables, and back to the bar. He seems a little confused now.

Denzil senses "Yosannah intones in your mind, "Did you find what you were looking for, friend?""

Denzil's eyes widen, and then he screams out, "I AM God! He speaks to me! And he is a woman!"

That crooked grin that earlier painted over Yosannah's lips returns, subtle, though her concentration remains.

Denzil pauses for a moment then whispers, "Uh, is this about the crap I took in the vestry of the Church of St John?"

Denzil senses "Yosannah murmers, ~The Crap? Certainly not.~"

Denzil whispers "So you're inside my fucking brain to tell me what a good job I'm doing among the great unwashed?"

Yosannah runs a finger around the rim of her near empty beer bottle.

Denzil senses "Yosannah mutters from within, ~Not in your brain. Over here, across the room. Watching you... watching me.~"

Denzil looks around, straining at his damaged visual cortex, until he gets the right area. "You unbelieveable bastard! You're not God! you're a false prophet!" He is looking at a security guard near to Yosannah, who is watching his antics with interest.

Yosannah laughs, out loud now. Though it is not likely to be heard over the thudding sound of music and base.

Denzil says "I have a gun! I have many guns! Do not make me use them on myself!"

Denzil senses "Yosannah insists, ~False prophet! Funny you should think so. That's not the first time I've been called as much.~"

Denzil says "You are trying to steal my guns!"

Yosannah flits her gaze about the room to study the reaction of those that might hear Denzil speak out loud to seemingly no one.

Denzil's right hand twitches, and one of the goons still hovering nearby him twitches also.

Denzil senses "Yosannah intones, her voice a subtle caress, ~Steal your guns? As if. I have my own guns, to be sure. What would I do with yours?~"

Denzil yells, "Aha! God loves guns! He wants mine!" He begins ploughing through the crowd towards the bar.

Yosannah remains at the other end of the room near a piller. She slides around it, keeping herself distant from the man and yet peeking around it as she does to regard him.

Denzil reaches the bar and roars, "There are not enough drinks here," as he scrambles over someone's shoulders. "God is talking to me and I have not yet had a drink! Give me twelve assorted cocktails and...." He shudders, and Yosannah senses something is over-riding the path his brain is trying to take.

Yosannah's gaze tightens and her jaw works, teeth grinding. Her mind probes more deeply into the man's in an effort to ascertain the glitch she seems to be sensing through the trump contact.

Denzil pages: Will you mind me swearing?

Denzil mutters inside his head, "Get out the way, you fucking freak, give me back my drugs," but he is already coming down as he says so, sliding back from a drugs binge. "Sheep jerker-offer," he growls, directing his malice inwards to where the brief over-ride was centred, a metallic area of his brain. At the same time he notices Yosannah properly for the first time and says, "Shit," with the conviction of a man who thinks he is about to die.

Yosannah withdraws her probing contact and regards the man now with a soft smile. She lifts her hand, palm out and empty and waves her fingers, two flicks, gesturing that he come closer to where she is across the room.

Denzil has his human eye screwed shut, but the other one is constantly roaming. The look of relief on his face passes into puzzlement, and then he spots Yosannah and he frowns as well as he is able. "Yeah?" he mouths.

Yosannah looks down at the table next to her, it is empty. She looks back at the man as she slides into a chair, her back to the wall. She gestures again, fingers flicking in a come-hither manner.

Denzil staggers over, feet coming under nervous control again after a while.

Denzil seats himself at a table by a window.

Denzil says "Whose card did I put behind the bar?"

Yosannah crosses her arms atop the table and leans in, beer bottle still clasped in her left hand, "I don't know. Why do you think I would know that?" Her voice is clearly that of the one he heard within the depths of his mind but moments before.

Denzil half smiles from the ruin of his face and the remains of his fright. "Because you're God?" he suggests, and probably doesn't mean it.

That crooked smirk lingers on her lips, "Isn't it yours? Unless you stole that too. Like the crap you took in the vestry."

Denzil grunts, "Oif Meine Sonim. Fuck."

Denzil waves a hand barward and holds up two fingers. "You will have beer," he orders. "Then I will chat you up and offer you drugs for sex, only to find out you have drugs already and have come here to ask me what they are." "Waiter! Fresh drinks, a bucket of peyote, and some moist towelettes!"

Yosannah lifts the bottle to her lips and take a long, deep drag from the beer. She sets the bottle before the on the table and rocks it back and forth, "Now, there's no reason to cuss." And then, with a lift of her chin, "What's wrong." She looks more intently at his eye.

Denzil grins the grin of a madman. "I'm a drug-raddled ex con with a man in my head who occasionally threatens to make me taser myself, and I think I put him there. What's wrong with you?"

Yosannah watches him with faint amusement, "Absolutely nothing. I'm perfectly fine in every way, of course." She then offers, as if an after thought, "I might be able to help you. That is, if you're needing help."

Denzil is refused peyote, but gets his towelettes. He drinks his gold labeled beer and listens, as far as he can above the music. "I cannot even try to accept such offers. I get allergic to drugs. But I will solve this, and then I will find him a body and then I will rape him with corncobs, murder him with extreme violence, and put his body in an acid bath." He smiles brightly. "Maybe I'll hogtie him with barbed wire first. Maybe I'll just have him a body made with his hands and feet joined as one."

Yosannah offers, in an effort to be supportive, "Most dreadful." She sips and nods, feigning interest.

Denzil says "Yeah. But one day I'll work out why the fuck I did it. Did I scream out my name, or tell it to you or anything?"

Yosannah sits back into her chair and crosses her arms back over her chest, "As a matter of fact, you did, Royce. I suppose you're amnesiac as well."

Denzil says "If I'd come down slowly, I'd have remembered it, but I didn't. Denz. Denzil Royce."

Yosannah nods, "So you claimed."

Denzil says "Wanna tell me your name, or do I have to look you up?"

Yosannah holds out her hand, casually, "Yo."

Denzil nods. "I'll take that as a name. Yo." He shakes with a hand that is definitely metal under synthetic skin. "What brings you to find a drug-raddles ex con, then?"

You paged Denzil with 'If I'm getting what you are asking, the only tech she has on is a small square device in her pocket. Can you sense anything internally?'.

Yosannah thumbs in the direction of the exit, "The place up the street... they got great stim sims." She shrugs.

Denzil says "Urhhh.... Oh, yeah, that place. They do drugs?"

Yosannah shrugs her shoulders, "They might. I do not. I don't have much luck with the stuff anyway." She drums her fingers on her bottle and regards him for a long moment, "Mind if I ask you a question?"

Denzil says "yeah, sure, but I'll lie."

Yosannah's gaze narrows, "You can try, but I wouldn't." Her smile is forced, lips purrsed, daring.

Denzil snorts. "Are we playing the question game, or something? Shoot."

She takes in his expression for a long moment and then inquires, "The name Aenerion mean anything to you?"

Denzil's jaw drops, and his human eye widens, then it closes and the left eye flicks down to a small cricle of red with a targeting sight. "Mm. Who sent you?"

Yosannah scoffs, "Do I look like somebody's lacky. I'm not certain if I should be offended." She considers, "I need a moment to think about it."

Denzil says with urgency in his voice, "Well 'oo bloody tol' ya, then?" His accent slips to become harshly lower-class, and the words grate in his throat.

Yosannah sits upright now and leans forward, elbows resting atop the table and fingers clasped, "That depends. Which one of you am I talking to now?"

Denzil growls. "Me. I can't close him off, but he gets dangerous - to me - when he wants to know something I don't tell him."

Yosannah nods, slight smirk. The kind of smirk from one who knows more and isn't about to share, "Interesting. And I know where you need to go to deal with him. That's what you want, isn't it."

Denzil gets a sudden flash of hope in his eyes, and then a bitter look. "Fuckin' tried, din't I?"

Yosannah offers, "Indeed."

Denzil says "An' shi' wen' down, and I go' me cheek bustid. An' I din't get 'im out, an' 'e knows why an' won' tell me."

Yosannah states, flatly, "Tell me what you want."

Denzil says, "I want to get Aenerion out of my head, and I want to survive it. Other than that, I want the last fifteen years of my life back, and I want people to leave me alone when it's all done."

Yosannah nods, a single inclination of her chin, "And he is linked to the synthetic portion of your mind, correct. "

Denzil says "No, he's in the synthetic portion, but I run my thoughts through there, encrypted. It also handles stuff like my autonomous nervous system, but that's not as worrying as the fact if I take it out, I quit being anything sane."

Yosannah leans in, "Listen to me. I can help you." She lowers her voice, it is just bearly audible over the pounding sound of music, "Do you know about the lands of Chaos, Royce."

Denzil says "Nope."

Yosannah asks, "And what of Amber."

Denzil says "Yeah, I heard the name, that's it."

Yosannah nods again, "They are two opposite worlds. You'll learn more of them soon enough. I. Am one of four individuals with ties to Chaos. I have certain talents as a result of my ties." She reaches out with her index finger as if she means to touch is foreheard, "Talents that might be able to sepatate the two of you without causing you much harm."

Denzil is very tense, pulling bits of metal from his label. "Lady, I can't break my own programming, an' I know there are better out there, but I don't think it can be done, and he'll kill me if I try. Really."

Yosannah isn't discouraged by his words. She reaches her hand over to an adjacent table and collects a pen that rests next to a signed credit card slip. She looks around her table and locates a napkin. She begins to scribble on it, "You're a doubting Thomas. Understandable."

She looks from the sketch to Denzil and back to the sketch. Obviously, the outline on the napkin is that of his likeness.

Denzil says "Well, I know how my brain works, an' it's in the transformation of thought to intelligence that there's metal. I can't fake that, and nobody I know can. It must have been managed some place, but I figure I ...."

Denzil trails off, looking pained, and holds a hand to his forehead. "I can't tell you any more."

Yosannah looks up from her work and regards him. She waits for a moment and then asks, "What would you give to the person that could sort it out. Out of curiousity." She sets the pen down and begins to fold the napkin.

Denzil laughs. A lot. When he stops laughing he makes eye contact and then laughs again. "I'd give them a ten-minute headstart for trying to sarge shit from me." He seems to use the term shit to mean 'stuff' in this case.

Yosannah tucks the napkin in her rear pant's pocket, "Well, in that case... maybe it's him that I should be talking to."

Denzil says "Him? Aenthebastarderion? Not likely. He doesn't even talk to ~me~, jus' tells me shit." Denzil sinks down into his seat, holding his beer tight.

Yosannah slides her chair from the table and begins to rise, "Maybe you're just asking the wrong questions. In any event, Royce, It's been a pleasure.

Denzil snarls, "Bollocks. It's been you coming and me bent over. Fuck off, an' go be a non-lackey where I can't see you."

Yosannah takes a couple steps in retreat, crooked smile returning to her rose lips. She spins and begins to push through the crowed. Nobody seems to notice as her form starts to shimmer...

Later, World's End Bar...

Merlin gets the bartender's attention with a lift of his chin, and points at his empty bottle. It gets whisked away and replaced a moment later with a full one.

Alastor catches the movement in the mirror, glances at it and then turns around to get a better look. He settles more firmly in his seat.

Yosannah's gaze falls on Merlin. Soft smile forming at her lips. She adjusts her cap and then tucks her hands at the rear pockets of her pants. Resigned, she makes her way toward him, sliding up to the bar beside him and resting her elbows thereon. "What he's having." She thumbs in Merlin's direction.

Merlin meets Alastor's eye in the mirror and shrugs his shoulders, opening his mouth as if to reply. No sound is forthcoming, however, as Yosannah's voice snatches his attention.

A bottle is placed before Yosannah. She lifts it to her lips and slides her gaze in Merlin's direction as she sips, warm light in her eyes and a swallow. She asks, "I'm sorry, did you need another?"

Alastor grins as he returns to his white pint and his humming.

Merlin's lips curl into a lopsided smile. "Well," he says. "Nice to see you too."

Yosannah's attention returns to her bottle. She peers inside as if searching for something, "Oh pish posh. I had to go to the World Series by myself. Where ya been." Another sip.

Merlin lifts a hand, scratching at his beard. "Would you believe: trying to find myself?"

Yosannah tilts her head, smile lingering, "Sure. Which you are we talking about? You, you, or the other you. Because you, you should have that figured out by now." She nods as if this should all make sense.

Alastor counts on his fingers, briefly.

Merlin shakes his head. "No, no," he says. "I mean me."

Yosannah's expression becomes sombre, "Really?" She turns her head to regard him more fully now, "And..." She considers, "Where are we now. Everything all square."

Merlin's brow lifts slightly. "Hmm?"

Yosannah says "Are you square." She repeats, "Did you find what you were looking for."

Merlin says. "Oh." He blinks. Seconds pass. "No."

Alastor says on the edges of the conversation, "It's like trying to see yourself with your own eyes - you'll get a basic shape, but if you're not sure, you never will be." He glances at Merlin.

Yosannah nods, seemingly in understanding, digesting what that might mean, "Ah. This is just a drive by then." She flits a finger in a circular motion, indicating the bar.

Yosannah glances past Merlin for a moment at Alastor. She doesn't comment on his statement.

Merlin looks down at himself, first down the front, then straining to look down his own back, perhaps considering Alastor's comment. To Yosannah, he murmurs, "Well, more like a pit stop."

Alastor grins. "I meant the face. You only really get the skin-view." He then adds, "Shape-shifters may be exempt."

Yosannah tilts her bottle a bit, rocking it back and forth. She considers Merlin's response and nods, slowly, pensive, "Right. You know, I had wanted to talk to you about some things a ways back. Before the holidays." She shrugs, "Not the sort of stuff one discusses in passing, however." She nods some more and sips again.

Merlin pauses, abandoning an examination of one of his arms, which he drops limply to his side. "What sort of things?"

Yosannah says "When you've got time, Corey. When you can spare the attention." She offers him a soft smile, "That's only fair, right."

Merlin's lips tun downwards in the corners, briefly, but he arranges them in a smile to match. He nods. "Sure," he says. "You're right."

Yosannah regards him, coy. She pushes her bottle away though it remains half full, "Maybe you'll let me help. Find whatever it is you're looking for. Whataya think."

Merlin tilts his head, shrugging his shoulders. "We can always give it a try."

Alastor begins humming again, following a complex tune.

Yosannah nods, encouragingly, "We could. You know, Corey. You're not the only one looking. Looking for you." She rests a hand on his arm, lowers her voice and mutters... "I need you too."

Merlin purses his lips faintly for a moment, then nods his head. "I'll come see you soon," he says. "We'll talk."

Yosannah nods, another smile, "I know." She begins to slide from the bar. Looking past Merlin she offers to Alastor, "Sir, take care."

Alastor nods to Yosannah, politely. "Thanks."

Yosannah links her thumbs in her pants, "Night, Corey."

Merlin turns his head and watches Yosannah as she steps away. He smiles slightly. "Yeah, good night."

Yosannah'a jaw works, a tightness forms about her eyes. She steps forward after a moment and vanishes in a rainbow sparkle.