Matthieu and Brodie Postlude
Apr. 21st, 2007 06:05 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ratcatchersPostlude
The Angel military officer nodded to the barman who had pointed to a table in the corner. The room was constructed of odds-and-ends, the refuse of Angel society, much like its inhabitants. The officer dropped a grey bag onto the table. The contents rattled like poker chips, indicating that it was probably filled with Credits, the local Angel currency.
"You the Cat?" he asked the figure leaning his chair back into the gloom of the corner. Fine, crossed red lines blinked into and out of existence where his eyes would be in the gloom.
"Who wants to know?" came the reply in heavily accented Angel. The subharmonics sounded electronic, slightly distorted, making his voice jarring to the military man's ears.
"50,000 credits, that's who" came the angry reply.
The figure let the chair drop to all fours, revealing a human face. No wings protruded from his shoulders, further setting him apart from the room's inhabitants. He regarded the officer with a wry grin.
"Money speaks volumes," he commented calmly, examining a plastic Credit chip he had extracted from the bag, "but isn't so clear on details. Best help it along with a story."
The officer turned to reach for a chair, only to find one being held for him by a Human cyborg. He sat slowly, keeping a careful eye on the newcomer. The cyborg continued to stand just behind the soldier's right shoulder.
"My father, in his 'infinite wisdom' decided that I'm not fit to raise my son. I didn't lick enough boots, I guess. So he took had us declared unfit and Darius taken from me." He fixed Matthieu with a glare. "I want him back. If that's not enough," he shook the bag and slammed it back to the table, "then I'll find more."
The Cat looked to the cyborg and they exchanged some words in some non-Angel language. The cyborg carefully took the bag and, with precision, measured out two stacks representing nearly half the bag's contents.
"Hey! That's our...," sputtered The Cat as the cyborg slid the stacks toward the soldier, leaving them precisely lined against the edge of the table. The Cat sank back into the gloom to rub his temples.
"Put this toward your son's education," spoke the cyborg in perfect Angel. "I assume that this was stolen. How did you do it?" he inquired.
The soldier affected a wry grin.
"My wife shuttles money for the Regis Hesatani. She skimmed some off the top and fixed the records so that it wouldn't be missed."
The cyborg grinned and looked to The Cat, nodding his head. The Cat smiled and waved the hand that had been rubbing his temple.
"Always happy to help someone solve their family problems. Consider us on the case."
The Angel military officer nodded to the barman who had pointed to a table in the corner. The room was constructed of odds-and-ends, the refuse of Angel society, much like its inhabitants. The officer dropped a grey bag onto the table. The contents rattled like poker chips, indicating that it was probably filled with Credits, the local Angel currency.
"You the Cat?" he asked the figure leaning his chair back into the gloom of the corner. Fine, crossed red lines blinked into and out of existence where his eyes would be in the gloom.
"Who wants to know?" came the reply in heavily accented Angel. The subharmonics sounded electronic, slightly distorted, making his voice jarring to the military man's ears.
"50,000 credits, that's who" came the angry reply.
The figure let the chair drop to all fours, revealing a human face. No wings protruded from his shoulders, further setting him apart from the room's inhabitants. He regarded the officer with a wry grin.
"Money speaks volumes," he commented calmly, examining a plastic Credit chip he had extracted from the bag, "but isn't so clear on details. Best help it along with a story."
The officer turned to reach for a chair, only to find one being held for him by a Human cyborg. He sat slowly, keeping a careful eye on the newcomer. The cyborg continued to stand just behind the soldier's right shoulder.
"My father, in his 'infinite wisdom' decided that I'm not fit to raise my son. I didn't lick enough boots, I guess. So he took had us declared unfit and Darius taken from me." He fixed Matthieu with a glare. "I want him back. If that's not enough," he shook the bag and slammed it back to the table, "then I'll find more."
The Cat looked to the cyborg and they exchanged some words in some non-Angel language. The cyborg carefully took the bag and, with precision, measured out two stacks representing nearly half the bag's contents.
"Hey! That's our...," sputtered The Cat as the cyborg slid the stacks toward the soldier, leaving them precisely lined against the edge of the table. The Cat sank back into the gloom to rub his temples.
"Put this toward your son's education," spoke the cyborg in perfect Angel. "I assume that this was stolen. How did you do it?" he inquired.
The soldier affected a wry grin.
"My wife shuttles money for the Regis Hesatani. She skimmed some off the top and fixed the records so that it wouldn't be missed."
The cyborg grinned and looked to The Cat, nodding his head. The Cat smiled and waved the hand that had been rubbing his temple.
"Always happy to help someone solve their family problems. Consider us on the case."
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