Picking up the Pieces IC

[NeonCat]

Once Tisha got to the HQ she felt the weight of monotony make her shoulders slump. Every day it was the same story, go to work people run all around town and through the building in hopes of getting a good package. "Tisha, here take this package!" She heard the boss yell from across the room. "627 Ardmore St. Suite 16." When he said sweet he gave her a look like he was trying to tempt her. "Yeah yeah." She jogged up to the counter and picked up the package. As she turned to walk out of the building she looked around to see who was all there that morning. She knew that a few people would be gone on deliveries already, and hoped that everyone actually showed for their shift. She shoved the package in her bag and went back outside to get on her bike and deliver the package.

The delivery was in District 4, and a promising part of town. She was only a couple blocks from the gates of District four and she was stopped by an official with a gun strapped to his hip. "You'll have to go around. We had a wreck ahead and we've shut down this part of the street." The stocky man told her.

"But I'm delivering a package, and going around will make my times worse." She pleaded with the official. "I promise I wont stop I'll just ride through." She gave him her most pitiful look she could muster, and even pouted. With a roll of his eyes he waved the courier through which causes a string of curse words from other people waiting to get through.

Tisha rode through the area, which looked more like a crime scene rather than just a car wreck, and when she reached the gates she flashed her badge and the guards lifted the barrier for her. In District 4 the streets were slightly more open and clear which allowed her ride more quickly and uninhibited . "Ardmore street, Ardmore street." she thought to herself as she read the street signs at the corner of the streets. Finally after a few minutes and several blocks into the district she found it and awed at the buildings. Each of them were different and housed families and individuals that had more money than she would ever know what to do with. "Alright, 627 suite 16." she said to herself and started down the street.

The building was easy to find, with the numbers cast in gold plating on the wall next to the giant doors. Once inside a man in a tux only cast her a glance and let her pass and she took an elevator up to the 16th suite. "I wish I could deliver to places like this all the time." She thought.

[Metronome]

Orren soon rode back into the base of operations. He hopped off of his bike and leaned it against a support column. The shortish man seemed a bit distracted as he wandered towards the snack machine to get himself some actual food. The sticky buns that had been sitting in there for only a few days seemed like a better choice than the more the sketchy snack cakes that were probably pre-pulse. Just as his super nutritious breakfast plopped into the bottom of the machine, Dylan and John came riding back in.

John's eyes were wide with excitement as he recounted their latest adventure. "Did you see how fast that guy pulled that gun out? He could have shot our heads off! It's a good thing he recognized you. Hey how'd you'd now that guy, anyways?"
"A brother's gotta have connections," Dylan said, cryptic as always. The pair came to a stop inside the building and set their bikes aside. Dylan perked up when he saw that Orren was back from his run. "Hey best friend!" He chirped, striding over and helping himself to a bite of Orren's sticky bun. The shorter man defensively pulled it away and grumbled unintelligibly with a full mouth.

Orren turned around to stalk off, only to see that the one friend of his that he considered somewhat more competent than the rest was here. "Hey Per," He greeted her in a less hostile tone than usual. "Want some gut bomb?"

[Effervescent]

Vidar slept soundly, dreams of death faeries and rock candy dancing in his mind, before his rather serene state was interrupted by a gruff boot to the ribs. Groaning lightly, Vidar's arms tightened around Freyja as he pulled his six stringed love closer, knees drawing towards his gut. Completely content with the idea of drifting back to sleep, Vidar was booted once more, dust flung over his blanket as a gruff voice offered its heavenly morning song. "Oi, wake up, Rags. Y'er late." That idea was of little concern to him, but he knew he'd wind up with a broken rib if he didn't get up. Wiping drool from the side of his face, Vidar pushed himself into a sitting position, tossing his tattered blanket from atop him. "How late am I?" Rubbing dust from his eyes, an uncomfortable grinding sound could be heard as the rubble beneath him shifted. As many nights, he and his little family had taken over an abandoned building, though they certainly added their own little touch to it. An old, recycled couch sat to the side, which current barely held the large frame of a port-bellied older man nursing his beer, a cracked VHS player on the concrete in front of him. Aside from that, very little could be found, aside from blankets, a burnt out bonfire, and each persons minuscule personal belongings. "Late. Ya oughta 'ave time for a beer, though." Of course, that was likely far from the truth, but five minutes could always be spared.

A large, haggard woman sitting on the arm of the couch tossed him a bottle of a rather murky liquid, something one could barely consider beer, but it was good enough. It was simply 'recycled' and resealed. Seems someone had the idea to collect leftover beer people had abandoned at bars, filter it, and reseal it to sell. They must be rich by now. Gripping the luke warm bottle in his hand, he flipped the cap off with his teeth, before making quick work of the swill inside. "I s'pose I'd better get going, I'm sure there's a pile of crap waiting for me already." Tossing the bottle into a nearby pile of identical ones, Vidar lifted Freyja from her spot on his blanket, placing her into a slightly torn, canvas case and shrugging her over his shoulder. He received a less than enthusiastic farewell, most of the seven people left behind already too drunk to care. Searching out his bike, he smiled slightly when he found it in the same place he had left it, chained to a banister on the outside wall. It as certainly nothing special, an old rust bucket he'd found abandoned in one of many junk yards, but he'd nursed it to health. At least, enough that it could take him from place to place, though still rusty as ever.

Hopping on his bike, he made rather quick work of the distance, despite the trek from District One to District Two. The crowd bustling on the streets gave him fair warning as to how late he was, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to the pile of delayed deliveries waiting for him. Stopping outside the warehouse, Vidar winced slightly, the boss' booming voice inducing quite the migraine. "He's gonna have my damn head..." Sighing, he hopped off his bike, walking it in with him. Vidar; seemingly the only person that could manage being so much later than Dylan. So much. Regardless, he offered familiar faces a wave and a smile before picking a rather stealthy spot near the receival counter. He was more than happy to wait for the boss to notice him, rather than sticking his neck out so early in the morning. Leaning against the wall, he mindlessly toyed with Freyja's case strap, stomach growling as his mind wandered to the food in the Asian district.

[adriane]

She didn't have to wait too long to get dealt a package and head out. The place wasn't too far, not too bad either. She was lucky to get an easy one for the first. She was lucky she had made it to QCS, to the place, and then back again with about six words exchanged between her and any other. Maybe it wouldn't be one of the bad days. Maybe it might be alright.

But she should have known the weak end to the coffee had foreshadowed what was to come. She was stuck waiting for another package, and she had moved off to the side. She was people watching, not having anything better to do. But it was the same as any other day, people milling around with short exchanges. The strangers kept to themselves and the friends stuck together. The inter-sex mingling was either crisp and polite or disgustingly intimate.

Done with the entertainment after watching a gaggle of men doing their own 'people-watching', Persephone moved off to the food machine. It wasn't quite time for more substantial food(if one could even dare to call it that), not until after her third package would she feed herself. But there wasn't much else to do, so she watched the machine and the people using it for a few minutes, deciding what she'd get that day.

Between her lucky morning and what she was seeing now, she should have guessed what would happen next. She watched Orren come back in and get his food, take a large bite of it before he was approached by his friends. Her lips twisted as she watched them. Orren...unnerved her. She still hated him, of course. But she couldn't be as hostile as she would have liked, not with everything he had given her already. And he was never outwardly hostile to her; she would have much preferred that. Too close for any sort of comfort, Persephone pushed off the wall and started to make way back to her previous spot across the room.

She had made it about a step when she was caught. She halted, not daring to be rude enough to ignore him. Turning to fully face him, she smiled gently. Or was that a grimace? She slid her hand from her pocket and gave him a short wave. "Uh, hey, Orren." She shook her head in a curt gesture. "No, I'm good. Thanks. I'm just, waiting for the next package, y'know." She glanced behind her at the desk, willing the next package to be hers.

[Metronome]

"Oh, that's fine," Orren shrugged, "But if you do, the offer stands." He was about to turn when he was suddenly aware of a presence looming over him, pressed against his back, even. He glared upwards at Dylan, who was intensely watching his sticky bun as if he were a hungry dog. There was even a little drool coming out of his mouth. The nerve of this guy! "Get the fuck off me you mangy idiot!" Orren shoved him away. Dylan looked down at Orren, an almost hurt look in his eyes. Orren rolled his eyes with a scoff before shoving the gut bomb at him. "I hope you fucking choke."

"Thanks brother!" Dylan's eyes lit right back up as he grabbed the bun and slunk off to gobble it down.
"Hey! What am I paying you all for! Run to 304 Wallis Street and 102 Park circle! Go on, get out of here." The boss shoved two boxes to the end of his desk, one of which Orren grabbed. Wallis Street; it was a pretty seedy area, but Orren figure he could handle himself. He also figured that if he didn't take it, Per would. Maybe it was the sexist buried deep within him, but he couldn't just let her go off all by herself in some filth slathered neighborhood, despite where they, themselves, lived.

Orren got on his bike and rode out. Wallis street was only the next sector over, so it wasn't a long ride. The address was to a car repair garage that clearly hadn't been in use for quite some time. This seems promising... Orren walked up to the door and gave a loud knock. Second later, the door flew open and a large, Buick sized man was towering over him.
"Uh," Orren looked down at his box. "Package for...Slim Dawg?" An equally large man, who was sitting on a shitty looking couch in the background, stood up and came forward.
"Whatchu' got?"
"Are you Slim Dawg?" The man puffed out his chest a bit, making sure he looked two times Orren's size, as if he didn't already.
"Who wants to know?"
"Look, I just need a signature." 'Slim Dawg', as Orren assumed he was, jerked his head back in a motion for Orren to come in. The man who opened the door took his clipboard and wrote down an undoubtedly fake signature. When Orren reached to take it back, the man pulled it away.
"Hold up," Slim Dawg said as he opened his box. Orren stood by the door, impatient and scowling as ever. The man pulled a smaller box out of the packaging and opened it up. Inside was what could only be a human tooth, blood still on it. "Da'fuck is this?" Orren glanced at the tooth with mild curiosity. "Hold up, that's Johnny Jay's grill right there. Who the fuck sent this?"

"It came from an unnamed address somewhere in District 1." Orren was straight faced, wondering if these assholes were going to let him out of here or if they wanted to make a scene first.
"That's Kriller territory," The man at the door said.
"They got Johnny," Dawg concluded. "Hey little man, you better take your goddamn ass up out of here before it ends up in a ditch. You didn't see nothin'." Orren gave a glare and a nod, grabbing his clipboard and absconding the fuck out of there. He hopped on his bike and rode back towards QSC. Dylan was going to fucking love this one.

[adriane]

Persephone watched the exchange between the boys with a frown. She didn't know what game Dylan was playing at, the way he acted sometimes. He was like an animal, but also like a child. Where Orren unnerved her, Dylan made her stregthen her guard. Whatever game it was, it was new to her. New games are the worst kind.

Her head turned back to the desk as the man called out and she pushed someone aside to make her way to it, but somehow Orren got there first. She wasn't about to fight him for it, so she let him leave withthe Wallis package, grabbing her own one for Park Circle. She followed Orren from the building at a distance, grabbing the bike she had used not too long ago and taking off. It was a short ride, to another alright neighborhood. But now she knew better, she could only get lucky so many times in one day. She kept her eyes open and she stood the bike and made to the black door.

She knocked a few times, but the only thing that happened was the door creaking open a few inches. A growing pit in her stomach argued as she pushed against the door, and looked around the foyer. Not a bad place, considering the times. But there was the pit. Telling her to turn around, go back to QCS and try again in an hour. But her curiosity...No. Who knew who might live there. She glanced down at the package, barely for a moment even. But by the time she had read the name J. Walker, she had been joined by someone else. Her head shot up, the surprise making her stumble back a step or two. A strong hand shot out to help her but she was just as quick, slapping it away as hard as she could. She took the opportunity of his own surprise at her reaction to look at him. He was tall, really tall. Rather broad. Bald, muscled. Had an angle to his features that seemed of some foreign type. He was looking back at her, and in the daylight she had fallen back into it became clear who she was and why she was there.

He chuckled, as if the sight of her delivering a package was funny. "Can I help you, little girl?" Per's eyes narrowed harshly, the desire to kick him burning. She might have been small in comparison to him, and maybe he was twice her age. However it was completely clear that she was already more of a woman than he would ever be of a man.

"I have a package for J. Walker," she spat at him.
He chuckled again, and motioned for her to hand it over. She shoved it into his hands. He shook his head, laughing now. Without any words, she stuck the page out for him to sign. He did, and then smiled sweetly. "Run along now, sweetie." In any other context his words may have been endearing, but the smirk on his face said he knew how much they fueled the fire in Per. The desire to kick him was about to win, but she wasn't that stupid. He could have taken five of her, no problem.

She stared him down another moment, and then returned to her bike and set off. The smoke fuming from her made her reach QCS in half the time she normally would have, and she threw down the bike before stalking inside.

[PuddinPop]

Jet glided through the streets while a trail of cigarettes smoke followed behind her. The cancer sticks were only poorly made versions of what was smoked during per-pulse, but the supplies were cheap to come by and cheaper to roll yourself and the little buggers became Jet's favorite oral fixation. The QCS came into view just as Jet smoked the cigarette to a tiny nub. The QCS had finally woken as bodies rushed in and out of the crumbling building. Jet side stepped one of the couriers who carried a package that looked half his weight and finds a couch that hid her from the boss-man's hawk-like gaze.

The first figure she noticed on the floor is a very pleased looking Dylan with a old vending machine snack. Her whistle is low and piercing, but it can catch anyone's attention. Once their eyes meet, Jet smiled and offered the boy a cigarette. Jet couldn't recall the last time the two had hung out together, mostly because it would always end in a blur brought on whatever the two could get their hands on. She needed that kind of party tonight, and the factory district came to mind as the perfect location.

[Metronome]

Dylan had plopped himself down on one of the ratty couches to scarf his recently acquired breakfast. It didn't take long for it to disappear, leaving him to pick crumbs off the wrapper with disappointment all over his face. He looked up at the whistle of a friend and gave a wide, cracked face grin as Jet made her way over. He held up his hand to decline the cigarette.
"I'm 'bout to be goin' to take a hit of my own," He said in a lowered voice. "Wanna come?" It was no little known fact that Dylan was the biggest pot head on this side of the city, but blatantly talking about it, let alone talking about smoking it at work, could easily get him in trouble. He was known to sell to his friends as a cheaper price, free if he was in a good mood, such as today. Dylan's little pot farm raked in enough money for him to help pay rent and still go out to party every other day of the week.

Of course, Orren always nagged him about his lifestyle. Dylan typically didn't listen. The little guy was usually off doing his own thing at night anyways...prowling, fucking bitches, spying for Russia, or whatever the hell it was he did. Dylan had his own crack theories.

[adriane]

Back from her second delivery and still outraged, Persephone stormed into the building. She made a beeline for the snack machine, the growling in her stomach only adding to the growing list of things to rage about. She fought for a few minutes with the machine until it finally ate her money and spit back what might have been called poison in a more privileged community. But there was no filet mignon for her, no silver platters and candlelit dinners either. She took the shitty food and started to head back to the counter, stopping suddenly when she felt the food being swept from her hand. She whirled, about to reach her boiling point. This was the last straw, she was not taking any more shit after this one. She found herself looking up at another courier, one of the men(better called a boy) that usually hunted in groups. But he had picked the wrong prey to chase after today.

"Give it back," she said, surprised at how steady her voice came out.
The man chuckled, reached out to touch the long braid falling down her front- but his hand was slapped away before he got the chance. "Aw, c'mon Blondie," he started, reaching his hand out again.
As his fingers reached her hair, the last straw was suddenly gone. The water was boiling over, the fire had gone beyond anyone's control. Her left arm pushed his away, her right hand shooting up and backhanding the stupid grin off of his face. The second he took processing what had just happened was to his own demise, another second and he was doubled over cursing. His friends from before had started to advance, but they stopped as he tried to straighten back up. "You bitch!" he yelled at her, throwing both fists out to meet her. Per dodged the first but met the second on the side of her face. She stumbled from the blow, but turned back as quick as she could and was preparing her own hit back to meet his when they were interrupted by a loud shout. The guy behind the counter had strode over and was staring daggers at the both of them.

Persephone dropped her fists as soon as sanity came back and she remembered this might cost her her job. The man's beady eyes darted between her and the bigger man beside her. A large weight settled in her stomach. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke. "Do your job or get out."
She sighed, nodding quickly. The other fighter nodded too, and when the counter man turned his back he threw the food at Persephone and stalked off. She was calm from the scare now, but the fight was still raring inside her. She snatched up the cake that had started the whole thing, grabbed the next package that showed up, and headed off.