Somewhere beneath the dogpile of hangovers and leaden specter of approaching sobriety Kali surfaced, aches both old and new cataloged as unwelcome awareness flooded her prone form. Taking inventory of her surroundings bleary eyes beheld the splintered corpse of a sink set against a canvas of dirty linoleum--not bad, she could have done worse than wake up in a bathroom. With the grace of a fresh foal she flopped up to her feet, though not before rolling over into an inch of stagnant water; she didn't know if that made her feel better or worse about her pants being soaked all the way though. "Think." she thought, somewhat underwhelmingly "What's waiting on the other side of that door?" The urgent cudgeling of an unseen fist upon the locked divider doing approximately jack squat for her memory; somewhere behind her eyes a migraine was gaining traction.
Glancing down to her watch the minimalistic display affirmed it was precisely too damned early for her to start giving a damn and she gripped the handle, yanking everything attached from it out from under the next knock with a quick jerk of the wrist. Looking absolutely dumfounded an employee of Big Bob's stared straight at the disheveled Nartaki before slowly backpedaling from the encroaching tide of squalid liquid. "What? I don't even...are you alright?" the working stiff exclaimed in a voice as much at the mercy of puberty as exasperation. "Eh? You playin' at being clever? Buzz choob, I'm frag'n apogee." Kali quietly yawped, brushing passed the boy to ineffectually daub herself with a fistful of napkins. Nattering away at what one could naturally assume seemed a safe distance the rebuffed worker did his best to explain to Kali her order was ready, to his credit it only took three or four tries.
Thus cajoled runner waded her way up to the counter in squelching boots, just now taking notice that Big Bob's 'authentic' ork cuisine was absent the titular Bob, staffed entirely by humans and lacking anyone deserving of the moniker 'big'. Irregardless a listless young woman at the register forked over the sort of order that read like a butcher's black bag. "That's three orders of fatback, hog maw with extra chitterlings on the side. A number seven with hocks and a side of giblet, two hoppin' johns with collard greens and an order of grits. Your sweet potato pie is on the bottom, drinks are on the side: two jumbo soya-sloppies, double-thick per request. It's all a little cold mind, you ordered it like an hour agoOW!" An expertly flung cred chip let the wageslave know the transaction was complete and roused enough attention for Kali's fond farewell:
""You gob in my chow?"
"No."
"Frag'n pussy."
One balancing act later she'd ferried the feed to her waiting bike--the purple mirage having attracted a few admirers. "Wizzer set of wheels, you some sort of Valerie?" queried a young and far too enthusiastic troll. With the distinct brand of weighted silence one can only author alongside a 'fuck off somewhere far' stare Kali wrung the dampness from her ombre style braid, flicking her tongue off a chip in her front tooth in annoyance. "Dilligaf? Eh? Somethin' bout' me say I want to play Frag'n Q & A with some runty Trog? Go twist your horns twinkie, fore' I slammit on!" she groused, peeling out of the parking lot as she let fly the only hand signal she knew, a solitary extended finger.
It didn't take long for her suped up Suzuki to deposit her at the safehouse, likewise it was a short schlep from the lockup to flat once she'd scanned in at the elevator. Breaching the threshold with a literal armful of grub an uninitiated observer could be forgiven the fool notion of thinking she'd gone above and beyond and scored eats for the team. Fact of the matter was you don't abuse kamikaze and walk away clean, woman was burning calories like kerosene soaked rags. Sans commlink she sidled up to the sort of art-deco sofa designed for everything but comfort and called across the room to Recluse, prompted by the thick Jamaican accent that had just announced "Ya question mi what ya will now, and we conclude our biz."
"Ex that drek chummer, fragin' unprofessional. Sposed' to be waiting on a call not tuned into some scam psychic."
