[037] come out of the garden baby, you'll catch your death in the fog

[notafuckingnut]

This place is fucking awesome. Why couldn't we go here before? I mean, there's just...they've got everything. And I mean everything. This almost makes up for all that other shit.

[Seriously. He is digging this place entirely too much; BRING ON THE EVERYTHING, he's like a dog in a candle store right now.]

Hey, Drac. We still on for...? You know. I'm sure they got all kinds of places here. Good places, too.

[PRIVATE to Seth]

So what's the plan here?

Comments

[private]

[notafuckingnut]

Sounds good. Sounds like there's a lotta good stuff out there, could take a while.

[HE CAN'T WAIT he could use a vacation from the Barge holy crap.]

[private]

[alwayshasaplan]

Okay. There's a bigass mall right outside the spaceport. I can't believe I'm fuckin' saying that. Spaceport. Awesome. Anyway. We hit the mall, we get dressed, and then we sit down over a cold drink and go over what we wanna do. I will meet you...by the fountain at the entrance.

[private]

[notafuckingnut]

Yeah, the ports are the best part of this whole thing. There's always something cool, and you can usually get cash and a piece and shit.

I'll meet you there.

[And when Seth shows up he'll be there, waiting. Not quietly, but hey. He's waiting and he hasn't caused trouble yet.]

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

This sure as shit isn't a bad way to start a supposed prison sentence. Hey Richie. [He thumps him on the shoulder as he walks up. He's wearing shorts and a ridiculous tropical shirt he got in El Rey with beer bottles instead of flowers.]

[spam]

[notafuckingnut]

[...Seth. What are you wearing. Richie's just...going to snicker here.]

Geez, Seth, what the hell happened, what is that. You gone native already or something?

[But he stops fidgeting so much now he's there. LET'S DO THIS.]

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

[Seth shrugs and grins briefly. He had bought the damn shirt drunk, thinking on how Richie would laugh at it, and then woken up with a headache and remembered Richie was dead. So fuck it, now he was wearing it.]

Yeah, yeah, it was a diplomatic gift from the Hoppians from the Lager Galaxy. Let's see what they got that's more appropriate. [He turned on his heel and led the way inside.]

[spam]

[notafuckingnut]

[And Richie's more than happy to follow, like a puppy trailing after its master's heels.]

And you think I make bad decisions when I'm drunk. Least it's not those big stupid looking flowers, I guess.

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

I don't wear fuckin' flowers. [He pulls out his precious last pack of Red Apples, taps out two cigarettes and offers one of them.]

There has to be something for sale in here besides robes and assless pants.

[spam]

[notafuckingnut]

Hey, assless pants aren't all bad.

[Just, you know. On girls.

He accepts the cigarette on autopilot, waits for the lighter he assumes will follow.]

There's gotta be other patterns though. Maybe one of those bowling shirts.

[Ha. That would be the day.]

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

[Out comes the lighter, and he chuckles.]

The point was to get a laugh. I don't give a shit about anything else. Let's get some suits. They must have suits in this...

[He picks up a pair of pants with four legs.]

...place....

[spam]

[notafuckingnut]

Yeah, well. You got that at least.

[He smirks, and starts poking around for what else is there, looking over when Seth trails off.]

...Okay, now that's just creepy.

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

Yeah, I'm thinking I need three legs or less. [He drops it back onto the pile and moves on, finally finding the section with his size and number of legs.]

[spam]

[notafuckingnut]

Might help, yeah. Heh.

[He pokes through the rack he's picked a little more, pulling out something that looks like it's probably orange. Though it's really more like several shades of orange.]

Y'know, I'm almost not even surprised anymore. Should probably be worried.

[And back into the rack it goes. There has to be SOMETHING decent in here.]

[spam]

[alwayshasaplan]

Heh heh heh--OO, all right, fancy-ass space fabric. [He picks up a pair of pseudojeans and reads the label.] Motorcycling pants, future style. Says these things are abrasion-proof and fireproof.