August 14, 2004
.08.14.04. - gnawer call dispatch [phone calls] *ac

[various phone calls on forums]

(cliona)
After the visit from the Strider, she coughed up another bit of lung that has been deemed useless by her body that seems determined to rebel against her audacity of living just a little more. As promised, she grabs the cellphone and dials.

ring.

ring.

ring.

Voice mail. [coughing fit] "Bloody'ell th'fookin 'urts! James. ti's Cliona." likely, very obvious. "Th'strider wants t'meet about th'visitin lyin pieces o'shite." oh that inhaled breath sounds labored, horrid, sickly [deadly]... "wants t'meet with ye - kin play decoy t'buy s'time, as th'Lords are chasin his arse at th'moment and closin fast. Wants t'aid ye in gettin th'girl if'n tis still ye plan t'do so. gimme a time n'shite an I'll set it up... oh. and 'e said t'wear a red carnation so's 'e knows tis yerself." snorted laughter that turns into another rather hidious coughing fit....

moments later, finally breathes. "'oly shite. anyway. ye know th'number."

click.

(james)
James' return to the conversation at hand is cut short - again
once more the cell's insistant beep notifying the necessity of his attention
( fuck.... they outta service area or something?? fuckin' humvee ice-sheet thick armor muckin' up signals supposed to be carried all the 'can you hear me now?good' goddamned time .......stupid Weaver's technology more of a pain in the....)
this message, however, requires more than a nod of affirmation
previously furrowed brows deepening to a full-bodied frown at the coughing fit crackling across the line

button thumbed to bring up the text-messaging menu
series of cheerful tones horrible mockery of the true atmosphere growing
but it suffices to get the message through in minimal intermission

k. plans in prog. bak 2 u soon.

... once... the lanky guttermutt's strewn himself half-out a window in order to cling to that peskily evasive signal long enough to hit send....

(chloe)
["Chloe... s'James... foun' out more 'bout the girl you're gettin' blackmail a fin'. If ya ain't turn her ov'r a th' lyin' bastar's yet... DON'T. She may be'r only hope f'r a cure. Call me firs'...... please."]

Dial James' Cellphone... leaving a message at the sound of the beep.... "James, I don't have the girl. I wouldn't turn her over to those fuckers even if they killed me... I think my job is done.. It's up to you guys now.. My resources are all tapped out.. Good Luck."

**CLICK**

(james)
somewhere
far, far across town
trapped in a big, black hummer
victim to the looming possiblity of those speakers coming on again at full force....

James pauses during his part of an input session
attention called away by the insistant beep of his cell phone
it's dug out of some pocket and shortcut numbers blindly pressed
brows furrowing at the latest development on their current issue
phone's clicked off and the guttermutt's mouth begins again

[both further addressed in 'comparing notes' scene]

Posted by james at August 14, 2004 12:00 AM