|Bowie and Freddie are Eternal|
|Location||Moody, Orianne, and Tiffany's Apartment - Mutant Town|
|Summary||The ladies get new codenames.|
| This apartment, gracing the very top of the building, is a charming seventh floor walk-up that demands a certain amount of cardiovascular fitness from its inhabitants in exchange for cheap rent, smouldering summers, and a nice view of the building next door. Five tiny bedrooms, each with actual doors, line up off of a narrow hallway and small kitchen with locking cabinets that are helpfully labeled with tenant names. The living room is a spare hardwood floor space barely wide enough for a pool table (which not only can the tenants not afford, but could certainly not carry up the stairs) which has among its furnishings a modest vidscreen and a shaggy but comfortable couch. Piled in a corner is an ambitious sum of pillows, apparently for use as supplementary seating.
Crowded and rickety as it might be, though, the apartment is clean, smells relatively decent, and has no neighbors stomping on the floor above them. It could most certainly be worse.|
"So the good news is that I have officially made rent with eight days to spare," Moody announces as she blips into the apartment. She's got a light sweater on over a sleeveless shirt, paired with a swishy skirt whose length is somewhere between 'suitable for church and brunch' and 'trying to get arrested'. It's a spring-y ensemble, and quite a relief after the endless parade of sweaters and scarves she's been wrapped up in for months. "The bad news is that I have a grand total of six dollars and eighty one cents left over after. So I might have to get creative about my turn to cook dinner."
Tiffany's spring-y ensemble would probably /not/ be the greatest pick for church. Then again, she'd probably burst into flames before anybody even got a chance to admire it. "That's okay. I'm just going to manipulate you into going back in time and changing all of this, anyway," Tiffany purrs from the kitchen tables. She wears a deep fuchsia romper made of very thin material. Her long, exposed legs stretch out over one of the empty chairs and her clunky, wedge sandals are abandoned somewhere on the floor beneath her. "Make you teleport here with like, a big ass burrito." She's painting her nails and drinking a can of cheap beer.
"I honestly can't change our timeline. But I could steal you a burrito in the past and bring it forward and nobody from this timeline would know I did it," Moody stalks into the kitchen and opens the fridge to study it, puffing out a breath in irritation. "Okay, so we're in rice & beans land. Maybe I can borrow some spices from the boys downstairs -- or I guess I can try busking again, but I swear to god, if I have to sing one more showtunes medley for the tourists I'm going to end up with vocal nodes. And I'm not even that good of a singer." She rests her forehead against the fridge door and says to it, "What kind of burrito? Chicken? Veggie?"
Tiffany does not appear to be very moved by Moo’s elaboration, “Why? What did I say?” It sounds a lot like what she had in mind. Bringing up her outstretched finger-tips, she puckers her lips and blows on the fresh coat, “Veggie? /You know how meat can be from the past./”
"Once I go back, the timeline instantly swerves off and does a new thing, right? And then I come home to this ordinary timeline and nothing's changed, because it swerved instead. I can't change things that've already happened." Moody lifts her head and grabs a water from the fridge, leaning against the counter. "I should really make a diagram or something to explain this. It'd be so much easier. Anyway. Stuff I steal in the past never went missing in this timeline, so nobody notices it's gone. Theoretically." She worries at her bottom lip, the telltale sign that she's debating whether or not to give over more information.
Tiffany flicks her apathetic, house-cat gaze up to Moo, "I have a ton of string in my room if you want to make this shit real." After a pause, she pouts and looks thoughtfully towards the upright corner of her eyes, "We'll need weed, though. So, we'd probably have to invite someone else to help if we don't want to pay."
"Like who? I try to keep my mooching to a minimum except in cases of dire starvation, just to preserve friendships." Moody pauses, "Why do you have a ton of string in your room?"
“Don’t change the subject,” Tiffany is very careful when she lifts the can to her lips and drinks, “What about laundry room guy?” Could be anyone, Tiff! Remember people’s names, Tiff! “Or elevator guy?”
"Who's elevator guy? I never ride the elevator." Teleporters. They're the worst. Moody frowns, "And laundry room guy? You mean Ian? He's a sweetie but he strikes me as kind of a straight arrow. I mean, I could be wrong, but..."
“I don’t know. I don’t talk to these people, I just see them and am seen by them,” Tiff nods along to the explanation of Ian, “Sortof like *too* pretty? He’d probably pay for a pizza.” She slowly narrows her eyes, “He’s got that J.” In roommate-Tiffspeak, ‘J’ means ‘Job.’
"He's a nurse, they're not rolling in it." Moody says dismissively, then sighs a bit and blips. She blips back a few seconds later, holding a little box -- the kind of thing chocolates come in, though it's super old skool in design. "Here. Might as well raid this, I guess." She flips the box open on the counter near Tiffany, spilling out a small jumble of shiny metal objects. A few rings, some watches, one or two bracelets, mostly of silver or gold. "My emergency fund. I'm usually wearing some, just in case I need cash when I travel, but. $6 to my name probably counts as an emergency."
"Nurses make like... more than us," Tiffany lazily slides off of her perch. Barefoot, she saunters over towards the counter and leans a hip on it as she looks down into the chocolate box, "Some of these are actually really cute. You can't get rid of any of these."
"I know, I keep the ones I like best the longest." Moody pokes her finger into the bits of shiny, stirring them around before coming up with a little silver owl ring. It has some heft to it and an appealing shape, with a gleam of garnet or maybe small rubies for the eyes. "I think it's time this one found a new home, though. It's sweet, but a girl's gotta eat."
"No, I agree. What are you? Queen of the Damned? You don't need that big ass evil magical owl ring." Tiffany casually sips her can of beer, "I wish my powers came with more opportunity for swag." Glancing out of the small kitchen window, her chest heaves in a little woeful sigh. "But at least there are new jobs up for grabs. I was thinking of hunting downy that lady's dead husband."
Moody pats the owl ring and slides it onto her thumb, the only finger it fits on, before tucking the rest of the swag back into the box. "Well, this is just plain ol' larceny and shady dealings." She amends, "With a few presents from acquaintances past thrown in for good measure." She tilts her head, "Dead husband? That rings a bell. One of J's jobs for this week? Want any help?"
"Yeah, that's what I meant," Tiffany doesn't so much as blink. Give her all the larceny and shade. Throwing back the last few drops of beer, she shakes the empty can before tossing it into the recycling bin and returning to her seat to finish her other hand. "I think we were probably like, destined to solve mysteries together." Sliding into her seat, she daintily crosses her legs, "Oh, but like, I think the wife still has hope he ran off with his boyfriend or whatever so ex-nay on the ead-day."
"Poor thing," Moody sighs, true romantic that she is, and taps her chin. "You know, I can teach you to pick locks -- never mind, maybe that should come later. He vanished leaving some wine place, right? We should totally dig into that. I can start looking for snaps on social media around the time and location he was last seen, if you want? Might give us a lead."
Hamming up the pity-factor, Tiffany pouts out her bottom lip very pathetically. “I am like,” her eyes widen briefly, “So good with social media. We are totally going to figure this out. Also, I’m thinking of going there and ghosting around. See if anything shady goes on there, like a secret sex club or like, a cool gambling ring.” She shakes her little bottle of nail polish before unscrewing the tiny brush, “Or y’know, something way more boring than that.”
"I like it. Way to use your initiative, T." Moody pops back and returns her stash box to its hidey hole, then returns. Blip blip blip. "Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to see, like in the movies." They are so going to solve this one.
<FS3> Moody rolls Investigation: Great Success. (2 5 1 7 8 5 7 8)
"Please don't tell anyone that I have initiative." Tiff doesn't appear to be all to put off by the teleporting, perhaps because she'd have no room to talk. She's always popping up out of thin air, herself. She's carefully painting her index and ring fingers when Moody returns, "Totally likely. Also, though, he's probably just having a midlife crisis." She blows on her nails, pausing momentarily to flick a sultry, suggestive gaze to her roommate, "But we should probably use code names just in case."
Moody purses her lips thoughtfully, then points a finger at Tiffany, "Killer Queen?" Then to herself, "Ziggy Stardust?" With all the retro, vinyl, oldass music that comes out of Moody's room all the time, it's probably not surprising that she went for stuff that's like 70 years old. "Bowie and Freddie are eternal."
Pivoting her body in her seat, Tiffany casually switches her crossed legs. She pauses, pretending to chew a piece of gum that isn’t really here as she holds out her still-wet finger nails, “Uhm. I’m the Prince of the Universe.”
"Fair enough," Moody agrees, "Just don't lop my head off with a sword." Because people in 2046 totally watch Highlander, Moo. "I think I'm going to go hit the bodega, see if I can't score some ugly produce for cheap. Maybe pawn Mr. Owl here -- I'll comm you if I manage your burrito request, okay?"
“Godspeed, Ziggy,” Tiffany deadpans, carefully maneuvering the slope of her thumbnail with the brush. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”"I feel comfortable with that behavioral restriction," Moody quips, and blips off to do her errands.