shitposting rave 5: discount rejects from every genre

So you're from the 1970s?

 

Sure, why not. That sounds about right. Me and my buddy, Private Ryan.

 

I don't think the gun fits.

 

Eh, no reason to stay in the past, right?

 

You're what, late thirties? *sips at the brandy* Still more of a beer, or jack and coke kind of guy I think.

 

Lissa scowls at him. That was rude.

"Good to know." She sighs. "Problem is, finding out in advance. Come here and tell me if you ever get a contract on one of those two. I'll pay you not to, once I get there, so you'll get your money anyway."

 

It occurs to Lissa that Wrench and Marcus--the ones she knows--are probably closer to her daughter's age than hers. She contemplates this briefly...then decides she doesn't give a shit, and wouldn't even if they lived in the same universe. The problem with interspecies anything is that the lifespans don't work out the same anyway. Ford's a lot older than she is, especially given her lifespan is longer than his (a fact she tries to ignore) but realistically none of them have a calculable life expectancy anyway. Too many variables. She could outlive Ford and Wrench both or the Beijaden could find her tomorrow.

 

Ford laughs, though he'd really rather she not get into situations where she has to assassinate people. On the other hand, if she actually wants to kill the fucker she's after, it bothers her an awful lot less than when it's someone she doesn't know, even if that someone is, as Stan argued that time, a serious threat to the family.

"If you were a Sirenisse instead of Beijaden, you'd have a pride the size of a small town. And a harem that wouldn't fit in your house. You are the absolute worst at not getting attached." He says this fondly, without the least hint of jealousy. "Good thing I'm the same way."

 

Somewhere in the fourties, probably. I dunno, time's meaningless and generational markers are based on cultural exchange that's limited to certain geopolitical demographics. And have you seen most Gen Xers? Whiners, most of 'em.

Here, you want me to fix that for you?

Can't promise that, but sure, whatever. As long as I'm getting paid, I don't give a shit what for.

 

You're only saying that because you know it'll piss me off. I refuse to rise to the bait. Not after the shit you've put me through.

Also, I mean, you can fix it if you want to? You're the fussy one, I'm the one who really doesn't care so long as I'm enjoying myself and I'm around people I like... Mind you, I miss some of the DedSec stuff but... Fuck.

 

Lissa sighs. "Of course I probably should be saying this to the one that's in their timeline." She swallows. "That one isn't so attached to Marcus, because that Marcus is with Wrench, not you."

 

Aren't you a fucking millennial? What, I'm not allowed to rag on the Old Folks anymore either, I can't make fun of any generation? That sounds pretty shitty.

[He reaches up and taps Marcus's drink, turning it into a jack and coke.] I'm not that fussy.

Technically, I am the one in that timeline too. I'm a fucking constant, aren't I? Like I said, this Marcus is my Marcus. That Marcus didn't get turned into a cat and didn't turn himself into the cops for my alibi, so fuck that guy. This whole alternate timelines shit... I don't really care. Like I really don't care. Who gives a shit. I know who I am, no matter what universe I'm in.

 

Dude, I am but there's a weird gray area between Millennials and gen Xers. I'm not super clear on why, but I know it exists.

And you can be, I think it gives you characters.

I also did that thing, or I didn't do that thing. I got turned into a cat though, then you adopted me as a therapy animal and then I turned into a dude while you were giving me stomach rubs and it was really awkward.

 

You can just be whichever one I'm not making fun of at the time, how about that? I'm still not fussy.

Yeah, well, makes the difference, doesn't it?

[He gives Marcus an absent-minded chest scritch since his hand is near there anyways.]

 

Alright, different wording: You're particular about things. Not a bad thing, I just think it's funny. Still find it fucking ballsy as hell that you work in a white suit.

*Yep, he's leaning into that-- HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM IN A PUBLIC SPACE. He pulls back and hides it by drinking*

It does I guess.

 

"You are hurting my brain." Ford groans. "Whatever. Probably everyone else who's heard me go on about dimensional physics is rolling on the floor with schadenfreude, but all I want to know is who our friends are and aren't."

 

Suit's advertisement, sweetcheeks. Takes some fucking skill to walk out of a room with twenty dead people and not a damn mark on you. People know what they're buying when they buy me.

[He grins and gives Marcus a fond leg pat instead.] I like this Marcus best anyhow. Though the one who works as a hitman's pretty cool too. CIA one's alright, but he's fucking anal retentive as shit. Like, god, just let me kill people, you know? It's my happy place or... whatever.

Oh, that one's easy: I don't make friends. [He pauses, then takes a drink.]

I do make friends, actually, I'm just very selective about it. Pearce is one, not that he appreciates it, jerk. Marcus, probably. The guy down in Louisiana with the gumbo-- remind me to pick that recipe up for your wife, fucking lose my head if it weren't attached-- my shrink... I've got probably five friends. That's a respectable amount. Pretty likely that I'm not yours though, so that's easy.

 

Lissa looks back at him and gives him a slow, sympathetic blink. She loves him so fucking much. So fucking much she can't understand how she can contain it. And it's like this giant crazy feedback loop where the more other people they love the more they love each other and she always wonders how it all fits but somehow it does. She's supposed to be like this, she has some inkling that the Tisselen made them for this, but how Ford does it she's never quite sure.

 

I wonder if there's a version of you that has had to go through this shit. That's-- Also, I don't really want to even think of myself as a part of the CIA or FBI or any other government horse-shit because wow fuck that.

I would have said 'I thought your happy place was sex' but that time in the petco with the dude who was trying to hold up the cash register in front of us proved that murder is, indeed, your fucking happy place. I also will forever be pissy that the lady behind us nearly let her dog go for me when you set me down. Like, fuck.

 

What, the cat thing? Yeah. Don't like to think about it. Wasn't a good time for me. I mean, I still [REDACTED and how did he actually manage to bleep out part of his own speech what the hell] but it wasn't fun.

Anyways. Yeah. I mean, I like sex, don't get me wrong, I love having sex, but murder? Now that's a fucking dopamine explosion right there. Nothing like some good old fashioned violence to really get your brain chemicals all swinging the right way. Petty theft ought to be punishable by the death penalty anyways, so fuck that guy.