ArchivedLogs:Nutcrackers

Nutcrackers
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Murphy	2013-08-07 '
Location
RING RING. Hello! It's from /Murphy/. Or at least, that's what the caller ID says. Melinda picks up, she sounds quiet. "Hello." "Murphy," the voice on the other end rumbles, low and sharp. There's the faint sound of traffic somewhere in the background; vague, clustered noise. "Th'fuck is goin' on?" "I... uh..." There are some sounds of movement, and then a door closing. The echoing factor makes it sound like a bathroom. "I had to go yank my roommate out of a really creepy rehab facility in Chinatown. I didn't want to drag you into it, but I also didn't want to disappear forever if something did happen." "Oh." Murphy makes this statement like Melinda has just said the most obvious thing in the /world/. Of course; that makes perfect sense. Then: "Fuckin' Chinatown." As if this closes the case, well and solid, on THAT part of the conversation. He soon follows it up with: "Anyone give you the 401k on Jim?" "401k? Jim has a retirement fund?" Melinda is confused. For a while, Murphy just lets silence do the talking. When he gets tired of what it's got to say, he continues: "No. I mean what's going on with him. The plan to get him back." "I know he got abducted when the police and military raided the sewer and almost killed some of my friends." Melinda replies stiffly. "I didn't know there was more known yet. Please... tell me?" "--ngh. Not on the phone. Beyond -- there's some sorta plan. And I ain't entirely in on it," Murphy replies. "We can do lunch, talk about it. Or you can just..." Murphy pauses here, as if struggling with something for a moment. Finally, he spits the words out like they were bits of rancid meat: "--trust me. When I tell you. That we're gonna get him back." "I... will trust you for now." Mel admits, hollowness in her tone. "I am not at home and I can't... can't really be out and about until they find someone to fix my head so I don't fuck up what I just did. So I'm stuck. Have to just... trust you." "...you're. What? Wait. /What/?" Murphy says, his voice snagging a slight /edge/ to it. This is followed by: "Aw, fuck, I -- you need a nutcracker?" Then, slightly more pressing: "Wait, alright, start over. Where the fuck are you /right now/, Mel?" "I'm with my roommate. The problem is, his family knows where I live, so if I go home, there's a chance that the guy who reads minds will just take the information from me and take my roommate back to that place." Mel exhales, her breath crackling across the microphone. "Does that suffice or do you want more details and to get dragged into this mess?" "Fella who can read minds is messin' with you," Murphy says, and now there's an /edge/ to his tone; something cutting, something /sharp/. "Actually, yeah. I think I might want to get dragged into this mess. Though it depends on whether anybody's got any feelings for the nutcracker after your roommate" "It's my roommate's father. There might be Triad ties. The place was shady and there were armed thug guards everywhere. Hive made our escape possible, but I don't know. I think he just wants to get away from his dad - who /programs/ minds. Shit." Mel gives a short, dry laugh, still trying to keep her voice down. "This whole thing is fucked up." "Yeah," Murphy agrees, and now his voice has gotten -- startlingly gentle, slow and easy; like they were just shooting the /shit/. "That sounds seriously fucked up. Fuckin' Chinatown," Murphy adds, again -- before, with a harsh, level-calm: "You remember my power, Mel?" "Um." Melinda takes a deep breath and considers. "You remember things." "I remember things," Murphy agrees. "But it's a little rougher'n that. My brain's a fuckin' /hornet-nest/. It's calcified. Shit's like a goddamn toxic waste-dump." He pauses, then adds: "Last nut-cracker tried to mess with it? Last I checked, he /still/ hasn't woken up." There's another pause here; a metallic clink. Like Murphy's pausing to light his smoke. "Only pointin' this out to you," he adds, "in case you figure you need a little mental /roughness/ on your side. Just somethin' to keep in mind." "Well, I do have a spare room open in my apartment. Don't think my roommate can move back in." Mel jokes softly, some of the tension draining from her tone. "Tell you what," Murphy says, and now there's a rustle of cloth, the sound of something being put away -- a slight puff, puff, puff. "I'll swing by, grab your keys, stop over at your place. Won't fuck with your stuff. Just keep an eye on it. See if any uninvited guests swing by. If they do," he adds, "then maybe we'll have ourselves a little chat." "I do have three other roommates, Murphy," Mel adds hastily. "I will have to call them and make sure it's okay." "Alright. Call 'em. 'Cuz if you're dealing with a nutcracker," Murphy adds, "he might go dig in /their/ brains to find out where you went." "Yeah, That wouldn't be good either." Melinda sighs and muffles her breath with a hand over her face. "I did worry about that, but if they didn't know where I am, then they couldn't tell." There's a pause and then, "fuck. I'll call them. They'll let you in." "Alright. I'll stick around till things settle down. They won't even know I'm there," Murphy says. "Talk to you later." A second after that, and he's hanging up. Melinda /might/ realize, at this point, that Murphy didn't ask for her home address. But, of course, he doesn't have to. Murphy knows where /all/ you mother-fuckers live. And he's been there before.