Post by mickey on Sept 6, 2006 17:58:42 GMT -5
So just... just knock on the door, then.
Just knooock on the door.
He was so out of his depth.
For one thing, Mickey tried to avoid meeting people on territory that was not neutral or his own. It made you look like you were asking for something. In this case, it was worse, because he actually was asking for something - a place to stay. Pretty high demand.
It wasn't like he couldn't pay. He could buy Rogue or Marie or whatever her name was out of her house a few times over without breaking a sweat. Or, more logically, he could pay her bills for four years into the future and just go 'so um yeah, think I could draw on my investment?'
But this was not New York, nor was it even Copperton; there were no men named Jimmy who blended together at the edges and lit his father's cigarettes every time he asked, vaguely, who had a match, each of them careful to avoid the area of their shoulder-holsters, where a significant enough change in temperature could light up the whole block. This was definitely not Kansas.
(He'd never actually been to Kansas, but it fit the metaphor. Shut up, alright?)
Finally, Mickey steeled his resolve to knock on the door. He misjudged his power and it boomed like a death knell. The second barely equaled the sound of a sparrow hitting a milk bottle.
Ooer.
Not going so hot thus far.
Just knooock on the door.
He was so out of his depth.
For one thing, Mickey tried to avoid meeting people on territory that was not neutral or his own. It made you look like you were asking for something. In this case, it was worse, because he actually was asking for something - a place to stay. Pretty high demand.
It wasn't like he couldn't pay. He could buy Rogue or Marie or whatever her name was out of her house a few times over without breaking a sweat. Or, more logically, he could pay her bills for four years into the future and just go 'so um yeah, think I could draw on my investment?'
But this was not New York, nor was it even Copperton; there were no men named Jimmy who blended together at the edges and lit his father's cigarettes every time he asked, vaguely, who had a match, each of them careful to avoid the area of their shoulder-holsters, where a significant enough change in temperature could light up the whole block. This was definitely not Kansas.
(He'd never actually been to Kansas, but it fit the metaphor. Shut up, alright?)
Finally, Mickey steeled his resolve to knock on the door. He misjudged his power and it boomed like a death knell. The second barely equaled the sound of a sparrow hitting a milk bottle.
Ooer.
Not going so hot thus far.