trans_9 | A Wretched Hive of Gambling and Explosions [Open]

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A Wretched Hive of Gambling and Explosions [Open]

For those looking hard enough, the black market on XaXing shouldn't be too incredibly difficult to find - just look for the section of town where people don't look excited to be trading. Everyone in this little section of the market either looks like they just got away with a murder and need to keep glancing over their shoulders, or like they're about to get lined up for an execution. The more experienced traders here are clearly more at ease and looking as casual as possible, but there's still a distinct tension in the air.

An alien clearly designated as a police officer gazes down the street but, after a shopkeeper passes him and discretely slips some contraband into his hand, keeps walking.

An Iskoort and a human man dressed in black are relaxing outside the door to a store titled "Merchandiser, Brother of Hood Ornament Seller, Offers Exotic and Tantalizing Goods from the Far Corners of the Galaxy!". Under that sign, a few more signs detail how no background checks, down payments, identifications or collaterals are necessary. From inside the building, the sounds of a scuffle are audible, followed by the sound of someone choking.

The man in the doorway taps his cane against the window. "Keep it down in there!"

The Iskoort, Merchandiser, looks around a bit skittishly. {If you would allow me to purchase a sample of your superpowers, I could incinerate the body. I would pay a very reasonable price.}

"And leave nothing for your Mortician's Guild to clean up? Hardly."

Across the street, the shop that supposedly sells cactus extracts, but secretly specializes in drugs and hit contracts, lowers their blinds a few inches.

(( OOC: Here, have a criminal underworld! Feel free to tag in and run into other crew members ("what are you doing looking at faerie slaves?"), or into one of the underworld gurus here. If you want one of my NPCs to tag you, just put it in your post title. NPCs are Merchandiser and Dark Thomas Casey. ))

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"Surely if you were seeking a fair price, then you would see that one bottle is more than enough. Though for the sake of balance, I would be willing to pay a bottle and a half." The smile curled his lips, eyes in shadow. "Using the genetic material is fine, I have no objections." He glanced at Sam, raising a slow eyebrow. "I'm certain my associate shares the wish for this to be done as quickly as possible."

Sam paused a moment, then, "If there's a way to mix the same for me? I'm not that keen on having a double around. And everybody in my family has been pretty tall." He nodded, though. "I agree, I want this done as quickly as possible, too."

< Nothing against you, Schmuz, but I think we'll all breathe a bit easier when we're separated. >

< Your brother certainly will. >

"We'd be willing to settle for a bottle and a half," Dark Thomas says. He delegates the actual process to Merchandiser, who is much more skilled in this sort of thing. "Payment up front."

{We can have it done within the weekend for such fine customers. We will need samples of your blood, or of your host's blood, if that is the case. And of course we can mix the DNA with other samples, if you'd like to provide them or would have us mix it with his sample.} Merchandiser gestures with a tentacle at Iniss. {We will provide the highest quality host body.}

"I find that acceptable." He reached into the satchel, pulling two of the four jars he had brought with him free. "I will require another vessel for the half."

He glanced at Sam, arching an eyebrow in question. "I have no objections to mixing, my host is shorter than you, after all. It should produse the desired results."

< That's weird. >

< Are you objecting? >

< No. It's just weird. Like you're bargaining for my brain damaged child or something. >

< It's not your child. Or Sam's. It's a clone, designed for this purpose. >

"That time line would be acceptable."

"How quickly would I have to bring another sample back?" Sam asked. "I admit, I'm not in as much of a hurry, but a third sample couldn't hurt, right?"

He wasn't sure yet who he'd ask. Probably the first person he really knew. "But yeah, that timeline's fine with me, too."

"You aren't related, are you?" Dark Thomas makes a hand motion like he's measuring Iniss against Sam, then retrieves a steel canister from inside the shop.

{If this timeline is suitable for you, we would need to mix the samples within the next few hours and begin the process fairly immediately. Our technology is some of the most advanced in the galaxy. A third sample would not b harmful, but it would be unnecessary for the viability of the clone. While I am drawing your blood, would you be interested in selling some of your memories as well?}

"No. Unrelated. Different universes entirely."

He paused, glancing at the creature. "And what would you pay for memories?" He rolled up his sleeve, allowing the human to take the bottle and pour a measure of it into the other vessel.

Tom flinched internally, trying to withdraw.

< Seriously, needles? >

< I don't...like them, ok? They hurt. It's stupid and it childish, but I don't like them. >

Sam nodded, giving it a moment of consideration. The admonition against being related left Dean out. And it felt like there were few enough regular humans that he knew. "I'm going to assume that it's going to require blood? No other sample?" That would be harder.

Of course, the only person he could think of was Xander and that was definitely going to be weird.

{We pay fifty credits per event in your memory, but of course, memories of especially unusual or exciting experiences will fetch a much higher price. We currently have very high demand for memories of crimes committed, and of course, with our reputation you needn't worry about them ever being traced back to you.} Merchandiser wheezes. {Only blood. Other samples may be more difficult to use or procure.}

"Clean blood, too. None of that nosebleed garbage." Dark Thomas hands the half-empty bottle back to Iniss.

Iniss tucked the half bottle back into his bag. "And for the rest of the substance, what would you pay? Crime, hum?" Oh he had a lot of those, Tom had quite a few as well. "What sort of crimes? Blood is fine. Take your samples."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that and gave it some consideration. Given some of the stuff that he'd done back home...

No. No amount of money was worth sharing the elation and terror of breaking the final seal and freeing Lucifer. They could go hang.

He rolled up his sleeves. "Blood's fine. I don't know if I can get anybody else, but if I do, I'd bring them back within the hour."

Merchandiser taps Iniss' arm to find the vein and then clips a tiny octopus-shaped suction cup to it. There should be a little pinching sensation. After a few seconds, he removes it. {Any sort of crime! The more terrifying and scandalous, the better! While you are here may I interest you in tickets to a memory show? The plaza down the street is sold out for its Nightmare Extravaganza, but I'm in possession of special tickets. The price, of course, would reflect the scarcity of the tickets...}

He scoots over to Sam and taps for a vein there too.

He didn't even flinch at the tiny pinch, following the bobbing creature with his eyes and rolling his sleeve back down. "I'm not interested. More than enough nightmares caught in this head already."

< Hey. >

< You have a vivid imagination. Lucky I can muffle you. You won't have that anymore, after this. Will you miss it? >

< No! > But Iniss could feel the lingering uncertainty. It had been a long time since Tom had been himself with no hope of a Yeerk returning to take over again.

"Should we return in a few days to collect the bodies?" He wasn't quite sure why Sam was insisting on coming back with another sample. It was just a body.

Hell, even Sam wasn't entirely certain. Other than it would randomize things a bit. He didn't mind Schmuz looking like him, it was just that...

< Humans like their individuality. We Yeerks don't mind so much. But, then, we all look pretty much the same anyway. > Schmuz wasn't insulted. He'd picked up enough about humans and about Sam in specific to make certain jumps of logic.

"We're here for about a week, but we'd like to have the bodies as soon as possible, really."

Merchandiser's whining takes on a melancholy turn at Iniss' refusal. {Would you still be interested in selling your own nightmares, then? They can fetch an excellent price on the market and I assure you, they would be completely anonymous.}

"Come back on Tuesday and they'll be done." Or the shopkeepers won't be here anymore. Dark Thomas takes the little suction cups from Merchandiser and takes them to the back.

"Yes, how much will you pay?" The little curl of his lips was entirely relaxed.

< What are you doing? >

< You have a great store of them, don't worry, I'll give you half of whatever they give me. >

He nodded faintly at the time-line. "Acceptable. Sam, any objections?"

Sam looked at Iniss and took his shoulder, tugging him back. "Tuesday will be fine," he said, using his larger frame to get leverage to pull the Yeerk and host away from Merchandiser before leaning down. "If they're your nightmares, fine," he muttered to Iniss. "You can wait until Tuesday to sell them. Tom's aren't yours to profit from." There was steel in his voice, a promise that it would not do to push him on this.

Merchandiser looks confusedly between the two buyers, waiting for them to settle their little row before making his offer. {Seventy-five credits, eighty-five for exceptionally unique memories. We will meet you back here on Tuesday.}

He let himself be pulled back, tossing Sam a curious look as he returned the muttered words with a few of his own. "You humans have hundreds of dreams a week, most of which you don't remember. He'll take no harm from it and I'll share the cash. No harm, no foul. Why is this a problem?"

There was honest confusion in his voice, head tilting to the side. He'd seen the nightmares, they might as well be his own, and the credits offered would help him secure items on the planet.

Tom was silent, a deliberate blank of no thought that he had almost managed to perfect over his years as a host.

"Because they aren't yours," Sam pointed out again. "It doesn't matter how many dreams he has, they don't belong to you. You're in control of the body, but his mind is still his own."

Sam raised his head and smiled. "Thanks but no thanks. We'll see you on Tuesday." And he wasn't letting go of Iniss until they were away.

He needed to contact Dean, too.

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A Wretched Hive of Gambling and Explosions [Open]

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