07-12-2018, 10:17 PM
Drake did not respond immediately. He never responded immediately. Just as he suspected, the man's hand was as cold as ice. There were a few conclusions that the smuggler could jump to at this point, but he restrained himself. Data acquisition was his specialty. The time to process it was not at cusp.
"Product research. I'm trying to establish a middle market for botanicals in Carrefore." Drake said, perfectly aware that Quinn knew the botanicals in question were narcotics. Well. The opium was, anyway. The saffron was profitable too, in its own way. It was another lateral move to see where the stranger would step.
Talos nodded. "And how many employees did you have in you R&D department, here? And were any of them heterochromatic?"
That was the most distinctive feature Talos remembered of the man who had murdered them the night before. One brown eye, one light hazel. Jaclyn had killed four men in the alley--that murderer, Scootz, and two others, both carrying the strange, futuristic guns.
"Scootz was a subcontractor. He had one dumbass friend who helped around his shop. Any more than that, he didn't tell me. Also..." Drake said, trailing off. He was trying to remember the exact condition Quinn was referring to. It certainly didn't align with any details Drake knew about Scootz and his friend. "...No." he concluded.
"I see," Talos looked down at the mound of ashes that used to be a subcontractor. They did not think that an opium chemist (Their current best guess for Scootz's profession.) would be desperate enough to knife random people in alleys for change. That sounded, on reflection, like the act of a desperate addict. So Talos had recognized their murderer talking to a dealer, and inadvertently set Jaclyn on everyone.
The story fell into place. They weren't sure they begrudged Jaclyn her conclusions about the sordid little affair. They'd have to think about it.
"I believe Scootz may have had more than one dumbass friend. Or at least client," they said out loud.
Then they sighed and reached under their slanted hat to rub the bridge of their nose. They knew they were not playing the part of this tall, looming mask effectively. They didn't have the energy, and honestly, Drake was clearly too sensible to necessitate that.
"How is your night going?" they ask Drake.
"Sobering up. Did some karaoke earlier. Nice little Fremen join with a Gerudo waitress. Thinking about ditching the botanicals altogether. You heard of this Spice stuff? Melange? Fremens love it. Might be a market...just need to find where they get the damn stuff." Drake said. This, now, was shifting the conversation into the personal bubble of Quinn's intelligence. Was this brooding tricorn a Dunes native? Perhaps they were a little Babby Prime who didn't know when to leave well enough alone?
The brooding tricorn stared at him for a long moment, reaching an almost Drake-level pause before responding.
Then they responded by turning around, taking off their hat, and shaking it while yelling at the sky.
"YOU ARE WEIRD. YOU ARE VERY WEIRD. YOU ARE A VERY WEIRD CROSS OVER EPISODE OF EVERYTHING."
Their arms dropped to their sides. They took a few deep breaths. They put their hat back on, fixed it into its customary slant, and turned back to Drake.
"You may wish to be cautious about unleashing a drug that causes prescience," they said in their normal voice.
"Prime then." Drake responded, flashing Quinn a knowing smile.
"I will be subtle when the world stops being absurd," they said grumpily, crossing their arms. "Also I would like to know where karaoke is."
Drake stared at Quinn for a moment, sizing him up. He nodded, as if finally deciding something about the man. A ponderous thumb scratched idly at the tuft of beard on Drake's chin. This Quinn guy was a very fresh Prime indeed. Sharp, too. Guns and muscles were all well and good, but Drake was an ally of the clever. This guy? This guy was clever. Decent sense of humor too.
"The Rhythmless Grille, over in Nippur. It's starting to catch on in the bar district. There's probably some around here too..." Drake said in an amiable tone. He flipped out his Datavice and began scrolling around the local map, searching for Karaoke joints that were still operating at 4 AM, Dunes time.
"Product research. I'm trying to establish a middle market for botanicals in Carrefore." Drake said, perfectly aware that Quinn knew the botanicals in question were narcotics. Well. The opium was, anyway. The saffron was profitable too, in its own way. It was another lateral move to see where the stranger would step.
Talos nodded. "And how many employees did you have in you R&D department, here? And were any of them heterochromatic?"
That was the most distinctive feature Talos remembered of the man who had murdered them the night before. One brown eye, one light hazel. Jaclyn had killed four men in the alley--that murderer, Scootz, and two others, both carrying the strange, futuristic guns.
"Scootz was a subcontractor. He had one dumbass friend who helped around his shop. Any more than that, he didn't tell me. Also..." Drake said, trailing off. He was trying to remember the exact condition Quinn was referring to. It certainly didn't align with any details Drake knew about Scootz and his friend. "...No." he concluded.
"I see," Talos looked down at the mound of ashes that used to be a subcontractor. They did not think that an opium chemist (Their current best guess for Scootz's profession.) would be desperate enough to knife random people in alleys for change. That sounded, on reflection, like the act of a desperate addict. So Talos had recognized their murderer talking to a dealer, and inadvertently set Jaclyn on everyone.
The story fell into place. They weren't sure they begrudged Jaclyn her conclusions about the sordid little affair. They'd have to think about it.
"I believe Scootz may have had more than one dumbass friend. Or at least client," they said out loud.
Then they sighed and reached under their slanted hat to rub the bridge of their nose. They knew they were not playing the part of this tall, looming mask effectively. They didn't have the energy, and honestly, Drake was clearly too sensible to necessitate that.
"How is your night going?" they ask Drake.
"Sobering up. Did some karaoke earlier. Nice little Fremen join with a Gerudo waitress. Thinking about ditching the botanicals altogether. You heard of this Spice stuff? Melange? Fremens love it. Might be a market...just need to find where they get the damn stuff." Drake said. This, now, was shifting the conversation into the personal bubble of Quinn's intelligence. Was this brooding tricorn a Dunes native? Perhaps they were a little Babby Prime who didn't know when to leave well enough alone?
The brooding tricorn stared at him for a long moment, reaching an almost Drake-level pause before responding.
Then they responded by turning around, taking off their hat, and shaking it while yelling at the sky.
"YOU ARE WEIRD. YOU ARE VERY WEIRD. YOU ARE A VERY WEIRD CROSS OVER EPISODE OF EVERYTHING."
Their arms dropped to their sides. They took a few deep breaths. They put their hat back on, fixed it into its customary slant, and turned back to Drake.
"You may wish to be cautious about unleashing a drug that causes prescience," they said in their normal voice.
"Prime then." Drake responded, flashing Quinn a knowing smile.
"I will be subtle when the world stops being absurd," they said grumpily, crossing their arms. "Also I would like to know where karaoke is."
Drake stared at Quinn for a moment, sizing him up. He nodded, as if finally deciding something about the man. A ponderous thumb scratched idly at the tuft of beard on Drake's chin. This Quinn guy was a very fresh Prime indeed. Sharp, too. Guns and muscles were all well and good, but Drake was an ally of the clever. This guy? This guy was clever. Decent sense of humor too.
"The Rhythmless Grille, over in Nippur. It's starting to catch on in the bar district. There's probably some around here too..." Drake said in an amiable tone. He flipped out his Datavice and began scrolling around the local map, searching for Karaoke joints that were still operating at 4 AM, Dunes time.
"To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
To love what is mortal;
To hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
To let it go." – Mary Oliver
To love what is mortal;
To hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
To let it go." – Mary Oliver