Meme Doc P.H.D
Mayfair: Multiply #1
(Yes I know, I said I wouldn’t post yet, but maybe there’s exceptions because I don’t have shifts today and on Monday. I hope you enjoy the prequel/prelude.)
The bloody feeling of shite smogs never felt great. May’s never been that cold. Backburners. Or that’s what they call it now.
Man: “Fancy some fun tonight? It’ll be worth your while…”
Rowena: “Piss off.”
Sentimentally, that’s what I’m doing, walking down the streets of London. Last two years were a tough cookie trying to help some damn clients fix things. When they didn’t pay me enough I worked as the bondswoman. I’d add hitwoman up the list given my skills—if I did I’d be interrogating a oil tycoon in a bar in Liverpool.
And now it’s full of scum. My last trip to France didn’t fare well on me, I should have chosen Hong Kong. That’s where ol’ gran was from. Love me some Cantonese too.
Second man: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,”
Rowena: And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm’d;—“
Second man: “Alright, stop there. Pass. Ironic isn’t it, Rowie? The weather...”
Rowena: “Stop calling me Rowie, Jones. I didn’t like Shakespeare much...”
Jones: “Heh, Rowan. I prefer Row but Rowie sounds great.”
Rowena: “How’s it going with the lad over there?”
Jones: “Mate’s high on acid. Beware he might shoot some lasers outta his fingers.”
Within 30 minutes I’ve already met three different kinds of men on the street. There’s the drunkard, and recently the trippy one. Jones however, is someone different. A hacker for sure, he likes reciting poems and blabbering in riddles. Kinda like that DC villain.
Rowena: “Don’t call the cops. Be steady. We’ll let him lash out then stop him. By the way, you gonna upload that art right?”
Jones: “Sure fam. I got a hot minute. Might be against the rules, but people can see what she did at least.”
Rowena: “She’ll sue us for the painting...”
Jones: “C’mon Rowie, copyright’s not a big thing these days anymore. Kinda irrelevant. Least we’ll be labelled like Robin Hoods...”
Rowena: “Doing it for the charity fund then? She’s clincally braindead, no shite we can do either....”
Jones: “There we go. Bollocks our culture’s going downhill these years. I’ll click that button and share the art.”
If I knew it’s the best internet, it couldn’t be Flickr. Way to know that’s a shite site. Probably a online delivery to the Louvre gets it spread and her wife gets the rest from the testimony.
But anyways, I can’t be too sure if that guy’s a vamp. Or a lycan, but people call em lucans cos of the banned words. Government’s idiocracy slides through the textbooks too.
Not too soon. I think I sensed the fucker through my heat vision. He seems startled by Jones’ clock which shouldn’t have rang at this point. Fuck. We’re compromised. Now the bar is turning into the bloody fight.
Might like the sound of it even if he pulls out a gun, but I don’t care if the patron gets hurt. Lad owes me money too.
Jones: “You brought anything to the table yet?”
Rowena: “Absolutely. One of em owes me rent. I’m chuffed to see him here.”
Jones: “What are you waiting for? You got the axe ready yet?!”
Rowena: “Never say never.”
Then it’s gonna be a blast.
***
Mayfair: Multiply #1
(Yes I know, I said I wouldn’t post yet, but maybe there’s exceptions because I don’t have shifts today and on Monday. I hope you enjoy the prequel/prelude.)
The bloody feeling of shite smogs never felt great. May’s never been that cold. Backburners. Or that’s what they call it now.
Man: “Fancy some fun tonight? It’ll be worth your while…”
Rowena: “Piss off.”
Sentimentally, that’s what I’m doing, walking down the streets of London. Last two years were a tough cookie trying to help some damn clients fix things. When they didn’t pay me enough I worked as the bondswoman. I’d add hitwoman up the list given my skills—if I did I’d be interrogating a oil tycoon in a bar in Liverpool.
And now it’s full of scum. My last trip to France didn’t fare well on me, I should have chosen Hong Kong. That’s where ol’ gran was from. Love me some Cantonese too.
Second man: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,”
Rowena: And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm’d;—“
Second man: “Alright, stop there. Pass. Ironic isn’t it, Rowie? The weather...”
Rowena: “Stop calling me Rowie, Jones. I didn’t like Shakespeare much...”
Jones: “Heh, Rowan. I prefer Row but Rowie sounds great.”
Rowena: “How’s it going with the lad over there?”
Jones: “Mate’s high on acid. Beware he might shoot some lasers outta his fingers.”
Within 30 minutes I’ve already met three different kinds of men on the street. There’s the drunkard, and recently the trippy one. Jones however, is someone different. A hacker for sure, he likes reciting poems and blabbering in riddles. Kinda like that DC villain.
Rowena: “Don’t call the cops. Be steady. We’ll let him lash out then stop him. By the way, you gonna upload that art right?”
Jones: “Sure fam. I got a hot minute. Might be against the rules, but people can see what she did at least.”
Rowena: “She’ll sue us for the painting...”
Jones: “C’mon Rowie, copyright’s not a big thing these days anymore. Kinda irrelevant. Least we’ll be labelled like Robin Hoods...”
Rowena: “Doing it for the charity fund then? She’s clincally braindead, no shite we can do either....”
Jones: “There we go. Bollocks our culture’s going downhill these years. I’ll click that button and share the art.”
If I knew it’s the best internet, it couldn’t be Flickr. Way to know that’s a shite site. Probably a online delivery to the Louvre gets it spread and her wife gets the rest from the testimony.
But anyways, I can’t be too sure if that guy’s a vamp. Or a lycan, but people call em lucans cos of the banned words. Government’s idiocracy slides through the textbooks too.
Not too soon. I think I sensed the fucker through my heat vision. He seems startled by Jones’ clock which shouldn’t have rang at this point. Fuck. We’re compromised. Now the bar is turning into the bloody fight.
Might like the sound of it even if he pulls out a gun, but I don’t care if the patron gets hurt. Lad owes me money too.
Jones: “You brought anything to the table yet?”
Rowena: “Absolutely. One of em owes me rent. I’m chuffed to see him here.”
Jones: “What are you waiting for? You got the axe ready yet?!”
Rowena: “Never say never.”
Then it’s gonna be a blast.
***