Post-It: ETD 00:05am

[maced_eggs]

Right. Gather around, kids. Uncle Mason is here to teach you about what you need to know to survive in your crazy little worlds once you redeem yourselves and go on to live full, productive lives.

First, you need money to survive. So you can either steal, or you can get a job. Job is safer, but it's more work, so if you're going to do the job route you want somewhere where you can slack off as much as humanly possible. Night security, retail, stocking, anythin' like that. Bonus if you're stocking because it means you can lift things on the side. But if you're going the stealing route, leave the credit cards. Cash is king. And hocking stolen merchandise can be a pain in the ass: don't steal things you yourself can't use.

Next, you're gonna need a place to live, right? So what you do is you pick up your newspaper and flip to the local obituary section. Look for older men who live alone, preferably with their kids living out of state. Then go to their houses an' break in. You've got yourself a place! An' sometimes the kids forget to write the social security office so you get free checks too.

Which leaves showering. Don't fuckin' throw your money away on washing clothes. Wear your nastiest, rattiest outfit and go down to the Salvation Army. Pick out clothes you like, switch them out for the ones you're wearing and walk out the door. None the wiser.

Next lessons, we will cover meals, dating, and fighting blokes twice your size. Have I fucking graduated yet? Yes? Fucking hell.

Comments

[routemistress]

Why would you go asking the Admiral for weed, you pillock? You should've asked me.

That's contingent on Gwen's okay and you being showered and clean too, mind.

[maced_eggs]

Oh. ...Can I have some weed then, Iris?

I am quite clean at the moment. I promise.

[routemistress]

If Gwen doesn't shoot me down you can, aye. I'm not undermining another warden, even a temporary one.

[maced_eggs]

I believe I can be trusted with one tiny bit of it. What do you think's going to happen, even? There's not much you can do with more'n a dime bag, Iris love.

[routemistress]

It's not about trusting you. I trust you - more or less. It's about me not disrespecting Gwen.

[maced_eggs]

Gwenny doesn't smoke?

[routemistress]

And nor do you without 'er sayso. Not while she's in charge.

[maced_eggs]

Are you aware of how depressing it is to be asking permission to smoke one little blunt from a girl a third my age?

Because it is. It's bloody emasculating.

[routemistress]

Are you aware you're technically in prison, darling?

Because you are. It's lucky weed's even an option without you 'aving to 'ave someone outside shove it up where the sun don't shine for you.

[maced_eggs]

I have done that, you know. Multiple times. Once you get past the initial discomfort it's not so terrible, really.

[routemistress]

Oh aye, I know. The tricky bit's passing it across without getting spotted - mind you, I 'ave some natural advantages in that department.

Unless the guards are robots. Then you need to try and reprogramme the buggers on the fly. That's the real pain in the arse.

cw; idiocy, drug smuggling.

[maced_eggs]

Dogs. Dogs are worse than robots.

I'm assuming. I've never actually met a robot before.

Here, this might be a personal question, but do girls...? I mean, can they smuggle more up their...?

I've always wondered.

cw; idiocy, drug smuggling.

[routemistress]

Oh, dogs are no problem for me. I just ask 'em nicely not to tell. That's actually what I meant by natural advantages, Mason my love.

...but aye, the other thing also applies.

You've met David, 'aven't you? Our Mira's warden?

[maced_eggs]

How they let you get away with that? You're only naturally good at dogs? That's a bloody convenient power.

No, can't say that I have.

[routemistress]

Dogs, security guards, anyone like that. I just sort of gently remind 'em they didn't see me. It's very useful at times. Doesn't work on everyone; that's when you 'ave to get creative.

Well, 'e's a robot. Advanced enough to be a person. Bit of a git, actually, but that's nowt to do with being a robot, that's just David.

[maced_eggs]

Does it work on parking meter maids? Because I've a feeling Roxy would not appreciate your trickery, Iris.

Will he check my bum for illegals? I don't think I'd like to meet him if he does.

[routemistress]

Depends what species they are. But my bus 'as a cloaking device, she's never been ticketed yet.

Well. Except in Gotham that time, but Gotham's special.

I think I can feel pretty safe in saying David's not going to be remotely interested in your bum in any capacity whatever, Mason.

[maced_eggs]

Roxy's a reaper, same as me. An' she gives out parking tickets like candy.

Or did. I think she's a cop now. Isshard to tell sometimes, remembering.

That's a relief. I've enough troubles without worrying about overly friendly robots interested in my lower regions.

[routemistress]

...So she's dead, but she still gives out parking tickets? Does anyone pay them?

Nah. David 'as a lot of sterling qualities, but friendliness isn't one of 'em. Or interest in anyone's lower regions, come to that.

[maced_eggs]

'Course they do. Reapers need to be employed at other things if they want to eat. Or they live like I do. Either or. Issnot a paying gig, reaping. It's a public service.

Aren't all robots asexual beings?

[routemistress]

I'm starting to see why scrounging off the recently dead looked like a good option.

Not all of 'em are. It's just a matter of 'aving the relevant software built in.

Well, and 'ardware. Or wetware, depending.

[maced_eggs]

I mean, I did try havin' a job once while reaping. But there's only so much your boss is going to tolerate you askin' for time off at 11:30 in the morning because you've got to get downtown for a hit-and-run, you know? Not everyone dies outside the 9 to 5 grind.

Wetware. Thassa new one.

[routemistress]

This is why I never 'ad a paying job before this one. Well, only sometimes as a cover. No one gives you a salary for saving the world either, most of the time.

We're going to 'ave to sort you out with summat, though. We'll never get you out of 'ere if your fallback's stealing for a living. But it doesn't 'ave to be a nine-to-five grind either, you know. That'd drive me batshit.

[She grins.]

Technically, wetware means an organic brain - either the one designing the artificial bits, or sometimes one installed to run the artificial bits. But you know what I meant.

[maced_eggs]

I did once work in a record store. They fired me. Either for the reaping or the stealing or the comin' in to work hungover, which really should not count because I could still work, yes?

Anyway. I like being free.

Yeah. Yeah, I did know what you meant. Him an' all his little organic wet bits.

[routemistress]

The trick is to know the rules really well, Mason, and 'ave a realistic idea of which ones you can get away with breaking. I've played a bit fast and loose with this job on occasion; but I've 'ad a lot of practise. And I'm a very practical girl at 'earts. You 'aven't quite got the knack of telling what you want to be true from what's actually going to be true yet, 'ave you?

Oooh, I love record shops. I once got married to a disc jockey - bad idea, to be honest, but I got carried away when I saw the size of 'is collection.