Gordon at the Beach

In the olden days, Gordon enjoyed coming to Beach Street often. There was a lot of fun a good looking man with a penchant for defying the man could get up to in the darkness beneath the piers. He'd spent a lot of time down there. That was the past, of course; in the present, Gordon was so pale and white that he looked as if he'd never heard of the world outside his house, let alone a place for tanning. He'd been out of the sun so long, not intentionally, but rather from a lack of awareness that it was something he'd needed (he was often the same way about food and bathing, so his housemates kept him on top of that, at least). Despite having lived inside exclusively for so long, he adjusted to the outside brightness with remarkable quickness; his friend had loaned him a pair of sunglasses, but they stayed in his pocket, forgotten.

The aspiring writer/director stepped off the metroline and walked slowly, keeping his hands in the pockets of his sagging black cargo shorts. The shorts were nearly the entirety of the outfit; Gordon had apparently heard "beach" and not "beach mission," so he was dressed only in the shorts, which hung past his knees, and a pair of black, velcro-strapped running shoes, with no socks. The pants sagged so thoroughly on him that the upper hem of his gray boxers showed as well; he gave zero care or attention to that apparent oversight. Across his body, tattoos gleamed in the sunlight... a nonsensical array of tattoos that would surely get stares from anyone he passed. Just across his chest and arms, a roller coaster had been printed, spilling bones from each carriage as it encircled a moon printed across his back. Not fitting with the theme, on his lower back, the image of an alien figure enjoying a human's energy drink had been scarred in for some entirely unknown reason. Any number of other tattoos could be seen, looking more closely. Gordon's black mohawk flapped lightly in the wind, reaching up from the dome of his head like a skyscraper and trailling down into a partial mullet, ending at the line of his thick neck. His muscles justified his wardrobe, but the tattoos and blindingly white flesh made one wish he would cover up all the same.

His eyes were sunken and dark, scanning the beach slowly as he walked with both hands in his pockets, taking in the scenery. "Slay, I've been inside for a long time," he finally remarked, in a lazy, quiet voice. It was surprising that she heard him at all, but she did, and responded.

"I don't remember you going out for the whole time I've known you," she agreed, in a similarly unenthused, idle voice. "Well, you went to the convenience store once and almost got arrested. Then I decided it was probably for the best if you stay inside. I've got reservations about you meeting an employer, looking like this. Even I dress up for interviews."

"Yeah," Gordon responded, staring forward blankly. "Well... Okay, I'm thinking now. How about a story with a guy who lives inside his house for so long that he forgets why he's living there, cause he never goes out or nothin'... and then one day he finally goes out, and there was a guy waiting for him there that whole time, just sitting there with a gun. He just kills him, right there," the aspiring writer proposed, showing no change in expression.

"I don't think so. Why didn't he try to break into the house earlier? How does he sustain himself while he waits there for years? I think it needs more world-building," Slay succinctly shot down the idea.

"Yeah," Gordon mumbled again. "I dunno, maybe it's a really strong house? Maybe he's got like... So there's like, a hotdog vendor that comes by where he's sitting every day, and the two become conspirators together. So they're like partners in crime-"

"Let's just focus on the mission," Slay sighed, realizing that this was one of those ideas that becomes worse as it goes along (many of Gordon's were). "They said they'd be near the hospital. So head over there."

The operator obeyed, slinking wordlessly over towards the area that had been indicated to him: somewhere in the vicinity of the hospital. There was about zero chance that the employer would have any difficulty noticing that the tall, muscular, pasty, heavily tattooed, insomniac, mohawked man matched the picture his navi had sent over. "So, like... Alright, picture this hospital, except instead of patients, they have zombies. Or like... maybe all the nurses are zombies. But the doctors aren't. Or like... the nurses are zombies and the doctors aren't, but they're in a racial war and they kill each other all the time with medical equipment, like scalpels and syringes..."

"Zat sounds absolutely 'orrifying," a French-sounding male voice spoke up from behind the duo, "There is room for improvement, non?" Before they could turn around, a woman walked up from Gordon's side until she was in front of him. She made a small bow, giving Gordon ample time to check her out. She had light skin, her black hair styled in a sleek bobcut and large green eyes. Despite being at the beach, she wore a long-sleeved light blue shirt with a turtleneck style. She was, however, wearing a pair of denim shorts and white sandals. Her body was fairly average, not too slim and not chubby, but one point of interest was very hard to take one's eyes off even for the people passing them by. Her breasts were simply amazing, noticeable even with her wearing something that would conceal them. A good volume, big enough to suitably fit in a man's hands, but also big enough to be desireable, excellently rounded and with a light bounce whenever she walked to make one's heart skip a beat. The only thing you could not tell from a glance was how soft they were.

"Excuse moi, down here," the voice sounded again, this time a little more impatient. In the woman's hands were a PET with a Navi staring up at Gordon's face, "Thank you for coming over zis soon." The Navi himself had a light skin and he was pretty tall and lanky. There really wasn't anything too odd about his body, aside from his wardrobe. On top of his head, his platinum blonde hair styled smooth and sleek with a light curl in the upper right, was a black top hat with a white band. Attached to the top of the top hat, however, was a pink bra which span down the brim of the hat. Covering the Navi's ears were his audio receivers and attached to those were his pair of goggles, shaped to look like a pink bra with holes to look through. His upper body was covered by a black corset, with a red rose attached to the front, and a ruffled black collar at his neck. His arms were covered by black silky gloves, a pink ribbon at the end of each. Luckily his attire at the bottom were a pair of tight light gray jeans. Unfortunately these jeans were covered by a black garterbelt, fitting with his corset, and ended with black high heeled boots.

"Je suis BrassiereMan. And zis is my Operator, lady Jacqueline," he told the duo and Jacqueline nodded with a smile. "We are currently in ze process of-Actually, why don't we just show you..." He gestured the two to follow Jacqueline, which may have looked a lot more suggestively with his attire than he intended. Jacqueline turned away from the duo and walked towards the hospital, expecting Gordon and Slay to follow them. "You see," BrassiereMan started speaking again, "My family has given me a grand opportunity to fulfill one of my wishes. I don't know if you noticed, but lady Jacqueline is deaf. I wish to 'elp 'er for she has the bust of my dreams." A light blush spread on Jacqueline's face, remaining perfectly silent. "I 'ave been working on a screenplay," BrassiereMan mentioned.

The automatic doors of the hospital slid open and they entered the building. Many confused people, even those on staff, looked at Gordon and whispers were heard but not particularly audible enough to understand. Jacqueline pointed into a direction as they walked and smiled at Gordon before looking in front of her again. "Over 'ere is the playroom," BrassiereMan said, but the very next sound coming from the PET was a quick 'beep'. "And zis!" he exclaimed, a holographic image of him standing on a stage within the same room, "Is my stage!" Jacqueline walked up to the stage, stopping in front of it and pointed at the floor of the stage and the ceiling. "Projectors," BrassiereMan explained, "Zis is what my friends 'ave 'elped me with. Without their assistance, I would not 'ave been able to do zis." He sat down in front of them, on the edge of the stage which caused his legs to vanish. "With ze money we raise with zis play, we will be able to eventually fund a program to relay speech from ze PET to ze Operator's brains. They will be able to 'ear again." BrassiereMan winked at Jacqueline with a grin and then looked at Gordon. "Do you or Slay have any questions so far?" he asked them. Various patients had appeared in the moment BrassiereMan was talking, curious about the commotion but also interested in the eventual play.

"Huh? I guess. I think it's pretty good already but, you know, art is ever-changing," Gordon replied weakly, rubbing at the back of his mohawk distractedly instead of introducing himself. He stopped and fairly obviously checked her out as she bowed (which was an unusual custom no matter where you were these days). "Dang. This gives me a good idea for a story," the starving artist murmured; even he was spellbound by the unique quality of her assets. "It's about-"

"If it's about perfect boobs, I'd table that one," Slay interjected, finding the idea especially vulgar. She suspected anybody would, but she did have a slight bias since big, bouncy, perfect boobs were particularly loathesome to her. Her expression didn't show that level of contempt, of course; it rarely let any of her emotions slip.

Introductions weren't over, however; easily more surprising than the bowing girl with the perfect bosom was the navi displayed in the PET she was carrying. "Oh dang... You've got a bra on your head. And one on your face too," he remarked, indicating with his large hands upon his own face the general area of coverage. "You're wearing a corset? This is the first time I've ever seen one," he further remarked, entranced by the other navi's strange attire. He somehow seemed even more in awe and personally interested in BrassiereMan's costume than he had been invested in Jacqueline's boobs. "This is... Slay, I've got it. A great story. It's about a guy in a corset-"

"I'm going to stop you right there again," the navi sighed. She didn't want to come out and say "a guy in a lacy corset is too bizarre, even for one of your stories," in present company... but this mission seemed to be providing Gordon a rich wellspring of terrible ideas. The worst part was that they weren't even the result of him stretching anything; they really had encountered a duo so strange that they could only reasonably exist in a story (of course, Gordon and Slay weren't that ordinary themselves). "Good to meet you. I'm Slay, and this is Gordon," she announced, although, presumably, the two already knew. Gordon tilted his PET the same way Jacqueline was displaying hers, so that they could see his navi.

"She's deaf? That gives me..." he started, then stopped, waiting for Slay to stop him. When she didn't, seeing as it was a moot effort at this point, he finished his statement. "An idea."

Slay was curious to know how Jacqueline seemed to be reacting to BrassiereMan's words if she was deaf, but not so curious as to breach etiquette by asking. She also thought that getting hot over a girl's boobs was a pretty shallow reason for wanting to help them, but she kept that to herself too. "A screenplay? Gordon, you might be able to learn something out of all of this," Slay mentioned with a smile. Her smile faded as she questioned just what sort of screenplay a guy wearing a bra over his eyes would come up with. "It sounds like something we'd be happy to help with."

Gordon didn't say anything one way or the other, but simply followed behind Jacqueline. He stared blankly between various people as they walked, looking stoned out of his gourd. "That sounds good. I think I could make a story out of that too... Like, so there's this program feeding information into the operator's brain, but it's breaking up, like static. So the static keeps coming up, like PTSSSH, but it breaks up in a way that makes it sound like they're being told to kill people, so murder sprees start, but nobody can connect them to the device," he posed, staring at Jacqueline as if expecting her to give a nod or a shake based on what she thought of the idea.

His navi sort of hoped BrassiereMan wasn't relaying what Gordon was saying to his operator. "It sounds good to me. Better than most causes I've worked for. I'm an actor, though, not a director... so I can only offer input from that capacity. And Gordon, well... he's training to be a writer and director, but he's got a long way to go," she murmured, putting his ineptitude very mildly. "So we'll do what we can. But sorry if it's not what you're looking for. Anyways, it's good that you're already this far into your project. I do have one question. Who are your friends that have been helping put this together? Anyone we're going to meet?" she asked, with no real intention. As an actor, especially one looking after a budding screenwriter, it was good to become connected with others in related professions.

"I got a question too. So, like, are those your bras, or are they the bras of other people? Like, I guess I'm just wondering if you're sexually promiscuous and so you collect these things from girls like trophies, or like, are they all your own underwear? And are you wearing them cause you're in to that stuff or because you're enthusiastic about boobs? I mean, I don't wanna rip you off or anything, but I wanna maybe make a character like you in one of my stories. You know, a weird guy that dresses in women's underwear," Gordon expounded, gesturing with his hands towards his eyes to indicate bra goggles, then around his thighs to indicate garter belts. Slay wished she had cut him off before he started there. "Not bein' rude or anything. Like, it's cool," he added, failing to specify how or why it was cool.

"I am a bit of both sides, actor and director," BrassiereMan said, looking at the two, "Although I prefer acting. Jacqueline has been deaf since childhood and she's very skilled with 'and gestures, so she 'as become a teacher for deaf children. She also 'as a side business of modifying existing books to braille." He then pointed at Gordon, although his positioning on the side of the stage made his arm simply vanish. "If you ever need an 'andsome man, let me know," he said, but then quickly realized the types of scripts Gordon had been bringing forth in the short time they were together, "As long as it's not too gruesome." BrassiereMan then focused his attention on the PET Slay was in. "As fellow actors, I would love to 'ear about your experiences and adventures." he started and more narrowly eyed her body and attire. "Maybe in something more comfortable," he whispered to himself, before continuing, "But that will come after work." He looked up as she asked questions about his friends and smiled.

BrassiereMan simply waved his fingers at Slay, "Famille, not friends. They are closer to me than anyone else." He paused for a moment before speaking, looking around for a moment. "They are, 'owever, not in present company. They are busy Navis, both important to their Operators' businesses." After BrassiereMan finished his sentence, he noticed Jacqueline gesturing at him. "Ah, oui," he simply mentioned to her and she walked off towards an exit of the room. "Lady Jacqueline is getting the tool I need your 'elp with," he said, smiling. "My brother belongs to a company that makes 'igh quality panties for women. My sister's Operator is a 'igh class 'ost for women, while she's a 'ostess for male Navis. They will be 'ere for the main show, but I do not think you will see them."

The Navi then looked at Gordon. He was not sure how to react to the question at hand. It wasn't the first time he had been asked about his attire, but each person asked it in a different manner. Eventually BrassiereMan just sighed before speaking. "They are actually part of a virus, latched onto my body. My original Operator designed this virus to force female Navis to wear 'is specifically designed underwear. In 'is original tests, I was the 'elpless victim and lab rat," BrassiereMan explained, "The brother and sister I mentioned saved me from this doom, resulting in a grand digital fight between us and 'im." BrassiereMan stood up on his virtual stage, raising a fist into the air. "Il n'est plus." He lowered his fist back to his chest, holding his head down with his eyes closed. He remained like this for a short moment, before taking off his hat and tapping the brim lightly while keeping the opening upwards. A large puff of smoke emerged from the hat and two large-breasted women, one with an Eastern skin color and a black bobcut and one with dark skin color and black 'fro. The Eastern girl was wearing black frilly and laced underwear, while the dark girl was wearing dark red underwear that kind of looked like leather. "I jest. 'onestly," BrassiereMan started, putting his hat back onto his head, "I just love women's lingerie and, yes, breasts. C'est qui je suis." He smiled while tilting his head to the right, the girls copying his moves standing by his sides. "My original Operator is just a pervert," he stated, "'E is a fine man and owner of the panties company I mentioned." His hands moved over to the backs of the girls next to him, pushing them forwards slightly. "These are my SPs, Pillows and Milkshake." He didn't exactly state who was who, but both names would've easily suited either of the girls. With him pushing them forwards their ample busts were displayed proudly while they waved silently at Gordon and Slay. "How does one like me get into acting and screenplay, you ask? I'll-" he started, but stopped as his head turned to the exit Jacqueline had left from earlier.

Jacqueline finally returned from wherever she was, carrying a large box. "Time for work," BrassiereMan said and held his hat out to the girls again. The girls jumped into the hat, one by one, as the hat expanded for their sizes. He then placed his hat back onto his head and walked over to the left side of the stage where Jacqueline had stopped. The tool she had brought with her was placed on the stage and it was clearly visible to Gordon and Slay that it was, in fact, a chainsaw. One with a jack-in port. No explanations were given for how Jacqueline brought it in by herself. "You know 'ow to operate these, non?" BrassiereMan asked, pointing down at the chainsaw. "We need some digital wood for the stage," he continued, "I was 'oping for you to offer your... Expertise in this." It was clear that using a physical chainsaw had nothing to do with the digital world, so BrassiereMan quickly continued to explain. "There are chainsaws inside its server. The viruses inside it are rather docile creations for this purpose, but they need to be... Coupé en morceaux.. to get what we need."

"That's a worthwhile profession. Sort of makes me and Gordon look like bums," Slay murmured, thinking that it was only fair that she include herself if she was going to insult Gordon. She was humble enough to know that the world didn't really place the proper value on workers and educators, like Jacqueline, compared to personalities and performers, such as herself. Although she imagined Jacqueline's enterprise was still going to be pretty profitable compared to Gordon's, if he never got any better at his chosen profession.

"I'll definitely consider you for a role," Gordon answered BrassiereMan with a surprising clarity of intent (also as though he had lots of options to choose from).

"And I'd be happy to share some stories from the road with you," Slay agreed. For a guy dressed from head to toe in women's underwear, he was surprisingly personable and relatable. She nodded to confirm that it was good that they were employed; she was a firm believer that work is where you find it, but also that work was everywhere waiting to be found, and that few had a good excuse for staying out of it. Of course, once he explained what they did for a living, she lost some of her admiration. A host for ladies, a hostess for male navis, and a man that makes women's unmentionables were really straining her definition of proper employment, but then, if Gordon was going to try to write scripts for a living, she supposed those folks sounded like they had pretty stable professions comparatively. "That's sure something, alright." She continued listening in as he answered Gordon, screwing up her eyes at the bizarre origin story of BrassiereMan's unusual clothing. "That's the worst," she sighed, nodding to show her empathy. "It's dumb, too. Why would he be testing something like that on a male navi? Or maybe there's stuff about it I don't understand... But I really don't want to understand, either." Perverts were high on the list of things she figured deserved a real life slashing.

Still, she couldn't help but think to herself that the man might be a natural born actor, the way the told his story. He did have a certain flair for the theatrical. That goodwill mostly vanished as he explained that apparently, the real reason he was covered in women's underwear was that he just loved boobs and lingerie. Her eyebrows lowered, giving her a particularly stony expression. She didn't dignify the story with a laugh and certainly didn't appreciate the breasts bouncing in her face. As for Gordon, it was hard to tell whether he did or not... he watched the two girls closely and cupped one large hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Dang," he swore quietly. "So what about this: there's a guy that is killing people by trapping them inside his hat, but they don't shrink inside of it and just kind of get compressed in there. So there's like... blood and stuff, it's turning them into meatloaf in there-"

Slay interrupted him again, as the only thing less tasteful to her than BrassiereMan's preferences was Gordon's idea of a proper story. "They're really named Pillows and Milkshake? Really?" she asked, letting her mouth hang open slightly as she rolled out the last word. She couldn't help but think she was witnessing some Gordon levels of bad decision making. "Are they mute? Or deaf?" She didn't really care, but she really wanted to make sure they weren't just puppets. The idea of a pervert having living blow-up dolls made her especially spiteful.

"I think the names make sense," Gordon interjected.

The navi ignored him and turned her attention back to Jacqueline. "A chainsaw? Yeah, I mean... I can operate one on the net, anyway. I'm guessing you mean on the net? Cause I'll need to like... download some instructions, if I'm going to operate the real life equipment," Slay responded. BrassiereMan confirmed her suspicion. "Okay. I mean, I've got my own chainsaw, but I can use yours too. Whichever's better." Hers was, at best, a weapon, and at worst, a prop usable in short bursts, so if they had one for her, she figured she really ought to accept. "I'll delete viruses too, if I need to..."

"How about this one: there's a guy with a chainsaw that he uses to kill people, but when he goes to kill somebody with it, he learns that it's a prop. There's really just a bunch of net chainsaws and digital wood inside. So the chainsaw won't start... and.... dang, I guess I wrote myself into a corner on that one. Okay, so he just bludgeons people with it."

"Jack me in, please," Slay muttered, unenthusiastic towards the tale, but glad that at least Gordon seemed to have some extent of awareness as to how bad it was.

"M'kay, I guess," he nodded along, quickly jacking his navi into the device. "Are you guys goin' in too? Or is it just me and Slay?"

((Jacking into chainsaw; I'll let you open the topic, Shur))

Slay had finished the request that BrassiereMan had made of her and high-tailed it off the net; once the wood was collected, she'd run into the new problem of angry, worm-like beasts, who hadn't been on the original agenda. She hadn't been assigned to take care of those, and for that matter, BrassiereMan had been eager to jump in himself, so she'd left him to tangle with them himself. "Besides, if he gets into trouble, those big worms will find themselves squeezed in between Pillows and Milkshake as well... Wait... That sounds dirty," she explained to Gordon, pressing one hand to her face.

"No, I get it. It gives me another idea for a story. So, there are these girls with huge boobs and butts, and they smash people between those parts of their bodies..." Gordon began, but his mouth started hanging open, as though he was caught up visualizing. "You know, dang. That sounds more like an erotic film. Or like... I dunno. It sounds like it's been done before. Never mind, forget I said it."

"Already forgetting," Slay reassured her operator. "Knowing when you've stumbled upon a bad idea is a hallmark of a decent writer, too."

"Well, it's not that it's bad. Just kinda unoriginal," he remarked with a gloomy frown. Slay rolled her eyes, lifting her battle mask up from her face. "If you're done, I'm going to head out. That alright, Jacqueline? Hope the uh... play... goes well," he finished, pulling up his pants to keep them from falling down as he turned his broad, tattooed back to her and head for the door. "We'll just check in with the GNA. I mean, I'd love to stick around, but uh... I kinda need to get all the work done I can today. So I'm on to the next job. Say, this gives me another idea... so, the antagonist is this slasher, but he's so addicted to slashing that he moves on really fast from one victim to the next and never cleans up behind himself. So he's caught after like... his third or fourth slashing... or, dang, I guess that sort of closes the book on a sequel..."

With those inane ramblings, he left Jacqueline and her navi and moved on to his next venue.

((Leaving Beach Street, for... to be decided))