07-06-2013, 06:48 AM
Unfortunately, for both of them, nothing immediately apparent or interesting throws itself at them. The place doesn't have the appearance of belonging to an inhabitant who takes time out of his busy schedule to hide things from either the Sleeper police or potential magically-inclined invaders.
"Therein lies the motherfucking problem," he asks, picking up the controller so he can make progress in his game if Sera is just here to shoot the shit before coming up with something she knows he has, maybe to maintain the appearance of having enough self control not to stare at the thigh a few inches from his eye line, "is people want to buy the shit, but Byron's flaky ass won't pick up his phone."
They're both so distracted of a sudden that what he says, now, doesn't matter, only whether what he says has any truth or ulterior motive to it. Other than the Working of the young woman on the couch, Justin cannot feel anything of their world in the room. He can tell that whatever else Dick Fairchild may be, he isn't lying about thinking Byron is a flake who owes him money.
Sera meanwhile has to cast her attention onto the man himself and reach back through his timeline. And Justin becomes distracted a moment later scanning for everything in the fucking place. Luckily they've so thoroughly rustled his jimmies that Dick starts ranting while driving a souped-up car through the glistening streets of Liberty City.
"Man, every-fucking-body is looking for Byron. That cocksucker went off the map like... I don't even know, what day is it?--yeah I ain't seen him since he came by all hopped-up on whatever-the-fuck looking to offload all this shit on me. He was all hey man you know people right can you move this stuff and I was like uh-duh? and you're really just wasting your time looking for him. I mean he pulls shit like this all the time, he finds some new thing and he gets all psyched thinking he's going to turn into the Tony Montana of designer drugs and guess what, man, if you want to turn into the Tony Montana of snorting mountains of your own product, congrats, you're it, dude. You're the Pacino of drugs."
By now Justin is beginning to return to cognizance. Nothing to see here. There's a cat prowling around and the cat has had all its shots and is well-fed and well-loved and isn't going to come out into the living room as long as there are people there. If there are hidden cameras - there aren't, but if there were - Dick Fairchild would have been arrested already.
Sera, on the other hand...
[Tag, Liz!]
"Therein lies the motherfucking problem," he asks, picking up the controller so he can make progress in his game if Sera is just here to shoot the shit before coming up with something she knows he has, maybe to maintain the appearance of having enough self control not to stare at the thigh a few inches from his eye line, "is people want to buy the shit, but Byron's flaky ass won't pick up his phone."
They're both so distracted of a sudden that what he says, now, doesn't matter, only whether what he says has any truth or ulterior motive to it. Other than the Working of the young woman on the couch, Justin cannot feel anything of their world in the room. He can tell that whatever else Dick Fairchild may be, he isn't lying about thinking Byron is a flake who owes him money.
Sera meanwhile has to cast her attention onto the man himself and reach back through his timeline. And Justin becomes distracted a moment later scanning for everything in the fucking place. Luckily they've so thoroughly rustled his jimmies that Dick starts ranting while driving a souped-up car through the glistening streets of Liberty City.
"Man, every-fucking-body is looking for Byron. That cocksucker went off the map like... I don't even know, what day is it?--yeah I ain't seen him since he came by all hopped-up on whatever-the-fuck looking to offload all this shit on me. He was all hey man you know people right can you move this stuff and I was like uh-duh? and you're really just wasting your time looking for him. I mean he pulls shit like this all the time, he finds some new thing and he gets all psyched thinking he's going to turn into the Tony Montana of designer drugs and guess what, man, if you want to turn into the Tony Montana of snorting mountains of your own product, congrats, you're it, dude. You're the Pacino of drugs."
By now Justin is beginning to return to cognizance. Nothing to see here. There's a cat prowling around and the cat has had all its shots and is well-fed and well-loved and isn't going to come out into the living room as long as there are people there. If there are hidden cameras - there aren't, but if there were - Dick Fairchild would have been arrested already.
Sera, on the other hand...
[Tag, Liz!]