Avon calling

Who: Jeri and Socko
Where: Socko's place
When: early evening

There was a careful control to the practice Socko had been putting himself through, one that was paying off bit by bit. Seated on the floor of his living room with his back against the sofa, Socko appeared to be staring pointedly into the screen of the television, which wasn't even on. The stereo was pulsing like a heartbeat with bass, a joint smoldered in the ashtray nearby, but Socko wasn't paying much attention to either of them.

In the past, his approach had lacked subtlety or care; he'd simply tuned into the laws of probability around him and tried to demand answers from the cosmos. He'd always hit a brick wall that way, too, if he tried to predict anything more immediate than his own surroundings, but he had a hunch that he was onto something here. Socko reached blindly for the joint, sucking down a hit to soothe the dull ache in his skull as he watched numbers fade and sharpen in turn before his gaze.

Solving each equation was the start, yes, it let him glimpse his own personal short-term future, but then he needed to see what the result joined with, and to solve that equation. Mainly? He needed to be able to do it fast enough to be able to react, which was where practice was necessary. And he felt like he was getting somewhere, though Socko knew he'd need proof to back up that feeling. If he was right? He had a visitor en route, someone whose identity was murky and unclear to his visions. Snapping back to reality, Socko puffed more eagerly on his joint as he turned to watch the door, holding in his hit in anticipation.

Well, it was true that Jeri was going to visit Socko, but she wasn't going to just bust through the door and demand weed from him. She was going to phone him first. So, just in case he didn't feel like visitors she parked just down the street and started pressing buttons on her cellphone, inserting various digits in until it finally started ringing.

She wasn't having a good day. Okay, admittedly it'd been better than the last few days since Kavin just... disappeared, like so much smoke on a windy day. And her face was healing, so that it was just greens with flecks of purple and yellow, and not purple with flecks of green and yellow. And she'd met someone yesterday who'd seemed nice, and cheered her up for a while with that crazy British accent of his. But still. She needed the comfort of a good joint and company that she knew at least on a basic level, and none of her geek friends could supply those together. She was also interested in seeing how much of a bottle of whiskey, swiped from her father's liquor cabinet, she could ingest before she officially got alcohol poisoning. But since she was driving, she hadn't had any yet.

"Come on... pick up..."

And there was a lesson in annoyance for him, too. He could predict close to the immediate future, but it was never a guarantee. Case in point, a phone call was as much a change in the situation as a knock on the door, but it wasn't what he'd expected. Digging his phone from his pocket, Socko glanced at the caller I.D. and chuckled, snapping it open quickly. "Yeah, I'd like to order a pizza for delivery," he greeted with a lazy grin.

"Okay. But you're not getting it from me. I do, however have a bottle of the finest really cheapass liquor I could get. You up for a little business and, I don't know, hanging out?" Jeri asked, hopefully.

"Girl, I'm up for everything on that checklist 'cept the hootch, dig?" Socko answered with a coarse chuckle, sitting up a little and grabbing his shoebox stash. "C'mon up, let yourself in. I been puffin' solo for a while now, think my feet's asleep. But the door's unlocked an' I got shit pre-rolled," he offered, thinking a little company would be nice. Not to mention that he worried over Jeri, what with her lack of knowledge about the very real dangers around her.

"Be there in five." Jeri said, pulling away from the curb. And some about that amount of time later, she'd pulled up and went to the door. Two little knocks, just to make sure that he knew it was her before she turned the handle. "Hey, It's... I don't know. Avon. I have your pizza."

Looking to the door and leaning back against the sofa, Socko had the forethought to snag his stereo remote and turn the music down a touch as the door opened. "Best not be no mascara smeared all over that pie, or I'mma send it back. And no tip!" he hollered in greeting, tucking the joint he'd been puffing back in his lips afterwards. Socko rarely let customers come by for pickups, but Jeri was definitely an exception. From what he knew, the girl didn't have it too great at home, and she struck him as the sort who didn't exactly swim in a sea of friends at school. Not that he cared; outside of his little circle of similar thugs, Socko had been the same way. "Jus' toss that wheel up on the T.V. an' come hit this 'fore I roach it."

"I don't actually have a pizza. That was merely a bit of trickery to convince you to let me through the door." Jeri said smugly. But she did come in, and she set the bottle of what she could only assume was truly awful booze down on top of the television anyway. And then she sat down and held out her hand out for the joint. "But I can order one. Or make one, if you have everything I need. Sup, um, yo?"

"Clever fuckin' ruse, shortie," Socko praised, handing over the remnants of the joint and plucking out a fresh one, "You can double puff that spliff for your prize, dig?" He was quick by dint of practice, snipping away an excess bit of paper and looking Jeri's way. "An' I don' want no pizza, no sweat there. Got me some leftover Chinese in the fridge for later, you want an eggroll or somethin'? Ain't shit up here, girl, just chillin'. I don' do no rounds today 'less I get a housecall. Whats the haps with you?"

"Well." Jeri took her just reward of a double puff before handing it back and getting up again. Exhaling the smoke slowly, in a little trickle, she went to the bottle and picked up again, cracking it open. And she took a long pull. Wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve, she raised an eyebrow at Socko. "My boyfriend disappeared and there is a good possibility that he might be dead. My boss is having thoughts of shutting down the bakery so he can move his family to be close to the rest of his family, what with the world slowly coming to an end. My grades are shit. My friends barely want to associate with me because I've been pissy. And it's winter. Sup with you?" She came back to the couch, but she brought the bottle of boozery with her.

"Well... snap," Socko managed after a moment, taking all of that in. It sounded like things were bad lately, and vaguely like part of the badness stemmed from the supernatural side of the world. At least, the missing boyfriend did. Everything else seemed mundane, but that didn't make it good. Like them bruises, he mused, stubbing the remnants of the old joint out and lighting a new one. "Ain't shit wit' me, girl. Smokin', sellin', doin' my thing," Socko answered, mentally omitting 'hunting'. He had a feeling he was a safe port for Jeri, and knew how valuable those could be. "Your boy jus'... disappeared? No word from family or nothin'?" That was something he could look into, though following official trails was harder than stalking the darkness.

"Oh, his mother told me. It's grand fun." Jer sighed. "But, y'know. Whatever, right?" She offered him a wan sort of not-really-real smile. "Life happens. But yeah. He goes off and poof!" Jeri shook her head. "My life is a soap-opera that I don't want to watch." Putting the bottle of liquor on the coffee table, she pulled out her wallet and started counting twenties - five of them - and put them on the table in front of Socko. "Whatever the hell that will get me."

Nodding as she counted out the cash, Socko didn't move to take it just yet. He knew this behavior, the rush to bury yourself under stimulants and get your head straight. It was how he'd ended up locked in a closet with a head full of PCP once. "No rush on nickels an' dimes, shortie," Socko murmured, shrugging, "Take a breath, don' chase it with no whiskey. Jus' chill, yeah?" Puffing the newer joint slowly, he handed it over and let curls of smoke escape from the corners of his mouth gradually before speaking again. "An' tell me the scoop on them bruises..."

"They're also called contusions. It's when blood vessels under the skin rupture and let blood into the surrounding tissue. Crazy, huh?" She took the joint and took a long, slow drag on it. "They heal fast. Don't worry about it." When Jeri spoke, she exhaled the smoke, and passed the joint back. "I don't."

"I ain't worried, jus' wonderin' how you snagged 'em. What, they start a fight club at your school?" Socko asked with a small grin, taking the joint back and puffing. "Shit," he coughed around his hit, "Say a word, shortie, ol' Sock Monkey knows how to pop some lips." Pure bravado, really. Socko could scrap, yes, but he wasn't anywhere near a skilled fighter. And without his gifts? He'd be as low on the ladder as any other guy out there, if not worse.

"Heh. If I tell you, then I have to tell everyone. The rest of the world would be jealous. Can't have that shit. There would be children crying in the streets, that sort of thing." She waved a hand, trying to dismiss the conversation. "Bugs you, and I can go refresh my makeup or leave or whatever. Bruising bugs some folks."

Handing Jeri the joint again, Socko waved a dismissive hand once it was free. "Girl, you're talkin' to a man who done been stabbed with an ice pick. Shit, I sat through homebrewed stitches 'fore. Ain't no bruise gonna bug me, dig?" He sat forward a bit, twisting to look Jeri's way more earnestly. "I jus' figure that no one got it easy, y'know? An' if you can't trust your dope slinger, who the fuck can you trust? So you wanna vent? Vent. You don't? I won't step."

Jer snorted, and took another pull from her liquor bottle. It was unpleasant and it burned. But between the weed and the alcohol that was rapidly entering her system, she was slightly more inclined to be honest. "Well, like I told my ex-boyfriend who is possibly dead, my daddy's a mean, mean drunk." She smirked at herself. "Yay."

Being a hustler had advantages beyond that applied to more than Socko's 'career'. his poker face was good, for example. Good enough that he didn't flinch when she indirectly told him where the bruises originated. He'd seen plenty of that growing up in Detroit, such things were the most common progenitor of thugs like Socko. Machismo got passed down from father to son, and in plenty of cases? It was wrapped up in a beating, establishing manliness through violence and control. But he'd never liked it, and time hadn't changed that. "How long 'til you old enough to bounce on outta there?" he asked, reaching under the coffee table for his shoe box of wares.

She took a puff from the joint, a long, deep one, and almost handed it back before she saw he was busy. So she put it back between her lips until waited until his hands were free again before she offered the joint back over. If nothing else, Jerilyn didn't believe in wasting perfectly good dope. "Year and a bit. Nothin' I can't handle - hold on a sec."

Jeri's phone was buzzing her - it was on vibrate - and she had to put the bottle down. Digging the black thing from her pocket, she examined the call display answered. "Sup." ...well, whatever was said on the other line she didn't like, and her eyes narrowed. Jeri looked more hurt than angry, though. "...you guys went to see Beowulf without me?" Another pause. "Well, you dialed my number, not Jamie's. ...no. Of course I'm not angry. Look, I'm in the middle of something, I'll call you back when I'm done. Maybe we can see it toget... right, no, Christmas is coming up. That was a dumb suggestion, of course you don't have the money. I'll call you back, okay?" And she pressed the button in red. Then kept holding it so that it turned the phone off.

"Sorry about that. Friend of mine. I need to poison my liver, would you excuse me a moment longer?" Jeri gave Socko a smile that was rather weak and didn't reach her eyes at all, picked up the bottle, and started drinking somewhat more heavily from it than before.

During the phonecall, Socko had kept himself busy weighing out a fairly sizable bag for Jeri, adding nuggets of marijuana to a bag that sat on a small electronic scale. Her cash went pretty far with him, and she seemed like an extra couple of grams might be appreciated. Of course, that didn't mean he was too busy to eavesdrop, and Socko frowned faintly as the call ended, dusting residue off his fingertips. He didn't need his precognition (which showed her retching if she kept drinking like that) to decide this was a bad course of action.

Pushing his scale aside, Socko rose to his feet and moved the few steps between him and Jeri nonchalantly, reading the angles as he went. "Not on my watch, shortie," he murmured, deftly grabbing the tail end of her bottle and twisting it from her grip, then tilting it upright before more than a few drops could fall. He cast a look down at her that was more sympathy than chastisement before he turned to move for the kitchen, intent on pouring out the bottle.

"Oi! I..." she thought about it a second. "I am too damn lazy to come after you, or else I would, well, come after you. But I am lazy. Consider yourself warned." Still, she pouted after him as he went. And, really, it was pretty nasty tasting. It was probably for the best. And she heard it killed brain cells, anyway. "I'm not sure what I'm warning you about but assume that it's something that's not just a concept."

He didn't stop when Jeri called after him, tipping the bottle and pouring it in the sink with a sigh. When the fuck did I become the responsible one? Socko wondered, setting the empty bottle aside before he headed back. "Yo, no joke here, Jer'," Socko chided, "S'few things so bad that gettin' puke-drunk's a step up, trus' me. Holdin' my own skin shut fer stitchin'? Hell yes. But if you lookin' for someone to go catch a flick witchoo? Shit, girl, buy a fella some twizzlers."