Half kit, I had time to get the half kit on. Mask, jacket, boots, but the hair is limp and tied back. Sunday's the only one in his best, but his best is just the suit and a hat pulled low over his eyes. The cigar isn't technically a part of it, but might as well be, and I think the full formal has a pair of brass knucks, but that's splitting hairs. It's the poster we need to be. Riot's the same, Hairs done up, but no jacket. If anything, she appreciates the chance to be casual and still do business.
Violence has her hat, but the suspenders are hanging down from her waist. She's drumming her fingers. Bored, she is bored and tired and probably a bit hungover from something. Or just tired. Probably just tired.
If anything, Doppel's the normal one. Casual blazer, jeans, he even has his glasses on. But the smile looks odd on him. Especially considering the power point behind him. I've never seen a natural smile on someone who's doing a power point. It just doesn't happen. This one is and the whole situation just doesn't sit right with me.
"So, what," says Violence, "So sunshine was stealing. We steal. It's kind of what we do. Not a big deal."
"It is when you're not supposed to," Doppel says, "We're supposed to steal. The casino's just a legal way to do it. Solar isn't supposed to, and I'm starting to wonder if this is why he didn't put up too much of a fuss over the Vegas thing. Nice chance to slip away from all this. All the files slowly fade and the numbers gel back into something nice and clean. He gets off Scott free and starts again."
"So let him. Not our deal. He's gone. We're good. We're making money. We don't need to do this."
"And on that point, I still agree."
"Then we're done. Thanks for lunch, but you also wasted my time. I have other things to do."
"We would be done, but something's changed."
He pauses for a moment. He's having fun. It must get tiresome explaining a plan to a gaggle that already knows every step. We are not in the hive. Unblemished souls, ripe for the corrupting. Terrible knowledge, gleaned from the heavens.
"I want to do this now."
"So, what," sighs Violence, "It's still a dumb idea. Riot, I know you're all gung-ho about it but at least Beat still has some sense in him."
"How dare you imply that I make rational decisions," I say, "I'm in. We already hit the Solarium, so why wouldn't we do something a bit bigger."
"Of course. Of course, you are, you stupid idiot. Of course."
"Violence, I get it. I get it. You don't want to do this. But you don't have to be so confrontational about it."
"Yes, I do. Because I don't want this all to slip into some grand circle jerk where we just do whatever the other says."
"I was against this as well, Violence, but some information has come out that will benefit me."
"How? How does this benefit you in any way? You're the only one of us that pays taxes. How does your money going towards Solar's jerk off machine benefit you?'
Somehow, his smile gets wider. The trap has been sprung and Doppel gets his moment to shine. He clicks the thing and the slide goes one forward.
It's him. It's just him. Smiling, much warmer than the one he has on now, looking forward to a brighter tomorrow, a flag waving behind him and sunny days overhead. Below it, in simple block text, reads 'Mayor Abbot Billiken.'
"Still working a bit on the logo," he says, "but it's something."
Bloody Sunday is an old man. That is a fact. That is a fact he cannot ignore. That is a fact none of us can ignore. But he does not act his age. His laughter is for a man half my age. It is high and cackling, laced with sugar highs and flashing lights. He is stamping his feet and thumping the table. To his credit, Doppel takes it in stride.
"You have my vote," he howls, "Oh, sonny. You have my vote. Haven't bothered in 20 years, but you finally got me off my ass."
"I demand a button," I say, "I demand a sticker. I demand a hat. I demand every single bit of merch you are going to make, because I will hit every corner I can think of and spread this. I will hand out flyers in a mascot costume for this."
"Policy," Riot says, "I have to know your policy promises before I can do anything."
"Thank you, Riot," sighs mayoral candidate Doppel, "for trying to be a responsible citizen. I will send you a pamphlet later. But they also prove my point. People don't really vote on policy decisions. They vote for dumb, fun things. And what's more dumb fun than some good old fashioned yellow journalism."
"But what does Solar have to do with Mayor Hearst," sighs Violence, "Stop wasting my time."
"Nothing on the surface. But there were some fun notes I saw from Solar when I did my perusing when we hit his mansion. Something that requires a bit more digging."
With another little motion, he goes to the next slide. A picture of columns, and behind those columns is a marble arch. I steeple my fingers and lean forward in ripe anticipation. I am surprised at his forethought. If the next slide is a picture from Solar's private alone time fun stash, he might actually be a mind reader as well.
"So, I propose, we hit city hall," he says. He politely sits down and lets us all mull the proposition. Riot barely takes the time to let the echo fade.
"Done. Done. So, done. We doing this now? Today's laundry day, but that can wait."
"Riot, my dear," Sunday says, "Old timer wisdom. Never postpone laundry day. It just piles up and then it never gets done."
"We can do it tomorrow. It's not a big deal."
Sunday shakes his head and imparts disappointment, the worst feeling that can be imparted from an elder.
"Not now," Doppel says, "Tonight. Figured we might as well slip through when there less people. Which is why I wanted you here, Violence. I believe the phrase you used was 'high wire like.' And that's what I am thinking about."
"Again, why me?" she sighs, "Not a part of it. Not really interested. Not really my shtick. And besides, Cobra Ruby is coming down tomorrow night. The boys and I need to prep. Can't be all galivanting the night before a job. Not good form. Makes everything sloppy."
