Trouble in Paradise [Xsay]

The town called “Paradise” wasn’t quite living up to expectations. It was in the state’s northeast; canyon country. Whoever had decided to settle here, however long ago, had to contend with a lot of geography. Two rivers that Quickshot didn’t know the name of flowed nearby, bare trickles compared to what they must have been back when they’d carved present-day Paradise, CA into existence.

He’d been heading south from Oregon, running in short stints to keep up his overall speed. It was faster than travel by car, but not by plane, and without any sort of legal identity that he was aware of, the speedster couldn’t get airborne if he wanted to without all sorts of hassle. Hassle was something he didn’t need. His life was complicated enough without asking for more trouble. He’d caught a glimpse of the mile sign for Paradise, and conceded to quaint amusement by making it the destination of his pit-stop. He’d find a skeezy motel, catch some Z’s, and then set out after a quick shower. It was time to head east, he’d decided, to take the quest that had consumed him for the past months back to the Atlantic coast.

He’d found his motel, the very creatively named Canyon Inn. It was nicer than most of the digs he’d had lately, but then again, this was a pretty small town. The seedier element that engendered no-tell motels was probably small as well. He had his shower, but the usual mindless TV watching until he passed out just wasn’t doing it for him.

He’d spotted a bar across the street and down the way, The Rooster Room, or something similarly asinine. The prospect of bumping elbows with a bunch of blue-collar humans didn’t really appeal, but the chance to get himself buzzed enough to pass out easily was hard to ignore. Donning some cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt that he’d liberated from a Laundromat outside of Portland, he packed up his gear and costume in the large duffel he’d taken to carrying it around in and headed out into the night.

The bar was exactly what he expected it to be: dim lighting, chintzy décor, and patronage that ran the gamut from miserable to obese. No doubt more than a few of the fine fellows would be heading home in an alcoholic daze to beat their wives. He didn’t bother with any niceties, just set his bag down and took a seat at the bar. At least they had Guinness on tap; Paradise had finally gotten something right.

He spent maybe an hour there, sipping beer and watching the news on the ancient looking television behind the counter. Something about a wild-fire, a bank robbery in Palo Alto. A recap of a story involving a psychopath who’d taken and killed a bunch of hostages and televised it held his interest briefly, but then he was bored again, and it was time to go. He’d gotten nowhere near drunk; his paranoia didn’t allow for that. He was, however, pleasantly warm, and his drowsiness would certainly be enhanced when it finally came.

Shouldering his bag, he headed out to the parking lot, intent on cutting across and legging it back to the motel, but then he heard the door open and close a few times behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed three of the local boys, each more grizzled and pocked than the last, and he let out a weary sigh.

“You too good for us, stranger? In and out without a word?” The largest man had spoken, eyeing Quickshot as he turned. He was used to this sort of thing. If it wasn't his appearance, it was his demeanor. If it wasn't his demeanor, it was something else. Yokels just loved to come at him, and the novelty had worn off quite a while ago.

“Yes,” the archer replied succinctly.

The three drunkards ruffled, clearly astonished by his lack of fear or deference. “He’s pretty, in’t he? Almost like a girl. You come up here from San Francisco, pretty boy?”

He’d hit his banter limit. “You really don’t want to do this,” he informed them blandly, shifting his weight subtly into a better stance for offense. “Last chance to head back inside.” Quickshot simply regarded them, intent and unsmiling, his pretty features vacant of expression.

Again, they were stunned, until the silence was broken by laughter from the smallest of the trio. He looked to the biggest, who nodded, and then the other two began their plodding advance.

Quickshot dropped his bag…

The hint of disappointment that managed to surface on his otherwise stoic features as the men filed back into the bar might have interested ‘Jessica’ as well. He’d wanted to fight them, despite his warnings. His eyes never left them, not until the door had slammed shut in their raucous wake, and those emerald eyes were cold lethality. If they’d had the chance, they might have been able to rile him to actual anger, but it never would have gotten that far.

His head turned, and he regarded her balefully. She might note that his inspection was far more clinical than her body usually triggered. His eyes didn’t stop anywhere; in fact, he barely reacted to her presence at all, save to take the bag back and work the strap over his shoulder in one smooth motion. There was a certain possessiveness to the way he grabbed it from her. Nothing violent, but betraying that whatever the bag held was quite important to him. Urgency was the best way to describe it.

His silent appraisal persisted for another few seconds before he finally spoke. “I don’t pay for sex. Particularly from women.” He certainly wasn’t going to thank her. This little tete-a-tete was taking about as long as wiping the parking lot with those drunks would have, so he hadn’t even gained time from the transaction. Leaving his rather blunt words in the air, he turned on his heel and strode off, back toward the motel. Normal speed. He actually wanted to get some sleep tonight.

Her commentary about his preferred sexual position earned her a slightly more baleful few seconds of staring, and she might note the muscles behind his cheeks flaring mightily as his teeth ground together. If one of the drunks had said anything like that, they’d be defecating their own teeth for the next few days; luckily for ‘Jessica’, whatever upbringing Quickshot had still tinged his moral compass just enough that he wasn’t liable to haul off and slug an assumedly normal lady, even if she was probably a prostitute. He didn’t confirm or deny, just turned and left as intended. He’d get back to the motel, catch a few hours, and be ready to ship out as soon as he woke up and put something in his stomach.

The problem with green energy at night was that it was noticeable as all get-out. Catching a flash of emerald light in his peripheral, he immediately juked right. Quickshot juking right was a little different than most people doing s. In less than a second, he was some ten yards east of where he’d been previously, with the blue glow of his speedster aura fading away. He’d opened his duffel as he ran, unzipped it but not withdrawn anything, and was now turned to face the green version of himself and its creator, eyes moving between the two before settling on the boy.

A shapeshifter, with some sort of energy manipulation power. Not exactly garden variety, and to show up here of all places… well, Quickshot wasn’t one for embracing coincidence. With his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a grim line, he studied the strange boy, listened to his monologue. As he advanced, Quickshot would retreat, keeping an operable distance of about thirty feet between them, but not drawing on him. Not yet. He didn’t know what he was dealing with, and he didn’t need this sort of fight. He had better things to do.

“What I’m doing here is none of your business.” His paranoia was engaged, but despite that, his voice rang out with confidence. “Is this going to be some kind of problem?” He made a bit of a gesture between them with his left hand, to indicate what might be the problem. Not quite a threat, but it was there in tone. He continued watching the boy and the construct, ready to bolt at any instant.

If the speedster was relieved when the green doppelganger vanished, it certainly didn’t show. All it meant was that he now had one thing to keep track of now, and so the boy had his full attention. He wasn’t entirely buying the little boy lost act; those were two pretty impressive and distinctly different abilities he’d already displayed, which meant there was more to him than Quickshot could even hope to guess at.

He did stop gritting his teeth, at least, as he listened. The words hit home a little more than he would have liked. Sometimes, he wished he could just be devoid of emotion. He played the part often enough, but when it came down to it, the long road he’d set on was a lonely one indeed. The companionship he imagined for himself wasn’t a strange little boy, though.

“No offense, kid, but there’s a reason I travel alone. Most people can’t keep up.” He wasn’t anywhere near to agreeing to some sort of arrangement, not yet, but ten of the many words that the boy had let loose were radiating in his mind. Even help you find what you’re looking for in life. If there was even a chance that this was anywhere near sincere, that the shape-shifter could help him piece together his past or find his sister, well… it was worth listening to his pitch, at least.

He mulled for a long string of seconds before finally offering a response, so far as his name went. Learning that his “rescuer” wasn’t a normie had done wonders for his ability to feel gratitude, and so he figured he owed the kid that much, at least. “I’m Quickshot,” he offered, not without pride. It wasn’t the name that he’d borrowed to use in social situations; it was the only identity he really had, that he could really call his own.

The speedster didn't start moving, not just yet. The boy/woman, whatever he actually was, had made some progress, surely, but Quickshot hadn't survived this long by blindly trusting anyone. He did need sleep, but he wasn't about to render himself that sort of vulnerable with him/her around, not at all.

He delved into a pocket, fished out a singular key attached to a little plastic tag that had "8" raised upon it, then deftly tossed it through the air toward her. "You're welcome to the room, but we'll hardly be sharing it. If I haven't decided otherwise by then, I'll come to you there tomorrow."

He didn't give her time to reply before streaking away in the opposite direction.

[==Exit==]