Old Habits

Knuckles on the left hand crack and pop, flooding his hand with that wonderful stress relief.  Right hand still won’t crack.  Hasn’t since the incident.  Black Flag grumbles, and scowls at his inconvenient fingers.  

He chose this bar booth because it’s bright enough that people can see it bears a truculent occupant, but dark enough that he maintains his anonymity.  He scans the dive, to ensure his choice of locale is having the desired effect.  The berth of empty tables in his vicinity indicates that it is, in fact.  He absently tries to crack his right knuckles again.  

Minutes pass.  He pulls up an augmented reality overlay to check the time.  Toof is late.  Black Flag rolls his eyes, and closes the window.  Typical.  He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.  

When he opens them again, the world has become a psychedelic photo negative mockery of itself, the table a hazy blur and the patrons beacons of aura light all mingling and mixing with each other.  The astral plane used to really trip him out, he remembers.  Now it’s just another place among many.  Getting old sucks.  

Black Flag lets his perception pass outside of the dim bar, shimmering with young idiots blending souls and getting hammered.  He looks for that one signature he knows.  His sight phases right through the wall, seeing only the living as an impediment to his quest.  You know, as usual.  People, am I right?  There he is.  Down the street, casually strolling towards the meet.  Twenty minutes late, doesn’t even have the decency to hustle.  Jackass.  Black Flag sighs, and inhales his consciousness back into the physical world.  

A quick scan of the bar reassures him no one was watching his little astral foray.  Not that anyone here would care, but it’s always good to be careful.  An idea pops into his head, and he repositions to a different spot in his corner booth, directly across from the one chair still assigned to his table.  A smile plays across his mind, but doesn’t make it to his lips.  

Toof runs past the plate window outside, skids to a stop behind the door, and bursts through.  Black Flag’s face does all the talking for him.  ‘Really?’ it says, ‘Really?  You think I’m gonna believe that?’.  Toof spots him in the back of the bar, and heads over.

“Sorry I’m late, Beef.” He starts when he’s halfway there.  Black Flag sees the orc’s eyes quickly scan and dismiss each member of the crowd as a threat.  In the shadows, either old habits die hard or you do. “I came as fast as I could when I realized.”

Black Flag stretches his leg and kicks the solitary chair out for Toof in one smooth motion.  “No you didn’t.  You walked your lazy ass from the train stop and didn’t give a shit how long I’ve been here.”

Toof looks at the chair, raises an eyebrow and looks at Black flag.  “How long have you been waiting to pull the chair stunt?”

“Just thought of it while you were sauntering over.”

“I’m sure.” The orc sits, and smiles.  “So, how’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.  Still hurts when it rains.” Black Flag wiggles his fingers.

“If that was true you’d have moved out of Seattle.  When are you going to let that one go?”

“I dunno.  When’s the rapture scheduled?”

The orc sighs heavily, and pushes his greying hair out of his face.  He leans forward, resting his heavy arms on the table.  The bulky muscles are cleverly hidden by the lines of his jacket.  Must have been expensive, you can barely see the armor plates sewn in.  Black Flag realizes he’s almost jealous.  Almost.  “Still paying off that condo?”

“Only until I die.”

“Well, I have a job that might be able to help with that.  One way or the other.” The orc grins, his one chipped tusk making for an incredibly lopsided smile.  

“Better not be the other…” Black flag smiled.  “It’s not wetwork, is it?”

“Mr Johnson says no, but his checkbook’s generous nature says probably.” Toof leans back in his chair, and waves the bar for a beverage.  “All I know so far is that one of the double A’s, Deccarde I think, found something artifact-ey in Old Canada. Mr. Johnson would prefer it if his company was the current owner of that particular artifact.”

“So major break in, theft of a possibly powerful artifact, heavy opposition, and probably more than a couple wage mages? At the very least?” Black Flag inquired.  

“Well yeah, but only if we’re very lucky.”

A pause hangs in the air.  The two men look at each other, faces betraying nothing.  The two runners have known each other for a decade.  Long enough to know not to play poker with each other.  Long enough to know this job will go sideways literally as soon as they agree to it.  Long enough to know that the only way they’ll survive is if they watch each other’s back.  Christ, Toof… what have you gotten me into?

“You know, I’d own the condo already if I hadn’t had to pay for this?” Black Flag raises his right arm again, smirking.  

Toof leans back and smiles, relieved to know he won’t be on his own.  “Yeah, well… I’ll get the next one.  Buy one get one free.”  The waiter finally made it over with the drinks.  Toof pulled them off the tray, not willing to wait.  He slid one across the table to his friend.  It clanked noticeably against the chrome replacement aug Black Flag had in place of his right arm.  The two of them paused, looking at their drinks.  

“To Cork.” They both said at once, lifting their drinks.  Black Flag absentmindedly tried to crack his right knuckles again.  Toof kept drinking.  Chugging, really.  When he finally came up for air, the drink was gone.  Black Flag squinted, turned his head.  Any second…

Toof let out a thundering belch.  

“You are disgusting.”

“You, are boring.” Toof wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and suddenly remembered he was wearing his nice jacket.  He cursed and pulled out a napkin.  

Black Flag cracked his left knuckles loudly again, a rush of relief.  His right hand still vexed him.  Toof eyeballed him across the table.

“What?”

“You know they updated the firmware right?”

“So?  They’re always doing that. I only bother to upgrade before a run.  Keep the deckers out.” Black Flag shrugged.  “Too much trouble to keep on top of all the updates.”

“Yeah… but they patched in knuckle cracking.”

Flag’s glass hit the floor and shattered, spraying his expensive (better than real leather!) shoes with glass shards and shitty beer.