"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."

"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."

He leans over the machine, resting a hand on Karolina's arm.

"I heard that, heard you turning her down. Fucking knew you wouldn't do shit."

"I might still do shit, watch your step.

"Get out my cinema!"

"Sorry."

"No you're not. Get out and stay gone."

"Fuck off."

"Don't fucking do this," he whispers.

Karolina's chest rises and falls, her blue, paper-thin eyelids twitching.

Her first real sleep in months, maybe years. Your voices won't wake her.

"Karolina will be fine. You need to trust her."

"It's you I don't trust!"

Karolina stirs, rolls over. Buries her face against the side of his thigh.

His fingers go to her hair, reflexive. Blunt nails scratching gently against her scalp.

"Talk her out of this. She'll listen to you."

"Move on. Have fun 'thriving' without her."

"I fucking won't, and you know it."

In her sleep, Karolina whimpers.

"You want me to beg?" He hisses. "Grovel? What the fuck do you want me to do?"

"Say 'please'."

He stares at you -- for once, speechless.

Something inside him breaks.

"Come on. Say 'please'."

"Please."

"Wow. I didn't think you'd really do it."

His eyes follow you as you turn to leave.

Strands of her long, dark hair falling through his fingers as he pulls his hand away from her.

"Cunt."

Turn around. Stop. Mercy.

"Please," he says, softly, to your back.

"Your father would be so disappointed."

Say nothing. Just leave.

"I'm sure you guys will figure something out. I have to go." [Leave.]

"Just let her rest." [Leave.]

"Maybe you can make a movie about this."

"I don't want to make a movie. I want Karochka."

"I think that should be Karolina's choice."

"You know what she'll choose!"

"I can try. I don't think she will, though."

"She'll die. You know that, right?"

"I need her."

"You don't! I know you fucking don't. You had a whole crew, she told me. Get them instead." He shakes his head. "I don't give a fuck if they die."

"This is between you and K. It's none of my business."

"No, it's not your business, it's your fault."

Say nothing.

"What?"

"You're in the disc business, can you tell me anything about this?" (Show red disc.)

"Ultra Violeta, hot shit. 'You But From A Dream' is unreleased though -- you've either got raw musical gold or someone's playing a trick on you."

"Let me see Karolina -- I can help."

"No fucking way."

He's a little afraid of you now.

"I'm not here for work, I just want to see K."

"Pull the other cock, it's got bells on it. Power of friendship doesn't work on me because I don't have any friends."

"I don't care how cool your black bag shit is. She's been very bad, got a bit better, still bad. Seeing you might just set us back to day fucking one."

Beneath his self-deprecating exterior there is something genuine -- sensitive, loving, hopeful.

And beneath that is the part that desperately wants to hear the whole sordid tale.

"It's generally not a good idea to say 'no' to me. I don't handle rejection well."

"I'm quivering in my fucking 600 sol tennis shoes."

"Pretty controlling of you."

"I'm not controlling her, I'm controlling you. How do I know you're not here to drag her back into more weird shit?"

"I'm not, pinky promise."

"Go and finger yourself with it. Your pinkies aren't worth fuck."

"The weirdest. Let me in and I'll tell you what it is."

"I'm Sweet Nestor's son, you think you can bribe me with weird? I've had enough weird for ten of you. I'd blow your fucking mind."

"Honestly, I was -- but now I just want to see that she's okay."

"You being honest? Bit late for that." He spins his little scooter. "She's been doing better, and seeing you might just set us back to day fucking one."

"You're right. I fucked up, I'm here to make amends."

"Yeah? How do I know you're not here to drag her back into more weird shit?"

"Dr Hugo wants me to check in on his daughter."

"Why, did he lose our address? Afraid of old Septimus? Afraid I'll tell him how much of a shit job he's done as a father, I bet."

This still carries some weight with him.

"Fine. Fuck it. Go see for yourself what your 'mentorship' did to her. Pass the word back to Dr. Daddy."

"How do I speak to her? She's all plugged in."

"Threaten me and then ask for my help, is it? Storm into my cinema and make a mug of me and demand my assistance, is it? Well, fine, but only because I'm scared you'll only fucking do it again."

"There's a button right on the console saying 'INTERFACE'. Press it."

"Oh for fuck's sake Tigerpussy, there's a button right on the console saying 'INTERFACE'. Press it."

"What the fuck is all that back there?"

"Got an eyeful? Got your fucking jollies?"

"I'm not jolly at all. I'm riddled with self-loathing."

"Yeah, you should be."

"She's hooked into a whole mess of electrical evil."

"It's not evil, it's sick. It does dreaming, bootlegging, multi-bit DACs, 576p video playback."

No smug self-satisfaction here -- just pride.

"Karochka built the machine herself. Go check out the sigils on the gear -- those are all hers. Shouldn't even be possible."

"Did you turn my girl into an augmentoid?"

"First of all: she's my girl. And second of all it's her fucking machine, I don't do shit."

Show this skinny dickhead we mean business.

Look down at this prick, show him he's beneath us. We are gigantic.

Catching the look in your eye, Septimus shifts his stance, weight on the back foot.

Punchable face. Begging for your fist.

It's far from the first time he's been threatened like this.

"What? Why you looking at me like that? You're not going to fucking fight me."

Draw your gun.

"Woah! Hey, steady on there, Tigerpussy. Didn't know you were hot like that. Shit. Alright. Calm it."

"I mean no harm to you or K. Let me through." (Put the gun away.)

"I got it, message received, billboard on my brain." He holds up his hands.

"Before you go in the back -- one thing, yeah? Put that gun in my mouth. Cock it, too. I just wanna see how it feels."

Mmm. Yummy gunny.

Spittle? In your barrel? Who knows where that mouth has been?

Put the gun in his mouth.

His eyes close as the barrel passes his lips. You feel the tension in his body slacken.

A psychologist would probably call this a side effect of being the object of violent loathing from birth.

"You better be flaccid down there."

"Mmhm." he pulls away, blinking. "Why'd you have to ruin it? Fuck. Nah, you can't ruin that. That'll keep me warm for weeks. Go ahead, Karochka's through there. I'll be listening though, no weird shit."

"That's enough."

"How's it feel to die, baby?"

"Mmm," he moans through the barrel, "mmmhm."

The fabric of his oversized shorts begins to sway.

"Damn, Tigerpussy," he says, blinking and pulling away, "knew you were probably a freak. But no weird shit with Karochka, right? She's through there."

"Here comes the airplane." (Put the gun in his mouth.)

"Mhhmm. Mmm." he closes his eyes. "Mmmm."

"No. Move."

"Moving, moving. Fucking hardass. Shit."

"What? Ew, no."

"Oh what the fuck. Pull a gun on him fine, totally cool, threaten homicide -- but a bridge too far if he gets any pleasure from it. You're wrong, man." he shakes his head. "Karochka's back there, no weird shit with her, alright?"

"Move." (Aim the gun at his face.)

"Alright, I said alright! I'm defeated, fuck." He grins.

"Just... one thing, yeah? For poor little Septimus? Poor beaten, overpowered Septimus? Put that gun in my mouth. Cock it too -- I just wanna see how it feels."

"Yes, I am."

"Alright, well. So... shit."

He bounces a little on the balls of his feet, considering combat.

"Shit! Alright fuck you can go in, but... I'll be listening, yeah? No weird shit."

"Thank you."

"Pfft, yeah."

"I'll do what I want."

"Yeah yeah you won, you're the hardman, no need to show the footage back in slow-motion or anything."

"I don't want to, but I will."

"Alright, well. I don't want that either. So... shit."

Say nothing, just hit him.

Your fist connects with his jaw, bone-on-bone, the thin armour of skin no match for what's underneath. He reels backwards with startling grace.

Not the first time he's taken a hit like this. Not even close.

That's what you get, bitch!

You try to square up to him but something in your body resists and cringes from the idea of intimidating someone so pathetic.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"And you won't, you don't have the balls. The tits, I mean. Whatever the fuck women have."

Again, your body rebels. It's like watching a hare stand between a bulldozer and its burrow -- too easy, too tragic.

"How about 10 sol?"

"I'm not some kind of ear-pimp willing to sell my girl's attention for 10 fucking sol!"

"I'm here to help."

He's a grown man dressing and acting like a teenager. Under the protective bluster, the anti-establishment bullshit, Portofiro's Most Hated Toddler is powerless.

He can't help her. He's tried.

"Listen. Everyone in this line of work gets head-fucked to some degree. It's like a rite of passage."

"Spent a lot of time un-fucking the people you drag into your shit, have you? In your long storied career as a fouineur de merde?"

An old-school, derogatory term for spies.

Most likely overheard during one of his father's notorious tirades.

"You keep saying it's my fault. Then it's my responsiblity, too."

"You knew she'd be messed up when she came here. Even if you didn't know how she got that way." He shakes his head. "She talks about you all the fucking time, you know that too?"

All the time?

"Fair fucking warning, I've tried everything. Flowers, stimulants, weed, missionary sex, little bracelet with her name on it... nothing works."

Shit, he really has tried everything.

"She's through there, see if you can talk to her. You make things worse instead of un-fucking her, though, and I'm coming for you, alright?"

This lanky git's got no clue what you and K have been through. Manicured hands, pristine knobby knees, unbent back -- he's never suffered a day in his comfy life.

"You don't understand how Karolina feels. You've never been through it -- I have."

"Oh! Oh, right, sorry." His nostrils flare. "Soft fucking richboy, spoilt brat, 'course I can't wrap my head around it. I fowgot!"

He smacks his palm against the side of his head, hard.

"You've spent lots of time holding your girl when she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, right? Sweating and pissing the bed, throwing up 'cause she's crying too hard?"

The gäng can hold their own -- he's probably exaggerating to make you feel bad.

"It sounds like this is well beyond your abilities to manage."

"Yeah, yeah! But we get by!" His head bobs in a manic nod. "We fucking deal!"

"You know what it's like having a spy girlfriend? On the one hand you want to tell everyone how hardcore she is, but on the other, you can't tell anyone. So all anybody else sees when they look at her's a total fucking wreck."

This is not your fault. The risks were the risks. This is not your fault.

Your fault. Un-fixable. Fucked.

He widens his stance, taking up as much of the doorway as possible. A blockade between you and Karolina.

Want her? Through.

"I'm sorry... it's that bad? I didn't know..."

"Yes it fucking is."

"It's okay, I know all about being mental. If she needs therapy I'm good for it -- I've had absolutely loads. I'll just copy that."

"Fuck off. You think I've not done my time with the head-shrinkers? Doesn't help for shit."

Fuck. She sounds wretched, this is mega-tragic.

"So Karolina is part of your bootlegging business?"

"You got severely limited vision, this bootlegging shit, rank as it may be, this is strictly Phase I -- Psycho-market research and capital formation."

Translation: They have no ideas and no money.

"Okay, I'll bite: What's Phase II?"

"Original features, you obvious bitch. Septimismo Productions. Skkkkkrrrt." He trills his tongue as he grinds the miniature skateboard along his elbow.

"Gonna rehab the fuck out of this place too. Turn it into a proper studio. Gonna have producers and groupies and monks and shit lurking about, all hours."

The fantasy of the eternal studio-hang is more vivid in his mind than any actual 'production' that might occur there.

"Then comes Phase III: Youth movements, an actual 24/7 party scene, streetwear labels, good blow." A reflexive snort.

"This sounds incredibly ambitious."

"Go ahead, say you don't think a piece of shit like me can pull it off."

"And Karolina's onboard with this plan?"

"She's fuckin' masterminding it. She's like the heart-brain-glue that holds it all together."

"Karolina told me you're working on a script together?"

"Scripts." He emphasises the 's'. "Multiple."

"What are your influences?"

"Life, Tigerpussy. Our common, inexplicable addiction to melancholy, the mundane twinges of common humanity, seedy whiffs of danger and the frisson of transgression..."

"Stupid exuberance unburdened by discretion or taste... wondrous glimpses of the invisible world!"

"And, you know, other movies and shit." He scratches his jaw.

"How far along are you?"

"We're balls deep in the pre-prod stage. We got a concept board. We're doing visualisations. I got some mixtapes going, to get the auditory mileu ironed out."

They haven't written a word.

"You know, I'm a writer myself."

"Oh yeah?" He peers at you over his sunglasses. "What's your genre?"

"Poetry. Unpublished."

Alternative wording

"Poetry. I've got work forthcoming in a prestigious local publication."

"Oh balaclava bitch is a fuckin' verse-meister." He waves his hands as though casting a word-spell.

"If that was some kind of invitation to collab, request denied. Me and Karochka are an exclusive pair."

"Apology cards."

"Is that some kind of sad fuckin' joke. Because it makes me sad for you, and not 'cos it's a good joke."

"Espionage."

"Cool. Can I read your stuff sometime?"

"... Maybe."

"What's with the sigils I saw back there?"

"Sick, yeah? Runescript. Ancient. Dunno where she gets that stuff."

"Do you believe in this woo-woo business?"

"I think that she thinks the witch-y shit works, which is good enough for me."

Maybe it's all in her head. Maybe there really is new energy in the wires... either way, it's doing something, and it's wicked.

"She's messing with powerful magicks. It could be dangerous..."

"It's a little salt, some squigglies in the welding, and a bit of hair. And I don't even know if the hair's occult or just her wanting to build a part of herself into the thing. Her big horrible blink-y baby."

"Masterminds how?"

Alternative wording

"How exactly does K mastermind?"

"I bring her the tapes and the discs, she does all the format conversion, the copying, the editing..."

"Cool."

"Taught herself to do everything, too. So cool."

Glimmer of hope. Maybe she's been doing alright without you. Maybe she's figured herself out.

"And you do... what?"

"Once Karochka's done and the discs are playable on local hardware, I sell 'em back to the Bazaar." He gestures around the room. "And at home I provide the am-bi-ance."

"Where do you get the material?"

"I've got an arrangement with the Boatmen." He sniffs.

Closing the neat nutritional loop as the culture digests itself.

"So you must know Tempo del Sur."

"By reputation only. The big man's Petre's problem, not mine."

He has no idea how many parts of his life bear your fingerprints.

Karolina's never told him that Tempo was your asset, too.

"Just so you know, Tempo's dead. The Weeping Eye killed him."

"...shit."

Alternative wording

"They iced the big boss?" He licks the corner of his mouth. "Shit."

"Everyone around the Bazaar knows. How are you not aware of this?"

"Not exactly Mr. Popularity, am I?" He raises his eyebrows. "That one twitchy old cow won't even talk to me."

"Did you know him well?"

"By reputation only. Heard a lot of bitching about him from Petre, though."

"Just so you know, Tempo's dead. The Weeping Eye wanged him."

"So you're where Petre gets all his merchandise?"

"All the stuff that'll actually play on local hardware, yeah. Original format's for people who prefer to look at their music -- we make it so you can actually listen to it."

"Petre shits on it, but most of the discs that he's actually able to move? Ours."

He's genuinely proud of what he and Karolina are able to accomplish here.

"I didn't realize Petre moved anything."

"Nah. He's too fond of the taste of his own ass... but he's not a bad guy."

One of the few people he can call anything close to a friend.

"Does he know it's Karolina doing all the real work?"

" 'Course he does. No one'd believe I was doing it."

"Hold on, who's Petre?"

"Music vendor over at the Bootleg Bazaar. Shit taste, but he's not a bad guy."

"Karolina said you're an expert on this stuff -- movies and music."

"Yeah, Karochka's turned me onto some excellent shit. And I've shown her some real grade A garbage."

"You know Victory Slap? Edgemetal band?"

Know them? You introduced her to them.

"Yeah, of course. I got K into them in first place."

"Eugh." He makes a face. "Neverfuckingmind."

"Anyway. Between the Luzians, the meagre local offerings, and everyone else..." he waves a hand at the multitude of boxes in the theatre, "it's fuckin' endless."

"Movies. Which ones should I be watching?"

"You seen Born Still to Kill? Fetus assassin. Packin' a little baby gun. 'Nuff said."

Alternative wording

"Iron Petal I, III, and V. Unless you want to watch the bad ones, then it's II and IV all the way."

Alternative wording

"There was one Karochka liked, what the fuck was it called, Kumquat Days? Won a shitton of awards a few years back." He shrugs. "Not my bag, but, I dunno, you both ladies."

Alternative wording

"Beast of Prey fucked pretty hard. No dialogue, just gunfights, kickflips, tits. Comes with my strong recommendation."

Alternative wording

"Uh... they made one about the old man a while back that played on TV." He scratches the back of his head, not meeting your gaze. "Kinda shit. They combined me and Rolando into one character. Wasn't even a good kid actor. Actually, you know what, don't watch that one."

Alternative wording

"Oh, you seen Four-Man Orgy? Bunch of literary types on a work trip get freaky. Un-simulated fucking. Two of the men are chicks..." He ponders. "Actually, shit, that may have been a porno. Still good though."

Alternative wording

"I'm out, Tigerpussy. Dry as a bone. I got nothing."

"Can you recommend me a band?"

"Estrella Distante feat. Monsieur Dyspepsia. Sick incandescent beats." He gives a decisive nod.

Alternative wording

"Cloven Hoof." He holds his fingers up in a double-devil-horn gesture.

Alternative wording

"Bertha & Berthold. Ansaunni throat singer duo. Completely acapella, sometimes they do live bloodletting on-stage. With leeches."

Alternative wording

"The Mass Starvation Orchestra. Killer harmonies, absolutely miserable to fuck to."

Alternative wording

"Jackoff." He sniffs. "All one word."

Alternative wording

"There's this guy, does public sing-a-longs, goes by the name of Tommy Baby. Ambiguous gender. Bald as fuck. Possibly an actual infant... but he's like, two metres tall."

Alternative wording

"Hell, go bother Petre about it, will you? Bleed me fuckin' dry."

"Enough about that." (Back.)

"Alright."

"Mmm, no. Are they cool?" (Lie.)