11951/Junk In The Junkyard.

Junk In The Junkyard.
Date of Scene:	09 July 2022
Location:	Junkyard
Synopsis:	Hex and Clayface become allies.
Cast of Characters:	Matt Hagen, Valerie Killmore

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Matt Hagen has posed:
     Threads of late evening light stream through ragged mountains, bringing with them a cool ocean breeze that chases away the stench of hot, rotting garbage. The heavy machinery is quiet, and all the staff has gone home, leaving a feral pack of dogs - ranging in size from Great Dane to rat terrier - to drink from little rivulets of junkyard juice that trickles down from the heaps of refuse yet to be compacted, where a great flock of pigeons and seagulls play.
     Near the office - a shack, really - seated on a hard iron bench is a young man in a dark tweed suit with a burgundy silk tie and an old-school fedora perched on his crown. A tattered photo album rests in his lap. As he thumbs through the pages, wrinkles begin to form on his face; in a matter of minutes, his hair transforms from brown to salt-and-pepper, to white. When he gets to the end of the photo album he claps it shut, having become a young man once again.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
A junkyard? Well, that's a place that Hex will definitely find herself. And right now she finds herself sitting at the top of a stack of crushed cars alongside a few crushed appliances. Her body is somewhat laid back, a dozen or more feet in the air, one leg draping down alongside the crushed metal while her other is pulled up near her chest, bent at the knee, so she can rest her arm on her own leg.

To a nearby Pigeon she fluffs some of her overly long bangs with a quick breathe, "You look depressed Marcy. Like you are at the end ... of your rope. I know, I know." She uses her other hand to make a dismissive wave at the bird, "It's work after a divorce, and all those kids. You couldn't, you stick around for them. Well, Marcy, today's your lucky day."

A ccrkkkrk sound echoes through the Junkyard, the dogs' ears perk up, some barking begins to unfold, and nothing but a small puff of blood feathers comes wafting down from somewhere up above. The dogs, anyone looking, can now see the smoking end of an uzi, and some blue hair catching little bits of light that illuminates the junkyard.

Matt Hagen has posed:
     The man arches a brow. Evidently, he thought he was alone. Hands clasped behind his back, he strolls through the dales and valleys of the garbage heaps, careful to avoid the puddles formed in the backhoe tracks.
     "Blue hair," he says, seemingly to himself, when he spies the gunwoman atop her throne of obsolescent American dreams, "and a gun. I must be dreaming."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
"Ohhhhhh, quiet down. Marcy ASKED for it." Hex calls down to the dogs, and then she's getting tense, her eyes squinting, one eye more than the other, then back and forth, "I said QUIET! No one leaves me alone, for quiet quiet quiet time. That's what it is! Quiet hours!" And she pushes off the throne in such a way that she flips in the air to land on her feet. Dogs rushing over to her, she turns and bares her teeth, growling loudly at them, "Ruh ruh ruuuuuhhhr!" And, they take up a pause, at a distance, though still low growling toward the unafraid and potentially scary woman.

There's a man down here though, some guy, "And who are you supposed to be? The night watchman?"

Matt Hagen has posed:
     "An artist, in search of a muse," replies the man. He saunters closer to Hex, eying her up and down as he begins to cirle her, at about the same distance as the pack of dogs. "So much raw," he pauses to search for a word, "authenticity."
     The man removes his hat and uses it to cover his face. When he lowers it again, his face has morphed into Valerie's, exact in every detail down to the particular shade of pink of her eyes, though the rest of his body remains as it was.
     "Ugh," he huffs in an uncanny emulation of the woman's voice, "don't haunt me, Marcy! I already tried to be your friend;" he tries to mimic the nuances of her mannerisms with his masculine, A-frame body, "if it didn't work out while you were still flesh and feathers, you can forget about it now that you're dead." He looks at her, brows lifted slightly as if to ask 'what do you think?'.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
The comment, starts, with ... an Artist? And Hex raises one of her eyebrows like she's suddenly found herself as a Vulcan on Star Trek. "Curiouser and curiouser" she says as he starts to circle her. Though she tilts her head to the side and down a bit, eyes looking 'up' from her predatorially hunched posture, not a big shift from how she was, but still, those pink eyes turn left as he's on her left, and right as he moves in that direction.

The rest of her body stays, tense, ready, "You some kind of hallmark card? If so -" She stops, and then she's looking right at her own face. Her eyes widen, her body pulls back, and she shakes her head, "Oh no no no no, not this fucking dream again. The last time you ate me like I was some kind of cake, bit by bit, not gonna do it again, you fork filled looney ... me!" And she brings her arm up to her mouth and bites, hard, and then pulls it away from her, looking at it. Red marks are left, her lips a bit bloody, but, "No ... cake."

The pinch test, well, her version of it, didn't work. And then she hears, her own voice coming right back at her, "You knew Marcy? Of course you knew Marcy, I knew her, your me." She starts to circle the mostly man version of her, and walks forward, squinting, looking, "A bit tall..."

Matt Hagen has posed:
     "The white rabbit warned me drugs were dangerous," the man says with a sage nod, still in Hex's voice. He shakes his brown locks and the centripetal forces seems to stretch each strand, and they begin to take on a life of their own as if animated by static electricity; as they weave themselves into a pair of long braids, brown shifts to a lovely sapphire shade. Meanwhile, his body shrinks to just the right size. With a twirling flourish, he discards his grey jacket, revealing an outfit exactly like hers, including every little stain and tear. "But he didn't tell me there were drugs -in- the cake!" Rolling his eyes, he mouths 'what the fuck?' and hops onto the crumpled hood of a compacted car. Pressing his knees against his chest, he wraps his arms around them and swings his braids over to one side, pouting. "Nothing I can do but ride it out, I guess."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
With the initial, response, Hex is blinking, looking to the left, and then to the right. And then to the left, "You've seen the white rabbit recently? That guy owes me a half chewed cork." Then... wait, did he just shift to her, or did she just shift to him? She looks down, quickly, trying to catch it. No, she's still her.

And then she watches, tilting her head, left, and more, and more, till she's on one leg and at a 90 degree angle, just balancing that way, watching. "Drugs IN the cake? Of course there's drugs in the cake, where else would you put them?" Then she's standing back up, walking after the her that isn't her, and she nods her head, "First Marcy, now the rabbit, soon it's gonna be me." She sits, pulling her legs up against her chest, and taking in a deep breathe, she peers out over her knees, watching herself, "Maybe you know the answer, to the question?"

Matt Hagen has posed:
     "Which question? The one about the half-chewed cork, or what happens when we die?" He makes a pincher with thumb and forefinger, dives between his breasts, and returns with a wine cork marred with a ring of marks around it as if someone yanked from the bottle with their teeth. "I'm in a generous mood, so I'll answer them both. Number one: there ya go." He makes a gun with his left hand, points to the cork, then pops it through the air for the real Hex to catch as he winks and makes a click with his tongue. "Number two: you'll find out, one day, whether you want to or not. Maybe sooner than you expect."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
The cork goes flying in her direction and Hex catches it, easily, and then holds it in her palm. She looks at her hand really, really intensely, starting to shake a little with that arm until, "Why!? Why won't you do what I just DID!?" She screams at her hand, and then panting, heavily, quickly she throws the cork on the ground and starts jumping on it. Both feet, up and down up and down, till it is buried a few inches into the ground, that or just broken into many cork pieces. With a few more deep, heavy chest hefting breathes, Hex - Prime, turns her head back to herself. A smirk comes to her lips, "Death death, why so late? Start the dream ... Why not RIGHT NOW?!" Her eyes get wide and she levels her uzi, at herself. Pulling the trigger and having bullets fly.

Matt Hagen has posed:
     Bizarro Hex sits before the hail of bullets in sullen indifference. Bloodless tunnels form in his flesh in rapid succession, revealing the glint of moonlit shattered glass and torn steel behind him though Swiss cheesified pulp. "I always was a big dummy," he says in a whimpery voice, clasping a braid and threading it through his hands with a sort of stroking gesture as the holes in his knees, torso and face close once more with perfect restoration, "but I forgive you. I'm here to show you the way."
     He reaches behind his back and, after a few moments pause, retrieves a flawless facsimile of the woman's Uzi. "Like this, K?" He puts the barrel to his temple, pulls the trigger, and a long trail of puddy-like strings fling away from the exit wound. He slumps heavily onto his side with a thud and lies motionless. There was no sound of a gunshot.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
The bullets go streaking out, and then streak the person that is her, but isn't her. And Hex shoot shoot shoots, for seconds, just a stream of bullets. Then - her Uzi gets electrified, short circuiting it seems, but who's uzi runs on electricity? And she groans, "Wish I had brought George. He's my favorite. Oh, don't give me that!" She yells at her Uzi, "You just ... died? On me!" And then, she sees herself, across the way, fall over, dead.

With her eyes suddenly showing concern, Hex runs over to herself and grabs up the body, trying to bring it onto her lap, "Nono nononono, no, don't let them take you, no. What they said, when you were young, no, your dad, he was wrong. Don't do it, those puppies deserved what they got, it wasn't your fault!" Tears, bawling level of tears, as she's trying to roll herself onto her own lap, finding a seat on the ground, and will start to rock herself in her arms if she doesn't suddenly move.

Matt Hagen has posed:
     "You're living in your own private Idaho," replies bizarro-Hex, in the singing style of the B-52s song, "like a wild potato, but beware the pool, it's full of strangers!" Craddled in the woman's lap, he reaches with his arms to reciprocate the embrace. "And that's what I love about myself."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
"I will, I will. I'll beware the pool. I swear it. I swear!" Hex screams, while her face is distraught, bawling, like the end of some kind of action war movie, the tears trail down and off her jaw. When the wrapping of those arms come around her, she nods her head, "I'll ... I'll miss you. So much! I'll remember to take out the trash every few weeks, and I promise I'll eat all of the leftovers we have in the fridge. And, and, I'll go to that church, and make sure I light it on fire, at least one more time. For you. Go to the great big potato in the sky."

Matt Hagen has posed:
     "Why would you take out the trash, silly? That's our most valuable asset." Bizzaro-Hex giggles and lets out a contented sigh. "Now dry those eyes. It's time to be a big girl. Death is just a transition; nothing to be scared of. Just think of how much fun we'll have on the other side." His expression is gentle and tender, "I'll be right beside you the whole way." The arms around Valerie's shoulders begin to grow and coil like a pair of great constrictor snakes. "Time to go."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Wiping over the front of her face, Hex sniffles and eases up on the tears, "You know me so well, the trash, maybe I'll skip that." She offers and snorts into her face some of the wet tears and mucus that have been draining out of it. Then, the constrictor snakes, they start growing and growing, starting to squeeze around her and she is nodding a little bit to the snake armed version of herself. Though, she's, tough to squeeze. Like trying to crush an iron deposit, "Wait. I'd ..." She breathes in a bit deep, trying to inflate her lungs some more to talk, "Would never ... inform ... that it was ... time to go." Her eyes get wide, crazy looking, "Are you a cow assassin?"

Matt Hagen has posed:
     Each time Valerie lets out a breath, the constrictor snakes tighten a little more. A little more. A little more. The man's strength is tremendous. As the woman speaks, he mirrors her facial expressions with wild eyes and a gaping mouth. Before her, the man's face transforms into that of a minotaur, a bovine hybrid of human and beast. "Muurrraahhhh, moooorrrahhhhh, MOOORAAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Valerie Killmore has posed:
There's a bit more of a gasp, and Hex looks at the face shifting into that of a minotaur, and then her lips start to split into a smile. "Oh, oh, that's a good... one. A bit... racist, but... good." She wheezes out, and then lets her eyes kind of half-lid, "Before... you squeeze me more... can can you scratch... my right ... lower ... back. It it, really... really... itches."

Matt Hagen has posed:
     The constrictor arms flatten into wings and merge together, becoming a caccoon of living, cheesecake-like tissue. The menotaur face melts into the man's shoulders and curl like the slimy appendages of a snail, grasping to enfold Hex's cranium, even as his legs tentacalize and seek to wrap about her lower quarters. Soon, the woman might be totally goobered.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
"You know, I'd say I haven't had dreams like this, but I have." Hex offers as she's goobered, move about, held where she's at like she's in some kind of weird alien movie. Though in this situation she can at least now breathe a little better, "It took me a bit, what with you looking like me and all, but I figured you out. Mister Snot. That's what you are, a weird snot monster. And I bet you're also an alien." She nods her head a few times with that, "I was getting too close, wasn't I? And all I needed was that cork to finish my anti cow laser ..." Her expression is one of wistful longing off to the spot where she jumped it into the ground.

Matt Hagen has posed:
     The remnants of the cork merge together to form a tiny wine cork-sized man, with the same dress and appearance as the one she first met. He dusts himself off and puts on his hat. "Wrong again," he says in a high-pitched voice once he is close enough to her face to be heard. "I was just playing a game with you; a kind of test, to see what you're made of. I like what I see. Wanna work together? Blow up some assholes, figuratively and literally?" Meanwhile, the cheesecake caccoon ceasefires aggressive behavior.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
With the cork-sized man appearing and looking like the previous person, Hex puts two and two together to make 47. She ohhhhhhhhhhs, and hmms, "A game. Test. I hate tests. In school I'd rather stab the teacher with the pencil than take a test. So, I would." She comments, and what school did she ever go to? Probably one where she was stealing things from. And with that she shrugs, "Sure, we can work together, but it'll take a few times before I trust you enough to let you in on the conspiracy of the cows to take over the world, under the management of ... some organization I'm still looking into." Yes, she can keep a secret.