Mercuria: Hello, Fingers.
Mercuria: MacGuffin the Knife—I've found him.
ONiON: Joining us today is someone who experienced this bizarre incident firsthand. Please welcome Miss Mercuria!
Mercuria: ...
ONiON: Mercuria, it's true you've located the fabled stash of gold, MacGuffin the Knife, correct?
ONiON: Could you share with us how you managed to find him, in the flesh?
Mercuria: ...
ONiON: Mm-hmm?
Mercuria: It was a sunny day.
Mercuria: The day that I met Fingers for the first time. We shared a sandwich on the street.
Mercuria: Back then, he was just a kid studying literature at community college.
Mercuria: But when he visited his mother on her sickbed with a letter of withdrawal and placed it on her velvet pillow ...
Mercuria: She kicked him out the next day.
Fingers: After I get out, I'm heading north.
Mercuria: That's what he said.
Fingers: North's the place to be. Tons of cash to be made and the kind of life my **** parents could never imagine.
Fingers: The whole scene's thriving, and every shiny little thing you've ever wanted is right there for the taking.
Fingers: Not even a complete dumbass pictures a future for himself behind these bars fighting over who gets to watch an old TV.
Mercuria: But for him, that TV was the only link he had to modern culture while he was locked away.
Fingers: Not that there's ever anything good on. Most of the time, it's nothing but ads.
Mercuria: Over time, those ads changed him. They gave him an entirely new way of seeing the world.
The greatest "achievement" of consumerism is how it reduces the value of our lives.
Fingers: It's all about the labels you wear and what you spent to get them, that's how you measure your success against everyone else, and the winner tears the loser's world to shreds.
Fingers: If I had money, all the money I needed, I'd buy all the things I've seen in shop windows and TV ads.
That's the motive of television commercials: to convince you that they're selling the life that has been denying you.
Fingers: All I'm doing is taking back what's rightfully mine.
Fingers: That's the only way you can call me someone who's legit and untouchable.
Mercuria: Hello, Fingers.
Mercuria: MacGuffin the Knife—I've found him.
Fingers: ...
Fingers: You found him?
Fingers: You mean you got it?!
Mercuria: Yes.
Fingers: The dog?! The one the boss would walk along the waterfront five friggin' times a day?!
Mercuria: Yes.
Mercuria: I found him.
Every word that comes out of her mouth flows as effortlessly as grabbing a drive-thru meal on a Sunday evening.
She never realizes the weight behind her words; she strings them together like ribbons in the wind.
Seemingly unconcerned with their aftermath.
Fingers: So, go on tell me!
Mercuria: He was fifty miles south of Sugartown, out in the boondocks.
More accurately, he was stuck in the crevice of a large stone at an abandoned campsite.
Fingers: Alright, so where do you get it now?
Mercuria: Right here.
Fingers: Only thing I can see here is you and me.
Mercuria: They didn't let me bring him into the visiting room.
Fingers: What?
Fingers: So, what you're telling me is, right now, MacGuffin the Knife is ...
All it takes is a little imagination to picture that, at that moment, the world's most valuable puppy is playing dominoes with the prison guards.
Mercuria: I'll hold onto him until you're out.
Fingers fixes Mercuria with a sharp, rodent-like glint in his eyes.
Fingers: Alright. Alright.
Fingers: So, go on, tell me, how'd you two ... I mean, you ... manage to find it?
Mercuria: ...
The girl stays quiet, her eyes narrowing as she holds Fingers's gaze.
Fingers: Eh?
Mercuria: How about you tell me where my companion is?
Fingers: What? What are you talking about?
Mercuria: My partner, Pickles. He was taken by your man last night. I'd like to know why.
Fingers cracks his knuckles, each one making a sharp "click-clack" sound.
Fingers: ...
Fingers: Yeah, should've figured you'd catch wise that I gave the order.
A charged silence hangs in the air.
Mercuria: That was a mistake.
Mercuria: It's corrupting your energy, clouding it with impurities.
Mercuria: It's already so different now from how it was back then.
Mercuria: Watch out. Energy like that comes with a heavy price, one you may not want to pay.
Fingers: Man, back when I met you, making threats wasn't even in your playbook.
Fingers: The first rule of surviving on the streets: trust no one, and always keep a card up your sleeve.
Fingers: I assumed you knew how these things worked by now.
Fingers: Once you found out where the dog was, how was I to know you'd hand it over and not keep it for yourself?
His words stir up a hint of déjà vu.
The streets, the trash heaps, half-eaten sandwiches, and blood banks ... the life she lived along her journey.
Mercuria blinks her eyes.
Mercuria: Maybe it is.
Mercuria: But that isn't how I work.
Fingers's face twitches with a sudden buried emotion.
Fingers: Pfft. Hahahaha!
Fingers: I gotta say, Mercuria, sometimes you come off like you're too innocent for this world, but then you'll flip, and it's like I'm dealing with a stone-cold killer.
Fingers: You seem like you've cracked the code on spinning those ironic little tales of yours.
Fingers: Mark Twain said it best: "The humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling ..."
Fingers: "The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it."
Waxing poetic during a crisis is the signature of a second-rate literary nerd.
Fingers: Let's be real. In this situation, you can't back out. You've gotta say yes, whether you like it or not.
Fingers: Tomorrow night, seven sharp, Black Iron Forest near the prison. Bring it here, and we'll wrap this up.
Unfortunately, Mark Twain really did say those words.
