All or Nothing

[nomorekaraoke]

When it comes down to the bare essentials, as it were, we're all creatures of habit. So, after some diligent perusal of the names on the list Alcina gave him, Lorne picked out familiar ground. China Town; the address just a few twists and turns from his favorite place to find a nice chai latte on a Sunday evening. Not like he goes out much, but he tries not to lose touch with the world outside his vagrant club.

So, here he is, standing outside an unremarkable door in a similarly unremarkable alley, lit only by the colorful neon signs of the busy street around the corner. Not very illuminating, those things.

He isn't sure what's worse, the bamboo rug in front of the door, saying "WELCOME" in entirely too elaborately 'Oriental' letters (because there's kitsch, and then there's kitsch), or the fact he's come to China Town to have his procedure done.

Well. Here goes. He presses his thumb pad to the bright red button, and somewhere deep within the confines of this little unremarkable building, a bell chimes.

He just hopes it isn't Lo Pan answering the door. Because yikes, wouldn't that be awkward.

...He's spent too much time at Milliways.

Comments

[sunnydalealum]

The old woman makes a small shrug as she replies, spreading one hand palm up.

"You may know what can happen if someone obtains a piece of your hair, or a sample of your blood? This is similar. Not a safe risk."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Right." Duh. Why didn't he think of that?

Lorne immediately writes a mental note to himself. It goes a little something like this:

Dear self,

Please keep your noggin squarely on top of your shoulder-padded shoulders, okay? Thanks. Buh-bye now.

Yours truly,

Me

Yes. He might've known. "I see. Well, I--" Ahem. "I won't hog any more of your time, ladies. You've been a grand help. How much do I owe you?"

He hates talking about money - it's so...distasteful.

[sunnydalealum]

Apparently Madame Chen feels the same way; she makes a small irritated noise and a motion as though brushing away a fly, and the granddaughter steps forward. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Green?"

The money, apparently, is her job. She names a figure quietly, while leading him back toward the front door.

[nomorekaraoke]

"Naturally," he replies, giving Madame Chen a smile and his hands pressed together, the tips of his index fingers touching his lips. Then, after tucking away the bottle in the breast pocket of his shirt, he gathers his things and follows the younger woman.

"Thank you." He pays her in silence, head spinning as what he's just done starts sinking in.

Or maybe 'starts' is the wrong word for it. 'Hits rock bottom' is more like it.

"Thank you," again murmured quietly as he gets dressed and steps back out into the alley. It isn't much busier now than when he arrived, but the bustle and commotion makes it feel like he's stepped into a completely different world. Maybe he'll just go have one of his usuals at Cheng's Tea House, even if it isn't Sunday evening.

Yes. Yes, that's what he'll do. In a moment. Once his heart stops threatening to throttle him sideways.

[sunnydalealum]

The old woman sits unmoving in the armchair, hands folded over the top of her cane again and chin resting on her bony knuckles, eyes half closed.

"Jeannie," she says, without turning to look; her granddaughter's feet make no sound on the carpet, but she doesn't need to see the girl to know she's back.

"Yes, popo?"

"You got your iPod, honey girl? Come sit." She points with her chin to the couch opposite her. "I want a reading for our last customer."

Jeannie sits down, drawing out the music player and holding it between her hands. "Anything in particular, popo? Past, present, future?"

"Just a general reading. Present." There's almost no trace of accent to her English. There shouldn't be; she's third-generation American, and what accent she has is more her father's San Francisco cadence than anything else. "Why he came here. What he goes home to now." She rests her chin on her hands again, and listens.

The girl nods, closes her eyes to concentrate -- none of the usual Song Oracle flourishes this time, just closes her eyes -- and moves her thumb to touch the Play control. There's a pause, and then the music begins, soft mournful guitar in a minor key. After another moment a woman's voice comes in: Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody home? / I only called to say I'm sorry...

When the last notes of the song die away, Madame Chen doesn't move.

"I thought so," she says softly, finally. "Poor boy. Oh, poor boy."