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Bug

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Saviarre

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(Bear with me as I update Bug's profile)

So begins...

Bug's Story

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Bug shoved the door of the bar out of her way as she moved into the room. Ash fell from the end of her cigarette, the smoke curling up around her fingers as she looked around the room, sizing up the people within. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she made her way to the counter, stabbing the cigarette out in an ashtray as she passed, eying the patron it was in front of challengingly. Standing at the counter, she waited impatiently for a bartender, lighting another cigarette. Tapping her fingers on the counter, she slid onto a bar stool and pulled a small bowl of bar peanuts close to her, tapping the ashes from her fresh cigarette in among the nuts.

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Bug turned to look at Serfictus, tilting her head. She remained quiet for a while, merely studying him, smoking absently. Her fingers drummed on the counter as she scanned the room once more. He wasn’t here yet, but that was to be expected. Bug always arrived early for deals, watching for cops. It was a wise practice. It had saved her hide a few times.

Looking again to the man huddled on the counter, Bug drummed her fingers anxiously against the counter. She figured she had another two hours, three tops before the cocaine wore off. She’d better have the heroin by then. Uncharacteristically (and mostly due to the cocaine coursing through her system), Bug addressed the man. “’ey! Ya’lright?”

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Bug frowned at the man, taking another drag of her cigarette and blowing it exaggeratedly into the air. “So’s my smoke, ‘s it? Yer one a them, are ya? Self-righteous non-smokah. So’s much betta than all th’ rest because ‘is lungs is pink. Bah, t’ hell wif ya. S’my smoke. Breathe dif’er’nt air.”

She turned to the bartender, annoyed. “A pint fer me, ‘n toss some watah ovah to dat grumbly man. Bitch at me f’ smokin’...”

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Bug rolled her eyes at the cough, but stabbed her cigarette out into the bowl of peanuts. “A’right, A’right, There. ‘Appy now? ‘S out. Y’can stop th’ coughin’ t’ death thing. Gaw!” As the bartender placed the pint and water in front of her, she slid the glass of water down toward him. “’S watah. Drink or somethin’.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “’f all people t’ try t’ talk to, I had ‘t’ pick th’ unfriendliest o’ ‘em all. Great taste, ‘ere, Bug.”

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Bug took a large swallow of her pint, muttering incoherently to herself, itching to light up another cigarette out of habit. Boredom. Hearing the shifting of the man, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “’Oncha think y’ought t’ be some place more suited t’ ya? Like bed? Y’look zosted. Maybe y’should sleep ‘r somethin’. Or eat. I know when I’ve ‘ad a bender, can barely lift m’ blasted ‘ead, French toast ‘elps.”

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Bug reached her hand into the pocket of her hoodie, feeling the roll of cash. She’d gone to great lengths to get this money. Tapping her other hand on the counter anxiously as the cocaine coursed through her body, she thought intensely about something for a time. “’Ey, Bartendah… French toast. Two plates.” When the bartender politely informed her of the lack of French toast at the establishment given that it was a bar and not a diner, Bug slammed her hand on the counter. “Whatcha mean, no French toast? Th’fuck kind o’ bar ‘s this? Ain’t nothin’ bettah when y’feel like ass. Ain’t nothin’ gonna pull ya from feelin’ like y’swallowed Hell and pounded rust in t’ ya ‘ead. Fried shit, ‘en. Whatcha got ‘at’s fried? Chickens or somethin’. Fries. Can’t believe y’ain’t got French Toast.”

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Bug finished her pint and gestured to the bartender to bring her another. “A’right, yeah. Chickens ‘n fries. One f’me, one f’ Mr. PinkLung. Make ‘em quick. Don’t want my new frien’ t’ starve.” She leaned back, quickly counting the money. There would be enough. She could short Jimmy enough for the meals… Instead, making up for the loss with… Bug sighed. “Crazy crazy rabbit holes,” she muttered to herself. “Easy t’ fall down, hard ‘s hell t’ get out.”

turning to Serfictus, she tilted her head. “’m Bug.”

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Bug noticed the blood and frowned slightly, but thought little of it. She’d spent a lot of time with addicts, had seen them in their worst, and that is all she assumed Serfictus was undergoing. Withdrawals? Recovery? Bad trip? “’Tis what ‘tis,” she shrugged. “’S’not strange when it’s your’s, Sir Fictus. T’ ya, Sir Fictus sounds normal. T’ me, ‘s’weird.”

The bartender delivered two baskets of chicken strips and fries, and Bug beamed, despite knowing exactly what this meal was going to cost her. “’ey say protein ‘elps w’ feelin’ ‘orrible. I’d rather ‘ave French toast, but ‘is’ll do. Eat some, won’t ‘cha?”

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Bug wasn’t actually hungry. She’d ordered herself food to make it seem more natural to feed Serfictus. The cocaine coursing through her system had eliminated any appetite that she’d had. Still, she picked up a fry and chewed on it. “French toast? ‘S good when you’ve crashed. ‘S some kind’a brea—“

She stopped talking as the other explained what it was and nodded. “Yeah, ‘at. I think it’s th’ sugah ‘at helps. Th’ syrup.”

Her eyes strayed to the door as her dealer walked in. He approached them, looking Serfictus up and down. “Got it, Bug?”

Grinning sheepishly, Bug discreetly pulled a few bills from the roll in her pocket, keeping them in her pocket while withdrawing the rest. “Yup. Bit short, though.”

Tilting his head toward the side door, the dealer proceeded to the alley. Sighing, Bug stood. “’ll be right back. Don’ let ‘im take m’food.” Following the dealer toward the alley, Bug once again questioned herself.

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Bug re-entered from the side alley, a look of disgust on her features. The back of one hand trailed over her mouth as she headed over toward the counter, snatching her pint and swallowing it quickly. She noticed that Serfictus was no longer sitting where she had left him, his food abandoned. Figuring he’d just left, she studied her own food. It looked unappetizing, brown and fried… but she knew she had to get something else in her stomach, something less unpleasant than what was already there. Snatching a couple fries, she turned at the commotion.

“’Ey, ‘ey now! Leave ‘im be! Can’t ya see ‘is man’s got a problem? He’s not well. Leave ‘im be,” she requested, striding up toward Serfictus. “Y’alright? Ya din’t eat yer food.” It almost hurt her that she’d acquired him a meal, paying for it in ways that shall not be mentioned. “Ya wan’ somethin’ different?”

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Bug looked at Serfictus, concerned. Her actions earlier, to procure the large amount of heroin that was stored in the pocket of her hoodie, slipped from her mind as just another thing that one simply did. It was easy for her. It helped that the drugs hadn’t stolen her looks yet.

“Sir Fictus?” she nearly reached out to touch him, but she knew that startling a person who was coming down from a bad trip, as she assumed him to be, was not a good idea. “Would ya’ like som’ore watah?” Stepping over to the counter, she had the bartender refill his glass and then moved over toward him, slowly. “Ya’ thirsty?”

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Bug held out the water for him to take if he wanted. “Drink a bit. ‘S not a good place ‘f yer just comin’ down.” She looked into his face, not seeing the face of someone in the final stages of disease, but rather seeing the face of a lifelong addict. “Come,” she said softly, reaching slowly out to place a hand on his arm, attempting to gently guide him toward the fireplace, toward the armchairs in front of it. “Ignore ‘em,” she suggested. “Yer a’right, I won’t let anythin’ happen t’ ya.”

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Bug turned and looked at Serfictus. “Snakes?” She looked around, not seeing the male above her, watching her. “Would ya rather go outside? ‘t’s a bit chilly, but ‘ere ain’t snakes. ‘Ey’d all be hibernatin’ ‘bout now.” She shifted her course, leading him past the armchairs toward the door.

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Bug twisted her head back and forth between Serfictus and Kyah, concerned and confused. “I don’…” she started, addressing Kyah, and then turned to Serfictus. “Shh, ‘t’s okay…” Running a soothing hand down his back, she looked at him concerned. She didn’t know what to do, and the appearance of Kyah had her greatly unnerved. “’m not,” she muttered to Kyah, wondering if he had seen what she’d just done in the alley. “’n ‘m not a whore.”

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Bug furrowed her brows as she bent down next to Serfictus, pulling her hand away. “Wha’ can I do? ‘S ‘t a fix ya need?” She bit her lip, her hand tightening around the large amount of heroin in the pocket of her hoodie. “I can get ya a fix… Jus’ say th’ word.”

Bug knew she should just walk away and let this man fight out what she was considering a drug related problem. A smart person would have done just that. But no, Bug had attempted to purchase him a meal, making her bank short for the buy, having to make up the difference by compromising the ghost of dignity that she had. These were not things that she would normally have done. Strangers could go fuck themselves as far as she was concerned.

Looking up at Kyah, she frowned. “’E’s sick. Now’s not th’ time!” The cocaine floating through her system was contributing to her erratic heartbeat, but the majority of what she felt was fear – fear for Serfictus, fear that she wouldn’t get her own fix in time to avoid her own meltdown, fear of the intentions of the two… particularly the male. “’F ya saw wha’ happened in th’ alley, an’ ya wan’ your turn, yer’ gonna hafta wait. ‘M busy.” Still, at his question about her name, she answered him absently. “’m Bug.”

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Bug couldn’t help but back away as she saw Serfictus’ body. Swallowing nervously, she realized with an extreme suddenness that he was not coming down off of a high. He truly was sick, diseased. Gasping, she stared while she wanted to look away. At his words, she wasn’t sure if he spoke to her, and merely stood, her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, fidgeting with the bundle of heroin. Overhearing Kyah’s words about her, she frowned. It was hearing things like that about herself from people that made her hate them, hate them so much. It was why she was only kind do those who suffered like she did. “’m not a whore,” she muttered to herself, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“I can’t leave ya ‘lone,” she said softly to Serfictus. “Ya need help.”

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Bug stared at Serfictus, trying not to let her eyes linger on the disgusting sores, the ooze. “Everyone deserves it,” she said quietly. “I don’ care what you’ve done t’ make ya think ya don’t deserve havin’ someone care. We’ve all made mistakes in life. Bad choices.” She glared at Kyah, at his scathing words about her, trying not to let it show that they had, in fact, hurt her. “We do what we think we hafta in order t’ survive.”

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Bug bit her lip, her hands shaking in the pocket of her hoodie. God, she needed a hit. “Should I call an ‘mbulance? Get you to a ‘ospital?” She stepped a bit closer but still kept her distance, eying the sores. “What can I do f’ya? Anythin’, just say th’ word.”

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Bug crouched down beside him, kneeling on the floor. “’Ey say ‘E does. ‘Ey say ‘E forgives, but I dunno. I ‘ope ‘E’s listenin’ t’ ya. ‘E never seems t’ ‘ear me.” Sighing, she tilted her head. “I won’ leave ya’ ‘lone. ‘F ya need anythin’, I’ll be here.” Reaching into the pocket again, she fingered the bills she’d taken from the bank for the dealer. Withdrawing them, she bit her lip. “I can get ya a room, if ya’d rather ‘a bed… privacy.”

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Bug nodded, looking down at the money, hoping it would be enough. “’ll be right back,” she muttered, standing to move to the counter, to find a bartender, to acquire a room for him. At the question from the bartender if it would be for only one night, she nodded, knowing what he was thinking. “’m not a whore,” she muttered to the bartender, aiming her voice toward Kyah and Rumii as well. Not that it really mattered, but his words had cut her deeply, especially now. If it weren’t for her actions in the alley, she wouldn’t have been able to attempt to provide a meal for Serfictus… a room in which he was able to die in privacy. Biting her lip, she wondered if one night would do or if she should try to get a few more nights? Renting the room for one night made her feel as if she were giving him a deadline to die.

“Can… can I rent th’ room f’ as many days as ‘ts needed ‘n ‘en pay ‘fore I go?”

Handing over the money she had, she grabbed the key and returned to Serfictus’ side. “Can ya help me dress ya so’s I can touch ya t’ get ya upstairs?”