Mime Spent Apart

Part 17

The mime adjusted his tshirt and then put on his scruffy suit jacket. Yes, this looked perfect. He decided to dress like one of the 'cool' characters off a Japanese anime but to give it a little more contemporary style so he didn't look like he was going to a halloween party. This was definitely the sort of this "Kusa" would wear to a gathering, especially one that had served drinks and houer dors. He placed his prosthetics carefully on his face and affixed them with the special glue and stood back to admire himself. Lucky he had his clothes tailored at the last second otherwise he may not have fit into them with his last weight spurt, as controlled as he was trying to be. He was a little worried by the excess overhang, knowing how unhealthy it was, but he knew he would be able to regain his figure from before. At least it meant he didn't have to hunt down a stomach prosthetic. He checked his screen again. Tonight his client was providing him with a live feed of the chat room Kusa was in so he would know up to the minute details of what he was supposed to have said plus an idea of what time he would've been leaving his hou. He could see "Kusa" was saying goodbye to everyone so he set a timer on his watch based on some quick calculations in his head. Time to shower, get ready, get changed, catch a taxi (Kusa didn't drive), time from the general area they thought he was from. The mime, however, lived up the street from the event so getting there would not be a problem, though he would still need to somehow get a taxi to agree. Though people will agree to most things for money, he'd tell them to drive around the block afterwards to explain it to their depo if they really were worried.

He pulled out his phone and checked his little "guide to being Kusa" that he had placed on there. He had structured it in such a way that if someone else had taken his phone and read it, they would just assume that it was a character sheet for someone in a Dungeons and Dragons game (which Kusa would almost certainly be into) or that it was a character for a novel that someone was working on, and he knew that Kusa talked about his writing here and there in the chat room.

He scanned the pages, made sure of the accent he was going to use, and memorised the various phrases that he used in the chatroom that seemed like they would transition in to real life. He heard the timer on his phone go off and went out to find himself a taxi, hoping to himself that this one had clean glasses or didn't need them. Thankfully there was a taxi parked just outside his apartment block as there was a new nightclub that had opened up across the road and it was waiting for drunk kids to stagger over and swear that they weren't going to vomit all over his sheets. He leant in the window and said the address. The taxi driver said, "are you crazy?"

"Possibly. But I will give you fifty bucks to take you there. You can circle the block afterwards if you need to show the mileage."

"Alright, get in."

The mime got in the taxi and the taxi driver set off. He immediately started chatting, "So are you with the FBI? I get that sort of feeling from you, even though you're dressed as a dweeb. Are you going to that nerd party that's happening, where they have gotten high class waiters and catering and all of that? Is there a high profile hacker that's going to be there, huh? Is that what it is? I know those geeky kids, you can't trust them. All of them, they learn how to use and computer and then something just clicks in their head and they decide they want to rob a bank, or become a terrorist, or break into the Government. There must be something seriously wrong with those kids I tell you. When I think about..."

"We're here."

"Oh so we are. Well, good luck." He took the fifty dollar bill the mime proferred him, "sir" He winked and the mime let himself out and the taxi sped away, presumably to circle the block. The mime walked up to the entrance of the building "The Mercurian Hotel" Gold plate writing proclaimed on the big glass door leading to inside. He walked up and pressed on the door and it opened. He smiled. The move still worked. Didn't feel the same without a glove though, not these days.

He walked up to the reception desk and asked about the gathering of chatters and was told to go to the third floor and the whole floor was booked out. He thanked the woman and walked to the lift. The elevator doors were covered in a gilt pattern of flowers that somehow walked the line between classy and gaudy. The more he looked at it though, the the mime tended to lean towards 'gaudy'. He stood there for a few minutes before realising he had forgotten to push the button. What was wrong with him tonight. He reached forward and smartly pressed it so that the circle of light around it came on and stood back to sheepishly wait for the lift to actually come to his floor. At least it wouldn't be out of character for Kusa, he thought.

But was it out of character to talk about having done it? He couldn't think of an answer and panicked. He pulled out his mobile from his jacket pocket and started quickly flipping through his Kusa notes. Hmm, he was pretty arrogant. He didn't seem to make any jokes at his own expense even for friendliness. Maybe he'll save it till he's had a few drinks, he decided. Though he wouldn't actually be drinking very much, if at all, he'll try to make it appear as if he was imbibing and becoming socially drunk. The bell went off for the lift and the doors opened up. The mime stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the floor (making absolutely sure that it had selected) and stood back as the doors closed and the elevator started slowly moving up.

Thinking to himself, he thought it was a bit odd that he had no direct mission fo the night. All he was expected to do was mingle, chat in character, and then go home again. It was almost like a test to see if the client could talk about the party in the chat later on and be thought of still as the same person. The mime realised now that it probably WAS a test, and the real mission would be coming up later, once he had established himself. But what would it be? He hoped it wasn't a killing mission, he realy hated wetworks and he tried to keep his involvement in any thing strictly of he dramatic variety. SO what? What could it possibly be? The lift rang its bell again and the doors opened up onto the third floor and the party within.