Ajla
@agentajla.bsky.social
26 followers 19 following 290 posts
The reason they invented the no fly list. | Roleplay | #AGENCY | mdni
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agentajla.bsky.social
Ajla Vatrashi.
agentajla.bsky.social
( She sticks her hand in the bag and wipes the dust on her fingers off on Joel's jacket. )
agentjoel.bsky.social
You said it. Hey, want a cheeto? You've *gotta* use your chopsticks though. You didn't lose them, *right*?
agentajla.bsky.social
Americans are so lazy.
agentajla.bsky.social
Americans are so lazy.
agentajla.bsky.social
That's what a . . . a . . . what's the word, aragaz, a . . . cooker, that's what that's for!
agentdaisy.bsky.social
It's a pot full of noodles you add water and microwave it and then you eat it.
agentajla.bsky.social
What is... Pot Noodle?
agentajla.bsky.social
What is... Pot Noodle?
agentdaisy.bsky.social
It's a new pot noodle flavor. Hungry?
agentajla.bsky.social
What is this? This isn't your best work, Orson.
agentajla.bsky.social
What is this? This isn't your best work, Orson.
agentajla.bsky.social
'Any news?' she asks, looking expectantly at @agentdaisy.bsky.social for her status report.
agentajla.bsky.social
Ajla takes off her snow mask and shakes her beautiful mess of curls out, her face reverting to its factory setting, what their co-worker, Orson, had once described as 'perpetually miffed'. Daisy's known Ajla long enough by now not to take it personally (not that she ever did.)
agentajla.bsky.social
Earth's fairly different from here - for one, aliens are no more than an open secret at best there, one Daisy and Ajla were 'lucky' to be privileged to given their line of work in... Well, espionage, mostly, but anything to do with extraterrestrial life.
agentajla.bsky.social
She's enjoying her fries when a hand touches her shoulder. She knows instinctively who it is. 'You made me drop a chip.' 'You'll live,' says her company, sitting across from her. Her name is Ajla Vatrashi, and not so long ago she was Daisy's coworker and friend on a far-off planet called Earth.
agentajla.bsky.social
They're untouched, thank God. Slime-free. She almost loses her footing on the slime trail, but catches herself on another diner, a short red spiky.... man? She apologises, gets out of his way, takes her seat, and begins wolfing down like she hasn't eaten in just forever. Well, she hasn't.
agentajla.bsky.social
Daisy doesn't speak their language; to her it sounds like what can only be described as 'if a xylophone could meow', whatever that means. They must be arguing, judging from the way one slithers off, grunting and huffing, and the other follows. Daisy takes the opportunity to lunge for the fries.
agentajla.bsky.social
(she assumes - she doesn't actually know how they're made, just that they taste and look like french fries, and gets a gold star in *her* book). The slug couple wobble and jabber their arms, or at least limbs of *some variety*, gesticulating and waving like huge green Jell-O cups.
agentajla.bsky.social
Daisy didn't know any of the recipes, nevermind how to pronounce them. All she can think of is those fries, how they're probably cold by now; poor things, peeled, diced, fried, wrapped up and left on a table to be picked at
agentajla.bsky.social
She lets out a groan a hell of a lot like Homer Simpson's, snapping her out of her reverie and causing her to sit up at her bench in the eatery, a circular brightly-lit building full of booths and benches, latches in the walls with stands of different kinds of exotic, alien cuisine.
agentajla.bsky.social
In a less philosophical mood, Daisy Van Blair has been watching a slug couple for half an hour now. They have a bowl full of what looks like French fries back home, and her mouth is watering like hell.
agentajla.bsky.social
find yourself enough leverage to slip through the cracks and end up in a cargo hold. Or, failing both of those, there's force - nothing gets you off-world quicker than the plastic hokey coffins, launched on a one-way trip into the vacuum.

- - -
agentajla.bsky.social
Or the opposite; If you were just trouble enough, and if you hung out in the right bars, slept on the right air grates during the small hours, when the warm air kicks in and carries secrets through its vents potent enough to ferment a whole other kind of contraband, that of information, you might
agentajla.bsky.social
Sure, it's possible to leave Himsa, if you fill in all your paperwork and you're a good citizen, on one of the Transidyne-owned shuttles once a Transidyne-sponsored calendar month to a Transidyne property in some other backwater part of the galaxy.
agentajla.bsky.social
and the Tundra, a ridiculously subtle name for what's basically a white blaze of glory that takes no prisoners and gives even less cruks about those who're foolish enough to get caught up inside it, most know where they'd prefer to take their chances.
agentajla.bsky.social
What with your only other two options on Himsa being the Pyramid, property of Transidyne Inc., a glass structure way up north at the pole where only all the smart ones in uniforms from off-world can go and information's kept locked up tighter than the pressure inside a White-Point Star,
agentajla.bsky.social
When trouble comes to the Line, it takes the path of the back alleys, hiding out from the oppressive programming of the Patrolmen by day and shunting into the underground prohibition bars at night for a good time.
agentajla.bsky.social
Bourgeoise fuckers.
agentajla.bsky.social
I didn't go to a school. That's how they brainwash you.

Although, if he's a friend of yours, I'm sure he won't mind if you use a few, no?
agentdaisy.bsky.social
He uhhhhhhh goes to another school.
agentajla.bsky.social
Really? What friend?
agentajla.bsky.social
Who am I kidding. The answer is always Joel.
agentajla.bsky.social
Really? What friend?
agentdaisy.bsky.social
NO!!!

anyway I'm HOLDING THEM FOR A FRIEND.
agentajla.bsky.social
Are those poppers?