-Three Personal Days Later-
One personal day wasn't nearly enough. The past few days I have done as little as possible. First, I had to move rooms. The memories and the smell of bleach were driving me crazy. Room #22 is much better. The maid even washed my comforter when I begged nicely. I gave her the little case full of silver coins I took from Counter Man as a tip/bribe. She said her son collects them and she promised to keep my room extra clean but light on bleach. She's a lovely woman.
Secondly, I have had all my food delivered. The outside world is too harsh for a gentle flower like me. Getting food delivered in the 80s is problematic, but a Mexican place down the street has a server who is willing to do it for the tips. Enchiladas and pizza are my new staple foods.
Thirdly, I have been watching this world's TV. Everything is slightly off. However, I did notice a few people I remember from my 80s. Bob Barker and Johnny Carson. They're even doing the same shows, and I am getting huge nostalgia bumps from watching them. This has troubling implications for my plan to "borrow" musical ideas from people that don't exist here. Eventually I'll need more information about what musicians look like. What if they just changed their band names? That's a tomorrow Sam problem.
Fourthly, I measured myself. I'm 7' tall. Just ridiculous. It looks like I'm wearing my little brother's clothes as a joke. My boots don't even fit. My educated guess is that the Regeneration corrected my body to the best possible configuration as if nothing had ever gone wrong with it. Perfect teeth and eyesight. I'm thick and my muscles are ripped all to hell. I don't have a scale, but I seem pretty heavy. I still have a bit of a baby face, but the jaw is at least wider.
Glad I got into the entertainment industry, because I'm dipping a toe into freak show territory. I don't get very hungry now. I still eat a lot because I enjoy it, but I don't feel like I need to. My hair darkened to black and is down to my shoulders. If I cut it, it just grows back to the same length. Same with finger and toenails. They are a bit longer than I'm used to, but they just grow back when I trim them. I'm going to need to redouble my "don't end up in a government lab" precautions.
Enough relaxing, I need to get some things done. I yellow pages a big and tall store and talk to the presumably large man on the phone. I use the tape measure to give him some information and figure out what I owe him for the clothes I need. Two pairs of jeans and t-shirts, shoes, belt, and a custom altered London Fog trench coat. All black to match my theme. The coat is mostly to help hide any regeneration if I'm injured. Also, it's cool. Silk lining and lots of inside pockets.
When I arrive, he is offput to see me painted up in socks and my little brother's clothes. I pay the man and quickly change into my new stuff. Except for looking like knockoff Undertaker, I feel pretty good overall. Also, I'm broke as hell now. Big clothes are expensive.
I head back to the motel and remove my makeup. I need to blend in as best as possible for this next part. I drop Clementine off at a mechanic for a checkup and some new parts. Oil change, detail cleaning, a set of sweet whitewall tires, and whatever else she needs. They give me a beat-up loner car without an issue. Noone leaves a Lincoln and steals a Datsun.
I make a whirlwind tour of all the big department stores and pawn shops in Amarillo. It's time to replenish my cash reserves. It's not as easy as before. I pick up some more normal clothes, but still. 7' tall is noticeable. My Spatial Storage isn't huge, so I have to make multiple trips at each store. I don't overstay my welcome at each place, but I do manage to lift a few wallets if the guy looks like an asshole. Rings and watches can't be stored unless you get them off the mark first.
I have some real luck at the big jewelry stores. By the end of two days, I'm flush with cash and jewels, and have worn out my welcome in Amarillo. To celebrate finishing, I'm sitting at a table in Red Lobster. Cracking crab legs and drinking beer. Can't beat a cheddar bay biscuit! Suddenly, I feel a change in my system. Did I just get exp for eating? The crab was already dead.
"System"
The screen comes up and everything looks the same. Except that the Detriment: Strange Luck just got a little brighter. I look around the dining room. Some servers moving tables together and a few lobsters in a tank looking bored. I crank Hyper-Perception up and things begin to reveal themselves. The kitchen smells fine. It's habit now to check that before I eat anywhere. Outside I hear four people walking towards the door. They are complaining about an asshole sergeant named Davis. The clinking of metal and slap of leather on cloth makes me think they are police. I look through the slivers of blinds around the room and spot a set of deactivated police lights. Off duty. Good.
Then I catch a familiar scent. Leather, sinew thread, and gun oil. A nervous server is leading a large group of bikers into my dining room and towards the large, combined table they have been putting together for the last few minutes. It's between me and the exit. Mercs, and trailing at the back is the young guard who I gave my stupid jacket to. I'm not wearing my paint today. It makes stealing way harder.
I'm looking for a menu to hold in front of my face when they finish sitting down and Young Guard is situated square across from me. His eyes are already getting bigger as he sees me. To be fair, I was sitting down the last time so I'm probably pretty easy to recognize. I raise my hand and wave. His hand twitches up for a just a second and then he reaches for the shoulder of the older man next to him. I shake my head violently back and forth, trying to tell him not to do it.
Then all hell breaks loose.