Mayor of Meme Town - ==>

The dame is sitting at the center table at the Midnight Club, her hat tipped low over her eyes. In the half-light he can overlook the soft edges of her pink skin and look instead at her slender fingers on her cigarette holder. After they play, she looks him in the eyes, her alien face curving into a smile, and he lets the crew do the clean-up to go find out what the fuck she wants.

"I have a proposition," she says. She doesn't mean it that way -- when she lays it out for him it's actually a good deal -- but it ends up going that way anyway by three in the morning, and when the sun comes up she makes them coffee and then, strapping back on her three-inch heels, departs. He is left to look over the outline of her plan and nurse the welts she left in his neck with her painted fingernails.

He asks around but no one seems to know where she came from, what that design is on her calling card -- a squid? a cuttlefish? a dark god? -- even what species she is, though Deuce offers in a moment of rashness that she looks kind of like those guys they pushed around when they were in the desert. She'd look better with the horns.

He tells her he's the boss around here, and she nods very seriously and tells him that she'd never dream of running a power grab on such a smooth operator. She tells him he'll go far. "It's a nice town you've got here," she says, "full of the milk of human profit. I only want a slice."

"What the fuck's a human?" he asks her, and she turns red and says, "None of your damn business."

It's a profitable couple months until the Felt show up in town, Snowman with them. Lalonde is unsurprised by every setback, tabulating them carefully against some arcane chart. Eventually she says, "You'd better take them down."

"You sure?" he says, watching her carefully. He's cleaning his sax. "It'll cost us. Maybe even a couple men."

"I'm sure," she says. "Strange as it may seem. You'll find it's a chronological imperative."

Slick says, "Not because Snowman's in town?"

Lalonde laughs, and crosses the room to kiss him, cutting open her lips on his teeth. "Mr. Slick," she says, "I promise you, I am not the jealous type."

She disappears a week later, gone as fast as she came. She leaves behind her cigarette holder, and he picks it up to find that in his hands it's a fiddle bow. When Droog asks, he says, he's glad she left. There isn't room for a fiddle, the kind of jazz they play.

Thank you, hon! ♥ It was fun to write.

Ahhh thanks!

My Rose theory is always that her plans are too complex for me to follow. :P Thanks!

*cough* uh if you repost this request in the other thread

I'm just saying

things might happen