The Blonde Plutoz took a slow walk back to the Grand. It wasn't meant to be slow, they just felt a bit sapped after the bizarre bank meeting. Aimless, is what they felt. Encounters with systemic madness does that you. And rock stars, any artists actually, are particularly susceptible to folly that makes a mockery of practicality.
For the artist, being spacey and seldom making sense is okay. It's part of the job. But everything around them needs to function smoothly, efficiently, like a well-oiled machine. When it doesn't the artist gets completely lost in space. Free-floating, like a communications satellite way off its trajectory. Idling. Aimless.
Such were the moods of Rivqua and Zana as they wandered down the boulevard. They were aliens in an environment more inhospitable than previously believed.
In the daytime the shop windows seemed to take precedence over gambling joints. Fashion stores, diners, streetwear, shoes, luxury vehicles, robotics, furniture, beauty, all on taunting display on either side of the boulevard.
Some of the stuff looked interesting. As it was, the girls badly needed an upgrade in terms of costumes. Female rock stars are heavy on the image license. Right now, though, they were down to window shopping. Sharing longing gazes at various desirables with the once-optimistic amateur gamblers who loitered along the sidewalk, occasionally leaning furrowed brows against the glass panes.
Sense and purpose were way out of reach at the moment. Only because Hoot Gaas, a funny big owl, had decided to place himself out of reach. And nobody seemed to know why.
"Any word from him?" Rivqua asked the secretary robot when they came up to the penthouse offices.
"No," said the bot, shaking its head in a believable way. "I am worried and upset. If I don't hear from him in four hours and twenty-two and a half minutes I shall have to contact the police."
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