Richie "Bitch Baby Tears" Tozier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summertimeblues) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2018-07-11 01:11 am
summertimeblues) wrote in nysalogs2018-07-11 01:11 am
Your lips a magic world, your sky all hung with jewels (OPEN)
Who: Richie Tozier (summertimeblues) & whoever will have him
What: A swathe has been cut through the ol' friendship rolodex, and the world is in shambles below. Aka old man sits on regretful dock by shitty bay
When: TDM era
Where: Thesa Station, clean up planet-side, Some VR nonsense in Nadril
Warning(s): Will give them if they come up
A) Puff the Tragic Dragon
[He'd had very little to do with any of the proceedings when Ysevrai reared that molding snout. There were times when a regular guy had the stuff to stand up to insurmountable odds: this had not been one of those times. Richie's focus had been on trying to wrangle the fleeing citizens, providing what he could in relief efforts.
But no matter, he's getting his up close and personals with Smaug's great granpappy now. Richie has stood in the glow of the screen for a good five minutes, rent dumb at the mess of ripped flesh and fantasy anatmony spread on widescreen.
He'd gotten itchy after two minutes. It sounded like someone was whispering a moment ago.
And now there's an ant parade skittering over his back. Richie leaps at the sensation and rips the shirt over his head, tossing it away in frenetic alarm. He sets to swatting at his bare back immediately.]
Shit! Fuck! Get 'em off me!!
B) Pacific Rimming
[Never in his life did he imagine he would be crawling into a tin bucket, gripping controllers, and waltzing around like some space invader in the robotic shell of a person. But here he is. Look at him go!
Roughly. Very roughly, but dammit all he wants to pitch in don't he? Bumble he might, but he'll be a damn fine bumbler that did his part. A better part of the day has been spent clearing rubble, but now his sights have been set on returning Olympian statues to their former glory.
Albeit with all the body parts in new places.]
Yes yes, much better! A marked improvement. Even truer to life than usual!
[One knight is playing limbo under the amputated leg of another. The several of them have their heads placed atop their buttocks or two arms sprouting out of their necks. One man is now a horse hybrid. Another has several dogs growing out of his back. The mecha pops its metal hands on its hips, a vision of pride.]
My work here is done.
C) R.I.P. Van Winkle - Multi Option!!
[And of course, there is the necessity of using the downtime to pay respects.
Beverly just never came home. It had only been a few weeks. For less than a month he'd had her company, the relief of a friendly face from home. Then she popped back into hypersleep. He'd gone to see Sandra, wracked with despair and hoping for her calm countenance, her petite fingers to card through his hair. The orb had gone missing from the gang's apartment, and he found it upstairs next. Encased behind a second wall of glass, it was almost too chuckalicious. The best he'd managed was a wry smile.
Steve Trevor texted him about Diana disappearing, and this time for good. Not long after, he joined her. Two peas in a pod. May as well get literal about that. The pair were inseparable on soil, and it seemed they would be so in slumber, too.
Taking a route less one jaunt traveled had him crossing paths with the hall of Vorrutyers. He'd sworn aloud when he'd realized the former emperor-cum-spy had rejoined their ranks ("For fuck's sake Byerly, not you too!") and stalked off in a plume of bitter cigarette fumes.
Trapped on Thesa as they are, he finds himself returning to stasis more often than he might regularly. He can be found at any one of these former friends' feet, feeding the interactive placards helpful tidbits for the good of the general public.]
Beverly Rogan, first pick for whatever monster ails you. Killer with a slingshot and even deadlier with a yo-yo. But it's her gams that might kill a man quickest.
----
Sandra! Oh Sandy, my Sandy. Great kisser, perhaps not one for long walks on the beach. Hell of a backhand, but you'll only get the privilege if you get sucked into her marble dreamscape. Work hard and someday you too shall know the kiss of her palm.
----
Steve Trevor and Diana Prince, the wonder pair. Neither one knew what to do with a pot brownie, but what does that matter when you're prettier than a pair of diamonds in the shape of Liz Taylor's tits? Goddamn, I can't decide if I'm gonna go blind or ralph in jealousy. Save the posing for the camera why don't you? They're good folks though, they have your back no matter the cause.
----
By-By the fly guy. Likes his food no spicier than a ham sandwich. Loves kids! Best babysitter on the block, send them all his way. Responds to "Burby" in a pinch. He might come off cold, but all he really needs is a cuddle and a cup of tea. There's a teddy bear swaddled under all that goatee, just hang in there and see!
D) A Song of Ice and More Ice
[The training modules are best employed in twos. This is a lesson he's taking sore pains in learning as he futzes through trying a hand at a slipshod igloo. The work ain't easy, no siree bob, and if he spots your lumbering, heavy coated shape in the distance he'll flag you down with an S.O.S. style wave.
Visibility is dim, mind you. The snowfall has been incessant, and though it's yet to take nastier turns Richie hardly trusts the damn program to play nice.]
Oi! Over here! You wanna help me with this before we get frostbit to pieces?
E) Joker's Wildcard
[if nothing up here is nabbing at you, slip a pleasant surprise into my inbox! Ask me for a custom prompt! Or pm me and we can hash a lil something something out. Anything goes!]
summertimeblues) & whoever will have him What: A swathe has been cut through the ol' friendship rolodex, and the world is in shambles below. Aka old man sits on regretful dock by shitty bay
When: TDM era
Where: Thesa Station, clean up planet-side, Some VR nonsense in Nadril
Warning(s): Will give them if they come up
A) Puff the Tragic Dragon
[He'd had very little to do with any of the proceedings when Ysevrai reared that molding snout. There were times when a regular guy had the stuff to stand up to insurmountable odds: this had not been one of those times. Richie's focus had been on trying to wrangle the fleeing citizens, providing what he could in relief efforts.
But no matter, he's getting his up close and personals with Smaug's great granpappy now. Richie has stood in the glow of the screen for a good five minutes, rent dumb at the mess of ripped flesh and fantasy anatmony spread on widescreen.
He'd gotten itchy after two minutes. It sounded like someone was whispering a moment ago.
And now there's an ant parade skittering over his back. Richie leaps at the sensation and rips the shirt over his head, tossing it away in frenetic alarm. He sets to swatting at his bare back immediately.]
Shit! Fuck! Get 'em off me!!
B) Pacific Rimming
[Never in his life did he imagine he would be crawling into a tin bucket, gripping controllers, and waltzing around like some space invader in the robotic shell of a person. But here he is. Look at him go!
Roughly. Very roughly, but dammit all he wants to pitch in don't he? Bumble he might, but he'll be a damn fine bumbler that did his part. A better part of the day has been spent clearing rubble, but now his sights have been set on returning Olympian statues to their former glory.
Albeit with all the body parts in new places.]
Yes yes, much better! A marked improvement. Even truer to life than usual!
[One knight is playing limbo under the amputated leg of another. The several of them have their heads placed atop their buttocks or two arms sprouting out of their necks. One man is now a horse hybrid. Another has several dogs growing out of his back. The mecha pops its metal hands on its hips, a vision of pride.]
My work here is done.
C) R.I.P. Van Winkle - Multi Option!!
[And of course, there is the necessity of using the downtime to pay respects.
Beverly just never came home. It had only been a few weeks. For less than a month he'd had her company, the relief of a friendly face from home. Then she popped back into hypersleep. He'd gone to see Sandra, wracked with despair and hoping for her calm countenance, her petite fingers to card through his hair. The orb had gone missing from the gang's apartment, and he found it upstairs next. Encased behind a second wall of glass, it was almost too chuckalicious. The best he'd managed was a wry smile.
Steve Trevor texted him about Diana disappearing, and this time for good. Not long after, he joined her. Two peas in a pod. May as well get literal about that. The pair were inseparable on soil, and it seemed they would be so in slumber, too.
Taking a route less one jaunt traveled had him crossing paths with the hall of Vorrutyers. He'd sworn aloud when he'd realized the former emperor-cum-spy had rejoined their ranks ("For fuck's sake Byerly, not you too!") and stalked off in a plume of bitter cigarette fumes.
Trapped on Thesa as they are, he finds himself returning to stasis more often than he might regularly. He can be found at any one of these former friends' feet, feeding the interactive placards helpful tidbits for the good of the general public.]
Beverly Rogan, first pick for whatever monster ails you. Killer with a slingshot and even deadlier with a yo-yo. But it's her gams that might kill a man quickest.
----
Sandra! Oh Sandy, my Sandy. Great kisser, perhaps not one for long walks on the beach. Hell of a backhand, but you'll only get the privilege if you get sucked into her marble dreamscape. Work hard and someday you too shall know the kiss of her palm.
----
Steve Trevor and Diana Prince, the wonder pair. Neither one knew what to do with a pot brownie, but what does that matter when you're prettier than a pair of diamonds in the shape of Liz Taylor's tits? Goddamn, I can't decide if I'm gonna go blind or ralph in jealousy. Save the posing for the camera why don't you? They're good folks though, they have your back no matter the cause.
----
By-By the fly guy. Likes his food no spicier than a ham sandwich. Loves kids! Best babysitter on the block, send them all his way. Responds to "Burby" in a pinch. He might come off cold, but all he really needs is a cuddle and a cup of tea. There's a teddy bear swaddled under all that goatee, just hang in there and see!
D) A Song of Ice and More Ice
[The training modules are best employed in twos. This is a lesson he's taking sore pains in learning as he futzes through trying a hand at a slipshod igloo. The work ain't easy, no siree bob, and if he spots your lumbering, heavy coated shape in the distance he'll flag you down with an S.O.S. style wave.
Visibility is dim, mind you. The snowfall has been incessant, and though it's yet to take nastier turns Richie hardly trusts the damn program to play nice.]
Oi! Over here! You wanna help me with this before we get frostbit to pieces?
E) Joker's Wildcard
[if nothing up here is nabbing at you, slip a pleasant surprise into my inbox! Ask me for a custom prompt! Or pm me and we can hash a lil something something out. Anything goes!]
ice (ice, baby)
His odd hours mean he's usually alone in the room, but today he finds he has company in the snowblown tundra they've found themselves in, and immediately scurries over as quickly as his scarf and sweater wrapped self can manage. (He looks less like a man and more like an overstuffed bear, all things considered.) ]
Of course. Have you built the foundation for the igloo yet?
[ Frederick's no pro himself, but surely they can trade tips and suggestions. ]
no subject
Yeah, I think so, you just do a loop with the ice blocks and keep stacking, right? [He pats at the base he's started with, happy to see it not crumbling but also dismayed at the lack of progress.] This is damn near cruel. One of my best friends is a genius architect. Of course he's off sleeping in the pods and they send the DJ to go build shelter.
no subject
He makes a note to ask later, after they've constructed some sort of viable shelter. ]
Yes, but make sure to pack snow between any gaps, else the wind will still find its way in.
[ And then they'll both still freeze and what'll be the point of all their hard work?
Speaking of work, Frederick crouches down and proceeds to form his own poorly shaped snow bricks to use as building blocks for this igloo. Can't leave this poor fellow to do all the work. ]
But I'm sure that by the time you finish constructing this, you'll be able to hold your own against this friend of yours, despite being a [ what was it again ] "dee-jay".
[ It's obvious he has no idea what those letters mean. ]
no subject
Right right, that's the mortar. I gathered that much.
[At the man's reassurance Richie only chuckles and shakes his head.] Yeah, this and about thirty more years in architect school. I'd rather shoot myself, thanks. That kid had a knack, like a little voice was telling him how things should be made. Once we had to melt some silver dollars into slugs for a slingshot — we were eleven, mind you, which only makes it all the more wild that he pulled it off. We got tiny molds to pour the silver into and he made a funnel to do it, and the end fit exactly into the holes of the molds. I mean there wasn't a sliver to be spared. He never measured once. Just eyeballed it all easy-breezy.
[Richie's smile quirks some at the clumsy pronunciation. Even if it's only a two letter title, the lack of familiarity has this poor sucker tripping up something fierce.]
You're not from a place with electricity, are you? [He packs on another block with a mighty heave.] Or you are, but radio's not a priority.
no subject
As Richie rambles on, Frederick gets to work, setting bricks carefully side by side before patching up the gaps left behind. It's nice to have some background noise, actually, Richie's words quickly blending together to form a pleasant buzz, and it takes Frederick a moment to fully comprehend the question. ]
Pardon me?
[ Give him a moment to rewind—ah, yes. He shakes his head, though his voice grows more animated the more he talks. ]
No electricity, I'm afraid, only water and coal as our only sources of energy. But I must say, electricity is astoundingly useful, able to power such different manners of devices. To think that one can watch plays performed in a box in the comforts of one's home rather than needing to trek all the way out to the theater.
[ He loves him some shitty soaps. ]
no subject
Wonder of wonders, ain't it just? [Richie laughs and claps the man's back.] Welcome to the twentieth century, cousin. What's your favorite program? I want the full scoop from fresh eyes.
no subject
It's Frederick.
[ Though apparently he will still correct the term of address. ]
And I've only had the time to follow one program, titled Years of Lives, featuring these two women named Wilma and Bernadette. Have you heard of it?
no subject
Rich. [He intones with a Crest-clean smile.] I don't think I have. Doesn't sound like my bag, but why don't you run me through the basics? What do Wilma and Bernie get up to? Something saucy I hope.
[He returns to packing on blocks as they talk, the company and conversation lightening the load infinitely.]
no subject
A pleasure, Mr. Rich.
[ First name, last name, who knows! ]
I must say, it's quite the vexing show. Bernadette insists on seeing this man, Horatio, but he's entirely no good for her! He's admitted once before to cavorting with another woman, and yet she still trusts him when he says he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.
[ Angrily, he slaps a brick on top of another brick, overcome with emotion. ]
He cannot possibly be telling the truth.
no subject
Oho? I agree, once a cavorter, always a cavorter. Bernie ought to get a sassy makeover and find herself a new man. [He waggles his brows.] So I guess the novelty of the soap opera is still fresh for you. No sports or cop shows for you?
no subject
[ It's either that or Richard, since it'll take ten thousand mules to drag the formality out of Frederick's old tired bones. It'll also take about a hundred young people to decipher Richie's words. His enthused look fades, replaced with one of confusion. ]
I'm not certain I've ever seen a sports or cop show before. My experience with the television is still quite limited.
[ Obviously, since he talks like a ye olde. ]
Have you any you would recommend?
[ Might as well get the good stuff, if he's gonna start. ]
no subject
No apologies needed, El Frederico. [Read the room, bud.
As for the boob tube...Richie hums, looking upwards.]
Well, they're not playing any of the programming I'm used to from home, and I haven't got attached to much they are. But if you ever see Dallas, Night Flight, or It's Garry Shandling's show running, stop and tune in won't you? Or the Twilight Zone. That's real old, but still worth a hoot now and then.
no subject
Frederick pauses in his work to stare briefly at Richie and contemplate the merits of pointing out once more that his name is Frederick and not any variation thereof. But it doesn't seem worth the effort, especially when there are better activities to devote his energy to.
So he merely sighs, and resumes sliding blocks of ice next to one another. ]
The Twilight Zone? Surely it can't be about a strip of sky.
[ If Fred ever had to face off against It with the power of imagination, he would die in the first two seconds. ]