nysalogs | Your lips a magic world, your sky all hung with jewels (OPEN)

Entry tags:

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thanks.

[He's quick to slip it back on and tug it tight, grousing and skittish. Richie casts one last evil eye to the stagnant giant above.]

Sounds like a promised land to me. Let's boogie.

[He's more than happy to put the beast behind them, taking long strides and no pains to stifle the spooked hunch of his shoulders. He does take a second survey of the spectacle of John's skin, frowning deeply.]

Is that what's put a dapple in your tan? You look a little spotty, there. Or am I seeing things?

Yeah. Heard the dalmatian stencil was all the rage these days.

[ Dalmatian is being generous, it's more like a cow to be honest with how big the blotches are.

He's still going to pretend it's fashionable, and pick up his pace so they can both put the perpetrator as far behind them as possible. ]

It's fine.

[ Just in case you're going to ask him about it or anything, he's just cutting it off right there. It's Fine. He's Fine. He's already had the 'John, standing in the fire is stupid' talk. ]

Edited (Also he is actually walking.) 2018-07-15 23:33 (UTC)

[Oh. This sounds all too familiar.

Richie's jaw locks and he casts his gaze around the hall. He clucks his tongue a few times. Fine was code for Fuck, I'm whooped, and the ensuing silence was I'm Not Showing Belly For Nobody. Men's code of conduct on proud display.

He lets the silence sit for a bit. But the size of those spots have him thinking about what the flesh would have looked like rotting off. Searing off from dragon fire. Or blooming in rainbows like the scars the liln painted as they crawled under his own skin. How the flesh peeled off at the slightest touch after the concoction they injected turned him as brittle as pastry sheets.

None of that is visible now.]

Mine got wiped off. [He stops. Wonders if he wants to continue.] When I woke up. After all that hostage razzle dazzle they didn't leave me with any evidence that it ever happened. My skin was coming off like rips in wrapping paper.

[No sign of such now. He's a new man again. Richie cracks into a laugh, though he can't think how this might be funny.] Do they have a tanning bed in the spa? You might get that speckle all spackled back up so no one's the wiser. There's more than one nosy parker on board, outside the bastard walking side by side with you now.

Guess they dumped me out the thing too early. Maybe I'm too much trouble, or maybe they figure I deserve the judgement.

[ He zips up his jacket uncomfortably as they walk, pulls at the sleeves a little as if he can try and hide it all. ]

Either way, I think we both look pretty good for dead guys. Get a fresh coat of tan on me and nobody'll know the difference.

[ You know, apart from everyone who does. ]

[Richie's steps slow as he balks, brows furrowing.]

I never said anything about being dead.

[But the implication was there, wasn't it? "When I woke up" could be a simple stint in a hospital bed, or it could be the tube-popping escape from the howling afterlife. You wouldn't think of the latter unless it happened to you, would you now?]

...It wouldn't hurt. [He concedes at last. John's looking to push past the sore spot. All right, he can respect that. He doesn't like dwelling on that in polite company either. Leave it for the night, with the bottom ends of whiskey tumblers and dim lights and the silence of an empty apartment, or the wrap of sheets and quilts and a wilting pillow hugging your head.

Except now he's got a sinking feeling about all of this. Staying off of the frontlines was probably for the best, but here he is all out of the loop.]

How many went with you?

[ He didn't -- and slowing down as Richie does John turns back through the conversation to confirm that. He just assumed that was why he was being told the story, what 'woke up' meant. Otherwise he was, presumably, just healed up from his... skin-peeling trauma?

He hesitates, shrugs vaguely because he doesn't want to push Richie and it's fine if he was wrong but something about his reaction is weird. Maybe he was just, near to death? And it's a bad memory? Now is probably not the time to push it.

Still -- ]

To head off the dragon? There were a decent number of us. Some of them in the relative safety of their fancy big robot things.

[ John, on his feet, insisting on helping anyway like a jerk who doesn't value his own life. ]

Well, this time I did mean who died, but glad to know the kids are still trotting around in their tin cans to save the day.

[He's only had the privilege of seeing such things from afar and in VR. Fighting side by side on a battlefront sounds a touch too up close and personal to him.

Regardless, he does want the statistics. Anybody who's gonna come at it like him or John aren't going to pony up about suffering the Reaper, and he's certain that applies to more than half the folks he knows.

And he only just knows John, but he's good people. He has that same electric quality Bill did: a flavor of charisma that had you at ease and paying rapt attention at the same time. Could be the Army man in him, honing that natural born leadership to a lancing point. And it is precisely because he's got this quality that Richie is willing to bet that his refusal to speak seriously about his death is going to be twice as high as the average guy's.

He can respect that he wants to mull it over. But if he starts going to ruin over it like Richie had, well...that's a different story.]

So. How many was it? Do you know who?

[ Something shutters slightly in John's expression, something clamping down on how he really feels about this and forcing his expression neutral. ]

Couldn't say for sure, given how I didn't survive to the end of it all. Saw a good few people go down but a lot of them got swallowed by the -- rot, sludge stuff it produced. Hard to grab everyone out, though I managed with a few. That's why soldiers wear tags.

[ So even if their bodies are horribly decayed by toxic sludge, you have a chance of knowing who they were. Harsh reality, but true. ]

[The stoicism doesn't register straight away. It's such a natural thing for a man to do that it doesn't stick out of place. Later on when they've parted ways Richie may recognize the distance for what it was. For now, he's caught in his own imagining of the sludge gorging around the refugee bodies.]

Jesus.

[He shakes his head.] I remember reading about that. Stuff from 'Nam. Never served myself but I knew people that had...

[He drifts off.]

What do you figure the investment is? Why are we worth pulling back out of Hades?

[ Is that a global 'we' or personal? John doesn't even know any more. He hesitates, gives a half-shrug. ]

Hard to say. Convenience, maybe, since we agreed to help the Natha folk? Not sure how much of an exertion for them it is, bringing us back. Or maybe we're just special.

[ There's a cynical twinge to that. John's not a big fan of being special. Special always gets you in trouble. ]

[Bit of column A, bit of column B. Truth be told Richie's got his own theories by now, but he still likes polling the audience.]

Special. Ha! [He makes a bitter cluck of the tongue at that. And as he'd done for their last walk and talk, Richie now reaches for the smokes in his pocket and blazes one up before the shakes set in. Bad habit for bad times.] What good does that do us around here? Couldn't shake the dragon now could we? Couldn't stop the riots, couldn't fight off the coup properly. They've plucked up all kinds of shifty folks with different strokes and not one of them has been able to solve a damn thing. Wizards and wonders of every order! Not one of 'em's got an upper hand!

But they're investing all right. That much is certain.

I guess that's flattering, it's rare that people invest in me.

[ -- Which, on reflection, is maybe a little too bitterly honest. He squares his shoulders against the thought, hands firmly shoved into his pockets as he does his best attempt at forcibly casual. ]

Anyway, [ Pretending he didn't say that, ] we made a pretty good attempt at solving things. There was a peace process starting up and everything, until Rasyc decided to hit the nuclear button on it. I wouldn't exactly vote us for a nobel prize over it but I'd like to think we weren't useless.

[Lord all mighty, would you look at the chip on that shoulder! Richie gives him a pensive glance in brief, then dashes his gaze away to the hall. They're at the mess hall doors now, and he bunts the both of them wide open.]

Hallooo! We are back from the war and demand libations!

[Fortunately, the place is barren save for that robot butler fellow, who only nods and zips about to fetch the booze.]

There is that. I won't argue that attempts haven't been made. It's more just astonishing that you've got all the most ridiculous super powers in the world — not to knock your machine speak but I've seen people pull shit you'd only expect out of a Superman comic. And it's boggling to me when even that isn't enough to quell the chaos.

But... [And here he'll slide into a seat, kicking the one opposite out for John and his tired dead bones.] We do tend to come from a stock that one would consider preserving. Thousands of worlds that have gone kablooey, and the only people that were swiped up for saving all had something big to do, or something big they could do.

Edited 2018-08-03 13:53 (UTC)

[ Size doesn't matter, but if it did it'd be worth noting his shoulder chip is Really Big.

Still, John grabs the chair and flips it backwards -- flops down into it and leans his arms on the back as he studies Richie. ]

So, are you the 'something big to do' or 'something big they can do' type?

[ Since you didn't exclude yourself from this description explicitly. ]

[Ah. His big mouth has dug him a hole again. Richie pins him with a look, lips pursed and brows raised. He takes a wee drag on the cig.]

You could take a wild guess.

Well sure, I could. Or you could just tell me, since you already know my answer.

[ Or, at least, part of it. He doesn't really know if he was dragged here for his Ancient technology whispering, honestly, or something else. His uncanny ability to resist mental manipulation? His poor quality guitar playing? His surfing? His Top Tier ability to dodge questions and redirect topics? ]

[I really hope it's his underwhelming guitar skills.]

Do I? Techie talk seems like it could tilt either way my friend, and you're dodging bullets I ain't even slung yet.

[He takes another puff. The robot zips into the tip of their table and drops a pair of pints down. Richie thanks him with an easy, "Muchos gracias," and skids the second glass to John.]

What do you think the consequence is? If you tell me too much. Is there someone else here you're watching out for? Some ancient god gonna rain down hell on you for spilling about the holy mission? I'd believe anything at this point.

[ Hang on a minute.

As an expert topic dodger John is sensing something fishy here. ]

I could ask you the same question.

[ Didn't he ask first? John narrows his eyes a little as he draws his drink closer and takes a sip. ]

[Richie grins broad. Clint Eastwood drawls out of his mouth, all trace of Tozier's California cool evaporated.]

Seems we're at a draw, Pilgrim.

[ That is a strikingly good impression. John lofts his eyebrows in turn, sets his drink down again slowly. ]

Guess we are. I mean I know my excuse, I was in the Air Force. What's yours? Sign too many NDAs?

[Richie finds himself snickering into his ale as he goes for first sips.] You bet! Dipped my pen in shit and put a John Hancock on every paper in the Pentagon!

[Uncle Sam has dick all to do with anything. Maybe in John's case, fine, but who among his superiors is sleeping in the pods? Who's awake to come dress him down and yank away his Captain's rights? Or whatever the hell rank he was again. He was getting everybody's sordid pasts confused.]

Please. I'm a DJ. Not a government stooge.

And here I thought you were a stand up comic. Guess you're a sit down one.

[ Does that even qualify as a joke? Anyway -- ]

I'm not really dodging things on purpose, it's kinda just... habit, you know? I get that out here none of it matters, it's not like they can fire me anymore, but...

[ There's still the natural fear of being fired. ]

[It's close enough. His smile twitches at it, that's proof of amusement.

John's protests spark sympathy. Richie's still damn curious about what his suspiciously mundane power has to do with his job, because the combo of gifted man and government screams MK Ultra. There has to be correlation there, you'd be a dumbass not to suspect it.

You'd also be a dumbass if you weren't calling him King Hypocrite.]

I get it. I do. Listen: if it's gonna land you in hot water, whether because your pals are waking up or your enemies are, then keep mum. That's your perogative, and nothing has to be anyone's business unless the shit is hitting the fan. Or they're making movies of our memories again, but that's hardly anyone's choice now is it?

[Richie purses his lips. Takes a shrug and a swig.]

If being forthright would help, I would be. I'm not about to start bending spoons with my mind or set fires with a blink or some nonsense like that, don't you fret. Next to the rest of the refugees I'm downright regular.

It's just that some things people are worse off for knowing. I wouldn't have to kill you if I told you. I'm just limiting the pool of people I have to sweat over if things go south.

Why am I not reassured.

[ 'Things people are worse off for knowing'. John's face scrunches up, then he lets out a sigh and takes a sip of his own drink again. ]

I thought I had the enigmatic backstory routine down pat, you're giving me a run for my money here. I'll have to work harder.

[ You know, give it some individual flare so they're not running the same act. ]

Guess I'll push the weary veteran side harder so we're not wearing the same dress to the ball.

Because it's hardly reassuring?

[He chuckles once more at the assessment.] You're running an endless marathon there, pal. I dare you to find the sucker around here that doesn't have a novel for a backstory and a demon nipping their heels. That seems like it's their preferred breed of refugee.

Lucky for you, ain't nobody ever mistaking me for a vet. We're in the clear there. [Richie takes a quick chug and pops a brow at his company.] So. What can we talk about? Your life can't be entirely redacted. I know you're a Johnny Cash man and you get shot at, you talk to machines. Three for three isn't so bad.

(no subject)

impavid - 2018-08-07 18:01 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only