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!]
no subject
They're tough kids. [And, after a beat of his own—] ...Red, too.
[Tough kid. Seen worse, with less help for her to lean on. Honestly—]
Just glad everyone made the evac.
[It'd been pretty dicey planetside for a bit. He hates to think how things might have panned out if they hadn't had somewhere to run. He catches himself for a correction, though. Kind of wry, kind of regretful.]
Or...almost everyone.
[Fridged orbs aside...Luna got left behind in the timestop, like most of the refugee pet contingent. Not much to do about it, but, y'know. Can't help but feel bad about it. She definitely earned better than that.]
no subject
You bet.
[Tough as a pack of nails, though their tender underbellies are never fully disguised. Make no mistake: they're nobody's kids. Peter Pan and the Lost Boys cavorting about a Neverland that didn't throw them the childish concessions J. M. Barrie's edition would. But they were lost, and neither they nor the grown folk around them were sure how to set things right.
Red, too. He'd seen what she'd been through. He knows it's not the full picture, but her mettle has been proven for good. The scars of it live on in her reticence, her temper, her resolve.
Boxer leaves off on an ominous note. It's a cute hobby of his, shady fuck that he is.]
Almost?
no subject
He hums under his breath, kind of thoughtful. Still, to be sure—]
You met Luna, yeah?
[Robo dog. Weird and white and...friendly. He's sure Rich had seen her around, but odds are they didn't get into the specifics of what she was or why she was so important.]
Guess she didn't register as important enough to pull up with us.
[He's pretty worried about her, even if she is a Process and not a Person. He has a feeling Red is, too.]
no subject
Briefly. [Assuming some handwaving here, probably came over to sweet talk Sandy once and then there was robodog up in his grill. What fun.] You think it might have had to do with her being a— [Robot? Except he's talking to a man who's actually a projection from a blinking sword. Dog? Does Luna count as a dog? If you hit a button or she walked into an electric fence, who's to say the mainframe wouldn't fizz and swap out the canine program for carp?] —pet?
no subject
Your guess is as good as mine. [He raps the hilt of the Transistor, as if following Richie's train of thought.] Not sure where they start drawing the line. ...not that I'm complaining, or anything.
[Orbs and Transistors are Person enough to scoop up in an emergency, but a Process (whatever it even is, because robo-dog is a good shorthand but the truth is they don't know at all what she is or what makes her tick—and unlike some people they haven't gone out of their way to try and find out,) doesn't seem to make the cut when it comes to evac. Good luck on his end, maybe. Or just bad luck on hers. Probably they'll never know.
Still, this conversation's dreary enough. They're still lucky the evac went through as well as it did at all. And—]
She can take care of herself, I think. Tracked us down once already.
[Pretty good odds, considering it involved two whole apocalypses.]
no subject
See, that's exactly it. Now they're getting into the territory that made exceptions murky. What qualified as alive enough to save?]
Maybe it's because she's modeled after a dog and not a person? I mean, there's a people here. [He clonks the blade with his knuckles.] There's a people there. [He clonks the tube that keeps Sandy's orb chilly 'til next time she wakes.] We might have a raccoon, but it talks and thinks like a people. So...
[He does nod to the platitude.] She looks tough. Titanium even. If anything's gonna weather some bad breaks I'd put money on Luna over your average Fido.
[There is a pause.]
You know, it is all stopped up down there. Do you want to go see if we can find her?
no subject
He hums a neutral kind of acknowledgement while Richie clonks around but otherwise lets the existential questions quietly drop. Mostly because he's not feeling very inclined to think about them too hard. (Sandra had been the closest thing to a sounding board or a sense of solidarity he had on the subject, but even then—he mostly tries not to examine it all too hard until he has to. Maybe not the best method of coping, but it's his.)
As for the offer, noncommittally—]
Didn't mean to pull you away.
[From...whatever it is he's busy doing with his day before Boxer changed the subject. Talking to the sleeping masses.]
no subject
Hardly. I spend too much time up here as it is. I'm gonna go bananas sitting vigil over all these assholes.
[He has no doubt that Boxer understands, both for the folks they miss and the ones they don't.]
Let's get out of here.