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

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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!]

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Hey --

[ John is ambling around the station again when he spots Richie, flailing around in front of the screen. He's back in his panda t-shirt and sweatpants, a loose jacket hanging unzipped. He'd been down on the planet, facing off against the dragon -- and ended up put in a tube by the Natha for his troubles to revive while they just idly stopped time. He's fine now, of course, but there are blotches of paler skin all over his tan where he was healed up.

That, and a general deep-seated unease that comes with having felt yourself die.

He steps closer to Richie, reaches out to try and grab him and hold him still. ]

Hey! Listen, it's getting in your head alright? There's nothing on you.

[ John has experience, at least, with things getting in people's heads. He figures it won't be as easy as saying it once, but maybe he can hold Richie still until he settles. ]

[For royalty, Allura didn’t have many possessions to her name. Even less now as a refugee. Luckily, among those few belongings includes a jumpsuit and armor—both specifically designed to protect against anything an alien planet could throw at her.

So when she approaches Richie, snow crunching under her boots, she looks less like a shivering bundle of coats and scarves and, in fact, looks downright comfortable in her white and pink armor. Sorry for your luck, pal.]

Richie! [Despite her helmet, her voice comes out unimpeded, though she has to shout over the wind. And ah, shelter. She gives his handiwork an unsure once-over, but follows his lead in packing snow and ice onto the sad looking hut. Unfortunately, none of her more dues-ex-machina type powers are any help here.] How long have you been in here?

[It's a damn shame he isn't really capable of knocking back a good drink, anymore. After a week like this one, he really could use it. (Or two, or...however many it would take, to take the edge off of it.) Dragon attacks, evacs. A few less friendly faces up here. Boxer's not necessarily talented in the matter of easing up around people very quickly. Considering the common ground and all, though...Sandra had been somewhat of a special case.

So he's. Y'know. In the neighborhood, when he hears Richie extolling the lady's virtues to the echoing halls of stasis. Paces up behind him with the long, gently glowing blade of the Transistor perched against a shoulder as usual. The man, at least, is a sight for sore eyes. Hiya Rich.

Mildly, by way of announcing himself—]

Didn't peg you for the type to kiss and tell.

[That's considered pretty impolite, back where he's from. (No wonder, then, that the telling was followed up with the assessment of her backhand.)]

[ She's not a huge fan of how familiar the sights are, in all honesty — less everything in ruins but more how deserted everything seems, how silent the streets are with the fraction of its citizens up and about ( and cleaning ). It could be worse, she could be the only one left once more, but it could also be ... better.

Things falling to ruin is something she could live without for a long, long time, yet here they are.

Luckily, the awake seem to be business as usual; or as "business as usual" as they can get while cleaning up an entire town square. She's led to the sounds of a familiar ( obnoxious ) voice, loudly proclaiming one thing or another; but once she turns the corner, the only things in view are some awful, hideous statues, and a mecha that's clearly responsible for all of this.

She's a fraction of its height, but she approaches the statue ( and the giant robot ) with little hesitation — hands on her hips for an entirely different reason. If Richie notices the shock of red hair, he'll also notice the way she leans into the statue, as if to study it from up close. Then to look up at the robot, lips twisted into a half-smile.

C'mon, asshole. Might as well have a conversation on the ground. ]

[Let's be real, Rocket's only here because being trapped in the stupid station is bullshit and this might as well be what he does with his time, but it's actually pretty boring work.

Richie seems like he's having fun.

The little raccoonoid is leaning against the control panel yawning while observing Richie's latest masterpiece and with an eyeroll, he stabs at the radio that I'm going to assume these robots have BECAUSE WHAT FUCKING ROBOTS DON'T HAVE RADIOS.]

Hey, Tozier, what's it like knowing that a bunch of gods are gonna murder you?

[Now that he is kept aboard the station day in and day out, anchored amid the nothingness of space and thus untethered from what duties await him in the frozen world below, Jean Valjean passes ever more hours within the solemn catacombs of the Stasis Unit. The familiar visages of Cosette and poor Fantine receive the greatest share of his attentions, but he makes rounds throughout the vast chamber as if it were a hospital brimming with ailing souls. How many there must be who have none to pray for them, to keep vigil as they sleep - and so Jean Valjean takes this office upon himself.

When he descries Richie along the way, he purposes to gently give greeting so as not to startle him. Before he has the chance to speak, however, he hears the name Richie laments, and drawing closer he confirms the news with his own eyes. Then in place of a greeting comes this somber remark:]

I had wondered that I hadn't heard from Madame Sandra in some time.

[ The VR room has become Frederick's second home during his staycation aboard Thesa Station. For a man who lives by the creed of 'preparation is key', ensuring that he's well-prepared for their impending journey into a new land is of utmost importance. And so he spends hours sequestered inside, drilling through each of the practice simulations with the intent of repeating them until he can do everything in his sleep.

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. ]

[ He wouldn't say that Nadril is nostalgic, or much like home. Maybe like Hokkaido with its ice fineries and buildings, but he'd never been that far north. It's all new, uncharted territory.

But at the same time, it's pocked with familiar spaces, little divets of another reality. Central is aptly and obviously named, being the center of it all, the richest area of goods from beyond the stars.

...Which isn't always as glamorous as it sounds. Yusuke stops in his tracks for a moment. ]

—Goodness.

[ He picks up one of the many stashed 'research' items, the old plastic yellowed with age, none of the sleek, futuristic metal in the Station or the rudimentary tech on the ground that they've encountered so far. ]

I hadn't thought I'd see anything like this again.

[Refugees are offered free lodging in a large, crystalline building crafted from ice. Despite the coarse building material, the ice is unmelting and surprisingly well-insulated, and the beds are as warm and cozy. The rooms are, however, small. The sleeping quarters house two people, and are some cross between an igloo and a capsule hotel.]

[A large, crystalline building sounds far more impressive than the reality, which feels more like a high-rise for Eskimo. It's certainly not built to Prior's aesthetic, although time and rent prices in the Chelsea area have shown that he can do a lot with very little.

Still. Ice, really. And when he'd taken Richie's offer of sharing a place, he hadn't had living quarters quite this close in mind. At least there are two beds, as much like a conservative housewife as that makes him feel.

So far this evening he's picked a fight with the bathroom mirror's offensively heteronormative suggestion that he get a haircut, and failed to fit even the few clothes he'd brought down to the planet into his side of the closet. The whole affair isn't leaving him in the brightest of moods, although at least now he's settling in for the night, sitting on the edge of the bed draped in a lavender, Wyver-silk robe, trying to self-soothe with the careful application of cold cream to his face.

This is not to say there's nothing to complain about, or that he doesn't start as soon as Richie makes it out of the bathroom.]

I've tried to close my eyes and pretend to be overwintering at Aspen but it won't work. This feels more like sharing a dorm room at Alaska State.

[He reaches for a glass on the night stand and scowls as a robotic butler chimes in with Your medication is zero zero seven minutes overdue. Please remember to take your pills, with a large glass of water.]

And could I get a little bodily autonomy here? I know my routine.

Threaded | Flat

A

D. Gen body heat meme

C, someone's got to do it.

hey can i kill richie, B

B.

C for Sandra Dee

ice (ice, baby)

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