Pokey Minch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ceasetoexist) wrote2010-09-06 10:24 am
ceasetoexist) wrote2010-09-06 10:24 am
Pokey's Day Out
[Pokey never thought he would be, but he was pretty glad to wake up back in his own bed. Not that that was fantastic but my God, it was better then that stupid summer camp. Even if parts of that were kind of cool..
He’s in for a surprise, however, when he goes to check the mail. Specifically, he’s surprised by the large crate that’s slightly taller then a minivan on his lawn. Which he just stands there, staring at it, for a few moments. It could be something for his new big brother after-
Nope. It’s addressed to him. Slowly, he heads back inside.]
[Over the phone, trying to get through some clearly controlled breathing he’s struggling with, Pokey sounds almost…happy. Overjoyed.]
You know. Sometimes life can be pretty sweet.
[Unless someone else says something, he’s putting down the receiver and going outside. Aside from the phone, there are a few ways to interact with Pokey today.]
Option One: On His Front Lawn
[Feel free to find Pokey either
A) Struggling to open the crate with a crowbar, occasionally saying reassuring things like he’ll “get you out soon” into it. He’s not frantic, but he’s clearly excited.
B) Hugging the ever living shit out of the spider-mech that had been inside the box. The thing is slightly taller then a minivan and about as big around as a car, an odd grey-tone, has a giant capsule on it’s back that clearly functions as the pilot’s cockpit with extra seat for a passenger, and, oh yeah, a giant eyeball in the middle of it that appears to move on it’s own accord. There’s something oddly organic about the thing. Which still doesn’t change the fact that Pokey is hugging it and talking reassuringly to it like it was a pet, asking if it had missed him..]
Option Two: Parading on the Streets like a Douchebag
[Hi, do you like calm, silent mornings, Mayfield?
Fuck that shit. Have a spider mech stomping through the streets, apparently of its own accord, because Pokey isn’t riding in it but rather standing on top of the thing, one foot propped up on the pilot dome and laughing maniacally like some little conquering asshole.
For his part, Pokey is doing pretty well avoiding actually damaging anything. Well, there’s the occasional car that gets crushed underfoot, but that isn’t important. What is important is that he’s on his way to try and find Vendetta and put the fear of himself in her when he finds her.]
Option Three: Second Phone Call [Around 1-2 AM the next day]
[And now the little psycho is all tuckered out. Thing is, excessive activity tends to mix badly when your body has been dealt severe damage by time travel. So in the middle of the night, Pokey finds himself waking up to one of his coughing fits. An exceedingly bad one.]
[The breathing on the phone is ragged. Painful sounding. And when he speaks, his voice is exceedingly weak.]
Doctor. Is there….there a doctor here?
Anyone…does anyone have pills? P-pain killers? N-none in my…my hou-
[And there’s the sound of coughing. Painful and long and throaty and wet.]
N-none in my house.
[Harpuia, if you comment on this option instead of one of the earlier ones, you’re probably going to hear a commotion before he gets on the phone. That’d be because Pokey had been digging through just about every cabinet in the kitchen to find pain killers, and had thrown all that shit that wasn’t what he’d wanted to the ground. He’s on his knees, leaning against one of the counters, while he’s talking on the phone, shaking. There’s a small smidgeon of red at the corner of his lips, as well.
Have fun with that.]
He’s in for a surprise, however, when he goes to check the mail. Specifically, he’s surprised by the large crate that’s slightly taller then a minivan on his lawn. Which he just stands there, staring at it, for a few moments. It could be something for his new big brother after-
Nope. It’s addressed to him. Slowly, he heads back inside.]
[Over the phone, trying to get through some clearly controlled breathing he’s struggling with, Pokey sounds almost…happy. Overjoyed.]
You know. Sometimes life can be pretty sweet.
[Unless someone else says something, he’s putting down the receiver and going outside. Aside from the phone, there are a few ways to interact with Pokey today.]
Option One: On His Front Lawn
[Feel free to find Pokey either
A) Struggling to open the crate with a crowbar, occasionally saying reassuring things like he’ll “get you out soon” into it. He’s not frantic, but he’s clearly excited.
B) Hugging the ever living shit out of the spider-mech that had been inside the box. The thing is slightly taller then a minivan and about as big around as a car, an odd grey-tone, has a giant capsule on it’s back that clearly functions as the pilot’s cockpit with extra seat for a passenger, and, oh yeah, a giant eyeball in the middle of it that appears to move on it’s own accord. There’s something oddly organic about the thing. Which still doesn’t change the fact that Pokey is hugging it and talking reassuringly to it like it was a pet, asking if it had missed him..]
Option Two: Parading on the Streets like a Douchebag
[Hi, do you like calm, silent mornings, Mayfield?
Fuck that shit. Have a spider mech stomping through the streets, apparently of its own accord, because Pokey isn’t riding in it but rather standing on top of the thing, one foot propped up on the pilot dome and laughing maniacally like some little conquering asshole.
For his part, Pokey is doing pretty well avoiding actually damaging anything. Well, there’s the occasional car that gets crushed underfoot, but that isn’t important. What is important is that he’s on his way to try and find Vendetta and put the fear of himself in her when he finds her.]
Option Three: Second Phone Call [Around 1-2 AM the next day]
[And now the little psycho is all tuckered out. Thing is, excessive activity tends to mix badly when your body has been dealt severe damage by time travel. So in the middle of the night, Pokey finds himself waking up to one of his coughing fits. An exceedingly bad one.]
[The breathing on the phone is ragged. Painful sounding. And when he speaks, his voice is exceedingly weak.]
Doctor. Is there….there a doctor here?
Anyone…does anyone have pills? P-pain killers? N-none in my…my hou-
[And there’s the sound of coughing. Painful and long and throaty and wet.]
N-none in my house.
[Harpuia, if you comment on this option instead of one of the earlier ones, you’re probably going to hear a commotion before he gets on the phone. That’d be because Pokey had been digging through just about every cabinet in the kitchen to find pain killers, and had thrown all that shit that wasn’t what he’d wanted to the ground. He’s on his knees, leaning against one of the counters, while he’s talking on the phone, shaking. There’s a small smidgeon of red at the corner of his lips, as well.
Have fun with that.]
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Best advisor ever Y/Y?
If it won't kill you, you can get yourself down to the store for some drugs.
Yes!
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No thanks.
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Pick one!
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[She sounds kind of distant]
That drone we dissected at the summer camp didn't yield anything unusual, but that drone wasn't somebody I even knew... A comparative analysis would be nice...
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[He pauses. He's...actually thinking this over Tak, and it's showing.]
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However... with all the damage time travel has done, you might not be the best subject.
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[He can guess, but he wants to see if it's right first.]
Filter (we probably should have done that a while ago, huh?)
Filter - Oh, most likely
Acceptable. But that begs the question if there ARE any normal humans here.
Filter
Filter
and I may not actually hate that many people here.We should push our limits as much as we can, but they're might be a breaking point even for this town with how far we want to push.
Re: Filter
If our efforts bring us harm, so be it.
Filter
The problem will be hiding what we're doing from others. The last thing we need is everyone else against us while we're trying to get out of here.
Which brings me to my point. People apparently get killed here all the time. Honestly, we may not need to be actively going after others. We just need to let them do their own work.
Filter
But it's going to be difficult to swoop in every time someone dies, and the original point was examining someone at least one of us is familiar with.
Beggars can't be choosers I suppose.
Filter
I know at least one kid I wouldn't mind cutting into, but I haven't seen her around lately.
...Actually, there's a boy I know I've kinda wanted to get back at for a few days. Possible both of us working together could take him down.
Re: Filter
Filter
But his got a baseball cap on and a bat, and horribly ugly face. I'm amazed he apparently hasn't been droned yet, considering his favorite past time seems to be beating people.
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When he's droned, we'll need to be sneaky about how we do him in. It would be very unhelpful for him to remember our faces.
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