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Pokey's Day Out
Sep. 6th, 2010 10:24 am[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.]
