sirenspull | first match | accidental voice → text

Entry tags:

first match | accidental voice → text

[The microphone rustles on to a light hiss of breeze and distant city sounds from an open window. One can just about hear fingers skidding across buttons, manipulating the NV. And then, almost from nowhere, it begins:

Ko… ho…

Ko… ho… ko… ho…

A slow, heavy, mechanical breathing- air forced across metal vents and through steely chambers, released in a guttural rush.

It’s difficult to imagine it coming from anything living, but there’s also something off-puttingly human about it in its steady regularity, like the pulse of a heart. The sound continues for around a minute before catching, just for a second, and then being suddenly and unceremoniously switched off mid-breath.

Around twenty minutes later, a text message appears on the network.]

Where would a robo-choujin go for repairs?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Everything is definitely here. Have you worked on this sort of thing before?

Nope. I don't think there's anything like you where I'm from.

It honestly doesn't matter. I'm just that good.

[... well. Warsman isn't sure if his mystery helper's attitude a comfort or not; the last man he met with that sort of confidence nearly wiped his entire memory over a petty mistake.]

You make it sound almost too good to be true. How can you be so sure?

[Sitting at his own NV, he winces. There certainly are downsides. But he replies,]

I can put things back together that have been smashed to smithereens. Trust me, it doesn't matter.

Or, well, 'trust me' always sounds shady, doesn't it? Anyway, the offer's open.

[It's a good one, too- the truth is, he'd like to trust the person on the other end of the line. Human contact is too tempting a possibility at this point.

There's a short pause before he answers again.]

If you think you could do it, I'm willing to try. I want to see your face first, though.

[On comes the image feed. He's a plain, neat teenager with red hair. He waves a little awkwardly.]

Yeah, I think I can. Where should I meet you?

[Warsman blinks at the screen. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but- but appearances can be deceiving. He's fairly sure he could take him in a physical fight if things turned unpleasant, but it seems unlikely that it would come to that.]

Are you in Tower Apartments? I could meet you in the lobby.

[He pauses- and then, taking a breath, he switches the feed over to match Dillon's. His mask usually does a good job of obliterating any signs of nervousness, and he says nothing, but the truth is he's just waiting for the boy to flinch. Steeling himself.]

This is me.

[Dillon isn't really a stoic - but after some of the things he's done, it takes a lot to make him flinch. Instead he just leans in slightly, his self-consciousness falling away as he studies the feed with a quiet intensity. Then he blinks, smiles a little.]

Yeah, I'm here too, the lobby sounds great. Is now good?

[In the end it's Warsman who nearly shies away. He should be used to being stared at, being examined like something under glass in a museum, but it never gets easier. He's never sure what is worse- seeing the revulsion first hand or not knowing what it is the person looking at him is thinking. In the ring it's easier, stepping into the persona of the fighting machine without shame, but outside he feels unbearably exposed. Self-conscious.

He'll know what Dillon is thinking soon enough.]

I'll see you there.

[He switches the feed off and, hesitating briefly in the doorway, heads down to the lobby. It's impossible to miss him but Warsman does his damnedest to make it so, lurking awkwardly in the waiting area.]

[Dillon finally arrives in the lobby, slighty out of breath from hurrying down all thirteen stories, but still without a hair out of place. He smiles a bit dorkishly and waves again.]

Hi! Glad you made it.

[Dillon's enthusiasm is disarming; Warsman hesitates, breathing uncertainly, but then steps forward. He's been feeling uncomfortably obvious in the pleasantly bland setting of the lobby, a tall, dark figure hovering on the edge, and it's bewildering to see that the boy has barely registered it. Especially when he's so... normal looking.

For a moment he wonders if he should offer a hand to shake, but in the end he keeps his hands stolidly by his sides.]

You too. Do you want to go somewhere else, or...?

[Warsman isn't nearly as easy to read as Dillon is used to; his part-machine body has different patterns and nuances. But some things are simple enough to deduce.]

Maybe your room? If you'd be more comfortable with a little privacy.

I'd offer mine, but it's back up thirteen flights of stairs.

[If Warsman wasn't so tense, his shoulders would sink with relief at the suggestion. He gives a short nod instead, safe and to-the-point while he's still so guarded. It makes him feel safer somehow, even if he knows that he's in no physical danger.]

I'd appreciate that. I'm only on the third floor, if you don't mind taking the stairs. [He makes his way back towards them, glancing back.] "Dillon", isn't it?

Yeah, no problem.

[He follows, closing the space between them to walk side by side, for now.]

Yeah, it's Dillon. Is Warsman your name, or like a title, or...?

[It's strange how Dillon doesn't even think about walking alongside him, and stranger still how, the more he considers it, the more he's come to consider 'Warsman' to be his own name. 'Nikolai' barely registers with him anymore; he's not sure where that man went, or if he's even 'gone' anywhere as such, but they aren't the same person anymore. Not exactly.

The complexity of the moment has silenced him briefly, but Warsman remembers himself and manages to answer.]

My name. [He pauses again- the attention is making him a little nervous.] You're new here too?

Cool.

[There's a complexity there - but Dillon's perfectly happy to respect his wishes.]

Yeah, I only got here a few days ago.

[Much safer territory. He relaxes, though his body language barely twitches.]

It's a little disorientating, isn't it? To be honest, I don't think I'm over the shock yet. [They're on the right floor now, at least. He double-checks his keys before heading towards his door.] It's just through here. You don't mind doing this?

Very. Even the air is different.

[He shakes his head mildly.]

Not at all. I'm at loose ends anyway, may as well be helpful while I'm figuring things out here.

[It was unlikely that Dillon would change his mind now, but it's soothing to make sure of it. Who wouldn't be even a little wary of following an seven-foot robot into a room alone? True, he doesn't have a reputation here, but...

He becomes aware, as he opens the door, that he's breathing a little more noisily than he should be- the koho... may be reflexive, but it can still be intimidating. The easy domesticity of the living room softens things, at least: the dented cushions, the chipped windowpane, the faint smell of old cooking.]

You can sit down, if you want. I'd offer you tea or coffee, but... [He hovers uncertainly in the doorway.] Where do you want me?

Nah, that's fine. Maybe after, if you want.

Stand in the middle of the room? It helps if I can look from different angles.

[Right where he'd feel most exposed. It's what he expected, though, so he can hardly complain.

With a short nod, Warsman closes the door behind him and stands still in the center of the room; it's like having a pre-match medical exam. Part of him expects Dillon to whip out a tape-measure and a set of scales, though now that he thinks about it, he isn't entirely sure what the boy is even going to do.]

[He circles a few times, observing carefully, asks Warsman to move a a joint or flex an arm. He breathes out slowly, and lets his power well up. It's not an effort, it's the opposite, relaxation and respite: briefly opening the damn he spends so much effort holding the power back, so that the little constant spill over the edge grows to a wave of life, order, newness. The edge of his nail taps once or twice, here and there, on Warsman's armor, sending little patterns of vibrations through his machinery that are configured just right to make all the cogs that are slightly askew fall back into place. After a minute he cuts it off, doing his best to reign most of the rejuvenating force and impossible chances in. He's learned too well how easy it is to go overboard. He runs a hand through his hair and smiles hopefully, slightly and suddenly shy. He feels oddly exposed too, sharing what he does.]

That feel better?

[At first Warsman isn't sure what Dillon is doing, or if he's even doing anything at all. It's only after a moment or two that he begins to register it- dull vibrations through his body where he taps, sending sensations through him he can't quite place. It's a tightening, almost, a sharpening: he's never been awake during or concentrated on his repairs before so he isn't sure what they're supposed to feel like, but it's almost what he could imagine. In a distant sort of way he can see loose wires reconnecting and sparks flickering, an abstract picture of his own body in flux.

He breathes out slowly. It's subtle but unmistakable; he feels better than he's felt in months. If he hadn't fully recovered from Mammothman's ambush before, he's definitely there now.

When Warsman turns to Dillon again he's faintly wondering, head to one side as if looking at him from a different angle might explain all.]

How did you do that?

[He grins, a little self-consciously, the curl of his mouth askew, higher on one side than the other.]

Like I said, it's just what I do.

There's - there's a pattern to things, an order, and I just...help things get there. Or get back there. Or something.

[Warsman can only watch Dillon for a little longer, trying to make sense of it- it's not the strangest thing he's ever heard, but at the same time...]

I think I understand. [He gives a short nod. At times like these he'd like to be able to smile, but it goes without saying that the kind of smiles he specialises in could never work outside of the ring. Instead he does his best to soften his tone, to sound grateful even if he can't look it.] Thank you. You've saved me a lot of worry. I don't have very much to repay you with, but I can cook for you or do housework- whatever you'd like.

(no subject)

orderfromchaos - 2012-08-01 15:21 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

first match | accidental voice → text

[private] [text]

[private] [text]

[private] [text]

[private] [text]

[private] [text]

[private] [switch to video]

[private] [text to video]

[private] [text to video]

[private] [video to actiooon]

omg sorry for the delay, things have been crazy

nooo, it's fine! <3

thanks for being patient ;;

no worries! rl happens.

thanks

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)