open rp post 2.0

[spiraea]

OPEN RP POST

❖ pick a partner-in-crime

❖ pick your poison
word • picture •  music
au • random prompts ✔︎

( art source )

Comments

[notallsynths]

[ Nick Valentine has made it his business to find what's lost. Rarely does he turn folks away from his doorstep, and sometimes he even ventures out to Goodneighbor to make himself available to those unable to get past the front gates of Diamond City. He helps who needs helping, because if he doesn't, who will?

Work comes in all forms, all shapes and sizes, because early one evening, he receives a certain client, who dumps about fifty bottle caps on his desk — evidently all the caps she owns. Before he can even get a word out, she splays both hands on the table's surface, leans forward, and says in no uncertain terms, "Find my sister."

Well, he can hardly deny a demand like that, now could he?

Piper Wright, it seems, is a magnet for trouble. Apparently, the last Nat had heard from her was that she intended to do some snooping around in an area known to be crawling with Raiders. And Raiders, of course, have never exactly been known for their compassion.

Valentine nods, adjusts his hat, and stands from his chair. "Sounds like I'd better get a move-on, then."

Later that same night, Nick tracks Piper down to an old subway station — a scrap of red fabric here, a green thread there, a lazily patrolling Raider complaining of a vicious boot to the face — and as late as it is, he catches the gang while most of its members sleep soundly in their makeshift beds. The less bloodshed, the better, in Nick's eyes, but if worst came to worst — well, it's a good thing he came with a fully loaded gun and enough ammo to last him a week. He slips into the station, slinks past dozing Raiders, and makes his way over to a security room past the old turnstiles. A guard sits in a chair beside the magnetically locked door, though he's doing a poor job of guarding anything, considering he's snoozing. Just to be safe, Nick wraps his good arm around the man's neck, constricting his throat in a sleeper hold, and despite his struggles, the Raider falls unconscious. Nick lets him slip to the floor, glancing around to ensure the scuffle hasn't attracted any unwanted attention, before rapping the knuckle of his metal right hand against the door.

He whispers, ] You in there, Piper?

[occurrences]

[ Nat is going to kill her.

While Piper appears to have survived being held in captivity by these complete assholes, she is almost certainly not going to survive the reprimanding of her little sister when she gets out. If she gets out--no, when she gets out. Because as much as coming back is going to suck for Piper, she has to come back. There is no way in hell she's going to be done in like this, even though it had been her own carelessness that stuck her in here in the first place. How it happened hardly matters, although it had been, definitively, dumb--what matters now is how she's going to get out. By now, Piper's devised a ruse to distract the Raiders so that she at least has some chance of getting out...

But then she hears that quiet, metallic knock on the door, and then that familiar, oddly-nasally-voice-for-a-synth voice of one Detective Valentine's, and Piper couldn't be any more glad than she is for it.

(Even though it's still going to suck, getting scolded by Nat. Again.)

Piper scrambles to the door, at least having the presence of mind to do so quietly so as not to wake up the slumbering Raiders, and whispers back, ]

That you, Nick? Jesus, am I glad to hear your voice.

[ ...And then it hits her. ]

Shit. Did Nat send you after me?

[notallsynths]

[ Nick huffs out a sigh of relief — which, given that he doesn't actually need to actually breathe, is a funny little quirk of his. ]

She's a real spitfire, that sister of yours. I don't envy anyone who raises her hackles.

[ Which, of course, means yes. He peeks into the small, grimy window built into the door ]

You hurt at all?

[occurrences]

Yeah...

[ Has Piper mentioned that she is so dead after this?

Like, one time when she was a kid, she kicked a boy in the nuts because he stole her sugar bombs, and she got into so much trouble with the boy's mother (even though her dad only said say you're sorry, Piper and then winked at her). That doesn't even compare to how much trouble she's in with Nat.

To his question, she makes a quiet, dithering noise; of course she didn't wind up in here without putting up a fight, first. Of course they had to almost literally drag her in, kicking and screaming and, yes, giving more than one of them a boot to the face. Which means there was a bit of rough play when it came to subduing her: bruises here and there, some cuts and scratches, but nothing grave, except that one of them took her hat to make fun of her, because they are assholes. Most of the injury, truthfully, is to her ego.

And soon, to her dignity, because seriously Nat is going to chew her out like a piece of bubblegum. ]

Honestly? I'm fine, but I might not live through Nat's sister shaming.

[notallsynths]

[ Nick chuckles a little; if Piper’s well enough to fear the wrath of her younger sister, then he figures she’s not too hurt. ]

You’ve got my sincerest sympathies. I’d offer you safe haven from the lecture you’ve got waitin’ for you, but I’d rather stay off your sister’s radar, if it’s all the same.

[ After all, he’s a good guy. He’s not a saint.

He sneaks over to the terminal built into the wall beside the door; being what he is, he’s always had a knack for maneuvering his way through security systems, and he sets to work, hacking into the program keeping the door shut. ]

What the hell compelled you to come out all this way, anyway?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So apparently when one gets a dog, one is meant to, like, take care of it and stuff? Which includes buying it food and toys, teaching it when it is and isn't appropriate to relieve itself, and spoiling the goddamn hell out of it.

Peter, at least, proves himself to be exemplary at that third step, and he's managed to teach Indy how to sit and come when he's called. They trudge along as well as they can with the rest of it, though accidents happen, and someone (mainly Rocket) usually flips out over it. Still, Indy manages to fit into the little team of misfits reasonably well. Gamora begrudgingly admits Indy is cute, "if you like that sort of thing," and Drax speaks wistfully of his younger days, when he and his hunting hound would run through the woods together. Groot has a well of patience for all living things, it seems, and takes to Indy the best of them all, while Rocket practically hisses and spits at the little guy, especially when Indy bounds up to him and nearly tackles Rocket over from his enthusiasm.

(Peter's seen Rocket sneak Indy bits of food from his plate, so it's not such a hopeless cause.)

It's about a month after they found the derelict cruiser, and they find themselves on Xandar. A quick visit with the Broker gives them some ideas on how to unload the pieces of art they'd recently acquired, and now that work's out of the way, Peter and Kasumi find a park for the two of them (plus Indy) to relax in.

Well, they're relaxing. Mostly, Indy is shuffling around, exploring this grass thing. ]

We should probably track down a vet for him, huh?

[stealwithit]

[ Kasumi, on her part, is a little less hands-on in her caring for Indy. She lets Peter do most of the work when it comes to the training and discipline, to be completely honest--apart from the times that Indy either got into things of hers or relieved himself dangerously close to things of hers--but boy does she love spoiling that little pup with belly scratches and treats and toys. So many toys. And a large portion of them possibly stolen. And playtime, too, although most of the Guardians would argue that dressing the little pup up in costumes is not really playtime for him as much as it is for Kasumi. Whatever.

In a month, though, the little pup is not so little anymore, but still really goddamn adorable even if it means he takes up more room on the bed and is a little too big for Kasumi to carry around like a little kid. At the moment, she's carefully watching his first-time experience grass and flora that isn't Groot or the potted plants Kasumi undoubtedly keeps around the Milano through the lens of a camera. (Yup. She's that kind of dog owner.) And at Peter's suggestion, she lowers the camera to look at him. ]

He has gotten pretty big since we got him... That's probably not a bad idea.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He hums his agreement, tracking Indy's movement around them with a wary eye. Just in case the little guy wanders off too far, Peter has a pocketful of treats ready to coax him back. The little dude, apparently, responds well to food-bribery. ]

How much bigger do you think he'll get?

[stealwithit]

[ Kasumi just hopes Indy doesn't inadvertently destroy that flowering shrub in his curiosity. Please leave the flowers alone, sweetheart. ]

--I don't know. We never did figure out what kind of a mix he is, huh?

[ Just like his human. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Guess we could always figure it out, when we track down a-- hey.

[ That last part is directed at Indy, who, predictably, starts digging at the shrub in question. Peter lets out a shrill whistle, and Indy perks up, distracted from his task, and bounds over when Peter produces a treat from his pocket. ]

--a vet. [ yep, sure did complete that thought like it was nothing. ]

He kinda looks like a husky though, huh?

random scenario; xion

[stealwithit]

(( shamelessly continued from here ))

[ Kasumi gives a thoughtful hum, idly tapping on her chin with a finger, as she looks around. Truth is, Kasumi isn't sure herself why her client's sent her so far-off to collect this supposedly "exotic spacecraft tech," but they offered her a rather hefty sum of credits, and Kasumi doesn't mind trotting around outer space, anyway. But whatever this tech is, it must be interesting enough to warrant the money and the work of the galaxy's best thief. As for an answer to Xion's question: ]

Because Twilight Town's pretty different compared to where I come from. Call me a traveler of sorts. I'm here to sight-see in the name of science.

[blackcoats]

Twilight Town is pretty... normal.

[not that she would really know, admittedly, not having had very much worldly experience herself. but even with what little she's aware of, she can tell it's a pretty idyllic place. she tilts her head with curiosity; she idly wonders just how much Kasumi would divulge about things. they seem to be having a pretty chill conversation so far... it's better than any attempt she's ever made before with people who weren't in the Organization, at least.]

Does that mean the place you're from isn't?

[stealwithit]

[ Speaking of the Organization, Kasumi does have to wonder about Xion's get-up in the back of her mind, but the girl has hardly seemed threatening. But, no, really, are long, dark cloaks with hoods in fashion again in this part of the universe...? ]

Compared to this, not really. Of course, "normal" is pretty subjective, you know? What I'd think is normal isn't this.

[ She vaguely gestures at all the... brick and stone and stuff, which is all very charming and warm compared to all the neon lights and smooth, shiny veneer that she's used to. ]

[blackcoats]

[Kasumi's response gives Xion a moment of pause. she's still a bit wary about the other woman—naturally, given the circumstances of their meeting—but... she can't deny her eagerness to learn, and Kasumi's words almost beg to be questioned. with equal parts caution and earnestness, she asks,]

Do you mind me asking what it's like where you're from? [she hesitates for a bit before quickly adding,] I don't get a lot of chances to learn about other places.

[stealwithit]

[ The earnestness enveloped in Xion's tone doesn't escape Kasumi, and in fact, it makes her smile. (Look, for however much of a shady badass she is, she likes kids, okay.) She folds her arms across her chest and cants her head to one side. ]

Sure. Why don't we make this an exchange, and you take me to a cute little cafe or something where we can chat? I mean, I do like having conversations in the middle of alleyways, but...

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So here’s what happens when a touch-starved hitman encounters a seriously hot thief:

The hitman develops a completely insane crush on her, surprisingly abso-fucking-lutely no one.

And it’s stupid. Peter knows it’s stupid. It’s stupid, it’s dangerous, and it runs exactly counter to everything he’s ever been taught – about being a ghost, about leaving no trace, about making no attachments. Granted, Yondu hadn’t exactly been a posterchild for his own teachings, considering he had taken Peter under his wing, taught him to negotiate contracts, taught him how to kill a man with a flick of his wrist. And instead of killing him when they parted ways, he had left Peter alive, though not without the quiet warning that should he make the wrong move, say the wrong word, Yondu wouldn’t hesitate to slit his throat and leave him to bleed out.

(Peter fully admits that their relationship? Not exactly healthy.)

But his instincts scream at him whenever his thoughts wander back to Goto. Alarms ring in his ears. Something flails at the back of his head, shouting, danger, danger, like the Robot from Lost in Space. So how does an assassin in denial deal with his problems?

By running the fuck away from them like someone unleashed the hounds of hell. That’s how.

And, hey, for at least a handful of months, it seems to work.



Tonight’s hit takes him to some middle class station, to some dingy bar with loud music and louder patrons, tracking the movements of his target through his peripheral vision. The press of people turns the air thick and humid. The bass from the music hums through the floor, and the dim, multicolored lighting sets everything in a bluish-green glow. Simple deal tonight – a jilted lover dealing with unpleasant divorce proceedings, trying to smooth out the process by taking out the squeaky wheel. It’s nothing new, as far as Peter’s concerned, and honestly, Peter’s only here to enjoy a drink of his own. He clocked out ten minutes ago (so to speak), after he slipped the poison into the man’s drink – tasteless, painless, and when the man reaches the bottom of his glass, he’ll simply fall asleep and never wake.

Which is what happens, about five minutes after Peter orders his second beer. Peter watches as the man stands from his table, stumbles a few steps, and collapses in the middle of the dance floor, eliciting a few startled cries but little else. A couple of bouncers shove their way through to drag the unconscious (and dying) man out of the fray, just as the bartender slides Peter’s drink to him. ]

What’s going on over there? [ Peter asks it blandly as the bartender is pulling away, nodding toward the ruckus. ]

Probably some idiot trying a new drug. Happens all the time. [ And the bartender leaves him. ]

[stealwithit]

[ Thank the stars for whatever commotion that was just now, because it unwittingly provided a distraction for Kasumi to be able to fish a keycard out from the back pocket of a rich playboy playing rebellion by partying with the plebes. Amusingly enough, Kasumi's client? His father. Apparently Junior stole access to one of Senior's armories and changed the access code, presumably with a plan to sell weapons to some drug rings; while Kasumi doesn't typically concern herself with petty family feuds--especially those involving spoiled children turned adult assholes--she had to start listening to the offer when the father told her she could have anything she wanted from his personal art collection. Anything. That, and she needed a change of pace from her string of more shady jobs, and this offered a chance to let loose for a night while tailing Junior around and--okay, maybe chatting him up a bit to get close enough.

With her job finished as far as she was concerned and the commotion dying down a little, Kasumi slips out from the crowd and away from the dance floor without so much as a goodbye to Junior, making her way to the bar to get herself a drink before heading the hell out. A quick scan around after she orders her drink tells her there's someone she swears she's seen before, but before she really has a chance to dwell on it, there's a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly snaps her head toward the person responsible. ]

Hey, babe, what's wrong? I didn't think we were done tonight.

[ Junior. Of course. Honestly, Kasumi should've just kept her distance and swiped the card while he was distracted with someone else. But she was bored and curious. How could she forget that curiosity kills the cat? Or in this case, gets them a clingy dude? ]

Not feeling it. Sorry, babe. [ The way she says it, it really sounds like she doesn't enjoy being called that--at least not by him. ] I think you and I had different ideas of what's happening tonight. Or ever.

[ Her drink comes then, and as soon as it's presented to her, she tosses a credit chit at the bartender and swipes her drink, ready to turn on her heels and walk away when Junior reaches out and grabs her--rather indelicately, actually--by the wrist. ]

What's wrong, huh? Thirty seconds ago you were all over me.

[ And that's when she twists his arm, pinning his wrist to the bar. He cries out in pain, but skeevy guy hitting on a pretty lady with the pretty lady retaliating with bodily harm is, regrettably, a common enough occurrence at this establishment that no one even blinks. ]

First? It's rude to grab a lady after she tells you she's not interested. It's rude to grab a lady at all. Second, if you thought that talking to you about cars counted as being "all over you," then you've got a couple of things to learn. And third? Wow, you are weak. Seriously, not even trying right now.

[ And then she finally lets go, leaving him to grab at his wrist in self-pity as she walks away, this time uninterrupted, and this time right past Peter, although she doesn't realize it's him. It's been months since they've seen or even spoken to each other, after all, and she knows that's by his design. She thought it was a waste, him cutting her off, but she gets it. He's an assassin, she's a thief, she knows too much, it's better if they never cross paths again, blah blah blah. Plus, they've only ever "run into each other" at classier soirees. Plus, now she's cranky. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ It's the thud that catches his attention, focused as he is on clocking his target's time of death and drowning those weird things the songs call feelings with his beer. With the dim lighting and the hazy atmosphere, it's a little hard to tell, but for a second, he swears that woman teaching some asshole a lesson is—

And then she's passing by, and he partly turns away from the bar, tracking her progress, and— yeah. It's definitely who he thought it was. Before his good sense can catch up with his mouth, he quietly blurts out, ]

... Goto?

[ with the sort of inflection one might reserve when asking, "What the hell are you doing here?" ]

[stealwithit]

[ Seeing as she'd been introducing herself with a different name the whole night, that someone says her real name is a bit of a surprise. Among other things (dangerous being one of them). So she stops in her tracks and tosses a glance over her shoulder, brow quirked--and it's Peter "Star-Lord" Quill. Odd, he'd made it abundantly clear at their last meeting that he thought getting involved in any capacity was a bad idea, and even moreso after she didn't hear even so much as a whisper about him for the next couple of months. Even keeping her ear close to the ground, she didn't hear a thing, and so she figured he was laying low, probably trying to shake people off. People including her. And--that was fine.

What isn't fine is that in spite of the strange coincidence that they're both here, he calls her out. By her real surname. In the end, she says, ]

Think you've got me mistaken for someone else. What a shame.

[ He doesn't, actually, and the knowing smile she casts him says that. But it wouldn't do her any good to be like, "Yep, Goto, that's me," so instead she starts taking a swig of her drink as she turns back around and keeps going in the direction she'd been going in. He didn't want them crossing paths, so why should he let that happen now?

Still, part of her hopes he'll follow. She did kind of miss that handsome face of his, after all. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Well, shit. Smooth move, Quill.

Okay, she's definitely toying with him, and he knows it. And she probably knows he knows it, and maybe Peter should let her walk away. He should leave well enough alone before this problem he has becomes a giant goddamn problem, one that he won't be able to back away from.

He watches her retreating back for about a half minute, then turns back to the bar, resolved to let her go. His fingers tighten around his glass.

Another handful of seconds, and he finds himself reluctantly glancing over her shoulder, spotting her in the crowd again, and—

(Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's the atmosphere. Maybe he's missed her (which was silly – they barely knew each other.) Maybe it's after months of willful seclusion, Peter is just— lonely.)

—he throws back the rest of his beer. The empty mug clunks against the bar's top, barely settled before Peter starts weaving his through the crowd after her. When he's at her elbow, he says, ]

Hey, uh, miss. [ Real fucking smooth, Quill. ] Sorry about that. Mistook you for someone else, obviously. Don't hold it against me?

[twelveoclock]

[ The first time McCree walked into the hangar in the mostly-defunct overwatch base at Gibraltar and saw a bright pink robot parked there, his first thought was genuinely What the shit? When he found out that said pink robot was a combat unit that was piloted by a 19-year-old girl, his thought was What the fuck?

He took issue with kids being forced to fight anyway- having been one of those himself, and none the better for it- and the way he was silently questioning the decisions of the higher ups was actually starting to remind him a little of Angie. (He loved the good doctor dearly, but he really didn’t need that kind of stress.)

Actually meeting said pilot of said robot had been a… thing. McCree didn’t like to consider himself old- not by a long shot- but it was like this kid spoke a whole different language. And that’s when she was speaking English. Video games and all involved culture hadn’t really been a part of McCree’s life when he was growing up, let alone now. He failed to really understand how someone who played games for a living could become just that famous, but at least he remained quietly confused rather than grousing about it. The world kept turning and things kept changing whether he kept pace or not, and it was hardly his place to complain about.

That was probably, in part, what endeared Hana to him. He was a “cool old guy”, or at least an old guy who didn’t bitch and moan about her chosen profession or how she conducted herself. He’s still not quite sure what to think of her, to be honest, but she was growing on him. He actually found it in him to ask about her jargon every now and then. She gave him shit for it, of course, but that was part of the fun.

For whatever reason, the way they kind of sort of got along landed him the part of being her sometimes-caretaker, such as now. Angie had shooed him down to the base’s common room to collect Hana, considering it was edging up on 2am and she was still glued to the television in there, having ignored the doctor’s every order to go to bed.

He leans in the doorway for a minute to just watch her play. He still doesn’t quite get what the hell’s going on, but it still looks cool. He knows he could never do it. ]

All right, munchkin. Doc says you gotta get some shut-eye.

[bunnyhopped]

[ By the time Hana was born, the prominence of Overwatch was beginning to subside, the Omnic Crisis having ended. Still, she grew up hearing stories about the brave heroes from all over the world who fought for the world and for humanity. Even when the group fell into disgrace and disbanded, Hana admired them to an extent. Not to a level of fanaticism, but a lot of them seemed so very much like superheroes in comics and stories, games and shows she would watch, except that they were real.

So when the Korean government asked her to become a pilot for MEKA, she said yes. Partly because it was incredibly flattering to have been chosen based on her status as a world gaming champion, but partly because--wow, she could use her skills for something good, just like those heroes.

And then Overwatch reformed. Hana wouldn't have expected them to ask for her assistance, but they did--though when they did, she couldn't help but think, well, why wouldn't they ask me?

Which brings her to now, staying up late in the Gibraltar base, playing games. The last operation overseas had left her a bit jetlagged, but honestly she would have been staying up playing games regardless. When she hears McCree's southern drawl directed at her, she appreciates the fact that it's McCree and not the doctor. McCree doesn't give Hana as much of a rough time about what she spends her free time doing as the doctor or 76 do. At some point she'd actually tried to pass her spending hours on end in front of a screen as training for combat, but once Angela walked in on Hana playing a farming game, the excuse stopped working. This time, at least, she's playing some sort of shooter game set in the wastelands of some desolate planet out in space with hidden treasure and robots and dog-like things that spit acid and pistols that shoot fire or something.

McCree is a "cool old guy," which is why Hana just. Keeps playing. He'll understand right. His entrance, however, distracts her just enough that she gets damaged in whatever fight she's engaged in, and she shrieks an expletive in Korean. ]

[twelveoclock]

[ If there's one thing McCree learned in all his years with Blackwatch, it's how to curse in other languages. ]

Easy missy, or Doc Mercy's gonna swoop in here and wash your mouth out with soap.

[bunnyhopped]

[ Well now that she's died and waiting to respawn, she looks back at him with a frown. ]

You're not gonna tell on me, are you?

[twelveoclock]

Don't hafta. She just knows.

[ He waggles his fingers, as if to emphasize just how spooky that notion is. ]

What ya playin'?