ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
be_notorious) wrote2019-05-24 08:51 pm
be_notorious) wrote2019-05-24 08:51 pm(no subject)
THIS IS JUST A TOP-LEVEL CHECKING POST PLZ IGNORE
be_notorious) wrote2019-05-24 08:51 pm
no subject
[But of course, a few days into it, all hell has broken loose. He's idly washing a glass when a pokemon strolls in, which, mind you, isn't that wierd. They're wearing more clothes than usual. That's a little off. It climbs up on the stool and puts down some money with a grim expression on its face.]
Whiskey. On the rocks. [The Chansey says in a voice so deep it could rival Lord Saladin's.]
[Drifter's eyes go wide, and without taking his eyes off what he's having difficulty believing he pours the drink with expert ease.] Yeah, brother. You uh... You look like you need it. How about a double.
[When that's done he stalls and stares at his palm. With barely more than a thought it glows red. Ah. Well. Now isn't that a twist of events. Though if someone comes in, he'll probably hide that hand behind his back immediately.]
[Orin the Espurr's doing her part to help Drifter catch this especially troublesome Meowth. And now he's got two cats up an impressively tall tree, about a story up when compared to the building next to it.. One that's his, one that's almost his, and the one that's his has now taken to staring down at him like, 'What am I supposed to do next?'.]
Do I gotta come up there? You are in a tree. I am comfortably on the ground, and I know you can hear me.
[She stares some more. Just boring a hole right through him. Thanks, creepy child.]
Great. You're gonna be the death o' me, I already got that figured out. If you can actually die in this place? It'll be by you. [And since he's not so restricted as usual (and assuming no one can actually see him pull this stunt), he hopes and liesurely floats into the tree. Just floats, like a feather that's caught in an updraft. He settles his shoes on the biggest branch.]
Alright, come on. Let's finish this up so I can get back down and stop lookin' like a freak up here.
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Somewhere tucked in the Drifter's lengthy overcoat is his ghost. The moment he caught sight of a random passerby he knew that he shouldn't be in his armor. Like watching some ancient recording- people from the time before the Traveller rode into Sol and changed the whole situation up. Before the golden age, when everything was still going downhill and there weren't easy trips to Mars or Titan or the gardens of Mercury.
But this isn't good old Terra Firma. This is something else, somethin' a little off-putting. He's met plenty of people in his life but never has he met so many pointedly dry and forgetable. Of course he's not done much more than listen. For the most part he's been hoping he'd just catch someone slipping up, saying a little too much information that'd give him a big clue as to what was going on.
Trent Wu. That's a good one. He's been Eli, Germaine, Wu Ming, even Dredgen Hope. Today? And for the forseeable future, the Drifter will be Trent Wu. Some boring tradesman. Oh, he'll be honest about the universe. But him? That's no one's business. Just a man of moderate height, bearded with scarred scarred cheeks (gonna have to find a way to explain that), dressed like a man that'd run a rodeo. Bolo tie marked with twined jade snakes, cowboy boots, rocking the Texan look and with the earnest drawal to match.
He sees someone that... well, what's the word? That strikes him. Like he takes more notice, wants to check them out, and he clears his throat as he approaches.
"Howdy there, Stranger. I'm findin' myself more than a little lost. By a few centuries I'd suspect." He smiles broad and wide, the gesture accented by those cheek scars and his boots click along the sidewalk.
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It starts out impersonal enough. They all tell them excitedly of their version of the adventure with the vampires as the mail is got. They ask what cool things they can do. One day Hank even flashes and flicks his ears for the girl, Max. Sneers with fangs, and she thinks its' the coolest thing she's ever seen. Questions get more personal as time goes on. Yuiko, the little girl from across the road, tells them about how she has prophetic dreams and all the kids at school treat her badly. Luis comes by and complains that Donnel Udina's immigration policies made his uncle have to go back to Puerto Rico despite the fact he's been here since he was three. He can't even speak Spanish. Richie comes by and says he's too scared to talk to his bigoted father about this, but since Connor has a boyfriend how do you ask a boy out, or how do you tell if someone likes you.
Some things are impossible to answer at all ages.
It's about three weeks from Date's leaving date when the relevant travel plans are broken. The world shuts down a week at a time as the virus, THE virus, spreads.
Eight months later, travel's still nearly impossible. Luckily and unluckily the children aren't out as much at all. They don't stop by anymore to try and talk and somehow that makes the world a little dimmer. The vampires can't hunt because they can't cross into personal residences and a good number of the healthier people are staying inside. Most drug addicts are dying off, so red ice sales are down. Those that are out late, vulnerable, taste sickly.
Hunting never truly stopped for them. There are some vampires that are truly just hungry, but the ones that are real dangers? He's out there killing. And so many people are dying with unfinished business that Makoto Date finds himself constantly busy. He takes down the occasional exploitative demon, blesses the occasional grave for a worried family. He gets used to the presence of Connor and Hank's flirtatiousness, but also sometimes it gives him pangs of something he can't quite figure out.
Today's been a bad kind of day. Today is a day where he got randomly punched by a guy with a red baseball cap for being "Chinese". He can't even trounce him because he remembers what the DPD did last time he fought back. (Had they been like that before? He didn't remember them being like that before). All he can do is run very quickly from the fight. Then there's a long walk home in chilly late Autumn air, a little grateful for his breath in the medical mask warming his nose, but the black eye he's earned fairly obvious. As he approaches the house, he sees the nice neighbor's wife being picked up by an ambulance. She's an older woman, so he can only hope for the best. But it's the first time he's seen Yuiko outside in a long time.
The foreigner in a strange land trudges up the walkway, fumbles with his key to open the door (a key that was intended to be a spare but lo, fuckery had occurred), and kicks off his shoes by the door even if Hank never does.
"Hey honey, I'm home," he calls out, pulling off his mask, collecting a wrapped frozen steak meant for Hank from the freezer, and collapsing in a miserable heap on the couch. No sports anymore. Just miserable, miserable politics. Udina's fighting with Cristina Warren on a debate stage. It strikes him then that he's a little glad so few people know about Hank and Connor. Because what happened tonight? He's human. Done by another human. What would happen to them?
He holds the steak against his swollen socket with a grown.
~*~*~
Business is booming.
Now, Kazuhira Miller is not a horrible man. He would absolutely have helped people even if he didn't get paid. But as he invested in this before things got bad, before hospitals needed the blood even more than vampires would. Oh Donnell Udina, trying so very hard to look like the good guy blocking foreign tech. But as it turns out, a health crisis makes his resistance to opening up production lines in the US makes him look very bad. Warren's been pouncing on it.
The problem is that Quarantine takes a full two weeks either way. Point one, for Varric he needs to finalize permanent transportation between locations, and he tends to have a very convincing stage presence as a spokesman. For another, he needs to speak with Niko and Tali, using both Niko's pier at Hove Beach and the Stoica shipping services, sign the relevant paperwork in person. And then there's a mysterious gentleman the Florist of Sai told him to meet. The Bowery King, he said, is something like him. And he knows Kaz would help him anyway if pressed, but if Miller should donate his efforts, the rewards would end up far outweighing expectations. The Bowery King stood to become the first Prince of Liberty City that wasn't a vampire. Someone that advocated all monsters. After all the unrest going on back home, the tale is a relief.
Masayuki, he knows, would probably love to see his friends so he makes accommodations that can hold both the curse and the wolf when the full moon comes. With the Quarantine, the full moon during long-distance travel is now unavoidable. They have two specialized cargo crates aboard a freighter, waiting just for them.
The airport is very near Hove Beach, and he was expecting to rent a car, but he finds Niko waiting with a stretch limo. A stretch limo giving off a very sapient vibe.
Miller looks a little strange with his sunglasses and mask (and damn do the things fog up now), but he and Mariko and Masayuki are, presumably, all ready to go. He insists on opening the back door himself, but will allow himself to be lowered into the seat.
The two additional guardian Okami, the ones that speak passable English, are happy to opt for a rental to follow in.
"Tali will be waiting for us at the office." Niko shouts back. "Sorry we cannot show you Liberty City at it's best. But there is no best. No stage shows. No fights. No nothing."
"Don't worry, I planned for business and humanitarian work." He can't transform, but he still doesn't get sick as many wolves don't, and pulls down his mask so he stops blowing hot steam into his glasses. "You're not being a disappointing host, but he gesture is appreciated."
"I bet Masayuki is disappointed," Niko jokes before pulling away. Time to set off towards Hove Beach. Mariko, meanwhile, looks like she's about ready to crawl all over the interior of the car trying to figure out why it feels so strange.
"You've not been around vampires since before you turned," Kaz says to Masayuki. "Be prepared for them to be a little frightened of you, and for them to smell very good." Kaz didn't have a lot of corpselike entities in his employ. Masayuki hasn't been around people that smelled delicious. He knows he can absolutely control himself, but he'd rather the caution be spoken than a slow, creeping realization.
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The only good thing about this whole mess is there’s a lotta work for necromancers and people needing one last minute to get info they need. And that’s not a good thing. It’s a terrible thing. But it is keeping the bills paid, and it means he’s put together a decent little chunk of change in a bank in yet another one of his assumed names.
Another day, another five minute resurrection, another wad of cash to go in his pocket while he wanders off to wait for Dante to get back from whatever godforbidden thing he’s doing.
That night in the witch's tent he'd seen him look vulnerable, so he simply told him 'Tonight I got your six," and had laid back to back with him. And a lotta nights since, in various hotel rooms, he'd done it again. He was gradually becoming less scared. In the earlier days sometimes he'd try to leave before Dante would wake up. He'd rise. Get dressed. Go out the door. Stand there for a good four minutes before grabbing a couple of coffees and donuts and bringing them back so he could let on like he was just getting breakfast. He didn't know why he talked himself out of the smart thing, or kept talking his way back into the dumb thing. Eventually it took root that he couldn't go, just the damn conclusion he shoulda come to earlier.
He started doing little things, like actually undressing out of his shirt and vest. Then he actually slept with his boots on the other side of the room. Then he pulled his pants off one night to sleep in his underwear. Still would sleep with his gun on whatever night table was nearby or under his pillow, but he let himself trust him enough to indulge in actually pulling the blankets over him and having the rare indulgent experience of feeling sheets against his bare thighs.
The biggest deal came when one day he came out of the shower. Sure, he had his headband and amulet on before anything else, but he'd hazarded a trip across the room and even took off the towel to put on his boxers and T-shirt, showing off scars and all- not that Dante didn't know he had 'em, but he only knew about the ones on his face. The whole time? The gun? Not in the bathroom with him.
And that was eight months of work.
So here he is doing what’s become tradition out of that time of staying too long and being too eager to leave. He’s got a coffee and a donut saved specifically for Dante, and waits outside the cafe he grabbed them at for the white-haired turd of a miracle worker to come by.
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There’s not a whole lot he can do. Clean the guns. Take inventory. Organize. Trips like this stretch into the horizon. Drifter has the patience of a man that lives forever. Which is sometimes too much and sometimes none at all. Like why isn’t it here already but oh well, he can wait.
Most nights are calm. He doesn’t mind being rocked to sleep by the waves. He doesn’t mind the sounds of the ocean, or the smell of the salt in the air. It’s not bliss, but it’s good to sleep to. Maybe not tonight.
Not long before he dozed off Dante did something else unintentionally hot. Like he always does. Where he ran his hands through his hair. He could see the muscles in his hands and forearm casually flex with the motion. Had that boyish smirk that still looks playful even as he’s in middle age. Fucking adorable. And he knows Dante knows it, just radiates it naturally and without effort, so he’ll just soak it up like rays of the sun and pretend he’s not a chilly snake in need of warming.
Not long after he closes his eyes, and he thinks he’s still awake, he feels something vining its way up around his calf, crawling underneath the light pants he’d put on to sleep in. He jars up, stares down at his foot and at the something dark is coiling up his pants leg ('dark' is the only suitable description because only its silhouette betrays it). He lurches up to try and tear it away.
“Dante! What the- hrrk” His dream cry is cut off by another vine lurching from behind him, grabbing him around the throat and pulling him down. Squeezing, constricting so he can barely breath. He digs at it with his fingers as his other leg is caught.
If Dante is in here, he’s sure as shit not answering. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s fuckin’ going through whatever’s happening to him here. This is a stupid way to die. It better not be added to his list.
Except the ‘cord’ around his throat never becomes tight enough to actually strangle him. Just hold him. Same as when it claims his hands despite the struggle. The ‘vines’ are still creeping under his clothes, and while they’re just featureless darkness, without shape, he can see the way his A-shirt and pants rise under their search. It’s when they wrap around his dick, his balls, squirming along it and across the slit at the tip that he’s really left confused, irritated... and shamefully pretty aroused.
He arcs up against the mattress, pulling as hard as he can and he just can’t tear loose. It’s when he slumps down and relaxes to catch his breath that some other thick mystery offshoot slides right up inside him. Just between his cheeks and invites itself in. He’s caught between panic and pleasure that’s nearly unbearable.
This is what it wants.
Drifter’s eyes widen and he squirms again.
“This isn’t how it wants it. Oh goddammit. I-” he’s breathy, head swimming as those lines squirm against him, coiling attentively around his dick and rolling his balls with the skill of a nimble tongue.
This is more than the creature can do for it.
Drifter’s sweating by this point, the thickest vine squirming against his taint at the same time it grinds his prostate.
“Creature? Hhhh... Okay, I know... You don’t get it.” He chokes out. “And this pisses me off. But I ain’t wantin’ the creature that bad... we better be talkin’ about the same person.”
It lies. It’s body reacts differently to him now.
Why does it lie when it can have what it wants.
“Because he don’t want what I want. He can’t want what I want.”
Why not?
It is so hard to answer when he can feel something thin prodding into the tip of his dick, like every cell of his body wants to turn over the keys and let this thing drive. He even tangles his fingers in what’s holding his wrist briefly. But finally one braincell wakes up.
“This is my problem. This ain’t like I’m starvin’. I won’t die from it. You need to let me figure this out.”
Nothing had been going on that indicated the depth of the dream. He’d struggled for air a little bit but didn't make a sound, clung to his pillow at moments, squirmed against the sheets. But his most betraying feature is the impressive boner it left him with, tenting up his flimsy sleep pants.
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Y'all stay out of trouble! [He chuckles like the idea of anyone around her staying out of trouble is funny.]
[Drifter spends the rest of the night, until closing time, playing bartender. It's then that he goes to the back unboxes the lady's 'box', shaking his head over how he got himself into this mess. At least his ghost has no trouble identifying what the problem is, and how he can improve it. So he's literally deep in some pussy, tools out, goggles on, when he gets a knock at his back door. He throws off the goggles, tosses a dishcloth over what he was working on to maintain the woman's privacy, and answers the door.]
Heyyyy, Mr. Landlord! How you livin'? [He asks, plastering on a smile.]
Oh, pretty good! Better thanks to the rent. But uh... I hear you've got some special goods.... [It's then that Drifter sees that his temporary landlord has brough back-up, and if that ain't honest to god pretty damn funny. His mouth twitches. Frowns more and more as the men shove their way inside.]
Look, we got a good arrangement here. I would highly recommend you not do what it is you're thinkin' of doin'. ['Wu Ming' closes the door then, leaning his hand against it with his weight because this isn't what he wanted today. And he knows how this is gonna go if it becomes a fight.] Don't make it bad by thinkin' you got a right to any of my shit.
[Through a window outside, where he'd left the light from his workstation on, that there were three figures in there with him was pretty obvious. Though, from the back, one might as well have assumed there'd be 'no witnesses'. Someone passing by could probably catch bits of the argument. They could probably even see the two big dude silhouettes grab 'Wu Ming''s shape and just let the landlord execute him. And if they stuck around long enough after that, they'd see Wu Ming's form return back into fram, punch the landlord as all three figures watched in confusion, and the landlord just 'disappear'. Evaporate from existence, the figure's outline whisping away in a small burst of brightness.]
[Luckily his mortified goons decide that between the failed headshot and watching their boss boxed into non-existence, they're just gonna run. It's when they're running, door kicked open as they barrel out into the back stretch of alleys and reflective 'darkness' (as dark a hovel as a populated place in a neon city gets), that Drifter steps out behind them and tiredly shoots them both in back. Bang bang. One down, then the other.]
[Drifter sighs, shoulder's slumping, looking at this whole new problem he's made for himself.]
Well. Shit.
no subject
■TIME & LOCATION: In the same timelin as this and after this book of lore
■DESCRIPTION: Drifter comes back from his trip out of Sol worse for the wear
■WARNINGS: General character trauma
[He was so far away that he never got word of the Tower. He found out the hard way. When their light ebbed and waned. When he'd shake shoulders to rouse a crewman and they wouldn't stir, their ghost laying on the ground with all the life of a child's discarded puzzle. It sank in as the days passed, the lingering horror that they might not leave.]
[But the plan- the plan was always important. These things could extinguish the light, they knew. It wasn't just the disaster happening worlds and worlds away, it was draining them. And the rest of the crew? Oh, they got mad about it. Mad, and dangerous. Something Drifter couldn't abide by, because he had to make it back. He had to stop what was coming. These people had believed in ending the cycles of light versus light (that, or they had believed in his gold). A lot of them had fought a warlord or two, didn't want to see another corrupt Lightbearer flinging blade barrages around unrepentantly.]
[But here they were, and who led them into that situation? Drifter. It was all his fault and they knew it. He knew it, even if he had no intention of killing them off when he went out there. It was gonna be a team effort, they'd all come back winners.]
[His ghost's last words were ones of appreciation for him. Before he packed it full of bits from other ghosts, turned it into a little floating abomination just so they'd survive their way out of there. The whole thing was agreed upon, but even as a man not terribly fond of ghosts, it unsettled him. Like putting a set of Eliksni arms on a human. Just felt off. Felt wrong.]
[He comes back after his journey to find Mara. He promised he would before he went. He wagered she'd understand the 'now or never' nature of the situation. And now he's got a little friend on the Derelict to introduce her to. A creature from that ice world. He's got shaky hands as he sets the temperature controls, still feeling the chill deep in his bones. Still seeing betrayed faces with every blink, or feeling the unnerving memory of rock-hard muscle that had give when he patted it the day before.]
[He leans on a railing. Okay, okay. Get it together. Head back in the game. Go tell Mara what you've found. Work out how useful it's gonna be. Off that world, they can investigate it.]
[He's so thrown right now he ain't even hungry.]
no subject
■TIME & LOCATION: Sometime after this and this thread.
■DESCRIPTION: Drifter taking Paul to meet the Eliksni
■WARNINGS: tba
So, 'Rhys' you said her name was? [Drifter's asking as they head for the Eliksni Quarter. He doesn't know if the Big Man in charge will be around- Spider probably will be, but nobody wants to meet him. Eido'd be a good person to introduce him to. She'd bleed him dry on stories.]
Still need to hit up that restaurant. Maybe after all this is done, if we need to pack somethin' onto whatever poison they got stocked up at the Ether Tank. I think you'll like that place! Fallen love to party.
[He gestures for Paul to follow him down the cobblestone street towards a place that was once near rubble thanks to the Red War, but the folks that moved in have been doing a good job of cutting out a place for themselves.]