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exsiliumlogs2013-05-03 11:49 am
solitaire) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-05-03 11:49 am
diamonds will always look like stones; ( open )
Date & Time: vaguely this week
Location: around the city and hold
Characters: remy lebeau & open;
Summary: a week in the life. many options, pick one and let's roll.
Warnings: tba
( a ) When you live dangerously, there is often a price to pay. He's been spending off nights exploring every inch of the city, from the tunnels to the ruins to the inhabited places. Sometimes, those escapades end in fights, sometimes he acquires injuries incidentally. He's been shot, by a fellow Transport, more than once. Such is his life, and he's used to it.
But he's far from stupid. He knows he has to take care of himself, if only to the slimmest extent. That means that tonight, just before night gives way to morning, he's shuffling around in the Transport Clinic. He doesn't want actual care, doesn't want anyone to see him. He's just taking what he needs, and then he'll be on his way. He rummages around for bandages, blood seeping through a not-yet-healed wound on his leg. He bites down on his lower lip, drops a bottle of something and winces as it clatters to the ground and it rolls away. Damn.
( b ) Some nights are better. Those are the nights he spends at his favorite tavern in the crumbling city, sitting at a back table and playing cards. He's taught the locals some of his games, learned many of their own in return. He laughs, they all drink, and the natives are blissfully unaware that he's slowly sucking them dry. He doesn't keep the money for himself, however, and really has no use for it anyway. Those coins find themselves in the pockets of those who need it most, going back into the establishments he frequents and the hands of children on the street.
Tonight the laughter is loud and the drinks are ordered readily. Remy's always up for a game, or a talk, with a fellow Transport, and if he sees one enter the tavern he'll wave them over with a hand still holding half the deck.
( c ) He doesn't like spending time around the Hold, truth be told. It's too militaristic, for his tastes, and when he can get away from that imagery it still tastes like a prison. But he can only get away with existing in the city alone for so long, and eventually during the day he circles back to the Transports' assigned quarters. He doesn't care much for the training rooms, either, but he can appreciate their functionality. So this afternoon, he slips into one of the less occupied rooms and gets to work. He keeps his skills sharp in various ways--boxing, sparring, target practice. He's not wearing his coat, keeps reaching up to brush his auburn hair off his forehead. After awhile, a comfortable layer of sweat on his brow and melting ache between his shoulders, he pulls out his deck of cards.
He shuffles once, twice, and then a third time. Each time, one card appears on top--the Queen of Hearts, the weapon he'd chosen for himself here. He hasn't done much with her, yet, not wanting to risk the consequences of her disappearing entirely if she blew up.
Today, he's bored, and idle. He flicks the card up between his index and middle fingers, examines it slowly. It flares, briefly, with the signature pink light of his powers. Experimentally, he tosses the card towards the nearest wall. He expects it to burst, bounce back. What he doesn't expect is for a deafening boom to sound, taking out the majority of the wall.
And, amongst the rubble? The Queen of Hearts, still in-tact.
( d ) And, if none of the above suit your fancy? This fellow can be found in all manner of places at all manner of times: out on the rooftops, in the outlands, in various places in the city. He's never still, and trouble seems to follow him as a rule.
Location: around the city and hold
Characters: remy lebeau & open;
Summary: a week in the life. many options, pick one and let's roll.
Warnings: tba
( a ) When you live dangerously, there is often a price to pay. He's been spending off nights exploring every inch of the city, from the tunnels to the ruins to the inhabited places. Sometimes, those escapades end in fights, sometimes he acquires injuries incidentally. He's been shot, by a fellow Transport, more than once. Such is his life, and he's used to it.
But he's far from stupid. He knows he has to take care of himself, if only to the slimmest extent. That means that tonight, just before night gives way to morning, he's shuffling around in the Transport Clinic. He doesn't want actual care, doesn't want anyone to see him. He's just taking what he needs, and then he'll be on his way. He rummages around for bandages, blood seeping through a not-yet-healed wound on his leg. He bites down on his lower lip, drops a bottle of something and winces as it clatters to the ground and it rolls away. Damn.
( b ) Some nights are better. Those are the nights he spends at his favorite tavern in the crumbling city, sitting at a back table and playing cards. He's taught the locals some of his games, learned many of their own in return. He laughs, they all drink, and the natives are blissfully unaware that he's slowly sucking them dry. He doesn't keep the money for himself, however, and really has no use for it anyway. Those coins find themselves in the pockets of those who need it most, going back into the establishments he frequents and the hands of children on the street.
Tonight the laughter is loud and the drinks are ordered readily. Remy's always up for a game, or a talk, with a fellow Transport, and if he sees one enter the tavern he'll wave them over with a hand still holding half the deck.
( c ) He doesn't like spending time around the Hold, truth be told. It's too militaristic, for his tastes, and when he can get away from that imagery it still tastes like a prison. But he can only get away with existing in the city alone for so long, and eventually during the day he circles back to the Transports' assigned quarters. He doesn't care much for the training rooms, either, but he can appreciate their functionality. So this afternoon, he slips into one of the less occupied rooms and gets to work. He keeps his skills sharp in various ways--boxing, sparring, target practice. He's not wearing his coat, keeps reaching up to brush his auburn hair off his forehead. After awhile, a comfortable layer of sweat on his brow and melting ache between his shoulders, he pulls out his deck of cards.
He shuffles once, twice, and then a third time. Each time, one card appears on top--the Queen of Hearts, the weapon he'd chosen for himself here. He hasn't done much with her, yet, not wanting to risk the consequences of her disappearing entirely if she blew up.
Today, he's bored, and idle. He flicks the card up between his index and middle fingers, examines it slowly. It flares, briefly, with the signature pink light of his powers. Experimentally, he tosses the card towards the nearest wall. He expects it to burst, bounce back. What he doesn't expect is for a deafening boom to sound, taking out the majority of the wall.
And, amongst the rubble? The Queen of Hearts, still in-tact.
( d ) And, if none of the above suit your fancy? This fellow can be found in all manner of places at all manner of times: out on the rooftops, in the outlands, in various places in the city. He's never still, and trouble seems to follow him as a rule.
cries i don't want to be associated with her!!
Of all the people she could have run into -- and she didn't peg him for the type to enjoy a rooftop view of the dreary city. Then again, who does? She comes up here to think herself.
"I do it all the time," she says, coolly.
it's a good thing you edited that subject line, then
He notes her tone, and can't really say he doesn't deserve it. He shrugs, almost imperceptibly.
"Never said you didn't."
but you took away my snowflake :(
i'm not even sorry
"But if that's what you think, why be here at all?"
rude!
"I like heights."
the rudest
Eventually, he points to a building across the street and says, blandly, "That one's got more height."
no subject
But she also takes Remy's commentary as a sign he wants to be alone and certainly not with her.
"Right, I'm going."
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"I always though soldiers liked bein' on the ground."
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She pauses, only her shoulder turned from Remy. "Lived on the top floor of a penthouse in downtown. Heights are more fun." She's not sure why she just said that.
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No one ever said Kate Kane didn't have a bit of an ego.
"Yeah?" she doesn't sound too annoyed anymore, but she is on guard around Remy. "And you?"
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"I'm up here, ain't I?"
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She just feels tired of arguing with people lately, even if her temperament is always ready to bite back at others. She doesn't understand anymore how she and Remy went from being on decent terms to nearly at each other's necks on the last mission.
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What a disturbing thought.
She tilts her head, wearing a wry expression. "I'm not that much of a bitch."
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"Really."
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"I don't say things I don't mean. Usually."
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She's never had Jake Kane's self-restraint and Beth was always the one to reel her back in as children. Now she has no one to try and soothe her over when she's feeling impulsive.
"I don't lose."
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"You don't, or you don't like ta?"
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