wastedcreation | open post

RP here baybee

As far as missions go, this one could be a lot worse. Devero's been deep into ludd territory on protection details; he's camped out in wild forest to keep a team of Reclamation Corps civilians safe from the kind of outsiders who liked to make their own ignorance and poor choices into Gov's problem. He's had to run interference with megafauna wildlife in extreme conditions to ensure research teams can finish collecting their data. He's had to make choices that result in ended lives. Unlike most World Guards, he's a Scorpion, and that means he's had to fight.

This mission has not involved any fighting.

This time, his squad is accompanying a diplomatic envoy, escorting political specialists to a treaty renegotiation in... whichever outsider town this is. Is this the one with the copper mine? He thinks this is the one with the copper mine. If this place wasn't deep in the NorAm territory, Gov probably wouldn't have sent a Scorpion squad at all, but there are too many uppity ludd factions on this continent. It's not worth risking citizen's lives.

Ah, but right now, he's off-duty. He doesn't have to worry about anyone's life but his own. He and Alé and Keighjo had all set off together to explore this weirdly low-tech little town, but he'd lost the other two in a gaming hall. Watching them watch non-citizens play weird analog games was boring as fuck, so he'd left them to it and continued on until he found this place: a proper bar.

He ducks his head a little as he pushes inside, glad to get out of the dry heat of the town. Sun's been down for almost an hour and it's still hot; he is ready for a drink after enduring it.

He's aware of the locals watching him as he weaves between tables and up to the counter on the far side of the room. He's aware of the eyes on his Interface, its gleam and glow standing out in a place where the people don't even seem to have handheld Interfaces, much less wearable ones. (He knows he's not supposed to judge these people for their baffling indifference to joining Gov, but he can't help but be at least... bewildered by it.)

He finds an empty stool, eases his big frame down onto it, reaches without thinking for a feed that barely connects here like he'll be able to pull this place's menu up for a look. The bartender who approaches him gives him a weird look, but dutifully asks, "Get ya something?"

There's a hitch between the question and Devero's answer, his eyes going a little distant as he checks his Interface for the transcription of their words. Then he nods, head and fist both, and says, "Whatever local beer you recommend, please."

He says it... with his hands, flowing quick and comfortable through the motions of Global Sign. The bartender's brow furrows immediately, but only a moment later, Devero's Interface translates his words. His artificial voice is neutral and pleasant, masculine in timbre, and emits from his Interface eye where it sits on his face. The bartender blinks at him, smiles uncertainly, says, "Uh... sure, yeah," and heads off to the taps at the end of the counter.

Tox has also been on missions that involved ending lives, being the most effective soldier for taking people out in a silent, covert way. Trained since birth, it's easy for him to simply summon poison in the air a person is breathing, then catch them as they fall. No weapon, no blood, and not even an autopsy can truly pin it to him, because most people on the surface aren't aware his type of magic exists. Or they don't believe any type of magic exists.

This isn't one of those missions. This mission is kind of... Nothing. Someone got wind of a treaty renegotiation and thought it would be best to keep a finger on that pulse. What pulse? Tox had muttered grimly, certain that nothing interesting would happen and he'd just have to endure the heat for no reason.

Thus far, he's correct. The heat is awful, the sun is too bright for him even with sunglasses, and he has to wear a jacket to hide his augmented arm, so he doesn't stick out like a sore thumb in this low-tech wasteland, which borders him on heat stroke by the end of the day.

Tox, or Sebastian, as he goes by on the surface, sits at the bar pressing a cold mug to his flushed face. His hair is slightly shiny with sweat. He looks over with unnaturally bright, toxic green eyes as Devero sits down. The first thing he notices is how huge he is, even by surface standards, followed closely by the interface over his eye. He must not be from around here, and the uniform tells Tox he's probably here on official business for the treaty thing.

He watches Devero with interest as he orders, first with his hands, then an artificial voice that comes from his interface. That piques his curiosity far more than anything job-related. Sebastian has perhaps seen sign language before, but never translated in real time like that. His community doesn't do much in the way of disability accommodation, despite having the tech for it.

Well then, if he's going to get any intel from this trip, it's probably going to be from this guy. He's just unsure how to get his attention if he can't hear. Fortunately, they're only a couple seats apart and sort of facing each other at a right angle, so as the bartender sets the man's recommended local beer down, Sebastian lifts his drink toward him in a sort of cheers motion. Sipping, he acts like he's considering the taste.

"It's cold, at least, I'll give it that."

Even if he hadn't caught the motion of the glass in his peripheral vision, his Interface taps against his temple to let him know he's being addressed. He thanks the bartender with a gesture, then wraps his big hand around the body of the glass rather than the handle, assessing the temperature for himself. He grins and nods an acknowledgement to the fellow sitting around the bar's corner, then takes the handle properly and lifts the beer for a taste.

He actually looks a little surprised at it, and takes a second, longer draught before setting it conscientiously down on a provided coaster. "Tastes pretty good to me," he says genially, with his Interface's attendant translation.

Tox doesn't like beer. He's never understood why anyone does. It doesn't taste good, and he's never been drunk in his life due to his immunity to poison, so he doesn't get why surface people go nuts for it, even get addicted to it. He's only drinking it now because it helps him blend in. He supposes the carbonation and the temperature are somewhat refreshing.

But this guy seems to be a Beer Enjoyer, and apparently this beer is not bad. Wrong move number one, but he can probably recover. The man is friendlier than he expected him to be.

"It's not bad," he concedes, and there's at least a small nugget of truth in there. "I definitely need the refreshment, today was a scorcher." No one who lives here permanently is sweating and flushed the way Tox is, another reason he needs to do everything he can to fit in, to seem like he belongs when he truly doesn't.

He's not the only one who's flushed from the heat, and running around in a body as big as this one doesn't make it easy to keep cool, no matter how high-tech the fabric of his World Guard fatigues is. His easy grin remains and he makes a point of fanning at his face with his free hand. "This heat is rough," he agrees. "Could be worse, though. Could be humid. You ever been--"

Devero. You are in an Outsider town. No one here has ever been anywhere but here (as far as he knows).

He grimaces self-consciously, signing a 'sorry' with one hand and using another to take a fresh gulp of the beer.

Ah, yeah, most people here don't exactly travel... But of course, Tox isn't from here, and neither is Sebastian.

"I've been around a bit, actually. I travel for work." Which is not a lie. He does travel for work. "Where could possibly be worse than here?" He asks jokingly. He can't imagine a place hotter.

Devero looks directly over at him, eyebrows lofted in evident surprise. He'd assumed that everyone in this stupid town lived here, had always lived here, and would always live here. And that's the kind of assumption that makes a Guard underestimate an opponent, he reminds himself, seeing the admonition scroll in his mind's eye like he's receiving the lecture directly.

He's seen ground vehicles on the streets here. Is it so impossible that some of these towns are linked up, that people might shuffle between them?

"The CenAm archipelago," he says. "You go far enough south from here, past the steppes and the grasslands to where the land breaks up into that island chain between this continent and SouAm. All of those islands are tropical rainforest. Hotter than this, and so wet it feels like drinking the air."

Tox knows all about assumptions. He'd had hundreds of falsehoods about the surface baked into him from birth, which lead to a lot of embarrassing moments up here as a spy. He's still not the most knowledgeable, but he's curious enough to actually learn the truth of things up here, so he gets by.

"Oh, wow." He's heard of this place, and heard of rainforests, and he's felt hot humid air before, but... It still sounds so exotic to him.

"So you really travel. That kind of heat sounds miserable... But a jungle, that must be cool. I'm a biologist, and I hear the biodiversity there is immense."

He laughs, big and loud enough that a few heads turn his way. "The first time I was on one of those islands I thought I was going to sweat out of my clothes," he says, leaning across the counter a little like he's confiding some big secret. "Talk about miserable.

"I'm not a nature guy," he continues, "but yeah, there's a lot of wild stuff in jungles like that. One time, I stuck my foot in my boot without checking it and got bit by some spider that had moved in overnight. Hurt so bad I could barely walk; my mates had to carry my ass to medical so I could get the antivenom."

He tells the story with a grin, able to look back on it as just a misadventure, but it had actually been pretty scary at the time. If he hadn't been a citizen of the most medically advanced society on the planet (...as far as he knows!), and able to get treated immediately, this story might have been more of a cautionary tale.

Sebastian's brows lift then, at the loudness of the laugh. It's unexpected, in a pleasant way. He can't help but laugh in return.

"Swimming in sweat," he adds, leaning in to mirror him. A good way to get intel that he's picked up over the years; mirroring body language and tone. He had to learn how to do it, and it was often a conscious and intentional effort, but by now it's nearly automatic.

He's relieved he's not talking to a 'nature guy', meaning he won't be grilled on spider species or microbiomes. Not that Sebastian doesn't know a thing or two about biology. He originally chose it as his cover profession because of how much he idolized his father, a geneticist, as a kid. Now, he no longer puts that man on a pedestal, but his interest in science remains, and he learns whatever he can.

"Shit," he exclaims with a small laugh, mainly because the other man seems to recall it fondly, but there's an equal measure of shock. "You're lucky you kept your foot."

And, part Tox curiosity and part Biologist Sebastian curiosity, he adds, "Did you get a look at the spider?"

Before he answers, Devero slides his beer down to the end of the bar, and transfers from seat to seat over the couple of stools between his original perch and the corner. This guy's being friendly enough he figures he won't object.

"Apparently, I'm lucky I didn't have a heart attack," he says after he's settled on his new seat. "Doctor said they're significantly neurotoxic." But he still seems sanguine about it, his gestures open and his mouth still tilted in a crooked grin.

"Not a great one," he admits. "I saw a brown thing about this long--" He pauses to hold his fingers a little more than an inch apart for a moment before going on. "--go flying when I yanked my foot out. Then somebody smashed it, and that was that."

Success. The guy trusts him, so now he should be able to get some intel. But also... Who fucking cares. It's a boring mission for both of them, probably, and he'd rather talk about spiders.

He stifles an Arsil-related exclamation, since he knows that will come off as odd, and instead raises a brow, confused at the man's cavalier attitude toward this near-death experience.

"Wow. Small but deadly. The upside to living in a more boring part of the world is there's less wildlife trying to kill you, I guess."

He sips his beer again, wondering why he's keeping up this act of enjoying it.

"I doubt your time here will be as exciting. Watch out for scorpions, though." He smiles wryly, teasing.

Devero laughs again, just as loudly as before and much more exuberantly than what the other guy's said warrants. Good thing he's about to explain: "Funny you should say that. I am a Scorpion." The capital-S doesn't relay through the neutral voice of his translator or his signing, but he starts rolling up the right sleeve of his fatigues as soon as he's finished speaking. Fold by fold, a tattoo of a robot scorpion is revealed, glimmering with a faintly metallic sheen-- well, until he gets to the thickest part of his bicep. The fabric of his sleeve gets too tight there to roll any further, and he has to just shove it up the rest of the way.

He's teasing as well as he says, "Maybe you should be watching out for me!"

Sebastian cocks his head to the side, then watches intently as the sleeve is rolled up. Wow, that is one juicy bicep. It looks as thick as a tree trunk, probably as thick as Sebastian's thigh, at least.

"Cool," he remarks, and means it. He can't help but laugh at that added comment. Cute.

Wait, cute? Juicy bicep? Cue a moment of gay panic. He hopes this doesn't awaken anything in him.

"I'll be careful around you, then, try not to act threatening. What makes you a scorpion, other than this tattoo?"

It is a pretty juicy bicep, and instead of rolling his sleeve back down, he rolls up the other to match it. His left arm is tattooed as well, simple blackwork circuits making patterns around his wrist and up towards the elbow. He takes a draught off his beer, then reaches up to pluck the bigger piece of his Interface off his face. (There's a smaller, more discreet piece on the other ear, tucked up over the curve.)

A few twists of his hands, and he converts the wearable to its handheld mode. He pulls up a picture on it-- him leaning his shoulder up against the leg of a robot, the machine sleek and grey-black and clearly armed. Devero's in his jockey suit, also sleek and grey-black and not the fatigues he's wearing tonight in this bar. He's got his arms and ankles crossed and looks very pleased with both himself and his machine. There's a symbol matching his tattoo visible on one of the bigger metal panels of the thing.

"My Scorpion makes me a scorpion," he says before holding the device out for his companion to see without going as far as handing it over. It still speaks his words even switched over to this mode as it has been.

The tattoos are very cool, and are not completely unlike Tox's. He wishes he could show them off without blowing his cover.

He watches with interest, both at the transformation of the interface itself and the picture of Devero with the robot. Noting the weapons on the thing, he realizes that this intel is far juicier than whatever diplomatic thing is happening in this town. This is enemy weaponry, shown to him proudly like a trophy. His eyes scan, trying to memorize every detail of the machine, though his eye keeps being drawn to the confident man next to it.

"Wow. That's incredible," he says, which is his genuine opinion, but he adds in the wonder of someone allegedly less versed in technology than he is.

"Do you have that here with you? Or is it only for more dangerous places?"

"Thanks," Devero says, swelling a little like he's the one who designed the thing, rather than just the guy who uses it. He twists his Interface back to its prior configuration and puts it back on, hooking the main body of the device over his ear and settling the screen in front of his eye with a fussy little motion.

He shrugs widely, then says, "Gov wanted a Scorpion escort for the bureaucrats, so here we are." In other words, he doesn't think this is a dangerous place, but he is very far away from the guy who makes these kinds of decisions.

So the machine is here. Meaning... Maybe he could see it up close, if he gets on this guy's good side enough. And/or gets him drunk enough. He takes another gulp of his own drink, trying not to make any expression of distaste.

"I see. I've always been interested in technology, despite living out here." Which is... Somewhat true. He has a mixed relationship with technology. He can't show Dev his bionic arm either. "I'd love to see one of those in person."

"Is that so?" Devero looks a little surprised by the admission. "Have you thought about immigrating?"

Devero you can't just ask a guy if he wants to "immigrate" to your global nation, come on man--

From Tox's point of view, Devero may as well be asking him to join a new cult. Not that he thinks of his commune as a cult... Yet. But he has to hide his disdain at the surface man trying to 'recruit' him.

But Sebastian, on the other hand... Tox usually would play this 'character' as averse to such an idea, as well, since that's how many Outsiders feel. But that might not go over well with his new 'friend.'

"Once or twice," he says noncommittally, after a too-long hesitation trying to weigh the right answer. "Maybe I'd get more opportunities to travel to rainforests and the like to study the spiders," his lip quirks up wryly. "But I'm pretty happy with what I do now."

If Devero clocks the hesitation as too long, he doesn't comment on it. His eyebrows do go up when he reads the final answer, obviously a little surprised to meet an Outsider who has considered it.

He also snorts, saying, "You could study all the spiders you want, I'm sure." He can't imagine the field of spider science has so many people clamoring to join it that they wouldn't welcome new blood. But he's not actually here to recruit potential citizens, and he can't help his curiosity about this friendly local and what it's like to actually live-- anywhere outside of Gov. "What is it do you do, then?"

He certainly lowers his voice as he admits to considering leaving his supposed beloved Outsider town.

"Tempting," he mutters with the same little dry smirk, leaning back in his seat and putting his hands in his pockets as he intently watches Devero signing.

"I work on multiple projects. The one I'm focused on here is how the mining affects the nearby ecosystems. Soil and water quality, things like that. Pretty boring, really." He waves a hand. Ah, he is but a humble, rural biologist whose idea of the big leagues is travelling a few towns over to check out some trees. It's almost freeing, this fantasy.

While Sebastian explains, Devero finishes his beer, and waves at the bartender for another.

"Important, though," he acknowledges, before turning to nod his thanks as the new mug is handed down to him. Turning back, he continues blithely, "Your work is probably part of why we're here trading for copper instead of mining our own somewhere else."

A good sign, for his friend to order another, but he hopes he can just drink this one slowly enough not to order another, without being suspicious. Or maybe he could get a mixed drink. That might taste a little better...

"How so? Fewer mines for less degradation, I assume?"

"I think so," Devero says, then leans over exaggeratedly to admit, "but it's not exactly my field." He sits back upright to taste his new drink (which, admittedly, tastes the same as the first one). That would be in line with the values of his government, though, to utilize an existing operation if it's being ethically run and be able to improve the lives of the people actually running it at the same time.

But he's no philosopher, ethical or otherwise. "I'm just here to make sure my scorpion looks real precise in its place in the formations," he adds with a deep chuckle.

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and white men who kill god

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