wastedcreation | open post

RP here baybee

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.

Sebastian laughs at the way the techno-voice doesn't lower and stays at pretty much the same cadence even as he's supposed to be stage-whispering. The laugh is sort of a soft hiccup, like it catches him off-guard.

"Well, how responsible of them."

His tone is only a little sarcastic. He has to give the World Gov credit for at least that, he guesses, begrudgingly. They're environmentally conscious, allegedly.

"I'm sure you'll pilot it well." He smiles, then cocks his head. "Pilot? Drive? Use?"

"Jockey," Devero says, smiling back. He swells up a little, cocky, as he continues, "and you're damn right I do. Best in my unit, and that's based on assessments, not just my opinion."

"All right, peacock," Sebastian mutters with a smirk, pushing against his huge shoulder lightly with the back of his hand as though they're army mates. The kind of thing Tox would do with his fellow soldiers, so maybe it's out of place here, as Sebastian the Biologist, but who cares.

"Skills, looks, and confidence. Save some for the rest of us."

Now that one sort of just... Slipped out.

Oh, called out! Devero takes it with good grace, the nudge to his shoulder making him grin with delight.

"I'm only taking up my fair share," he protests, laughing again even as he signs. "I can't help that I need a bigger share than everyone else!"

Tox shakes his head, chuckling under his breath.

"Greedy."

He sips his drink for a moment and watches him sign. It seems like a useful skill.

"Can you teach me one of these words?" He gestures to Devero's hands.

Devero lights right the fuck up, obviously thrilled to have been asked. "Sure!" he says, pivoting on his stool to be facing Sebastian more directly. "Here, copy me." He makes a shape of his two hands together in front of his chest, the forefinger and thumb of one hand forming a semicircle against the extended pointer finger of the other. Then he splays both hands wide open, palms facing, and spreads them away from each other across the width of his chest.

His Interface does not translate this word, not even when he repeats it.

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and white men who kill god

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