wastedcreation | open post

RP here baybee

Devero's hands come up right away to start suggesting alternatives, but he waits to let Sebastian finish, and then lowers them again. He looks around the bar, at all the masc guys with their beers or little shot glasses in front of them. No martini glasses, no margarita bowls; this clearly isn't a fancy drinks kind of bar. And if alcohol doesn't even do anything for Seb....

He brings his attention back to the other man. "You smoke?" he asks. "I've got some herb back at barracks, if that'd be more up your alley."

He hesitates. He isn't too sure what herb refers to- anything but alcohol is pretty scarce in the commune, and also contraband, and his time on the surface hasn't been plentiful enough to run into many other kinds of drugs.

In any case, it probably won't affect him... And part of him wants to be honest with Devero about that, because the guy is so nice. But that would be suspicious, because humans are affected by drugs. Everyone but him is, really, and he can't be honest about the reason for that.

In silver lining, the barracks might offer a more private location for them to... Hang out more comfortably, and if not, it'll at least be a place he can gather more intel.

"Sure, why not."

"All right!" Devero rises to his feet, picking up his glass and throwing the rest of the beer back in one long chug. He sets it down with a clack and gives the bartender a friendly wave, then gestures again for Seb to follow him and takes a step towards the door--

"Hey!" That's the bartender, barking as he hurries down to this end of the counter. "You gonna pay for those, you wiggie weirdo?"

Sebastian stands, then raises a brow as the bartender chases them down like they're about to run off into the night without paying. And did he really have to call Devero that? It all seems a bit unnecessary.

He raises a hand to signal to Devero that he need not interact with this dude, and glares at the barkeep as he sets money on the bartop for both of their drinks. All surface folk have his ire at heart, 'wiggie' or no, but Devero... Has made himself an exception, at least for tonight.

He then turns and falls into step with the other man, heading out.

"Dumbass," he mutters.

As soon as he sees the word 'pay', Devero flusters. He's slapping around at his pockets before Sebastian intercedes, but subsides when his new pal takes care of it.

"Thank you," he says as they leave, his own mutter in the hunch of his shoulders and his ducked head. "I always forget about that shit when I'm out of Gov territory."

"You forget... To pay? Are drinks free there? Or do your fancy glasses pay for you."

He imagines there's little that interface can't do.

"Everything is free there," Devero says. "Gov takes care of us."

"Really?" He was joking about the drinks being free, but everything?

"In exchange for what?"

Being a soldier, maybe. That wouldn't be too different from the commune, he realizes. But nothing is truly free. There's always expectation, rules to follow, shoes to fill.

Tox is right, but Devero's too close-- and too good a son of his government-- to see it. So he believes it when he says, "Nothing. If you can work and there's something you want to do, you do it, but no one's required to be a contributor."

"Bullshit," he says, feeling that he can be so bold because of the rapport they've built, though it may be a step too far. Still, he can't continue to hide his disdain for surface communities completely, and his cynicism from his own turbulent teen years in the commune. "There must be a catch."

"Why?" Devero asks. "There's more than enough of everything to go around. Why not make sure everyone gets their fair share?"

(There is, perhaps, a reason why Devero was one of the Scorpions sent on this particular mission, and why the Scorpions in general were given leave to go out and mingle with the locals.)

"Sure, of course, everyone can have their fair share. But you can't tell me your government is completely benevolent and expects nothing of you."

He doesn't really have a solid argument, because he hasn't fully articulated his issues with his own commune's leadership yet (because he's not allowed). And even if he had thought it through completely, he wouldn't be able to tell Devero about it.

"Why can't I?" Devero asks, turning them around a corner and down a wider, more brightly lit street. "A government's job is to take care of its citizenry, isn't it?"

Seb shrugs, quiet for a few moments.

"Sure, but all governments have their own agendas. Even you, being a Scorpion, being here, is probably part of a bigger mission they have. And while that's all fine and good right now, someday they might ask you to do something you really don't want to, and you will, because they took care of you."

He's silent again, then, for fear of saying something too truthful.

Devero thinks about that, hands in his pockets as they walk so he doesn't respond impulsively. Finally, he says, "Is that so bad? They've taken excellent care of me. Is it wrong to be willing to pay that back if I'm able, even if it's not something I want to do? I mean, as long as they're not asking me to do something wrong...."

"And if it was wrong? If it hurt someone innocent? If it killed someone who didn't deserve it, and that was partly your fault? If doing it made you into someone you don't recognize?"

Yeah, he's clearly projecting here.

He's projecting so hard that Devero stops in the street, pivoting to look directly at him. "Are you... sure you don't want to immigrate?" he asks, hunched and a little hesitant. "You can even come in as a refugee, you know, without committing to citizenship right away...."

Tox would definitely get irritated and snap at him if he didn't seem so... Genuine and sympathetic. It seems like he's not just trying to recruit him for the sake of it, but because he's genuinely worried for him.

He looks away, going quiet. He does sometimes want to get out. He is starting to become disillusioned with things.

"I can't."

There are a million reasons he can't, and many of them can't be articulated to Devero, but the pervasive one is a sense of obligation.

Devero just looks at him for a moment longer, the empathetic part of him wanting badly to pry and press. If he knew Seb better, he probably would. But they're mere bar acquaintances, and beyond that, Seb's an outsider. What's going on in his life is not really Devero's business, and he knows it.

"Okay," he says finally, nodding. He puts a hand on Seb's shoulder, turns them both to keep walking. "Come on, let's go get stoned."

He leads the way to where the delegation from the World Government is quartered, which is-- actually just the local hotel. And he doesn't invite Seb in, asking him to wait on the street while he ducks inside to get his kit. He's not technically supposed to have this with him on a mission, so he's got to be a little a sneaky about smuggling it out of the 'barracks'.

He waits until they're around a corner from the hotel to produce the slim metal case from a pocket, showing it to Seb with a wicked grin. "I know just where to try this out, too," he says, an invitation, and leads Seb further through the streets, heading now away from the center of town. At some point, he leaves the road and heads up a scrubby slope. It's not a terribly hard climb-- not for Devero, anyway-- and he grins again as they crest the hill.

Said crest ends abruptly in the sheer face of a desert wash. Back towards the road, where this gully widens out, sits the local sheriff's office. But it's not the office he wanted Seb to see-- it's the rank of dormant Scorpions below, parked in formation around the luxury shuttle that had brought the delegation here. The machines are all bathed in brilliant portable spotlights, ringed by a temporary fence festooned with warning signs.

"Good view, huh?" he asks, telegraphing hope in his eager expression. "Hopefully worth the hike?"

Edited Date: 2026-01-18 04:13 am (UTC)

Part of him is relieved at not being pressed to share things he really shouldn't, but his stomach also twists strangely with some emotion he can't quite identify. Not disappointment, exactly... A certain type of regret, maybe, and dread. Deep down, some part of him knows he was just offered an out he may never get again, and he may come to really wish he'd taken it.

The feeling soon dissipates as he follows Devero through the cooling, darkening streets, waiting where he's told to wait, looking at him with curious interest as he says he knows a spot. He wonders if his new friend is taking them to see the Scorpions, and truly hopes so. The hike and the obstacles are no problem for him, nothing he hasn't done in training a thousand times, and his expression fills with awe as he joins Devero atop the hill and looks out.

"Wow... Yes, definitely." He grins. Jackpot. This is true intel. The location, the weapon type, the level of security around them... He'll get a pat on the back from Damian, and maybe others, for this report.

"So cool..."

Such advanced technology, able to be piloted by a person, like a huge augment, an exoskeleton. It's the kind of thing Atlas is striving toward, a powerful tool of war.

Beaming like he'd arranged this whole thing just to impress his bar pal, Devero sits down on the edge of the little cliff, letting his legs dangle over. The view of the Gov hardware down there is unimpeded from this vantage, but there's enough brush and shrubby trees up here to disguise their silhouettes if they sit a while.

He slides the case out of his pocket again and flips it open, revealing a few neatly rolled joints and a slimline lighter. He offers it out to Seb, letting him have first pick of the (admittedly, pretty identical) herb cigarettes.

Seb sits down on the ledge next to Devero, for a few more moments scanning the setup below under the guise of being very interested in the tech. As the case is offered to him, he finally pulls his attention away, looking at the small cigarettes. He chooses one, lifting it to his nose for a small whiff.

"I'll be honest, I've never done this before." He continues to examine the joint. It smells pungent, and he wonders if it'll have any effect on him.

"They're mild ones," Devero assures him. "I didn't want to risk any of my good stuff getting confiscated." Not to mention the, you know, discipline and whatever that would have come along with smuggling psychoactives on an active duty mission.

He picks a joint of his own and the lighter out of the case, then sets it aside. Sticking the joint between his lips, he lights it quickly, then offers the lighter over to Seb.

"You light it, then inhale," he says, able to demonstrate while he explains. "It'll probably make you cough the first time, so don't try to pull it in deep or hold it. Just in and out." He releases his pull of smoke in a gentle puff.

Hm. So there's a chance he'll feel nothing and have to pretend he's inebriated, whatever that even looks like for this kind of drug.

He takes the lighter, but watches Devero carefully before using it. He looks experienced with it, and unfortunately, it's very cool.

Sebastian nods at the instructions and puts his joint between his lips, lighting it and trying to mimic Devero's inhale.

His body handles smoke better than most, it would seem, because he doesn't cough until the second time he inhales. The stuff smells even weirder now that it's lit, and tastes funny, too.

"What does it... Feel like?"

"If it's good for you, it should just make you feel sort of slow," Devero explains, taking another hit on his roll and pulling it deeper now that he's not modeling for a newbie. "This is a light strain so it might make you feel warm, happy, floaty. Maybe a little hungry, maybe relaxed or uninhibited. It hits everyone a differently, though." Pulling up a leg, he turns to face Sebastian, watching him rather than the still tableau of machinery below.

"If you start feeling nervous or paranoid," he adds, "best to stop. Some folks don't respond to it well."

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