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WHO: Drifter | Various
WHAT: Monthly Post
WHERE: Around Dualis and in the Swamp, More might be added
WHEN: January
WARNINGS: Probably violence and some food issues.

A.) IT'S NOT BRAIN SURGERY
CLOSED TO LORNA
DATED TO AFTER THIS

He's not happy to have learned what's in his head, and honestly? It's worth the risk. What if it kills him? He's got too many damn things in his head already. Does he want that big AI having access to any of 'em? Nah.

He's compared the Head to Rasputin before. Now, he puts a lotta stock into the endgoals of the warmind; more stock than he'd put into any real person. The thing wants to fight the darkness, and hell, it doesn't wanna get used by the Vanguard! Who wouldn't agree with that? And it reaches far and wide in its conflict, stretching its sattellite tipped fingers to the edges of their home system.

But the Warmind? When it decided to copy people, it was volunteers. People who donated their memories and way of thinking to create immortal warriors of a kind. Even there it one-upped the Head; when it saw it was losing the war, it let 'em all go to go do their own thing. Some of those 'exo's it made, robot copies? Became the greatest badasses that third rock from Sol had to offer.

But even then, catch Rasputin in a mood? Bust in on him where you're not wanted? And there's hell to pay. The Warmind stuffed some damn fool Iron Lords full of nanotech when they decided to breach one of his facilities and take weapons without asking. Personally, if you ask Drifter? Don't be a damn punk and think you're slick enough to fight a centuries old AI with a fist and an ax. Didn't work out too well for those Iron Lords.

Drifter doesn't much want to turn out like those poor fellas. Even if none of the voices in his head come along for the ride, even if his ghost refuses to get attached to some smartass just because it looks like him, he doesn't like the idea of his thoughts and memories just spilling out to where it doesn't belong. The moments he held little Yu through her dying breaths are just as much his as knowing how to access paralell universes. He doesn't want the Head to have either. He doesn't want the Head to puppet him to use that for himself.

So? How about a trial run he thinks. Rip that thing out, see if he comes back. Tell that pretty little thing with the shaved head if he makes it. See if she's willing to risk standing up to the pressure. Let his ghost scan some brains. That's the plan and it sounds good to him. Now to wait for his surgeon. On a rooftop. Best place to get a voluntary head injury.

B.) SWAMP MONSTER HUNTING
OTA
DATED EARLY IN THE MONTH

He'd heard about the swamp, but hadn't got to investigate much. Time for that to change. Out there were definitely parts he needed for additions to his weapons, and he was ready to go exploring and/or hunting.

He's back in his armor, big furry shoulder pads, leather(ish) chaps, thick belt with his hand cannon tucked into it and all. Somewhere between space traveller stereotype and old lone traveling warrior. Drifter's pretty good at wearing his business right upfront. He doesn't lie about what he is.

Can't be blamed for what people get themselves into.

Unfortunately, at the moment, getting themselves into something means they're gonna be marsh treading. And he needs the fangs off a man-eating swamp seal. Honestly, better than the alternatives. It could be gators. Could be boring, too, which is even worse. He's out in the swamp with a rented boat (that clerk, by the way, seemed keen on asking for insurance because he seemed to be pretty sure it wouldn't be coming back). There's some squishy ground to walk on, though, and he's abandoned the craft for the moment to travel that.

C.) SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
CLOSED TO NICK
DATED TO EARLY IN THE MONTH

He's been prepping and making weapons for the Heart for a couple of months now. And, to be honest, it isn't fair to the lady that's been kindly enough to introduce him to them that his focus has been mostly on them.

He shows up late at the bar, just when Nick's about to get off work, and slams his hands on the bar. This time wearing his Western fusion shtick, at least, not looking like a ratty space mechanic freak as he knows he damn well can.

"Come on, Darlin'. I wanna show you somethin'. No time like the present." And maybe he can tell her about the damn fool, if successful, thing that he did for himself.

D.) SO I HEARD THERE WAS A MAN WITH A FORGE
CLOSED TO SEIFER
DATED TO JUST AFTER NAPS

Drifter can generate his own heat and some minor transmatting. Honestly? Makes it a little easier to be a wanderer with his work. But generating ones own heat is exhausting. Work work work, all the time. It's drawining, and he has to wait a good ten, twenty minuted between big surges. He's about sick of that.

But, apparently, there's some fella with an actual forge out there. And Drifter? Needs a piece of that sweet action, thanks. He follows word of mouth in his own particular way (some shady deals, some strong-arming, some fair trades of 'useful' goods) until he finds the man and his forge.

He makes a pretty blatant show of not sneaking in. He just wants to be friends here, right? They got a lot they could do for one another. Who is ol' Drifter to pass up some alliances with potentially talented people. It could work out just fine for the both of 'em.

Trust.

But, he's gotta admit, this is a tad more mannequins than he's used to. Hell, last time he saw mannequins standing around in a deteriorating setting? They were target practice for Fallen. Spoilers: It didn't help 'em. He gets to the front door of the 'recycling center' and knocks... and thinks he hears a dog? Damn, now he doesn't even know if it's someone's pet or an actual person.

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Even before her sidequests through the multiverse began, Nick knew that fair was more or less a fantasy. It’s a simple fact that’s shaped her worldview from childhood, a tenet she doesn’t question - life isn’t fair, end of story. She’s abandoned most of her aggressively pessimistic outlook over the past few years, but this single truth remained, steady as a healthy heartbeat.

She doesn’t fault Drifter for not visiting her more frequently - he’s a busy man, and she’s never considered herself anyone’s priority. It’s a pleasant surprise when their paths do cross, and she has only a warm smile for him when he turns up at the bar tonight.

“Hey, Trouble.” Yeah, looks like that nickname isn’t going anywhere just yet. Only the last few last-callers remain in the bar, and two of her coworkers are still on the clock. She can get away with cutting out a little early, though she makes an exaggerated show of thinking over his request.

“Yeah, guess I could do with some seizing of the day,” she says, grin widening across her face. “Or night, whatever. Lemme just grab my coat.” She disappears into the back room and yells to the remaining bartenders on duty that she’s taking off for the night, then re-emerges a minute later, pushing her arms through the sleeves of a slightly faded dark-rinse denim jacket as she navigates around the bar to join Drifter.

“So,” she says, winding a thick black hand-knit scarf around her neck, “what did you wanna show me?”

Edited 2020-01-09 05:18 (UTC)

He waits for her to get back out to him, before grabbing her by the wrist and just saying, "This way!"

And if it weren't for the fact he was grinning like a cat with a canary, it'd be more worrisome. Well, maybe that is worrisome, but it's somewhat tempered by the fact he flips off a vehicle that honks at them with a non-chalant, pissy air.

"Just be patient, almost there." There's a business with a fire escape on the side, and an accounting and investment office with a protruding garden window ledge. Its there that he puts one of her arms around his shoulders, one of his around her waist, and warns her, "Gonna need you to hold on!"

And he kicks off the ground.

It's like he jumped but gravity just forgot to kick in in time. It's not rocketting into the air, but it's not exactly slowly wafting upwards either. He catches his foot on the fire escape, the window ledge, an air conditoner, and then on the edge of a fourth story roof.

"This high enough or do you wanna do this higher?" He motions to another bulding about a quarter of a block away, still not having let go yet.

Mannequins. Mannequins everywhere. Or, well, at least far too many mannequins to be a healthy hobby or collection. Most of the mannequins had seen better days, given they were all salvaged out of various dumpsters. Some looked like they'd definitely been used for training practice with a variety of weapons, others appeared to be posed in humorous if mildly disturbing ways. And a few had been put together with a few too many additional limbs. Someone in there has too much time on their hands. Really, if it weren't for the loud clanging noises and the roar of a generator in the back one might think this was actually just some kind of haunted house waiting for the right time of year.

At the knock the clanging paused, which of course made it easier to hear the strange croaking chuffbark of some kind of strange animal scrabbling around the door in excitement. Just who in the hell knocked was question number one, which lead to question number two of if they were here for a shipment they were a week early and they damn well knew it.

So when the door cracked open Drifter was met with a stony, unimpressed and suspicious scowl. He wasn't used to people without a direct connection to someone in the forge already just showing up, so clearly it had to be one of his buyers.

"You're early, an' if you think you're gonna strong arm me I ain't afraid to send you crawlin' back to your bosses one fewer." He snapped. Despite his less than pleasant demeanor Drifter would also be greeted by something considerably more cheerful: Eos.

The chihuahua sized reptilian animal skittering around their feet in a greeting dance of pure joy. Clearly Drifter is just here to give him pats because that's the only option. Visitors all come with pats, and sometimes treats!

He's just gonna assume the odd little thing being friendly belongs to the owner of the establishment and is not food. Not that he's eben any state to have to seek it out; one good thing about this place, there's plenty to eat.

"Yeah? You don't reckon?" He says at it. But then to Siefer he calls out.

"No, sir. I'm lookin' to do some business with you, brother, if you'll have me." He raises his hands, palms out, in a gesture of loose surrender. Though considering his knack for slight of hand, empty fingers mean about nothing.

"Been havin' some trouble, have ya?" he tips his head. "Maybe we can help each other out."

"Fuck!"

There's a soft series of clinks as Harry regains his balance, having slid a good foot or two in the mud. The porcelain-like ringing from his armor sounds a little too much like a dinner bell for his taste, but knowing he's at least partially invulnerable does something to prevent his confidence level from plummeting. Drifter's presence doesn't hurt, either. Seeing the man out in his element, dressed up like some Seolite warrior, he almost feels like they're supposed to be out here.

"Sorry," he says automatically - more neurological impulse than an actual apology. He's looking to the ground, now, taking effort to crush the reeds underfoot where he can. Lessening whatever weird weight distribution set him skidding before.

"Hey, so..." He knows how fucking naive he's about to sound, but he has to ask. "You think maybe you don't need to kill it?" A beat. "I never encountered a swamp seal before, but uh... I can't help but figure everything sounds terrifying when you throw the words man-eating in front of it."

Nick doesn’t need to be told twice to hold on - the second Drifter takes off from the ground, she has both arms wrapped tightly around him, fingers curled into the fabric of his clothing. He’d mentioned being able to float before, but that claim had fallen far into the background in light of what came after the talking that night. Nick squeaks with surprise and turns her face into the side of his neck, laughing as they rise higher into the air.

“Oh my god,” she says, gasping a breath in, eyes finally open to take in the view, “you are a menace!” Her tone is amused, her words affectionate - she doesn’t mind any of this a single bit. It’s both strange and exciting; she’s never done anything like this before, but she’s enjoying it immensely, heartbeat racing with the thrill of being literally swept off her feet.

“I trust you not to drop me,” she says, with a laugh in the back of her throat. “Higher.”

There's very little about this place that Lorna feels comfortable with. She's fairly certain that they try to make them feel comfortable, but trying and succeeding are two very different things. The longer she's been here the more uncomfortable she's become. Uncomfortable and lonely. The lonely part is not something she's eager to admit to anyone. In a way it's lucky she hasn't gotten too close to anyone. Less of a chance of people asking her personal questions. There's a few people she might have considered getting to know, but she's found there's some truth in the old saying about never meeting your idols.

That's not to say she hasn't made any connections at all. Drifter's one that she can, at the very least, consider something of an ally. Or at least someone with a similar mindset as her. Which is why she's mildly worried in regards to his message. Worried and curious about what precisely he wants. She tosses her black studded leather jacket and heads to the rooftop where they met before. Green swirls around her as she lands down and offers a cock of her head in greeting.

"So, what's your problem? Hope it's not too personal, never really been into exhibitionism," she says dryly with a tiny smirk.

"Then hold on, we're goin' up!"

He hefts her enough to make a run for the edge of the roof and then leaps. There's a huff of hair, the sound you'd imagine wide wings making when a bird takes off. The noise that accompanies each leap he makes.

He does arc down at some point, the lift wearing out, but he's already made it far enough to land on an exhaust chimney and propel them up to the next obstacle, and the next, until they make it to the trellis of that building.

Then a few more hops from side to side, using his feet to catch edges on the scaffolding, and he plants her on the roof briefly while he gets his bearings of the layout up here. "Let's see...." he mutters, scratching his beard. Exit door, right. Exterior shed. Two rooftop garden sections. A couple of parts higher than others.

He can work with this.

"I tell you what, brother. You help me get one of his teeth without me havin' to damage him elsewise? Then sure. We won't kill the man-eating swamp seal. But trust me, I don't know if you heard about the dark spooky secret" he makes waggly fingers "you might wanna be ready to defend yourself if you gotta. Even across the cute stuff."

Because he doesn't trust the Head not to pull something real low like that. It's not fair to these soft hearted types. They'll get torn apart.

Now, Drifter isn't a big fan of give and give and give. He is, however, not a huge fan of the survival of the fittest extremes his old brothers used to taught as gospel truth. He wouldn't want this guy to go down. Seems like a good fella that doesn't need the drama.

"Well, not unless you asked, Darlin'. But you didn't seem like the type to take to a scoundrel like me. Too respectable."

Ah, there she is. He is looking around with all the paranoia of a man that doesn't want to get caught with his dick out. But once he's satisfied that the world seems to be busy with itself, he gestures to his head.

"I found out we got chips in our heads. Somethin' keepin' us from usin' our powers all the way. Problem is that if we remove it or mess with it, it'll kill us."

He steps closer to her, tipping his head.

"First question is, you feel somethin' metal down in there? Cause there shouldn't be. Not unless this chip thing is on the level."

"Yeah, I, uh... I heard. The basic gist anyway," he says, practically sighing the words out. Not that he had a great impression of Dualis when he first woke up here, but... well, he could have done without Inland Empire being right about the super sexy twist this time around. Like, he could have really done without it. The paranoia is eating away at him and his volition like nothing else. The fact that he's here in the marsh right now just goes to show how desperate he is for something akin to stability and friendship.

That, and running around in the reeds tugs at the fond memory of a previous, less terrifying cryptid hunt. Of course he was going to say yes.

"Look, don't worry. Push comes to shove, I can pull the trigger just fine." There's a meaningful pause there. "I just prefer running through the other options first. Use the ol' law-jaw and try and talk things out, maybe." Which might not work on a man-eating swamp seal, sure, but never say never, right? He gestures over to where Drifter's hand cannon sits. "Plus, I was kinda hoping that thing had a... sorta sci-fi stun option, y'know? Bzzt."

Edited 2020-01-14 02:23 (UTC)

Plenty to eat, and yet not a lick of it wild. Left one to wonder, though those were questions Seifer tried very hard to push out of his mind. Lab grown or whatever he didn't want to know where the "meat" came from.

While Eos did not understand the words themselves, he did understand he was being spoken to, which resulted in him launching into a delighted and insistent dance of bounding around in exuberant circles. Protectively Seifer shooed him inside, not wanting the vulnerable little animal to be out too close to a complete stranger.

Brother. He's heard someone that talks like that before, and raises an eyebrow. "I talk to you on the network before?" It just sounded familiar. Weird. Still, his eyes narrow somewhat suspiciously, but he turns away leaving the door open in a silent invitation to follow him inside. If he's not there to harass him about hurrying up on orders he might as well come in. Ain't like the place is as secret as he thought, after all.

"Trouble? Nah, pushy buyers. Always get the ones think they can throw their weight around." Until you put them on their asses. Inside, the mannequin situation wasn't much better. While there weren't really too many in the forge area itself, there were a fair few surrounding some kind of odd box looking room built out of shelves and corrugated metal further into the warehouse. "What d'you mean help each other out?"

"Yeah! For the teeth. And for the record? Pretty good source of calcium and carbon. Good for makin' parts. Speakin' of which..."

Drifter dodges around a mannequin with a confused look. "Boy, you are goin' full freak in here, ain'tcha? But I digress. I'd like to rent some forge use. I'm a weapons smith, and I don't like generating my own heat for it. Wears me out."

The implication being that sometimes he can generate forge levels of heat. But they ebb.

"And depending on your desire to use some inventive ingredients? I can probably dig a few of those up, too. I've been a scavenger all of my lives. I can find somethin' in next to nothin'."

"Well, just remember, if they don't get what they want? You might have to shoot somethin' that looks like a kid. Now, I'd much prefer they make 'em all think like people, but you know, if push comes to shove? You shouldn't let that thing win."

Even if that means a very uncomfortable swarm. Either learn to run real well? Or fire a gun at something you don't want to.

"I get this tooth, though, I can start riggin' something together that can actually take down one of the big bots."

But then he laughs, that gravelly raw sound. "Who knows! Maybe it won't be a maneater no more without it."

Drifter looks up at a higher branch. Then back at Harry. "Do me a favor, brother? Let's just keep this next thing between us." And then he jumps up to a higher branch, a quick float, far too high for a normal human to get to. From up here? He can see further out in the swamp.

"Respectable," she lets out a chuff and just shakes her head at that. Respectable is not something she finds herself associated with too often, though she appreciates the sentiment. His explanation definitely sobers the mood considerably and she tries to keep herself from seeming visibly bothered by what he's told her. Lorna's no stranger to having something on her that fucks with her powers. In fact she's got very intimate and personal experience with it. A collar is a far cry from a chip inside their heads.

"If there's something foreign in there, no matter how small,I should be able to tell. If I can't, there's nothing there." It might sound cocky but Lorna's always been unequivocally confident in her mutant abilities. There's no further hesitation or questions on her part, she just moves her hand up and starts to feel around. A green mist surrounds her fingers as she wiggles them like she's sifting through the air. After a few seconds her expression darkens and she folds her arms across her chest, as if that might protect her from a chip inside their heads.

"There's something there. Faint traces." How could she have not noticed this inside her? She should have felt it immediately. "Fuck." She mutters it under her breath and digs her own nails into her hands in a mixture of anger and frustration. "I should have noticed immediately."

"Apparently the damn thing is makin' it hard for people to use some of our abilities."

He's let her see a little of his abilities, but not discussed the extent of them. He has, however, mentioned one very important thing. Those creepy undead Lightbearers.

"Now, usually people die if you take the thing out. I can't die. But it'd have to be ripped out real quick or when I come back, it'll be there again. Out before my heart finishes its last beat."

He winces. "So, Sister? You willin' to do me a favor? I'm asking you nicely. And even if I didn't come back right off, my ghost would probably hang out until it could. I don't want that thing to dig out a few lifetimes worth of memories."

Nick hasn’t been able to hold back her delighted laughter since they left the ground, and she only stops to catch her breath when Drifter sets her down on the rooftop, wide grin still stretched from one side of her face to the other.

“That,” she says, still half-breathless, “was amazing.”

She hasn’t felt this particular brand of joy in a very long time. Even though their upward ascent wasn’t a fast one, Nick can’t help remembering those summer afternoons when she was a small child and her father would take her barreling down gravel roads in his well-worn truck, singing old favorite songs with her as cornfield after cornfield sped past the open windows. The trip skyward just now filled her with that same sense of dizzying elation she remembers from those treasured childhood memories, and it’s the closest she’s come to reclaiming that feeling of inner peace in the decades since her father died.

She turns her head to scan out into the city from this height, taking in the shape of the skyline, the new patterns of lights. It’s one hell of a view, and she smiles all over again.

“Was this what you wanted to show me?”

To his absolute shame Harry can't help but think of Cunoesse, then. He remembers the ten year old's manic expression as she stood up on the fence, arms spread, demanding he shoot her. A demand that came after he tried silencing her relentless abuse by pointing Kim's gun at her.

The image of Kortenaer's surprised, furious expression as the bullet tore through his cheek crossfades into his mind, too. He could kill one, but not the other. But Kortenaer's killing came as a last ditch effort to limit a death toll. Harry's stupid gesture towards Cunoesse, on the other hand, was born of nothing but fear and a failed bid to establish authority to someone who refused to recognise it.

Beneath it all, Harry knows he's a killer (and about as low as they come, really) but in the scenario Drifter's painting? Shit. The face of your enemy does matter - at least to Harry. He can only respond with silence.

And he remains silent, up until it's impossible not to: Drifter's ridiculous vertical leap.

"That's—"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Physically impossible.

INLAND EMPIRE — Magic.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Devastatingly cool.

"—Phk...ool."

Nailed it.

His jaw works for a long moment, before he settles on a broad, lopsided grin. "You gonna be okay getting down from there or is this a kitty in a tree situation?"

Drifter laughs like he just made a pretty damn good joke. About as jolly with it as this scoundrel can possibly muster up. "We'll see! Pretty sure I won't break nothin' if I fall out, anyhow." Or at least he won't break anything that would stay broken.

Then like a grody Peter Pan atop the mast of Hook's ship, he shields his eyes and looks over the swamp. God, he wishes his vision was better. Sure, Ghost! Bring him back to life with a nice fit body, but, you know, leave the scars and the bum eyes.

"I see a few things. Could just be gators, though."

He hops over to the next tree, another waft. The air under him distorts a little as he moves, some unseen force holding him up for the quick movement. "Alright, head to your left. Have your gun out. Even if it's nothin' maneatin', best be cautious."

"Who the fuck put it in us? And when?" Her voice was low and came out mostly through clenched teeth. It's not a question she's actually asking him, but instead one she's wondering aloud. Which is probably apparent by how quickly she moves on from it and onto his proposition.

"You want me to yank it out?" She shakes her head but doesn't sound too shocked. One thing about Lorna is that she's no stranger to crazy sounding ideas.

"It's going to hurt like hell." Getting a small piece out of Reed had been painful enough. Getting a chip out of someone's head, that wasn't going to be pleasant for them and she wants him to know that. "I can get it out fast but it's still gonna sting."

"When we got here. The bastards put it in before we touched our feet to the floor."

Yeah, it pisses him off. "That's what's holdin' us back. These chips in our heads. So if you do me a favor and strip the thing out... well, believe me, Sister. I've went down a lotta painful ways. Now, I don't like hurtin'? But I think rippin' off this bandage is gonna be far better than the alternative.

"What's in our head? It's ours. But that thing's takin' it. To be honest I don't even give a damn about that thing copyin' me. Whatever, make me a double, it's your pain in the ass. But my life is mine." His secrets are his.

"Yup. I usually don't try to be too flashy, but there ain't exactly a lotta Lightbearers around and who can resist a good show!" He spreads his hands and spins on the rooftop, gesturing out at the view with his duster flaring out with the motion.

"I know I ain't the only one that can fly, but it seems like people who ain't themselves-" the doubles "-don't much like coming up here. I don't see 'em floating up as high as someone who'd enjoy it." Though it could very well be that his choice of floating at night in a relatively relaxed city catches up to him.

He chuckles to himself again, settling down from his little performance and finding a place to perch on.

"Watch over there!"

He points off in the distance as whole blocks slowly, silently shift around. Even if it's creepy, there's a sort of awe in his voice. "I've only seen Cabal do that aboard big ships. Nothin' on the ground."

He can take joy even in the wonder his enemy provides. He can also flip off the temple from here, too. Which he does, ruining everything else about the celebration.

Laughter shouldn't elicit an unpleasant, sinking feeling, right? It's odd, but then again the last time someone reacted like that to one of Harry's dumb lines, it was as some sort of grand, confusing power move.

He watches, still not quite processing what he's seeing as Drifter shifts to the next tree.

RHETORIC — As Drifter drifts.

His mouth snaps open as the impulse to parrot a related pun explodes into his head, but Drifter beats him to the punch with an instruction. A rather sobering one at that. Harry seems to immediately enact it, armoured palm suddenly flush against the oversized pepperbox pistol holstered beneath his cloak. His trajectory changes, too. That slower prowl starts veering left, and he bobs his head up at Drifter like a good boy. Only...

HALF LIGHT [Challenging: Failure] — Ναι αδελφέ. Είμαστε δόλωμα.

Something about this image is wrong. Harry can feel his heart beat thrumming a sudden panicked, staccato rhythm as adrenaline floods in. He's down here. Drifter's up there.

"Wait! Hold on," Harry hisses - a scandalized stage whisper rather than something truly quiet. "Am I bait?"

"Of course they did." The bitterness and spite in her voice is palatable to even people who don't know Lorna too well. It's a violation she's been through before and never wanted again, and yet here she is. This time it's even been taken up to a higher level.

"If your sure, I'll do it. You just tell me when. I don't suggest a countdown, just say go and I'll pull it out." Countdowns just built up anticipation and would make it hurt more. If they're doing this she just wants to yank it out and get it over with. And she's more than willing to do it, he's got the right idea. Their secrets and their lives are their own. She's not going to let anyone take that from her again.

"Right," he agrees, shaking out his hands and feet.

"Alright. Might take me a little bit to come back. So if I stay dead for about a half-minute or so it's 'cause this is a whole new universe and I ain't tried dyin' in it yet." He rolls his neck.

"Alright. Well. Gotta try to get it out before my heart finishes its last beat. Then I won't come back with it. Uh.... maybe hold onto it if you can. Don't know how good a shape it'll be in after crackin' through my skull, but maybe we can have people look into 'em."

Head tech isn't something he's fully figured out yet. He's definitely going to need some insights. Too bad he doesn't have the stuffy bird on Mercury to help him out. Egotistical as hell but smart enough to matter.

"Go."

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My response to this tag apparently didn't go through. >:[ And so I type again.

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