methanesk15s

[methanesk15s]

“Fuck you,” Mac laughs, moving slowly across the room. She's off to go find Tommy or Pixel, whomever she comes across first. Her girls will fuss over her, better than Rose's needling.

Rose catches his shoulder. “Tox,” she warns. “I still got Center City sensibilities when it comes t'money. Either y’let Summer see ya off with a full bag and one'f her revolting herbal drinks, or I'm gonna pay you.” If he thought a restock was excessive, wait until he saw what Rose deems an appropriate price for his services. No matter how many years she's spent in the desert, she's still an O'Connor, and Brook makes sure the crew is well funded. Without Hare around to stop her, there's no telling just how much she'll spend.

  It’s interesting, the things that find a way to sting. It’s not the first he’s heard the sentiment. In fact it’s far from the worst he’s heard - the years he and Lith spent under the umbrella of neutrality had seen some truly vile remarks aimed their way. Yet something about it… Even whilst knowing and believing it a joke, it needles him. Still, he doesn’t protest. Just shrugs. I am what I am.

  Tox pulls his things together and hefts the bag onto his shoulder, only slowing when Rose reaches out.

  “Ah- that's too much,” his surprise catches him outright. A restock for, what? A few mild burns and check in on the numbness? He shakes his head. He only rarely met a group so well prepared for, seemingly, everything, and was not interested in the idea of cutting into it. “Hold onto it. You'll need it.” A pointed, teasing look in Mac's direction.

[methanesk15s]

Grievous relief floods her expression, brings tears back to her eyes. She doesn't move until he's taken a step away, disarming her revolver and pushing herself back up into a sitting position. She's so fucking tired, scared and exhausted, jumping at shadows, unable to make her voice cooperate with her, unable to stomach her crew’s cloying concern. A quiet little sob escapes, and she presses a hand over her mouth as her tears spill over again. She's already so tired of crying.

Well alright then. Age-greyed eyebrows lift in a combination of that sentiment, and acceptance. Nothing here worth getting shot over, to say the least. And if the kid wasn't looking for something? Fine by him. Midnight hooks a thumb over his shoulder to point back the way he came. "I'll just head back this way."

[methanesk15s]

Ven hums in agreement. “A lot less unfair out here than in there. Not that it’s sunshine an’ rainbows, but Rev don’t gotta argue for respect any more’n anyone else. And she gets it fast with the magic she works on engines. It don’t matter she can’t hear ‘em.” It’s obvious she’s proud of her wife, glad they’ve found this place they can thrive, even if survival is harder.

With a shrug, she adds, “Like my bubbe used to say. There’s work to be done. You don’t gotta be the one to finish it, but that don’t mean you can wash your hands of it.” She offers up a gentle smile. “The world isn’t fair. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be.” She nods toward Rev. “She can read lips, if she’s gotta, but killjoys ain’t exactly known for enunciating. So, we teach our sign language to as many people as wanna learn.”

She tips her head a bit to study Tech. “Can teach you some, if you’re interested. Least, if y'think y’got your head screwed on right enough. No offence meant, sweet pea,” she says quickly. “You just act like you got a concussion, an’ that scar over your eye…” she gives a pointed look at the scar in question.

  Tech watches with eyes made for clockwork and components, fast flicking, as they loop her out. Fluttering fingers, she realizes, are excellent tools for hiding something. Something about her? Impossible to know. She digs her chin into her knee. Assumptions haven't exactly been serving her very well at all, but it does feel like the standard, lately. Whispers wherever she goes. All those looks, pulling on her like she owes them something. Sharp stares from sharp faces with achingly familiar eyes. Hmm.

  “Long time,” she comments. Then she has to bite bite bite her tongue, points of her canines digging, because she knows the thing that leapt up isn't a thing she should let go running. Nuh-uh. Not in someone else's shop. “Ain't shit that's fair.” A safer echo - a familiar enough sentiment.

[methanesk15s]

Rose barks out a laugh as Mac groans again, louder. “Maybe if you ask Sunny real nice she’ll put ya outta your misery.”

Mac shoots her a dark look. “Mi queredita would never.”

Rose shrugs. “Ven, then.”

Mac considers it a beat, and has to concede the point, to more of Rose’s laughter. “You're a good man, Tox,” Mac says grudgingly. It's not an insult, but it's not exactly a compliment, either.

Rose approaches, then, and taps the side of her fist to Tox’s shoulder. “Stop by Summer ‘fore you head out, yeah? She can get you restocked, or close to it.” They appreciate his work far too much to let it go unpaid for, and Rose doesn't want anyone else suffering because Tox got to them first. She offers a hand to help Mac to her feet, who slaps at it before accepting the help.

  It's generally easier to let the carrying on carry on. It's a good sign anyway - feeling well enough to gripe at each other at least means no one's overtired or otherwise lethargic. He glances up briefly for a smiling glance between them, but otherwise busies himself cleaning up. Packing away what's still usable, making note and taking stock of his store.

  He dusts his palms before holding them up. “Sorry. Helping hands only. Never had much of a taste for the mess-making.”

[methanesk15s]

“I don’t think Jet’s here,” she offers. “Party Poison let me in. We’re friends.” Of course, Party isn’t there either; Sunny’d decided to stay behind and wait for her ride, rather than tag along to Hyper Thrust. She’s not big on the club scene.

She looks down at the pieces of her gun again and, with a sigh, starts reassembling it. “Said I could stay here ‘til my crew can pick me up. ‘Course, we’re,” she gestures, “aaaaaall the way at th’other end’a Four. So it’ll be a minute. Actually—” she checks her transmitter. “’Bout another hour’r so.” She’s fine entertaining herself; she has an assortment of weapons to work on as she waits. Revolver back together, she reholsters it, dumping the dud bullets into her bag. She pulls her raygun out next, carefully disassembling it for cleaning.

There's some random bitch in their diner. He was snoozing in the back, entirely un-warned about about company. Ghoul's sharp and mean in the face of a stranger, hardly an idolized prince of the desert. There's a small blade carefully situated in the leather of his (currently empty) raygun holster that's calling his name.

"Here?" If someone's decided they've got an open-door policy now, he's got words. "Who the fuck let you in?" Did someone even let her in??? "Jet?" It would be just like him to take in some stray and not say anything. "Jet!" A shout into the diner at large.

[methanesk15s]

Her eyes never leaving his face, Sunny’s thumb pulls the hammer back with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. Silent confirmation; she means it. Even with terror sealing away her voice and making her hands shake, she’s still the deadliest member of her crew.

The reminder of echoes does make her waver for a heartbeat, but she doesn’t lower her gun. She’s far more afraid of the potential from him than the promise from the desert—the worst a Smiler can do to her is eat her alive. She knows there are worse things to suffer. She can hold her own against most predators the desert has to throw at her, between the revolver in her hand, the raygun on her thigh, and the myriad other weapons hidden on her diminutive frame.

She has been—recently, violently—reminded that the worst thing in the zones is an adult man. It colors her perception of the rest of them.

Ah. Maybe the silent approach would have been better, Midnight has room to afford as he eyes shaking hands and an old-world-style armament. When's the last time he saw a kid with a six-shooter? Jesus.

"Better mean it if you point that thing at someone." She looks young. Plenty of kids in the desert are, but most of them aren't alone like this.

He hikes his pack higher up his shoulder, gaze quickly skimming their surroundings. "Not sure you want to be taking a shot that loud this time of day. Gun like that..." He trails off, bringing his other hand up to circle a finger vaguely through the air above his shoulder. "Sound echoes."

[methanesk15s]

Mac desperately wants to go to Sunny, but knows the girl would not welcome any comfort she might be able to offer, and might get a bullet for her troubles. She stays where she is, hands balled into tight fists in her jacket pockets, and hopes Tech is as good as promised.

Sunny stays crumpled on the floor for several long moments, terror freezing her limbs. She manages, finally, to get her hands up high enough for Mac to see the shaky signs, knowing Mac can translate her choppy statements.

Mac frowns. “She says it’s prob’ly close t’home. Queridita, you don’t mean the crew?”

Sunny manages a jerky shake of her head.

“So… outer zones?”

Sunny chokes on a whimper, and gets her limbs under her well enough to scamper for the closest enclosed space—the cabinets under Tech. She doesn’t start to relax until submerged in darkness, curled tiny into a corner.

Mac sighs, sweeping off her jacket. She carefully closes the distance, opening the cabinet just enough to slip her jacket in, gently tossing it over Sunny. To Tech, “Whatever you need. Whatever your price. We’d rather thorough and right over fast, but please.” Her voice cracks the slightest bit. “Fast as y’can.” She doubts any of them will have the time to play babysitter with Tech; Hare and Tric are already searching for higher connections, and Rose is sending the others out to cash in favors owed. The crew is spread thin, physically and emotionally, and riding herd on some outsider just isn’t worth the expense of energy.

  “Ah hell.” Tech mutters. She puffs her sigh out through her cheeks, buffeting the stray bits of her fringe away from her eyes for an entire quarter of a second. Calls like these are always a mixed bag — often a big enough challenge that it gives her something to really throw her mind at, even struggle with! and almost always hovered over. Eyes on the back of her neck either in spirit or practice. Did you get it? Did you find it? Did you do it? “Well you're not gonna figure it out like that, mm?”

  Slightly less than an obvious invitation. Still, Tech pops up onto the nearest elevated surface and folds her legs crisscross, settling in. She hesitates only a moment before drawing out her transmitter. They're not in a good spot for her to do any hardcore file digging, for the moment, but she's got a hunch she's going to get more out of the less official channels anyway. She clicks out a coded string of questions in record time. These go to a choice few contacts: both sides of the wall via a few routings and across various lanes. Probing for rotten roots. “Might get a general hit back quick,” she narrates the thought out loud, shuffling through some other less common channels in case anything else jumps out at her, “but... it'll probably be a bit. Could take a couple days to get anything real. Stuff like this.. s'tricky. Usually means connections, 'f'its hoppin' the fence.”

[methanesk15s]

“Concussion?” Ven signs.

“Or something,” Rev agrees. “Should we ask Summer?”

Ven grimaces. “Would rather give her a little time first.”

Rev nods. “Tell her whatever,” she offers, before returning her attention to the bike.

Ven doesn't bother signing while Rev works; her wife knows the answer, anyway. “Rev an’ I go way back,” she explains. “She started losing her hearing real young, so we found a way to keep communicating. Got our hands on some old-world guides to sign language, made edits or additions as we needed ‘em. Been at it, now…” Ven glances to her wife, grimacing as she tries to do the math. “Close t’fifteen years? We’ve taught a few of our crew, t’make things easier.”

Bike fully disassembled, Rev heads off to the storage room for the parts she still needs, or the closest approximations she has on hand. Ven watches her go fondly before shifting her attention back. “’S not fair—I mean, ain’t shit that’s fair, but no reason to accept it, y’know? Why should she be cut outta things for something she’s got no control over? Why should anyone?” It's something she feels strongly about, obviously. It was part of their driving force to leave the City, after all.

  She'd expected it to be harder somehow. Or to involve more questions first, the kind she pre-prepared for. At the very least, some kind of discussion about how much it's going to cost before jumping right into it. But she's already sitting on the little stool -a little unsure, actually, when she did that, but she must have or she wouldn't be there- and pieces are coming off of the world's most bastard three dimensional puzzle that is the little bike and. Tech's fingers wander to her brow, the fresh scar there. She presses on it.

  “Not sure... it's s'posed t'be pretty,” she mumbles.

  Up go her knees. Rump and feet all on the top of the stool, like its edge is a line she's not meant to cross. Chin on her kneecaps. Her backpack, still on backwards with her arms through the straps but the body of the bag resting against her chest, gets squished up in the middle. Which feels right, safe, all the things pressing against her. And also wrong, like there's supposed to be a reason why she can't do that, but she's not sure what it is.

  And she's definitely. Supposed to be keeping up and not just staring at them. “Um.”

  Options. Questions. Things given that are supposed to get answers. She knows they're there which means she got them. But she doesn't hear them, yet. And- “Wh...” There's something else. Taking up the space. “What's-” she gestures a few times, miniature mimicks of some of the gestures they've passed each other in lieu of words. Looks she gets. She has... she had .-– She winces at nothing.

  . . .

  Looks she gets. Hands is new. “How'd you figure that?”

[methanesk15s]

It was the trip to the Tavern to put up her pet exterminator. It was the first time in five years Sunny'd gone through her old 'neighborhood'; when she was in control of her path, she avoided it, but they were depending on de Vlinder for the trek to keep the exxie's existence secret from Hare and Ruby, specifically. By the time she made it back to the Stronghold, someone from her past was trying to get his favorite chew toy back.

[methanesk15s]

@hvndredzones ↳ Fun Ghoul

Sunshine’s sitting on one of the tables in the Diner, expression twisted in concentration, her revolver disassembled in front of her. It’s misfired twice today, twice too many for Sunny’s liking. It’s easier to test the gun than the bullets, but she has a sinking feeling her last batch of gunpowder didn't mix right.

Tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, she holds the cylinder up to the light to make sure the chambers are all clean and unobstructed. She sees Fun Ghoul through it and startles a little, bringing the cylinder back down. “Oh. Hi. I’m, uh.” She looks down at the pieces of her revolver. “Having gun problems. ‘Cept I think I’m actually having gunpowder problems, which’re a lot harder to fix.” She pouts at her gun, then looks up to him again. “’M Sunny. Sunshine. Sunshine Revolver. Hi.”

[methanesk15s]

Marianas Trench Haven Lyric sentence starters

“How can this be right?”

“But what about all those voices in the night?”

“Everything almost fits together right.”

“Liars creep on every side.”

“This moment's all we've got.”

“Can we just stay a while?”

“We'll never, ever be the same.”

“This is only just beginning.”

“I'm afraid of what if it isn't what it takes?”

“Just get through one last show.”

“I made a deal with myself that I'm keeping.”

“You know what, I think I might be getting better.”

“I know I should stay away, so what?”

“Maybe I'm not getting better.”

“Who said I was getting better?”

“Everything all comes down to you.”

“Just stay with me tonight.”

“I never know what to do.”

“I'm coming to keep you near.”

“This is a dream worth dying for.”

“So, these are the dreams we're fighting for.”

“Found the will but lost the nerve.”

“It's not giving up, it's surrender.”

“It ain't the same now.”

“Just repeat this long goodbye.”

“We were born to step into the storm.”

“Some days were perfect, some days were obscene.”

“It's good to see you, and we've both grown.”

“Where we came from stays the same though.”

“You've been holding on to what should have been.”

“When you've had enough, I'll stay with you.”

“You're not alone.”

“I can't make you want this for yourself.”

“Only you can decide to stay and fight.”

“We only get to live one life.”

“It'll never hold through the night.”

“It's not the fall, it's the getting up.”

“What if it's too late to try?”

“Know that I should stay but I could leave tonight and run.”

“I know that I'm not fooling anyone.”

“We could leave tonight and run.”

“What will I become if all that I do is turn and run?”

“These are parts unknown.”

“We're on the edge of where the world drops off.”

“Just don't turn and run.”

“Here in the dark, no secret's safe forever.”

“The stars should point you home.”

“Who knows where you are?”

“You disappeared for years out there.”

“You and I were meant to try.”

“I've been waiting all my life.”

“When the day's gone, we hold on to the nights like these.”

“Maybe not how we planned it.”

“Everything is different now, but it kinda feels the same.”

“Is this a fever I'm feeling?”

“You got me burning like a dive bar cigarette.”

“I know I don't seem to cross your mind.”

“I'll give you something to remember me by.”

“I bet you thought I would deceive you.”

“I bet you thought that I would leave you.”

“It took forever to start it right.”

“You're like a small-town Juliet.”

“Unto the breach, before the flood.”

“Is that safe haven in my sights?”

“I don't know how it got this far.”

“If we fall, then we all fall.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I don't do well when I'm alone.”

“It's only you and me now.”

“No one's getting out alive.”

“I know a place where I belong.”

[methanesk15s]

@hvndredzones ↳ midnight

The gun comes back together in her hands, bullets sliding into the chambers, cylinder spinning freely. It usually calms her down, tearing it apart, cleaning it, putting it back together.

It doesn’t this time.

Sunshine’s transmitter sits on the ground next to her, but it’s silenced; she knows her crew is looking for her, probably worried sick, but she can’t be around them right now. Not even Acid, much as it hurts to leave her in the dark. She’s about to tip out the bullets and start again when she hears the barest whisper of shifting sands behind her. She whirls, tumbling onto her back, revolver snapping up to point at the interloper. Her usually steady hands are trembling from the fear that’s ruled her the past several days, but she doesn’t need to be a crack shot when she’s got six bullets and a chest to aim at.

[methanesk15s]

“Obviously,” Ruby echoes with a laugh. She shrugs, giving a vague wave as she answers, “Eh, I do a bit of everythin’, really. Right now, I’m kinda part paperboy, part gopher. Sunny’s been whinging something bad about not havin’ enough… what was it? Saltpeter? I dunno. Weapons never have been my strong suit, but I’m a helluva haggler. I can barter a drac right outta his mask.”

And where she fails, Tommy and Candy swoop in, but that’s not important right now. Ruby’s job is to bring prices down to something the crew can afford; Tommy’s job is to circumvent paying entirely. She jerks a thumb back at her bag. “Hopefully I got enough’a the right stuff to keep Sunshine occupied for a while. She could use the distraction right now, I think.” Sunny’s been having a rough go of it, lately, and the whole crew is protective of their baby—it's half the reason Ruby volunteered to make the run in the first place.

Putting the car in reverse, they immediately gun the gas, tires spinning rapidly to comply. Party smoothly pulls out of the designated repair spot before shifting to drive in a heartbeat. With one hand, they retrieve their sunglasses from their holder, sliding them on with ease. The instructions are straight forward and if Dr. D's reports are still accurate, it should be a smooth trip over. Such mention of the White Hare brings a smile to the desert prince's features.

"Ya had failed to mention that," they say over the roar of wind. "A fine crew ya got there. So where does it yer talent lie if not mechanics? Surely, yer much more than just a pretty face, not that there's anythin' wrong with that," they motion to themself with one hand "obviously."

[methanesk15s]

VULNERABLE SITUATIONS ⟶ SPECIFIC VERSION ( nonspecific version here ) content warning for uncomfortable situations, mental health & self harm mentions. some of these are geared towards disabled or neurodivergent muses, but plenty are more general! some of these situations may be difficult / triggering, so be mindful when sending. always feel free to switch the sender/receiver around or tweak these to fit your muse!

SENDER finds RECEIVER caught without their weapons.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with a wound they can’t reach.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with their arms full of something suspicious.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with their phone out of charge.

SENDER finds RECEIVER when they’re feeling paranoid.

SENDER finds RECEIVER during an unpleasant / personal phone call.

SENDER finds RECEIVER holding something that does not belong to them.

SENDER finds RECEIVER holding something they’ve just broken.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with a broken-down car.

SENDER finds RECEIVER trying not to cry.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with bleeding knuckles.

SENDER finds RECEIVER having missed their bus / train / ride.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with someone following them.

SENDER finds RECEIVER trying to read something they can’t decipher.

SENDER finds RECEIVER trying to write something difficult.

SENDER finds RECEIVER trying to use technology they can’t get the hang of.

SENDER finds RECEIVER having misplaced their glasses.

SENDER finds RECEIVER having misplaced another medical device or similar.

SENDER finds RECEIVER with a vital piece of clothing stuck in a locked door.

SENDER finds RECEIVER without their usual animal companion.

SENDER finds RECEIVER using unfamiliar / new mobility aids.

SENDER finds RECEIVER asleep in public.

SENDER finds RECEIVER during an allergic reaction.

SENDER finds RECEIVER during another type of medical emergency.

SENDER finds RECEIVER immediately after a medical emergency.

SENDER finds RECEIVER having a panic attack.

SENDER finds RECEIVER considering hurting themselves.

SENDER finds RECEIVER in the aftermath of hurting themselves.

SENDER finds RECEIVER locked out of their house in their pyjamas.

SENDER finds RECEIVER  locked out of their house in less than their pyjamas.

SENDER finds RECEIVER confused after a concussion.

SENDER finds RECEIVER high / drunk in public.

SENDER finds RECEIVER naked under their coat.

SENDER finds RECEIVER throwing up.

SENDER finds RECEIVER reading someone else’s diary.

SENDER finds RECEIVER without any money / their wallet.

SENDER finds RECEIVER putting flowers on a grave.

SENDER finds RECEIVER having just received bad news.

SENDER finds RECEIVER after an argument.

[methanesk15s]

Ven slides off her stool, moving closer to their customer and angling herself so she can translate for Rev without making her wife look too far away from the bike and its owner. They're both already nodding as Ven translates the final question. “You came to the right place, babygirl,” Ven says gently. She continues to sign as she speaks, so Rev isn't left out. “Why don't you come sit down here for a bit-” she pats the stool she vacated- “and we'll let Rev inspect the damage.”

Bikes are a little harder than cars, in that Rev can't just load it onto a lift or jack and work from there, but she's got plenty of practice keeping Rose’s wheels in working order. She studies the arrayed parts, then the bike, then starts disassembling it. Some pieces just need to be cleaned, others replaced, and others are missing entirely. Still, the amount missing or too damaged to use is almost negligible; for not knowing what she was doing, she did a damn good job. “Gimme a few hours,” Rev signs. “Longer if you want it prettied up.”

“If you want a new color, we got plenty of options,” Ven adds, gesturing to the back wall where an impressive collection of spray cans resided. “We can do proper auto paints too, but that's a multi-day thing.” She shrugs a shoulder. “We can put you up if you want that, though, sweet pea. Not a problem.”

Rev nods agreement. She turns back to the bike, then hesitates, shifting her attention back to her wife. After a brief conversation consisting primarily of facial expressions, Ven relents with a loud sigh and an overdramatic “Fine.” Rev grins as Ven turns to their new companion. “Rev’s willin’ t’show you how to put the engine back together, if you want. Otherwise, you can hang out here or head out, just come back in a few hours to see how things are going.”

  She's the very picture of persistence. Head bowed, boots digging into the sandy ground with every step as she pushes her bike along. It's a patchwork kind of thing, more dirtbike than motorcycle. And maybe more dirt than bike at that, with its busted light and dented frame and general state of apparent misery, but still she urges it on, a determined scowl set into her little face.

  The shade of the garage is the miraculous finish line and a big relief. Engine trouble? She trudges forward the last few steps, and looks at the bike for a moment as it creaks to a grateful stop. The stand sticks out further than it's meant to, so even though it stays propped up, the poor thing leans. Exhausted. She frowns at it, almost wet-eyed. “..You could say that, yeah.”

  Tech slips her arms through the straps of her pack and hauls it forward. She's not so careless about it all to dump the thing like a bag of jacks, so she sits right there, on the hard ground, puts the bag in front of her, and begins to haul out piston arm. valve. tubing. twisted scrap. She arranges the parts from biggest to smallest as they come out of her bag. “I, um. I couldn't...figure out where it all goes.. I'm... not sure it all does, actually...” She's done her best, and some of it is probably even right, but. She's not a mechanic. Combustion-based is a different -and evidently unconquerable- beast. Tech hugs her backpack to her chest and looks up, from mechanic(?) to mechanic(definitely). “...Can you fix it?”

[methanesk15s]

“I dunno how to find 'em!” Sunshine spits, then resumes her agitated pacing, revolver clutched tight in one hand—there's no question her plan once they're found. Terror has reduced her to a caged, cornered animal again, lashing out at anyone who dares to get too close. She's driven off Silver and Pixel already, as well as Ruby, Tric, Rose, Candy, and Summer. The others are keeping their distance—save for Rev and Ven and Mac, whose cloying concern makes her want to scream. She has the visceral feeling of being dragged out of her hiding spot by her ankle, nails biting into anything that might keep her hidden for a few moments more as she kicks and screams——

She stumbles in her pacing, eyes going wide and panicked as she finally realizes the only people who know those things about her are the ones who did them to her. She wants to bolt, but one exit would send her past Mac, who would catch her, and the other requires passing too close to Tech, and Sunny doesn't know her well enough to know how she'll react to that. With a choked little whimper, she crumples, like a marionette with cut strings.

@methanesk15s ( Sunshine Revolver ) //> Angry & Irritated

"No one is entitled to know things about me that I don't want them to know!"

  “¡OYE!” she barks back, a hand held up, warning to keep distance. Flashing eyes to flashing eyes; double indignation all the way down. “Then stop yellin' at me an' focus on the ones spillin' yer guts for ya, yeah?”

[methanesk15s]