#prkh.

[un1dentity]

#FILE SELECTED: you can’t change your cards. you already looked at them. #FILE STATUS: accepting. #SELECTED BY: @prkh.

GAZE MEETS OTHER’S OVER RIM OF SHADES. "you're talkin' 'bout these cards, right? no?" poker cards are laid out across surprisingly still-sturdy tabletop. [a full royal flush, how 'bout that... not that it matters now.] cue heavy sigh as body stretches backwards, some satisfying pops audible. "alright, well, if we're getting philosophical... sometimes i do wonder what i would do if i could go back in time. what i'd tell myself, what i'd do different, all that fun stuff."

not join the up deathclaws. take barbara, get the hell out of dodge. just become a simple farmer or something.

"but y'know, i was reading this old pre-war book the other day, threw me into some existential crisis. the butterfly effect, they called it. you change one tiny thing in the past, then the whole future is — pardon my french — fucked. so even if my cards, or your cards, could change..." look out, world! rare moment of no-more-mister-funny-guy incoming. "would it even matter?"

[embodies]

hana regards her company with a studious gaze, eager to absorb what knowledge she can and rid herself of the mantle of d.va. if only temporarily. her cross - legged posture makes her seem even younger than her feeble age of nineteen, but her mind is aged with the weight that rests upon her shoulders. a sense of duty and diligence underlies everything she does now — whether she lathers it in pink hearts and bunnies or not. but in this moment, she is simply grateful.

❛ you. are. a. life saver ! ❜ volume increases with each step until it culminates in a shrill exclamation of glee, gloved hands thrusting into the air, celebratory. ❛ tokki would've been so done for if it wasn't for you, you're waaaaaay better with mekas than dae-hyun. uh, don't tell him that— ! ❜ the reversal of an exclamation made in too much excitement, grin sheepish amidst her relief. if her trusty mech was down for the count, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

❛ thank you, ramya. i'll have to let you take her for a spin some time — you know ! as compensation. ❜ gratitude precedes the knowing glimmer in her eye, the offering of a joyride as sacred as donating a kidney to her. one would do well to know the importance of such a permission.

@prkh. ♡

[sparksavor]

i made a gun called rampage. does this make you my giant terrible horrible no good very bad son

Be my guest. You can't possibly make a worse parent than my real one.

[shevaults]

"this is going against everything i stand for, but i'll do it for you," says the vault-dweller, who isn't entirely serious. nora's arms are folded and while her expression might be monotone, she's hiding a certain amusement. "go on. tell me the details." / @prkh — starter call

[deathl1es]

@prkh | LIKED FOR A STARTER

Eve Riley staggered through the dust-choked streets, her tattered dress flapping around her skeletal frame. The wasteland had not been kind to her, but she wore the scars of survival with a kind of grim pride. Her skin, mottled with decay and patches of scar tissue, told a story of countless encounters with the harsh realities of this world. Her eyes, however, retained a sharp glint—a remnant of the fierce spirit that had kept her alive for so long.

The sign above the door was barely legible, but Eve had learned to navigate by intuition and the scraps of old-world knowledge she’d picked up along the way. She pushed open the door, which creaked on rusty hinges, and stepped inside.

The interior was cluttered with a haphazard array of weaponry and armor. Dusty shelves groaned under the weight of ancient rifles, barely functional pistols, and an assortment of improvised gadgets.

Eve shuffled forward, her steps deliberate but unhurried. She knew she was an unusual sight but she had come for a reason. “I need something reliable,” she rasped, her voice carrying a tone of determination that belied her appearance. “Something that can still hold up in a fight.”

Eve glanced around, taking in the assortment of weapons. “Raider attacks have been getting worse,” she explained. “I need something that can keep me alive a little longer. Maybe a good rifle, something with range and power.”

[luckynumbersix]

@prkh

He moved slowly, exhausted from his trek and flopped himself onto the little stool beside him. "Ramya?" He called into the space, eyes scanning the area looking for the younger woman. He reached up grabbing his bandana and pulling it from his face before yelling for the woman again. "Ramya! I got your shit."

He chucked the bag he was carrying onto the work table near by him, eyes still scanning the room for any sight of her. "I think I broke a toe this trip." He mumbled to himself, bending down to rub his foot through his worn boots.

[torntruth]

kristen durus interaction call , accepting , @prkh .

nuka-town ( usa ) , goes around in a circle , nuka-market in the center. where all the poor travelers who blinked got caught and forced to work under the raiders ( with an exploding collar as a threat , the ye olde trick ) . kristen durus is just a woman that values freedom. these particular raiders were just animals ( literally for The Pack who's run by a fucking alpha ) . the blonde is sitting in a chair , a nuka-cola in hand , wearing the usual outfits of the operators ( suits with armor ) , watching that cola shaped bot walk around and insult people.

... which she did particularly find amusing.

bright green eyes shift to a face she just hasn't seen before. a breath in. every single traveler runs the risk of becoming a slave. MAYBE SHE DOES HAVE A GOOD HEART. she stands , shifts her combat rifle around in her hands before making it to the stranger's side , combat rifle cradled comfortably in both hands. she just clears her throat before smiling , like this isn't a raider's world filled with torture and chems. but a fun park.

" you want some advice? it's free , on the house. "

[deadn30n]

❝    Ah....  sorry.  I  wasn't  listening,  would  you  mind  repeating  that?   ❞    Yone  actually  looks  a  tad  bit ashamed  by  this  admission,  and  even  offers  up  an apologetic  look.  It's  not  like  him  to  be  so rude,  and  not  especially  to  potential  fans   (   if  that's  what  this  person was   ).  He  preferred  to  leave  a  better  impression  than  this. | one liner for @prkh

[holopiloted]

@prkh asked: stands in his bedroom doorway, whips n naenaes & leaves in silence.

The look on his face is uncharacteristically...BLANK. Seemingly unperturbed by the whole thing — but anyone who knows Elliott would know it's quite the opposite...

His gaze remained LOCKED onto the now empty doorway for a moment, as if Ramya was still standing there; eventually, slowly, drifting back to the holopad that sat in his lap.

— he's gotta get his door fixed. ASAP.

[embodies]

DOOM: ANNIHILATION PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. ❛ someone found a shiny new toy. ❜

@prkh.

glance upward at her company is brief, far too engrossed in what is happening on her handheld console screen to divert her attention for too long. the game has always come first, hyperfixated determination sticking a glimpse of tongue at the dainty corner of her mouth. focus is paramount. not the most courteous image to present but she's sure ramya understands. hana hasn't let go of this thing for more than a quick toilet break since she was gifted it ( thank you, loyal fans ! ) and shows no signs of stopping.

❛ uh, yeah— ❜ as if it were obvious, her tone still clearly distracted as she navigates to a checkpoint and hits save. setting the console down, granted with some reluctance, her undivided awareness is finally endowed. ❛ i mean, i can play all around the world now ! missions, touring, do you know how much luggage space this is gonna save me ? packing up this thing is soooo much easier — no wonder it's called a portal. it literally opens up every doorway ever. so convenient. ❜ realising her ramble, she becomes sheepish. a blush tinges her features rapidly, giggle erupting unbidden. ❛ you can have a go, if you like. ❜ offer of truce, for her eyes were starting to blur anyway.

[maximummuses]

❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜ for javelin! :]

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

"What is it about me that keeps you from feeling scared?" Javelin looks down, singular optic flickering.

"Impressive weaponry. Did you make it yourself?"

[ragedagainst]

@prkh : so let me get this straight. you have… never wooed? not once? you are woo-less, as it were?

unpredictability is the key to survival. as long as no one can predict her next move, she can remain steps ahead of them, to figure out what they're thinking before they even know it so she can act on that possibility. because of it, jyn is very rarely knocked off her feet ( literally and metaphorically ) –– but this is one of those instances. the words that come out of parekh's mouth are so far out of the current galaxy that it leaves her stunned for a few seconds, lips parting slightly and eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

what –– wooing ? the fuck does wooing –– and bloody romance ? both of them have greater priorities than this, surely.

" wooed ? " jyn scoffs incredulously. that's a word she hasn't heard in –– ever. despite being born in a prison, galen and lyra had been relatively well-off for the first few years of her life on coruscant ; that all went to shit, of course, when they'd decided to stop working with krennic. her life so far has been the opposite of high society –– and asking whenever or not she's ever wooed someone has never come up before. her lip curls back into the hint of a mocking sneer, arms crossing over her chest. " i'm sorry –– i didn't know i was in the presence of someone from the bloody upper-core. "

[enccrypted]

> incoming transmission received : @prkh {

“don’t do yourself any favours, do you, anorak…” deft are the hands that work: not so ungentle in the way she packs a considerable tear of gauze into an open g7 bullet hole in crypto’s quad. they’re hunkered down in a corner of the cenote cave with a single medkit between them … and while ramya considers herself no medic of the fleshy kind, the concept of his wound getting infected by some haphazard grains of sand or whatever hellish insects storm point bred admittedly makes the woman squeamish to her core. “but i suppose i owe you for takin’ out that bugger with the l-star... reckon you’ll be alright?” }

" CAREFUL, " CRYPTO HISSES, THE SNAP AND BITE IN his voice out of the ordinary even for him. But what exactly did he expect from a woman whose hands are accustomed to digging around in the guts of bombs and weapons made to maim and kill ? ( When it came to Parekh, the latter's a kindness. Crypto doesn't like to think of what kind of life awaited those that survived her creations. Even medical innovation hasn't come far enough to mend the wounds left behind by a Rampart. Those you kept for life. )

But she's doing the best that she can. He's seen her at work, and there is a mechanical precision to the way her fingers moved. Each deft twist and tap and every minor adjustment she makes is done with a sort of purpose that he knows quite well — that of an engineer's. Rampart knows what she's doing.

" 씨발새끼 ¹ ...! I-I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just — get it over with."

It's the blood-gushing hole in his thigh, he thinks, that's clouding his judgment. There was nothing short of a heavy dose of sansufentanyl and whatever else D.O.C. had in that mixture. His input won't be of any help here, but growling and bitching feels like it's doing something.

At least he's not the other guy. Crypto chokes back a yowl, jerking his head in a nod as she pressed gauze into and against the wound. Unshed tears cling to his lashes. He blinks them away as he presses a hand against his nose and mouth to block out the foul stench of burning flesh, fanned into their hideout by the seaside breeze. ( The smell came from just downhill on the shore, from the not far-off body of the other guy who'd been at the unfortunate end of a barrage of fire from Crypto's L-star. )

Staring at the blood soaked bandages aren't helping much either, he realises, and he skirts his gaze away. It lands briefly on the medkit at Rampart's side. Crypto grinds his teeth before squeezing his eyes shut, fighting off the feverish shudder wracking his body from head to toe. There's no use in wasting it. He wasn't going to die from this. But the pain is always somehow worse in the interim; in the climax of battle, he can count on the rushing of adrenaline in his ears to distract him, no matter how drenched in blood and sweat, how riddled in bullets and cuts, he might be.

" 썅. ² " He shakes his head, tossing off what droplets he can from the rivulets of perspiration streaming down his temples. " S... sorry. I just, I don't usually survive long enough to get to this point. "

He sticks to the shadows for a reason. Combat is more viable for someone with his skillset when he has the element of surprise. When he's caught off-guard like this... well, he'd be long knocked out of the running. And knocked out, carted off to be hooked up onto life support in the infirmary, too.

He blinks blearily, offering Rampart a weak smile through split and bloody lips. ( He must have bit through them when the other man's bullet had hit its last and lucky mark, or when Rampart had been forced to play medic to pick up his slack. Who knew where their actual medic was. The madman had taken off upon landing and, hours later, remains nowhere to be seen. The only response on his radio is static when they try to patch through. Though, truth be told, Crypto isn't all that interested in meeting back up with him. No amount of illicit drugs for that he carried in his pack — for healing, he claims — is worth the headache and lunacy that the man brings with him. ) Her efforts are appreciated, especially when pitted up against the other options he could have ended up with.

" Do I at least get a candy when we're through? Eh...? 간호사 선생님 ³ ? " Maybe he doesn't need the sansufentanyl, after all; he's beginning to feel delirious, as it is.

¹   씨발새끼 ;  ssibal saekki — ' motherfucker '  ²   썅 ;  ssyang — ' shit/fuck '  ³   간호사 선생님 ; ganhosa, ' nurse, ' + seonsaengnim, honorific

[deathchasing]

"yeah, mate, i'mma need, like … two more days with it. minimum." an itch of her nose leaves remnants of graphite grease, posture unbothered, hunched over her workspace with a focus that could be respectable if it weren't indisputably unhealthy. ultimately, money was money; and she's good at what she does. if it jeopardized a few meals, and social interactions, and cut her back a few hours of sleep… she could catch up on it. she's done worse. and who's counting? "my schedule's chock-a-block all weekend. lotta people want a whole lotta lil ol' parekh. who'd've thought, eh? [ ... ] you got any caffeine on you?"

"Come onnnn, that's so long!"

Octane spreads out miserably on Rampart's workshop floor and settles a baleful glare on her boots beneath the desk she works at. She's been tinkering with a new model of prosthetics for him, ones that better acclimate to water. He's always been able to swim reasonably well with the ones he has, but it's never been the same as walking and running. The environment is simply different; no skin and muscle to innately detect pressure changes or current, or to gauge how quickly or efficiently his feet kick at the water. Out of everything he'd had to adjust to since he lost his legs, swimming anywhere that isn't shallows has been nightmarish. He's developed something of a phobia in the interim, though it's not something he'd ever admit aloud. "I wanna try surfing the waves on Storm Point before that big hurricane hits," he whines. Absently he picks up a stray wrench out of a nearby toolbox and begins to spin it around in a circle on the floor, bored and uninspired. "Fuse is gonna get all the attention when he flies down there this weekend cause he always does. I think Mirage's eyes are gonna fall outta his stupid head if he keeps this up."

He sighs. "Anyway, if I had caffeine, I'd be drinking it," he says with a grin, "And you wouldn't get any."

[un1dentity]

@prkh said "guys who are also haunted houses" on deacon's promo & i am sitting here like. how did u know i had a meta being written about that in my drafts......................

[embodies]

DOOM: ANNIHILATION PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. ❛ if you’re about to say what i think you’re gonna say, i’m gonna shoot you in the face. ❜

@prkh & jesse pinkman.

he still isn't used to the clipped monotony of a british speaker — at least, he assumes this is a universal trait as opposed to a particular of ramya's specific cadence. maybe a bit of both. regardless of origin, it leaves his jaw dropping into a fitting imitation of a guppy, temporarily speechless. whatever was about to leave his now shock - gaped mouth dissipates, replaced with wonders of what did she think i was gonna say ? like a tortoise receding into its shell he wilts at the first sign of confrontation, whether the threat is in jest or not. ever the loyal dog, he proverbially rolls over and shows his belly by raising his hands in innocence, shoulders swamped in the folds of his hoodie. it is a wonder he doesn't drown in the clothes he wears, or perhaps that is the intention. his stance is ever the criminal's, and if an onlooking bystander didn't know any better, they would think ramya really was holding him at gunpoint.

❛ hey, hey, chill, cool it. i was gonna say— ! ❜ he stalls for time, alarm only thinly lacing the substance that is his voice. one upraised palm drops slowly to his pocket, with the same measured caution a man on the run might retrieve something to show the cops. plastic bag reveals itself, freshly packed full of the good stuff. because if jesse has learned anything about conflict, it's that good old mary jane is a foolproof resolution. seemingly irreparable arguments muffled by the sweet haze of the mind that ensues.

❛ —smoke ? ❜