#rapxir001

[conngenic]

@rapxir​  ♥

𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙, like he’s been caught in the middle of a crime, the spare key to the Octavius household held tightly between his thumb and index finger. Not Curt’s first time at knifepoint, but he wishes he wouldn’t have to relive such an experience; it’s why he’d become a physics professor, after all ( not because 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚊 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢 pays him any better ). “You’re not supposed to be here!” All Curt knew was that Rosalie had died and Otto had... well, been on Rikers Island for the past week. Lord knows how poorly his houseplants had been watered... “Who the hell are you!” 

[herodrowned]

@rapxir | cont. from x

First thing was first, she had to make sure that he was adjusting alright to being out of his cell. Second thing was getting a handle on this whole “sorry” thing. It had started during his little stint in 2022, and had yet to stop since. Ironic for her of all people to try and ease anyone else’s guilty conscious, but sometimes it was easier to try and fix someone else’s house than to patch up your own. It wasn’t his fault. Not this. Not his wife. There was a grey area concerning the role of his stubbornness in the accident, but hell if he hadn’t been humbled since.

“He woke up today and chose to be an asshole,” she said. “That’s not on you. The press in general has a habit of ignoring common decency.”

She scowled. Vultures, the lot of them. It had been the same during her own period of infamy back home. Quotes that could only be “allegedly” sourced to those who knew her. A front page picture of her father with his hand up to block his face from the camera. She’d heard that particular paper wasn’t doing so hot after that little moral scandal.

The red light blinked on, casting a soft glow over the work area as the arm regains sight. She bent over and tilted her head to align it with the lens.

“Welcome back,” she says to the arm.

“We should. I went shopping yesterday so we’d have things when you were released,” she said. “Can’t be sure we have everything we need for anything in particular though. You wanna make a list and I’ll check?”

She gave him a slightly teasing grin. “Hell, you’ve gotta be better than me, at least. If you were relying on me to cook, you’d be out of prison and straight to a hospital room.”

He hadn’t realized himself how much things had changed since his inhibitor chip had been repaired; the arms didn’t impose an incredible amount of influence on him, he thought, but he figures they must’ve done some meddling with the chemicals in his brain, making him more agreeable. He loved them like children, scolded them the same too, but he didn’t blame them. They were technically less than a year old at that time, and knew nothing but the machine. The other arms whir an appreciation when Flo finally regains sight, experimentally opening and closing the claw before Otto releases the arm and lets it raise itself above him.

“I don’t recall something like spaghetti being too complicated,” he says, although he’d admittedly forgotten exactly how to make it. He’ll have to resort to reading the packaging over for a bit. “No, no need. I’m sure you would’ve stocked us with many of the essentials.” The former scientist trusts her with more than he’d actually admit, having grown attached in the time during his captivity. He can’t tell if it’s because she’s been the only one to want to see her or because he feels so bad for... before he had his chip fixed.

“In all honesty, I hadn’t cooked for even longer than I realize...” He’d spent the months prior to the Oscorp incident eating takeout and a variety of whatever snacks Rosie had brought to the lab with her, then there was when he’d been fused to the arms. He hadn’t eaten anything that wasn’t stolen ( the arms had realized he needed to eat and would swipe street food whenever he’d so happen to cross by it ), and for that he grows ever more resentful for himself. Then, of course, the past five years of prison meals was.... less than ideal. “I assure you, food poisoning would’ve been a better alternative to nothing.”

He’s quite worried for his skills, in fact. When was the last time he’d eaten anything warm? The arms look at him on some level of confusion; ( why would you cook? ) “Well, mostly because it’s cheaper than buying takeout.” Otto, realizing that she can’t hear them, nods towards one of the arms. “They’re asking why I’d think to cook. I don’t think I ever gave the police an account of the stolen foods they’d swiped for me...” He tries to make it sound like a trivial part of his self-deprecation but it’s hard to.

[exigencism]

@rapxir​

It had been hard to readjust when he was finally free again; Octavius figured he deserved it. He hurt so many people back when... well, he tries not to dwell on it. Ruby has been doing excellent work at distracting him, with a new housemate and all. Otto barely goes outside anymore, and it shows through his nattering about with his arms. Whilst they’ve become more sedated, they haven’t completely gone away from him. And perhaps they never will. It’s Otto’s version of purgatory, he supposes. “Flo, darling, if you just stop squirming about-” and it’s hard for him to say that he’d trade it for anything. The top-right arm- or what’s left of it- is held firmly on the table by Otto’s left hand.

“I know it’s dark! I know! I’m going to fix that--” He looks towards Ruby, pointing towards a cardboard box at the other end of his makeshift lab. “There you are- sweetheart, so terribly sorry to ask, but if I asked the others then they’d probably team up against me. Could you grab that for me?” The others- Harry and Larry respectively, whilst Moe fakes agreement to avoid getting caught in what could be an argument- chirp and whirr as if coming up with some sort of plan to set Flo free. Unbeknownst to them, Otto is trying to do the best for them. “You know, I was thinking of cooking some pasta tonight. Care to join and help later?”