#technohavoc

[scxretxsettle]

It had been several days since Midnight had felt well enough to leave the Haven under his own power. Of course, it was still far sooner than the average person should be up and about for even short bursts---a point the Haven’s resident medic (Tox, the others had been calling him) had tried to make several times, to varying degrees of success---but it had started to tax his patience, waiting out a clock that wasn’t accurate to him. For the most part, Midnight had been willing to play a reasonable patient for as long as he had to soothe any lasting worries for the handful of familiar faces that drifted in and out of the room they’d put him up in.

But there came a point where he just wasn’t willing to sit around. He couldn’t open up his work here, couldn’t check in on the possible fallout of the whole sequence of events that had landed him here in the first place, but he needed something to do.

Midnight’s wandering of the Haven wasn’t so much exploring as it was searching for a back way out that was maybe less frequented (just in case anyone he might have run into felt like reporting back to Tox about his patient’s whereabouts) so he could grab some fresh air, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t taking things in.

He hadn’t been looking for Tech, per se, but he had bypassed an emergency exit at (what he assumed was) the back of the Haven to loop toward the front, his path finally stopping in the doorway of a room at the front when a familiar head of red hair caught his eye.

Even from that far back, he recognized his rifle case immediately. Not far from it sat the rest of his things. If he were going off of his own experiences, he’d be tempted to say she was turning a case of her own over, with the way it was all laid out.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence, unsure whether or not she’d already noticed his arrival.

“Mouse is out,” he offered. “Figured she needed the rest.” He didn’t ask what Tech was up to, but his gaze did, for a time, take in the collection of things sat before her. The metal box, in particular, had his attention, though he was careful to keep his recognition below the surface. Even after so many years, it (and its counterparts) hadn’t faded from his memory. Did she know what it was she had?

Hedging his bets, he finally continued, “Didn’t have that with me,” with a nod to the box.

[wireshumming]

@technohavoc

I’m going to kill him.

[silvasboys]

Unforseen Debts

The rattling of the doorknob was unexpected. The twins stopped what they were doing and looked up, then at one another: Adrian sketching on the windowsill, Marcos slowly mending a pair of jeans on the bed. When a knock sounded, insistence bordering on aggression, Marcos reached out of habit for the absent holster he only wore on-duty. Adrian followed the movement, apprehension tightening the corners of his eyes. Marcos dropped the jeans beside him and stood.

“Who is it?” he called, staying a safe distance from the door. The voice that answered him was male and unfamiliar, hoarse and slightly higher than the average.

“If you even think of climbing out the windows, I’ve got eyes on your fire escape attached to a loaded gun. Open the door.”

The brothers tensed, glancing in unison towards the street, and Adrian hopped quickly off the windowsill and stepped up against the fridge.

“Who are you?” Marcos demanded, his jaw clenching when the answering knock was audibly made by something harder than a fist.

“It’s rude to lock your friends outside. Open the door or we’ll kick it down.”

Adrian shook his head, and Marcos gave a tight nod and backed up. If he opened the door he’d be too close for safety - too easy to disable or shoot outright. They’d had to repair their door a dozen times already, and once more wasn’t the worst that could happen.

The first kick was too close to the center, and one of the panels cracked away from the frame. The second splintered the doorframe next to the lock, and the third sent the door swinging wide and slamming against the wall behind it. The man who caught it as it rebounded and shoved his way inside was of average height, with a haggard face and sandy-colored hair that was thinning away from his temples. He wore grey jeans and a black jacket, with a stained t-shirt beneath. Two other men followed close behind and immediately spread out; one stood with crossed arms in front of the bathroom after glancing inside to confirm it was empty, while the other took Adrian by the upper arm and pushed him further into the room before taking up position by the windows. Adrian immediately backed again into a corner, this time alongside their freestanding wardrobe. Marcos stood with his hands at his side, eyes locked on the ringleader.

“You owe us money,” the man stated without preamble. He held a pistol in one hand and moved it in a gesture seemingly intended to draw attention to the weapon, but something about the movement felt strange. Loose. Marcos noticed for the first time how red the man’s eyes were.

“We don’t know who you are,” Marcos said, keeping his voice level. The man licked his lips and swallowed, giving his head a shake that – again – felt more fluid than was natural.

“Don’t give me that shit-“ The stranger’s voice was abruptly a shout, and as he gestured at Marcos with his gun the brothers’ posture shifted in unison, two variations on a ‘ready’ stance. Out of the corner of his eye, Adrian saw the men on either side move as well, but – strangely – he couldn’t tell whether they were facing more towards himself or their leader.

The blond man lifted the hand holding the gun and ran it over his scalp. “Why h’ain’t you paid us, kid? You know the rules. You have no right t’be surprised-“ again he gestured at them with the pistol, “that we come collecting. So you got any excuses?”

“We don’t. Know who you are,” Marcos repeated, his words clearly enunciated. He risked a glance at the nearer of the two backup muscle, and was confused by the man’s noncommittal expression.  “What do you think we owe you?”

“Do you hear this?” The leader spoke to one of the men, who just stared back at him impartially. “Says he doesn’t know what he owes. Doesn’t know he’s been getting’ protection, from a family you don’t fucking mess with, and thinks he just doesn’t have to pay for our services.” He turned back to Marcos and stepped forward aggressively. “Your business ain’t shit without us, Cervantes, you’ll have the Steel smashing up shop in a week, you got that? Now give us the fucking cash-“

A number of realizations went through the brothers’ heads simultaneously, in the moments before the man shoved the barrel of his gun hard against Marcos’ chest. The backups seemed collected enough, but their leader had a sheen of sweat across his forehead and upper lip. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated. His gaze was slightly unfocused no matter how close he stood.

And also- this was their first encounter with one of the gangs who ran whatever parts of Neon were worth running: businesses, mostly, landlords occasionally. Dangerous organizations of dangerous men, but, generally speaking, men who knew their trade and kept their books of names. Not men who mistook penniless civilians for paying customers. However this individual had come to lead in whatever small capacity, he wouldn’t be holding that position for long.

Regardless, when the gun hit his chest Marcos acted on instinct. His right hand shot up and slammed into the side of the piece, shoving it off target less than a second before the muzzle flashed and a deafening bang rang out. More clumsiness – firing indoors, in a crowded building, when you’re not sure of your target. His left hand closed on the man’s wrist and he spun, twisting the arm as he turned and punching down on his grip as hard as he could. The pistol clattered to the floor and he kicked it immediately towards the gap between the lower mattress and the wall.

Adrian, meanwhile, darted forward and flung his hands out in opposite directions, towards the remaining two men. He, too, had picked up on the difference between them and their leader; there was a chance they would respond to logic, though that chance grew slimmer as the shot fired off dangerously close to him and his brother grappled with the blond.

“There’s cameras,” he said urgently, looking quickly from one man to the other, and was rewarded by a second’s hesitation as they drew their own guns. “We’re neutrals, the apartment’s bugged.”

One man tipped his chin to the side; the other’s eyes flitted along the ceiling line, searching for the telltale glint of a lens. But the scuffle between Marcos and the third man was picking up, as Marcos continued to attempt to pin him and the man swung wildly and landed several glancing blows, and when he angrily shouted “Get him the fuck off me!”, his men steeled their expressions and moved in.

[lucksrunout]

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + >:)

[[ OH GOD okay *rubs hands together*

+ Omens’ formal schooling stopped at maaaybe middle school? If that? So his math skills are pretty rudimentary. But after he came to the desert, and Raven started training him to take over the bar, Midnight sat him down to go over the money management side of things, and that included a crash course in all the math he needed. (Which Omens mooostly remembers, but he still made Midnight do most of that anyway.)

+ Omens needs glasses. (He’s probably never gonna get them, though, if we’re being perfectly honest.) He’s farsighted, and a slow reader because it’s hard to make out all the gosh darn words.

+ For the most part, he dyes his hair and all that on his own. (Bright blue hands for days afterward, and he’s always got glitter all over the place because it gets on his hands as he puts it in his hair and then it just gets everywhere else as he like, scratches an itch, or moves hair out of his face, or or or.)

+ He’s a decent singer, but despite not having a very wide range, or a particularly high one, he will try to follow the melody up beyond his range in his favorite songs, and it’s painful to listen to. (He’s usually good about not doing it when he has company… Usually.)

+ Cannot sit still to save his life. Also regularly chooses to sit on not chairs when presented several surfaces to sit on. (So like, between a table and a chair, he will pick the table.)

+ Sweettooth! (Bribe him with liqueurs and taffy if you need to get back into his good graces. Works every time.)

+ He painted like, 80-90% of the art inside Electric Starlight. He got an art-inclined friend to contribute a sizeable pice to what has been dubbed by (mostly drunk) patrons as the “big space wall”. It’s mostly spraypaint-based. He had experience working spray cans from his time in the city. 

+ On that note, he was picked up for tagging a few times in his youth (among other things). He was usually let off with a warning, or forced to spend the night in holding. He once spent something like a week in Detainment Purgatory, but they let him go after that.

+ He always has tattoo ideas on the backburner. He’s got precious notebooks for them all. Sometimes if he wants a little more spending money, he draws heavy-space-emphasis or Pantheon-emphasis tattoos for artists who don’t lean quite as heavily that way.

+ Omens can’t be trusted alone in any kind of technical shop where toned guys in short sleeves do manual labor. He will disappear to flirt with all of them.

+ His mother was Asian, and was the one who named him. She liked the sound of Napoleon, though she usually called him Leo or her little lion. (He doesn’t remember her or the nickname, but he did go by Leo until he became Omens.)

+ Omens can do the flashy cocktail pouring (where they spin and toss the bottles and everything around) but he had to learn through trial and error. (So many broken bottles. At least Midnight made him use the empty ones and flasks instead of glasses, so they didn’t lose any money.) But he only whips it out for special occasions, because it’s hard for him to both focus on not dropping anything and keep a conversation going at the same time with all the noise of the club.

+ In the same way that Omens gets starstruck around like, Helios or the Fab Four, he’s starting to gain his own little following of new dustkids who start to crush on him. (It absolutely blows his mind and he finds them adorable.)

+ In the past, Omens would make several trips a year to the little “official” altar to Luna. This year, he made several trips to each of the major altars of the Pantheon, with intentions to both go again and keep up that level of activeness in the years to come.

+ If he’s upset (really upset), his instinct is to push everyone away and deal with it himself. (Lingering trust issues, and not being used to being able to rely on other people.)

[blvckenedsoul]

9, 10, 11!

9. How hard would it be for them to live as their single, genuine self?

Not too hard? I mean, he isn’t forthcoming, but he isn’t actively trying to be someone he’s not, y’know? Really, the hard part would be admitting all the time to things like the bouts of possessive jealousy, and the fact that he leans on certain responses (outburts of anger and frequent irritability, for example) because it means he doesn’t necessarily have to address underlying issues he might have. (There are certain people in his life he’d rather not have see some of the uglier parts of him, and a lot of people he wouldn’t want knowing that he comes with some hefty emotional baggage.)

10. When, if ever, are they completely genuine?

At home, maybe? But even then, he’s not exactly sharing the full picture of what goes on in his head that makes him behave the way he does. The best look into the way he ticks is probably when he’s drunk, maybe a little tired, at home, and (if we’re looking for entirely uncensored thoughts and behaviors) alone.

11. If they’re an adult, have they gained masks as they aged, or simplified?

He’s definitely gained a few masks as he’s gotten older. He’s put on masks that exaggerate his aggression and makes him out to be an intimidating, antagonistic figure for work, and those have their own little, like, facets/subsets depending on what the situation may call for. I think he’s still picking a few up as he figures out and settles into his roles in Battery City. 

But, in a way, things have also simplified? Most of his masks can be put into one of two categories: personal, and professional. The personal ones are for friends and family--the people he doesn’t want to lie to, but also doesn’t want to see the deep-running faults he has. And the professional ones are (obvi) for work. Indifference and aggression and a distinct lack of opinions are generally close to the core of those ones, typically because that’s all that’s really asked of him, and it makes his job easier when that’s all people see when they look at him. So at their cores, the masks have simplified, but there are still more specified ones he picks up as he goes through life.

[parangoneden-blog]

technohavoc started following you

Bonsoir mon chéri! Care to reserve a table? Or perhaps schedule a party? We’re great for weddings, birthdays, business outings, and more! 

[desert-wilda-beast]

@technohavoc , @selfstoragesafehaven

Y’know, I’m realizin’ I don’t think I’ve ever gotten ta speak ta this brother bear.

[agoldenlight]

@deadvengeance, @il--dottore, @some-bloody-saint, @silvasboys, @technohavoc

Mm-! Hello!

[ne0026]

@technohavoc

I have a request to make of you.

[desertvendetta-blog]

@technohavoc 

  Don’t you dare.  

[aborderlinenightmare-blog]

technohavoc started following you

YO YO YO!!!

[scxretxsettle]

( @themousebombs, @technohavoc )

Midnight’s slump to the floor was less a slide and more a controlled fall, braced as well as he could be against the counter. Pulling his first aid kit and radio down was a clumsier effort, dark spots dancing in his vision, blood loss slowing his movements. Things scattered when the bag hit the ground, plastic and metal and softer materials spilling out in a burst of noise. His radio, at least, landed in the bag, rather than exploding into pieces the way it would have if it had made impact with the tiled floor.

He glanced between the half-stitched (if it could even be called a proper stitching job, Christ) wound up to where he’d left his rifle case on the counter, then over to where he’d dropped his bag. There was no way to reach any of it without creating more problems.

Well. He was either going to find out just how respectful of his space his help was, or have a lot to answer for. A rifle was easy enough to explain. But he had a lot more intel in his bag than anyone else needed to see.

Oh. Oh wait. Oh if those jumped up idiots sold him out

What a mess.

Midnight exhaled heavily through his nose and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to rest against the cabinet behind him.

Maybe this was what he got for double dipping. Digging up information for a city-side contact on the same crew contracting him for a job involving a different crew. A fucking mess.

Darkness was rolling into the forefront of his mind, deeper than just closed eyes.

He’d have to

to

The thought was gone before he’d fully grasped it.

[iden-gaku-blog]

technohavoc started following you

I’m popular today. Hello.

[silvasboys]

@technohavoc

Hey... you there? It’s Marcos.

[lucksrunout]

7, 13, 14!

7. When they see discrepancies in another character’s behavior, do they feel betrayed? Unsettled?

To an extent, it depends on the person. But definitely unsettled, if it’s someone he’s known a while, or someone he thinks he’s got a good handle on because he ‘knows the type’. If it’s someone he’s close to, he can feel pretty affronted, if the discrepancy is large enough.

13. Do they more admire adaptability or authenticity?

Mmm, authenticity. He understands and respects the need to blend in, but he’s happier being honest about himself, and he holds in higher regard the ability to live honestly.

14. Pick a mask. What is its purpose?

Pantheon Disciple - A mask he’s picked up in recent years, and has been growing into and developing more in the last year or so (off-screen, which I really need to write for at some point). He’s more serious and thoughtful with his words, because most of the conversations he has with this mask involve stuff about the pantheon, and you really need to watch your words about some of them. He’s also more open about his experiences with the desert, because a number of them tie in pretty closely to his own understanding of the zone gods.

[themousebombs]

Techie, you busy?

@technohavoc