metamorphotic | you've got to carry your heart like a torch in the night.

to: derelictdrifter

you rang?

From Rick's, right?

So I was asking around and heard you were in need of some services that I'm pretty sure I can provide. For a price, of course, but a reasonable one. I'll just need the compensation for time and supplies, you dig?

How about I stop by somewhere? Could be the bar or a place of your choosing. If you need someone with you, that's fine by me. I'd just recommend they not be the judgey sort.

that’s me. the one and only nick from rick’s.

[and she’s definitely curious to know who’s been talking about her. loose lips can be a problem she doesn’t need.

she’s also curious to find out what kind of guy still says stuff like you dig.]

i’m free in a couple hours if you want to stop by the bar.

Can do.

[Back in the day (and when one means back in the day, one means 'centuries ago' when it comes to Lightbearers), Drifter used to be a bartender. He liked the work. Said that people that came to a bar showed their true selves. That's how it makes him feel. Sure it's shadier, more violent, slovenly, but it's truthful. The opposite of those tailored social media pages (yeah those'll still be around in some form in a thousand years).]

[So bars are good places for him, and he swaggers in with his loose, lazy walk and leans on the bar to wait for her.]

I'd be Drifter, if you're who I'm lookin' for.

[That sure is a hard southern accent coming out of a face that doesn't seem to suit it. He's wearing a combo of what looks like curated cowboy gear and Chinese silk patterns on his vest, with a jade necklace of intertwining snakes.]

I'll just sit by here while I'm waitin'.

Edited 2019-10-16 01:57 (UTC)

[back in the day - which, for nick, was only a decade ago, if you include the seven-year timeskip - she was of the same opinion about patrons of her place of employment, that they were more honest about their true natures within the bar’s walls than almost anywhere else. sure, most of the time those natures were ugly or misshapen in some way, but that neatly aligned with nick’s overall pessimistic view of her world and the people who inhabited it.

she’s alert to drifter’s approach, not only because she’s expecting him but also because that’s part of her job and part of how she learned to navigate her life from childhood. stay alert, avoid hurt. it’s an especially handy habit to have when you find yourself in a city run and monitored by the sort of sentient artificial intelligence that makes big brother look like a gas station security camera. she gives him a quick visual appraisal but doesn’t seem fazed by his attire - she’s been traveling the multiverse for a few years now, and even just in this city, she’s seen all kinds of people with their varying appearances.]

Guess that all depends on who you’re lookin’ for. [said like she could be joking or she could be not. after a short pause, she continues:] I’m Nick, and I am officially off the clock in about three minutes. Can I get you a drink? Act now - offer expires in three minutes.

[ok, yeah, she’s joking a little. it’s part of the bartender persona - you joke, you flirt a little, you act like you’re interested in what people have to say. sometimes it’s not even an act.]

[He's cleaner here because he can be, but the scent of engine oils and chemicals linger on him. He doesn't bother to mask it in any kind of cologne, knowing that'd just make him reek like poison. He smells like shop work and charcoal soap when he leans across the counter to look.]

I think y'all had some good vodka. I've been tryin' to enjoy access to the finer things.

[He leans back some, thinking about winking just to be a little bit of a prick but that's not the best idea to do when one really needs to do some business. He watches the patrons milling about. None of them too well off. That's both a good sign and a bad one. Poor people need some stronger patrons behind 'em. But then again, creepy surveillance state. He pulls out a jade coin to fiddle with while he waits, rifling it between his fingers with lazy, practiced ease.]

[if she takes note of the way he smells, she gives no indication of it. the scent is a familiar one; her father was an auto mechanic before he died, and her first job in high school was at the same shop, running the front counter and answering phones, saving up every dollar she could to fund her escape from the dead prairie town where she was born.]

Good vodka it is, [she nods, and reaches for a clear bottle from the top shelves. at nearly six feet tall, she has an easier time retrieving it than some of her shorter coworkers would.] How did you want it - neat, on the rocks? I’m guessin’ you’re not really into mixers, but I do guess wrong some of the time.

Neat is fine. I'm used to drinkin' things at whatever temperature they hit my mouth.

[Finer things, yes. Watering down good vodka? Not a chance. Damn that girl is tall, though. Built like a Titan. Not that anyone here would know what that means, but there's something about her that makes it easy to imagine her holding a flaming hammer. Then again, she's heavy on that Warlock aesthetic. Looks like she'd appreciate the decorated look.]

[Doesn't matter. Nobody's anything. He's a far way from home, and in some cases that's great. In others? It's not far enough. Not yet, anyway.]

[He waits for his drink patiently.] The bar I worked at had a fightin' problem. But this is a city bar, an' mine was a little more frontiersy.

[she moves quickly but efficiently in her work, pouring the drink as ordered and sliding the glass across the bar to drifter. the last three minutes of her shift are up, so she pours a second glass for herself and carries it around the bar, taking the seat next to drifter.]

City don’t always mean civilized. Back home, I lived in a pretty big city - not quite as big as this place, but close - and I worked in a bar, pretty much just like this one. Got one hell of a scar on my shoulder from breaking up a knife fight while on duty - first time in my life I ever needed stitches. Haven’t had any problems in this place, though.

[she shrugs, takes a sip of her drink, takes a moment to give him a closer looking-over now that there’s no bar between them. he looks dangerous, but not threatening - a combination that could go either way.]

So ... who do I have to thank for the referral?

Somebody that was pretty interested in my wares, too. Said he'd rather my business not go to the north side of town. I said I couldn't promise anything, but if he directed me to any parties who might be willin' to find out more on whatever cross universe tech the Head is usin', I might be obliged to restrain myself.

Your name got dropped as potential.

[He rifles the coin between his fingers, not dishing out any names. Yet, anyway. He doubts that particular guy would be ratting anyone out. He'd probably die first. But Drifter keeps his voice low when he's sayin' all of it.]

As a man with a little bit of experience with interdimensional portal tech, transmats, digitech... I was thinkin' that maybe if I had access to the right materials, and the right specs? Let's just say I never liked bein' threatened, or used.

Yeah ... I never met anyone who likes bein’ used.

[a lot of the people who were brought here would be be interested in knowing where the tech is that brought them and how it works, and the heart’s at the top of that list. it’s one of the biggest pieces they haven’t yet been able to uncover, and one of the things they’re hoping those they’d spoken with in the warehouse would be able to help them uncover.

they’d established a back door into the head’s files on the new arrivals, but files only provide part of the picture. that’s part of nick’s role, to make a face to face assessment of who can be helpful and whether they can be trusted. hank was pretty easy to read, but this drifter guy’s more of a mystery than most.

the approach isn’t terribly different, though - talk to him, try to get a sense for who he is. and that usually starts with sharing some of her own story.]

This isn’t my first time gettin’ shuffled around dimensions or worlds or whatever you wanna call it. Between home and here, I’ve been jerked around a bunch of times in the past few years - lost in space for some of it, having wacky adventures, and that was no one’s fault, but the rest was on a ruined planet run by a group of shitheads that fed on our emotions. They were all assholes, ‘cept for Delight. She was cool - liked to help people feel good, y’know? Made a bar, kept it stocked, even gave me a job working there. Bein’ a bartender’s all I really know how to do. And it was still feeding Delight, but I figured that wasn’t so bad, ‘cause that bar was the one thing that made living in that shithole tolerable. Lesser evil, I guess.

[she shrugs and takes a sip of her drink.]

Eventually, the bar got blown up, and Delight sold us all out to the robots that wanted to kill all of us. Funny how it’s been robots so much of the time. I’m an analog girl m’self - all this tech shit kinda creeps me out. But you can probably see why someone who shows up out of nowhere offering to help might seem suspicious.

[she knew that revealing herself at the warehouse meeting was a risk, and it would likely lead to people seeking her out as a point person for the heart. but nick’s confident that she can handle the risks.]

What kinds of specialty items were you talkin’ about in that note you left for me?

[So this isn't the first place? Not very surprising. He listens in, and while he's interested, the meaning of the story doesn't escape him.]

[He finishes off the drink he ordered, slides the glass towards her.]

While I do wanna hear more about these other dimensions [because so far he's only been able to access two] and it's mighty sweet of you to try and explain why you wouldn't trust me, I never expected you to. I brought you a present to prove my worth. Worth ain't trust. Trust costs a lot more.

[There's a reason that he calls his gun 'trust', and uses the word in almost a joking manner sometimes. Because, really, no one ever trusts him. Nor can he fault them for it. He got in the habit of lying about who and what he was a long, long time ago. Often not for ill-intent, just out of self-preservation, or the desire to live normally. But, still, it is a nasty habit to get into.]

When we're alone I'll show ya. I'm a shy fella.

[lying - or omitting parts of the truth - about who and what you are in order to survive and hold on to a sense of normalcy is something nick is quite familiar with. in her younger, more cynical days, she’d say that everyone lies to the world about their true selves, and that she’d given up the pretense of being anything but a monster when she was still a child. but she’s grown a bit since then. people still lie, of course, and she knows what to look for, but nick has a better understanding of the reasons for it now. and she no longer claims to be a monster - not in the same way she did then, at least.]

Oh, so you’re already planning on getting me alone? [she leans an elbow into the bar and grins playfully.] Gotta warn you, though - I’m about as sweet as salt.

[the grin fades slightly behind her glass as she takes another drink, and by the time nick sets the glass down again, her expression’s almost sober.]

Trust is - it’s hard. Even harder if you’ve spent your whole life gettin’ the shit kicked outta you. But it’s also important - ‘specially in a place like this.

[something she only learned once she left chicago. something she really only began to embrace during her stays in hadriel. she taps a fingernail against the glass, allowing herself a moment to get lost in her thoughts, then her focus returns to the man sat in front of her.]

Well, while you’re waiting to get me alone, why don’t you tell me ‘bout where you’re from? You said it’s frontiersy. Are we talkin’ Wild West or “boldly going where no man has gone before”?

Little bit of column A. Little bit of column B. Aliens came and trashed our world for somethin' real valuable they wanted a piece off. And this thing? Broke off little parts of itself.

[He stretches a hand out to pick up some silverware. He unfolds the napkin and removes the steak knife.]

Those little parts got called 'Ghosts', went out and found a bunch of people that could fight an' brought em back from the dead. So you had the humans and the 'Risen'. The 'Lightbearers'. No discriminatin' about personality. Got warlords who just wanted to overun everything, big factions that took advantage of humans, so it got a little wild-westy out there.

[As he finishes the sentence, he pushes his hand down on the knife, body positioned so no one else will see. He yanks it up, and before blood can even drip to the counter top it's being sucked back into the wound. Palm bared while the healing happens.]

Someone can try to live normal in that wild west, but it ain't gonna happen. That big thing everybody was fightin' for? Acted like it wanted to bring us a prosperous life. A good future. All it did was make the normal people defenseless to a bigger enemy they had no clue was comin'. And even a full thousand years, things still are a chore out there on the frontier. Just as bad in different ways.

[He offers her the knife. That's the one other thing he can bring to the table besides his 'ware's. He's immortal.]

Sorry for the silverware this late in the game. [It might not be trust, but an immortal might have a legitimate interest in being able to stay out of the Head's devices.]

[nick listens quietly, attentive to drifter’s story as the words wind through the air like smoke from a lit cigarette. when he performs that knife stunt, she gasps quietly, then claps a hand over her mouth, but continues watching closely, eyes wide with shock.

and if he’s speaking of himself on the subject of trying to live normal, that’s one step in the right direction toward her favor, if not her trust. she knows a little something about that, too - something that’s probably only fair to show him, later.]

Shit, [she whispers, and takes the knife to place it to the far side of her on the counter. it’s not done out of distrust, but to discourage another such display. she can’t imagine that was pleasant for him.]

So ... is that you? You’re one of the Risen - a Lightbearer?

[she frowns, gently biting down on her lower lip.]

Can I see? [his stabbed hand, she means.]

[He has no intention to, no worries about that. But he'd rather he see it under his terms than, say, getting shot. And the extent to which he can heal.]

I am, and some of us are newer than others. But me? I've been around a while.

[He lets her see his hand, and it is indeed as good as new. His abilities are limited already on their speed of being replenished, so not much is changed. It's enough to keep him good in a fight. Even with his experience, he thinks he can take on at least one iteration without dying. A bunch, however, and a problem happens.]

[That is until he gets some more weapons.]

Good as new. Not even scars. [Meaning whatever happened to his face must have happened before he was immortal.]

[a while is pretty open-ended, but nick guesses he must mean on the much longer side of that range. it makes her think of graham, her mentor of sorts, back in vancouver, and ushahin, her friend in hadriel who gave the term millennial an entirely different meaning. she wonders, not for the first time, what it feels like to live that long and acquire so many memories over so many years. she wonders how she will feel once she too reaches that age - if she manages to live that long. if she doesn’t make any fatal mistakes.

it’s with this knowledge that nick now concludes that drifter would have nothing to gain by lying about wanting to help the heart’s efforts. chances are high that betraying them to the head would mean he’d only end up stuck here for a much longer time.

very gently, she reaches out to take his hand in hers and inspect where the wound would be with a light brush of her fingertips. as he said - good as new, no scar. her gaze lifts to center on his face again, expression a mix of curiosity and concern.]

Doesn’t it hurt when you do that?

[She's still much more capable of kindness than him. He? Has it inside of him, but it's like shrapnel in his soul. Small, unpleasant pings of pain that come around with memories. He has cut off his sense of companionship but it's left phantom limb syndrome. It's not going to grow back, but where it once was echoes in his mind.]

[He doesn't flinch from the touch. She needs to see.]

It hurts like hell when it happens. Not after. And I didn't want to have to get shot or near killed to prove it. That was easier.

[There's no pleasure in harming himself. Definitely no pleasure in other people harming him, even if that's his expectation.]

[He wants more than the Head. He wants so much more.] But if it does happen, I promise you sister, I come back twice as strong just from how pissed off I am. Right to the very core. That's the thing, I heal from this? But I don't from bein' sick. I gotta die all the way and come back, real slow and painful. The Head can still get what it wants out of experimentin' on me.

[nick laughs under her breath and releases drifter’s hand.]

Been a while since anyone’s called me sister.

[she’s genuinely amused, but it reminds her of tim and how she’s been separated from him in being brought to this little side quest, and her mouth presses into a tight line as this memory forces its way to the front of her mind. it’s one of the reasons she joined this group of revolutionaries, after all.

and if nick had any lingering reservations as to drifter’s sincerity about making an alliance of sorts with the heart, they vanish in light of what he states about dying and coming back, about experiencing sickness, about anger. that’s the last piece of what she needs to hear, and she nods, mind made up. she believes him.]

You wanna get out of here, show me what you wanted to show me? I think ... maybe I’ve got somethin’ to show you, too.

[He wriggles his fingers as they're released, just because while he doesn't much mind being touched if he's allowing it, he's actually not made skin contact in quite a while. He's worn gloves for years thanks to his armaments. Bare skin is still strange.]

[He sometimes wears gloves now just to hide from distraction. Not that having her check out his hand was bad in any way.]

Well, I guess it's time for that 'I'll show ya mine if you show me yours' line. [He leans on the bar to wait, polite about it since, as far as he's concerned, he's got all the time in the world. Patience is something he's learned in spades.]

[nick stands up from the stool and returns behind the bar to place their glasses in the sink. she raises an eyebrow at that cheesy as hell line, barely managing to suppress another laugh.]

Wow. I think I haven’t heard that line in about ... five years? Or twelve, depending on how you count the time. Frat boy used it trying to pick me up - what was his name, Jeff? Brad?

[she shrugs - it doesn’t really matter what his name was, he was barely a blip on her radar - and tilts her head toward the main door, this way.

they don’t have far to go, just to a plain, small door on the right, set between the bar and the neighboring barber shop. nick presses her palm to the lock plate and holds the door open for drifter, then slips inside and leads the way up a flight of stairs to the second floor, unlocking the door to her apartment in the same manner as the door downstairs.

it’s a smallish space, more cozy than cramped, and there is no technology in the city’s standard for current in sight - no computer, not even a television. nick taps a lamp on the bookshelf near the door to fill the apartment’s interior with soft illumination and waves her guest an invitation to come inside.]

Sorry, [she says, picking up a black sweater tossed over the back of the comfortably worn couch,] I wasn’t expecting company.

[a half-empty water glass is swept up from the coffee table in front of the couch as she makes her way to close the curtain in front of the window overlooking the street. the rest of the furniture is similarly worn but in good shape: another bookshelf full of haphazardly stacked paperbacks and records, an old boxy stereo and record player perched on the topmost shelf, an overstuffed chair to the side of the couch and next to her guitar in its stand. nick picks up an open notebook on the floor next to the guitar and closes it, then tosses it on the coffee table and disappears into the tiny, adjacent kitchen to drop off the items collected in her tidying up. she returns a moment later and crosses the floor of the living room to reach the stereo, pressing down the button to play the tape resting inside the deck. it’s a homemade mix tape, found among a crate of random curios in the bar’s basement shop. the warmth of a woman’s voice winds through a sinuous song of cold synthetic beats and beeps, loud enough to obscure but not entirely drown out the conversation that’s about to begin.]

So. [nick turns to face wherever drifter’s decided to land.] Who’s goin’ first with the show-and-tell?

[Drifter's immediately strange when he comes in. He doesn't settle, not exactly. But he goes around to look at whatever books she has, picking one up and flipping through the pages curiously. The paper's not brittle and old.]

[It's the little things that remind him of the old world, and sometimes he thinks he remembers. Looking at the stereo, the record player, things from Before enter his mind. His previous life, belonging to a man that actually had a name. It's just bits and pieces he can't quite assemble.]

[He's still standing when she comes in, this time eyeing a clock, before he stalls, opens his coat, and pulls out what's very obviously a gun. A strange one, with swirling energy caught behind a grid in the middle. He lets it hang in his hand, though, offering it lightly.]

A free sample with thirty rounds. Submachine gun. I call this 'The Bug Out Bag'.

[He lays it on the ground and steps away from it so it's not so much of a threat.]

Stick a man in the apocalypse for a good millennia and he picks up a few skills. One of those is makin' stuff out of next to nothin'. And I figured you might need to be equipped to fend off some robots.

I can make a lot bigger than that.

[He gives her plenty of room to pick it up and take a look at it.]

[despite growing up in a tiny town in rural kansas, and despite all the dangers she’s faced in other worlds, nick’s never held a gun before. neither has the heart utilized weapons like this in the time they’ve been active, sticking instead to constructing homemade explosives, because the parts can be acquired without raising too much suspicion. until drifter made contact, there hadn’t been a weaponsmith they’d trusted enough to risk placing an order. this could change everything.

nick approaches the gun warily, more out of caution for the gun itself than concern that it’s some kind of trap drifter’s laid for her. she retrieves the gun from the floor, inspecting it quizzically as it rests in her hands. finally, she glances back up to him.]

What’s the price tag on something like this?

Price tag for something like that is the usual. What other people would ask for theirs. 200 to 400. As much as I'd like to just donate freely, you see, I got only one way to make the ammunition for it. And unless y'all decide to kill a livin' breathin' soul, which is what I'm guessin' you're aiming to avoid, that's how you're gonna get ammo for it.

But if times get desperate, then, yeah. You can knock someone off, thing'll refill another thirty rounds. Ten in a Hand Cannon. [He opens his coat, pointing out the holstered weapon there. His own pistol, Trust.] Twenty in an auto-rifle.

You want one of those bigger items, though, I'm gonna have to ask for 1000 and good heavy supplies. And keep in mind, Sister. I can make somethin' made to take out everything from behomoths to tanks to the children of gods. You want somethin' big to take on a giant AI? I can manage that.

[He's already on decent terms with a giant AI back home. Enough that he could pick at its nanotech safely.]

That's as cheap as I can go. The bigger price comes in that I really wanna find out how it's pickin' people out of its universes. I've only managed to reach two, but I'm betting I could figure out how that mess works.

[He sounds utterly confident in it, but with little bravado. That casual sort of goal driven confidence. He's set his sights on something and he wants it. He'll storm through whatever he needs to to get to it or die trying. And he'll die again, and again, and again, and keep trying. His ghost has made a relentless monster of him. But a monster that, at this moment, has no ill-will towards anyone here.]

[being a monster doesn’t make you a bad person by definition. nick struggled with that for a long time, until - with help from the other monsters she’d befriended along the way - she came to understand that even monsters have a choice to be something other than a force of chaos and destruction and pain. and she made her choice.]

There has to be some kinda device that’s bringing us here. I’ve seen it before - twice, actually. [that’s part of her story, one she’ll eventually tell him, if he still has a mind to listen.] We just don’t know where it is, or what it is we’re lookin’ for. I’m not the one running things, so I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can to make sure you get what you’re asking for.

[she stares down at the gun in her hands again, not entirely sure what to make of it.]

Can you show me how this works, or does that cost extra?

text; un: justnick

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