Freddy Newendyke || Mr. Orange (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
super_cool) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2017-07-20 01:43 pm
super_cool) wrote in nexus_crossings2017-07-20 01:43 pm
NEW ARRIVAL :: AN UNDERCOVER COP, NERD, AND ALL AROUND DISASTER
Freddy’s pretty sure he’s dead. He’d like to believe everything – the heist, the getaway, the bloodbath back at the rendezvous – was just a fucked up dream. He’d like to. There’s no hole in his cheek, no bullets in his gut, but he’s still wearing the same clothes – black suit, white shirt, and black tie – and they’re still soaked with blood. There’s blood in his hair, splattered across his face, and coating his hands.
He’s sitting on the curb outside of something that resembles the type of cheap convenience store familiar to someone from Los Angeles during the late 20th century. Next to him is an open bag of Doritos, four empty bottles of shitty beer, plus two more unopened bottles of that same shitty brand... and also a welcoming pamphlet.
While he’s not exactly feeling any better than he was when he first woke up, the alcohol is at least helping him settle into a sort of numbness. He opens the pamphlet and reads. Most of it fails to register.
‘Do you have a question for the Nexus?’ the pamphlet says.
‘What the fuck?’ is all that comes to mind. He sighs and rubs his temple, before burying his face in his arms. It's been a long goddamn day. Thinking it over though, he does actually have a question:
“Does everyone who dies get sent here? Or is it just like”–his voice still sounds hoarse, so he coughs into his fist and clears his throat–“only certain ones?”
He tries to brush his hair back, but his bangs just flop back into his face. He opens another bottle. Don't worry, he’s not going to cry or whine about shit. He may be a hot fucking mess, but he’s still a tough guy, okay?
He’s sitting on the curb outside of something that resembles the type of cheap convenience store familiar to someone from Los Angeles during the late 20th century. Next to him is an open bag of Doritos, four empty bottles of shitty beer, plus two more unopened bottles of that same shitty brand... and also a welcoming pamphlet.
While he’s not exactly feeling any better than he was when he first woke up, the alcohol is at least helping him settle into a sort of numbness. He opens the pamphlet and reads. Most of it fails to register.
‘Do you have a question for the Nexus?’ the pamphlet says.
‘What the fuck?’ is all that comes to mind. He sighs and rubs his temple, before burying his face in his arms. It's been a long goddamn day. Thinking it over though, he does actually have a question:
“Does everyone who dies get sent here? Or is it just like”–his voice still sounds hoarse, so he coughs into his fist and clears his throat–“only certain ones?”
He tries to brush his hair back, but his bangs just flop back into his face. He opens another bottle. Don't worry, he’s not going to cry or whine about shit. He may be a hot fucking mess, but he’s still a tough guy, okay?
no subject
Arrival at the grand library brings Micolash to a stop at its steps, then turns himself around to see if his tag-along made the trip as well.
"Here we are, here we are," he says cheerily, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Almost possible for a man to get lost in there, it's so large." Or, you know, slip under the radar and overnight there in some overlooked nook or neglected aisle. "It really has been such a pleasure. I do hope we speak again..." The scholar offers his hand stiff and hesitantly. Having to momentarily review the situation and determine if handshakes are proper at this juncture.
He, of course, has forgotten about the issue of getting any further blood on him. It just plain won't register as offputting.
no subject
“Oh yeah?” says Freddy, staggering up to the building shortly after Micolash. He looks up at it without much interest. Not that he’s some cretin who can’t appreciate a library, but finding a good (comic)book to curl up with isn’t on his mind. He’s regretting not finding a change of clothes earlier, and also still not sure if it’s right to just leave Micolash alone.
“Uh,” he glances down at that awkward outstretched hand, “I don’t wanna’ get blood on you again.” What if Micolash touches the walls, or the books? Innocent library patrons shouldn’t have to deal with Freddy’s disgusting blood all over anything. So instead of shaking hands, he passes Micolash the bag of Doritos. He's backing away now.
“Take care, man--"
no subject
The offering of crisps is taken in confusion, Micolash now looking over the little package and being mystified with the crinkly cellophane. "Oh, goodbye," he says offhandedly, more absorbed now in trying to figure out what this bag is made out of. As clean a break as Mr. Orange can hope for.