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Entry tags:
( OPEN ) i don't want a mental suplex, i want quality customer service
Who: Elliot Nightray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meriter) and you!
When: IC 11/25—11/27
Where: Residential District (primarily the CERES Gymnasium) + Shopping District (anywhere)
What: Elliot has a terminal allergy to common sense: a lesson in three (four) parts, comprised of psuedo-drowning, Machiavellian swindlers, and terrible book taste, respectively speaking.
Rating/Warning: None, probably.
1. INSERT SWIMMING PUN HERE (ceres gymnasium.)
2. CULTURE OF THE YOUNG AND VAIN (around, somewhere ...)
3. LMAO, SPOILERS (still around ...)
4. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE (wildcard!)
meriter) and you!When: IC 11/25—11/27
Where: Residential District (primarily the CERES Gymnasium) + Shopping District (anywhere)
What: Elliot has a terminal allergy to common sense: a lesson in three (four) parts, comprised of psuedo-drowning, Machiavellian swindlers, and terrible book taste, respectively speaking.
Rating/Warning: None, probably.
1. INSERT SWIMMING PUN HERE (ceres gymnasium.)
- [ In reconciliation of every self-deprecatory impulse in his body, Elliot actually shows up for lifeguard duty for the first time in two weeks.
He'd been staving off the financial necessity of having real credits on hand to buy very real things for a long while (like microwave dinners, for one thing, considering he'd survived thus far on a diet of refried peas and mashed potatoes with the consistency of clumping dirt). Monetary gain: the true motivator of any stalwart teenager in these trying, trying times. It wasn't as if he was going to turn to his brothers in some prostrated act of weakness. Just because he'd been hairsplitting nebulous concepts like coming to the gym during his technical shift and maybe staying the whole period instead of flat-out leaving whenever it suited him didn't mean he was a stranger to manual labor. Not at all.
So. It's just another routine day at the swimming pool, and by the third hour he's sweating bullets attempting to get a grip over his genteel, strait-laced Victorian morals. There are just so many exhibitionists about in the afternoons, all in varying levels of undress, and he's blistering red up to his ears keeping his gaze trained at all the patrons without turning away at the sight of scantily-clothed bodies. Literal lingerie, at that — it was nothing short of incredible that Vessalius hadn't succumbed to utter debauchery, exposed day in and day out to water-slick forms and all manner of loosened morals. He'd always been a weird kid, anyway.
But his tension reaches a culminating point hits when someone's apparently spritzing out at the deep end of pool, an arm stuck out and frantically waving him over. Reluctantly, Elliot strips off his jacket and cravat and strides over, peering down at the swimmer in question with scrunched eyebrows a stare tipped toward palpable disdain. ]
Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and take my hand already, I don't have all day.
[ Too bad he doesn't have any sense of peripheral awareness to comprehend the rather peculiar grin he's shot with until the stranger's got their hand grappled around his, and then — ]
Gh — no, no, n-o-t again ... !
[ — he falls in. Panic briefly settling in his lungs, he spends a second or two in slantslide vertigo, water rushing around in some great, disorienting deluge before he kicks up, hard, breaks the surface with audible frustration. ]
I HATE THIS JOB!
2. CULTURE OF THE YOUNG AND VAIN (around, somewhere ...)
- [ When his mood considerably sobers, he takes his paycheck for a supermarket splurge to refuel his stockpile of frozen dinners and comes away with several plastic bags full of cheap, cholesterol-inducing foods. Normally he'd head straight for his apartment, but Elliot decides to take the scenic route and ends up finding the kitschiest merchant stalls known to man. One minute he's minding his own business, and the next he's surrounding by a copious amount of creams and lotions purported to rejuvenate youth, like he'd just been plunked in the middle of a health ad and was ethically obligated to spout off some hypocritical drivel about the losers who'd buy into such scams. Seriously.
Well, beggars can't be choosers. Elliot wastes no time forcing his way to the front to blithely jab a finger at one of the offending vendors in question. ]
What a load of crap! It's just like CERES to promote these kinds of underhanded ruses. They're a bunch of raving idiots. I'm surprised they can get anything accomplished.
[ You know, because there's nothing wrong with waxing poetic on insurrection to the merchants. With this kind of bullheaded mentality, Elliot's lucky he isn't get his ass hauled away by security guards right this minute. ]
3. LMAO, SPOILERS (still around ...)
- [ Wayward hellion of paltry exasperation that he is, Elliot Nightray can't get by without self-gratifying himself on one of the finer things in life. Namely, literature. So he makes a habit of scanning the shelves of the bookstore with a probing fixation at least once a week, turning up his nose at the YA section and heading for the classics to spend hours turning through the pages, scouring the contents for answers, or maybe just a quick read.
Only — today it's different, because he's currently engaged in some kind of weird, heated argument with the cashier. On closer inspection, it's composed mostly of angry, one-sided outbursts, like: ]
It's a clear ripoff! This isn't the series I ordered at all. DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?!
[ Or: ]
What do you mean, you don't have any copies of Holy Knight IN STOCK?! What kind of blasted establishment is this? I demand to speak with your higher-ups IMMEDIATELY!
[ If nothing else, bystanders can at least pick up on the fact that there's a very frustrated fanboy hogging the front desk to blather on and on about the most emotionally bloated, self-indulgent novels to ever grace the Latowidge Academy library. ]
4. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE (wildcard!)
- other than that, he'll be roaming the residential and shopping districts because
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I'm lying? [Wide eyed and slightly pale-faced. She wouldn't have survived for so long in human society without being a good actress, and she shrinks back when he points and throws totally true accusations at her.] I was only trying to help the vendor he was harassing, when he... he... Ugh.
[SHUDDERS. She's literally the worst.]
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Inevitably, the means insults. Enjoy the sideshow of Elliot flailing around as he attempts to assume enough motor control in one arm to uselessly jab at her deceptively tearful form. ]
Check my hands for prints! You'll see I didn't touch her once. If anything, you should be taking her in for questioning. What a liar!
[ WHY AREN'T THEY LISTENING ... he can't bear the shame of one of his friends paying bail for inappropriately accosting a girl, it goes against moral he's built himself up to be. He might've accidentally murdered some people, but even supposedly feeling up a girl is way over the line.
He daggers his most haughty, self-entitled stare into the closest robot's featureless face, hoping to convince them in a wild bid of preconceived superiority. ]
She's not even that attractive!
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As it is, though, she settles for gasping when he calls her a liar, and then covering her mouth with her hands when he says she's not even that attractive. Wow. WOW. She'll have him know she's pretty darn fine, thank you very much. That stupid comment itself should be enough reason for her to crush him, but, alas—she can't really do that here.]
You— [She looks away from him, still covering her mouth, and does her best to look horrified.] I, I can't look any longer. Please, just... Take him away.
[Do the robots even listen to this sort of thing from """victims"""? Maybe. Maybe not. She's doing an excellent job in sounding like the most pitiable teenage girl, at least.]
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[ Scratch being nearly murdered like fifty times since he's arrived in this ghastly place. This has got to be his worst experience in his entire life — he's barely kept the lid on his mortification intact, preoccupied as he is with thoughts of intimate homicide. It'd surely garner the disrespect of all of his relatives and friends, but they'd certainly understand he was only offing someone who was bound to get themselves killed eventually. It's reasonable, completely logical, even, to contemplate murdering someone who has it coming to them, anyways.
It might be an exercise in futility clawing at the robot guards as they hoist him clear off the ground, his legs kicking uselessly at anything that moves in an effort to snag his foot into something, anything but no, he's left only the inordinate joy of watching her fake-simper and cry as they depart in the other direction. ]
I know what you look like now! I'll remember this! Don't fool yourself into thinking you can run and hide, either! The first thing I'll do when I find you is wring your goddamn neck! You're dead! You hear me?! You're dead!
[ His comical screams can likely be heard for miles as he's forcibly dragged away, probably for a round of systematic indoctrination. How fun.
Well, Touka. Looks like you win this round. ]
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She would wave him goodbye if she could. But, alas, she'll have to hold off until she's home to laugh at this idiot's misfortune. It would ruin the effect if she did it here, after all.
SAYONARA, BUTTFACE.]