ripped | 01 ☣ video/action for NBT

[ The audio turns on with the hiss of static, it lasts about half a second before— ]

Stuck? Stuck?! Bullshit!

[ Whoever's speaking, they're clearly angry. There's the sound of paper getting pushed aside and metal hitting the floor, followed swiftly thereafter by glass breaking and plastic getting crushed. The horrified gasps of a few scientists fill in the ensuing silence. ]

Kyrie...she's in danger, I have to...

[ The yelling voice seems to have slowed and quieted to a low growl. The thudding of boots marks heavy, erratic pacing; the crunch of plastic indicates the violence isn't quite over.

It's here the video turns on; a big blue snout blocks the view, before the head pans out to reveal a Bagon, looking upset. The small creature turns the 'gear around, capturing the scene:

Elm's lab is trashed.

Papers litter the floor, broken glass and torn plastic casings strewn in the wake of whole workstations being knocked down. Chairs are on their sides, tables half-emptied of their contents, shattered vials releasing fluids onto the linoleum. A group of scientists—strangely, none of them hurt—are watching with wide, frightened eyes as a young man paces. 'Young man' is perhaps generous: half-man, half-snarl, flashing teeth that feel as though they should be pointed. He can't seem to contain himself, his eyes stare ahead emptily, focused on something that isn't there; every other movement he's whirling, stopping, starting again, hands raised, hands down, flexing and touching his right hand over and over. There's blood on that fist; it's easy to connect the dots to the hole in one of the computer monitors. Finally, after about a minute, he spins deftly on his heel and grabs Elm by the collar of his labcoat. Tiny flowers of blood bloom on the white fabric. ]

I have to get back!

[ He shakes Elm for good measure, as the poor harried researcher can only hang on and blubber apologies. Nero snarls. ]

Answer me!

[ The Bagon puts down the gear and leans over it worriedly, making a soft keening noise. Come calm his trainer down, please, somebody! Anybody? ]

[[OOC: all characters who signed up and any who didn't are welcome to come crash the party and help Elm get away from the rampaging teenager. Video/audio responses will come chronologically after he calms down. ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The reply comes about an hour later, and Nero looks...calmer, a bit haggard. His right hand is bandaged. ]

Shove it.

[ He'd apologize, except. Lol it's Nero NOT GONNA HAPPEN ]

Unless you know a way outta here, I'm not interested.

Edited 2011-10-04 05:33 (UTC)

_{[No, she won't shove it, thanks. :I]}

Well, then your lack of interest is gonna reach astronomical levels in no time, because NOBODY knows the way out of here.

... Unless you're referring to the lab itself, in which case there's a door.

Hope that helps.

_{[The sarcasm is strong with this one.]}

[ Oh, it is on. ] Bite me. Like hell I'm gonna take this lying down just because the rest of you gave up! I've got too much at stake to turn back now.

Do you seriously think you're the ONLY one who showed up here and tried to bust their ass looking for a way home?

I'm not saying you shouldn't try, I'm just saying that throwing shit around and having a huge autistic temper tantrum isn't gonna get you anywhere.

That professor guy and his white-coat lackeys are just as clueless as everybody else!

Look, the last time I saw Kyrie she was getting attacked. So unless you got a way to keep her safe while I'm off dicking around in la-la land, you can take your opinions elsewhere.

_{[Okay, time to turn the volume down a little. Heather pauses, shaking her head and sort of holding up a hand. It's not exactly supposed to calm him down, but it does at least indicate that she's not like. Dismissing his problems.]}

Look, you're NOT the only one who's got stuff to do back home, okay?

... And if it makes you feel any better, I know a few people who've been here, left, and then come back with their memories in-tact and no giant disasters happened due to their absence or anything.

So seriously. Chill.

[ Pause.

For a moment, it looks like he's going to snap again: shoulders tense, teeth grit, like all the festering anger and resentment is about to pour out of his eyes, and ears and nostrils and mouth.

But then he breathes, once, taut, and again, and it's like a balloon deflating. He can practically see Kyrie, her mouth tugged down at his behavior, and the image is enough to curb him. ]

It's been a rough couple of days.

[ This is the closest thing to an apology you're gonna get, Heather. Enjoy. ]

_{[She wasn't really expecting an apology anyway, so really, any response that doesn't involve being cussed out is just fine with her.]

[So she just sort of quirks her mouth in a vaguely sympathetic way and shrugs expressively.]}

Welcome to Johto.

[ A brief exhale through the nose, mouth still twisted tight. ]

They really roll out the red carpet, don't they?

Nothin' but the best for a bunch of spontaneously-appearing aliens.

It's been more than a year since us wacky foreigners started popping up in this place and I'm pretty sure they still don't know what to do with us.

Sure sounds like a bunch of winners.

So no one's found out who's responsible...?

I think by this point, everyone's pretty sure it's the local crime outfit. Bunch of guys called Team Rocket.

But we don't know how, or why.

Or much about them at all, really. Except that they're a bunch of thugs.

Anyone taken the fight to their front door?

[ This is how things work in DMC: people piss you off, and you not only kill them, you destroy everything they ever stood for ~~and make off with their daughter~~. The pope pisses you off? DISBAND THE HOLY ORDER. God pisses you off? PUNCH GOD IN THE FACE. He totally thinks that just...going up to TR headquarters and smashing faces is the answer. ]

Last year. I think. Not sure, really.

But I don't think it really... did anything.

_{[Apparently the prisoners had been rescued or something? HEATHER DIDN'T REALLY HEAR ABOUT IT TILL AFTER THE FACT.]}

Great. Might as well put up my feet, then.

[ Bitter. Frustrated. This is the pill he doesn't want to swallow. ]

'Team Rocket'...sounds like a lame boyband. Who the fuck comes up with this shit?

Basically. Probably the same people who come up with HALF the names in this place.

But hey, a lot of us have bones to pick with 'em. So if... y'know, the opportunity ever comes up to bash some heads in, I couuuuuld... give you a call?

[ ...a tiny smile. More of a smirk, really. That sounds more like it. ]

Now that's a tough offer to pass up.

I'll jot your number down, then. _{[... Figuratively. She's pretty sure the 'Gear logs that stuff automatically.]}

I've been waiting for a chance to bust my knuckles on some of their faces, myself.

[ A small snort. ]

Come on, you're like. A hundred and twenty. Max.

[ Soaking wet. If someone threw you in the pool with all your clothes on. ]

_{[Heather just gives her head a toss and smirks broadly. Yeah, she's... used to people underestimating her. It happens a lot when you're a shrimpy little tomboy with a head like a dandelion.]}

Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'Good things come in small packages'?

As if. [ Sorry, in DMC-verse it doesn't count if it's not at least three stories tall. ] I'll believe it when I see it.

Keep an eye on the network, then.

I usually brutally beat people up, like, at LEAST once a week. Y'know, as part of my hardcore training regime.

_{[She's obviously being sarcastic, but little does she know...]}

All right then, I'll keep an eye out.

I'm Nero, by the way.

Heather.

Nice t'meetcha.

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