nexus_sages | Interdimensional Cable

Interdimensional Cable

Today in the forum, someone has set up a techno-pile of video gadgetry. At the heart of it is a television, and an old one at that. The screen is large enough, but it sits in a retro wooden fixture that gives it the appearance more of furniture than of an entertainment system. All the better for it to hold the weight of a number of video-playing devices from across the ages and dimensions.

On either side of the pile of plastic boxes and tangled wires stacked on top are a set of outdoor lounge chairs. One, sat up like a chair, is empty. The other, fully reclined, is full of a whole lotta dead dude. It’s Harrowheart, who can’t possibly understand the vast majority of what he’s lying next to, a lit cigarette between his lips and his arms dangling off the chair and onto the grass. His floating hands are hard at work twisting knobs and pounding on the top of the television. Now and then the screen flickers with a hint of a signal.

Without spending the energy to lift his head, Harrow calls out to any passers-by, “Hey! What’s your favorite movie? People keep tellin’ me about ‘em, but I ain't ever seen one. I wanna find a good one and invite everyone over to watch it. Help me pick one out, will ya? And if y’ain’t ever seen a movie either… I dunno, weigh in on someone else’s recommendation?”

(( OOC Info: I want to stream a movie in-character! I love streaming movies, usually it’s a really good time for everyone involved. I’ve never done one IC, but I think this is a great opportunity to start. I’ll take any and all IC movie recommendations (real movies only!) and by next Wednesday I’ll try to decide which one we watch. The better your character talks it up, the better its chance! I’m shooting for next Saturday the 21st at around 8 or 9pm Eastern for a start time, but I’m going to be flexible if people know they can’t make it. I want as many people to be able to enjoy this as possible! If you’re interested in the idea or have any questions shoot me a PM and I’ll PM you back with answers and details and remember to get back to you when the movie and time are decided. ))

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"What do they say about guys with big heads? That you need a giant's asshole if you're gonna use it as a buttplug? That it makes your beady lil' crab eyes look even smaller, which is why you wear those shades? Or that it distracts from the fact that your body's proportions are kinda chodey?"

"Don't hate on the shades, they're regulation uniform." He pulls them off to continue this conversation, however, hanging them from his lapel. "You seem tense, bumpkin. What's wrong, is all this just reminding you of your all-consuming virginity? Hey, you let bygones be bygones and I can hook you up. Not with the virginity problem, that's on you. But if you're lookin' to relax, I got some products, you follow?"

First porn, now drugs? This guy is the worst! He's every afterschool special of people to avoid! Does he drive the scary van too?

"Hey! I am not a virgin! I have had sex with six entire girls! Real girls! And not for pay, either!" Westfall girls don't need payment. They'll do anything for free. "And I've got a boyfriend, thank you not at all. So there's at least one person who likes my pasty ass on a regular basis.

"And whatever drugs you're sellin', I don't want 'em. I got product of my own I can't even push here. Nobody here snorts, they don't smoke, they hardly drink. Believe me, bud, I've tried. Everyone here's happy as clams."

Ahhhhh, but then the thoughts of his mind rise to life like a necromancer's subject. His eyebrows go up, and all of a sudden he's smiling! "Are you just a dealer, or are you also an enthusiast?" Could a bond be formed here? Could they both be piece of shit stoners?

"Hey, don't put down the working woman, they perform a noble service for lamest of schlubs to the highest of rollers. They're not the trash, it's the ones paying for company that are. Supply and demand at its most simple; I respect that." Any Protostar would. Although the marketing could be better.

"I'm gakkin' lines like I need it to live, son. I'm only testing the waters for a demographic here. Make some under-the-table skrilla in uncharted realms where the gear I got doesn't even exist before now. Backwater planets all chewin' on a dirty-ass root they yanked out of the ground so their gums go numb when I show up givin' out shit that'll make them see the future when they stare real hard at a leaf."

Harrow holds his hands up. "Man, I wasn't insultin' any women, workin' or otherwise. Lemme just make that clear. I got nothin' but respect for all ladies, and for all the folks who put up with people who pay 'em for that line of work."

With that out of the way he shakes his head. "You're not gonna find many folks around here who wanna distract themselves with what you've got to sell. People here want friends and goodness. That's the whole reason they show up. And... Honestly? I haven't so much as blazed even once since I got here. And why would I? There's so much cool shit in this place. Like phones, man. I don't need weed when I can use a phone or watch a movie. But, y'know. If you ever wanna... Gak? Lines. With someone else. Shoot, I'm around. At the very least I can watch you and laugh."

Interdimensional Cable is apparently the topic where Harrow's honor goes to die.

"Hey, I'm not selling to distract. The gear I got isn't about crying in the dark while listening to some blowjob strum on a six-string. It's about getting your party on. It's about screaming at the cops while doing 70 through Deradune because you stole some clanlord's crotch-skull for his loincloth. Later, you'll make a bong out of it. That's the kind of drugs I sling. It's the only way to know you're alive, man!"

"This sounds... Kinda bad?" He can't believe it. He, of all people, has to come into a conversation and talk about drugs being bad. It betrays his very essence. He's going to have to apologize to his weed bush when he gets back home.

"Kinda bad like 'I take these drugs and worg out and eat someone's brain on an ice cream cone' kinda bad. I think right now I'll settle for not bein' alive, if that's the cost of livin'. Maybe some day, but..."

He hesitates a moment. In a weak but hopeful voice he asks, "You sure you haven't tried the power of friendship?"

Shark immediately cups both hands around his mouth and slowly intones, "Puuuuuussyyyyy. You can compromise and take the downers after the ups. Get fat on some take-out and hit an even fatter rip from the skull bong I was talking about. Here, c'mere."

Shark sidles up close to Harrowheart and surreptitiously slips him a little plastic bag! One containing a few ounces of white powder.

"First hit's always free, right? Do yourself a favour, honestly. Treat your body right." By putting fucked up space drugs in it.

Edited 2015-11-19 15:37 (UTC)

You've forced his fucked up magic hand, Shark. You've bent his arm. He's gonna have to take these drugs, but he's ~~not~~ gonna like it. He stores them in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, because that's exactly why people have cargo shorts. He does up the button and pats it lovingly when the drugs are safely stowed.

"I... Am not against skull bongs," he says. It's freeing, being that honest. His trepidation melts away in a single statement, and all of a sudden he is pumped! He clenches his fist in the air and shouts, "Yeah! Take-out, fat blunts, and skull bongs!"

"Just. In a closed environment. I don't wanna go wild in public, and you haven't sold me on the brain-eating yet."

Yet.

"Brain-eating? My legal assistant is into that shit. He gets all defensive about it, but then says it's a traditional Mordesh meal. Sure. Like the whole ravenous thing doesn't have anything to do with that, right? Just don't go eating mine or anyone who signs my paychecks or fetches my coffee and we're solid."

He offers a fist for bumps. Bump it, bubba.

"Okay, FIRST OF ALL," A tall cyborg elf zombie leans in to interject! "it's a delicacy for special occasions. SECONDLY, it's not even from people. Ya jerk." He paps Shark on his big ole pickle-head. "You make it sound like we can't wait to pop folks' heads open."

It seems Neirin had approached somewhere during the other two's conversation and was trying to see if he could get that rather improper program back on the screen, that is until Shark had to bring out his cultural insensitivity.

Woah, WOAH. This guy is tall! And he is zombie! And he is trying to watch naughtiness! These are all good ways to be. Harrow uses the TV remote to turn the Input back to the channel connected to the datachron. All that nastiness is back, and just in time for it to get good.

Harrow pulls up the two recliners so they sit facing the television and pats each of them for the awful, awful men to take their seats.

"So, rude question," he says and points at Neirin. "What are you, elf-man? And what kinda brains are we talkin' here?"

Shark takes the pap on the head with a wave of his hand, muttering something like, 'get off me.' Guess this tall, tall guy (seriously, is he pushing something like eight feet? He's as big as two whole Sharks!) is the legal assistant mentioned?

The offered recliner is taken gladly, however, the lawyer dropping himself into it with a sigh and folding his hands behind his head. Oh look, indeed when it is just getting to the good part! The part where the flick stops pretending plot matters.

"Yeah, Neirin, what kind of brains are we talkin'."

"Razortails. You know, ANIMALS. We don't eat them raw either. It's made into a pudding." Neirin then sits himself down next to Shark to peep at the action going on screen.

Then he remembers the other question. He gives Harrow a crooked smile. "I'm a Mordesh. Guess you never seen my kind around? We're like, uh, a near-undead species, thanks to some idiot doctor releasing a contagion on us all. We'll be extinct by the century's end, probably. How about you? You don't look too healthy either."

"Near-undead?" What a shocking notion! Harrow slav squats down next to Neirin and looks up at his face. "I never heard of near-undead, and I'm all-undead. The magic kind, not the disease kind."

He offers his hand for a shake and with a broad smile says, "Folks like us gotta stick together, no matter how undead we are, huh? And maybe we can swap brain recipes. So long as it's animals I'll chow down. Cuke-Head can watch us and get hungry while he sits it out 'cause he's a greenie weenie."

"As a guy with a big head, I'm a little conscious of peeps eating what's inside them. If you guys trade lobe recipes and have a stir fry night, do it when I'm in court. I want no part of this shit." You're all barbarians; why can't you just eat take-out or milk-flavoured Protostar rations like the rest of us normal people?

Neirin chuckles both at 'cuke-head' and at Shark's response. He gives the small boss another pap on his big head, and a fond glance as well. Neirin is awfully friendly for a simple employee...

Anyways, he turns to Harrow to chat Undead Things.

"Well, it's sort of a finicky line to draw. My bodily functions are slowed or altered to a point where I can't confidently say I am a wholly alive being, but at the same time I haven't died yet, either. And you say you're a product of necromancy, eh? It must be pretty advanced where you come from. Funny how that cravin' for brains sticks around either way?! Haha, I am kidding. Who decided on that stereotype anyhow? A good grilled steak is MY ideal meal. Hell if I know how to make a brain puddin'."

"Wh-what? Man, you got me all stoked for brain pudding and you can't even make it!" He laughs and swats playfully at Neirin's arm. "Probably for the best. If I really start to like it, there ain't no way to explain that one to the breathers. I'm content bein' a sausage and potatoes kinda guy."

He glances at the porn-o-tron, finds it interesting for 15 or 20 seconds, and then it's back to Neirin. Why oggle 2D lizardmen when there's a 3D dead elf right there? "Did your people have movies before science fucked y'up? What'd y'all watch?"

"Yeah, it's pretty good, but if you say 'hey i can make a mean brain pudding', well, it's not like regular people trust us enough as is. I think my sister can make it..."

He watches the screen a bit, remembers this part being boring, then looks back to Harrow.

"I was only a little kid when the Contagion first broke out. I'm not sure if I watched anything I really liked. My mum was an opera singer though. I always liked music. I'm in a band! I play the guitar and I sing rock and roll. Do they got music like that where you're from?"

"Rock? Yeah, but it's nothin' to write home about. We got one band with, what. Five songs? Cornier than a farmer's turds in Fall. I get the feeling it'd be better where you come from. Can you sing somethin' for me and the green machine, or do you need a beat in the background?"

Harrow points at Shark and says, "Yo, your little electric clipboard, that thing got any jams on it? Give this guy a beat and let's hear him sing."

Sing, Neirin, with the sounds of the TV's grunty lovemaking as your chorus.

"Psshhh. I don't need THIS to drop a beat." Shark tucks the datachron away inside his jacket and points at Neirin. "You. The one we heard the other day while cruisin' this dumb hole. Let's do this."

And cupping his gloved hands around his mouth, he proceeds to indeed drop a beat. Shark is a man of many ~~templates~~ talents and beatboxing is among them, apparently. Boots n Cats.

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Interdimensional Cable

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The Gang Gaks Lines (will probably happen some day)

IT BETTER

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the world's latest tag, oops

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