♕ ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ (machinism) wrote in drawpoints, @ 2014-08-01 14:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, edgar figaro |
WHO: Edgar Figaro + Edea Kramer
WHAT: Edgar finally works on his latest project, the Bioblaster, and completely botches it up.
WHERE: Second floor, just next to the balcony door.
WHEN: Afternoon of Friday, August 1
WARNINGS: N/A
This was how Edgar Figaro normally worked: as soon as he’d staked out an appropriate work area if it was not his room, he would set up barricades to ensure isolation. For that afternoon, he’d laid claim on the balcony by the second floor and sealed the area by sticking caution tapes onto each wall. Of course that was a dumb idea, that meant that no one could pass unless they went around the whole Garden but Edgar had always had a case of the stupid whenever he was in the Zone™. As soon as he’d locked himself away, he would forget all about the business of people.
Then he would slip off his jacket if he had one on (an indigo sport coat for that occasion), undo the first two buttons of his shirt, roll up his sleeves, then prop up his tablet device on its frame for the digital blueprint of his project. Then he set to work.
Hours and hours later, the sound of whirring and tinkling would mix together to become a heady background music for the untrained ear along with the voices of the DJs and the latest hit songs ringing off his tablet radio app. Squalor of the Lion Hearts was on at the moment, guitars bashing on top of Edgar’s work that if he hadn’t made a reputation with his hobbies yet and if he wasn’t a more-or-less accomplished SeeD, he would doubtless have had someone screaming at him to stop all that noise. Not that he would have heard them unless they shot the door down.
Which was how he managed to finish about 80% of what he now liked to call the Bioblaster. The screen on his tablet said as much; in its infant stage, it was a slim, metallic pack worn at the back with a nozzle attached to a long hose. The nozzle itself would have a trigger, although several knobs also lined the pack itself at the side. If everything worked according to Edgar’s theories, then this would be a portable poison machine. Since the world was now scrambling to build the latest non-intrusive paramagic technology, the man figured he could throw his two gils in.
His fuel came in the form of liquefied Bite Bug poisons, something he got off the Black Market which he fed into the open pack in careful dribs and drabs. Everything was proceeding as normal, the insulation and coating inside was working to keep the poison -- which suspiciously looked like extremely thick grape juice -- from corroding the metal, until he realized too late an exposed wire he’d missed in his blueprint. And as bad luck went, the surprise made his hand shake and a dollop of poison find its way to the colorful ribbons. The smoke and stench was instantaneous.
“Oh shi--”
Bom!
What followed after the explosion was Edgar’s wail.
It took some time for the air to clear up and the moment he could somewhat make out the outlines of his hands, Edgar unlocked the door and spilled out onto the hallway. Some of the stench followed him from the outside but he was quick to seal it away before the poisoned air spread. On the one hand, he patted himself for having the foresight to do this in the balcony where the fresh Balamb air would cleanse his blunder in no time. On the other, he wished he’d had the sense to bring something more powerful than an antidote to counteract the poison in his systems.
He was still crawling on his knees, coughing like a maniac when he slipped the vial out of his pocket and tore the lid open with his teeth. In one grateful gulp, he downed the first half of it and immediately felt his guts relax from the relentless venom. His choking and wheezing did not subside, though, even at the sound of approaching footsteps (where the hell were the caution straps he’d tacked on?).
“Get away--!” Edgar coughed and gasped, waving at the person with his bottle-wielding hand. “It’s poison--!” he hacked again.