|francisco javier es una (pesadilla) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-09-09 12:47:00
|Entry tags:||!borderlands, *log, kara zor-el, rhys|
He should probably be running for his life. He knew that. He, uh, he knew that. There was no bounty on his head—yet, because no one expected him to run. They wanted him to stay put, so he could be cordially questioned (you know, with a gun and probably pliers and whatever other sadistic crap Pandorans loved) per Gortys', Sasha's, and Fiona's abrupt, unexplained disappearances. (He was worried about Vaughn, but he was probably… okay, right? With Cassius? He was still here. He had to be.) But, the "journal" and its users came forefront to Rhys. He was always easily distracted. I mean, he bounced back, attention-wise—if he couldn't do that, he wouldn't have made it anywhere at Hyperion—but, new and shiny meant he stared and he typed and he talked—friggin' annoying Jack to no end (no surprise there. I mean really. He—) Anyway—, and new and shiny meant the hacker in him wanted to take it all apart and try to figure it out, what wire went where, what line of code could crack it all into something that made sense.
It was also, um, distracting learning you were… a fictional character… other people… controlled in a game and that there was a hotel somewhere, as a corporeal (there's that word again) nexus for a multitude of universes, not the many-worlds interpretation per quantum mechanics, but the "chaotic inflation" theory kind (look at pumpkin trying to sound smart. Ooh, chaotic inflation. I've got your chaotic inflation right here in my—), liiiiike… yeahhhh,… so, maybe he could be kind of excused for not running as soon as he sat up, cold and confused on the floor of Scooter's garage.—The mechanic was there. Scooter. He was there, and that was another reason Rhys needed to get outta there. Scooter thought he had something to do with it all too, the disappearances, him being a Hyperion lackey, etc. etc., because everyone on the planet had trust issues up the butt. And he didn't have an explanation to offer evidence to the contrary.
He had Jack laughing in one ear when he tried and a man can only take so much of that.
But, he wasn't exactly thinking about any of it right now. He'd scanned Vasquez's ...face…, so he had the… option, before he… threw it… in the… garbage (SO GROSS), then he'd talked Springs down from continuing to put the, uh, boosters or whatever on the caravan, so he could… borrow it. He was in the middle of the garage, gritty, dirty place that it was (like everything on Pandora), trying to spit-clean grease from the cuff of his jacket. He had a headache that was probably Jack burgeoning behind his neural port and he was desperately thirsty, but he decided it was more important to him to, um, go… with… go with Kara to see what she meant by all this stuff. And maybe he could talk her into finding a Vault. I mean, you never know.
It was cool outside of Scooter's place. Because, you know, cave, but inside, where the lights flooded that off-putting, slimy yellow Pandorans so loved, it was hot. Rhys was sweating beneath his collar, hair pushed back as always, the tincture-smell of oil heavy in the air. And he really, really just wanted some cafeteria coffee and like, a seat at a nice, clean table. The kind in the Hub of Heroism. Sleek and not… covered in blood and other fluids. Was that so much to ask?