theoremnet | Crash Test Dummy (Literally) >> Audio ;

Ishkabibble t'you too.

[ He looks up, searching the other man's face for any sign that he noticed the cough full of smoke. Who knows, maybe that's normal where he's from. Like a damn cartoon character from the shorts they show before the flickers. ]

Not sure what "g" is, but if it ain't in miles-per-hour or comparable t'horses, it don't mean nothin' to this noggin. [ He points to his forehead. ] Whole "space travelin'" particulars're new t'me.

[ He's seen much more outlandish — people with multiple, piercing optics where eyes should be, walking and speaking around without throats, with the skin of crocodiles and made out of gold — that the smoke doesn't even register. ] Gravitational force equivalent. Earth is equivalent to 1 g. 4 to 6 g is 4 to 6 Earth's worth of gravity suddenly weighing on ya. Forces all the blood down your body, dryin' up your brain. So you faint — G-force induced loss of consciousness, or g-LOC.

Don't need space travel, just acceleration. [ Winks. ] I race cars.

You got luggers that go that fast? [ That gets a low whistle. ] Don't think all the cops in Nieve'd catch that. Lemme know if you're up for a heist.

[ He shakes his head, gesturing toward the mess that he made out of his ship. ] M'obviously more of a stick-up or yegg, dependin'. Driver's not my forte.

Always up for a heist — long as what we're stealin' is worth it. [ He winks. ] My services ain't cheap.

Can get one of those robots to be your pilot, if you don't care to learn. But, just in case things go tits up — and chances are they will — you probably should learn. [ Isn't going to offer lessons, however. Presumptuous. ]

If I find somethin' worth takin', I'll give you a call, yeah? [ Even when recovering from a crash landing, he's scheming and planning. Some habits die hard.

He sits up a little straighter now, finally getting more of his faculties back. It feels a bit like a hangover, minus the ridiculous amount of (literal) heartburn. His furnace is even starting to calm down, and he's able to cough without bringing up too much smoke. The eyeroll he gives the mention of those stupid little robots involves most of his wiry frame. ]

Yeah, right. Don't trust those fuckers far as I could chuck 'em. They ain't touchin' any more of what l'il I got here any more than abso-fuckin'-lutely necessary. No way, no how.

[ So basically, a substitute pilot is right out. Ladon's either going to have to tag along or learn. And considering he's done it once and didn't die... ]

Think I got a few more rough landings in me, yeah?

Edited 2025-12-05 14:44 (UTC)

Sure thing. Lookin' forward to it.

[ That's fair. Vincent doesn't trust anyone but Delamain to drive him around. The AI earned it though. Jury's out on these little shits. Doesn't like how hard they try at being cute, unassuming. It might work with teenaged girls, but it won't work on him.

Unless one took up the form of Nibbles, his Sphynx cat. Then maybe... ]

Yeah, if you want to give yourself brain damage. [ Hypoxia's a bitch — he'd know, thanks to Johnny. ] Not good for your body to keep takin' that kind of shock either. [ Eyebrows raised. Take the hint — ask for help. From someone. Anyone. ]

M'tougher than I look. [ Yeah, he's got some brass for saying that after being carried to the shade by a stranger, but it's honest. He's used to being underestimated thanks to this scrawny, soft human body. Sometimes it works to his advantage. But in all honesty, he's already starting to go over what happened, and what he can do better next time.

It's going to actively take willpower he might not have to keep from hopping back in the pilot seat and making another go of it as soon as his ship's dug out. But he's keeping that much to himself. ] But, yeah, sure. I'll find someone to gimme the what's what.

[ Maybe. ]

And I'm a brain and spinal cord inside a metal frame, wrapped in synthetic fibers. [ Said matter-of-factly, because it is. ] Means dick. Ain't 'bout endurance, just physics.

'Least go through some sims or somethin'.

Are you? [ That doesn't sound like sarcasm, so color him intrigued. His eyes flick over V, as if seeing him again for the first time. ] Huh. Don't look much like a tin can, yeah?

[ Doesn't answer that with words. Instead, Vincent extends out his right arm, the sound of hydraulics and steam going off as the arm comes apart for a couple of seconds. ] 'Cause I've paid top eddies not to look like a 'borged freak. Bad for business in my line of work. [ Infiltration and assassination aren't very stealthy when someone sees the likes of Adam Smasher dropping in. Then there's the psychological benefits of looking human after all. ]

[ Ladon visibly tenses, the result of years of having to keep his wits about him in violent circumstances, but he's also very much impressed and intrigued. Gear like that could give Frid and Lorne a run for their money, even fully wolved out.

He's definitely not the only one keeping things hidden, but in ways he's jealous-- whether on purpose or accidental, the Edicts that brought them here have kept him both stuck in this human body and have taken his lightning away. Seeing someone else with a means to both defend themselves and keep it hidden sticks in his craw. He's going to need to have a talk with whomever is in charge, and it's not going to be a pleasant one. ]

Eddies, huh. Heard that from 'nother fella here. S'impressive, regardless. You're the real deal.

[ Be a lot more impressive if Vincent had access to all the enhanced abilities all this chrome is supposed to provide. As it stands, he's nothing but a skeleton in (nearly) indestructible wrapping. Which is nice, yeah, but stings in comparison to what it could do not that long ago.

But if they took his chrome away, he'd be, what, a quadruple amputee? No, even worse than that — he'd be dead. Most of his original body no longer exists, the earliest being both of his arms back when he was a teen. ]

Johnny, I'm guessin'. But it ain't. Trust me, it ain't.

Yeah? They take you down a few pegs when you turned up here?

[ It's still impressive. Ladon cracks his own knuckles, missing his claws a little more than usual. The harder outer layer would be nice to have in this kind of climate, instead of these squishy hands. ]

More than just a peg — they're just prostheses now. [ Which is, again, fine. But the lack of noise, the electronic feedback of beeps and hums... disquieting.

Hears his heartbeat, blood rushing to his ears, but little else. Isn't sure what to think of it, a hyper-awareness of missing natural sounds other people still have. ] Still, glad I got to keep 'em, at least. Wouldn't be walking, or talking — breathing — if didn't.

Edited 2025-12-09 23:23 (UTC)

Hard to be a fuckin' space errand boy without breathin'. [ He grumbles. ] You ain't alone. My piece ain't the only thing they took. But from what I heard, we got ways to earn it back.

Helluva racket they got goin'. [ There's a combination of sarcasm and respect there. Business isn't anything if not manipulation in one way or another. ]

Might make a neat party trick though — peeps piss me off enough, might peel off my face and show off the chrome underneath. [ He smiles, a bit manic. ]

Racket's a good term for it. While I'm thankful they brought me Johnny, not sure I'm lookin' forward to babysittin'.

[ That gets him to snort. ] Spare parts'd be good for sendin' a message. Some unlucky fucker finds a finger or two in his mailbox, is checkin' the hands of everyone he knows.

[ He shakes his head. ] Yeah, not gonna promise I ain't gonna cause more trouble. You and Johnny're from the same place, I'm guessin'. [ Must be the other guy he had a good conversation with over the network before they came to this planet. ]

Be my whole fist. The knuckles and fingers, they're one piece. [ He shows off the black segment on his hands, pops one off like knuckle dusters. ]

Not the kind of babysittin' I'm referring to. Lotsa people 'round these parts who have a stick up their arse, come from softer worlds. Dunno if a merc like me should be talkin' to the kids, ya know? [ Or maybe the problem is them, their world. ] Yeah. Know each other pretty well.

Edited 2025-12-10 03:25 (UTC)

Whole hands ain't the same. [ There's a philosophy behind sending body parts as threats. ... Apparently a whole hand is just creepy, in Ladon's book. ] Fancy engineerin', though.

Mmmph. Lotta young kids here. They wanna survive, they'll toughen up. And prob'ly whine 'bout it the whole time.

Makes it easier when I gotta swap 'em out with, say, a venomous one. [ But Toxic Gorilla Arms felt so cheap. Wants to feel his enemy's bones break when his knuckles connect, not the slimy slide of venom, then the scent of burnt flesh as the acid starts burning through their flesh. ]

My fear is that they're not gonna live long enough to toughen up. The desert doesn't come with training wheels. [ Vincent looks away for a moment, eyes a lifetime away. ] So many names, so many people. Some of 'em, their name is all I can remember. Forgotten faces — there are so many.

... Nowhere does. [ Hell, that's a point of contention between him and the sixteen-year-old in his crew. Much as Guivres drives Ladon up the wall with his teenage bullshit, Ladon doesn't want him hurt or dead. ] S'why us older folks gotta keep an eye on 'em. Even if we ain't the best role models.

This place is step one. I got a feelin' there's a lot more out there after this.

Yeah, but this place has a way of makin' it memorable in the worst way. [ Vincent closes his eyes for a moment, the sharp stab of melancholy hitting his chest viciously. ] Or if they want nothin' to do with us.

Get the feeling it's gonna get worse 'fore it gets better. [ As it always does. ] And I'm not sure I'm up for it this round. [ Everything hurts because his chrome is locked out. He's a defective machine slowly burning itself to an early grave. Right on cue, his lungs start spasming, sending him into a coughing fit. ]

Edited 2025-12-11 03:58 (UTC)

We ain't gonna be on this planet forever. Maybe the next won't be bringin' back so many memories, yeah? [ God, it's almost like seeing himself from years ago, before Hardison dipped into his mind and locked away enough to let him function. He feels a pang of guilt for wishing Hardy were here to help-- partially because it's so selfish towards Hardy, and partially because he knows his former friend is a last resort, a destructive force that he hates himself for needing.

No, keeping an eye on Hardison Limael is the last thing he needs right now. ] Well. I ain't the sharpest tool or the brightest bulb, but you need someone t'listen... Hell. Lemme repay you for keepin' me from bitin' the big one out in the sand, yeah?

Name's Ladon, by the way.

[ It's not the planet, it's his body. Wherever you go, there you are. A coffin housing his (digitized) soul, trapped in it, yet unable to survive without it.

But these are things he can't just tell strangers. Sure, Vincent is an open book (for the most part), but he isn't without sense. There's too much context that'd need to be explained. Right now he lacks both the energy and the trust for it, even if the guy is offering. ] Maybe later. [ When he doesn't feel like death warmed over. ] V. Just V.

'Course, V. Offer stands.

[ He huffs a little laugh, tips his head at the ship sticking out of the sand. ] Ain't exactly lammin' off anywhere any time soon.

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