Nova Prime / Rich Rider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iamresponding) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
iamresponding) wrote in legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
Imagine There's No Heaven
Who| Rich Rider and YOU
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
no subject
"Boy, you'd sure fit in with the crowd I roll with back home. Wordplay's practically a way of life."
Hell, he wasn't even the only talking skeleton guy.
So far this was a lot less terrifying than the space zombies, so even though he was a little hesitant, he sat up and held out a hand.
"Rich Rider. I also go by Nova."
no subject
And the miniature whoopie cushion he carries around for just such occasions is caught in the middle, of course. Phhbbbbt. This is truly the best way to make introductions. Sans is an introduction master. Sans is definitely chuckling at his own dumb whoopie cushion joke right now.
"Nice to meet you."
no subject
Rich rolled his eyes skyward, but it was affectionate.
"This ain't even the first time someone's pulled that one on me, you know. You and my old teammate Slapstick would get along real well, I'm thinking." On account of Slapstick basically being a living cartoon character, which is the vibe he's almost getting off this guy.
"So, when you call yourself a monster, that, uh, that isn't like the kind of monster that eats people or anything, right? Just checkin'. As long as you're more the kind of monster that'd rather chomp on cookies I think we'll get along just fine."
no subject
"Don't worry about that. Even if I did want to eat you, you'd go right through me."
A joke, but also true in the literal sense. This place had better have food he can eat--he'd heard a bit about energy-based food, at least. That would probably be pretty close to monster food. Worth a shot, anyway.
no subject
Just so he knew whether he should be sensitive about it or what have you. Maybe it was some kind of tic. He didn't want to make fun if it wasn't something Sans couldn't help.
And if it was something he could help, he wanted to know if it was okay to mock it mercilessly. Because this guy was so corny Rich was pretty sure you could grind him up for cornbread.