legionworld | They took all his money and all that he had

Entry tags:

They took all his money and all that he had

Who| Rico, and anyone!
What| Rico making poor decisions and having fun (?)
Where| All around Legion World.
When| The week of ten thousand backtags, after the body snatchers
Warnings/Notes| This is super late ugh. Alcohol abuse, cathartic property damage, throwing things from heights, graphic depiction of violence in the sim room prompt, emotional instability, etc. All of these prompts work with him sober or drunk (aside from the last one, where he's definitely drunk). Let me know in the header which one you prefer!

[A: Mega-City One Habitat Deck]

[i] When they said they'd give him several square miles to do as he liked, Rico had taken up every inch of that offer. It's Mega-City One at it's peak, his empty little kingdom towering proud and bizarre, still untouched by the major conflicts that have yet to come. Flashy kneepads and elbowpads in eye-searing colors displayed in empty storefronts, steel holding posts with rungs for handcuffing perps on every street alongside surveillance cameras everywhere, some floating in the sky.

There are flashing billboards advertising all manner of absurd products and services, each competing against each other to be as loud and obnoxious as possible. Robot taxidermy services - "Five programmable poses and voice lines for only 15,000 creds extra! It'll be like grandpa never left!" - to programs for fatty camps - "Plump that Paunch! Gain up to 200 pounds in three weeks, or you'll get your money back!" to PSAs from the Justice Department - "WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. DON'T EVEN TRY IT." A particularly nauseating advertisement shows "The Return of the Mega-City Munch-Off!", displaying ten beyond morbidly obese contestants shoveling food in their mouths from a trough, with extreme close-ups and color commentary, talking only briefly about the tragedy that happened at the last one.

Even the Statue of Liberty looks diminutive compared to the housing blocks nearby, subsumed to the point where it's not even much of a landmark. Above them, slabs of rockcrete highways crisscrossing and looping around the sky on all levels. It's built up so high that it's almost impossible to see the sky from the ground.

In all, it's a chaotic, overwhelming bombardment of the senses. But it's home.

Feel free to explore. It's a big place.

[ii] In the center of this mess, there's a building that positively towers over all other structures. The whole thing looks sleek and luxurious, and there's a little glass-walled outcropping at the top. Which is lovely when a very distant, barely-visible window smashes and an object comes sailing down three hundred and thirty floors to ground level. It's hard to tell, but that just might be a flatscreen TV approaching very fast.

It lands alarming near anybody foolish enough to both come closer and stand still, followed by a light sprinkling of glass at terminal velocity.

Better get out of the way.

[B: Sim Room]

[i] After that little display, Rico's not quite done yet. He stalks to the Sim Room, knuckles raw and bloody under his gloves, and figures beating on opponents who fight back would relieve more of this restless energy than things that just sit there. Even if they do make satisfying sounds.

Somebody already using the sim room? Too bad, he barges in anyway.

But if it's empty, he keys in a small riot - managable, but challenging - cracks his knuckles, and gets to work with his fists and daystick.

[ii] You might also catch him playing around with trick shots, using his rubber ricochet rounds. His particular specialty and favorite. Rico stands in front of a perfectly recreated simulation of a man with some outrageous hair and piercings pressing a gun into the temple of a hostage. The perp has an arm locked around her throat, his muscles bulging and face locked in a rictus grimace.

"That really isn't the smartest thing you could do," Rico says, almost in a sing-song.

"Judgey, you gonna let me go or I'm gonna ventilate her stinking head!"

Rico shrugs and raises his hands slowly as if to surrender, lawgiver barrel angled towards the sky, then pulls the trigger. The bullet ricochets off the metal bumper of a hovercar zooming by above them, pings into a wall behind the hostage, and the perp's head promptly explodes in a pretty realistic manner from the back.

He doesn't wait for the body to slide to the ground before he's turning towards the controls again to reset the scenario. No challenge at all. In the real memory this was based off, he'd nailed the both of them through the same eye with the same bullet. Now that was a difficult shot, considering their height difference. Maybe this time he'll go for the hand first, switch it up a bit.

[C: Let's make bad decisions]

He's always felt things on and off, on and off - too intense, every insult magnified and stinging, then burned out and nothing the next - he doesn't know what to do with this. Rico's tired of having to play at acting respectable all the gruddamn time without even so much as a proper break from it, and he's starting to forget why he bothers. At the same time, he's found people that he tolerates. And since he'd realized he could feel what other people do, it's been an uncomfortable thought in the back of his head. Shove it away for now. Tap into the training that only works half the time anymore. He's not even sure if he can at this point. Like some drokked-up Pandora's Box that he can't slam the lid on.

After a while, Rico comes to the realization that he's too far into this mood to be pleased by trick shots with his rubber ricochets. He knows what always makes him feel better.

Alcohol.

He drinks in his hab deck, and then after he's reached a certain level of intoxication, goes back up to his lux-apt to smash things some more. At some point, he gets the great idea from somewhere in his head to escape his hab-deck and let people know exactly what he thinks of them. He wanders the corridors and various locations of Legion World, comes back to places he's already been. Rico usually walks with a swagger, but probably not to the extent where he's stumbling over his feet and listing left and right as he walks, hardly helped by his outfit.

He's entirely likely to start any conversation by helpfully pointing and shouting "you!" in a voice that's even rougher than usual and then teetering over, accidentally clotheslining either them, a legion staffer, or somehow himself on the way down.

[D: Wildcard]

[I'll be happy to set anything else up if you've got anything else you want to do, just let me know!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wash has gotten into the habit of completely avoiding both Judges when at all possible. As far as he's concerned, they're both terrible, albeit in almost completely different ways.

When he hears Rico yell at him (or at someone, but he turns around in time to see that point, and yeah, it's probably him), he knows his nice little avoidance streak is over. Days Without An Altercation: 0. He takes the moment to mute his comms and helmet mic and just groans in the privacy of his helmet. Great. Fucking fantastic.

He takes the next moment to pull a rather petite Legion staffer out of the way as the Almighty Fashion Disaster takes a header straight to the floor. The staffer, who can read the writing on the wall, gives him a grateful nod and proceeds to get the hell out of Dodge, leaving Wash there to fix the issue. Cleanup on aisle seven.

He unmutes his helmet mic and stares down at Rico, making no move to help him up or even get within arm's reach. "What the fuck do you want?"

"What th- th' fuck do I want?"

Rico's mouth stumbles around fuck, as he musters up the co-ordination to prop himself up on his elbows. He doesn't quite manage it and slips at last second, knocking his chin on the ground with a grunt. He throws an arm up over his face, squinting up at Wash against the lights on the ceiling.

"Freelanshur -" Yeah, that's definitely a slur to his words. "You made the biggest mishtake of your life the day you crossed me. An' I'm gonna drokk- I'm gonna fuck you up. Understand?"

Oh for fuck's sake.

Wash just stands where he is and watches Rico utterly fail at coordination. After a moment, he rolls his eyes and sends a brief message to security over the comms. Arbitrator is drunk and threatening violence in the halls. Requesting backup. Between following protocol via that message and the footage his helmet cam is taking, he's covering his bases in case - or rather, for inevitably when - this goes south.

Of course, that doesn't mean he needs to be nice.

Wash looks down at Rico and just lets the silence stretch after that question. "You mean, right now?" he finally says. "Because I kind of had plans, and I really don't want to reschedule. Also, is public intoxication a crime in your dimension? Asking for a friend." Whether Rico realizes that Wash is absolutely making fun of him is going to be a good indicator of just how drunk Rico is.

"A friend?" It takes a while for Wash's words to filter into his brain, but it gets there in the end. "You're going for that angle? You an' I both know that Beeny's no friend of yoursh. You think - you think you can sic her on me?"

With another grunt and an unhappy half-laugh of derision, he gets up on his hands, then one knee. He only wobbles for a second, but that's enough for him to decide that's enough progress for now.

"And no." Rico says, promptly. His voice is remarkably clear when rattling off sentences to crimes. "But a drunk and disorderly is three months to two years. For a Judge, ith's corrective re-education or - or surgery." He tilts his head up, staying silent for a second as he finds his balance. "But guess what, Freelansher?" His voice drops to a stage whisper that isn't very quiet at all, and he jabs a finger towards a spot five inches above Wash's shoulder. "It's not a crime here. So smoke that."

Oh, yeah. He's drunk.

"I think she takes care of her own," he says simply. He'd gotten a rather extended warning from America regarding Rico after their first altercation; it was more than enough to give him context, but not nearly enough to keep him from standing up to the blowhard. Let Rico interpret Wash's words as he will.

"I'm pretty sure drunk and disorderly is a crime here, actually." He has absolutely no idea whether it is or not, but hopefully it's enough to keep Rico talking instead of attempting drunken violence. "And guess what you are right now."

Rico scoffs. And then scoffs again, harder, just in case Wash didn't catch it.

"Pretty sure, he says," Rico mutters under his breath sarcastically as he moves his accusing finger more accurately towards his general direction. "You've never lawed in your life! Don't even - don't even know your codes? According to code - code eleven subshection five, the charge of drunk and disorderly only exists concurrent with parameters as shtated in..."

Rico trails off, mouth working silently in utter concentration.

"In... subsection seven to twelve...?" he asks himself, baffled. It looks like Wash's plan to keep him distracted is working.

Wash bites back the temptation to remind Rico that he'd lawed well enough to fool Rico for a bit; that would be counterproductive here. He's trying to avoid violence, not incite it.

"Are you sure?" he asks, tilting his helmet slightly. "Because the last time I looked at the codes Judge Beeny put up for Legionnaire perusal, it said subsections eight through thirteen, and I do have an eidetic memory, so..." He shrugs and trails off. He's bullshitting wildly, but it's better to keep Rico confused for now.

Zenyatta hasn't been completely himself since returning from that mission. He packed away the extra set of orbs and the badge with great reverence. He was otherwise unsure as to what he should do with them. Why did it never feel enough? Why did he continue to feel so empty even though he knows Reggatta is with the Iris and Mondatta now? Why won't his dreams of arcing energy across his body stop? It had been what Reggatta wanted; it's what he himself would have wanted. Meditation did little to alleviate his restless mind and soul.

Maybe it was equal parts worry for Rico and a desire to just occupy his mind with something else that has Zenyatta wandering the habitat deck. He feels he has truly stepped into another, dizzying world with vary... interesting tastes. So this is where Rico was from, but where could Rico be now?

His answer comes in the form of a faint crash of glass from far above him. Zenyatta stares at the falling object for longer than he should. He processes the information both instantly and not fast enough. He knows what he's seeing; he doesn't know why he's seeing it.

But finally some spark of realization that he should not be hovering there comes to mind, and Zenyatta narrowly misses having the flat screen TV flattening him. He's lucky only a few bits of the glass shower actually hit him.

Zenyatta looks back up as if expecting to see the cause of the TV falling.

The window is too far up to see much clearly, but there's a vague, black blob that could almost be a person standing there, silhouetted against the shattered wall-to-wall window. It disappears from view, but the evidence remains. The broken window is a jarring and obvious aberration against the smooth structure, an ugly hole in the side of the building.

Other than the sound of the glass splintering and plinking off the ground, the area settles back to its more usual obnoxious background noise. Nothing else follows it down.

He can just make out the irregularity high above him, so he takes to the skies with his Legionnaire Ring. (Perhaps he should have used that to get out of the way seconds before.) The flight takes him much longer than expected, but it's faster than trying to find the room from the inside. Thankfully, nothing else falls during his ascent.

When he is level to the broken window, he slowly comes closer and peers inside. While unsure who exactly he'll see, he has a guess.

"Hello? I did not think that was how TV ratings dropped. Are you unharmed?"

Looking in, the first thing that might strike Zenyatta is that it's an interior that looks expensive. Wide, smooth floors, glossy marble countertops, and even wood sculptures displayed on fragile-looking coffee tables, with a spiraling glass staircase leading up on the far corner. A set of balcony doors shows a swimming pool on the opposite side. It's the same generic aesthetic of luxury apts and new money everywhere, even across universes.

Sharp glass and plastic shards are scattered all over the ground, as are unidentifiable chunks of porcelain and metal. A face of a statue here. Wooden parts and screws of a deck chair there. A twisted hunk of what was likely a sound system lays sideways on the floor, wires and chip parts exposed. Even the lighting fixture is dangling from the wall, sparking and half-shot out. There are holes punched in the wall, inches across. Everything that could possibly break in this penthouse has been broken or pulled apart, except curiously enough - a robo-butler. Which is standing by itself, unharmed in an untouched corner in a little oasis free of glass shards.

A crashing, tinkling noise comes from above.

The apartment is the very definition of a mess. It's like a natural disaster swept through the space and decimated everything in its path.

Well, almost everything, and Zenyatta is now certain of who is responsible for the TV and the state of this apartment.

Zenyatta checks on the robo-butler, but besides having a monumental cleaning task before it, it is completely unharmed. Zenyatta offers some words of encouragement and suggests it take the rest of the day off while he speaks to Rico. He doesn't know if the robo-butler will listen to his suggestion, but at the crashing noise above them, Zenyatta excuses himself.

He wastes little time in finding the source, in finding Rico.

While appreciated, the robo-butler does nothing but give Zenyatta a blank look, as if wishing him luck in his endeavor but not expecting much success from him.

Upstairs isn't as thoroughly wrecked as the space Zenyatta just left, although it looks like Rico's making good headway into the operation. Daystick swinging in hand, he's slumped on his back on a table, listlessly hurling half-empty bottles at the ceiling. The numerous broken bottles and red wine splashed all over the place shows how much progress he's made in the time Zenyatta took to get up.

"Flake off, drokkbucket," Rico shouts first without turning his head, slurring his words far too loudly and at a volume that isn't strictly necessary when the stairs are right there. "I'll bust you for breaking and entering, and tresspassing with the intent of - the intent of being a punk! This is my place!"

Zenyatta takes stock at the number of broken glasses and broken bottles. Even if half the bottles were not fully drunk, that is still an alarming amount of alcohol in Rico's system. He tries to attack an Orb of Harmony to Rico, though he's never tested his healing to hangovers and potential alcohol poisoning. Zenyatta can feel Rico's aura as if thoughts are buffering, stuttering, and distorting. How can a human mind function with such inhibitions?

"While I will admit to entering, I believe you have done most of the breaking. My intent for entering is concern over you and curiosity over the television that nearly fell on me."

Although, the latter has diminished. The source is quite plain to see.

"May I approach you?"

Oh, it's Zenyatta. The soothing metallic tones of his voice penetrates the fog in Rico's brain, and some vague semblance of coherent thought sparks to life.

"Do whatever the hell you want. Stubborn freak, you'd probably do it anyway," Rico grumbles, dropping the last bottle on the ground with a thunk, though it's more half-hearted than anything. He throws an arm over his eyes, flinching bleary-eyed at the light it emits, but the rest of his body remains decidedly limp on the table. The Orb of Harmony rapidly accelerates most of his drunkeness into 'pounding hangover headache', and Rico makes a face.

"It's my stuff, I can break it if I damn well want to. Shoulda - shoulda moved out of the way anyway. Three hundred stories is plenty of warning, isn't it?"

Stubborn freak is among the nicer things someone has called Zenyatta as an insult, and Rico was right. Zenyatta would do what he felt would help Rico either way. He hovered closer, over some of the broken bottles and split alcohol.

"I am not very fast." It is a joke that Zenyatta has made of himself multiple times. Even with the Legionnaire Ring, he still tends to move using his own power. "And I have not had to watch for falling televisions."

When he gets close enough, he gently places a hand on Rico's arm. "Come. Let us find you a more comfortable surface to rest on." There has to be some place that hadn't been completely destroyed, or else Zenyatta will clear off a place for him.

Rico's shoulder tenses when he feels Zenyatta's hand on his arm, but slowly - very slowly - relaxes. He feels - strange at the thought. Somewhere in the back of his head he's still tense, like he's jacked up on zziz, his thoughts vibrating hard in his skull. The anger so visceral he could feel it aching in his teeth. He focuses on the cool digits on his skin, letting it pull him out of his seething pit of emotion. But the worst of it was largely over, relegated to background noise. As it always was.

"Fine," he says tersely, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He moves to shrug him off, but seems to stop last second. With a sharp exhale, he rolls himself up, guided by Zenyatta's hand. His jaws unclench, and his hands fall slack. "Whatever. Where are my shades? Everything's too damn bright in here."

There's an upturned couch not far from them, split open and spilling genuine down feathers everywhere like a man hit by the zoom-tube with his guts out (Rico's metaphors may be a little skewed). That wouldn't be a bad place for them to sit on, if nobody minds having an explosion of fluff sticking to them.

"I shall look for your shades. In the meantime, please close your eyes while I do so."

The upturned couch would work just fine. Zenyatta isn't the one who will be sitting in it after all. Once Rico sits, he'll leave him to start his search. Zenyatta also uses his orbs to clear paths from broken debris and empty bottles. Just because Zenyatta doesn't need to worry about stepping on them, it doesn't mean that he shouldn't be considerate for Rico later.

He tries to keep it quiet for the sake of Rico's head. There will be time to talk later. For now, he try to help with the more pressing matters.

"Would you like a glass of water? If there is aspirin, I can fetch that as well"

"You're not housecleaning, Zenyatta. Don't touch that." Rico manages a combination of fond exasperation, fighting against enough inertia to irritably slap at the feathers starting to cling his hair. If he notices that Zenyatta is deliberately keeping it down for his sake, he elects to ignore it. "I'll get the robo-butler to do it."

"Check the blue cabinet." He's referring to the cabinet in the open-plan kitchen that's swinging on its torn hinges, revealing an impressive display of medicinal items and other hidden, strictly less medicinal substances. "Aspirin? Forget the aspirin, just get me the zziz. There's a hidden switch in the upper left corner in the back, behind the bandages. Mix it in with the water, it'll perk me right up."

Yeah, he's technically letting Zenyatta know where he stashes his illicit substances, which is a bit of a big deal, but what's he gonna do? Snitch on him? Rico doesn't think so. The zziz isn't... packaged very reputably, should Zenyatta look, wrapped as it is in shrink-wrap and labelled with black marker. Although that isn't the only thing in there - there's a substantially larger stash of chocolate bars, pure sugar, as well as rock candy in tiny baggies.

"Doubt you can ingest that, but help yourself if you can."

Rico's not really the type to share, but he'll make an exception just this once. You share everything with your friends!

"I'm not touching them," Zenyatta replies in a tone that would probably fit a child better. And it is the truth. In a sense. His orbs are the ones touching things, not his own hands. Although, later he may opt to actually help clean instead of pushing aside the rubble. He feels bad for the robo-butler in the other room. This is going to be a lot of work.

He hovers toward the cabinet mentioned. Zenyatta has no idea what "zziz" is, but once he finds it, he decides to conveniently overlook it. Rico has enough questionable substances in his system. However, he does bring the other illicit substances with him, mainly the chocolate bars and the rock candy. Also the aspirin. He finds a clean glass and fills it full of water from the sink.

Then he returns to offer Rico the water, the bottle of aspirin, and the sweets.

"I cannot, but please do not let that stop you from enjoying them." Sugary things and electronics do not mix well, which is a shame. These little rock candies look so colorful and fun.

"Spirit of the law, not letter of the law!" he shouts out after Zenyatta, secretly amused but not admitting it. He perks up much more after seeing him come with various items in hand, actually sitting up to take it. Drinks the water and takes the aspirin. Boring obligations done with, he shakes out a few rock candy into his palm, and throws it back into his mouth. For a moment it looks like he's content to be quiet and enjoy his snacks, but then, of course, it's Rico.

"You know," Rico starts up, thoughtful through a mouthful of crunching. "The first time I had sugar, it was almost like a religious experience. Or at least, what I imagined one would have been like. Not many of those after the Department banned a lot of 'em." He casually shrugs, glossing over it. "It's the sweetest thing in the world. It's not good for you, but hell, pretty much everything I do isn't good for me either. Liver disease is a killer, but so is getting shot through the stomach for something I don't even drokking believe in."

He fishes another rock out, bringing it up to his eye for exaggerated scrutiny. Then flicks it straight into the gap between Zenyatta's "collarbones". "How're you even supposed to live like that? Don't you wonder about what you're missing out on?"

Once empty, Zenyatta takes the glass and sets it beside the overturned couch in case Rico needs more water later. However, he fully intends to make sure the glass is returned to a proper location and is not left there for someone else to clean up.

He's not sure what to do when Rico flicks candy through the hollow parts of his body. Should he pick that up now or wait until Rico is occupied?

"I will admit that I have wondered what it is like. When I was human for that brief time, I did not have the chance to experience food or drink." It was probably for the best as he had enough new sensations to process. Zenyatta nearly died from hypothermia. He didn't need to nearly die by choking as well.

"In the end, wanting something I cannot have will only cause pain." Like having his brothers back. He knows this, but this is a case of his heart and soul wanting something even as his mind reminds him of the truth. He sighs. "But the lesson and putting the lesson into practice are two different things."

"Damn it. Knew I shoulda dragged you off somewhere exciting." But of course, Rico hardly would have had the inclination at the time. "But...you could though," he says, as if it's self-evident, giving him a dubious expression and also completely missing the point. "Wanting what you can't have - that's nonsense. If you really want it, there isn't anything in the world that you can't have. That's how you stop the pain. Screw the lesson if it's not working," he says, almost a bit petulantly. "Throw it all out."

Rico stays quiet for a bit, pursing his lips and seemingly deep in thought. He bolts upright, obviously caught up in a brilliant idea as how to cheat his system.

"You could be human again! For a short time, of course. Got magicked up the first time, I'm sure it isn't impossible. Or I could get a bot doc to - drokk, I dunno - plug you in or somethin'. Get it all done in your head. I've done dream palace before, wouldn't be too different. Grud, Rico, you're a genius."

Rico pauses for a second, holds up a hand. "Actually, no. Someone could seriously mess with your source code - brain? Soul?" He shrugs, waving it off. "Whatever. But I'd find someone who wouldn't dare mess about while they're in there. Hell, I'll even come with you, make sure there's no funny business. We can make a weekend out of it?"

He makes the offer in complete sincerity, which is almost unprecedented for him. By which he means hold the gun up against the doc's head so there isn't any funny business.

Rico's complete disregard for the lesson Zenyatta tried to impart makes Zenyatta laugh, clear like a bell. He cannot deny the outlook of being steadfast in one's beliefs as being admirable, but he also knows it can be a dangerous path. But, it's also very much Rico.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I am not eager to be, ah, 'hooked up' to anything again in such a short period of time." He doesn't want to wake up finding he has an ill-fated younger brother. Or the other reasons Rico so nicely listed.

However, that doesn't mean he's going to completely reject Rico's offer. In fact, he seems quite eager to do something. "But perhaps we can make a weekend of something else. You have mentioned an interest in dancing, correct?"

Rico's mouth, half-curled up into a laugh, abruptly stops. He stays like that for a second, expression unchanging, mood soured by the reminder that something had happened he didn't want it to. He had forgotten for only a second, caught up in the whirlwind of great ideas and pounding hangovers, and the brief moment of terrible clarity shows through in his warm eyes. And he knows it, which is twice as infuriating. This is why he doesn't show his damn face.

At least Zenyatta offers an alternate topic, one that he latches onto. "I did," he says, recovering as his face changes into something more natural. It feels vaguely uncomfortable seeing the world without the tinted darkness of his visor - must be the hangover - and launches himself off the couch, tottering only slightly, to find his damn shades. The bag of candy he flings to the side as he nudges things to the side with his foot, keeping his face turned away from Zenyatta in the vague fear that he looks and finds something there. "I remember. Why, you saying you wanna dance?"

Zenyatta's hovering height raises in excitement, "Music is a hobby of mine. I would love to learn a dance from your world." He could almost say that it was in his code, but it's not, which makes is all the more precious to him. It's in his soul, his name, the part of him that is more than ones and zeroes.

"People have studied the various properties of music: from its healing potential to how it motivates and focuses." It's true, but honestly, that's not why Zenyatta brings it up. "A more important reason is that we are both... looking for ways to live in the moment and expend excess energy."

And it would be a way to do so without resorting to outside influences like too much drink and illegal drugs. Zenyatta offers a healthier alternative that could be fun.

"Or maybe we can watch one of those crime shows you were telling me about."

"Dance," Rico mutters under his breath as he searches. "Yeah. Living in the moment, isn't that what it's about?" It's an unwelcome reminder of exactly what they're avoiding like this, and he shoves it to the side almost immediately.

He finally tracks down his shades, a subtle jewel-encrusted number, and fishes it from underneath the couch. Settling it on his face, he finally feels like he can properly meet Zenyatta's eyes. Face. Sensors. Whatever.

"It's always midnight somewhere," he states. He feels unsteady, and if he really wanted to party, an appropriate time would have been several hours ago. But... this doesn't feel like a bad idea. "Specifically - I know a place. You're not going out in that, though. Nobody will let you in through the door wearing that potato sack. I might have something in your size. Check the closet and get into something more skintight if you're serious about learning the Mega-City macho mosh."

The walk-in closet that's surprisingly intact, actually. And fully staffed with items of clothing that are either flamboyant, neon, or patterned or structured in some strange way. Along with a pull out cabinet full of jewelry, and what appears to be kneepads.

Zenyatta looks at his clothing. Yes, they have seen better days, but they are still intact. Mostly. His fingers find their way to the scrap of white fabric around his waist. There's a faint geometric pattern woven within it. His touch is gentle, almost like he's lost in thought. Truthfully, the scrap is what's left of his Shambali robes. He could be convinced to give up the rest, but this last bit of his robe is like a security blanket. Ah, but it's not like he would be ridding himself of his previous outfit either. This isn't a makeover.

"Could I truly wear something skin tight if I do not have skin?" He jokes, but Rico. If he wears something skin tight, he's going to look more twiggy than he already is. Still, he goes into the closet and begins looking around. He... might be a while. It's part not knowing what to wear and part wanting to put together a fun costume.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They took all his money and all that he had

C: let's be real; this has been a long time coming

:^)

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A.ii.

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