Judge Rico Dredd (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
truefaceofthelaw) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2017-12-18 02:24 am
truefaceofthelaw) wrote in legionworld2017-12-18 02:24 am
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!]
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!]
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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.