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
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.
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.