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 Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]

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PostSubject: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Mon Jul 15, 2013 5:01 am

If one were to inquire, no cognizant being aroundcould even begin to fathom, let alone share with you, the hardships of surviving the nuclear-torn wasteland in a three hundred and fifty pound mechanical welders suit. Unless, of course, you were to ask Johnny Maximillian, the only sentient organism to thrive under such restricting boundaries. Maybe "thrive" isn't exactly the correct terminology to describe Johnny's current living conditions, nonetheless he is very much alive and even more so kicking. This, dearest participant, is one of the many unique, if not downright bizarre, scenarios that Johnny struggled, trialed, fought, and overcame in his quest to make the most of this special life that his Lord put him. Now, the curtains rise and the show begins.

"DAMMIT, JOHNNY" the bartender cried in sheer frustration. He had just hired this lumbering bucket of bolts not even a week ago, and Johnny had already smashed, bumped, bruised, and shattered the mugs, plates, and even the drunks that found their way to the Baratheon's Bar. It seemed that the poor Maximillian chap was at a disadvantage around ever corner; his boots often cracked the chipped flooring, his drill-wielding right arm could do little other than knock the customers unconscious, his oval-shaped helmet visor could only find the right table to bring the radiated food to after smacking into one or two stools along the way, and his overall appearance sometimes frightened or attracted groups of people.

"Listen son," the bartender spoke in a low, almost hushed, tone, having composed himself after adding another fist-sized indent in the bar counter. "I feel for ya, I really do. I get that it's hard for someone of your...demeanor, to find an honest living in this shithole. But you leave me with little choice if you're gonna keep at breaking everything I own. Now I've given you just about every position I have to give in this here bar, and you've...well son," he slightly chuckled "you've fucked up just about every position I have to give in this here bar."

The whole time the man lectured dear ole Johnny, Johnny could only focus on one single thing, the complexity and overall awe-striking beauty of this thing had taken whole Johnny's attention. The only thing that distinguished the bartender from just any average Joe was his bushy handlebar mustache, which Johnny reckoned each twirl could shake a concoction of it's own. Which Johnny had wondered why the bartender himself , whom he had donned Grandpa 'Stache, did not consider this genius wonder of physics himself.  Inside, however, Grandpa 'Stache DID consider throwing poor Maximillian into the streets, "-IF YOU DON'T START LISTENING TO ME RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!" Johnny's attention was successfully averted from that sweet spiraling facial wonderment, and he finally understood the grave circumstances that were set before him. Johnny tried explaining himself, but to no avail.

"Gramps, it's just-"

"Oh, I know, sonny." The bartender's Irish accent intensified with thickness as his temper started rising. Johnny could have sworn his mustache bristled as this happened. Grandpa 'Stache's voice rose in pitch as he imitated Johnny. " 'Grandpa, I's just trying me best, I swear to ye. I's jus so misundastood, Grandpa!'" He stuck one of his meaty fingers in the air, and Johnny's eyes began to go cross as they both shifted,clicked, and locked onto the tip of his pointer finger, which stood erect at the dead center of his vision.

"I'll give ye one more bloody chance, sonny. One job I doubt even ye could fuck up! Now ye get your robotic arse over there!"

They had already discussed what Johnny's last chance occupation would consist of if push came to shove, and the whole bar, who had heard every word as the bartender (whose mustache did indeed bristle with anger) lectured Johnny in an incredibly loud, indignant tone.

"And if ye manage to fuck up even THAT! I'll have to beg me poor customers to adopt your worthless arse!"

The bar roared with cruel laughter as the six and a half foot, gentle, and good-willed monstrosity lumbered his shame stricken self over to a pre-designated corner of the bar, where he stood and was patted mockingly by a couple drunk bystanders, mock-cooing him like a mere infant. Johnny did the last portion of his last chance, and clicked on the radio that usually emitted his own voice, except this time is projected the soothing music of The Inkspots. This sent another barrage of laughter from both the drunk customers and the bartender himself, whose wondrous 'stache shook with his bellowing laughter. His visor switched from it's usual passive lime green, to a hostile sunflower yellow. Anyone who was anything other than totally trashed would think it transitioned to symbolize that the radio was in use. The true reasoning was unknown to all, even Johnny. But what Johnny did know, his eyes shifting,clicking, and locking violently at every intoxicated wretched soul in this God-forsaken dump one-by-one, was that these people were royally pissing him off.

"I don't want to set the world-on-fire."

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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Mon Jul 15, 2013 11:59 pm

If there was one lesson learned about regeneration, it would be that becoming intoxicated was nigh impossible. At least four glasses littered his table in varying stages of empty but all Gray felt was a touch light-headed and his vision might have been a little blurry. It was somewhat hard to discern the truth of the latter effect when he was looking at the bar through an empty glass, though, and it wasn’t like he was all that willing to even find out, rather content simply sitting at his table in silence, gaze flickering towards any sudden movements that startled him. Which might have just been about everything.

If there was another lesson learned about regeneration and alcohol, it would be that blurry vision and light-headedness didn’t last long, even if Gray was sure that his blood was more alcohol than anything else. Within minutes of his latest drink, he could feel the signature warmth recede little by little and this caused contemplation of ordering another--even if he had promised himself the previous was his last for the day.

If there was one last lesson learned about regeneration and the effects of intoxication, it would be that everything healing itself and almost quite literally banishing the alcohol from his system was an uncomfortable feeling that left him a bit numb in the fingertips and ears ringing. Yet that didn’t stop him from hearing the bartender yell at someone, frustration incredibly obvious in their voice.

He didn’t look up to see who the bartender was yelling at, but he did wince at the sudden drop in decibels as the bartender lowered his voice to a calmer approach. He also didn’t look up at the response ‘Johnny’ (gotten from what the bartender had exclaimed) gave, albeit a quickly cut off one.

Gray did look up, though, when suddenly there was the loud noise of what sounded like the floor cracking under heavy footsteps and more than one burst of raucous laughter from the other denizens of the bar. The person, whoever it was, stopped not too far behind them.

Then, to his surprise, music. Specifically, from a radio. Even more specific, from a radio behind him.

Of course his curiosity would get the best of him and he’d turn around. That wasn’t the best of ideas; as soon as Gray saw who exactly this ‘Johnny’ was, he jolted upright in his seat, vision sharpening to normal and maybe a bit shifted a few seconds into the future (which left strange ghost imprints of the present on everything he saw).

A... How could he even describe it? A monster? A beast? A strange being stood there only feet away from Gray and while it didn’t seem that malevolent from what he heard when the bartender all but kicked the being out, the drill on its right arm certainly spoke otherwise.

Hell even if it was hard for him to die, being subjected to that drill would be pretty damn painful. Gray was willing to leave his thoughts like that, turning around slowly to once more face what would be a coma inducing drinking problem to normal folks but to him an alcoholic let-down that did little but make things feel all sorts of wobbly.

The green light reflected--and refracted to create several prismatic effects--in the scattered glasses suddenly shifted to a dangerous yellow preceded by an odd sort of clicking, and Gray found himself stiffening once more, though this time he didn’t take his chance to turn around and instead remained glued to the seat with his heart beating in his ears.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit if he wanted to die it would have been nice and peaceful (what a joke), not from a potentially dangerous... thing that might just attempt populicide.

He really fucking regretted the decision to suddenly stop by the bar out-of-the-blue and out of character figuring there was a possibility he might just end up enjoying himself for the first time in his short life. Which was now even more unlikely. Fucking. Shit.
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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Fri Jul 19, 2013 3:32 am

After the final drunk got his last slurred chuckle out before either passing out or mumbling to his or herself, Johnny waited until the song that was currently playing would end, and he would be able to get up and do something else. The final round of chords were being played, and was muted by the seemingly foreign sound of the bar door opening. As far as Johnny was concerned in the time he worked here, the Baratheons Bar saw the same customers from when the sun lit up the radiated sand until the pale moon shone upon the carcasses of those who tried making radiated sand angels. So when the door opened- no, when it flung open- every glass slammed on it's respective table and every pair of eyes locked on to the three authoritative figures that stood awkwardly in the middle of the bar, staring at the mutated swine with obvious disgust. Technically, they had no authority in these parts, but no one was willing to fuck with the Warui; not yet, at least.

They strode in, their heavy boots thudding on the floor (not as hard as Johnny's, of course) as they loomed over the booths and stalls, their dark trenchcoat-clad torsos casting wicked shadows on the drunks, whom many slunk in their chairs for protection. The one in the middle stood extra tall, and folded his hands behind his back as his voice boomed in a regal tone.

"Where is the one who operates this...establishment?"

Johnny watched Grandpa 'Stache in his usual spot behind the bar counter, as he coughed in acknowledgement, and the middle Warui strode up and spoke to him from across the bar, his voice still booming despite being so close.

"Rumors, you see, have drifted around that you are in possession of official Warui property. Which I'm sure you know very well is a serious crime, good sir." A smile played upon the Warui officer's pale face as he saw the impending realization sink into the usually-rowdy bartender. Johnny had to avert his eyes, however, when one of the officer's henchmen started walking towards what he believed to be a jukebox, which just so happened to be the "property" they were looking for. Just who the hell were they calling property, anway? When Johnny had gotten over his momentary panic, he turned to look back at Gramps and the Warui bub shockingly, as Stache was looking down, his face shadowed as he was wiping the inside of a glass mug with a rag. What was worse is that the officer was now facing Johnny's direction.

"Private, see if you can't find a good tune, will you?" He smiled wickedly, and Johnny knew that those Warui punks had caught onto his act.

As the Private, who also was smiling, brought a coin down towards his visor, Johnny grabbed the soldier's wrist with his gloved left hand, which seemed to make him contort in both surprise and pain. Sudden flashbacks of the torture and bloodshed that the Warui had brought upon both himself and all the Survivors shot through his mind, he wouldn't let these men take him and torture him. Not again. No. More. Science. Johnny stood up slowly, as he menacingly started looming over the entire bar, his great shadow illuminated by the hostile yellow glow that poured through his visor, the very light that made seeing through the glass from the outside utterly impossible. Johnny dragged the soldier with him, who kicked and hollered helplessly like a squabbling child, until the large suit was standing in front of the officer, who was still smiling with his hands behind his back. Johnny couldn't give a damn less about the Warui occupants, he was more worried as to why Gramps was letting this happen.

"Gramps, what are you-"

"You'd be bad for business if ye stayed any longer." Grandpa Stache wouldn't raise his face, and continued to wipe mugs with his face concealed.

"How could you do this to me?!" Johnny yelled, and in sheer rage he swung the soldier in his hand like a ragdoll, bringing his right foot in and kicking the soldier in the side with great ferocity, who was sent rocketing out the door and tumbling in the sand outside. Everyone in the bar either gasped or yelled in shock, while the officer's smiling face turned into that of rage. Grandpa Stache wasn't surprised, however; he knew the boy.

"You dare do this? We only asked you to come peacefully, yet you resist, going so far as to harm my men! Dr. Maximillian will not be pleased, and you may have just brought war upon you and everyone involved!" The officer bellowed furiously, pointing a gloved finger at the metal boy.

"You think I'm scared of empty threats by a lackey like you?" Johnny wasn't scared, but the mentioning of the name Dr. Maximillian peaked his interest like none other. Could it be Pete? It had to be! The officer stormed out of the bar, his other comrade having long fled the scene as soon as the first soldier was sent out the door. Johnny turned and faced the bartender, who, to Johnny's surprise, threw the mug that was in his hands on the floor, mustache bristling with more fury than Johnny had ever seen.

"Now look what ye fucking did, Johnny! You've endangered the lives of everyone here because of yer stupid shit! I don't ever want to see yer tin self around my bar again, do'ya hear me, you sack of bolts?! Get out! GET. OUT!"

"I..I-I'm sorry Gramps, I never meant to put anyone in danger." Johnny turned, examining the faces of all those who were in the bar. Some looked mortified, others infuriated. They wouldn't accept him anymore, he had worn out his welcome in these parts. He trudged towards the door, bright sunlight leaking through numerous cracks. The whole bar watched as the door swung back one last time on the metal man as he made his way out into the unforgiving world. Johnny had no clue where to start, so he sat down on the steps as many civilians passed him, most of which were used to the sight of Johnny being kicked out of the establishments of the City.

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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Mon Jul 22, 2013 3:31 am

His life didn’t end moments after realizing what was standing behind him, thankfully. Who was he kidding, if he hadn’t panicked and taken the time to concentrate even for a second or two Gray would have seen that nothing would happen. Nothing that is, save for bar’s front door being flung open, the harsh light that filtered in from outside framing the forms of Warui.

As in soldiers from the faction that created this post-apocalyptic hell. No one did anything to stop them from filing in. What was there to do? The Warui might not have had this bar and the surrounding area under their jurisdiction, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t come here for a drink or two, even if the stuff didn’t taste all that nice. Except that didn’t seem to be the motives of the newly arrived group.

"Where is the one who operates this...establishment?" The one who said this had a voice that reached even where Gray and the Thing were in the back. The man’s tone was grandiose, as if he was used to barking out orders and had been doing so for years. Gray had a feeling it was exactly like that.

"Rumors, you see, have drifted around that you are in possession of official Warui property. Which I'm sure you know very well is a serious crime, good sir." Remind him to dump any items he may or may not have been previously owned by the Warui. Just in case. But the identity of what exactly concerned ‘official Warui property’ was at the moment, a question with no answer--or at least, one that only the barkeeper and the Warui seemed knowledgeable of.

Gray wasn’t expecting to find out so quickly all because the Warui in charge had requested for one of the other men to “...find a good tune, will you?”. The Thing didn’t seem happy about that, and this showed when it had grabbed the Warui soldier’s arm with his left hand (Strange, why didn’t he use his right--oh the Thing had a fucking drill instead of a hand. That was weird.) with a strength that had the soldier in obvious pain.

The Thing stomped over to the Warui officer, and even if Gray couldn’t see any expression, it seemed upset when it said, "Gramps, what are you-" Only it never finished before the barkeeper interrupted it, basically telling the Thing to get out.

The thing was now in rage. And had just... thrown the soldier out the door. He had been expecting something like that this time, so Gray didn’t mirror the exclamations of surprise. Instead, he stood up from the table, slinging his bag around his shoulder as he watched the Thing almost single-handedly make enemies with the Warui (which made no sense. Wasn’t the Thing part of the Warui?) and quite possibly with the way the barkeeper yelled at the Thing to get out, also with the barkeeper. At least the Thing was smart enough not to linger any further except to say, "I..I-I'm sorry Gramps, I never meant to put anyone in danger."

Which struck Gray as odd because the Thing didn’t really have to apologize. And then the Thing left. He followed after a few beats later, though no one seemed to notice nor care about his leaving.

And then he was doing something foolish as soon as he stepped outside. The Thing was a few feet away, seated on the steps in front of the bar, so Gray joined the Thing on the steps, sitting down as he said, “S-So this seems to happen to, um, you often.” Not like doing this was incredibly strange for him after so long of making sure all conversation was kept to a minimum.

“I’d t-think it’d have to happen lots of times if you, ah, you continuously throw people out doors. Is that some sort of habit o-or something? Certainly a-a strange one alright, but there’s definitely worse. It’s kind of w-weird to, uh, see a weird robot-person working in a bar. Everyone’s do-down on their luck, I suppose.” Oh, and he was babbling too. Lovely what nerves did to someone.
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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Wed Jul 24, 2013 5:58 am

Things had gone to shit real quick, much like he was told they wouldn't. It was a usual chilled winter night, and both snowflakes and manufactured fumes alike descended upon the Jersey streets like a permeating blanket, the street lights buzzed and flickered to life, illuminating the cracked paved roads. All was well, and most settled down for what seemed to be another peaceful evening. However, things were not planned to stay as such for much longer,not if Johnny, Pete, and the Tunnel Snake Boys had anything to do with it. The five of them stood under one of the newly lit street lights, particles fluttered down onto their ebony leather jackets as they loitered silently. The boys were analyzing their target that was located across the street, a small convenience store that stood as a primary source of groceries for many of the local residents, but tonight it was to a proving ground for Johnny Maximilian. The plan was simple; Johnny would walk in, pocket some snacks for the Boys, and get out. The rest was up to him, as in how to get in and out without Papa Joe, the store owner, noticing him. Johnny gulped, and jogged across the street, looking back to see that his fellow Snakes had dispersed, also knowing that they were lurking in the shadows, spectating silently from corners that he could not see them in. Johnny pushed the door open with his forearm, and a bell attached to the hinge chimed cheerfully as he entered. There were 3 rows of various food and miscellaneous items that stretched to the back entrance of the store, which Johnny realized was to stop petty thieves from committing similar acts to the one he was about to pull off very shortly. Johnny nodded to Papa Joe, the abnormally large slob who could be found in his usual spot behind the counter, his metal fan humming it's usual loud metallic sound as his eyes rolled up lazily to watch Johnny as he walked in, and rolled back down to their previous examination of the post he was reading. Johnny strolled until he came in front of the small packaged snack section. He extended his hand out slowly, any outright gesture would be apparent in the movement of his shoulders, as the rows were not high enough to match Johnny's tall frame. As Johnny stuffed the handfuls of snacks and packs of cigarettes (at the time, they were viewed as any other common object, and thus were shelved along normally like anything else in Joe's store) in his jacket, a certain package of peanuts gave off a light ruffled sound as the material crinkled in his hand, which Johnny muted with an awkward cough slightly louder in pitch. Papa Joe's eyes slowly rolled up and squinted at Johnny, but when nothing seemed out of the ordinary, they once again returned to the post. Lucky for the Maximilian boy that his jacket was slightly too large, fore it was capable of storing a surprising amount of goodies. Johnny made his way to the counter, and as he stood before the hunkering mass of sweaty slob, he pointed towards the icebox for a Coke which Papa Joe slowly reached for as Johnny dug in his jean pockets for the nickel that the beverage would cost.

"That's all for ya, Johnny?" Each blasé syllable rolled off Joe's triple chin lazily as he spoke.

"Yup. That'll do, Joe."

"What about those boys you were with across the street just now?"

"Oh,them?" Johnny cleared his throat quietly and scratched the back of his head. "They,uh, went home and Pete only gave me the change for us to split a Coke."

"I see.. Hey Johnny, you know smoking is a terrible habit." Johnny paused as he heard an audible sound under the counter. He looked up wide-eyed, and a sudden invigorating mixture of adrenaline and fear rushed to his head and ebbing through his blood as the barrel of the shotgun rose up and over the counter at the same time Johnny flung himself to the tiled floor. The first shot went off, which clipped the first shelve and sent a once-intact thing of packaged sweetrolls scattered all across the floor. Johnny hit the floor back first, he luckily was nicely padded by his leather jacket, which made for a good landing and also kept his pocketed loot safe. He bent his knees, and pushed off the wall with everything he was made of, sending him rocketing across the floor and at the first shelved row, he tucked his knees in and pivoted safely behind wooden shielding. Johnny immediately sprung to his knees, and Joe roared in indignation and shot at the ceiling, which showered white plaster down on him, much like an artificial interpretation of the soft powder that was falling outside. Johnny army crawled down the aisle, and around to the space between the third aisle and the wall. He looked up, and it was a  straight shot from here to the door, and to his buds. The adrenaline now pulsing through his being, there was one last thing he had to leave for this wretched Joe character. Johnny got into track position, just like in gym class, his sneakers slightly slipping on the smooth tile.

"TUNNEL." Johnny shouted, and with a low bellow he threw himself forward like a four legged predator, eyes never leaving that glass door.

"No no no!" Papa Joe roared as he let loose another shell, which scattered and knocked over the first aisle into the second, their respective contents now dumped,poured, and scattered all of the floor.

"SNAKES." Johnny cried out, not letting up any fury on his bipedal charge, as it was now a couple yards to his most desired prize. That friggin' door.

The second aisle had crashed into the third, and if Johnny didn't think of something fast, he would be pinned, and Papa Joe would save a lot on red paint for that particular wall, the only funding would go towards picking out the shells, and Johnny's brains. As the third aisle started it's slow descent, Johnny kicked reason and/or sanity to the curb, and lunged forward.

"RUUUUUUUUULE!" Johnny bellowed, and slightly grunted as his belly hit the tile, and was sent sliding, barely having time to raise his arms in front of his head as he came rocketing at the door. Unfortunately, there was no more protection for him, and nothing was in between the barrel of Papa Joe's shotgun and the crazed Maximilian boy. The slug exited the gun, and worked its way towards it's target. A fragment of the shell skimmed his back, leaving a winding scar on his jacket that everyone would say looked like an angry snake.

Instead of the door being slammed into opening, Johnny actually crashed through the glass frame, and was sent barreling down the front steps and sprawled out into the thin slushy snow. A shadowy figure loomed over Johnny, and the shadow brought a hand up to it's darkened face. Johnny blinked as a flame sparked up, and he watched as his big brother Pete cupped his hand over the flame to light the cigarette that was sticking out of his mouth. Pete flicked his zippo-lighter shut and stuffed the metal square into his coat pocket. Johnny couldn't help but lay in awe at his elder brother's sheer badass-ness. Snow was collecting on his short cropped hair, which means he had been standing there for quiet some time. His prescription glasses hung on the tip of his nose, and the lenses lit up with an orange glow as he lit his cig, the thin wispy smoke danced their numbers as they ascended into the sky. The cancer stick shuffled to the side of his mouth as he spoke.

"You alright, bro? Did you get the stuff?" He asked in a cool and collected tone.

"Yeah, Petey. I'm fine, and I got the stuff for ya!" Johnny chimed as his senses slowly came back to him, reaching into his coat pocket and handing Pete one of the many cartons of cigarettes he had managed to plunder in his escapade.

Pete took hold of the carton, examining it and smiling. "Very good, little brother. Just the kind I like! Ya did good, kid. Real good." A shell fragment ripped the current cig out of Pete's mouth, and both Maximilian brothers looked in surprise as Papa Joe stood over his broken iron door frame. "The next one is sure to hit, you little rats!" he hollered.

Petey grabbed Johnny's ankle and dragged him forcefully into the nearest alleyway, which luckily happened to be right behind them. "We're Snakes, not rats, you got that old man?! Don't you forget it! And that was my fresh stick, you're lucky I don't come over there and choke you out with that outdated newspaper of yours!" Petey frantically delved into the carton with his free hand, and stuck the first cigarette in his mouth, continuing to drag Johnny with the other. Later that night, all the Snakes had gathered around the ceremonial garbage can, which now expelled hungry flames, feeding off various trash that fluttered the streets. Petey had his arm around Johnny's shoulder, and everyone whooped as his little brother's daring escape was brought to life to the ones who didn't get to spectate, the story by no means needed exaggeration of any magnitude. From that day forward, slobby ole Papa Joe kept the cigarettes behind the counter, and word passed on to other store clerk's that similar precautions of their cigarette stocks were recommended.
                       ~          ~          ~         ~

Johnny felt his face get warm, both from the radiated sun and the thought of what the Warui officer had mentioned. Doctor Maximilian. That could only be one person, Johnny's beloved big brother. The poor boy would do anything and it's sister to get to see his bro again, having not seen him in nearly 3 years. If the officer hadn't bullshitted him, that means Johnny would still be able to see Big Petey, knowing very well he would presumably have to survive all variants of Hell to get to him. Which seemed like a small price for the one blood-related person Johnny had in this God-forsaken wasteland. He felt the presence of another person exit the bar and take a seat on the wooden steps next to him, Johnny not bothering to turn and look at the new guest.

“S-So this seems to happen to, um, you often.” The guy stuttered, his voice made him sound roughly the same in age to Johnny, which was a relief.

"I'd be lying if I denied your unfortunately-accurate observation, pal." A light chuckle escaped his mic.

"-w-weird to, uh, see a weird robot-person working in a bar. Everyone’s do-down on their luck, I suppose." Johnny didn't notice that he had spaced out, and also didn't notice the guy tried talking again. Most people would have left by now, and his continuing presence piqued Johnny's curiosity.

"Yeah, I didn't choose to be a 'weird robot-person', though... Say, that officer mentioned someone I think may be my big brother. You seem weird, too. So how would you like to accompany me?" Johnny held out his left gloved hand, and though the stranger couldn't see it, he was smiling underneath that hate-embodied welder's helmet.

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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Sun Jul 28, 2013 5:21 pm

"I'd be lying if I denied your unfortunately-accurate observation, pal." Gray flinched when he was answered by the Thing. The voice was a bit eerie this close but compared to some of the more mutated Survivors that lead to body horror bordering on Eldritch Abominations with voices to match, hearing something that seemed to be coming from a microphone couldn’t be seen as that bad.

Maybe it was still a bit creepy. Not in the first five of creepy voices, but maybe around the sixth, or seventh? Then again, he really hadn’t taken the time to categorize things like that.

“You seem weird, too. So how would you like to accompany me?" Wait what. Gray found himself voicing exactly that thought.

“Wait, w-what?” Okay, think about it, he could do that. For one thing, did he just get insulted? That didn’t happen often when someone had a request for him--at least if they did, it was when they thought he couldn’t hear them, but never this blatantly. Admittedly, this wasn’t that big of a deal, it just seemed to have been the first thing he mulled over.

Secondly. A companion for travel. Somewhat. It sounded like a good portion of it would be under the Thing’s ordain of where they’d be going, but did Gray even have a specific route? That would be a no.

Travel was dangerous, and traveling alone was pretty much asking for suicide. On one hand, it was easier (for him) to predict when attacks might come. Relatedly, even when he did know trouble was coming, it was hard to avoid it or prevent injury. On the other hand the Thing threw a man out the door. Any problems could be solved just as easily.

If worse came to worse, a robotic person would be easy to run away from. Er, hopefully.

Gray rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the Thing once he figured his decision. “I-I don’t think you put much thought into that question.” He said, then added, “But, uh, seeing as the last person to disagree with you g-got a one-way trip out the door, there’s not much I can say to disagree.”
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PostSubject: Re: Hell Hath No Fury [The more the merrier~]   Thu Sep 12, 2013 11:36 am

The stranger's interaction with Johnny was something the lad was all too familiar with, while it pained him like a sharp wound to see yet another person think of him as some weapon of mass destruction (unknown to him, that's exactly what he was less than a year ago), he couldn't lie to himself and say he was surprised or was expecting anything different. It was reactions just like this new found companion's- Johnny-proclaimed, of course- that made life so hard in the City of Kibatsuna for the metallic monstrosity. Hardly anyone would want to run the risk of accepting a Warui experiment that claims it isn't harmful into their lives and around their business and family, and deep down inside Johnny knew he couldn't blame a single one of them. Now he had done it, this was the final straw in the residential agreement the City apprehensively approved for him. All Johnny had done was piss off the Warui and prove to Kibatsuna that he really is an unhinged freak, but Johnny was leaving with this scrawny man that, quite oddly, confronted the machine on his own. No one had ever done that before, so Johnny couldn't let the once-in-a-life opportunity for a friend like this have a 'get out of jail free' card. Somewhere within the stutters of the man's speech, Johnny plucked out the agreement to join him on this quest of his.

Johnny had his back faced to the stranger that was sitting on the steps and was instead gazing out on the vast expanses of the Sabaku Desert, which shimmered and glowed under the immense power of the sun. When he spoke, it was in a calm but assurtive tone. "Hey...just so you know what you're getting yourself into, I'm looking for someone that is very important to me. Hell will most definitely unleash by the time I- we, by the time we get to this person, as we're probably gonna end up pulling some drastic measures. Hopefully we get into a couple gunfights, because that'd totally be badass. But that's beside the point. What am I saying is-" the machine turned and faced the man now. "- is that you're in good hands, and I wouldn't have asked you to join me if I didn't have the intention of protecting you to the best of my abilities." Johnny raised his left hand in a fist and punched in the direction of the stranger, before giving him a gloved thumbs up. Though it probably wasn't noticeable to most, Johnny's visor was emitting a glowing green light that was brighter than usual, and it was expected in the sudden direction Johnny was sure his life was going in. It all seemed to happen in a blur that made his head spin. He got to kick someone out a door, he made his first friend in this apocalypse, and not only will he be looking for the most important person in his life, Johnny figured he'll be able to find out the reason he was condemned to this suit- and more importantly how he could go about taking it off.

Johnny lowered his hand, and it seemed that this touching moment had come to its end for now. Johnny slightly chuckled through the mic, which came out with a hint static in it. "I think we've loitered long enough. I know I can take an angry bartender shotgun blast, but," Johnny scanned (quite literally) his friend's physique before snickering again "you look like you'd be swept away if the wind picked up." He figured he'd lighten the mood of the current situation, but it was plenty apparent that Johnny was wanting to get out of here at this point. They had a long and perilous road ahead of them, and the sooner they left, the better. Johnny swung his drill up and rested it on his right shoulder, he then extended his left hand for the stranger to take; both to help him get up, and to seal their contract of adventure together. This was the final step in what Johnny deemed his liberation, and he couldn't help but feel giddy about that. "What do you say partner, should we get this show on the road?"

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