Robert Callaghan // ʏ๏кคเ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pushtheboundaries) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2015-04-01 11:08 am
pushtheboundaries) wrote in tushanshu_logs2015-04-01 11:08 am
OPEN LOG; The Masked Man
CHARACTERS; Yokai and YOU!
DATE; Throughout the month of April. [Mostly at night.]
LOCATION; All about Keeliai!
SITUATION; A certain old man has terrible coping methods when it comes to dealing with racing thoughts and stress. A certain masked man finds himself exploring Keelai through yellowed eyes, and may or may not be running in to trouble in the meantime.
WARNINGS/RATINGS; Possible violence. Otherwise, nothing past PG-13.
See me, the red lines cry. See my role in this story, see that I have a wrong to right; see that I am power and that I will not be denied.
Callaghan hadn't chosen the mask without being ignorant of its meaning; he had, however, chosen it for a multitude of reasons. All symbolism aside, it offered full-face coverage, and hardly blocked his peripheral vision. Secured with the ski mask underneath, it would take (and had taken) a heavy strike to knock off, but since arriving here in Keeliai, he'd made a few further tweaks to ensure that if, for whatever reason, he had to don it again...
To be fair, he hadn't considered donning it for the freedom it offered. Dressing in the outfit again felt inherently good, as did running along the building edges with the microbots enhancing his movements. He did not know parkour, per se, but he didn't need to - not when the microbots were there by his feet to give him the push or pull he needed to cross an alley, not when they could toss him in to the air and his own strength could grab on to a protrusion to haul himself in to another position.
God, but this felt good. It felt right. And as long as he could keep himself out of view, the microbots next to him, and the terrain itself from betraying him...
He just had to be careful, was all. Without nearly as many microbots as he had before, he tried to keep to the shadows. And if that ended up with him overseeing a few gang members or so...?
On one hand, it wasn't any of his business.
On the other, there's something to be said about getting carried away.
((Over the course of the month, rumors will begin to spread regarding a mysterious figure, some mugging incidents [unclear as to what side they were partaking in], and some thefts as well. feel free to put a general time period/area in your first comment, or PM/plurk me and we can do something specific!))
DATE; Throughout the month of April. [Mostly at night.]
LOCATION; All about Keeliai!
SITUATION; A certain old man has terrible coping methods when it comes to dealing with racing thoughts and stress. A certain masked man finds himself exploring Keelai through yellowed eyes, and may or may not be running in to trouble in the meantime.
WARNINGS/RATINGS; Possible violence. Otherwise, nothing past PG-13.
See me, the red lines cry. See my role in this story, see that I have a wrong to right; see that I am power and that I will not be denied.
Callaghan hadn't chosen the mask without being ignorant of its meaning; he had, however, chosen it for a multitude of reasons. All symbolism aside, it offered full-face coverage, and hardly blocked his peripheral vision. Secured with the ski mask underneath, it would take (and had taken) a heavy strike to knock off, but since arriving here in Keeliai, he'd made a few further tweaks to ensure that if, for whatever reason, he had to don it again...
To be fair, he hadn't considered donning it for the freedom it offered. Dressing in the outfit again felt inherently good, as did running along the building edges with the microbots enhancing his movements. He did not know parkour, per se, but he didn't need to - not when the microbots were there by his feet to give him the push or pull he needed to cross an alley, not when they could toss him in to the air and his own strength could grab on to a protrusion to haul himself in to another position.
God, but this felt good. It felt right. And as long as he could keep himself out of view, the microbots next to him, and the terrain itself from betraying him...
He just had to be careful, was all. Without nearly as many microbots as he had before, he tried to keep to the shadows. And if that ended up with him overseeing a few gang members or so...?
On one hand, it wasn't any of his business.
On the other, there's something to be said about getting carried away.
((Over the course of the month, rumors will begin to spread regarding a mysterious figure, some mugging incidents [unclear as to what side they were partaking in], and some thefts as well. feel free to put a general time period/area in your first comment, or PM/plurk me and we can do something specific!))
no subject
It's hardly a fair fight. Hiro's nowhere near a trained soldier, for one, and nowhere near the masked man's size, for another; nor is he armed with his own microbots, which were designed to endure more force than Hiro could possibly exert and not break. He strikes concrete instead of foot with his elbow (s h i t), curls in on himself in pain, and moves too slowly to avoid being grabbed and pinned and goddammit. He kicks and twists ineffectually, but he's not big enough - not strong enough -
And then there's an arm around his neck and his brain blanks out in terror. He's nothing if not persistent, though, squirming desperately against the masked man's grip and digging nails into his wrist and yelling in hopes somebody will maybe hear him.]
I am taking far too much delight in Hiro's terror tbh
twist-
in a detached sort of way, Robert can appreciate how different this is from the previous ones. he'd never gotten this physical with Hiro before, not even in the worst of the scuffle- there had always been something distinctly impersonal about it before, a matter of taking care of business, so to speak. between the microbots and even Baymax, both their hands were clean.
but he's only so many microbots, and there's no Baymax, here. there's his rational mind noting that there is no way this can end well, and the more emotional side of him desperate to simply keep this from getting worse.
he shifts his position, bearing down on Hiro, his own breathing ragged and stilted from stress]
RUDE
- pressure. Hurts. And for maybe a couple of seconds he panics and kicks up more of a fight, twisting his head from side to side and jerking against the microbots holding him until his vision starts to fuzz out around the edges and he feels lightheaded (too fast. shouldn't this take longer?). He squeezes his eyes shut.
Maybe he can fake unconsciousness and th
Not even seconds enough to finish the thought before the sudden drop in blood pressure takes him out, eyes rolling back into his head and everything going limp.]
wrap up here i figure?
there's a pulse. Robert bows his head and closes his eyes, a minute amount of tension bleeding out of him. he feels...somewhere between exhausted and nauseated, to be honest, and there was barely even a /fight/. it's the fact that this isn't a matter of microbots and armored assistants, but the fact that if he kept the chokehold a few seconds later, he could have seriously crippled if not flat-out murdered Hiro.
murdered.
he swallows, and realizes that he can't...he can't finish this. not here and now. for all the situation, he can't do it here, not when there's nothing to gain from it and nothing to lose, either. he picks himself up, ignores the trembling in his hands, and takes hold of Hiro by the jacket collar.
he needs to...get out of here. can't leave Hiro here. maybe- if he does this right-
maybe he can convince Hiro this was all some sort of nightmare. some...dream. there's dreaming here, he's had a bit of it himself, but he just needs to...
get out of here.
in very short order, there's nothing to the building to note that he was ever here in the first place, nor Hiro- aside from a wrench, lying in the middle of the floor, perfectly innocent and forgotten.]