lend a (robotic) hand?

[smugreport]

Passengers: Rhys and YOU
Location: Dorms, Infirmary
Date: April 7th
Summary: Rhys wakes from the sim with low robo-part batteries
Warnings: none (yet)



Dorms (OTA)

[ Rhys wakes with a start like it was all a bad (really bad) dream, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. It's all pure panic for those first few moments as he comes back to himself, back from his "death", organic hand patting over his face and robotic arm to assure that they're intact and normal.

Finally he sits up, moves the scrub both his hands over his face....but the robotic one doesn't follow the organics lead. He pauses mid motion, one hand in his hair, the other unmoving beside him. ]

Oh...oh shit.

[ He scrambles up from his bed in an attempt to quickly get to his trunk of belongings and get at the tools he needs for a recharge (please please let it only need a recharge) but the dead weight of the arm messes with his balance, making him unsteady in his haste, barely catching himself on the mattress when he falls. ]


Infirmary (OTA)
[ He doesn't want to leave the infirmary if he can help it. It's safe in here, warden protection gur-an-tee, no chance of some asshole looking for the opportunity to get him while he's down an arm or take the arm himself. He can't help but feel pretty vulnerable while he's in a state like this, even as he sits securely in the infirmary on one of the beds, scrolling through his commlink balanced on his lap and occasionally glancing at his arm to check the charging status.

The one issue with wanting to seek shelter while doing this is that he is BORED, and he'll welcome (almost) any company at the moment, especially if it prevents him from having to think hard on what happened in the Simulation. ]

Comments

infirmary

[nineteenfortyfive]

It's more than a little obvious that Rhys is content to camp in the infirmary, and really, Claire doesn't mind the company. He's better company than herself, and thoughts that keep trailing back to things better left to fester in the dark. For now.

"This really is a wonder," she says, peering at the charging arm. Her fingers tap against her folded arms restlessly. "My son has a wooden hand, you know. I always thought it better than a hook, but he'd love something like this."

Beyond imagination in the 1700s. Her chest tightens uncomfortably, because she misses her family. More so now, when she feels like she's lived someone else's life, someone who didn't have an army of children and grandchildren. Only--

[smugreport]

[ He's at the point where he lets the act drop a bit with Claire, and he's still shaken up enough about it all that it's hard to muster all that pompous bravado and smarm at this point anyways (at least in person.)

He gives a small but genuine smile at the compliment over his arm. His baby. One of the few physical representations of how he built himself back up after literally falling from space. ]

Thanks. I uh- I hope he lost it in a cooler way then I did in there.

[nineteenfortyfive]

I don't know... [She says on a sigh, coming over to look at his shoulder now, because that's just as fascinating!!!]

Is getting your hand chopped off by a soldier "cooler" than what happened to you?

[Fighting the redcoats, Fergus had proclaimed proudly when she'd reached for his hands and found one missing. Jamie had later explained the finer details of that tragedy, and all Claire could hear is you weren't there.]

[smugreport]

[ He gives a visible wince at that, especially now that he has the knowledge of what losing a limb to a less than scrupulous medical team. They'd been gracious enough to give him anesthetic then, but that was probably just cause they didn't want him to die from the shock. Then they'd have never gotten their money. Assholes. ]

Kinda? Losing it in battle is cooler sounding than losing it for money. Plus, I bet he was happy to get taken care of after.

[ eyeroll emoji ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

He did get a lot of wine and whisky.

[A young boy, doused in alcohol to cope with the pain of a severed hand? Oh, he was thrilled. It's not like Claire could have offered him much more, given the times.]

How are you feeling, Rhys?

[smugreport]

I can't believe they won't let us inmates drink even for a day after all that. It seems like, actively cruel?

[ Though drinking wasn't specifically what he had in mind with that comment. It was just nice, getting cared for after feeling more alone then he ever had in that life. There he didn't even have the hope of Vaughn somehow being alive, of coming back from the worst of where his life had gotten. ]

Now that you've brought it up, I feel like I could use a drink.

[ He gives her a hopeful smile, like somehow she could pull some strings and get them something? C'mon. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

You are inmates, remember. [Here for various crimes and whatnot. Claire sits on the edge of the bed, eyebrow lifting at that smile.]

Are you trying to charm me, Rhys Strongfork?

infirmary

[dealwiththe]

[ (Un?)fortunately, Lucifer's job as his temp warden is specifically to, like... make him think about things he probably wouldn't otherwise want to think about, in addition to making sure he's got all of his physical needs taken care of.

So... sorry, Rhys, you get company but possibly not the conversation you were hoping for. ]

How're you feeling?

[ Oh yeah, he's leading with that one. ]

[smugreport]

Issss it working?

[ He waggles his stupid eyebrows. ]

I'm down an entire arm, what's the worst I could do?

[smugreport]

[ There's worse company than Lucifer. The man had done him a solid finding out about Vaughn, Rhys can't deny that. That and he likes being checked in on, the attention of being cared after.

Rhys rolls his empty shoulder, stretches his neck side to side. ]

After dying a horrible death in a simulation that felt entirely real? I've been better.

Seriously, why'd they program the ability to feel pain in that thing?

[dealwiththe]

[ Lucifer snorts faintly as he sits, crossing his legs casually. His relaxed posture somewhat belies the seriousness of what he's saying, though. ]

Everything is more impactful when you're vulnerable to hurt. Not just the pain.

[smugreport]

Oh yeah, the emotional pain stuff was pretty uncalled for too. Like, I just found out Vaughn isn't dead so why-

[ He lets out a hard sigh. ]

I don't like being screwed with like that. Uncool.

[dealwiththe]

No one does. But that's life. Things happen that we can't control.

[ Lucifer's had to figure that one out, too. ]

You can sit around being pissed off at the universe, or the Navarch, or whoever you want, or you can do something.

[smugreport]

I'm not not doing anything! I mean I am right now because, y'know.

[ He gestures to his charging arm. ]

But I have plans to do things! And I can have those plans and not want to have my head messed with at the same time, cause I'm really sick of that happening.

[dealwiththe]

What sort of plans do you have?

[ A curious tilt of his head accompanies that question. ]

[smugreport]

I was thinking a rebrand tour. Companies do it all the time! And since I'm the face of a company

[ He nods like Lucifer must get it. ]

Tidy up my image a bit, then I can work on promoting the one good idea the Simulation gave me.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She rolls her eyes.]

As sympathetic as I am, if you want to use me for a drink, you'll have to earn it.

[smugreport]

No one said anything about using! It'd be more like bonding? Team building?

[ Mostly genuine! Mostly. ]

But hypothetically, what would you want me to do to earn it?

[nineteenfortyfive]

Oh? Sitting together while your arm recharges isn't bonding or team building?

[Rude, Rhys. Claire sighs, very dramatically, and crosses her arms.]

I don't know if you're capable of meeting the challenge.

[smugreport]

But what kind of bonding can't be improved by a couple of drinks, right?

[ He gives a lopsided smile. He knows he probably won't win this but still, he's not ready to stop pushing. ]

[ He puts a hand to his chest and the next part though, faux affronted. ]

You wound me. Challenge is my middle name.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[He's a Challenge, all right, but Claire keeps that to herself.]

If you can go a month without getting into trouble, engaging in a fight on the network, I will happily provide you a drink.

[She doesn't think this is going to work.]

[smugreport]

[ He purses his lips, considering. ]

What about self defense? Life if Travis goes on some kind of smear campaign? Wouldn't you say standing up for yourself is important?

[nineteenfortyfive]

I would, but you need to pick your battles, Rhys. So what if Travis says anything about you? Do you really think people listen to what comes out of his mouth? Please.

[She has a memory from the simulation of him, and she felt sympathy then, but now she just shakes her head to get that out of her mind.]

[dealwiththe]

Right. Your image.

And, what, you think if you have the right image, then you'll be able to get out of here?

[smugreport]

He’s a dick, and plenty of people around here don’t like him.

[ He blows out a puff of air ]

But I think they respect him, for some reason. If I let him get ahead he’d run the whole narrative.

[ Travis fits in in a way Rhys has been incapable of finding his own little niche to fit in here. He’s a boorish, violent piece of shit but he belongs and is looked to as an equal or more by plenty of the inmates. And while Rhys doesn’t want to be like them, hypocritically he still wants to be wanted like that. To belong. Travis shit talking? He figures that’ll push him down the ranks further. ]