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( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 7
Like it or not, you've been dragged from your world into the sanctum. It's a pretty nice city, all things considered--sci-fi, high-tech, glamourous.... Except, of course, for the giant dome encircling it, and the threat of glitching, contaminated zombies at your door. Looks like humanity's built itself a fortress that looks suspiciously like a cage, too. Toss in the odd memory blanks and the everpresent logo of Bifrons incorporated and it's enough to make someone paranoid.
The object of this meme is to get people familiar with the world of the Sanctum, and to try to see if their characters would fit in a sci-fi utopia such as this. Here are your options:
1. Intro: Waking Up. Make your intro post, folks. You wake up in a strange place, and get a strange transmission to go with it. There's a pair of glasses connected to some sort of communications network, but otherwise not much else in the room with you. What are you going to do?
2. Pet Adoption. Maybe you have the perfect genetically engineered pet in mind. Maybe you found a stray little escapee--do you keep it or turn it in? There's a reward if you let Bifrons know where the potentially dangerous little bugger is at, after all.
3. Alterations. Feel like you need an edge in the city? Find yourself injured and looking at options? Why not consider genetic alterations or, better yet, upgrading to a better, healthier you? Be warned, some of the side effects can be a little unpleasant.
4. Network Glitches. Strange garbled messages keep trying to come through in audio and text, but no way to track where they're coming from. Do you try to make contact? Compare notes with others? Surely it's nothing to be concerned about, right?
5. Dome Glitches. What was that in the window? There, again, in the bathroom mirror! Is that another you, living another life? Or maybe you spot an ominous shadow lurking around in the corner, something like a dysthrope but...worse. You're not going crazy, are you? Others see it, too, don't they? Oh, I wouldn't touch that reflective surface if I were you, or you might end up thinking you're living in that strange other world.
6. Outside the Dome. You're out and about without an armed escort, suited up against the atmosphere and dysthropes. It's supposed to be a green sector in this run down shell of what used to be a suburb, right? Nothing could possibly go wrong
7. WILDCARD. Choose your own adventure or create a cocktail from the presented options! The choice is YOURS.
no subject
The truth of the matter was that Harry just wasn't used to being dead. It wasn't easy to think of one's life in the past-tense. Regardless of preference or will, funerals and estate sales were not really a cause of concern for those who passed on. Being dead, there was no opening a box and suddenly remembering the importance of specific objects long forgotten, or any way to ensure they were given to the right person.
Harry was actually quite sentimental about his things, or so he discovered in those thirty seconds of drinking and pondering. This was not something he had previously realized.
"No, it's quite alright. You should have it." Fuck. He had taken too long to reply. Not only was the gap of silence rude and uncomfortable, but allowing himself too much time to sit in his feelings had created an uncomfortable knot in his gut. Eggsy was a bright boy, and he knew Harry better than Harry knew he did. The carefully selected mask he worse wouldn't be enough to disguise his emotions.
"I should have left the damned house to you." But he had gotten himself killed before any will could have been changed, not that he would have foreseen a reason to do so. Harry had always believed he would die another day.
First class job. Splendid way to leave the boy with a lasting impression.
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Silence stretched, and for a moment Eggsy wondered if he had stepped over some boundary he shouldn't have. Though, to be fair, he had thought Harry was dead, and Merlin had confirmed the man had no living relatives. Taking something from the estate was no issue, and would have made little difference in the selling. He had just wanted little notes of Harry to keep for himself, small things to put away and take out as reminders of the man he had aspired to make proud of him, that he had aspired to be, whose shoes he now had to try and fill as best he could.
His brows turned in a little at that last bit, mouth tugging down at the corners, not quite a pout, but a purse of confusion. "Why would you..." he began and then stopped himself. Don't question it Eggsy. Accept it. Accept the gesture, because it made him feel warm inside, made him feel like he hadn't done everything wrong, though he half wondered if it was just Harry trying to make up for the mistake of his father.
"It would have needed a paint job," he said instead, picking up his glass and swallowing. "And Mr. Pickles would definitely have to find a new place to sit. Not sure I could take a shit with him watching me. So really, it's fine."
no subject
Harry had almost forgotten about Mr.Pickles, where would he end up? Probably at the bottom of a landfill, with everything else that was only valuable in sentiment. Harry had a considerable sum of money in the bank and no family to receive it. With no outstanding debt to his name what was the point in liquidating his estate?
He was trying very hard not to be bitter, or let his emotions get the better of him. Neither the twisting of his stomach or the tears prickling in his eyes served any purpose. He couldn't blame the Kingsmen or state for following procedure.
Honestly, he could only be angry at himself.
It was his own damn fault. Truth be told Harry couldn't have given a fuck what happened with his money, house or stuffed dog before he died. Being dead, whether Mr.Pickles ended up in a dumpster or on Merlin's coffee table, would no longer be his concern. Or so he had wrongly assumed.
Hindsight being 20/20, Harry did give a fuck.
"Don't be ridiculous! It was only painted last year." He pinches the brow of his nose and squeezes, grimacing behind his hand at the sharpness of his raised voice. There was a time and place for hysterics but it wasn't in front of Eggsy and certainly not in public.
"Ah, thank you." He almost sighed with relief when the scotch arrived, "Cheers."
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Knowing the other like he did, he didn't miss the sudden wetness in his eyes. It was such an odd thing on a Kingsman's face that it stood out like a sore thumb. But like a proper gentleman he didn't speak of it, didn't ask what was wrong since he could probably guess. It wasn't a conversation for public ears, anyways. They could talk about it in private, later maybe, but not here. Otherwise he might loose it too. He already had before composing himself, which he still didn't feel bad about.
Though to be honest, he wouldn't know what to do with Harry if he was in hysterics. He barely had known what to do when the other was angry at him, disappointed. It had felt crushing, leaving a hollow place in his chest, a feeling he thought he'd long ago become immune to.
"With a look from twenty years ago," he countered. "You did see the wallpaper you chose, didn't you? Who chooses wallpaper anymore?" He took his scotch and raised it up slightly, holding it out to him to toast. "Cheers," he agreed, clinking before tossing the scotch back, giving his eyes a reason to burn at the edges.
"Have you looked where you're living yet?" he asked, setting his glass down.
oh hay guiz, ok if I butt in on this reunion hella late?
He had come into the bar first and foremost to get a scotch into him, because waking up in what appeared to be another time, if not another world, rather made him think he might deserve it. Secondly, bars and public houses were a good source of intelligence as they were in the business of selling social lubricant. Most people with a few drinks in them were inclined to be indulgent, especially if you were willing to foot the bill for another.
But Merlin hadn't quite gotten to that second step yet, because about as soon as he walked through the door, he'd seen Gary "Eggsy" Unwin swirling out of his booth and into another, embracing a figure whose face Merlin could not see at the time, but was nonetheless a familiar shape. He definitely needed the drink then.
The more time that passed while he sat at that bar, observing, the more real the situation became to him. Merlin was a man who believed in facts and evidence before he entertained speculation or his own feelings. While he certainly didn't want to believe that he'd been unceremoniously removed from what he considered to be his rightful place, there was nonetheless evidence to support that he had been, and in such a way that the probability of returning any time soon did not appear to be a promising one. In this case, however, it was much the opposite. He wanted to believe what he was seeing was the truth, and the more he watched the two men in their booth, the more gestures or the stray note of a voice rang with familiarity, and the more it appeared as if his desires might be in line with the facts.
But of course, he had to be sure. Not only that, it was imperative he make his own presence known to the one compatriot he was certain was there.
"Gentlemen," Came the dark Scottish brogue as Merlin came to stand beside the table. His arms were behind him in a military man's parade rest, holding his drink hidden in one hand. "Now this is a turn-up for the books, isn't it? May I join you?"
As if he had bumped into them both in an out of the way pub in London, rather than a bar in another universe. As if one of them wasn't dead when they left it.
But Merlin's casualness aside, there was only one direction for the eyes behind the new pair of glasses, and that was directly on the face of Harry fucking Hart.