Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
silph_co2019-10-09 02:05 pm
uber_marionettist) wrote in silph_co2019-10-09 02:05 pm
Open Log
Who: Dirk Strider and you(?)
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early October
Summary: Dirk joined Team Rocket voluntarily, now he haunts the kitchen at weird hours.
Rating: PG13 because Dirk
300 hours and change.
The light is on in the kitchen.
Living ('living') in this world has been taxing, actually. If he's travelling, he's free of people, of noise, of the rising paranoia and fraying nerves that come with noise and crowding, the vertigo between the unreal and too-real. If he's in town, he can take a goddamn shower--a much, much more vital part of Dirk Strider's lifestyle than he can stand to be without.
Joining Team Rocket is almost the perfect solution.
Almost, because he's still sharing a space with other people, and almost, because he still has to get the hell out.
But sitting here at 3 am, his merry muppet of a Carnivine wrapped around his torso and limbs like the strings to an unruly marionette (and stealing 2 out of 3 mouthfuls of kimchi, the fucker), it's pretty close to tolerable. He's not even obligated to wear that travesty of a 'uniform' inside the base.Pretty much the only thing that getup has going for it is that it's black. Whatever oil or blood or whatever he wipes off doesn't have to be seen or cared about until he's done. Done with what? Done with figuring out how to build a fucking robot in a place where the laws of physics are no longer his merry playground, mostly.
Currently he is nowhere near done. He is near going on 40 hours awake, though. And he's not sure how hungry he actually is (or what time it was when last he ate), so his idea of a compromise is tinned sardines, jarred kimchi, and a protein shake.
Breakfast(?) of Champions(?!)
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early October
Summary: Dirk joined Team Rocket voluntarily, now he haunts the kitchen at weird hours.
Rating: PG13 because Dirk
300 hours and change.
The light is on in the kitchen.
Living ('living') in this world has been taxing, actually. If he's travelling, he's free of people, of noise, of the rising paranoia and fraying nerves that come with noise and crowding, the vertigo between the unreal and too-real. If he's in town, he can take a goddamn shower--a much, much more vital part of Dirk Strider's lifestyle than he can stand to be without.
Joining Team Rocket is almost the perfect solution.
Almost, because he's still sharing a space with other people, and almost, because he still has to get the hell out.
But sitting here at 3 am, his merry muppet of a Carnivine wrapped around his torso and limbs like the strings to an unruly marionette (and stealing 2 out of 3 mouthfuls of kimchi, the fucker), it's pretty close to tolerable. He's not even obligated to wear that travesty of a 'uniform' inside the base.Pretty much the only thing that getup has going for it is that it's black. Whatever oil or blood or whatever he wipes off doesn't have to be seen or cared about until he's done. Done with what? Done with figuring out how to build a fucking robot in a place where the laws of physics are no longer his merry playground, mostly.
Currently he is nowhere near done. He is near going on 40 hours awake, though. And he's not sure how hungry he actually is (or what time it was when last he ate), so his idea of a compromise is tinned sardines, jarred kimchi, and a protein shake.
Breakfast(?) of Champions(?!)
no subject
"The only thing gross about it is the absolutely disgusting bioavailable protein content of this here meal." Is he tone deaf or just totally indifferent to whether or not people want to talk about nutritional science at 3 in the goddamn morning?
Yes.
But Dirk hasn't turned around, while the Carnivine is watching--its flat, muppetlike head rotated on its ovoid body, round ping-pong ball eyes staring at the back of Steve's head. Is that a smile?
Hard to say.
Maybe because its mouth takes up its entire head?
no subject
Is he even using real words? Probably not. A real genius wouldn't be dumb enough to sit there eating something he doesn't even like. Steve rifles through the cupboard, happily oblivious of the eyes boring into the the back of his skull. Soon, he happens upon an unopened pack of cookies. He tears it open haphazardly to toss the Stunky one before biting into one himself.
It's at that moment Steve chooses to turn, finally setting eyes on the strange, plant like Pokémon. A few chunks fall out of his open mouth, dropping to the ground. The Stunky hops down after them, abruptly transforming into a miniature vacuum cleaner at his feet.
Steve's mouth snaps shut, his cheeks heating up at being startled by the... whatever the heck that thing is.
"What are you looking at, buttsnack?" he demands, taking another, more successful bite of his cookie.
Please let me know if this is too fucking bananas
What? No, really. What? What does that mean?
Dirk is struggling mightily on the first part of this conversation. The intellectual equivalent of running headfirst into a brick wall is followed by a mad scramble to reach the apparent conclusion--which is somehow the literal opposite of what he just said. Frankly, this is gonna take more than mere acrobatic pirouettes, with or without a handle to fly off of.
But then--
Oh. Oh, holy shit.
Is that even allowed?
"Seems like you have a type." Dirk gestures back at the Stunky and leans back in his chair, though he doesn't turn around.
"I like it. This one pushes all the right buttons coming and going."
Academically, Dirk knows the limits of good taste exist, even though he doesn't believe in them. He has never had a close relationship with them, and in fact has no idea what they might look like. Still, he knows they exist. With a word like 'buttsnack,' though, that's an invitation. Why would you ever say something like that--unless you intended to imply exactly what he's intimating himself?
"But I guess if you really liked ass, you'd know mine's second rate at best. Which leaves me catching one of two conclusions: one, you're talking to your own pet, in which case that'd be your business. Props on getting past the kiddie game censors, man. Alternately, you're picking on me and my bro Fermat here. Which would be my business. And we already established that my ass isn't that choice--not for lack of trying, mind--so we might have a problem."
Haha, nah, you're good!
Steve looks gormless, obviously unsure what Dirk means by the first part. The Stunky continues to sniff noisily around his feet for non-existent crumbs, uncaring of the conflict unfolding around him. No one's ever told him how buttsnack sounds, or if they've tried, he hasn't listened. There are a lot of things Steve doesn't listen to.
Of course, even he can't miss what Dirk is getting at when he starts talking about his ass. If he were looking he'd see Steve's face become the picture of mortification. As it is, he can probably still hear it in the way his voice cracks. More so than it usually does even.
"I don't care about your ass, weirdo. Tell your bro to quit staring and we won't have a problem."
It isn't smart to pick fights when you're a newbie in what seems to be a serious criminal organisation, but Steve can't help himself. He's the bottom of the pack and quite honestly has no idea what he's meant to be doing. He has everything to prove if he ever wants to rise beyond that.
This icon is emoting more than he is lol
his Ultimate selfan unstable man with absolutely no grasp of human limits or skill for interactions.Steve's reaction is pretty funny, if also somewhat disappointing in the same way that most interactions are disappointing.
It's a feeling that takes a weird turn, the kind of weird that sets your teeth on edge, fhe way crushed glass feels weird when ground against the concrete beneath your heel. A crooked smile jerks one side of his mouth up. Like a smirk, if the smirk's motives were shadier than his glasses.
He cranes his neck, turning his head at a genuinely uncomfortable angle in an attempt to look at his Carnivine, but Fermat's head is resting on top of his. It's a good thing he's finally embraced his own aesthetic and started wearing hats or his hair would not survive this treatment.
"Sounds like someone needs to unclench." He reaches up and around the flat plane of Fermat's mouth to pat it somewhere between the weird, wide staring eyes.
Fermat is definitely still staring at Steve. Is it even going to blink? Would it be better or worse if it did?
And then it begins to uncoil from Dirk's arms, bracing leaves against the back of his chair to try and get a closer look.
no subject
"I'll unclench when I'm good and ready," Steve bites out, which sounded more intimidating in his head than it does out loud. Not that he intends to show it. He's almost 17. A real tough guy who doesn't get freaked out by creepy plants with weird, unblinking eyes.
Not even when they start leaning in closer...
As it turns out, his resolve isn't great there. As the bizarrely large head leans in closer, Steve leans back without really meaning to, until his back's touching the counter.
He can't stop staring at those eyes. And those teeth. Are they teeth...? He can't make sense of some of these animals. A living plant shouldn't even be possible.
(No, it doesn't occur to him that a plant is actually a living thing.)
It's about that moment that the Stunky he'd almost forgotten about gets impatient snuffling around the floor for crumbs, and jumps up, his sharp claws tugging insistently at the material of Steve's pants. He jumps about a mile at the unexpected reminder of his own Pokémon's presence, his shoulder connecting painfully (and noisily) with the cupboard door he'd left open earlier. It hadn't exactly been his plan, but the skunk makes a strange, wheezing sound. Almost like he's laughing...?
"Urgh, Stink Bomb! Why can't you just lay off for, like, five seconds?"
no subject
Like the reverse puppeteering it's so fond of, and which he's now actually pretty well free of, because in order to get closer to Steve, Fermat had to surrender its grip on Dirk's arms and then Steve collided with the cupboards and now Fermat is floating--yes, floating, levitating a few inches off the ground like a vacant-eyed UFO--behind Dirk's chair, opening and closing its mouth periodically but making no actual sound.
Like a deep sea fish trawling for food, maybe.
The asymmetric half-smile deviates slightly as he represses a laugh at this half-wit.
"It seems I might have been wrong about the brains of this outfit."
His eyes linger on the Stunky and he falls silent, distracted.
God, but he has a headache. Not like he's overworked or anything. (Lol.) Like someone set a receiver in between channels and is turning up the volume and he can't get out of the room fast enough, only instead of sound it physically fills the air and he can feel it against his skin like 60-grit sandpaper and gravel. That, but inside his head. It hurts.
A robot's head full of rattling rocks, agitated at about 70 rpm.
no subject
The Stunky seems a little smug at Dirk's assessment, his strange little snicker continuing for a moment. He still wants those cookies, but.... that's probably not happening while his trainer's distracted by the Carnivine. He's kind of put out by that.
Steve, meanwhile, flushes angrily.
"Are you calling me stupid, buttsnack?"
One would think Steve would switch up his insults after what Dirk had made of it the first time, but no. It's been his go to for so long he doesn't even really think about it. Which is, of course, the source of a number of his problems.
"I'll give you an out this time, because I'm nice like that. But you might want to think carefully about insulting me next time."
Never mind that Steve's been by far the more aggressive one here. Stink Bomb huffs, pawing at Steve's pants once again. This time he manages not injure himself, simply frowning down at him.
I swear I'm not ignoring your tags Dirk is just so self absorbed
Dirk raises one eyebrow, a gesture he's perfected through practise.
It's flawlessly timed, and covers for the fact that he's struggling to contain what is either total panicked incomprehension or an actual breakdown into laughter.
Up til now he's had some kind of plausible deniability, but that's a threat. He is being threatened, and Dirk has always responded to threats with a literal fucking katana. Which isn't an option here, and wouldn't be even if those physically existed in any form other than 'wooden.' He's not great at "workplace politics," but he's suddenly faced with the possibility he's playing with a live grenade. Either this kid is--he doesn't know, maybe the son of some kind of high ranking member, or else a fast-tracker himself? It is a kids' game. Or he's a total fucking idiot, but then guessing wrong is gonna make his life really fucking difficult for the foreseeable future.
He is saved ("saved") by Fermat, who not only does not appear to comprehend the concept of a "threat," but is absolutely enamoured of its new friend. One leaf reached for Steve's face. Then a root--two roots. No, three--
It's such an obviously ill-fated move that even Dirk knows it'll end in disaster. No omniscience needed. But he doesn't stop it, don't speak or move. He's just watching it happen, like he's actually fascinated to see what part of this blows up first.
Maybe he kind of is.
IT'S FINE HONESTLY, I am living for this.
It eludes him completely that the Carnivine might be trying to make friends. All he knows is he's suddenly at the mercy of this weird plant monster that for all he knows wants to make him its dinner.
"Get it off! Get it off!" This volume is way too loud for the time of morning. He tries to look past it, over at Dirk, but its large head is blocking his view of him now. Why are its eyes so Huge? "Don't let it eat me, bro."
Strangely, Steve is not all bark, but confronted with something like this he goes straight into meltdown mode. Punching does not seem like the answer here, which leaves him with zero other solutions. Stink Bomb does not seem to be jumping to his trainer's aid.
no subject
Dirk was all set to find this entertaining, or at least interesting, but now he really just wants it to stop.
Easier said than done, though, because getting to his feet that fast knocks over his chair, and his first attempt to grab Fermat is a bust because the Carnivine is so witlessly titillated by this outcome that his battle-scared hands are not match for its senselessly flailing leaves and tentacles. His sunglasses are definitely no match for them, and he loses them in the process while Steve screams on the cold, desolate expanse of tile that's offering him exactly zero protection from a cackling puppet plant.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up--"
The first time he smacks the Pokeball against the back of Fermat's head, it only barely disappears into it before re-emerging, wide mouth opening and closing rapidly in a way that implies there should be some kind of sound effect, but the only sound it's making is a high pitched cackling noise that is accompanied by the bizarre choice to spin around and starting retangling its vines with Dirk's arms.
By the time he manages to hit it with its ball a second time he's literally inches from Steve's pleading face, and Dirk continues right through where Fermat was hovering an instant ago, shoving Steve up against the fridge with his hat pressed over Steve's face.
"Shut up."
His voice is hoarse, brows creased over his orange eyes with what could be anger or could be any other really intense emotion. It's fine, though. Steve probably can't see through the hat anyway.