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_co2020-01-17 12:50 am
uber_marionettist) wrote in silph_co2020-01-17 12:50 am
Don't Do It Boy (He does it anyway)
Who: Dirk Strider and Handsome Jack
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Mid January
Summary: Dirk is just BORROWING that Ditto, okay
Rating: PG13, brief (joke) mention of Dirk's frequent deaths in canon
The logic was sound.
Dirk isn't in the habit of awarding himself undue accolades, so the average bystander could be well assured that this statement is both completely true and fully merited. His logic was not just sound, it was fucking flawless. Team Rocket's labs are pretty damn slick, and he knows for a fact that considerable resources are appointed for their use. Ditto is a unique--and uniquely useful--Pokemon, one which he also knows (through his two goddamn jobs in the aforementioned labs) can be found in some of those labs.
Conclusion: the simplest and most practical way to get ahold of a Ditto for temporary training purposes is to 'requisition' one from the Rocket Labs.
There's no way in hell he's going to risk his narratively positioned career trying to smuggle one out right under the noses of dozens of loyal Rocket scientists, not to mention actual security. Not that he doesn't think it's possible. He's a goddamn ninja. He could do it.
But why would he do that when he can just walk in at a less than licit hour and just-as-illicitly 'requisition' one for private use?
That was the idea, anyway, and right up through the part where he actually left the lab in question, it was fine. Everything was... underwhelmingly straightforward, actually. He'd known security was more focused on keeping non-Rocket personnel out of things (spin tiles and passworded doors are easily traversed if you're a Rocket yourself) than policing those within the organisation, but he'd still been wary for some kind of.... he didn't know. An alarm system? Even a basic one? But when scientists took Pokemon in and out of different labs all the time, that didn't appear to be something they'd installed.
Okay.
Just the cameras, then. Which are embedded in statues. Which--unlike ledges--can be scaled, handily preventing any record of his passage to and from the labs as he vaults over each one undetected.
So there he is, getting his parkour on with the sick flips and acrobatic fucking pirouettes off some symbolic chunky kaiju things.
And that's when his assumption that ass o'clock traffic would be deader than his own headless corpse(s) makes an ass out of him.
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Mid January
Summary: Dirk is just BORROWING that Ditto, okay
Rating: PG13, brief (joke) mention of Dirk's frequent deaths in canon
The logic was sound.
Dirk isn't in the habit of awarding himself undue accolades, so the average bystander could be well assured that this statement is both completely true and fully merited. His logic was not just sound, it was fucking flawless. Team Rocket's labs are pretty damn slick, and he knows for a fact that considerable resources are appointed for their use. Ditto is a unique--and uniquely useful--Pokemon, one which he also knows (through his two goddamn jobs in the aforementioned labs) can be found in some of those labs.
Conclusion: the simplest and most practical way to get ahold of a Ditto for temporary training purposes is to 'requisition' one from the Rocket Labs.
There's no way in hell he's going to risk his narratively positioned career trying to smuggle one out right under the noses of dozens of loyal Rocket scientists, not to mention actual security. Not that he doesn't think it's possible. He's a goddamn ninja. He could do it.
But why would he do that when he can just walk in at a less than licit hour and just-as-illicitly 'requisition' one for private use?
That was the idea, anyway, and right up through the part where he actually left the lab in question, it was fine. Everything was... underwhelmingly straightforward, actually. He'd known security was more focused on keeping non-Rocket personnel out of things (spin tiles and passworded doors are easily traversed if you're a Rocket yourself) than policing those within the organisation, but he'd still been wary for some kind of.... he didn't know. An alarm system? Even a basic one? But when scientists took Pokemon in and out of different labs all the time, that didn't appear to be something they'd installed.
Okay.
Just the cameras, then. Which are embedded in statues. Which--unlike ledges--can be scaled, handily preventing any record of his passage to and from the labs as he vaults over each one undetected.
So there he is, getting his parkour on with the sick flips and acrobatic fucking pirouettes off some symbolic chunky kaiju things.
And that's when his assumption that ass o'clock traffic would be deader than his own headless corpse(s) makes an ass out of him.
no subject
Instead, he comes to a fast finish on top of the statue, perching on his toes with one hand bracing on the kaiju-thing's head--he was mid front handspring, one-handed, and stopping meant a one-handed handstand before dropping down to a somewhat less high momentum position. Like a crouch.
His sunglasses, somehow, do not fall off his face. His face, somehow, does not emote in the slightest.
His heart, however, did briefly jump up past his lungs and about into his throat; he can't blame that one on gravity, though he'd really like to.
"It's a full moon and I was fixin' to turn werewolf." He stoically regards the magic dogs, voice deadpan as he takes in the sight and smell of a cheap microwave burrito. It smells really fucking good. Except he doesn't really have time for that train of thought.
Isn't he supposed to defer this guy? Yeah. He is. Dirk knows he's outranked by a league and a half, but unless he chooses fast, submission becomes the same as surrender. You give up your dignity willingly to someone, you can still maintain control. But you give up control? You have nothing. You are nothing. Subservience isn't a quality he possesses, or is even willing to cultivate.
"Late night munchies, huh. Didn't know the hallways doubled as a promenade. My bad."
So instead of 'compliant' he's aiming for 'confusing.' That wild and crazy eccentric, Dirk Strider, he just can't control himself. Not even in the halls. Yeah.
no subject
"Here's a fun thought exercise for ya. What would happen to a werewolf if it ended up on a planet with a moon that's one always full and two always visible up in the sky cuz it doesn't actually move? Always wondered about that - one of my planets has a moon like that."
Because even Jack realizes that without at least some context, that's a weirdly specific and nonsensical question. And while plenty of space mutations have mimicked a number of mythical spooky creatures - vampires and zombies predominantly - werewolves are firmly in the category of not-real. But Jack thinks about these things, because if he stops thinking all sorts of unpleasant notions and moods start slipping in.
But it's obvious he's not looking to bust anyone or play the big bad boss tonight.
no subject
For example: Dirk feels no safer now than he did four sentences ago. If anything, his paranoia ensures that from his perspective, the potential for this to be some kind of logical or rhetorical setup has grown by a magnitude of substantial number. So you'd think he'd be remotely cautious.
But sometimes the inner pedant jumps out.
And for Dirk, the terms of 'sometimes' are dictated by the fact that the inner pedant is at least one quarter of his entire personality.
"Nothing, if lycanthropic power is a unique property of the werewolf's native moon, or moons. Otherwise it'd depend on whether lycanthropic state is dictated by the sunlight illuminating the moons' surfaces or something like their gravitational pull. Does the planet still rotate, or is it just suspended at a fixed point in space relative to the sun?"
Dirk's crouch settles onto his heels so he can gesture with both hands, elaborately indicating the movement of moons and suns and planets like he's produced a full diagram in his head of this hypothetical scenario.
Which he has.
Jack has like half a second (or 1/172800 of today exactly) to stop his train of thought before it jumps tracks... or at least flip the switch himself.
no subject
His neck only bends so far and for so long at this point and he's not gonna stand here like this to have a friggin conversation.
"You can get back to your...parkour practice or whatever later."
Jack's bored and lonely and now he's found someone he can basically order to keep him company. Like he's going to pass up that opportunity.
"But that's good, that's almost impressive. Ya can flip over buildings and shit, you're not gonna nabbed by the stepford cops out there."
no subject
It's almost casual enough that it covers for how unpre-fucking-pared he is for... what was that, even? A compliment? For what, clowning in the halls? Yeah, because that makes loads of sense. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves.
"I just flew out of that island city after we hit the Safari Zone. Same city I got the power of flight at to begin with. The only time I've seen them think vertically is when I tried to jump my horse directly over their heads." Pause.
"I don't recommend that one."
no subject
It's weird. It's really friggin weird. And this is coming from a man who paid millions of dollars to surgically alter another human being into looking just like him.
But hey, Dirk. It's been a long time since there was an assortment of the grunts that Jack most finds himself dealing with, and it's kind of nice right now. Except that overall he's pretty sure he's working with absolute crap.
But then there's this kid.
"So you've actually got more'n two brain cells to rub together, don't ya?"
no subject
This is not, strictly speaking, the most nonsensical thing he could have said. It is, in fact, a lot more informative than most replies he was likely to give. Which is, in itself, something of an accident. Jack's repeated not-quite-backhanded 'praise' is really jamming the gears in the erratic machine of Dirk's extremely black-and-white ego.
It's almost easier to focus on literally anything else. Almost, because it's impossible not to think about it. He's pretty sure this dude told him weeks ago that he didn't give a shit. Now this.
"Not that I care, but why are you even talking to me? Let alone why you're talking to me like that. Did I miss something?"
What the fuck is happening here, and why the fuck is it happening now, to him. He really needs a fucking answer, but if there is one facet to Dirk's greater persona that rules him, it's that Dirk Strider is incapable of shutting up once he's said something that can backfire on him. Logorrhea, like addictions, run in the family.
"Private is basically a grunt, just a better pay grade of gutteral inarticulation. Sub-standing scrubs, subservient to... fuck, literally anyone. Sure, I was under the impression 'grunt' was a titular suggestion and not an instruction, but on second thought, I'd say it's more of a minimum requirement."
no subject
Jack shrugs. There's no real agenda here, no angle he's working. He's just roaming the halls looking for a distraction, and Dirk is what he's found.
"I'm bored, essentially? Don't flatter yourself or anything, it's not like I was looking for you. You just happen to be here and I've got nothing better to do right now. I mean, you're the lucky one, you get to hang out with me! But just because you're in the right place at the right time."
Incapable of shutting up is a trait they both share.
Okay NOW I can tag you on the fourth wall lmao jUST HAD TO MAKE SURE
Oh.
The tense background radiation of paranoia ebbs noticeably--at least from Dirk's internal perspective. Externally it's not really any more noticeable than anything else Dirk is thinking or feeling. Which is to say, a bit more than he believes, but a whole lot less than would ever be helpful to someone who did give a shit.
He has a whole repertoire of behaviours he deploys specifically for cuing people into what he wants them to see, though. In this case, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the heavy statue with a purposefully casual air, like he ain't got a care in the fucking world. He's still hiding from its eyes, though, those ever-watchful cameras very much on his mind.
"Oh, if that's all, then. Here I was afraid you had some kind of ulterior motive."
no subject
The brightest crayon in the box was still just a crayon in the box. Jack's agenda, at least with Rocket, is relatively clear. Advance to gain some real power within the organization. Sure, he's gonna ride grunts to the top, but that's just what you do. Dirk's already proven he can do his job and not fuck up, he's already doing everything Jack asks.
"I've got two houses. I got level hundred Pokemon. I got ten cats that shit money every day, I'm good, champ."
This is a lie, but it's one Jack almost believes himself.
no subject
Dirk's moment of relief from paranoia is somewhat reduced by the emphatic tone of Jack's denial. The fact that he won't stop using condescendingly paternal appellations is icing on the shit cake. Bud. Champ. Kid.
"I don't know your personal life." He keeps his tone even, neutral. Firm. If there is one thing Dirk Strider has mastered, it's a monotone.