Tyler Tian Huang | 黄泰勒田 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asmywitness) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
silph_co2020-03-03 04:39 pm
asmywitness) wrote in silph_co2020-03-03 04:39 pm
(no subject)
Who: Tyler Huang and OTA
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early March!
Summary: Baby Rocket. baby
Rating: PG-13, with some casual swearing
Log: It's a fucking blessing that he's already met Steven, and gotten a hand from him with all of the training stuff. Sure it makes things about twice as long as they probably would be otherwise, but at least he actually comprehends all of the pointless mass speeches he's being dunked into. Which, uh. It's not nice but at least he's not going to get punished for really basic, stupid shit.
It does also mean, though, that so far he's making very little attempts to appeal to the good will of the other Rockets. From what Steven's told him, the only ones worth actually caring about are the other ones who got sucked in from other worlds - but since he's only gotten names, not faces, he has no idea who they're supposed to be.
He's easy enough to find in the mess halls - big guys stand out a bit, especially when the Natu sitting on his shoulder hops up onto his head and starts sending random people evil(? it's hard to tell) looks around the room. But usually, whenever he gets a free chance, he'll be back in the training halls, working on hand signals with his Houndour. If he can train it well enough now, then it'll be smart enough to fight in future without needing to glance back at him every few seconds.
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early March!
Summary: Baby Rocket. baby
Rating: PG-13, with some casual swearing
Log: It's a fucking blessing that he's already met Steven, and gotten a hand from him with all of the training stuff. Sure it makes things about twice as long as they probably would be otherwise, but at least he actually comprehends all of the pointless mass speeches he's being dunked into. Which, uh. It's not nice but at least he's not going to get punished for really basic, stupid shit.
It does also mean, though, that so far he's making very little attempts to appeal to the good will of the other Rockets. From what Steven's told him, the only ones worth actually caring about are the other ones who got sucked in from other worlds - but since he's only gotten names, not faces, he has no idea who they're supposed to be.
He's easy enough to find in the mess halls - big guys stand out a bit, especially when the Natu sitting on his shoulder hops up onto his head and starts sending random people evil(? it's hard to tell) looks around the room. But usually, whenever he gets a free chance, he'll be back in the training halls, working on hand signals with his Houndour. If he can train it well enough now, then it'll be smart enough to fight in future without needing to glance back at him every few seconds.
no subject
Tyler doesn't put Isis away, but he does give Dirk an extremely incredulous look.
And then lifts his hands to sign pointedly. "I'm deaf, dumb-ass."
no subject
So far, though, no one is actively attempting to take anyone out. Yet.
".... God shitting fuck--"
He knows what sign language is. He even knows there are multiple sign languages, and if he had his own full ascended oceanic literality of self, Hal's supercomputer 'I read the whole internet' faster-than-thought AI brain might even enable him to know how to sign himself. Wouldn't that have been helpful.
But the face this guy is making, he doesn't need to know the specifics. He gets the fucking gist.
Retrieving his PokeGear, typing, then holding it up for easy reading: at no point in this process do his eyes leave the bird. Not that anyone could reasonably tell.
Put the bird away. Now.
no subject
Tyler can see that, at least, and while he's a little bit reluctant to actually do it, at least he still has his Houndour out, sitting by his ankles and watching the display in confusion.
Okay, fine. He pulls a Pokeball out of his pocket, and Isis doesn't even see it as he boops the bird into a red flash of energy to withdraw her.
Still holding the ball, he uses his right hand - right middle finger specifically - to tap under his eye and flick it away rather aggressively, with a look of annoyed confusion. "What the fuck was that?"
no subject
But apparently he doesn't need to understand sign language in order to understand this guy loud and clear. Speaking of hostility.
Why the hell is he getting the middle finger? Like he had any control over this stupid...
His frown lapses into blank stoicism while he types; once paired with the text, it makes for a somewhat bizarre combo.
Peachick is Psychic. I'm not real popular with that demographic on account of the huge meat housed in my deadly handsome skull.
no subject
Is it a power play to grab someone's phone out of their hands, write up an insult and throw the gear back so they're forced to catch it before it hits the ground so they're forced to read it?
Either way, Tyler's doing it to Dirk.
So what you're admitting to me is that your attitude is such a boiled-over piece of garbage that my bird is a Geiger counter and your brain is ground zero at Hiroshima.
He thinks he's so cool
Dirk has a split second to decide whether or not he's going to punch this dude in the face before he loses his 'Gear, but let's be honest: Dirk's ability to have a fucking thought is an absolute disaster these days, and the decision about making a decision takes longer than losing his 'Gear does. He catches it midair with one hand on the return, though. So that's some salvaged pride.
Reading the burn, he deems it almost worthy of a Strider.
Typing his own message, he tosses it right back to the guy--still one handed.
My brain is ground zero all right, shit makes 'War of the Worlds' look like the space shuttle Columbia. My attitude, on the other hand, is fresher than a farmer's market cucumber and twice as cool.
no subject
Good to know.
Your attitude should've been left on the vine to mature a bit more so people don't have to deal with your crunchy asshole wasting space at the dinner table.
no subject
More importantly, I give you a perfectly good cucumber, and the only thing you can think to do with it is serve me up a salad?
You can do better than that. Wiggle it around a little, really explore the space. Get creative.
no subject
Personal decapitation's pretty lowball for a first solution, I think I'll pass. I'm more used to convoluted bullshit that EVENTUALLY leads to someone's inevitable demise over a period of days if not weeks.
...he's also not sure if that return cucumber comment is supposed to be flirting or just generally stupid.
Sue me, I know what I like to do with my cucumbers and personally I'm not too fond of being the one on the receiving end of their bullshit.
no subject
Since he obviously has, however, Dirk reverses his strategy, playing dumb instead.
Oh yeah? Ever put one next to a sleeping cat? Shit's hilarious.
This isn't really what he came here to do. Or more accurately phrased, this really isn't what he came here to do. Hiroshima is a very Earth-specific reference, so he's certain this man was a real person at some point, but does it matter?
He'll give this guy one or two more passes with the 'Gear first. He's kinda fun to fuck with.
no subject
So if we take a moment to return back to our original metaphor of 'this is your brain on [insert ridiculous sample here]', the cucumber is you. Which means I would greatly prefer it if you kept your inane monstrosity of a headspace to yourself and at least three feet away from me at all times.
Fuck you it's innuendo town now, bitches.
no subject
Only three feet? Nah. It'll take more than three feet of space between you and me if you pop that bird back out. About like this.
Then he pockets the 'Gear and walks out of the training room, around the corner, and... out of sight. He's gone. He just up and fucking left.
no subject
Leaves.
...you know what, he's impressed. He'll take that L.