silph_co | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There are plenty of jokes to be made about the immune system in a foreign environment, sure. But it's a well known tautology where I'm from that the first solution to any given problem is my personal decapitation. You might want to write that one down for later, by the way. You never know when it'll come in handy.

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.

He raises his eyebrow at the tautology comment, and takes it probably a lot better than someone should on reading that.

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.

Edited 2020-03-08 03:40 (UTC)

The cucumber bit was a test. No real purpose besides seeing if this guy picked up on it. If he hadn't, Dirk would have kept going, pushing it a little further until either Beethoven here figured it out or he was full-on writing freeform pornography in produce metaphor.

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.

That reply gets him to actually look up from the 'gear, to give Dirk a dry look.

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.

Edited 2020-03-08 05:42 (UTC)

Dirk is more than capable of eyeballing three feet exactly, and he steps back with exaggerated movements until he is precisely that far away from this guy. Once he's stopped, he lifts the 'Gear again to show, eyebrows possibly raised a microscopic degree... or maybe not. Maybe that's his usual deadpan, just a little further away?

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.

Dirk may not (or may, he can't fully tell with how shit this guy's face is) raise an eyebrow, but Tyler does at the precision with which he moves back three feet. He barely gets to read the reply message before Dirk just.

Leaves.

...you know what, he's impressed. He'll take that L.