[ OPEN ]

[gentrify]

WHO: Mickey Milkovich and YOU
WHERE: All errywhere
WHEN: Month of July
WHAT: Mickey is selling knives, door to door, on street corners, in dark alleys, in the line for mcdonald's, basically anywhere someone is standing next to him for too long.
WARNINGS: All this. But specifically in the prompts - bad words, mention of gross bugs, violence, genital talk, insulting the homeless.



A] DOOR-TO-DOOR;

[ the first thing mickey did, when he went in to figure out this employment thing and if he wanted anything to do with it (traveling to chicago ain't free), was pick out six of his favorite knives from the suitcase full of merchandise he was handed. those would be his, because he came into this world without his living room armory. they told him to go door to door trying to sell them, and while he has plenty of experience in moving illegal arms, door to door isn't exactly familiar for him. nor is the legal business part of it.

nor is any actually legitimate means of employment. he'd had one official job before, and it was policing the corner store he was shot in. he quit to go murder his boyfriend's dad. so.

suffice to say, salesmanship and customer service is not at the top of his skill tree, and when he shows up knocking on someone's door in whatever city he happens to be passing through at the moment, his sales pitch isn't the best - ]

Hey, I got this suitcase full'a knives I gotta sell. You need any? It's quality shit, man, like surprisingly good for actually fucking legal stuff, believe me, I tested it.

[ no, he didn't stab anyone. just a turkey. an already dead one from the grocery store. it was only a little bit psychotic looking. Also of note - it really doesn't matter who opens the door; man, woman or child, he'll ask anyone if they want to purchase one off him. kids love knives, okay, it's just good business. ]

B] ON THE METRO;

[ commuting is a bitch. mickey hates not having a car. he hates being on temporary good behavior and trying not to steal a car because he's not sure how much the military is tracking him through the little robots they put in his blood or the phone in his pocket. it means public transportation, which is gross, and unsanitary, and inconvenient, and annoying. there's a dude that looks homeless just now slumping over onto mickey's shoulder, snoring loudly, which has mick launching up from his seat, letting out a disgusted ugh. ]

Gonna get fucking lice just riding around in this thing, christ. [ there's a bodily shiver, like trying to shake bugs off, before turning to the person next to him, that he probably just body checked a second ago in jumping up from his seat. ]

Yo, wanna buy a knife?

C] IN A LINE FUCKING ANYWHERE;

Yeah, man, fuckin' ridiculous.

[ just standing in a line, somewhere - bus stop, super market, bank, mcdonalds, anywhere - having a chat with whoever's standing behind him about how absurdly long this is taking. that person is probably you, unless you're the very patient type, then it's probably another stranger, but since you're both stuck here, may as well make use of the time - ]

Anyway, hey, you need any knives? 'Cause I got a ton I'm supposed to be moving.

D] INTERRUPTING A MUGGING;

[ it's probably maurtia falls, let's be real. he probably came here specifically to look for people in this exact predicament. a mugging.

maybe it just started, maybe you really are in some serious trouble, maybe you were about to resolve it on your own, but either way, mickey's stepping out of a dark corner in the back of an alley, lifting up a knife, and throwing it with a freaky kind of accuracy to stab into this dude's thigh. thankfully, the mugger isn't another import (and probably didn't realize he was messing with an import (or being stalked by an import waiting for him to do something criminal)), but mickey makes it very clear very fast what's going on here. ] You picked the wrong fuckin' superhero to boost tonight, bitch. Now run your candy ass away before I put another two in your nutsack.

[ he's such a charmer, really, he is. off the burglar goes, and mickey's immediately whipping around to the victim, holding up another thin throwing knife in the way most people point their finger when trying to make a point. ]

This wouldn'tve happened if you had a knife on you, would it? [ he somehow manages to sound aggressively disapproving while being all of 5'7". sort of like a pitbull. ] Now take the money I just saved your defenseless ass from losing, and buy yourself one so you don't end up looking this fucking stupid again.

[ meaning, from him, pointing at the suitcase he dropped back in the corner he came out of. ]

Comments

a.

[admemoriam]

[Noah opens the door with a very patriotic bomb pop sticking half out of his mouth, and a towel around his waist. He looks at Mickey, he looks at the knives, and then he looks out at the yard, as if looking for someone or something else.]

Dude. Did you walk out here?

[Their farm isn't exactly centrally located. They don't get many solicitors, and if they do, Henrietta tends to scare them off.]

[gentrify]

No, the fuckin' tooth fairy gave me a lift.

[ the flattest of replies, and the deadest of expressions, but it only lasts a few seconds before mickey's particularly loud charm comes booming out. ]

Yeah, I walked, and fuck you for living out here in Bumfuck Egypt, you better have some kinda redneck knife enthusiast nutjob hidden in there to make this worth it.

[ this house was on the route the company planned out for him, so here he is, annoyed as all fuck and wishing he'd just known a gang he could dump all these stupid knives out on. the woes of being out of your territory - no more connections. ]

[admemoriam]

Like, kitchen knives, or killing-stuff knives?

[He licks the edge of the popsicle, and looks over his shoulder.]

'Cause I think we're good on both.

[gentrify]

Then why would you ask?

[ asked in the most obviously annoyed tone there could be, because mickey sucks at hiding his annoyance ever, and is also perpetually at least 30% annoyed with something or someone in his direct vicinity.

today, it's this little blond popsicle sucking twink. ]

( b )

[hardcut]

[ The metro is a mysterious system Arthur doesn't much like and finds unsettling at best - crowds he gets, overuse due to being the option for the average asshole he gets, but the physical process of it is fucking weird. Even the transport system between Porter cities is more appealing, scanning like magic to him.

This is just a mess.

Whoever's sitting next to the squirmy guy with the lice problem hops up at the knife question, bumping into another man - Arthur - who's been standing, one hand gripped on the discolored metal overhead bar, which probably bears the germs of ten thousand other people in various states of decay. Not that he knows what germs are. ]

Hey, [ he barks at the escaping citizen, who gives him a cowed look but keeps moving. Hmph. Art looks back down after, one eyebrow raised. ] 'Dunno, do I?

[ Renfair garb under a modern black leather jacket, sword on one hip, he doesn't look like he needs a knife, but you never know. ]

if rp didn't already put me on an fbi watch list, it def has now

[gentrify]

[ holy renfair accents, batman. mickey's never even been to a renfair and skipped most all world history classes, but even he can tell this dude was barfed out of some kind of story book. his brows are arched as he looks this guy up and down, pausing on the big ass sword he's packing, and eventually gets back to his face, letting out a sharp snort. ]

Uh, yeah, you really fuckin' do, seeing as you're carrying around a fucking glittery antique, Sir Stabsalot.

[ the suitcase full of merchandise isn't here with him, because it's a bitch to carry, but mickey generally keeps several knives on his person just on principle. now, he's just carrying a few extra, in case someone needs to buy one. tugging one of the cuffs of his sleeves back, he pries a small black thing out from where it was wedged between his wrist and his watch band, flipping the blade open, and holding the hilt end out to grandpa here. ]

Here, hold that. [ and as he talks, he's picking a foot up to prop it on the seat he just jumped out of, tugging up the fabric on his cargo pants leg to pull out another knife that'd been strapped to his boot there. ] Anyone you think you might have to use that huge bitch on is gonna see it coming a mile away, and just forget anything close quarters.

Don't get me wrong, it's real pretty, but it's gonna get the fuck murdered outta your ass.

the world would be v different if the fbi cared about googling weapons tbh

[hardcut]

[ Probably seems like out of nowhere, but Arthur grins. Lice guy here is the first person to clock the general uselessness of the steel he's hauling around - because he is not, in fact, carrying it around under any delusion of putting it to work. He just doesn't know where the hell to leave it and not have to worry about someone running off with it. (For a minute he'd contemplated jamming it into the bathroom floor of housing he's been assigned - tile of some sort - but after having managed to start a small fire on the my-crow-waive? he's got his concerns about poking holes in the infrastructure.) ]

You a murder salesperson? [ he asks casually, flipping the offered knife absently in his hand as he watches the other blade revealed by his leg shimmy. A woman behind him looks over her shoulder and gives the pair of them a perturbed look before inching away through the crowded cabin. ]

A

[d33tached]

[Normally - if at all possible, in fact - D33 would not be the one to answer the door. After all, he is already being forced to house with three other people - they may as well be useful for something. But, as it just so happens, when Mickey comes a-knocking, poor D33 is the only one home and, as it is his understanding that in polite society one answers the door when another knocks, he decides to take a chance.

[Not too much of a chance, mind you. He'll already have a knife poised in his hand when he cracks open the door - luckily, he'll be keeping it behind the wall and out of sight. How awkward would that be otherwise, right?

[At the mere mention of a "suitcase full'a knives", the man's brow wrinkles. And his grip on his own knife tightens.]

Pardon me? Who are you?

[Why did he have to answer the door?]

[gentrify]

[ this dude looks like frank's psycho sugar mama who's too nuts to put a single foot outside on her porch. enough that mickey makes a quiet mental choice to name him Sheila. sheila looks like he's trying to hide from the feds or something with this looking out through the door crack thing.

paranoid people are good for weapons purchases, though, so hallelujah. ]

I'm a guy selling knives. Literally just said that, pal.

[ still working on that being anything but rude as hell part. hopefully he'll be able to sell this batch before actual effort becomes required in the customer service department. a beat, and mickey sighs, adding on, because Sheila seems like he's about to shit a brick over there. ]

Look, when I ported in, this is what the military assholes gave me to do for a paycheck. It's all legal shit, there's a business card you can eyeball and everything.

[ somewhere. he'll have to dig for it. ]

[d33tached]

[The man's eyes narrow a bit, clearly suspicious. He certainly doesn't want this man coming anywhere near him with a bunch of knives on his person, but...Aside from the kitchen knife D33 has in his hand, he is rather short on weapons and hasn't figured out yet that he can craft them using his powers.]

Let me see it.

a

[crimeboy]

A suitcase full, you say?

[Akira had opened the door readily, and perhaps that was for the best. His flatmates seemed personable enough, but had little use for knives. The fact that the guy had asked him about them without any kind of hesitance and felt the need to tack on 'actually fucking legal stuff' set him at enough ease for Akira to give it a moment of quiet consideration.]

I could use a knife. Or a few, depending on what you've got.

[Most weapons here you needed to be eighteen to buy.

Akira was seventeen, and in dire need of more weapons than he currently had, so while he was reserved, he certainly looked interested. His eyes wandered to the suitcase, hoping that he wasn't selling kitchen knives.]

[gentrify]

[ mickey was pushing narcotics at 16 and spent enough time in juvie to know all the guards and their kids by name. he doesn't give a single fuck about selling a few knives to an underaged kid. all he cares about here is that this guy seems interested. ]

I got everything short of Spetsnaz in this trunk, check it out, man.

[ mickey's hands go to the suitcase (tattooed letters on his knuckles clearly reading "FUCK" on one hand and "U - UP" on the other), popping open the locks and laying the thing open as he starts pulling a few items out. ]

So what're we thinking, concealment? [ a couple knives are laid out, small but mean looking things, easy to hide, easy to get out in a rush unseen. ] Utility? [ a couple more, with more features to them, tactical elements, useful things to common predicaments. and the last is just one big motherfucker, which mickey unsheathes just because he likes holding it. ] Or just big fuckin' mess?

[crimeboy]

[What charming tattoos. Not that Akira will literally say a nothing about them, that's not really his place. Let the guy have whatever things on his knuckles that he wanted.

He WAS looking over those knives though. The small, curved one gets a frown, but the rest get a thorough once-over. That one just wouldn't work for him, but the rest?]

Spring loaded on the folding ones, right?

[He didn't usually carry coding knives but he had to admit they were the best for concealment.]

I'd like a few of these, [He pointed to the smaller one with the straight blade.] and what's the durability like on that big one?

a

[h2no]

[you know, of all the things archie expected when he answered the door, this certainly wasn't one of them. he can't quite stare down mickey - woefully being the same height and all - but his expression makes it quite clear he's not really impressed.]

Wh-- [slow squint, like he's trying to accept that this is real.] What the fuck? Why? Where? How? Why?

[he just had to get all that out, okay.]

...Let's see the selection, then.

[gentrify]

[ this dude answers the door and seems to abruptly shit his pants. that, at least, is what mickey's getting from this interaction, staring at him flatly with one lofted brow. ]

Why - 'cause I want a fucking pay check. Where - obviously, your goddamn doorstep. How - I did this thing where I open up my mouth and make sounds with it. Us humans like to call that 'talking'. You done?

[ because mickey is, and he's just going to move on to popping open the locks on the briefcase, letting the thing fall open, displaying the inventory he has: several sets of each of these (minus 8 and 9), plus your standard fare of switch blades, butterfly knives, hunting and skinning knives, pocket knives and all the swiss army whatever you could want. ]

Touch, test, whatever, just don't trying to jack anything.

[h2no]

[archie laughs at the drag, genuinely appreciating the kid's gusto.]

Yeah, I'm gonna try and steal the knife from the guy holding it. That'll work out. [he bends over to look; clearly impressed.] How much for one of them small ones?

[a beat, then;] Is this even legal? Ahh, I don't give a shit. This your power, or somethin'?

A.

[disentombs]

[A tall, handsome and tanned teenage boy looking the epitome of "rich prep school boy" in his khaki shorts and yellow polo shirt answers the door, eyebrows slightly raised--they don't get visitors to the Meadows door to door too often.]

For what reason would a knife be illegal?

[Spoken by someone who never saw a knife used for anything other than fishing or cooking.]

You've come out quite a ways to sell knives.

[gentrify]

Because they're weapons.

[ he's ignoring the part about coming a long way because, yeah, well, he needs to sell these things and usually people out in bumfuck nowhere are the ones that are paranoid fucks in search of weaponry. or prep school hippies. unfortunately, it's the latter right now. but hey, let's offer some knife education, one of the few kinds mickey actually has. ] Depending on how much of an argument you can make for a knife style being utility over murder tool, there's restrictions and shit on how you can get those. For one, it's against federal law to have a ballistic knife in the US.

[ doesn't mean he doesn't have them at home. they were invented by spetsnaz and his wife is russian, of course he has them. ]

It's state by state too, and how you carry it. Virginia's pretty easy - you can own whatever you want, but you can't conceal carry anything over 4 inches. In Illinois, you're not supposed to own any switchblades or throwing knives. In Chicago, can't conceal carry anything 2 1/2 inches or more.

[ surprise surprise, he has broken all of these laws. a lot. ]

[disentombs]

[Gansey listens with polite and genuine interest. This is all new information to him.]

You seem to be quite well-educated on the subject. Are you an imPort?

A

[andtherevolution]

Uh...

[congratulations, mickey, your pitch completely baffled the teenager answered the door. she looks at his knuckles (like she has room to talk! look at that hair!). she looks at his suitcase. she looks back at his knuckles and wonders if she should be looking for a camera instead, because with a pitch like that, he must be messing with her.]

You mean like kitchen knives?

[she straightens up and crosses her arms, shaking her head]

Because I hate to break it to you, but I'm not much of a cook.

[she's just. going to play it cool. just ignore how strained her voice sounded when she asked about kitchen knives, she sounded completely cool by the end. cool as a cucumber.]

[gentrify]

[ there's a twitch at the corner of mickey's lips, watching this girl look like she's half a step from calling the cops on a door to door solicitor. a twitch, then a chuckled laugh, then a smirk. ]

No. Not kitchen knives.

[ brows raised in an 'oh, hon, ur about to have a bad time' kind of way. ]

Some utility. Mostly just the weapon kind.

[ it took a lot of self-control for him not to say "mostly just the murdering kind". look at him, being almost mature. ]

[andtherevolution]

[Utility knives? Well that's not so- nope. Nope, these are weapons. This is a door to door weapons salesman. Since when did people sell weapons door to door?!]

Uh... no offense, but are you sure this is legal?

[Oh, who is she kidding. This is America. It probably is.]

A

[am_i_a_monster]

[Abigail is probably the one person who it should be easy to sell a knife too. She gained knife powers when she was new and is still learning new ways they can come in handy. She does need replacements for the ones she's had to throw during times of crisis and was about to head out shopping when she heard the knock at the door. A man simply showing up to sell them to her at her doorstep, seems too convenient and her paranoia grows when he speaks. He is definitely not a typical salesperson.]

Who did you test it on?

[gentrify]

[ were he home, mickey might've lied and said some meth head junkie that asked him for change, just for the sake of being offputting, but he isn't home - not only is there not reputation to keep up, but he'll put himself on a radar he doesn't need to be on, given the government already has him tagged like a freaking cow. so, mickey sighs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, before answering. ]

A frozen turkey. [ a shrug. ] Grocery store had a sale.

[am_i_a_monster]

Cutting or stabbing fresh pork would have been closer to a human.

[It would taste more like a human too, but Abigail tries not to think about that. She wants to forget her past.]

They make you pay for your materials. Just the turkey or do you have to pay for the knives too? What company did you say you worked for?

[At best, it sounds like he's been the victim of a scheme or pulling some kind of con on her. At worst, he wants to gain access to her home, like her father did with his victims.]