you're still a soldier in your mind

[thirdstrike]

WHO: CARL GALLAGHER and YOU.
WHERE: Mostly Maurtia Falls & Heropa, various locations.
WHEN: January 5th - 15th.
WHAT: Quasi-"reformed" teen delinquent Doing His Best! Carl investigates his new city, his new self-defense job(s), his new powers, and also works a gun shop counter.
WARNINGS: Canon typical mentions/references to violence; anything else, will ETA as necessary!


▸ MF HOUSING #008 / AROUND TOWN | MAURTIA FALLS

[ Yeah, that bugle alarm thing? Unfortunately, that was only a one-off for the network at large, not to anyone else living under this roof. Every morning at 5:30 it sounds and he gets up, but on the bright side? He does also make coffee and breakfast (eggs, pancakes, and/or some kind of breakfast meat: expect it).

Like clockwork, the next step of Carl's routine has him out of the house by 6 AM for a morning run. One of his first purchases since arriving here was a week or so's worth of clothes, including the dark grey sweatsuit and beanie he's running in; each day he does about four miles, trying slightly different routes each time to get familiar with the city. Naturally, he's very easy to encounter or approach while he's out, although he may be too focused on what he's doing to notice anyone else immediately.

Once his in-built schedule has cleared up, he can be encountered downtown later in the day, too, after he's finished his run and been able to shower and dress and eat breakfast. With people like Frank and Monica Gallagher for parents, Carl has grown into a similar sense of independence as his siblings before him had, a sort of cold and resigned determination that always fits awkwardly on people who have no time to grow into it-- but being responsible? Well, that's different, and much more unfamiliar to Carl; he can practically hear Fiona and Luther in his head telling him to enroll in high school, but he has yet to actually make it that far. Instead, he can more likely be found on a curb or bench enjoying a lunch of KFC or (probably a couple) BK Whoppers, spending hours in an arcade, pockets full of (stolen) quarters, or shopping for such essentials such as a baseball bat, duct tape, spray paint, a duffel bag... and such. As one does! ]

▸ THE GYM(S) | MAURTIA FALLS

[ Officially, Carl works at the "STREET YO' SELF" GYM / SELF-DEFENSE INSTITUTE, part-time of course to allow him time to also (theoretically) attend school. Naturally, he isn't given any classes to instruct by himself, but he is allowed to participate in group classes and "assistant teach" the younger students. Mostly, though, his duties involve grunt-work; cleaning floors, cleaning/setting up/putting away equipment, and other boring-ass bullshit that military school has luckily more than adequately prepared him for.

He doesn't mind; he's not expecting a lot of direct "imPort" business at this gym, although he's certainly open to it. Some people do prefer learning in a group environment, and Carl-- well, sometimes people find Carl a little unsettling, and thus may not want to be left alone in a room with him when the entire point is to learn how to defend themselves from danger. It makes sense. But any imPort that does happen to stop by his gym, if not already in one of his classes, also may find him practicing with his magnetism/metal powers in one of the empty rooms, using them to move things like nun-chucks or free weights around hands-free, or even a punching bag on its hook so it swings more aggressively when he strikes it.

The ImPORT GYM is not the gym that Carl actually "works" at, no, no it isn't. It is, however, the gym he's decided to do his "freelance" lessons at, because even at sixteen Carl is wise enough to understand that his actual place of employment may not look kindly upon potentially after-hours one-on-one freestyle sessions that also may or may not sometimes involve weapons. Some kind of liability whatever that isn't worth taking the chance over. But it's fine, he doesn't mind this either; it's nice having that separation, that a place equipped for all kinds of superpowers and where he can have more freedom and privacy to work with people even exists.

So even when he doesn't have anything lined up, he'll pop by a couple times before starting work or during lunch, investigating the space, meeting some of the regulars, and/or offering his sales pitch upon new ears. ]

▸ MICKEY MILKOVICH'S GUN SHOP(PE) | HEROPA

[ Speaking of jobs... it's useful, actually, that Carl hasn't (re-)enrolled in school just yet because it leaves his mornings and early afternoons free to work some days in Mickey Milkovich's gun shop, selling guns and gun accessories. He knows his shit, too -- make, model, performance, upkeep requirements, and so on -- suspiciously well for a sixteen year old boy, but don't worry about that... he's here to help! There's a gun in here with your name on in and Carl will do the matchmaking.

When he's not helping customers, Carl can be found either polishing some of the pieces to keep them shining and fit for display, or attempting (not quite failing, but not quite succeeding yet either) to make sense of the books and/or inventory. Ugh, math. Be warned, though; Mickey keeps a sawed-off shotgun under the counter and, even knowing this, Carl still picked up a taser to help deal with anyone who might come into the shop trying to start shit... so even if he might seem distracted, are you feeling lucky, punk motherfucker? ]

▸ WILDCARD

[ Choose your own adventure! In case we've already made plans that won't work with the other prompts, or if you'd just rather make up your own, hit me up with a starter or feel free to PM / hit me up at reggiemantle to discuss. ]

Comments

🔪 FOR JUSTINE

[thirdstrike]

[ Carl's not entirely sure what he's doing.

Not regarding the self-defense part of things-- no, that he at least feels like he's got the start of something for, at least on paper until he knows more about Justine's skills and "powers." It's Justine herself he's suddenly vaguely uncertain about, not exactly in a bad way, just... the situation took him by surprise, things had ended up going in a somewhat different direction than expected. Like he'd told her, it just kind of happened, asking her out on accident.

She is pretty cute, though, so maybe Carl doesn't mind it all that much, even if he's still not entirely sure what he's doing. He dresses pretty simply to go and meet her for coffee, just wearing a grey shirt and jeans, and orders for himself before he finds a table to sit and wait at. He's a little early. ]

[fingerchewing]

[ In all fairness, she isn't really sure either.

Maybe it's a New Year's resolution not to worry so much, or maybe it's surviving her first major jamjar catastrophe - her powers flying out of control resulted in her biting a chunk out of her roommate's arm - but Justine is determined to get a handle on her powers, as terrifying and grotesque as they are.

She shows up looking pretty casual, jeans and a t shirt with a seasonally appropriate olive jacket over it. The tote bag she carries has a cartoon cat on it, and is probably a little oversized, all she's really carrying is her wallet and a nalgene bottle filled with a thick, pinky-red...smoothie? ]

Hey, Carl. [ She smiles and waves when he sees him, sliding into the seat across from him. ]

[thirdstrike]

[ Once he sees her, Carl resolves then and there not to overthink everything so much. After Dominique it'd be too easy to find another girl to like, but that's more of a knee-jerk emotional impulse than anything; Carl wouldn't think of it as rebounding feelings, but the (slightly) more rational part of him knows it's a mistake to look at this as anything except business.

Granted, Carl makes a lot of mistakes, but less than a week into this new place, he's trying to at least avoid the obvious ones.

He glances at Justine's thermos, but only briefly. "Smoothie" is an easy enough assumption, or some kind of juice. ]

Hey. [ Smiling back. ] Before we get started, you want me to order you anything?

[fingerchewing]

[ A good choice on Carl's part. Justine might enjoy flirting to an extent, but she has her priorities straight. One of them is avoiding any kind of infatuation, serious or otherwise, at least until she feels comfortable here. That's the responsible thing to do, right?

Right. ]

Sure? If you're offering. Butterscotch latte.

[thirdstrike]

[ Teens Be Responsible!

Right now, at this precise moment in time... ish. Whether or not that continues to hold true for the future is irrelevant; Carl is at least capable of staying on-track and disciplined for a week or so at a time. ]

Of course I'm offering. Why else would I ask? [ He squints one eye slightly, then nods his head, standing. ] Be right back, then-- when I get back we can talk about what your goals might be. Maybe flesh out a meal plan?

[ Awkward choice of words, unbeknownst to Carl. ]

[fingerchewing]

[ Truly awkward.

Her head turns to watch him head towards the counter, trying to formulate some kind of plot to get out of a meal plan that definitely isn't happening. She doesn't have any good ideas. Not a single one. ]

I'm already on kind of a diet.

[ Hopefully not for weight loss, she's thin and petite as it is. ]

Thanks, by the way.

🔪 FOR BETH

[thirdstrike]

[ It's a little hard for Carl to gauge ahead of time exactly what he should expect to need for his meeting with Beth, so he tries to do like the Boy Scouts and be prepared for whatever he can think of; dressed simply in jeans and a dark green hoodie, he tosses a baseball bat, a tire iron, a bottle of iodine and a first aid kit into a duffel bag, shoves a gun from Mickey's shop into the waistband of his pants beneath the sweatshirt, and then finally, a sheathed hunting knife into his sock.

Does that cover everything? He takes a brief mental inventory before he leaves, then decides that should at least be enough to cover this initial conversation... session... whatever it turns out to be. Carl slings the bag over his shoulder and heads out to meet Beth at the gym, shooting her a quick confirmation text once he gets there: ]

hey beth u here yet?

[littlemissfutility]

[She's taken a similar approach. Jeans and a t-shirt, cowgirl boots, a light jacket and a bunched-up scarf that won't be coming off any time soon, and--of course--her weapons. She always wears her hunting knife (courtesy of Mickey Milkovich) on her belt; it just feels safer to be armed, at this point, and especially when she has a coat on to conceal it, she doesn't get too many comments. Her glock mostly lives in her bedroom, but she has it now, tucked into a holster on her other hip.]

yeah one sec

[She gets out of her car and heads toward the skinny figure with the gym bag. Carl--definitely Carl, especially once she can see his face. Digging out a five-dollar bill, she holds it out to him by way of greeting.]

Here.

[thirdstrike]

[ Carl would agree with her instinct to always stay armed, and although he doesn't so much himself these days, he's been turning over the idea of holding a knife or a gun again too; carrying around weapons runs generally counter to what military school's been teaching him about responsibility, but in a world full of people with powers? Shit, it just seems smart to have a weapon just in case.

He accepts the money with a grin, simply nodding in response and folding it into his pocket. ]

Glad you could make it. I brought a little bit of everything, just in case you decide you wanna focus on something else-- [ He indicates the bag he brought. ] But I was thinking we should probably start without weapons. Test your strength and reflexes and all that.

[ Casually, Carl uses his power to unlock the door to the gym -- it unlatches with a loud clunk -- so they can go inside. ]

In which case, do I have your permission not to hold back? You'd have mine to fight back to the best of your ability, obviously. [ This is probably a bad idea. ] No pepper spray, though.

[littlemissfutility]

[This is definitely a bad idea. She can already sort of feel it--but if there's one area she's weakest in, it's probably fighting without weapons. Nobody did that at home, ever. The few times she had to, it didn't go all that great. But here, it might be necessary, especially if she decides to pursue the superhero thing.

Beth nods after a moment's deliberation, pulling her coat off as they head into the gym. Worst comes to worst, she won't come back. It's not a big deal.]

I don't do pepper spray. [Although she has to admit it's not a bad idea. She might have to pick some up, next time she goes shopping. And, casually:] Do they know we're coming?

[Seeing as, you know, they kind of just broke into the place.]

[thirdstrike]

[ Things Carl would be wise to consider for the future: liability waivers. Consent forms. Some kind of paperwork that gives him some idea what his client's strengths and weaknesses are and what might be out of bounds.

If he were wise he'd have thought of all this already, but thinking things all the way through has never been a strength of Carl's.

He shuts the door behind them, beginning to stretch his arms and shoulders. ]

Yeah, it's cool. I know someone who works here. [ Which only kind of half-answers the question Beth actually asked. ] But since I don't, I just figured it'd be simpler to do it this way. At least the first time.

[littlemissfutility]

Okay.

[Her sense of propriety, when it comes to breaking and entering at least, has diminished some in the last two years. The building's here--they might as well use it. What's the worst that'll happen if someone gets mad? Yelling, maybe, and probably mostly at Carl.

It's not that big a risk.

Tossing her jacket aside, she watches him, wondering if she should be planning on stretching, too. Outside of phys ed, it's not something that ever really occurred to her as a necessity. Similarly, should she be taking off her knife and gun? If he's not going to hold back, she might not want to have weapons on her. On the other hand, going into this unarmed seems like a bad idea. In the end, she unholsters her gun and lays it carefully on her jacket, leaving her knife where it is.

And that's all the prep she's planning on doing.]

So we're...starting with a fight? Or...?

🔪 FOR CHILTON

[thirdstrike]

[ Carl looks a bit out of place sitting behind the counter in a gun shop, although perhaps not quite as out of place as he should look-- he's a bit short, 5'4" at sixteen years old, still quite slim for all his military bluster, and there's no mistaking his face for that of someone anywhere near 21, but there's something in his demeanor regardless that says he feels right at home doing what he's doing.

Which at the moment is cleaning a glock, his feet propped up on a shelf until he notices Dr. Chilton, at which point Carl brings his legs down and sits up straighter. He doesn't say anything immediately, continuing to quietly clean the gun as he takes a moment or two to size Chilton up, then asks: ]

Afternoon, sir. [ A bit formal and disciplined, sure, but also casual. ] You know what you want yet, or are you still just browsing?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Are you even old enough to buy any firearm, yourself?

[Carl's appearance astounded Chilton, who had indeed stumbled his way in out of interest and a growing sense of self-preservation. Ever since Woden's experimentation with Chilton and the mantle of Eir, the doctor felt a gnawing urgency creeping up his back. Even gods could be slain -- it was just a matter of how.]

Should you be touching that?

[A nod to the glock mid-cleaning.]

[thirdstrike]

Think I'd be working here if I wasn't?

[ Rhetorical question, because yes-- of course he would be, he is. But Carl is almost seventeen now, which will then put him at almost eighteen, so he barely considers it a concern in the slightest. Who here can really prove how old he is or isn't?

Carl keeps his gaze trained on Chilton, still cleaning the glock through idle muscle memory before he holds it up with a lazy smirk. ]

Don't worry, it isn't loaded. [ Then he sets it aside, folding his arms over the counter and looking Chilton over in a more obviously assessing sort of way. ] I'm guessing you probably want some sort of pistol, right? Either that or a rifle. You can hold it if you want-- test out the weight.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Well, this is still Florida. So -- yes, presumably.

[He just burned an entire state in front of a small child. Or a small seventeen year old; they're both very similar to Chilton.]

I should hope not. [He figured it was policy to keep all firearms unloaded while in shop, even if the bullets were sold side-by-side.]

I was mostly just browsing. [Carl's assertion caught Chilton off-guard.] But, ah, sure. Let's feel that one.

[Fingers ready to grip.]

[thirdstrike]

Well, people are probably legal by twelve in Florida anyway.

[ Not that he knows anything about Florida laws yet, really, but even people who've never set foot in Florida before arriving here tend to have some idea of the state's complicated reputation.

Carl smirks, sliding the weapon over the counter toward Chilton so he can hold it. ]

That one there's pretty lightweight... easy to fire, manageable recoil, but it's better off as a close-range weapon. Target practice, self-defense, something like that. Long distance it probably wouldn't do much damage, unless you've got like, perfect aim.

[slightlyoffchilt]

That cannot be true. [But Chilton didn't know enough about Floridian law to dispute it. So instead, he took the gun -- cautiously. His lip quirked at something Carl had said.]

Are you profiling me for the lightweight one?

[Evidence of any profiling would, naturally, fetch his attention.]

🔪 FOR ARCHIE

[thirdstrike]

[ Of the various meet-ups Carl's managed to already arrange, one of them that he's been looking most forward to are the clubbing lessons with Archie; it's been a while since Carl's really been able to let loose with a baseball bat, a long time since he could get away with popping a grown man's knee with a merciless swing since-- well, when you're eleven you can get away with that a lot more easily than when you're sixteen, when you're supposed to know better, do better, and generally behave in ways that won't make people question if you're a psychopath.

Carl isn't one, whatever that really means. He was just one of those children with an especially indiscriminate sadistic phase that made him, even now that he's matured significantly since, somewhat deadly with a bat.

He struts towards the imPort gym to meet Archie, wearing a beanie and a sweatshirt for warmth and holding the baseball bat against his shoulder like a ballplayer, a duffel bag in his other hand. When he sees Archie, he holds the bat up to wave with it. ]

Hey. [ Archie has a good half a foot on Carl, but Carl doesn't seem too thrown by that. ] First things first-- you got my ten bucks?

GUN SHOPPE

[calltheundertaker]

[Well, Jesse already has a gun, but what he doesn't have is a good supply of bullets. He had showed up with what was in his gun, and one speedloader. Which was... not satisfactory. So a day or so after arriving, he'd gone in search of a decent gun shop to buy some bullets.]

[Which is how a man dressed like a cowboy, hat, boots, serape, and all, (though he'd at least left his spurs and body armor in the closet of what was supposed to be his new home) ends up sauntering into Mickey Milkovich's Gun Shoppe. He's carrying, but not like someone that's trying to show off that they have a weapon. Despite how archaic his clothes are, he's not from the Wild West, and so he looks over the guns on display with an appraising eye.

After taking his time he comes up to the counter. "Howdy. I'm lookin' to get some .45 ammo, an' a coupla speed loaders." It doesn't seem to phase him that Carl is clearly far too young to be working in a gun shop, he was a hell of a lot younger when he'd learned to shoot.

[thirdstrike]

[ This dude certainly makes for quite a sight-- Carl stops what he's doing when Jesse comes in, just taking in the full splendor of seeing someone decked out head-to-toe in cowboy garb. Being a sixteen-year-old boy though, he finds it more cool than ridiculous, if still somewhat weird either way.

Carl looks him up and down in an assessing sort of way, trying to guess what the man might be looking for, before Jesse comes up to the counter and just tells him point-blank. So Carl nods, moving to go get the ammo. ]

Yes sir, coming up. [ Steadily Carl stacks the items on the counter, beside the register. ] You doing one of those Civil War reenactments?

[ The Civil War had cowboys, right...? ]

Wow, I fucked that html all up. Oops.

[calltheundertaker]

[Jesse will take "cool, but weird" over "ridiculous" or "what the fuck are you wearing, McCree" any day]

[He chuckles and shakes his head]

Nah, this's jes me. It's an aesthetic. [he smiles, tipping his hat. It's a reasonable question, but nah, this is just how he likes to dress.]

no worries!! and I'm so sorry for the delay ;;

[thirdstrike]

Oh.

[ Carl isn't sure what to make of that, exactly, but at the same time, he's hardly one to begrudge someone an aesthetic. He's gone through a couple such phases, himself. ]

Cool. I've never actually met a cowboy before... in Chicago the closest thing's always just creepy guys in costumes. Are you like, a real one?

[ Whatever that even means. ]

It's okay! I'll take backtags any day!

[calltheundertaker]

[McCree looks a bit thoughtful, then shrugs, rubbing the back of his head under the hat]

Well... I guess that's a hard question? I guess I ain't a real cowboy. I ain't never rode a horse or roped cattle or nothin'. But I'm pretty sure no one does that where I'm from, all the horse're owned by rich folks fer racin' an' bots take care'a the cows.

[He shrugs, there's more, about how he had really felt a connection to cowboys in the old movies, the ones that fought for justice and weren't always nice or even good, but they made sure the bad guys were brought to justice that he thought was more important than his (questionable) horseback riding abilities.]

But guess I figger there's a bit more to it 'n jest that. So no, it ain't a costume.

yay because sometimes I'm just slow af \;o;/

[thirdstrike]

[ The explanation isn't the clearest, but it still makes a weird sort of sense to Carl-- maybe because, again, he doesn't actually know a lot about what makes a real cowboy, but he's enjoying the novelty enough of getting to see one now. Or someone dressed up as one. ]

I thought all cowboys rode horses. You really don't know how?

[ He inclines his head to one side thoughtfully, beginning to ring up the ammo. ]

I mean, I don't either, but... [ Then, a shrug. ] So did something inspire you?