maskormenacelogs | all the nights I don't remember are the ones I can't forget

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all the nights I don't remember are the ones I can't forget

WHO: CARL GALLAGHER and YOU.
WHERE: Around, mostly Heropa & Maurtia Falls.
WHEN: First week (and a half) of/throughout February.
WHAT: Catch-all open log! Carl balances several jobs, is annoyed about Valentine's Day, and in between it all moves from Maurtia Falls to Heropa.
WARNINGS: Canon typical mentions/references to violence and drugs/arms dealing; anything else, will ETA as necessary!

❚❚ PSYCH HOSPITALITY | DR. CHILTON'S HOSPITAL, MAURTIA FALLS

For the most part, Carl's been trying to earn his living the right way.

And for the most part he's been succeeding, too, but that's not to say temptation still hasn't been around every corner. When he first showed up here, he'd quickly realized that he could use his magnetism power to, for example, rip-off quarters from vending machines, and since then new opportunities seem to present themselves everywhere. Locks to open on storefronts or cars, ATM mechanisms to override, security cameras to break... Carl's mostly managed to resist, but it eats at him every day. What Would A Gallagher Do? The answer is steal, 8 to 9 times out of 10.

It's on his mind, for instance, as he patrols the hallways of Dr. Chilton's hospital working security detail -- earning his living the right way by taking on freelance gigs -- brass knuckles on his hand and a taser in his pocket (both off the record, of course), passing by all the locked doors he's sure computers, medication, and other expensive medical equipment must be stored behind. It'd almost be the perfect score, if Carl let himself take the bait.

But he won't, for the most part doing his job right and making sure no one breaks in or tries to break out, managing to project an intimidating impression that says he's willing to chase or beat anyone down that tries anything-- sneak up behind him and find out for yourself! That's not to say he won't at some point also scramble a security camera and unlock a door with his powers when he doesn't notice anyone else around, though, so he can give the room a slow, assessing sweep of his eyes. Still just doing his job.

❚❚ I WANT CANDY | A PARK, HEROPA

Carl has never had a girlfriend for Valentine's Day, and normally that has never really bothered him. This time, though? It bothers him... just a little bit, it does. He's done so well getting and keeping his ex-girlfriend Dominique off his mind, but it's hard to keep that up while being bombarded by all the commercialized romantic propaganda the approach of Valentine's Day brings about, and still so relatively soon after their break-up.

All things considered, though, he's still managing to hold up pretty well, even if it's not his proudest moment to buy $20-$30 worth of Valentine's candy and chocolate -- not even on sale! -- to eat on his own like a heartbroken loser... or at least, like a child. Yet that's exactly what he's doing, sitting on a park bench eating from a box of chocolates, laughing periodically as he throws a piece out to the pigeons or the rats and watches them swarm it. He's got a duffel bag with all his belongings resting beside him on the bench atop a skateboard, the only thing he needed to pack to make the move from Maurtia Falls to Mickey's place in Heropa, but he's taking his time making it all the way there. After all, what's the rush?

❚❚ BEATING AND/OR BOXING | 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.

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. Even when he doesn't have anything lined up, he'll pop by a couple times before starting work or during lunch, offering his sales pitch to new ears.

❚❚ PACKING HEA(R)T | SOUTHSIDE: M&G ARMORY, HEROPA

Mornings and early afternoons Carl works 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. Not only that, Mickey's offering a Valentine's Day promotion, much of the merchandise being sold at discount prices and available in custom, spray-painted colors. Don't want a weapon in red, white, or pink? Carl's happy to spray paint it in any other color or pattern.

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?

❚❚ WILDC♠RD

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.

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Even though Carl's moving out of the house, and is also extremely suspicious that this "legal internship" Foggy had recommended him might not actually be something he gets paid for, it doesn't take him too long to reach the conclusion that there might be some benefit to going along with the idea. He's going on about a month now in this world still without enrolling in school, because after a few months in military school, Carl now has very little interest in going back to a regular high school.

As such, his days are full of time that he prefers to spend productively, which to him usually means making money. In this case, though, even free legal information would be valuable to learn, because as much as Carl considers himself to be on the path of the straight and narrow, he knows himself and his genetic line too well.

And if he is going to be breaking laws, he might as well start learning how to be smart about it.

Carl brings over Foggy's coffee, eyes skimming whatever paperwork might be resting on top of the desk before he raises his gaze to make eye contact.

A beat.

Edited 2018-02-06 14:39 (UTC)

[So sue him, Foggy feels a little bit responsible for Carl now. Thankful, maybe, that he'll finally get his mornings to himself so he can sleep in once more, but at the same time Carl's sixteen. He's got a duty to at least ensure the kid's okay, and the internship is both a way of doing that and also securing someone who'll get him coffee while he's pouring over case files.

Plus he gets to make sure that even if Carl breaks a law, he's at least smart about it. Though Foggy would really rather prefer he didn't, because—lawyer, you know.]

From my extensive experience as an intern? [He glances up, takes the coffee from Carl.] Take what I say with a grain of salt, because the law firm Matt and I [ah, yes, the mysterious Matt shows up again] used to work at was soulless and evil, but when I was an intern we sat in on a lot of meetings—with the clients, with representatives of the clients, with the plaintiffs. With the DA a few times, too.

[He takes a sip of coffee.]

We were also usually picked to go get coffee, or donuts, or case files, anything our bosses might need. We ran a lot of errands, so you can expect a lot of that, on top of taking notes in meetings with clients and sitting in on courtroom trials. I'm not gonna lie, it's not always as exciting as legal dramas tend to depict it.

[ No matter how "boot camp" most people's first impression of Carl here was, few things suggest current or former juvenile delinquent quite so clearly as having military school on one's resume. Even without advertising the fact it's probably written all over Carl's face to anyone who would know better, and he doesn't doubt Foggy missed that trick, either; why else offer him this position, of all people?

Carl doesn't intend on missing a trick either, as long as he's here. Protect himself, protect his own-- that's important to know how to do, especially in a place where the only family he has is Mickey "escaped ex-con" Milkovich. ]

Like what kind of errands? Cuz if I'm not gonna even get paid for any of this then I feel like coffee and note-taking is already pushing it.

[ He's not actually sure if he's getting paid or not, but he remembers his older brother's internship didn't pay him so it seems like a safe assumption. Carl pauses before continuing, though, not actually wanting to come off as belligerent, so he gives himself a moment to regroup his thoughts. ]

I mean... that's the part I'm interested in anyway. Y'know, learning about how it works. [ Note-taking. Edu-ma-cation. ] As long as it doesn't interfere with any of my other jobs.

[He absolutely did not miss those signs, but hey, Karen used to be a murder suspect and Matt is a vigilante, so.]

The pastries and warm fuzzy feelings aren't cutting it for you? [He's joking. He knows damn well pastries and warm, fuzzy feelings are definitely not going to put food in the fridge and coffee in the cupboards.] You'll be drafting legal documents under my supervision, making sure important papers get filed in the court, and sometimes if I'm already doing something else, I'll send you out to investigate a case, talk to a witness, a client, or a person of interest about a particular case, or even take a look at a relevant location.

[That last part is definitely not something law interns usually do, but Foggy's one person lacking a partner with super-senses and a secretary with the tenacity of a bulldog. He's got to make do.]

It won't, promise. If it does, let me know, all right, and I'll work something out.

[ It's hard for Carl to resist grinning just a little when Foggy describes his responsibilities; he's never really been passionate about law in particular, obviously, but there's something strangely cool about being trusted with actually important stuff. The last time someone did that for Carl... actually, he's not sure it's ever happened. ]

Cool.

[ Which maybe conveys his interest a bit less than his grin does, but it is sincere. ]

What kind of cases do you usually do? Like will I get to interrogate anybody?

[Foggy can't help it, he grins back. It's always nice to see someone taking an interest in law, even if Foggy himself wouldn't totally recommend the path that he took—internship at a lucrative law form, followed by forming a less lucrative and more broke law firm with his best friend, followed by a tiny tiny bit of aiding and abetting in vigilantism. But he's not going to say that last part, so.]

I specialize in criminal defense. [A beat.] Okay. Technically, anyway. In practice, I do a lot of work outside of criminal defense—property law, corporate law, contract law. That's not usually the case with bigger law firms, but, y'know, we're pretty small, I'm desperate for money and I don't have my partner with me, so. [He shrugs.] Consider it a well-rounded experience of the law.

[The way he says it, there's some slight gallows humor there.]

That being said? We don't tend to interrogate people, no. [Except—but he's not going to bring up Healy, of all people.] I'm a lawyer, I leave the interrogation up to the cops. What I do, what we do, is obtain information about their situation in as professional a way as possible, and for our clients, provide advice. It helps to have a nice, friendly tone of voice when you're asking them questions, so—you could interrogate them, possibly. You just can't make it obvious you're interrogating them.

[See? Helpful!]

Also, if you really need more information and you can't get it out of them, I recommend talking to a police officer and asking them for info—though they'll ask for donuts, first. I know at least one detective in the MFPD likes Cuban cigars, so I recommend getting some of those.

[ Maybe not the specific sort of interest in law that Foggy might be hoping for, but to be fair... Carl has turned over the thought of becoming a cop on more than one occasion. Not very seriously yet or anything, Carl's still only seventeen after all, but it was a cop who took him under his wing and helped put Carl on his whole military school track to begin with.

And damn if Carl doesn't fall for it every single time whenever an authority figure pays him some attention, especially positive attention and especially from an authority figure he actually has some respect for. For better or for worse, but-- at least in this case, for the better. ]

Criminal defense, huh... I'll have to remember that in case I ever end up needing a lawyer here, then. [ The way he says it makes it sound like he's just kidding. Probably. ] That works out pretty well though, cuz I think that's the part of law I know the most about. Got some felons in the family.

[ Which is true. Actually... quite a few, even if he wasn't including himself. In a similarly possibly-joking tone, Carl goes on: ]

So no tackling them to the ground or knocking them around a little with a sock full of nickels. Got it. I'm not too bad at intel-gathering either, though-- like the whole not being noticed n' shit thing. [ He's got lots of experience with that, in fact. ] Wait, if you've actually got like, a bribe list I'll need to know about then I should really be writing this down.

Carl is not really someone who most people might consider "good with kids" -- he certainly wouldn't say so -- and not only because he almost looks like one himself, either. Being the second youngest out of six siblings he only barely has the experience to be considered a good big brother, but between that and also being a fairly recent uncle, Carl's developed at least a handful of relevant instincts.

Not only that, relevant empathy. Which is not to say Carl feels like he owes anyone here anything, let alone this random ass foul-mouthed child, but as a former foul-mouthed child himself, he can respect attitude. It's a weird way to feel kinship, but valid enough-- and if someone's going to help this kid out with learning how to be independent at a very young age, Carl's the perfect candidate.

Aside from mouthy, Eddie strikes him as a bit jumpy, too, so Carl doesn't even try asking for his address lest he trigger some sheltered "stranger danger" instinct. Luckily, though, Heropa's not that big of a town, and Carl's moved in just a few doors down in house #003, so it doesn't take him that long to find Eddie's house; he waits outside across the street, one foot on a skateboard. He offered his help, and that's exactly what he plans on doing-- his own way, obviously.

Edited 2018-02-06 16:31 (UTC)

Carl's first week in Heropa could be described as eventful. He's got a knack for that-- not only for making the most of his time, but for causing spectacles and/or chaos out of seemingly thin air. Long story short, when Magnus got asked to help Carl with "a project," he was probably not expecting to find Carl fighting off a gator and a barbed wire fence in some muddy swamp off a gravel road.

He's fallen on his ass and has lost a sneaker crawling under the fence, currently trying to multitask keeping the gator back with his non-bare foot and fumble his taser out from his very, very muddy short pocket. Bad idea? Well... who's to say.

uuuuck!

He shrieks, but in a way that sounds like some hybrid of a scream and a laugh.

fuck!

Edited 2018-02-06 16:58 (UTC)

[ Newly appointed Head of Security, Herr Starr, was bored. There were not nearly enough inmates to beat into submission and definitely not enough patients to intimidate. So why not bother the rest of the employees, he supposed? It was only in wandering down a long corridor that he caught Carl peeking into one of the rooms. Hm. Odd. This seemed an odd place for a child to be. ]

Is there something in there of interest?

[ This was one of his men, wasn't it? Someone working security. And as far as Starr was aware, there was nothing within the room Carl was observing that needed securing. So what was he doing? What was he supposed to be doing? Why had Chilton hired these children again? He claimed it wasn't a twink fetish, but seriously. Look at this guy. ]

Edited 2018-02-07 16:24 (UTC)

[ Definitely not enough inmates to beat into submission or patients to intimidate; if Carl didn't agree with that even on just a subconscious level, he probably wouldn't be wandering around in the first place. He may not be bored, no, but it'd certainly be keeping him busy enough that he wouldn't have to go looking for other trouble to get into.

Not that looking for trouble is what he's doing.

Carl shuts the door when he hears a voice behind him, turning his head in a casual way that doesn't immediately suggest he's been interrupted or startled. Don't be suspicious! ]

That's what I was trying to find out... doesn't seem like it, though. [ He looks Herr Starr up and down, trying to guess if this man is his supervisor or a patient. ] What happened to your eye?

[ Surprisingly, Carl is the first person who has asked Starr that question. And while his mouth sets in a thin line, he doesn't hesitate to answer. ]

A gang held me down while their leader carved the mark over my eye when I was much younger. They have all since died.

[ With a definite implication that Herr Starr was responsible for their deaths. Of course, that doesn't help clear up whether he's an actual employee or a patient. ]

You must be new. If I had to guess, given your age and since I've already met the other one -- you are the other imPort on security staff. Carl Gallagher, is it? My name is Herr Starr. Current Head of Security.

Damn. Did you kill them?

[ Carl is no stranger to gangs and gang activity, owing to having lived in "ghetto" Chicago his entire life but also the year he spent in juvie when he was fourteen-- so needless to say, his tone when he asks his question is not so much horrified as it is vaguely intrigued, a grin briefly stretching out his mouth before he flattens his lips tightly into a somewhat more neutral, unreadable expression.

He never looks away from Starr, though, his eyes scanning over the man as if to re-assessing whatever first impression Carl might have had of him. ]

So you're my boss, huh? Cool. [ The grin is back, and while it's more subtle this time, it also doesn't disappear. ] Yeah, I'm Carl Gallagher. Happy to be here, sir.

[ And then he salutes, because he's not exactly sure what the proper etiquette for this situation is. It feels appropriate enough for now. ]

[Brandon's always been rigorous about staying in shape. First for survival, then for his profession (which, come to think of it, included survival). That hasn't changed here. He's remained a little jumpy about the attention imPorts receive, and reluctant to rely on a power he doesn't understand to avoid it. An imPort gym was a welcome haven. Today, he was focused on the punching bags, and it took him a few moments to realize the kid next to him was talking to him. He pauses and stills the bag.]

What?

[ Even though the man he was just trying to talk to doesn't seem to notice him for what feels like a particularly long span of seconds -- though it surely wasn't actually any more than a minute, two minutes tops -- Carl manages to stay relatively patient. He just stands there, about a foot or so away with his hands on his hips, waiting until he's acknowledged but confident enough that he will be. Professionalism, after all, is pretty important for these kinds of things. ]

I said my name's Carl Gallagher and I teach self-defense-- no-holds-barred street fighting style, with a little bit of combat training worked in for variety. How much experience do you have fighting without your powers?

[Brandon considers the kid more thoroughly. He seems maybe a little cocky, but then, so was Brandon at that age. The kid looks like he could be capable, and he probably wouldn't be here if he wasn't.]

I never had powers before. [That he's fought before is implied. Brandon doesn't need to learn, but-] Practice would be good.

[To be honest, he's missed fighting. Being able to focus and sink into it completely. No guns, just your own capability.]

Oh yeah, sure. [ Carl responds with a single, curt nod. ] Doesn't really have to be self-defense if that's not something you think you need. We could always just focus on practicing with our powers or even just regular sparring, instead-- however you wanna do it.

[ It's your money, after all, Carl thinks, but doesn't vocalize. He's savvy enough to know it's smarter to figure out the details first, really sell someone on the service before bringing up money. Plus, Carl doesn't really have any experience fighting with powers himself, yet. ]

What kind of powers do you have?

[He'd want just regular sparring. But it's irresponsible, at this point, not to get a better understanding of how his powers can impact a fight.]

One's a- [He squints up at the ceiling for a moment] kind of invisibility? [What happens, apparently, is that people just stop noticing him.] And immunity to bullets.

[ It's the same with Carl-- he wouldn't mind regular sparring one bit, either, and despite being a skilled (albeit somewhat savage) fighter, it's not easy for him to find people to do it with since he's young and small. He really does need to learn more about how to use his powers in less controlled situations too, however; he's practiced a bit by himself, but that's about it.

He raises his eyebrows. ]

Hey cool, I've also got invisibility. Uh, I didn't know there were kinds, though... think I just have the regular one. Still, seems like a pretty good place to start then. [ His brows then crinkle in thought for a brief moment, before he continues: ] And you're bulletproof? Have you tested it yet?

[He shakes his head.] Not yet.

[He'd like to, though, before he's in a situation which might call for it.]

[ Carl smiles slowly but suddenly upon hearing that, as if that's the answer he was hoping for. Which, in fact, it is! ]

Then maybe I can help out with that one too after all-- if you want. I own a couple guns, also know a few places where we can go work on shooting.

[ Or just he can work on that part? However best it would reasonably make sense to play that sort of training out. ]

[That gets a raised eyebrow, though Brandon decides not to comment on just how Carl obtained those guns. If the kid knows how to handle himself, Brandon certainly doesn't have room to talk. But when he was Carl's age, getting into fights was easy, getting a gun, let alone several, was much trickier.]

It'd need to be out of the way.

[So that's a yes.]

Don't worry, it is. I work at a gun shop, so there's a range-- or I also know a couple of low-traffic underpasses, if that's more your speed.

[ Carl does indeed know how to handle himself... sort of. He's a young "reformed" delinquent and drug/arms dealer, so he at least has that experience under his belt, but that doesn't mean he can't be stupid, either. Kids that grow up too fast never grow up in all the ways they should. ]

Whenever you feel like you wanna try it out, you can just shoot me a text or something.

Which shop? [It's genuine curiosity. Brandon knows the one where he worked briefly, but it's always better to find as many resources as you can. A range, after or before hours, would probably minimize the risk involved...

He leans down to dig his communicator out of a bag neatly tucked against the wall.]

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all the nights I don't remember are the ones I can't forget

✦ FOGGY

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✦ EDDIE

✦ MAGNUS

Psych Hospital!

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ImPORT Gym

I'm so sorry for the wait!!

no worries, it happens!

\o7

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sorry for the wait!! I lost this in my inbox @_@

it's cool!