all efforts great and futile [OPEN]

[darkov]

WHO: Martin, various
WHERE: assorted, mainly MF, not...Heropa...hisses at the sun
WHEN: June
WHAT: Life, threaded in any format
WARNINGS: maybe some stomach-sick stuff



o1. some dog days
As the temperature rises and the days grow longer, people start to spend more time outdoors. And not just people -- pets, too. Martin's aware that dogs and cats are beloved companions here, but most seemed relegated to behind chain-link fences or peering out living-room windows. Strays he has encountered tend to stay out of his path -- save for that fever-dream week of repeats that, honestly? Martin's not sure was even real. The odd lack of consequence doesn't leave him convinced such things were ever true, but instead just another symptom of being so far estranged from the places and things he belongs to.

With so few clouds in the sky today, all Martin wants to do is get back to the house as quickly as he can and draw the shades. The sun seems so much bigger and brighter now, and coupled with the rising heat it makes for an unpleasant trek back from soccer practice. He's memorized the journey back, needing only a bit more patience to see him the rest of the way while cheap, plastic sunglasses keep trying to slide off his face and hair sticks to the back of his sweaty neck.

But remember the thing about there being a lot of dogs? It's actually a problem. Martin, like all Darkovs, are strongly disliked by most any animal they may encounter, be it the stench of their rotten blood or some secret understanding of their foul nature. In any case, it makes unpleasant encounters a guarantee, and all Darkovs are instructed to avoid disrupting the fauna for such a reason. Who knows what their blood could do to a rowdy creature?

It's why, upon seeing someone approaching down the sidewalk with their pooch, Martin freezes mid-step. This isn't the first time he's had to evade innocent dogwalkers before, but this time, traffic is still passing along the street near him, inhibiting his escape. As stranger and increasingly curious animal get closer and closer, Martin anxiously searches for an out. No alleyway here, just--just this door. Hastily, he yanks the shop door open and darts in, just as growling and barking begins.

Once he's pushed the door shut, he holds his breath, watching the angry animal through the glass as it's tugged away, only daring to exhale when he can't see it anymore. His head droops with relief for a beat before he realizes he just-- just walked into a random place. He's not sure what.

Slowly, he turns around, gawking.

Where is he, and who is even in here??



o2. a dash of mortality
One of the few pathways Martin's learned to get around by has a cemetery tucked away a light stroll away from the streets. He's been there a couple times, finding it a decent diversion that's devoid of many people for the most part -- save for the occasional funeral or well-meaning visitors who can, you know, magically prune grave sites.

That last part might be a bit specific, but it doesn't mean it's an isolated event: On this overcast day, Martin's been sitting near one of the marble monuments carved with dozens and dozens of veteran names, practicing spelling and trying to read them out. But before he knows it, there's a line of cars looping through the greenery nearby, and several folks in black making a trek to a fresh site.

Martin turns away from the memorial, sitting cross-legged on the ground and watches from his distance in silence, only partly understanding the proceedings. Turns out, he may not be the only one who's here and able to observe, because he gets that uneasy feeling of empty space being filled up nearby and whips his head around to face it.



o3. one of the staples of childhood happenings
This early in the month, school is still in session. This leaves the nearby park pretty empty of most kids, save for the littlest and their parents. Martin has a soccer field all to himself, and he's set himself the task of trying to get better at this. Rex went to the trouble of signing him up for a youth team, so he has to at least try to be decent. Though...he's not sure what good will come of this. The game's reminiscent of agility drills back home, but those have purpose. This is just for fun.

But...is this fun? He's not really sure. When it's with that gaggle of other kids and teens on the team, it's pretty stressful: he's afraid of messing up, mishearing instructions, or getting tripped up trying to avoid tripping someone else up. When it's by himself, it's just...kicking a ball from foot to knee, knee to foot...

Fun wasn't exactly emphasized back home; it was just conjured and found on its own, mostly by his other, more spirited cousins. Now, if Danielle or Ivan were here, then, maybe...

Martin bumped the ball up by the knee, then winds up and lands a kick that launches it toward an empty net. Instead of sinking straight in, however, it beams one of the goalposts and is sent flying elsewhere --

Toward an innocent bystander.

(You, o volunteer to thread.)



o4. thrusting all the creative onus on you
[if u have a prompt idea slap it down or ping me at whyellewhy on plurk COME AT ME.]

Comments

o5. untangling some stuff (ANDY)

[darkov]

[the door opens quite unexpectedly -- at least, for Martin's part. he startles, straightening up and peering toward the door, fish food flakes still stuck to his fingers while his hand is hovered over the bowl. is it Dio? or--]

...Andy?

[or...someone very Andy-like, just. messier. an Andy who got in a fight with a leaf-blower and maybe a tractor.

wow.]

Uh... We-welcome... [he sounds dubious; does she want to be welcomed?]

[killtime]

[ She probably could have called ahead. But she isn't really in the habit of asking for permission, and even less so when her day goes as badly as this one had. The short version is: She's out of a job now. The long version involves excessive force with three (3) rowdy patrons, maybe a dislocated shoulder and twp broken noses. She'd been warned to take it easy. She even tried not to hurt them. At first.

Hence the mess — tousled hair, and one sleeve of her flannel hanging by a thread. That's what her half-assed attempt at mercy got her. ]

I need a brush, a change of clothes, and a strong drink. [ So much for salutations. ] Please tell me that you and Rex keep at least one of those damn things here.

[darkov]

[before she's even finished her list, Martin hops to his feet, fish forgotten as he listens. he hesitates, unsure if there's more to go fetch in that grumble, frowning.]

...Um. We, we do, yes. There's-- Ho-hold on. I'll get them. [he hustles out of the room and upstairs, repeating the list in his head as he goes.

brush: bathroom. he doesn't know whose brush it is, but it sure is there. he grabs it.

clothes? well, er. not Martin's, he's too short. and grabbing Dio's would probably be stealing... technically grabbing anyone's would be, though? but. but maybe Rex won't be as mad. so...so he grabs Rex-things and hastens downstairs, returning to the living room and presenting them to her with an anxious frown.]

Sorry. Are these good? I still need to get the drink.

o1

[justbeingknife]

A bar, lights turned down as soft music played from the speakers mounted behind the counter. Majima had a cigarette in hand and a drink in front of him. As Martin darted inside, it was the bartender who recoiled a little at the sudden appearance of a stranger from the employee entrance. "What in the hell?"

"Oh. it's you." Majima recognized this guy from that incident a couple weeks ago. Yeah. With the cat.

"What's wrong, ya on the run again?"

[darkov]

It doesn't take long at all for Martin's attention to fixate on Majima, whose appearance is striking enough to give him pause, pause enough to realize he's a familiar face. His eyebrows lift with mild surprise, recalling that absurd and awful happening with cats and cars and pizza...

"Uh, hello," he utters, bewildered. What did he say? Run? Oh-- "Um. No, I..." He points over his shoulder. "There was a dog. I...They don't like me, so I..."

[justbeingknife]

Majima held up a hand. "Gotcha, no animals. If you're gonna be waitin' it out a little, why don't ya sit down?"

He turned to the barkeep. "What's the drinking age around here, anyway? 16? 18?"

The expression on the man's face suggested that in this establishment, the concept of legal drinking age was a bit of a flexible one.

o6. child manipulators pt 1 (ARCHIE)

[darkov]

[today, Martin's found himself in a strange sort of situation. well, maybe not strange in the way many things in this world are strange, but... definitely unusual.

one of the rules back home had been, in the event of being unable to escape interaction with a human, to ensure their safety first, then defer to all their other demands second. a Darkov's own needs lie further down the list -- only once a human is safe and secure can he or any of his kind see about their own interests, the idea being that there should be no other interests than a human's interests.

that this sort of rule would apply to the youngest of children didn't really ever cross Martin's mind, because he never expected to interact with any. ever. yet today, he's been roped in by a gaggle of kindergartners who were loosed upon a park on his route back to the house by warily watching parents. had it not been for those eyes settling on him so carefully, Martin would've just run off already, but his logic leads him to believe doing so would be...an insult? to the offspring? he's not sure.


LONG STORY SHORT: he's tucked away between some aluminium trash cans near the fence line as Archie's strolling on his way, counting seconds in his head and wondering if there's a rule for how long a "seeker" is supposed to take.]

[h2no]

[archie wouldn't have even spotted martin and would've continued on his merry way had martin not bumped up against the cans and rustled them slightly. archie stops on the other side of the chain link fence, glancing over. a trash raccoon, perhaps?

oh! yes. yes it is. archie puts a hand on the fence, cocking his head.]

Martin?

[he has so many questions.]

Uh...

[literally doesn't even know where to start.]

[darkov]

Huh-!! [he startles, sitting up and bonking the fence with the back of his head. he glances around and then up, over his shoulder, eyes big.

a beat.

oh, it's-- wait--]

Shh! [wincing, he brings a finger to his lips, shaking his head. it's at about that time that small feet tromp on by, and you'd think this was like a T-rex passing by from how Martin freezes up and holds his breath.

he lets it out only after the little girl and her pigtails bounce away on her quest.]

o7. child soldiers vs. sports parents (REX)

[darkov]

So, sports.

Sports are...alright, mostly. That is, they make sense on a fundamental level -- competition is natural, tests of skill can be useful, etc. Some of the rules and tricks are a bit confusing or odd, but never outright absurd. Heck, when it's being stripped down to its basics for practice, Martin actually finds it kind of interesting! He's good at memorization, so learning play patterns and field placements isn't so bad. All the yelling and the supposed teamwork parts are rough, given this is a pack of kids and young teens being coached in all of this, so that part gets pretty demoralizing, but for the most part? It's...you know, fine. There could be worse things to do with one's time.

But then actual competition happened, and things have gotten...intense? Intense. Heightened senses of urgency on the field aside, it's the feedback from the sidelines that's actually the source. This being his first time in "proper" play, Martin did not expect all the feedback from spectating parents. Some impatient, some impertinent, and others just...really invested, for better or worse.

Other players seem to tune it out or just take it in stride, but Martin is staggered by a sudden series of shouts when he's able to successfully steal the ball from an unsteady opponent and send it off to one of his allies. With the yelling, he's startled into bewilderment, looking for the source and wincing a bit to see it's not even the coach-person he's supposed to be listening to...

[ct_7567]

From the opposite side of affairs, Rex is finding it rather difficult to parse what being the guardian of a kid on a soccer team means. He'd thought that he would drop Martin off, occasionally stick around to watch if that made Martin feel any better about the unfamiliar set of circumstances and then take him home. It ought to be the easiest thing in the world.

Instead, everyone wants to talk. It's constant. They want to know what school Martin goes to (none; they decided he's home-schooled, whatever that means, and Rex hasn't bothered to dissaude him of that notion), what Rex's relation to him is, whether or not he has any assistance in raising him, what he does, what other extracurriculars they're looking into - it never seems to end. There's absolutely no reason for them to be that interested in Martin or, for that matter, Rex himself. He can't wrap his mind around coming to a children's soccer game to socialize.

They should be watching their own charges. That's all Rex wants to do, though he'll answer their questions with the reflexive etiquette that's been bred into him. Once they begin yelling, though - why do they keep yelling? This isn't the Galactic League! This is a bunch of uncoordinated, unathletic younglings tripping over their own feet! - he feels himself begin to lose his temper, something that's only compounded when Martin stares into the crowd with an all too familiar look of confusion and vague distress.

One mother has decided to yell at Martin: "Run! What are you doing? Run!"

This has gone on long enough. "Ma'am," he says, with an air of calm testiness that will always be far more irritating than actually snapping at anyone, "there's no need to yell. It's a children's game."

"Don't tell me what to do! Don't you want them to win?"

Rex blinks blandly at her. "I can't say I have an opinion on the matter, ma'am. It's a game." Which, frankly, he doesn't. He's not expecting Martin to be a master athlete. He just wants the kid to go outside every once in a while. At which point he turns to Martin and yells, voice rising up above the crowd with expert precision, "Martin, ignore them! Continue doing what you were doing!"

"Excuse me--"

Rex has heard people say that war is hell. They're wrong. This is.

[darkov]

The coach may actually be the one in charge of the game, but Rex definitely outranks. Martin perks up at the sound of his call, catching glimpse of him past a little cluster of people in bright clothes and hats and phones and...basically the opposite of Rex. He stands out. He...He seems to be really unhappy with whomever that lady unhappy with him is. It might be hard to parse nuance out of Rex's expressions, but that look's pretty blatant.

He feels a little jab of guilt as he backs away and chases after the rest of the team. This is really troublesome for him, isn't it? The back and forth isn't so bad, but this is the noisiest this venture has ever been, and Martin himself isn't really crazy about it. It's got a quality of an exhibition he'd have to give to the overseers back home, but...kind of in a bad-dream kind of way, what with all the bright light and heat and noise. Maybe he'll wake up to discover it was just his cousins running around yelling outside his bed. Then he'd get up, get dressed, and head out to the courtyard for training as usual...


"Uff-!"

He may not know every facet of this game, but what he lacks in that regard, he seems to make up for simply by his upbringing. He's more durable than most of the other kids, and deceptively stronger just from the years of conditioning he's undergone. It means the next time one of them sets to scuffling with him to juggle the ball away winds up being the one who trips up first. Martin just hunches a bit to stay steady and lets the kid stagger and roll off his shoulder on the way down, grimacing but ultimately relieved he remembered not to use his hands.

But maybe that still wasn't alright? He gets called by name -- well, Darkov, which finally grabs his ear and told to get off the field and go sit down. He's actually kind of relieved, paying no mind to the whining from the other kid laying in the grass while the tragically unpaid referee stoops over him.

So...so maybe this is good? Martin hopes that means he's done with the spectacle. It's so noisy and confusing. He squints and searches Rex's figure out again, looking for a clue, unaware he'd tripped up the son of the woman Rex is currently suffering the company of.

o8. child manipulators pt 2 (DUO)

[darkov]

[Martin is already past the point of bargaining, even out of desperation, to be let go and sent along his way. he is shepherded along and crowded by a gaggle of pretty determined, bright-eyed kids who take his stammering as the signs of a sad liar as opposed to just being...you know, him, and don't believe him when he say he's fine, he has a place to go, a caretaker...

they mean well, and so does he, but communication between them has resulted in an overwhelming victory for these Samaritans.

that's why they burst back into the orphanage around dinnertime, one dragging Martin along by his wrist as he stares around with a wide-eyed and worried frown. it was easier to relent back outside, but the further off the beaten path they've gone, and now inside a strange building, the more anxious he's getting. he's pretty sure he's going to get in trouble for this, somehow...]

save him

[hellrisen02]

[Duo is more than used to the kids being all full of energy about something they've brought back, around dinnertime, so he chuckles to himself at the bustle he hears in the entryway and sighs to go see what feral cat or leashless dog or what-have-you they've dragged in this time...]

[...That was not the feral animal he was expecting to see, though. He pulls a face at Martin, looking... put-upon, but not upset, and then turns to the kids with a raised eyebrow and hands on his hips.] Really?

But he's like us!! [Insists one child with a pout, giving Duo just as defiant a face.] Father, you oughtn't cast out the weary--

Puhhhh-lease! [Duo laughs, bopping the kid gently on the noggin.] Only weariness that kid's got is being dragged into this jungle. Alright, all of you, go clean up for dinner, will you? I'll take care of him, don't you worry....

[And with that he turns to Martin, giving a little puff of a sigh.] ...Long time no see. Sorry about them, they probably didn't realize what you were.

spaghetti first

[darkov]

[throughout the whirlwind exchange between children and caretaker, Martin is mute and taken aback -- not just that they've dragged him along to some grown person, but that he faintly recognizes said person. it clicks at the long, good-natured drawl of please and gives Martin a little jolt.

by then, he's at least released from the grips of a couple children, and they are then, too, scampering off to prepare for their meal, leaving Martin alone with the man who found him in a dumpster a...a real while ago.]

...

[he blinks owlishly up at Duo, growing more confused than concerned at this point.]

...Why are you here? [it's hardly accusatory, just blunt in his confusion.]

o4.

[craftpunk]

[ It isn't intentional, that Woden ends up being around Marty. It's pure happenstance, and he's actually in the middle of something, when he caught sight of the boy. He's talking with a reporter, one knee crossed over the other, outside on a bench, in the middle of the day. He'd chosen it on purpose, the power move clear with the way the reporter had to keep blinking, to keep the glare from his helmet out of her eyes.

She was pretty, too. If he'd known that ahead of time, maybe he would have been kinder. Nothing for it, the interview was just wrapping up, Woden finishing a long tirade when he caught sight of Marty, on a walkway a ways away. ]

-- but you see, that's exactly why the patriarchy hurts everyone, including me. I never said that I didn't benefit from implicit privileged, but you're making a lot of assumptions about who I am based on your own perception of what I have to say. For all you know, I could be a lot of different people under here, and people forget that, because they assume that I'm fitting into one mold.

It's harmful, is all I'm saying and we should remember that when we're -- [ He paused, and tipped his head, to pull the shine out of her light. ] -- Well, I think you get the gist, yes?

[ He finished up his interview, eyes on Marty, even though he focused his helmet's attention back to the reporter, and waited, watching where he went.

Maybe he should catch up. Make sure he's healing "well", since the Wild Hunt. ]

soft screaming

[darkov]

[Marty misses the chance to notice Woden beforehand: upon exiting the store, it's so bright outside that his immediate action is to grimace and shove sunglasses on his face, squinting and searching up at buildings for the familiar ones Anderson pointed out to him that will guide his way back to the house. traffic drowns out the distorted drone of Woden's distant interview across the street, and Martin, none the wiser, starts on his way with the bag of potatoes and carrots.

healing is...weird for him. his hands always bear the welts and bruises of conjuring, for one thing. and in his head and his heart? there's a lot of heavy, unpleasant things that linger, always just shy of reaching out from the shadows to claw at his senses and pull him back to darker, bloodier times.

what had happened with Woden during that chaotic week was a dream. he'd been so sure of it, up until the encounter in the kitchen. and now? well...

he's never the sort to ask for help in sorting things out. rather, he slows down, goes quiet, and pulls the blankets over his head, hoping beyond hope that the bad disappears. it never does, but...the world spins on. so...so he has to, too. and in filling his days with errands and diversions as his new guardians do, Martin walks away in daylight, shadows stored and safely in tow.]

[craftpunk]

[ It's unfortunate for Marty, as Woden finished up his interview in record time, focused on getting his word out, spreading the word about his new album, and then he leaves, in a shower of his rainbow bifröst, which spread beneath his feet, before he appeared again around a corner -- the one that Marty looked to have turned down. He waited, leaned against a wall, and lifted a hand, as if in greeting. ]

Well, hello there.

[ He said, his musical voice lilted in greeting, completely ignorant of what happened in Marty's kitchen. ]

o1-ish.

[viced]

[ Marty was, unfortunately, not the only person out on the streets today who drew the ire of every animal that they met. Somehow, it seemed that this was a common malady among those with powers, or perhaps those with eerie powers, and the local Senator from Virginia just happened to be in Maurtia Falls for a visit.

And he was without his entourage. Probably because he escaped. Which meant he was entirely defenseless, which was not as good as the freedom was, when people had their pets out with them on such a nice, beautiful day.

Which was where he passed Marty, and the dog, making a wide berth and then he had to give moment to pause, and turn around, as he noticed the dog wasn't straining the leash at him, and he had to stop, and stare.

Long enough that the dog did get distracted with boy in the window, only to turn and see him, and lunge again, which left the pet-owner entirely exasperated and frustrated, tugging a suddenly vicious housepet away, while it strained to get at the other walking monster. Mitchell decided to make it easy, and went into the shop himself, before he breathed a sigh of relief. ]

What did you do to it? [ He asked, looking over at Marty, slumped against the entrance door. ]

[darkov]

[he only just started to relax from the near-miss with the angry dachshund and crept outside when Mitch prompted him. Marty double-takes, shrinking back out of instinct upon realizing he's being asked.]

Sorry, what? I--Do what? I didn't do anything, I was just...What?

[viced]

That dog, it --

[ He made a face, almost comical, as he tried to think of how to say it without swearing. ]

-- It wanted your blood. It almost didn't know I was there, and that's ff-- [ he trailed off. ] -- that's weird.

o1

[queenofseers]

[ Cassandra is actually sitting down to eat for once in a nice bakery-and-coffee shop. Well, she should be. She's also on her cheap tablet reading a new academic paper about imPorts and their effect on culture that, despite the fact she hasn't been here long, she deeply disagrees with. The coffee and pastry she got is sitting there, untouched, while she glares angrily at the screen. That point doesn't even hold up! God!

But Cass is also sitting close to the door, and not only sees Martin enter, but also notices the dog trying to claw its way in. She knew this kid was weird, but that is...especially weird. But what else can she expect here, right? ]

Hey. [ She says, just loud enough for him to hear without too many of the other patrons noticing. ] Are you okay?

[darkov]

[Martin's peering out the glass as the angry pooch is yanked away by an exasperated owner, and in having to really lean to peek past curated shrubbery, he does a double-take and realizes he's being observed. and not just that -- talked at.]

Oh-- [he straightens up, turning her way, eyes big with surprise. double surprise because she's very distinctly...that...lady. from the one time. with the monster.] Uh, hello. I--sorry. Did you ask...something?

3

[versusseeker]

[Red makes a habit of visiting various parks throughout the porter cities, sometimes for training purposes, and sometimes just to take a little break and enjoy the greenery. Of course, walking nearby the soccer field, he doesn't think anything of the young boy practicing. He's not even looking when the ball starts sailing toward him.

[Pikachu is, though. He hears it as its coming and, seeing as he's already feeling a bit on edge for some reason, he snaps to attention at the sound, jumping up from Red's shoulder and doing a sick back flip that ends with him whacking the ball away with its tail--

[And sending it straight back toward Martin.]

[darkov]

[Martin ducks belatedly to the initial ricochet, whipping his head around and searching for the ball. it's almost slow motion, watching it sail toward the head of someone walking by, but then--]

GYAUGH-!!

[he goes sailing backward, knocked off his feet as the ball beams his face and bounces off, rolling casually over toward the net.

Martin lands with a puff of air knocked out of him, grimacing at the flood of bright, blue sky attacking his eyes as his sunglasses have flown off to who-knows-where.]