maskormenacelogs | i'm living out of time, eternal heatstroke.

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i'm living out of time, eternal heatstroke.

WHO: DANGER & CASSIDY
WHERE: THRIFT STORE!!!
WHEN: This week sometime???
WHAT: Poppin' some tags with like twenty dollas in they pockets.
WARNINGS: Will be updated as necessary!

[ The truth is that Danger barely owns any clothes of her own. She hasn't lived in this universe for almost four years, so any belongings she might have accumulated during her previous stay are long gone, and being a robot most of the time means that she's more or less nude most of the time. Which... Sort of poses a small problem in the rare occasion that she decides to be flesh and bone.

For instance, today: The shirt isn't hers. It's a little loose — obviously ~~stolen~~ borrowed from a man's closet — and much too expensive-looking for a creature with little to no sense of style. Who knows where she got the black leggings from. She probably walked into a department store and scared the living daylights out of the retail workers by being... Well, herself. Completely blue and clearly inhuman.

But Cassidy had offered to fix her wardrobe problem. So, she meets him at the nearest thrift shop, waiting outside in all her mismatched glory. ]

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[Cassidy is... well, a few minutes late to say the least, but that really can't be helped when you've got an ADHD vampire who's usually stoned out of his mind and lacking any true concept of time. He's made it, though, and that's what really counts.

He rocks up with in a beaten up leather jacket worn over a extremely retro looking shirt, ripped jeans and boots resembling but possibly not Doc Martens. More importantly he's carrying a large, open umbrella that's perched on his shoulders and an ever important pair of aviators to protect his poor lil' eyes.]

Holy shite, look at you! Quite the flesh suit y'got there, love, I'm liking it. C'mon lets get inside.

[Eager to shop. And even eager to get out of the sun.]

[ Fortunately, Danger can be patient — after all, it isn't as if she ages anymore than Cassidy does — and whenever she's in this flesh-and-bone body, there always seems like there's a lot to take in even standing in one spot. That soft organic brain doesn't compartmentalize and organize information the way her computerized one does, and so every stimulus seems to compete for attention. Smells and sounds and sights.

And speaking of sights. ]

Hello, Cassidy. [ She obliges him readily, turning to head indoors without needing to be prompted twice. The lack of socially acceptable niceties doesn't seem to faze her much — and neither does the impressive umbrella. ] Your flesh suit is also looking well.

That's sweet of you to say, love, it really is. No one ever compliments mine normally.

[No one ever usually calls them flesh suits, is probably why, but details!

He follows her inside, backing in through the door to ensure he closes the umbrella upon entrance without having it open inside for longer than necessary. Bad luck and all, but also just tends to get weird looks if he walks around with it up indoors, and it's just an added inconvenience.]

Didn't show up starkers then, ey? Who'd you manage to pilfer those clothes from? I'll be honest here, Danger, I'm diggin' the look but I think we can do better.

I had debated the matter, but I thought it might be rather counterproductive if we were denied service because I declined to wear anything.

[ She says that so straight-faced that it's almost impossible to tell if she's serious or not. Given the subject at hand — and her peculiarities when it comes to certain normal things like clothes — it's entirely possible that she may have just shown up butt naked.

At the mention of pilfering (which she is absolutely guilty of), Danger glances down at the shirt in question: ]

It belongs to Logan Delos. [ She shrugs lightly — the same behavior she'd learned to mimic as a machine, somehow more convincing in this body. ] I will consider returning it, once we have selected some items that suit me better.

[Joke or not, he's snorting in amusement, nose scrunching up in the process. Cassidy certainly wouldn't be opposed to the nakedness, but she's right, it'd probably ruin their shopping plans for the day. Makes no sense, car sales lots don't kick you out for not already owning a car, so why do clothes shops kick you out for not owning clothes? He blames the reptilian overlords, tbh.]

Don't return it! [He's quick to jump in, pulling his sunglasses lower down his nose and leaning towards her shoulder to get a better look at the shirt in question.] That's a good shirt, that. I'll have it. That Logan fella has got more than enough cash to buy another for himself.

[Magpie vampire strikes again.]

[ She eyes him curiously as he eyes her borrowed shirt, tilting her head slightly to watch him. Is it a "good shirt?" She picked it because it was easily available and comfortable — not at all scratchy, and just loose enough, given the few inches that Logan has on her. ]

Very well. I will give it to you. [ Apparently it doesn't matter to her that it's not her shirt to give away. Maybe not entirely surprising, since she already helps herself to Logan's space as if it's her own. Besides, Cassidy's logic seems reasonable enough. ] But first, you will have to assist me in procuring a replacement. It is my understanding that it is generally frowned upon for feminine-bodied organics to be in public shirtless, even with charitable intentions.

[Yes, good, he must collect all the free clothes. Satisfied with her agreement, he nods, finally flicking off his sunglasses and tucking them into the low collar of his shirt as he surveys the expanse of second hand clothing.]

It's shite, is what it is, let folk run away with no tops on if they want, eh? Although I hear that might not be so comfortable for some of the ladies, but what does a scrawny bastard like me know about that? [He is no boob expert, merely an appreciator of them. BUT ANYWAY, he keeps getting sidetracker from the importance of trashy clothing.]

Now c'mon, you, stop distractin' me with all that shirtless talk, and lets get searchin'. No real art to this; find somethin' you like, buy it.

[ Truthfully, she's not much of a boob expert either — this is one of the uncommon occasions where she actually has them, not just a silhouette in the shape of them. She looks down at those two lumps underneath Logan's shirt for a moment, tilting her head at herself slightly in a pensive sort of way before shrugging lightly and moving to join Cassidy in exploring this vast kingdom of pre-owned clothes. ]

...I don't know what I like. [ She answers plainly at length. Her fashion sense isn't something she's taken time to hone. ] No one ever informed me that I should know.

[ After a moment, she pulls two items off a rack to inspect — one in each hand. A second or two of scrutiny, then she turns them around to show Cassidy. And they're horrible. One is a oversized maroon sweater that reads in block letters "Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam." The other is a button up that, at first glance, seems to be striped but is, in fact, decorated in lines of pencils. ]

[Cassidy begins his browsing right alongside her, flicking through the various coloured tops of varying degrees of tasteful, and sparing her a side glance to observe her selection. And then double taking to squint at that maroon sweater.]

Normally, love, I'd say there's no line when it comes to what you can like, but jaysis, you can't like those. Put them back. Here, look, you gotta have preferences, right?

[He pulls out his own two selections almost at random; one a grungy looking grey sweater with a stretched neck and holes and tears added for ~style~, and the other is a vintage, sporty looking bomber jacket for a high school he's never even heard of.] Gut instinct. Y'gotta have one you'd wear before the other.

[ She promptly puts the two terrible items back — no arguments there. As for his options, well... Danger leans to scrutinize them, tilting her head one way and then the other. There's no scientific way to quantify which piece is better. They both serve more or less the same function. She's definitely overthinking it. So much for gut instinct. ]

Is it misleading to wear a jacket from a school I did not attend? [ Squint. ] Why does this one have so many holes? What purpose do they serve?

[ She's trying to find some rules to apply here, but that's not how fashion works, is it? ]

Overthinkin' it, Danger. You gotta draw on the real basic shite here, switch off that brain of yours and strip it right back. Colour good? Colour bad? Me likey pattern. Warm? Cool? Comfortable?!

[Still patiently holding the two forward like he's definitely expecting her to pick. Like, if she doesn't he's having them for himself anyway so it's no great loss for humanity.]

[ But Cassidy — overthinking is one of her favorite pastimes. Still, fortunately (or not), she also tends to respond in a particular way to a challenge, and it may or may not annoy her a little not to be good at this shopping thing immediately. She can simultaneously fight a dozen superheroes and win, so how hard can it be to pick out a couple tops? ]

...This one.

[ Finally, she points at the sweater. ]

Next.

[By most people's standards Cassidy isn't all that good at this shopping thing either. There's no thought that goes into it, he just grabs whatever off the rails and buys it, usually without even trying it on. His favourite type of shopping, though, is the kind where you just steal your clothes from other people and collect items from random places.]

Wasn't so hard, was it? [Said with a smirk as he tosses the sweater at her while slinging the bomber jacket over his shoulder.]

Now you gotta pick one outta the rack. Same principle.

[ Truthfully, before her abrupt Porting out several years ago, the majority of her closet was comprised of borrowed or commandeered clothing. The only thing she had ever purchased for herself was a comfortable pair of boots — sturdy, because human toes were a surprising weak point, susceptible to stubbing and having things dropped on them.

He tosses the sweater her way and she catches it, giving the thing a skeptical once over before turning back to the rack to pull something out — trying to apply those new parameters: Does she like the color? The pattern? Does it seem comfortable? Finally, she produces a pair of black skinny jeans, torn at the knees and decorated with a bold racing stripe down the side. She holds them up for Cassidy's approval. ]

Perhaps I should have downloaded a few years' worth of fashion catalogs before this. It would have been easier to write an algorithm to make these choices.

[This is actually only the second time Cassidy has bought clothes since he arrived a few months ago, so he figures he should stock up while he can. While Danger is making her decisions, he steps over to one of the racks opposite and starts pulling out various shitty t-shirts, a variety of colours and shitty slogans strewn across them. Some are put back, but plenty of tossed over his shoulder, all chosen with merely a brief glance.]

Nice find. Can't turn down a good pair of ripped jeans. Leggings, have a look at them too, y'got the legs for them, love.

[Cassidy is back over with her at the pants section, flicking through them all with interest.] Can you really do that? Download info into your brain like it's the Matrix?

I will likely have to download "the Matrix" and assess it in order to give you a proper answer, but I assume the answer is yes. I process information very quickly in my mechanical form. All sentient machines tend to.

[ With the sweater and the jeans folded over one arm, she comes over to see what Cassidy has picked up, leaning over his shoulder to observe as if she might learn some kind of skill just from watching him. ]

It is not, however, a complete substitute for simple experience. [ See, exhibit A: Cassidy, who has a hundred-and-something years of style development, and exhibit B: Danger, ultra-powerful supermachine who is something of a closet vulture and generally avoids clothes all together. ] I have only been sentient for thirteen years, and I have clearly not been dressing myself for the majority of that time.

[Damn, man, there's so few people around here who are understanding his movie references, life is so hard!

As for fashion and style... well, Cassidy may be just over a century old, but he's still a mess. If nothing else, he does have his own sort of style, even if said is little more than the magpie method of collecting and wearing whatever he can find, but it works for him enough that some would consider a fashion choice of some sort. That's all he can really ask from Danger.]

Jaysis, you're only thirteen? Like, you've literally only been walkin' around for thirteen years?

Less.

[ Her tone is nonchalant though, like she doesn't see anything unusual about that, per se. Age is a different concept for machines like her. By some standards, thirteen is quite old — and by others, it's nothing at all. Miniscule even. ]

I am technically a sentient codestruct. My consciousness is distinct from the container you likely identify as "me." [ Matter-of-fact, as she browses clothes, picking out a few items as she goes. A jean jacket with some patches, a comfortable flannel... ] So I was awake some time before I was able to build a body for myself. After that, some "walking around" did occur, yes.

[ A pause, as she looks up to scrutinize him: ]

How old are you, Cassidy?

Christ, robots are weird. [Beat...] No offence, love.

[One day he might get used to the fact there's actual sentient robots and machines walking around that can do so much more than the average human, but for now he's just going to remain consistently confused by it. At least there's clothing as a distraction, and he's there by her side, nodding his approval at her choices. Until that question gets asked and he's just smiling slyly as he goes back to rifling through shirts.]

Older than I look. I got a bit of a condition, see. S'better than moisturiser.

None taken.

[ There's a small pause as she considers his sly smile and that strange answer. ]

That is vague. [ Her hand stops rifling through the clothes on the rack, her attention now resting heavily on her companion. ] Will you clarify what you mean by "a condition," or is it a secret that you prefer I do not press you for?

Seein' as you asked so nicely...

[He turns enough to face her, leaning an arm on the rails of clothing a little too awkwardly but look, he's working with what he's got and sometimes he hasn't got a lot. It's not like this whole "condition" of his is a big secret, it's just not one he likes to shout publicly considering the hate there tends to be back home.]

I'm a vampire. Been alive for close to a hundred and twenty years and still goin'. In it for the long haul, you could say.

[ Oh.

Danger's stare lingers for another moment or two before her mouth does something funny — a faint, tiny little quirk that's gone in a heartbeat and almost as unreadable as her normal expression. ]

Acknowledged. [ She goes back to browsing. ] In the future, I will take care to invite you out in the evening instead.

[A snorting, short lived laugh.]

Appreciate the thought, I really do. Day times not so bad though, not when I got a bit of shade. I won't lie though, evenin' makes life a whole lot easier.

[He's still leaning, even as she begins rummaging once more.] So how's it work for robots, like? You think you could last forever if you kept up to date?

[ It's really not the most outlandish thing — as much as she appreciates the context. After all, she's spent her whole life knowing everything there is to know about every significant mutant in her homeworld. There are some strange beings out there, including herself. A little vampirism isn't enough to put her off. ]

Yes. Theoretically. I will never age, not in the way that organics do, so unless my code is destroyed or erased, I will continue to exist. Some sentient machines are more linked to their bodies than I am, and they are at greater risk if their container is threatened. But I can easily transfer my consciousness. [ She glances at him, watching him lean there for a moment before she goes on: ] And you? Will your condition allow you to live on indefinitely? Is that something you even want?

That's bleedin' cool, love. You could be whatever you wanna be in the future. [Excited gasp!] Like a robot t-rex. Holy shite, an actual robot t-rex, that'd be bloody brilliant!

[Ugh, why did he have to think about that? Now that's all that's going to be in his mind for the next week. At least he has her question to distract him just slightly from the joys of robot dinosaurs.] As for me, not really a case of what I want, it just is what it is. Only way out I got is the sun, leave me out there- [A vague hand sweep towards a window.] -and I'll roast in minutes. No other way I know about.

[And as depressive and self-destructive as he may be, he's not suicidal. Cassidy's a survivor, he just doesn't really understand what he's surviving for right now.]

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