maskormenacelogs | [OPEN] Can you do the things you dream about?

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[OPEN] Can you do the things you dream about?

WHO: Kylo Ren and... you?
WHERE: Various mundane locations around De Chima
WHEN: Now-ish!
WHAT: Kylo Ren in a laundromat... and other adventures
WARNINGS: It's Kylo Ren

When Kylo Ren had first embarked in earnest on his mission to Exist Here, to build a life of his own free from the machinations and purposes that had defined his existence in the past, this hadn't exactly been how he'd envisioned it. He hadn't really envisioned it. As on many previous occasions, Kylo made his furious, defiant decision based not on the certain knowledge of what he wanted, but what he didn't. He might have caught glimpses of his ideal in dreams, but there's a distressingly wide chasm between dreams and reality– something he's learning, right now.

He doesn't own much– in fact, all of his possessions fit into two cardboard boxes in the back of the car his father gifted him, which he is currently living out of. It's not that he doesn't have anywhere to go, it's that he doesn't want to be reliant, and everything else feels like a surrender of one kind or another. So, bursting with godlike power, wild with the chaotic joy of having rejected all his masters and completely unequipped for independence, he sets out stubbornly to achieve it.

1 – THE LAUNDROMAT

Laundry is boring. That's one thing Kylo's discovered about the process. Having irritably removed someone else's washing from the machine and dumped the pile on the floor (look, he waited a whole twenty minutes after the spin cycle ended for the owner to come back and remove the load, all the other machines were in use, and if you don't like it you can fight him) he sits on the bench opposite in an outfit borrowed from someone of a fairly similar size and disposition, empty basket at his feet, staring moodily at his clothes tumbling around inside it.

This is, frankly, terrible.

2 – CLOTHES SHOPPING

Laundry is boring, and the solution, he decides, is that he will just buy more clothes. The problem he discovers through a series of aborted attempts to find something suitable is that he is very tall and very broad, and that stores tend to frown on people stripping off to try things on no matter how firmly he attempts to explain that he's fine where he is. Why would he want to select items, carry them all the way to the designated areas for stripping off only to discover his choice doesn't fit?

By the time he's in clothing store #4 he's seething, furiously pushing through a rack of shirts in a vain attempt to find a black, long sleeved one in his size, and the first attendant to approach him is met with the rage earned by all the unfortunate souls before. Patience long since drained, Kylo responds to the intrusion by whirling round angrily and hurling his will straight at them. Flailing, the attendant sails through the air and crashes into a display of winter jackets.

Hah.

3 – FOOD COURT

Laundry is boring, shopping is an exercise in futility. Having worked up an appetite with all that righteous fury, Kylo stalks to the food court. He narrows his eyes, scanning the various options available before selecting a vendor serving cheeseburgers. Acquiring one takes a little longer than he'd expected– the person in line before him deliberating over their order far longer than is necessary. He takes matters into his own hands. It isn't difficult.
The Mamba burger, he pushes, grinding the suggestion into their thoughts irritably. You want the Mamba burger. With Fries.

+ WILD!
Want a Mundane Kylo Ren Adventure of your very own?
Feel free to bump into him! Open to plotting/chatting as always:

starktech or discord @ cryloren#2195

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Said display of winter jackets, however, just so happened to have a purple tiefling underneath them, checking out the bag display and wondering which one would clash with his current outfit. Molly turns around, a bag in hand, and looks up—

—just in time to be buried under a display of winter jackets.

“Fuck,” comes his muffled, vaguely Irish (not that Molly would know that part) voice from under the sad pile of jackets. He pokes his horned head up and gets to his feet. “Fuck’s sake—who’s shoving people into display racks now?”

Edited (changes link) 2019-01-04 15:50 (UTC)

Crumpling heavily to the floor, the sales assistant groans quietly, needing a brief moment to stagger upright. Kylo seems more pleased than anything else, a smirk cutting across his face, and he's about to turn back to the rail of shirts when he notices... whatever that is, erupting out from under the mess.

He's distracted enough to miss the moment as the assistant flees, presumably in the direction of store security.

It's not the purpleness or the horns (Kylo's hardly unused to seeing non-humans) that has him staring. That outfit. It's completely nonsensical. It's an assault.

"...I don't like to be... followed," Kylo snaps, as if it's an explanation and not just an attempt to snatch plausible recovery from the frozen moment of horror. "While I'm browsing."

It’s probably a good thing Molly left his swords at home, because those would clash even worse. As if noticing that he’s being stared at, Molly straightens up more, putting his arms on his hips and looking the very tall and very broad dick who just ruined his shopping trip in the eye, his tail swaying irritably behind him. Keep looking, asshole, his body language and his, uh, questionable fashion suggests.

“So you threw someone into a display rack?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes his head. “You couldn’t talk to them first? There are ways to persuade people and make your point that don’t involve chucking them into the winter jackets.” Like magically charming them into leaving you alone.

"I could have snapped her spine," Kylo points out thinly, his shoulders still tense with annoyance. Throwing someone into a pile of padded winter coats is a relatively merciful gesture, all things considered.

Or at least he considers it to be.

It was a busy day at the food court today and all the tables were full. Eleanor had decided to grab food in between hitting some good sales that day but found herself without a place to sit. She considered her options and decided that the guy sullenly looking at his cheeseburger was the best bet. She was from Arizona, she had seen far more sketchy people at food courts.

"Yo, all the seats are full so we're going to be sharing," she said and without waiting for his answer she plopped down opposite of him. Her lunch was a burrito, fries, and a large milkshake- lunch of champions. She peered at him as she set her shopping bags beside her, raising her eyebrows.

"So what's your story? Did the burger do something to you?"

Edited 2019-01-04 19:11 (UTC)

Kylo blinked, chewing on the first bite of his interrupted meal slowly, his eyes tracking up to meet those of his cheery interrogator.

It wasn't a very good cheeseburger. The bun was too dry, the patty too greasy, and he still wasn't used to cheeses of the sickly yellowy hues favoured on this planet. He swallowed the mouthful down anyway, his oddly flat gaze steady on her face, and intoned in a low voice:

"That remains to be seen."

"You got the wrong thing- never go for the cheapest option, dude." Trust her, she has a lot of mall food court experience.

"It's your first time here, isn't it? Never go for the cheap burger and never eat the orange chicken at the Chinese place. The generic Mexican food is always your best bet if you avoid the beans." That was a lesson that she would never forget. She looked at him for a moment- she was trying to turn over a new leaf here and what better way than to try to help someone who needed it.

"Ok, put that down, you can't eat that. We need to get you something better."

It’s unfortunate that, of all the people Kylo could have attempted to mind trick that day, he managed to choose the one who’s immune to mind control. It’s also unfortunate that that immunity comes with an innate sense of when and by whom it’s being done.

Boba turns sharply to face the stranger, confusion and anger both clear on his face. He isn't quite sure what to make of the mental intrusion he just felt, but he knows he doesn't like it. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

"I didn't--" he began, but she'd already cut him off and for whatever reason he couldn't quite work out how to wrest control of the conversation back. It was like being caught in a current.

Maybe it was because he didn't want to– she certainly seemed to know more about the opportunities available to him than he did. After all, he'd only chosen the cheeseburger because he vaguely remembered eating one with... Han.
He pressed his lips together and slowly put it down.

"What did you get."

"Triple cheese nacho burrito- the meat may not be entirely real but it's forking delicious so it doesn't matter." She paused as she looked at the sad cheeseburger he put down. Yikes, she couldn't imagine what had driven him to get that, he must not be from a place where food courts aren't a thing.

She slid the tray away from him before making a decision. She put the plate with the burrito on it between them before taking one of the flimsy plastic knives to cut it in half.

"Here, try it. It's the least I can do for a food court virgin." She picked up half, not caring about the mess as she just bit down into it.

Immediately, his attention snaps onto that expression. He knows it. Awareness.
Which is interesting, of course, more than interesting. His own eyes narrow as he reaches out to test the boundaries of this... boy. Is it the Force he draws on? Or something else...

"Attempting to help you make a timely decision," he says tightly, indicating the line behind him. "We are all hungry."

Further mental perusal will uncover no inkling of the Force—nor will it provoke any additional reaction. Boba glares at the man, pointedly not ordering anything for several long moments while the vendor glances awkwardly between them. Finally, he turns away and completes his order. “Number five meal with cola.”

A glance at the menu will reveal that a number five meal is a three-piece chicken strips combo, not a burger.

Boba looks back at the stranger, still not moving forward in line. “Are you a Jedi?” he asks bluntly.

Edited 2019-01-04 20:38 (UTC)

A food court what now?
His eyes narrowed slightly– but the current had moved on, and suddenly he found himself staring as she picked the entirety of her half of the thing and sunk her teeth into it.

It probably wasn't intended to be a challenge but it certainly felt like one, and Kylo wasn't one for backing down. Copying her grip he plucked up his own half and took an equally decisive bite, similarly unable to prevent a certain amount of... spillage.

Force, it tasted good though. 'Real' meat or not.

Kylo's lips twist unpleasantly at the title. Subtle, he is not.

"No."

There's a moment where it seems like that might be all he's going to say. His dark eyes search the boy's face. There's something, isn't there. Something familiar, but he can't place it...

"What do you know of the Jedi."

It didn't take her long to polish off her half of the burrito and there was no shame as she sucked melted cheese and sauce from her fingertips, enjoying every last greasy drop. She had really missed fast food in the afterlife and she was making the most of having what was clearly a ripoff of Taco Bell here.

When she was done she looked at Kylo, rubbing her hands with napkins. This man didn't seem like the type who got out to eat fast food often. "Forking good, right?"

Poor Kylo. All he wants to do is get on with life in this terrible punishment of a world unmolested and worry-free. He may very well do it after surviving laundromats, discount shops, and overly themed burger joints. Out here, out on the streets? Most people just want to get home to their own things, just like him! He'd get away with it, too, if it weren't for those meddling empathic abilities the Force forced on him, because it's not long in his trek before he can get the very real sense of being seen. And not just seen, but...observed. Studied. Gawked and gaped at like some kind of natural oddity.

Spoilers: it's because he is.

Across the street, sitting on a bus stop, Cecelia Ardenbury is rather gobsmacked. This sort of coincidental sight is the stuff of bad fiction! Yet here she is, thumbing through a cheap imPort celebrity gossip rag, scoffing at the silly candids and blurbs within, when, all of a sudden, the brooding man from page 15 is right there in real life and plain sight.

It'd be fine enough to blow off as a silly circumstance, but she'd only just been squinting at the picture of his face poorly photoshopped onto a bare-chested, eight-packed body that was captioned with something along the lines of having a strong desire to be stepped on by him? Which was incredibly absurd and specific in ways she wasn't sure she wanted to know?

There he is.

Eight-pack man.

With clothes on, thank the gods, but all the same -- the face distinct and that broody atmosphere is palpable.

Gods.

Wow.

So, not a Jedi, but someone who seems to possess something like the Force. A Sith maybe? Or maybe he’s unaligned with either. As long as he’s not a Jedi, Boba supposes it doesn’t matter.

“They use the Force to change people’s minds, like you tried to do,” he says, still peeved even if the man isn’t a Jedi. “And they think they know better than everyone else.”

The belligerent way he looks up at him says he isn’t convinced Kylo is any different, Jedi or not.

It's little more than a mild tug at the edges of his awareness at first– as a tall, well-built man who carries a particular aura of dark, powerful purpose in his long strides he's hardly ever invisible in a crowd– but this is something different. It intensifies rather than dissipates, swelling rapidly from a low level hum of interest into a burst of surprise, a shock of...

Recognition?

He stops still. Utterly still.
He reaches out along that focused tether of fascination with his mind, seeking the source--

And slowly his head swings round, his dark eyes settling directly on the face of his observer. His shoulders follow.

Yes? he seems to be saying without moving a single muscle of his face. His curiosity burns. Here I am.

She's so relieved things can't get any weirder, because it's probably quite justifiable to see the exact person she was just reading about strolling along here; for some reason, this world has a wild, wild fascination with celebrity unlike anything she's ever known before. She'd only just begun to sample the fruits of fanmade labor here, so who knows? Maybe he's a staple of intrigue? With a look like that, she'd not be shocked. Like some dark, forsworn knight, or tortured victim of fate or something. And with how many different worlds are allegedly represented here? Maybe he's that exact oh gods he's looking directly this way.

Cecelia's heart stops after a beat of cold, horrible realization when she finally discovers that she's locked eyes with mystery-man. HOW. WHY. THEY'RE NOT EVEN ON THE SAME SIDE OF THE STREET??

Quick. Act natural. Look busy. Cecelia brings the magazine up to her face as a shield, practically smashing her nose into a stalker-style single-page collage of photos of random imPorts eating food. She holds pose for barely half a minute, brain buzzing, highly aware this is not natural at all.

But when I look up again, she assures herself, he'll be gone. Because nobody just STANDS there staring at a stranger like a weirdo like that. Right?

She peeks up.

Nobody stands absolutely, completely still on the sidewalk, staring at a complete stranger like they are the only thing of interest in the galaxy. Of course not. No. No-one would do that.

Except Kylo Ren.
Who is absolutely doing exactly that.

There's very little more intriguing to Kylo than feeling someone think about him. It's flattering, of course, but mostly he's struck by the sensation of being recognised, particularly as he knows with absolute certainty that the two of them have never before met. He doesn't recognise her. All he senses from her is a strange, twisting kind of... fear? Shame? But no threat.

Not that he can feel, anyway.
But the width of a street isn't much of a limit, particularly when he has his eyes fixed on her.

«Yes.» he pushes into her head. «You have my attention.»
Now what does she want with it?

"OH--"

The yelp dies in her throat and she clamps her mouth shut real fast before she can become a gulping goldfish. Er, redfish -- she's very red. In general, but also because her face flushes crimson in being caught.

Kylo's brought this upon himself by prying, so the heavens will have no pity for the idiot who poked into a teenager's head.

Oh gods WHY. No??? No, that's not normal. What? No? I wasn't doing anything, I didn't write this trash! Why do I have--

Wait. She blinks. Wait WHAT? Was that in my head? Did I make that up? I think I made that up. That sounds like something I'd make up. Like he's going to inquire as to why I'm staring. And then I'd say something like, "I noticed a peculiar air about you," and then he'd be like, "You must have a special quality about you to have noticed," and I'd be like "What??" and he'd be like, "You may be exactly the sort of person I need for my quest." And then there'd be another whirlwind quest to slaughter demons or some sort or he IS a demon and then Felix finally shows up and thinks I've BETRAYED him and oh GODS NO STOP??

The magazine flops onto her lap as she claps her hands over her face, muttering "no" over and over.

He isn't actively rummaging through her thoughts so much listening on her frequency, which lends the tumbling torrent of thought a frantic edge– it's as if she's sprung a leak, everything so uncontrolled. It's nothing like leisurely working a secret out of its hiding place.

His brow furrows as he wades through the onslaught, opening himself to receive, and--

It's a story.
It's a story she is telling herself, about him. Harmless. And very amusing. His lips quirk.

«I don't think the Gods are listening.»

But in their absence and in his temporarily infinite mercy, Kylo will answer the prayer instead. He leaves his gaze on her just long enough to be mildly unsettling, then turns away, slipping back into the way he'd been walking before the interruption. And if he puts just a little more drama into his stride as he goes? Well. He does have an audience.

On the opposite side of those winter jackets is Haru, her tiny stature hidden behind the display until out of nowhere a body comes hurtling through and knocks most of it over. She screams a little and steps as far back as possible, suddenly visible enough in that moment. The attendant is trembling, his body aching which comes as no surprise to Haru given that appeared to be a hard crash for him.

As she steps forward to offer her help, she does cast a sidelong glance to see what on earth could have caused him to go soaring like that. It takes only a split-second: Kylo's tall, dark form easily spotted from where she stands. She freezes, remembering how he had lifted the earth and rocks back at the Ted Kord Memorial Centre, then realizes it's extremely likely Kylo is the one who's exerted that power over the attendant.

When the attendant begins to say something about calling the security, maybe even the police, Haru raises her arms defensively.

"Please sir, I understand it wasn't appropriate! Um, my acquaintance is just er... v-very shy! Yes, very shy! It was simply a reflex," she looks over at the damaged display, grimacing. "... a very strong reflex... but um! We will take our leave now. Please, it won't happen again. Thank you very much for understanding."

She feels terrible leaving him there, but it's likely in everyone's best interests if she can get Kylo out of the store before the store attendant changes his mind and report an assault after all. Haru hurries over to Kylo, awkwardly smiling.

"We should go before he changes his mind... I'm sure you can find whatever it is you're looking for in another shop."

Molly rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. Even without pupils, it’s fairly obvious what he’s doing, because he sighs theatrically and briefly turns his head up, before looking back at this black-clad epitome of grumpy rudeness.

“Congratulations on fulfilling a basic requirement for decency and not murdering someone in the middle of the store,” he says, sardonic, tail flicking irritably around. He crosses his arms. “It must’ve been so hard for you, merely being an arsehole who shoves people.”

"I want the Mamba burger. With fries." Bean parrots, unable to stop himself. Except... Where did that thought come from? It wasn't his. He would never order a double-patty burger laden with toppings and sauce. That's enough food to feed him for days!

He doesn't issue a correction to the cashier, simply pays for the meal and steps out of line with his receipt, eyes scanning the other customers in line, judging who might have put the intrusive thought in his head. Most of them seem not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary even happened. Just another day at the food court. But there. That tall man with the dark hair and eyes. He had a look of intensity and purpose about him. He was mentally judging all the other people in line. And when the next person in line also ordered a Mamba burger with fries, and a brief look of self-satisfaction crossed the man's face, Bean knew it was him.

He strode over to the man, tugging on his sleeve. Just an innocent seven year old, though if the man had any powers of observation, he'd notice the spark of brilliance behind Bean's eyes.

"Teach me how you did that." If Bean's file was right, he would be able to do something similar, though he hadn't had the chance to test it just yet. He wanted to know for sure how it worked first.

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[OPEN] Can you do the things you dream about?

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3. /wildcard

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3!

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what can i say except you're welcome

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holy shit lmao, i am see u and also my shirt... open?? (it is not, sorry)

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