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maskormenacelogs2019-09-14 03:50 pm
hatestrashcans) wrote in maskormenacelogs2019-09-14 03:50 pm
(no subject)
WHO: Marco and YOU (also some closed prompts)
WHERE: Little bit of everywhere.
WHEN: September catch-all log
WHAT: Sometimes Marco's a dog, sometimes he's a hoodlum, and sometimes he's at physics lectures. He is a multi-layered human.
WARNINGS:Swearing, possible body horror/grossness, and underage drinking for a start.
Despite how he acted, Marco wasn't an idiot. He knows who the Joker is. What the Joker is. He's not headed to the club because he's under any delusion the man won't be insane or try to screw him over. It was a variable that Marco fully accounted for before accepting the invitation because... well, he needed more money.
Yeah, he pulled in a decent amount with his party gigs, and he was setting up the racehorse scam, but that wasn't enough to build an actual company, and unlike Bruce Wayne, nobody was just going to hand Marco a giant wad of resources and tell him to have fun.
He knows what he's doing.
Besides, he likes daquiris! And sure, he can buy them in morph, but there's something about drinking as yourself and not having to actually make the drinks that really hits the spot.
So, to get into the club, he morphs the governor from his timeline. She's old enough. Nobody IDs women with grey hair. Then he sneaks into a closet and demorphs, opening the door as himself, heading to the bar, and plopping himself in a seat.
"Pink umbrella please." He says with a grin.
Flying is an amazing way to get around. Way better than the bus. Marco could probably buy a car, but he's saving up for some other things first, so most of the time if he wants to get somewhere and it's too far or annoying to walk, he flies. He's even got a sling he's managed to figure out so e can carry things like money and his wallet.
Most of his flights are unremarkable, honestly. He sees a bit too much (more people should wash their hair better), but otherwise, nothing weird happens.
Not today.
Today, Marco is flying over a street that he's flown over 50 times before, but his osprey brain has an almost irrepressible urge to dive bomb the hell out of some guy that's walking down it. Like, the osprey is pissed. It wants to shit on him, dive bomb him, peck at him... it's insane.
And, with his osprey eyes, he can see the tattoo. An imPort.
< Geez, somebody lost the power lottery. What is your deal anyway? >
The main problem with this plan, Marco reflects while standing in the narrow aisle of the supermarket and squinting at the spice bags, is that he doesn't speak Spanish. And he definitely doesn't read Spanish.
Sure, he can count to ten, complain about chickens, and crack a couple of jokes, plus catch words here and there, but...
Nope, he doesn't know Spanish.
Which, it turns out, makes it hard to shop at a Mexican supermarket.
He'd checked the regular stores, but they didn't have what he needed! Not here! They would have in California, where people actually knew how to make Mexican food. So far, Marco's only 'Mexican' food here had been, in his opinion, terrible. It was like when he'd been in Mexico as a really little kid and he would've shanked someone for a hamburger and macaroni and cheese, but in reverse.
Need. Food. Badly.
So he picks up one of the little bags and holds it up. Yup. No idea what 'cumino' was.
Marco sighs.
Sometimes, Marco just likes to run around as a dog. Dogs are HAPPY, and they have really uncomplicated emotions. Plus, everybody loves dogs. Other dogs like dogs. Humans like dogs (especially well-behaved, clean, friendly dogs). It's just fun to lose himself in the dog's mind, and, although Marco would never admit this, the pets that he gets are his way of filling his need for affection.
So he's running around the Heropa dog park as an Irish Setter, having the time of his life. There's a phone stashed in a hole with a timer on it that he uses to make sure he doesn't go over his time limit, but Marco has over an hour left.
And something very important has just happened!
A dog and their person left, but they forgot their ball! They are very nice, so he tries to return the ball, but they don't pay any attention to him, which makes him sad. Or it would, but now he has a BALL! He doesn't know what color it is, but it's nice and squishy.
Oh oh!
There's a person! Maybe they'll play! Marco bounds up to the person and drops the ball expectantly and then sits, wagging his tail back and forth. Play?
If you'd told Marco a few months ago that he would voluntarily be going to a public physics lecture, he would have called you insane. And to be fair, it was pretty boring. The only reason he's there is because the talk is about what they've discovered due to the presence of imPorts, and that's sort of relevant.
At first, he thinks the amused looks from a few of the attendees are because he's young, but he's definitely not the only kid there. After a while, Marco realizes it's because he's the only one there who's jotting his notes in a good, old fashioned *notebook.* Look, he knows how to use all the future crazy tech, but he doesn't know enough to trust it with anything secure, and typing on the phones is awkward.
He sits there for an hour and a half.
And then. And then.
Then the guy up on the stage goes on at the end about how this is all still a theory and they don't know anything for sure.
What a giant waste of time!
Marco scowls and stomps out with the rest of the crowd and, catching a flash of an imPort tattoo, grumps to them, "Well, that was useless, wasn't it?"
There's a gang running around. Hooligans. Punks. Which Marco would find hilarious if their graffiti weren't so bad. So, so, so bad. And so, Marco has done what any self-respecting trolling shapeshifter would do: He's bought his own can of spray paint.
It's late, about 10 PM.
Marco, in stereotypical hoodlum style, is dressed in a black hoodie (with the hood drawn up over his head), sneakers and jeans. The only thing that ruins the image is that Marco still can't get used to skinny jeans, so the jeans are... a bit out of date.
He looks at the terrible graffiti and sighs, then uncaps the spray paint and starts painting.
When he's finished, there's a giant red 'F' next to it, along with a teacherly comment to 'see me'.
And then he hears something, and he whips around, spray paint in hand.
"This isn't what it looks like." He objects.
WHERE: Little bit of everywhere.
WHEN: September catch-all log
WHAT: Sometimes Marco's a dog, sometimes he's a hoodlum, and sometimes he's at physics lectures. He is a multi-layered human.
WARNINGS:Swearing, possible body horror/grossness, and underage drinking for a start.
The Laugh Factory - September 14 - Closed to the Joker
Despite how he acted, Marco wasn't an idiot. He knows who the Joker is. What the Joker is. He's not headed to the club because he's under any delusion the man won't be insane or try to screw him over. It was a variable that Marco fully accounted for before accepting the invitation because... well, he needed more money.
Yeah, he pulled in a decent amount with his party gigs, and he was setting up the racehorse scam, but that wasn't enough to build an actual company, and unlike Bruce Wayne, nobody was just going to hand Marco a giant wad of resources and tell him to have fun.
He knows what he's doing.
Besides, he likes daquiris! And sure, he can buy them in morph, but there's something about drinking as yourself and not having to actually make the drinks that really hits the spot.
So, to get into the club, he morphs the governor from his timeline. She's old enough. Nobody IDs women with grey hair. Then he sneaks into a closet and demorphs, opening the door as himself, heading to the bar, and plopping himself in a seat.
"Pink umbrella please." He says with a grin.
"Ew" - Animal repellant power shenanigans - Closed to Darkov
Flying is an amazing way to get around. Way better than the bus. Marco could probably buy a car, but he's saving up for some other things first, so most of the time if he wants to get somewhere and it's too far or annoying to walk, he flies. He's even got a sling he's managed to figure out so e can carry things like money and his wallet.
Most of his flights are unremarkable, honestly. He sees a bit too much (more people should wash their hair better), but otherwise, nothing weird happens.
Not today.
Today, Marco is flying over a street that he's flown over 50 times before, but his osprey brain has an almost irrepressible urge to dive bomb the hell out of some guy that's walking down it. Like, the osprey is pissed. It wants to shit on him, dive bomb him, peck at him... it's insane.
And, with his osprey eyes, he can see the tattoo. An imPort.
< Geez, somebody lost the power lottery. What is your deal anyway? >
At the supermarket - Closed to Jamie Reyes
The main problem with this plan, Marco reflects while standing in the narrow aisle of the supermarket and squinting at the spice bags, is that he doesn't speak Spanish. And he definitely doesn't read Spanish.
Sure, he can count to ten, complain about chickens, and crack a couple of jokes, plus catch words here and there, but...
Nope, he doesn't know Spanish.
Which, it turns out, makes it hard to shop at a Mexican supermarket.
He'd checked the regular stores, but they didn't have what he needed! Not here! They would have in California, where people actually knew how to make Mexican food. So far, Marco's only 'Mexican' food here had been, in his opinion, terrible. It was like when he'd been in Mexico as a really little kid and he would've shanked someone for a hamburger and macaroni and cheese, but in reverse.
Need. Food. Badly.
So he picks up one of the little bags and holds it up. Yup. No idea what 'cumino' was.
Marco sighs.
Dogs are happy! Play with them!
Sometimes, Marco just likes to run around as a dog. Dogs are HAPPY, and they have really uncomplicated emotions. Plus, everybody loves dogs. Other dogs like dogs. Humans like dogs (especially well-behaved, clean, friendly dogs). It's just fun to lose himself in the dog's mind, and, although Marco would never admit this, the pets that he gets are his way of filling his need for affection.
So he's running around the Heropa dog park as an Irish Setter, having the time of his life. There's a phone stashed in a hole with a timer on it that he uses to make sure he doesn't go over his time limit, but Marco has over an hour left.
And something very important has just happened!
A dog and their person left, but they forgot their ball! They are very nice, so he tries to return the ball, but they don't pay any attention to him, which makes him sad. Or it would, but now he has a BALL! He doesn't know what color it is, but it's nice and squishy.
Oh oh!
There's a person! Maybe they'll play! Marco bounds up to the person and drops the ball expectantly and then sits, wagging his tail back and forth. Play?
This Lecture is Stupid.
If you'd told Marco a few months ago that he would voluntarily be going to a public physics lecture, he would have called you insane. And to be fair, it was pretty boring. The only reason he's there is because the talk is about what they've discovered due to the presence of imPorts, and that's sort of relevant.
At first, he thinks the amused looks from a few of the attendees are because he's young, but he's definitely not the only kid there. After a while, Marco realizes it's because he's the only one there who's jotting his notes in a good, old fashioned *notebook.* Look, he knows how to use all the future crazy tech, but he doesn't know enough to trust it with anything secure, and typing on the phones is awkward.
He sits there for an hour and a half.
And then. And then.
Then the guy up on the stage goes on at the end about how this is all still a theory and they don't know anything for sure.
What a giant waste of time!
Marco scowls and stomps out with the rest of the crowd and, catching a flash of an imPort tattoo, grumps to them, "Well, that was useless, wasn't it?"
Look, I have standards when it comes to street art.
There's a gang running around. Hooligans. Punks. Which Marco would find hilarious if their graffiti weren't so bad. So, so, so bad. And so, Marco has done what any self-respecting trolling shapeshifter would do: He's bought his own can of spray paint.
It's late, about 10 PM.
Marco, in stereotypical hoodlum style, is dressed in a black hoodie (with the hood drawn up over his head), sneakers and jeans. The only thing that ruins the image is that Marco still can't get used to skinny jeans, so the jeans are... a bit out of date.
He looks at the terrible graffiti and sighs, then uncaps the spray paint and starts painting.
When he's finished, there's a giant red 'F' next to it, along with a teacherly comment to 'see me'.
And then he hears something, and he whips around, spray paint in hand.
"This isn't what it looks like." He objects.
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