maskormenacelogs | You are so rock & roll

Entry tags:

You are so rock & roll

WHO: Handsome Bob & YOU
WHERE: PICK A PLACE all prompts can be applied to any city
WHEN: MARCH
WHAT: Mostly a March catch-all but includes Bob trying to be good at his job and just... not. CR building. Potential road trip. Potential crime-y connections.
WARNINGS: Violence, fight club, ~~semi-friendly~~ savage punch ups, blood & injuries

{ 01. Workin' 9 to 5 / What a way to make a livin' | 18+ }

Bob's able to count the number of different jobs he's had one one hand (crooked pinky and all).

Sweeping the floor at his mum's best mate's hair salon didn't last long. Weekend work at Asda was a laugh right up until he got fired for racing the forklift up aisle twelve and taking out a lovingly stacked display of Heinz Baked Beans. The ones with the sausages in. Working in a factory making and packaging air fresheners for cars had given him a natural aversion to never hanging anything 'pine fresh' from the overhead mirror in any of his cars. His last job had been getaway driver for his gang, the Wild Bunch. And now he's a spokesmodel, his first and only current gig for a company trying to launch a competitor app to the well-known dating app, imPress.

It's with a belatedly regretful realisation that not only has his new employer set him up on the app to make it seem more relatable, but they've already made all his dating decisions for him. Some which aren't exactly in line with his current preferences. In fact, according to the app, he's up for dating just about anything that moves. Dressed head-to-toe in an outfit that's a lot more purposely put together than his own haphazardly casual style, he's wandering around with his usual swagger, grinning at anybody he makes eye contact with.

"Hello, you. You look friendly," he delivers charmingly, handsome smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he falls in step with the latest person who's shared more than a split-second of eye contact, comms device in hand. "How's your day going? Can I nick a couple of minutes of your time to make it even better?"

{ 02. You got a fast car / I want a ticket to anywhere | OTA }

Sometimes, there's just something relaxing about sitting in the driver's seat of a car and letting the engine rumble quietly. Pulled over and with no fixed destination in mind, Bob's playing a game on his comms device, enjoying the gentle purr of his car (it's his now, anyway) and a rare moment of feeling almost content at being on his own. His usual need to be with other people is dampened only by a long day at work and the prospect of taking the car for a spin in his very near future is making him feel better.

The past month has seemed to rush by, faster than he could have imagined, and with its steep learning curve, a strange sense of freedom he hadn't realised he'd been missing before. A fresh start hadn't ever been something that he thought he'd needed and while he still misses his family, his mates, he's found new people to bother. He smiles to himself as the thought of new friends warms him from the inside, only looks up when he clocks somebody standing right in front of his stationery car, not moving an inch. It's not like he'd planned on racing off just yet, but his eyebrows raise all the same, a slow hand reaching up to signal a wave.

{ 03. But I take care of my fam, I'm a gangster | 18+ for option a, option b (closed) }

It feels like a while since Bob's been in any kind of scrap. He'd thought Ronan might have kicked his arse for taking a lightsaber that didn't belong to him, but that didn't happen and instead he came away from that meetup feeling like he really wished it had. So it's exhilarating to feel deep in his bones that familiar sensation of danger. Of walking a fine line and not knowing how he's going to be walking away from it. From feeling the adrenaline pouring into his blood until he's almost high off it.

He's ready to walk a little more on the wild side and if he can't race anybody on the streets he'll have a friendly punch up instead. How he'd heard about this particular fight club he can't quite remember, but he's here, stripped down to his waist and ready to go.

option a.
"We avoiding the face or...?" he asks his opponent, question genuine and smile real as he rolls his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up. It doesn't really make much difference, he's a bit out of shape. Too many burgers and not enough running from the police. It's been a bit boring, honestly.

option b. - later | Closed » Kaz Brekker
Sitting on a low wall outside the seedy looking establishment he's just emerged from, Bob's holding a bag of frozen peas to one eyebrow and trying to stem the flow of blood from his split lip. Don't ask him where he got the peas from, he really doesn't know. He might look like he'd lost that fight (and maybe he did) but he's in a good mood regardless.

"'scuse me, mate," he asks the next person to walk by, trying not to come across as intimidating as he might look, shaved head and obviously having been fighting.

"You got the time by any chance?"

{ 04. Post your own }

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

A gloved hand withdraws a subtly expensive-looking pocket watch from its place in a waistcoat. The time is judiciously checked and reported by a raspy, stone-on-stone voice:

"Quarter past one."

In the morning.

The watch disappears again and the body the voice belongs to stops to take in the man that did the asking. Kaz is all black and his suit is well-tailored. Sharp lines on a sharp boy.

"You made me a lot of money."

"Oh yeah? You're welcome."

Grinning cheekily enough to re-split the cut at his lip, Bob changes his response from a 'cheers, mate' at the last moment and uses the back of his hand to wipe the fresh rivulet of blood snaking down his chin. If it sounds like it doesn't really make much difference to him either way, it's because it doesn't. He'd wanted a bit of a brawl, something outside of ignoring the speed limit in places he shouldn't. Something a bit more up close and personal. But if he's made somebody else a bit of money in the process, fair play.

The bag of frozen peas, now feeling a little wet around the edges, is lowered from his already bruised eyebrow so he can get a proper look at whoever's been betting on him to win. He takes in the clothes, the overall look, and nods at the man in question.

"Didn't see you down there." Not that it means much - he hadn't really been paying much attention to whoever was watching, just concentrated on trying not to get his arse handed to him for at least a minute or two. Turns out he'd done a bit better than that.

"No, you didn't."

Kaz shifts his weight and lets the light catch the silver crow-head on his cane. Given the way he's leaning into it, it isn't for show. Which isn't to say he has never been in the ring, but if people assume being a cripple keeps him from doing things, he's content with that. Makes their faces more priceless later.

"And I haven't seen you here before."

"First time," Bob explains, happy enough to share even if this stranger doesn't want to share in return. He's still buzzing with adrenaline post-fight, still can't feel the full extent of aches and pains he's going to suffer later. His face is the least of the damage he took but the rest is hidden under his clothes.

"More of a lover, not a fighter. But I was in the mood, you know what I mean?" he adds, shifting his feet back towards the wall he's sitting on to eventually stand up. The frozen bag of peas are tossed back onto the wall, not quite mindless but not paying attention either.

Something about the man reminds him of Jesper.

"Intimately," he says after you know what I mean? Yes, yes he does. "I'm a fighter. Normally when I run books, the fighter gets a cut. Buy you a drink?"

He's curious. Maybe it's like calling to like. Kaz has been utterly bereft of a steady crew since he got here, and building one has not been quite as easy as it was in Ketterdam. Not enough of what he's looking for.

"Not going to turn down a free drink," Bob agrees easily, nodding his silent thanks for the gesture and shoves both hands (one still smudged in now brownish-red, dry blood from his lip) in his pockets. That he feels, the burning at his knuckles as they slide into the denim of his jeans, grazing rough fabric. His wince is subtle but he doesn't bother to hide it. It is what it is. A drink's probably exactly what he needs.

"Got a place in mind?" he asks lightly, already knowing exactly where all the bars in the area are but curious to see where the stranger is going to suggest.

"Yeah, it's not too far."

Kaz leans into his cane as he walks. The cold snap is playing hell on his leg. It was spring when he left Ketterdam. It seems to be coming in fits and starts here. Despite the cane and the obvious limp, Kaz moves at a decent clip. He's used to getting around on foot.

"What's your name?"

Without the name of the bar to locate it, Bob finds he almost enjoys the feeling of not knowing where they're going. Since he got here, nowhere he's been has been difficult to find, not with his brain serving as a satnav.

He falls easily in step with the other man, allowing enough space to not get in the way of the cane he seems to be favouring. He'll probably ask about what happened later, curiosity always getting the better of him, but for now there's a question to answer.

"I'm Bob."

No last name provided - nobody needs it, he thinks to himself. He's not even sure if some of his mates back home know his last name. Shrugging off the thought, his gaze flicks aside so he can look at the man asking the questions.

"You?"

The world of imPorts has no shortage of soldiers, spies, and government experiments; Matthew is not unique in that he has spent his life training to kill. Since arriving from his own reality, he's had to adapt very quickly to a world where he isn't exempt from laws - he can't just murder a barista for messing up his order. His day job is physical, which helps a little, but it isn't enough to satisfy his extremely violent nature.

Hence: fighting.

In the ring, he watches his new opponent carefully. Although they've been told 'no powers' he knows not to trust it - can't turn off healing powers or certain others, he knows. This gentleman could be full of surprises.

Normally stone faced, he finds himself responding to the genuine enthusiasm of the other man. "If you can reach, go ahead," Matthew replies, grinning. He is nearly six foot five and towers above most people.

"No ball shots?"

"Kaz Brekker."

Bob gives no surname but that isn't exactly unheard in the underworld. Seemed like those were reserved for bosses, maybe lieutenants if they're anything like Kaz. Little Boss, someone called him once. Only once, because Kaz is not a little anything.

In the right circles in Maurtia Falls, he's developing a reputation.

Kaz stops outside a relatively unimpressive building and ducks in through the door. It's a seedy little bar, the kind of place where no one is going to look twice at Bob's bruises and cuts.

"Balls might be all I can reach, mate," Bob jokes easily, returning the grin and deciding that he probably is going to get his arse handed to him. But he came down here with the intention of getting into a friendly scrap and that hasn't changed just because this bloke's seven foot something dwarfs his five foot ten. And Bob is fast. At least fast enough to outrun most coppers. Maybe that's not saying much.

"Fuck, you're tall," he comments with a laugh, lacing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. It's less for effect and more because he can't help but fidget, especially when the anticipation of a fight is already building in his nerves. He doesn't have any powers that can help him out here but then that wouldn't make this as fun as he's hoping it'll be, would it?

"Alright," he finally agrees, stepping a little closer to offer out his hand to shake on it, "no balls... face if I can reach. Yeah?"

"I am," Matthew agrees. He takes the offered hand and shakes. "You can aim for the balls if you want, but I assure you that if you hit em it'll end badly for you."

He steps back, hands coming up in a defensive posture.

"Good luck."

The second after he's said it, he half turns and kicks, aiming for Bob's midsection. For a man his size he's uncannily quick.

[ Magnus has been fighting in the underground fighting rings of Maurtia Falls for a long time now. Years, in fact. It's something he started to do to blow off steam when things went wrong, when he'd been at his most mulishly miserable. He'd eased off in recent times, known as someone who just comes in every now and then, but in the past month he's returned with a vengeance.

Anyone with half a brain cell would be able to guess who he is if they had even a passing familiarity with him - he's towering well over six feet with remarkably bushy red sideburns - but he dons a mask anyway. It's of a wolf, an intricately carved wooden thing that's secured to his face with a thick elastic.

When he sees Bob, he gives him a quick up-and-down. He doesn't recognize him. ]

You a fighter or a better?

So here's the thing: Bob is clearly talking to Archie, with whatever he's doing.

Here's the other thing: Archie is kind of an obnoxious asshole.

Here's the third thing: he is walking his Mightyena.

Bob says his thing to Archie, who stoops down and hefts up the wolfhound sized Pokémon dog in his arms to bring it eye-level with Bob halfway through it.

"I don't know! I'm just a dog, what could you possibly offer me?" he says, behind its fur, miming like Mightyena itself is talking.

Here's the thing.

Archie's an obnoxious asshole.

Open-mouthed, because he'd been about to say something (of no real value, probably), Bob watches the bloke - Kaz - duck into the kind of bar that he feels most at home in. He's been to swanky bars but none of them were fun or entertaining and that's a prerequisite for a night out, in his opinion.

Following the other man's lead, his eyes run over the interior's aesthetic, catching mostly on the bottles behind the bar rather than anybody in particular. He knows not to look at anybody for too long until he's got a better feel for the place and the people in it. At least, not until he can defend himself a bit better than he can at the moment. Those aches are starting to make themselves known.

Switching his attention to the man he's following he speeds up, realising he's been dawdling in his distraction, and only just manages to not bump into him as they stop.

"Interesting place," he says with a grin and it's a genuine observation. He doesn't like to assume things if he can help it, so follows up with: "you come here a lot?"

There's something on the tip of his tongue - cheeky, not offensive - but he doesn't have time to get it out before there's a leg swinging towards him. He doesn't fight the look of surprise as it flashes across his face, shoulder dipping to try and catch the blow against his arm instead of his ribs. Getting winded is a bad way to start any fight and he takes the hit with the barest of grunts, brain trying to get out ahead of what to do next.

Ducking as fast as he can out of the way of a follow up and knowing he's outmatched by strength and maybe matched in speed, he realises quickly that he's going to have to land everything exactly where it's going to hurt the most. He'd shaken on no balls so those are out of the question - Bob might be a bit of a crook but he keeps his word - but they didn't agree on anything else.

He backs off a couple of steps, shaking out the arm that had taken the brunt of the blow and then lifts both fists, ready. As much as he wants to have a bit of a chat in almost any situation, he knows he needs to concentrate otherwise he's going to get fucked over and not in the fun way. Stepping in again, he feints a jab, testing to see how fast the other man can bat his fist away.

A lover, not a fighter.

[ He's grinning, cheekily, but that's not exactly a rare occurrence. Getting sized up is par for the course and Bob, not being a particularly egotistical, chip-on-his-shoulder kind of macho man really doesn't mind. It is what it is and he's just here for a bit of nostalgia. ]

Might have a friendly scrap or two anyway.

[ He sticks out a hand to shake, has to look up because even though he'd place himself around average in terms of height, he's got nothing on this wolf fella. ]

Your mask is decent. Why's it a wolf?

"Mate, don't think you need this. Look at you... you're handsome as fuck."

Whatever Bob might be when he's engaging in less than legal behaviour, when it comes to anything even vaguely resembling a dog he's a puddle of goo. He grins stupidly at the whatever-type-of-dog-it-is and lifts up a hand, offering it knuckles first for a sniff.

Belatedly, he jokingly tilts his head to the side to catch a glimpse of the man behind.

"'ello, Arch. You might need it though," he teases with a smirk, lifting his eyebrows in a cheeky challenge.

"Well, I daresay--" he's cut off as Mightyena wriggles forward in his grip, putting its paws on Bob's shoulder to lick all over his face. Oh yes, he loves that attention. "Oi!"

Unbelieveable. This man genuinely thought Bob was talking to him.

"I don't need nothin'!" ... "What is it?"

"Oh you're a soft puppy, aren't you? Yes you are! Best puppy, yeah? Good boy, what a good fucking boy..."

Don't mind Bob, Archie, he's just going to lavish some attention on your good doggo here, scritching behind his ears and promising him he's the best dog ever. He's already pocketed his comms device, the app long-forgotten in favour of showering affection on his new canine-like buddy.

A few moments pass and he realises Archie's asked him a question.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Um, this dating app thing." He'd probably be able to explain better if he wasn't 100% more interested in the dog.

"What's his name?"

The eye contact (as much as Brandon can give these days) is accidental, as he was sizing the other man up, struck by something familiar in his posture. The continued eye contact comes from pure surprise. Brandon Heat has been called a great many things in his life, but "friendly" has never been one of them (the opposite, well, that's usual).

Off-balance, it's a few moments before he shrugs. "...Sure."

For Bob, eye contact is something that he loves. Not in an intimidating I want to fight you way (most of the time), but more because his curiosity makes him bold. Maybe this whole spokesmodel gig won't be a complete fuck up. He grins at the attention, moving in closer with his comms device in his hand.

"What would you say if I told you that handsome face is exactly what this app needs?" He lifts up the phone in his hand to show off the brightly coloured but slick splash screen for the dating app he's supposed to be promoting.

"Takes only a few seconds to sign up and then you, mate, could be taking the babe of your dreams out on a date in under an hour. Sounds decent, yeah?"

Mightyena whines happily. Yes. He is the best boy. Thank you for agreeing.

"Mightyena," Archie says, rolling his eyes. "C'mon-- let me put him down, will you?"

"Didn't tell you to pick him up, did I?" Bob says with a semi-triumphant smirk and folds his arms over his chest in an attempt to stop petting the dog.

"You ever need a dog walker, I'm your man."

The walking aspect might actually be more like Bob cruising around with Mightyena riding shotgun but those are details that don't matter. The point is... he really wants a dog.

"I do," he answers.

Kaz slides into a booth - he likes having something against his back - and a makes eye contact with one of the bar tenders through the relatively small crowd. Business will pick up as more and more people trickle away from the fighting.

As he settles, Kaz rests his cane across his lap. Keeps it within reach and it's good for jabbing people that can't take a hint to leave, if it comes down to it.

"I'm considering buying it."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 4

You are so rock & roll

3b

cw: blood

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

3a

no subject

no subject

no subject

o4

1

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject