Press doesn’t need anything to run a story. Don’t let Anderson get into your head.
[Gavin tips his chin up, glancing at the machine beside him with half-lidded eyes. His voice is quieter than usual, for what it's worth: advice, if he ever knew how to give it.] It’ll ruin your hardware or...what the fuck ever.
[It’s a nice suite. Or it was before it all went to shit. Red and blue blood don’t mix cleanly, apparently; their chemical components function more like oil and water than similar substances— and where Reed had almost expected to see a flood of purple given the call-in they’d gotten beforehand, he whole place looks more like one of those paintings he’d seen strung up in a high rise ages ago. An overpriced colorful shitshow comprised of tangled streaks and spatters
Only this time it's, you know, not on a piece of canvas.]
Jesus. Hope it was worth it.
[Barely a laugh, the way he wheezes it out, only punctuating his commentary by whistling low between his teeth. Disassociation makes it a job. And all those countless cases stacked back-to-back-to-back involving homicide, cruelty, abuse (and occasionally worse) amounting to nothing more than a job makes him better at it— or so he figures.
He sidesteps the initial cluster of bodies, twisting to avoid catching any of their limbs with the broad edges of his sneakers.] Go on, then. Do your thing, RK.
no subject
[Gavin tips his chin up, glancing at the machine beside him with half-lidded eyes. His voice is quieter than usual, for what it's worth: advice, if he ever knew how to give it.] It’ll ruin your hardware or...what the fuck ever.
[It’s a nice suite. Or it was before it all went to shit. Red and blue blood don’t mix cleanly, apparently; their chemical components function more like oil and water than similar substances— and where Reed had almost expected to see a flood of purple given the call-in they’d gotten beforehand, he whole place looks more like one of those paintings he’d seen strung up in a high rise ages ago. An overpriced colorful shitshow comprised of tangled streaks and spatters
Only this time it's, you know, not on a piece of canvas.]
Jesus. Hope it was worth it.
[Barely a laugh, the way he wheezes it out, only punctuating his commentary by whistling low between his teeth. Disassociation makes it a job. And all those countless cases stacked back-to-back-to-back involving homicide, cruelty, abuse (and occasionally worse) amounting to nothing more than a job makes him better at it— or so he figures.
He sidesteps the initial cluster of bodies, twisting to avoid catching any of their limbs with the broad edges of his sneakers.] Go on, then. Do your thing, RK.
I’ve got a date with this window.