OPEN - feel out your voice

[killsign]

Who: Nic and YOU
Where: in the Matrix
When: shortly after entering the Matrix, maybe a day or two
What: as a mercenary, Nic's mission is to keep tabs on the agents and their relationships to carnival workers, resistance members, etc. And he's starting with that agent behind you, right now.
Warnings: this could go one of two ways: funny or violent. Up to you, really.

It's a too-bright day with too-happy birdsong, but no matter how hard you look, you can't find any of those damn birds. Like they aren't actually there, and it's just a recording. That one angry cabby has probably passed you three times by now, but now, over-saturated happiness is all over the place. Everything is okay! Really! It's like a Sunday morning sitcom from the thirties.

Except everything is obviously not okay, because someone has been following a circus worker for some time. A kid dressed like a vagabond not used to wearing clothes that actually fit him, his eyes dark and dead, staring right through you. He doesn't look all that dangerous -- I mean, he's obviously twelve and homeless and tiny. He's just a little . . . unsettling.

Wait. Now he's not staring at that circus worker anymore -- whether that worker is you or someone else -- No, now he's staring directly at someone behind that worker . . .

And that someone is a pair of douche shades wearing a suit. The agent zeroes in on the worker, then the kid, Nic. Nic's eyes go wide. This might be bad.

Comments

[killsign]

Wait. What is happening. Nic hesitates, stumbling for words, as he's easily whisked away. "Fine," he grunts lowly, a rough, broken excuse for a voice. He's surprised to be touched so easily, and it's apparent on his face. "Still a . . . pain."

Wallace, he's thinking of you.

[pipers_son]

“Ha! Well, that’s how it alway is with family, isn’t it? I should give ya a break, then, and treat ya ta somethin’ nice.” He’s still chattering on, and only seems to catch on when an elderly man casts him a disapproving glare. “Actually, there’s this place a mate of mine took me ta the other day…” He leans in, as if to continue the conversation while actually being mindful of his volume…

And murmurs carefully, “It’s the guy in the suit, right?”

[killsign]

This guy is good. Nic nods once. He can't be mindful of his own volume, so he signs the word for "kill" close to his chest: a finger gun going through the thumb. Anyone watching from the side might think he's just giving two thumbs up.

"You any good?" he says with some effort. He means fighting, of course, in this whack-o system.

[pipers_son]

While the meaning behind the sign goes over his head, Joker still has a fair idea of what it is. Can’t be some sort of magical gesture, since nothing has happened so far as he can tell, so that has to be sign language. (In the carnival, it could be either or.) One of these days, he should really look into that… Well, that’s something to think about later, as for now he just grins wryly. “Always preferred ta run when I could, honestly,” he mutters, not ashamed to label himself a coward. Besides, in this kind of weird place he’d rather not take any chances. “I’d rather get home before anythin’ crops up. What about yerself?”

[killsign]

"I fight," Nic grunts. Still, he takes a moment to review their choices and consequences. Without really knowing what these new, strange enemies are capable of, he can't know if he can take one alone. Especially if he has to deal with protecting an ally. In the end, he nods.

"Run," he says. He doesn't consider it cowardice; sometimes, dodging a grenade is smarter than catching it and lobbing it back. You lose less hands that way.

[pipers_son]

Thatta boy. “Then I think the way back home for me is this way,” Joker says, leading him along a turn. For all that he says ‘think’, he’s actually pretty damn sure. If there’s one lesson he’s learned since first signing on with the Carnival, it’s to always know the way back home. You never know when things will go south, or when you’ll need to find allies. The worlds they travel to are amazing, exciting, breathtaking… and usually, in one way or another, dangerous. That’s the carnival life for you.

Actually, speaking of which, he should probably check on something first. “Ya with the Ringmaster?” he asks, glancing down at him.