towerofanimus | Locked in the Tower ✪ Part Four: Don't Turn Your Back on the City

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Locked in the Tower ✪ Part Four: Don't Turn Your Back on the City

Characters:	David "Little David" Puskás, and all youse guys!
Setting:	All day March 9—Residential Floors, Floors 1, 14, 39, and 100
Format:	Matching tagger's choice, but starting with Prose.
Summary:	In the morning, martial arts training at the gym. Later in the day, David seeks out Waver and Diarmuid and chills at the Media Room. Toward the evening, David "visits" home on Floor 100. Also, random encounters in the Cafeteria.
Warnings:	None come to mind!

Option A: Floor Thirty-One (Gymnasium, Morning)

     Earlier last month, David had met Reno, and taken up his offer on getting some martial arts training, given that without ammunition for his rifle, he's quite effectively declawed. Reno says he likes getting that training done in the morning, so David's up bright and early today for his first lessons. It also looks like his powered armor is finally behaving itself, as he's casually floating into the gym using the suit's flight system.

     Although David's waiting for Reno, he's not above chatting it up with anyone else that might be in the gym if Reno's not there yet. Until then, he'll be idly examining the gym equipment, seeing what there is available, and—

     —oops, that tiny weight sure did slam on the ground hard.

     "Da heck is dis thing, made of lead?" David mutters as he cuts power to the flight system and tries to pick it up. Even with the motor-assist functions in his suit, he's having to put some effort into putting it back on the weight rack.

Option B: Dormitory Floors (Especially Floor Two, Afternoon)

     Later, David makes another attempt to find several people he's looking for—namely, Waver Velvet and Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. By now, just about everyone he's asked has named Diarmuid the go-to guy for learning how to fight with a sword. David's still got that Orcish sword on him, and as the only real weapon in his whole arsenal here at the Tower, he's got to learn how to use it. As for Lord El-Melloi II, David aims to talk to him about the results of the library Easter egg hunt.

     ... but, really, David should have done this before Zo's surprise rearrangement of residential assignments. Not that he had any reason to suspect it was going to happen, but it's made this a bit more difficult than it should have been.

     David wanders the residential floors, checking the various room signs for the people he's looking for. He'll find them eventually—even if it takes him a little while to do it. Plenty of time for anyone else to run into him, on chance. When he finds Diarmuid and Waver's housing assignments, though, he'll be knocking on their doors.

Option C: Floor One (Cafeteria, Morning/Noon/Evening)

     David doesn't really understand the significance between the choice of food available for each month, but he is so glad to be done with February.

     He hadn't learned of the resident-run kitchen until partway through the month, thanks to Reno. Up until then, he was flat out avoiding the Cafeteria during dinner hours. As if the side effects of power donation weren't enough.

     Now, though, he's enjoying the menu. Even if it's more suited for a kids' menu, he's not complaining. Not after last month. So, anyone visiting the Cafeteria throughout the day might see David helping himself to a stack of peanut butter pancakes and chocolate milk, sandwiches and mint soda, or spaceship chicken nuggets and vanilla milkshakes—depending on the time of day, of course.

Option D: Floor Fourteen (Media Room, Afternoon)

     "Tossin', turnin', nightmares burnin' / Dreams of swords in hand ..."

     No, that's not David's voice you're hearing over the media room's speakers, but rather Steven Tyler's. David's currently relaxing—in mid-air, no less, and in that laid-back hammock pose that Rolo Lamperouge caught him in a few months ago—while Aerosmith's "Kings and Queens" blares through the speakers. He's taking the time to savor having his powered armor return to full (and proper) functionality again after donating power at the end of January by abusing its flight system to chill out in his own way.

     The song's a lot darker than the type of Aerosmith songs David usually listens to—and the band is more well known for their bright, funky and peppy songs, but ... with recent events, and with some of the kind of people he's run into of late, it seemed fitting. And anyway, he'd missed hearing his favorite bands, since he'd never really visited the Media Room before until Ruana's game last month. It makes him wish he had some sort of MP3 player or walkman on hand. Or, that he had that functionality built into his helmet. Why didn't he ever think of that before?

     "Living times of knights and mares / Raising swords for maidens fair / Sneer at death, fear only loss of pride ..."

     It'd be easy for David to doze off again, but he's a little wary of doing that now. Instead, he floats in his hammock pose with a contented grin, nodding softly to the beat of the music in a sort of half-hearted headbang.

Option E: Floor One Hundred (VR Memory Floor, Evening)

     Floor One Hundred was one of many that David had never paid attention to before. Up until recently, he believed it was always the empty room that he had seen of it—however, after meeting Reno and being shown Ragnarok's files kept in Aria's hideout, now he knows what the floor really is ... and he's really curious to see it for himself. So, late in the day, he makes time to do just that.

     Stepping down onto the floor, the surroundings change into ... a stairwell? No, wait—after a moment, David realizes it's a building's roof access staircase, with the door leading outside open. He hesitates for a moment, before walking outside—and finding that the floor has turned into a roof.

     A roof of a building in Atlas Park. At night, in Paragon City, Rhode Island. America. Primal Earth. His home.

     It's all an illusion, of course. David knew that coming here—and yet, he's moved. Silently. It's a powerful recreation—there's no people visible down on the sidewalks, no Hellions or Vahzilok or other villainous scumbags trying to prey on the citizenry—but, as he approaches the edge of the roof, he can see that there is simulated traffic down there, and in the sky as well. The sights and sounds of a big American city emanate from all around.

     There, in the center of Atlas Park, is Atlas Plaza: City Hall, with the American flag made from Statesman's cape fluttering in the breeze. The massive statue bearing the weight of the world on its shoulders—dedicated to the superhero who gave his namesake to this part of town. The other neighborhoods bordering the seat of Paragon City's municipal government—behind him, the rest of Downside; on the north side of Atlas, The Promenade; Paragon Transit Authority's Yellow Line metrorail snaking its way through the buldings; Hyperion Way, and the entrance to what used to be Eastgate ...

     ... and all around, the shimmering War Walls dividing Atlas Park from the rest of Paragon, taller than almost any skyscraper. The rest of the city just barely visible beyond its energy fields, city lights winking in and out like starlight. Even knowing full well what he's seeing is simulated, David can't help but feel the urge to light up a stogie and survey the landscape for signs of trouble. Well—he doesn't have a lighter, but he does still have a fresh cigar in that travel case.

     With a quiet sigh, David fishes that cigar out of the case and places it in his mouth, contenting himself to at least feel he was back on Primal Earth ... if only for a short time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[When the memory of an existence becomes more powerful than anything a being did in their life, it only highlights how pointless it's life had been. It's only right that such life wouldn't be worth it's own self-preservation.

Sephiroth takes the bar and lifts then, slowly pumping out another set of five reps in quick succession. Pausing to get his breathing in check and then repeating the process. Second set done he places the weights back on their bracket.]

Extinction is never completely total, life will always find another way. Only it might not be what humans would think of as acceptable.

[Except, apparently in the case of whatever virus was spreading throughout so many other worlds. He ignores David's shrug, crouching his head from underneath the weight bar and sitting up on the edge of the bench. Stretching one arm after another, out in front of him.]

Of course you wouldn't be, you'd be dead. At least physically. Your memory would serve to satisfy the self-gratification of those left behind in your wake. Thus, you never truly die. And isn't that what all humans want most of all?

[He paused and turned his head to the side, inclining his chin towards the man in the mech-suit]

To be remembered, infinitely. To live forever.

[The more David hears from Sephiroth, the less certain he feels as to what to make of him. That attitude, and the way Sephiroth views heroic acts comes off as even more bitter than that red-garbed man who had saved David's life his first day here. Which is saying something—that guy set a pretty high bar for a hero who is disgusted by his own, what with the way he thought of Paragon City as "a nightmare" when David described to him the giant statues venerating some of its greatest heroes.]

Okay, so fine—genocide den, not extinction. Dat better?

[Which is more accurate ... and less of a hyperbole.]

But, uh—I can't speak for every hero out dere, but livin' forever ain't what I'm in dis for. Though I'm pretty sure most heroes would feel da same way. 'Cause I mean, if you're helpin' other people only 'cause you want to be famous, you're kinda doin' it for da wrong reasons, yanno?

[It is a much better word to use. Sephiroth smiles lightly when David corrects the word -oh, if only he knew. Some facts are best kept to himself, though, especially with the symptom of heroism so ripe in this place.

It's bad enough that the Administration knows. Or at least in the case of Ruana, if hearsay was to believed with regards to her 'visiting' of all of their World's. Knowing all of them more than she would otherwise.]

Then what is the reason of such heroism then? If not to be recognized by your peers?

[His tone flattens off, it's clear that he's less interested in whatever David might conjure up to say. A whisper of a memory plays close to his thoughts-

You just don't get it-

Before it's dismissed and Sephiroth moves to lie back down on the bench again for his next set of reps.]

You're wantin' to know why I got into da hero biz?

[If this tower actually let him have a lighter, this is where David would have either have lit on the cigar for dramatic effect, or puffed on it. Presentation counts!]

Dat thing I was talkin' about—heroes who gave deir lives for da rest of us? Da aftermath left da world in a sorry state. Da Rikti did a real number on us. Lotta good people died—police, military, an' a huge chunk of superheroes. An' you know when you got a situation like dat, dere'll be rotten punks just jumpin' at da chance to prey on innocent people.

[He's not really sure if Sephiroth is listening to what he has to say, but David blusters on regardless.]

At da time I was just another average joe, see. 'Nother blue-collar worker puttin' in his nine-to-five. But every day I'd have to watch people gettin' mugged, beaten, heck, even deir souls punted outta deir bodies—[—The way David says that last part has a palpable anger to it, though that indignation mellows out as he continues—]—an' dere just wasn't enough cops left to stop 'em. Same with superheroes. I could count da ones in Paragon dat survived da war on my fingers.

[He pauses for a moment to watch Sephiroth's weight training before continuing.]

I was sick of seein' it happen. Wrongs goin' unanswered. So when I got da chance to make a difference—[—Here, David taps on the chestplate of his powered armor suit with one of his hands—]—I jumped at it. Haven't looked back.

[He's certain he didn't ask for David's life-story but it was clear by half way through his next set of reps that Sephiroth has taken the proverbial lid off a can of worms here. Not only is David a self-confessed 'hero' but apparently he likes to tell anyone any and all of the reasons why as well. What an irritation, proof positive why Sephiroth hardly talks to anyone.

However the reference to souls being 'punted outta deir bodies' prickles at his attention, and not only for the slightest touch of anger he thought he felt in coming from the words. But outwardly he continues to slowly lift and press the weight supported on strong arms. He finishes just as David stops speaking, sets the bar back up on it's bracket, slower than he did before. He has hardly even looked down himself at the guy the whole time.]

Vigilante justice. I'm sure that felt good....

[There might be an ever so slight tinge of resentment in Sephiroth's overly flat tone, what remains unspoken is -never mind that your soul has been dragged here, regardless.]

[David doesn't pick up on the unspoken part of Sephiroth's response—but if he had voiced it, it wouldn't have done much more than bring David's general frustration over how Ruana's got everyone under her thumb while that ... whatever it is continues to plow through alternate dimensions, killing untold numbers of people.]

[Instead, David scoffs quietly.]

Naw, only at first. An' I was usin' less-lethal ammo anyway. I got my federal registration pretty quick.

[So instead he'll reference the same in his next comment. If there is one thing they have in common it seems, being made mostly of an unreal thing has to be a problem - for combatant purposes.]

Not that such things make any difference at all here.

[Just imagine, he's gone to all that trouble to make Masamune real when he summoned it forth from within his soul - and now he'll be giving it up again, along with the rest of what it means to be physical within the trappings of the Tower.

Sephiroth doesn't even know how long his longer-term plan will take-

He drifts off into thought a little, eyeing the bar that's rested at just under arms length from his head, as if it might hold more answers. Answers that he knows aren't contained here. He's not so much ignoring David completely any more, just simply not listening.]

[David's starting to pick up on the indifference Sephiroth's showing in his voice and behavior, but isn't quite sure how to take it. Is he boring him with all this talk? Or just annoying him while the guy's trying to get his weight training done? He doesn't think too hard on it—giving a small shrug as if to dismiss either being the case.]

Maybe not here, but dis ain't exactly Paragon City or da United States anyway.

[... Or, maybe it was. A dimension related to Primal Earth? Come to think of it, just what was the world outside the Tower like? Alas, their bodies probably couldn't work outside the Tower. Or could they?]

[He knows neither of those places. It doesn't matter a great deal to Sephiroth either, maybe one day he will find these places that David speaks of, maybe there are better World's out there.

Sephiroth smiles mostly to himself as he took the bar for one more set of reps. Down almost to resting on his chest, then pressing up - a lot slower than he did to start with. Ten reps later he puts the weight back up and looks again to David.]

I still don't see the need for non-lethal ammo.

[It seems for a moment that he was listening, or continues to appear as if he was. Until David perhaps considers the reasons Sephiroth might say something like that.]

You don't?

[David's mouth hands open a little in surprise. Maybe a little confusion, too—he'd taken Sephiroth's initial comment about vigilante justice as being something akin to the way others in the hero community usually reacted to heroes that used firearms. Giving them the disdain they would give indiscriminate killers, or simply not thinking of them as real superheroes ...]

[So what does that say about Sephiroth? What sort of guy would react that way, but not see the need for non-lethal (or less-lethal) methods? Someone in a military organization, probably ... ?]

[Still, David feels compelled to explain himself.]

—Well, see, it depends on who or what I'm fightin'. Your average criminals, dey're punks, but dey're still citizens. I'd rather let da courts figure out what to do with 'em. Some of 'em can be rehabbed, yanno? An' if not, dey can still give up good leads in stoppin' other crimes.

[David readjusts the cigar in his mouth.]

Now, with guys like da Rikti, Arachnos, da Circle of Thorns—[David's voice takes another brief edge of anger when he mentions that particular group, but it's gone just as quickly—or da Devourin' Earth an' da Clockwork? Dat's when I take da gloves off.

Edited (Didn't catch that typo. "Deovuring." Heh.) 2014-04-07 19:45 (UTC)

[Vigilante justice, as far as Sephiroth meant it was construed as those that would take up arms and right the wrongs that they believed were being enforced upon them by some higher authority. Non-lethal means seems to him much to soft of an approach to take, if they wanted to be taken seriously by said higher authority then they would have to prove they could not only equal them in measure, but outdo them.

Sephiroth is a champion of the most-lethal methods; there is nothing like the example taking a life could echo through a population. Even if Sephiroth wouldn't generally kill for something as petty as morality.

Fluidly he sits up from underneath the apparatus and wipes his brow on the back of his hand. He's not sweating hardly as much as anyone could expect but is starting to feel warmer.]

I find lethality is the most useful tool in getting people to understand, or to even listen to you in the first place. Forever, or whatever your cause may be always runs the risk of being ignored. Even just the threat that you have the ability to end someone, can deliver wonders - a certain edge that I for one crave to hold again.

[He pauses, not sure if David will follow. In fact, he's mostly convinced at this point that the big guy in the mech suit won't get it at all.]

Anyway what were they, terrorist groups?

[Sephiroth's initial comments about lethal methods does appear to give the Blaster pause for thought. David doesn't offer any vocal reaction—more of a visual one, as he tightens his lips' grip on the cigar. To David, Sephiroth is definitely sounding like he's from some sort of military or government background. Someone involved in wetwork. Or ... maybe something worse.]

[But, ill equipped as he is (and still waiting on Reno to show up!), he's not prepared to confront his darker suspicions on this guy.]

—Huh?

[—Oh, he's asking about the villain groups now. David shakes his head as if he were clearing cobwebs out of his head. It's partly to come back to the conversation at hand, and partly in response to Sephiroth's question.]

Not really, no—'least if we're workin' by da usual definition. Dese guys, dey're a more, uh, diverse bunch. So in da superhero community we just call 'em "villain groups" if we gotta be general.

[He'll wait to see if Sephiroth wants to know more about them before he offers that kind of information.]

[He finds it rather odd, that someone would be sporting an unlit cigar at all, let alone in a gymnasium of all places. But really, he's hardly noticed it at all in the other man until he used it so expressively. Sephiroth quirks a single eyebrow but the interest is gone a moment later. It's hardly the strangest thing in all of the Worlds represented here.

Especially considering the eternally interesting state of affairs that David had left behind.

At the answer to his query though, Sephiroth can't help but half-smirk at David in passing as he looks around for the possibility of moving onto some other equipment. The reply follows a moment later.]

'Villain groups'. [He repeats, committing it to memory.] That's a rather broad label.

[David shrugs off Sephiroth's smirk.]

Has to be. We're talkin' about a lotta different kindsa bad guys. Different motivations, M.O.s, dat sorta thing. 'Bout da only thing dey all share in common is dat dey prey on da innocent and're general menaces to society.

[A beat later, David adds:]

Or, worse dan dat.

[He does a very good job of keeping most of his attention pointedly not on David at this point. Sephiroth hears the words loud and clear, and knows exactly what the self-proclaimed 'hero' refers to. What he find ironic is how the mech-suited man doesn't realize-

-oh the joys of having no one else from his own World here. It makes small tete-a-tete's like this all the more interesting. Though Sephiroth then stands and stretches his arms up and out towards the ceiling and back slowly - muscles tingle with the workout. He is going to miss this feeling, this physicality-]

Worse than that hm? Like ripping out souls that you mentioned?

[David's expression turns bitter almost immediately after Sephiroth poses the question. He certainly looks like he's chomping down on that cigar harder than usual.]

... Yeah. Like dat.

[But, despite the hardness in his voice, he's keeping his anger in check well enough to explain further.]

Dat'd be da Circle of Thorns' specialty.

[He expressed it so casually it is almost as if Sephiroth has let go of all the weight such a statement should encompass. Indeed, he has been here a long time; as uncomfortable the notion of eventually accepting that one is only a soul in a cage might be.

It doesn't matter, it won't be for much longer.]

Circle of Thorns. Sounds almost cult-ish.

[David chuckles, but it's low and bitter. No humor in it at all.]

Boy, if only it were dat simple—

[Now it's the old Blaster's turn to pace, no longer content with standing around as he did. David starts walking perpendicular to Sephiroth's position, glancing up at the ceiling.]

—dey're what remains of dis ancient magic-usin' civilization. An' by ancient I'm talkin' like tens of thousands of years ancient, when da rest of us were a buncha cavemen scratchin' our butts.

[Looking back down to the rest of the gym ahead of him, David turns and walks the other way. Now he's talking with his hands, glancing over to Sephiroth a few times as he does.]

But dey had dis big war with another magic-usin' country. All but wiped each other out, see. Dey sunk deir capital city deep underground, so's they still have dis kinda hideout, even though dey're mostly a buncha pissed-off spirits by now.

[He stops and looks back over to Sephiroth more directly.]

... Which is where deir whole soul-puntin' thing comes in.

[Sephiroth remains stood the whole time throughout David's pacing, watching the mech-suit with his eyes more than moving his head. He uses the opportunity to pick out other details he hadn't noticed about the mech-suit as well, it seems a simple enough construction, not entirely different to how he remembers some of the robots back on His Planet.

But of course he is forever an attentive audience, taking on the details that David recounts. He wonders how much of a correlation it might be to their current situation in the Tower.]

So they pulled souls out of others' bodies as some sort of revenge for the fact they haven't got form themselves any more?

[In the meantime, Sephiroth steps away from the weight bench and David, heading back in the direction of the weight rack. To retrieve a scrap of cloth from nearby with which he wipes his head again. That white-rag had been the skin suit he had woken up in months ago, re-purposed into something he'll actually use.

He looks back over to David, waiting for the continuance of the explanation.]

[David glances back over to Sephiroth at the question, then shakes his head.]

Naw. Worse. Dey're takin' peoples' bodies for demselves. Kickin' out da soul of da rightful owner an' movin' in, so's dey can keep fighting dat war of deirs.

[David's expression remains bitter and foul.]

After da Rikti War dey got really gutsy about dat. 'Specially in Kings Row an' Perez Park—not a day went by where I'd keep runnin' into packs of dose goons in da middle of one of dose soul-switcheroo ceremonies.

[At last, he allows himself a satisfied, though grim, grin.]

Never let any of 'em get away with it ... but dere'd always be more. Slimy bunch.

Sounds desperate. Must have a lot of unfinished business to go to that length.

[His voice lowly rolls from over by the weight rack over a shoulder briefly while Sephiroth tries to figure which direction this workout of his should go in now. He doesn't look back to David for his next comment.]

Did you ever stop to consider that?

[David responds quickly. The disdain hasn't left his voice.]

Yeah. An' you know what who deir "unfinished business" is with? Anyone who's got deir enemies in da family tree.

[After which, he starts pacing again, throwing his hands into the air as much as his suit of armor will allow to emphasize his next point:]

You know how many people dat is? People dat don't even know dey had Mu ancestors?

[The emphasis with which David expresses his disdain just highlights what was in his voice moments ago. Sephiroth thinks it's all very over the top for a World that is dead already but, at least this conversation has engaged his mind while he's working out. It's been entertaining indeed.]

Considering how ancient you said their civilization was, I can imagine. Some grudges die hard.

[He probably shouldn't have sounded so off-handed about it.]

[David drops his hands as he listens to Sephiroth's reaction, but shakes his head after that even as he continues to pace.]

S'more dan a grudge. I dunno da whole story, but I've been fightin' dose punks long enough to get a good idea of deir history—dey made some kinda deal with da devil. Or a devil. An' dey ain't gonna be free of it until dey wipe out everybody who's so much as a drop of Mu blood.

[He chuckles bitterly again as he turns around and paces the other way. His pitch lowers to something like a grumbling mutter, though it's obviously meant for Sephiroth to hear as he makes no effort in speaking under his breath.]

Sure explains all dose demons dey like totin' around with 'em.

[Sephiroth listens more, still only over his shoulder at David but doesn't reply any further. It has been very interesting to learn of affairs on David's World before he was brought here but it's irrelevance is now starting to get on his nerves.

He trails a hand from one weight to another, in silence, pondering.]

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Sorry for the delay; I'm on my last chemo infusion!

No problem at all! Best of luck with that!

*salutes*

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Sorry about the delay!

You're fine dear o7

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salutes