open post

[unschooled]

thoughts? plots? tag here w/ideas or slam me with an opener. in media res is my slam jam.

Comments

[unschooled]

"Piece of shit might work, wouldn't be the first time," he knows he's a shit for doing the work he does. Hasn't stopped him for, fuck, has it been five years? He talks about settin' up taps on abandoned androids like it ain't no big thing - it's always paid the bills, but given his whole sitch at home, with the trailer and the cook and the cycle he's caught up in, he just can't find an ounce of strength to look Kieren in the eye while he wiggles the forearm loose.

It's not good. He tips the exposed attachment that extends from the elbow, measures it in approximates and proximity. Brows lift, and he turns to offer a hand for the other's arm, palm up.

"What do you wanna do with you?" It's almost hot, a riposte that spits off his lips as his whole freckled face scrunches up again. He feels the implication, assumes it, hates the way Kieren pieces together an image that Kal might consider that.

"Shit, man, I got a trailer. Ain't much, but there's a couch if you need a place to crash." If he comes to with Kal, what next? Cromwell pokes his filthy fucking face in and sees Kal's got company?

Tries to take him?

Wiping his nose into the crook of his sleeve, he shakes his head. Fuck, man. Fingers wiggle, and he pushes, this time almost as quiet: "Arm, Kieren."

Kal will never achieve the level of quiet he manages, but fuck if the guy doesn't try.

[thefirstandthelast]

He's still nervous, that much is obvious, but his arm is slowly presented, the skin flowing back almost indistinguishable from the white plastic of his limb's casing. It doesn't equate to any real feeling Kal would understand, releasing the locks keeping the last fragments of limb in place so that the damaged component could be removed.

"Rather just call you by your name," he decides, dropping his gaze back to his lap. "Can't go around calling someone 'bastard' for lack of anything better."

"I dunno what to do with myself," he murmurs as Kal removes the damaged pieces and pushes the new arm into place. Picking some at the inseam of his jeans, Kieren scans himself and his new acquaintance once more, picking up other little things now that he has functioning optical units. He's not that much older than the android himself was designed to look. Irritable, caustic. Not awful, but definitely not the most friendly around. Easy to work with if they found a neutral ground. So the offer of a place to stay almost makes sense, but just as Kal thinks it, Kieren wonders the same thing; if Kal decides he doesn't want to do it himself, a scavenger tends to have buddies, or at least dependents, that might be more inclined to try and take an android to sell at profit.

[unschooled]

And those buddies are exactly the breed of folks reeling through Kal's head, and he tries to grasp for some thread of redeemable circumstance. Gaff's a good cat, yeah, but he ain't no guard dog. He has a mean poker face while he tries to puzzle it through, plan some way to lock Crom out of the loop. It's a shit show. Ivory's still dismantled; what'd that say for Kal, if he took Kieren to the trailer? "Yo, yeah, don't mind Ivory, I'm still tryin' to piece her together. Parts for that make are hella rare, you figure?"

That's a healthy image. He squeezes the extension from the spare forearm and pops it into place; it's a process, because he needs to twist it and apply just enough pressure to make it work. Too much, and fuck, Kal'd have to go fishing for more parts.

"Kal's fine then. I can probably cover your tracks enough if you wanna stay low," maybe he can squeeze a new place to live? An apartment closer to downtown?

What's he gonna do? Fucking deliver pizzas? Work retail? Like hell he can, all those jobs are swallowed up in the shadow of CyberLife, and fuck, hustlin' like this earns profit.

Okay, no. Kal, reel this bullshit in. Why is he suddenly trying to figure out a way to keep the android safe? Fuck. Fuck. "You been, fuck, awake? Long? You ain't like other androids I've met."

[thefirstandthelast]

He can see the gears turning in Kal's head, and before, that had always meant something bad, or at least weird, was about to happen to him.

No, don't think like that. This is just as weird for him. He's not used to...what? Finding androids that aren't protocol-bound anymore? Kieren's still trying to piece that together for himself. It's weird, having no mindlessly controlled prerogatives. It's scary, but it also gives him a much wider scope. Uncontrolled emotions are a bitch, though, and he hasn't developed a poker face.

A check of his internal chronometer reveals that he'd glitched and snapped out of his previous servitude two weeks ago. He'd woken back up here the day prior, when the last load had been dumped with him in it.

"'s been about...a few weeks. Since..." He can't even explain what happened. Remembering hurts.

Remembering hurts, and he shuts it down out of reflex rather than pushing.

"S'pose you don't meet many androids in a position to talk back," he murmurs, not meaning to be hurtful but realizing as soon as he says it that it could be taken that way.

[unschooled]

The socket takes to the arm component, and Kal pulls his hands back to cradle and support the limb until Kieren takes it away. Can they hide the LED? A small peek up, and Kal stares at the spinning disc of light, mulling; they fix him up enough, and Kal figures he has enough clothes to manage between them. That might be something, an adhesive bandage to a much bigger problem, but it buys them time.

He doesn't press the time thing, doesn't ask how or what or why. Gives Kieren a pat on the shoulder though before he turns to repeat the process for the right arm now, with the spare component in his bag.

Yeah, it's mean, but Kal shrugs. "Honestly, I've only ever asked two androids what th' fuck was up. One gave me a look like she couldn't compute filth, and the other's Ivory. I've been tryin' to steady up repairs for her, but nothin' takes. You'll meet her if you decide to hit up my place. She's a solid one, likes the T.V."

Nevermind the fact she doesn't have a jaw, and no auxillary components. Solid p&r though, and one good eye that makes her fun to talk to. Gaff digs her.

[thefirstandthelast]

Storing away the information about Ivory, Kieren picks up his arm and flexes his fingers, slowly performing diagnostic checks on the digits then nodding. It's a good part, compatible and in decent working order. He'd be able to calibrate it more finely once he was out of this dump.

"She probably couldn't," he says with a shrug, holding out the other arm for replacement. It would go faster this time around, given the damage was further down away from the elbow joint.

Anyone with a good eye would be able to tell that this wasn't just an accident, or someone getting too rough with him. It would have started to heal over by now otherwise. It was consciously blocked from that particular protocol.

This was self-inflicted.

He looks up in time to see Kal eyeing his LED, and he makes a face. He could change his hair, the color and the style, but he's not sure it would be enough to hide the little ring of light that had by now shifted to processing yellow. Perhaps a hat, if Kal had one he could wear...

"Have you got a shower? I'd like to be able to clean up a bit..."

[unschooled]

"Fuck, you're not wrong," Kal laughs; it's a dry, awful, sardonic blip in his throat, not quite laughter, maybe something born out of a weird neglect for irony. He takes the right arm up and repeats the process. Start the drips soon, he reminds himself as he applies a similar care toward replacing the limb, administering a twist with just the right amount of pressure to make it pop.

He notes the way the arm is mangled, but he doesn't speak of it. Guy's got demons; he's got demons, fuck, even the cat has a demon or two. It just comes in different shades.

The moment he sees Kal staring at the LED, Kal looks away. Hats work. He has more beanies than he knows what to do with, and weathered ball caps a plenty - wait though. Holy shit. Holy shit.

The joke fails him. He tries to deadpan, but his brows soften and his head bobs, "Yeah, I do. Shower head's weak, but it's good enough to get the job done. I'll hit up the laundromat in the A.M., run a blanket and spare sheets through. Probably got shit you can change into."

With the right arm replaced, Kal holds the limb stable and waits for Kieren again. "Think you can manage your legs while I get the pumps going?"

[thefirstandthelast]

Kieren's lips press together as Kal looks away, like a child afraid he'll be caught staring at something naughty.

Flexing his arms in tandem, he hums in quiet satisfaction with it, then looks down at his legs. They're relatively fine, except for his missing foot. He doesn't know what happened to it. Maybe another android trying to get out of here had popped it off of him while he'd been in emergency standby. He holds the leg up with a slight grimace, then nods at Kal's bag of parts. He rattles off a list of compatible modular replacements now that he's of a better mind to.

"I won't be able to walk until I've got another two pints of thirium, won't be out of the woods unless I'm back up to eighty-five percent. So unless you intend on carrying me around, maybe the thirium first."

[unschooled]

Are they functional? The arms? The tandem bend is enough for Kal to cock a grin at his work, and pleased enough with the fact he can pop things into ports, he pushes himself up. "Yeah, sorry to, uh, break it to you, man, but I ain't know shit about what those parts are. I find a thing, I match the port, and bam, magic. Because that's fucking real, yeah?"

Numbers are numbers. Kal's a shapes guy, knows a part better by how it feels than by what it's named. He squares hands to the dirt and pushes up, head bobbing. Two pints of thirium, just under a liter. "I follow. Worst case, I got a dolly parked I can wheel your ass with. Work smarter, not harder, figure?"

He snags his ruck, lays out the parts gathered so he find his pressure gauges and the makeshift tubing; over the shoulder it goes, and he offers Kieren a half salute. "Gimme twenty to set this up and I'll be back."

Assuming he finds anything worthwhile in the pits.

[thefirstandthelast]

Kieren goes back to moving and wiggling his arms and fingers, nodding distractedly as Kal heads out to try and collect as much thirium as they'd need to keep him running. He wonders, in a slightly uncomfortable way, why Kal opted to help him if not to sell him. Maybe he wanted an android of his own?

But then why would he start about Kieren's ability to think?

Maybe he had someone else in mind that could use a "retired" HR unit.

Or maybe he'd just turn Kieren out onto the street once he was in a position to fend for himself.

Fuck, he doesn't want to think about this right now. He doesn't want to think, really.

Left on his own, Kieren can't really do much except watch the clouds overhead, touching his fingers to his thumbs slowly then picking up speed in a very basic calibration test. He'd be able to test his hand-eye coordination later.

[unschooled]

Kal's an easy truth: fuck if I know. Impulse breeds opportunity, and opportunity: chance. Doesn't keep him from reflectin' somethin' similar as he lines up a couple units he's okay with popping the with. No LEDs flippin' through the cycles of mind and life and thought, no twitches to the limbs - one's missing half its face and another's gutted waist down, but he figures they'll work. If it wasn't for the regs tweaking out, they may have had a chance.

But Kal ain't counting on more than this; two goals are throwing firecrackers behind his eyeballs. Kieren. Gotta get enough to get him up. Rent, else they aren't gonna have time to breathe with Crom hawkin'. He rolls his sleeves up and pulls the shirt apart on the unit missin' the face. Smooths his thumbs over the plate, pops the chest open, and there it is: a busted regulator still simmering, and a pipeline drip from the pump.

It takes a minute to wire the android up to his makeshift drain system, and he cusses loud when he realizes his gloves ain't on. The pump burns him, nothin' huge, a mild scald, and he crimps the biocomp and connects it with a small battery; flip the switch, and the vacuum starts peeling the thick goop through, friction softening it into a fluid that eventually starts draining. Solid blue. Good shit.

As it very well fucking should, thank you. He clips the skin between his thumb and forefinger, bites it for a moment to divert the pain as he shuffles around to the second android, repeats a similar process. He uses his sweatshirt as a buffer, and it keeps him from screwing up twice - this one's a little easier, and in about fifteen minutes he has two thick glass jars fillin' at a trickle. It's a creep, buys him time to check on Kieren, maybe make some progress with the foot.

Or the audio component. That'd be nice, yeah? He sidetracks, taking longer than expected as he rifles through the bodies and cranial caps, and ears a plenty for a few different types. Gives Kieren a choice, yeah? He pockets four or five, despite the fact one is definitely busted bad.

He eventually comes back, hands in pockets, somehow dirtier than before, but he comes with gifts in tow. "We got about a half before they fill up, probably twenty minutes now. How you holding up?"

[thefirstandthelast]

"I'm not about to start doing backflips," Kieren huffs, though his tone is good-natured enough. He looks up at Kal standing over him, wincing a little as he sits up. Every motion bigger than just moving his limbs and lips gives him a weird sort of feedback, a too-pitched waveform in his audio processor. "You work quick, don't you? What else have you got there?"

Perhaps it's better that he can't hear much just now, as other bodies continue to try and crawl up, crawl out, crawl away from the hell that's brought him into the salvager's company. The little HR just sits with his elbows propped up on his knees, his ankles crossed and making him look rather dainty, atop his mound of the dead. An image pops in his head, and he considers it a moment with brow furrowed, before dismissing it. He'd come back to it when there were less dire things at hand.

"Maybe you should tell me a little about you. Besides the obvious. 's not often some human just offers so much help out of the kindness of 'is heart."

[unschooled]

"Some plug and play for your auditory delight," he bargains like a fiend, opening half of the zip-down sweatshirt and wagging the auditory components as if they're wares to be bought. There's a flick of something, a tension that kips his wrist, and he shrugs, dismissing the ruse all together as something not fucking appropriate enough, not without a couple joints and a drink or six, and def not in front of him.

Small. Kal figures he might have a few inches on the android, but nothin' more.

Guy drops down beside Kiernen, smoothing an empty space of dirt before he hits ass to grass. "Yeah? We're a shit race of flesh, don't get me fucking started about the kindness of the heart." He'd kill for something between his lips; he palms his pockets with his free hand, squeezes the ruck, finds nothing. Of course. Of fucking course he left them in the car before hitting VETA.

If Kieren doesn't reach for the auxiliary pieces, he lays them down gently between them, goes back to biting his hand, pulling at the skin as he looks down. Bites his nail. Forgets the blue.

Smooth as fuck. He wipes his hand on his jeans, and the whole thing rinses and repeats.

"Wha's the obvs? Is it the whole human bit, or the fact I got enough blue on my hands to look like a fucking vamp?"

[thefirstandthelast]

"The way I see it, 's gonna take time to collect enough for me to have enough energy to hike out of here. Feels like I should know something about you," he replies with a shrug, one hand wrapping around the opposite wrist and curling him just that little bit more onto himself. "You're human, you've got a bit of a shit attitude, but you're clearly not a bad person. Unless you're just reeeally good at faking."

He scans and picks up one of the audio units, then holds up a finger and takes a moment to eject the damaged component. He hands it to Kal in case he might want it, then slots the new compatible one into place. He cringes as everything goes quiet, with intermittent squeaks and grates as the drivers for the new unit self-install, then the sounds of the world reassert themselves. He sags with the relief it brings.

He looks back as Kal bites down on his hand, brow furrowing. "Are you alright?" The question is rendered moot when he scans again and notes the mild burn from the hot components. "You should probably run that under some water..."

[unschooled]

"I have a shit attitude?" Kal immediately sweeps a hand to his collarbone, feigns some disproportionate amount of surprise. Yeah, Kieren ain't the fucking first to say it out loud, and he probably won't be the last - but hell if it doesn't catch him off guard. Not a bad person? "Yo, take that back." Not a bad person. Fuck him. "I'm an awful human being," kid's flushed to the ears and he wipes his face off on the collar of his shirt, and he immediately snaps his eyes away and to the ground. Called out, read like a fucking book. Kal, you sack of shit, what are you doing?

He catches the replacement of the auditory component and his gaze creeps back as he once more plies the forming blister between his lips. Quick to snag the broken part, Kal isn't gonna say no to broken parts. Hopes the spare auxiliary components will fit Ivory some how. Doubt it. Girl's got some of the weirdest ports he's ever seen. Kieren catches him mid-bite, and he shakes his head.

"Ain't nothin', just an idiot at work," he shrugs it off. A slow look around and he extends his arms out to the scrapyard around them. Run it under water? What water? The dried up mud puddles? The current drip of blue?

Fuck. Fuck, wait.

"How long has it been?" Oh, oh no, fuck, he gets to his feet faster than a spring, and he's already running off to check the jars in hopes they haven't pooled over the rim.

[thefirstandthelast]

Kieren's pale eyebrow just hovers upward with the insistence that Kal is awful, lips quirking in a soft smirk. Yeah, he doesn't believe a word of it.

He's about to suggest that at least Kal stop gnawing on the raised skin before he actually breaks it and risks an infection (because really? You're just going to willingly peel back your skin in an actual dump??) until the human jerks upright and bounces away. The sudden movement is startling, and Kieren jumps badly, nearly upsetting himself from his perch. He catches himself before he can do more than fall to one side, pushing back up and calling after Kal. "Could you not do that? Christ..."

[unschooled]

(Excuse me, you're not his dad. JOKE'S ON YOU, HE'S NEVER HAD A DAD He's had his tetanus shot, okay, which isn't justifiably enough, but . . .)

"Ain't gonna wait for me to stop the vacuum!" He shouts back before he pulls his gloves out of his pockets (what? What? Kal, please) and forces them on. The two glass jars are busting close to the top, watered down by saline - won't be too bad, might not be as good, but the liter's solid product.

He finds the pace again and reaches down to jostle the tubing, eek out what remains of the drain on both androids. It's a process, but he lids 'em and starts the hunt for a couple'a more. These ones take time, and poor Kieren has full purview of just the kind of shit Kal manages as he, uh, sets up the taps.

[thefirstandthelast]

(Fine, he'll just watch your hand drop off because you're an unsanitary git.)

Kieren pushes himself back up and leans up over the top of the pile to find where Kal has gone, watching him first cap off two jars of thirium then pulling a bit of a face as he watches Kal's process from afar. He swallows hard, as if that will help the strange sensation behind his new pump quiet down. As much as he needs what Kal is doing for him, it's still a little grotesque.

Turning back to the rucksack, Kieren peeps inside, head tilting as he reaches inside slowly. There are a couple of components that look to be compatible with his own. A leg, and foot that looks like he'd be able to pull it into place on his own, catches his attention and he glances back up at Kal. The human is indisposed, so this will likely hurry the process up a little in the end.

As the next jars are filled, Kieren is distracted with wiping some grime out of, then lining up the socket with the component to click it into place. It, too, takes a moment to introduce itself into the system, then he slowly wiggles the new toes.

"Have you been doing this long?" he asks over his shoulder, glancing back at Kal still hovering over his jars.

[unschooled]

The pumps run like steady streams; it's a dance between four torsos - the first two didn't pan out, had a pint each, little less - makes for a cuss somewhere in the thick of Kal's throat. He's got a watcher. Figures, because what else is Kieren gonna do while he's pulling streams of thirium out of the body plates, emptying pumps and shaking regulators?

Kal keeps steady, monitoring the pressure of the two separate flows, managing a couple shifts to help siphon the blue out of the abandoned androids with a wee more haste. He hears the question, thinks, laughs.

"You wan' a real answer to that? It's been a while. On five now, I think. Figure I was ready to make a promised million an' red ice, well, it needs a flow of blue to make it so."

Millions that are only hundreds, and hundreds that are debts piled high and favors owed. He doesn't indulge Kieren in that piece, no, 'cause he damn well anticipates Crom or one of the kids to swing by on the morrow. He has that to think about, prepare for.

He's spinning stories, reasons, motives as to why he'd have an android in his trailer. Does he need to be an android? He shoots him another look, thoughtful. "Gonna be real, man, I reckon we need to start makin' a solid motive as to who you are and why you're stayin' at my place. I ain't sayin' we're gonna have visitors, but uh," arms sweep up and he throws his hands to the sky.

"But we're gonna, and that's not gonna go over like a piece of fucking cake, yeah? You follow?" While he's babysitting the two running drains, he decides he's gonna haul one of the jars up to Kieren, get this process going.

[thefirstandthelast]

Kieren makes an effort at hauling himself up over the peak of his little mountain of debric, his legs somewhat uncooperative and ending him up with another tear in his already sorry-looking jeans. He sits up by the time Kal gets to him, turning over what possible excuses they might be able to come up with for Kal having someone else in his trailer where, presumably, such a thing was awfully rare.

"Tell them it's a fling, or sommat," he offers with a weak shrug. He's not exactly programmed to be creative in the excuses sense. In other senses, absolutely. Tying cherry stems with his tongue or pulling the kind of stunts to make men or women drop to their knees while staring up at sweet deer-brown eyes, sure. That, he's programmed for. "If you've been doing this that long, then that's gotta be- wait. You're a red ice cook?" Kieren's brow knits at that, lips parting with an expression almost as if he's been betrayed. He holds the jar tightly between his hands, almost protectively. He certainly wouldn't give it back now, if that's really what Kal had wanted it for to begin with. He'd sooner spill it into the dirt.

[unschooled]

"Fuck no, I'm not a cook," that crosses a line, and Kal's brows furrow something fierce. "Ain't much better though, I'll be real. You'll see the fucker, Crom. He doles out what I bring back." Where does his debt begin? When did he sucker himself into bullshit symbiosis with the guy? Kal looks down, fuses with the zipper on his sweater.

Never compromise a place to sleep. He hears his sister mutter something about priorities, and fuck, can they talk about something else?

There's a comment about playin' it off like a fling and the words burn, the laughter burns, but now he's smothered in a weird, filthy guilt. "Shit happens. Did I show you the Guff?" Smooth transition, kid. He reaches down to retrieve his phone.

[thefirstandthelast]

The intense discomfort over his suggestion is noted, and Kieren buttons his lip. Not something Kal would be cool with, fine. That's just fine. Kieren's not so certain he'd be able to play along for very long anyway, if it really did come down to that.

He's not sure what the guy means for certain when he diverts away from the entire topic.

"Guff?" Kieren blinks at the question, glancing down at the phone. He's curious enough to slowly ease back over to find out what Kal is talking about. He'll take a couple of swallows of the faintly shimmering blue liquid he'd been handed, ignoring a notification of its slightly subpar quality alongside the information that his thirium level is rising.

[unschooled]

He flashes through a gallery of photos, some of objects undiscernable and taken at peak moments during a high, others of a cat, fat and white and gray, with a smooshed face and chub cheeks. A chunk of the Guff's tail is missing, and there's a clipped ear. The picture Kal lands on is one of him sprawled out in the mess of a bed, splayed in a streak of sunlight that somehow made it into Kal's room.

"Guffy, the goddamn gatekeeper of casa del Verrill," he snorts, smiling a little at the face of a cat who is either as blind as his owner or just outright apathetic. "He's a goon. Good guy though, doesn't bite most days."

He tries to think of a way to dull his own part in pushing blue to the cooks, but there ain't no way to make it right. He's a little quieter with the thought, teeth grinding together as he sucks down saliva and scratches his nose.

"I sell the blood I find to the guys who boil it down into ice. That make sense for ya?" It's quiet, a mutter that ripples through him a sense of guilt. Nah, it isn't quite guilt. It's a fucking shame.

He thumbs his mouth and wipes it off, smearing dirt and blue instead. A mild cuss escapes and he distracts himself with a couple swipes through his phone.

One thing's sure, he ain't meetin' Kieren's eyes.

[thefirstandthelast]

Kieren's brow is furrowed and his frown is deep, but...he sort of understands. People did what they had to to survive. And for Kal, that meant siphoning what he could from deactivated androids for those that could pay him for it. It's not great, it's unpleasant as hell really, but he gets it.

While the human flips through his phone to show off pictures of his cat (why would he want to show off his cat, especially to an android?) Kieren continues to drink down the rather unpleasant, but necessary lightly watered down thirium, gaining back more of his faculties. He'd be able to walk, albeit a bit drunkenly, by the time he downed the last of it.

"Is he hard to care for?" he asks idly, giving Kal something else to think about rather than brooding over his occupation and how awful it was, especially to the same sort that would normally be on the receiving end of one of those taps. He moves to gingerly pick up Kal's hand, licking his own thumb and using the false saliva to scrub away some of the blue stains there that Kal kept getting in his mouth with his absentminded mannerisms. He'd turn the same treatment on Kal's face, if he doesn't duck away fast enough.

[unschooled]

What tellin' Kieren does, is put Kal's cards on the table. Expectations. Establish a low bar and all things become surprises. There's a hot minute where Kal looks up and tries to get a beat on the guy's expression, read through it, but fuck if he just doesn't end up sliding through pictures of Gaff, because for a hot second, it makes things a little easier to swallow.

He glances to Kieren again, when he raises the jar and starts quaffin' down the blue. It's weird, but, if Kal pretends it's... water, he can kind-of get it. Maybe. His experiences are narrow, with the makeshift mock-I.V. he set up for Ivory out of a heavy duty plastic baggie and the same tubes he used for work - so to see him drink it is enough for Kal to, maybe, prioritize gettin' Ivy a functioning mouth to make things easier.

"Nah," yeah, cat's a fucking pain. The amount of shit Gaff'll drag into the bed if Kal ain't on top of the litter box is disgusting, and though he's solemnly sworn to not be a lazy fuck, there are weeks where it's easier to forget. He doesn't expect the reach for his hand, and he immediately lifts his head, closing whatever app caught the off-seconds of his attention.

Small shift. Nah, he sidles and tugs his arm away, fingers wagging reflexively as he tucks it down the incline of his thigh, "Yeah, no. I'll wash up in the sink when you're hittin' the shower, Kieren. Ain't ken on the mum shit."

He gleans the clock on his phone and slides it into his back pocket, "I'll get you another jar an' check on the two fillin' up." This time, the kid gets up slow, making a scene that hey, he's going in this direction. He almost dares to wait for a confirming nod, but - nah, he just goes once he's done gesticulating his downward descent into hell the scrapyard.