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?"
"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."
"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?"
"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..."
"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.
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..."
(Excuse me, you're not his dad. JOKE'S ON YOU, HE'S NEVER HAD A DADHe'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.
(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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Kieren rolls his eyes at both the over the top rejection of his fussing, and at the exaggerated way Kal announces his exit, stage left. The android follows suit, pushing himself up to stand (and ending up teetering as his arms pinwheel in the air) then easing his way down the mound. He walks like his legs have gone to sleep, almost resembling a new fawn on such slender legs wobbling a little knock-kneed in Kal's direction.
"Listen, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can figure out this Crom business and I can get suitable enough to be on my way," he calls after, settling onto another crate that looks to have been emptied already. He sits with his hands in his lap, one leg bouncing fitfully as he glances around at the wandering portions of bodies trying to escape this muddy purgatory. He doesn't like it here. It gives him the worst case of the willies, just seeing a pair of legs wandering past on whatever task they have without actual input.
Yeah, there ain't much patience for bambi trottin' behind as he crouches down and assesses the messes he's currently attending to. They've what, four jars? Just about enough for Kier, but not enough for rent. He shoots up, stares, and hoots with laughter when the guy shouts to him. Yeah? On his way, then? He works on toppin' the two jars, hanging his pipeage system off a rail as he discards the body frames carefully back into the pile. Somewhere near the butt. Maybe fakes an accident, covers them up.
Can't think of the odds of one of the VETA service 'droids hittin' up and findin' someone's been sucking out the blue. He does a lot of busy work in the next few minutes, deliverin' to His Majesty, the one named Kieren, a couple jars to get him upright solid and not in a drunken stupor. Then it's the ruck. Then it's the redeemable limb components he can carry. After that: pack the jars, squeeze a little gel into the tubes, and wrap the show up.
"Think you'll have enough gusto to help me carry some shit when you're done chuggin'? Ain't gon' be much, figure it's the bag or the cart."
An' just how are they gonna wiggle out without suspicion, on the chance that someone walks their way? Fuck him, he knows what the next step is, and Kier's gonna have a rusty, thick with sweat hoodie hurled his way when Kal's done saddlin' up.
"Take it. Wear it. Pop th' hood, you look like shit."
Kieren isn't actually prepared for how fast Kal seems to work, from collection to packing to sealing his jars and handing them off for his consumption. He can hardly keep up even as he's being tossed the hoodie that has seen better days than he has of late.
"Yeh? You really think so?" He snorts quietly at Kal's assessment of his appearance and puts aside the half-emptied jar he'd been steadily working through in order to pull the sweater over his ripped and muddy button-up. He would do away with the old clothes later; for now, like hell would he walk around in nothing but his synthskin and a near-stranger's hoodie. He scoffs quietly as Kal gives him a job to do, but he still picks up the rucksack and shoulders it, already much steadier. A display reads [Thirium Level: 65%^] and his movements are steadier, not nearly as clumsy as he follows Kal about the junkyard.
"This sweater needs a wash," he comments idly, making a face as he pulls the hood up over his grimy hair. It just completes the picture really, corpse-like and dressed in filthy secondhand clothes. He cannot wait to spend an hour washing up in the human's shower.
Kal's a kid for efficiencies. Five years o' midnight raiding's gotta add up to some sort of proficiency, yeah? There's a laugh, a laugh at the way Kieren seems to lose track as he's bustin' ass, and he almost feels a little... proud for it. Because that's impressive, right? Bein' quick at cleaning up your illegal activities and getting the fuck out? He's a fuckin' champ at get out quick.
"Yeh," he's quick to parrot, "I fuckin' do, and now you look like proper trash. Smell adds to the charm, the aroma of sweet failure and dollar store deodorant." A toothy, foolish grin sneaks its way onto his face and he shakes his head, saddling the bag with the jars and components. He decides to take an arm, but tha' just about does it for limbs. Couple auditory bits, an eye or two his sticky hands found, a couple other odd things more for fussin' with than anything else.
"Lemme know when you need to kip an we'll break," now that their bases are covered, Kal's a little more rejuvenated, ready to hit the dolly an' head back to the SUV. He feels half-deaf, half bitter, half oddly bemused and fucking petrified 'cos rent ain't gonna get paid, but it's okay. It's okay? He'll call Soph, beg her for a payday loan. Continue the cycle o' debt.
They movin'? Kal's already goin', but at least he's mindful of the android this time.
Given time, Kieren does end up more able to keep up with Kal, refraining from asking questions unless they seem necessary. He picks up a few parts that he can't rightly identify, wondering if any of them might be compatible with the unknown model that Kal's trying to piece together. He's ready to get out of here, but he doesn't want to leave the human high and dry when it's clearly a concern whether or not he'll be able to afford to live after this debacle.
"Take me to meet your cat," he says as he pulls himself up at Kal's side, a lower leg and some less identifiable parts tucked under his arm besides what he's already got in the rucksack. "I'm done looking and smelling like proper trash." As in, it's setting off unpleasant sensory input, and he's had quite enough of that.
Clearly his problem. Kal's concerns, are they so contagious? It's the first time he's talked to anyone that was neither his dealer or anyone involved in the ring Cromwell set up - so he's gushing, talking more, talking fast. If he has any self-awareness, he'll kick himself later, but for now, he's set a pace and the two move through the scrapyard, shadows in the throng of post-hour midnight.
VETA does not calmly let them go, no, plenty of half-functioning androids vying for the second chances, vestiges of control; there's a hum somewhere in the midst, broken and pitched and horrid, a song choked in the throat of some machine buried beneath a hundred others. It's enough for Kal to fill the silence with long delayed snapbacks.
"You don't wanna meet the Guffmeister. I see what you're doin', you're just in it for the shower and a chance to run off with clean clothes," it's a tease, enunciated by a snort - he shoots the android a glance as they come upon the dolly - and Kal adjusts it to accommodate a horizontal load. He places the parts down, motions for Kieren to drop the ruck - and the weathered components he picked up in their trek.
This, it actually kinda rocks Kal's nerves, and he stares because he's not sure why Kieren's pickin' up spare parts. He ain't gonna question it though, but fuck if it doesn't make him grin. He unfurls a tarp attached to the handle of the dolly, stretches it across the lot they managed. Once the carabiner clips are secured, they're off an' without delay beyond another couple'a hills.
If they're lucky, they won't come across anyone - straight shot to the SUV in their stars? Gods only know, and the gods are dead in Kal's book.
"Why can't it be both?" he replies, grinning as he nudges the parts a little more stable on the dolly so they wouldn't all topple off as soon as Kal started moving. He's trying desperately to ignore the cracked refrains of song from further into the junkyard, tries to pretend that he doesn't want to go and help. He's been salvaged, he got what they want, and if he goes back in, who knows what would happen to him?
Kieren is a little jumpy as they make their way through the walls of debris and bodies, some of which reach out or just watch them passing by. He doesn't feel judgment in their stares, but there is tangible desperation. He moves just a little bit faster with his arms curling around him and his hands tucking into the sleeves of the sweater.
So now he'll just wait for Kal to finish, keeping an eye on their surroundings in case someone actually does come to give them grief.
"So," he starts a touch hesitantly, eyes still toward the edge of the landfill, "if you're so hard up for cash you're here, why not try to find a job within the CyberLife centers? You're good at this, even if you're not good at the technical bits. Someone would see that, wouldn't they?"
"It's more than jus' money, Kier. It's a fuckin' mistake that ain't done and dead," he scoffs, cause hot shit if he doesn't hear Soph askin' the same thing. "'Sides, corporation like that fucking creeps me out. I ain't about conspiracies, but if there ain't something off about a guy at sixteen figuring this shit out, you know? I did a report on him in high school and it's just too weird."
Okay Kal feels the ebb of a tangent rising on, and he gives the dolly a firm push up the hill. They hit the cement and they're on their way toward the road that runs under the bridge, snakes around the block with the storage units.
"You're talking about Elijah Kamski? Can't say I know much about him, 'sides the whole 'father of androids' business." He doesn't really have much of an opinion on the matter, besides the obvious why is this happening to me? "Anyway age isn't so important when it comes to intelligence. I was made two years ago, after all. Who says some human teenager can't be that smart?"
Clearly, this is not an android that has ever met actual teenagers.
Kieren watches Kal heading around the storage rows, shaking his head. The guy's stuck in this cycle of money and bad people, and he can't seem to find any one person on which to saddle the blame, so that's what he falls back on? That somehow what's happening to him is CyberLife's fault? He's heard similar complaints from other humans in the past. "So you won't get legitimate work because...why, exactly? I don't understand. If the opportunity's there, why not take it?"
Okay, but seriously, why does it fucking matter? "'Cause if I fucking up and drop this, I'm gonna wake up dead with a bullet between the eyes?" It's short, quiet, a choke of air as his face flushes with the frustration of the whole goddamn thing. Why hasn't he sought out better work? Why hasn't he made the effort? Kieren is running parallels with the lectures he gets from his sister, and it is fucking weird and why is he so afraid?
Eyes dart forward and he trots ahead a few paces, peeking around the corner of a building. Just in case? Just in case.
They wouldn't take anyone like him, anyway. Shit, he doesn't have a diploma to his name because of some horse shit absentee policy. Why would they even breathe in his direction? Kal doesn't spew it, but there might be more than he lets on.
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Date: 2018-08-20 11:15 pm (UTC)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?"
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Date: 2018-08-20 11:39 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2018-08-20 11:59 pm (UTC)"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?"
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Date: 2018-08-21 12:33 am (UTC)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..."
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Date: 2018-08-21 01:10 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 01:19 am (UTC)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..."
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Date: 2018-08-21 01:31 am (UTC)(Excuse me, you're not his dad.
JOKE'S ON YOU, HE'S NEVER HAD A DADHe'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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 01:58 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 02:43 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 03:03 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 03:01 pm (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 08:51 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 09:03 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 10:36 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2018-08-21 11:57 pm (UTC)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
hellthe scrapyard.no subject
Date: 2018-08-22 12:24 am (UTC)"Listen, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can figure out this Crom business and I can get suitable enough to be on my way," he calls after, settling onto another crate that looks to have been emptied already. He sits with his hands in his lap, one leg bouncing fitfully as he glances around at the wandering portions of bodies trying to escape this muddy purgatory. He doesn't like it here. It gives him the worst case of the willies, just seeing a pair of legs wandering past on whatever task they have without actual input.
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Date: 2018-08-22 12:37 am (UTC)Yeah, there ain't much patience for bambi trottin' behind as he crouches down and assesses the messes he's currently attending to. They've what, four jars? Just about enough for Kier, but not enough for rent. He shoots up, stares, and hoots with laughter when the guy shouts to him. Yeah? On his way, then? He works on toppin' the two jars, hanging his pipeage system off a rail as he discards the body frames carefully back into the pile. Somewhere near the butt. Maybe fakes an accident, covers them up.
Can't think of the odds of one of the VETA service 'droids hittin' up and findin' someone's been sucking out the blue. He does a lot of busy work in the next few minutes, deliverin' to His Majesty, the one named Kieren, a couple jars to get him upright solid and not in a drunken stupor. Then it's the ruck. Then it's the redeemable limb components he can carry. After that: pack the jars, squeeze a little gel into the tubes, and wrap the show up.
"Think you'll have enough gusto to help me carry some shit when you're done chuggin'? Ain't gon' be much, figure it's the bag or the cart."
An' just how are they gonna wiggle out without suspicion, on the chance that someone walks their way? Fuck him, he knows what the next step is, and Kier's gonna have a rusty, thick with sweat hoodie hurled his way when Kal's done saddlin' up.
"Take it. Wear it. Pop th' hood, you look like shit."
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Date: 2018-08-22 01:10 am (UTC)"Yeh? You really think so?" He snorts quietly at Kal's assessment of his appearance and puts aside the half-emptied jar he'd been steadily working through in order to pull the sweater over his ripped and muddy button-up. He would do away with the old clothes later; for now, like hell would he walk around in nothing but his synthskin and a near-stranger's hoodie. He scoffs quietly as Kal gives him a job to do, but he still picks up the rucksack and shoulders it, already much steadier. A display reads [Thirium Level: 65%^] and his movements are steadier, not nearly as clumsy as he follows Kal about the junkyard.
"This sweater needs a wash," he comments idly, making a face as he pulls the hood up over his grimy hair. It just completes the picture really, corpse-like and dressed in filthy secondhand clothes. He cannot wait to spend an hour washing up in the human's shower.
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Date: 2018-08-22 01:35 am (UTC)Kal's a kid for efficiencies. Five years o' midnight raiding's gotta add up to some sort of proficiency, yeah? There's a laugh, a laugh at the way Kieren seems to lose track as he's bustin' ass, and he almost feels a little... proud for it. Because that's impressive, right? Bein' quick at cleaning up your illegal activities and getting the fuck out? He's a fuckin' champ at get out quick.
"Yeh," he's quick to parrot, "I fuckin' do, and now you look like proper trash. Smell adds to the charm, the aroma of sweet failure and dollar store deodorant." A toothy, foolish grin sneaks its way onto his face and he shakes his head, saddling the bag with the jars and components. He decides to take an arm, but tha' just about does it for limbs. Couple auditory bits, an eye or two his sticky hands found, a couple other odd things more for fussin' with than anything else.
"Lemme know when you need to kip an we'll break," now that their bases are covered, Kal's a little more rejuvenated, ready to hit the dolly an' head back to the SUV. He feels half-deaf, half bitter, half oddly bemused and fucking petrified 'cos rent ain't gonna get paid, but it's okay. It's okay? He'll call Soph, beg her for a payday loan. Continue the cycle o' debt.
They movin'? Kal's already goin', but at least he's mindful of the android this time.
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Date: 2018-08-23 01:01 am (UTC)"Take me to meet your cat," he says as he pulls himself up at Kal's side, a lower leg and some less identifiable parts tucked under his arm besides what he's already got in the rucksack. "I'm done looking and smelling like proper trash." As in, it's setting off unpleasant sensory input, and he's had quite enough of that.
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Date: 2018-08-23 01:13 am (UTC)Clearly his problem. Kal's concerns, are they so contagious? It's the first time he's talked to anyone that was neither his dealer or anyone involved in the ring Cromwell set up - so he's gushing, talking more, talking fast. If he has any self-awareness, he'll kick himself later, but for now, he's set a pace and the two move through the scrapyard, shadows in the throng of post-hour midnight.
VETA does not calmly let them go, no, plenty of half-functioning androids vying for the second chances, vestiges of control; there's a hum somewhere in the midst, broken and pitched and horrid, a song choked in the throat of some machine buried beneath a hundred others. It's enough for Kal to fill the silence with long delayed snapbacks.
"You don't wanna meet the Guffmeister. I see what you're doin', you're just in it for the shower and a chance to run off with clean clothes," it's a tease, enunciated by a snort - he shoots the android a glance as they come upon the dolly - and Kal adjusts it to accommodate a horizontal load. He places the parts down, motions for Kieren to drop the ruck - and the weathered components he picked up in their trek.
This, it actually kinda rocks Kal's nerves, and he stares because he's not sure why Kieren's pickin' up spare parts. He ain't gonna question it though, but fuck if it doesn't make him grin. He unfurls a tarp attached to the handle of the dolly, stretches it across the lot they managed. Once the carabiner clips are secured, they're off an' without delay beyond another couple'a hills.
If they're lucky, they won't come across anyone - straight shot to the SUV in their stars? Gods only know, and the gods are dead in Kal's book.
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Date: 2018-08-23 01:31 am (UTC)Kieren is a little jumpy as they make their way through the walls of debris and bodies, some of which reach out or just watch them passing by. He doesn't feel judgment in their stares, but there is tangible desperation. He moves just a little bit faster with his arms curling around him and his hands tucking into the sleeves of the sweater.
So now he'll just wait for Kal to finish, keeping an eye on their surroundings in case someone actually does come to give them grief.
"So," he starts a touch hesitantly, eyes still toward the edge of the landfill, "if you're so hard up for cash you're here, why not try to find a job within the CyberLife centers? You're good at this, even if you're not good at the technical bits. Someone would see that, wouldn't they?"
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Date: 2018-08-23 01:41 am (UTC)"It's more than jus' money, Kier. It's a fuckin' mistake that ain't done and dead," he scoffs, cause hot shit if he doesn't hear Soph askin' the same thing. "'Sides, corporation like that fucking creeps me out. I ain't about conspiracies, but if there ain't something off about a guy at sixteen figuring this shit out, you know? I did a report on him in high school and it's just too weird."
Okay Kal feels the ebb of a tangent rising on, and he gives the dolly a firm push up the hill. They hit the cement and they're on their way toward the road that runs under the bridge, snakes around the block with the storage units.
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Date: 2018-08-23 01:54 am (UTC)Clearly, this is not an android that has ever met actual teenagers.
Kieren watches Kal heading around the storage rows, shaking his head. The guy's stuck in this cycle of money and bad people, and he can't seem to find any one person on which to saddle the blame, so that's what he falls back on? That somehow what's happening to him is CyberLife's fault? He's heard similar complaints from other humans in the past. "So you won't get legitimate work because...why, exactly? I don't understand. If the opportunity's there, why not take it?"
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Date: 2018-08-23 02:04 am (UTC)Eyes dart forward and he trots ahead a few paces, peeking around the corner of a building. Just in case? Just in case.
They wouldn't take anyone like him, anyway. Shit, he doesn't have a diploma to his name because of some horse shit absentee policy. Why would they even breathe in his direction? Kal doesn't spew it, but there might be more than he lets on.
"SUV's up ahead. We're good."
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