You call it junk, I call you unimaginative.

Names Mal, I run a hextech junk and salvage shop out of Piltover called Up Your Axle. I turn what most consider trash into working bits of techmaturgy. You want old parts that are out of stock everywhere else? Come and find me. OC for the League of Legends universe, AU/Multiverse friendly. I track the tag hextechjunker

[malthehextechjunker]

  A sharp tearing pain flared up in his chest. Grimacing Mal put a calloused paw over his heart and massaged it with his palm, hoping the pain would subside. He didn't need this distraction now, he was too busy working. His back logged work order was tremendous. Hex Cores for six people, refurbished quadracycle for an eccentric tinkerer in High Spire, not to mention the golem. Damn thing was taking longer than he expected. It's logic engine was faulty and adhering to an old personality.

  His chest hitched with each breath, damnation did it hurt! His breath came in shallow gasps and his vision began to grey over. Bloody hells, he thought, I'm going to pass out. Nerveless fingers fumble at his bench spilling work tools and components all over the floor in a cascade of odds and ends, all clanking noisily as they settled. He lurched back from his work table and staggered into a shelf full of delicate parts for sale. The whole thing rocked in place, jarring the pieces arrayed just so. 

  His vision was fast fading and he could no longer feel anything other than the monstrous pain bearing down on his heart like a vice, tightening and increasing in agony with each passing moment. He blinked, vision reduced to a narrow band, funny he didn't remember looking at the ceiling. His head lolled to the side, strength fleeing from him as his oxygen starved brain marveled at his being on the floor.

  Failing sight locks onto a pot of coffee that had been knocked off the table when he had fallen, it's contents spread out in a dark pool slowly creeping toward him. A last thought crosses his mind before darkness takes him, That's going to be a helluva mess to clean up, better get to it before it stains everything...

  Rain pattered against the glass, though the conspicuous lack of Mal standing there with mug in hand would be missed for some time. Not many in Piltover came his way lately. Particularly when it was raining. It would be sometime before somebody found him. But life goes on even when the small gears and cogs break down.

  Junk is easily replaced.

[malthehextechjunker]

"Sixteen? Ah bloody well can no' stand yer presence. Y'set me skin t'goosebumps n' Ah want nothin' more n' t'see yer backside headin' out o' me shop. Feckin' lunatic. Pity the poor bastard though." Mal grumbles. "Though Ah s'pose if'n they need some work finished or done, Ah would no' turn 'em aside. Fool me for sayin' that, but there you have it."

[originalinsuit]

The Number Game

Send me a number from 1-500 and I’ll tell you how I feel about you in a post without anyone knowing your identity.

[ionianlightning]

“Riddle me”

// malthehextechjunker without interaction is truly hard for me to find a fitting one. But i tried, i hope it is to your liking.

A metal neither black nor red, As heavy as man’s golden greed. What you do to stay ahead, With friend or foe or arrow and steed.

What am I?

Or this one

Silver tears falling down,Nature’s clear imposter,Sparkling, shining like a gown,Adorn an elephant or horse,Silver, PVC or even lead,Bringing cheer to all around,For such a simple thread.

[malthehextechjunker]

  “That was good swordsman, Ah rather liked that’n. Though Ah must confess t’bein’ a bit stumped o’er the second one. Ah’m sure though once y’tell me, Ah’ll hit me head with me palm and groan fer no’ gettin’ it.”

[ionianlightning]

"Tinsel. That is the answer for the second one."

// thank you so much for the compliment.

[malthehextechjunker]

"Tinsel? That silvery stuff that y’see ‘round Snowdown? Adornin’ tree’s n’ windows n’ what no’?" He thinks about it for awhile and then groans shaking his head. Then starts laughing long and hard, eventually his guffaws die down and he wipes a tear from his eye. "Yar, those’re good. Thank y’fer givin’ me somethin’ t’smile o’er. Can no’ be serious all the time, neh?"

[ionianlightning]

“Riddle me”

// malthehextechjunker without interaction is truly hard for me to find a fitting one. But i tried, i hope it is to your liking.

A metal neither black nor red, As heavy as man’s golden greed. What you do to stay ahead, With friend or foe or arrow and steed.

What am I?

Or this one

Silver tears falling down,Nature’s clear imposter,Sparkling, shining like a gown,Adorn an elephant or horse,Silver, PVC or even lead,Bringing cheer to all around,For such a simple thread.

[malthehextechjunker]

//I've always wanted to find a way to interact with Rai as I've always found him to be rather interesting.

  Mal furrowed his brow in thought and grumbled to himself idly. A heavy metal like gold eh? But not red nor black. The junker stuck out a finger as he ticked off various metals that didn't fit the bill. He was warming to the challenge, word puzzles giving his inquisitive mind a break from the work at hand. And from an unlikely source too, he didn't really know the man before him. Though he'd heard of some rumors about him, just enough to recognize him if he were to ever cross paths. Though he couldn't imagine mistaking the swordsman for anyone else.

  His mind turned inward, placing Rai out of his mind for now as he turned over the riddle and looked at it from every angle. After some pondering his eyes lit up as he came upon the answer. A heavy metal like gold and as soft was Lead. And it was not a red or black metal either, plus you needed to lead to stay ahead. He laughed with mirth and clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously.

  "That was good swordsman, Ah rather liked that'n. Though Ah must confess t'bein' a bit stumped o'er the second one. Ah'm sure though once y'tell me, Ah'll hit me head with me palm and groan fer no' gettin' it."

[malthehextechjunker]

//I know I've missed a slew of 30 days of Character development, and I'm working on 'em. Being sick I finally started to feel better and get my head back in the right space for Mal. So I'll probably just drop them all at once.

[malthehextechjunker]

Soar

Scar: Someone I want to kill.

  "Someone Ah'd like t'kill eh?" Mal rubs a hand over his stubble and sucks on his teeth in thought. Not something to be taken lightly, a persons life. He couldn't honestly see himself killing anyone. It just wasn't in him. Though he supposed if certain circumstances were met, he'd kill to save his own life but that was about it.

  "Ah don't rightly know who Ah'd kill, t'be perfectly honest. Ah s'pose if some one were t'cross me bad enough Ah'd kill 'em. But as it stands now? Nobody."

[malthehextechjunker]

Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following for my muse to respond to...

♔ : Finding your muse wearing their clothes

♕: Holding hands

♖: Having their hair washed by your muse

♗: Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.

♘: Cuddling in a blanket fort

♙: Sharing a bed

♚: Head scratches

♛: Sharing a dessert

♜: Shoulder rubs

♝: Reading a book together

♞: Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which)

♟: Patching up a wound

♤: Taking a bath together

♧: Your muse playing with their hair

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses

♠: Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

♣: Back scratches

♥: Your muse crying about something

♦: Slow dancing

[sonofhera-deactivated20121025]

[ionianlightning]

// oh, that’s interesting!

[malthehextechjunker]

League of Legends Roleplay Community: reblog with your URL and your muse's age because I'm curious

thesuperiorsoulreaver: 31

mercuryhammer: 21

ask-core: 13

ask-human-amumu: 28

upon-the-wind: 22

grand-general-of-noxus: 38-48 (He's younger than what he looks, people. Read his judgement.)

wonderingforalice: HHAHAHAHAHAHAHFSG ROFL

ask-monkcoon: 22 or 24.... he's not quite sure when his birthday is so he's guessing.

askvladquestions: "Mun how old am i again" Why the fuck would i know "Like..." i think.. 300's?...in your late 300's "Early.."

Faithful-ward: since the store opened

ask-theprophetmalzahar: 26

ask-sheriff-caitlyn: Continuing the 26 train. .//v//.

powerslam: Late 20's, Early 30's depending on the RP. No older than 34. No younger than 27.

sheriff-caitlyn: 26

Nobodytouchesthehat: 32

Ask-Riley-The-Pyromaniac: 26. TOO MUCH 26's !

trolloflegend: 42. Almost mid-life crisis time

threshanswersquestions: 800+ ? 700 + ? 900+ ? He's stopped counting.

Stackingthedeck: 40 NO ONE SAY A WORD, NO ONE IS TO KNOW, this is OoC,

aaraithepainkiller: "100?" No... "1000?" No, More! "WHAT?!" Um... Let's say, millions "..."

summonertruth: "I'm 26 years of age."

micario-shepherd-of-demacia: 26 "What is with most of us close to the same age?"

ask--volicub: "Voli is only a year old! why everyone so old??"

naiwi: "I'm 17... does it matter?" o.O

ness-the-necromancer: "15! Not much people are 15 eh...

ask-mimilittlewitch: 19, but I still feel like I'm 17...

ask-viktor-the-machine-herald: The Herald's age at debut is 31. Creator Viktor begins at 41. Viktoria is actually younger at debut; she's 27.

timetogetourhandsdirty: 22

lux-theladyofluminosity: 22 too ;D

summoner-maury: 31

captainmissfortune : 26 ~

ask-kavyn: 29

askTalon: "24."

lonely-and-lost-star: 300 and something...

varus-the-man-of-vengeance: 38-41 ^^(Them asian genes~)

askreveckorianna: 17~ forever 17~ (thats when human Orianna died ovo)

ask-the-dragon-child: 17 "You're all old as hell..." (It does jump a bit... but he is canon 17)

aatrox-bringer-of-justice: ??? "I forgot my own age. I lost track after 23-somthing."

The-darkin-guardian: 1127. "It's been an... interesting journey."

askmalzy: "Somewhere between 25 and 32. Perhaps more. I'm not sure anymore."

malthehextechjunker: 42

[malthehextechjunker]

The bell of his shop rang, this time making a loud flatulent noise. Wonderful. The noxian walked into his shop, metallic boots thudding loudly on the floor as she walked to the desk, dropping the box of hexcore parts on it. "Have em' back. It's been gathering dust. Better in your care, anyways." A small breath left her lips. "Say, you know what kinda hexcore Vi's using? I can't figure the damned thing out. No specs match."

  Mal ran the tip of his tongue over his cuspids, showing his teeth in the process. Though white and neatly aligned the sight wasn’t a friendly one at all. Usually bright and mirthful eyes seem stone cold and dull. This was not a man amused at the moment. Heaving a steam golem chassis onto his work table, the like of which was a foot and a half taller than him and probably was half again as heavy as him. A loud thud and rattle accompanied the rough treatment of the gutted unit, and pieces scattered to the floor as he shifted it to a more central location on his work table.

  “There ain’t no specs on ‘em. She crafted ‘em t’gether herself. I couldn’t even rightly tell y’what she used t’make ‘em either. Prob’ly made most o’ the parts herself. When yer makin’ somethin’ like tha’, y’do it from the ground up.” Prying open the chest cavity of the golem frame with his bare hands he grunts and swears ferociously. Metal squalls and a tearing sound can be heard. Thick viscous fluid spurts out from ruptured pipes and tubes. Hawking back phlegm, he spits the gob into his waste bin.

 ”An even if Ah did ken how she did it, Ah most certainly wouldn’t be tellin’ yer face what they be.” He snorted and shook his head. He’d assemble the Nosferatu Coil later. As it stood now, it was low on his priority list of things to handle. This golem for instance was on the top of the list. An old Civil 3 Personal Ordanance unit, classic junk. But if he could get it to work, well it’d fetch a pretty penny on the open market. Thing was supposed to be fluent in all known languages and dialect varients.

[anarchyreign-a]

She sighed. “Thought as much.” She got a little amusement at the golem’s antics, even though it wasn’t alive just yet. “It was rather Zaunite of me to do, to be honest with you.” A shot at Zaun. Despite being a friend to Noxus, Noxians used them as a means of an allied, nothing more. She respected nothing about the people or the way they were.

Snapping out of the hateful thought she had driven herself into, she mentioned the hexcore in front of her, a gauntlet clad hand tapping along the top of the box. A new gauntlet  had taken place of her older one, less armor clad. It had gears and electronics in it, but seemed rather bare, only half plated along the fingers and knuckles. Though there were holes along the knuckles and loaders near the base of her forearm. Far less bulky than Vi’s. However, not at all appealing to the eye, but it seemed functional. Enough so for her to actually move in the thing.

"So I apologize. It wasn’t the way I was brought up." She tossed the money on the counter. Or rather, any space on it that was devoid of the guts and liquid of the Golem. Inside of a small, crimson bag with a silver lace keeping the top tied ever so nicely. The gold inside making a distinct metallic noise as it hit the counter. "Keep the core or not. The money is yours."

Emerald hues watched the man at work, her gaze seemed militant. Much like the rest of the Noxians so renown for the brutal and unthinking way of murder. But not all of them were like that. She idly ran her tongue along her teeth in the inside of her mouth, practically awaiting the man in front of her to dismiss her from his shop once more.

[malthehextechjunker]

  Mal grunted and jerked his head toward the door. "Go on n' git yer sorry arse out o' 'ere. Come back at sun down. Ah'll have the core restored n' y'can have it."  A particularly violent yank caused a support strut to break free, releasing a mainspring to whiz across the room. The projectile barely missed the junkers face, though he didn't flinch.

  So the brute was trying to make amends. Well he didn't rightly care one way or another. Money was money and it helped pay the bills. It mattered not from whence it came. Though he was particularly miffed by dealing with someone from Zaun or Noxus or wherever it was this pink haired pain in the arse hailed from.

  Clearly that was the best dismissal she would receive from the preoccupied man. Machine lubricants and coolants begin to pool across the table and drizzle to the floor. Things were only going to get more messy as his worked continued. Rayan no longer factored into the conscious field of his awareness. Just his work.

[inboxideas]

Send me "Take them out!" and I'll tell you how my character would kill yours if they were a paid mercenary.

[malthehextechjunker]

"Someeee other youuuu."

  Mal brushed his hands off on his oft patched and mended brahmin hide work pants. He tossed his work implements into an open tool box and sighed. Standing and stretching a loud series of pops and cracks rattled through the dead and heavy air. Groaning in appreciation he nods his head and looks at the Vit-o-matic Vigor Tester. Damn thing had busted and Doc Mitchell had put out for a repair order on the machine.

  Still one last check to make, he’d give the thing a whirl and see if it all worked out. A bit of fiddling and coercing the controls to work as they should and lights flickered up and down the machine as each attribute was tabulated and projected.

Strength: 6: Barrel Chested. He snorted and shook his head, yeah that was about right. Stronger than average, but that was due to a long life of working with his hands and hauling heavy components across the Mojave. Perception: 5: Wary Trout. He wasn’t really sure what a trout was, or why it would be wary, but he wasn’t any more or less observant than the average person. So it was still working out right. Endurance: 7: Tough-as-nails. Well he wasn’t so sure ‘bout that. Nails tended to bend if not used right. But the metal they were made of sure were durable. He’d argue about the semantics of the choice of words, but the numbers didn’t lie. He was one durable sumbitch. Charisma: 2: Old Hermit. Well. He WAS an Old Hermit. He didn’t like people much and made no bones about telling folks that. He was about as socially adept as a Big Horner with a tooth ache. Twice as stubborn too, if you listened to some folks yammer on. Intelligence: 9: Genius. Well, he wouldn’t toot his own horn, but he was pretty damn sharp. Smart as a tack. He could just look at things and get how they worked. Not to mention being a natural whiz at computers and very apt to learn. Agility: 5: Under Control. Yeah, that seemed about right. He wasn’t fumbled fingered, but neither was he double jointed and overly flexible. Ranging back and forth across the Mojave kept him limber, but that was about it. Luck: 6: Stacked Deck. Well the odds did tend to favor him, and he was a bit more lucky than most. So he’d find extra caps here and there. He just looked harder than most folk was all.

  Yep, seemed in order. Now to go and get his payment from the good Doc then head on over to the Prospector Saloon and get himself a nice Sunset Sarsaparilla and chew the fat with Sunny and flirt gracelessly with Trudy. Maybe he’d even get lucky and strike up a game of caravan.

[malthehextechjunker]

((Neon Strike)) "I did a bad thing."

  "No' in me shop y'ain't!" Mal shook a fist threateningly at the Prophet. "AN WOT D'Y'THINK AH'M GOIN' T'DO FER YER? AH AIN'T GIVEN Y'NO SANCTUARY! LAST THING AH NEED IS FER ENFORCERS T'IMPLICATE ME IN ANYTHIN' Y'DONE!" The uproar could clearly be heard up and down the street and some passersby were looking on in interest.

[malthehextechjunker]

+ SLAM DUNKS LIEKE INTO YOUR NEAREST TRASHCAN

// -starts laughing-

Mal gives the mundane a flat look. "Wha' are y'laughin' at this time, eh? No' another one o' them..." He gestures vaguely and a look of great displeasure crosses his face.

// Oh no. Nothing like that. Just our resident blue haired elven spark plug.

"S'an Elf?"

// A long lived race of people. Though the definition depends largely on what 'verse they come from.

"Say what now?"

// Never mind Mal, someone was professing interest in seeing you and the zappy zap get together.

"What? Like a relationship? Hah. That is funny. No' that Ah'm complainin' o' anythin' like that. Ah do no' think that'd work t'well." Mal snorted and shook his head.

// Not to mention Rayan has a vested interest in said person.

"Right, feck that shet then."

[malthehextechjunker]

He turns around when he hears the junker approaching, swiftly closing the book. The prophet sets his hands against the counter, expression a little grim. "Ah, Mal. Have you finished with my gloves yet?"

  With a grumble and a huff, the blunt featured man slaps down the offending objects with a grunt. "Yar Ah got yer durn gloves repaired. T'weren't easy, Ah'll say that, but Ah stake me status as a graduate from the Academy that they're as good as new."

  Truth be told he would be glad to be rid of the damn things. Strange metals and even stranger magical rites to get them to mend. A challenge of the like he'd never seen before, but he'd surpassed his expectations and now would know how to handle anything of similar make. Not that he'd want to, well not without an incredible payment in store.

  "Now take 'em n' git y'gone."

[malthehextechjunker]

Morrigan, Rhiannon, Odin, Thor

Morrigan: What do you think happens when we die?

"Ah think we jus' die. Do no' think much else happens t'us t'be honest." Mal shrugs. He was pretty sure that once you died that was it. There was no after life, no hell nor paradise. Just rot and eternal dark. He could be wrong, but he wouldn't know until he died. Religion and the threat of damnation and promise of eternal peace were just threats and promises for the mortal world, ideals to be observed and practiced to keep those that need rules and structure in line.

Rhiannon:Have you ever been betrayed?

"Betrayed? Nar, Ah ain't never been betrayed. Ah do no' have nothin' t'be betrayed over. Besides which, 'eryone knows no' t'feck 'round with me. They'd get a swift kick on t'backside or worse, if'n y'ken what Ah mean." Mal grinned and rubbed at his jaw. He had no one close to him that would betray him for something. Even in school and the academy he'd not had anything worth being betrayed over. 

Odin:What is your family like?

"Me family? Oh, there's me Da, he's a respectful sort. Used t'run himself a nice lab. Produced some hextech time pieces he did. Ickle pocket watches n' what not. Posh things, sort o' high class frivolities. Did him some other stuff too, but tha's water un'er the bridge." He chuckles and shakes his head, "Me mum, she's a different type all t'gether again. She's an administrator type. Always doin' numbers n' that sort o' thing. Both o' 'em are retired now. Enjoyin' themselves, no' havin' t'worry 'bout work n' such other shet. All n' all they be good folk, aye. No complaints from meself. Good supportin' folk, always go' me back."

Thor:Would you consider yourself pretty powerful?

"Physically Ah'd say Ah'm fairly powerful built, yeah. Though if'n yer talkin' 'bout if'n I have other sorts o' power? Nar, hardly. Ah'm just an oddball that lays on fringe. Ain't hardly a position t'garner power from, neh?" He smirks and shakes his head. No, he definitely was not a powerful individual. He barely registered as a blip on the map.