Living the high life

In a manner of speaking ------------------------------------------- [[Independent RP blog for OC Lee, living in Gotham, NJ.]]

[a-real-chara-cter]

((I’m out of food

I don’t have any money left. They won’t process my payment unless I can pay the full amount before deals, and I got the deals so that I’d have enough food to last me the month. I don’t have any more money I don’t have any way to pay this and I don’t have any food left

I didn’t want to beg but I don’t have a choice. Please. If you can spare anything, please, help.

My paypal is [email protected]

I’ll show receipts and, and any proof people need that I’m not scamming, I just. I need to eat. I’m willing to write, or, or stream challenge runs on games, or fuck at this point I’d sell my body if I thought it had any value.

Just, please. Help.))

[a-real-chara-cter]

((Update -  I’m sobbing, I got so much help from people already and it’s just, I’m humbled. Thank you to @will-stab-for-chocolate @ksclaw @hannawolfcross and to my friend LevAnomaly from Twitch for all the support you’ve given me already, I have some of the best friends in the world, I swear

Of course, life wants to kick me some more while I’m down.

I managed to get that grocery delivery paid for, but it never arrived. They’re refunding me, but it’ll take a week for the funds to clear back into my account, and meanwhile I need to wait another day to get groceries and pay a higher delivery cost for delivering on a weekend. So the remainder I was squirreling away for next month’s groceries is going on getting to eat today and buying this month’s groceries instead, so I could still really use some help.

Anything you can do,  I’m incredibly grateful for. If you want to get something back, my friend @freckledloudmouth is doing pay-what-you-want sketch commissions here, @hannawolfcross is doing floor-plan designs and modelling here, and I’m willing to discuss writing commissions. 

If you just want to help, my Paypal is above, [email protected], or if you can’t spare anything then even just a signal boost helps. 

Thank you -so- much. I can’t say that enough. For the help I’ve already gotten, and any help you can offer, thank you.))

[a-real-chara-cter]

((I’m out of food

I don’t have any money left. They won’t process my payment unless I can pay the full amount before deals, and I got the deals so that I’d have enough food to last me the month. I don’t have any more money I don’t have any way to pay this and I don’t have any food left

I didn’t want to beg but I don’t have a choice. Please. If you can spare anything, please, help.

My paypal is [email protected]

I’ll show receipts and, and any proof people need that I’m not scamming, I just. I need to eat. I’m willing to write, or, or stream challenge runs on games, or fuck at this point I’d sell my body if I thought it had any value.

Just, please. Help.))

[vezely-a]

ask a killer ;

[yellow-yondaime]

♔ First kill. ♕ Last kill. ♖ A kill you regret. ♗ A kill you have been known to boast about. ♘ How you prefer to kill someone. ♙ Most malicious act tied to your name. ♚ A time when you showed mercy. ♛ A time when mercy was requested but not provided. ♜ Post-kill actions, thoughts, or emotions. ♝ Ever killed for sport? ♞ Define a “good” kill. ♟ A close call to being killed yourself.

[skinnylittletwit]

[smilingbedfellow]

Meeting of the Minds

[remybean]

“If we’re at a restaurant, I’m here to eat.” he grinned, taking a menu and looking it over. True to her words, it was largely garbage, but a fortunate aspect of his general looks was that it all went nowhere. He settled on a very popular burger with fries and a cola: an utterly forgettable order.

Patting his satchel, Remy settled back. “Brought some drafts for him to see, you got the business end covered, right, like we talked about?”

[smilingbedfellow]

“Mhm. I hope it’s okay that I used your paperwork as a framework…? I actually really like how it’s written.” Chicken parm hero and a milkshake, and she threads her fingers together under her chin, watching her phone. “It’s on my tablet, in my purse - oh, could you leave a menu? We’re expecting a friend.”

“Thank you.” The waitress nods, and wanders off.

Thea smiles, then closes her eyes. “Bet you he walks in the second she goes into the kitchen.”

[skinnylittletwit]

He doesn’t walk in the second she goes into the kitchen.

It’s not for another nine minutes forty-five seconds, in fact.

Urban camo hoodie, hood up. It obscures his face just enough to make it hard to tell who he is on cameras if he turns his head right - it’s a nice advantage. Dark jeans, sneakers, Nondescript - just another teenager.

It makes it pretty easy for him to get places unnoticed. Especially with the way he moves.

Nobody pays him any mind as he strides in, past the counter. Hood’s lowered as he slides into the seat opposite Thea and-

His features stay entirely blank when he recognizes Remy, through force of will.

Didn’t expect that.

[skinnylittletwit]

The text from Thea's burner comes during Lee's shift, while she's playing with her phone across the tavern, half watching Karaoke. [hey. artist's in. he's a night owl, so i figure next time the bar closes at 2 we can meet up on neutral ground somewhere that way u don't have to take off work and i don't have 2 skip out of here early since i'm usually here until close]

[k]

It’s a brief response, sent on a break. Nothing much more to say really.

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

[skinnylittletwit]

Armour has his attention - the cues are subtle, but they’re there, the way his head lifts just a little, eyes widening briefly.

“Mm.” It’s the same noise he made when the idea was first broached, which should be telling enough. “Can work out cash. What kind of numbers?”

[smilingbedfellow]

“Five digits.” She settles on her couch, and begins pulling electronic doodads from the aforementioned box to play with, holding hardware up to the existing suit to compare one to another.

“Exact numbers, I can’t give you. I’ll need to work out cost of materials, see what the artist wants to charge for labour, and talk over what it is you want. But a contract’ll be written up, so a solid number and a projected date of completion’ll be settled on beforehand.”

“You’ll also get to meet him, at that point, since all three of us’ll need to be there to settle on the commission agreement?” She kicks her feet and looks up, smiling. “But yeah, no more - or less - than five digits to cover everything, my guess. Cutting edge body armour isn’t cheap, but at least, like, it won’t raise eyebrows.”

[skinnylittletwit]

“Mm.” Same syllable, different sound. Acquiescence. “Okay. Sure. Set things up.”

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

[skinnylittletwit]

He just stares at her, at the suggestion he bring her along.

He’s been staring the whole time. That baleful, unblinking look he has. (Unblinking while she’s looking, anyway.) But there’s something more stare-like about the stare for a second.

“Help how?” He’s not disinterested, at least. A pause. “This artist. He keep his mouth shut? Not exactly fucking common knowledge, this.”

[smilingbedfellow]

“Yeah. He’s the only person besides you and Raph who knows I play The Game - details, too. I wouldn’t go to anyone else, I trust him.” She gestures at the suit.

“I am not a designer. He is. I could get him materials and resources to make you a new suit, with room for me to work in and keeping to your design. If he’s comfortable with working with it, I even have access to body armour, and things like that, so you could get a pretty nice upgrade.”

“I won’t give him details on who this is for until he says he’s interested in working with me on this, aside, but he will need to meet you to make sure things fit right if you’re both onboard. And at that point - this’s going to count as commission. Plus side, I can promise straight up front it’ll pay for itself, and probably pretty quickly.”

[skinnylittletwit]

Armour has his attention - the cues are subtle, but they’re there, the way his head lifts just a little, eyes widening briefly.

“Mm.” It’s the same noise he made when the idea was first broached, which should be telling enough. “Can work out cash. What kind of numbers?”

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

[skinnylittletwit]

“Fuck if I know.” He’s taken up a perch on the mantlepiece, one foot drawn up and braced under him in an almost gargoyle-like posture, other dangling.

“Keep the design. Rest can change. Rest’s in the bag.” A gesture - and indeed, the bag’s still decidedly full. “What can you do with it?”

[smilingbedfellow]

She falls silent for a bit, pulling pieces of Lee’s costume out of the bag to look over appraisingly, holding them up towards Lee as though to fit them over him visually - and eventually lying them all out on her floor, like a weird skeleton.

Well.

They are a weird skeleton. He dresses like one. “With what you have here, I can give you a voice-changer, maybe slip some neat trinkets into your pockets, bugs and the like, but nothing very fancy, and honestly for how much they’ll puff the jeans out compared to what they do, you might as well just find a way to bring me along.”

“On the other hand, like….”

She starts to walk around her freakish effigy. “If you don’t mind me getting an artist in here, and building something from scratch? I have a couple really interesting ideas. Voice changer, some things to help with sight and hearing that you can toggle on and off, just to start with, any of that sound appealing?”

[skinnylittletwit]

He just stares at her, at the suggestion he bring her along.

He’s been staring the whole time. That baleful, unblinking look he has. (Unblinking while she’s looking, anyway.) But there’s something more stare-like about the stare for a second.

“Help how?” He’s not disinterested, at least. A pause. “This artist. He keep his mouth shut? Not exactly fucking common knowledge, this.”

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

[skinnylittletwit]

He slips in past her - and it’s a testament to his grace that, even laden with a bag that has to be the size of his torso, he slips into the first available space and manages not to bump her on the way.

There’s no immediate answer, as he sets his staff down. Bag’s set on the nearest surface, unzipped - and a familiar empty skull mask looks up into the room.

“You said you could do something with this.” It’s not a question - rather pointedly not a question, in fact.

[smilingbedfellow]

Her eyes light up like she’s been given an extravagant early Christmas gift. She holds up a hand - and disappears from the room, leaving Lee alone for a few seconds surrounded by security cameras and rich person’s living room décor and electronics.

She returns a few moments later dragging a rolling trunk filled with even more electronics, tools, and itty-bitty wires, dismantled whosamawhatists, and assorted bits and bobs. She is beaming, and tying her hair back away from her face.

“I can absolutely do something with that.” Her expression is giddy. “Let’s start with, what do you want it to do? And how much are you willing to let me change?”

[skinnylittletwit]

“Fuck if I know.” He’s taken up a perch on the mantlepiece, one foot drawn up and braced under him in an almost gargoyle-like posture, other dangling.

“Keep the design. Rest can change. Rest’s in the bag.” A gesture - and indeed, the bag’s still decidedly full. “What can you do with it?”

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

“So like, how’s your voice changer work anyway? I don’t see a thing for it in your mask?” “Not in the mask. Do most of it myself.” “Really..? I’m… kind of super impressed. That explains why I couldn’t hear feedback. But hey, like - I’m a sound tech, right? If you want a scrambler or something, I bet I could work something out to do basically anything you want in there.” “Mm.”

A couple weeks of thinking later, and here he is.

Getting up to the same level as her balcony wasn’t hard - getting up there with his kit, a bit more awkward. A dufflebag does the job just fine.

Her security… is actually pretty good. Sweeping cameras. IR contacts where the windows meet, a pretty sturdy lock, and for once the wetware isn’t the easy way in.

Well. She is. But not usually.

Any other day he’d see it as a challenge.

For now he has shit to do.

Tap tap tap.

[smilingbedfellow]

Thea was, until - well, that - playing Happy Home Decorator and Mike is never getting his DS back.

Her head pops up, and twists to her window, blinking puzzledly at, why is something tapping on the glass? She scrambles to her feet and crosses to the balcony, slipping her hand into her pocket, pulling out her phone to check the cameras - consider them - then unlock the latch.

“Ace?” She doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. “I - hi. Come on in, I wasn’t really expecting you. What’s up?”

[skinnylittletwit]

He slips in past her - and it’s a testament to his grace that, even laden with a bag that has to be the size of his torso, he slips into the first available space and manages not to bump her on the way.

There’s no immediate answer, as he sets his staff down. Bag’s set on the nearest surface, unzipped - and a familiar empty skull mask looks up into the room.

“You said you could do something with this.” It’s not a question - rather pointedly not a question, in fact.

[skinnylittletwit]

Man and Machine

“So like, how's your voice changer work anyway? I don't see a thing for it in your mask?” “Not in the mask. Do most of it myself.” “Really..? I'm... kind of super impressed. That explains why I couldn't hear feedback. But hey, like - I'm a sound tech, right? If you want a scrambler or something, I bet I could work something out to do basically anything you want in there.” “Mm.”

A couple weeks of thinking later, and here he is.

Getting up to the same level as her balcony wasn’t hard - getting up there with his kit, a bit more awkward. A dufflebag does the job just fine.

Her security... is actually pretty good. Sweeping cameras. IR contacts where the windows meet, a pretty sturdy lock, and for once the wetware isn’t the easy way in.

Well. She is. But not usually.

Any other day he’d see it as a challenge.

For now he has shit to do.

Tap tap tap.

[aprimreaper]

✎

I can’t explain it exactly, but someone turned up the bishounen factor somewhere in the process. Maybe it’s a new shampoo?

1/5

[smilingbedfellow]

Open Hand

[skinnylittletwit]

“Proof’s your problem, I get paid, I don’t care.” That at least makes his stance on matters clear enough.

“He won’t change his mind. Doesn’t matter what you do. Just make him more determined. Can still wreck the deal though.”

He leans back in his chair, tilting it back. “You know much about fences? Know how easy it is to ruin them? Just the suggestion they’re unreliable or dirty, they get blackballed. One rumour, all it takes.”

[smilingbedfellow]

“Mmm…” She closes one eye, thoughtful. “… Interesting. The rumour mill is sort of… part of the job description? I mean, gosh, paparazzi is everywhere these days.”

“If you listened to half of the papers, I’m dating, like, basically everyone.” She grins, wrinkling her nose. “Potentially. But… I’m assuming those aren’t the kinds of rumours you mean. Bankruptcy. Bring his loans to light?”

Her foot is jiggling. “Blowing things open is like, dangerous too? But a lot of his funders are going to be at the dinner - I have a guest list, and like, I highlighted them all. Different colours for different, um, types of loans and junk.”

“His biggest one is his brother in law, a mousey sort of man. He’s in the wedding photo, like, completely the lesser sibling yanno? Thirty-eight, Erik Miller.”

[skinnylittletwit]

A look over the photo. Eyes narrow.

“Nah. Need more than money. Money’s just a way of keepin’ score to these fuckers.”

He’s quiet, for a moment, looking over the files.

“Need to hit him in the reputation. Need a minute. Need something that’ll drive everyone away from him...”

He leans back. A tennis ball’s picked back up, and the knife, and he pre-occupiedly goes back to peeling them.

[smilingbedfellow]

Open Hand

[skinnylittletwit]

“He’s a predator. Top of the food chain. Threats don’t work on people like that. Just makes you a target.”

“Might shut the deal down. Might even shut him down. But he’ll burn everything he has taking you down with him just so he wins. If you could take that you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here.”

Now he looks over the files - or at least, the basic profile. Lips move silently as he reads along, mouthing the syllables to himself.

“You want to scare him, hit first. Hard. This client. He care how the deal’s stopped?”

[smilingbedfellow]

Mouth opens. Mouth closes. She nods, considering the photo again thoughtfully… nods again and sets it aside, picking up her tablet.

She flips it over, pries it open, pulls something out, and plugs something in - then turns it back around and turns it back on, tapping at the screen for a bit. “Mmm….”

“…No. As long as he makes his change of heart public and permanent, the method is our discretion. There is one thing, though - “

“Payment is based on proof, and it’s first come first serve. We can’t prove we put him off the deal, we can’t hold our claim, and the pot may wind up split, if someone else wants to make a bid.”

[skinnylittletwit]

“Proof’s your problem, I get paid, I don’t care.” That at least makes his stance on matters clear enough.

“He won’t change his mind. Doesn’t matter what you do. Just make him more determined. Can still wreck the deal though.”

He leans back in his chair, tilting it back. “You know much about fences? Know how easy it is to ruin them? Just the suggestion they’re unreliable or dirty, they get blackballed. One rumour, all it takes.”

[smilingbedfellow]

Open Hand

[skinnylittletwit]

He nods slowly as she talks, studying the pictures - him, his wife, his ex-wives, business partners, associates.

He puts the photos down.

“Not going to work.”

At least he’s blunt about it?

“Look.” A photo’s slid over - a candid shot, not press. Shaking hands with someone, other hand clasped on their shoulder. “Leaned forward, shoulders squared up. Threat. Handshake. Knuckles’re taut. Other guy’s limp, shying off. Here,” he taps the shoulder. “Look at the thumb. Much closer and he’d be choking the guy.”

“Check your files. If that guy’s still in business I’ll eat my fuckin’ mask.”

[smilingbedfellow]

Thea leans in, blinking - ah, now she looks like herself, with her eyes a bit wider - and studies the photograph briefly… before she retreats to her tablet, flicking at it for a few silent seconds, frowning.

“…How did you know that?” Her eyes don’t leave the screen at first, and when they do, they lift slowly, bewildered. “He went out of business seven months after that photo was taken.”

“I …. All right. I’m listening. Why won’t it work? And…”

“Do you have any ideas, then?”

[skinnylittletwit]

“He’s a predator. Top of the food chain. Threats don’t work on people like that. Just makes you a target.”

“Might shut the deal down. Might even shut him down. But he’ll burn everything he has taking you down with him just so he wins. If you could take that you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here.”

Now he looks over the files - or at least, the basic profile. Lips move silently as he reads along, mouthing the syllables to himself.

“You want to scare him, hit first. Hard. This client. He care how the deal’s stopped?”

[smilingbedfellow]

Open Hand

[skinnylittletwit]

Tennis ball’s tossed up, knife’s swapped, and the phone’s plucked out of the air, all smoothly enough that he gets a second to glance at it before he catches the ball in his new knife-hand.

“Hm.”

Learnt something new, not that he’s letting that slip.

Phone’s set down, and the tennis ball’s tossed into the box as the files are pulled. Space is cleared - haphazardly, but still.

He isn’t really reading the files. His attention’s on the pictures. There’s a brief smirk at the compliment, but that’s all the recognition he gives her, visibly at least.

“Tell me about him.”

[smilingbedfellow]

“His name is David Cerulli. Thirty-four, old money, believes his success is ‘hard work’ even though it’s a number of good words to the right people. The company he runs is a food processing plant that supplies most of the seafood between here and Maine. He wants to merge with a huge fishing conglomerate, which would result in a bit of a monopoly, so the client would rather he be persuaded to keep the market open.”

“He’s been in the business for eight years, owned his company for three. It’s just bought a new fleet, which is why he’s throwing this dinner, which is technically more than he can afford.” She’s ticking off on her fingers now. From memory, even.

“He’s got a new wife, second one this year, third one total. He blames them. Her name is Nicole, she’s 30, and her interest probably hinges on his business. His parents don’t like her - they cut him off as of his marriage.”

“Right now most of his funding comes from loans, mortgages, and favours from friends - he’s living a bit above his means in an effort to impress people, and gambling a lot on things going right, though it hasn’t started to weigh down on him yet.”

“He rented out the Broad Street Ballroom, which is gorgeous - and he took the whole building. It’s usually reserved for press. I have blueprints in the dossier.” She nods at the paper packet. “As well as etiquette for black tie, how to wear a suit,”

“And enough blackmail material to make him drop everything for bread and cheese.”

[skinnylittletwit]

He nods slowly as she talks, studying the pictures - him, his wife, his ex-wives, business partners, associates.

He puts the photos down.

“Not going to work.”

At least he’s blunt about it?

“Look.” A photo’s slid over - a candid shot, not press. Shaking hands with someone, other hand clasped on their shoulder. “Leaned forward, shoulders squared up. Threat. Handshake. Knuckles’re taut. Other guy’s limp, shying off. Here,” he taps the shoulder. “Look at the thumb. Much closer and he’d be choking the guy.”

“Check your files. If that guy’s still in business I’ll eat my fuckin’ mask.”