DETECTIVE NICK VALENTINE / fallout 4
You got a piss-poor negotiation style, you know that?
a 250 year old robot from boston running around with the memories of a 1950s detective in his head. turns out two centuries does nothing to fix the resulting existential crisis, but he's got a job so he can't worry about that right now
self-proclaimed hardboiled wise guy with a soft spot for lost causes. shockingly optimistic for a dude whose earliest memory involves waking up in a trash can
has a personal anecdote for every scenario, a completely irrational smoking habit he can't kick, and a quietly desperate desire to figure out what it is he was made for and what sets him apart from his human counterpart
likes being useful. dare i say needs to be useful - which means it's a good thing he's a man synth of many talents. repairs? consider them done. hacking? sure. give him any case, volunteer him for any hobby, and he'll follow you there and back. just know that his high moral standards lower his fun meter and he displays fondness by being judgmentally sarcastic
comes from the year 2287, a couple hundred years or so after the world was destroyed by nuclear war. makes do in the wreckage by helping folks out and running his own detective agency. and it helps pay for spare parts, you know?
affiliated with aevum isles. written by august.
APP / STATS / RULES
IT TOOK ALL OF HIS COURAGE TO WALK INTO THAT OFFICE. It had been a week since he had last heard from Sam. No calls , no texts , and when Jim stopped by his house for a visit ? His sister in law said she hadn’t seen him , either. Now , he knew his brother ( or thought he did , but the more he tries to think of the details , the more his head feels like it’s about to split in half ) and he wasn’t the type of man to up and leave without any explanation. Or maybe he was. They really didn’t talk much , did they ? Sam always had some excuse to cut their conversations early , and the ones they did have were always so . . vague. Empty. But that’s brothers for you.
HE STANDS BY THE DOORWAY , trying not to let his nerves show. The breath in he takes his shaky , and it takes a few seconds before he’s able to even get his words out. ❛ You’re Detective Valetine , correct ? I have . . something I need help with. ❜
He's seen the man around town - the boat captain, least he used to be, if he remembers correctly ( and Nick does try to remember most things, most faces, as best he can; comes with the territory ). But he's never once stepped foot in Nick's office.
Frankly? Good. People only come to him if they have got a problem that needs solving, and more often than not by then they've already exhausted all other options. He'd never wish that kind of trouble on anybody.
"Yeah, that's right. Come on in, have a seat." Nick gives him a quick glance up and down from his desk. The fella's nerves look shot, poor guy. "You're in luck - that's what I'm here for. What seems to be the trouble?"
" I mean it just the same. Yer the only one that earnestly offered an extra pair of eyes when the wee one decided ta take a journey of her own. " The wee one being his cat, who had got out one night and sent the poor man into a panic that lasted a straight week... Nick had found her halfway across town, acting like queen of the alley way.
" Aye, Jen's a particular lass, that's fer sure. I'd call workin' on yer old beast a delightful walk in the park in comparison. "
Scotty nursed his glass of scotch till the glass was half empty, freeing up his hand to rest his chin in his palm.
" Ye think ? An' just what callings were on that head of yours ? I sure cannae see myself in yer shoes... Nor you in mine, if ye don't mind me sayin' so. "
"Well, you didn't need a detective for that. She wasn't missing - told me so herself. You hirin' me to drag her back just threw a wrench in her city-wide takeover, that's all." But a missing persons case - or missing cat, in this instance - is a private eye's bread and butter. Of course Valentine went and jumped on it, though now something in him curdles a little at the praise.
It had all been a fluke, really, finding that damn cat. He takes a long drink. It's more than a little tasteless. Thank god Scott's the sort of fella to keep you from wallowing, knowingly or not.
"Ha! No, no, I couldn't even fix a broken toaster if you paid me, let alone the big old machines you work with. But I don't know, Scott, you've got an eye for the details, yourself. You ever want to take a day off, I sure could use a partner." He tilts his mostly-empty glass in the other man's direction. "But I don't know. Never... hm. Y'know, I don't really remember ever wanting to be anything else but a detective."
Not even as a child, though he can't think that far back. Geez, he's more at his wit's end than he thought, if he's really debating the matter now.
Nick stares. Is this gal for real? The door's wide open, it's not exactly warm out there, and hell if he can figure out why she's so dedicated to keeping it that way. Still, he's not about to attempt to get around her little blockade of the doorway a second time - for all he knows he really is missing out on this whole air situation. Humans.
( Of course, it's not like anybody else in the place seems too pleased with the breeze coming in from out there, either. )
"You know, actually? Never much got the appeal, myself. Oxidation is just such a pain. I'm sure you can relate."
Valentine is all business when he sweeps in through the doors of the coffee shop this morning, head down, nose buried in a note he's hastily scribbling to himself.
"Coffee, black. Let's make that a—"
He stops. Really looks at the guy behind the counter, up and down. Squints. He could swear he saw him just a day or two ago at the grocer's— or, wait, wasn't he working with the mortician? Or... no, no, he definitely bumped into him a couple weeks back while Valentine was trying to track down some stolen jewelry.
Scotty's day hasn't been terrible, but it definitely wasn't great. Safe to say it was just shit enough to convince the handyman that tonight was a good night to grab a drink... " Well if it ain't my favourite detective ! Nick, cannae say I'm shocked ta see you here. "
Scott motioned to the bar stool with his glass, readjusting his shoulders to get rid of some of that hunch. He can hear his mother's voice yelling at him not to slouch clear as day in the back of his mind.
" Ach, nae, not tonight. I finally got the lights on the old beast workin', only fer the leftside tire rods ta give up on me ! It's like the stars themselves just dinnae want me ta get her out of the garage. Thought I'd come out here an' grab a cap or three before I break somethin'."
He chuckles as he slides into the empty stool, catching the bartender's eyes and nodding. They know his poison of choice by now. He never branches out, not really. What can he say, he's a man of habit. "Real high honor, seeing as I'm one of the only detectives in town."
As unsurprised as Scott must be to find Nick at his usual haunt, Nick's just as unsurprised to hear that the man's running up against troubles - again - with that old van that sits in the back of the repair shop. A passion project, he's been told. Hell, anybody who's stopped by the shop has heard about it at least once.
"Color me shocked." As dry as the response is, it's not without sympathy. "Sounds to me like you've got a real stubborn lady on your hands there, Mr. Scott. Old machines like that, they've got personality to 'em. Least that's what I keep telling myself so I won't feel so lousy that my engine keeps giving out," he shakes his head. He certainly won't admit he's just that terrible at vehicle upkeep... or any kind of mechanical upkeep. Maybe he's just too old fashioned to keep that sort of thing running smoothly.
"Smart move, comin' out here before you put in a dent in the poor girl. I'll tell you what - some days it really starts to feel like we picked the wrong callings."
It's not all too unusual to find Valentine camped out in the back of a bar, some nights. Good a place as any to overhear interesting tidbits - better than most, dare he say. Drunks talk. They talk a lot. Of course, he's not always here for business. Go figure that all the things he's seen, the cases he's worked, and the only thing that phases him is getting caught in his own damn head.
Nothing a drink can't cure. Seems he's not the only guy with that idea, anyway.
"Mr. Scott." He'd recognize the broad figure hunched over at the bar anywhere; he spots him as soon as the detective walks through the door, and he heads straight for the man, tilting his head at one of the barstools beside him. Nick can't fix a busted-up car or phone to save his life - he's made more than his share of calls to the town's resident mechanic. "You waiting on anybody? Lookin' a little long in the face, there - don't think either one of us oughta be drinking alone."
One of these days Valentine really ought to hire himself a secretary ( heck, why hasn't he? Could've sworn he made a memo to himself about that very thing ). Let somebody else do the work of sitting behind a desk waiting for clients to file in - it's a drag, being between cases, so slow that he can feel the need to get out and hit the pavement just itching under his skin. He should be grateful, maybe - no serious cases means no trouble - but there's only so many missing watches he can find, so many background checks that can turn up empty before a man starts to feel... well, unfulfilled. He's burning through cigarettes at a heinous rate these days. He can only run through the half-baked mantra of the next one will be big; something you can do right by so many times before he starts to sound unsure even inside his own head.
The sound of the door is, frankly, nothing short of a godsend. Straighten up and put on a good face. The cigarette goes to the ashtray.
"Valentine's Detective Agency." As if anybody in town doesn't already know. "This about business, or you here for the broken window?" ( He's been waiting on that replacement for a week now ).
It was happening again. The second time since he'd gotten back, not even a month after the first attack.
He could feel it buzzing along his skin. He had to get away-!
Vash's left arm had a firm grip on his right as stumbled into an alleyway a little off the main street - privacy, he hoped (As if any of this would stop it). He pressed his forehead hard against the brick wall, hard enough to nearly cut himself on the rough surface, a sheen of sweat quickly forming over his face.
Blue eyes glanced down at his arm, watching the glowing white feathers slowly spout. Unfurl, coil and swell, take shape -
No. No no no no no no!
He couldn't --!
They curved and twisted from his hand, seemingly desperate to form the Angel Arm once more. As if thrice in his life were not enough!
Pupils were pinpricks as he watched it slowly come into being, morphing his skin and body as it grew.
The glow permeated the shadows of the alleyway as the Plant fought himself.
"Just let it happen. Annihilate them, Vash. Stop playing pretend and let your power loose." - Knives' voice hissed in his ear. Not the one who was here, echoes of vestiges from more than 50 years ago playing on loop in his nightmares even now -
"Stop...!" he hissed the word, strained and teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw creaked.
Power, unbidden and writhing to be let loose crackled along his skin, appearing as racing cracks along his very being. As if his very body were fracturing. Feathers unfurled, forming from his skin and the sleeve of his shirt. They stuck out of a cheek, growing and multiply upon themselves, curling around him.
Vash's heart was so fast in his chest he thought it might explode through his ribs. He was heaving. Gasping. Suck it back in - He had to suck it back into himself before it-!
Even in the frantic, crushing panic he caught a noise - but if he took his eyes off of it - (What if it consumed him? Again.)
Nick's seen a lot of strange things in his time. Heck, he's something of a strange thing himself, if you want to get technical, but he's talking strange strange. Those poor souls you see walking around with three arms and four eyes, and the like. Radiation does funny things to a person.
He's not seen a trace of it here, of course, which is a different kind of unusual entirely if you ask him. That built-in Geiger counter in his head should've been pitching a fit by now, but the air is clean and the water drinkable ( not that either were much of a concern for him, but it's nice to see humans and such running around without having to pop RadAway every few hours ) and the people not generally prone to mutating into giant maniacs or sprouting extra limbs from what he's seen.
So far, anyway. Guess that track record was due to be broken at some point or another, but... this soon? What does that say about his luck, he wonders?
Nosing around in the alleyways is a habit of his that's hard to shake, even when he's not on an active case. Best case scenario you find a lead on something interesting, some spare screws, a bit of ammo. Worst case— well, worst case you stumble into something like this, something you're clearly not meant to see.
The man quite frankly seems like he doesn't want to be seen, hunched over back here the way he is - skin splitting, glowing like there's a bomb in there cracking him open from the inside out. Nick's grateful that he doesn't seem to immediately catch the fella's attention - he'd feel badly, in hindsight, for the way he gapes with abject horror at the feathers threatening to take him over. Being used to the unusual, the painful, doesn't make it any easier to watch, now, does it?
But that's not going to help anyone. The old processor in that metal skull of his is nothing if not a problem solver, even if sometimes problem solving just means keeping your head down and making other folks back away from the scene. Nick is more a repairman than a doctor, and not one of those fancy newer models that can dispense Stimpaks at will, but it just seems cruel to leave a man on his own, in pain and terrified.
"Easy! Easy," hands held out, placating, unseen though the gesture may go. And how much of a disaster could he really be walking into, he figures; if the guy snaps, starts shooting at him or just plain tears him apart - well, hey, Nick's been through worse. There's got to be a repair shop somewhere around here willing to take in a synth. "I'm unarmed." Always useful to point out, even if he's not seen half as many guns being toted around here as he did back in Diamond City. "And I won't get any closer. But you need a doctor." Or a whole lotta chems.
Nick Valentine - the synth - wants nothing more than to make a life for himself that's just his. To have something that belongs to him and him alone, something he doesn't feel he owes to the memory of the man stuck inside his head.
So of course we're taking everything away from him and giving it back to aforementioned man.
Detective Nick Valentine - the human - has lived in Arcanus his whole life... or at least as long as he can remember. He's a damn good private eye, a well-established figure within the community, and he seems to have just about everything worked out. He's got a girl and a job that gives him more cases than he can handle most days.
So why does it all feel wrong?
CURSE:
No matter what he does, how good his life seems, he can't shake the feeling that he hasn't earned it. That he's just standing in somebody else's shoes, somehow - and if he thinks too hard about how he got this far, the imposter syndrome only gets worse. Why can't he remember any of his education, his training? How did he and Jennifer meet?
Why does he always feel like he's just acting, pretending to be someone he's not?
He's a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown, though he's trying real damn hard not to let it show. He second-guesses every choice he makes, takes on more work than he can handle in hopes it will make him feel fulfilled.
This also serves as a starter call - and because I still have quite a bit to get to from his arrival, I'm capping this at 2 for now. Work on a case with him! Feeling like something is missing, or just plain wrong because of the curse? Well he absolutely can't help you solve any of that, but he'd love to busy himself with trying. Otherwise, he's halfway-decent company at a bar (now that he can actually drink for once).
A new wind flutters through a book, its pages pearlescent and empty. The light seeps in and scrawls across the surface like ink from a quill, for stories have been from the dawn of time, and so they would be told again and once more.
Once upon a time, there was an Isle called Arcanus....
WHAT'S HAPPENING?
You have has lived in Arcanus your whole life. Perhaps you have good neighbors, good friends, and a closely-knit family. Or, perhaps your muse is a loner. A na'er do well, who slinks throughout Arcanus at their leisure, wreaking mischief and causing havoc.
Whatever the case, life is perfectly provincial, though never without the classical ups and downs of mundane life.
You never seem to get that internship you've been working hard for this past year. Your family always seems a bit too busy, or you end up missing all of your dates with who you just know is the perfect person.
Sometimes, you can't help but wonder if you're cursed.
THE CURSE.
The Echoes have been cursed to live in a world that never changes, and where time never moves forward. Aercon believe that the Echoes have lived in Arcanus Isle forever. Despite this, everyone can only remember up to one year in the past. Trying to remember past this results in a splitting headache that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.
(SEE: "Breaking the Curse" below.)
The Plot:
Each Echo's Aercon Self should center around a key part of who they are. This could be a complete personality change to reflect a strongly held belief, or reversion into who they think they are.
But every good story has a source of conflict! Perhaps your Echo's story is a coming-of-age story! Only, no matter how they might strive to do good, they simply cannot muster the courage to do what they need to do. Or anything they want to do, actually.
Perhaps your muse's story is a romance. They fall in love easily... but they cannot seem to catch a break. If their dates don't bail on them, then they cheat, or perhaps they've fallen in love with someone else!
Whatever the case, your muse's happily ever after is always just out of their reach no matter how hard they try. Their efforts are thwarted at every turn, and it seems that they just cannot escape their horrible luck. Some days - most days, actually - it almost seems as though they aren't allowed to break the status quo, or have any hope of a happy ending at all...
Echoes:
Lose access to all powers and supernatural abilities, afflictions, and otherworldly knowledge and information.
Humanoid creatures may become fully human / mortal for the duration of the Blue Moon.
If a muse is anthropomorphic, they may take on a human form as if they have always been human. Should you choose for them to stay in their normal body, no one (including Aercon!) will bat an eye or consider this abnormal.
MORE IDEAS FOR CURSES:
Your muse is on top of the world. Famous. Beloved. But without their knowledge, they must comply with directives given if someone asks it of them with the word "please".
Your muse is a thief, and quite good at it! Only their adventures are dictated by a great debt they owe to another. (You may use Omerta Nostra and The Vices as you please.)
Unbeknownst to them, your muse is separated from their family member or loved one, and while it is possible to connect to them, their paths always seem to fall apart, and miscommunication runs amok just as soon as your muse begins to feel comfortable with them again.
Your muse is a humble person with a humble job and is overall fairly comfortable in their quaint little life. But every time they are asked to do something outside of their comfort zone, they always choose cowardice over action.
Your muse remembers everything. Thing is: they're the only one who has ever remembered, and no attempts to remind anyone else has ever gone anywhere for a whole year....
WHAT HAPPENS IF MY MUSE HAS JUST JOINED?
Your muse may also be effected by the curse! Aercon Personas believe they have lived in Arcanus their whole lives, even if they can all only remember (very vaguely) the past year, and their immediate circumstances. You're effectively making a character based off of your character! So have fun with it. :)
If you would like to refrain from participation, please see the FAQ below!
BREAKING THE CURSE.
Echoes can break the curse either by remembering their true lives, or through an act of good-will that breaks their curse.
REMEMBERING:
Echoes will experience severe cognizant dissonance upon their first attempt to truly remember. They will be aware that they can't remember anything, but the curse will allow them to accept this, and/or consider their True Self to be a myth, legend, or fairytale.
If the discrepancies continue to be brought up, they will begin to grow overwhelmed, and some may feel as if their whole life and personhood are complete lies. The possibility of a mental break is entirely possible at this point in time.
With further investigation and attempts to remember, the Echo will then experience a splitting migraine. One that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.
An Echo with enough knowledge and willpower may be able to brute force their way through the migraine and regain their memories and all unlocked powers. However, this change will not effect other inhabitants of the Isle.
AN ACT OF GOODWILL:
PLEASE NOTE: that this method will require a few instances of pushing past your muse's personal curse. This may be implied, threaded out, or a combination of the two.
Echoes may help their friends with their stories!
If an Echo is pushed to break their own curse, then they will be on the path to remembering their True Self.
The world around the Echoes will do anything and everything it can to disallow the Echoes from making a positive change for themselves.
If an Echo's curse is a struggle with cowardice, then that Echo will feel even more inclined to act cowardly instead of with bravery. If an Echo is ripped apart from a loved one, it will seem as though the entire universe is setting up any and every scenario possible to keep them apart.
It is the act to be brave, or the endurance necessary to reunite that will break the curse, and allow the Echo the willpower to remember.
DO ALL MUSES HAVE TO PARTICIPATE?
It is recommended that you do! However, should your choose not to participate, your may start your threads taking place in-universe before the Blue Moon's arrival (February).
When the Blue Moon is finished, your muse may comment on it as someone who did remember their True Self, and found the situation uncanny, but was otherwise unaffected.
WHAT’S THE PARTICIPATION BONUS?
Aevum Isles awards 500 Emblems for participation in Blue Moon Events.
HOW LONG DOES ACT I RUN FOR?
Act I of Untold Stories will run until February 8th, 2025.
All threads started featuring Act I CAN be continued into Act II.
You do not have to participate in both acts to count towards your activity, but both acts will only count towards a singular event participation.
Act II will be posted on February 8th.
I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION BUT IT’S NOT ON HERE.
Please let us know by asking your question in the Aevum Isles Masterlist’s Ask Box!
Questions sent elsewhere (such as the Aevum Isles FAQ discord channel) will not be accepted, and instead Staff will ask to transfer your question to the Masterlist at this time.
You can find the Aevum Isles Event FAQ tag (HERE), the Untold Stories specific FAQ tag (HERE), and the general FAQ tag (HERE).
IT’S ONLY BEEN A DAY IN THIS PLACE and Jim’s already itching to be back on the Captain’s chair. Still , he knows full well that sitting on his ass doing nothing will just make things worse in the long run. There aren’t many places in town that have the materials he would need to even begin contacting the Enterprise , wherever they are , which means digging around in the Traverse Trove’s massive piles of trash seems to be his only viable option for now.
BUT AS HE BEGINS HIS SEARCH , the sound of nearby footsteps alerts him to the fact that he’s not the only person that had this idea. After a few seconds , he looks up from gingerly sifting through rusted metal and various other pieces of junk ( because it’s not like he has Bones here if he does get hurt , and he knows the man would kill him three times over if he died of tetanus of all things ) . An eyebrow raises as he looks at the stranger. From what Jim’s seen of the people around here , he can’t really say he’s surprised to see a synthetic life form. Though it does make him wonder how useful following the Prime Directive would really be , considering.
❛ FIND ANYTHING USEFUL ? ❜ He finally asks , kicking at one of the piles with the toe of his boot. ❛ Or are you just going to tell me that if I want something more than trash I’m wasting my time ? ❜
Go figure he wouldn't be the only one with a mind to scavenge anything useful out of these junk heaps. Still, coming from a human susceptible to getting torn up by all the odds and ends in there, he's got to admire the gumption. Nick keeps his distance, at first, staying some feet away up until he figures out if he should be apologizing for intruding upon somebody's foraging space or just plain apologizing for showing his face at all. The greeting he's offered instead is more welcome, albeit surprising, and Nick inclines his head at the fellow.
"And here I was planning to ask you the same," he chuckles, and sets down the soggy cardboard box he's been stashing trash in during this little excursion of his to meander closer and peer at the pile the other man is digging through. Sometimes he wishes half the myths folks spread about synths were true - x-ray vision would be awfully useful, not to mention quicker. This place is huge.
"One or two usable screws, is all," he flexes his hand, considering. The fingers are starting to go, have been for a while. He'll take whatever he can get, in the way of keeping them attached. "Other than that? Nix. Just a whole lotta junk. What're you on the hunt for? Might've seen one lying around; could shake down the place for you."
He isn't at all subtle about the stare he's giving the other, the reason being disregard for how rude it may seem, and very genuine interest. The thing has a metal skeleton, and the skin is just.. draped over it. He can see his jaw move as he talks, whirring and grinding noises evident if he focuses on it above the other noise. It's sick as hell. He's said nothing him, and intends to keep it that way - he doesn't want to actually engage in conversation. He's not even sure what he'd say. So.. staring it is. Very fixated staring.
Nick's used to it. The occasional odd look, people running and screaming and drawing a gun - you know, the usual. At least this time around it's not so bad as all those other times. This is just a kid, that much is obvious, and kids on the whole tend to be more curious than they are afraid. He's taken note of him, standing across the street just drilling holes into the side of his head, and when he wraps up his conversation with the woman who'd stopped him on the street Nick turns to meet his gaze with an arched brow.
"What? Something the matter?" He makes a point of looking himself up and down. "Don't tell me I've got a gear loose again."
Now, Scotty had originally walked right past him, keen on minding his own business in a strange place... But the allure got him. If the machine was causing enough of a racket to warrant being pulled apart like that, what else did you expect ? For Scotty not to get his hands dirty ?
God Forbid.
" 'S quite the primitive system, I'm nee surprised it's causin' a ruckus. " The engineer peered over Nick's shoulder for a bit, eyes tracing over every single wire and panel exposed, and then onto the man himself. Well well, he'll have to tuck away new questions into his pocket for later. It's hardly decent to ask a man about his machinery at first meeting !
" Scoot over a wee bit, maybe I can give ye a hand- I've a knack fer this kinda thing. "
"Is it?" Nick supposes he wouldn't rightly know just how outdated of a device they might be dealing with, here. "I'm not too familiar with this sort of thing, myself. More of a computers man." You see this sort of thing attached to buildings all over the place, remnants of the world before the war, but only a few work and he's yet to see anybody come up with anything better ( if the Institute has, they're sure not sharing the blueprints with anybody above ground ). He leans out of the way as the man comes over, gladly letting him look past him into the machine's interior. Four hands are better than two, he's pretty sure that's how the saying goes.
"By all means." He carefully extracts his hand and scoots back a couple of feet, near enough to observe but not so close that he'll be an annoyance ( he hopes, anyway; you never know how a fella might feel about a synth hanging over his shoulder ). "Better than me just poking around and hoping for the best. Repairman by hobby, not by profession," he grins at him. "I don't doubt this'll be a whole lot quicker and far less messy with you at the helm, pal."
DND 5e SKILLS STARTERS — ACROBATICS
the ability to stay on your feet in a tricky situation.
He almost thinks it's a particularly large bird, at first, the noise from up above, and Nick leaves the overhang he was leaning under just to squint skyward. But the sky is shockingly empty, save for the shadow that passes briefly overhead— it's not a very bird-shaped shadow. Is that somebody up on a roof? Balancing along a gutter, a tree branch? Of all the stupid—
Whatever it is - whoever it is, - it's damn heavy, a fact he only discovers when it crashes down and lands smack atop him, and he can't even feel that bad about all the metal joints digging into the fella because as far as Nick is concerned that's a fair turn. "Jesus, you alright? Didn't quite stick the landing, did you?" He bends, unbends, the one arm not currently pinned to his side under their weight. "Think you bent one of my struts..."
" no sense - NO SENSE?! " the vampire's mouth falls fully open, forming a half-moon adorned with a single heart shaped tongue. his stare bores into the other, like the idea genuinely stunned him.
soon enough, however, the count seems to find the words to continue, hands flailing around wildly. " wh- g- fhhg- it makes yes sense! all the sense! "
his grip finds its way back to the cape, wraps it around himself even tighter. the movement wrings water both out of the accessory and the felt of his hands. the count listens to nick and underscores his question with small miserable sobs, head slowly shaking side to side.
" w - well .. anytime i count, there's thunder, you see. b - but ever since i got here .. let me show you. " his pointer finger extends up, " one .. one terribly sad finger. "
still, with hope in his stare, the count looks to the sky. it doesn't thunder - not immediately at least, but the shriek released by the count is more than an indicator that is not what he was referring to. " see! there's thunder, but not MY thunder! they took it! "
.. the suggestion gives him pause, though instead of being succeeded by another wail, it brings the count to scratch at his head. " retracing my steps? w - well, no, but .. "
studying his surroundings, he seems to be searching for something. suddenly, he starts running, wet cape flying in the air. " here, this way! come with me, we will find my thunder! "
"I wouldn't say I meant it like that—" oh, never mind. Way to put your foot in your mouth, Valentine, you ought to know well enough to be careful with folks who are on thin ice like this. He takes a step or two back so he won't get whacked with flailing felt limbs. "I'm sorry." One hand sympathetically pats him gently on the shoulder as he shakes and sobs. "You're right. This is all very upsetting."
The trouble is, he's not sure the little guy's explanation is making things any clearer, though at this point he's not sure that matters. Whether he's got the most asinine luck Nick's ever encountered or he's a covert lightning rod, he says he summons thunder and he clearly believes it.
"Right. Okay." A slow nod and he pats down his pockets, parsing the details of the case— ah, yeah, no cigs on him. Maybe for the best if he's running around with somebody flammable, rain or no rain. "Sounds like a real neat trick you've got, there. Shame I can't see it... only happens when you count, you say? Seems a little contrived," this is voiced in a murmur so as to not cause further upset.
But what does he know. He looks up anyway, squinting like he expects anything particularly spectacular to happen, but it just keeps raining and the man(? robot?) beside him just keeps wailing and crying. He's pleased to see that at least his suggestion of working backwards has stuck - he's always thought that productivity is a much better balm when you're upset than anything else - but a little less pleased when he abruptly finds himself roped into it.
And the thing is he doesn't have to. He does know this. Nick's got time to kill, and the fella is upset, no doubt about it; but even he's not sure he feels particularly up to scouring the whole of the city for a lost weather phenomenon, not when it's already thundering something fierce. But what the hell. This is his job, even here, though he doubts this will turn into the sort of landmark first case that makes its way into an advertising campaign. Finding lost things is a specialty of his, but... thunder?
He stands there debating it for a full second or two before setting off after him. "Let's call this one complementary, just this once, but I hope you know the next job won't be on the house!"
THE TAVERN WAS MANOLO'S FIRST THOUGHT TO STOP AT. Of course , this isn't San Ángel , so anything he would usually get was replaced by a soda instead. It doesn't exactly soften the blow of being brought to such a strange place on , well . . ay. If he thinks about it , it'll just make it worse. Instead , his fingers tap idly on the surface of the table he's sat at , trying to wrap his mind around his new surroundings.
HIS EYES SCAN AROUND THE ROOM before focusing on the door. He tries not to get his hope up - though there's still the thought deep in the back of his mind that María could walk in at any moment. To busy himself , he pulls out the device he was given. A cell phone , they called it. Now , he had only heard of telephones - and they were never described like this. He pokes at it a few times before speaking out to no - one in particular. ❛ You think this thing would've come with instructions. ❜ Instead all it's given him is a headache.
Given that most folks back home tend to consider Nick a waste of a perfectly good barstool - hey, he is willing to pay; not his fault any drinks are squandered on him, - he's just glad he's not been booted from his seat. Yet. Places like this are good for meeting folks, or at least keeping an easy eye on them, and you pick up some damn good leads where alcohol makes for loose lips. He's still finding his footing here, but he knows exactly what it is he wants to be doing, and if there's one constant anywhere in the universe it's that everybody's got trouble of some sort or another. Solving problems just so happens to be one of the things he's real damn good at.
This kind of trouble isn't the sort he's used to dealing with, these days, but he pipes up anyway from his seat at a table near the door, having been eyeing the newcomer sideways since he wandered in and plopped himself down just a couple tables away with a soda, of all things. Poor kid. Somehow Nick doubts that's doing much to ease his worries.
"You kiddin' me? That'd make it too easy." Not everyone here has been unhelpful, but that doesn't erase the feeling of being left stranded somewhere so far from home without so much as a by-your-leave, dropped on your ass and told to hit the ground running in any direction you choose. Nick is more used to the feeling than most, he thinks, so if he's unhappy he can only imagine how other poor souls tend to handle it. "You want a hand with that, though, I've been told I'm not too shabby at finding my way around machines... even fancy little gizmos like that one. Just takes a couple'a days of poking around at it, that's all."
