TDM #25

[duplicitymods]

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « ALL ON DISPLAY

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It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy. This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses. To counteract the discovery of the deceit gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the LIEs program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the deceit gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from LIEs after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues. ... and you're here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity. After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of Orientation. If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You're a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your high-rise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You're a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you'll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms. Enjoy your free time until Orientation! Participation is mandatory for all new and past arrivals. Skies are clear and the weather is warm.

» » » ALL ABOARD

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After stepping through the door and participating in Orientation, LIERs are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERs at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park. The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning.

« « « SUMMER SPECIAL

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(cw: aphro/drugs) LIEs has once again partnered with a local coffee chain, Peek-A-Brew, to promote their summer menu and help play matchmaker among those in the program. Along with the usual goodie bag, each character will be handed a small slip of paper after Orientation with a date and time, location, and three fun facts about a mystery partner they're to meet for a coffee date. These "facts" may or may not actually be true — they're simply meant to spark conversation. For the duration of the 1-2 hours the pairs are expected to spend getting to know one another, they will receive unlimited free iced coffee, tea, and lemonade and a discount on any other menu items. Seasonal specials include fruity parfaits and popsicles in a variety of refreshing flavors. Naturally, all goods are spiked to make the consumers more agreeable, more truthful, and perhaps a bit more handsy than normal. Though the meetings are not mandatory, contact with the paper brings on an inexplicable sense of curiosity about meeting their partner and discovering who they really are.

« « « BEAT THE HEAT

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(cw: aphro, temporary body changes) With summer heat building, the natives are looking for a reprieve from the sweltering weather. All manner of frozen treats are being sold and consumed and it's not uncommon to see Submissives fanning their Dominants as they walk down the street or ride the train. Sprinkler systems are running day and night in North Park and other city-owned patches of green and plenty of people are taking the opportunity to run and jump through the spray with little care for soaked clothing — or perhaps they aren't wearing clothing at all. Others have taken up squirting one another, as well as whoever is passing by, with water guns or hurling water balloons at anyone who looks like they need to cool down. Especially on the streets near the park, it's a wet and wild battle royale and all are welcome to join in. Getting hit with some of those colorful water balloons and squirt guns temporarily causes those who get splashed to taste like sweet, mouth-watering summer fruits. It's not just their skin either — the effect extends to their sweat, saliva, and even sexual fluids and can last for several hours. Those around them will find it hard to resist having a taste.

« « « HANG ON TO YOUR HATS

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(cw: violence, public nudity/exposure) If you're out on the streets of the Down, it's not just your wallet you have to worry about losing. It seems that one of the local gangs, the Bulldogs, has set a new test for their junior members and those hoping to join: steal an article of clothing right off the body of someone in a public place. From snatching the hat off their head to slicing the shirt off their back, it's anything goes! These junior initiates quickly get competitive, one-upping each other on who can complete the task in the most ballsy or outrageous manner. Some compete over who can collect the most clothing, either certain articles or overall, or who can score a full set first. As word spreads and more people are going around suddenly missing part of their outfits, the Sparrows, a rival gang, decide to get in on the action purely for bragging rights. Rather than taking the clothing by force, they pride themselves on using stealth and trickery, leaving more than a few people naked and confused.

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

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Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but the assignments are OOCly randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right." When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass." This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice. To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: If your character is more of an optimist, they are a Submissive. If your character is more of a pessimist, they are a Dominant. To Note: Characters can only swap their designation for one of the following reasons: an event occurs that allows it or there are OOC reasons that make it a necessity. Any swap always requires mod approval and each character can only ever switch once. Characters that are being reapped will keep their previous designation but players can choose to use new TDMs with different designations for fun! Test Drive threads can be used as activity proofs for characters currently in-game. Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!!

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» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Comments

felix — red vs. blue / submissive.

[unlawful]

ALL ABOARD

( the trouble with dead men who refuse to stay dead, and the many unnecessary scenes they make as they're forcefully ejected from their graves, is that there are always casualties. historically speaking, dead men don't play nice.

this time, at least, as the anesthetized synapses of felix's central nervous system jolt back to life, duplicity's dual-purpose medical staff-slash-sterilized welcome wagon know what to expect. this guy, says an unfamiliar voice through the foggy dark, straight business. i remember this guy. gates. thirty-three. strap him down. this time, at least, as his pulse jackknifes in his throat and he opens his eyes to a gauzy halo of bright fluorescent light, the only causality is the nose of the man burdened with the unfortunate duty of releasing felix from his firmly buckled restraints.

i told you we should've drugged him, says another person, less business, more i'm-at-the-end-of-my-shift-and-i'm-about-to-lose-my-shit-if-i-don't-get-off-on-time. felix splits his knuckles on a stranger's bony nasal bridge. felix smears blood on his crinkly paper gown. felix doesn't verbally threaten samuel ortez's life and his mother's life and his mother's mother's life, not this time, but he thinks it for nostalgia's sake. first rule of law: everything in the known universe is sam ortez's fault, including this. especially this.

he makes it through orientation without further incident. no one approaches him, blood-streaked knuckles and a doe-lashed fuck you come-hither stare, still reacquainting himself with a body that hasn't yet remembered how to be anything other than pins and needles nerves. it's a slow-curdling agony. this is how ephemera must feel all the time, he decides.

by the time he's ushered onto the train with a handful of other newcomers, the blood splattered on his knuckles and gown has dried in flaky patches. he sprawls in his seat, bare legs spread indecently wide, and looks directly at the stranger seated across from him. they're close enough that their knees nearly touch. )

First time, huh?

( sandpaper voice. just rolled out of bed voice. dead-then-not-dead voice. )

SUMMER SPECIAL

( felix sucks bubbling foam off the glass lip of his beer bottle and taps a piece of cardstock neatly inscribed with potentially compromising information of his mystery partner onto the table in front of him. the black ink is smudged in places, made partially illegible by the condensation from felix's fingers. it doesn't matter. whatever it says, he's already committed it to memory.

he looks up at his partner as they approach, briefly darting his eyes from their face to the empty seat to his right. the beer's probably drugged. he knows. that doesn't matter either. whatever, at this point. he'll take the tax-free hit.

his own three facts:

1. he joined the marine corps at 17! support our troops! ☺
2. he once boarded a military-class prison frigate and spaced 90% of the inmates after they committed the uber awful crime of saying "no" to him! wow, the audacity! he sure showed those criminals! ☺
3. he speaks fluent russian! we love a multilingual man! ☺ )

I'd offer to buy you a beer, but I'm broke.

( don't ask how he snagged his current drink. )

NETWORK

(@)23082552

once again rattling on the bars of my figurative/literal/philosophical(?) cage in a desperate bid for free liquor and/or cigarettes
i ain't got shit for valuables rn but i can pay you w 1 totally sincere "thank you"

i'm kidding
i've never said thank you for anything in my life
i will fuck you though
just select a) for vanilla missionary or b) for everything else

( deliberately not noted: b is dealer's choice, with felix as your deranged dealer for the evening. )

MISCELLANEOUS

( hit me with anything! i'll match prose or brackets, present or past tense. felix was in dupe from july 2021 to april/may 2022, so he's only been gone a few months but a bitch needs updated samples 🙃

for the canon blind, felix is a former spec ops marine (scifi space version of force recon, specifically) turned straight-up bastard mercenary. he is a nightmare combo of charismatic and insufferable. )

network » un: odaye

[meca]

a good fuck is p easy to get around here

what if i wanted the thank you instead?

[unlawful]

gotta ask real pretty for that
and begging me for a "thank you" kind of defeats the purpose of me saying thank you to begin with

unless that's your v specific kink ig

[meca]

boring
so you've got basically jack shit to offer

[unlawful]

( well, that is what he just said. )

the promise of good dick
all i got in my arsenal sweetheart
take it or leave it

summer special.

[achilles]

( naturally, ash knowns he's in for a basket case before he ever crosses the threshold of the cafe's doors — which doesn't upset him, really, and only makes him curious. for whoever he's partnered up with, bestowed with the unappealing crown of passively placed smiley faces against the backdrop of interesting facts, and unapologetic sins. ash is a religious man, a moral man, who knows the lines of his bible by heart, every well-loved line and thumb printed indent to the pages. annotated, dog-earred, scribbled. he knows better than the judge the words on his card, until he meets the man behind him. ( not that he, himself, has ever met god, but he believes love is as close as one person can get — therefore, he's intimately aware of His presence. far beyond the lines in the bible, which can be questionable, at best. like this card. )

of course, felix is all strange, swaggering confidence, which ash is also experienced in — he knows a soldier when he sees one, undisciplined, unbroken. the captain still living inside him wants to surge to the surface, demand fifty push-ups. instead, he takes a seat with a matched energy, legs spreading wide, like taking up the most space is just a byproduct of living, to him. he nods his head. given how telling felix's facts were, he is uncomfortably curious about what his own read as:

1. He has had a BDSM relationship with his sister. ( Only half, though. )
2. He ranks Captain in the American military. Or did, before he became President of the United States.
3. He is a trained Dominant and gets off on the pain of others.

he nods understandably at the offer, eying felix's beer but opting not to comment on it. )

Then I'll top you off. ( he gestures to someone, signaling for two beers. ) My name's Maxen. Though, people I'm familiar with call me Ash. Middle name.

[unlawful]

( even if ash's rank hadn't been outlined on his card, felix would've called it from the second he stepped through the cafe's double doors. maybe not captain exactly — but some form of commissioned officer, anything above first lieutenant? goddamn right. every co felix has met in his ten years of active enlistment – from every branch in every country of every planet – looks the same, talks the same, all cut from the same steam-pressed, born-to-lead cloth.

no fucking surprise that he's a sadist, either. can't properly break your men if you don't have a taste for pain, and men that aren't broken end up in a casket more often than not, sent home to their weeping mothers and fathers alongside carefully manufactured, oft-repeated condolences. exhibit a: isaac gates. currently dead. alive on a technicality.

ash seats himself, his long legs draped open. captain. man used to giving orders. man used to having his dick sucked, with any number of men or women wedged between those gloriously powerful thighs, silently pleading to be impolitely squeezed, bitten. felix swivels in his chair toward him, sliding his booted heel across the floor until his toe hooks ash's pantleg. he presses lightly against his ankle. )

Don't forget captain, Captain. ( the title rolls off his tongue comfortably. his biting disrespect is only mildly diluted around the rim of his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips, like he's spent years of his life learning the most efficient way to spit with his mouth full or otherwise occupied. he says captain the same way he says fuck when he has a stranger's sticky fist around his cock: hot, but expressly impersonal. ) Or Mr. President.

( felix's never been to the united republic. never even been to earth, a whole 10.47 light-years away in an entirely different planetary system. ash looks stupid young to be a president of anything, much less the former united states of america.

he glides his beer over to him. while you wait, the gesture says, half-dare, interested if he'll take it. )

Or guy that fucks his sister, though I can't imagine it was for lack of options with your pretty face.

[achilles]

( callously made fingers stroke the side of the bottle, considering. it feels like a test. at the same time — ash isn't lacking the good americans manners that come with accepting when something is offered. neither is he going to pretend like seeing the flashy show of felix's lips at the rim was anything less that utterly captivating. so, while he doesn't particularly enjoy being played, he's also parched for reasons besides the heat outside. accepting, he brings the bottle to his lips.

fucks his sister, before he gets a chance to taste. despite the sentiment, and despite the uncomfortable way it pangs at ash, he finds himself grinning, shaking his head a little disbelieving. )

Thank you for the compliment. Clearly I wasn't meant to make a good impression.

( but that's two, maybe three, facts, which means hopefully no more surprises. ash is happy to speak the truth, even when it's as awkward as fucking your sister for a sweaty weekend in prague, beating her senseless because she knew how much better sex could be when it involved pain. it's much easier to admit to incest, then to attempt the lie. he swallows deeply, sliding the almost empty bottle back to felix. )

It's true. Mostly. ( he shrugs. ) The President bit, too. Most people would introduce themselves before listing my sins, but I can call you "soldier", if you prefer. Or soldat.

( he doesn't need to reference his notes on felix to know what he knows. his foot knocks back at his booted touch, playful if subdued. mischief makes ash's green eyes twinkle, a world of hurt hiding just behind his irises. )

Are you playing footsie with me?

[unlawful]

Only if you're into it.

( alternatively, he's merrily pushing boundaries as a way of saying hi, and the way ash looks at him — begging you to try me — only eggs him on. he seems like a decent guy, despite the questionable nature of the content written on his little piece of cardstock and the stink of filthy fucking rich all over him. ash's strain of clean-cut, unbothered etiquette is thoroughly taught, not innately learned or known. that shit is a privilege exclusive to those born into power, money. felix has blood money. he doesn't have manners.

he flexes his toes against ash's ankle. )

I prefer Felix, personally. ( just felix. ) I ain't been a soldier in a long time.

( recently passed the six-year anniversary of his only official on record death, in fact. he's a used-up artillery shell pockmarked by war: endless joint pain from injuries that never healed right because they never heal right, silvery scars from bullets and knives and molten shrapnel. a feral, kneejerk tendency to preempt every messy, raunchy hook-up with a razor-sharp warning: i don't let anyone fuck me from behind. nightmares. so many nightmares.

for the first time since ash sat down, felix glances to the card laying facedown on the table, wondering what else it might mention. that he speaks russian, certainly. that he's a soldier, or was. does it mention locus? his mother? new alexandria? that he drank himself to sleep nearly every night for a fucking year because he couldn't easily access stronger sedatives without the explicit permission of his worthless dom, and felix would've much rather deepthroated an unpinned grenade than have to ask wash permission for anything? the thought needles through him.

he lifts his eyes back to ash's face and holds his stare as he finishes off the last pull from his beer, clinking his teeth off the glass rim. a small droplet splatters his thumb as he sets the empty bottle down. he casually licks it off.

leisurely, ) What branch?

Private

[notleavingquietly]

How much sex can I get in exchange for your armor?

perma encrypted

[unlawful]

( staunchly ignoring the brief moment of relief he feels, seeing crais' name flash across his device again. he's still here. )

it's your lucky day
i'll fuck you for free

when'd you get it? inherited? or did ephemera give it to you?

Re: perma encrypted

[notleavingquietly]

You're over due to be the one topping in ANY capacity with me.

Ephemera asked me to store it.

text; un; f.s.

[fortitudosalutis]

[ Oh, it's fucking you. ]

And here I thought I was rid of jarhead idiocy.

[unlawful]

( )

allow me to quote a dumbass slogan from the t-shirt of every washed-up pining for the halcyon days of yore vet i've encountered in group therapy
"marines don't die. we just go to hell and regroup."
here i am
back from hell w all my jarhead idiocy

[fortitudosalutis]

Cute. That's cute. For a motherfucker who's not saying anything, you're sure using a lot of words to get there.
What was it like?

( all aboard )

[wrists]

[ the man before him is a tangle of dark hair, rage, and blood. and ugly, parchment-like clothing. laurent cannot make sense of why anyone would want such a thing touching their skin. he can only assume he is also a slave, maybe of lower rank, if there are such rankings among the slaves here. there should be. laurent will not be among the lowers, dressed from head to toe in his customary veretian laces, stone-faced and straight-backed in the seat opposite. icily, his blue eyes narrow.

first time. that means this man has been here before, and therefore has information that laurent is lacking, putting him at an immediate disadvantage. in his absurd clothing, the man is on display and laurent can see that their bodies are not dissimilar, lean but with the obvious solidity of strength. a fight would not be the worst outcome, but being ill-suited to hand-to-hand combat, laurent would like to find a sword first. words, then.

primly, he crosses his legs, his boots intentionally knocking into the man's knee to spread his indecent stance wider. his papery gown crinkles, an unpleasant, grating sound. ]

That doesn't look comfortable. [ his chin lifts, eyes moving passively over the man's body before settling on his face again. ] Take it off.

[unlawful]

( felix is hardly a stranger to men like the immaculate, laced-up man seated across from him now. his attire, while distantly familiar, feels mostly alien to felix, like he was painstakingly carved from the canvas of a painting depicting the ancient french finery of millennium-dead royals and aristocrats. every brush stroke is calculated in its lavishness, only further emphasizing his frigid, unblinking stare. some people might mistake his haute couture opulence as softness, but felix knows a man in full dress when he sees one, and this is a man in a set of some very fucking expensive armor.

his boot knocks felix's knees into a vulnerable split, spreading him like a careless groom with his bride on their wedding night. felix stares back at him, also unblinking, liquid honey over shocking blue. another submissive, like felix. even his high collar can't hide the mark on his neck when he haughtily tilts his chin at him. resentful of it probably, if the thoughtless way he orders felix around is any indication — unused to kneeling or serving, his presumptuousness a reflex as natural as breathing. )

Wild. I was about to say the same shit to you.

( his state of dress looks far more uncomfortable than felix's state of undress, honestly.

maybe it'd be wise to turn away, force some distance between them. instead, felix remains in his languorous recline against his seat, unmoving except for the viper strike of his hand at laurent's leg. quick. fanged. he closes his fingers — long and lithe but callused and stitched in black ink — around his slim calf just above his ankle and squeezes firmly. )

You first. ( bitch. )

[wrists]

[ there is nothing kingly about this man, and yet his haughty, cavalier manner of speech brings him immediately back to the memory of staring into the darkly defiant eyes of a slave he once hated. no longer. but this man, he promptly dislikes and with barely a weighted ounce of reasoning. he finds his boot caught, and resists the urge to strike out with a calculated blow between the man's unprotected legs.

it would be easy to make a mess of things. much harder to keep this civil. laurent is used to a solitary existence, but having been plucked from the familiarity of the palace, it won't do to wander aimlessly with little information, nor is he interested in preying on the obviously weaker slaves who have nothing to offer him. no, if he must play this game, it will be with those who imagine themselves to be his equal.

like this man, believing himself to be all carnal danger, when laurent can see he was made to be someone's pet dog. he would go well in the ring.

instead of pulling his ankle away, laurent moves like a rustle of silk, an arm curling around the man's shoulders as he slips into his lap. his expression remains steady in its resolve, but his body sings with a tension he tries to dispel. he has not been in this position since he was a ruddy-cheeked youth, too raw with grief and foolish with fearful trust to stop his uncle's wandering hands. he focuses on the dark letters inked onto the man's skin behind his ear, easy to see now from his much closer vantage point.

laurent's own fingers are fair and slender, but he has callouses of his own when he touches the man's throat, sliding fingertips down his skin until he reaches the top of the papery gown. without pause, he gives a swift jerk, easily tearing it down the front to expose the lean muscles of his chest. ]

I asked first. [ """""asked""""" ] But in the spirit of fairness —

[ slowly, he brings his wrist to his mouth, using his teeth to loosen the first of many laces running snugly up his sleeve. he pulls until it hangs down, one cuff loosened, then offers his wrist to the man, his index finger idly stroking once at a budding nipple. ]

You're poor at taking orders. Your master must dislike you.

summer special cattiness

[hackeo]

[ Possibly Russian military asshole. That's what her little card of information on her partner tells her. Which is fine, Sombra's used to soldiers, and assholes, and soldier assholes, and Russians that may or may not be a combination of those things too but-

Oh. The grin is immediate the moment she lays eyes on him. And when she drops herself into the seat across from him, she's hardly holding back her laughter before rolling her eyes and taking a quick swig of her drink. ]

Ay, qué onda, pendejo? Missed Sextopia and the chance to be my friend so much you had to come back?

[ It doesn't work like that and she knows it, but it's pretty clear from the mocking tone she's making fun.

As for the three fun facts Felix receives about his new friend:

1. cheats at video games
2. notorious cybercriminal and tech genius with a questionable employer whose directives she frequently ignores in favour of self interest
3. sleeps with two teddy bears (and/or a cowboy) every night ]

[unlawful]

( sombra is a shock of purple neon against a backdrop of muted greys and browns, and every eye in the café shutters to her briefly as she makes her entrance, one quick peek before they collectively return to their spiked macchiatos in awkward silence. not felix, though. he kicks out a chair seconds before she drops into it. )

Thought you'd be missing me, actually. ( no hint of a russian accent in this military asshole, at least. he just sounds like a regular asshole. ) You seem kinda needy.

( what, with the teddy bear and cowboy threesome/foursome she (allegedly) has going on on a nightly basis.

he flips the card facedown on the table and polishes off his beer, eyeing her curiously. it's the first time he's seen her in person — or this close, and not from down the hallway as he knelt in front of wash's door and picked the lock, sombra streaking across his peripheral like a fluorescent phantom. )

You been a good girl in my absence, nenita?

[hackeo]

[ Even her more casual clothing comes with neon purples and pinks, favouring colourful leggings over anything else. And it's not like her hair or the purple shine of the cybernetic implants against her head are exactly subtle, either, so it's not surprising when she turns heads. ]

Aw, you're cute. I don't miss people, compadre, people miss me.

[ It's true that she's needy sometimes, with very select people, but Felix can just make his own assumptions about that one. And while he eyes her, it's obvious that he's being observed right back - by two bright purple eyes, cataloguing information from behind the partial cover of the glass she has pressed to her lips for another measured drink. ]

Hah. [ Pulling the glass away, she sets it down with a laugh, a grin painted instantly on her curled lips. ] Aw, I don't know nenito, do you think I've been good? I am very sweet, you know.

owo

[protocol]

[ once wash realizes felix is back in the city, his mind goes through a precise series of steps. it's automatic, almost as if rehearsed, but really it's instinct and impulse acting on impulse, boiled down to a razor-sharp efficiency. step one, he arms himself. he always has at least a combat knife on his person, but he hides one or two more. can never be too careful, and with his newfound private weaponry cache he would normally bring a pistol, too, but he expects felix to be unarmed. giving him a chance to take that off him would make everything more troublesome.

he gives everything in his apartment a once-over. check the locks, check the passcodes, check his rig. when he's out the door, he checks briefly on the lock to south's door, too, consideres the punching bag with felix's face on it. wash does think enough to send a message to her ( felix's back. don't worry about it, not planning to get stabbed this time ), and then he heads for the down.

wash remembers felix's routines and old haunts just as well as he remembers every fresh and faded scar on his body, tracing them with his finger and tongue even as he held him down with a hand locked around his throat. there's one that makes the most sense for him to drop by, especially if he intends to check in on his old hideaway. he settles himself in some quiet corner of some hole-in-the-wall kind of bar, positioned just so he's out of the way but has a clear sightline to the entrance, and there he waits, keeping an eye on what he can through the network. until.

it takes a while. it's strange, seeing felix walk in, entirely familiar in a thousand different ways and strangely new all at once. there is a moment, distinct, when their eyes don't quite meet, but it's clear enough that felix notices him in his corner -- and then it passes. felix ignores him, heading straight for the bar, and that's familiar too. wash watches him for a while, flits through memories like he's scrubbing through video: how he shifts his weight in the middle of a fight, effortlessly catching a knife back in his hand, that smug look that crosses his face when he knows he's getting his way, the arch of his back whenever he pulls his hair and fucks inside him just right, the way he rests his fingers on the grip of a gun.

just a refresher. and then he's picking himself up, kneading out some knot in his shoulder as he crosses the room and slides into the seat next to him. ]

No memory issues this time?

[ so very, very dryly. ]

I can play stranger anyway, if you're into that.

SUMMER SPECIAL

[voltai]

[ well felix i hope you enjoyed that sip of beer because suddenly there's an indiana-jones themed hobo swiping it to guzzle as he walks by. it's hard to see under his stupid hat and frazzled hair and the glasses, but he does maintain eye contact as he drains the whole thing.

sets it down.

and then idly looks at felix's information card, and smiles, and deliberately parks his ass in the chair. ]

Hi.

[ his own card is ... written in german. did he get rid of the original and write a new one himself? probably. ]

network / @death

[harsh]

you must be a terrible fuck if that's all you're worth in trade

[ #incredibly helpful. then again, antagonization is only another vice to add to the long list of blemishes and habitual self-destruction in nesta's growing collection. ]

[unlawful]

( well, that's just, like, your opinion, man. )

normally i have a little more than my dick and/or mouth to barter with

( though felix very firmly believes both his dick and mouth are acceptable currency in any world or universe. )

not even a little bit curious?
your loss