Scrap It - Junk Yard [ OPEN! ]

[prorenataa]

Who: Everybody
When: During the Moira's visit to the Mini Colony
Where: The Mini Colony
What: A junk yard
Warnings: Could be violence but none for now, will update if necessary.



In an area of space known as the Runoff you might expect a junk yard of epic proportions. It would appear that the yard, known on the colony as 'Scrap It', lived up to those expectations.

Positioned at the edge of the colony, it seemed to go on for miles. From scrap metal, to scraps of ships, to scraps of just about anything the mind could imagine, it had made its way to this Mini Colony; this junk yard.

The place was a treasure trove of raw materials for anyone with an eye to pick it and the smarts to develop it! Though the yard did NOT deal in high end tech or software disposal (you’re not going to build an AI from scratch out of this place) some people might recognize bits and pieces that belonged to their worlds. Even without those bits, the particularly crafty might still be able to develop a project or two.

During the day the clientele was pretty much as you’d expect. Mechanics, inventors, bargain hunters all mostly above board types who are simply going about their own business.

At night it’s a slight different story.

Night time in the yard is the time of scavengers and opportunists. Fist fights were a common sight, especially if two or more people were after the same bit of torn bit hose. Physical altercations were often the easier way to go about getting what you wanted, as more enterprising individuals would stake their claim on a bit of the yard, and their 'customers' had to be ready to trade, pay or fight for it.

Bidding wars were a song of the night in the yard.

The yard was manned by employees at all hours. Those in the daylight were fairly easy to find, could even be helpful if asked politely. Those on duty during the night kept to the office and weren't interested in being bothered by what was going on outside; they had ill gotten gains to count!

[ Welcome to Scrap It!

OOC information about the yard can be found here including approval from the mods for characters to find canon items in the yard! If you want to find something and/or want a thread with an NPC for the yard, let me know on the OOC post!

Otherwise, enjoy your dumpster diving! ]

Comments

Agent Texas | Closed to Ryuuzaki

[a_shadow]

Tex's recovery has been continuing apace since she was released from the medbay. Landing at the minicolony came within just a day or so of graduating from a walker to a cane, and though she could have taken the option to rest while everyone else went down to explore, she and Daniel have a goal in mind for the shooting range. They intend to buy or create a dry-firing system, so that users can come to the range and practice without needing to use ammo. Instead, a laser-guided system will inform the user where their shot would have landed. As long as they can gather the supplies to build what they need, anyway. Tex knows they may just find such a system for sale on the minicolony, but building it sounds more fun.

So they've done a little research into what options are available to them down on the minicolony and, though a shop where they can buy the laser sights and such new is available, there are parts that may be better scavenged in the junk yard. They won't know until they check it out, so here they are, walking onto the expansive property in search of the parts they want.

Luckily for Tex, it's not too very far between where the transporter dropped them off and the junkyard. Still, walking with only a cane for support isn't the easiest thing in the world and it's taken them some time to arrive. She really could use a rest when they arrive but she's not willing to admit that to herself, much less to him. Instead she presses forward, hobbling a bit, looking at a jumble of steel supports that may have been part of a drop ceiling or some similar application. "This could be useful," she remarks. "To mount the lasers on."

[ryuuzaki]

"... Do you think someone can weld it for us? Bellic probably knows who can. One of the robots, maybe."

He knows that Tex is happy merely to be active: they could have bought the entire apparatus from the weapons shop they'd stopped into earlier, but she wants it to be a project. And he likes work too, and funds are scarce... everything has led them here. He monitors her condition without any indication that he's doing so, and he doesn't suggest that she take a rest, but when her pace slows, his pace slows.

"It would be easier to transport than glass, at least... if it's not too heavy for us to take at all. We'll also need something to mount the sensors on."

[a_shadow]

"Do you think welding the pieces is better than bolting them together?" she says, stopping in front of the pile of scrap. "Based on how big this place is, I think we'll find everything we need. It's just a matter, yeah, of getting it back to the ship." And a matter of claiming it all before someone else does. She rests there a moment, surveying the pieces they're planning to buy.

Then Tex starts walking down the lane between piles of scrap—it appears that they have attempted to separate the smaller pieces from the larger ones in some measure, and she's mostly ignoring the pile of smaller pieces, until she happens to catch something purple in the corner of her eye. Most of the scrap here is silvery or rusted. The sight of something purple is unusual, and she turns her head to look at it, and—

"What?" The word is uttered sharply, and Tex moves forward toward the pile. The purple object is somewhat out of reach—Tex doesn't think much about what she's doing when she drops her cane on the ground and steps over some scrap to get to it. The item is about two feet long and a foot in diameter, asymmetrical. She grabs it—and then she's stuck. She can barely stand on her own; what is she doing, straddling a pile of scrap metal and going after this item?

The thing is that the sight of it has obviously made her upset. She went and put her hand on it because she could not even believe she was seeing it correctly. How would something from her own world get here? Yet, it seems fully plausible, because she herself is here in this universe. So she stops, one hand gripping the cylinder, teeth clenched. She's looking directly at it, not yet aware there are several more lying in this pile, should she look harder.

[ryuuzaki]

L begins to say something about bolting, that it's still not going to be done by either of them, when she moves on. Never mind: they can work it out later, as long as they have the components they need.

He's not too far from her when something clearly catches her attention. Something bad? She reaches for it, almost overbalancing... if her hand weren't on whatever it is, she would already have fallen into the scrap heap. He takes the last few steps to get to her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.

On the ship, before the crash, she'd seemed capable; now, she works hard and carefully every day to restore her previous condition. If something has her forgetting herself to the point where she's nearly falling over, it must be surprising and significant in some way that he doesn't understand yet.

The item she's reaching for is purple, irregularly shaped, looks like a piece of tech... eye-catching, but not in a way that explains her reaction. He moves in beside her to support her, and when he's sure she's not going to fall, he says quietly, "What is it?"

[a_shadow]

"It's... It looks like an AI capture unit, from my universe." She looks away from it and looks at him. He's steady, as always, and his presence there with her helps her to ground herself. He doesn't understand why she's so upset about finding it, and knowing that helps her tamp it down some—she stops gritting her teeth and licks her lips. She releases it and moves her hand to his; she's inevitably going to need his help to back up a step and get her cane.

Her thoughts are swirling around in her head, chaotic and jumbled. They must have their own Ingress here, something that allows them to pull in junk from other realities. Their having an AI capture unit means there could be other items here from Project Freelancer, and she finds that idea chilling.

[ryuuzaki]

He helps her take a step back, supporting her weight, picking up her cane.

He understands on an intellectual level that she's an A.I. Far from forgetting it, sometimes he lies awake turning what it means over and over. Not an android, not a cyborg... those are different. His own idea of A.I. had previously been more like a talking computer, or a little hologram like the one he'd met. She doesn't seem like any of those: she seems as human as him.

The conclusion he keeps coming to is that she's a complete mind, or a ghost. It seems insufficient, though, underdeveloped and laden with ontological questions. If she's a creation, then whose? What kind of personality creates convincing minds? She's Beta... what's Alpha? (For that matter, what's L? What does the development of artificial intelligence mean for humanity?)

He contains this curiosity, to an extent, out of patience and because it's not the root of his interest in her. If he's attentive, he'll learn more.

"Capture?" It doesn't sound good.

[a_shadow]

"They used them to collect and store the AIs after they created them," she says, accepting her cane out of his hand. She looks around a little, scrutinizing the pile. She now sees that there are more of these items in the immediate vicinity. "We need to find all of them and take them with us to the ship," she says, tone definite. This is now the priority. She starts walking, looking for an employee. She doubts they keep an inventory but perhaps...perhaps. If they do, it will make this all easier.

[ryuuzaki]

He gives her a long look, and when she takes off, he follows her.

Keeping his voice low, he asks, "... Are you worried that they might be occupied?"

That seems like the most likely reason for the effect on her... that, and she's clearly... she must have been housed in one of these at some point... or contained. He remembers her traveling from MID to MID, it can't be that different, it--

[a_shadow]

"Yes," she replies, tone quiet like his. "If they're not broken, that's a possibility." Who knows what sort of personality cores they had collected in the course of the Project, whether all of the AIs had been used?

Fortunately, she doesn't remember when she was kept in one of these units, though she knows academically that she had been. The Director had been careful, though, in how he dealt with deleting her memories, her past experiences. It's as though she sprang forth fully versed in everything she needed to know to be an agent of the Project—and nothing else.

closed to tony;

[voicelog]

[Do you know what was the first thing that crossed his mind when he chanced upon the scrapyard? Hello beautiful. That’s the only description you can appropriate to the place. After spending a year on an island with barely any tech around (aside from a trashed spaceship), T feels like he’s five years old and he’s just found Howard’s dumping ground of parts and tools for the first time again.

Sure, Ingress Work and Engines have kept him busy even without the Moira breaking down and stranding everyone onboard for apparently 365 days, but there’s nothing better than good old-fashioned scrap metals and the possibilities they bring to brighten a guy’s mood – especially if those scraps consists of advanced alien technology and a shitload of other goodies.

As great as the Science and Engineering districts are, Scrap It is the one that makes him feel... at home. He could stay here for weeks. He just might. Considering they’re gonna be here for a while, T might as well make good use of his time, right? He’s been itching to build something of his own again.

He actually gets so enraptured in searching for parts and exploring the mountains of scraps that he doesn’t even notice that most of the day has flown by. It’s getting dark now. He should return to the Moira. Maybe stop at the food market along the way. Feed himself. Yet naturally he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays on until he comes across another guy who’s decided to stick around. He’s a little surprised he hasn’t run into him sooner, all things considered.] Hey old man, [Walking down a slope of junk, T stops a few feet away from him as his right hand slips into his pants’ pocket.] find anything good?

[arcreact]

[ That makes two Starks with eyes for nothing but the scrapyard.

Scrap metal isn't exactly easy to come by on the Moira, mail drops notwithstanding. It's put quite a few hampers on his personal projects, to his occasional irritation. It's why this is like an all-you-can-eat buffet of the highest caliber: junk. Metal junk. What more could any engineer want from anything? He vaguely wonders how he's going to haul back the inevitable mountain of crap he's going to wander out of this place with, but decides to worry about that later.

When T approaches, Tony's busy holding up what looks like an alien power coil in the quickly fading light. He lowers it and sits back on his heels, giving his counterpart an artfully drab look. ]

Y'know, I might've been inclined to share, but I'm feeling suddenly less magnanimous than I was a few seconds ago.

[ There's no actual bite to the words, but he's not letting T off without giving him some shit first. ]

[voicelog]

[T doesn’t know how Tony is going to bring back his finds, but he already has two duffel bags almost filled to the brim. Anything else, he’ll carry back in his arms. Maybe he should have brought more bags (or maybe boxes), but he’s trying not to get too... enthusiastic with the process. Frankly, it’ll be easier if he could set up shop right here in the middle of the scrapyard. Unfortunately, too many eyes around.

By now, most of Tony’s reactions don’t come as much of a surprise to him anymore. Not that they really did from the start. It’s all too familiar.

—yet they still manage to bring a grin to his face, the better option than aggravation.] Aw, did I hit a sore spot? [He places his hand over his heart.] I’m sorry. I forgot you were sensitive about your age. [As if he isn’t too.]

It feels nice to be here, y’know. [He gives the junkyard a cursory sweep.] Around scrapyards and shops, and buildings again. Civilization. I mean, not the most ideal civilization, but— [He lowers his duffel bags down onto the pile as he takes a seat.]

Better than an island, right?

[arcreact]

Is that even a question?

[ Tony lifts an eyebrow at the duffel bags - fuck, he shoulda thought of that. Though, in his defense, he hadn't expected to find this place at all when he first ran into it, and by then he'd been too enraptured to think of returning to the ship for space shopping bags. Oh well. ]

I never wanna see a beach again.

[ He used to love beaches. It's all a huge goddamn tragedy. ]

[voicelog]

If that’s how you feel about beaches now, I don’t want to know your opinion on mountains. [Yeah, he’s 100% alluding to your time on party mountain. He’s not sorry.] I spent an entire year on that beach. I mean, I did my fair share of exploring. Got a detailed map of the whole island now. But most of the time I was on that beach or I was on the Moira, and I didn’t even notice how long we’ve been there. [He should have known and he has been beating himself up properly for it ever since. Wasted so much time.

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, he speaks up. His voice, hesitant.] Y’know, [He leans forward, resting his arms on top of his knees.] I... [His brows furrow slightly as he tries to figure out how he’s gonna word what he wants to say.] I’m glad you’ve stopped drinking. [He looks over at him, making sure he meets his eyes.] And I don’t want you to take this as an off-handed comment because I mean it.

[He’s been wanting to tell him this for a while since they’d left the island and he started to notice Tony hasn’t been drinking at all. But considering they’re rarely alone, he hasn’t had the chance until, well, now. In the middle of this junkyard. Fitting, if he really thinks about it.]

[arcreact]

[ Tony's already rummaging through the scraps again by the time T starts narrating his "look at me, I wasn't trapped at a shitty mind control party" adventures, even has something promising in hand, but the second bit of commentary stills him for a moment. The glib comment he'd had locked and loaded dies in his throat as he fixes T with a sharp look and tries to decide if he wants to be pissed off about that observation or not.

Being pissed off sounds like a lot of effort right now, but it beats feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Are they really gonna do this here?? Right now?? ]

That's an interesting thing to waste your time being invested in.

[ It's not the kind of thing he'd expected anyone to so much as notice, let alone comment on. It doesn't feel particularly noble, either, not when it wasn't a conscious decision so much as having the habit literally traumatized out of him.

The scrap ends up not being the steel-alloy he'd originally pegged it for, so it tosses it back onto a nearby heap, probably with more force than strictly necessary. ]

[voicelog]

[Yes, they’re gonna do this right here, right now.

This way he won’t have to deal with the potential hissy fit he might be getting if Tony doesn’t take it well – and as expected, he doesn’t. It’s less angry and aggressive as he thought it would be. Considering he remembers the times when he was confronted with his alcoholism, T hadn’t exactly reacted in the... calmest manner. He was kind of a major dickhead, to be honest; and he’s thankful Rhodey, Pep, and Happy hadn’t abandoned him even after all the shit they had to put up with because of him.

He knows Tony’s current sobriety isn’t a choice he made on his own without any external factors contributing to it, but when do they ever decide to make a good life decision until shit flies off of the handle for them first? If he’s willing to stick to it and give sobriety a shot, then that’s what matters. T can’t be certain if Tony is ready for that, but he’s going to try. It’s the most he can do.

And even though this does affect him on a more personal note than he likes to admit, T would honestly do this for anyone else he considers important to him. He did it for Carol and now he wants to do it for his alt. (He especially wants to do it for his alt.)]

I don’t consider it a waste of time. It might not seem important to most. It might not even seem important to you, but I consider it something worthwhile to note. [He gives a light shrug of his shoulder.] And you can get as defensive as you want on me about it. I get it. But I don’t think it’ll hurt for you to know there’s at least one person onboard the Moira who notices you're making a choice, temporary or not, and thinks it's a good one.

[arcreact]

[ Tony doesn't meet T's gaze, steadfastly pretending his attention is still on what his hands are doing, but the sudden ramrod stiffness of his posture gives him away. T's being so earnest, the asshole, definitely more earnest than he's been in their entire acquaintance so far. It's unclear what the appropriate response should be. ]

Hey, you're not gonna hear me telling you what your hobbies should or shouldn't be.

[ He aims for deflection and misses the mark, even for him. After a long moment he seems to deflate, sighing. Does it ever really work on T anyway? No, not really. And if he's being honest with himself, isn't a little - something? - to have encouraging words directed his way? He can probably count the number of times that's happened in his life on one hand. It's novel enough that he can't even place the feeling right now.

He sits back on his heels, raking his hands through his hair, heedless of the grit and dust. ]

Still got a bar to help manage. How's that for irony?

for kururu;

[arcreact]

[ If Tony doesn't spend the day wrapped up in other mischief in the colonies, or absorbed in his work aboard the Moira itself, he can almost certainly be found rummaging through the scrapyard for useful cast offs. Months in space — even with an occasionally-generous inter-dimensional portal — don't exactly lend themselves to easy availability of materials. He has to make up for lost time, and collect scraps for the months ahead, besides.

Also, it's relaxing. Just a little. If you manage to avoid all the knife fights once night has fallen and the place goes to hell.

Fortunately, dusk is still a comfortable hour or two away as Tony digs his way into an unexplored pile, having been wise enough to actually drag some duffel bags along this time. He goes through the metal components one piece at a time, loudly muttering to himself about the quality of the engineering or lamenting the state of the pieces. Things that meet his approval get dumped into the bag, while everything else gets a dismissive sniff and a careless chuck over his shoulder.

This probably means anybody walking by is in real danger of getting clocked in the head by a flying metal doodad, but whatever, it's fine. ]

[resoundingpledge]

[ It's the rhythm of it that draws her attention. The soft clinking of metal sorted against metal, the muffled thud of the interior of the duffel bag, the jarring clank of some poor component being tossed carelessly away.

Clink clink thud, clink c-clink CLANK, clink clink CLANK, clink c-clink

The first she catches almost on instinct. Not because of the danger, but because . . . it could still be useful to someone, couldn't it? There's no reason to have the casing crack more on impact.

Clink clink

The second is more deliberate, interrupting her before she can do more than take a breath to ask that maybe if

C-Clink clink

he could be a bit more gentle, really it's not like he needs to

Clink clink

throw them that far—

and she stares, almost transfixed, at the small broken hub motor in her hand. The coils are half lost, and it's missing the central axle, but she knows parts like this, knows every machined curve, and—

Clink clink

the next flying part hits her square on, the CRASH of her falling body only highlighting the silence of the parts before. ]

[arcreact]

[ Crashing sounds are not out of the ordinary, not when he's chucking metal things around all day and all night. But crashing sounds that are relatively person-sized?

Well, it manages to grab his attention, which is a feat.

Tony wheels around to determine the source of the commotion and is greeted by a huddle of Moira uniform and pink hair, which hadn't really been high on the list of things he was expecting. He pulls himself to his feet (and every single joint protests in the process, how many uninterrupted hours has it been now...? Nine?) and negotiates the metal rubble with as much swiftness as he can manage without tripping over anything. By the time he's made it over to peer down at her, his expression has settled into an even mix of concern, consternation, and annoyance. ]

Jesus, kid, are you alright?

[resoundingpledge]

[ There's a long moment where the words don't sound like words. Some glimmer of consciousness works through them slowly, piecing them together other things—the familiar smells of metal and oil and lubricants, the ridges of a familiar part in her hand. Red tinged darkness and pain (had she fallen into the Factory? No, that's wrong, something about that is wrong).

There's concern in that voice though, a shade of something warm. A strange voice, but not a stranger's voice?

She shifts about a second before her stillness would be really concerning, pushing herself up a little. ]

. . . had . . . the strangest dream . . .

[arcreact]

Okay, so, monster concussion, probably.

[ Great, that's... great. Shit. Is he gonna have to drag some strange kid back to the medical wing himself? That'll be fun to explain. He squints when she finally starts moving, like he can't decide if she should really be doing that or not. Is she even coherent? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't sound like it. ]

How many fingers am I holding up?

[ He's not holding up any fingers, the dick. ]

[resoundingpledge]

[ The eyes that peer up at him from under that feathery pink mop are too red to be called brown, but her irises nicely equal in size, and not overly large. She looks at him, blinking once as she focuses.

Scruffy. Kind of old. Worried, and . . . not familiar at all. And haloed, almost, by the familiarly unfamiliar alien sky. ]

. . . not a dream.

[ She's still here.

Well. That's not really a bad thing, is it? Not with the MID solid around her wrist, and the promise of a spaceship waiting.

She pushes herself up, one hand habitually going to rub at the side of her head, sheepish—and she stops, wincing just a little around her smile. ]

Ahh . . . fingers are these. [ She holds up her other hand and wiggles her own in demonstration, helpfully. ] Unless you mean something else?

[arcreact]

[ "Scruffy" is just cruel and unfair. His manscaping is meticulously on point at all times. ]

Tremendous concussion.

[ He's lucky he's not an accidental fucking murderer, holy hell. Note to self, toss things in a 12 o'clock direction next time. ]

Okay, up.

[ A hand very abruptly appears in front of her face, a wordless offer. This is partially to test if she even can stand, and partially to expedite the process of receiving a dozen scathing glares for dragging a scene kid crewmember into medbay with a brain bleed. ]

[resoundingpledge]

[ She looks at his hand (calloused, marked with long healed burns and cuts), and past it, back to the lines of his uniform, the worried creases around his eyes.

He's nice.

It's an impression strangely at odds with the careless way he'd been throwing things around, but . . . it doesn't feel wrong. And there's some old line, isn't there? About the kindness of strangers. ]

Are you from the Moria?

[ Even before the question is done, she's raising her hand to his. Her fingers are smaller, but just as calloused and strong—working hands. ]