2019-04-25: Tech Support with Brad

From Dream Chasers
Jump to navigation Jump to search
  • Log: Tech Support with Brad
  • Cast: Gwen Whitlock, Brad Evans
  • Where: The Moonflow
  • Date: April 25, 2019
  • Summary: In a place like Spira, being secretive with your ARM is not only good practice, it could be a matter of life or death. Same goes with upkeep. So when two ARM users come across each other in the woods, that's pretty normal. The ARM users themselves? Not so much.

===============================<* The Moonflow *>===============================

The Moonflow is a large river that bisects Spira's largest island into southern and northern halves. Strange flowers called Moonlilies grow on the Moonflow's banks, attracting pyreflies that gather on its surface at night, making the water sparkle. Although a beautiful area, the weather tends to be overcast more often than not, the souls of the dead providing the most reliable source of illumination.

The primary method of crossing the Moonflow is aboard a shoopuf - an elephantine creature that can swim across the expansive river. The crossing service is funded by the Temple of Yevon and is free of charge.

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wcVnJQ-FN4
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    'Yevon teaches that the use of dangerous, prohibited Machina is one of the things for which we need to atone. ...You may run into trouble if you flout that restriction. Any machina will arouse suspicion... but machina weapons, in particular, may lead you into danger.'

    That was Lulu's warning to the crowd assembled, days ago. And it was good advice, even if Gwen wasn't in the habit of flouting her ARM.

    That is, if you don't count 'using it to hand money to the fruit stall' as flouting. Or squirreling away from your friends in a wooded area to try to deal with the act of routine ARM maintenance yourself. Or, well, existing, as a person, with a Forbidden Thing surgically attached to you.

    "Friggin'... augh!" The fire would normally provide the necessary lighting for this normal task, with the half-cape slung over the ARM in question providing the necessary cover to keep casual prying eyes from coming over.

    After all, seeing someone jab metal tools into *their right arm* would probably be shocking just about anywhere.

    Especially if that same arm is erratically moving as the person is doing so, twitching and clenching at open air like the gloved hand of a malfunctioning automaton, the few parts of exposed metallic surface shining slightly red from the crackling fire.

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

Brad Evans is several things, but capable of stealth is not one of them; the man is burly and heavy and not used to how you have to walk to avoid leaves and twigs, so there's little silence to his approach to the firelight.

"....guess I'm not the only one," is his first comment, with an eyebrow arched to suggest he knows full well what's happening here. The ARM....arm... ....arm, he glances at as it writhes and squirms. "Motivator blinking?" he asks, and invites himself to a spot quarter way around the fire from Gwen.

Then produces his Mechanical Glove, a gauntlet consisting of a box the size of an ice chest, and thumps it into the ground next to him. He reaches down to his pockets and produces a military multitool, slotting out its screwdriver.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    ARM arm.... arm? There is no ARM arm.... arm here.

    That's what Gwen would expect someone to believe, as she hastily covers up the weapon, still twitching with the Spiran non-Al Bhed equivalent of a tiny screwdriver on the dirt ground.

    But ah, it's just Brad Evans, known criminal from one of the most notorious prisons on Filgaia.

    Gwen looks at Brad Evans with a tilted head as he invites himself to a spot by the fire, like a confused dog. "... I'm... assumin' that's a machine term, right? Like saber-net-tic?" The courier feels an awkward flush of pride as she sounds it out. At least she's not confusing the word for ceramic, like last time.

    The redhead winces as the Mechanical Glove thumps mightily on the ground, but her eyes, when they open, betray her interest. Letting go of any notion of disguising herself, Gwen scoots herself over with her left arm, brow furrowed as she peers at it. "At first, I thought it was a part of you. But I've only seen a few examples of fancy ARMs n' such of this degree, at least, this well-designed to a person's hand. How were you able to shoot with it?"

    This man is a criminal, possibly having done criminal-like things of devious criminalness.

    But he *did* tell a story to little kids.

    And he has a _screwdriver_.

    Gwen wets her lips nervously. "..... Could I, uh, use that when you're done? I dunno if my wagon came over or not, so I'm kinda outta luck for supplies. Not that I'm helpless or anything, haha." Marivel wouldn't order someone around like Brad if she didn't think he'd go on criminal rampages in her absence, right?

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

"Something like that," the big man says, unscrewing a panel on the side of the Mechnical Glove.

"Practice. Been using this for years. Though..."

He pulls back the panel, revealing a blazing electric-blue light, something inside humming warmly. He looks at it for several long seconds, hand up and running lengthwise as if trying to read. "Guess I had to take a while off," he admits, quietly.

His eyes slide up. "What, are they banning screwdrivers? How do they put those houses together?" he grunts, but nonetheless slides Gwen the multitool without objection.

The side has his name scratched across it, in blocky letters: BRAD

He then glances over at Gwen's arm, and up to the woman. "Want me to take a look?"

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "Naw, but, like, uh, lemme show you." Angling her left hand over, Gwen guides it over the ground, curling her fingers around the screwdriver as she feels it touch the palm of her hand. "It's not like it's primitive or anything, but it's made for a different size head n' everything. The ban on Machina probably makes things hard too; can't really make identical copies with magic alone. This was the best I could find for the amount of small work I had t'do, and it was way more than the others I'd found. Though, uh. It's actually, kinda... nicely made, in some ways? In that hand-made way, I mean."

    Not that the situation was necessarily that different from Filgaia. Or, well, Ignas, Gwen realizes, her eyes crossing slightly as she remembered how that panel pops up on Brad's glove. "How the heck were you able to do that with your glove?"

    Taking the multitool, Gwen briefly eyes the block letters, then sets about to her twitchy right ARM, manipulating the right side of her back to cast the half cape back with a jerk. When Brad offers, Gwen hesitates, her eyes weighing the potential pros and cons.

    Slowly, silently, she holds out the multitool out to Brad, her expression strained. "... I'm usually able to turn it off when I do this," she grumbles softly. "But the switch... thing, that I use to do it, it's no longer workin'. It's always on. So it feels weird when I'm workin' in there, and I can't keep it still."

    She purses her lips. "I didn't want to tell my friends 'bout it. It's not a big deal, but they might think it is, and get worried."

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

Brad grunts. "Handmade. Surprising. With some of the stuff I've seen in Luca, thought for sure they could skate on lathes."

Brad fusses with his Mechanical Glove some more. "It's two ARMs," he admits. "One's just a standard fist weapon. Kinetic accumulator, heavy as sin, standard Metal Demon era stuff. That I can maintain easy enough, and I find parts I can upgrade with every now and again. The other..."

He grips the case firmly, and then YANKS. Something comes out.

'Something' is some kind of...slate? It has a handle on one end for gripping, and faintly luminous crystalline circuit flows along one side. It's the size of a small dinner tray. "Is how I carry two missile launchers and a rocket launcher through the middle of town every day," he says, wagging the slate indicatively. He sets it aside and reaches for his travel bag, from which he produces a canteen and a rag. "Not really the best clean for the contacts," he mutters, "but these things are more durable than people think."

But his attention drifts back up to Gwen, eyeing that arm. "Maintenance cutoff," he says. "Prosthetic needs one of those. It's broken?" he asks, and sets his cleaning tools back in his bag and wanders over to Gwen, then grabs her arm with the firm grip of a man who is used to machines, not people. Further demonstrated when he, apparently heedless of possible gawkers, yanks it fully out to the side so he has a full look at it in the light. "'s not Zeboim," he mutters. "There'd be a manufacturer's mark around here somewhere." He tap-taps the shoulder. "What is this? Not Gebler, they're all about stealth blacks or paradeground white...." He yanks it to a different angle, straight up. "It's almost..."

He frowns.

He looks at Gwen, apparently totally not processing the position he's dragged her through. "Where did you get this?" he asks, suddenly. "This isn't some Wasteland chop shop rig."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "Yeah, I mean, the rest of Lunar? It's pretty nice, but there, people had Althena's Blessing. Here, magic's more like on Filgaia, but there's nothin' like Seed cities n' the like, unless you'd count the Al Bhed. But like, why the whole Machina deal? Why does Sin get attracted to Machina?"

    Wait. _Two ARMs?_ Gwen peers as closely as she casually can. "So it's a sort of camouflage... technology... thing? Are these common over there?" 'Over there', where the prison, and somehow Aquvy and whatever else is on Filgaia besides Ignas, is. "A friend of mine said the technology there is nothing like what we're used to in the Badlands, but I guess I never quite believed 'im."

    And just went Gwen thought she could actually like Brad as sort of a strange muscley tech-guy, she had to let him examine her ARM like a complete idiot who trusted people way too much.

    Twitchtwitchtwitch

    Brad grips the ARM< Gwen's mouth draws itself in a firm, long line, trying her hardest to quell the instinct to pull away or whap Brad across the face with her malfunctioning right hand. "As far as Auntie knows, it's an ARM from the Metal Demon era, so- GRK-" Brad jerks the ARM to another angle, and Gwen comes along for the ride, cheeks bulging from the exhale of a yell she's trying to keep from escaping.

    "... I'm... kinda... attached..." she lets out, taking a few breaths. "Auntie attached it. Some kinda... coil system? It's how it's able to power itself for day-to-day stuff. But, for more than that? I have to help power it. Somethin' like that."

    It's definitely finely attached, scar tissue visible from what is visible from where the rolled cuff of her shirt stops.

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

"I think that's the theory? I can't say Sin has much of my interest." Brad does seem like he has more pressing thoughts, as he eyes Gwen's arm. "Not camoflage," he adds. "Just...worked out that way. It's my weapon. Simple as that."

Gwen gives him an honestly more patient than he deserves warning, and Brad gives her a blank look. "...right, obviously," he says, and then doesn't change his behavior. "Metal Demon era...guess that'd be why there's no maker's mark. Haven't seen one used as prosthetic before. But you said it has a maintenance cutoff? Demons wouldn't need th--"

He blinks twice, then leans over to look at Gwen with some alarm. "You power it?" He glares to the side, stepping back and away. "That sure sounds like that era of technology. Kinetic storage battery attached to a coil system, but use some kind of cardiovascular catalysis..." Grimace "thing for major operations. Tracks, I guess."

....he looks back to Gwen.

"....none of this has anything to do with your maintenance cutoff," he says, as if it is only now dawning on him. "...where's that? I might be able to fix it."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "Huh." Simple as that.

    Some things in life are simple. Prosthetics. Slates that allow you to hide your weapons. Maintence.

    Gwen glowers at Brad, something (or several somethings) in Brad's words and tone rubbing her the wrong way. "Look, it was hooked up t'save me, okay? I'm sure if I was some-" she grimaces, visibly seeming to search for another choice of words- "-awesome hero-type at th'time it'd be a different story, but this's what's got a constant power supply goin', and that's what my heart needed."

    ... Needs. The key word was 'needs', but Gwen keeps sailing forward with it, because the man may not have enough sense to realize he wouldn't be able to examine the rest of her ARM without her probably reflexively slugging him in the face, criminal or no. "... It's bein' used t'do something it wasn't made for," she adds, quietly. "But that's okay with me. Just worked out that way."

    Simple as that.

    Gwen's eyes widen slightly, realizing the echo in words, and then relaxes.

    None of it has to do with her maintenance cutoff, the thing that is secretly Veruni technology, just another part of that strange unknown hijacking what would 'normally' be Metal Demon War era technology.

    "I'll show you." Her left hand presses some points on the left side of her right ARM, pressing down with a certain amount of pressure. Her right hand clenches and shakes in response, a hitched breath coming from Gwen's throat. "Last time I was able t'do it, it was after a really hard battle." Something vague flickers in Gwen's eyes. Her mouth sets, that knowing wrinkle of discomfort as she begins to realize just where the problem may lie.

    She had died. Again. Then she got back up. And then-

    ".... I turned off my ARM." Because the Orb had made her realize just how much she wanted, so very badly, to kill everything.

    "Then the Guardians," she begins slowly, looking towards Brad's face to see if he's following, "filled me up so damn much that my ARM pretty much worked. And then, when I went to go drink the whole damn affair away, that's when Vinfield Ranthamamphum or whatever his name is appeared in my drink, said a bunch of words, and I came here." She pauses. "He appeared in everyone else's drink too, so it wasn't a hallucination."

    She's still looking at his face, deadpan, like a vulture looking for that bit of tasty, meaty reaction.

    "So yeah. I think the Guardians of Filgaia short-circuited my damn maintenance cutoff system. I just forgot."

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

Brad looks to Gwen. Gwen tells him...things. Important things, weighty things. Secrets. He stands, silent, at her words, for a long time, something thoughtful burning through his eyes.

"Got it," he says, simply, and releases her. "It should do the job, then," he adds, in some small measure of apology. "And don't go telling yourself you're any less than some hero in the stories," he says, with something more distant, melancholic, in his tone. "A hero, they'll die as easy as anyone." His eyes turn down, then sweep back over to his gear, thoughtfully. "If they're lucky," he murmurs.

He's turning, ready to shuffle back over to his space, when Gwen speaks again. He watches her work as she goes over the history. With cyberware, the difference between a technician and a doctor was small. You needed to know what the body had gone through. Brad...wasn't that kind of tech. But he knew the pieces, mostly. He was good at picking systems apart.

But that story makes him grimace just the same. Is it the Guardians that makes him make that face, or Vinsfeld? "Guess she got a better show than I thought," he mutters, quietly. Then, louder, more toward Gwen: "Doesn't matter the source, the problem's the damage done," he says. "But if it was an overload it might be damaged couplings, wiring...capacitor...transformer...a few others. Lot of those Demon ARMS have self-healing abilities. Might come back online in time. If not, 'fraid that kind of damage isn't something I can fix for ya in the middle of the woods after all. Sorry."

Then he turns back, shuffling toward his spot and thumping to the ground, reaching to pull his cleaning supplies back out.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    For a moment, Gwen sits there, her ARM still in Brad's grasp, as the man shows some of the earlier more pensive, quiet side to his nature.

    "Oh, I just meant, at the time-" Gwen cuts off her clarification, realizing the context of Brad's words. She then nods, grimacing. "... Yeah."

    Though his next comment, barely out of earshot, causes Gwen to look back up towards him with a soft 'eh?' before letting it go.

    "... It's okay," Gwen finally says, her earlier irritation having disappeared from her voice. "You still helped me. My ARM's okay, I just needed t'do cleaning n' maintenance. Just feels weird when I don't turn it off, but it's not really painful, or anythin'." She purses her lips thoughtfully, gazing at the fire. "Like... ticklin' the inside of your ear with a tiny pipe cleaner, though I guess it ain't even as terrible as that." Her gaze grows distant. "... You think it's a Demon ARM, huh..." she murmurs, pressing another bit of wood into the fire.

    Should she apologize for her behavior now, or *after* she asks those questions on her mind?

    "Since I figure we'll be bumping into each other in the future, do you mind if I ask, uh." Gwen clears her throat, willing steel into her the set of her shoulders. "What Marivel said, is it true? If it is, what were you there for?" She gestures, with her left hand, though her gaze still hasn't left the fire. "It ain't like I'd be able t'turn you in, and I figure we may be in some tight situations. Since I couldn't keep my mouth shut, maybe you could volunteer a thing or two 'bout yourself?" She sneaks a side glance towards him as he pulls his cleaning supplies out. "I figured, someone like Marivel... well, she seems to have enough sense to not mess with someone who might, er..."

    -who might be the sort of person sent to Ilsveil Island Prison.

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

"Hear that a lot with the cybernetic types. Shouldn't be too bad."

He glances up at her murmuring, eyes narrowing a little...and not replying.

Instead, he sets to work cleaning his own ARM, putting some pressure into it to clean up the dust and grime. Clean, wipe, oil...

"Yes," he says, simply. "Guess you never caught the name."

He glances over. "I'm Brad Evans," he says. His voice is quiet. Tired. "The 'Hero of Slayheim.'"

The man who betrayed his nation and reduced Slayheim, one of Filgaia's great military powers, to a field of salt and ghosts. The name is well known, even if pictures of him were said to have mostly been lost in the destruction.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    "Yeah. It ain't. Can't really electrocute myself that well," Gwen says, with a wry grin.

    That same grin disappears in a flash as Brad reveals the truth, not even giving voice to the obvious ramifications of those very words. "... So the name wasn't just..." What was Gwen expecting? A man with the same name, who went to the same prison, carries a lot of heavy weapons, and- well, beyond that, the details were fuzzy, weren't they?

    What he did wasn't vague at all. Or maybe...

    After the initial shock of realization, Gwen turns back to the fire, a vaguely thoughtful expression on her face.

    Gwen lets out a long sigh. "Well, for better or worse, this time around, I don't get t'pretend one way or another who someone is."

    She goes back to her cleaning, using what very well may be the multitool of the same man who destroyed an entire country, allowing blessed silence to form a curtain of thought. But the next question is still ready, on her tongue. Well, questions.

    'Did you really do it?'
    'If you did, why?'
    'If you did do it, will you do it again, now that you're free?'

    She wets her lips, and says something entirely different. "... I take it that it's gonna be one of those situations where the truth is 'it's complicated?" Finishing the necessary clean-up, Gwen hefts herself to her feet, holding out Brad's multi-tool, now resting in the palm of her right hand. "I think I already introduced myself the first time we met, but to make this proper..." The left hand is held out now, in the universal invitation to shake hands. "... I'm Gwen Whitlock," she says, her voice probably as subdued as it's ever been while introducing herself. "I'm a courier, from Ignas."

    Her gaze furrows, her mouth on the cusp of stating something else, but she averts her blue-grey eyes instead. "I'm sorry, for snappin' like that at you." Realizing how that sounds, Gwen looks back. "It ain't because of what you told me, because- well." She winces. "I was gonna apologize to you, one way or another. For bein' rude, when you were tryin' to help me."

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

Brad's choice of shirt makes sure Gwen can see the force he's putting into his scrubbing, really working to dislodge dust and grease and other, stranger stains burned onto the metal. As revelation comes to Gwen's voice, his grip turns firmer, working the stains more. "Isn't that all a hero is?" he says, quietly, to Gwen's sighed musing. "Someone that someone else tells you who they are?"

...he shakes his head, long black hair falling in chaotic scatter across his back. Rueful. "No. That's not it..."

He glances over, spying Gwen's offering of his multitool. He grunts, nods, and reaches his hand out to receive. "Pleasure, Gwen," he says. "Seems we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Spira's short on places you can hide out for a few hours to take your ARM apart."

He tucks his multitool away, and grunts to her apology. "Hardly noticed," he says, quietly. "Words lose their sting, when you hear enough of them."

Despite him saying that, he seems a little less rough on his ARM on the next path of his cloth.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    Brad's words bring a confused expression briefly at Gwen's face, which flashes to dismay. Gwen shakes her hands in front of her. "Nonono, I meant- er."

    She meant something she actually couldn't really say to Brad, which makes this all sorts of delightful. ".... I meant I've bumped elbows with similar people, I guess. Enough to know better than to rush t'judge. But it also means I get to skirt havin' to ask myself heavy questions, so it's not like I'm this great person."

    They shake hands, and the strength in Gwen's left hand, while nothing compared to her left, shows her warmth is genuine enough. "... The people I'm travelin' with aren't really the tech types, so. I may need your help, every once in a while. Though..." She grins. "That extends both ways." She gestures with her chin towards a general direction. "Hiro n' the others are good folks. It sounds like you already know that, from what I was able t'gather, but if you need help there, they'd likely help you too."

    With that, Gwen sits down at her spot of the fire. "... With that... uh." She pokes the part of her neck, indicating the same spot on Brad's own. ".... That's.... not gonna explode anytime soon, is it....?"

    It's going to be a long few hours.

<Pose Tracker> Brad Evans has posed.

Brad grunts at the mention of Hiro 'n' the party. "That thing's no dragon," he says, probably all he really needs to say. "Not even one armor-penetrating anti-fortification particle cannon. Honestly." He sounds almost offended.

Still, his hands still a moment. "That's your team, is it? Could do worse."

Then, Gwen asks about.....it. Brad's hand rises up, half-consciously touching the spheres implanted in his neck. They don't ache, anymore. Don't itch. He hardly notices them, though the skin around them is rigid and scarred. "Spotted that? It's a 'Geas'. Old type of Crest spell bomb. Only goes off if the magic words are said. So...only if you go tellin' 'Maria' I've been a bad boy, I gues."

He seems rather neutral about the whole thing, all things considered.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

    Not even one armor-penetrating, anti-fortifi... Gwen squints. It makes sense, almost.

    Gwen's not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

    "Oh, that's 'cause she's from Lunar. Lunar dragons are kinnnnddaaa different." Gwen itches the side of her head. "... I, uh, don't think I've seen one, outside of-" ... A dream, where Ruby clearly felt she was a dragon. A super fluffy dragon. "As for them bein' my team, uh. I guess they are? I mean, bein' a courier n' all, I try t'be neutral because, well, it helps with gettin' business, but like, I *would* take a bullet for them."

    Since Hiro kind of did the same for her. Well, he took a bayonet. But it's more or less the same thing.

    Gwen holds up a finger. "But yeah, don't tell Ruby that, or she'll set your head on fire. Don't call her a cat, either. She's real sensitive 'bout it!"

    The courier watches Brad feel the spheres planted in his neck, suddenly feeling the urge to itch under her scarf in the same area. "So they're not, uh, exactly how Marivel said they were." No, Brad is not a walking bomb, he's just a walking human tank. "I admit, I was wonderin', since... I mean, if they were really bad, n' we had no other options, I could try t'short them out, but that's, like, last resort. But it sounds like it wouldn't work at all."

    She grins. "I won't say anything t'this Maria if you don't say anythin' t'Auntie." The quip fails to bring the amount of cheer she was hoping for, causing Gwen instead to feel that lump of dread in the pit of her stomach.

    Instead, she throws another log on the fire. "So what's your team, then?"