multiversallogs | gifts from the heart, AWWWW.

Who: Rex Lewis, Ana Lewis, Odessa Wander, open to all
What: Rex has some going-away drinks after quitting his nursing gig and gifts his sister with a weapon.
Where: A low-key bar in Mog Hill and Ana's home in Syriac Well.
When: A few days after St. Kelley's.
Notes: I'll be tossing up two threads for Ana and Odessa, but if your character wants to run into Rex/has business with him and his engineering workshop ~~which may or may not take weapons contracts~~, feel free to start a new thread. It can be anywhere/anytime, I'm flexible and can make up reasons for Rex about.
Warnings: N/A

Rex should never have been taken from the Barge. Certainly, he'd been making progress. He'd learned that mind control was, perhaps, not the best way to get things done (if only because it had ways of backfiring, and then he was left with the consequences), and that he couldn't always take care of a problem through blowing it up. He could even function in society (unlike many of the other inmates), put on a polite face and work a legal job out of the shadows, come home to a partner (who he didn't even feel the urge to dominate. Progress.) and a cat, of all things. Rex Lewis with a cat. How... normal.

But he wasn't ready to return to society. Rex could be... functional, but he hadn't been rehabilitated. For months, he'd been coasting along, but without any supervision, the slide back into old habits was simply inevitable. First, he began drafting up designs for Baedal-compatible weapons. Just as an intellectual exercise. Then, well, he might as well build a model or two. Just to see if he could. And now that he had a few successful (if less sophisticated than he was accustomed to) prototypes of pulse pistols under his belt, it would only be a matter of time before he decided to take his little operation to the next level.

Now, if only he could figure out how to begin production of his nanomites again. The limitations of this world were nothing short of infuriating.

Threaded | Flat

Rex hates taking his projects out of the workshop. There's always a chance that he could find himself getting frisked or taken in for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. A small chance, perhaps, but enough to fill him with a small sense of dread whenever he leaves the shop with something suspicious hidden in his messenger bag.

In this case, it's a small gun capable of emitting a pulse blast with the help of some crystals he purchased off another engineer at Tinkers' Lot. Not as powerful as the weapons he'd given her back home, and the power source burns out faster than he'd like, but it's better than relying on bullets.

Rex avoids public transportation as he makes his way from his workshop in Brock Marsh to Ana's place in Syriac Well. He wants to get there in as few stops as possible, so he doesn't mind splurging on a water taxi service. The only downside is the ferryman won't stop trying to make light conversation with him, and there's only so much he can say about the state of the fog today. By the time they get to his stop, Rex is all too happy to make the rest of the journey on foot.

It takes him a little while to locate Ana's home. Being a pretty terrible brother, this is actually the first time he's visited her part of town-- they usually met in more "neutral" territory. Still, he finds his way there without incident, and the nervousness is starting to abate by the time he knocks on her door.

It's a few hours after his last and final shift at the Glory Shada, and Rex is already a few drinks into his celebration. Not that he didn't enjoy his job-- he'll miss the educational opportunities it afforded him. The uniqueness of the patients never ceased to fascinate him, and the specifications of women's health were... somewhat novel to him. He'd largely worked with men in various capacities, tending to soldiers on the battlefield or modifying soldiers in MARS's headquarters, so he welcomed the change as a learning experience.

But what he won't miss are the weird hours, the long shifts keeping him on his feet to the point of aching, the sex rituals...

Besides, working for himself and taking contracts for medical and surveillance equipment (and the odd weapon here and there) pays better.

The possibilities seem endless now that he's freed himself from the time-sink of his nursing job. So Rex, normally reserved and a touch antisocial, is celebrating a little harder than usual. Probably not a good thing when Odessa's about.

The crowd here is on the smaller side, but it's somebody's birthday, and cheers and laughter flood the bar. Rex chose this place because it's a little out of the way, less likely to fill up as much as The Apache at this hour. Besides, he was already there a few days ago to make an appearance at that St. Kelley's party, even though parties aren't exactly his scene. A little change can't hurt. After all, it's pretty much the theme of tonight.

Iago had just needed some air. The cat was too close, the apartment was too small. Things were simply too much for him to handle at that point. Not that there had been any one incident to set him off, no. It had simply come to him, like flipping a switch. He had been sitting at his desk, reading something new he had found, unwinding from a long day at work. It hadn't been a particularly bad day.

But he needed to get out. Grabbing his shoes, he slipped them on his feet and just had enough time to invite Rex with him before he was out the door, his keys shoved in his pockets.

It hadn't been too long of a walk before Iago spoke, his hands clasped behind his back. "I can't stand it anymore," he muttered softly.

Syriac Well; Ana

Mog Hill; Odessa

no subject