bakerstreet | THE A MEME

Entry tags:

[meme] gen

THE A MEME

the asexual meme

Whether you have a muse on the ace spectrum, or the shipping scene just isn't doing it for you, this meme is for all your platonic CR needs!

Just post your top level comment as usual, including a note about your wants/preferences - are you just here for the found family fluff, or are you gunning for an edge-of-your-seat showdown with a nemesis?

Or RNG it if you like to live dangerously, we're not stopping you.

Tag each other! Have fun!

RELATIONSHIPS

family and friends: parents, children, grandparents, siblings, distant cousins, drinking buddies, BFFs, QPPs, pen pals, chance-met acquaintances
working: coworkers, colleagues, bosses, employees, customers, clients, professional contacts
learning: teachers, mentors, students, apprentices, experts, researchers, Victorian governesses, advice columnists
following: fans and idols, heroes and sidekicks, kings and lionhearts
negative: rivals, enemies, bullies, victims, that one guy whose face you just can't stand

GENRES

action and adventure
mystery and suspense
horror and gore
angst and suffering
fluff and domesticity
crack and nonsense

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Fluff might be a stretch... ]

[ Down for whatever! ]

[ Well! She is an eternal 10 year old, so... ]

{ooc: still v much open to shipping, etc! He's just...well, he canonically died a virgin and is emotionally obtuse about relationships; you do the math.}

[OTA! Love both angst and fluff, but can roll with anything!]

[Gary is absolutely on the spectrum. In canon he's shown a preference to friends and platonic coworker/support group style relationships and being grossed out by most over romantic/sexual gestures. The show he's from was Generic X-Men Procedural most days, so I'd love to toss him far out of that comfort zone, be it action/adventure road trip or horror/gore trope-y, bring it on. But seriously open to anything, just wanting to test out this nerd.]

[ ....how do you feel about space. ]

[I'm dying laughing over here because the game I plan to send Gary to -

thelastvoyages - is all about that SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE~! So yes this would be a fun experiment! I'm canon-blind, but easy enough to work 'round!]

[ man it's star wars, everything you absolutely HAVE to know you probably got through osmosis, and I speak from experience. ahem. tl;dr: spyboy here is dedicated to overthrowing the space nazis, his best friend is a pirated murderbot, he would doubtless be Very Interested in these weird techno powers!

do you want me to start, or would you rather? ]

[can't go wrong with that summary! and if you wouldn't mind, could you start? Gary's gonna be very intrigued about whatever signals there might be in space! and certainly down to kill some space nazis. who wouldn't be?]

[ okay! I'm gonna try not to paint you into any corners, let me know if you need anything added or adjusted! ]

They land the beat-up shuttle at the edge of planetary night, the first of three moons fading into view just above the skyline.

"You're not coming."

"That's--"

"--a precaution. We don't know what this guy actually does or who he works for, and we don't need him slicing any secrets out of you before you notice."

The argument goes on for some time, vehement enough that several choice phrases make it through the closed hatchway to entertain the lone maintenance droid. In the end, though, it's a single figure that emerges: a smallish, youngish, scruffy-ish human, lightly armed, expression unreadable. Courier, maybe; smuggler or legitimate small trader, perhaps (there being a difference, on this particular planet). Unremarkable. Unthreatening.

Unobtrusive, as he leaves the two-bit spaceport and threads his way into the streets beyond. It's a small city, by local standards, a large town by others, but big enough to have a right side and a wrong side of the tracks, and the traveller is close, though not all the way over, to the latter when he reaches his destination.

He's not thrilled about this mission; it has the smell of what he terms, in his inmost thoughts, spooky Force shit. But he's not required to approve. He's required to do anything it takes, to secure any advantage that might give the floundering rebellion a toehold - or deny one to their enemy.

He rakes a hand through his hair, shrugs his rough jacket a little closer around him. It's the kind of unpretentious place where more-or-less honest working sentients go to unwind after work, and he wanders in as though he belongs there.

[ah that was beautiful! took me a bit to figure out how to AU this dude, without having watched Rogue One at all, so if any canon details are off, let me know!]

The mission parameters were what drew him in most. It wasn't the thrill of finally going into space, or being so far from home and his team (which itself was rather nerve-wracking). No, it was the chance to hack into some of the most encrypted areas in the galaxy, pull secrets from them as one might pluck a grape from its cluster. And all from the relative safety, he hoped, from a good many light years away.

If that were possible. They told him who his partner would be, and where they would meet up. Gary arrives at the location early, his gaunt, tall frame, hidden under a mix of contrasting colors. He slipped inside easily, and knew how to blend in, at least look the part, if he couldn't act it. Silence was his best ally. He huddles onto a plush booth, tucking knees up to his chest, and with a simple gesture, activated the streams of data around him.

Twisting and plucking at a band around his wrist, he cycles through the glowing lines. They buzz invisibly at his fingertips, these private sparks of information. Purple, golden, blue, white, they flowed in all directions. He had learned long before how to sharpen his focus to ones he specifically wanted. Pinching, flicking, manipulating them into better focus. One forms around his demands, shows an image from a nearby camera, zooming in its focus. His partner was there, having a heated argument, it seemed. Even with audio enhanced the words were unfocused, and there's no visual until the man appears from the port. From there its just a matter of hopping from one camera or phone to the next, until the man enters at this establishment.

Gary wouldn't be difficult to spot. He intentionally sat under bright neon, and he's the only one not drowning his sorrows with a bottle of amber liquid or biting into cheap, greasy food. In front of him sits a glass of orange juice, only half gone, and nothing else. He's looking up towards the stars, slightly unfocused, gesturing at seemingly empty air.

He makes for the bar, initially, and strays as though in idle curiosity to fetch up against the neon-lit booth. Subtle, he reflects, this guy is not. "Hey," he says, low and easy. "Mind if I sit down?"

In that field of invisible lights, he himself is not quite as inconspicuous as he is to the average eye. Even in this relative backwater most people, most of the time, have various electronics on or in them, are linked into at least a couple of networks; this one is nearly dark. The standard comlink in his pocket is switched off; so is the pocket datapad (with nothing on it but a short, cryptic, plaintext note). There's the blaster at his belt, quiescent. There's the docs identifying him, vaguely and untruthfully, as Jeron Verza, technician, from Cassander.

It's a risk, walking around like that, but for that very reason it's also a gesture of good faith. That it also offers very little information to the casual scan is mostly incidental.

The words bring him back down to the real world. He nods, gestures absently to the seat across from him. He studies the signals a bit longer before purposefully glancing down and away, a look of annoyance passing on his features. He rubs at his wrists, easing away the nervous and restless energy. One wrist is bare, the other adorned with a small knitted bracelet, mostly hidden in shadow by his jacket. The tactile feel of both helps ground him better. There's a focus, a concentrated effort, before he looks towards the other man, studying him.

"You're hidden from me. Like a ghost. An intentional non-entity." Gary's voice is low, quiet, and his eyes meet the other man's directly only briefly. "Are you worried I might read too much?" The glass of orange juice is a good focal point. He'd almost forgotten about it. "You could order something. Before we go. If... if you wanted."

The eye contact is, if possible, even more daunting than usual; his expression is amiable, even slightly absent-minded, but his dark eyes are searingly intent.

He doesn't press the issue, however, leaning back slightly in his seat. "It's not personal. I don't like to advertise." He declines the drink offer with a shake of his head, and smiles: a quick, startlingly engaging smile that takes ten years off him. "Something particular you wanted to know?"

"Everything," he answers quickly, pauses, softens his eager tone. "Always everything. Facts are the stitches that hold the fabric of existence together."

That is indeed a detectable smile, and Gary's eyes are briefly drawn to it, then quickly darting away, like a rabbit hearing the predator approach. Seeking a distraction for himself, he finishes his orange juice, eyes closed and head tilted back. It was just the perfect temperature: warm, with an edge of coolness to it.

He catches a stray droplet on his lower lip with a quick dart of his tongue. He returns the glass to its former spot, then forms a circle with the moisture on the table. "I watched you come here. Cameras are my eyes and ears, Mr. Andor. Or Verza, if you would prefer." He traces a pattern through the formed circle. "Who were you arguing with?"

For anyone else, it would be a test of honesty, and trust, their voice tinged with suspicion. From Gary's lips came only curiosity. It was something he didn't know, and wanted an answer to.

"A philosopher, huh?" Cassian's tone is mild, relaxed. No hint of the way his nerves just twitched, or the questions piling up behind his tongue. "Well, I don't know everything, and if I did I don't think I'd be authorized to tell." The smile flashes again, there-and-gone. "And I don't especially care what you call me, as long as none of your ears are paying attention. Yeah?"

He shifts, settling back a little further in his seat. Getting comfortable. "I was talking to my partner. He's a little overprotective. But you gathered that."

While he talks, Gary traces a checkerboard pattern within his drawn circle, a grid of nine-by-nine. His hand hovers in mid-air above the squares, his fingers never still. They hover just above the table, moving around invisible tiles from the grid with light taps, and pressing into each one. Poof. Disappear. His turn to smirk, a man pleased with his own work.

"The cameras will have fuzzy noise in the morning, starting just before you arrived." There's eye contact again, playful and coy. This is not his first time manipulating electronics, instead of merely tracing them. Another press at the air above his squares, a fluttering of fingers like strumming a guitar. The karaoke machine in the back began to play something slow and jazzy, relaxing yet uplifting.

He settles back in his seat as well and stretches out his long legs. They were starting to cramp from being tucked against his chest anyway. "I gathered only a little. I don't--That is, I didn't read him. It didn't feel right."

[ whew sorry today was a whole thing ]

Cassian tilts his head slightly, all polite interest. "But you could have." He has no idea if it's actually possible for anyone to read his friend's electronic "mind". He'd like to doubt it: K-2 was designed by one of the most cutthroat corporations in known space, classed (somewhat euphemistically) as a security droid. His core programming is fiendishly complex and aggressively self-protective, and it took all of Cassian's considerable talents just to put a crack in it; that he's a free agent now is largely due to K-2's own further modifications.

But as he said to K not an hour ago, neither has he any idea exactly what this oddly ingenuous man can do. Read at a glance what Cassian is and isn't carrying, as he seemed to? Slice the security cameras with a thought, as he implies?

He keeps his expression bland, his body language relaxed, even as the music changes abruptly. "I'm sure he'll appreciate your restraint."

[ no worries! we all have those days. this au is quite fun! ]

"I would have tried, were I so inclined. And with his permission. But I don't know what's possible until I'm there."

The statement is given further consideration as he removes the stretchy cloth wristband from under his jacket. He moves it atop his right hand, rubbing the material with his fingertips. That helps the buzzing from the grid lines, keeps him warm and grounded.

"I can't know my rate of success until I make an attempt." He tilts his head toward one of the cameras in the corner, then looks back in Cassian's direction. "Those are easy. Low encryption. One metaphorical tug at the lock and its open to me. But something more advanced may offer greater resistance." That causes a touch of worry, which his expression doesn't mask. "It hurts if I try to push myself too much. Like straining a muscle."

[ it's very fun! sorry this tag ran a little short, btw - feel free to pm if you need anything else! ]

He nods, listening with a faint thoughtful frown as he files this away - the explanation, the fidgeting, the flicker of trepidation, all of it potentially useful. "Is encryption the only factor? Are there limits of complexity, scale--? I'm not clear on how this works."

Edited 2020-08-17 17:01 (UTC)

There's a suitable pause as Gary considers the question. "Yes and... yes." He finally says. He recalls the last time he attempted to get into something with high security. There were nosebleeds for a week.

"Normally what I do creates a window. They sometimes make that into a door. I can get in, but... I might not like what comes out." He taps at the side of his head. "Some security methods can fight back. Viciously. Overwhelmingly so."

The younger man draws a line through each of the blocks on the table, starting at the bottom left and working his way upward and over. A game of Snake, except this one would not loop around. "Your ship, and friend should help with that. I hope. They're connected... right?"

The answer draws a grimace of unfeigned sympathy; he's familiar with some of those systems, and they're ugly enough at face value, let alone at a - psychic? neurological? - level. That emphasis, though, is intriguing. "'They'?"

But the guy is still talking, tracing more patterns in the condensation as he throws out the lure. Cassian raises his eyebrows. "They both came with me, if that's what you mean."

His finger pauses in its trace. "It isn't. But that's good they come with you. I was hoping so. I look forward to... interacting with them." With the caveat of 'in all ways permitted' and even some that weren't. But he'll be forthcoming with that later on. Same for that unanswered question of 'they'. That at least had a multiple choice implied.

His finishes the drawn line and moves his hand away from the circle of moisture entirely. It had served its purpose. "To clarify. Your friend and ship share resources. One can command the other. Interface."

"He's a decent pilot." He notes how partner has become friend, without his saying anything about it. Figure of speech, maybe, but he wouldn't put money on that. Either he's slipping, or Bell's been probing deeper than he'll admit. "The ship's not very impressive, though. I wouldn't expect too much."

(It's also not actually his - though it is, for the moment, registered in Jeron Verza's name - but that's not relevant just now.)

Edited (you saw nothing) 2020-08-18 19:57 (UTC)

"I hope for stealth. I expect speed." Gary replies plainly. There's a pause, his fingertips tracing over the ridges of his wristband, and he looks almost uncertain. "That sounded rude. I didn't mean it to."

It was progress. A year ago he wouldn't have apologized, let alone recognized the sharpness that creeps into his tone from time to time. His voice is more controlled and even when next he speaks.

"Will we leave tonight?"

There it is again, that disarming simplicity. It reminds him, Cassian realizes, of K-2 himself, who wasn't programmed for tact in the first place and whose verbal filters largely went the way of his Imperial loyalty protocols. He shrugs lightly. "I've heard a lot worse. Don't worry about it."

His right hand is resting on the tabletop, where it's been since he sat down; he taps his fingers, once, measured. "You're in a hurry," he observes. "I didn't realize your timeframe was that short."

"It...isn't short. We can take as long as we need." Gary replies. He's looking out the window, pointedly focused. His lips press together as if trying to suppress a smile and absently, he rubs at the side of his neck.

He has quite possibly the worst poker face in the entire galaxy.

"I don't lie often but I have been practicing. It's a useful social skill. But I fear I'm not any good at it yet." He finally admits, looking away from the window and towards Cassian. "The mission can take as long as needed. But I usually go to bed at 10." That was two hours away.

"I see." Cassian, on the other hand, doesn't betray so much as an eyetwitch of amusement. He glances down at the evaporating patterns on the table, relieving the pressure of that stare for a moment. "I won't keep you up too late. But I do need to know as much as possible about your... techniques before we go anywhere. For safety's sake."

Gary cracks a smile at that. Safety's sake. "I promise not to break any of your toys," he replies easily, half-jokingly. There's a pause, then: "If I can help it." It was far less of a threat and more uncertainty about what the job would entail. What it might cost them. Gary glances towards him again, his expression more neutral. "What do you need to know? Specifically. I'm an open book."

When a waiter passes by their table, Gary holds out his empty glass to him, only sparing him the quickest of looks. "More of that, thanks. Vitamin C is important." As if used to this rude behavior, the man sighs, takes the cup, then looks to Cassian with the obvious inquiry on his expression. Then, aloud: "Anything for you, sir?"

You certainly are, Cassian thinks, although even as the thought occurs to him he knows it's not strictly true. On a surface level, yes, it's easy enough to read his responses. Tracking the logic behind them... far less so. Any of your toys. Cassian stifles the flare of irritation - not productive, not useful to him - and returns only a bland half-smile.

He meets the waiter's eyes for a moment, the smile shading into apologetic (yeah, I know, sorry about him), and shakes his head. "I'm good, thanks."

Once he's gone, Cassian turns his attention back to his companion. "Specifics," he says seriously. "Anything you can tell me about what you do and how you do it. If we're going to accomplish anything we need a plan, and for that I need details. Facts, like you said. You were monitoring me - from where, all the way from the spaceport? Farther? How does that work?"

Gary folds his hands together, listening to the words, but looking at the multitude of colors all around him as if seeking their guidance. They offer only insights into other peoples lives, not his own. How does he pinpoint his abilities into such focused parameters? Other people have tried. There's a file on him somewhere. But words cannot begin to express, let alone comprehend...

Hm. Focus.

"Everything gives off a signal. Datapads. Cameras. Radio. Comms. Your ship. I'm tuned into them. Human antennae."

His hands have been still for too long. His right moves away, floating atop one of the streams. No manipulation, just feeling the low electrical hum against his fingertips.

"They appear to me as different lights, colors, sounds. Singular lines. Dozens of them. I taught myself how to search through them. Within them. Eventually manipulate the wavelengths to do what I need them to do."

His fingers flutter in a slow wave, back and forth, ripping through the current. The jukebox in the corner changes tracks again. Something more uptempo, with a decent bass line. That was much better and he smiles. The hand still on the table taps along to the beat.

"I watched you from the spaceport with the cameras." He pauses, considers a proper visual. "Think... holographic display. Only controlled with my mind, and multiple screens. Does that clear things up?"

Edited 2020-08-25 05:33 (UTC)

"Some, yes." Enough that he is not looking forward to being stuck in a small spacecraft between this guy and K-2.

Just as well, he tells himself ruthlessly: a useful reminder that the only real privacy is inside your own skull. He's gotten careless, since meeting K. (Since acquiring K, which is not how either of them likes to look at it.)

Focus. One question at a time.

"Is that the limit of your range?"

"Only the range I permitted myself to indulge in. I can-" He stops as the waiter returns with a fresh cup of orange juice. He's polite enough to offer a quick 'Thanks' before drinking some. That was just the right amount of refreshing sweetness he needed.

"-I can go further." He finally continues, a bit more relaxed now. "But, general rule. The closer I am, then the better I'll be."

"Makes sense." He nods, brows furrowed. "You said it hurts if you try-- if you mess with something too advanced, yeah? Does that happen if you overextend yourself, or does it just not work? I don't want you passing out if I miscalculate," with a rueful half-laugh. "Wouldn't make either of us look good."

"The hurting is in the overextending, not the advanced mechanics involved." He pauses, considers. "Usually."

Passing out is a concern. He hadn't considered it, as it's never happened before. He frowns and thinks best on how to explain himself better.

"I would hate for you to miscalculate too. But we cannot calculate without the proper numbers in place. We should practice on other machines of theirs first. Then we'll know."

Seemed like the most simplistic and obvious solution to him.

Cassian raises his eyebrows. "You haven't done that already?" Unenterprising at best, he thinks; possibly attempting a setup, though to what end is debatable. "The hardware's not exactly scarce."

He finishes off his orange juice. "I have practiced on many machines. But I was told our target was of the very encrypted variety. Not something they'd have simply lying around."

[So up for all the gen and all the ace things. Make a friend, man.]

[voice-testing]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

THE A MEME

K-2SO | Rogue One | OTA

Claire Bennet ∞ NBC's Heroes ∞ OTA

Castiel | Supernatural | ota

Franklin D. Donut | Red vs Blue | OTA

Remilia Scarlet | Touhou Project | OTA

Lelouch vi Britannia | Code Geass | OTA

Zero Kiryuu | Vampire Knight | OTA

LEONARD SNART (CAPTAIN COLD) | OTA

Aegis Alver | Tales of Crestoria

Gary Bell | Alphas | OTA

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Pablo | Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator | OTA

Reigen Arataka | Mob Psycho 100