"Excuse me?" The NPC man crossed his arms against his barrel chest, a motion that sent his muscles bulging. Why was it that the mechanic types were always so burly, Rayleigh thought to herself. At least seven foot, more hair on his arms than on his face, and there was a lot of it there, too. A dirtied white rag slung over his shoulders, pecks straining beneath a too-tight tank top. Scuffed boots peeking out beneath worn jeans, and a scowl framed by that salt-and-pepper goatee. Damn it, she could have listed off her characteristics before she even met the man! Before she even approached the hole-in-the-wall mechanics shop. She glared up at him, planted her hands on her hips, and shouted once more. "Excuse me?!" Her increase in volume only appeared to annoy the man. He gave a low grunt of displeasure, then shook his head. "As I have already told you," he began, voice rumbling like thunder, "you are not qualified to enter." "Qualified?!" Exasperated, Ray threw her arms out wide. "What do you mean, qualified?! Is it because I don't have enough points in the mastery or something?" Confusion clouded the large man's expression. "I do not know what that means," he admitted mechanically. Ray brought both hands to her face, scrubbed at it. "Of course you don't," she growled. Then, as her hands dropped away, she took a step closer to the NPC. Her face was twisted in a snarl as she spat, "You know what you can do with your 'qualifications?' You can shove them up your ass!" @Bastille
From around the corner of a side street, Bastille turned too sharply and nearly walked right into a merchant cart on display at roadside. He stopped abruptly which caused the nearby peddler to turn to acknowledge his out-of-nowhere presence. The short, wiry man greeted the blue haired avatar with a friendly smile and started to extend his hand toward his wares when Bastille immediately turned and started away. In momentary confusion, the peddler watched the prospective buyer walk away before reverting to his default stance. Continuing on in a manner that looked like half forward movement, half strafing, Bastille crossed the road at an irregular angle while trying to manage making some progress toward his destination. He didn’t know exactly what was going on but he just could not get the hang of the controls; everything felt like it was working properly just not exactly in the manner that he imagined during set up. Perhaps he hadn’t calibrated something right the first time around and now was playing with a skewed configuration. The way he was pacing up and down the streets probably gave others the impression that he had one too many drinks before he logged on. In truth, he was new to Terrasphere; he was about as green as they come. Swiveling around back and forth from one cardinal direction to the other, Bastille heard a nearby shout. He wouldn’t liken it to a cry of distress; no, someone was pissed and judging by the steady rise in the volumes of her yelling, she was only getting madder by the second. Just in the periphery of his field of view, he saw the light haired woman getting up close and personal with an NPC. As awkwardly as ever, Bastille turned and made his sickly, limp-like approach toward the two and joined in their confrontation by walking swiftly, and directly, into the NPC. “Oh, sorry there,” he said before backpedaling a step or two out of the NPC’s personal space. Roughly, Bastille turned to face the obviously angered woman, pivoting too far to the side so he wasn’t positioned toward her straight on but well enough that he could turn his head to address her. Quickly, he lifted his hand and sprang open the Investigation mode with a pump of his fist in order to find the name of the fired up screamer before he addressed her. Rayleigh. He knew already this was going to be a bad start to an introduction. “Excuse me, Ray.. lee? Ray-ley?” He didn’t know how to pronounce the name based on the spelling. It could have gone both ways. “Ray. I’m Bastille. I noticed things were getting a little heated over here. Is there anything I can do to help?” After a long moment, Bast turned to finally face Rayleigh directly. @Rayleigh
"What the -?" Rayleigh's blue eyes widened in startled surprise, and the NPC's expression mirrored her own. The beefy man gave a grunt, and Ray's eyes narrowed into accusing slits. "It's Ray-lee," she replied tartly, placing extra emphasis on the last syllable. If it were Ray-lay, it would be spelled that way. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, clinging to the last of her control. It would be wrong of her to bite this player's head off, she knew that. It was the NPC she was mad at, and the game's system. She was pissed off, because the one thing she was good at in the real world was barred from her here. The mere thought reignited that hot flame of anger. "As soon as this jerkoff lets me in the garage, we'll all be just peachy." "Jerkoff?" the man echoed, confusion furrowing his bushy brow. Then he shook his head, as if dismissing the insult. "You cannot come in." Ray grit her teeth. "Does a shitty garage like this really need a bouncer? Is that all you're good for? I bet you don't even know how to-" She was cut short when Bastille suddenly moved toward her, and then straight into her. The horrified screech that left her was animalistic, part disgust, part white-hot rage. "Are you kidding me?" the woman snarled. Then, exasperated, she threw up her hands. "Fine," she exclaimed. "Alright, you know what, just fine. I'll go get my own parts. Alone." And on the last word, she turned on her heel. Her long white hair flowed out behind her like a cape, as the self-proclaimed anti-hero went stomping away.
Bump. Whoops. Bastille had over corrected again and ran himself right into Rayleigh. That was apparently the straw that broke the mechanic’s back because what followed after was enough to cause the tall, imposing blue-haired man to recoil in absolute fear. He actually went so far as to raise his hands defensively in front of him, almost certain that he was going to be on the receiving end of a rage-induced beating. Luckily for him, she did not slap him into oblivion. Instead, she turned on heel and huffed away. Bast could almost see the steam pouring out of her ears as she stormed off, having yelled about how she would manage finding her own parts. Now, the warrior didn’t know much about Terrasphere or its different zones but he knew enough that venturing outside the walls of any of the civilizations was just asking for trouble. The girl, Rayleigh, didn’t look like she was any better equipped than he was. That was like asking for… double trouble. Double trouble was just something that Bastille couldn’t allow. Especially if it was partially his fault that Rayleigh was looking for it. “Hey…” he said, a little meekly toward Ray’s back. Realizing how pathetic that sounded, he inwardly cleared his throat and steeled his mind. He was Bastille, the towering warrior, helper of all and he needed to act like it. “Hey! It’s dangerous out there, I’m coming with you! I’ll help you find your parts!” Bastille assertively announced as he started after Rayleigh. Again, he almost walked into a nearby stand that was clearly in the opposite direction of his intended path but he quickly managed to swerve and redirect. Half jogging, half sidestepping, Bast quickly strafed and steered his way toward Rayleigh to catch up to her. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he started as he joined at her side, awkwardly walking. “I’m pretty new to Terrasphere, I have a bad internet connection and I think I screwed up my full dive calibrations. All in all, I’m a little bit of a mess but—“ A pause. Bastille stopped dead in his tracks, frozen in the motion of walking. And… resume. “I’d like to help, Rayleigh,” He finished, pronouncing her name correctly and continuing to walk as if nothing had happened.
He was persistent, she could give him that much. But her lips remained drawn in a tight line, her strides eating up the ground in a way her 5’0 real life frame never could. If irritation were not pulsing through her veins like a fast-acting poison, she might have laughed when she heard him crash into something behind her. Or, at the very least, cracked a twisted smile. Instead, she merely lengthened her stride, the way a racehorse might to put distance between itself and its competitor. Unfortunately, even despite her in-game height, her competitor was much larger than she was. For someone so big, he was surprisingly quick. As she felt him move up alongside her, she tried to block him out. It was childish, perhaps, but she was simply not in the mood to entertain. Truth be told, she would probably stoop so low as to lash out at Vincent, her best friend, were he here instead. It was just her powder-keg temper, and unless she were left to simmer, there would be a pretty impressive explosion. Vincent knew and understood this, and he would steer clear if he saw her like this. Bastille, on the other hand, appeared clueless. It was through anger-muted ears that she picked up slips of his technological woes. It was the silence, however, that caused her to glance back - why had he stopped mid-sentence? The answer, she found, was that same spotty internet connection. He was frozen in place. Note to self, Ray thought dryly, don’t depend on this guy in a fight. He’ll probably lag out. She sucked in a breath through her nose, imagining it cooling the flames inside her, rather than fanning them. “Look,” she began, neither slowing her pace, nor looking at him, “I appreciate the knight in shining armor routine, but I don’t need it. I’m literally going to a junkyard to look for parts. That doesn’t require a whole lot of help, and I don’t imagine it will interest you anyway.” Due to her nearly comical fast pace, they were already leaving town and approaching the yard. The junk rose like mountains, every part of it glistening beneath the mid-afternoon sun. Like diamonds, Rayleigh mused. No, better than diamonds. Diamonds were useless trinkets, little bobs made to make shallow women feel pretty. But the pieces that lay strewn before her, less than a mile away, held potential. They held promise. That’s what Rayleigh really wanted.
