Cartoon Characters Have Four Fingers
Roleplaying Log: Cartoon Characters Have Four Fingers
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Longshot has arrived on Earth. Drake suspects his home dimension might be TV Land.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: May 09, 2019
IC Location: Staten Island
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 09 May 2019 21:42
Rating & Warnings:
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* * *

Longshot has been squatting in a relatively lush mansion left abandoned for the moment. The owners are paranoid enough to be building bunkers in New Zealand, but foolish enough to make a passcode on their house that Longshot got on the first try. Or maybe he just got lucky. He does that sometimes. He's not there to steal anything, just to have a nice bed to sleep in and maybe to raid their fridge, which is a form of cheating but, given the quality of their canned goods, not exactly breaking their bank.

Still, probably about time for him to move along before they come home and so he's strolling down the road and looking over the landfill, his footsteps unerringly carrying him along, his sharp cut bangs stylishly angled across his forehead. He's whistling to himself an old folk song of the Mojoverse, commonly known as "Plop Plop Fizz Fizz".

* * *

Drake Riley doesn't take much time to explore these days, but he's making some solid efforts to change that. With the weather taking a warmer turn, he's opted to scope out New York City's beach potential. So far, he hasn't been particularly impressed. Granted, he's comparing it to the golden shores of California. His standards are pretty high.

Regardless, he's wandering the noticeably quieter and upperscale Staten Island. With hands jammed into his pockets and strolling at a leisurely pace, the thought primarily on his mind is how much he wishes he had a car. And maybe he's hungry.

Spotting a fellow who seems to be cheerfully whistling a dated tune, he trots forward. "Yo," he calls conversationally as he closes distance.

* * *

Longshot looks up and smiles brightly, his whole face lighting up. At this distance, it might be possible to note that he isn't entirely conventional: he has four fingers rather than five, the digits slightly thicker than is typical.

"Hello there, stranger! Can I be of some assistance?" he says, his voice resonating and maybe projecting a little bit. "Are you in danger? Is there some sort of emergency? Were you planning to rob me?" he says, sounding strangely cheerful about the prospect.

* * *

Drake Riley is all smiles and affable energy, only to be suddenly derailed by the realization that this guy isn't quite… normal? Drake pauses to stare at the fingers; the silence lingers for a number of seconds before he notices the awkward moment in progress. With a jolt, he refocuses on the other male.

"Huh? Oh, no! Not at all! Uh.." It's rude to ask about the fingers. Don't ask about the fingers. Don't stare at the fingers. Drake very pointedly stares at the man's face. "I was just gonna ask if you knew of any good, like.. diner.. or something… if you're a local."

Real subtle.

* * *

Longshot shakes his head, "I am not local! I am a refugee from another dimension, tossed through time and space as a result of my rebellion against the fecund and bloated dictator of my homeworld. I haven't had a chance to explore the local diners, as of yet, but I'm sure we can find one if we walk just a bit. I tend to get lucky that way," he says, waving a hand to invite the stranger to come along.

"I am Longshot. Do you have a designation I should know? Laserfist? Flyguy? Todd?"

* * *

Drake Riley's eyes slowly widen at this influx of information and murmurs to himself, "Hoooly crap, coming in hot…"

He clears his throat. "That's a crazy story. Uh.. and you're being for real?" New York is a melting pot of weird. But a year ago, he might have turned tail and fled. Today?

Well, today, Drake is hungry.

"Lead the way, bizarre space-man. And, uh, it's Drake. Nothing flashy."

* * *

Longshot shakes his head, "You should try something flashy. It's fun."

"And yes, I am being real. I haven't seen a script in months, so it's all improv these days and I'm better at telling the truth than I am at fibbing, which is odd since I'm an actor, but I've always just kind of been myself and reacted naturally. I had characters, but they were all custom-designed for me by Mojo, so they played to my strengths, like fighting, bravery, looking really hot without my shirt on."

"Hey look, is that a diner?" he says, gesturing towards a McDonald's.

* * *

Drake Riley walks along with something of a dazed look on his face. It's such an outrageous deluge of information that seems to make no sense put together. He's an actor who was in a rebellion? What?

McDonald's. It's one of those that still has the vintage clown bench outside near the door. It's not a diner, but it'll do.

"Uh.. yep! See the clown?," asks Drake with a gesture. "Doesn't it make you hungry?" It's sarcasm, but dry.

* * *

Longshot frowns, "Is that what they serve there? I'm not sure I want to eat clown. It seems friendly in a soulless and vapid sort of way. Slaughtering them would be a messy business, I would think."

"I am still hungry, though, so perhaps I can find something non-clown on their menu. I have some money if you do not," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a few wads of hundred dollar bills. "I found this in the trunk of an abandoned car last week. It's very useful. I take it this will be enough?"

* * *

Drake Riley immediately expects Longshot to produce some funny-looking spacebucks. But instead, it's a fistful of Benjamins. He startles, starts to protest, then seems to weigh his options. "Let's.. yeah. Not eat a clown. I'm covered, though. Got money."

Drake takes the lead to pull open the door, revealing the semi-crowded interior and state of the art ordering kiosk. "After you."

* * *

Longshot wanders up to the white-haired old lady behind the counter, "Hello, elderly servant! I would like some food. Perhaps some of that. And that," he says, pointing at a Big Mac and some McNuggets.

"What size?"

"Man size."

"Okay," the old lady shakes her head. Kids and drugs these days.

"My friend here would also like food, but he's paying for himself. Do you have any entertainment options? Dancers? Laser tag? Virtual reality immersion?"

* * *

Drake Riley blinks a couple times at the order, a motion he's repeated ad nauseam in Longshot's presence by now. His hands stuff back into his pockets, lips twisting slightly askew before finally interjecting, "He's not from around here."

The beleaguered lady goes about putting his order in. Drake steps up.

"Gonna do the, uh… nuggets meal." Drake is already fishing out his wallet and bank card - to quickly pay for both of them. Why? Because Longshot seems like a nice crazy person, and he's almost positive that money isn't his.

* * *

Longshot seems to be inspecting the children's play area, his head cocked, "I don't think I would fit on this," he says, patting the slide. "Unfortunate."

He comes back to get his food, thanking the woman behind the counter and heading over to grab a table. He takes a sip of his soda and smiles, "Ah. This tastes like home," he says as he's inundated with high fructose corn syrup. "Tell me, Drake, of your adventures."

* * *

Drake Riley moves along with him to take a seat at the table, having obtained foodstuff. And once he's seated, he's already popping a nugget into his mouth. There's a mild tilt of his head. "My adventures? I'm eighteen, man. I've not had many."

Many that he could mention, anyway. His identity as Volt is secret!

"What about you?"

* * *

Longshot considers, "Are you not allowed to adventure in a certain age? Were you in larval form? Oooh, did you have a coccoon? Humans are fascinating."

He eats rapidly, chomping down his Big Mac in rapid-fire bites. "Me? Well, there was the revolution, obviously. Mojo's troops trying to kill me, the Couch Potato rebellion, the battle of Standards & Practices. Getting cancelled. Again," he sighs. "Then I came here not that long ago. Earth is a very different place. Everyone's so mobile, just walking around all the time. You can go anywhere you like! So I have been!"

* * *

Drake Riley stares blankly. "You know, the more you talk. the more confusing it gets. It sounds like you're from like a cartoon dimension…" He pauses. Once again, he looks at those fingers. Four of them. Like a cartoon.

Holy crap, he's starting to think that might really be the case.

* * *

Longshot considers, "I'm not sure. Maybe? The Mojoverse is whatever Mojo made it to be. Which would be fine if he weren't such a complete and total buttwipe."

"Anyway, I'm gone from there, don't know how to go back, so I just have to hope the revolution goes well without me and isn't completely buried and erased from existence. But I can't do anything about it right now so there's no sense worrying. There's a lot of sodium in these!" he says, holding up the fries.

* * *

Drake Riley continues evaluating the possibility of the guy in front of him being a cartoon while he speaks, before finally seeming to refocus on the here and now. "Ah? Well… yeah. True enough. You're here now, whatever else. Don't be surprised if scientists wanna study your though."

* * *

Longshot nods, "I am aware of this threat. I dodged invasive scientists in my thirteenth film, BORN TO BURN, and in my short-lived spinoff - LONG THE BOUNTY HUNTER. You shouldn't worry about me too much. I always make it through in the end. Can't kill off the hero, after all," he says with a wink, his left eye shimmering for a moment with a golden light.

"Do you know of any injustices to right or villains to dispatch? I have a completely open schedule."

* * *

Drake Riley takes a slow, measured breath and resumes nibbling on nuggets. "They're gonna want to register you, if they catch you. Document you, study you. Who knows what else."

He's pretty sure the dude isn't a wacky mutant, but at the same time, doubts most metas and supernatural want their privacy ruined. So it was best to warn him and let him make his own choice.

"So unless you want that, I'd recommend keeping a lower profile. It's your call, though. And, uh, no, no evil needs smiting that I know of right now…"

* * *

Longshot smiles broadly, "I don't really do low profile. But like I said, don'tworry too much. I got luck on my side," he says. He balls up the trash of his food and crumples it up, spins it on the tip of his finger and then flicks it so that it ricochets off the window and into the trashcan at an unlikely angle.

* * *

Drake Riley watches the shot take place and squints, then looks back to him. Drake wasn't in a particular hurry as he ate - in fact, most of this was quite distracting - so he's far from finished. Still got them nuggz. "If you think that's best. I'd at least recommend getting the lay of the land first. Just sayin'!"

* * *

Longshot nods, "You speak wisely. Where is this lay of the land and how may I meet her? Is she attractive? Talented?" he says, sipping on his drink until the ice rattles in the cup. Longshot just eats fast because he always had to rush back to set. Plus most of his sustenance back on Mojoworld was liquid.

"I do appreciate your concern. Your good thoughts will help to fuel me! If there's anything or anyone in particular of whom I should beware, let me know."

* * *

Drake Riley blinks owlishly. "Bro, it's an expression," he explains. "In other words, get to know your surroundings before making decisions. Learn the politics, stuff like that."

Not that Drake is particularly versed in politics, himself. That is, aside from having some strong opinions on registration.

"Uh, nothing I can really think of to mention…" Which isn't true. But Drake can't afford to draw that kind of attention to himself. And if what Longshot said is true, and keeping a low profile isn't his style, the less he knows about or could infer with Drake, the better. "But definitely keep an ear to the ground."

Drake pauses chewing a nugget. "That's also an expression."

* * *

Longshot wasn't about to put his head to the ground. Probably. He fingerguns at Drake and grins, "Gotcha. Always be prepared. Wary. Head on a swivel. Eyes in the back of your head. I should've gotten some of those, actually, if I'd gone by the Body Shop, I probably could've had some installed. Useful. Might ruin my hair, though, and I have really nice hair," he says, fluffing his bangs a bit with one hand.

* * *

Drake Riley subconsciously whisks a hand through his own rakish bangs. "You, uh.. do you, dude. Just be careful, okay? New York is a weird place, and thst's coming from a guy who's survived California and Hollywood, home of the purse-dog."

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