thearena | I'm Superman with the Wind at his Back [Open]

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I'm Superman with the Wind at his Back [Open]

WHO| Punchy and open
WHAT| Punchy ego trips
WHEN| Midway through week 2, during the day
WHERE| The gift shop on the second floor
WARNINGS| Swearing, I guess

Hell yeah Punchy's in a gang.

At least, that's what he's telling himself as he heads down to the gift shop to look for supplies. The shop is a surprisingly good for the science crew - miniature science kits, automated piggy banks, battery-operated toys, and all manner of things that can be broken down and used for parts.

And, of course, it's got a healthy supply of merchandise branded in Punchy's image. Punchy feels absolutely zero shame as he loads up his Punchy backpack with Punchy-brand sunglasses and Sour Patch Punchies ("deliver a punch of sourness!"). A Punchy hat sits atop his head with a chibi version of him stitched onto the visor. He tops this all off by putting a thermos with his face on it into his Punchbox, alongside an alarm clock of him boxing with Hyperion and a pair of socks with his trademark puppet printed on them.

The puppet is dangling out of the waistband of his bright gold pajamas. He's also got one of those corpse-clearing robots tucked under his arm, and he's beatboxing to himself as he grabs things off the shelf. He's in a startlingly good mood for the Arena, given that he's finally found not only a person who agrees with him, but an entire motley group of kindred spirits. Pacifists who want to solve the puzzle of how get out of here, rather than kill their way through the competition.

It's what he's always wanted out of sidekicks, really.

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"If some foo' be doggin' me, I lay 'em out and ice 'em." Punchy acts like this should be totally obvious. Hidden under the layers (and layers and layers) of egocentric merchandise is actually quite the muscular body, and more importantly than that, one accustomed to combat.

"But us? We cool. You just some old gramps gettin' all tizzed up about us young folk."

Joel, somehow, gets the gist of all that nonsense, though he honestly thinks the kid sounds like someone put him through a translator to Chinese and back again to English.

"You might wanna try usin' more real words," he suggests dryly. Being called "gramps" is much less off-putting to him than being dismissed entirely as a threat. Is he really losing his edge?

"Hey, don't be throwing salt on my game." Punchy flashes a rather rude gesture at Joel. "Way I spit's aces."

Being the picture of maturity, Punchy outright pouts.

"What's your handle?"

Joel has to dredge around in long-buried databases of information to come up with a possible meaning for the word handle. Finally, he remembers computers, and then makes the connection, rolling his eyes at how stupid it is that the kid can't just say name.

"Joel," he says gruffly, turning to poke around a shelf in the hopes of getting some batteries.

"I'm Punchy." He pats his chest and goes back to rooting around. "What's you sifting for?"

What the fuck kind of a name is Punchy, Joel thinks to himself, but he doesn't say it aloud. And at the question, he pauses a moment, glancing over his shoulder. Is that even a question he should answer truthfully? Keep it vague? Part of the reason why Joel trusts so few people is simply because trying to figure out who is trustworthy and who isn't is always such a crapshoot, it seems better to trust almost no one and cover all his bases.

But two sets of eyes and hands are better than one, he's found, when scavenging.

"Lots of stuff," he says finally, but then - "Batteries, maybe. And I need a backpack or somethin'."

"Shit, I got juice and totes!" Punchy heads over to a section of novelty alarm clocks and grabs some. "Getting yourself full-strapped? What size you need?"

Since the clocks are of varying sizes, the batteries range from your classic double-A to some outright bizarre ones. Punchy also reaches over and quite cheerfully grabs a grey backpack with little candy corn-colored troll horns.

Ugh, trolls. Admittedly, Kankri wasn't that bad once Joel got over the whole... troll... thing...

But still. That doesn't mean he likes the fact that those weird-ass things are around. But he takes the backpack - and a selection of batteries, in varying sizes. They make for good barter material.

Beggars can't be choosers, and Joel can always try to rip the horns off the backpack later.

"Appreciate it," he mutters, almost reluctantly. "Is all this shit for real? Like, people outside buy it?"

Ellie was still rubbing her eyes as she padded around the corner, following the sound of Joel's voice. The fact that it was low meant that everything was okay, and that the person he was talking to was a friend. Or friendly, anyway. So when she turned and saw Joel talking with someone she'd never met, she couldn't help but smile slightly, and raise a hand in a little wave.

"Uh, hey."

"I'd drop some dosh on it." Punchy admires a snowglobe with his likeness inside, before looking up to see a girl a few years under the age he could, in good conscience, flirt with. He raises his eyebrows. "Yo, this yo weeble, Joel, homie?"

Joel gives Punchy the blankest of blank looks, then turns to Ellie, the troll backpack still in his hand. "Hey, kiddo," he says. "Just pickin' up some supplies."

This might be the most ridiculous situation she's ever found him in.

He can't help a slightly nervous laugh, looking completely bemused, glancing between Joel and Punchy.

"Uh- supplies. Yeah." She raises an eyebrow at his backpack before looking over at Punchy. "And no. I'm not his 'weeble'." Whatever the fuck that was. "Just Ellie."

"Well, you too fresh to be his shawty." Punchy shrugs. "Assumed you was weebles. I cased this joint, any shit I can help you scrounge?"

He grabs a Punchy bobblehead and hands it over to Ellie. "On da house."

Joel, for once in his life, finds himself thanking whatever deities might be listening that he at least got himself saddled with a kid who knows how to string a sentence together that makes sense. Even with the cursing and the whistling and the shitty puns.

"I think he's tryin' to help," he says to Ellie, a wry expression on his face.

"Definitely not his shawty," Ellie agreed wryly with a sidelong look at Joel.

Trying to help, huh?

She catches the bobblehead and can't help a little laugh, turning it over.

"No way," She says, holding it up so she can see the toy and Punchy at the same time. "This is you! How fucking awesome is that! Is there one of me in there?"

"I'd be having to pop you one if she was your shawty," Punchy says, clicking his tongue.

"Damn right it's of me. Swag here be representin' da Punch." Punchy runs his hand over his chin as he goes through the rest of the bobbleheads, before producing one each of Joel and Ellie. "Pretty sure these bizzles is you two."

Joel gives the younger guy a death glare - one that doesn't dissipate at the appearance of the bobbleheads.

A fucking bobblehead? Of him and Ellie? "I just got here," Joel points out incredulously. "How the hell did they get those?"

She chuckles a bit as Punchy talks, growing increasingly amused the longer she's around him, but the smile slips from her lips as soon as Joel speaks. Taking both of them in her hands, she frowned at them.

"... Guess they knew you were coming," She says, her voice tightening slightly. They could have fucking well told her. After a couple of seconds, though, she pushes the dark thought away and forces a lopsided grin to her lips. "Hey, I'm not going to turn down my own personal action figures," She says, slipping them into her pockets.

"Probably had it in their pockets that you was gonna roll up." Punchy goes through more of the bobbleheads; the ones he brushes nod and wobble in a way that's almost creepy, given their blank painted eyes.

"My action figure," Punchy proclaims, holding it out to Ellie for her examination, "has built-in punching action. How boss is that? I be high-rolling so hard they stamp me on a plastic."

Joel doesn't like the implications of that - bringing Ellie here for a few months, then bringing him here, like some kind of sick plan.

But he lets the two of them ooh and aahh over the toys. He trusts Ellie's judgment enough, and he's more concerned with finding useful supplies - no matter what weird form they might take. He ignores the Wyatt Earp sheriff hats, ignores the sparkly sunglasses, goes instead for batteries, water bottles, trail mix, and a couple of clean T-shirts.

She lets Joel wander off without comment, attention entirely focused on the action figure in Punchy's hand.

"No waaay," She says, a very real grin splitting her face. "That is so fucking awesome!" And she means it. Punchy may have just jumped up ten respect points. "Fuck, man, I want one. There's gotta be one of me in here." She picks up a Wyatt figure off the shelf, with a real cowboy hat, and can't help but laugh. "Oh man, wait until he sees this," She says, pocketing it.

"Check dis," Punchy grabs a Sherlock action figure and hits a button. Its long black coat billows dramatically. As stoked as he is by this, though, he keeps an eye on Joel.

"You two bumped into any faces yet?"

"Faces?" Joel asks from where he's inspecting a 'Team Waximus' T-shirt rather bemusedly. "There're a lotta faces around here, you'll have to be more specific."

Ellie snorts at the Sherlock figurine, not because she recognizes him (she doesn't) but because she thinks he looks kind of ridiculous. When Joel pulls out the t-shirt though...

"Oh man!" She runs over to grab it. "Oh, man oh man I am so totally going to wear the shit out of this," She says, dragging it from Joel's hands to slip it over her head.

"Uh, a few people. Not sure who you know, though. Mindy, Guy, Sandy, Hawkeye, Venus, this one dwarf dude--"

"Shit's a Wackimoose?" Punchy asks, although he's grinning too. "I know Guy, he's in my trap, he's good peeps. Been keeping keen for homies but I got a bunch stashed up the ringer upstairs. Science peeps. It's legit."

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