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

[nunpunching]

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.

Comments

[nunpunching]

"You know I'm solid for you. You can lean on it." Punchy pops the collar on his pajamas (because he needs to look more ridiculous). "Show me what you got and I'll lay it flat."

He pauses for a second. "You seen any of our homies? Joan, Holiday, those peeps?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock would never judge anyone for popping their collar, and indeed had been ridiculed for the same thing before.

"Got John and Joan," He explained easily, though his eyes went dark. "Some heezy went buck-wild off the rilla at my girl, but she's in the pocket. Holiday ain't my peoples."

[nunpunching]

"She's my people, not dubbing on a bucket there. She's gravity." He nods his head, waiting to see where Sherlock's going to stop with them. Punchy suspects the parking lot, since that's where the batteries are, but he isn't sure.

"Just her and Joan in my clan, though."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock led him straight for the staircase, opening the door and checking the stairwell before letting Punchy go through.

"I keep it tight and thick with those two and company in the present," Sherlock said, offhandedly. It also happened to be completely true.

[nunpunching]

Punchy actually looks nervous in the stairwell, although it would be easy to hide if he didn't usually look so laid-back. He runs his tongue over his teeth and rocks a little on his heels.

He still takes the stairs down three at a time, with big, elephantine jumps that rattle the railing.

[alldeduction]

Normally, Sherlock would comment. Normally, with someone he found infuriating, he would point it out, bluntly, both the nervousness and the lie to it - the shaking, reverberating declarations of not only their position but their intent - but he doesn't. He doesn't, because he knows why Punchy doesn't care, and he shares it. He understands it.

He may not be quite the pacifist that Punchy is, but he is determined not to shrink from his death.

Not this time.

And equally determined not to bring it on another.

They're lucky, though, and no one is summoned, no antagonist figures lurk in the shadows, or behind the stairwell doors, and they reach the parking level without incident. Joan and John are still up on the sixth floor, he's been working on his set up without them for a little while, though he's planning on bringing them down soon. As he approaches the car he pulls the keys out of his pocket.

[nunpunching]

Punchy seems a bit more at ease in the parking lot, oddly enough - it's not claustrophobia, really, so much as a need to spread out and feel as if he's allowed to take up space again. He musses up his hair and opens a car door so he can sit, knees splayed, and watch Sherlock get things in order to present Punchy.

"Gotta say, Holmesboy, I'm iced up to see what you cooking."

[alldeduction]

"Ain't squared up but..." He gets the door open so that Punchy can see his mess of equipment. And a mess it is. He's scavenged parts from all over the museum - old telephones, computers, speakers, video screens from display cases. Anything he could get his hands on and carry away.

His bundle of pride and joy, however, is the little carefully laid pattern of hard drives, hidden under a jacket he'd stolen off of one of the wax figures, that he pulled aside.

He'd already hot-wired the car - the wires pulled out and entwined manually into a power source he'd managed to scrounge from one of the old computers.

[nunpunching]

"Damn, son, you got this shit decked out."

Punchy, not being terribly skilled at hardware, can appreciate it when it's put together. He crouches over it, letting his hands hover but not touch. He whistles and then straightens back up, rocking on his heels.

"And it's all hooked up? What kind of matrix you running? You got an external signal?"

[alldeduction]

"Ain't hustled up the lines yet. Gotta plug the slap by hand, and I only got one. The fatty's gonna hold the weight off the lights, but shit's VIP, plus one only. Can't get no face on it. I got mirrors from the 411, but got no solids down on the OS. Could be a jug, you know, goes like triple green, could be outta pocket."

He struggled to get it all out in Punchy's strange dialect - stopping a couple of times to figure out how to phrase it, but somehow made it through. The meaning, though, he hoped was clear. Only two harddrive ports, and who knew if it would display properly.

Nothing like giving it a shot.

[nunpunching]

"Shit." Punchy whistles, a long, low sound, and he shakes his head then slaps his knees with excitement. It's not ideal, but it's more to work with than they've had any Arena so far.

"You tried icing out the cam shit up in the IMAX? They could pack some digital heat, fashigiddy."

[alldeduction]

And here is one of the reasons that Sherlock actively likes Punchy - the boy can appreciate his genius when it needs to be appreciated. And Sherlock can't help it, he preens a bit.

And then looks up as Punchy offers an actually incredibly intelligent suggestion.

(Another reason he liked him.)

"Nah." A smile flickered at the edges of his lips before spreading across them. "... High to ride?"

[nunpunching]

"Always, dawg. You know we crew. That shit's church." He holds his hand up to high-five Sherlock. He has bruises on his knuckles, but other than that he looks like he's doing pretty well for the Arena.

He heads to the front seat of the car, though. Time to put in all that knowledge he got from the Fast & the Furious movies and other car porn. He reaches under the dash and grabs some wires, tying them off and fastening them somewhere else.

"Kay, good to go. Gas ain't gonna bust up in here. No one's boosting this car or popping the trunk unless I fix that."

[alldeduction]

He can't help the little smug smile that plays on his lips, and he even gives Punchy the hi-five without edging it in sarcasm. (He could appreciate any sort of enthusiasm for his schemes, in whatever form it came.

His smile turned to something smugly proud as Punchy rewired the car to keep people off from it.

"Ballin'," He said smoothly, turning back towards the stairs and waiting for Punchy to fall in line. "No one's lifted the pirate shit yet?"

[nunpunching]

"No one's lifted the pirate shit." Punchy gives Sherlock a thumbs up, then pops the collar on his pajamas. "Let's roll."