[ It's not like Guerin is afraid of a little sexuality. If anything, it's his second favorite coping mechanism right after alcohol, but this place is taking it to all new levels. When he steps into the west wing, it reeks of a recent fuck and he shakes his head, wandering inside to try and figure out what's going on.
He's figured out he's not on earth anymore, but he didn't finish repairing the ship and he definitely didn't choose to come here, though Texas and coping with the world going out with a whimper or this?
Yeah, he'll take this, even if the smell is starting to make him depressed. He chooses the first door he sees, heading right into a lush environment and plants that seem to be striving towards him, like seeking him out. ]
What, you like my aftershave that much?
[ Apparently, here, even plants are after him. For his broken-down ego, that's not such a bad thing to see. It does start to get weird when the plants start to thread up his ankle, leaving him stuck in place. ]
Shit. Little help?
ii. Gaming Theory
[ It takes him a while to disentangle from his former situation, not lingering too long in the blue-lit area, but heading for anywhere else. Anywhere turns out to be an arcade that looks vaguely like something from his childhood -- a place he used to sneak into when the group home got too rough.
Grinning, Guerin wanders inside and heads to the whack-a-mole machine, hefting up the hammer. He'll use it, sure, but the best part of this is that he doesn't actually need it. While he doesn't need his powers to start the game, once the moles start a-popping, the hammer only does half the work.
Every other time, the hammer isn't needed for contact, but instead the steady focus of his mind, telekinesis slamming down the little furry heads with speed. He's still got enough acetone in his system that it won't make him sick, and the childish thrill makes him feel comfortable and safe.
So safe that he's not even paying attention to anyone who might be joining, or who might notice that he's not exactly playing the game fairly. At this rate, he won't even need to manipulate the tickets out. ]
All right, who wants lube? It's on me.
[ After all, he's got to share the wealth of his wins. ]
iii. Wildcard
[ Let me know if there's something else you want! Hit me up at lovelyambition! ]
Michael Guerin | Roswell New Mexico | OTA
[ It's not like Guerin is afraid of a little sexuality. If anything, it's his second favorite coping mechanism right after alcohol, but this place is taking it to all new levels. When he steps into the west wing, it reeks of a recent fuck and he shakes his head, wandering inside to try and figure out what's going on.
He's figured out he's not on earth anymore, but he didn't finish repairing the ship and he definitely didn't choose to come here, though Texas and coping with the world going out with a whimper or this?
Yeah, he'll take this, even if the smell is starting to make him depressed. He chooses the first door he sees, heading right into a lush environment and plants that seem to be striving towards him, like seeking him out. ]
What, you like my aftershave that much?
[ Apparently, here, even plants are after him. For his broken-down ego, that's not such a bad thing to see. It does start to get weird when the plants start to thread up his ankle, leaving him stuck in place. ]
Shit. Little help?
ii. Gaming Theory
[ It takes him a while to disentangle from his former situation, not lingering too long in the blue-lit area, but heading for anywhere else. Anywhere turns out to be an arcade that looks vaguely like something from his childhood -- a place he used to sneak into when the group home got too rough.
Grinning, Guerin wanders inside and heads to the whack-a-mole machine, hefting up the hammer. He'll use it, sure, but the best part of this is that he doesn't actually need it. While he doesn't need his powers to start the game, once the moles start a-popping, the hammer only does half the work.
Every other time, the hammer isn't needed for contact, but instead the steady focus of his mind, telekinesis slamming down the little furry heads with speed. He's still got enough acetone in his system that it won't make him sick, and the childish thrill makes him feel comfortable and safe.
So safe that he's not even paying attention to anyone who might be joining, or who might notice that he's not exactly playing the game fairly. At this rate, he won't even need to manipulate the tickets out. ]
All right, who wants lube? It's on me.
[ After all, he's got to share the wealth of his wins. ]
iii. Wildcard
[ Let me know if there's something else you want! Hit me up at