Log Title: Pre-Interview
Summary: Acorn spins Galen up in VR before the cops get a crack at him.
IC Date: Feb 5, 2381
OOC Date: Mon Feb 11 19:53, 2019
Related Logs: Fatale
acorngalen

 

 

The first few hours after the fight in the Panama Rose are a blur. Galen is quickly shepherded out through the back end, and out into a waiting aircar. There's a medic in the car who dabs at the blood on his body, then administers a sedative.

From there, things go black.

When he wakes, he's in a nondescript room with a narrow hospital bed and no decorations on the wall. He's wearing plain linen scrubs. There are no traces of injury, and his head feels completely clear.

A door opens, and a man enters - a man with dark hair, something of a babyface, who is quite short at just barely 5 foot 7. "Galen. How are you feeling?" he says, with a distinct German accent.

* * *

Galen wakes with a bit of start, immediately swiveling his head on the pillow to try and gauge his surroundings. He lifts his arm that received the worst of the injuries, flexing his wrist and turning it to find all indications of his fight completely gone. The man who enters is eyed suspiciously, "Confused. Mainly at who is paying for all this." Honestly without the injuries being dire or to his face, he likely would have just healed naturally, given his druthers, and not wasted his own money.

* * *

"We are," says the man. He steps forward. "We've got the time dilation dialed up all the way, but we still don't have much time. Your injuries weren't severe enough to really justify rushing you to medical, but it was a good excuse to get you away from the police." He smiles tightly. "We had to be a little bit sneakier with the VR, though. But I want to know what you saw."

* * *

The more the man speaks the more uncomfortable Galen gets, pushing to sit up higher in the bed with a press of his palms in the mattress. "And who the hell is 'We'? Is Carnage behind this, the drome?" It's always disconcerting being in VR that you don't control, not knowing if your body is vulnerable on the other side or who is controlling the environment that feels all too real. "Look, I had nothing to do with that whole debacle. I was just in it for the fight."

* * *

"I know you were. Just calm down, Galen." The man extends a hand. Then something occurs to him. There's a glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer that might look familiar. "Wait. You don't know who I am, do you? I forget you have never seen me like this. Look closely." He steps up. At his current height, there's a lot of looking up he has to do.

* * *

Galen's jaw sets stubbornly, but it's tilted up to take a hard look at the german accented man in the room with him. His eyebrows press together until little peaks and valleys appear between them. "Jules?" He flicks back the top cover on the hospital bed, swinging his bar feet over the side. "What the hell happened? One minute I'm pulling the mask off Fatale and the next…"

* * *

"Behold, my birth sleeve. Is it what you would expect?" That grin of Acorn's is somehow similar no matter how many faces it's on. "I have this loaded as my default as my psychosurgeon says it does me good to spend some time like this. I doubt it, but…" he shrugs. "Doctor's orders, yes?" He sits on the edge of the bed. "We drugged you to make it seem the rush to medical was justified. Otherwise the police were going to corner you and question you for hours. Hold you as long as they can. That still might happen, but I wanted a chance to talk first."

* * *

Galen considers Acorn's appearance a moment longer, hitching up a knee so he can turn sideways and face him better. A hand even reaches out to touch that dark hair, but stops just shy of the follow through. "I guess I didn't know what to expect." His hand settles on his knee instead of testing out the tactile response. "As soon as I unmasked her, she started foaming."

* * *

Acorn seems…calmer like this? But in VR, divorced from the frag that eats away at his consciousness while in a foreign body, away from chemical dependency, in an environment that is detached from reality? Well, he's not exactly monkish, but he does seem less apt to go manic at any moment. Maybe his psychosurgeon is right.

He watches the hand and looks a little amused that it doesn't go so far as to touch. "I don't bite." And then, "Well, that's a like and we both know it." There's that look in his eyes again. "That would be the Aubergine. She had an implant of poison just above her stack. Probably set it off with poison. I have to admire the theatrics of it."

* * *

Even given the pseudo permission, Galen doesn't reattempt the touch just yet, still on edge from the events and waking up in VR. While he trusts Acorn, there are limits, and having his DHF hijacked for this little interview has set him on edge. "Surely that wasn't actually Longbow. But why kill off a clone like that? That's an expensive bit of theatrics. And to what end?"

* * *

"That is the question everyone scrambles to answer. It sure got everyone's attention though, yes?" Acorn's eyebrows go up. He must've been quite the babyfaced kid. Even aged up to reflect close to his actual age, he still has some of that softness. It's almost hard to imagine that sleeve as the cold-blooded gangster he is in the real. "Did you watch any of the previous bouts of this Fatale?"

* * *

"It got everyone's attention in the arena, but that's a pretty limited audience in the end. The ticket winners, the staff and crew and the fighters. So that means it was meant to get someone in particular's attention." Only because the fight wasn't telecast, Galen not knowing about the video that was taken in secret or what that footage - or who that footage - was even for. "A few, just to get a handle of her fighting style. The opening she left this time around make sense now, given what her end game was."

* * *

"Someone recorded it, but the video hasn't gotten far yet. We're not sure why. But we're grateful." Acorn rubs his lower lip. "Let's just say, you and me? We have an interest in not seeing the Longbows disgraced." Which could mean his criminal enterprises, and by extension, Galen's association, is connected to that particular meth family, or the one who is is allied with them. Then again, most meths have a vested interest in not being humiliated in some shabby fightdrome. "I think what this has shown is that the meths are not the gods that they want to be seen as."

* * *

Galen gives a little mmph of displeasure at knowing this could somehow effect them even more poorly than just his image being associated with the Real Death of of that sleeve and stack. "So that means someone might have stole the clone only to publicly destroy it as what, some kind of show that Meth's aren't as infallible as we all are lead to believe?"

* * *

"That is my leading theory, yet. But then," Acorn leans forward, toothy grin making the unfamiliar face more familiar. "…they didn't hire me for my brains. But you have to admit, it is bold. Like stealing from God."

* * *

Maybe it's the smile, maybe it's the bit of time to acclimate, but Galen seems more at ease as he leans back into the bed and props himself up on an elbow. "If fairytales have taught us anything, it's that even a mortal can kill a God. The million credit question is was it to shame that one family or all Meths?" He finally smiles, "So if not for your brains, then is it because you're so pretty?"

* * *

"That is the question, yes. The fact that Ariana Longbow is not popular could mean either. Doing this to a more popular meth would not be so effective." Acorn reaches up and tugs the blanket back over the taller man. "I'm very, very pretty," he says, "No matter what sleeve I'm wearing."

* * *