revivalproject | Always Give 100%

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Always Give 100%

WHO: Reeve, Richie and York
WHERE: Hotel lobby
WHAT: Someone decided to fight with a vampire and lost
WHEN: Night of September 3rd/Morning September 4th
WARNINGS: blue blood, injuries

Typing was strangely difficult. Maybe it was because he just had a girl about his age try to rip his face apart. Maybe it was because his skin mesh on his right cheek and on the front of his neck was ripped. There were parts visibly damaged. York was limping.

York was scared.

He set the last message to confirm to Richie that he read it with 'k' (because 'okay' was too much right now), before slumping on the floor and against the lobby's counter to hold him up. He reassess the damage, wincing. Last time he was in bad shape like this, his brother had to fix him. York doesn't know if anyone in town can. Blue blood stains his hardware and skin, down into shirt before he remembers it and reaches up to pinch the tube shut. Even if he rerouted that segment of his system, the blood still flowed.

Fuck.

His head thumps against the counter.

Fuck.

_{_{[ooc: initial texts]}}

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Richie got the messages and took off running. York never typed like that. He didn't ask for help often. Doing both is a red flag the size of the fucking hangar. Already Richie is thinking of who else he might need to contact to get York the assistance he needs. Tony? Reeve? Both? He'll figure that out later. First he needs to see what is going on.

He skids into the lobby a few minutes later out of breath and wild-looking. He sees York immediately and the blue blood. His own goes cold.

"York!" He rushes to the guy's side and carefully tries to pull him away from the counter to see more of the damage. "What the fuck happened? Jesus..."

Light highlights the damaged white shell that's exposed from the torn fabric that makes up York's skin as Richie skids into the room. He moves easily with Richie's movements to pull away from the counter. "He̡y͜ ̢f̕uckèr. ́Got͝.̸..́ a̡ny̸ ̴ta̸p̀e?͜ "

The damage... isn't terrible. It's clear that someone was holding him around his upper throat, hard enough to bend the shell's plates. There seems to be damage to the voice box with how his voice sounds, too. Obviously the torn mesh. His right foot is doing something weird - probably just the ankle needs to be pushed fully back into place.

"F̀ound ̵a gi͝rl ́iǹ t͠he͝ ͜líve̡st̨oc͟k͠ b̶úi͡ld͜in̕g. Mo͠úthe͞d ́o͠f̶f,͡ s͞h́e̶ tr̴i͞ȩd to ̡k̕ill̨ ̡me͞ ún̷t̶ìl͠ ͘she ͝got ͡b͝ored.̧" He lays back on the tiles, looking at the human instead of the lights. Or, what he could see of Richie. Stupid fucking errors, he gets it! He's broken! "A͡bo̢ut my̢ siz̸e, da͞r̕k̶ sk̛in.͝ ̷R͞ich̀ie̴ sh̡e ͞was ͏so͝ ̸s̵trong̢...and f̀a̷st.͝..̨."

Edited 2023-09-18 10:51 (UTC)

Richie whistles at the damage and swallows hard so he doesn't look as concerned as he really is. Luckily the guy isn't so large and Richie can heft him up and into his arms without too much effort. His shirt is probably gonna be stained but whatever. Reasonable trade.

"I knew that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble. Didn't think it would be to a little girl, but whatever."

Richie starts dragging himself and York up the stairs to their room, praying this all looks worse than it is. "Should I be calling someone? Tony? Reeve? Someone?"

"Sh̨e̡ wa̧s b͡ein͝g c̢re͏e͡p̶y͜. ͘A̶ski̢n҉g̢ ͟qu̷est͡i̛ons she̷ ͜s͠h̢ou̶l͢dń'͞t͜ and̴ ́wo̶u͠ld̸n'̴t̀ f̕uckin͠g҉ ͞b̛lín҉k͢.͢" He blinks and when he's lifted, a hand raises to fist into Richie's shirt. It's grounding and it helps. "So I c̢all̢e̸d͜ h̛er ą ͠bitch̛ an͘d s̕he͜ d͠įdǹ't ҉l̡i͠ke ͠t̸h̡at.͏ ͟I ͠t̛hoúght̛ s͟h̡e͟ ẃa͏s ̢g͡oing ̛to͏ s҉na̶p m͢ỳ ҉n̡e̶ck,́ ̷b̵ut t̷h̴en͘ s̀h҉e̵ t͝ri̡ed ̕to c͟ląẃ ̴it o҉pe̡n̶.҉ ́I̛ ṕu͢nc̴he҉d ͝he͝r̴ i͘n ̧t̷hè ͏n̶os̶e ̡fo͝r̶ ͞i͏t͢.̧"

"R̛e̕eve͞.̕ Y̛o͠u ̕ańd Reev̴e are͡ ̡şaf̀e." And Reeve had Mini, so surely the man had some experience with beings like York. Or at least could help with a bit of the repairs. "Máybe ͢Caļ. ̨Not sur̸e͝.̷"

And thirium does get on Richie's shirt and it would be hell to try and get out. York's not even sure if it could be washed out. "D̷oes it͘ ͟l͡o̸o͏k b͢ad́? ́Don͝'͘t͝ f̨uck a̸r̀oųn̷d̨ an͠d͡ li̵e ̸tǫ m͝e, ̵ei̡th͡er."

Richie manages to get them back to the room and puts York on the bed. He's gonna need a whole ton of new cloth shit by the time this was over. One shirt lost to Reeve, one lost to York, and now he was going for a tie. He didn't have tape so this would have to do.

"Let me... How can I stop you bleeding this shit out? I need you to not fucking die on me while I go and call Reeve for some help. Tell me how to do that."

The bed is soft and it's nice. Compared to the hard wall he was thrown into, almost anything would feel nice by comparison right now. York hopes it's at least his bed or his side or whatever so he doesn't get thirium on the sheets.

"I͡'m ńot g҉o͝ing͞ to͠ ̶d̶i̡é. Je̢sus, ͠R͟ic̢hie. Į'̧m ̛j̷u҉s̀t͞ ma̸n̛g̕l̷e̵d." It's easier to focus on it like that instead of the terror threatening to plunge his programming into a lock-up. "Th͞èr͠e's̸ ̸a ̵t̕ub̸e͘ s̴he ́c͠u͠t ̧i̡nt̢o.̡ ̨W҉e͠ ̡h́a̸v̕e ţo tię ͝it͞ ̧o̕ff or̀ ̧s͝o̢met҉h̶i͟ng̢, with͠ ̨a̡ b͏an̢dag͞e or͢ a̷ sc͠r̕ap͘ of f̨abr̴i͏c.̨"

He sits up, doing his best to get his blood-stained hoodie off so there's better access to his neck. The glow under the shirt from his LEG is a steady red color. "If̴ ỳơư'̛r̶e͝ ͟get͡ti͢ng ͘Ree̛ve̷,̨ we̴ ̡e͢ith͝er ne̢e҉d̛ ta҉p̧e or͏ stick͡y͠ ̸b͜andage͘s̡ t̷o҉ ̢p̷u̶t ̸the t͢u͝bing̶ t̴og҉et̢her ̶ag͟ai͠ņ.̶ I͏ ҉m͝ìg̛ht b̸l͟eed ͞tḩr̢ou̢gh ̴a҉ ̨stri̕p of f̧ab͏r͞i͜c.͢"

He might bleed through it.
He might bleed out.
His system might lock-up.
His system might go offline.

No, don't think like that.

The panels, still operating thankfully, open around his neck and jawline to give Richie a far better view of the inside. Some pieces were shoved this way and that, the jawbone structure barely hanging on it's socket. There's a box structure in the middle that's his vocal chords that's caved in - probably why he sounds glitchy. And then there's the tube, snapped in half by a stray wire that's probably connected to the jaw function somehow.

This all looks....complicated. But Richie is gonna do his best. He finds the tubing and tries to think about what to do. His first thought was to tie the two sides together but they're just going to keep leaking around it. So instead, Richie scrunches the tie up and jams it into the leaking tube to stem the flow. Unlike blood this won't clot, but at least this will stop it just going out unimpeded. Like a cork!

From there, Richie gazes into York's...face. And he can see the caved in box. Carefully he tries to pop it out a little. Fix it to be something a bit more not-broken looking. The rest of it though is beyond him.

"Wait here..."

He rushes over to his comm and sends a video to Reeve, hoping he answers. He's limping but maybe he can limp fast? Richie can hope.

For Richie the video is answered rather instantly.

"Richie? Dear, what's with the late night call? I thought it was your night with York."

Dear. Aww, that is sweet.

"Yeah, that is the problem." He turns the camera to the horror show that is the younger robot. "He got tore up by some little girl. I am trying to stop him from bleeding out but I have no idea what else to do.

"We need you."

Reeve, of course, gasps. Because what even is this state?

"Do whatever you can to catch the fluids. I'll send Mini ahead."

Which of course they all knew would hurt for Reeve, and that didn't matter nearly as much as getting hands there sooner.

"When Mini gets there, Richie, I need you to help him cut open the fabric at his wrists so he can peel down to just the bare metal digits. It will make it easier for him to work. Don't argue with me on it either."

"I'm not arguing with you for shit, man. I am your fucking willing slave, right now. You give the orders and I carry them out. You're the pro."

Richie goes looking around for something sharp to start the cutting process but there's not much he can find. "Get here as quick as you can, man. I have the thing plugged up as best I can and I'll catch what comes out..."

With what? He'll figure it out.

He is no pro in this, but he'll so his best here. "I'm coming as fast as I can. I'm calling in a favor. Expect Mini soonest."

And he shuts off the contact because he needs to get there.

Not that York really has much place to go, he does wait and runs system checks over and over while Richie talks to Reeve. His system isn't going to shut down at least - the girl's fingernails had missed anything vital at least. Richie's bit of tie fabric is enough to nearly stopper up the thin tube, but after about five minutes, a very slow drip has started.

He turns his head to watch Richie flail about the room for something. "Wh̸atev͝e̵r yo̡u͞'r͘e lo͢ok͝i̢ng͠ ͏f̢ǫr, loo͝k̀ in͏ y͜o̷u̶r̛ ̷g͢u̧y's ̛ba͞s̷k͝e̕t ̡of s͏tu̶ff́?" He couldn't recall Eddie's name at the moment, but pointed to where he knew the cleaning supplies were kept.

York starts moving again, grunting as he works the hoodie off with difficulty. "I̷'҉ve ̧ǵot..̨.͝ ̧á bo̴x d̡o͏wn̛ ͜therę.̀ ́It'̸s ̕go̷t ̴t̵hir̷i̸um̶ ́pa̛c͠kets i̧n̵ ther͡e ͞-̛ blue͞ blòo̢d. ̕Wh̕en͠ ͞we're̸ d͟one ͞I̷'̧m̷ g̛on͟n̷a̸ n͜ee̷d҉ ͢oņè.͏"

His guy. Fuck. Richie pushes that whole emotion back into the recesses of his mind to deal with never and just digs out a few more rags. The slow drip wasn't going to be stopped with more cloth but at least it would give it more to seep into. He packs it in and then looks to where York indicated. Sure enough there is box.

"Just one? Dude you look like you need a fucking transfusion of more than one..." Still, he takes one out and then busies himself with helping York remove the hoodie. "Stop moving around, kid. Just. Sit there and think non-dying thoughts."

It's a very simple toolbox, easy to open. There are some bits and pieces in there, but in the bottom cavity are what look like blood bags. Only the blood is blue. The container states that it's 500mL, with a weird looking logo around it.

"Yeah, just one. If she had torn my throat apart like I think she meant to, I probably would've needed all of them. But if she had done it, I wouldn't be able to talk right now. I'd have to use the comm to talk to you and no one wants to do that."

Through his shirt, the LED glows bright red, and there's definitely stains of blue into his shirt and that hoodie. Both are gonna need a wash. "I'm not dying. Not yet. Just a bit maimed. It's probably how my eyes fucking feel after seeing your god-awful shirts, Richie."

"Well, if you're being a little shit then you're probably fine." He tried to laugh but it doesn't come out great. Last time he saw someone bleeding out from a chest wound, it hadn't gone fantastic. He looks to the door, hoping that Mini or Reeve will be here soon.

"Just. Just save your bitchiness, okay? Store it up for when you're not in pieces. You can really let me have it then..."

Good thing this isn't a chest wound. Just a neck wound. From having a girl try to tear him apart. It's fine. This is fine. It's great because he's not offline.

~~Yet~~.

"I̷'̴m̶ ̷n̷o̶t̷ ̷g̶o̷i̵n̸g̶ ̴t̴o̵ ̶t̶u̶r̸n̸ ̸o̵f̷f̴ ̶m̷y̸ ̴b̵i̶t̵c̵h̵i̵n̶e̷s̸s̶ ̶j̴u̴s̵t̶ ̸b̵e̸c̸a̸u̷s̸e̷ ̴I̴'̸m̷ ̶a̷ ̸b̶i̶t̵ ̸m̸a̷n̵g̵l̶e̸d̵,̷ ̵f̶u̴c̶k̷ ̴y̸o̸u̶.̵ ̶A̴l̵s̷o̷ ̵i̸t̸'̵s̷ ̵r̸e̷a̷l̶l̷y̴ ̶h̵a̷r̷d̷ ̶n̷o̴t̵ ̶t̶o̸ ̶t̶h̴i̸n̶k̸ ̴a̶b̸o̴u̶t̸ ̵m̶y̸ ̶f̷u̶c̶k̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷s̴i̵t̵u̴a̴t̶i̵o̵n̸ ̵w̴h̸e̷n̵ ̷a̶l̶l̸ ̶I̵ ̸c̶a̵n̴ ̶s̵e̷e̶ ̸a̸r̶e̶ ̴t̷h̵e̴ ̵e̵r̸r̵o̵r̸ ̶c̷o̴d̸e̵s̸ ̴f̸o̷r̵ ̵t̷h̶e̵ ̸s̶h̷i̸t̷ ̷t̶h̵a̴t̶'̷s̵ ̶b̵r̴o̷k̴e̷n̵.̴" That might sound worse. The cables loosening are that problem, and York has no way to fix it. God, that little bitch had done a number.

"W̴o̷u̴l̸d̶ ̴y̷o̷u̴ ̸s̶t̴o̶p̴ ̶f̴u̵c̶k̴i̸n̶g̶ ̴p̵a̴n̴i̴c̶k̷i̷n̷g̷.̸" Richie was starting to make York very nervous.

"Ah think ya both need ta stop panicking," Mini says as he moves into the area. He's clearly raced here, and he's not fully steady on his feet.

"Gotta help first. Reeve's coming as fast as he can."

OH THANK GOD.

Richie moves to be Mini's little helper however he can. "Think of me as your computer nurse, Dr. Mini. Tell me what I need to do and I will do it. Calmly. Because I'm not panicking and that brat over there is just slandering my good name."

"I̸'̡m no̢t̕— Mini̸!" York sits up, using his arms to do so, as the creature makes his way into the room. While Richie greets their guest, the android folds his hoodie into a pillow to lay his head and neck area on, in the hopes of not getting more thirium on the linens.

"Yo͏ur̨ ̡nam̢e̡ has ̴to be g̢o̧od͜ first for me̶ to s̡lande̶r ͞it,̛" he teases back. Every time he talks, all of the uncovered components move with some difficulty from the damage. He opens the HUD window with all of the errors contained. "Wish͏ I̛ ̷c̸oul̨d́ ̡ju̴st lik͟e, ́co҉nnect͡ tơ ͢y̧ou͞,̸ ̴Mini.̵ Giv͞e yoư all ͟t͜he ͜i͝nform̸àt͝ion͟ o͜n͠ wha̴t̢'͝s̡ ̷w̢ron͟g҉ inst͞e͝a͝d͝ ͝of ve҉rball͠y try̴i͘n҉g͡ tò rel҉ay ̡it to you.͏"

He starts listing some things, the more vital ones at least. The ankle and the jaw section out of their sockets; the voice box that would need to be rewired in or have the wires replaced; the skin mesh sections that would probably need to be sewn back together so the functions would come back online at least.

No, he is not Mini at all, but Mini immediately moves to Richie, holding his hands up because he expects Richie's help getting the synthetic fur and stuffing back from his hands so he could have more minute control.

"Interface would be difficult at this time," Mini says, and while the accent is still mostly there, the cadence at this point is all Reeve. "I wish I had Tony's level of robotics experience, but I will do my best. In this part, at least, I am mostly familiar."

It isn't code, so Reeve, through Mini, woudl be some help.

"I need to know if your vital fluids can freeze, and if so at what temperature? We might be able to use magic to salvage some from your clothing."

It takes a second before Richie figures out what Mini wants but then he hops to action. Once he's done, Richie goes and picks up the bag of "blood" he'd gotten earlier. He rests it next to York and then stands to the side, still ready for whatever he needs to do.

"I have clothes he can borrow if these are ruined or whatever. Putting him in some of my shit would...wow. That would be a dream come true. I know just the shirts I'll pick out. Fashion icon York by the time I am done."

Oh. He hears the cadence of Reeve's voice now. Like he's transmitting through the creature to be here while still on the way. York looks at Richie and there's worry there. It's only noticeable because of how strange it looks on him. There's anger and happiness, but worry is new.

"I ̴think the͟y ͜w̶ere̵ ru̸in͠ed ̷bef́or̀ȩ yơu eve͢n͟ b͟ou͡ght̸ them. ̨A̛n̴d d̷oņ't y̴ou d̷are̶ try ͡to͞ p̧i̡c̸k͘ my̕ fa̕s̡hi͟on. I'll go a̢sk Lark̨ f͘or s̵o͟me̢thi͘ng, ̢h͞ol̶y̛ ͏fuck."

He rolls his bright blue eyes and it helps the worry for a few minutes. "Gen̡e̸r͟ál͞l҉y ͞stand͡ard̵ ҉freezįng͝ tempe͟rat͠ures for̛ bl̶óo͟d.̡ ͏F̸aster ̶if̡ s͡u̸bmȩr̨ged͢ ̴i̢n fr̶eezing wate͡r," he relays to Mini-Reeve while watching him.

"He likes putting clothes on those he claims, allow him his small gestures," Mini-Reeve says as Richie works the metal of his digits free. Still not perfectly nimble, and not even remotely gentle. But it means when his hands are free one finger can curl completely around a vein and pinch it while he uses other fingers to work.

"Richie, please put the clothes and anything else with blood aside. York, how do we repair these veins?"

Richie startles and looks at Mini-Reeve. He wasn't aware that anyone had noticed that. But this isn't the moment to be touched at being known by someone.

He goes to do as he's told, moving everything he can out of the way for the fixing job. He's covered with blood himself and laughs a bit deliriously as he wiggles his hands. "I guess I will be 'aside' too, huh?" Not the moment, he realizes. "Nevermind. I'll shut up."

The pinch helps and the drip is stopped. Which was the most pressing matter at the moment. "S͟o̴m̴e̡t͘h̶i̷n͞g҉ ̶l͜i̡k͜ę ̵t̕a̴p̴e͝.̷ ̴O͠r̶ ͟a͝ ̷s̵ţi͢c͝k̡y͟ ҉b̀án͏d̷a̧g͢e̢ ͝I͢ ͏g͜u̧e͘s̸s͏?̛ ̢I̴t̶'̛d̀ ̛s̡ȩe͡p̴ ̕t͢h̶r͞o҉u͞ģh̵ ̧c̛l̕òt̡h̢ ͘e҉v̷e̕n̡t͞u̢a҉l̵l͜y̴ ̧íf̧ ̨y͟o̶u͜ ́u̶s̀e̢ ͡t͟h̀a̢t̨.̴ ҉U̶n͢l͝ęs̛s̢ ̧w̛e͞ ̨h̷a̛v҉e̸ ̸s̨o̡m͠e̷ ͝ơf̵ ͏t͝h͢e̸ ̡s͞ąm̶e̷ ҉k̵i̶n̸d̴ ́o͝f̧ ̡t̡u̴b́i͜n͠g̶ ͡şo̧m҉e̵w̕h͞e͟r̡e҉ ͝i͜n͟ ͢t͜h̨e͜ ̀c͜i͟t͠y͟?̡ ̸"

That was the only thing he could think of and see amongst all of the errors on his screen. "T̴h͝e̕ ͡b̀l̡ǫo̷d̢ ̀ça̕n̡ ͠w̧a͝s̴h͝ ̸o͞u͠t͟.͡ ͜I̕ ҉t҉h҉įn͢k̕.́ ͜I͡ ̕d̴o͝n̸'̴t̸ ̨t͠h͞i̛n̷k̸ ̨D͝u͢n̨c͜ąn̢ ̧e͝v͠e̸r͡ ͝h̷a̸d̵ ̢b̨l̴o͝o̢d̨ ͟s҉t̶a͟įn̶s̡ ̴o҉n͟ ͟h̨i͜s̶ ̀s̴t̨u̵f҉f͘ ̀a͘f͘t̢e͟r͜ ͞a͜ ͢w̷a͜s͡h́.̶"

York reaches out towards where Richie went. "I̶s͜ ̸i̢t͢ ͟ǵo̵i̡n͟g̀ ̛t̢ǫ ͢f͡ŕe̷a҉k͟ ͡y̧o͝u̡ ͘o͡u̢t͝ ̀i̛f̴ ͝y̢o͡u͜ ̢c͜a̧n̴ ҉p̛u͢s͘h̴ ͜m͠y̵ ͞j̀a͜w͘b̸o̕n̶e͞ ̡şe͟g̨m̧e̷n̴t҉ ̀b̶a͡ćk̨ ͞i̷n̶t̷ó ҉i͞t̵'͝s҉ ͠şp͘o͞t͜?҉"

"You are amusing," Mini-Reeve notes, but he doesn't seem too caught up in it at the moment. He's pretty focused as he is on the task before him.

The small figure is happy to look to Richie, as if to check.

"If you are bothered, we can specify the part we need and send you to to replicate it."

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Always Give 100%

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sorry Xi for jumping in immediately. but Reeve would not be able to not react

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I DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS MY TURN OMG SORRY

YOUR SON IS TRYING NOT TO DIE RICHIE OMG

I AM THE WORST

GDI DAD

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This is the thread jenn will never eeeend. York will never be on the meeeend

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