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text | un: rico.dredd

I've got some big news, everyone. Could be the start of things happening directly to us instead of around us, so there's one point for experiment. Or drokking entertainment. I woke up handcuffed. Standard issue, nothing special. On all levels they shouldn't be, but I've tried everything. And they are not. coming. off. I know nobody came in while I was sleeping. And unlocking them isn't about skill, don't waste your time implying that it is. I’d like to know if somebody could find it in their gorgeous generous neighborly heart to bring a hacksaw. I’ll even take a sledgehammer and a spike if you have a VERY delicate touch and someone to vouch you’re not a serial killer Your good-looking neighbor in need, Rico Dredd

[ooc: Surprise, surprise - Rico's landed himself some mild city-provided timeout time. He is kind of starting to lose his shit. Plenty of characters are welcome to try breaking them, it’s going to be a very long 24 hours for him. Bring on your brain, magic powers, bullshit, smart comments, etc.

Rico's permissions/warnings are here. cw: hand injuries are involved bc he is insane. Also, I would greatly encourage threadhopping in this network post!]

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Looks like you might need a refresher on sarcasm yourself. Yes, there's a keyhole. Standard double lock, purely mechanical, no electronic components. Yes, I've tried picking it. No, it's not working. No, I'm not doing it wrong.

[He's getting annoyed typing on this crap keyboard on top of his current issues. You get the copy and paste treatment.]

we can keep this up forever at this rate.

（ sarcasm begets sarcasm begets... ）

sucks to be you then huh.

i can try throwing granola at it.

（ if he could summon his sword it'd be short work. but without it... maybe he could break just normal chain, but does he really want to give that game away? he still can't say for sure he can trust this guy. ）

[Rico is about seventeen (17) smart comments away from having a nuclear meltdown. Do not be lucky number seventeen.]

Think you can be a peach and do a little shopping for me instead? I'm a little tied up at the moment.

（ does he look like he's a lucky guy? ）

sure.

they got you cuffed to a radiator somewhere man? thought they only did that in movies.

[Kurosaki must not lead a very adventurous life if he thinks that only happened in movies.]

A radiator would be easier. Let me write you up a list. I've got some more ideas.

- bolt cutter - blowtorch - fire resistant gloves - silicone based lube - bucket - bag of ice - bottle of lemonade. Fruit punch flavored, otherwise strawberry.

oh yeah, I forgot something. - as many painkillers as you can carry

（ he's already up and moving — he's already got a few stores in mind to check, but given how weirdly restricted they are on anything that could be used as a weapon, blowtorch might be a hard sell.

ultimately, regardless of trust, he's not going to be that guy that leaves someone in a bind if he can help it. the painkillers request is worrying in and of itself. dredd doesn't seem like the sort of guy who'd ask superfluously.

it's not the first time he's been keenly aware of inoue's absence, but it's definitely a satellite thought in orbit at the back of his mind. ）

i'll see what i can do. my dad's a doctor, i help him run his clinic. so if you need stitches or whatever, tell me now so i can get the supplies for that too.

what's your location?

[Go loot a restaurant or home improvement store for their propane tanks like a normal person, Jugo. Figure it out.]

No stitches necessary. Glad you’re not squeamish because you’re about to be a lot more helpful than I thought, doc. Bring a hammer.

[The address Rico texts him is slightly different than the other ones he’s spread out today. Namely, it’s where he actually lives. For a number of reasons. But he’s got a pretty good handle on Kurosaki, Rico thinks. Read him like an open book, and his gut says it won’t cost him in the future. And he always trusts his instincts.]

And mind your step.

[His apartment is deliberately a distance removed from where others have set up camp. Isolated? Maybe, but he’d prefer to call it secure. If he wants to socialize with the masses, he’ll go out and do it on his own terms. And for the moment, he’s the princeling of his own little top-floor penthouse fiefdom. A nice view of the fishbowl they’re trapped in, a defensible location, plenty of nooks and crannies on the way up for “surprises” - what’s not to love?

The elevator opens up to a corridor. Plush carpets and a door some distance around the corner. But seriously. Watch out for those tripwires. He wasn’t kidding. ]

（ ominous... ）

got it. give me an hr.

（ gathering the supplies is an efficient affair. he's not so far removed from the days where he was the one going to markets and malls with his baby sisters in tow while their dad tended the clinic — it's an old, easy routine to fall into.

(but it does stir up a pang of nostalgia like a dust storm. he misses the days, sometimes, when they were six years old and life was simpler. the worst thing he had to worry about getting in fights under bridges and making sure someone was around to dry yuzu's tears or fetch karin's ball off a roof or out of a tree. maybe that's what drives him, almost by rote memory, to some sort of boutique grocery store to grab a handful of items. mostly stuff you can eat with one hand if needed.

dredd didn't ask. it's just one of those things that's in his nature. if he's been cuffed for a while, he probably hasn't had the chance to make himself anything to eat. and if he's taking painkillers, there's precious few that go well on an empty stomach.)

and speaking of — he doesn't bother with the 'first aid' section of a store. instead, he hits a pharmacy. it's a hunt for something a little stronger than tylenol, and unlike all of the books he's come across the labels remain clear to read — enough that even with his layman's english he can figure out what corresponds to what. something that'll keep the mind clear enough and dull the nerves means he ends up with a bottle of nerve blockers and oxycodone hydrochloride.

watch your step, the guy'd said. he's turning that warning (because it absolutely is a warning) over in his mind as he makes his way an hour later to the place he'd indicated. gone are the days he was setting off shitty traps in hueco mundo, and it's rare he needs the same lesson twice. the trip-wires go undisturbed, although every new one he comes across makes his eyebrows rachet up a little closer to his hairline. he probably looks like a lunatic, actually, the way he starts making huge exaggerated steps every time he goes through a doorway or steps around a corner just in case he missed the visual cue of a slight glistening flicker of metal catching the light.

(this guy is really paranoid, huh? if ichigo knew he were going back to his real bolthole, he'd probably be touched)

but for now he's just faintly annoyed by it by the time he gets to the door, arms laden with bags. he kicks the door to simulate a knock, and then — ）

Oy! Open up, it's Kurosaki.

[And there's the help. The sound of the door juddering in its frame a few times catches Rico's attention, and he slides off the marble kitchen countertop he's been perched on. Give it a second, he's undoing the two door chains he's installed. And the deadbolt. When he finally opens the door, all the juve looks is annoyed. Admittedly that is kind of funny, and Rico cracks a smile.

Kurosaki getting all the way to his door in one piece means a few things. He's got a decent eye for details, doesn't mind jumping through a few hoops - or razor-thin hurdles, as it were - has the coordination to do it, and he's smart enough to follow instructions. That all coupled with the fact that he's a little medic-in-training... it might be enough to try out a crazy little idea.]

Well, well, well. If it isn't my young friend Ichigo, [Rico says, sounding particularly pleased. The state of his bloodied wrists and dislocated-then-relocated left thumb at this point doesn't look great, but if there's any discomfort he doesn't show it. His gaze flickers over to check just behind his shoulder as he says it, then invites him inside with a tilt of his head. The sliver of door open shows a glimpse of a luxurious apartment; spacious, bland, and expensively decorated. But there are a few elements that look a little out of place once you venture closer in. Namely, the full bottles of alcohol out on the counter and even more empty ones by the spotless white couch meant to seat ten people. The makeshift workshop on a dining table, next to a spiraling glass staircase.

It's a lot of space for one person. Come on in, "Itchy-go". Don't bother to correct him if he's wrong, he won't remember.]

（ Attempts Were Made. but ichigo — who's called one of his best friends chad for years even though his name is sado — is not one to talk. turnabout is fair play. one shoulder levers up in a dismissive shrug, equally as much intended to deflect comments about friendship as the mispronunciation.

rico's hand looks shitty, and his eyes track over the damage with a sort of tired assessment. he's no orihime — all the shit he knows is rooted in real world medicine, not temporal rejection. but plainly — it's a mess, and the swelling and discolouration around that dislocation don't exactly fill him with confidence. shit, is the cuff going to cut off circulation? they might have less time than he'd thought.

ichigo kicks his shoes off at the door (rude punk he may be, but far be it from him not to observe proper etiquette) and steps inside. the bags get carted over to the countertop, and he finds some small oasis of space to drop them down on that's free and clear of liquor bottles.

(either this guy is about three weeks away from dying of liver failure, or he's making molotovs. that's an american pasttime, right?) ）

Found most of the shit you asked for. （ he says, as he starts taking items out of the bags. first is the asked-for drink, and a carton of grocery store onigiri, both of which he slides across the counter. tuna. harmless. ）

Eat one of these. Then this.

（ the little bottle of painkillers goes beside it. ）

Then we'll talk about the rest.

[Important things first. The first thing Rico does is pick up the lemonade, gives it a casual, one-handed whack against the counter and the bottlecap pops right off with a plick and clatters to a stop on the floor. Try not to step on it later. Then he hastily shakes out two pills from the bottle of painkillers and washes it down with fruit punch while Ichigo’s unloading other items from the bags. Against medical advice, sure, but it sounded more like a suggestion anyway.

Ichigo’s estimation of time until liver failure is probably more correct than wrong.]

No reason it can’t be a working lunch. I’ll fill you in.

[He’s a busy bee. He picks up the onigiri wrapped and sealed in crinkly plastic. Again, thoughtful and distinctly tamper proof. Rico probably comes across to the juve like a loon, doesn’t he? He turns it around in his hand - instructions to open the thing? Really?]

Good job not falling flat on your face, by the way.

（ itachi just gives him a wildly flat look, and then hooks his foot against one of the bar stools and pulls it in closer so he can sit down.

he pulls a mango soda out of the bag and pops the tab on it for himself, too. ）

I've known my fair share of paranoid assholes.

（ one shoulder twitches up in casual shrug. ）

[Rico briefly stops in his slightly bemused inspection of the onigiri, and makes it a point to raise an eyebrow in Ichigo's direction. Thanks for calling him a paranoid asshole, bud.]

You know so many of them that you’ve tip-toed around tripwires? [he asks, offhandedly as he delicately rips off the middle tab all the way around. Pinches one corner and starts shaking it like it owes him money. Trying to wrest it out of its plastic skin is a difficult one-handed exercise in dexterity, but he manages it easily. Handily, you could say. Ha ha.]

You lead an interesting life, Ichigo.

[Despite your wildly uninteresting appearance.]

（ well, he's not about to refute that, and it mostly just gets a snort. ichigo leans on the countertop, his chin in one open palm and his free hand turning one of the liquor bottles nearby to see the label. ）

Just don't pass it around.

（ he's resigned himself to the knowledge he won't be able to keep things secret forever. doesn't mean he's going to just blurt it out directly out of turn, though. ）

So you wanna tell me what you did to wind up handcuffed?

[The one Ichigo’s holding is a margarita mix. Lime-yellow, a woman sunbathing in the tropics printed on the label. Just one brightly-colored bottle amongst what is basically a small horde of alcohol. A couple cases stacked on top of each other, against the wall, by the arm of the couch… looks like he cleared the whole damn shelf out.]

Nothing to deserve it here [he says, like a joke. Which is all it is. But the smile fades pretty quickly.] Seriously. I’m not lying to save face. I didn’t do anything yesterday I hadn’t before.

[Which makes this stupid, and there’s the rub.]

（ ahhhh okay but why is his entire life being scandalized by scantily clad women!!

this is the story of how, upon recognizing the sunbathing figure, he hastily turns the bottle back around while a persistent blush creeps up his neck.

ask him to face off against the highest known power in the universe and he will gladly punch that motherfucker straight in the face. ask him to flirt with a girl? the harder sell. in fact he'd gladly march off to uncertain battle to avoid it, actually. ）

Okay, so maybe it's not a first-time offense. Maybe it's something you did enough to hit their threshold of... strikes, or whatever. （ maybe he's talking a little quicker than normal in a frantic attempt to hide his embarrassment and Move On. yoruichi whomst, tbqh? ）

[Rico notices the flush - what's got him hot and bothered? He gets his answer pretty quickly when Kurosaki turns the label back around, and Rico laughs. Aren't you precious? That's fine, he'll appreciate the view instead.]

Yeah, maybe. [he says, dismissively.] Wouldn't it be nice if it was all written up somewhere? But as always... ignorantia juris non excusat.

[It'd sound a lot more dignified if he didn't take a bite out of his onigiri at the same time.]

（ he squints at the segment that doesn't get auto-filtered into japanese. some romance language, maybe? almost, he asks about it — but after a moment he just tucks the phrase away. there's more pressing shit going on. ）

Even if it was, none of the books are readable anyway.

（ he'd chanced to crack one open, been confronted with gibberish that seemed to shift even between pages. ）

So whether this is the afterlife, or some alien science experiment... maybe the point is just keeping us on our toes.

[~~I forgot how translation mechanics work~~. Also it's Latin, you philistine.]

Can't be the afterlife. [Rico says, with a conviction bordering on certainty. The reason is as simple as this;] I've still got scores to settle.

[A different kind of smile graces them, this time. An edge of viciousness and pride, hard determination. Rico appreciates the break, but he's got things to do and he's not dying until he's done with them. Doesn't matter if it'll take twenty years to get there. If he has to figure out what's behind this mystery of a snowglobe city, why he's in handcuffs or how to get out of them - he'll get there. Suddenly animated by a fresh wave of energy, he says in a voice like he's sharing a secret;]

If all of this is to make a point, I'll just have to make one right back. [He pauses briefly for dramatic effect. Also, because he's starting to feel a little woozy.] With a little bit of your help.

[Rico winks. Be a dear and help him out with the demonstration.]

Pick up the hammer, I'll show you something.

（ latin schmatin, this boy only cares about shakespearean anglais!!

also, the specific drive of certainty behind those words make ichigo go briefly still, his thumb shifting against the lip of his soda. not the afterlife, huh...? it's funny — for all he's readily accepted that there are people coming from different universes, and all that tangle entails... ichigo is on the fence about it. because if it was some normal plane of existence that's adjacent to earth, no one should be able to see him. it's just a fact of reishi and human awareness.

but that certainty doesn't solve anything, or give way to anything but the possibility of despair. instead of voicing it, he just shakes his head.

and picks up that hammer. ）

Okay. （ flatly. ） Now what?

You see this part of my hand right here? If tools don't work, usually a dislocation's good enough to get you out of a pinch. Usually.

[Rico awkwardly maneuvers to rotate his hands inwards in the cuffs, lightly tapping a ugly-looking area of his left hand.]

Look right here, that's important. If you ever find yourself in a fight, it's a good place to grab and pull back in a way nature never intended. Anyway, I'm not a brute-force kind of guy, of course. I know when it's time for a delicate touch. But if you hit it hard enough, you could break it. And if you break it...

[Rico snaps the fingers on his good hand, a click in the air between them. Neat, tidy. Absolutely the way it's going to go, obviously.]

Bingo, bango, bongo - my hand squeezes through. I'm out. Any questions?

（ nani the fuck. ）

（ why does he know so many people like this? no, seriously. why? who the hell did he piss off in the last cycle of samsara who clearly finds it fucking hilarious to keep chucking him at these zaraki-esque lunatics??

(he's one of them. kinda. didn't he tell someone to cut his arm off once to make a fight more fair? yeah, well —)

ichigo looks at the guy. and then at the hammer. and then at the guy. and then he puts the hammer down very, very gingerly (and far enough away that it's not within easy reach.)

deep breath.

possibly, he closes his eyes for a moment. whether it's to steel himself or offer a silent prayer to the souls of his ancestors is anyone's guess. masaki kurosaki, look on your eldest son and give him strength. ）

I think there's a few things we can try between now and breaking your hand. I'm not saying I'm against it, but there's only one doctor in town and if you ask me he seems like a quack, so...

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cw: description of hand injury

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