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Private hammer time

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engineer nerds

Karl Heisenberg

Resident Evil
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Dread Wastes
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75+
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MAY 23, Y110
Miranda's glorified prison of a village hadn't really prepared Heisenberg for any semblance of a world beyond. He wasn't oblivious to it, obviously. He'd suffered through Moreau's goddamn movies, and while the plots never did it for him, Heisenberg had been interested in the backdrop of each. He was interested in the sprawling urban landscapes that were shown on screen, and the busy streets, and the crowded sidewalks. He was interested in the giant trucks, and the giant towers. He'd been interested enough to bribe the Duke into smuggling him a few books about that sort of shit, but over the years, Heisenberg's interest had dwindled.

It was hard to be fascinated in a world he really didn't think he'd ever be able to see.

Pandora brought opportunity, but he still hadn't leapt at the opportunity. He'd gotten as far as snooping around Ark City, but that was just...

A lot. A lot of people, and sounds, and sights. Heisenberg had decided within hours that he was not ready to jump in with both feet like that. Pandopolis had seemed less... a lot. It was manageable, at least, with some stealthy teleportation to get him past the congested areas. Plus, there was apparently a decent, modern smithy in the area. A guy with an eye for weaponry, who Heisenberg had even heard of out in the Wastes.

He found the place eventually, but not without his fair share of issues. Pandopolis didn't seem like the kind of place that adhered to a map, and Heisenberg had only ever had to navigate his way around his factory, where he'd been milling around for seventy-odd years, or in the village. Maybe he'd occasionally wandered in the forests around the village, but that had hinged on Miranda's awareness, and she always seemed to know when he was thinking about meandering away. Stupid fucking bitch.

It took a few hours of leaping from shadow to shadow, avoiding the worst of the crowds, before he found the right spot, and Heisenberg wasn't subtle about the way he barreled into the door and immediately flipped the fucking lock, regardless of what the jackass who ran the place said. He planted his hammer on the floor (obviously he had taken the hammer. He wasn't exploring a brave new world without it) and breathed in deeply, feeling more frayed than he wanted to admit.

"Is that shit normal?" He thumbed over his shoulder, where the typical Sunday crowd continued to mill past the door. "There's got to be a thousand fucking people out there. God damn." He shook off his... disdain for the crowding, and ventured further in, expression still pinched. "Qrow Branwen, right? If not, I might have to kill you." Heisenberg wasn't sure if he was actually joking.

A murder would probably loosen him up a bit. Christ.

@Qrow Branwen
 
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Typically Qrow took Sundays off, but considering they decided to have the barbeque on a Saturday, he just decided to swap the days around. There were a few projects that needed a bit of work; plus some part of him accepted that he was more likely to focus in and get a ton of shit done when he was actually alone in the shop. He appreciated Ryuji's help, but people naturally worked slower when talking. Qrow didn't mind, and it hadn't really been an actual issue. The kid only worked at his place part-time anyway, so it mattered even less.

Plus, honestly, sometimes he just liked being fucking alone. Isolation wasn't really a part of his life he ever enjoyed. It was a side-effect to that damn Semblance of his. But even then, he was so used to it...fuck if he didn't need a few hours to himself every once in awhile. Part of him tempted to even lock the front door of the shop, but...eh. He doubted anyone would come in anyway. The Qrow-Bar's typical hours were listed on the door, and that very much didn't include today. But he wasn't gonna turn away business, just because yesterday had been an onslaught of social, and he just wanted silence. Music didn't even play in the shop. It was just him and his tools.

A bearded fella came in quickly, almost jump-scaring Qrow more than he would have liked. Hand naturally shifting to holding the screwdriver more like a weapon, instead of a tool. Asshole was even bold enough to lock the door. He had no fucking clue who this guy was, but apparently he thought he was enough that he had to block off an exit point for Qrow. His gaze narrowed, as he put his hand on Umbra.

Hammer only added to the story.

Funny thing was, Qrow wasn't even sure who wanted him dead. Missions for Oz were pretty much always keeping out of sight, and just intel gathering lately. Teaching at Phraos was pretty cut-and-dry. Hadn't really pissed anyone off, or even had that much bad luck screw with the kids. Honestly, it was a new emotion. Instead of ticking through a list of everyone who wanted---

Oh shit, was it James?

Haha, nice.

But then the asshole talked, and Qrow's entire take on what was happening, kinda went up in flames. The guy was pointing at a herd of Sunday walkers, asking if it was normal. Clarified his words by talking about people out there as a whole.

The if not in the following sentence, actually caused a smirk to break across his previously tense features.

"People normally say it the other way," meaning wanted him dead if he was Qrow, "And yeah, that's me. Sundays normally have more foot-traffic than other days, since a lot of people don't work," might as well give this guy a life pro-tip, since he apparently wasn't here to kill Qrow.

Though...he honestly didn't actually believe that yet.

Qrow didn't bother to stand up and greet him - but remained sitting behind his work-table, with one foot propped up on it. His posture surprisingly relaxed, considering he was ready to fight for his life a second before.

"Cool hammer."
 
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Karl Heisenberg

Resident Evil
Posts
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Dread Wastes
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75+
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Male
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Guy was a bit fucking flighty, wasn't he? Locked one door and suddenly the beanpole looked like he was ready to go toe-to-toe. Heisenberg quirked a brow and wondered if it'd be a bad idea to light a cigar. He figured it was either fine or it'd set this bastard off and he'd be in for a fight.

Not that it mattered. This shop looked like a veritable playground for a man like Heisenberg.

He didn't realize how tense he'd become until the piece of shit in front of him relaxed and Heisenberg followed suit. He glanced over his shoulder out the door and wrinkled his nose in displeasure, then turned to face Qrow again with a scoff. "Anyway, I don't care about what other people say. From what I've heard, you make some creative weaponry. I figured I'd drop by." Heisenberg absently swung his hammer onto his shoulder, then shot Branwen an alarmed look, eyes wide behind his glasses.

He glanced at the head of the hammer and felt a stab of pride over it, then looked at Branwen again with a bit of suspicion.

Then he realized he was supposed to say something back.

Then he realized he was remembering his manners and wanted to fucking puke.

"Thanks." He muttered in a rush, swinging the hammer off his shoulder again and setting it on the floor with a thump. Just a restless fucking habit he'd picked up over the years. Heisenberg looked behind Branwen, scanning the shop. "No offense, friend, but I'm not seeing much to suggest you're as great as you've been made out to be. Pretty basic set-up, isn't it?" Heisenberg, of course, had been enjoying the perks of his factory for seventy years. He had industrial smelters, fabricators aplenty, machines for milling, drilling, hobbing, honing... He had a few lathes that could rip the skin off a goddamn elephant in about half a second.

So, a little man in a little shop didn't immediately spark any great degree of amazement in Heisenberg.
 
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This guy wasn't exactly the most social tool in the shed, was he? Something about that relaxed Qrow a bit more. Plus, the guy seemed to have an actual interest in the shit he did here. And didn't know how to take a fucking compliment. Part of him wondered if this was how he came off to people, when he spent too long off in the woods with no social contact.

The hammer was big enough that normal human strength was out of the question. Either that, or it was made with hyper-light materials that made it actually lift-able. The guy was about the same height as him, but considerably broader. Could easily be someone who had some sort of power, too.

Hard to tell in Pandora, and felt kind of rude to even take a guess.
Didn't stop him, though.

Qrow glanced around the shop at the sudden critique, "Uh...well, it opens up in the ass of the shop," he hooked a hand over his shoulder, "Got a forge back there, and a literal fuck-ton of parts. Still working on adding more shit," he scratched his neck, "But if you mean the weapons themselves..." he dropped the leg from the table, pulling Umbra from next to him. It was tempting to do it sitting down but...nah.

Qrow pushed himself up, and idly flicked Umbra open into her scythe form, before flicking his wrist the other way - with the release of a button - and shifting her into a long sword. With a slight tilt of his head, he let the blade fall forward and the shotgun became more visible - even if it was fully functional with the blade out. Just a bitch to aim.

In one clean motion, he collapsed it into his back, and put a hand on his hip.

"Shit I make is never one thing."
 
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Karl Heisenberg

Resident Evil
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"You need a few decent fabricators. A forge and a stone-age give-em-hell attitude only goes so far." Heisenberg said, sounding annoyingly pompous even to himself - which was completely un-fucking-acceptable. He huffed, resolving to kick himself in the ass next time he sounded like his overgrown witch of a sister.

It didn't matter much anyway, because Branwen busted out a weapon and Heisenberg's brows shot up into his goddamn hairline, because the thing betrayed the archaic tools he saw littered around. Heisenberg inched forward, brushing off his glasses to get a real good look at the sword, noting immediately that there were familiar whorls along its edge that betrayed hand-crafting.

The shotgun was the curious bit, and Heisenberg put his glasses back on roughly. "Now, how the hell did you carve out the bores?" He squinted, determined that the bores weren't rifled, and felt a little better. If this crazy bastard could bore out a gun barrel with rifling, he'd have to just eat his hat and give him his goddamn factory.

"And you did that by hand? Crazy fucking bastard." Heisenberg gave a brisk laugh and whistled, shaking his head. "What kind of steel did you use?" He could feel the thing responding when he tugged at it with his power, though not enough for Heisenberg to buy that it was all steel. "Polymers in there too, right? Or just austenitic steel? And it's-it's all controlled through one trigger?" He pointed at the handle of the weapon.

Heisenberg whistled again. "You sure you don't have a fabrication plant shoved up your ass?"
 
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Qrow frowned at the mention of fabricators. That was kind of his next big thing for the place. Yeah, he wanted a metal fabricator machine bad, but every time he made progress on that front, something would come up. Sometimes it was an Oz mission, other times it was having to be tied to a chair and change regions. Yanno. The usual bullshit.

But he was right.

"Yeah, yeah - I know," he admitted, "Workin' on it."

The guy's reaction to his weapon felt good. Qrow didn't have much...pride in a lot of who and what he was. But his weapons? He was fucking proud of the shit he crafted. His gaze dropped back down to Umbra in his hands, before he stowed her away on his back. Honestly, the display would have been less impressive were he using Harbinger still. Qrow's thumb sliding over his wedding ring, still pleased he found a way to fix Harbinger in his head.

"Carefully," he admitted, "Sometimes I contract out custom parts when I can't build that shit by hand. But yeah, I need to get my fucking hands on a fabricator to speed this shit up. But that's only for way more complicated shit then my own weapon."

At the question of which types of steel he used, Qrow put a hand on his hip and smirked. Felt kinda nice to be having a conversation with someone who had literally any idea about this stuff.

"I tend to default to tool steel, because of how hard that shit is to break. Some smaller parts may end up being an alloy. Stainless I'll fuck around with on more outer-facing parts, since I like when shit looks good," he flicked Umbra out again, studying the matte black weapon with a glint of pride in his eye, "Polymers I fuck with on more inner shit rather than outwards facing, too. Normally depends on target weights I'm shooting for, and how the balance feels. If I go too hard on the steel, shit tends to get too heavy, even if it'd probably be fine if you hit it with a train. It's all sorta...eyeballed, honestly."

Qrow put Umbra back again, and shrugged with both arms, "Last time I checked, nah," this entire conversation was doing wonders for his ego, "And with the trigger it's," he pulled it out again - walking over to the guy he really needed to ask the name of, "It's all built into the handle, but there's multiple triggers. Basically just the one pressure switch to use force to slide between the scythe and longsword. Separate switch to lower the blade, and a third to actually fire the shotgun," he motioned at each as he explained, "Also got a name?"
 
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Resident Evil
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Heisenberg figured he was spoiled for choice when it came to machining metal. The factory had had every goddamn thing he could possibly want or need for working metal on a small and large scale. He'd had fourteen different drill presses that ranged from hobby shit to industrial monstrosities. He'd had about an even dozen hydraulic presses, including one that could theoretically flatten an elephant. That wasn't counting the lathes, ironworkers, mills...

He missed his factory at times like this.

Heisenberg shook his head, expression somewhere between exasperated and impressed as Branwen confirmed that he did that shit by hand. He shook his head again, harder this time. "Damn, Kid. I can do that shit for you." He didn't know why the fuck he was offering... but Heisenberg figured there was no harm in it. His whole metal army notion was on hold for the foreseeable future, unless Pandora started throwing him corpses that could last longer than a fortnight. Even if it did... what purpose would an army serve now? Miranda wasn't in Pandora.

Heisenberg had what he wanted, even if it felt a bit hollow knowing he hadn't even gotten to fight for it.

He studied the weapon when Branwen whipped it out again, listening to everything that was said and processing it with more ease than he usually would in a conversation with someone he didn't know. It made sense, of course. This was shit that Heisenberg knew. It wasn't like every other conversation he'd had in Pandora so far, which had all been studies in shit Heisenberg had no fucking clue about.

Polymers for weight purposes was logical, but had never factored into Heisenberg's decisions, so he raised his brows nevertheless. He nodded once as he rolled the idea around in his head, and glanced sidelong at his hammer. Fucker weighed in at around two hundred pounds, Maybe more - Heisenberg had never taken the time to stick it on a scale.

He leaned forward, squinting as Branwen broke down the trigger mechanisms. His eyes frequently flicked to the blade itself, noting the way the thickness increased near the handle. Probably kept it balanced during all the goddamn transformations and to ease the way. Kept Branwen from having to swing the damn thing around like an idiot to get enough force behind it to switch forms. "You don't run into warping with the barrels right next to the blade, eh? Figured the force with the heat might be a bitch." Then again, Heisenberg was thinking of his own shit. Branwen probably didn't use the gun with the kind of frequency that would generate that kind of heat. "Stupid question." He admitted.

He glanced at Branwen and smiled sharply. "Karl Heisenberg." He leaned against the handle of his hammer, still eyeing Branwen's weapon thoughtfully. "You send me schematics of what you need fabricated, Kid. I'll do it better than whoever you're using now."
 
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A bit of surprise pulled at Qrow's brow at the guy just kinda...offering to machine the shit he needed. Of course, he needed to compare prices and shit. Maybe this wouldn't actually help him at all, and just end up pissing off some anti-social asshole with a giant hammer.

At the question about the heat - he opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off.

"Eh, not really a stupid question. Just run shit to make heat-displacement a thing. You're right, it's a risk with the blade so close. Just gotta take measures to make sure the barrel doesn't get too hot, and if it does - that the heat is channeled somewhere away from the blade," he shrugged, as if this was a normal thing people dealt with.

On his weapon it was minimal, because the frequency of his use of the shotgun was...small. But other weapons had different scenarios in play. He had to make them adaptive.

Qrow nodded once at the introduction. Heisenberg.

"Really?" genuine surprise in his voice at the casual offer to undercut his current people, "...Do ya mean price wise or quality wise?" he back-tracked slightly - realizing he was taking the phrasing one way, but it could mean the other. Honestly, either was appealing. He didn't mind the people he was using now, but sometimes they fucked up. Something, something, only human, but it was frustrating when he had to miss a fucking deadline because of things that were outside of his control.
 
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So, to summarize, he was right: Branwen wasn't using that shotgun with enough frequency to risk warping the blade. Made sense, but Heisenberg still thought it was a stupid risk for the sake of a weapon the man wasn't going to be able to utilize rapid-fire. Then again, not every world had lycans that demanded rapid-fire response. The weapon had two big-ass blade to one paltry gun. He could take an educated guess about what kind of fighting Branwen preferred.

Heisenberg didn't voice his thoughts, but his expression betrayed most of them anyway as it shifted between mild disgust, to thought, to understanding - still tinged with some disdain. He couldn't say much anyway. His hammer was about as up-close-and-personal as shit got.

But God damn if it didn't get the job done faster than a knife or a gun.

Heisenberg considered the kid's question for a few seconds. Quality wasn't even a question. His power made his work better than a machine's, at this point, especially when he used a machine to augment it. As for pricing, Heisenberg had no real experience with that shit, besides bartering with the Duke, which usually was more of a trading situation than currency passing hands. He figured he could charge out the ass for his work if he felt like it, and the quality would speak for itself, but Heisenberg... didn't have a lot to do in Pandora at this point. He had no army to build, and no Miranda to fixate his hatred on.

He could use work more than he could money. "Both." He said, unaware that he'd let that silence go on far longer than most well-socialized folks would. "I need work more than I need cash, Kid." He voiced his thoughts easily, seeing no point in hiding it. Might as well keep shit level with Branwen from the get-go. "Shit, give me the measurements and I can make you a few fabricating machines. Cut out the middle man, right?" He glanced behind Branwen, noting that real estate was a hot fucking commodity in the shop.

"I might be able to make something a bit smaller than usual for you, unless you want to get rid of some shit."
 
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A lot could be seen from the guy's reaction to Qrow talking about heat-displacement. Probably figured out it was fucking minimal on his weapon, since his shotgun was basically backup. Honestly, the blade falling down and away from the barrel was how he worked around the heat issue...if he really needed it. Guns were fun, but he didn't like leaning on that shit with his weapon. Dust was never his style in the first place, and that was normally the appeal with bullets. Plus bullets required more money, and were finite. And he hated that shit. Just another thing to keep track of.

Fuck that, he just wanted to cut shit up with his blade.

There was...a pretty damn long silence after Qrow asked if he meant money or quality. Made him wonder if he somehow offended the asshole by asking for some clarification. Finally, he got a both.

...Even an offer to make Qrow his own.

"...Fuck," a smile cracked across his face, as he scratched his neck, "Isn't this my lucky day," a joke Heisenberg wouldn't get, "I mean...we can start with just a few orders of shit I need," his eyes narrowed at nothing in particular as he worked through the orders in his head that needed shit, "Then let me take some measurements and I can see if you can shove some fabrication shit in here. I'd like to see your work before I fully commit to much of anything - but hey. I like ya. I'm willin' to give ya a shot," he moved back behind the counter, grabbing the handful of orders, before walking back to Heisenberg, shuffling through them.

"I know written language is a whole...thing here, which is why I just draw shit out. If the numbers don't translate for ya," he motioned at each part, "I can do some research if you point me in the right direction of whatever language and I can figure shit out. Ah...metals are written in English though," he frowned down at the page, before looking up at Heisenberg to see if any of this shit would work.
 
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Heisenberg had noticed that all these 'normal' people were pretty hasty in their day-to-day lives. He'd only just suggested doing machine work for Branwen, and now the kid was off to the races like he thought Heisenberg had a goddamn metalwork machine shoved up his ass for emergencies. "Settle down, Kid. I'm in the Wastes anyway, so anything is going to take some time." Heisenberg waved a hand, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at that I like ya remark.

Wasn't sure he'd ever heard that before.

Fucking weird guy.

He held out a hand. "English works fine." Heisenberg wasn't the world's best reader, but he got by well enough, especially when he had a quiet space to sit and focus. As long as Branwen had decent handwriting, it would be a nonissue. "Write whatever you want, but drawings are easier unless you're damn good at specifying custom shapes." He explained brusquely, swinging the hammer absently back onto his shoulder, hooking the handle against his elbow and letting his arm rest against it as a counterweight.

"Easiest way to do it will probably be to do a rough sketch with any specific angles or other dimensions you need. I can do whatever metals you want, but polymers and non-magnetic shit's gonna cost extra." Heisenberg rattled off matter-of-factly.
 
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Well, it had been roughly ten years since anyone spoke to Qrow like he was an excited kid. Fuck, probably twenty years. Some part of him missed it, the other part was sort of annoyed it was happening at all. Despite the odds, he had survived this long - and felt like he deserved to not get that tone thrown at him - even if it wasn't actually anything offensive. He just used it enough himself at Ryuji, to know it was basically the same shit as a long tired sigh.

"Eh, just plannin' ahead," he shrugged, choosing to brush it off.

Well, at least they spoke the same literal language, so writing wouldn't be an issue. Qrow didn't mind looking up translations to shit, but this just streamlined some things.

"Easy enough," he put a hand on his hip, "That's what I typically do...and how I plan it out honestly. Won't start buildin' until I at least something out," he admitted, scratching his neck, "And yeah, I'm willin' to pay more for weird shit. Makes sense."
 
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Heisenberg wasn't the type to watch his words, or be careful about the feelings of others. He just said whatever the fuck he wanted to say, and damned be the consequences. There was only one bitch in any world that he watched his damn tongue around, and Branwen, thank fuck, wasn't anything like her.

So, it didn't occur to Heisenberg that he might have caused offense by scolding Branwen for being a hasty little shit. He just spoke the truth, and the truth was that Branwen had started gushing about a bunch of shit they were nowhere near needing to worry about.

Heisenberg nodded along, swinging his hammer restlessly up to his shoulder then back to the floor in a steady, rhythmic pattern of soft rushes of air. "Weird isn't the issue. Issue is the type of material." He pointed out, letting go of the hammer's handle and compelling it to continue following the same pattern. Heisenberg splayed his hands in a half-assed tada gesture.

"Typical magnetic metals, I can work a hell of a lot easier than polymers or anything that can't hold a charge." Heisenberg explained, catching the hammer and setting it down on the floor with unnecessary, accidental force.

He cringed as soon as he heard the familiar crack of something breaking under it.

"Oops."
 
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Material made sense. The reason behind it, left his brow shooting up. Why did holding a charge mean shit? Qrow more assumed the cost of getting his hands on the more rare materials in Pandora would be the issue. He was about to explain that he had people for most.

Then the asshole cracked his floor.

Qrow stared down at the damage, sighed, and glanced up at Heisenberg.

"Why does holdin' a charge matter?" he asked, "And...just how heavy is that damn hammer?"
 
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Clearly this idiot hadn't been looking at Heisenberg's party trick. For a split second, he wanted to be pissed off about that, but after a few moments, he shrugged it off and merely learned on the handle of the hammer, looking at Branwen with a crooked smile. "Because magnets, Kid. If it can't be magnetized, it's extra work." He said bluntly, then glanced down at his weapon and raised his brows.

For a second, Heisenberg didn't answer and didn't move. Then, all at once, he pushed himself away from the hammer and waved a hand in a grand show. "You tell me." He mocked. Honestly, he'd never weighed the damn thing, but Heisenberg had tossed around enough cast iron to have a rough idea that it was in the realm of three hundred kilos.

Most of the weight was in the head, of course... meaning there was a slight possibility that Branwen might be able to drag it a foot or two. That was more than enough for Heisenberg. Even the notion of letting this kid touch his hammer was...

Unappealing.
 
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"Right, magnets."

Qrow was gonna go out on a limb, and assume it was some sort of...power, or just how he built machines with magnetized clamps or some shit. So far the guy had done little outside of talk, but maybe he had subtly demonstrated a power, and Qrow just wasn't paying the right sort of attention. He was typically not a person who missed shit - but he was probably a little out of it. Or just not lookin' for the right shit. Either way, he just accepted that magnets were important, and left it at that.

When it came to the weight...that actually played into the whole magnet shit didn't it? Qrow already knew it'd be fucking impossibly heavy, even before the guy put it down and just casually challenged him to pick it up.

Maybe Qrow could fuck with chakra to make himself able to lift whatever the fuck was about to happen, or maybe he could just test it out first.

Either way, he glanced up at the guy with slightly narrowed eyes, before sidling up to it, and wrapping his hands around the handle. He gave it a test wiggle - brows shooting up when he realized just how damn heavy the thing was.

"Magnets make this possible for ya, I'm guessing," he teased - taking a swing in the dark about any sort of power shit going on there. Taking a deep breath, he tried to lift it himself.

And to his credit, it briefly left the ground, before he immediately had to put it back down again. He knew he was a strong as shit person - which was only made heartier by his Aura. But even he had his damn limits.

"Fucking shit," he shook out his hands, after it put itself back down on the ground, "It got any other functionality outside of being a fucking heavy hammer? Or is this just one very solid thing?"
 
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Karl Heisenberg

Resident Evil
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Pandora was a weird place, namely because people were weirdly okay with just about everything. Heisenberg couldn't claim to know a lot about the world he came from, but he knew that abilities like his were a far cry from common, and wouldn't have been taken at face value with little more than a passing remark of "Right, magnets."

He canted his head, expression amused and yet baffled, then watched Branwen poke at the hammer. Again, Heisenberg felt a stab of discomfort about it, but he kept that to himself and merely folded his arms across his chest. He almost replied to Branwen, but cut himself off before he spoke in favor of watching the idiot strain and...

Well God damn, look at that.

Kid was stronger than he seemed.

"First of all," Heisenberg drawled slowly. "No. I don't really use my power on it much." He picked up the hammer easily and flipped it back onto his shoulder, finding the weight comforting. "Maybe now and then to call it closer..." All of his siblings shared a general theme of inhuman strength to the point that Heisenberg occasionally forgot that it wasn't normal.

He held the hammer out towards Branwen. "It all comes apart." Heisenberg explained tersely, pointing at a few of the joints along the head of the hammer, as well as where the head met the handle. He took a step back, glancing around hastily before focusing intensely on the weapon. Immediately, his eyes picked up a glow behind his glasses, and the metal around the shop started to vibrate like angry bees.

The gears that comprised the hammer's head started to move, groaning and screeching as they began to rotate. After a few seconds, they started to spin with a deadly whirr, and electricity started to spark in the air, forming ice-blue arcs that lashed out, connecting to a few pieces of unsecured metal that had started to circle Heisenberg. His arm was practically covered in wild, crackling bursts of electricity. The head of the hammer started to glow with electrical energy.

And then he stopped.

The head of the hammer came to a rest almost as quickly as it had started to churn. The metal cyclone that had been forming, Heisenberg cast back to their original places around the shop... roughly, anyway. They went to the right general areas, at least. That counted for something.

"It's a hammer, and it's also a bomb." Heisenberg crowed excitedly.
 
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Motherfucker was using raw strength to lift that fucking thing? Qrow made a low whistle, as he put a hand on his hip, and continued to study it with renewed interest. He took a step back as Heisenberg held it out - something glowing behind those glasses of his.

There were gears.

An almost childish smirk spread across Qrow's lips, as he watched the thing shift apart. His gaze shifting momentarily away from it, to study the fact that all the fucking...dangerous pointed objects around them, were vibrating. And...moving.

Ah, magnets.
Like Pyrrha.

Qrow clenched his jaw, realizing his bad luck Semblance could really fuck this up for everyone. But having no Aura up meant he could actually get hurt if dumb-luck stabbed him through with one of his own blades. So, he left it up. Somewhere out there, Kakashi was probably proud. And could probably feel his idle stress that came from watching his shop get turned into a metal vortex.

Seemed like there was an electricity portion to it too; shocks of it going down the guy's arm. A natural extension of the magnet-type-power, honestly.

Then it all just kinda stopped. Qrow letting out a deep breath, focusing on the hammer, that was also a bomb.

"Huh. Not many people in Pandora have weapons that are more than one thing," he admitted, with a smirk, "You build it yourself?"
 
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Karl Heisenberg

Resident Evil
Posts
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Location
Dread Wastes
Age
75+
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Male
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He/Him
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Mutated Human
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6'1
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Problematic
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Neutral Evil
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"Yeah, a hell of a long time ago. Before you were an idea." Heisenberg scoffed, looking at his hammer fondly. It was old, and a little ratty at this point. He knew he could make something better with half the effort he'd poured into crafting the hammer... but that was sort of the point. Heisenberg had put so much effort into the goddamn thing when he was still half a kid that every time he'd thought about replacing it, or upgrading to something that would better work with his powers...

Ah, he just couldn't do it.

He set the hammer down again, gentler than before, then regarded Branwen curiously. "I dunno if I'd go that far anyway, Kid. Put enough energy into it and it's a glorified bomb, yeah, but I wouldn't really say it's in the same league as yours." He shrugged casually. "Not that I couldn't make something like yours, but I'm a simple man of simple tastes. Sometimes you just need a good, big hammer."
 
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Age was a damn strange thing in Pandora; something he was pretty used to already thanks to Oz. So...really wouldn't have surprised him if Heisenberg was serious about the hammer being older than Qrow. His gaze taking in all the little details with a bit more curiosity than before.

"Eh, everyone has their style. Plenty of people in my world that prefer more straight-forward shit," he admitted, "Think this style mostly comes from my world needing as many tools as possible in a small space," he patted Umbra affectionately, with a bit of a smirk, "Would you ever want something more complex? Not sayin' replace your hammer. Just a backup something-something."
 

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sorry to the people i'm writing with, kind of all over the place lately. trying to work it out and get back to normal soon hopefully.
So sorry for the recent slowness! I'm gonna post hoard through the weekend and try and catch up in one fell swoop to reset a bit.
// if I disappear, I should be back this Saturday :) //
Zhongli wrote on Howl Jenkins Pendragon's profile.
hOW REMARKABLE THAT I MAY FIND AN EXCEPTIONAL WARLOCK SUCH AS YOURSELF ON THIS EXTRAORDINARILY CONVENIENT PLATFORM AS WELL.
SonicSora wrote on insomniacowl's profile.
watch yourself, little man, i'll get your clown shoes

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