Agent York

 [Long silence]

Everything's fucked up. I swear everything went from fairly normal to fubar in the space of less than twenty hours. I've seen single day jobs go to shit slower than this.

[Pause]

I'm playing three role in this and I rarely ever have to even play two. The others sometimes rib me for being too similar on jobs as when I'm at base, but I don't usually care. I'm not like Florida, although granted he's a rather extreme example here. I guess this is different to that though. I'm not being three different people, I'm just taking three different sides to this. [Amused snort] Just realised there's three strengths of lying. Not lying at all to Delta, half lying to Sigma 'cause I really do want to try and help him, I just can't tell him all that I know. And then lying completely to Florida.

He'll find out. Probably already knows. Hopefully, since it's a low paying job, he won't be too mad at me. Hopefully.

[Sound of chair creaking]

Fuck. The whole Ai family... I hope things sort out for them. I don't know how, I don't even know if it would be possible at all, but I hope they find a way to make it work. I know Delta's mad, and I get why he left - sort of - but at the same time, I can't help but keep thinking of the fact that he left six kids over an argument he had with one. Those kids I saw with Sigma in the park... How are they reacting to all this? It can't be good. Sigma's completely broken up about the whole thing and he's the third - fourth? - oldest. 

Sigma...  Fucking hell, it's hard to lie to him like this. It shouldn't be, I've known the guy less than a week! But... God, I just want tell him that Delta's okay. Tell him where he is. It wouldn't help completely, but it might help a bit. He's gonna hate me if he finds out-- when he finds out that I helped Delta hide. But if he didn't... If he forgave me and we carried on... I could love him. Yeah, I could see that. Quite easily, actually.

[Long silence]

[Sigh]

I need to delete this. If someone, namely Florida, found it... Nope, not even gonna think about that.

Signing out. Not that anyone will ever hear this. Does anyone listen to these things? Whatever.

York.

[Journal entry deleted]

OOC INFO
Name: Hayley
Contact: HayleyCreagine
Other characters played here: N/A
Age: Over 18

IC INFO
Name: Agent York "Thief"
Native, OU, or AU: Native
Canon (if applicable): N/A
Character journal used: depthlesslock
Reference (if applicable): http://rvb.wikia.com/wiki/York
Canon point (if applicable): N/A
Personality: For a mercenary, York is surprisingly laid back. He has an easy going attitude and generally gets on with people unless they've done something to piss him off. These people will likely find themselves at the wrong end of his bad habit of holding grudges. His pride makes it hard for him to change his mind once he's decided he doesn't like someone which, given how his attitude on field is pretty much the same as off it, can cause some problems.

While with those he does get on with, he will often indulge in his love of conversation, both meaningful and meaningless, whether it be hanging around the base, at his favorite bar or (to the annoyance of his audience) in the middle of a mission. While he usually knows when to shut up in such situations, he has been known to make a cocky remark at the most inappropriate of times.

That said, there is no denying that York is good at what he does. He's worked hard to get to where he is and he's working hard to stay there. Following the incident which cost him his left eye, his confidence took a massive blow, and he was shaken badly by the consequences. While he tried to cover up just how much it was affecting him, he worked even harder to prove that he wasn't going to let depthless vision stop him. He has mostly succeeded on rebuilding both his skill and his confidence, but it's still a touchy subject.

York enjoys challenges and is never one to back down when presented with one. Whether it's a new puzzle or lock, making a friend, seeing whether or not he can survive on nothing but coffee for a day or adapting to a newly flattened world (though that one wasn't much fun) he'll dive right in with his "bring it on" attitude and won't stop until he's either succeeded or definitely failed. He doesn't like failing, but who does?

Back story: Born and raised in the city of Emerald, York's childhood was nothing particularly spectacular. His family has lived on Adaptive for generations and some of his ancestors helped build the cities. Both his parents worked maintenance on the city's transport network which meant that they were often out as there was always something wrong that needed fixing ASAP. This meant that single child Connor Eastwood was often left in the hands of daycares and after school clubs.

At school, he was the kid that talked back to the teacher when he felt like it, rarely turned his homework in, but was generally liked by his fellow classmates. It quickly became apparent that his love was for puzzles and challenges, and so stemmed his workings with locks. By the time he was in fifth grade, kids were more likely to go to Connor than the school janitor if their locker got stuck or they accidentally left their bag in the classroom and the teacher had left and locked the door. In seventh grade, someone paid him to steal test answers for an upcoming paper and unwittingly set him on the track which was to become his life.

Connor became a locksmith's apprentice at sixteen, but by then, he'd been making money out of stealing for years. He enjoyed the apprenticeship, learning about different security systems and how they worked which he used to further the range of what he could break into. He started charging more for his services, took on the name "Thief" in the criminal world and completed his apprenticeship, making him a qualified locksmith.

When he was twenty one, he made a mistake. After turning down a job for the wrong sort of people, he returned to the lock and security system shop he worked at after a storm to find the air filters broken and his co-workers dead from the clouds inside. He didn't give them time to make him next. Sending a warning to his parents and an anonymous tip-off to the police station, he packed a bag and hopped on a train without looking where it was going. For several months, he traveled around, selling his services to get money for food and transport. In Gulch he was hired by a group for a solo job. Then a second. Then a third. Then a fourth. After the fifth, they asked him to stay and he happily agreed, taking on the name "New York" to seal the deal.

His first kill nearly made him throw up and he'd still rather not.

York lost his left eye when he was twenty five. It was supposed to be a simple, if slightly challenging job, but someone tipped off the organization that he was coming and he walked right into the trap they set for him. He was lucky to walk away with his life. Having suddenly depthless vision was a huge blow to his confidence and took a while to adapt to. It's still a tender subject, but he's doing much better now. And he'll keep improving.

Sample: The holo-lock flashes red and York almost throws the device at the wall. Instead, he leans back in the chair, his fingers clenching until he can feel the bite of his fingernails against his palm. After a moment, he forcibly unclenches one hand and reaches forward to turn off the red light of his failure that's tainting the room.

There's been too much red in his life lately. Red light warning him of the consequences of sticking his fingers into the system. Red filling his vision and blurring out everything else. Red staining the shattered remains of his helmet's visor. Red announcing his failure again to open a practice lock that he's been doing for years.

York is sick of red.

He gets up and crosses the room to his bed, flopping onto it and catching himself just before his face hits the pillow. Slowly, he lowers himself down, trying to gauge when his nose will touch the pillow and flinching when it's sooner than he expected. With a sigh, he flips over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, dotted with little, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars arranged into what York calls the Great Helmet. They're not glowing, it isn't dark enough.

Raising one hand, York traces the invisible line of the constellation with one finger, seeming to touch the stars and yet he knows he can't reach them unless he stands on the bed. Completing the picture, he gets up and does just that, stretching until his fingers brush the ceiling. Again, he traces the constellation, his finger running around the edge of each star before moving onto the next one.

Once he's done, his hand lowers and he hops down from the bed, jarring slightly on impact when the floor is too close. He sits back down at his desk and turns on the holo-projector, pulling up the failed lock and resetting it to try again.

Four red flashes later, the lock clicks green and York smiles so wide, it pulls at the scabs running down his cheek.