♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
The steady click of gears trying to move into place fills the quiet air of the workshop, its source resting under the only light in the entire space. A dirty yellow light, almost painfully bright in comparison to the rest of the space, illuminates a figure hunched over his desk. There are different mechanical parts strewn about the area in a chaotically organized fashion, with things tossed into different corners in a storage system only the one who dwelled in the room could decipher. A dull thrum from the light bulbs accompanies the repetitive ticking, serving as a low rhythm to the sounds of the gears, and after a moment the slender being sighs. Dropping his tools, Hex reached up with one clawed paw, talons combing absently through his hair. He'd been working on this speaker-bomb for over half an hour, and while he hadn't struggled with his inventions since he was a teen, this one had him stumped.
There's a chance that the sleep deprivation is setting him back, but even with that possibility in mind, Hex has no intentions of stopping. Most people would be somewhat concerned about handling explosives on less than five hours of sleep - as a matter of fact, the majority of people who handled such items wouldn't dare to mess with them in such a state.
They were boring though, and Hex wasn't boring. This was everyday work for him, and if he could do it in his sleep, he absolutely would - especially with projects like this. While Hex made more than enough gadgets for his own use, this was a commission from one of his regulars, and he'd already gotten paid for the work. The inventor's tail lifts behind him, both ends starting to curl and lash with frustration. Sensitive cybernetic ears don't miss the sounds of footsteps behind him as their owner enters his shop, and Hex turns his head. One vibrant, green eye half-glares over his shoulder even before he finds the body across from him, irritation clear in his body language. Hex doesn't like visitors - even if they had been previously invited to his safe place.
Standing in the entrance of his workshop is a long haired Kalon with two different length horns and a set of mismatched eyes far in contrast to his own. The figure was comfortable, familiar with the space - one of his regular customers, though not the one that had ordered the item currently challenging him. Kahliya - infamous in the world of the underground for both his fights against law enforcers, and as a weapons trafficker. He was a good connection for the inventor to have whenever he needed money and didn't care about what happened to his inventions. "Having trouble?" The guests's words were low, but seemed booming in the quiet of the area.
Hex could feel his jaw clenching, grit teeth visible in the window of his cheek. From where he's standing Kahliya could've sworn he could see that cybernetic heart shudder behind the purple-tinted glass. "Of course not," the lie came out smoothly, but red and yellow eyes could see the shudder in Hex's shoulders. Failure was not an option for the inventor, he'd learned. The mere perceived suggestion of it had a tendency to rile the insomniac in ways that Kahliya had once found amusing when they'd first started doing business. Now he knew to be careful of what buttons he pushed.
There were a lot of explosives in Hex's workshop, after all. Some of his bombs were even programmed to "bite" onto targets and not let go while they fled. He would never understand how someone could be so calm surrounded by so much destructive power but lose it when their credentials are questioned. The taller of the two sidled up to Hex's work table, studying the mess of tools and components scattered on the surface. "Easy. You're just tired. You'll get it," Kahliya offered, trying to be reassuring. It was a bit uncomfortable, as consoling people was not his strong suit. Looking down to Hex's chest, he watched the way the smaller Kalon's heart was pounding, and his ears flicked back.
His words didn't seem to have the effect he'd been hoping for. Instead, Hex shoved against his work table, his own double-set of ears pinning backwards. His heart is steadily beating faster, sending blood through the tubing visible to the rest of the world. If not for cybernetics being so common in this day and age, the visual would have been greatly disturbing. "I don't need you to coddle me, I'm not some weakling," he hisses, claws clicking against the floor as he moves towards one of the many boxes in the room. "And I'm not tired. Your stuff is over here, you can get it and go."
Kahliya's eyes rolled back in his head briefly, annoyance rippling through his body language, but he decides not to argue. Instead, he follows Hex, eyeing the container thoughtfully. A hoard of smoke bombs is hidden within, protected only by Hex's design and a layer of wood. Looking between it and the inventor, he lingers for only a moment, easily able to tell when his presence is and isn't appreciated. "Fine. Try not to blow the place up," he huffs, collecting the container and standing up straight. Heading for the door, he comes to a stop with one foot out the door, watching Hex as he climbs back onto his work stool. "I was only trying to be nice, y'know."
Hex's face feels hot, his tails curling around him carefully, and he doesn't look back. "I don't need you to be nice. I need to work and you're too loud," he counters, not seeing the way he once more makes Kahliya's eyes roll. Only once the door has been closed again does he properly look at the pile of gears, wires, and other components on his table. With a scowl, lips curling to flash teeth, the sleep-deprived Kalon slaps the device away.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Hex was the youngest in a poor, pieced together family that dwelled in the lower levels of society. With the scraps of the upper class to survive off of, he was deemed useless to the group due to a lack of experience and deft skill when it came to the little things that allowed them to live - such as pick pocketing and theft. In his free time, he was always tinkering with different scraps and mechanical pieces, trying to put together something that would help improve their quality of life. While he was promising, he was never truly able to put the finishing touches on his projects that would really set them off as what he needed. He specialized in trying to make explosives ranging from smoke bombs to sky-scraper destroying bombs. The eldest of the group and his biological sister was always incredibly supportive of him and his creativity, even though he didn't have anything super impressive to show for his efforts.
Unfortunately, part of the underground life is such a thing as territory wars, struggles for power, and people getting hurt - innocent or not.
The first time one of Hex's inventions worked as it was intended, it did so too well. One of his bombs caused catastrophic damage that cost two of his family members their lives, and later on a third from the severity of his injuries. It was a success with short lived excitement that turned into horror and guilt as Hex was forced to see what he'd done, and it was the straw that broke his sister's back - thankfully metaphorically speaking. The two separated, with Hex being brought under the wing of an up and coming crime boss. There, his skills and creative mind were nurtured with careful apprenticeships, and he was given access to equipment and materials he'd never had before. He was put on a pedestal by his new mentor and father-figure, allowed to work under him and make weapons for him. He got better with wiring and weapons design, even branching out from explosives to other weapons such as rocket launchers, pistols, and even a few mini-guns. His weapons are mostly kept in his home and workshop, however, his adoptive-father has taken a few weapons Hex made for him throughout the years. Hex's designs are also spread through his father figure's organization, with an emphasis on his basic grenades. It's an excellent confidence booster, especially when his weapons are put against those of the law enforcers and win.
As such, Hex has developed a serious fear of failure or backhanded success. He's been raised to believe that he is capable of anything he puts his mind to, and any indication otherwise causes sheer panic. Even when his inventions work but do not work as intended, it brings on an awful wave of nausea and dizziness. His heart starts to pound, his hands start to shake and it becomes hard for him to breathe, and he suffers from guilt-induced hallucinations of the people that he lost in the traumatic incident of his childhood. While he does have visions of his deceased family, they are more manageable when things are going smoothly for him, but are brought on by stress, and push him further into a state of panic.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Since Hex's issues have been included, the best way to bring him down from this state of stress and anxiety is through physical touch. While that seems easy, it's not quite so simple. Hex has an aversion to being touched when he isn't the one initiating the contact, and in his heightened state of panic, catching him for the cuddles he requires isn't so simple. If someone manages to catch him by surprise, using their body weight across his lap or even holding him close has a high chance of calming him down.
If someone can't catch him, another two good ways to take his mind off of things is to get his attention on something shiny - fireworks happen to be one of his favorites - or get him drawing. He often doodled as a child and sketches his inventions before he puts them together, and as such he's quite the talented artist. Getting him to make something simple and stress free has a tendency to get him to relax.
