The thing Rutile loved about being powered up is he just felt... better. He felt stronger. Like he could actually protect someone. A few someone's actually. He had Azurite to think about right now, along with Buddingtonite. (Though Rutile knew Buddy really didn't need protection, he just felt like he could actually protect him. ...Somehow.) The lieutenant with all the belts was walking around the park tonight instead of just through it. Why around it? Because there were usually too many senshi inside. One one one wasn't so bad, but with him only being a lieutenant and not really knowing how to use his stupid weapon... It's easier to go with his fiance.

That was one thing he didn't like about being a lower Negaverse Agent. Despite knowing how to street fight, senshi got magic and that was annoying. Especially when that magic was something like Words. Oh, he remembered what happened in... the future? The memories? Whatever it was when he fought with some stupid senshi of words. It wasn't any fun at all. He had a sewing needle. While it was very pretty, it was obviously and painfully a close range 'weapon' in the loosest sense of the word. He could p***k someone, maybe stab through a... finger? Fingernail? He was still trying to figure that out, honestly. That was proving more difficult.

A hand came up to rub at his eyes a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to fight off a headache that had been coming on all day. Sometimes he woke up with bad headaches that only seemed to be on the right half of his head, right behind his eye. It bugged him, and he couldn't hide it from Azurite most of the time. It might get a smidge better as he ate and drank, but usually not so much. Maybe a doctor was in order...

Still, he looked to his weapon and squinted at it, sneering a bit before snorting. "A ******** needle. I get this killer outfit, and a ******** needle." So lame. It made him aggravated and the more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him. With a flick of his hand, the weapon was put away in pocket space or some bullshit like that. He didn't know where it came from and disappeared to. Why would he know? He didn't ask and still had no intentions of it. When it came to jobs, Rutile knew the less he knew was often the better. A hand was brought to his hair, tugging the short, black strands and grunted. He had to get used to that. He'd finally unlocked and cut his hair, as well as dyed it so he could stop spending so much on getting it that coppery color.

"Such a boring day," he murmured to himself, looking around. At least Azurite wouldn't have to worry about him coming home with new bruises or cuts. He was avoiding confrontation. "This whole day has been such a waste of my off day."

Maybe he should stick to tattooing. He thought he could come out here and get some sort of revelation or something about life, his life. Instead he just got irritated at his weapon. "Best laid plans." Or something.


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