[ Mr. Bigshot earns a playful laugh as he takes Chloe's shove, partly because he's having a good time, mostly because it's so divorced from his image of himself. He came from nothing; he's never been anything more than just a guy. Even with his accruing status in Highstorm, culminating in Cyrus' assassination, it's yet to properly sink in. He has more in common with the protesters and partiers around them than he does with, say, Florence, after all.

So it's with good humour and not a care in the world that he stumbles slightly before righting himself, swaying back upright to bump Chloe as the crowd around them feeds off of the increased energy from the stage. ]

I worked as a ship mechanic. Probably lots to figure out back home — [ Highstorm. Highstorm is home — ] but maybe I can jury-rig an amp or something.

[ It's loud. He's got to keep yelling to be heard, but there's endeared joy in his voice. This is the kind of thing he'd have loved as a teenager; was too broken by then to be able to appreciate it. ]

Highstorm could use something like this anyway, couldn't they?

[ Loud, frantic, alive. He enjoys the quiet, but the culture had never quite suited him — and this would be a hell of a thing to bring back with them, to make a note of to include in the new world.

It's good. It's so fucking good. ]