[ anyone who ends up checking out their motive at the same time as rhys has the great (dis)pleasure of seeing rhys react to his motive. in his glass case is a briefcase and on that briefcase is a small note that just reads:

You want my name? My name's Ten Million Dollars for all you should care. You're a Vault Key to me, 'kay? That's it.

and rhys just lets out a short little pained noise before pinching the bridge of his nose. he'll pick up the case, glass, briefcase, and all and try and abscond without anyone noticing him. which is probably kind of dumb looking considering how big the briefcase is. ]

God, I was such a douchebag.

[ and then he has to deal with the vulnerable player thing which is super offensive and about a private conversation and he's not going to put up with this? he's just not. so, after a quick look around in dry storage, one can spot rhys with like a billion rolls of toilet paper in his arms as he walks around the ship. what's he doing?

TPing the place.

if you pass him as he throws toilet paper to and fro, you might hear him bitching to himself. ]

Poor usage of toiletries? I'll show you poor usage alright, you god damn Maliwan knock off artificial lack of intelligence bitch. I've met vending machines smarter than you.

[ seriously though, don't mind him as he COVERS EVERYTHING IN TOILET PAPER. ]

[ today there's an odd sight on one of the treadmills -- or not so odd if you're a frequent morning gym user. it's rhys, running laps and looking like he's two seconds away from dying. jack's kind of made it a point to make rhys work out with him every day which is... not something rhys enjoys doing but he's not stupid enough to argue it. he doesn't enjoy it though and doesn't really know how to get himself out of this situation so he shows up every day anyway. still, he doesn't really have the constitution for this sort of rigorous activity and at one point this fine morning while rhys is running on the treadmill, he just sort of... stops...

and then faints.

it's a kind of sad sight as he hits his head on the treadmill controls before slowly rolling off the thing in his unconscious state. anyone want to be a pal and help this poor cyborg loser up? he won't vomit on you, probably. ]

[ want to do something other than this? hit me up at claptrap! or just whip up something and we'll do it.

the rest of the week rhys can be found arguing with robots and/or alice, eating ice cream alone in the parlor, viewport, or gardens, or "stalking" jack and/or fiona. the possibilities are endless! ]