myironeyes | A Crab Dressed like a Dementor, Pack Lunches, and Pie

Entry tags:

A Crab Dressed like a Dementor, Pack Lunches, and Pie

[Private to Ned.]

I need help.

[Spam for Kelsier]

[He gave Kelsier time to hide, because - well, he's not a complete hypocrite. But he's knocking on Kel's door now, and he's just as willing to pick the lock as he was on the other barge.]

[Private to Alpha]

I can't see anything on the communicator screens, so I don't know what your room looks like. But if you have not yet acquired a replacement for your recessed pit, I could make a fabric hammock.

They're...easier to move around than solid furniture, if you change your mind about what you want where.

[Spam for Nathan, backdated to several days after the mirror even but before White Flag - 5th or 6th?]

[He knocks only once. He has cherry-raspberry pie.]

[Open Spam all over the barge, from a few days after the mirror event through White Flag, particularly relevant to Jean, Cassel, Alex, Zane, and Ryan, because you guys now have a pointy extra shadow.]

[Several months of memories of being used as a brutal nightmare of a weapon have made Marsh even more skittish, if possible, than he was when he first board the barge. He skulks and lurks and generally keeps to the corners of the regrettably well-lit corridors. He ducks into empty cabins when people pass in the halls, and he collects food at odd times. It is, however, less absent than his usual hermitage, because he's actively stalking a few people at a distance whenever they emerge from hiding.]

[OOC: feel free to run into him while he's watching out for someone else, or if you want to say your character was chopped to pieces once or a dozen times by mind controlled!Marsh in the mirror event, he might feel obligated to quasi-discretely check on them too. Just let me know!]

[Open Spam, CES]

[It's pitch dark, except for the small area illuminated by the light spilling in through the open door; Marsh doesn't need light. The CES gave him the rebellion's cave systems today, and although there are torches stashed here in there in the tunnels, Marsh doesn't need them. The rock is solid, cool but not cold, and he's tucked just around a bend, holding still. Letting himself be still. He isn't sure himself if it's comforting or just stalling, but at least it is familiar.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The CES usually gives him above-ground settings-- when Riddick peeks in and sees caves, he perks up, and-- a little guilty-- decides to head in without taking Partner in. His dog is 90% of the reason he gets into the CES at all these days, since he's been burying himself in kitchen work and care work.

He strolls in and takes a few turn to leave the light of the door behind him, pulling off his goggles and looking around with interest.

He comes across Marsh by surprise, especially since he'd been assuming whoever in here had a handlight that would tip him off in plenty of time: his IR sensitivity isn't huge, but compared to the cool stone, Marsh is a red glow, brighter where he isn't completely covered in robing.]

Sorry. Didn't think I was gonna trip over anyone. [He waves.]

I don't mind.

[He doesn't unfold from where he's sitting. The spikes in his skull are steel, and he has nineteen other spikes of various metals complicating the heat map, blurred beneath his clothing.]

You don't need light either.

Not the visible kind. Heat's good.

[He doesn't have much metal on him. Eyelets in his boots; a buckle on his pants, a buckles over his chest where he wears a harness-- but the knives in that harness are ceramic.

But then there's the eyes; two have two thin discs of metal under the corneas, an unfamiliar and unusually reflective alloy.]

That what those things do? Let you see? I always... wondered.

[His metalsense is far more delicate than that of the mistborn - he can see trace metals and even, faintly, the metal bound in other substances, Riddick's body outlined faintly against the aluminum silicates of the rock, but the eyes and buckles are dancing points of brightness in a dim blue world. The ceramic knives are slivers of darkness.]

I can see the forms of things, if they contain metal. It is...one of the smaller effects.

[It's not that Marsh means to be evasive. The spikes just do a lot of things, and none of them are particularly pleasant to talk about, given what he's used them for.]

So I see heat and you're a walking metal detector. Interesting. I don't meet a lotta other people who can see in the dark.

...you colorblind too?

[He's gliding over the memories of the ... flood, call it. They had a different relationship on that barge. He's turning his conversational back on the whole thing.]

Yes. I can tell that things...are different colors, if they have a different composition, which is often. But not which ones. It's all shades of blue, for me.

[Marsh finds that perfectly acceptable.]

I have that too. The color spectrum's compressed, colors don't really.. stand out. I can tell them apart if they're different enough.

Pain in the ass, ain't it.

Very.

And I can't see anything at all on the communicator screens.

Harsh. I can see the comm screens at least-- a little distorted but the goggles make things pretty clear, filter out the glare.

Nice caves. Good air flow. Planet you've been on?

[He nods.]

My planet. The rebellion hid down here for...centuries, on and off. It was too much of a warren to ever be worth really clearing out.

I approve. Nicer than the ones under the surface of Crematoria. Water?

[Talking shop is much better than talking... squishy feelings related things.]

A few levels down. It's cleaner than anything on the surface. No ash.

Damn.

[He looks around him with new approval.]

If I didn't have plans after I left the barge I might see if I could move in. It's real nice.

[It makes Marsh smile, very slightly. It was the first place he felt - not safe, precisely. But beyond the Lord Ruler's reach, beyond the brutal poison of the nobility.]

I lived here - albeit sporadically - for a long time. I'd prefer a place with sky, but.

[He's still fond.]

I like rock overhead. There's something reassuring about it.

So.

How you doin'.

...like I had a nightmare.

[A scrap of horror, similar enough to the real horrors of his life, but strange and twisted and fleeting, without the real weight of Ruin, of the endless ash, of burning the world down and breaking Vin under his hands. A nightmare he can wake up from, walk away from, leave behind to dissipate with the morning mists. Marsh is actually okay, and his tone is in keeping with this, dry and mild. He has nightmares every time he tries to sleep; they are small things.]

Yeah. That's been going around. [Riddick lofts a brow at him, tipping his head even though he doesn't need to-- with his goggles off his peripheral vision is clear, he doesn't actually have to adjust his position to see. Still. A speaking gesture, with the formulaic words. Marsh is taking it... well.]

You always kinda wind up in the shit in breaches, don't you?

[He makes a noise, a curt, strangled laugh that turns into something like a snort. Aeris Navem was his first breach. It was commensurately hideous with the rest, parts of him carved out by a gleeful, sneering girl and replaced with machinery that kept him alive with electric shocks and made him a living weapon. He also spent most of it hiding in the actual labyrinth of aeronautic engineering and sewage systems under the city.]

It suits, I suppose.

You have shitty, shitty luck.

Not luck. I volunteered.

[He waves vague at the vicinity of his face, trying to encompass the spikes and everything that goes with them.]

Sort of. The breaches just...follow.

[He's pretty sure that's how it works.]

Ah. Poor life choices. Got it.

I don't see much of you in the cafeteria. Regularly, but not much. [He keeps track on who comes through his shifts. Because you do.]

I'm not overly fond of crowds.

[The feeling is usually mutual, come to that.]

And I'm used to cooking for myself.

Not the biggest fan of crowds myself. At least the kitchen ain't too crowded.

Admiral stocks you up with ingredients?

He does. And I eat a lot of fruit from the dining hall. Odd times, and so on.

[Fruit is the best thing, okay. He finds that some part of him wants to reassure Riddick, one mother hen to another, without admitting straight out that's what either of them are doing. For all that his meal attendance is spare, Marsh doesn't ever go hungry, not anymore. He does his best to eat and replace what he hoards fast enough that it doesn't go bad, and doesn't worry about moderating his habits beyond that.]

Fruit's good. [Extremely good, though Riddick is biased by incarceration rather than rebellion rations.]

You're welcome, of course. But as long as you're eating.

[There's something proprietary about that-- even the strangers, even people he actively dislikes, eat well. This is not a place where people starve or eat processed protein wafers. He makes sure they don't. He is part of the kitchen machine that keeps this not-penal-like.]

(no subject)

myironeyes - 2013-11-20 19:42 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

with_my_teacup - 2013-11-20 19:52 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only