Like a hole in the head

[myironeyes]

[Private to Riddick]

I want to try something.

[He sounds a bit - strained.]


[Public, video]

[It's never comfortable, being stuck full of spikes. But it is even more uncomfortable to be full of spikes and simultaneous feel full of holes. He plucks one of his own eye spikes out just to ease the discrepancy, his hands clenching around the heavy length of steel.

Marsh can't see anything on the screens, but he turns it to video anyway, dark red blood trickling down his cheek from the dark black hole of his empty socket. Whatever keeps the wounds neat and bloodless in the normal course of events is void with the spike removed. He gestures toward the camera with the sharp tapered end of it. Despite the grotesquerie, his posture isn't threatening - it's a little bit schoolmarm-ish, a fussy librarian with a razor pointer. His jaw is clenched taut.]

Whoever is pulling pins out of their doll. Should stop.

It is disconcerting.

Comments

[with_my_teacup]

I'm listening.

[Riddick is glaring at his own doll, a likeness of Scott McCall.]

I'm not sure I'm going to like what I hear.

[myironeyes]

You have a doll too.

[It doesn't sound like a question, but it is, since he can't see it. Marsh isn't holding the Riddick doll, isn't touching it. He's weak, always, to psychic influcence, and it is so difficult, right now, not to get out his stitching awl.]

[with_my_teacup]

...that's wonderful.

What're they for?

[myironeyes]

That's what I'd like to know.

Do you want to hurt yours?

[It feels - not entirely unlike Ruin's pressure in his mind. Maybe that [art is just him, primed for it.]

[voluntaryapnea]

[That gives him pause. And sort of makes him want to throw up. Don't throw up, he wills himself. And don't pass out. He is not good when it comes to sharp things like needles and pins, even if they're on someone else. Especially if they're used on someone else, actually. He blanches.]

That's one word for it. [Nauseating, horrifying, disgusting, terrible, grotesque? Those all come to mind too.]

[myironeyes]

[He tilts his head, birdlike. Neither the blunt, polished steel end of the remaining spike nor the socket orients in the way of a person looking, although he's generally facing the communicatior. It's an owl-like gesture, contemplating the sound timbre of Stiles' voice.]

It suffices.

[force_captain]

And you don't think what you're doing is disconcerting?

[Because it is, a little. But also a little facinating. How are you doing that? Hmmmm?]

[myironeyes]

Inquisitors were designed to be disconcerting.

[Blatantly avoiding the actual question. Melodramatic demonstration? Him? No, definitely not, that's Kelsier's sort of thing.]

[force_captain]

So you have the market cornered on it then?

[There's a lift in her voice that will let him know she's smiling, amused, even if he can't see her face.]

[myironeyes]

That seems unlikely.

[routemistress]

[Iris appears, too distraught to remember private filters. She's holding her second doll in its little Dementor robe - holding it gently, although she's still too repelled by it to actually hug it.]

Oh bollocks, bugger, shite, Marsh - I 'ad no idea. Should I put it back?

[myironeyes]

Please.

[Dryly, just a little weakly. It's a relief not to have to track the thing down.]

[routemistress]

[It brings tears to her own eyes, and she feels horribly squeamish about putting the pin back in a way she didn't at all over taking it out.]

Shite. Oh Marsh.

[But it has to be done, and she doesn't look away, doesn't allow herself to shudder or hesitate. It's not till after the pin goes back in that her gorge rises; she gives the doll the gentlest squeeze and lays it gingerly on her bedspread.

Then she has to rush off out of comm range for a few moments.]

..be right back.

[myironeyes]

[They hurt going in and they hurt going out; his soul frays, again, on the old tear. Feels as though it does. There's no winning, with hemalurgy, and it was designed that way. He appreciates the moment to adjust, fits the real spike back in its place, scrounges a handkercheif to clean his face while Aster whistles at him worriedly.

The careful squeeze feels - terribly strange. Nice.]

[indispensible]

Marsh.

[She isn't sure if she wants to chastise him or express some kind of tonal sympathy. For safety, she stays blank.]

[myironeyes]

Vin.

[Don't you chastise him, young lady Jesus. He is your grumpy uncle and he will not be chastised. This is his grumpy face.]

[indispensible]

[All right, fine. She blends seamlessly into sympathetic-ish noises.]

Does it hurt worse, or the same?

[Does it matter? she wonders, and then feels a little bad for thinking it.]

[myironeyes]

Differently.

I'm used to them, I don't know if I can really judge. But feeling it as if it were both ways at once -

[His mouth twists. He doesn't have any way to express that, but he really didn't like it.]

[walkingmeltdown]

[He's been feeling phantom pains all morning, and he and everyone else it seems have gotten one of these strange dolls.

The sight of the man with one of his spikes out is more unsettling than it was with both of them in. But he gets over that pretty quickly once he hears what Marsh is saying, puts two and two together and the idea settles.]

Oh. No. Is that what's happening?

[myironeyes]

So it seems, yes.

[walkingmeltdown]

So whoever has a hold of these dolls, the person they look like feels whatever torments they inflict.

And considering how creative some of the people in this place seem to be when it comes to violence...

[myironeyes]

Not the damage. Just the pain.

[this_corrosion]

Jesus bloody Christ!

[The video abruptly goes black as something is thrown over the communicator. Maybe a towel.]

[myironeyes]

[He hears the muffled, tinny thump of the towel falling, the alarm in Gary's voice.]

....mn. Apologies.

[this_corrosion]

[Gary yells, to be heard through the towel.]

Go to the fucking hospital!