myironeyes: (Default)
[Open spam, basically anywhere]

[He drifts. He expresses the will of the place he is in. If someone tries to interrupt a performance or deviate from the script in the Opera House, he will prevent it with a snapped wrist or an effortless backhand into the wall. Someone upsetting the ghosts in the stables or interfering with the banquet, anyone doing too much damage to the walls, or fighting the inhabitants - he hurts them until they stop. Somewhere, he acquires a broadaxe, heavy and eerily crystalline, not the little obsidian hatchets he knows, but light in his hands. The brief moments of brutality are like scraps of food to a starving hound. But he does not always kill, even though Ruin's chasms in him yearn too. The place is not concerned with how fast the intruders die. And before any of his own concerns, he is its hand.]
myironeyes: (Default)
[Public, text]

First. Everyone should stock non-perishable food and water. More than you need. And carry some on you, if you can. Those who remained themselves kept possesions on their person when they switched over last time. I will prepare small packs for anyone who would like one. Volunteers who wish to do the same may meet me in the kitchen after the end of dinner shift.

Second. Medicines, if you need them. Can the infirmary provide small amounts of disinfectants for everyone? I will make up suture kits, and if anyone does not know how to sew, I can teach you. It isn't difficult.

Third. Everyone should arrange signals with those they trust, so those who have not been remade can recognize each other without being revealed. We should also share anything that might help those from this reality gain our confidence and cooperation if we are changed - many there would have overthrown it if they could.

TW for suicidal themes/plans/contingencies )
myironeyes: (Default)
[Public text + open spam, the afternoon of Iris's reunion with her bus]

There is fresh pie in the Dining Room.

[Or anyone could encounter Marsh in the stairwells or in the Dining Room itself, appearing in a stern swish of black shrouds to drop them off, one each, steaming slightly, at neat intervals. He needed to do something with his hands, and for once sewing felt insufficient.]



Confidential to Kelsier, Iris, Nathan, Zane, Touko, Riddick, Ben, and Sylvanas. )
myironeyes: (Default)
[Marsh is centered in the camera's view, the wall behind him plain, rough-hewn grey stone. The light flickers a little, as though not produced by an electronic source, glinting dully against his spikes. His voice is quiet and raspy, but the words are clearly enunciated.]

I am Marsh. I am a warden aboard this vessel.

If you have heard stories of Inquisitors from the others from my world - they are true. But they are not true of me anymore.

If you have not, simply know that I do not wish to hurt anyone.

[His mouth twists faintly, and he reaches up to tap one fingernail against the blunt surface of the left spike.]

Yes, they're real. Yes, they hurt. No, there's nothing to be done about it.

[Since that seems to be what everyone wants to know first. The message ends.]



Spam for Zane, or anyone else likely to visit Kelsier's cabin while he was coma'ed )

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Marsh || Steel Inquisitor

March 2015

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