myironeyes: (blue skies)
[Public, video]

[Marsh, the barge's resident friendly constantly dour eyeless spike-horror, is currently lounging on Iris's most garish couch, the first time the vast majority of barge residents have seen him without his Nazgul-style engulfing black cloak, which is tossed over one of the arms of the couch. Underneath he's wearing vaguely 19th-century style workman's trousers and and loose shirt, both in a drab, unpurposeful sort of dark grey. Bumps - and a few poked holes - in the shirt reveal a topography of even more spikes, over a dozen of them, impaling his chest and abdomen in odd configurations. Nevertheless, he seems both drunk - an unlabeled bottle of dark green glass hanging from between his second and third fingertips - and entirely cheerful, laughing in a low rumble even as he's in the middle of protesting.]

- said I can doesn't mean - Iris, put that down -

We're celebrating, you plonker. 'E deserves the recognition. If you don't tell them I will!

-aaaugh, fine, woman.

[He throws his head back against the couch in defeat. There is a small ripping sound from the spike-tips at the back of his skull taking their toll on the upholstery, but he'll mend it later. He's not looking right at the camera - but he's beaming.]

C'Rizz graduated.

[That's all. Marsh isn't really a speech guy. But some people may connect this with the abundance of pie at dinner, the last few days.]


[Spam for C'Rizz, backdated to a little after the thread with Roderick.]

[Marsh's heart stops when he sees C'Rizz vanished from his item. Truly stops, falters in its constant aching rhythm, still beating around the spike perforating his ventricle. Not dead, gone. He tears up the stairs to C'Rizz's room, a shadowy blur, gasps and sags against a wall when he sees the door still there. So. So -]


[Spam for Iris]

[A knock, after dinner.]

Iris, it's me. I want to tell you something.

[He sounds happy.]
myironeyes: (Default)
[Public Video]

The kitchen is, as usual, understaffed. We were understaffed before this latest shake-up and now we are more understaffed. We require at least one temporary warden supervisor for the lunch shift and four or five new inmates.

Those interested should speak to Riddick or myself.


[Open spam, backdated throughout the last few days]

[Marsh can be found in odd times at odd places - late and night on the deck or early morning in the greenhouse, hunched over, making soft, choking noises, his little cockatiel crooning worriedly and attempting to preen his short hair. Folded in a corner of the ice-damaged stairwell, a hand splayed over his spikes, breathing hitched, shoulders shaking, looking like nothing so much as a man desperately trying to sob and unable to manage it.

The crying from Iris's room - it's psychic, he doesn't just hear it. It gets in when he is too tired to fend it off from ripped-open places, and then it becomes him, the loneliness and fear and grief, the confusion of the very young. He remembers himself - it is not overwhelming, not like Ruin at its worst, nothing like that - but he cannot stop feeling it. And the feeling is not entirely unfamiliar.]



[Private spam for Bianca]

[He decides, eventually, that it cannot be a trick, that something is real, must be suffering. Or perhaps he doesn't care anymore, as long as it stops. He arrives at her door with his jaw clenched from the effort of holding the lost, abandoned feeling back, and it still drips through his cracks, stings like salt in his punctures. He knocks.]


[Private spam for C'Rizz the Dalek Emperor, backdated to shortly after the arena]

[It's not a pleasant return, but he falls to the necessary housekeeping with a grim sort of gratitude. He asks the admiral for a resurrection, then swallows a truly foul amount of powdered pewter and a small sliver of feruchemy-laced gold. Then cooks until he stops seeing Iris on every blank nonmetallic surface, and brings the egg soup to C'Rizz's room. He knocks, then lets himself in.]

It's me.

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Marsh || Steel Inquisitor

March 2015

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