𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blackfire) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2022-04-19 09:35 am
blackfire) wrote in ximilialog2022-04-19 09:35 am
oᥒᥴᥱ ι ᥕᥲs sᥱvᥱᥒ ყᥱᥲrs oᥣd (𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃)
CHARACTERS: Itachi and various.
LOCATION: Mostly his room but elsewhere in the station as well!
DATE: post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: local asshole causes problems on purpose, confused when they don't bite him on the ass.
WARNINGS: PTSD, guilt, possibly suicidal ideation, mention of an infected wound being gross and illness-related weight loss. More melodramatic theatrics than you can shake a stick at. Hit me up @ PM if you'd like a custom starter, or feel free to wildcard with discussion.
LOCATION: Mostly his room but elsewhere in the station as well!
DATE: post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: local asshole causes problems on purpose, confused when they don't bite him on the ass.
WARNINGS: PTSD, guilt, possibly suicidal ideation, mention of an infected wound being gross and illness-related weight loss. More melodramatic theatrics than you can shake a stick at. Hit me up @ PM if you'd like a custom starter, or feel free to wildcard with discussion.
CLARA (station return +2)
（ this is sent grudgingly at about 1600 hrs — «Clara, I require your assistance in dressing and bandaging an injury. If you are available, please come to my quarters.»
he would do it himself if it were not such an awkward angle. his chakra is too worn down to summon a clone — and even if he did, it would bear the same injuries as he does, making it all but useless at the task at hand.
when she arrives, she will find him sitting on the floor. old bandages have been stripped off and deposited in a trash can, and the smell of infection is clearly in the air, driven home by his — frankly, horrifying — looking wounds. clawmarks that dig in near his collarbone and carry on across his shoulder and down his scapula of his right side, overlaid with the wet, sticky mess of second and third degree burns. at the time, cauterization had been the only thing that kept him from bleeding out, but he is paying the price for it now. ）
My apologies — bandaging it proved too difficult on my own.
（ which he clearly doesn't enjoy admitting, but nevertheless. ）
he would do it himself if it were not such an awkward angle. his chakra is too worn down to summon a clone — and even if he did, it would bear the same injuries as he does, making it all but useless at the task at hand.
when she arrives, she will find him sitting on the floor. old bandages have been stripped off and deposited in a trash can, and the smell of infection is clearly in the air, driven home by his — frankly, horrifying — looking wounds. clawmarks that dig in near his collarbone and carry on across his shoulder and down his scapula of his right side, overlaid with the wet, sticky mess of second and third degree burns. at the time, cauterization had been the only thing that kept him from bleeding out, but he is paying the price for it now. ）
My apologies — bandaging it proved too difficult on my own.
（ which he clearly doesn't enjoy admitting, but nevertheless. ）
WEI WUXIAN (station return + 4)
（ he leaves his room on two occasions — once, to go to the infirmary and take a selection of antibiotics, bandages and dressings — and twice, to restock the nonperishable food that he keeps in his room, running low in light of his poor physical state. it is the second of these trips that he finds himself returning to wei wuxian outside his door.
he says nothing for a long moment. what feels the heart, in that imperceptible rent in time is meaningless. nothing cuts quite so deeply as betrayal, and he has not acted to lessen its impact.
he considers simply turning and walking in the opposite direction — more exhaustion than cowardice, but ultimately he steps up to the door, inclines his head faintly, and says, ）
Excuse me.
he says nothing for a long moment. what feels the heart, in that imperceptible rent in time is meaningless. nothing cuts quite so deeply as betrayal, and he has not acted to lessen its impact.
he considers simply turning and walking in the opposite direction — more exhaustion than cowardice, but ultimately he steps up to the door, inclines his head faintly, and says, ）
Excuse me.
MARTA (station return + 6)
（ he has occupied himself with scrolling back through the network, reading some of the digitized books in the earpiece's library, and idly working on the preliminary design for a jikukan jutsu — somewhat in the vein of hiraishin. he has always been curious if the yondaime hokage's signature move could be done with fire seals instead of lightning, and he has the time to puzzle out the academics of it all.
he is seated at his desk when the knock comes, and he goes briefly still. then he rises, and comes to the door. his usual assortment of security measures are disabled, and he opens it to — marta, who is holding some sort of dish between her hands.
they have not had much time to speak since they were in scorpion's bend, and he had been so cruel, so this is entirely unexpected. he raises a brow, and steps back to offer her admittance to the room — said room is immaculately tidy, but there's a lingering smell of illness in it that's unmistakable, his fever only having just broken the previous night. he looks wan, in addition to the fact his right arm is bound up in a sling, and has lost weight he didn't have to lose in the first place, throwing his cheekbones and the wings of his collarbone into sharp relief. his eyes are dark, rather than the vivid red of the sharingan. ）
Ah... Marta-san?
he is seated at his desk when the knock comes, and he goes briefly still. then he rises, and comes to the door. his usual assortment of security measures are disabled, and he opens it to — marta, who is holding some sort of dish between her hands.
they have not had much time to speak since they were in scorpion's bend, and he had been so cruel, so this is entirely unexpected. he raises a brow, and steps back to offer her admittance to the room — said room is immaculately tidy, but there's a lingering smell of illness in it that's unmistakable, his fever only having just broken the previous night. he looks wan, in addition to the fact his right arm is bound up in a sling, and has lost weight he didn't have to lose in the first place, throwing his cheekbones and the wings of his collarbone into sharp relief. his eyes are dark, rather than the vivid red of the sharingan. ）
Ah... Marta-san?
YELENA (station return +9)
（ he is holding the book loosely in one hand, jaw ticked faintly off to one side. the title is in what he has come to know as cyrillic, записки из мёртвого дома, which his earpiece tells him translates loosely to notes of a dead house. it had been in a bag hung outside his door, with a few handfuls of russian candy — making it clear who the items were from, at least. «Yelena-san. What is the occasion?» ）
YENNEFER (station return +11)
（ it is the first time he has been out of his room since his fever broke, and yennefer had asked him to the sunlight room. his attendance there is grudging — more because of the place than the company — but he is present, dressed in his customary all-black, this time as a robe not entirely culturally unlike a kimono. it's belted at the waist, and his right arm is cradled in the bunched fabric just north of the belt — enabling him to have it stabilized in a sling without seeming to, as many would have seen him similarly positioned in taeum, including yennefer herself. he moves without the suggestion of pain, but there are dark bruises beneath his eyes that speak to sleepless nights, and his usual grace is... studied rather than seamless.
yet, it does feel good to be out of his room. stretching his legs for the first time since giva. ）
So. What did you think of your first mission?
yet, it does feel good to be out of his room. stretching his legs for the first time since giva. ）
So. What did you think of your first mission?
FINN (station return +12)
（ it doesn't matter who reached out to whom, ultimately. what matters is that they are sitting side by each on his bed, backs to the wall, and there is an old projector on the floor displaying a movie on the far side of the room, bisected by the slight divot in the wall that hides his closet.
yelena informed and in many ways shaped his first introduction to movies, and so what he has on hand is largely due to her influence — popcorn, and a variety of snacks and drinks on a tray between them on the bed.
they are watching a movie about a talking dog named bolt. a movie about dogs wouldn't have been his first choice, but it has not been a considerable hardship thus far.
itachi is dressed in sleeping clothes, a sweatshirt that is notably too large for him, stamped with a logo says enjoy the ride that keeps slipping down off his left shoulder, and threadbare flannel pants that are rolled up at the ankles. he is still injured — though the infection has broken, and now he is simply sore and healing. he's wearing the sling under the sweatshirt, which means the right arm of it is curiously empty — but he hasn't mentioned it, nor does it seem to have impeded his functionality at all.
at some point, he holds out a stick of dango for finn to take. ）
Are there no instances of animals on Earth that can be understood by humans?
（ look, there are literal dog and cat ninja clans in his world, this is not a weird question. ）
yelena informed and in many ways shaped his first introduction to movies, and so what he has on hand is largely due to her influence — popcorn, and a variety of snacks and drinks on a tray between them on the bed.
they are watching a movie about a talking dog named bolt. a movie about dogs wouldn't have been his first choice, but it has not been a considerable hardship thus far.
itachi is dressed in sleeping clothes, a sweatshirt that is notably too large for him, stamped with a logo says enjoy the ride that keeps slipping down off his left shoulder, and threadbare flannel pants that are rolled up at the ankles. he is still injured — though the infection has broken, and now he is simply sore and healing. he's wearing the sling under the sweatshirt, which means the right arm of it is curiously empty — but he hasn't mentioned it, nor does it seem to have impeded his functionality at all.
at some point, he holds out a stick of dango for finn to take. ）
Are there no instances of animals on Earth that can be understood by humans?
（ look, there are literal dog and cat ninja clans in his world, this is not a weird question. ）
SHANG-CHI (STATION RETURN + 13)
（ he is in the process of doing laundry — which, for him means that his room has been strung with wire overlaid with towels, and is as such an immaculately cluttered maze of sheets, duvet covers and blankets. he has left it too long, with his injuries, and his natural tendency towards cleanliness was starting to eat at him.
the knock on his door... does not exactly alarm him. there has been a steady trickle of individuals coming to see him or otherwise making themselves known which is more alarming than it is gratifying, but after a moment of hesitation he does go to open the door. it's always an affair with him, the removal of tripwires and sealing tags.
shang-chi is standing outside, arms wrapped around a rolled-up futon mattress, and itachi just blinks at him. ）
Do you need somewhere to sleep...?
the knock on his door... does not exactly alarm him. there has been a steady trickle of individuals coming to see him or otherwise making themselves known which is more alarming than it is gratifying, but after a moment of hesitation he does go to open the door. it's always an affair with him, the removal of tripwires and sealing tags.
shang-chi is standing outside, arms wrapped around a rolled-up futon mattress, and itachi just blinks at him. ）
Do you need somewhere to sleep...?
gently wildcards for the kitchen
You have to start somewhere, Erik had said. If you never start, then it won't simply be not enough. It'll just be nothing. When he'd first come to this crew, he thought he was okay with that. He has never been anyone meant for significance, after all, just some trash orphan the orbs dragged out of the gutter to give another chance to undo his mistakes. As the missions have gone on, he's grown less and less comfortable with averting his eyes from others' suffering while retrieving the orbs, until he couldn't any longer.
He was able to use Castor to help, this time. But Shinjiro knows as well as anyone how quickly those good intentions can sour, and there's a part of him that's afraid of history repeating. What if he loses control again, and Andy isn't around to stop him? Is he even doing the right thing, taking that risk?
Sleep is typically an ephemeral thing for Shinjiro, often slipping through his fingers like so much water when he tries to hold onto it. Sometimes he avoids it purely to avoid the inevitable assault of nightmares, to avoid waking up panicked and distraught. Now that he spends his nights in close quarters, he does not wish to disturb anybody in nearby rooms, either. Often he catches sleep at weird times, when most others would be awake.
Tonight, though...tonight Shinjiro is awake simply because he couldn't get to sleep, mind swarming with doubts and insecurities he never thought he would return to, having written off his power as not worth the risk years ago. Weeks into their downtime with the clock ticking down to the next mission, he's forced to confront what he wants to do with himself next time, and it's overwhelming. And so, way in the early hours of what would be morning if there were daylight in space, he finds himself in the one place on the ship he actually feels a modicum of peace -- the kitchen. Shinjiro's not really in the frame of mind to cook, but he does set a pot of water to boil and sits down at a nearby table while he waits. The false silver pistol that serves as the conduit to summon Castor lays on the table, Shinjiro idly running a thumb over the S.E.E.S. lettering on its barrel when someone coming in catches at his peripheral vision and he looks up.]
Oh, hey. Couldn't sleep either?
[He has only spoken to this man a couple of times. The both of them are the sort to keep to themselves, after all, and they haven't ended up crossing paths much during the missions. But they have now, and he'll be here a while longer anyway. So he takes another step out of his comfort zone for the sake of having something to occupy himself with other than his own thoughts, and gestures to the teapot:]
I'm makin' some tea, if you want any.
no subject
（ he sleeps very little, and rises early. it is a holding pattern, and injury has not altered it overmuch. but the question implies that is shinji's reason for being here. he had just come down to make okayu and return to his quarters, but between the query and the now-familiar gun, he takes up residence on the other side of the counter, and sits. ）
I will take tea, however.
no subject
[Shinjiro's gaze darts off to the side for a brief moment, mildly embarrassed. He tries not to linger on it long, though, giving the man a nod as he sits down.]
Cool. It, uh, it should be ready soon.
[A couple moments of awkward silence reign after that; Shinjiro has never been particularly outgoing, and even having invited this interaction, he finds himself a little wrongfooted in carrying out smalltalk. But a glance at the gun beneath his fingers reminds him that he did have one important thing to say, at least:]
...Thanks. For before.