тнeon greyjoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reek) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-01-01 12:07 am
reek) wrote in driftfleet2017-01-01 12:07 am
004; video
Who: Theon Greyjoy
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: SS Paisley
When: January 1. Happy New Year?
[ The man who appears on the screen is a pitiful sight indeed. He’s has a gaunt, tired face, framed by brittle white hair, and looks as if he hasn’t eaten a good meal in months.
This is clearly a man with one foot in the grave, and is altogether unfamiliar—until he speaks. ]
My name is Theon. Theon Greyjoy.
[ You have to remember your name, he thinks as he chuckles dryly, a ghastly smile breaking across his face. His teeth are showing his teeth to be a painful, splintered mess; a far cry from the charming grin that’s become Theon Greyjoy’s trademark. He’s skin and bones and appears as if he’s aged ten years, though no more than a single year has passed for him. ]
You won’t recognize me, but I’ll recognize all of you. I will.
[ He still sees their faces clearly; those from his own world, his crewmates, and those he’s met from other ships. He remembers how this works. He may be addled, driven half mad by the horrific things he’s gone through, but his mind and memory both still work. His voice is hoarse, less commanding than it once was, and he seems to be teetering somewhere between laughter and tears with each word, but he’s holding it together none the less. It could be worse; it could always be worse. ]
Perhaps Atroma should have reconsidered bringing me back.
[ He chortles, gesturing to his skeletal appearance. He looks awful, nothing like the handsome young man he once was, but at least he can joke about it, right? What can he do to change it now? ]
They’ll only lose their audience when they see me. Do you regret it now, Atroma? I was of use to you before. [ Another laugh, something closer to a giggle. ] You’ve only harmed yourself, but not me. There’s little left that you can do to harm me.
[Paisley]
[ And for all crew and visitors on the Paisley, this new Theon can be found in the armory. It’s silent, free from the sounds of what used to be his near-daily target practice. He isn’t even looking at the weaponry. Instead, he’s seated himself at the desk, staring at his hands. A quick glance will show that they’ve been mangled just as badly as his teeth. Three fingers have been removed, one from the left and two from the right, leaving nothing but nubs.
He knows he’ll never be able to pull a bowstring again. ]
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: SS Paisley
When: January 1. Happy New Year?
[ The man who appears on the screen is a pitiful sight indeed. He’s has a gaunt, tired face, framed by brittle white hair, and looks as if he hasn’t eaten a good meal in months.
This is clearly a man with one foot in the grave, and is altogether unfamiliar—until he speaks. ]
My name is Theon. Theon Greyjoy.
[ You have to remember your name, he thinks as he chuckles dryly, a ghastly smile breaking across his face. His teeth are showing his teeth to be a painful, splintered mess; a far cry from the charming grin that’s become Theon Greyjoy’s trademark. He’s skin and bones and appears as if he’s aged ten years, though no more than a single year has passed for him. ]
You won’t recognize me, but I’ll recognize all of you. I will.
[ He still sees their faces clearly; those from his own world, his crewmates, and those he’s met from other ships. He remembers how this works. He may be addled, driven half mad by the horrific things he’s gone through, but his mind and memory both still work. His voice is hoarse, less commanding than it once was, and he seems to be teetering somewhere between laughter and tears with each word, but he’s holding it together none the less. It could be worse; it could always be worse. ]
Perhaps Atroma should have reconsidered bringing me back.
[ He chortles, gesturing to his skeletal appearance. He looks awful, nothing like the handsome young man he once was, but at least he can joke about it, right? What can he do to change it now? ]
They’ll only lose their audience when they see me. Do you regret it now, Atroma? I was of use to you before. [ Another laugh, something closer to a giggle. ] You’ve only harmed yourself, but not me. There’s little left that you can do to harm me.
[Paisley]
[ And for all crew and visitors on the Paisley, this new Theon can be found in the armory. It’s silent, free from the sounds of what used to be his near-daily target practice. He isn’t even looking at the weaponry. Instead, he’s seated himself at the desk, staring at his hands. A quick glance will show that they’ve been mangled just as badly as his teeth. Three fingers have been removed, one from the left and two from the right, leaving nothing but nubs.
He knows he’ll never be able to pull a bowstring again. ]
action
In the end, he bows his head as he approaches, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. He struggles to keep his gaze on Theon's face. It seems like it's too late - far too late - for Stefan's blood to have any effect on the healing process. He could've - no, he should've been back there.]
Welcome back, Greyjoy.
action
He doesn't look up as Stefan enters, but instead studies his hands with a furrowed brow. ]
It would be wrong of me to hope that you can regrow fingers, would it not?
[ A man can make due with seven fingers. Theon accepted that long ago, but they make for clumsy work. Unsafe work. He fears he may need to surrender his job in security. ]
action
[Vampire blood doesn't work on everything, and at this point, Stefan would place far more trust in Mikleo's or Shirley's healing artes than whatever supernatural powers he can bestow. He bows his head, now daring to look down at Theon's fingers.
His heart sinks even further. He should've been there, he should've done something - because no matter how many bones Stefan'll break or how many limbs someone'll chop off his body, he'll regenerate like a starfish. His crewmate wasn't so fortunate.]
I could give you my blood again, see if that makes a difference with your circulation or your teeth, but I think... I'll need to ask around and see who could help with prosthetics - er, artificial body parts.
action
[ A ghost of a smirk plays at his lips, but fails to take full form. It will be some time before he smiles a true smile again. ]
It usually ends with someone losing a finger. Or several. I think I might have preferred that.
[ The manner in which Theon lost his fingers was long, slow, drawn out and extremely painful. At least the finger dance is quick, and considered honorable among his people. An ironborn once became King of the Iron Islands by winning the finger dance. A King who ruled well and had no need for those missing fingers.
Still, it’s difficult to think positively when you’re in Theon’s situation. ]
I'll try whatever you think may help.
action; hover for translation
(The kids would play ninja or assassin, but the stakes were far less real and far more likely to end in laughter.)
He can't find the energy to smile as he rolls up his sleeves and kneels beside Theon.] Got it. In that case...
[There and then, Stefan nicks his wrist. There's an odd sense of deja vu: he remembers offering his blood before, not as a promise of healing from captain to his officer, but as something far harsher. As punishment. (Would-be punishment?) None of that lingering sentiment remains. As far as he's concerned, Theon's aa'aila now.
They've both changed. Right now, Stefan makes a mental note to ask the do-it-yourself crowd for help. He doesn't turn back on crew, even if he's at a bit of a loss.]
Drink some of this, get a physical done later, and we'll see where to go from there.
action;
He remembers the last time this happened as well, and the thought brings a wry, faint smile to his face as he accepts the blood. ]
I'll try my best not to be disappointed.
action;
Sure, he's since learned to make apple and lemon gels - healing elixirs from Mikleo's world - but he trusts his own power the best. If anything would restore his complexion (or even his gums), it would be his blood. He feels like a walking paradox: he needs blood to survive, but he can give that same blood to heal and restore.
Once he's given the cue, he'll pull away and roll his sleeves down.]
You've got me now. [Is it presumptive? To say that he'll nurse his crewmate back to health?] The last thing you'll be is disappointed.
action;
[ Another wry smile as he stares down at his hands, flexing his remaining fingers, as if he’s testing them. He tries to reassure himself as he does:
Seven fingers is enough. You’ll be fine. You can make due with seven. Better seven fingers than no name. ]
Thank you. If I could offer you more than my thanks, I would.
action;
[He means it too: most of their crew has come and gone, but Greyjoy had been a constant presence, and one that Stefan had grown to appreciate in his own way. When, Stefan wasn't sure: maybe it was after one of their midnight chats, or maybe it was during a routine Paisley movie night or something in-between. Either way, Theon's one of his own, and Stefan takes care of his own.
Still, Stefan senses that he has his work cut out for him.]