Nami (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mikangirl) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-02-05 06:56 pm
mikangirl) wrote in driftfleet2016-02-05 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
Snip Snap
Who: Sam, Nami, anyone
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Bloodsport
When: 5th Feb
[The video feed cuts in on an angle, showing a clean bunk-room floor spattered with a few small traces of blood and a roll of gauze, and two people from the knees down; one wearing boots and sitting in a chair with his legs sprawled out, the other with custom heels standing behind him, keeping a steady stream of muttering--]
—my fault if I’m better than they are. [A bloodied gauze pad falls to the floor as she works.] You can’t hold a poker face, don’t play poker. [There’s a quiet hiss between teeth, and Nami’s low, quick apology. Sam huffs and twists, and there’s an audible crackle in his back somewhere — to which he grumbles:]
I really am getting too old for this.
Complain, complain. Here, this oughtta’ do it — I don’t… think it’ll scar. You should be good. Heh. [Sheepish.] … How old are you? In regular time.
I think I’m supposed to be thirty-something. Are we counting the last universe we were in? Anyway, you know, spiritually? Old man here. Pushing two centuries. Handle with care.
[Snort.] Spiritually maybe, but I’m pretty sure your bones aren’t that old. Quit complaining.
You can say that, but I have to write with this gimp hand. Stupid beer bottles. Remind me why I took up a bartending job.
You missed the excitement of home? [She rips off another piece of tape, sounding amused, and he gives a huffed laugh. Then a short, unsure pause.]
You okay? I mean, you had a moment back there. The guy with the freaky teeth.
[There’s a delay in answering as Nami works, then she replies too casually.] Yeah. Just took me by surprise, that’s all. Here— [There’s the sound of tissues being yanked from a box.] Stop bleeding all over my floor. [And after a moment, a change of subject:] Uh. I’m sorry.
You serious? Don’t even worry about it. Dean’s got us into dumber bar fights. Uhm… but, uh. Your hair is… Kind of…? [Spoken like a man who does not want to face a navigator’s wrath, and he trips over his words like they’re his gangly-ass legs.] It’s looking…
Hey I’m sure it’s in fashion somewhere in the universe. [Though there’s a long still pause, and then the heels move suddenly, turning away] It’s okay. It’s not practical anyway. I’ll just… tidy it. Or something.
[Sam rises up, turning on his heel as well. There’s a pat-pat as he taps the chair.]
I’ll just have to give it the Winchester treatment. We’re great barbers. Because, you know. Hunters are cheap-asses.
Uh-huh. Have you seen your hair lately?
… Wow, what’s that supposed to mean? [Off-camera, he flips it rather pathetically out of his face.]
It means I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cut it in the entire time I’ve known you. I’ve seen sheepdogs with bangs shorter than yours!
… Well… Fine. You cut mine, I’ll cut yours.
Mmmm… Sounds like fun. [Huehuehue.] But I’ll go first. I need to get rid of this lopsided look.
[There’s a click-clack as Nami sits down proper in the chair, and a woosh of what was likely some sort of medical paper as he wraps it around her neck carefully. Mostly because he knows the pains of John trimming his hair and letting it all fall down his shirt. And then, dramatically, he snips at the air.]
Don’t move. I’m known to be very dangerous with sharp objects.
Oh no. I’m terrified. [But she does keep still. She trusts you, Sam. And soon after, a long lock of orange hair falls to the floor by her feet. Sam wanders in focused circles around her, snipping here and there. If the camera could see him, there’d no doubt be a tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. The concentration is too real today. Snip, snipsnackt — After a long moment, he leans back.]
I think… That should do it. [He sounds unconfident at first, but… then he hums a more comfortable hum of approval.] Yeah, I think. What do you think?
Hold on. I need a mirror. Or maybe I can take a photo-- [A moment later, the comm is picked up and Nami’s slightly battered face squints into it and… kind of realises it’s on. Welp.
Then with a cheeky grin, it gets put down more gently on the bed, showing the chair properly this time instead of the lower angle of it.] It’ll do. Sit. [She figures someone will tell her if her hair is a disaster soon enough. Sam, though, looks a bit nervous on second thought as he sits and appears in frame, bruises and cuts and all.]
… You’ve cut someone’s hair before, right?
[Nami laughs delicately, rounding behind the chair with a snip-snap of the scissors as she picks them up and gives her best innocent expression to the camera.] Don’t worry so much!
...of course I haven’t.
[As innocent as a lamb~
Sam squirms and gulps.]
Hey, is your feed on?
[Snickt.] Nope.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Bloodsport
When: 5th Feb
[The video feed cuts in on an angle, showing a clean bunk-room floor spattered with a few small traces of blood and a roll of gauze, and two people from the knees down; one wearing boots and sitting in a chair with his legs sprawled out, the other with custom heels standing behind him, keeping a steady stream of muttering--]
—my fault if I’m better than they are. [A bloodied gauze pad falls to the floor as she works.] You can’t hold a poker face, don’t play poker. [There’s a quiet hiss between teeth, and Nami’s low, quick apology. Sam huffs and twists, and there’s an audible crackle in his back somewhere — to which he grumbles:]
I really am getting too old for this.
Complain, complain. Here, this oughtta’ do it — I don’t… think it’ll scar. You should be good. Heh. [Sheepish.] … How old are you? In regular time.
I think I’m supposed to be thirty-something. Are we counting the last universe we were in? Anyway, you know, spiritually? Old man here. Pushing two centuries. Handle with care.
[Snort.] Spiritually maybe, but I’m pretty sure your bones aren’t that old. Quit complaining.
You can say that, but I have to write with this gimp hand. Stupid beer bottles. Remind me why I took up a bartending job.
You missed the excitement of home? [She rips off another piece of tape, sounding amused, and he gives a huffed laugh. Then a short, unsure pause.]
You okay? I mean, you had a moment back there. The guy with the freaky teeth.
[There’s a delay in answering as Nami works, then she replies too casually.] Yeah. Just took me by surprise, that’s all. Here— [There’s the sound of tissues being yanked from a box.] Stop bleeding all over my floor. [And after a moment, a change of subject:] Uh. I’m sorry.
You serious? Don’t even worry about it. Dean’s got us into dumber bar fights. Uhm… but, uh. Your hair is… Kind of…? [Spoken like a man who does not want to face a navigator’s wrath, and he trips over his words like they’re his gangly-ass legs.] It’s looking…
Hey I’m sure it’s in fashion somewhere in the universe. [Though there’s a long still pause, and then the heels move suddenly, turning away] It’s okay. It’s not practical anyway. I’ll just… tidy it. Or something.
[Sam rises up, turning on his heel as well. There’s a pat-pat as he taps the chair.]
I’ll just have to give it the Winchester treatment. We’re great barbers. Because, you know. Hunters are cheap-asses.
Uh-huh. Have you seen your hair lately?
… Wow, what’s that supposed to mean? [Off-camera, he flips it rather pathetically out of his face.]
It means I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cut it in the entire time I’ve known you. I’ve seen sheepdogs with bangs shorter than yours!
… Well… Fine. You cut mine, I’ll cut yours.
Mmmm… Sounds like fun. [Huehuehue.] But I’ll go first. I need to get rid of this lopsided look.
[There’s a click-clack as Nami sits down proper in the chair, and a woosh of what was likely some sort of medical paper as he wraps it around her neck carefully. Mostly because he knows the pains of John trimming his hair and letting it all fall down his shirt. And then, dramatically, he snips at the air.]
Don’t move. I’m known to be very dangerous with sharp objects.
Oh no. I’m terrified. [But she does keep still. She trusts you, Sam. And soon after, a long lock of orange hair falls to the floor by her feet. Sam wanders in focused circles around her, snipping here and there. If the camera could see him, there’d no doubt be a tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. The concentration is too real today. Snip, snipsnackt — After a long moment, he leans back.]
I think… That should do it. [He sounds unconfident at first, but… then he hums a more comfortable hum of approval.] Yeah, I think. What do you think?
Hold on. I need a mirror. Or maybe I can take a photo-- [A moment later, the comm is picked up and Nami’s slightly battered face squints into it and… kind of realises it’s on. Welp.
Then with a cheeky grin, it gets put down more gently on the bed, showing the chair properly this time instead of the lower angle of it.] It’ll do. Sit. [She figures someone will tell her if her hair is a disaster soon enough. Sam, though, looks a bit nervous on second thought as he sits and appears in frame, bruises and cuts and all.]
… You’ve cut someone’s hair before, right?
[Nami laughs delicately, rounding behind the chair with a snip-snap of the scissors as she picks them up and gives her best innocent expression to the camera.] Don’t worry so much!
...of course I haven’t.
[As innocent as a lamb~
Sam squirms and gulps.]
Hey, is your feed on?
[Snickt.] Nope.
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[You can blame her mom for that one.]
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[And she'd like to think she takes after her mom, okay.]
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[That's it. Short and sweet. But Vash, if you plumbed her memories enough on the Marsiva, you might get an idea.]
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[Because dude. Seriously.]
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