Coil Lenn (
mortalcoil) wrote in
driftfleet2016-02-21 04:00 pm
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Entry tags:
Red Fish assemble!
Who: Crew and visitors of the SS Red Fish
Broadcast: Nah
Action: Aboard the good ship Red Fish
When: End of February--Beginning of March?
[why is it called the Red Fish when the place looks more like a spiky dungeon than anything having to do with aquatic wildlife? no one knows.
it might be an unconventional atmosphere for socializing, but the lovable crew of the Red Fish isn't going to let a little thing like that stop them from bonding, are they?]
Broadcast: Nah
Action: Aboard the good ship Red Fish
When: End of February--Beginning of March?
[why is it called the Red Fish when the place looks more like a spiky dungeon than anything having to do with aquatic wildlife? no one knows.
it might be an unconventional atmosphere for socializing, but the lovable crew of the Red Fish isn't going to let a little thing like that stop them from bonding, are they?]
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Coil had seen the girl around, observed her from a distance when they happened to be in the same space, but hadn't bothered to approach--or even directly acknowledge her existence--until now. because, if you mess with the punching bag, you mess with the ones who rely on it.
so, he briefly stops short as he wanders into the cargo hold, frowning hard as soon as he sees this mess. and whether or not she looks up in his direction to see, he's silently waving an irritated hand and pointing at the corpse of the punching bag as he heads closer.]
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[Now she's narrowing that good eye right at him, his seeming reproach making her irritated. She tries to thread the needle one more time before saying--]
What do you want? I'm fixing it.
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finally, he looks down at her struggles with the needle and raises his eyebrows in a clearly skeptical look of 'really?']
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[When she'd first met Sam, he'd had a stack of books on sign language. Now she's almost certain who they were for. She doesn't really think this guy is deaf, though she doesn't have anything to substantiate that, but his off-putting, eternal silence and the way he resorts to motions and expressions is telling on his own.]
[She extends the needle and thread, though she doesn't get up from her perch on the floor. He's probably no better at getting the thread through the eye than she is, but to her way of thinking, if he won't solve the problem, he'd better not complain.]
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...but he wants that punching bag fixed. and he doesn't have to do much guessing as to why she's having an especially difficult time of it.
so, after a long and very pointed hesitation... he finally steps close enough to crouch down beside her. plucking the needle and thread from her with scarred-up fingers, he silently settles to the task of feeding the thread through the eye without much depth perception to help him out.
surprisingly enough, he casually puts her struggles to shame; it only takes him a matter of seconds to get the little task accomplished. apparently, he's had quite a bit of practice to figure out to overcome this particular weakness.
and maybe it's a coincidence, but he happens to hold his hands in such a way that she can get a good look at exactly how he pinches the very end of the thread, letting only a little bit show between the edges of his fingers, before almost rolling the eye of the needle onto it, without needing to judge the depth.]
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[She takes the needle and thread back only to pull the needle right back out. It's not a slam on his kindness. Her mouth's in an intent line as she imitates the way he'd held both items. Luckily, a life mostly spent in the confines of a plugsuit means that the gloves she's wearing really aren't what's been hindering her progress at all. Holding the thread almost at the very end with her left hand, she starts to shove the needle's eye up against it.]
[It takes a couple of tries; she's a little hasty and rough, but eventually, she manages to do it for herself, tying the end of the thread in a double-hard knot before feeding the needle and thread through one of several holes in the bag's material. She doesn't look at him for approval, not even a stolen glance, despite how hungry she almost always is for it.]
You don't seem like the type to sew.
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there are many common niceties and courtesies that he just doesn't understand. however, watching her quietly learn and work for herself, not bothering with extra things like words or a smile, he understands very well. it's comfortable.
so, at the comment, he doesn't hesitate for long before explaining. pretending that he's holding an invisible needle, he mimes looping stitches across his skin, instead of fabric. there are many things that can be sewn, you see.]
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[The sewing process is slow and tedious. Even with two eyes, she was never particularly apt at the task, and besides, she had other things to excel at back then. She feels like she's constantly in danger of yanking the needle too hard and breaking it. Delicate things she has to tread gently with.]
Why would you do your own stitches? [She frowns at him, wrinkling her nose in a way that actually fits her forever-fourteen face.] Don't you have any doctors where you're from?
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and this being the case, he's having a harder and harder time watching her clumsily stitch the punching bag back together. he's noting all of the places that are going to start leaking sand first; he can't help but count all of the stitches that aren't strong or close enough together.
his fingers are beginning to itch with the want to take over and do it better. he even half-reaches for the needle once, before catching himself and taking his hands back, turning the motion into a fidget instead.]
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Here. Take it.
[She extends both needle and thread-- still attached to the punching bag, of course. If he didn't use it himself, he wouldn't care so much, so she'll let him take over. After awhile, she says--]
I'm Asuka.
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and once sunk into the task, he only pauses to glance up once, at her name. it's to resurface and check her expression, maybe.
though she can't understand him, he's currently out of other ways to communicate. so, he forms the signs for C-O-I-L. most of them are at least pretty illustrative, if she wants to attempt to follow along.]
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Coil? [Asuka's never learned sign language, but she can get the letters, at least, after a second's scrutiny. He's settling into the sewing enough that she lets the quietness kind of hang in the air, just watching him work with a slight amount of envy. His stitches are a vast improvement over hers already, not scraggly at all. They'll hold.]
When did you lose that eye? [Asuka doesn't quite sound conversational when she asks, more demanding than anything. It's as if her own eye being gone, too, has given her carte blanche to inquire.] It was years ago, wasn't it?
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he nods, and then glances over to point at her missing eye, and trace a question mark in the air with one finger.
eye-for-an-eye, as far as questions go.]
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It's been fourteen years. [Asuka wonders if he'll find her more inept with the admission, and then she decides she doesn't care. A pause. She doesn't really want to tell him the next part, but with her rages onboard and off, it's probably worth saying, or else he might start wondering how a missing eye can glow through a patch. She touches the eyepatch with the tip of her finger, feeling the pressure of the hex glyphs that seal it off. Still working.] There's an eye still. But it doesn't work.
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the needle gets stabbed into the punching bag and left for a second, so he can turn toward her a little bit. he can't ask more clearly than pointing at her eye again and looking interested and questioning, but it's clear by his face that he wants to see.
just for a second. he just wants a peek.]
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[Fair's fair, after all. Asuka figures she should probably get some paper (can he write, though?) or else grab those sign language books to figure out his incoming answer, if any. Show me yours, I'll show you mine, and all that. But she doesn't wait on a response before lifting up her eyepatch, quickly, because she's scared she won't be able to go through with it otherwise.]
[It's a mess beneath the patch. No scars, no signs of trauma. But her sclera's completely black, iris an inhumanly glowing, electric blue ring around a dilated pupil. Asuka blinks several times in succession, the dual images already making her a bit dizzy, but it's still glaringly obvious that that eye isn't focused in the slightest. Her good eye's looking at his face steadily, hand nervously tightening around a handful of the plugsuit material on her thigh, ready to pounce-- or flee.]
Seen enough?
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finally, he's fully facing her like good humans are supposed to do when socializing. he gets close though, peering in at her eye as if he could burn the information into his brain to pore over later. he can see the struggle that lifting up the patch apparently is for her, so he is very aware of how short-lived this glimpse is probably going to be.
at this proximity, she can get a good look at all of his scars--dinging up the line of his mouth and tracing out from under his eye--and can see the hungry way that he's inspecting the mystery there. like he wants to just pluck out her eye and plop it under a microscope.
he does nod, though. it's a tiny, reluctant motion, but he's not completely lost to his lust for answers. he has enough restraint to acknowledge her... and not beg for more, like he'd like to.]
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[She allows Coil a few more seconds to keep looking before, face coloring, she snaps the eyepatch back into place. The eye glows through the material for a second before the suppressing glyphs tamp down on the reaction. Then, as if she can't quite stop trying to hide, she even pushes her bangs down a bit over the patch.]
It's not that interesting, idiot. Are you going to tell me about yours, or what?
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and, either way, it's definitely far from revulsion. if anything, what's under her eyepatch makes her more interesting and less akin to the common, human population. these are good things in his book.
so, he only huffs under his breath at the insult. and the line of his mouth presses flat more from the frustration of not being able to communicate easily than anything else.
he wonders if she'll be satisfied with a vague answer, so he tries that first--curling his fingers into claw-shapes, he mimes raking them down across his missing eye.]
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[Asuka has seen pictures of more animals than she's ever encountered, but she can still get a mental image going. It would make the scars on his face make sense, too. Maybe a wild dog or something. Huh. She had been hoping for a less ordinary explanation, much as she still doesn't want to reveal her own. But the gruesome commonality is still appreciated. Eyeless birds of a feather. Unconsciously, she moves her eyepatch a bit, trying to fix its position entirely back to normal, as she peers at him curiously.]
A dog? Or a wolf? [What she wouldn't give to have a piece of paper and a pencil handy. But she could figure out his name before, so--] Spell it out.
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after a few seconds, he tries again with 'E-V-I-L.' she'll probably have the most trouble with that first letter, but there aren't many other words it could be if she figures out the ones that follow.
he could just get up to go fetch his notebook, but there's something about this interaction that he doesn't want to walk away from, and then try to return to. he feels like some spell might be broken if he did. someone would put a wall back up in the meantime, decide to do something more sensible with their time, and that would be it. and for once, he doesn't really want that.]
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Yeah. Me, too.
[It's enough of an explanation for now. She doesn't want to ruin the moment either. It's a little daunting to have shared as much as she already has with him. Her eye's a blight even to herself, only usually seen by Dr. Akagi and her ilk. Frightening to share, but... for once, she doesn't really regret letting him that far in.]
Did it get your throat, too?
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but he'll put that want away, for now. it can be pulled out and quietly mulled over later, once they finally part and return to their quiet corners of the ship again.
in the meantime, he shakes his head. it's a question he gets often enough, so he points to his mouth instead, and then traces a little X right over his lips.]
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["Evil" is pretty all-encompassing. Asuka's still initially picturing something wild, maybe even rabid, but as far as her limited understanding of animals goes, they don't seem too likely to go after the tongue of someone still alive.]
Something alien? [She feels a little uncomfortable, asking all the time like this, when he can't respond that easily.] Look, just tell me if I'm asking too much. I know how it is, so. I won't get mad.
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so, he sits back a little, lets his gaze wander without answering. he won't tell her that she's asking too much, because that feels like a surrender at this point. but, he will change the subject.
questioningly, he points at the demolished punching bag, and then gestures at her. it's pretty obvious that it's probably her fault, but he'd been too caught up in the fact that it had been wrecked to really think about that she'd been the one to somehow accomplish it.]
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