Coil Lenn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mortalcoil) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-05-05 06:58 pm
mortalcoil) wrote in driftfleet2016-05-05 06:58 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Coil
Broadcast: Anonymous text, open to anyone
Action: SS Red Fish cargo hold, open to crewmates or visitors
When: Sometime after this little exchange
(OOC: warning for self-destructive and suicidal content.)
→ text
[he's made sure to keep this message anonymous, but that might be the only thought he puts solidly forward before he begins typing. after that, it's like the words are appearing on the screen on their own accord--fast and clumsy--and he's only watching.]
what hapepns at home if we die here
will they even know oe maybe it will be like we never existed
maybe we go back
→ action
[Coil wouldn't still be on the ship if he'd been able to help it. but the Red Fish is in orbit, and he still refuses to set foot in the shuttles. so, he's stuck in this little metal box, holed up in a dark corner of the cargo hold because he can't stand the sight of his own room. there, tucked amongst the alcove-shapes of big, empty containers, it's quiet and familiar. he'd had an important argument there, once. it's right where the previous captain liked to sit or sleep when he couldn't stand the confines of his own room either.
like an abandoned dog, Coil is lingering at the last spot that had made sense--as if staying there long enough might make something change, and the life he remembers best will inexplicably come right back. maybe something will happen there, and he will be taken away.
aside from quiet, stressed breathing, he's not making any noise. he's deep inside his own head, sunk somewhere that aches so bad he can't stand it, and he has been there for a while. he doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, staring at the small, beautiful white knife resting in front of him, but he has lost feeling in his limbs. curled up and squeezing his knees to his chest, tears are leaking over the dried tracks of those that have fallen before them, as the war rages on. the pros and cons, furies and fears, all clamor back and forth inside of him while he mentally screams at himself to reach out and make it stop.
just pick it up; easy as breathing.]
Broadcast: Anonymous text, open to anyone
Action: SS Red Fish cargo hold, open to crewmates or visitors
When: Sometime after this little exchange
(OOC: warning for self-destructive and suicidal content.)
→ text
[he's made sure to keep this message anonymous, but that might be the only thought he puts solidly forward before he begins typing. after that, it's like the words are appearing on the screen on their own accord--fast and clumsy--and he's only watching.]
what hapepns at home if we die here
will they even know oe maybe it will be like we never existed
maybe we go back
→ action
[Coil wouldn't still be on the ship if he'd been able to help it. but the Red Fish is in orbit, and he still refuses to set foot in the shuttles. so, he's stuck in this little metal box, holed up in a dark corner of the cargo hold because he can't stand the sight of his own room. there, tucked amongst the alcove-shapes of big, empty containers, it's quiet and familiar. he'd had an important argument there, once. it's right where the previous captain liked to sit or sleep when he couldn't stand the confines of his own room either.
like an abandoned dog, Coil is lingering at the last spot that had made sense--as if staying there long enough might make something change, and the life he remembers best will inexplicably come right back. maybe something will happen there, and he will be taken away.
aside from quiet, stressed breathing, he's not making any noise. he's deep inside his own head, sunk somewhere that aches so bad he can't stand it, and he has been there for a while. he doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, staring at the small, beautiful white knife resting in front of him, but he has lost feeling in his limbs. curled up and squeezing his knees to his chest, tears are leaking over the dried tracks of those that have fallen before them, as the war rages on. the pros and cons, furies and fears, all clamor back and forth inside of him while he mentally screams at himself to reach out and make it stop.
just pick it up; easy as breathing.]