driftfleet | (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.)

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[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

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[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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[there is at least a decent amount of embarrassment there, yeah. now that the fact is out in the open and being talked about, Coil can't help but keep his gaze low and kind of hunch into his shoulders at the discomfort of it.

he nods, though. that would be okay.

Zhas used to make them for him, packed with protein and powdered vitamins to try and help keep weight and muscle mass on him. it would be nice to eat something easy. Syeira had been doing her best with stews and soft bite-sized foods, but it's been a while since he's had a meal he didn't have to fight with.]

[....... Sheesh. He smiles a bit.]

Hey, no reason to feel embarrassed or anything, okay? Trust me. I already embarrass myself on a daily basis anyway, so you can't do any worse than me.

[He turns, starts collecting things from the kitchen as they enter it. He only stops for a moment to surrender a little bit of information — it seems only fair, when Coil's had the misfortune of crying in front of him. After all, it's only fair. If someone learns something vulnerable about the other, shouldn't it only be fair he gives them something to feel more level-fielded?

He surrenders ASL for the moment, because his hands are busied.]

... I was kind of in a similar predicament with food, once. Just for a little bit, I mean, so I can't really understand what it's like at all and I wouldn't pretend to, but. But I was sick, kind of like... I guess a terminal illness is the best way to describe it. Supernaturally caused, because that's usually how it goes for me.

[He turns to lean against the counter with his tailbone, talking and signing a bit in unison.]

I couldn't keep much down, let alone have an appetite for it, and I couldn't really taste anything a few months in. But I was a hot mess the whole time. But I did learn that solid foods were, um, the devil.

[ok no solid foods aren't the devil but you know what he means]

[Coil slinks into a seat at the table... and he still looks uncomfortable with the whole conversation, but he's listening. he's just not used to having so many of his weaknesses out on display and talked about like this--out of commiseration or not.

he fidgets with his fingers, but he glances up periodically to show that he's listening, and nods at the end there. it's close enough that he agrees. food in general can kind of be the devil, to him.]

[He glances back as he finishes mixing together some of the stronger powders for what is essentially a fruit smoothie and protein -- and hesitates at how uncomfortable Coil looks. He drops his head a bit, bangs falling into his face, and gives a short, embarrassed laugh of his own as he rubs the back of his head.]

Running my mouth -- kind of my pastime when I'm working on something. I'm useless, huh.

[He shakes his head.]

Sorry.

[He offers Coil a glass with a small smile.]

I know the signs for "shut up", if you ever want to use them.

[he huffs a breath through his nose as he accepts the glass, which is probably his version of a laugh or a scoff. he'll keep that in mind.

and he needs a few other things, but he's not going to ask for them. instead, he pushes himself quietly from the table again and crosses the kitchen near Sam, so he can root around for a spoon and pour himself a big glass of water.]

[He plops down in a chair himself, stretching his mile-long legs and scrolling around through his network communicator; he's addicted to checking that thing, okay, who isn't. But he makes a point to not pay a lot of attention to what Coil's doing. Not out of not caring, but because he figures Coil doesn't want him following him with his eyes, alright.]

Could always blabber about some of our cases back home instead, if that's more interesting...

[he appreciates not being directly under the spotlight--so much so that he raps a couple fingers on the counter to get Sam's attention. if he answers him now, Sam's attention will hopefully drift back to his communicator by the time Coil settles down at the table again.

he spells out 'v-a-m-p-i-r-e,' instead of using the word that he and his pseudo-brother made up for the creatures. that's what he wants to hear stories about.]

[Sam rolls his eyes in good humor.]

Vampires. When I first ran into them, they were one of the most uncommon monsters out there — they're unfortunately one of the most common types of monster we run into lately. Probably because of how easy it is to transfer it from person to person.

There was... Hmm.

You want a story about nice vampires, or a story about shitty ones?

[he raises his brow skeptically over the first option, but he isn't curious about it. he wouldn't believe a story like that for a second. he met a "nice" vampire once, and that event ended up being the closest he and his partner had come to ultimate, bloody failure.

so, he answers with the sign for 'bad.' the stories he likes most are about the monsters who get what's coming to them.]

[Hmmm. Well, he'll oblige. He's just glad the kid is feeling even a little better, and if he can distract him from his own thoughts... well. He'll have been doing a service. He considers his plethora of stories.]

Hm... Well. There was once a girl -- we'll call her Annie. She'd been arrested one day in a smaller, quieter town. While she was being held in a cell, though, a vamp came through the place... for her. He was about to get her with an officer named Jody killed him, stopped him.

[He leans back.]

Jody's a friend of mine; we're, um, pretty close. So she was used to the supernatural from some experience. What she didn't expect was the girl being angry at her. Apparently, the vamp she killed was her 'brother'. That's when we were called in.