driftfleet | Red Fish Mingle

Entry tags:

Red Fish Mingle

Who: The crew and (many) visitors of the Red Fish!
Broadcast: Nope
Action: Aboard the SS Red Fish
When: Nebulously after the Great Winter Soldier Violence Spree of '16

[it was bound to happen sometime. all three captains of the SS Red Fish are hauled back home in various stages of medical distress, and things have been a little weird since then.

one of these things is the super soldier with the busted metal arm that is brought in to be kept locked up in Coil's lab for a while. turns out those restraints he'd had installed did come in handy. that's a thing.

so, whether you're here to check on one of the various ailing people here, gawk at the guy chained up in the ~~dungeon~~ lab, or are just trying to live your life in relative peace and sanity, come on in!]

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→ A
[it was a few days before Coil regained consciousness at all, and he has since become a silent and dour patient trapped in his own medical bay. though he can barely move, and being awake is a painful ordeal that he tries to avoid as much as possible, it's still clear that he hates being stuck there.

whenever his eye drags itself open, it's usually to glare mindlessly at whoever is intruding in the lab, and any moments he can dredge up the energy and willpower for it, he's struggling to lever himself up into a sitting position on the table. anyone lucky enough to happen by the lab while he's awake has a good chance finding him engaged in one--or both--of these activities.]

→ B
[eventually, he manages to grit his teeth and rally himself enough to move, fetching a few very important things that he'd had stashed around the lab. and being that his chest is seizing, aching mess of pain by the time he scrounges up everything he needs, he doesn't bother trying to crawl back onto the table. he takes his book of matches, scrap bits of paper, and candle stubs, and slumps himself down to the floor in the corner of the lab. there, he can prop himself up against the cabinets, and pretend that he is somewhere with enough peace and privacy for the task at hand.

whoever happens by to see the patient out of bed, will find him surrounded by burnt bits of paper, lit candles, and spilled wax, jaw clenched as he tries to concentrate through a stupid amount of pain.]

[oh, hey. sorry to interrupt.

but Zhas is now standing in the doorway, bowl of something passably edible in his hand. the look on his face is blank by definition, but the subtle raise of his eyebrows and flat gaze imply that he already doesn't want to know.

he brought lunch, so. if you still do that kind of thing.]

[interruptions really aren't something that he has the time or the energy for right now, but he also doesn't have the strength to fend them off very effectively.

besides, there has always been one exception to most of his rules, and it's currently standing in the doorway with a bowl of food.

he can't help but glance up when he sees the familiar shape in the corner of his vision... and, almost immediately, his whole frame sags as his focus slips. it only takes a second. whatever arcane words had been running through his head, they've already lost their rhythm, and the exhaustion is quick to rush in and take their place.]

[it's good that Coil is standing, he supposes.

the boy's "magic" always complicates things for Zhas, bumping up against several very strongly-held beliefs and the majority of his moral code... but Coil isn't the only one who makes an exception to his rules. for now, he gives the candles and burned bits of papery a cursory look-over before signing with his off-hand.

'can I come in?'

which is not to be polite so much as gain assurance he won't be instantly vaporized if he does.]

[he nods, and presses the heel of one hand against his eye. his head is beginning to pound, but it's probably a good sign that he is more concerned about that than the prospect of someone strolling in on his work. it's probably pretty safe.

though, he does make sure to reach out and dig a couple fingers into the soft wax of the nearest candle for a second, as if steadying it, before Zhas gets any closer. it's a safe bet that the little gesture was probably important for something, and that Zhas announced himself before approaching.]

[the candle is just one more thing he won't ask about. even if he wanted to know, the explanation would not be worth it.

at least he isn't completely hopeless; he treads carefully and avoids disrupting anything with his large boots. when he can get close enough, he'll even take a seat in front of him so that Coil doesn't have to stand up.

he holds the bowl out for him. hopefully, eating hasn't somehow gotten even harder for the kid since his injury.]

[at least there is no clearly-drawn circle to avoid; the shape of this rite is only implied by the periodic candle and crumpled paper offering. it's almost subtle enough to allow for a suspension of belief. if it wasn't for the way the bits of paper continue to quietly smolder far longer than they seemingly should be able to, one could almost pretend that everything in this room is normal.

and, unfortunately, everything has been made more difficult since his injury. between the wounds themselves and the conflicting magics that have been warring to heal them, he doesn't feel much like eating or sleeping or moving anymore.

so, he takes the bowl of food, but just rests it in his lap.]

[the smoldering is distracting. he'd had it in his mind to tell Coil to eat, but when he raises his hand to do so, he's obviously looking at a piece of paper off to the side.]

[those pieces of paper probably need to keep burning, and they probably won't keep it up forever. so, when Zhas just sits there, getting distracted and spending more of Coil's time, the necromancer lifts a hand enough to give a weak wave--trying to call his attention back.

just ignore that. don't worry about it.]

[well, it gets his attention, but now he's starting to get questions stuck in his brain. he doesn't want to know... but... it's kind of hard not to ask.

'is this...' gesturing vaguely towards the whole setup, 'for you?

pointing towards Coil's chest, specifically. it's his only guess that isn't awful.]

[it's more than a little weird to have Zhas actually... asking... about this. but, if anything, this whole ordeal is leaving Coil too tired to fully appreciate the awkwardness of it.

he shifts a little uncomfortably, but the exhaustion is much more prevalent in his whole posture. he's drained to his core--and his core still has a big dent in it.

settling with even more weary dead weight against the cabinets, he hesitantly nods. yeah, it's for him.

'I don't like hers, he further explains, pointing vaguely toward the door and the rest of the ship.]

[that, at least, is a reasoning that Zhas can understand. he doesn't like Syeira's healing much himself. the explanation gets a short nod before he moves on; that's plenty of magic talk for now.

'eating will help,' he suggests, 'you need the energy.']

[he nods in agreement because Zhas is right, but it's clear that his heart isn't in it.

'no time,' he signs. and he glances down at the nearest smoldering paper--giving away the fact that he almost points at the ember to explain. there's a slowly ticking clock here, but Zhas hasn't asked for details, so he catches himself.]

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[All the judging one grimace, one eye, and a pair of hands on hips can give are sent Coil's way as soon as Asuka enters the medical bay. She's kept herself out of the goings-on as much as possible, not caring as long as it didn't affect her ship or Shinji, but once half the crew ended up in the medical bay, well. It's appallingly difficult to ignore. So as Coil tries to sit up, she holds her hand out in abject aggravation, as if it's not really a favor he's warranted.]

What happened, idiot? [As if she didn't know. One of these people is not like the others... one of these people just doesn't... belong. On board the Red Fish, or anywhere but out an airlock. Luckily, said person definitely isn't Coil.]

[and that judgement is reflected right back as disdain. he hurts too much to be nice, and his pride is suffering almost as much as his body is. there's a hideous mural of bruises spreading out from the middle of his bare chest like a dark, ugly flower, but he's not letting that stop him from trying to ignore her favor anyway.

gritting his teeth and trying (and failing) to breathe through the spasms across his ribs, he continues to struggle up under his own power.

he'll answer once he's properly sitting up, one way or another.]

Dumbass.

[It's like watching a flipped-over cockroach try to right itself. Asuka's got little sympathy but even less patience, so this time she outright grabs his arm, not pausing a bit until she's yanked him up. There's an unnerving amount of raw strength both in her grip and the way she tugs him. More than someone as spindly as Asuka ought to possess.]

[Though her mission's accomplished, she keeps holding onto his arm as if she's not quite sure he'll stay sitting up otherwise. She narrows her eye.] I've been practicing, so you'd better answer me.

[as much as he would have hated pity, or any other soft reaction, being unsympathetically hauled around ends up not being a whole hell of a lot better either. he doesn't gasp so much as wheeze between clenched teeth at the pain, and she's just going to have to wait while his vision clears and he can breathe again before she gets her answer.

once he's sitting up and recovering, the signs for 'don't touch me,' are what he finally comes up with.]

Then don't be stupid. [The wheezing annoys her irrationally-- maybe because she's got a pretty good idea it conceals a lot of pain.] Aren't there better drugs in here? [Back home, she didn't care for drugs, despite a daily, awful regimen of them. But here on the Fleet, on camera, he really has no reason to be suffering. Asuka grumbles, busying herself with starting to dig through some cabinets, as if she's got any indication of what to look for.]

[he answers with 'don't like,' even though the actual truth of the matter is that he didn't bother looking for any. Zhas is the one with a penchant for pain killers, not him. he'd rather keep his wits about him... even if the pain often ends up being just as much of an inhibitor to his senses as pain killers would be.

Coil is the only one on the ship with the augment equipped to easily make sense of the medical bay, but she'll eventually come across a variety of injection vials that at least look promising. granted, they could just as easily be vitamins as they could be narcotics, but... at least it's something?

as she rummages, he carefully turns as much as he can to try and watch her. he tries to wave to keep her attention, but anything more than small motions with his arms hurt quite a bit. so, whether she's looking or not, he tries to tell her to 'leave it.']

I'm not leaving it. [Ugh. He's so frustrating. Doesn't he see that he won't be any good to anyone onboard if he's laid up any longer than he has to be? Painkillers wouldn't speed up recovery, but they'd definitely make it easier to bear. She picks up an injection vial, studying it with a frown. It beats looking him in the face as she makes her next demand.]

And why the hell did you bring the guy who tried to murder all those people onboard? Nobody voted on that!

[they should just go ahead and have a contest for who is the most frustrating out of the two of them, and see who wins. maybe it would end in a stalemate. maybe the others would finally lose their patience and kick them both off the ship.

the immediate smart-ass answer she gets is him signing 'captain,' and pointing to himself. it's just a snap response fueled by aggravation, though; he knows the rank basically means nothing.

and after a strained, annoyed breath or two, he gathers himself enough to try and form something like a real answer--since she seems to be catching on to slightly more complicated signs.

'watching him,' is followed by the simple but dramatic sign for 'broken.' it's not much, but it's at least something to start an explanation.]

[Captain. Please. She's a captain back home, and not because some stupid show assigned her the part. Not that it matters now or even mattered much back then. Rank doesn't have its privileges when you're perpetually fourteen years old.]

[The signs continue to annoy her, for all that she does understand them. Asuka's been practicing and memorizing them fairly voraciously. Her syntax still leaves something to be desired, though she doesn't really plan on signing back to him, since he can hear her fine.]

I don't care if he's broken. I care that he's a liability, stupid.

[she understands enough to argue efficiently, and that's what matters most. though, he nods at her this time, because he doesn't disagree. yes, yes--big danger here. he gets it.

'keep him here instead of running around,' he explains. 'supplies here. weapons here.'

and for the most important point, he motions to himself with as much emphasis as he can manage with how much moving his arms around is starting to wear him out.

'I can see him here. I don't have to wonder.']

Yeah, and you can't do anything about it if he breaks out of here, either.

[She's still holding the vial. He hadn't seemed to pleased at the thought of getting drugs, but it's obvious he's getting exhausted just by making signs. He'll probably pass out soon regardless. Asuka lets out an annoyed sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan and rolls her eyes.]

Then what? He's going back to his ship like nothing happened?

[his arms are connected to all of those bruised muscles and bones in his chest, so signing with argumentative emphasis is miles more taxing than it should be. at this rate, it might tire him out as well as any sedative would.

he tries to shrug, but doing so with his shoulders would be too much to ask. it's more of an exasperated raising and dropping of his hands than anything else. he doesn't know. and instead of coming up with an answer for that, he throws a question back at her.

'what do you want instead?']