driftfleet | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: The burrito of death (aka Tek)
Broadcast: Audio, open to the fleet
Action: Bloodsport cargo hold
When: Broadcast day after the attack - Action open all month

[this one is sent in audio only, because goodness no one needs to see his current face--though, his voice isn't right either. it's too light, too delicate, and there is a little too much purr to it. especially without the aid of a video feed, it's hard to tell whether the speaker is male or female or monster at all.

and the tone is nothing but flat.]

Everyone is safe and accounted for? Nothing is entirely amiss? Wonderful.

[he isn't bitter about no one asking about his absence at all. nope. not one bit.]

So, I guess it's about time to start returning to our old routine, hmm? Everyone ready for things to go back to normal? Especially with such a good distraction from our recent little 'vacation home,' I know I sure am ready to forget about everything that just happened.

[this weapons-grade sarcasm could burn a hole through the floor.]

Especially with all of this new spending cash. ...Have you all checked your accounts today? The bonuses are already rolling in.

Isn't it wonderful.

[this sorry creature feels sickened and infuriated and doesn't have the strength to vent it any other way. so, a pissy broadcast it is!

and for anyone wandering the Red Fish any time soon, he can be found actually sitting up now. still wrapped in blankets and misery, but he's at least upright. it's a step.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm not joking.

[but he at least stands up and stops looking at him, picking up his stupid bucket and going to go focus somewhere else while Tek eats.]

[the fact that he means it might actually be worse than the alternative. at least if he was teasing him, Tek could be angry at something that rightfully makes sense.

his defensive snarling likely would have continued if Robin hadn't turned his attention elsewhere. he doesn't relax until that happens, like a touchy, cornered animal.

it takes him a minute to let himself focus down on the packet again, beginning to pick up sticky gobs of meat and stuff them into his mouth.]

[he will, politely, let Tek finish his food. he's got globs to clean.

well, not quite without interruption--about halfway through a black spot, he comments:]

Is this stuff going to get any worse? Because I think it's already trying to eat through the floor, as it is...

I would love to be able to answer that with any certainty.

[oh, okay. the ice and bitterness has not left his voice at all during that interlude.]

But, as I was brought back through some kind of abomination of a ritual, skipping over anything that I have a frame of reference for, I have no idea.

[what can he do other than sigh? he knew this was coming... but... Tek would have probably complained about any body he was put in, to be fair.]

I'm sorry.

[at least he doesn't look happy anymore.]

[and Tek doesn't take the apology as anything deeper than some polite response. he waves his hand, brushing it off.

and after wiping his fingers and crumpling up the remains of the butcher paper, he flicks it out of the nest and doesn't bother with much cleanup beyond that. it's good enough for now. hands still a little gory, he flops carefully back into the blankets.]

You're not the one I want remorse from. You didn't know.

...If it wasn't for you, who knows what shape he would have put me into.

[not true. he did know. he took a huge risk, and Tek's soul was the thing at stake. he wants to tell him that he knew, and that he went out of his way to get his necklace back--but he doesn't want to admit that he forced Tek into this nightmare of a body, even if he had good reason to do it.

so he stays quiet for a moment, quickly busying himself with the last splotch of gunk. the rag goes back in the bucket. it doesn't really make the room smell any better.

he plucks up the last clean cloth from the rim, and brings it over. reaches right in to the blanket nest and wipes off a smudge of something at the edge of Tek's mouth--blood or gunk or otherwise.]

It sounded like it could have been anything. You'd make a horrible shoe.

[he swats at him, sluggishly. Robin knows when the wheels in Tek's mind are spinning and searching for the kill, and this is not one of those times. he has missed the hesitation entirely.]

Oh, please. I would be gorgeous.

[he laughs. he shouldn't--he feels worse, somehow--but it's funny and sudden.]

All right. You'd be a gorgeous shoe.

[he tries to get him to take the cloth in his hand. wash himself off. he knows the drill.]

[he does take the cloth, and it's well-timed. whatever sound he was about to utter--a chuckle, a word--it turns into an absolutely disgusting wet cough, and he covers his mouth to catch it.

his lungs must still be forming.]

That's... [...he looks down. gross.]

That's not what that was for.

[and again Robin doesn't get a verbal answer.

Tek just wipes off his mouth, wads up the cloth... and holds it out in Robin's direction again.]

[he... makes a soft noise of disgust, but takes the rag. because he's done worse, and he's far, far too kind a person sometimes.]

That's... Great. Thanks.

[he murmurs a sound that is absolutely not an apology, and squirms around a little, until he can snag the edge of the blanket he's looking for and work to drag it around himself.

he's feeling steadily more awful with weight sitting in whatever is serving as his stomach, and he's just not quite cocooned enough.]

All right...

[he drops the bundle into the bucket. he'll have to burn it later, maybe. give him a moment, and he'll help bundle Tek into his usual cocoon--since that seems to make him feel a little better. nice and snug.]

[it does make him feel better, which mostly just serves as a contrast to help him realize just how awful he really does feel in the first place. he curls up with it, once he's wrapped up, like a wounded snake coiling on itself.

and, of course, Robin gets to know exactly how much it all hurts. it's something like a younger, raw version of things he'd suffer much later in life.]

[he doesn't like it. and... he knows that Tek doesn't want him complimenting him, or fawning over him, or pitying him, but he does it anyway. he worries. he fears for shadows of things he can't talk about.

so, after watching him curl up, he leans down to kiss him gently on the side of his head. just a peck, mostly to make himself feel better.]

[it's true. he doesn't want any of those pitying things.

and yet, once Robin gets close enough to dip down and touch him, one hand goes snaking out of the blankets, reaching for... something. an arm, maybe, or a shoulder. or even just to snag a sleeve, so he can try and weakly tug him closer.]

Hm? [he's a little surprised, watches it happen... but Tek doesn't have to try very hard to get Robin to settle down next to him. he wraps his arm around him and snugs him a little closer. maybe it'll help him feel more together and contained.]

[the gesture does exactly that. he's always liked it--whether or not he'd ever say it. in a nest, it's best when bodies are packed oppressively close together. and Robin has seen the comfort it brings when invisible things are unraveling.

and he's smaller, like this. it's more noticeable when there aren't the soft curves that normally accompany a shift to a slighter frame. like this, he's just... less.]

[there's a pause, a small breath as he notices... but he doesn't say anything. not a single word of pity, or even a noise of concern. he settles next to him again, lets his head drop into the blankets. he can almost hear the hum of the ship through them, reverberating through its metal frame below.

he glances through the shroud to what parts of Tek's face he can see. he strokes his head through the fabric, slow and rhythmic.]

[for a while, it's just nice. the ship drones and lulls, and everything is settled. but maybe Tek is finally comfortable enough, like this, to wake up a little. do something thinking. gain some perspective.

whatever the reason, the fact that he is being taken care of--wrapped and coddled because he's too broken for anything else--becomes too much to bear. he's suffocating in his own neediness.

he finally utters some feral groan of annoyance and restlessly shifts around. he shrugs against Robin like he suddenly can't stand his presence, repelled by the kindness. and it all follows a quiet flare of pain, like the grind of bones and stretching of tendons.]

[he's... a little surprised, picking his head up again in confusion. deep down, though, it's followed by a familiarity. of course he's irritated now. of course he can't just have this nice thing.]

Stop.

[annoyed, suddenly, he shoves on his shoulder a little. stop moving. be comfortable. don't make him think about the way he'd pull this kind of shit in the future.]

[and he snarls, metaphorically biting back as probably expected. but he still doesn't have quite the weight, and the depth of suffering without relief, as he'll have later on. so, the fight is comparatively shallow.

he's still mostly wrapped up, anyway. he lacks the strength to even properly battle against blankets.

so, it doesn't take long until it turns into pathetic writhing--curling uselessly in place with another sickened groan.

he's just miserable and frustrated.]

I know, just-- [now he's getting frustrated. he flops his head back down, sighing, and waits for Tek to stop writhing. he waits for him to settle down again.]