rickitikitarr | 2. and the breaking point

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[He'd woken up this morning to a terrible new alteration to his body, and to Zane's (rather terrifying) network announcement. So, subdued, short;]

I don't know what the hell is wrong with you people, but this place is fucking dreadful. Someone let us know when the rampage killing lunatic has-

[Fuck. He stops himself, because he hadn't intended to let his temper get away with him. This isn't helping anyone. He, quite visibly, draws a breath in through his nose, lets it out through his mouth.]

I'm sorry. I hope there can be an announcement when the halls are safe again.

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[The flood really hasn't been good to him. He gives up on staying holed into his cabin, and makes the trek to go get breakfast. He looks rather unusual, in a low slung pair of jeans and a sheet wrapped around his head and shoulders, held together over his chest with one hand, like a grandmother with a massive shawl.

It's better than going shirtless, which is his only other option. By the way his bedsheet tents up the centre of his back, something is clearly wrong with his spine. When he gets his tray, one handed, and the hood of sheet over his head spills back to reveal a dip at the top of his shoulders, a keen observer will catch sight of a ridge of uncomfortable protruding plates. They're interspersed enough that the movements of his spine are only a little restricted, though twisting side to side more than a bare inch is impossible.

So, he learns quickly, is sitting back comfortably against anything. He perches up gingerly on the edge of his chair, flings one end of the sheet over his shoulder like a scarf to free up his hands a little better, and starts to stab at his meal. He is in a mildly better mood than he was earlier.

Very mildly.]

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Sure we fucking can. It just won't stick.

[Lloyd's pretty sure that Zane guy has been taken care of, by now, but he doesn't feel any particular relief. One psycho down, so what? People are still going crazy all around, and now they're wearing real-life Halloween costumes on top of it, for extra shits and giggles.]

Kinda makes you feel like it don't even matter, you know? [His tail does a moody swing.] Like it's all one big playground for sick fucks.

Now, now. If we're caught fermenting mutiny in public we'll probably have our eyeballs fall out next time around.

[But yeah, he's right there with him, and it shows in the look on his face.]

Christ, don't fuckin' say that. You know it might just happen.

[But obviously Lloyd's not too disturbed by that possibility, because he proceeds with his sandwich munching at his regular pace.]

Besides, a little mutiny might do people some good. Give us a break from all the tails, hooves and murders. Let some of the tension out.

[Of course he's not serious -- he's not quite bored, tense or desperate enough to really contemplate causing trouble, but he's certainly been more on edge, between the regular dose of stir crazy and the recent going-ons.]

Could be exciting.

[He agrees, taking another long, slow sip.]

I'm burning my way through the library right now, since for the most part it's something I can do from my quarters. I could do with a change of pace.

Tell me about it, man. My old school teachers would be gettin' hard-ons in their graves if they knew how much reading I been doing. I mean, magazines mostly, I haven't got the patience for the longer stuff, but it's better than nothing.

[A way to pass the time, is what it is, and not a particularly exciting or satisfying way at that. Especially not when he'd been dealing with the responsibility of managing a city in the months prior to the Barge. There's a lot he doesn't miss about Vegas, but his old job he misses plenty.]

I'm probably an asshole for sayin' it -- I feel bad for the people who got murdered, and the whole thing was pretty freaky -- but for a little while things got interesting, when we were tryin' to figure out who the killer was.

[He ended up contributing jack shit to the little investigation they had going, but it felt important at the time, and he felt like he was doing something, poking at that mystery.]

That's the thing, isn't it?

[Agreeing, quietly, sitting forward in his chair, putting his elbows on the table and pitching his voice so it won't carry, looking for all the world as casual as can be.

He picks up a teaspoon, starts circling it idly in his cup.]

You live a life a certain way, and it doesn't make you hope for the adrenaline to start kicking, the bullets to fly, the casualties and collateral to start to mount up. But gradually, over time, it does make you twitch in the times in between, you don't settle down quite as well as you used to, you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when the next rash of violence happens, you feel the tiniest little twinge of relief, for the waiting being over.

2. and the breaking point

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