2. and the breaking point

[rickitikitarr]

[Video]

[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.

[Spam]

[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.]

Comments

[thelastbullet]

Definitely broken. [He doesn't sound too upset about it, even if it hurts like a motherfucker.]

Lookin' at the infirmary right now, I'm thinking I got off easy.

[rickitikitarr]

[He makes a sympathetic grimace.]

Easy, yeah, but still not a hell of a lot of fun. They let you out, yet?

[thelastbullet]

Nothin' much they could do except put me in a sling and load me up on painkillers. [Which he already has plenty of, because of his leg.

Speaking of...]

Flood get to you?

[rickitikitarr]

Oh yeah.

[A long, thin sigh.]

It's distracting, not much worse than that. How about you?

cw for uhh a pic of said gnarly scars

[thelastbullet]

Strange. Disconcerting. Not as painful as it should be. [He pans the camera down towards his ankle-- every few inches there's a sharp ridge of protruding bone, curving up- and outwards. He puts the communicator back down without showing Ricki the rest of his leg, but it's clear that it doesn't just stop at the ankle. There's some pretty gnarly scars around most of the bone ridges, but it's not clear whether they were there already or if they came with the new layout.]

[rickitikitarr]

[He takes all of that in with a wince, then reciprocates, removing the shawl that is actually his bedsheets and twisting gingerly- as much as he can with the plates running up his spine. He's already a muscular fellow, a little tattooed, reasonably scarred up, but this makes him look frankly armoured, even though the only part of him that actually is made of this new hard material are the stegosaurus protrusions.]

[thelastbullet]

[He hisses when he sees it, physically moving away from the camera in sympathy.]

What's that supposed to be?

[rickitikitarr]

Something reptilian, from what I recall. I suppose it'd keep a greater beast from biting down on my back.

[Is the only thing he can think of.]

[thelastbullet]

[That earns Ricki a little snort, which in turn causes a wince when he jostles his shoulder again. Christ, can't do anything this way.]

Not a fan of back-biting, huh?

[rickitikitarr]

It's not on my to do list, I'll say that much.

[But right now he'd take the spikes over that arm.]

Need a hand with anything, cup of tea, moving furniture, you can give me a call. If this is the moment you decide your dresser must absolutely be on the other side of the cabin.

[It's ridiculous, silly to offer, but hey, who knows?]

[thelastbullet]

Not exactly the pretty nurse I'd imagined, but desperate times... [He trails off, gives a crooked little grin. He appreciates it, even if it surprises him, more than he'd let on.]

[rickitikitarr]

I'm not mopping your brow, don't get any ideas.

[A wrinkle of his nose in return, as he hides a smile.]

Did they figure out why he snapped?

[thelastbullet]

[He huffs a soft laugh at the image, of muscular, tattoo'd Ricki with his back plates hunching over him to mop his brow. He sobers soon after, thinking of his visit to Kylar in Zero.]

He didn't even snap. He just-- hit my shoulder so hard it broke, and then walked off like nothin' happened.

[rickitikitarr]

Jesus, this fucking place.

[Is all he can think to say. He doesn't think he's ever going to get used to it, not really.]

[thelastbullet]

You said it, pal.

[rickitikitarr]

And I haven't even ever been to a port, yet, which I'm given to understand is all the worse.

[thelastbullet]

Some ports might work better for some people than for others. [Everyone else would probably love 1920's Atlantic City. Jimmy, not so much anymore.]

[rickitikitarr]

Mm- I am this close to beginning speculating once more, but will restrain myself, just in case I actually am tempting fate.

[thelastbullet]

Admiral might be listenin' in, see what all we don't want, so it can happen.

[rickitikitarr]

You've been here longer than I have. Everyone jokes about that, about tempting fate- but have you seen it actually happen? I can't tell if it's teasing or serious.

[thelastbullet]

[Again he starts to shrug, and then groans in pain. Old habits, and all.]

He can bring people back from the dead and fucking grant wishes. Who the fuck knows?