Duplicity Game Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
duplicitymods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
duplicitymemes2021-07-10 08:20 am
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2021-07-10 08:20 am
Entry tags:
TDM #19
« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »
« « « ALL ON DISPLAY
» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «
It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy. This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses. To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues. ... and you're here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity. After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a clear plastic top and pants along with clear plastic boots to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of orientation. If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You're a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your high rise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You're a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you'll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms. ...At least, this would normally be the case. Enjoy your free time until orientation! Participation is mandatory by all new and old arrivals. The weather is stormy and miserable. There's flooding. Quite a bit of it. |
» » » VIRTUAL VOYAGE
 (cw: voyeurism, privacy violations)Ordinarily, new arrivals to Duplicity are sent on a tour of the city by train, but with the tracks currently underwater this month's tour is a little different. Instead they will assemble in a conference room on the third floor of the Orientation Center and watch a video that highlights the many beautiful locations of the Up, such as White Wall Bridge, Fiddler's Square, and North Park, complete with cheesy voiceover. The video also displays some… less beautiful landmarks in the Down, though that segment is shorter and much less complimentary. After the video concludes, it's time for the interactive portion of the tour! Tablets will be handed out, though there aren't enough for everyone so some people will have to share. These tablets are set up with a program allowing characters to look through various cameras in public areas around the city. They can click from one camera view to the next to explore or tap the 'randomize' button and see where they end up. There seems to be a glitch with the latter feature, however, that enables it to tap into camera feeds that aren't part of the carefully curated tour path. Security cameras in the lobbies and hallways of apartment buildings, hidden cameras in hotel rooms, webcams, and even the cameras on the communication devices that they all carry — any of these might pop up amidst the regular street views. Characters may suddenly find themselves a silent third party to a video call or spying on another LIER in an intimate moment. The question is, will they keep watching or click away? |
« « « SOGGY SLEEPOVER
 Due to the ongoing watery crisis, temporary accommodations have been arranged for until new arrivals are able to move into their assigned housing. Officials explain that the Submissive housing in the Down is partially flooded out and that the Dominant building in the Up, while not faring nearly as badly, has been experiencing electrical issues. As the apartments available to new Dominants are mainly on higher floors, this means an exhausting climb when the power goes out. In either case, the situation is not ideal. For now, Submissives are given blankets and sleeping bags in a hastily cleared-out hotel ballroom. There's plenty of floor space to spread out, but little else with which to create a sense of privacy. An adjoining set of restrooms provides the basic facilities (including a lube dispenser!) though a bath in the sink is as good as it gets for hygiene. Several room service carts loaded with bottled water and suggestively-named cheap pre-packaged snacks are refilled twice daily at meal times. If the Submissives sheltering here wish to better their circumstances, well, perhaps they should find a Dom to shack up with and sign a contract. Dominants each get a room to themselves, though LIEs haven't exactly sprung for the fanciest accommodations. Five star? Not even close. The rooms are small and garishly decorated, with minimal amenities. There's a tv on the dresser that only gets five channels — four of which are porn and the remaining channel is local news and weather. (No matter which channel you're watching, the immediate forecast is: wet.) At least they have a full bathroom. The hotel isn't serving food, but a few complimentary meal vouchers for a nearby restaurant can be found on the nightstand along with a 'sexy' welcome basket consisting of lube packets and a cheap vibrating dildo. All Dominants are strongly encouraged to visit the emergency Submissive shelter and rescue a Sub in need. PSAs featuring sad stock photos will be sent to their devices as a reminder. |
« « « TAKE THE STAIRS
 (cw: aphro, dub-con)With the steadily rising water and heavy rain, Duplicity’s utilities are feeling the strain of being increasingly waterlogged. The city is dotted with pockets of temporary power outages lasting a few hours at a time. It’s concerning, but there isn’t much city officials and engineers can do about their soaked infrastructure. All they can do is try to manage the blackouts and pray that a citywide one doesn’t befall the Up and Down. The area where the Orientation Center is situated is unfortunately prone to losing power, and those characters who decide to take the elevator instead of the stairs while attending Orientation may find themselves stopped in the dark with the doors sealed shut. The emergency system kicks in after a minute with dim red lighting and a voice over the intercom tells those trapped to keep calm. In addition to the emergency lights, a recording of smooth jazz will play over the intercom and air laced with a special blend of aphrodisiac will filter into the enclosed space. One last message over the intercom from whoever is on the other end reassures the stuck parties that the main power should be back on in an hour and in the meantime they should relax. So, what will you do with your trapped elevator buddy? You may find yourself wanting to sit next to them and open up about your feelings. Maybe you're feeling blabby, ready to get some things off your chest, or maybe you're more touchy-feely and you'd prefer to let your body do the talking. You have time, so why not take comfort in one another while waiting for the power to resume? |
« « « GET WET
 (cw: aphro, altered mental states, dub-con, exhibitionism)With the water level now at an all time high and with no sign of stopping, the locals are trying to avoid going out in it as much as possible. This need to stay dry (or at least not wade through murky water on the streets) has created quite a few job opportunities for those looking to make a quick buck. Whether it’s helping transport someone on a makeshift raft by pushing them slowly through the street or delivering food and other orders to customers, the demand is there. New arrivals will be offered these gigs, regardless of designation. Whether they decide to take on the jobs is up to them, but the incentive to do so includes an offer of better accommodations in a penthouse suite of Somass Hotel for those who provide the best service. It’s certainly an upgrade compared to the other lodgings that are available. Of course, there’s good reason the locals want to stay as dry as possible, aside from the annoyance of soggy clothes and pruney fingers. The murky water is contaminated with run-off chemicals from the waterlogged storm drains, that, with extended exposure, may cause irrational and impulsive behavior, especially with regards to sex. Get in an argument? Better fuck to make up. Want to bargain for a deal? Use your body. See someone whose rain boots are pretty stylish? Compliment them by offering yourself. Cause a problem with sex? Solve it with… even more sex. There’s also an even more unexpected side effect that’s cropped up - the urge to sing and dance in the rain, as if putting on an impromptu burlesque show. Wet clothes will be shed and tossed aside in the fervor of the act, baring it all to the elements and whatever audience might’ve formed in the process to watch the spectacle. |
« « « MOD & OOC NOTES
Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice. To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: If your character can swim well and independently, they’re a Submissive. If your character cannot swim at all or needs assistance (flotation device), they’re a Dominant. To Note: Characters can only swap their designation for one of the following reasons: an event occurs that allows it or there are OOC reasons that make it a necessity. Any swap always requires mod approval and each character can only ever switch once. Characters that are being reapped will keep their previous designation but players can choose to use new TDMs with different designations for fun! Test Drive threads can be used as activity proofs for characters currently in-game. Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have a good time!! |
no subject
the war officially ended over four years ago, wrapped up at the hands of a spartan at the cost of entire planets and millions of lives turned to smoke and dust. felix doesn't think about it anymore. ortez liked to talk about it sometimes, as if talking about their feelings would change how everything went down, and sometimes he wouldn't shut up until felix threw a ceramic mug at his head, shattered to jagged pieces against the wall. he learned to stop asking after the fifth or sixth broken mug. stubborn fucking asshole.
felix feels a little like that now. exposed, all his nerves rubbed raw. this was a mistake. )
5th Force Recon. Reach.
( to his credit, his voice doesn't catch on that last word. he's steady, toneless, like they're discussing the shitty weather and even shittier elevator music. he rolls his shoulders and tears his eyes away from sharkface, staring dimly at the strobing red ceiling lights. )
KIA'd, officially. I guess the UNSC made stupid bitches out of all of us, but I got the last laugh.
( he always does, one way or another. )
no subject
Shit.
[ He wasn't there on Reach, but he heard. Everyone did. ]
Whatever doesn't kill you.
[ Whatever doesn't kill you will live to regret it, he doesn't finish. Another of the sergeant's lessons. ]
Locus, too?
no subject
( it sounds practiced, methodical. a built-in muscle he can't stop from twitching once touched. he should've let the freelancers kill him, he should've killed him himself, he should've left him to die in new alexandria, should've, should've, should've. )
He's all my bad karma personified into a scowly human form. Such a constant buzzkill.
( what the fuck is he even talking about anymore? who cares. he's pretty sure — 98% sure at least — that sharkface was a single microsecond away from smashing his faceplate in not even ten minutes ago, and now they're reminiscing about the war like crotchety old veterans at midday brunch. sentimentality is a dead thing for the dead people who never learned how to scorch it out of them or cut it off at the head before it spread like a disease to paralyze the other limbs. that's not him. he survives. lock it up, isaac. pathetic.
it's the gas, prickling into his suit through the broken seal, knocking him off his center. has to be. he's too tight in his own skin.
as sharkface smokes, felix blinks twice and retrieves the alert on his hud. chemical compound unknown. sharkface hadn't seemed particularly surprised or concerned when felix mentioned it, so it wasn't lethal. unless it was and he was lying. maybe. that'd be some petty, spiteful shit felix would do.
his eyes slide to sharkface, considering. he's all bulk and distorted angles in the half-dark, severe and brooding. nah. not his style. he doesn't have the finesse. )
What's in the gas, sweetest?
no subject
He feels warm. That was how it started last time. Later, he won't be able to think clearly.
Sharkface bares his teeth in the dark. He wonders if Felix has started feeling it, too. ]
Some porno world shit. Didn't you hear?
[ There's hatred churning in his voice then. Not for Felix specifically - he doesn't know enough about Felix to hate the man - but this moment. The way his skin will start feeling too tight in about a minute. That assumption that they're going to fuck because why wouldn't people fuck in this situation? And the fact that he has no armor and Felix does, and oh, that's going to matter soon enough. It always does. ]
no subject
they're trapped in a city fueled by sex, not a backwater planet on the brink of total annihilation. uncharted territory, full of new sights and sounds and involuntary dosings of aphrodisiacs. of course it'd be some bizarro shit like this.
immediately, ) That's fucking hilarious.
( absolutely fucked up, but hilarious.
if sharkface wasn't sharkface, felix would take the path of least resistance, easy. he doesn't give a shit. what's one rough orgasm wrung out of him to another? but he has gear to guard, and a man who would rather see him dead than even think about rubbing up on his dick for a five minute quickie. he doesn't blame him for that, either. this was only ever going to shake down one way. )
Well, fuck. All right. ( on a sigh, begrudgingly resigned. ) I know your type.
( tense. so tightly wound at the seams he's one loose thread away from busting open completely. overclocked rage with nowhere to go but out and everywhere, god rest everything in the blast zone. defensive. armed to the teeth, most likely. they can play real nice, or.
they can do what they were built to do. )
You wanna two-step, Ephemera?
( leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. he eases away from the wall and snaps his knife from his holster into his open palm, then lifts his hand, blade flat, beckoning him forward with a slight tilt of his wrist. )
Let's dance a little.
no subject
Odds aren't with him here. Punctured or not, Felix has a full rig. All sorts of weapons. Two reasons he might've gone for a blade and not a gun. One: ricochet. You never can predict a bad angle. Two: the thrill of it. Unsurprising, Sharkface thinks blandly, and stubs the cigarette out on the wall. He's probably gonna get sliced up. Might even get dead.
Might not, though. And isn't that just fun?
Sharkface grins, pushing his hood back. ]
You know, Carolina's faster than you.
[ His tone is almost conversational. The blade he draws from his sleeve isn't. ]
no subject
Oh, fuck her. That bitch isn't shit without her toys and you know it.
( it's not an ideal space. felix maneuvers better when his targets have no room to back off and recoup, but this is excessively cramped even for him. the entire fight will be up close with a working margin of less than a few feet, and that leaves far less room for error.
that's fine. makes for a good time.
the blade flips into a reverse grip, hilt angled toward his chest, defensive stance. )
Focus up, asshole. I don't want you fantasizing about hatefucking Carolina while you're fucking with me. You'll make me jealous.
no subject
Wouldn't be hard in armor. Wouldn't be hard at all. But still, Felix hasn't made the first move. Hmm.
Well, all right then. Sharkface flashes his teeth, then darts in low and quick. See what that gets him, how Felix decides to field it. And if Sharkface gets lucky, well, he'll put the blade through Felix's leg and call that a job well down. People like them don't pull their blows. ]
I don't think about you at all.
[ Unlike his laughter, his voice is oddly calm. ]
no subject
metal sparks fly as the knife scrapes off his thigh instead of punching through layers of rubber composite and muscle, just barely glancing the beveled edge of his thigh guard. so he's quick too. )
What's the matter, big guy? Gun-shy?
( he pivots on his heel into him, forearm bracing his chest and knife-tip snagging the lapel of his jacket, then heaves him back before he can swing again and gut him through the side. what else does he have under there? more knives? )
I'm thinking about you.
( half-goad, half-kittenish tease needling for anything soft he can sink his teeth into until it bleeds. he lurches forward, his weight in his toes, and pitches his knife into his non-dominant hand, slicing through empty air. a feint. his other elbow lifts mid-swing, driving for a staggering strike to the jaw on his blind side. )
no subject
So, that’s fun. As is getting an elbow to the face. In a bar fight, it’d smart. Here, against an armored opponent, it nearly wrecks him. The world whites out for a moment. It’s a goddamn miracle he doesn’t break his jaw. He can feel blood in his mouth, hot and sickly sweet.
Yeah. That smarts.
Sharkface staggers back and laughs. ]
You’re having a slow day, huh?
[ He’s got too many pins in him these days. Metal plates that knitted him back together. Like the one in his jaw. Like the one in his skull when his head nearly got caved in from the missile strike. And they ache, oh, they smart. Every waking moment, a background thrum he only ever notices when it’s gone. But there are a few positives.
The nerve damage, for one. People don’t know until they know. ]
Should’ve dropped me.
[ The world’s gone blurry but he’s still standing. And that’s the only thing that matters in a fight.
He draws a fresh blade, this one heavier and thicker, and moves. feint to the front to see if Felix will go for it, if Sharkface can get behind him and strike for his neck. ]
no subject
people are easy. predictable. tender. they slip up, they make mistakes, they suffer the consequences, repeat ad nauseam until the heat death of the universe. one little comment can be an exploding bullet in the right mouth, on the right tongue at the right time, enough to lay a man twice his size flat on their ass. you learn. you adapt. you exploit your opponents' weaknesses at every available opportunity or you die, the end. that's the sacrifice you make as a weapon of war. that's what everyone takes home with them at night.
sharkface doesn't rattle as prettily. his spec ops training. his trauma. a defect in his wiring. maybe all three.
it does occur to him, for just a fleeting blink of a moment as sharkface ducks in and felix's knife twirls out of his hand in a split second lob directly at his face, that he shouldn't be exerting himself. maintain his breathing, easy and steady to give his system a fighting chance against the gas. surviving chemmy warfare 101. rookie shit.
then his knife whizzes past sharkface's shoulder and lodges four inches deep in the wall, and felix thinks, fucking a. then a knife-edge — weightier than his last one, crafted for killing blows — nicks his suit near his throat, just under the pressure seal fixing his helmet to his head, and felix thinks, fucking a. i said watch your six.
muscle memory and his hand around sharkface's bicep stops the knife from carving a path directly into his carotid artery. fuck this. he uses his bicep as a leverage-point, wrenching sharkface's arm over his shoulder. the position anchors him forward, dragging him flush against his back, before felix throws his weight against the nearest wall, sandwiching him between his rig and steel sheet and decorative wood paneling. )
Nah.
( even when he's caught with his dick out, he doesn't shut up.
his hand squeezes down the length of his arm and circles his wrist, hard enough to cut off circulation. hard enough to break with a little pressure applied in the right direction, a gentle coax to drop the knife, and if that doesn't work he'll slam his helmet back into his bare fucking face. )
Didn't you hear, motherfucker? I like it hard and dirty.
no subject
There's a vague part of Sharkface that knows he's in bad here, that the odds - stacked against him from the start - have only shifted higher against him. Wouldn't be hard for Felix just to slam back and dash Sharkface's skull against the wall. Pressure and leverage, and the will to get it done. They've got all three and he knows mercs like Felix, has known them for a long time. There's no paycheck here but there's always something to be gained. And it wouldn't be hard, no, sir. It'd be the easiest thing in the world.
Not like anyone dies here. Would it be like a game, waking up all over again at the beginning to try, try again?
No. Can't die stupid. Can't die for nothing when the mission still stands.
Sharkface bares his teeth and hisses out the exhale as he drops the knife. It clatters away in the dark. There's really nothing to stop Felix from caving his skull in. Just like there's nothing to stop him from drawing a second, smaller blade in his other hand and doing his goddamn best to punch it into Felix's throat.
It's already started. Play to win, soldier. You've only lost when you're dead. ]
no subject
it's a mistake he realizes too late to spare himself from total injury, but with enough time to pull sharkface's arm tighter around him and half-roll into his chest away from the knife, bodily knocking him against the wall. sharkface's blade arcs in on a lower trajectory, gleaming red, and connects with the tissue in his raised shoulder instead of the fragile arteries in his neck.
the impact punches a sound out of him, throaty and tight. his only tell.
his head jerks back, aiming for a sharp but controlled strike to his temple. he wants him disoriented, not gorily brained across his helmet, just for the few key seconds it takes for him to tighten his grip on his wrist and buckle forward, rolling sharkface over his shoulder onto the ground. a little twist of his extended arm and he could dislocate sharkface's shoulder, or snap his arm at the elbow or break his wrist, do it, do it, fucking do it.
he releases his arm and staggers back. )
Don't. ( get up, go for a fourth knife. if he needs an extra incentive, he'll get it in the form of felix's sidearm, rack snapping as he chambers the first round and levels the muzzle with his forehead. don't. )
no subject
He crashes to the ground. Ends with his arm pinned and then, suddenly, not. Felix has his sidearm out. Has the distance to use it this time.
It's almost neat, as these things go.
His vision pitches. Nearly gives up the ghost, swinging fuzzy and red. But he's not down.
No. Not yet.
Sharkface just bares his teeth. And he laughs. Low, rough. Edging onto wild but not there just yet. Give it time, he thinks vaguely. Just give it some fucking time. He can feel the gas more now that his adrenaline's up. Ironic, considering how little he feels anything else. The pain in his joints, in his skull? Gone, like he never knew it at all. But that ache under his skin, pulsing through him in time with his heartbeat? That's his new best friend. And he knows the score here. The city wants a show. There's probably someone watching.
No, he thinks. No, those fuckers don't get it easy.
He spits blood. And he laughs. ]
What're you gonna fucking do, huh?
[ Is this it? Is this how they play it? Sharkface knows, distantly, that he ought to care. There's a mission. A moment ago, he knew it intimately. Knew the rules, the lines he drew for himself. But it's hard to focus right now, to remember above the laughter and whatever this shit is that's being pumped into the room. Felix has armor and a gun to his head and that ought to matter, but does it? Does it, really? ]
no subject
he inhales slowly, chest hitching on a shudder that drags his spine taut. focus. fuck. )
You're feisty.
( wildly tenacious, too. credit where credit's due.
there's no guarantee that sharkface won't come at him the literal moment felix drops the gun. he's a live-wire ready to fry felix 200 milliamps deep, and that kind of mercurial unpredictability makes him uncomfortably dangerous. his finger flicks over the trigger, squeezing feather-light and lifting away. killing him would be smart, except he's by himself in strange and foreign territory, with no way to measure the present consequences of shooting him dead over the eventual consequences of just letting him walk. no allies, either. no ortez, no fucking nothing. alone.
good, is his first thought, hot and bitterly vicious. fuck ortez and everyone else on that hellspawn of a planet.
stop. stow that for later, gates, you're hurting yourself. he swallows around the acrid taste of blood in his mouth and unclamps his teeth from his tongue, holstering his sidearm. the knife next, yanked from the wall as he edges around sharkface's body and kicks his own knife — spattered in felix's blood — in a corner of the cab, out of reach. he has others, too many others, overcompensating for his lack of a firearm, probably. whatever. it's hard to think.
the drugs, licking through his nerves like an open flame over gasoline. he's high as a kite. )
We're done.
( not nearly as disdainful as he feels.
he wedges his back against the wall closest to him and hikes his weight onto the steel railing. common sense and his training dictate he keeps the helmet on, but he's fucked for the foreseeable future anyway and the suit is unbearably oppressive. his thumb slots in the crevice under his chin, pushing up until the seal pops and hisses, and he's free, helmet wedged between the loose spread of his thighs.
it certainly doesn't help. with his seal busted, it also doesn't hurt. he pinches his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, wiping the sweat from his lashes, then gropes for his injured shoulder and squeezes, allowing the pain to anchor him. his glove comes away red, slippery wet. asshole stuck him good, stabbed right into his suit through layers of gel and mixed composites. )
We can talk round two if you ever get your rig back.
( because he's sure as fuck not getting his unless he takes it off his corpse. )
no subject
Time and time again, he backed her. Time and time again, she taught him all the tricks he'd ever need to survive. And then she died, ugly and brutal, and now there's nothing left of her but the lessons.
Sharkface picks himself up, laughter bubbling in his throat before he kills that noise. Felix doesn't pull the trigger. Doesn't want to deal with the mess in the aftermath, maybe. Or maybe that'd be boring, who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. So long as there's no bullet between his eyes, there's an opportunity. And that armor, which Sharkface wants more than anything he's wanted in this goddamn place.
It'll be a trick getting it. Sharkface sways a little, dragging a hand through his hair. He considers the merits of going for the baton and trying to bash Felix's head in right here and now.
Nah. Wouldn't work. Play it smart, soldier. He thinks Chica would've taken Felix's head straight off, but then, Chica wouldn't have gotten into this situation on her lonesome. She'd have the whole squad to back her play and here, Sharkface knows his allies won't come if he ends up with a corpse and a bloody rig he can't drag out on his own.
A thought for later. Sharkface just snorts. But then Felix does something unexpected and pops his helmet off.
Huh. ]
We're talking now.
[ Just to be contrary. ]
no subject
steel sheet groans under pressure as he braces his shoulders on the wall, inching his legs apart. his helmet rolls down the split track of his thighs, stopped by his knees. )
You wanna fuck around and find out? ( then, sweeter: ) Come give me a kiss.
( bet his draw is faster than his lunge. )
no subject
Sharkface drags a hand down his face. He feels sick. Shaky now that the adrenaline's starting to dump and they aren't actively trying to bloody each other.
So, that's a problem. ]
You're not my type.
[ It's said in a drawl. These days no one's his type, or that's the line he's been trying real hard to draw. Sharkface doesn't touch anyone. Hasn't for years, since before prison. Not outside of a fight, not without violence. It keeps things simple, locks down the crazy. But this, place, oh.
This place just draws it out, inch by fucking inch. Like clockwork.
Sharkface stays where he is. The sick feeling grows. Twists under his skin. only These days, no one should be his type. These days, turns out lots of people are.
Hah. The irony twists in him, mingling with the gas of whatever it is they've been dosed with. Probably won't kill them.
Probably. Sharkface reaches up to prod at his face again. Jaw's not broken. Nose might be. He can feel something crunching when he inhales. Taste it in his throat. Cloying. ]
Bet you feel like shit right about now, huh?
[ There's a small bead of triumph in that. Bad as Sharkface feels right now, it's one of those shared misery equations. And that makes it bearable. ]
no subject
You think I'm gonna cry? Ask the powers-that-be pretty please for benevolent mercy? Boohoo, asshole. Just 'cause you got unresolved baggage doesn't mean I'm carrying the same load.
( he's felt worse, besides. biofoam between two fractured ribs to stop his body from slipping into hemorrhagic shock, the first time he woke up from cryo mid-jump and hyperventilated into hysterics, choking on suspension gel until the ship ai dosed him back into restless sleep. this is hotter than all of that, a searing throb he feels all the way down to his marrow. maddening. he'll claw right out of his skin and suit and maybe his mind, but it's survivable.
easier not to look at him and propel his mind to tumultuous turf, the point of no return, no man's land. easier not to think at all. but felix is felix, and he doesn't know how to not think at every second of every hour he's not unconscious, so he grips his shoulder again and digs his thumb into the gouge in his suit. pain. that's real. )
Fucking — just, ( venomous, hissed between tiny breaths, ) go back to your corner if you're not gonna bust my skull in. You're distracting me.
no subject
Blood on the ground. A momentary distraction. This is still happening. ]
Go fuck yourself.
[ A blunt suggest. Impractical, unhelpful, and Sharkface doesn't move. He stays put, blood caking across his face. He watches Felix dig his thumb into the wound on his shoulder and he gets it more than he cares to. Pain centers you. Grants clarity. Looks like they both need that right now. ]
You can bleed out for all I care.
no subject
( for now. for as long as this shit takes. half hour, an hour? two hours? his thumb twists, grinds in deeper. ruthless, inexhaustible spite carries him anywhere he needs to go, more impenetrable than the titanium alloy shell wrapped around him now. he catalogs the burn and sets it loose on every wildly firing synapse that begs for relief. cull the mutinous herd. fuck 'em.
he exhales, slow. it trembles through him, down to his fingertips, and he stares into the pulsating dark past sharkface's shoulder before his eyes drag inward, jerking erratically across his face. the blood suits him, bizarrely. he fucked him up good. )
no subject
[ It comes out in a drawl. All attitude and sneer. They should probably get back to stabbing each other. Things might build in this conversation. Lines that shouldn't be stepped over. Sharkface prods absently at his nose, feeling for the break. Then he claps both hands tight over the bridge and snaps it back into place.
The pain comes sharp. Pulsing. Distracting, for a moment. ]
Maybe not. Haven't heard of it killing anybody but there's first time for everything.
[ The pain fades to a background thrum. There's a different sort of ache working its way under his skin again. Unwelcome, unwanted. And still the doors don't open. ]
no subject
Pretty sure no one in the history of the entire universe has ever died of blue balls. This is edging on steroids.
( he wants to be more derisive, more jeering, but the drugs burn through him like a gut-punch and knock the wind out of him. they shouldn't talk or do anything except stand in their designated corners and ride each fresh wave of gas vented into the cab straight to a miserably uncomfortable hell. his fingers twitch on his thigh, within an inch of his knife. playing it smart would be taking care of this shit now, before sharkface one-ups him first. put it to bed. move on and suffer the fallout. he can do fallout. fallout's easy.
but remember that sharkface is volatile, and a doped up short fuse with an agenda to burn is a die roll he doesn't know he's willing to risk. he has the advantage, a full set of gear and a loaded firearm. sometimes that doesn't mean anything.
his thumb hooks into his helmet, pulled from his knees back into the tight clench of his thighs. closer, just in case. )
A guy like you must hate this shit.
( it could be bait, or it could be a barb. )
no subject
You're stuck here too, asshole. Same as me.
[ Turns out the armor didn't matter at all. Not when it comes to fielding this bullshit, in this place where magic exists and there are goddamn aliens, aliens who look human and talk like the soldiers Sharkface grew up with, aliens who remind him of Hunter before the captain lost his mind. The thought sputters out. Dies on the vine. Sharkface twitches. For a moment, he gets the impulse to march back and just smash his head into the wall. Make the world go quiet. But that would be insane, wouldn't it?
He bares his teeth instead. He can taste blood in his throat. A distraction from the fact he's twitchy from more than just the adrenaline dump, and unable to do anything about it except stand here and glare at Felix like that's going to solve a damn thing. ]
You never shut up, huh?
no subject
Oh, but that's the delicious difference between you and me, isn't it?
( shame, or lack thereof. restraint, or lack thereof. he knows guys like sharkface. he makes his living working with guys like sharkface, and stripping everyone from the bloodthirsty pirates to the neurotic ex-marines down to the pegs of their derelict, condemned foundation is an offensive habit tacked to the territory. pull in the reins, maintain control, live to see another day. rinse and repeat.
he rolls his helmet in his hands, then back on it goes, a pop-snap of the seal as it connects to his suit. his hud's infrared filter lights up the cab, chiseling the formless dark into fixed shapes and angles and sharkface in the middle of it all, black-eyed and stationary. )
I already know how this is gonna end. Do you?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)