Slevin Kelevra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
andyougoleft) wrote2013-10-08 10:35 pm
andyougoleft) wrote2013-10-08 10:35 pm
|: 004. Spam/Video : Tell Me I'm a Bad Man, Kick Me Like a Stray :|
[ Infirmary Spam: Initially for Chris D'Amico, OPEN Later ]
[OOC: Following this thread and this post. CW for eyesquick, gore, and potentially cannibalism in this post and the previously linked posts.]
[Slevin wakes up all at once. There's a brief, blinding moment where everything hurts - everything - and then the stern voice in the back of his head. "Everything" is a useless generality. Only details matter. Details make or break the job. And then Slevin opens his eyes, and even though the bright white of the infirmary hurts too, he's so goddamn grateful to have eyes again that he doesn't even care.
His chest is the worst of it, and a sharp, deep pain he can't describe somewhere in his abdomen, but he can't make sense of any of it. He doesn't realize he's rolled over in the infirmary bed, dry-heaving, the noise catching in his throat; when he does realize, he forces himself to go still and groans softly, fighting to make sense of it, to control his own panic, though it's currently overwhelming him as much as the pain.
He'll be here for days. He may even be willing to talk after some of it. But not right now.]
[ Filtered to Inmates : The Next Day ]
[It's difficult to make a transmission from the infirmary, what with being in the bed beside his warden, and with the other people attached to Chris hovering around. But it's important that he does it as soon as he can lest he appear weak to whoever did this, and it's important to use video, so he does find the time, takes the opportunity the moment he has it. He keeps his voice low, and though he's paler than usual, his dark eyes are bright and steady. This is not the grinning, smarmy man the Barge as a whole has seen thus far.]
My name is not Slevin Kelevra, but it's the only name that matters to anyone here. Back home, I'm an assassin. It's probably what landed me as an inmate. I kill people for money, but money's no good here, so here's the deal: I kill for whoever has been killed, now. You contact me when you can speak through the death toll, or when your friend or warden or inmate or whatever has been moved to the infirmary, and I'm on the job and you're out of it as far as I'm concerned.
Warden or inmate, I don't care. That's it. That's the deal.
[OOC: Following this thread and this post. CW for eyesquick, gore, and potentially cannibalism in this post and the previously linked posts.]
[Slevin wakes up all at once. There's a brief, blinding moment where everything hurts - everything - and then the stern voice in the back of his head. "Everything" is a useless generality. Only details matter. Details make or break the job. And then Slevin opens his eyes, and even though the bright white of the infirmary hurts too, he's so goddamn grateful to have eyes again that he doesn't even care.
His chest is the worst of it, and a sharp, deep pain he can't describe somewhere in his abdomen, but he can't make sense of any of it. He doesn't realize he's rolled over in the infirmary bed, dry-heaving, the noise catching in his throat; when he does realize, he forces himself to go still and groans softly, fighting to make sense of it, to control his own panic, though it's currently overwhelming him as much as the pain.
He'll be here for days. He may even be willing to talk after some of it. But not right now.]
[ Filtered to Inmates : The Next Day ]
[It's difficult to make a transmission from the infirmary, what with being in the bed beside his warden, and with the other people attached to Chris hovering around. But it's important that he does it as soon as he can lest he appear weak to whoever did this, and it's important to use video, so he does find the time, takes the opportunity the moment he has it. He keeps his voice low, and though he's paler than usual, his dark eyes are bright and steady. This is not the grinning, smarmy man the Barge as a whole has seen thus far.]
My name is not Slevin Kelevra, but it's the only name that matters to anyone here. Back home, I'm an assassin. It's probably what landed me as an inmate. I kill people for money, but money's no good here, so here's the deal: I kill for whoever has been killed, now. You contact me when you can speak through the death toll, or when your friend or warden or inmate or whatever has been moved to the infirmary, and I'm on the job and you're out of it as far as I'm concerned.
Warden or inmate, I don't care. That's it. That's the deal.