||| 008 spam/video

[outofclothes]

spam/video.
[Stark spends some of his time on the deck. He's not really interested in busting down the door to get to the Bridge. He's actually far more interested in watching everyone else make incredibly doomed and failure-prone attempts to get in there. Even if they're just considering it, he is probably going to laugh to himself.]

[It's from his spot on the deck he makes his broadcast, puffing on a Malediction already.]

Just a quick poll, how many of you are actually planning on trying to break into the Bridge? More importantly, do you think there will be a unicorn or a pegasus running on the rainbow in there?

[He's a cynic, what can he say?]

[The Admiral is dying and the boat's crashing and burning with him. There's really not much else to do about it, but this is a tenacious and incredibly stupid bunch that will keep running full-tilt into walls to survive and get ahead if they think that's what they think will make it happen.]

[Stark used to be like that, but that got burned out of him a long time ago.]

Tell you what though, one of you manages to get the door open and survives, I'll send you a bottle of Aqua Regia, some Cubans on me with a stripper of your choice.

spam - ned.
[Stark doesn't knock. Because Stark doesn't even use the door. Ever. He steps through a shadow somewhere else on the Barge and comes out of a shadow in Ned's room without any warning. He likes the element of surprise.]

Hey there, Sunshine. How are you holding up?

[Still sore from yesterday? He sure hopes so! C8]

Comments

[indispensible]

[Wistful sigh.]

If you happen to be there when someone breaks in, will you get it on camera?

[She thinks it will probably be a mistwraith and she wants to see it eat somebody.]

[deadly_ned]

[To say the Piemaker is used to such entrances from his warden wouldn't be precisely true. He knew by now that Stark entered and exited whenever it pleased him, but to expect it was an impossibility; it was always a shock for the Piemaker to see that shadow coming through to form a full man.

It's been a rough few months. He doesn't sleep, he barely eats, and seems to cling to life out of sheer desperation that one day, possibly, things will get better.

But they never do.

When the shadows omit Stark, the Piemaker is sitting at his kitchen island, reading. In his hand he holds a wooden spoon, and the hand itself is gloved. In fact, both his arms seem to be in some sort of odd full-armed glove contraption, that hooks over his shoulder blades with a small padlock; a way to prevent him from touching wardens he may have been forced to bring back to life. There's little risk of an accidental touch when he can't expose the skin on his own hands.

But Stark's voice makes him nearly jump out of his skin and he immediately slams the book shut and jumps from the chair, to put as much distance between them. Wounds from yesterday catch up to him and before he's even up out of the chair his side seizes up and he grabs it, stumbling back against the wall]


...S-stark. How, ah.

How are...you?

I'm fine. Everything's fine.

[Everything was not fine, obvious from the bruising around his face that all inmates eventually grew to sport. But the Piemaker was desperate to appear as nonthreatening as humanly possible, and perhaps get off easy this time]

[lastrat]

I'd settle for one of those cigarettes of yours.

[mirabilis]

I'd like to see who can make it. [ Because she's far from interested in it herself - she's not really thought of it either ]