patheticvillain | forty-three ➢ private + spam

private, separately } daneca, chris, anya, mickey

[Cassel sounds earnest, looks drawn. For all the world like he's really scared but trying to hide it to make people feel better.]

You there? Hey, look, if you're out there alone we should meet up. Everybody's going fucking insane.

. . . Er. Insane-er.

spam

[When he's with people, or when he knows people are watching, Cassel looks - not helpless, but weak, exhausted, overwhelmed. He projects through the crease between his brows and the tense hunch in his shoulders the perfect image of a boy who has done this too many times before and just wants to rest, just rest, get away. His disguise is almost flawless. He's very good at what he does, after all.]

[But catch him off guard and you'll see him for what he is: calculating, every minute, every second. His eyes are what give him away best of all. They're ice cold unless he makes himself put on the friendly face, which grates on him; he tries to get away without it whenever possible.]

[When it's his turn to watch the camp while the others rest, he goes a little farther out than strictly necessary, stepping deliberately outside the boundaries of camp to patrol for easy prey, for trespassers. He doesn't want to win this - honestly, despite his own heady narcissism, he doesn't think he can win a contest of brute force like this - but he can survive, and he can get a little revenge while he does it.]

( ooc; cassel is SWAPPED but stridently pretending not to be, deets here & here. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Whaaat.

We should fucking meet up.

Well, yeah. Duh.

Where'd good for you?

I'm by the river. I think it's towards the north of the map, maybe?

I know where that is. Meet you by the head of it.

Right. I'll be here.

[Hanging up, Chris checks his gun, and heads for the river.

This is stupid, and dangerous. But he has to know which Cassel is his, and how to survive him if need be. He'll stay out of arm's reach as much as he can until he's positive.]

[Cassel's waiting, of course. Looking out in the opposite direction than Chris comes from, sort of on purpose; once he hears him coming he doesn't turn to look until the last minute. He seems harried, distracted, unobservant.]

Chris? Thank Christ.

[Chris' expression seems to soften when he finally comes across Cassel, breathing easier. He slows down, but stays a good distance from him just yet]

Seriously. You okay?

Yeah.

[He smiles, a little strained but probably mostly genuine. Probably.]

Seriously. I'm just - I'm pissed we're back here, that's all.

You?

Yeah, tell me about it.

I'm good. I'm not dead, that's pretty sweet. Who else is around?

Not yet. [. . . Okay, that's a little grim.]

Uh, I talked to Mickey, Anya, Daneca. I saw Anya for a minute but she had to go find somebody. Ben, I think. [And this Anya and Ben are definitely his favorite versions.]

Wow. Mr. Pessimism all of a sudden.

All right. Okay.

Got any weapons?

A knife. But it's not my knife, and it kind of sucks.

[He holds out the beat-up Swiss army knife he found in his pack. It's basically useless.]

You?

Just my Glock.

So, uh.

How do I know which you is the real you?

[His mouth twists up into an expression of utter disappointment.]

Well, I mean. You could ask me something only I'd know. [The shadow of a smile.] Or a lie detector test, if you got one on you.

Yeah. Don't have one of those.

Fuck.

Okay. I got it. When you and me were both in the infirmary our first month on the ship, we made something together. What was it?

forty-three ➢ private + spam

[Private]

[Private]

[Private]

[Private]

[Private]

[Private]

[Private]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

[Spam]

Spam]