forty-eight ➢ spam + private + video

[patheticvillain]

spam } open

[Cassel starts the new year off hungover. He rises late after karaoke, but he does rise, his limbs feeling heavy and leaden as he heads to the gym.]

[It's weird; he's got the craziest feeling that time is pressing down on him, that if he doesn't start off this year right he'll be letting everybody down. That everyone he passes is looking at him, too. Paranoia left over from seeing his family, probably, but it feels real. He smiles at everyone who comes in as he's cleaning and tidying, doing the work he didn't do over the past few days, but he feels hemmed in, overwhelmed, pushed against by anything and everything.]

[Those who know him well might notice he's frowning more and smiling wider when he smiles at all. His masks aren't as good as they should be. He complains loudly and with good cheer about the food at lunch in the dining hall, sits down with near-strangers, touches the people he loves on the back as he passes their tables.]

private } chris

Hey, so. What the hell is Mickey's deal anyway?

private } wichita

You and me, we've got a date. You ready?

filter } inmates

Yo, so anybody who uses the gym on a regular basis might have noticed it's kind of trashed at the moment. That's my bad, I'm sorry about it. I haven't figured out how to clone myself, so for the time being it's just me working in there.

I need a magician's assistant. Anybody interested? Perks include me liking you, your theoretical warden getting off your ass a little bit, not being bored to death, and karma points.


( ooc; cassel is still emotion-worked! as detailed in these posts. pp for more details if desired! )

Comments

[Private] cw: misogyny, prostitution

[americasdirtiest]

[To be honest, he still doubts it's real -- the diamond, not the magic, obviously -- but that doesn't matter. It looks real. He can fence looks real, and something that looks as real as that? He can fence for more than he brought in an entire week working at the Kash 'n' Grab. Maybe even more. A lot more, if it somehow is real. And he might be avoiding the topic of what waits for him at home as intently as possible, but he still can't help but be aware of the fact that that kind of money pays for a lot of baby stuff and she-demon-hooker-wife stuff.

In other words, he's practically salivating.]

Holy shit, Sharpe.

[He tears his eyes away from Cassel's hand and back up, pulling a face.]

Fuck you, you don't have any money. You're a walking fucking printing press.

[Private]

[patheticvillain]

[It's the look in Mickey's eyes that scares him - the implicit intent behind it. The covetousness, which, really, he should have thought of. Who wouldn't want to be a little, or a lot, richer leaving this place than they were coming in? He knows Mickey worries about money. He knows Mickey isn't anything like Chris. He knows, too, that one of the reasons Chris has never given him that look is because he doesn't need it; his talk of transformation work schemes was always ever just that, talk.]

[But looking at Mickey, Cassel sees what he was always cautioned to stay away from. What would happen if he let anyone know what he was. For the first time since he came here, he realizes that he could just that easily be reduced to a commodity, a thing. A printing press.]

[He makes a face, now, feeling a little unsettled. Later, he'll be terrified.]

Your mom's a printing press.

If you introduce too many into the market, you'll fuck it up and they'll be useless, you know.