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patheticvillain) wrote2015-03-23 01:16 pm
patheticvillain) wrote2015-03-23 01:16 pm
fifty ➢ video ( cw bodyhorror )
video
This is bullshit.
["This" being the black, silky ears he's sprouted in the wake of the flood. His long tail, equally black and twitching with irritation, pokes out from under his blanket, where he's curled up and sulking. The camera's at a skewed angle, balanced on the edge of his pillow.]
I just woke up like this. I didn't even do it. If it's gonna happen, I want to at least be the one to do it. I want . . .
[He trails off, his eyes distant and dull. When they snap back into focus, he sits up slowly, blankets falling around him, and narrows his eyes.]
It's supposed to hurt.
[And then he begins to change: skin rippling, body changing, limbs twisting. He grows a third arm, and then a fourth, the new ones vestigial, skinless, ugly. Growths emerge across his face, limning his high cheekbones. He curls up in the fetal position; you can hear bones crack, shift, curl, and break. All the while he's crying out in a dog's whine, an ugly helpless yet somehow angry noise. The blankets tangle around his shifting feet as they grow bark and tentacles and recede into stubs.]
[Eventually, endlessly, he is still. The ears and tail have gone completely.]
This is bullshit.
["This" being the black, silky ears he's sprouted in the wake of the flood. His long tail, equally black and twitching with irritation, pokes out from under his blanket, where he's curled up and sulking. The camera's at a skewed angle, balanced on the edge of his pillow.]
I just woke up like this. I didn't even do it. If it's gonna happen, I want to at least be the one to do it. I want . . .
[He trails off, his eyes distant and dull. When they snap back into focus, he sits up slowly, blankets falling around him, and narrows his eyes.]
It's supposed to hurt.
[And then he begins to change: skin rippling, body changing, limbs twisting. He grows a third arm, and then a fourth, the new ones vestigial, skinless, ugly. Growths emerge across his face, limning his high cheekbones. He curls up in the fetal position; you can hear bones crack, shift, curl, and break. All the while he's crying out in a dog's whine, an ugly helpless yet somehow angry noise. The blankets tangle around his shifting feet as they grow bark and tentacles and recede into stubs.]
[Eventually, endlessly, he is still. The ears and tail have gone completely.]
no subject
[He shrugs, a little helpless to describe the politics of work. Even the demographics of it - there's so little known, and so much less that he personally knows.]
It's genetic, I mean. I know that much. My mom and my brothers can do it, and my dad could do it, and Lila and her dad can do it. But it wouldn't be, like, weird, that you can't.
no subject
You sure I shouldn't pretend like I can anyway? Wrap it up like a fuckin' rubber?
[In spite of the crazy evil mom thing, he's always had this image of Cassel coming from something respectable-seeming. It's as hard for Mickey to picture himself, with his tattoos and hand-me-downs, in the Carney of his imagination as it is to picture Cassel in the South Side.]
no subject
[Grinning, Cassel gives a one-shouldered shrug, wiggling his fingers.]
The finger tattoos are actually pretty vulgar. You're offending me.
no subject
Good.
no subject
[But he says it fondly. He never imagined talking to a friend like this, rough and rude and cruel; the way he talked to Sam was different, the way he talks to Chris - it's something else entirely. And after all, it's not like he has a ton of friend experience to draw on.]
[This feels good, though. Comfortable. He flips the double-gloved bird back and then settles in to his drink, content as he can be under the circumstances.]