fifty-three ➢ video

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel's in his room, rearranging his drawer of scraps in some order discernible only to him. Ilia is perched on a high shelf, his eyes narrowed and tail twitching, disturbed by the commotion and looking ready to jump down onto Cassel's shoulders at any moment. As he rummages, Cassel addresses the camera; the moment he turns towards it, a bruise slides into view on his left temple, light and mottled black. He seems not to notice it.]

A few things. First of all, if anybody who's not all Admiral-ed up has a problem with the power outages, I think - I think I can make flashlights and lamps that don't need to be powered. [He's speaking specifically to Morgana here, but he doesn't know everybody's hangups, either, so he's leaving it open to the Barge as a whole.]

Second of all, has anybody actually gotten anywhere with the ship? Steering it or anything? Because this seems like it's getting kind of. Critical. [As Dean so astutely pointed out.]

Last thing - I know nobody cares right now, but we still need staff for the gym. At least one more person. If you feel like going slightly less stir-crazy while we're marooned in the middle of nowhere, apply now.

Comments

[formerself]

Me, mostly. [A beat.] But there's someone else I could ask, maybe. Don't mind fillin' in til you get someone.

[patheticvillain]

Our qualifications are: you have to be able to lift a ten-pound weight without crushing yourself to death, and you can't punch Mickey.

[formerself]

[He laughs.]

Done and done, bruv. If I was gonna punch Mickey I'd've done it by now.

What's your name?

[patheticvillain]

I have to ask, you know, he's really punchable.

Cassel Sharpe. And you're fuck if I know. Who are you?

[formerself]

Eggsy Unwin. Got here last month. Any other rules?

[patheticvillain]

[. . . He almost asks about 'Eggsy', but leaves it in the end. Low-hanging fruit.]

That's it. It's pretty much the easiest job on the ship. Clean shit up and keep people from biting each other's faces off in a fit of testosterone rage.

[formerself]

[Good man.]

An' don't punch Mickey. Alright, think I'll manage. When d'you need me to get started?

[patheticvillain]

Now? I need a lunch break anyway.

[formerself]

Can do.

-- oh, wait, shit. Is anyone gonna care if I bring my dog? He'll stay out the way, won't get under nobody's feet.

[This is a promise. His dog is tiny and awful but he's well-trained.]

[patheticvillain]

Depends. What's his name?

[The most poker of faces.]

[formerself]

...he's called JB.

[why is this a question Cassel]

[patheticvillain]

Okay, then he can come. If he had a shitty name I wouldn't let him in.

[Secret gym rule.]

[americasdirtiest]

Rule three: newbie gets the first round at the end of the day.

[formerself]

Don't think fuckin' dicks get the first round in, bruv.

[americasdirtiest]

It's that or hazing, bitch. You pick.

[formerself]

Hazing. What the fuck's that meant to be?

[americasdirtiest]

What, you don't have that word on your side of the water?

[formerself]

Not outside the bullshit teen movies you lot keep sendin' over here, nah, not really.

[americasdirtiest]

You're both fucking dicks.

[Although he's secretly pleased by that part. Him, Cassel, and Eggsy hanging out in the gym all day? That actually sounds pretty great.

He's less pleased by what's on the screen.]

What's that on your face?

[patheticvillain]

Then it'll be three dicks in the gym, go us.

[He looks a little taken aback. He'd forgotten about the stupid bruise, the ache of it barely registering, but Mickey's tone makes him think he worked up some fucking foundation to cover the thing. Raising an eyebrow, he shrugs. Play it off.]

It's a bruise. What's it look like?

[americasdirtiest]

No shit, moron. Why?

[If there's one thing Mickey knows about, it's bruises. That one, that's not an incidental one. Either Cassel hit his head on something or someone hit it for him.]

You taking up boxing now?

[patheticvillain]

Maybe. Why do you care?

[It's so shitty a cover as to not be a cover at all. He winces internally, trying to figure how to backpedal.]

cw: implication of domestic abuse

[americasdirtiest]

[Wow, okay. That's so shitty a cover that it's the opposite of one: he was probably going to let it go without too much pushing before, but now he's definitely not. That's the kind of shit his sister might say to deflect anyone asking about a fresh set of bruises on her. Mickey's eyes narrow slightly and he switches immediately to private.]

Who did that?

[It's almost resigned. Like, he knows he's going to go have to beat someone up now, so can Cassel just tell him who?]

private

[patheticvillain]

Why do you care?

[This sharper. Since they've given up pretenses, since they're more or less in private now, why not? He doesn't need Pietro getting the other end of Mickey's temper, especially not after they've already been fighting, extra especially not with Mickey about to blow. Not like he hasn't noticed.]

private

[americasdirtiest]

[He blinks, a little taken aback. Does he really need to say it after all this time?]

Fuck you.