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

SPAM

[barewicked]

Nah man, it's nice.

[Zach insists, catching the little figurine out of the air, and dropping his smelly butt lazily down on the nearest appropriate surface.]

You got a lot of stuff... make it all yourself?

[He suggests, admiringly.]

SPAM

[patheticvillain]

I made some of it myself.

[It's true: most of the little decorations that line his desk, glass and china figurines like you might find at a grandma's house, are handmade pieces of perfection, his own work. He picks up one, a two-headed dolphin, and tosses it from hand to hand idly.]

You want another one? I can make whatever you want. I like making stuff.

SPAM

[barewicked]

Sure!

[He totally wants more stuff making. He always wants more stuff! He does kind of suspect that there's a catch to all this lurking in the shadows somewhere, but in the meantime, he'll take what he can get.]

Do a little hula dancer.

[Go on, Cassel! Chop Chop Mr 3D Printer!]

SPAM

[patheticvillain]

[Shockingly, there's no catch. Cassel is pretty much okay with just being an entertainer for the moment. He likes Zach already.]

[Pulling out a piece of an old pie tin, he holds it in his bare hand, sticking his tongue in his cheek. In a few moments, the pie tin is transformed into a hula dancer, the kind that actually wobbles around and dances, with a grass skirt and yellow hairpiece. Attention to detail is very important.]

[This, too, he tosses to Zach overhand.]

SPAM

[barewicked]

[Zach catches it, in the air, and holds the hula dancer up, examining it approvingly.]

So how do you do it? I'm gonna go ahead and guess that you were born different, yeah?

SPAM

[patheticvillain]

[He shrugs a little, turning back to his pile of crap and beginning to sort it out into smaller piles by material.]

I don't really know how it works, but yeah. It's something I've always been able to do. I didn't always know I could do it, though.