patheticvillain: (ʭ gravity pulls me down)
Cassel Sharpe. ([personal profile] patheticvillain) wrote2015-05-16 04:01 pm

fifty-three ➢ video

[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.
americasdirtiest: ([yevgeny] lucky man)

spam

[personal profile] americasdirtiest 2015-05-19 06:27 pm (UTC)(link)
[Mickey doesn't have a lot of imagination in him, but he can say this much: where Cassel thinks it can't get worse, Mickey's already thinking of all the ways it can. Unless there's a lot more that his friend is hiding from him, it could be so much worse that the possibilities are dizzying.

It's Ian's fault, of course. Or Mickey's, for helping turn Ian into what he became, for not trying to stop it sooner. For ignoring the little things. Maybe it would be easy to write off Cassel's bad habit as just another dumb coping mechanism if he hadn't become so terrifyingly attuned to the ways sanity can just... slide away from someone. 

But what else can he do? Cassel got himself hit. This isn't kidnapping an infant. This isn't psych ward territory. So he swallows back his paranoia, gives Cassel a little nod, and hopes like hell that Cassel will actually know when it's getting worse, will remember that he said this if it does, will still care enough about Mickey by then to speak up.]
americasdirtiest: ([trio] prison yard)

spam cw implications of domestic violence and PTSD

[personal profile] americasdirtiest 2015-05-19 09:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Good. Fucking thank you.

[But Mickey catches the way Cassel's hand holds onto his wrist. His eyes linger on it for a moment: the way Cassel's sleeve bunches underneath his fingers, how tight Mickey can tell his grip is. He feels a little stab of something that's not guilt, exactly, but a little like it. There are times he truly can't stand to be touched -- when he's feeling cornered, when he's feeling scared, contact is sometimes as painful and terrifying as a burn. If Cassel had tried to hug him that night with the text message, Mickey very well might have hit him, or worse. He had with Ian the one time; as bad as he feels about that, he knows it never would have happened if Ian hadn't gotten right up in his space and started pushing.

But it's not always like that. The rest of the time, it's just... uncomfortable. Sometimes it's just new. He can hug his sister easy, but it had taken work to get there with Iris, with Mira, with other women. He's still working on it with Allison. And he's learned to hold Ian, to be held by him, even to feel safe holding his hand, but there's Ian and then there's other guys. He doesn't think he's ever really touched any of them with affection except the odd cuff to the head or shove at a shoulder -- things that men can do.

He can, though, he thinks. He just hasn't. He hasn't really wanted to. But he can see the way it hurts Cassel now not to, and Christ, if he can't do anything else... He shifts over a little bit, just enough to nudge Cassel with his shoulder and knock the back of his hand against his knee.]
americasdirtiest: (what kinds of things?)

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[personal profile] americasdirtiest 2015-05-20 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
[Or... maybe not. He'd thought that would do more, somehow. He'd thought Cassel would look happier, not hurt. And for him... it's not terrible or anything, but he's uncomfortably aware of Cassel's warmth and weight pressed into his side, apparently pointlessly. He sighs, mouth twitching in frustration, his other hand rubbing agitatedly over his thigh.]

Yeah. Whatever, man.

[Hasn't he said enough? Exposed enough? What else does Cassel want him to say?]
americasdirtiest: (stupid fucking questions)

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[personal profile] americasdirtiest 2015-05-20 02:27 am (UTC)(link)
[Now Mickey is wandering back out into unfamiliar territory. If he's not used to worrying about people, and definitely not used to admitting it aloud, he's even less used to the words I'm sorry -- in this context, or really in almost any context. He shrugs stiffly, at a loss.]

We're supposed to be friends, right?

[Another low mumble, hands moving over each other, eyes trying to find something to land on. A moment later, unable to contain the new flood of anxious energy anymore, he nudges Cassel's shoulder again and stands, making like he's looking for something. He grabs an errant towel and scrubs the lingering sweat from his forehead.]
americasdirtiest: (powerful ponytail)

spam

[personal profile] americasdirtiest 2015-05-20 12:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[He pauses, looking up at Cassel, at the brilliant smile suddenly overtaking his face, and something in his chest unknots a little bit. He's not sure what it was he said now that was any different from what he said before, but he somehow believes that smile in a way he didn't believe Cassel's bullshit smirking from before.

Thank God, he thinks -- at least he's done something right today. He doesn't really smile back the way Cassel does, but there's a flicker of something across his face that echoes the relief in his heart.]


'kay. Well.

[He hovers for a second, wordless, then raises the back of his hand to indicate the freshly-bleeding cuts again.]

I should...