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]

Do they have to be an inmate or warden or what? For the gym.

[patheticvillain]

It's supposed to be inmates. I'll take what I can get at this point, though. You thinking for you or somebody else?

[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?

[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?

[americasdirtiest]

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

[150th]

I have tried to no avail.

[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?

[patheticvillain]

Now? I need a lunch break anyway.

[americasdirtiest]

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

[patheticvillain]

Are you still trying? I feel like maybe somebody should be trying at all times.

[But what does he know, really.]

[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?

[formerself]

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

[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.]

[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?

[americasdirtiest]

Means we get to beat the shit out of you for fun.

[formerself]

So either I can get the first round in, or I can kick your arse and then have to do your fuckin' job while you're laid up.

[...]

First round it is, then.

[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.]