Cassel Sharpe.
26 September 2014 @ 07:48 pm
private, separately } daneca, chris, anya, mickey

[Cassel sounds earnest, looks drawn. For all the world like he's really scared but trying to hide it to make people feel better.]

You there? Hey, look, if you're out there alone we should meet up. Everybody's going fucking insane.

. . . Er. Insane-er.

spam

[When he's with people, or when he knows people are watching, Cassel looks - not helpless, but weak, exhausted, overwhelmed. He projects through the crease between his brows and the tense hunch in his shoulders the perfect image of a boy who has done this too many times before and just wants to rest, just rest, get away. His disguise is almost flawless. He's very good at what he does, after all.]

[But catch him off guard and you'll see him for what he is: calculating, every minute, every second. His eyes are what give him away best of all. They're ice cold unless he makes himself put on the friendly face, which grates on him; he tries to get away without it whenever possible.]

[When it's his turn to watch the camp while the others rest, he goes a little farther out than strictly necessary, stepping deliberately outside the boundaries of camp to patrol for easy prey, for trespassers. He doesn't want to win this - honestly, despite his own heady narcissism, he doesn't think he can win a contest of brute force like this - but he can survive, and he can get a little revenge while he does it.]


( ooc; cassel is SWAPPED but stridently pretending not to be, deets here & here. )
 
 
Cassel Sharpe.
21 April 2014 @ 06:40 pm
Czeslaw's gone. His door and everything is blank.

. . . I don't really think he made many friends while he was here, but. I'm going to light a candle for him, if anybody wants to join me.

spam } chapel

[It's quiet and still in here, which is good; it matches how Cassel is feeling. Quiet and still, like a windless world. He doesn't know what to make of this reaction. He can feel himself grieving, but it's muted, as though muffled by layers and layers of cloth.]

[With aching fingers he carves Czeslaw's name into a white candle, uses his lighter to light it. After a moment of watching the flame, he carves another name - Slevin's - into another candle, and Daneca's into a third, and hopes (doesn't pray) that they wake.]