Dillon Cole || Scorpion Shard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
orderfromchaos) wrote2014-10-18 10:12 pm
orderfromchaos) wrote2014-10-18 10:12 pm
18. poison in a bottle
[Public]
[A little contemptuous, mostly casual.]
While we're not all being helpful little worker bees, pool table's still free. Anyone up for a game?
[Neither Dillon has been able to play in years - once his aura got too strong, every shot rebounded into perfect endgames. It's a good way to gauge just how effective the admiral's control is. And how much people here know about him, about what he can do.]
[Work crew spam - assign yourself to his team if you want, or just swing by and taunt/gossip with him, whatever it's all good]
[Dillon is as good as Bush's word. He keeps his arrogance and his bitterness more or less under control, and the actual tasks of construction are soothing. After his time rebuilding the war torn swathe he cut through the Northwest under his parasite's influence, he knows his way around pretty much every aspect of the job.]
[creep spam]
[The rest of the time, he watches people. On the deck, in the common rooms, in the cafeteria. He sits somewhere just a little out of the way, occasionally with a sketchpad, and just watches everyone come and go, expression smooth and shuttered. The only time he really looks natural is when he's in the eighth floor common room, curled up against the trunk of the fractal tree. It feels like him. Like his power, like being properly alive, and he can't quite stay away.]
[A little contemptuous, mostly casual.]
While we're not all being helpful little worker bees, pool table's still free. Anyone up for a game?
[Neither Dillon has been able to play in years - once his aura got too strong, every shot rebounded into perfect endgames. It's a good way to gauge just how effective the admiral's control is. And how much people here know about him, about what he can do.]
[Work crew spam - assign yourself to his team if you want, or just swing by and taunt/gossip with him, whatever it's all good]
[Dillon is as good as Bush's word. He keeps his arrogance and his bitterness more or less under control, and the actual tasks of construction are soothing. After his time rebuilding the war torn swathe he cut through the Northwest under his parasite's influence, he knows his way around pretty much every aspect of the job.]
[creep spam]
[The rest of the time, he watches people. On the deck, in the common rooms, in the cafeteria. He sits somewhere just a little out of the way, occasionally with a sketchpad, and just watches everyone come and go, expression smooth and shuttered. The only time he really looks natural is when he's in the eighth floor common room, curled up against the trunk of the fractal tree. It feels like him. Like his power, like being properly alive, and he can't quite stay away.]
spam
{Why are you watching me?}
spam
spam
[It doesn't go deeper than the surface, can't really. It's a radio broadcast designed to be picked up by a mind, no contact besides reception.]
spam
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spam
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spam
spam
spam
spam
spam
spam
spam
spam
[work spam]
Getting paired off to work on a hallway with the other version of Dillon Cole however causes noted displeasure in him, and an inkling of uncertainty bordering on fear. He does his best to conceal it behind a pointed sour silence and a narrow glower every time the younger man looks his way. But even as he's doing everything in his power not to invite conversation, the stiffness in his spine has to provoke some sense of curiosity. An issue just begging to be poked at.]
[work spam]
He mess with you?
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
After a beat during which he holds entirely still, twisting around he fixes Dillon with a baleful look.]
The version of Mr. Cole that is supposed to be here never did use his powers to "mess with me", no.
[work spam]
How would you really know?
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
[work spam]
(Taking off his clothes to go run around invisible and naked is unfortunately out of the question. If too much of his outfit is stripped off his invisible body begins to become visible, a greyish haze in the shape of limbs and torso. He doesn't know what happens if he goes completely nude and he's not about to try and find out.)
Now Jim looks like a set of bright blue coveralls and workmans' clothes being piloted by a free-floating monocle, and he is not happy with this situation. He's muttering a few curses towards the Admiral and his lackies as he finishes replastering an assigned segment of wall, before glaring balefully at the rest of his assignment.]
[work spam]
What the hell are you?
Re: [work spam]
[Jim turns to give him a glare. Dust falls from the wall and scatters down upon him, showing the barest outline of a head before he brushes it away.]
At the moment, highly disgruntled. [He takes the monocle off and rubs it against his coveralls, finding it little improved by the process.]
[work spam]
Re: [work spam]
And when, sirrah, was your opinion requested? [Oh bollocks, he's probably right. Jim isn't used to having permanently solid accessories. He puts the monocle back up on his face and returns to his plastering.]
[work spam]
Give it here, I can fix it.
Re: [work spam]
[work spam]
Re: [work spam]
[video]
no subject
[He spins the camera over to the pool table, already racked up.]
Short version is, you have to get all the even or odd balls into the pockets, but the only way you're allowed to do it is by hitting that plain white one with a long stick.
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