Communications Officer Doug Eiffel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
littletonoidea) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thegalley_tlv2022-08-17 01:22 pm
littletonoidea) wrote in thegalley_tlv2022-08-17 01:22 pm
Entry tags:
Mission Mishaps: Oh Captain my Captain [Backdated to Sunday]
[The video is taken from behind a giant pile of rope, just visible on the camera's edge before it zooms in on Flint and Levitt. The cameraman is silent, as Levitt shoves Flint against the railing.]
--lace to run. If you try, I'll gun you down in the back. But if you cooperate and face your execution like a man, I'll allow you a few final words.
[The scene zooms in on Flint, who very pointedly doesn't look at the camera. He just breathes deep, and bellows from the chest.]
DESTROY THE GAVEL. DON'T FUCKING ST--
[And he's interrupted by the deafening explosions from the machine gun tearing him to pieces and shoving him over the edge.
Not that the camera catches most of it, because there's a sharp yelp as Eiffel flails back with a sharp yelp of-]
Holy fuck--!
[-and the camera drops to hit the deck, bouncing and landing upright, and Eiffel's hand is back in view instantly, scrambling to grab the phone, and some errant swipe from fumbling fingers-
--cuts the feed.]
Spam
[Well, at least it wasn't a hand?
On the other hand, getting his left eye removed is way more painful than Eiffel would have ever anticipated, and he ends up spending most of a full day in the infirmary, getting his empty fucking socket cleaned and bandaged and taken care of, until he stops having a dizzy spell every time he moves his head.
But after that? Straight onto the oars. For three. Days. It's not so bad at first, until the realisation hits on the shift change when he's exhausted after the regular eight hours and his manacles don't come undone.
He learns in the second shift that a hastily scarfed meal, dense as it is to make up for the energy losses, makes him vomit. He learns in the third that bandages have a finite amount of sweat they can absorb before it starts seeping into his newly made facial cavity. He stops keeping track after that.]
--lace to run. If you try, I'll gun you down in the back. But if you cooperate and face your execution like a man, I'll allow you a few final words.
[The scene zooms in on Flint, who very pointedly doesn't look at the camera. He just breathes deep, and bellows from the chest.]
DESTROY THE GAVEL. DON'T FUCKING ST--
[And he's interrupted by the deafening explosions from the machine gun tearing him to pieces and shoving him over the edge.
Not that the camera catches most of it, because there's a sharp yelp as Eiffel flails back with a sharp yelp of-]
Holy fuck--!
[-and the camera drops to hit the deck, bouncing and landing upright, and Eiffel's hand is back in view instantly, scrambling to grab the phone, and some errant swipe from fumbling fingers-
--cuts the feed.]
Spam
[Well, at least it wasn't a hand?
On the other hand, getting his left eye removed is way more painful than Eiffel would have ever anticipated, and he ends up spending most of a full day in the infirmary, getting his empty fucking socket cleaned and bandaged and taken care of, until he stops having a dizzy spell every time he moves his head.
But after that? Straight onto the oars. For three. Days. It's not so bad at first, until the realisation hits on the shift change when he's exhausted after the regular eight hours and his manacles don't come undone.
He learns in the second shift that a hastily scarfed meal, dense as it is to make up for the energy losses, makes him vomit. He learns in the third that bandages have a finite amount of sweat they can absorb before it starts seeping into his newly made facial cavity. He stops keeping track after that.]
no subject
He's also under the vague panic impression that he can outrun the giant mecha suit. The power of pants-wetting terrified thinking.
no subject
no subject
Ow. Everything burns and when he tries to push himself up his shoulder is killing him, and he can't- move right, everything is tight and hurty.
no subject
"What were you doing there?"
no subject
"I-- just..." God, why are words so hard, that's like the one thing he's good at. "H-helping..."
He curls up on his side, bringing his hand up to clutch his shoulder; and showing off the advocate band on his wrist, when his sleeve bunches up.
no subject
"Do you honestly think I don't keep track of who's a Prisoner and who's an Advocate? First charge: theft. So, that crime established, who were you helping?"
no subject
Not that the anxious fear in his guts stops him from throwing a pained, nervous grin at Levitt. "Viva la revolution, Iron Giant," he wheezes. "Everyone got to watch him die. You might’ve just made a martyr."
no subject
Levitt stuns Eiffel again. Because...well...he moved, didn't he.
"Adding a charge of aiding and abetting a riot. And a charge of inciting further insurrection."
no subject
And there's a brilliant shield around him that appears in an instant, and the taser's shock glances off it with a lighting crackle that makes Eiffel scream in alarm.
And then... realise he did scream, without getting electrocuted, and there's a delirious kind of giggle out of him as he looks up at Levitt. What now, big guy?
no subject
"I'll add a charge of resisting arrest."
And then he reaches down with the intent to grab hold of Eiffel, fling him up over his shoulder and haul him to judgement.
no subject
He tries to scramble back, but his shoulder locks up and he falls flat, and there's no avoiding the giant suit hauling him up and up, and the slam into the metal shoulder rattles him even through the shield, winding him a bit but definitely not enough to shut him up.
"FLINT DIDN'T DIE FOR NOTHING! WE CAN STILL WIN THIS! SCREW THE JUDGE AND SCREW THIS ENTIRE HELL-HOLE OF A SHIP!!"