mistconduct | Issue #30

[Private to Barbara Gordon]

How do you take this shit, Barb? How the fuck do you keep going?

[Private to Infirmary Staff]

So what's the plan, Docs? I'm getting fucking bedsores. I want out.

[Private to Vesper]
Hey. Can we.

Look, pick up the phone. Just.

Can we talk?

[Later, public]

[He's still getting drugged every night, as much for his mental health as his physical. It's easier to get through the days when you're on a cocktail of anti-depressants.

This, however, has its disadvantages. Mainly that Chris is so exhausted that he sleeps through the night, unaware of his warden item beeping underneath the bed. The teddy bear - yes, his warden item is a slightly charred teddy - is recovered in the morning, still beeping, when Chris wakes up.

It's alarming, how he can go from sleepy and lackadaisical to fucking pissed in a single instant]

Who the FUCK killed Slevin?!

You assholes, I swear to FUCKING god, I will fucking come out of this bed and murder the shit out of you! Where the fuck is my inmate and who the fuck is responsible for this bullshit?! You think just because I'm in the infirmary doesn't mean I won't come there and murder you back, you utter shithead?!

Fuck. Someone get me a fucking wheelchair, or crutches, or whatever. Who saw him last?!

Jesus christ, you're a fucking pack of animals!

[After Slevin's been found]

Call off the search, his body turned up in the inmate showers.

Whoever did this; you're fucking dead. You hear me? You can't fucking run on a ship, dumbass. I'm coming for you.

Fuck everything.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's kind of a prick all the time no matter what. If he's a prick more than usual about this, it'll be because he's scared.

God, this is going to fuck him up so badly. I should've been protecting him from exactly this shit.

From what? Some psychotic asshole who attacks people for probably no reason other than he can? You can't predict what everybody's gonna do. The important thing is that now you're gonna tear this place apart for him. I bet people don't usually do that.

It might've been personal. Someone could've been doing this to fuck with me. Slevin's a goddamn nonentity, he never pisses anyone off. Me, I can't keep my fucking mouth shut..

Don't jump to conclusions. You think that's gonna help you find him? Being pissed at yourself?

...No...

Okay. So we don't know what happened yet or why. You be single-minded. You don't let you mind wander. You find him. Then you can be pissed at yourself if you gotta be. He's priority right now, right?

Yeah. I mean. I know he's already dead, but I don't want any sick fucks touching his body.

Yeah, I imagine he'd be even more pissed about that one.

Okay. I think that's five. You ready?

Yeah. Yeah, give me a hand.

Sure.

[It's not particularly easy. He's smaller than Chris by this point, and he feels shitty having to do this because he knows Chris hates it. But it's necessary, so he sighs and boosts Chris up into the chair, letting him do as much of the work as possible.]

[He's clumsy as a newborn and significantly heavier than one; it takes a lot longer than it reasonably should to maneuver him into the chair. By the end of it, he's red-faced, panting, and furiously embarrassed. It's painful]

[Cassel looks at him with deliberate calm, standing back and stretching his arms over his head. Then he puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head. He is in no way above fucking with Chris to piss him off and keep him present if he has to.]

Whatever you're thinking right now, shut the hell up in there.

[Flushed and not wanting Cassel to look at him and find him wanting, Chris sinks deeper against his wheelchair, angry and sullen]

I'm not thinking anything.

Good. Don't.

[He leans in, tilts Chris's chin up.]

Don't think. Be mad. We got this.

Let's go.

[Rubbing at his eyes, Chris lowers his gaze even as his chin is brought up]

...Yeah. Let's fucking...get out, we gotta go find him.

Right.

[He steps behind the wheelchair, doesn't push. Yet.]

You have until we get to the elevator to figure out how to steer this thing, then you tell me if you want help or not. Start at his room or the deck?

People are already going to his room. We should go deck-side.

[He puts his hands on the wheels of the wheelchair, nervously thrusting forward and nearly knocking himself into a nightstand]

Fuck.

[Cassel's heart just - wrenches, but he forces his expression not to change, even though Chris can't see him. He lets his hands rest lightly on the back of the chair. Chris should have, needs to have as much control as possible, as much power. All Cassel can do is gently course correct.]

Got you. [His voice is a low murmur, barely present, and then, louder:] Gardens first? Or the CES?

...Gardens, I guess.

[He doesn't say it, but it's easier to traverse in a wheelchair than the CES would be. And besides; the CES holds only good memories for Chris. He doesn't want to taint past experience with present troubles, not unless he's forced to.

He leans forward in the chair, taking his hands off the wheels as his face goes red.]

[Cassel does steer him out of the infirmary, but once they get to the hallway, he takes his hands off, pulls his gloves out of his pocket and back on, and steps back.]

Okay, your turn. Jesus, can you imagine somebody trying to do something like this while Ivy was here, she'd destroy them. Kind of wish she was.

[He starts moving toward the elevator, not looking back at Chris with the expectation that he's coming.]

[With an exasperated grunt - seriously, Cassel, are you not going to push him? - Chris sets his hand on the wheel and nervously begins to guide himself forward]

Whatever. We'll kill the fucker without her.

Utterly fuck 'em up. Yep.

[He doesn't turn until the elevator opens; then he backs into it and holds the door open with his foot until Chris makes it inside. Then he pushes he button for the deck.]

I guess that means I should leave the gloves off, huh.

[Leaning back against the chair, Chris manages to pull himself in with little difficulty, but can't quite get the concept of turning around]

Yeah. Especially if that fucker's still on the prowl.

[He smirks and tugs the gloves off again, sticking them in his back pocket.]

I know this is grotesquely fucked up in context, but I think whoever did this would make a really good bug. Like a centipede or something. You know?

(no subject)

mistconduct - 2013-10-09 15:51 (UTC) - Expand

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