fuckthemission | 04 | voice/written/action | Kidnap shifts are a bitch, and I hate 'em.

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04 | voice/written/action | Kidnap shifts are a bitch, and I hate 'em.

[June 9th (Nighttime)]

[Doyle returns from the mission and hopes distantly that the shift placed on him would be gone. It is not, and he's got an insignificant wound that probably needs a few stitches and something to disinfectant. He basically makes a beeline for his place, locks himself up (and may run into people along the way, despite his attempts to be sneaky). He'll just have to wait for it to wear off.

Yeah.]

[Voice]

Can anyone do me a favor? Probably a doctor at the clinic--I need, uh. A kit for stitching up minor injuries, things like that? Something to disinfect a wound? I'm not really in a position to go down to the clinic... If we can arrange somewhere to pick it up, I'd really owe ya.

[If you're in Community Housing 7, you might feel a phantom heat passing through the Floor 3 hallway. Also if you're Doyle's neighbors or you're above or below his room, sorry about the weird heat that seems to bounce around your place. :|]

[June 10th]

[It's getting worse. He's feeling a lot more restricted, a lot more like he's drowning in peak summer heat. Started sweating more; he takes nightly walks like he does sometimes, though more-so to escape how his room smothers him. Eventually, though, he starts to realize that he can't go to the grocery store, or the restaurant, or the item shop. Or the middle of the plaza. Frankly, he realizes he's just shoving heat in people's faces wherever he's at.

There's some joke to be made about making people want to take their clothes off, but he's too tired to amuse it. He temporarily stays in an empty house further back from any people, just until this wears off. Needs food, though. Going to the grocery shop isn't going to work out. At all.

A while later, an anonymous person pens in this handwriting:]

[Written / Anonymous]

I'm stuck in a predicament, and I kinda' need food. If anyone can drop some off at the house I'm staying in, I'd really appreciate it--and I'd owe you one. Just on the doorstep, and I can do the rest.

[If people do decide to help out, he'd appreciate it. He even pens the house number. Just don't be alarmed if you help, or even if you just walk by, that something unceremoniously warm is seeping through the walls of the house. He's got the air on, the fans on, and he's still not feeling too relaxed.

He also goes out and sits at the lake. By the time he's there for an hour, two, he sits in the water and feels some semblance of relief for once.]

[June 11th]

[Fucking hell. Fuck.

He's given up on shirts. He's drinking a lot of water, too. Been sitting in the shower at the unspecified house until he prunes up. It offers a little relief. Not a whole lot. When it starts to rain he goes outside, goes back to the lake, sits in the water, in the rain; he hasn't gotten sick from it yet, so he's not about to stop.

When the rain clears up, he drags himself onto the shore and lays there. He feels too hot. He's going to burn up--they're going to burn him all up, aren't they, those assholes?

Too hot... Ugh... Too hot.

It's raining and overcast and he's laying here suffocating in heat.

What were the odds.]

((ooc: basically anyone within a 10-foot radius will feel like they're in a really hot desert that will progressively get worse the closer they go; the heat is stifling and hard to be around. Another 10 feet after that, there's a mild heat that'll probably be more recognizable on the rainy days. Touching him'll make you feel like you're being burned. Also to note, it only effects living things. So no actual hot objects. :|b

It'll go away before anything gets too intense for him, but he's a little freaked out and anxious and all that.))

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[He appears to take Doyle's jab in good stride, offering a closed, patient smile in return.]

Nor are you as clever as you think yourself. [A beat.]

Ah... that reminds me... [Petering off, he flips his trident blades-downward, and thrusts it deep into the rain-softened ground, inches away from the man. A very carefully calculated move, for all its ferocity. And as if it were nothing at all, he continues calmly without so much as blinking:]

I noticed you have yet to pay your debt. [Tilting his head with mock-concern, his voice devoid of viciousness. In fact, it's quite conversational in tone.] Now why is that, I wonder? ...Been terribly busy, have you? Hmn~?

[Well, go on - he's inviting you to make up an excuse ~~because he's a dick~~.]

[He flinches, of course--he's only human. Reflexive from years of being a person first, a soldier second. But he doesn't move to grab any weapon, because he knows he'd be impaled before he'd ever reach it anyway. He just looks up from where he lays, chin pointed upward as he eyes the man with a furrowed brow.]

I've been busy with a lot of things, asshole.

Why do you try so hard to make people fear you? What do you get out of it? Besides the whole loner thing. Which I'm sure isn't miserable at all.

[The grin curling his lips at that instinctive little twitch only broadens at Doyle’s answer. He raises his brows, mimicking shock.] Try? [The word is met with a sharp, breathless laugh. His hand clenches and unclenches around the pole of his spear. Does he think this a joke, Isaac muses - does he think him a joke?]

My dear Doyle... I do not try to enjoy what it is I do. It entertains me as it is.

[He closes his eyes miserably, a bead of sweat darting down his nose and cheek.]

You're not going to get a lot of allies that way.

[His expression sobers.]

... I have what I need. [His three devils. More, if he can ever transcend the power-dampening effects of the barrier, her muses.]

As for the rest... one can come to good use, whether one is an ally or not.

[Not likely come to good use in some of the ways he would like, but rather, for prison-escaping purposes.

[He shrugs, eyes still closed. Spear still sitting next to his face.

His breaths come in heavy for a moment, sapped by the burning air next to him. Isaac may feel the air sharpen in heat momentarily. Doyle unclenches his brow when the sensation passes.]

If you say so.

I'll reimburse the debt when it's good to.

[It might seem for a moment that he will offer a kindly reminder that it is not quite in Doyle's power to decide when he might go about returning the favour... but he decides to go about things differently albeit no less insistently.]

'tis quite simple. I understand well you would have no desire to service me... so I ask that you find one who will.

[Here's the part where one might stop and ask, 'are you for real?' But over two months sans sex were taking its toll - he needed an outlet for his sexual and non-sexual frustrations and craved physical intimacy with another. It wasn't the same, alone.

He turns away his face slightly from the flare of searing heat - but on account of what is at least a partial resistance to fire, he could tolerate it better than an ordinary human being.]

A man, preferably. But... you would be more familiar with those among the frailer sex.

Edited 2012-06-23 18:46 (UTC)

[He looks at Isaac incredulously, sitting up and leaning on his knee, shaking his head to clear it of the mental fog the heat's created.]

I'm a soldier, not a pimp. Christ.

[He slowly staggers to his feet, grabbing his shirt.]

[Pimp. Well, he thinks he can understand from the context.

He'd have pinned the shirt with his trident to keep Doyle still and force him to listen, but since the man snatched it first, Isaac will settle for keeping the blades leveled with his face.]

As far as you and I are concerned, you are naught but a man with a debt...

[His eyelids lower.]

And a man whom shall have no trouble attracting others.

[On an impulse, he considers carving a gash into his face and leaving a scar partly on account of envy - - but he dismisses the idea after a beat, a murmuring chuckle in his throat.

If Isaac tried to smile kindly, his lips would fall of his face, wouldn't they?]

[He narrows his eyes at the trident before looking up at Isaac.]

You point sharp shit at people's faces and you wonder why you haven't found someone who'd roll in the sack with you.

When you need a soldier with a scope and a rifle, let me know.

[Pfft, he will have you know people refuse him long before he points sharp shit in their faces for reasons he thinks justifiable. For a beat he eyes Doyle slyly, hungrily, too aware of the raw, gut-wrenching ache of need.]

I will take the soldier, gladly...

[The smiles broadens just so, a winning one, perhaps, were it not so darkly lascivious - - and then he waves a hand languidly in flippant dismissal, closing his eyes.]

The rest... is not of import.

[Just teasing horribly, as always. There is no threat here.]

Edited 2012-06-26 05:11 (UTC)

[He continues his scrutinizing stare before he turns, throwing his shirt over his shoulder. He feels like he's about to pass out, it's so hot--but he really doesn't want to be around this guy for much longer. Not with how he's feeling especially.

Whatever. Fuck it. He starts walking back toward his temporary house.]

The rest's import whether you like it or not.

[He contemplates letting loose a teasing remark that he has never heard of one using a rifle in their love-making, but he bridles his serpent's tongue, letting Doyle pass. After all, he'll have to save something for next time too, no?]

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