Tim "Roderick" Nelson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
characterdefect) wrote2014-07-31 04:43 pm
characterdefect) wrote2014-07-31 04:43 pm
09 ◈ text + spam
spam, backdated to last laugh } hannibal
[Roderick is - not content, but happy enough. The chaos of this place gives him something to do that aligns nicely with his nature, even if there's no love in it, no common ground, even if the Joker's full of shit to his eyeballs.]
[He has a gun - not his favorite weapon, but a close second - and is prowling Level 6 without any particular agenda other than giving hell to whoever he happens upon, when he looks up and there's Dr. Lecter. Well . . . probably Dr. Lecter. It's got to be; it's the same face, same height, same build. But he does not look well.]
[A species of mad hilarity in his eyes, Roderick thinks, suddenly uncertain, and ventures neither forward nor backward. He does not look Hannibal right in the eye. He is not naive enough to think that this man is anything but dangerous on his most stable days.]
Dr. Lecter. You seem a little. Frazzled.
spam } infirmary
[This time, Roderick elects to stay in the infirmary. He could have fled with some - well, a lot - of effort, but the thought of standing exhausts him. It's not even that he's tired, exactly; it's that he remembers so clearly the sensation of muscle parting from muscle that he is afraid, yes, really and truly afraid that if he stands, if he begins to walk, he'll come apart at the seams.]
[So he stays in bed and watches the world reflected in the red light behind his closed eyelids. For the first few days he doesn't talk, not even to Horatio. On the fourth day of the toll, he sits up and demands something to write with and a blank notebook. He doesn't know what he's going to write until it comes out, but it ends up being nonsense, fragments of phrases he's heard before that ring in his mind.]
[Eventually his hand cramps, then the pen runs out. Until then, he stays where he is.]
text } morgana, c'rizz, mira
you dead?
[Roderick is - not content, but happy enough. The chaos of this place gives him something to do that aligns nicely with his nature, even if there's no love in it, no common ground, even if the Joker's full of shit to his eyeballs.]
[He has a gun - not his favorite weapon, but a close second - and is prowling Level 6 without any particular agenda other than giving hell to whoever he happens upon, when he looks up and there's Dr. Lecter. Well . . . probably Dr. Lecter. It's got to be; it's the same face, same height, same build. But he does not look well.]
[A species of mad hilarity in his eyes, Roderick thinks, suddenly uncertain, and ventures neither forward nor backward. He does not look Hannibal right in the eye. He is not naive enough to think that this man is anything but dangerous on his most stable days.]
Dr. Lecter. You seem a little. Frazzled.
spam } infirmary
[This time, Roderick elects to stay in the infirmary. He could have fled with some - well, a lot - of effort, but the thought of standing exhausts him. It's not even that he's tired, exactly; it's that he remembers so clearly the sensation of muscle parting from muscle that he is afraid, yes, really and truly afraid that if he stands, if he begins to walk, he'll come apart at the seams.]
[So he stays in bed and watches the world reflected in the red light behind his closed eyelids. For the first few days he doesn't talk, not even to Horatio. On the fourth day of the toll, he sits up and demands something to write with and a blank notebook. He doesn't know what he's going to write until it comes out, but it ends up being nonsense, fragments of phrases he's heard before that ring in his mind.]
[Eventually his hand cramps, then the pen runs out. Until then, he stays where he is.]
text } morgana, c'rizz, mira
you dead?
Spam
[Not like that, anyway. Roderick is acutely talented at recognizing individual pathologies. Hannibal's does not allow for messiness. It won't be replicated unless the Barge interferes again.]
I'm . . . easier to control than you think I am.
Spam
It bothers me.
Spam
[Notably not an answer.]
Re: Spam
[No evasion for you, friend.]
Spam
[Barely audible.]
Thought I was better than that.