𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐔 "the worst (adoring)" 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nichocolatine) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
futurology2016-04-24 12:58 pm
nichocolatine) wrote in futurology2016-04-24 12:58 pm
video | username: NAILS | sometime after powers go all cray
[ oh hey alastair. 'sup. how's your day going? probably loads better than badou's, if the sudden video broadcast of what has to be the saddest image to grace this freaky network is of any indication. he's on the ground somewhere outside, probably deep into the island's forests from the look of all the dirt and greenery, but it's kinda hard to focus on the setting when you factor in the rest of him.
real talk? he ain't looking so good. bruised, beaten, and bleeding, he looks like he got into a fight with a demon-possessed blender and, not only did he lose, but that blender pretty much made him its bitch.
speaking of — son of a bitch that hurt. and not just in one area, either, it was one of those great "all over even where the sun don't shine" kinda pains and it's a wonder he hasn't cried or died from it already. he looks on the verge of it though, both of those, probably gonna be at the same time but for now, for the blessed moment of now, he manages to keep it together. ]
So, uh. s'There a doctor in the house?
[ help, he's fallen and he can't get up.
he's moving, at least, if the stilted way he tries to wiggle a hand into one of his pockets can even be counted as "moving." it takes him far too long, with a lot of guttural muttering, but eventually he manages to fish out a single cigarette. this he shakily lifts up to his mouth, which unfortunately bobs precariously since he can't seem to stop talking. ]
Preferably one that ain't gotta wave a wand at me, f'you catch my drift, I'm thinking I reached my """"magic"""" quota for the day, thanks. [ bitter? who? him? ] Just a head's up — if walk in on a blue tattooed thing wandering 'round looking like he might wanna murder ya, SPOILERS he's gonna wanna murder ya so, y'know, don't.
[ shaky hands bring up a lighter, and the flame comes dangerously close to his nose as he tries to light the cigarette hanging from his lips. ]
Sonuvabitch made me waste an entire magazine on him too, where the hell am I gonna get more of that 'round here, huh—
[ he cuts off suddenly, watching in horror as the cigarette falls from his mouth, landing uselessly beside his head. it seems the last of his strength leaves him in that moment, his hands also falling uselessly to his sides.
he draws in a deep, shaky breath, staring up blanking into the sky. for a second, just silence.
and then, in a glorious wail— ]
I FUCKING HATE IT HEEEEEEERE!
real talk? he ain't looking so good. bruised, beaten, and bleeding, he looks like he got into a fight with a demon-possessed blender and, not only did he lose, but that blender pretty much made him its bitch.
speaking of — son of a bitch that hurt. and not just in one area, either, it was one of those great "all over even where the sun don't shine" kinda pains and it's a wonder he hasn't cried or died from it already. he looks on the verge of it though, both of those, probably gonna be at the same time but for now, for the blessed moment of now, he manages to keep it together. ]
So, uh. s'There a doctor in the house?
[ help, he's fallen and he can't get up.
he's moving, at least, if the stilted way he tries to wiggle a hand into one of his pockets can even be counted as "moving." it takes him far too long, with a lot of guttural muttering, but eventually he manages to fish out a single cigarette. this he shakily lifts up to his mouth, which unfortunately bobs precariously since he can't seem to stop talking. ]
Preferably one that ain't gotta wave a wand at me, f'you catch my drift, I'm thinking I reached my """"magic"""" quota for the day, thanks. [ bitter? who? him? ] Just a head's up — if walk in on a blue tattooed thing wandering 'round looking like he might wanna murder ya, SPOILERS he's gonna wanna murder ya so, y'know, don't.
[ shaky hands bring up a lighter, and the flame comes dangerously close to his nose as he tries to light the cigarette hanging from his lips. ]
Sonuvabitch made me waste an entire magazine on him too, where the hell am I gonna get more of that 'round here, huh—
[ he cuts off suddenly, watching in horror as the cigarette falls from his mouth, landing uselessly beside his head. it seems the last of his strength leaves him in that moment, his hands also falling uselessly to his sides.
he draws in a deep, shaky breath, staring up blanking into the sky. for a second, just silence.
and then, in a glorious wail— ]
I FUCKING HATE IT HEEEEEEERE!
no subject
It was a very specific kinda help, [ he explains, after a few moments of silence. whether or not he heard meallan's other words is left dubious; his mind is clearly stuck on something else. ]
no subject
I think I have an idea of where this might be going. [His voice is lower, keeping this just between them and Meallan pauses for a second before he drops down to crouch next to the other man.]
Whatever happened, I know you would have tried to do as much as you could.
no subject
Do ya?
[ his lips twist into a wry grin. it almost looks like a grimace. ]
That's a lotta faith in somebody you just met, buddy.
no subject
Perhaps, but I don't mind. I'd rather trust people I just met and risk getting hurt than distrust them and risk driving away a friend.
Some of my closest friends were people others wouldn't have trusted long enough to get to know them.
no subject
...pain must not mean much to ya, then.
[ none too subtly, his gaze shifts to the other redhead's missing arm. or maybe not. ]
You'da probably like this guy then. [ his tone grows light once more, letting his eye fall shut. ] He seems real untrustworthy. Pretty sure he don't even trust himself.
no subject
Sometimes the people who don't trust themselves seem more trustworthy, don't they? [He asks, forcing lightness into his voice.]
Who would you rather trust, someone who tells you not to or someone who insists that they're the most trustworthy person you'll ever meet?
no subject
but he stays quiet, because he'd probably be lying. ]
...dunno.
[ he smiles then, but the gesture doesn't quite reach his eye. ]
Should I trust you?
no subject
That's something you might have to decide yourself I think. [He says with an amused laugh.]
Perhaps after we've known each other for a little while you can tell me how you decided.
no subject
how do you trust a man who says neither to trust him or not, he'd ask. but he has a feeling that wouldn't get them anywhere either. ]
If we still know each other after a while, then you should already know.
no subject
no subject
You must get beat up a lot, dont'cha.
[ so soft, so smol, so pure. ]
no subject
[He's just going to give Badou an amused look and raise an eyebrow pointedly.]
Which of us is bleeding, again?
no subject
no subject
[Leaning down, Meallan offers his hand to Badou.]
We should get moving though, just in case he comes back or something worse finds us. Do you think you can walk if I support you?
no subject
Just put some leaves over me or something, he won't even notice I'm here.
no subject
[Nudging him, Meallan reaches to take Badou's hand and tug gently, part encouragement and part testing that he's not actually too injured to stand.]
Come on, you can lean on me and point the way.
omg html why
[ it... takes a lot of effort, to be sure. for all his bellyaching, there appears to be some legitimacy to it in the way he struggles to even just sit up. pain flickers across his face with every minuscule movement, and while most of the heavy bleeding seems to have passed, there is definitely still a lot of injuries to consider.
he leans against meallan rather heavily, and by the time he's fully upright, he's actually out of breath.
still, he manages to keep the dry humor in his voice. one hand lifting towards a vague direction. ]
Onward, ho.
because it hates you
[But good natured jabs aside, it's concerning how much difficulty Badou has with moving, and Meallan resolves to try and get him to help as quickly as possible. The man likely needs it.]
Easy now... [He says more quietly, concern obvious in his voice.] We'll go slowly, but let me know if it's too much for you. I don't want you to make your injuries worse because of me.
wow what did i ever do to it
Yeah, then you'd never hear the end of my bitching, [ he murmurs without skipping a beat, but it's clear most of his attention is on keeping his pace.
there are a few moments' worth of silence, and it's the sheer awkwardness of them that gets him to blurt out: ]
If your clothes do get trashed, I'll fix 'em for ya.
it just doesn't like your face. it's very judgemental like that
I'd rather you kept being well enough to bitch. [He points out.] Than being so injured that you're silent. There's no need to push yourself too hard.
[Silence falls over them for a moment or so as Meallan concentrates on keeping as much as Badou's weight on him as he can manage with one arm, then the other redhead blurts out that response and he gives him a sidelong, confuse look.]
My clothes? Thank you for the offer but... [His lips curl into an amused smile.] It's also not the first time I'd be covered in blood. Besides, I'm not certain how well you'd be able to do that, no offence. You don't strike me as the cleaning type.
wow but my face is trying its best??
That's offensive, [ he murmurs, words coming out now in long drawls. as if the very act of talking itself were becoming a chore. ]
Just cuz I look like this? Didn't your parents ever teach ya not to judge a book by its cover or something?
idk what to tell you, html is a cruel creature. i like ur face tho
[He slows his pace more, shifting to try and take more of Badou's weight somehow, but short of finding a way to lift the other man off the ground Meallan isn't certain that he can.]
But you're right, I shouldn't judge you like that. [Especially not given their current situation. He'd happily promise to never judge Badou on anything ever again if it meant the man would be all right. But he doesn't want to voice his fears, and focuses on trying to get the other man to keep talking instead. If he's talking, he's still alive.]
What other hidden skills do you have? I don't suppose you're any good at cooking as well?