Charlie Cutter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alittlesweptup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-11-07 05:04 pm
alittlesweptup) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-11-07 05:04 pm
[OPEN] we expected something
Date: various; post-zombie attack
Location: Various
Characters: Charlie Cutter and YOU
Summary:Skullduggery Charlie does his homework.
Warnings: None (as of yet, will edit if applicable)
Notes: Get yer pre-mutiny CR building opportunities here!
[CAFETERIA]
[Gathering supplies - food, medical kit - is all vital, but being well fortified isn't what's going to win them anything in the end. So more and more, Charlie can be found with his nose in his tablet reading and making notes, brow furrowed and mouth pinched into a thin line.
Reading, research, quoting lines back - all that he can do. But figuring out how to order his own words properly, anything to do with writing something respectable of his own? Less his forte. Oh, he's a good liar when he needs to be, but he's not stupid enough to think they'll slide through this with a little fast talk.
So he's hunched over a meager lunch from what's left of the cafeteria's stores in the wake of the zombie invasion, carefully making notations in hard copies of old speeches that he's found in the AI's database.
Christ, it's the sort of thing designed to produce a headache.]
[VR ROOMS]
[Charlie hasn't actually spent much time in the VR rooms, but they've got their advantages. Though he doesn't go so far as to bother with constructing anything complete, but rather spends some time tinkering up partial floor plans. It's something he'd usually prefer to have on paper, but resources are scarce and - if he'd being exceedingly honest - he's never been much of an artist.
He runs the builds late in the evening when someone's more likely to go off to one of the other compartments rather than take too close a look at what he's doing, but that doesn't necessarily mean his work always goes uninterrupted.]
(ooc: any format is a-okay and if neither option appeals to you, feel free to throw up something random and I can just tag in as is appropriate.)
Location: Various
Characters: Charlie Cutter and YOU
Summary:
Warnings: None (as of yet, will edit if applicable)
Notes: Get yer pre-mutiny CR building opportunities here!
[CAFETERIA]
[Gathering supplies - food, medical kit - is all vital, but being well fortified isn't what's going to win them anything in the end. So more and more, Charlie can be found with his nose in his tablet reading and making notes, brow furrowed and mouth pinched into a thin line.
Reading, research, quoting lines back - all that he can do. But figuring out how to order his own words properly, anything to do with writing something respectable of his own? Less his forte. Oh, he's a good liar when he needs to be, but he's not stupid enough to think they'll slide through this with a little fast talk.
So he's hunched over a meager lunch from what's left of the cafeteria's stores in the wake of the zombie invasion, carefully making notations in hard copies of old speeches that he's found in the AI's database.
Christ, it's the sort of thing designed to produce a headache.]
[VR ROOMS]
[Charlie hasn't actually spent much time in the VR rooms, but they've got their advantages. Though he doesn't go so far as to bother with constructing anything complete, but rather spends some time tinkering up partial floor plans. It's something he'd usually prefer to have on paper, but resources are scarce and - if he'd being exceedingly honest - he's never been much of an artist.
He runs the builds late in the evening when someone's more likely to go off to one of the other compartments rather than take too close a look at what he's doing, but that doesn't necessarily mean his work always goes uninterrupted.]
(ooc: any format is a-okay and if neither option appeals to you, feel free to throw up something random and I can just tag in as is appropriate.)
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And he's never been anything but physical. Even in the mostly dark, the low light ebbing in from the hall, she can probably make out the way Charlie spreads his arms. Egging on for a fight - a proper one. For her to hit him. Something solid, more easily understood.] Yeah, we were fine. And then suddenly you're jumping down my throat for saying something you apparently didn't like. If you're not trying to boot me, then why've you been dodging me for two damn days?
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[Because they're sure as hell not especially suited for it - not in the long run; he's always been better with short cons.]
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You mean after they lock us away for all this.
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They'd be idiots to do as much. [But he's not denying the possibility and maybe that counts for something.]
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Nothing all that funny about it.]
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It's impossible to see in the dark, but for a beat his jaw goes tight. A muscle in his cheek rises and falls. His fingers tighten briefly on her arms too though, and that much probably translates just fine on its own.]
Don't know about you, darling, but I'd rather do something stupid than nothing at all.
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She leans into the tips of his fingers where they're dug in along the edge of her shoulder.]
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Charlie eases his grip, scuffs his hands down to her elbows - her wrists. He's not going to hold her hands, but the option's there.] You know- one of these days, something's bound to run smoothly.
[Which is the mildest breed of joke there is.]
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It takes the better part of a minute before she has to concede the point.] yeah, all right. Fine.
But I'll have you know it was all entirely your fault.
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Yeah, yeah. And so was the fire in the library at Alexandria; what else is new?
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She thinks briefly about asking why he'd ducked out. Tosses the idea entirely. It's in the past; doesn't matter. ]
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If they're dead set on getting themselves chucked out an airlock, might as well give her a proper snogging on the way out the door.]
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She digs in her fingers, curls her thumbs against beltloops and the waistband of his trousers on opposite sides. They're both a mess-- reek of salt and smoke and stale, borrowed bedsheets-- the scruff at his chin scraping hard at her jaw when he covers her mouth with his own. It's fine. It's easy enough to sink into. Like sleep or a bad habit.
Like something she'd prefer not to kick.]
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C'mon. [He wrinkles his nose.] Standing about isn't going to get the job done.
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Fine, but you owe me for it.
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[They needed a do-over for France anyway.]
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