breakmychest (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breakmychest) wrote2011-01-21 11:01 am
breakmychest) wrote2011-01-21 11:01 am
XX -- text/video;
[Text: Locked to Elphaba and Drusilla (but separately.)]
You all right? Where'd you land?
[Video: Everyone]
[Where Spike usually is, there is instead a surly looking boy with very sharp cheekbones and hair that's been bleached and spiked. His clothes are all black, but there are more chains than Spike usually wears, and the t-shirt is advertising some death metal band. He's touching his neck, right where his pulse is.]
Well. This is an interesting port.
[He drops his hand and puts down his backpack to rifle through it.]
I hope the Admiral isn't expecting me to actually attend school here. Because there is no bloody way. I've dealt with enough teenagers in the past few years to hold me over for an eternity. And I'm not amused by being one of them.
[He pulls out a wallet and starts going through it, pulling the cash out first by habit. Even though it's his wallet and he doesn't steal anymore.]
Right, so apparently I'm William Pratt while I'm here, though people still call me Spike, thank god, and--
[He stops, holding a folded-up photograph he just found in the wallet. It's not viewable rom the journal, but Spike's face is. It's a mixture of horrified, sad, and general surprise. The picture is of the kid he's become and... his mother. Looking just like she did in life, though in more modern clothes.
After a moment he remembers the journal and shuts it off. He has to look at this more closely. It's an impossibility, of course. They didn't take snapshots when he was alive, and when he was a kid, he didn't look like that, but it's still his mother. He stares at it for another moment, then folds it up and slips it into his pocket.]
You all right? Where'd you land?
[Video: Everyone]
[Where Spike usually is, there is instead a surly looking boy with very sharp cheekbones and hair that's been bleached and spiked. His clothes are all black, but there are more chains than Spike usually wears, and the t-shirt is advertising some death metal band. He's touching his neck, right where his pulse is.]
Well. This is an interesting port.
[He drops his hand and puts down his backpack to rifle through it.]
I hope the Admiral isn't expecting me to actually attend school here. Because there is no bloody way. I've dealt with enough teenagers in the past few years to hold me over for an eternity. And I'm not amused by being one of them.
[He pulls out a wallet and starts going through it, pulling the cash out first by habit. Even though it's his wallet and he doesn't steal anymore.]
Right, so apparently I'm William Pratt while I'm here, though people still call me Spike, thank god, and--
[He stops, holding a folded-up photograph he just found in the wallet. It's not viewable rom the journal, but Spike's face is. It's a mixture of horrified, sad, and general surprise. The picture is of the kid he's become and... his mother. Looking just like she did in life, though in more modern clothes.
After a moment he remembers the journal and shuts it off. He has to look at this more closely. It's an impossibility, of course. They didn't take snapshots when he was alive, and when he was a kid, he didn't look like that, but it's still his mother. He stares at it for another moment, then folds it up and slips it into his pocket.]
Private
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Fine. I'll deal with them.
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Private:
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It's quite the mixture.