11th Wave

[tentacruelest]

[Davy is, at last, waking up in the infirmary after his tiff with Stephanie and Kevin. He's restrained to a bed, but his tentacled beard holds his communicator close as he narrows his eyes at the screen, hissing angrily]


Someone best be coming to let me up. Cast me in Zero if yeh like, but let me up to stretch these limbs-!

I didnae kill the whelp, nor his dog. Let me up.

[Private to the Admiral]

[Nothing. Davy doesn't give gifts. He doesn't like any of you]

Comments

Spam

[tentacruelest]

Brought here by you?

[Jones turns, making the height difference between them all the more apparent]

Don't go putting on airs now, Captain. I can still kill yeh as easily as I did months ago.

Spam

[shakenandlimp]

All those months ago you had your full strength and a pistol ball meant nothing to you.

That isn't the case now. And you'll be easy to guard, if you're in the infirmary under the death toll.

[He is out of give, out of good humour; the playfulness that had sprung up between him and Jones is gone like fog burned away by the sun, and he is as much the unyielding man who refused to speak as his bone splintered now as he was then.]

Spam

[tentacruelest]

[Interested despite himself, Jones grasps hold of the man's arm. When his intimidation tactics fail to work, he usually dissolves into bullying. That Bush won't kowtow to him is upsetting]

And you'll kill me, will yeh?

Re: Spam

[shakenandlimp]

Yes.

Spam

[tentacruelest]

[With a disbelieving snort, Jones limps his way into his room - his very tiny room - and slams the door in Bush's face.

Even his mun doesn't know what he expects to do in there; there's no books, no music, nothing to entertain him in his solitude]