beingdifferent: (i never said that)
Esther Coleman ([personal profile] beingdifferent) wrote2013-11-09 04:26 am

Eighth little lie ♰ There's a dance in the garden in the middle of the night

[AUDIO]
[Congratulations, Barge, this morning you get something besides a regular voice broadcast. Today, you get music, the flowing notes of a recital played on the art room piano. The player is very competent, making only the most minor of mistakes - two missed notes, both of which stick in her memory like red flags to be noted the next time she plays. The piece itself is played from adagio to presto in different parts, lasting nearly six minutes, and when it's finished there's a heavy, exhausted yet satisfied sigh.]

That was Chopin's "Fantasie" Impromptu in c-sharp minor. I hope you liked it, it's taken me some time! But after how difficult it's been recently I thought some of you might appreciate it. [Plus she's very pleased with herself; you can hear the quiet pride in her voice.] I've been working on it for awhile, but now that I've learnt it I need a new piece to study. Can anyone think of a good one?

Not too difficult, please. There are some that I just can't play yet.

[SPAM]
[Esther is everywhere and nowhere lately, creeping through the ship like the proverbial mouse. After the other Barge she just doesn't want to face the people she was close to there, but it's a small ship and she can't avoid everyone forever no matter how awkward or saddening the meeting might be.

And she has to approach others for some things: to be let into the CES to chase leaves and roll in the grass, to give her time and supplies in the art room, to take her shift in the kitchen. For all these encounters she wears her bravest face and puts her best foot forward, praying that nothing gets too awkward.
]
inhell: (Default)

spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder

[personal profile] inhell 2013-11-12 03:27 am (UTC)(link)
[ She's been moody and quiet in her latest shift in the kitchen. Whatever novelty it had is quickly wearing off, and she's settling herself into a long routine. It's boring. It's not even safe and it's boring. But boring is okay. It means she doesn't have to think. Just work and sleep, that's all.

She lingers for a while out on the cool deck, avoiding anyone she sees, and then goes inside. A slow path back to her door, and suddenly she stops.

For a second, she doesn't even know why she stopped, why her heart jumped to her throat and started pounding. And then she realizes. Smoke. She can smell it. She spins, and spots it curling out from under a doorway. A closed doorway. Oh, no. ]


Hello? [ She knocks on the door, which is warm. Bad sign. She brushes her fingers cautiously over the doorknob - not burning-hot, just warm to the touch. She twists it, and tugs, but the door won't budge. ] Hello! Anyone in there!

Help! Help, there's a fire! [ She tugs again, but the door won't give. Looks to the hinges - there are coins in there, little copper ones, and she pulls out the knife she smuggled out from the kitchen and slips it into the crack, digging them out. The smell of smoke is sharper, now, and when the last penny falls to the ground, she goes for the handle, wrapping her jumper around her hand, and tugs the door open.

The inside is burning. Not the wildness of a brushfire, but a tight blaze, concentrated at the moment in a tipped over mattress. She coughs, puts her sleeve over her nose and mouth.

There's someone in there. She can see the feet poking out from under the mattress. ]


Help! [ She shouts this again, at the top of her lungs - and then she darts inside, half-crouched, to try to pull the mattress off of the man inside. ]
lastrat: (the living's in the way we die)

spam;

[personal profile] lastrat 2013-11-12 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
[Wagner he thinks, at some point before it all comes to a head. He's far from uncultured, though he knows some think him as nothing more than a hitman. He's a double-oh: he's a hitman with class. The thought makes the corner of his mouth twitch up.

Magic Fire. That's the one - then something hard comes down on his head, preceded by a breath, a brush of wind, and then - nothing.

It's foolish, worse, it's obvious. He should have known. He should have checked his blind spots. There are strange, half-dreams: of falling, of water and blood. He can feel the weight of the river close around him, and he's suffocating. Drowning. He doesn't dream of M's voice over his ear piece. He doesn't dream of watching Vesper drown herself. He dreams of weight, pressure, of his ribs breaking, of passing out and being closed in on all sides. He can't breathe.

Take a deep breath. It shifts in that way that is so natural in dreams, that way that you can't detect until recollections from the waking world. Water pressure becomes a different sort, liquid in his lungs becomes something else. The river rushing over his face becomes sweat.

You only get one shot.

His hand clenches around his gun; under the mattress, his fingers twitch, twitch, a silent reaching for wakefulness that he can't quite manage. He rises through the river (the smoke the fire), kicks and strains and hardly moves. He only gets one shot. He has to - make it count.

He's out for a long time: the river holds him under, arms pull him down. If he had any real beliefs beyond the weight of a Walther PPK and the force of a well placed punch, he'd search for a toll for the River Styx. It's for the best he doesn't believe: there would be too many men with neat holes in them, too many women left to die because he didn't care enough to protect them. They would all be waiting for him.

James Bond doesn't reach wakefulness again: he claws, stirs, and as he did six years ago, he accepts fate. He burns, burns, and breathes as deep as the hot weight on his back will allow.

Take a deep breath. You only get one shot. Make it count.]
fire_punk: (pic#4342736)

spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder

[personal profile] fire_punk 2013-11-12 03:48 am (UTC)(link)
[Kevin's on his way to the deck when he smells the smoke. And hears Ellie. He comes running over.

His face turns white when he sees the fire. It's too much like when Dad died. He runs into the room and pushes the mattress off but he can't bring himself to touch the man under it.]


Get him out!
neuropathy: (telling us all to go free)

spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder

[personal profile] neuropathy 2013-11-12 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ Plus one to the general rabble summoned by yelling, which is less that Nathan happens to be passing by and more he has approximately five thousand senses dedicated to responding to events containing fire, violence, and murder. They're good for compensation.

Arriving in media res, as it were, means he has a handful of seconds to assess the situation - Ellie isn't big enough to drag a body ('a body' - this is a human being and he never forgets that, but at the same time that's the way his brain works: in bodies and evidence and clean euphemism too weak not to skew bloody) on her own, although Kevin might be, and someone still has to put out the fire before it can start spreading.

If he gets burned he's not going to feel it (and smoke inhalation presents a more significant problem anyway, in a space that was enclosed this long); there are times when that's a perk. He ducks into the room, more or less weaves around both Ellie and Kevin, and hooks his arms under Bond's to shuffle him - dead weight is exactly what it is - around his shoulders.
]

I got this. [ His voice adjusts; quiet and calm, a strain of urgency bolting the lower register. ] Lemme get 'im somewhere safe, you two see if you can put this out.
inhell: (Default)

spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder

[personal profile] inhell 2013-11-12 12:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She goes for Bond - big enough or not, she's certainly not going to stand by and not try - but Nathan gets there first.

Okay. Put it out. Put it out with what? She doesn't see a big red extinguisher anywhere, and the sink's on the other side of the blaze.

Most of it's on the mattress, though, so - ]


Flip it over! [ The inhale to say this gets her a lungful of smoke, and she's coughing, then, as she moves to help him. If the mattress lands fire-side-down, it might be enough to smother itself. Then there's the frame to worry about. ]
fire_punk: (Default)

spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder

[personal profile] fire_punk 2013-11-13 02:56 am (UTC)(link)
[Kevin nods, shoving the mattress so it falls onto the other side. He feels for the flames on the frame, feeling them respond and bend to his will. He pulls them down and closer together as if they're from a large ball of paper that he's set on fire.]