scaremonger | 01 - forward dated to post-event

[ VOICE ]

So basically. I'm in jail.

[ Caliborn lets a long silence pan out, intending it to hammer in the sheer injustice of it all. He is also obviously walking around, the dull sound of his metal leg against the floor ringing clearly. ]

All of my preparation. All of my work and devotion. And most of all. My self attained freedom. Is sooo totally gone now. Because some slippery bitch picked me up. Like. "Hey, Cal! You've been kind of evil. So come to prison." I mean, duh? Evil is my bag. But this Admiral Shitface did it when I was in critical fucking mission mode. It's like. No wonder he's not showing his face. He should be ashamed. For ruining my glorious self-suicide godhood ascension scenario.

[ His previously just indignant tone hits a lower note of blind fury, and the sound of him pacing around gets louder as he stomps. ]

And also taking away what rightfully belonged to me. I earned all of that freedom.

[ He reaches out and kicks a chair, which rolls and hits the far wall of his cabin forcefully. ]

More than any of you. I deserve that.

[ He swings out and there's a loud clamor as the chair hits the wall again, possibly snapping. Which is completely what actually happened. ]

Some worthless mother fucker is going to like. Wheel over here. "But what about meeeee." Or maybe. "Stop whining!" Or even. "I want to get punched in the face. And every tooth in my jaw. Shattered." Which is basically. Implicit in every single response. That isn't wholehearted agreement? But. To that bullshit, I say. Were you chained up most your life?? Stuck in a room with a shit tier sister who color coded things for you??? No? Then. You can't say anything.

[ There's a long wordless silence as he shuffles around, as much as stomping is shuffling. He huffs and the device gets picked up. A moment of hesitation is followed by him throwing it against the far wall with all his might.

It's muffled, but he shouts across the room at the dumb thing. ]

I'm going to throw a tantrum. AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.

[ SPAM ]

[ And then, not too long after the post goes up, Caliborn will be found wandering the deck. He's come up with the intention of ignoring people who don't talk to him, but it's likely that his short attention span will be scooped up by some interesting looking passerby.

Before that, though... he's definitely up to no good, either by attempting to fuck up the rose gardens in some creative way when he thinks no one is looking or staring vacantly overboard where he's thrown a wooden chair.

Space is pretty hypnotic. ]

Threaded | Flat

Then throw it. We're sort of recovering from a shipwide catastrophe so I'm sure someone will give you the heads up an the rules later, promise. Rght now, just-- break things, get it all out. It's okay. We'll fix it later.

8/10 for style. Good use of profanity and violent imagery. Could have been more original, but I appreciate the cadence and flow of your ranting. Not everyone can do that well.
1/10 for timing. The time for anyone to pay much attention to your tantrum is not when we've all just come off a bad breach*.
0/10 for content. Do you imagine everyone else that was brought here against their will fell upon our necks with gratitude and determination to be a grace and ornament to our little crew, or something?

*Chromie has a leaflet which explains all these barge concepts in great detail. I shall have one delivered to you later, should she not happen to notice you.

[ Some of the allusions in that rant are... familiar. Weirdly so. Dirk is still reeling from coming back from that breach, but he is too curious to let this slip by. ]

Tantrum away, bro. It won't help.

[None of this strikes Roderick as particularly unreasonable. Wanton destruction, check. Implacable fury, check. Loss of freedom, obviously. There's a little too much cursing for his taste, but hey. It takes all kinds to make a fucking world.]

[He literally has his chin in his hand right now, by the way, not that Caliborn can see it. Worst case scenario, this entertains him for the afternoon and distracts him from . . . whatever just happened.]

I think those circumstances warrant a tantrum. It's not like much happens by way of punishment around here, anyway.

I would appreciate it if you didn't touch the plants, [Comes the polite but pointed request when Charles catches the newcomer contemplating the rosebushes with less than kind intentions.

He has not had a great week, and while he's generally pretty good about not holding other people's bad moods against them, the garden and greenhouse has been somewhat of a safe haven for him and a few others on the Barge, so he's not especially interested in just sitting back and letting the place get destroyed while he's there and capable of doing something about it.]

I think you'll find a few of us will understand your perspective better than you're presently assuming.

But by all means, I've been informed that a temper tantrum can be very... refreshing.

. . . You hate color coding?

[This is an issue that needs to be immediately addressed.]

Nope, not a thing. [She really shouldn't be typing, either, but she's bored.]

Have you tried punching bags?

[Between the full-length dementor cloak and the dull steel train spikes where his eyeballs out to be - and the incongruously bright cockatiel on his shoulder, Marsh definitely qualifies as 'interesting looking passerby'. Also, he does sudden silent looming very well.]

You will remove those thorny twigs from the paths.

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[spam, greenhouse] eeeee calibutt