[ Rust's never been this kind of tired—his mind has the feel of a wrung-out sponge. There's the premonition of a headache at his temples, he has a gadget's worth of alien history to memorize and ten people crammed into his skull.
Doesn't mean he'll be able to sleep.
It gets late, or so he figures—there's no night to stay awake through here. He feels the others drop off, steeper for some. Feels his own breathing slow. It's peaceful, soothing in a way. In another way it's like watching someone from the foot of their bed. He lies down for a while in one of the empty rooms, wonders if someone else's dreams will flicker on the insides of his eyelids. Then he gives up.
Throughout the night, find him:
a) In the rec room, at first pulling books from the shelves and flipping through them, then reading and smoking, a stack of books at his feet.
b) Searching one of the recently vacated rooms on the life support deck. He's quiet: in his thoughts, the sensation of measured footsteps, a landscape negotiated in the dark. He's looking for anything personal, anything stashed away. He doesn't touch unless necessary.
c) Aimlessly wandering with his databank under his arm and a throbbing headache. Every hour he's been awake is right there on his face and despite everything, it takes him a moment to register that someone else has come along. ]
II. APARTMENTS
[ Brothers and sisters, Rhan had called the group waiting for them on the ground. The phrase echoes derisively in Rust's thoughts as he steps off the ship. He has a better grip on his emotions than the day before, but they still spill off him: suspicion, anticipation. The comfort of a knife at his side, a yearning for air against his skin. An awareness comprised of accumulating details—a flag snapping in the wind, the slant of the sun—as well as bursts of color, the scent of sawdust.
Rust doesn't speak, aloud or otherwise, until they're inside the apartments.
He peels off his gloves, shucks the hood. Gives a shake of his head and asks the nearest person: ] Who's running the show?
III. WILDCARD
[ GO FOR IT
...also lol his permissions aren't done yet so don't hesitate to hmu if you need additional info ]
Rust Cohle | ota
[ Rust's never been this kind of tired—his mind has the feel of a wrung-out sponge. There's the premonition of a headache at his temples, he has a gadget's worth of alien history to memorize and ten people crammed into his skull.
Doesn't mean he'll be able to sleep.
It gets late, or so he figures—there's no night to stay awake through here. He feels the others drop off, steeper for some. Feels his own breathing slow. It's peaceful, soothing in a way. In another way it's like watching someone from the foot of their bed. He lies down for a while in one of the empty rooms, wonders if someone else's dreams will flicker on the insides of his eyelids. Then he gives up.
Throughout the night, find him:
a) In the rec room, at first pulling books from the shelves and flipping through them, then reading and smoking, a stack of books at his feet.
b) Searching one of the recently vacated rooms on the life support deck. He's quiet: in his thoughts, the sensation of measured footsteps, a landscape negotiated in the dark. He's looking for anything personal, anything stashed away. He doesn't touch unless necessary.
c) Aimlessly wandering with his databank under his arm and a throbbing headache. Every hour he's been awake is right there on his face and despite everything, it takes him a moment to register that someone else has come along. ]
II. APARTMENTS
[ Brothers and sisters, Rhan had called the group waiting for them on the ground. The phrase echoes derisively in Rust's thoughts as he steps off the ship. He has a better grip on his emotions than the day before, but they still spill off him: suspicion, anticipation. The comfort of a knife at his side, a yearning for air against his skin. An awareness comprised of accumulating details—a flag snapping in the wind, the slant of the sun—as well as bursts of color, the scent of sawdust.
Rust doesn't speak, aloud or otherwise, until they're inside the apartments.
He peels off his gloves, shucks the hood. Gives a shake of his head and asks the nearest person: ] Who's running the show?
III. WILDCARD
[ GO FOR IT
...also lol his permissions aren't done yet so don't hesitate to hmu if you need additional info ]