Flint Deckard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spittle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2016-01-24 01:58 am
spittle) wrote in ataraxionlogs2016-01-24 01:58 am
Entry tags:
[closed]
CHARACTERS: Flint Deckard and Rey (additional threads pending)
LOCATION: Jungle
WARNINGS: Injury
SUMMARY: Rey finds a probably definitely innocent man snared in one of her traps.
NOTES: Backdated roughly to coincide with the timing of Etrepa Seven’s network post.
He’s human again when he jolts awake, water in his nose, ice in his veins. The jungle isn’t as loud, and the rain just smells like rain.
He’s also hanging upside down, knuckles not-quite dragging in the leaf litter over his head.
Muddy runoff runs down (up) his bare middle and around his neck, dripping quick off the scruff of his scalp. His pants are streaked dark with blood around the knee of his caught leg. There’s blood on his chest, blood on his feet, blood in his beard. He’s filthy all around, hide streaked light where the rain’s had time to rinse the mud and blood and grit away.
The sound he makes when he tries to twist to reach the rope around his ankle is muffled cruddy in his throat -- anguish garbled behind his teeth. He lets off immediately, long arms loose, eyes dizzy with pain.
Hard to say how long he’s been here, but it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere fast.
LOCATION: Jungle
WARNINGS: Injury
SUMMARY: Rey finds a probably definitely innocent man snared in one of her traps.
NOTES: Backdated roughly to coincide with the timing of Etrepa Seven’s network post.
He’s human again when he jolts awake, water in his nose, ice in his veins. The jungle isn’t as loud, and the rain just smells like rain.
He’s also hanging upside down, knuckles not-quite dragging in the leaf litter over his head.
Muddy runoff runs down (up) his bare middle and around his neck, dripping quick off the scruff of his scalp. His pants are streaked dark with blood around the knee of his caught leg. There’s blood on his chest, blood on his feet, blood in his beard. He’s filthy all around, hide streaked light where the rain’s had time to rinse the mud and blood and grit away.
The sound he makes when he tries to twist to reach the rope around his ankle is muffled cruddy in his throat -- anguish garbled behind his teeth. He lets off immediately, long arms loose, eyes dizzy with pain.
Hard to say how long he’s been here, but it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere fast.