Travis Touchdown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rank1) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
returnjourneylogs2022-01-28 08:58 pm
rank1) wrote in returnjourneylogs2022-01-28 08:58 pm
#2
Passengers: Travis Touchdown and YOU!
Location: The Mess Hall
Date: 1/26
Summary: Someone was a naughty boy :(
Warnings: Swearing, etc.
Travis Touchdown spends six hours shackled to a mess hall table. It's his own fault, really. He didn't have to punch Rhys. He didn't have to shitstir, or 1v1 a warden. He also didn't have to double down on any of it.
But he did.
1. Noisy Asshole
So here's Travis, handcuffed to a table leg and pulling at the manacle like a rabid dog, shouting fuckhead this and fucking bastard that, with little detours into you don’t even know who I am and you think this is a game to me? I’m dead fucking serious bro!
If it was on Twitter, it'd go viral. If Travis had a communicator, he'd be broadcasting it himself.
2. Clever Asshole
After yelling like an asshole gets him hoarse, he settles on trying to get himself out by more mechanical means: lock picking. He doesn’t have a lock pick. It wouldn't necessarily help anyway, considering the make of these things, but it’s a good way to kill five minutes. If he pores over long enough, maybe he'll find a weakness. When that fails, another five minutes get wasted on trying to will himself into being double jointed, but try as he might, his hand doesn’t fit through. He considers gnawing his thumb off, and at one point experimentally tests the meat of the crux of his thumb with his teeth. Hey, if that cave spelunker guy could be trapped for over a hundred hours and still have the nuts to saw off his own arm, what’s a mere thumb to a sane guy? But he ultimately decides against it: he needs that thumb to grip things, man.
"Maybe this is why that fuckhead has a robot arm," Travis says to himself, making no effort to keep his voice down. "He cut it off to get out of being shackled to a table like a goddamn dog!"
3. Artistic Asshole
When his throat feels a little less like he’s been choking down chicken bones, he entertains himself by rapping. It’s an original poem about how wardens are shit. It’s not very good but he doesn’t care. It’s his art and if you don’t like it, you try writing your own and see how well you do.
4. Hungry Asshole :(
“I’m so fucking bored,” he announces to whoever comes by. “And hungry!”
Being within fifty feet of a food dispenser is worse torture than being a public display. What can he say, he’s used to looking cool in public, and he's lost track of how long he's been trapped here. Probably days. (It's been four hours.) This is the only time his resting bitch face relaxes into something vaguely woe is me — a mid thirties man with an empty stomach is little more than a baby.
5. Free Asshole
(Not that way, perverts, what do you think this is, Duplicity? Unless... ;) )
The spirit is strong, but the body is tired. Travis, sat on the floor and leaning against the table leg, his own legs stretched out wide. His shoulders sag, and his manacled wrist is an ugly purple. Don’t feel too bad: he chose to yank and yank and yank at the cuff instead of patiently leaving it be.
“This is only strengthening my resolve, you know!" he protests. "You gotta let me go!”
Very impressive pitch from a man minutes away from simply laying on the floor.
Location: The Mess Hall
Date: 1/26
Summary: Someone was a naughty boy :(
Warnings: Swearing, etc.
Travis Touchdown spends six hours shackled to a mess hall table. It's his own fault, really. He didn't have to punch Rhys. He didn't have to shitstir, or 1v1 a warden. He also didn't have to double down on any of it.
But he did.
1. Noisy Asshole
So here's Travis, handcuffed to a table leg and pulling at the manacle like a rabid dog, shouting fuckhead this and fucking bastard that, with little detours into you don’t even know who I am and you think this is a game to me? I’m dead fucking serious bro!
If it was on Twitter, it'd go viral. If Travis had a communicator, he'd be broadcasting it himself.
2. Clever Asshole
After yelling like an asshole gets him hoarse, he settles on trying to get himself out by more mechanical means: lock picking. He doesn’t have a lock pick. It wouldn't necessarily help anyway, considering the make of these things, but it’s a good way to kill five minutes. If he pores over long enough, maybe he'll find a weakness. When that fails, another five minutes get wasted on trying to will himself into being double jointed, but try as he might, his hand doesn’t fit through. He considers gnawing his thumb off, and at one point experimentally tests the meat of the crux of his thumb with his teeth. Hey, if that cave spelunker guy could be trapped for over a hundred hours and still have the nuts to saw off his own arm, what’s a mere thumb to a sane guy? But he ultimately decides against it: he needs that thumb to grip things, man.
"Maybe this is why that fuckhead has a robot arm," Travis says to himself, making no effort to keep his voice down. "He cut it off to get out of being shackled to a table like a goddamn dog!"
3. Artistic Asshole
When his throat feels a little less like he’s been choking down chicken bones, he entertains himself by rapping. It’s an original poem about how wardens are shit. It’s not very good but he doesn’t care. It’s his art and if you don’t like it, you try writing your own and see how well you do.
4. Hungry Asshole :(
“I’m so fucking bored,” he announces to whoever comes by. “And hungry!”
Being within fifty feet of a food dispenser is worse torture than being a public display. What can he say, he’s used to looking cool in public, and he's lost track of how long he's been trapped here. Probably days. (It's been four hours.) This is the only time his resting bitch face relaxes into something vaguely woe is me — a mid thirties man with an empty stomach is little more than a baby.
5. Free Asshole
(Not that way, perverts, what do you think this is, Duplicity? Unless... ;) )
The spirit is strong, but the body is tired. Travis, sat on the floor and leaning against the table leg, his own legs stretched out wide. His shoulders sag, and his manacled wrist is an ugly purple. Don’t feel too bad: he chose to yank and yank and yank at the cuff instead of patiently leaving it be.
“This is only strengthening my resolve, you know!" he protests. "You gotta let me go!”
Very impressive pitch from a man minutes away from simply laying on the floor.
no subject
He saw that but thought it was just some dumb shit. Volk comes over and then just... looks around the room for the person who's like, guarding Travis?
???
"What, is he on bathroom break or something?"
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Because if he's going to smash that chain he really doesn't want the guy to walk in halfway and re-cuff both of them, that'd be fucking dumb.
no subject
Okay, Bucky may have said. Travis isn't exactly paying attention, too amped up, too willing to play everything in the key of anger.
no subject
Volk holds up a finger - hang on, still listening, keep talking - and walks a ways back to the automat, which has dropped out his Still Not Coffee.
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He grabs the food, comes back. Okay, what does he have. Some kind of, egg salad sandwich but not really? Ugh. Alright, he's not sure that'll work. Egg is just a byproduct, it was never living or dead. He takes a bite of the sandwich.
"I need fomething that waf alive to caft," Volk explains, with his mouth full. He swallows. "And I'm hungry. I normally don't do this for free, you know. Or for property damage. This is like a violin prodigy offering to let you garrote someone with his bowstring."
If this was like, a normal, non-cult mess hall, they'd have ketchup or pepper and this would be easy. Tomato and peppercorn were both living plants, even if the tomato is very, very adulterated. But, no, of course we can't do anything that'd make Volk's life easier.
no subject
"What the fuck are you talking about? Alive? Caft? What the fuck is caft?"
no subject
"So, explain to me, what you think you're accomplishing here. Because I was about to help you, and now-"
Another bite.
"I just kinda want to eat thif fandwich, and leave."