space balls but with less legal balls

[scupper]

[It's not that he's exactly reckless or particularly careless. The fact of the matter is Duo's luck really fucking sucks. Which is why he was marooned on a shuttle with zero thruster power, his Gundam long gone, the colonies nowhere in sight and communications silent as the grave (how very ironic for the god of death himself, lifeless, endless space stretched out in front of him with a carpet full of stars).

That is until he struck a spot of luck- that ended up not being very lucky at all. A ship, a battle ship to be exact, rescued him and promptly seized him for questioning and the like.

It goes without saying that questioning is the universal language for "beat the shit out of Duo until he sings or makes a quip and passes out" out here in space. Which is where we find our braided hero in a startlingly familiar setting:

A darkened room, handcuffed to a chair with bruises zinging and stinging up and down his ribs and across his face. He wrenches his wrists against the cuffs to no avail; they merely rattle against the chair and give little. Well, he's had worse.]

Maaaan, this sucks. Hospitality sure ain't what it used to be in the colonies. Guess I can't blame 'em but a little grub would be nice.

Comments

[scupper]

Eh? [His fork is halfway to his mouth when her disbelief registers, and an uncomfortable feeling makes the hairs straying from his braid at the nape of his neck furl.

That doesn't sound right. What's she getting at?? Sticking to his motto sure does bring a lot of pain and suffering and bullshit to Death's Doorstep doesn't it.

His brows furrow.] I wouldn't wanna test out your bruise-y sense of humor on a good day, lad- Cap'n, trust me. I'm from L2. Recently held by the balls thanks to some pretty nasty guys gunning for "peace". [Yes, with a grim thinning of his mouth, he includes the air quotes. Shovels the last dregs of food into his mouth to buy him some time.]

We're all kinda nuts, really. I dunno about putting my triumphs and mistakes in with the rest of the nuts but sure, there are lotsa gods and beliefs and stuff. But in the end Death is the one that calls the shots.

[Peace, war, allies, enemies, justice- it's all washed away and all made equal (equal to shit, maybe) when you're looking a Gundam in the eye. There's nothing left except the feelings people leave behind.]

S'fine with me, I know people're anal and protective over their machines. [He knows plenty of people like that, one Perfect Soldier in Spandex in particular] You guys might haveta fatten me up a bit before you take a bite. And I tend to nibble back a little.

[His shoulders rise and he barely flinches with the movement this time, the grating of bruises to the bone and something not quite connecting right, sets his fork down in order to lift his hands palms up in defense.

Maaaan, these times we live in. Can't even make a comment about safety procedures without someone crawling up your ass. Well, he can't blame her, again. And...she isn't wrong. He's done exactly as she's described countless times; it's his specialty afterall.]

Alright, alright, you're the boss, boss. Just givin' credit where it's due. I've got no motive or means to do that, you'll see.

[He balks, shoulders slumping in dismay. Oy, he's gonna feel that in the morning.]

Don't suppose a nice comfy cot's waiting for me, huh. Enthusiasm? Nah, I'm totally chill, I can put on that gloomy teenage crap, no need to break a sweat over lil ol' me.

[Well as long as his oxygen isn't cut off in there and he's left to suffocate.....should be fun]