Solf J Kimblee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
explosivecombat) wrote2012-08-08 08:59 pm
explosivecombat) wrote2012-08-08 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
- !ic,
- *text,
- *video,
- @frank archer's utter lack of subtlety,
- @isaac mcdougal: non-fail junior,
- @our future cobra commander overlord,
- admittedly less than fabulous,
- also archer of the non-human variety,
- he's come undone,
- hell are you even,
- look at your life; look at your choices,
- my social skills are flawless,
- sanity is so passé,
- slacking off like hell,
- why we can't have nice things
015. [Video/Text]
[It's been several days since Kimblee spoke to Archer in Olivine City; he had decided the morning after that conversation that it would be for the best that they keep their distance from one another, at least for the time being - the last thing they needed was to be unsure that this was going to work, after all. He needed space.
And he certainly has gotten space! The room he's in when the feed flickers on is rather spacious, all things considered; of course, the actual size of the room is a bit difficult to determine, given that the place is kind of the most retina-searing green imaginable. Like a factory of limes exploded in here, people. That is the level of green we are looking at.
Kimblee is pretty easy to spot, however; he's wearing the usual white, which is incredibly ill-suited (no pun intended) for his current activity, all things considered: namely, he's getting rid of all the green. Clearly, he's decided that he's somewhat unimpressed with the lack of activity lately - he's still working those mutations out of his system, and flooding his system with electricity has left his motor skills...uh, lacking, for want of a better term - and he's decided to remedy this by simply having at the room with a can of paint and a roller brush. Never mind that he grew up incredibly spoiled and has never painted a damn wall to save his life, and the fact that his motor skills are, again, shot to all hell; this can't possibly be that hard to figure out!
...needless to say, there's a huge amount of dark red paint just kind of everywhere on that poor wall. There are several good solid sections that are painted in a perfectly normal, rational manner, of course - and then there are sections where he's really obviously slipped, thick red haphazard streaks all over the place, before he seems to have worked out what he's doing and reset himself on some sort of halfway sane path...somewhere else entirely.
It's fairly clear that he's been at it for a while; this entire room is going to need to be redone by the time he's finished with it, but at least he's trying?
The camera follows the wall for a moment, showing the room in all its...uh, glory, before flicking back to Kimblee, kneeling by the wall and smiling in an incredibly content, if a bit vacant, manner. He's completely alone in there, just amusing himself with a can of paint.]
...still haven't made any progress...
[Kimblee's voice is soft but clear; he sounds as though he's speaking to someone, despite...being...completely alone in the room...]
...they'll probably never find whomever did such a number on the Centers. Such a display...I understand that they will be down for some time now. And they haven't a clue who was responsible for it. For any of it.
[He doesn't sound bothered by this, nor does he sound particularly pleased; he's just making statements. At no one. He pauses for a moment; his hand's slipped again on the brush, drawing another jagged streak against the wall. He looks momentarily displeased at that, linefacing hard, before moving on to pick up where the line stopped.]
Shame that the infection spread to so many, though, especially with the vital cities running so low on medical supplies; I wonder how many were hit by it. My own mutations will fade shortly, I'm sure - it will be unfortunate if this keeps up for much longer. It's incredibly inconvenient...not that I don't miss the power, however. That was lovely, while it lasted.
[He pauses again. Smiles to himself.]
It wasn't quite like alchemy, but it was close enough. Such a beautiful feeling...I wouldn't mind feeling it again. Perhaps someone can assist with that, if they ever work out -
[There's a rather odd, blurred flash of green-and-white across the screen before Kimblee can finish that thought, then the video feed shuts off; it takes a moment, but a bit of text goes out to the Network before too long, also from Kimblee's 'Gear.]
i think my trainer is broken
[...yeah, Kimblee's Gardevoir is getting a bit...concerned about this talking-to-the-walls business.
Kimblee will definitely answer responses as they come in, though; he's not that out of it, though it may take him a few minutes to get on it.]
And he certainly has gotten space! The room he's in when the feed flickers on is rather spacious, all things considered; of course, the actual size of the room is a bit difficult to determine, given that the place is kind of the most retina-searing green imaginable. Like a factory of limes exploded in here, people. That is the level of green we are looking at.
Kimblee is pretty easy to spot, however; he's wearing the usual white, which is incredibly ill-suited (no pun intended) for his current activity, all things considered: namely, he's getting rid of all the green. Clearly, he's decided that he's somewhat unimpressed with the lack of activity lately - he's still working those mutations out of his system, and flooding his system with electricity has left his motor skills...uh, lacking, for want of a better term - and he's decided to remedy this by simply having at the room with a can of paint and a roller brush. Never mind that he grew up incredibly spoiled and has never painted a damn wall to save his life, and the fact that his motor skills are, again, shot to all hell; this can't possibly be that hard to figure out!
...needless to say, there's a huge amount of dark red paint just kind of everywhere on that poor wall. There are several good solid sections that are painted in a perfectly normal, rational manner, of course - and then there are sections where he's really obviously slipped, thick red haphazard streaks all over the place, before he seems to have worked out what he's doing and reset himself on some sort of halfway sane path...somewhere else entirely.
It's fairly clear that he's been at it for a while; this entire room is going to need to be redone by the time he's finished with it, but at least he's trying?
The camera follows the wall for a moment, showing the room in all its...uh, glory, before flicking back to Kimblee, kneeling by the wall and smiling in an incredibly content, if a bit vacant, manner. He's completely alone in there, just amusing himself with a can of paint.]
...still haven't made any progress...
[Kimblee's voice is soft but clear; he sounds as though he's speaking to someone, despite...being...completely alone in the room...]
...they'll probably never find whomever did such a number on the Centers. Such a display...I understand that they will be down for some time now. And they haven't a clue who was responsible for it. For any of it.
[He doesn't sound bothered by this, nor does he sound particularly pleased; he's just making statements. At no one. He pauses for a moment; his hand's slipped again on the brush, drawing another jagged streak against the wall. He looks momentarily displeased at that, linefacing hard, before moving on to pick up where the line stopped.]
Shame that the infection spread to so many, though, especially with the vital cities running so low on medical supplies; I wonder how many were hit by it. My own mutations will fade shortly, I'm sure - it will be unfortunate if this keeps up for much longer. It's incredibly inconvenient...not that I don't miss the power, however. That was lovely, while it lasted.
[He pauses again. Smiles to himself.]
It wasn't quite like alchemy, but it was close enough. Such a beautiful feeling...I wouldn't mind feeling it again. Perhaps someone can assist with that, if they ever work out -
[There's a rather odd, blurred flash of green-and-white across the screen before Kimblee can finish that thought, then the video feed shuts off; it takes a moment, but a bit of text goes out to the Network before too long, also from Kimblee's 'Gear.]
i think my trainer is broken
[...yeah, Kimblee's Gardevoir is getting a bit...concerned about this talking-to-the-walls business.
Kimblee will definitely answer responses as they come in, though; he's not that out of it, though it may take him a few minutes to get on it.]
no subject
[He glances over then, amusement clear across his features.]
It was something to do that didn't require leaving the house; I doubt anyone in the Center here wants me working like this, besides, and I would prefer not traveling for the time being.
no subject
[Hopefully you got this place for cheap.]
Yeah, I can understand that. I wasn't exactly travelling either. I just wasn't expecting you to paint the rooms.
no subject
[Admittedly, he has no idea how much these things should cost, but there was likely a very good reason why there was a suspicious lack of security deposit...
He falls silent for a moment after that, thinking it over and trying to keep his hand steady; there's something bothering him regarding Isaac's words, though he can't exactly place what.]
You're back a bit early, aren't you?
[...there it is.]
no subject
...You posted something to the network. Well, I guess it wasn't technically you, but there was a post on the network showing you painting and uh...
[A pause. This is really awkward, Kimblee...]
...talking to yourself. So I figured it'd be fine if I came back a little early to keep you company.
[...orz]
no subject
[Kimblee falls quiet again; he doesn't seem particularly fazed by the information, though he isn't exactly pleased by it, either. He's quick to cover it, however, his expression settling back into the usual placidity.]
It's nothing for you to worry about, Isaac. Just a habit, I suppose.
no subject
[Isaac doesn't exactly look pleased with that information, but he doesn't sound particularly upset either. This is just a fact of life. It's not something he ever saw Kimblee do before he was thrown in jail. It bothers him to think that this is something he started doing while he was in jail. Then again, everything about Kimblee's imprisonment bothers him. It's something he'd really rather not think about, so he simply dismisses the thought.]
Well. I'm here now. So you don't have to worry about that, at least.
[...kinda tsun, okay.]
no subject
[His tone is light when he says it, but his gaze is focused on Isaac again, the look sharp; perhaps it's unfair to ask Isaac something that's almost guaranteed to get a completely straight answer when he doesn't necessarily want one, but he can't say that he cares about how fair it is, in the end.]
no subject
[...His whole brain, Kimblee.]
But you're also dealing with the effects of that disease or whatever it was. I'd just rather be here for you, alright?
no subject
[...............uh]
That's very sweet of you, I suppose.
[NO REALLY WHAT DOES HE DO WITH YOU.]
no subject
That's--!!
[OH GOD OH MAN WHAT DOES HE DO WITH THAT]
[HE'S NOT TRYING TO BE SWEET OR ANYTHING OH GOD OH MAN!!!]
no subject
[Isaac
we
well
...we suck lbr]
no subject
[EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS AWKWARD AND HIS BRAIN IS IN TEARS, THANKS]