Doctor Edward Richtofen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doctor_dismemberment) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
animus_network2013-03-23 11:34 pm
doctor_dismemberment) wrote in animus_network2013-03-23 11:34 pm
video
[The feed clicks on. Hunched over the terminal is a haggard, shivering man in a Nazi uniform with snow still dusting his body, who's glaring at the camera as if he's trying to burn a hole through whoever is watching. He's silent for a moment, just breathing heavily, until he finally speaks in a voice that's as gravelly and uneven as a cobblestone road.]
...That's it. [His German accent is thicker than ever, as if he's not even trying to speak properly anymore. He sounds strangely serene underneath it all, eerily so.] I've had it. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to live here-
[He cuts himself off sharply after his voice rises in volume, and he draws in a ragged breath, shutting his eyes. A violent shudder runs through his body, and a strap of leather slides down his shoulder as a result. He shrugs it back up, and the glinting metal of a large gun can be seen behind his back.]
...I don't. You are all- [A look crosses his face like he's just thought of a funny joke. He gives a chuckle, and the sound is light and airy, but it's weak, too.] You're all laughing, aren't you? You're laughing- [He slams his fists down on the terminal, all traces of good humor gone from his face and his tone.] -und you're happy that I am suffering like this! Well, I'll give you all another reason to hate me, ja?
[He straightens up, and for a moment, a pained expression crosses his face. He puts a hand to his head, mutters:] Shut up, shut up!
[And then he tugs his gun off its strap and over his shoulder. To those who are familiar with WWII-era weaponry, it's an MP 40 sub-machine gun, and Richtofen's holding it with a vice grip. He gives the camera a lopsided grin, then shouts at the terminal, at the viewer.]
Why don't you all try to give me one reason why I shouldn't knock on every door in this hallway und blow the brains out of whoever answers? Hmm? Come on, I know you have it in you! Convince me, heroes. [He spits out that last word like it's poison.
Speaking up again, his voice is bitter. There's an almost mournful edge to it.] Give me a reason to try und be a good person.
[And then he leans against the terminal again, eyes darting to and fro over the screen, gripping the gun tightly in his trembling hands.]
((ooc: Richtofen is at one of the terminals on the 2nd dormitory level. action replies are welcomed! just beware that an action reply also puts you at risk of being attacked by Richtofen. he has no supernatural abilities, but he has a knife and an itchy trigger finger.
warning - replies may include violence, dark subject matter, and possibly suicide if Richtofen isn't calmed down. as always, he has a permissions post that you can use to let me know what you are and aren't okay with, or you can just let me know in your tag.))
...That's it. [His German accent is thicker than ever, as if he's not even trying to speak properly anymore. He sounds strangely serene underneath it all, eerily so.] I've had it. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to live here-
[He cuts himself off sharply after his voice rises in volume, and he draws in a ragged breath, shutting his eyes. A violent shudder runs through his body, and a strap of leather slides down his shoulder as a result. He shrugs it back up, and the glinting metal of a large gun can be seen behind his back.]
...I don't. You are all- [A look crosses his face like he's just thought of a funny joke. He gives a chuckle, and the sound is light and airy, but it's weak, too.] You're all laughing, aren't you? You're laughing- [He slams his fists down on the terminal, all traces of good humor gone from his face and his tone.] -und you're happy that I am suffering like this! Well, I'll give you all another reason to hate me, ja?
[He straightens up, and for a moment, a pained expression crosses his face. He puts a hand to his head, mutters:] Shut up, shut up!
[And then he tugs his gun off its strap and over his shoulder. To those who are familiar with WWII-era weaponry, it's an MP 40 sub-machine gun, and Richtofen's holding it with a vice grip. He gives the camera a lopsided grin, then shouts at the terminal, at the viewer.]
Why don't you all try to give me one reason why I shouldn't knock on every door in this hallway und blow the brains out of whoever answers? Hmm? Come on, I know you have it in you! Convince me, heroes. [He spits out that last word like it's poison.
Speaking up again, his voice is bitter. There's an almost mournful edge to it.] Give me a reason to try und be a good person.
[And then he leans against the terminal again, eyes darting to and fro over the screen, gripping the gun tightly in his trembling hands.]
((ooc: Richtofen is at one of the terminals on the 2nd dormitory level. action replies are welcomed! just beware that an action reply also puts you at risk of being attacked by Richtofen. he has no supernatural abilities, but he has a knife and an itchy trigger finger.
warning - replies may include violence, dark subject matter, and possibly suicide if Richtofen isn't calmed down. as always, he has a permissions post that you can use to let me know what you are and aren't okay with, or you can just let me know in your tag.))
video
[not that she thinks it's such a bad idea, really]
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Lamb- Fräulein Lambda? [He seems almost normal for a second - as normal as Richtofen can be - and then he goes back to glaring all over again.] No, I most certainly am not! I'm- I'm trapped in this place with a bunch of disgusting idiots, I'm stuck in this fake body, I have to wear this stupid collar for the rest of mein life-
[He starts to tug at it, but predictably, it doesn't budge. He continues to hold onto it with an iron grip, however, his free hand tightening on his gun. He sucks in a few unsteady breaths, his shoulders rising and falling visibly. His head is hanging down, face obscured by the brim of his cap.]
...I am not okay. No.
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[There's clear pity on her face and in her voice, but at the same time, excitement. She knew she could count on Richtofen to join her, that he was already there, really.]
I'm coming over there.
[And a moment later, she appears at his side. Normally she would make a show of it, a pink puff of smoke, or slowly gather in bits of candy, and she does take a moment to materialise, so as not to startle him, but it's missing that normal Lambda signature to it.]
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...What do you want?
[Even when someone's trying to - to what? Help him? The thought is almost laughable - to do whatever it is she's trying to do, he's still hostile. His voice is weak, though, as if she's given him no reason to be completely viscous.]
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...Yes. [He looks down at the MP 40, still safe in his gloved hands, unfired, but ready to go at a moment's notice.] Why? Are you going to try and stop me?
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[She knows how it is. Dragging another down to lift your own spirits is a given for someone who calls herself 'the cruelest witch in the world'.]
I'm making sure you're not going to turn it on yourself.
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What would it matter if he did? Another useless body ruined, another container made for his soul to go into... Sure, the sleep paralysis had gotten worse and worse every time he'd died, but he can deal with that. Once he gets past the helplessness it makes him feel, it's almost peaceful.
Almost.
He traces his fingers over the barrel. It's a weapon he's very fond of. Slow rate of fire, but the bullets are powerful. German-made, of course. It was always a favorite of his back home. And, though he never thought he'd feel any particular sort of allegiance to his homeworld, he thinks bitterly that at least he could control his own destiny there.]
No... [It's been a long moment, but he finally answers.] I don't think I will. Wasting bullets on myself would be... [He gives a dry laugh.] Well, that wouldn't be fun at all, would it?
[He shivers again, then looks around, blinking. When did it stop snowing? It was snowing when he left his room to go to the terminals...
Damn it all. He's losing track of time.]
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But it's also no good to waste your bullets on these people, right?
[It still isn't an attempt to stop him. Not at all, she can help.]
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I suppose not, but they are the most efficient way of dealing with these mongrels. Oh. [His brow furrows, and he strokes his weapon sadly.] How I wish ammunition was not so hard to come by in this place...
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No.
He's not thinking about that.
He is very pointedly shoving that memory to the farthest corners of his mind, with every intention of pretending like it never, ever, ever, ever happened. Ever.
He's no longer smiling.]
Nein. I can kill them myself.