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.))
no subject
He twists his body, kicks out his legs, and wrenches his arms around in an attempt to throw his attacker off. He's vaguely aware that his gun is now laying just out of his reach, and he whips his head around to fix Hallelujah with a wide-eyed glare, blood streaking down one side of his face.]
no subject
Ah ah ah~. Ahehehe! I could cut your jugular and let you bleed out... oh, oh, or maybe cut your limbs off and see how long it takes you to die! Or I could pull out your eyes... so many choices!
no subject
It isn't fair. This isn't how he pictured himself dying, not this time. Two of his bullets hit before, but it's not enough, it's never enough. He needs more blood, more gore, more pain, and more death, because the voices won't shut up until he gives them what they want.
He licks his lips (tasting blood, his blood), and fixes Hallelujah with a cool stare.]
Let me go.
[This is where he would have started trying to negotiate a month ago, laughing and joking and trying to diffuse the situation. Today, he's in no mood for any of that. Despite the fact that his cheek stings with every word he speaks (and the cut didn't go all the way through, but it's deep, he can tell just by the feel of it), Richtofen doesn't try to stop himself from screaming. The words are uneven and stilted, but filled with venom.]
I said let me go, you disgusting swine! I am not your toy!
[Richtofen's entire body is tense, something that Hallelujah will undoubtedly be able to feel. It's visible, too, in the set of his shoulders and the way his nails scrape over the floor when he clenches his hands into fists.]
no subject
[He taps the tip of the knife where Richtofen's sternum starts.]
I think I'll start with a cut here.
[He presses the knife in, trying to cut the man's skin from chest to shoulder.The knife's not really made for clothing, especially military clothing, but he's got strength and stubbornness on his side.]
no subject
He manages to pull one arm free, but he isn't thinking clearly enough to grab for his gun. The voices in his head hiss at him to protect himself, and he reaches out in a blind haze of pain, grabbing for Hallelujah's wrist. He tries to push, pull, wrench it away, anything to stop the pain.]
no subject
You think you can stop me, little man? Hah! You can't stop such an overwhelming force! You'll just die slower!
no subject
I'm not- [The side of his wrist is dripping with blood, streaking down his uniform sleeve. He balls his hand into a fist and aims a punch for Hallelujah's stomach.] -going to give you the privilege of killing me! Schweinehund!
[Every movement makes him increasingly aware that the cut on his chest is deep. His shirt is already blood-soaked, weighing down hot and moist on his chest. The scent of it is thick in the air and the taste lingers on his tongue, and even though it's his own blood, Richtofen loves it. He refuses to be scared or disgusted even if he is bleeding all over the place, and instead convinces himself that before this is over, it'll be Hallelujah's blood coating the floor.]
no subject
Ah ah ah. You're not getting out of this one! You're going to die, and I'm going to enjoy it! I don't are if you come back - we can do this over and over again!
Hahaha! Isn't this fun, Allelujah?!
no subject
Who the hell are you talking to?! Didn't anybody tell you that I am the only one who is allowed to speak to voices that nobody else can hear?
[He grips Hallelujah's wrist as tightly as he can while he thrashes under him. Were Hallelujah a normal person, his grip would be painful, maybe even bruising. Richtofen is smiling, blood streaking his face and staining his teeth red, and his cheeks are twitching as if it's a struggle to keep that smile on his face. There's something off about his whole expression, as if he's just smiling because he wants to prove to himself that he still can.]
no subject
[If he feels it, he doesn't really react. Instead his grin widens, and he presses the knife to the wrist, aiming to start cutting the hand off, or at least cut it deeply enough that it bleeds everywhere.]
no subject
[Richtofen cuts himself off with a choked scream, yanking his hand away. The edge of the blade catches the side of his hand, and he struggles hard enough to free his other arm from under Hallelujah. He lets his injured arm fall back to the ground, while, with his newly-freed one, he balls his hand into a fist and aims a sloppy uppercut for Hallelujah's chin.]
no subject
Time to die!
no subject
He can't breathe.
He makes a strangled gurgling noise, frozen in place with his hands clasped over the wound. He can't tell how deep it is, isn't thinking about whether it's the cut or the pressure of his own hands against it that's choking him off, because all he can think of is that he's going to die. He's going to die again. No, no, no, he hates this, he's always hated it, he doesn't want to die--
Richtofen can't force any words out. All of the anger has drained off his face, leaving in its wake nothing but absolute terror. This'll be the first time he's died since he learned about what really happens to their bodies, their souls. He doesn't want to die knowing that he won't remember what happens to him between the time his light fades, and when he wakes up, paralyzed, in his bed.
It doesn't seem, though, like he has much of a choice.]
no subject
Lights out, bastard.
no subject
He tries to open his mouth, to force out some words about how this man doesn't have the right, the privilege to taste his blood, but nothing comes out. One hand falls away from his neck, feeling strangely cold. A few moments later, he lifts the second one, and he almost looks tranquil, resigned to his fate.
He uses the last of his strength to lift his middle finger in Hallelujah's face.
And then his eyes shut, and Richtofen goes limp.]