Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2021-01-08 02:59 pm
uber_marionettist) wrote in victory_road2021-01-08 02:59 pm
Callout post for these Snorunts, breaking people's legs!
Who: Dirk Strider, Solus zos Galvus, and... that's it for now
Where: Emet's place; Goldenrod
When: January 5
Summary: The Snorunts must have heard about the stairs....
Rating: PG (-13? Dirk breaks his leg first thing here)
Look, okay. Dirk has gone up and down these stairs hundreds of times. Or if not hundreds of times, at least scores of them. There's no real added risk to doing it with his arms full or his vision partially obscured; sure, there's a small statistical increase based on the rules of basic academic rigour, but what's he going to do--pitch backwards and flip ass over teakettle to land on his face in exactly the right way to drive a bone fragment into his brain, killing him instantly?
Okay, actually, that does sound like it would happen to him, but it's not going to. They're just stairs, man.
What does happen to him is this: he drops a smuppet somewhere around the top step, and it's in front of him, and he steps on it. And it slides a bit. And he has to make a split second decision that takes the form of a cool, super air-catching backflip, performed from that stair all the way back down the bottom, where he lands on his feet like the ever-prepared ninja he is.
And--
You know, it hurts? It does. Obviously. But in the moment, Dirk hears the bone snap and he feels the vertigo--but any pain response is limited to the blanching of his face, and that unreal sensation of proprioceptive inversion, and the part where he smacks himself upside the head on the bottom stair when he tips over sideways in an anticlimactic finish.
The dissociated pain response hyperawareness keeps him surprisingly clear-headed, though. It's not that hard to figure out why. Epinephrine is one hell of a neurochemical. He figures he's got fifteen minutes, minimum, in which to take advantage of it.
Even if he knows not to move his leg, he still tries. The pain is... something else. Not the worst pain he's ever been in, but the Dirk Strider pain scale has been broken for two decades. The break is definitely in his shin, though, so that's his tibia.
Fuck. It's not all askew, so it can't be that bad, but 'not that bad' is still 'bad.' He doesn't really 'want' to drag himself bodily up the stairs or down the hallway, but there's no other way about it.
He starts by gathering up as much of his stuff as he can reach from his position and organising it off to the side of the steps so it's not fucking everywhere. Once that's done, though, there's only so much 'else' he can do, and he's keenly aware there's a timer quickly running down on his ability to 'do' much at all today.
Taking a deep breath, he steels himself for the ordeal he's about to drag himself through. Then he begins the labourious and painful process of hauling himself towards Emet's bedroom.
The pain is starting to come through on him in short waves by the time he's got himself laid out on the floor, his head propped up against the futon. He is sweaty, exhausted, and in an exponentially increasingly bad mood for every inch of floor he had to cover to get here... but it's at least a stable position from which to search out his last message to Emet.
Heads up, I left some shit on the stairs. Nothing that important, just try not to step on it.
Where: Emet's place; Goldenrod
When: January 5
Summary: The Snorunts must have heard about the stairs....
Rating: PG (-13? Dirk breaks his leg first thing here)
Look, okay. Dirk has gone up and down these stairs hundreds of times. Or if not hundreds of times, at least scores of them. There's no real added risk to doing it with his arms full or his vision partially obscured; sure, there's a small statistical increase based on the rules of basic academic rigour, but what's he going to do--pitch backwards and flip ass over teakettle to land on his face in exactly the right way to drive a bone fragment into his brain, killing him instantly?
Okay, actually, that does sound like it would happen to him, but it's not going to. They're just stairs, man.
What does happen to him is this: he drops a smuppet somewhere around the top step, and it's in front of him, and he steps on it. And it slides a bit. And he has to make a split second decision that takes the form of a cool, super air-catching backflip, performed from that stair all the way back down the bottom, where he lands on his feet like the ever-prepared ninja he is.
And--
You know, it hurts? It does. Obviously. But in the moment, Dirk hears the bone snap and he feels the vertigo--but any pain response is limited to the blanching of his face, and that unreal sensation of proprioceptive inversion, and the part where he smacks himself upside the head on the bottom stair when he tips over sideways in an anticlimactic finish.
The dissociated pain response hyperawareness keeps him surprisingly clear-headed, though. It's not that hard to figure out why. Epinephrine is one hell of a neurochemical. He figures he's got fifteen minutes, minimum, in which to take advantage of it.
Even if he knows not to move his leg, he still tries. The pain is... something else. Not the worst pain he's ever been in, but the Dirk Strider pain scale has been broken for two decades. The break is definitely in his shin, though, so that's his tibia.
Fuck. It's not all askew, so it can't be that bad, but 'not that bad' is still 'bad.' He doesn't really 'want' to drag himself bodily up the stairs or down the hallway, but there's no other way about it.
He starts by gathering up as much of his stuff as he can reach from his position and organising it off to the side of the steps so it's not fucking everywhere. Once that's done, though, there's only so much 'else' he can do, and he's keenly aware there's a timer quickly running down on his ability to 'do' much at all today.
Taking a deep breath, he steels himself for the ordeal he's about to drag himself through. Then he begins the labourious and painful process of hauling himself towards Emet's bedroom.
The pain is starting to come through on him in short waves by the time he's got himself laid out on the floor, his head propped up against the futon. He is sweaty, exhausted, and in an exponentially increasingly bad mood for every inch of floor he had to cover to get here... but it's at least a stable position from which to search out his last message to Emet.
Heads up, I left some shit on the stairs. Nothing that important, just try not to step on it.
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What does register is the oddity and accompanying alarm at noticing he has, not only a message on his gear, but one from Dirk. Whom of which he knows is just inside. And would more likely approach him in person, than resort to messaging him like this. Least of all to warn him that he left objects on the stairs.
Dirk does not merely leave objects anywhere in Emet's abode, and even if he did, it would not be somewhere so careless as the stairs. He can feel his heart drop as alarm rises, but he keeps himself calm and orderly as he chooses to reply in Dirk's chosen format. Ignoring his instinct to investigate the matter personally.
After all, Dirk is ever purposeful in how he communicates, in what and how he chooses to do so, and Emet is ever aware of these silent, yet pointed decisions made. And so, he treads lightly to determine the minefield before him.
Your forewarning is dully noted, but I must inquire: is there a specific reason as to why you abandoned "some shit" upon the stairs?
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