Diego 'Rod' Rodney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rookiemyass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-06-04 09:40 pm
rookiemyass) wrote in towerofanimus2012-06-04 09:40 pm
Entry tags:
001 | Open
Characters: Rod and ???
Setting: Room 04-14, Dormitory Floor 4 hallway
Format: Prose!
Summary: Rod wakes up in some weird fetish scene that he definitely didn't sign up for.
Warnings: Rod's foul mouth
It was, however, the first time that Rod had woken up in an unfamiliar place, completely incapacitated and more than a little disoriented and clad in what was possibly the most uncomfortable outfit ever, complete with some kind of freaky BDSM collar.
…seriously, what everloving the hell?
After grappling with the collar around his neck for several minutes in a vain attempt to get the fucking thing off already, Rod swore colorfully and heaved himself up off of the bed to further examine his surroundings. Whoever had set all this up was clearly one very sick individual, judging by the wannabe horror flick notes he’d found on the bedside table and the fact that he was wearing a fucking skin-tight cat suit and a god damn collar.
Yeah, okay, can we just take a second to revisit the collar? Rod was a pretty firm believer in ‘whatever floats your boat’ – hell, just about everyone was into something a little weird if you dug deep enough – but this kind of get-up was going way beyond the realm of anything that he would even remotely feel comfortable with.
He must really have pissed someone off good this time.
Thankfully, whoever he’d managed to piss off had been thoughtful enough to pack him a freaking chest of necessities, so it wasn’t long before he was stuffing the strange white outfit into the chest and donning his much more comfortable black suit. It was true that he didn’t really need to wear the uniform anymore, since technically the Turks of his era had disbanded, but he’d found that things tended to run a little more smoothly when he was wearing a suit; suits meant business and potential negotiations, whereas dressing like a punkass generally guaranteed he'd be duking it out with his fists, whether he wanted to or not. Whoever he ran into was just going to have to suck it up and deal with the fact that he was wearing combat boots, though, and he hadn’t even bothered to check if his tie had been packed in with his personal effects.
Wallet, gloves, and one thunder-equipped EMR later, he was ready to get his reconnaissance on, oldschool Turk-style. Cautiously, he poked his head outside the room, hoping against all odds that he’d recognize wherever it was he’d been taken captive and be able to get out without too much trouble.
Setting: Room 04-14, Dormitory Floor 4 hallway
Format: Prose!
Summary: Rod wakes up in some weird fetish scene that he definitely didn't sign up for.
Warnings: Rod's foul mouth
It was, however, the first time that Rod had woken up in an unfamiliar place, completely incapacitated and more than a little disoriented and clad in what was possibly the most uncomfortable outfit ever, complete with some kind of freaky BDSM collar.
…seriously, what everloving the hell?
After grappling with the collar around his neck for several minutes in a vain attempt to get the fucking thing off already, Rod swore colorfully and heaved himself up off of the bed to further examine his surroundings. Whoever had set all this up was clearly one very sick individual, judging by the wannabe horror flick notes he’d found on the bedside table and the fact that he was wearing a fucking skin-tight cat suit and a god damn collar.
Yeah, okay, can we just take a second to revisit the collar? Rod was a pretty firm believer in ‘whatever floats your boat’ – hell, just about everyone was into something a little weird if you dug deep enough – but this kind of get-up was going way beyond the realm of anything that he would even remotely feel comfortable with.
He must really have pissed someone off good this time.
Thankfully, whoever he’d managed to piss off had been thoughtful enough to pack him a freaking chest of necessities, so it wasn’t long before he was stuffing the strange white outfit into the chest and donning his much more comfortable black suit. It was true that he didn’t really need to wear the uniform anymore, since technically the Turks of his era had disbanded, but he’d found that things tended to run a little more smoothly when he was wearing a suit; suits meant business and potential negotiations, whereas dressing like a punkass generally guaranteed he'd be duking it out with his fists, whether he wanted to or not. Whoever he ran into was just going to have to suck it up and deal with the fact that he was wearing combat boots, though, and he hadn’t even bothered to check if his tie had been packed in with his personal effects.
Wallet, gloves, and one thunder-equipped EMR later, he was ready to get his reconnaissance on, oldschool Turk-style. Cautiously, he poked his head outside the room, hoping against all odds that he’d recognize wherever it was he’d been taken captive and be able to get out without too much trouble.
no subject
Seeming to come to some sort of decision in his mind, Rod nodded, looking up at Reno with a renewed determination. "Right. You’re right."
Rod wasn’t anywhere near okay with this; he didn’t know how long it would take him to get used to what was happening, or if he would ever be able to get used to it at all, but he did know that, right now, he had to push the terrifying thoughts away. Right now, he had to rely on himself – on his instincts and his training, neither of which had ever failed him before. He was a god damn Turk, so it was time to show whoever had put them all here right were to shove it. Plus, he had a whole team of people he trusted by his side; what more could he ask for? He had the best of the best.
"So, what’s the plan?" Reno seemed to know what was up, which was all the better for Rod. If Reno had some kind of plan of action and could give him some direction - something to focus on - then Rod could funnel all that erratic energy into his goal instead of flying off the handle.
no subject
Sighing, he rubbed his forehead, feeling an all too familiar headache coming on. "Preferably with sanity intact, but not holding out for that one. Ya want something to do? I'm gonna start organizing you guys into task forces."
no subject
"You got specific tasks in mind or you want us just patrollin' and keepin' people outta trouble?"
no subject
"I haven't decided yet. I need to get you guys all together and have a meeting. Rusty is... that's the other me... he's got the director pin and more experience surviving in this kinda place than I do, so he's kinda acting in that capacity."
no subject
It was a depressing, nauseating thought.
Though he was doing his best to put on a brave face, the corners of Rod’s mouth tugged down ever so slightly and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, but he was so blindsided by everything that he just didn’t know how. He wanted to take command, to stand tall and lead people through as someone who was strong and sure of himself. As disoriented as he currently was, though, he could barely even think of where to start, and he hated how useless he felt.
“Gettin’ everyone together would be good, yeah,” he said finally. “We gotta be coordinated in this, plus I gotta meet this other you.” He grinned again. “Still callin’ bullshit on that ’til I see the guy for myself, yo. I know you gotta be jerkin' my chain.”
no subject
"He's the next best thing to Veld and Tseng we got, slick."
And probably the one that'd see them survive the Tower. It was weird, seeing what he was capable of in the right situation. In a way, it was helping him deal with these things, making an effort to do the right thing, but he was wondering what it got him, sometimes. Rusty never seemed to have fun, as far as he had seen.
"I got no time to be making jokes anymore. Maybe next month."