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thebastion2013-06-17 01:01 am
clockworknazi) wrote in thebastion2013-06-17 01:01 am
Entry tags:
The Broken Tin Soldier
Who: Stein and Kroenen, possibly nosy peepz
Status: Tentatively open
When: Day 78, early morning
Where: Initially behind the apartments, likely to move somewhere less open.
What: Kroenen is struggling to repair the damage done before he arrived at the Bastion, and during the core retrieval
Format: action
Warnings: Possible body squickiness.
The emotional tolls on everyone were high. Some more than others, Kroenen noted as he absconded to the Skyway and back several times through the previous "night" after their return. He needed supplies, bits of metal and screws, pieces of old clocks and debris from pulleys and winches. Anything that might be useful and re-purposed.
As he came and went, he could see the grief in others. He didn't feel it himself - wasn't even sure he could if he wanted to - but he could recognize it in the Children of New Eden. They had lost one of their own, gone in search and ended up losing two more. Three people in as many days? It did not bode well for the continued survival of the people expected to be the new master race. Whatever that was, considering he'd seen a blue deer-man recently, and the young girl was apparently some sort of kin to Anung un Rama.
Despite his own lack of emotional investment, the loss affected him in other ways. It meant more work spread among fewer people, it meant distractions and prolonged grief. No matter how one looked at it - practically or personally - it was a sour situation. And to make matters worse, he'd been critically damaged.
He had taken a solid thrashing out on the Skyway, and while he had hidden the worst of it from the others, the damage was severe. Now, he was trying to repair himself alone, sitting on a crumbled bit of stone wall with his coat and jacket over his lap, a selection of gizmos and gadgets cradled there with tools borrowed from all around the Bastion. He didn't dare fully expose himself, trying to work over his shoulder with most of his uniform still on. His shirt was pulled down enough to expose one shoulder where the unitard was shredded, the skin pallid with thick scars and the puckering of long healed stitching.
Under his clothing and beneath the black one-piece his skin was split, spilling sand instead of blood and exposing bone and metal beneath. The highly complicated clockworks mixed into his body around organs and bones were badly compromised, some of them crushed beyond repair. The trouble was, Kroenen couldn't lift one arm enough to work over his shoulder.
Normally he could twist and bend and do his work alone with a good mirror and fine tuned tools. Here in the Bastion, with so few tools and materials available, and no one he believed could help, Kroenen wondered if he wouldn't be out of commission permanently. Granted he was dangerous even with only one arm, but the damage was making it difficult to move his head and even walk. The longer he waited, the more the damaged pieces started grinding against the pieces that weren't, causing even more problems. It didn't help that the lenses of his mask were spider-webbed with cracks, obscuring his vision. He would have switched to one of the other masks, but they weren't finished being fixed either, and now he could barely use one hand.
Mercy, but how he longed for a tool-kit and free-standing mirror.]
Status: Tentatively open
When: Day 78, early morning
Where: Initially behind the apartments, likely to move somewhere less open.
What: Kroenen is struggling to repair the damage done before he arrived at the Bastion, and during the core retrieval
Format: action
Warnings: Possible body squickiness.
The emotional tolls on everyone were high. Some more than others, Kroenen noted as he absconded to the Skyway and back several times through the previous "night" after their return. He needed supplies, bits of metal and screws, pieces of old clocks and debris from pulleys and winches. Anything that might be useful and re-purposed.
As he came and went, he could see the grief in others. He didn't feel it himself - wasn't even sure he could if he wanted to - but he could recognize it in the Children of New Eden. They had lost one of their own, gone in search and ended up losing two more. Three people in as many days? It did not bode well for the continued survival of the people expected to be the new master race. Whatever that was, considering he'd seen a blue deer-man recently, and the young girl was apparently some sort of kin to Anung un Rama.
Despite his own lack of emotional investment, the loss affected him in other ways. It meant more work spread among fewer people, it meant distractions and prolonged grief. No matter how one looked at it - practically or personally - it was a sour situation. And to make matters worse, he'd been critically damaged.
He had taken a solid thrashing out on the Skyway, and while he had hidden the worst of it from the others, the damage was severe. Now, he was trying to repair himself alone, sitting on a crumbled bit of stone wall with his coat and jacket over his lap, a selection of gizmos and gadgets cradled there with tools borrowed from all around the Bastion. He didn't dare fully expose himself, trying to work over his shoulder with most of his uniform still on. His shirt was pulled down enough to expose one shoulder where the unitard was shredded, the skin pallid with thick scars and the puckering of long healed stitching.
Under his clothing and beneath the black one-piece his skin was split, spilling sand instead of blood and exposing bone and metal beneath. The highly complicated clockworks mixed into his body around organs and bones were badly compromised, some of them crushed beyond repair. The trouble was, Kroenen couldn't lift one arm enough to work over his shoulder.
Normally he could twist and bend and do his work alone with a good mirror and fine tuned tools. Here in the Bastion, with so few tools and materials available, and no one he believed could help, Kroenen wondered if he wouldn't be out of commission permanently. Granted he was dangerous even with only one arm, but the damage was making it difficult to move his head and even walk. The longer he waited, the more the damaged pieces started grinding against the pieces that weren't, causing even more problems. It didn't help that the lenses of his mask were spider-webbed with cracks, obscuring his vision. He would have switched to one of the other masks, but they weren't finished being fixed either, and now he could barely use one hand.
Mercy, but how he longed for a tool-kit and free-standing mirror.]