James Darmody

spam for Gene; text to David Cain; spam for Omar Little

Mon, 01 Jun 2015 12:02:25 GMT

( Spam for Gene )

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Sat, 23 May 2015 06:10:10 GMT

[Port spam]

[It's not the first time Jimmy's been to Paris, but it's the first time he's been there during peacetime. He had rolled into the city in a truck with the other soldiers, and he'd spent the few days of leave he had bewildered, amazed, confused. The people around him had been tired from the years of war they'd already been through, and city had been peppered with blown-up buildings and emergency military posts. When triumphant forces had marched through Paris in 1918, he'd been shipped back to the States to the Military Hospital.

So the city's pretty different, is what we're saying. There's fewer people talking about Krauts and a there's way more tourists, for one; for another, the Eiffel Tower isn't what it used to be. He walks up as close as the city police is letting people- which is close enough to still admire what's left. Unsurprisingly, he also spends quite some time in the Musée de l'Armée, but there's only so much time he can spend reading about a war he'd actually been in before it gets a little creepy. So he moves on: Champs-Élysées, the bookshops on the left bank, and, inevitably, Pigalle. Call it professional curiosity. He's happy enough to move through Paris alone, but he'll welcome (most) company.]

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video

Fri, 08 May 2015 14:10:32 GMT

[The feed opens with a view of Jimmy's shoes and a mop of dark hair. He's clearly put his communicator down to investigate whatever is going on with the person that hair belongs to.]

Kylar? Did you seriously fucking--

[Jimmy's shoe nudges the person, who rolls onto his backs and lets out a loud snore, but otherwise does nothing. He heaves a sigh, picks up his communicator, and then grunts as he hoists Kylar over his shoulders. Of all the inconvenient places to drop into a coma...]

You're lucky you're so fucking short, Stern, or I would've left you drooling in the hallway.

[As he walks, he looks into the comm's camera.]

Pretty sure Kylar's in a coma. I'm dropping him off in the infirmary in case anyone wants to visit or draw on him.

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7th bullet

Mon, 23 Feb 2015 10:14:05 GMT

[Text]

Were there things about the person you were during the breach that are similar to the person you are normally? What aspect of your personality or history keeps returning every time there's a breach?

[Also text, locked to inmates and close CR]

What's the driving force behind your actions? What makes you keep going?

[Open spam & spam for Gene]

[The past few weeks haven't been easy on anyone, and Jimmy's no exception. From nightmares to monsters, he has learned by now to enjoy downtime. Time to gather his thoughts. He hadn't thought he'd ever want to graduate, figuring that there wasn't a whole lot he could go back to- and the only people he'd want to see again would probably be in danger as soon as he got there. But talking to Richard had planted a seed of doubt in his mind, learning why Kylar had returned as a warden had made it start growing. He's starting to understand that he can still do something, even after fucking everything up back in Atlantic City. He can still be better; he just doesn't know what 'better' means, or how he's going to get there.

Outside of his shift in the dining hall, he's been spending a lot of time in the library, remembering what it had felt like to learn about things other than weapons and bootlegging. Eventually, he'll end up at the bar, because his half-formed good intentions can only go so far.

Eventually he ends up at Gene's room, or Snafu's if he doesn't find the Marine in his own room. They hadn't really discussed the fact that they now have memories of being each other's brother, and he figures it's about time they do so.]

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6th bullet: Video

Sat, 07 Feb 2015 08:14:20 GMT

[He'd ignored the communicator for most of the day. It's too strange to see everyone getting their hopes up about seeing people, and he's unsure about his own hopes. He knows who he'd like to see, knows he misses some people like a part of himself is missing, but who says they'd even know how to work the communicators if they- Christ, found one, maybe? Would he want anyone to see him here? He'd left on purpose, and he'd had peace with it then. Now, though...

In the end the temptation's too big. So he broadcasts, eventually, with his hat pulled low over his forehead. If his Ma's watching, she doesn't need to see the bullet scar on his forehead.]

This is-- James Darmody, from Atlantic City. If there's someone-- [He hesitates for a moment, thinking of something else to say, but it just feels strange. So he cuts the feed there.]

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5th bullet

Sun, 25 Jan 2015 19:11:28 GMT

[He's used to nightmares, intimately familiar with waking up with a sore throat from screaming. It's been a constant presence in his mind for years, so he's not too freaked out by his own dreams. But when he starts waking up with different memories, recognizing people, holding things, he gets plenty freaked out.

He doesn't sleep well, and it shows in everything. His hands tremble during his work during the breakfast shift. The circles under his eyes get darker and he wanders the halls looking like he's seen a ghost- which he has, in a way. He smokes on the deck, gets into the bar whenever he can, and he's obviously ready to pick a fight if someone else is eager enough.]

Warnings and items
Various WWI near-deaths: implied depression, violence, death, warfare, implication of major injury. Items: shells, shrapnel, (parts of) bayonets, gas mask, various WWI-era military paraphernalia.
Actual death: suicidal ideation, violence, murder, description of gunshots. Items: a soaking hat, waking up wet, cufflinks.

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4th bullet

Fri, 09 Jan 2015 18:43:56 GMT

[Although his hair might not look it, the rest of Brutus looks perfectly Roman: he wears a toga with a dark purple band running across it and sandals are on his feet. There's even a dummy sword in his hand, though he definitely doesn't realize it's a dummy.]

Was I wrong to love Rome so that I
besmirch'd my hands with Caesar's blood and on
mine own sword fell for honor and country?
Yet here where Pluto reigns I see that my
Proud Rome has fallen to treason and kings.

Oh cruel Fates! Never has any Roman
entreated thee with such fiery passions
Tell me 'tis not so, that I might see Rome
once more! Alive and in splendor still now!

Oh Morta, cruel'st of three, will my passage
remain unpaid? Had I but one friend, I
would be with Charon now. Yet I am here
on such strange transport filled with others, lost
as me; What hope remains for us, those who
cannot by their own virtue cross once more?

[His lament (with sword still in hand) is repeated on various floors as well as the Deck, because he has very strong feelings about ~~Atlantic City~~ Rome as well as about ~~various father figures~~ Caesar. He's going to stare forlornly at food in the dining hall, and try to check out as many books about Rome as he can in the library.]

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3rd bullet: after you get what you want, you don't want it

Tue, 16 Dec 2014 12:55:57 GMT

[Open spam]

[It gets pretty cold on the Barge these days, and he's been left with mostly suits in his dresser. After he put on his ugly Christmas sweater in an attempt to get a little warmer, Jimmy is suddenly caught by an uncharacteristic bout of holiday cheer. He remembers Christmas 1919, when he'd been in the military hospital, still recovering. He also remembers January 1920, when he'd hauled a tree into the appartment, so he could celebrate Christmas with Angela and Tommy for the first time. It's definitely on his mind when he's in the bar, tying little bows and bells around all the liquor bottles. He might be indulging in a little holiday drinking, eggnog or not.

When he's not sticking tacky decorations on every bottle of alcohol on the Barge, he's writing a little list in the dining hall.

( Gift list! For Eugene, Kyle, Facilier, Cassel & Jax )

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2nd bullet: life's a very funny proposition

Tue, 02 Dec 2014 04:54:55 GMT

[Video | Open]

[The video starts with a close-up of Jimmy’s face, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. There's bandages covering the wounds on his cheekbone and his forehead. He squints as he figures out the communicator is turned on, then sits back. He’s wearing a nicely tailored vest over a blue button-up shirt.]

So, I thought this was Hell. [He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, playing with it in lieu of a lighter. His hands are clearly trembling and his movements are stiff. He’s sweating and pale.] I kinda figured out it’s not by now. So I guess I should introduce myself, if I’m gonna be stuck here.

My name’s James Darmody. I’m from Atlantic City, and it was August 1921 when I died. I was over in France durin’ the War. I got— had a kid, back home.

[He seems to hesitate a little, but talking about the bootlegging, about his wife's death, about any of the fucked up shit that happened to him in the last 5 years seems a little much. So he just frowns and puts the cigarette back in his mouth.] That’s all you need to know about me. You got any questions’, ask ‘em. We’ll see if I can answer.

[He shifts once more before turning the device off, then seems to remember something.] Actually, I got a question for you: where can I get a fucking drink in this place?

[Video | Private to Gene]

Guess you were serious about the warden shit. What's this about a file?

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1st bullet

Tue, 25 Nov 2014 08:28:16 GMT

[Open spam; starting out at Level 1]

[When Jimmy lands on the Barge he’s still bleeding. His cheekbone hurts like hell where Nucky shot him, he’s got a splitting headache, and when he rolls over he can feel the spear wound in his back bleeding through his suit jacket. Blood slowly trickles into his right eye and down to his mouth. They’re all grim reminders of what happened; Angela dying, killing his father, and finally pushing Nucky to the edge. Dying, he guesses.

He’d known what would happen. He’d done it knowing it would be best for Tommy. His mom would take much better care of the kid than he could have by staying around. Richard would stick around out of loyalty to him and Angela, he was pretty sure of that. Now that Nucky was a free man again they wouldn’t have to worry about any of the other crooks in Atlantic City.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty; he does. He wants to throw up when he thinks about how badly he fucked everything up. But him being gone, at least he knows he won’t fuck it up even more.

He gives a rattling cough as he looks up, only now starting to realise he doesn't recognise the surroundings. There's no distant noise from the boardwalk, no rush from the sea. No fire and brimstone, either, so at least he's not where he'd predicted he would end up. He pushes himself up with his good arm, spits a gob of blood on the floor next to his hand, and then pushes himself up all the way. His leg is fucking killing him; at least that’s going according to expectations. He starts making his way along the level 1 hallway towards the dining hall, using the wall for support.]

What the fuck.

Can someone at least tell me where the fuck I am? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure this isn't Hell!

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