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Sean Ivers
29 August 2015 @ 11:49 am
Constructive crit goes here! If there needs improving I would love to do so, so please don't hesitate to drop a line. Please no flaming-- keep it civil and offer some venue of improvement.

Thanks in advance. <3
Sean Ivers
18 July 2011 @ 01:44 am
[The record is an interesting switch, Sean will give the Lord that, but the utility is essentially the same as the communicators. He's exhausted, shit off, and unhappy with the deja vu overwhelming him.]

Sonuvva bitch. Yer killin' me with this. Once not enough? Gotta take somebody else's damaged goods, that how it is? Well, maybe I'm sick 'n tired of bein' yer cargo. We sheep have our limits.

Fock off and let us go home. Or just kill us. Jaysus fockin' shite. I'm out.
Sean Ivers
15 July 2011 @ 08:06 pm
This journal is being reused for holloways_keep. Any posts beyond this point pertain to it! Feel free to unfollow or not, your call.
Sean Ivers
28 September 2010 @ 05:30 pm
[Powers whiskey x6: check.

Full pack of cigs: check.

Good ol' fashioned red lighter: cheeee-yeeeeeck.

Slouching outside his room on Deck 07 is Sean, barefoot, jean-clad legs splayed haphazardly and without a care in the world. He's got a bottle in one hand, a lit cigarette hanging from the other, and looks to be just sitting there in a tank with his eyes shut. Anybody could wander in on him right now and they wouldn't be able to screw up his lazy mood. Or could they?]
Sean Ivers
10 September 2010 @ 06:10 pm
[Silent video post.

Sean's dubious expression is all there is to see. His eyes flick all over the screen as if searching there for the answers, and then the feed clicks off.]
Sean Ivers
[Ohh, his head. And his mouth. Something old and creaky died in there, Sean can tell. He feels dried saliva crack when he yawns and swipes at it using the back of his hand. His eyes crack open.

The room isn’t recognizable. Too clean. Did he go to bed with a neat freak? This is a fleeting curiosity, not a worry– neither is his bedmate knowing he drools when he sleeps a concern, since Sean always makes it clear he isn’t looking for a steady girl. When he pats around him and touches nothing but sheets, that doesn’t strike him as weird, either.]


[Sean is muzzy as hell and kind of wants to go back to sleep, but his hand curls around what feels like a PDA. With a grunt he sits up, squints, pokes at it– something clicks. Recording a message, maybe? It’s transmitting to the entire ship, but he doesn’t know it.]

... Right, lass, yer phone’s still here. Gonna leave it on the bed, so don’t go foldin’ the covers over it. Me, I’m knackered. Be seein’ ya.

[He flops.]