Iago

[Marvel, Barge, at the shirtless wonder that is Iago, complete with the very rarely seen curls around his head. He doesn't look happy, though that's not really unusual for him. His wardrobe is empty, which he shows to the population. And then he holds up a shirt. It's not a shirt that Iago would ever wear in his lifetime. It's a t-shirt with the periodic table on it. He steps back enough to show the whole thing, plus the tight black GOTH PANTS that he's squeezed into. Guess whose clothes they are, Barge. GUESS.]

This does not belong to me. [He drops it to the floor. He would spit on it, but he's in his room and doesn't want to spit there. Ew.] The person it belongs to is nothing more than indulging in petty pranks. Petty and childish pranks. Taking my clothes, replacing them with these? Taking everything that I use for my hair!

[Yeah, Iago's just outed himself here as a bit vain but THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS AT HAND.]

Rex. Where are my clothes? If you have done anything to them, I swear I will find someone to turn you into a woman again.

And for the record, you do look like you've not seen a comb in years. I'm sure your snakes could find themselves a nice nest in there.

The relationship that we had was false. He never really cared for the things that I did because he never really cared for me. And yet I returned to him time and time again, hoping that he would give me something I could never get for myself. I was trapped in his web, you see, and I had no idea about that confinement.

And all he did was wait. Pulling different strings, watching me twist, while I thanked him for helping me. [A light chuckle.] I’m sure you see the madness in it now.

And yet, there I sat, doing his bidding when he doesn’t have the decency to be present. Trying to impress a man who neither cares or even knows. Dragging a woman through the mud who did nothing but risk herself for me.

I’ve washed my hands of him. I can stain them with blood just as easily on my own, and I don’t have to endure the shame of feeling like a puppet.

[Private to Claire]

Thank you for taking me into port. I can’t and I won’t apologize for what I said before. Not now, at least.

[Private to the Marquis]

Apologies without being asked. And I didn't misbehave at port. Tell me that is worth something. [Pause.] What's it worth?

Also, I have your…souvenir.

[Private to Prefect]

A drink?

[Private to Sexby]

When your wife wakes and if she is in a good enough mood, I’d like to speak with her. Two minutes.

If you must be present, I won’t object.

[Private to Wichita]

Should we talk or continue to ignore each other? I don’t mind either way, but I would like to know if I may be on the same level of the barge as you. To be quite honest, I’m never really comfortable with the unknown.

((OOC: SO. I have a bit more time than I thought FOR RIGHT NOW, so I figured I'd take advantage of it while I could! YAY!))

[Iago's very, very calm as he sits at his desk, gently tapping his fingers against the wood. Anyone who knows him, though, might see that it's very, very fake.]

Edward Sexby. [A smirk.] Edward Sexby. It's a bit long to be holding a grudge, isn't it? Do you feel better? Hitting him in the face...I'm sure that was a beautiful feeling. Your hand colliding with his face or...did you use the metal one so you wouldn't dirty yourself with my warden's blood?

[Iago grins a bit wider, leaning forward.] Does it make you feel good, as a warden, to have relieved your violent tendencies? I could always take my revenge on the people...[Snicker] person...you care about. Just like you do.

Or maybe not.

Do I hold grudges like you? Or am I not allowed to be violent because of my status here?

And the rest of you wardens...let's see how long it takes the rest of you to lose your calm. It's a beautiful thing, that loss of control. Apparently this is your new way of solving issues. Even ones over a year old.

I despise these types of floods because I'm usually affected by them. And they're always horribly inconvenient to my daily life.

Yet...now that I'm not affected...it's no different. It's a horrible inconvenience to my life and I don't have the benefit of losing the ability to actually be a part of this nonsense. And my parents weren't terrible people. Thank you for the waste of my time, Admiral.

Rex, have you returned to normal?

[Private to the Marquis]

I want to talk to you.

Tell me about loyalty, fellow passengers of the Barge. Tell me about your friendships, or whatever you wish to call them.

What would you do for a friend or ally? Or better yet...what have you done for a friend? Out of loyalty? Out of love? Out of mutual respect?

[Private to the Marquis]

Now see how many wardens respond that they have killed or harmed for a friend. And then think of how you judge me for doing the same thing.

It is not wrong.

Hello, hello. New arrivals. Let's put in something vague and boring here about how we welcome you to this hellhole. [Snort.]

Don't believe them. You new inmates, I mean. Don't believe the wardens. There is an escape from here. I've escaped from here.

[There's a bit of a pause here as he "pretends" to come to a realization.] And now, I'm the only one left who ever has escaped. [A LAUGH. Because he's hilarious. Clearly.]

Too bad they just come and bring you back, though. That's a touch annoying.

Welcome one and all to your own personal hell! Yes, this is to wardens and inmates alike. No one is immune to the horrors that will await you here! [He's trying not to laugh. Honest.]

I always enjoy when new people arrive. They always break the cycle. [He turns a bit more serious now, but he's keeping his tone light, for the sake of everyone else.]

To those who do not know, my name is Iago. Yes, most likely the one you are imagining now. And should you need anything at all, I can always lend a hand. And, on that note, if anyone is willing to help me lift something, I would greatly appreciate it. [Yeah, he's talking about his bookshelf that he torn down in his fit of drunken rage. He's about ready to start putting things back together...a week later.]

[Private to Prefect]

I think this is where I should apologize. If I do, will you accept it?

[Inmate filter]

[Guess who's just really loving his camera? Iago. That's right. He pulls his hair back at the nape of his neck and then settles down in front of the camera, propping his feet up on the desk lazily. He has a ball of paper in his hands and tosses it up only to catch it again and start the cycle over.]

I need someone with impressive writing skills. There's a letter that needs writing and I refuse to do it. I'd be willing to pay with whatever method you deem appropriate.

And, of course, discretion is...[smirk] strongly encouraged.

( Private to the Marquis )

[Public - Video]

[The camera switches on to show Iago up on deck. He’s got fading bruises on his face, but they’re barely noticeable in the shadowy light. He sniffles once and then turns the camera around to face the stars.]

People once made pictures out of the stars. They used them to predict the future, too, but that’s not an issue here. Astrology isn’t exactly something you can follow when the stars aren’t the same from one night to the next.

I do wish we could predict it, though.

[Dramatic sigh.] I didn’t predict him returning. [Oh yes, he’s referring to the Master.] I didn’t want him returning. Yes, I spoke about…that place, but only because I was free there. Don’t fault me for wanting that freedom back.

[He sits up in his chair and then turns the camera around to show a copy of Othello. It’s the one the Master gave him right before leaving.] This is what he gave me. This is what he wanted me to remind him of. To be who I used to be. I don’t want it. [And he tosses it off screen, presumably off the edge of the Barge.]

Go to hell, Master. I want nothing to do with you.

[And the transmission cuts off...so he can retrieve his book without anyone noticing on camera....]

[Note slipped under the Master's door]

I would have made a great artist of the stage.

[Iago is sitting outside of his room, one leg pulled up to him as he leans against the wall. He's sweaty and exhausted, but is both too shocked and too exhausted to move. In true Shakespearean form, Iago's thrown himself a nice temper tantrum in the privacy of his room, but when he finally opened the door, he noticed the corridor and is now in the middle of figuring things out. Behind him, through the open door, is his mess of a room. There are books on the floor with pages torn out, his bed is upturned and his desk has practically been thrown against the wall. Anyone on level seven...feel free to have heard any of that. In the tizzy of basically shaking his room inside out, he's turned on his communicator and just looks down to it, too tired to be amazed.]

I have nothing but hatred for this place. I fear it will not cease. And yet I feel that this is not my first to be here. These clothes, they are not mine, yet fit me. These notes, they are not mine, but my handwriting upon them is unmistakable.

What devilry is at work here? What more punishment shall I endure? Dear Othello's betrayal is not enough but I should go mad shortly after? What cruel God has given me this curse? Either give me death or wake me from this horrid nightmare.

[OOC: And, Iago's taken from right after he finds out about Cassio, right before he decides to...well, do his thing to Othello and Co. So not too far back from where he was when he first arrived. Reply/spam, whatever. I'm not picky.]