(openish | prison log) lock our eyes on distant horizons

[boughtabookstore]

Date & Time: Nov. 19th - ??? at least several days, tbd
Location: Empty housing in the West Wing.
Characters: Arrested mutineers & visitors (potentially YOU)
Summary: Everyone locked up some mutineers so now they're slightly stuck in place.
Warnings: there will probably be discussion of violence and death, will add if necessary.

[ Mutineers have been put in some of the empty rooms in the West Wing, one guard at a time on the hallway and the doors only able to be opened from the outside for now. Roslyn and whoever else she can get to volunteer are rotating guard duty.

They have been set four to a room for the moment.

Cell 1: Charlie, Connor, Max, and very briefly Sev
Cell 2: Chloe, Marie, Tempest, Bond
Cell 3: Sev (after not long at all)
Cell 4: Jesse (after taking Tempest's powers)

Visitors are allowed, but please note that anyone who had at any point been advocating violence against the mutineers in a place where Roslyn is likely to have seen it will absolutely not be allowed near them. Visits will be supervised and in a separate room from the cells for the sake of privacy, with the door open and a guard within easy eyesight  and earshot of any raised voices. 

Mutineers will start without access to their tablets but will regain access within approximately a day to two days. However! These tablets will be temporarily unable to encrypt messages. Private messages to personal inboxes are still accessible but on the network itself all their interaction must be public.

Guards on Duty: Roslyn, Riku, Raiden, Wesley Mitchell, Travis Marks, Seras Victoria, Caspian. Working on 6 hour rotations, so each guard is on approximately once every 1 1/2 days.

If you have any questions about confinement etc just let me know! ]

Comments

[totallytrustworthy]

The obvious.

[It takes ten more counts for her to feel like Tempest deserves more of an explanation than a sorry dose of misdirected frustration. She doesn't bother to glance up when she adds between breaths:] Too quiet. Too fenced in.

[hyanaimne]

Ah . . .

[that, she understands. She doesn't mind the quiet - it makes it easier to deal with the way her head's pounding - but the rest? She gets it]

It is a bit cramped, isn't it.

[totallytrustworthy]

[She's fumbling with her hair tie when she says it, tugging it out and setting it back in place like it'll be enough to keep her busy. ]

Well the lack of roaming privileges certainly doesn't make it any larger.

[hyanaimne]

What are we, dogs? I would rather they not take us for a walk about, thank you.

[totallytrustworthy]

And I'd rather stare at something other than these same walls all day every day. [If Chloe's even capable of keeping her temper out of her voice, she certainly isn't doing it now. ] You might feel better about sitting in here, darling, but there's already a leash around your neck.

[hyanaimne]

I feel horrible sitting in here, actually. And not just because I am sick, thank you. [Tempest isn't trying to, either]

[totallytrustworthy]

Sick? What do you mean sick? [Super sympathetic Chloe. Good job. ]

[hyanaimne]

[gold stars all around. Tempest reaches up to pull her hood back - she's awfully pale, worse than she usually is]

The magic they were using outside the doors - it made me ill.

[totallytrustworthy]

[If anything's capable of stopping Chloe's tantrum short, it's that. She's careful about looking Tempest over, fingers falling idle before settling down against her thighs. Magic might be beyond her scope, but she's not daft enough to assume that something involving it is completely innocuous, even if the terminology being used is just 'sick'.]

...How bad is it?

[hyanaimne]

It has been a few days, so it has gotten better. [she shrugs, because she has no idea how long it'll take. It's not as though she ran into this sort of thing often. The last time she did, it was concentrated into something, and removing that just took a knife]

It is like . . . a really bad cold? I've no idea how to describe it.

[totallytrustworthy]

Can anything fix it? Do I need to call in a... healer or something? [God she hates using the word 'healer'.]

[hyanaimne]

I am a healer . . . but no, magic will not help. Just time.

[totallytrustworthy]

We've got plenty of that at least. [Still, though, the sharpness in her tone drops off.] I'll see about having someone fetch a little soup the next time they come in to check on us, yeah?

[hyanaimne]

[as Chloe's temper lessens, Tempest pulls her hood back up. It took too much energy to be annoyed at everything] If you wish to . . . I do not know if I will be able to keep it down.

[totallytrustworthy]

You'll be fine. [Because saying that makes it true, yes Chloe that's exactly how it works.] Besides, if you wind up losing your lunch we'll just aim it right at the front door. Welcome mat for the next asshole that decides they want to come in.

[hyanaimne]

That is disgusting.

[and tempting. Oh, but she hates everything that comes with being ill]

[totallytrustworthy]

And you love it. [First bit of humor all day. See? She can be reasonable.]

[hyanaimne]

Debatable . . .

[that is so much better]

[totallytrustworthy]

Mhmm. [She earns a quick, skeptical glance for that before Chloe goes to settle back against the far wall (far being a relative term because there's barely any space between the bed and the wall to begin with) rubbing out stiff muscles with her fingertips.] Soup first, then we'll see.

[hyanaimne]

You will see very quickly, I can assure you.

[it's more of a joke than anything, she has no idea even if she'll get sick or not. The thought of food makes her ill, but hey, a lot of things she thinks about makes her ill lately]

[totallytrustworthy]

Better than nothing, I suppose.

i'm doing it, i'm doing the thing prepare your tears

[hyanaimne]

I suppose—

[and there's a guard, here to pick up Tempest for a visit. She frowns, because it was never easy to tell whether or not it was a good visit or not, and well. Tempest wasn't really in the mood regardless of who it was.

But either way. She pushes herself up and pulls her cloak around here, shooting a wry "I'll be back" over her shoulder to Chloe]

nooooo I'm not ready I'm never ready

[totallytrustworthy]

[Chloe shrugs. It's as close to a wave off as she can manage right now, but the adrenaline's starting to fade. Who knows, maybe if she gives sleep another shot it'll work out this time.

And it does as much as it doesn't: the whole thing qualifies as more of a half-nap spent stuck in between a state of mild awareness and one light, drowsy sort of sleep. She doesn't have to force her eyes open when noise out in the hall means Tempest is already on her way back.

Shit. How long has it been?]

self-destructs

[hyanaimne]

[it honestly hasn't been very long at all. Twenty minutes at the most, but no longer. When the door comes and Tempest comes back in, though, it's immediately noticeable that something's different; the way she holds herself, for one, is tense as a wire, which . . . really means the visit wasn't all that great at all.

When the door closes behind her she just stands there for a moment or two, staring at the floor. Her head's pounding still, and she feels like any more sudden movement will make her collapse, but she's so upset. And she's usually good at holding it in, save for a time or two in the Transporter room and never before that, but this time is completely different. A "power" wasn't taken away, but part of her. Something she's had since the day she was born. And along with it, her ability to sense anything magical, anything nature . . . it's like a sixth sense, ripped away and leaving behind a void.

When she finally moves, it's only to turn around and slam her fist into the door, with all her strength. Which . . . probably means there's going to be a dent left over]

wow why???????????

[totallytrustworthy]

Tempest-- [She's on her feet the second that punch sinks down into metal, and for the moment-- tossing out all thoughts of propriety and respect for personal space-- Chloe's hands are tight (almost too much) around Tempest's arm. Her shoulder. Digging in through fabric.

Dear god if she's broken her hand from that mess.] Hey, easy. Easy, sunshine. [The words are sincere, clipped from concern and nothing else this time around.]