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 Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 7:09 pm
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Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 7:11 pm
 Solomon stood over the table, smoothly dropping a small piece of paper on Hale’s lap. ”WHAT’D I TELL YOU, INMATES? QUIET DOWN.” Bullshit. It was all an act. Hale gently reached down taking hold of the paper glancing down at it. The wording was simple. LOGAN
psychic. 19. twink. red head.
DANIEL
ghoul. diesel therapy transfer. avoid. lay low or heat will get worse. Solomon was giving them a rundown of the new inmates, the fish, that might be worth taking a look at. Lately, they had been going through a heat wave, the whole group of ghouls under quite a lot of attention after one of them had gone overboard on a chin check. A simple method of punching someone in the face to see if they’ll fight back and defend themselves. The two were looking to murder one another by the end so Hale had one of his guys in The Hole and the guards have been keeping a close eye on them since. That would be a lie if he were honest with himself. Hale had been dealing with heat since the last time they murdered someone just a few months ago. They must've eaten half the guy whole before handing him off to a werewolf that had been on edge for a while. The fool took the fall for the whole murder and had been transferred shortly after to another prison. A diesel therapy transfer. Just like the newest ghoul who arrived. They came and went constantly, passed off from one prison system to the next since nobody wanted to deal with the troublemakers. Those were the guys who helped carry gossip from one prison to the next. Hale couldn't help but glance over at Odin's small portion of the lunch table he had claimed long ago. Odin's little queen used to sit there while he waited to be preyed upon. Little Blue had just been waiting for someone to claim him. Peter Pan was the newest addition. It was difficult to work out what that whole group was trying to pull. Odin was hogging more than his share of the pot. "What do we got?" A hand reached out, the fist painted with HOME trying to grab for the small piece of paper in Hale's grasp. He quickly swatted Adam's fist away as he turned to face Solomon. His brother would have to head off and guard the cafeteria doors like a dog to prevent prisoners from bringing food back to their cells and create another infestation issue. They had plenty enough bugs as it was in the joint. ”Of course. We’ll quiet down now won’t we?” He asked glaring towards Adam who rolled his eyes in response, nodding towards Solomon. ”Just get already won’t you?” They shooed Sol off while everyone seemed to be clammering over the table to get a good look at the paper, so impolitely, Hale crumpled it up placing it against the corner of his tray. ”Ah c’mon. What we got?” Adam asked again, his elbow pushing off the table to prop himself closer to the older inmate. ”Should play on a**. I’m down fooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~” Pinky’s immediately cut into the conversation unable to contain himself. ”Yo. Advesper. New delivery boy?” The ghoul ran his hand over his shaved head. ”Ah quiet down Skull ********> Hale replied waving his hand to the side. Pinky was one of the guys who adapted to prison life quick. He was the type who loved slang and practically spoke in a different language. He wasn’t afraid of increased sentences or spending time in The Hole, so it wasn’t uncommon to see him trying to take down two guys at a time in broad daylight. He was a recent transfer back. Pinky had spent some time in a prison up north for about half a year before getting sent closer to Saxon. His nicknames, coming from the giant <********> tattooed on his skull, and the odd colored signature hair. No idea how he managed to upkeep the color in prison. Hale never bothered to ask, apparently he already had his own connections and friends in this place before even arriving. Skull always seemed to be right at home.
<******** off Pink. Who is it?” Adam shot a glance towards Hale. The caim was more wound than usual.
”That’s Mr. Pink to you, ya ********/>
”Oh calm it. Adam. Relax. You’re below him on the totem poll don’t you start getting cocky.” Hale whistled. ”Cedric. Deal with my tray.” Pinky tossed his on top of Hale’s.
”Mine too.” The ice mage had been sitting quietly towards the side like usual, he quickly pulled himself to his feet as he moved like a corpse, doing as he was told with an iced expression on his face. The boy was so submissive, which oddly enough, seemed to be exactly Odin’s type. Hale had been considering what he would do for the male to keep him down to earth when the moon grew. The next full moon was coming soon and everyone knew the guards didn’t bother moving the werewolves from general population nearly soon enough. That left people like Hale to step up to the plate and watch over the pets they wanted to keep. Having an opportunity to rip Cedric up and blow a load might help the male from hurting anyone important.
”Twink.” Hale finally stated, his eyes scanning the cafeteria.
”Ooooooooo!” Pink shouted. ”Lemme have him a few weeks. Please. Not first but before the ninjas get ‘im.” Ninjas of course, referring to many of the sexual infections floating through the prison walls. Hell, most of them didn’t even ******** Cedric anymore out of fear of his probably-disease-ridden body. Once someone started to get passed around, they were really only used for sales. Most the ghouls weren’t the desperate type. They got to break little boys in and get first picks often. Hell, many were in relationships of their own with prisoners who preferred to trade sexual favors instead of suffer on their own. Almost everyone wanted on their good side.
”Psychic mage.” Hale quickly corrected him, causing Pink to stop short. Damn the sex. Psychic mages were the type who got assaulted and then their assailant commits suicide the next night. You don’t ******** with guys like that. They’re rare to enter prison and their powers could easily drive someone over the edge in a place like this. ”I think it’s a good time to up our numbers.” Pink glanced over his shoulder at Odin when a few others all seemed to have their attention pulled to Odin and the fairies.
”Ain’t you trynna focus on dog-boy?”
”I need to watch him a few moons to be sure we can handle him. Last thing we want is to have him around demanding we give him fingers or he’ll rip them off himself.” Hale knelt over, gently scratching his forehead. ”Eh… Playing mind games with a psychic sounds easier than Odin’s nonsense anyways.” He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, shaking it lightly before tossing it in front of Adam. ”Go pull Little Blue to the side. Tell him a game of cards will help keep Odin at ease when the moon’s approaching. He’ll make sure Odin gets it.” Then Adam stands up nodding towards his crew. ”I’ll be back in a bit with our new twink.” He left as the monstrous pack of ghouls all began talking over one another and laughing once more.
Hale got to play prison on easy mode. With Solomon standing near the door, he just had to walk past with a small wink at the other ghoul, who slightly nodded as he moved across the cafeteria. As Hale’s younger brother, of course he didn’t agree with the male ******** about with psychic mages… There wasn’t really much input Sol was allowed to give when it came to the matter though. Hale was a grown man who made his own decisions. Apparently he thought that brain fried caim was enough to sort through any issues he had going on in his head. He didn’t see an untrained caim doing very well at unjumbling suicidal thoughts or whatever manipulation the psychic mage might have just been waiting to use. The best thing Solomon could do was keep an eye on his brother and pay attention to any differences in his attitude. He was sure the other ghouls would be doing so too. Solomon moved towards the new arrival, and by the time he found Logan he was shooing off some inmates who were verbally toying with the new arrival. Yeah. He wouldn’t have lasted longer than a week. ”Inmate.” He called crossing his arms. The duo harassing Logan scurried off. ”Come with me.” He said sternly in his best ‘prison guard’ voice. This wasn’t prison guard business, but Logan wouldn’t know that until it was too late.
Solomon walked down the hallway like the grim reaper himself. He was sullen, silent, glaring back at Logan often in case the young boy felt like causing trouble. They turned three corners when the ghoul could be seen down the hallway leaning against the cold decaying walls. Solomon moved over to Hale, quietly drawing the baton every guard carried to beat the s**t out of inmates when they felt like it. ”Oops.” He said in a mocking tone. Hale knelt down, picking it up. ”Where did I drop that baton?” Solomon says in a mockingly tone, directly into Logan's face, as he turns around and starts to move away from the two, just a few paces. That’s all Hale needs. A little bit of space. tab
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Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 11:52 pm
Day one.
There were plenty of times in Logans life that he found himself grateful for not being able to hear the thoughts of everyone around him. This was one of those times.
Dale had given him tons of good advice about how to survive in prison. And sure, Logan had scoffed at that wording. 'Survive.' As if anyone would, could, ******** with a psychic mage. He made toys out of peoples brains for ********. But, still, he'd been polite enough to listen. Because behind all of his bravado the truth was that, yes, he was a little bit nervous. Just a bit. Two years was a long time to be locked up. He'd only ever served for a few months at a time in juvie. So, while he really doubted he'd encounter any serious trouble, he figured he'd take Dales advice as best as he could. Just to make the transition smooth, you know? Rule number one - don't show fear. No matter what. If someone knocks your goddamn teeth out of your skull, you spit out the blood and you ask for another. He'd rolled his eyes at that (because, again, psychic. No one was gonna ******** with him.) but Dale had insisted. "Sure, you say you won't be scared now, but you get a shiv on your jugular and you'll rethink that quick." He'd promptly informed Dale that if someone put a shiv to his throat, he'd just put em to sleep and gut 'em like a fish. The old lycan had rolled his eyes at him, but left it be. 'Just remember that.' He said. Pick your fights, and don't be stupid, but never let them know you're afraid. Moment you do, you're done.' So rule number one was pretty easy to follow. Nerves was one thing, but fear was another. And his nerves were what the two vultures catcalling him over his shoulder were getting on.
Rule number two. Assert control and enforce your boundaries.
That was the part Logan was looking forward to. Dale tried his best to explain to the kid that he couldn't just go around willy nilly zapping peoples heads ("I don't zap people, dumbass." "Shut up, boy, M' teachin' ya.") He made it a very clear point that this did NOT mean to go around picking fights. That's how you end up looking like an idiot and getting yourself killed. He told the young psychic to imagine he was a rock, and the people around him were the waves ("Snrrt. You a poet now?" "I SAID SHUT IT BOY."). They'd try to push him this way and that way. He didn't need to push back, he just needed to stand still and be completely unmoved. Apathy would serve him better than passion. He didn't really get what the old codger meant, so he'd just nodded. Just don't let people push. Give 'em an inch, and they'll take everything you own and everything you are.
Rule number three. Keep. Your ********. Head. Down.
This, the lycan had stressed. This was the most important rule of them all. It was also the rule Logan found the most pointless. The only reason he heeded it at all was because of how much the old dog kept insisting that it was more important than the other two combined. "You're nobody and nothing in there." He told Logan. "No one is gonna give two shits about you. So don't fear, don't budge, but leave everything around you be. Don't play the games. Don't kick up a fuss. When a big wave comes, lower your head and let it pass." Over and over he told him to keep his head down. No matter what. Promise me, boy, promise me. And he did. And that was why he only glared at the two inmates making.... obscene come ons at him.
He was really, really glad he couldn't hear their thoughts, if their words were any indication. He'd only been there for a few damn hours. He was, partly, expecting this kind of thing. Dale told him that the new inmates were always hit the hardest, tested to see what they were made of, who was gonna be food, and who was gonna be sweeping the floors. The pair of morons talking about his tiny body and his little mouth just didn't realize that they were using that stick to poke a lion, not a lamb. But he wasn't supposed to kick up trouble, at least not on day one. When he did kick up trouble, he wanted it to be out in the yard, where everyone would see. Someone was bound to approach him talking s**t. Because, yes, he was short. And, yes, he was young. And, yes, he still had all his teeth because he wasn't some junkie addict who was falling apart at the seams. People tended to think he was just some soft brat who didn't know what he was doing. They tried to push. They would. They always did. Oh, but he already had everything figured out.
When someone tried to butt heads with him, he'd just flip that little switch in their brains. Fun fact; bodily functions were incredibly easy to trigger without the victim ever realizing what was happening. So whatever thug was stepping up on him would piss himself in front of the entire yard. Then, while said victim was flustered, trying to figure out what the hell happened, Logan would take advantage of the confusion and vulnerability to feed in fear. Lots of it. Feeding people fear was a favorite passtime of his. It was much easier to feed people certain feelings and emotions, vague ideas, than concrete commands. Granted, he could do either. Feelings were just on the easier end of the spectrum. So, without lifting a hand, the would-be assailant would be sent scampering off trying to hide the piss stain on his pants while everyone else laughed, and Logan would be placed firmly where he belonged - at the top of the prison food chain. Easy as pie. But that meant he needed to bide his time, and wait. He was no good at waiting. He really, really wanted to give just a little nudge to send the goons heads knocking into one another. So he practiced rule number two - don't budge, and don't push back. Just be unmoved. MAN he wanted to snap back at them, make some quip about the ******** faggots in this place. He'd never stoop that low, that was for sure. He could have said any number of things, but Dale's voice echoed in his head. So he just glared, doing his best to remain stony-faced. He didn't really look unfazed at all. More like, he looked actively pissed. But at least he wasn't breaking rule number one. He wasn't supposed to cause trouble yet. Not yet. But... if one touched him. Neither of the cackling vultures had actually made a move yet. But if they did. Maybe they'd try. If they tried something, he'd have every excuse, right? Right?
"Inmate."
Despite himself he jolted slightly, a little startled by the sudden, commanding voice. In a flash the circling vultures scampered off, and Logan was left blinking at the dour looking guard. Wait, was he talking to him? "Come with me."
Wha...? BUT HE HADN'T EVEN DONE ANYTHING YET! He wasn't very good at pretending to be impassive, so he just scowled harder to hide his confusion, masking it with more agitation instead. What the hell!? How could he be in trouble already!? He was literally only thinking about trying something!! Keep your head down, Dale had said. So Logan did his best not to grumble, and kept his head down, and did as he was told. That was another tidbit the old dog had given him. Not a rule, per se, but just... try not to get on the guards' bad side. Some of them were pretty okay, supposedly. And even if they weren't, pissing them off would do nothing for you but make your life harder. Just do as they say. So he did. He sauntered easily behind the guard, wondering where they were going, and why. He wanted to ask, but that would make him look stupid, wouldn't it? Maybe he was already supposed to know. So he pretended he did. Or, maybe, that he was just so confidant that it didn't matter where they were going. He didn't think to pay much attention to the inmate hanging around leaning against the wall. He hadn't been in long enough to realize that that was weird. Out of place. Suspicious. A red flag. No, nothing struck him as odd until the guard dropped his baton. At first, Logan just thought he was a dumbass. But then the other inmate picked it up, and that dumbass looked right at him and said it. "Oops. Where did I drop that baton?" Despite trying to keep steadfast and unmoved, his eyes widened at the two men in front of him. What the hell? What the hell!? What the HELL!?! This wasn't supposed to happen. Not on day one. How?? Why?? He hadn't even had the chance to piss anyone off yet! Why the hell was this guard and this inmate eyeing him with a god damned weapon in hand!? HE JUST BLOODY GOT THERE. And already people had it out for him!? That didn't make no damn kinda sense!
Times like this, he really wished he could hear people's thoughts.
His yellow eyes flicked quickly from one to the other. How the hell did this guy get a guard on his side? Did he bribe him? Were they buddies? Was this normal? ******** no this wasn't normal, couldn't be. Why did Freckles over there have the baton? Well, obviously, to beat him with. Maybe some kind of ******** up hazing or some s**t. Dammit, this was supposed to happen out in the yard, not... here. Wherever the ******** this was. With a goddamned guard very obviously on the other guys side. What could he do!? He couldn't be an unmoveable rock with a ******** baton to his jaw. No. He just needed a way to convey that he wasn't the kind he wanted to mess with. Freckles just didn't know what he was getting himself into. He couldn't outright alter the guys brain with a guard right there. He just needed to get his point across. The guy probably didn't even know he was a psychic. What could... his eyes landed on the baton before looking back up at Freckles again. He maintained eye contact with the other inmate, steady, as he reached out with a tendril of telekinetic force. With one, firm swoop, he swiped the baton out of the inmates hands, letting it clatter emptily against the stone floor.
"Whoops." He grinned haughtily. "Yer kinda clumsy, huh?"
As if the guy had just dropped it on his own. But he knew. They all did.
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Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2017 7:03 pm
 IF I'M SOMEBODY ELSE, IT NEVER HAPPENED TO ME. IF I'M SOMEBODY ELSE, IT NEVER HAPPENED TO ME_____________________
Adam wasn’t given much direction when Hale passed him the deck of cards and told him to deal with Little Blue. Only God knew how a deck of cards would keep Odin at ease, but when he slipped the top open he was staring down at half a deck of cards taking one side, blood and meat stuffed into the other. Even with the plastic wrapping around the meat he could see some of the cards were stained with that dark crimson hue corrupting the edges. Hale wandered off and Adam was left sitting there with a sigh. ”Always making me do the dirty work.” He barked, glaring towards Pinky who was snickering at him.
”Hey I’ll gladly speak to the beaut. I reckon I’m just queenie’s type.”
”I think you underestimate the fact that she can get any protector she wants in this place.” Jacob, who had been quiet off to the side speaks up, glancing up at the two bickering. ”You know there’s most likely a reason as to why she’s with the werewolf?”
”Not at night there ain’t.” Another roughly interjects. ”Ain’t that way. Odin’s always poundin’ the s**t outta ‘im.” Eyes turn as the pack is glancing in Odin’s direction. The werewolf with his back turned to the table of ghouls, but Julian and Leon just across him him clearly able to see if they were to just glance in the right direction. ”They ain’t one’a those nice couples.” He made sure to tell the others.
”I’ll be speaking with him.” Adam glanced up at Pinky who was having a grand ol’ time thinking he’d play the messenger role. ”He’ll just have to learn to put his destructive behavior on his treats instead of his cellie.” Which was easier said than done. Ghouls were one thing, when they got hungry all they needed was a little food to get set back to normal. Odin, on the other hand, had much bigger issues as the moon was growing. After he ate it he wouldn’t feel satisfied. He would still feel angry and restless. Sure, giving the werewolf pieces of flesh might help him feel better for a half hour… An hour, maybe. But it wouldn’t be okay. Not until after the full moon when he had his chance to transform into what he really was. The only werewolf Adam knew of was the man who was always meditating. He was quiet, didn’t get involved in prison politics and was seeing one of the lycans. The two would try to meet up once every few days somewhere and during free time it wasn’t that uncommon to see the lycan lurking around the werewolf’s cell. A lot of prison relationships were just like that.
Adam ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he’d picked up from Hale. Slicked back just like the older ghoul’s. The two had adapted into brother-like roles. Adam, constantly bickering and forgetting he was a caim half the time. Hale, always picking on Adam and making him do things like this. Things he would never have to justify to the caim. Adam healed Hale often enough to know what sort of feelings he had about things. What sort of plots he had. Hell, sometimes Hale would have Adam hold his negative feelings away and the caim thought half the male’s fears and insecurities were his own. Adam might not have been too great at what he did, but some of the easier stuff was actually okay. It just came naturally.
The caim pulled up from his piece of the bench and wandered towards the trash bins. He tilted his tray over the garbage, dropping the trash inside and then he plopped the tray down on the stack. The brownies, or kitchen staff, would get to it later. He didn’t go back to his table, not right away. He was slowly stretching his arms in the air all casual-like as he made intense eye contact with Julian. That was all you ever needed in prison. Everyone had the sixth sense to tell when someone was staring at you, in prison, that probably jumped up to your second sense pushing the other non-important ones down. It always felt like someone had their eyes on you so you were always waiting to see who was plotting against you. The caim knew what happened the last time he approached Odin. He was told off pretty quick. So slipping by the table whispering that he wanted to borrow Julian for a couple seconds didn’t seem like the best move. He was going to make the ink mage ask for him.
It wasn’t difficult to get people to know you wanted to speak with them, in prison, a quick pull of the head, nodding off to the side, was all you needed to alert other inmates it was time to step into your office. Adam could take Julian for a quick stroll to the bathroom and give him a new way to avoid Odin’s time of the month easy as that. He just needed to make sure the mage wanted to take the ride so things would be easier for them. Surely Peter Pan over there understood if Little Blue wasn’t the one occupying Odin’s hunger, he’d be next in line for the rape train. One of them would crack and do exactly what Hale wanted. So he smirked. Hale was feeling pleased with himself.
After Hale finally got his chance to nod towards Julian, his eyes dropped to his hands. Tattoos. BACK written on one hand, HOME etched into the next one. He paused, slowly twisting his wrist as he glanced at his shoulder to see the missing tattoo. Extra tattoos, but they weren’t extra. They were… Wrong body or wrong name? Which did that make him? Adam turned away from the table now that he alerted Julian he had something to say to him, then he moved for the hallway so he could get to the bathroom where they could talk for short periods of time away from Odin.
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Posted: Sun Jun 25, 2017 11:11 am
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He'd arranged their trays in what was becoming the "usual" way.
Whatever meat biproduct was on offer went from Leon's plate-- after all, the fairy couldn't eat it, and it wasn't as though there were enough of his kind in the place to warrant a vegetarian protein-- to Odin's. Half of Julian's vegetables, or what passed for them, were in turn portioned away to the ivorette's plate in an attempt to make sure Leo had enough to eat. On the days when the smaller male was looking peaky, and couldn't stomach anything without feeling ill, the inkwell kept his peas or carrots to himself, but always waited until the last minute to nibble at them, as if-- by some miracle-- his brother might suddenly decide he was ravenous and just couldn't get enough of the frozen, reheated, over-salted mash.
Each day, the mage carried out this careful measuring, never saying anything about it. The other two could have certainly managed it on their own. They didn't need Julian rounding out their food for them. But it had become routine. Even a little bit comforting for the inkwell, who'd always done best when he could focus on others. It was small, and just like every other aspect of the schedule he made up in his head to augment the turning of the clock, it could be easily overridden. He'd known it before, in an academic way. But he hadn't understood until the showers.
There were no safe places, no calm moments. Things were okay now, but who was to say what might happen five minutes later, or an hour, or a day? Odin had said that Hotts wasn't allowed to touch him, and the azurette had started quietly running that thought through his head during times when it was impossible for him to stand in the werewolf's shadow. Other people weren't allowed to touch him. Odin wouldn't allow it. And in a strange way, that was comforting, even for Julian, who'd once thought he could never accept an arrangement. Because that was what they had, wasn't it? Even he had to acknowledge it. The safety of standing within Odin's radius. And even if the blonde acted like it wasn't happening, the little verbal jabs from other inmates made it clear. It wasn't some elaborate psychosexual hallucination brought on by the head injury. Everyone knew. No matter how quiet he tried to be. The entire block was aware that he was Odin's. And there were odd lulls when the fluttering wings at the back of his skull went still, moments when the flickering light was muted to a grey. At those times, he'd felt an ironclad security. Door locked. Cement walls. Odin solid and blazingly warm.
But.
Odin could be hurt.
It wasn't that Julian was stupid. He knew the older man wasn't invincible. Knew it in the visceral sense that could only really come from having someone else's blood in his mouth. He'd done it completely unthinking, the time Hotts stabbed the blonde with-- he still wasn't sure what it'd been. But in the showers he'd been even more useless. The fact was, however apprehensive he was about the ghoul's motivations, without Hale's intervention the inkwell would be at a different table now. Probably in a great deal more pain than average. Because Odin could be hurt, and Leon had been high, and Julian was, at the best of times, useless.
It was why the azurette started sitting across the table, instead of positioning himself beside the werewolf, where he usually tried to inconspicuously leech the larger man's body heat. If nothing else, he could keep his eyes flicking furtively from corner to corner, trying to keep aware of the things going on outside the field of Odin's vision. The most literal version of watching his cell mate's back. Even Julian could do that much.
When his attention-- always wandering, so as not to catch anywhere and cause trouble-- passed over the table of ghouls, it was unsettling to find several of them looking back. His eyes dropped again, to the bread roll he was absently dissecting, pulling the only soft parts out from the rough husk of the crust. In his peripheral, he could tell that one of them was moving. Hale? No, the one that was almost his doppelganger-- Adam. The one who'd tried before to get Odin to go with him. What had that been about? Had the caim, or his cell mate, known what was going to happen in the showers? Was that meant to have been a warning, and it went disregarded because of the badly timed and badly worded summons?
Julian wasn't sure. But he couldn't misread the direct stare pointed at him over Odin's shoulder. The caim wanted to talk to him. Which was unheard of. People didn't approach Julian to chat casually. Only situations like the one with Hotts seemed to happen to the inkwell. So he didn't stand to follow. The only safety he had within these walls was when he was next to Odin. Do that was where he looked.
"..Adam was looking at me. Hale's friend. " Friend was probably a strong word, but he used it anyway. Eyes down. The same quiet murmur all his spoken words turned into now. "I think.. He has something to say. Should I..? "
Should he go, he meant. Should he go alone, out of Odin's immediate field of influence, to speak to someone he didn't know, whose motivations were still murky to him at best? The doubt was there in the mage's expression. But he still asked, without even seeming to realize that if he didn't want to go he could just keep his mouth shut.
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Posted: Wed Jun 28, 2017 3:11 pm
The bizarre thing about prison was relationships. Who you knew. What guards you could take advantage of. What other prison alliances, gangs, and families you could lean on. If your friends were powerful so were you. Simple. When it came to mages like this Hale could take the boy or leave him. The options were already cemented on the prison pavement long before he got that note from Solomon alerting him of the new inmate. Hale had already played this game hundreds (probably almost literally) of times before. Hale always thought it was a fair deal when he brought it up. You allow Hale to control you and your powers, or you lose them. That easy. The most recent, of course, had been Cedric. The boy was too uncooperative so Hale snipped what little power the boy had to hide behind and used him as a comfort woman, selling him off all over his cell block. Not only did it help make him money, but it gave the inmates just another reason to come crawling to Hale for something. Hale loved doing favors so he could return later and ask people to repay their debts. Cedric was on so many suppressors he couldn’t control anything. His powers were gone, the boy only able to nearly freeze himself to death by accident (since he can’t control it anymore) anytime he got too stressed. So when the new little mage stepped to Hale immediately looking to start s**t, it was just too easy. He was too young and inexperienced to be engaging in confrontation like that. Hell, he was right on the fence and had half a mind to replace Cedric already.
Clatter.
The baton hit the floor, ”Whoops.” The idiot started, ”Yer kinda clumsy, huh?” Hale smiled calmly. He didn’t speak as he slowly knelt down and went to pick up the baton that had been knocked from his hand. You didn’t need to say much in prison, everyone did. There were plenty of cell warriors. The type of men who ran their mouth when cell doors were shut but immediately took the submissive position when threats of violence were facing them head on. None of the ghouls had ever been cell warriors. They all liked to give a warning shot before explaining their demands.
”How silly of me.” He wrapped his hand around the object, slowly glancing back at the red headed boy standing in front of him. ”I’m all butter-fingers today.” Feminine face. Soft features. No way this kid was finished with puberty yet. What type of idiot was he getting locked up inside of a prison? What could he have possibly done in the real world to end up here? One could only imagine. ”You know, you’re new, aren’t you?” The temporary uniform made it painfully obvious. Of course he was new, nobody needed to ask that since Logan had probably heard it a thousand and one times today since his arrival. ”I should help get you situated.”
Smash.
He didn’t get back up, just cracked the baton across Logan’s shin. ”Do you know mages who use their powers get put on suppressors for the rest of their sentence?” His tone didn’t change, it was still pleasant as though he were just giving directions to a lost civilian on the street. ”And… What was it, Solomon? How much time gets added onto their sentence?” The ghoul asked, his head facing the prison guard as he slowly pushed off the ground and stood himself back up.
”Minimum of two years.” The guard spoke softly even though he was down the hallway. It was clear he was on Hale’s side. That Hale was in charge. Logan was about to learn how prison politics worked. That some inmates were above the prison guards, above the rules, and could get to whoever they wanted when they wanted.
Crack.
Hale slammed the baton towards Logan again as he sharply tore his head in the mage’s direction. ”Oh right. Two years minimum. I wonder how long your sentence is to begin with.” Hale brought his arm back, another crack of the object towards Logan’s shoulder. ”You gonna use your powers?” He dared the boy, just threatening him into using his powers one more time and lose them for good. ”You gonna defend yourself?” A loaded question. Still edging the boy on to make sure he was utterly defeated. Smash. ”Or you just gonna take it like a little b***h?”
Bam.
Then it went calm as Hale gently dropped his arm to let the baton dangle near his thigh. He gave the boy a few moments to regroup and collect himself. A prison assault, no matter how calm your attacker was, could be a traumatizing experience. The new guys had to learn how to get knocked down and understand what their place was. Hale leaned forward, pulling himself closer to the psychic mage. ”I’m going to give you one order, and only once.” He nodded softly towards Solomon. ”We’ll see if you want to be a good boy or a bad boy. You might need to be house trained still.” Then he had to wait to see if the little punk was going to try and fight for his pride or not.
Surely, Logan already understood if he disobeyed his powers would go poof.
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Posted: Wed Jun 28, 2017 10:11 pm
86102C
Freckles didn't bat an eyelash. Was that because he was genuinely unperturbed? Or was it just that he was following the same rules? Be impassive. Be unafraid. He tried to remember what the old dog had told him about confrontation in prison. ********. All he could remember him saying was not to get into confrontation in prison. Don't show fear. Don't be moved. Keep your head down. What else did he say? The psychic was drawing a blank as he watched Freckles lean down and pick up the baton again, talking just as casual as if he was discussing the weather over coffee. It was kind of infuriating, actually. But also very unnerving. He actually made a little mental note of the guys nonchalance. That must have been what Dale was talking about when he said be impassive. Freckles had it down to an art, it looked like. He ought to try and emulate it, that complete and utter lack of regard for any potential threat Logan might pose. It'd be really useful to be able to replicate it. Well, maybe in this particular situation, it was less bravado on the ghouls part, and more to do with the fact that there was a ******** guard sanctioning everything he was doing. Even Logan realized that, with Freckles utterly unaffected by his little jab, he was in a very, very tight spot. It didn't matter if he didn't break any rules - what the guard said went. If he was on Freckles roster, and he pissed them off, the guard could order anything done, any kind of punishment available.
"I should help you get situated."
Before he could register the threat there was a crack, a sharp sound that he felt ringing through the bone of his leg. He yelped, immediately collapsing around the injured limb, clutching at it with a hiss and a string of swears. He could already feel it swelling up at once. With next to no muscle protecting the bone of his shin, the pain climbed up his leg and deep into the core of it. He could practically feel it in his teeth. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Dale hadn't told him what to do when accosted threateningly by another inmate escorted by a guard. What had Dale told him? What was he supposed to do? His mind spun as he began to panic, while Freckles started to spell out exactly what kind of consequences the guard could declare on him. Suppressors? For the rest of his sentence?? Two years powerless. Two years as a human. In prison. He'd die. Even he wasn't so blinded by confidence as to think he could survive a week straight in the place as a powerless human. His abilities as a psychic were how he'd gotten through his entire life. He didn't even know how to function without them, without-
"Minimum of two years."
Four. Four years as a powerless human. Not that it mattered, since there was no way he would last even one. And if the guard went back and said he'd done it - which he had - but even if he hadn't, they'd put him on suppressors and he'd be a dead man walking. He was ********. Day ******** one and he was already ******** ********. Why the hell did things happen that way?
The second blow caught his side, drove the wind out of him and had him hunched over, gasping. He was too breathless to shout that time, instead gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to take a breath. But he couldn't. He felt like he was suffocating.
"You gonna use your powers?"
"Augh-!!" He gasped out a cry as the baton connected with his shoulder, sending him onto his side on the floor. He couldn't. Truth was, he'd always sucked at using his powers under pressure, or when he was confused or disoriented. Even if he could muster another telekinetic swat, he wouldn't be able to direct it right. Even if he could do that, he'd lose them. He'd die.
"You gonna defend yourself?"
By then Logan was curled up in a ball on the ground, hands over his head, arms covering his face, abiding his basic instinct to keep his soft stomach and his face from being smashed in by the baton. He wasn't supposed to show fear, but he couldn't help it. His whole body was trembling, braced for the next blow as it crashed into his leg, jostling another startled cry from him, in spite of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
"Or you just gonna take it like a little b***h?"
That made anger swirl up in his guts through the fear. He moved his arms, wide eyes glaring up at the ghoul at the moment the baton came down again. It glanced his cheek before he could cover himself with his arm again, sending a hot, blistering pain through the side of his face and setting him to swearing weakly, covering his face again in pain and fear of another blow.
"Fu-uck-!"
He couldn't stand up. He couldn't fight. He couldn't use his powers. He was ******** no matter what he did. Even without using them again, the guard still might rat on him for pissing Freckles there off. He'd never felt like this in his life, so completely, utterly helpless and terrified. He laid curled up on the floor, arms over his head again, shaking and tensed. He didn't untense when the next blow didn't come for five seconds. Or ten. The longer he went without hitting him again, the more anxious he grew, waiting for it. Anticipating it. His breath was coming out shaky. He wasn't crying, but it might have sounded like it. He was terrified. He hadn't been so out of control since the day CPS came to take him away from his home. He shuddered again on the ground, tentatively peeking out from under his bruised arms when the ghoul leaned closer.
"I’m going to give you one order, and only once.”
An order? The words made his stomach churn, but his insides already felt like ice, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He couldn't even muster the energy to be pissed, he felt so defeated. Dale said something about this. What was it? He said what to do when you get your head kicked in... ”We’ll see if you want to be a good boy or a bad boy. You might need to be house trained still.” He didn't need to be a genius to figure out that 'house training' was something he'd probably be wanting to avoid. 'Spit out the blood and ask for another.' That was what Dale had said. Was that what he was supposed to do?? Like hell was he asking for another. Slowly, hands and arms still shaking from the assault, he uncovered his face, staring up at the ghoul looming over him. He glanced past him, at the guard a short distance away, and then back and swallowed.
"The f-fu-! Embarrassingly, his voice cracked on the vowel, making him stop short and cough. "... The ******** you want?" His face was all red, and a bruise was starting to color the space high up on one cheekbone and rapidly trying to turn into a black eye. His eyes were wide, but he managed, at least, to make it a little more of a glare than terror, to his credit. His breathing was still heavy as he did his best not to flinch at the next movement.
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Posted: Fri Jun 30, 2017 12:13 pm
 
AND I WENT TUMBLING DOWN TRYNA REACH YOUR HIGH, BUT I SCREAM TOO LOUD IF I SPEAK MY MIND
 Odin could feel the weight growing above his shoulders. He slammed his arm hard through the muck trying to yank himself up. Trying to tear himself to the surface but the water was so heavy. He had already been blinded at this point, nothing but blackness in his field of vision as he thrashed looking for something to hold. Some direction. What was up? He couldn't even find which direction he was trying to squeeze his body as his movements grew slower. The werewolf, a creature of power, being reduced to nothing but a helpless weakling. How do you tell in the midst of the chaos like this? By this point, his face had probably been stained purple as he realized he couldn't hold his breath any longer. That regret as he sucked it all in at once to feel the thick sludge grabbing his windpipe and cementing itself in place.
Gasp.
He sat in his bunk quickly, his chest beating like a drum. Nightmares. They were loud and obnoxious as possible, alerting Odin that the stress was getting to him. While he wasn't remembering his dreams most nights, for the dreams he could remember it was uncommon for him to have a dream any longer where he wasn't losing teeth or dying. Even worse, the dreams where Julian kept leeching off him and taking a place amongst the madness. Lately, the ink mage took odd roles, sometimes begging Odin for blood as though he were some type of vampire. He'd be writhing on the floor begging and pleading for Odin to give him some or he'd die. He needed it. He would cry and moan and whine until Odin managed to get his hands on something he could model as a shank and they'd dig into his arm, Julian taking a place on his lap as he drank from Odin. Taking his dose of blood so the ink would stop hurting him. Maybe the blood really did freak him out. Maybe those nights he by accidentally bit Julian too hard or scratched him too deeply, those black traces caused a sick feeling deep in his stomach that he didn't want to accept. The freak. Odin knew Julian was some freak.
By lunch, the werewolf still couldn't shake the sensation. Was he having visions of what would happen to him? Was his brain repeatedly screaming at him to calm down and find a way to be invisible if he wanted to survive his prison sentence? He knew how hot headed he got, how violent he felt, and how possessive he got when he came to his pride. His new prison family. If Hale hadn't saved him Odin would have attacked them. He would have bashed their faces in until a prison guard or another prisoner stopped him. He would have got time added to his sentence if he survived the encounter at all. Odin’s eyes lifted to Julian who seemed distracted by something behind him. He might have turned to look if he wasn't wondering about ink and blood. Would Julian choose to have regular blood if he could? Odin had never thought there were other races who wished they were different until he picked up on those freezing fingers, rubbing at the digits as he traced over the frosty skin. The more Odin touched the ink mage the more he noticed how dull and lifeless the boy felt. It would take a few minutes for him to warm Julian in bed and make it a comfortable temperature underneath the blankets. Inconvenient, but it was well worth the hassle. It was frustrating feeling so comfortable with someone who was so abnormal. Even Julian's family wanted him to change his blood's color. Look normal. Act normal. Otherwise, it was painfully obvious of how different Julian really was.
Odin was starting to realize Julian was the closest thing to an actual relationship he had ever had. There had been too many years of getting high and ******** like rabbits, half the time waking up the next morning to see it wasn't the person Odin expected. He cheated without realizing, he never went on dates, he never met their families, he never officially dubbed himself with the title ‘boyfriend'. The werewolf had known from the start he wasn't relationship material. He watched a video on the internet years ago when he had been a teenager that doomed him from the start. A video about why some people were made to be alone. That they are inclined to abuse or pick abusive partners more and instead of piling up relationship problems, some people are better off just feeling lonely for the rest of their lives. And he tried. Tried to cope with that thought that whispered in the back of his head each morning he woke in someone else's bed. He tried not to think about it too much when he had sober sex or was hungover. But Julian, he had made Odin different. How could he fight the feelings when all he wanted was to be a bedwarmer when the lights went out? He wanted to go home and have someone waiting there for him now. Why did he have to be doomed to live a lonely life when he had finally learned his home had never been in a house, but another person. Odin would rather be homeless and have Julian instead of returning to his apartment alone. “Tch.” He paused when the mage spoke asking permission to see one of the ghouls. He turned his head to get a look at the other table. One ghoul was waving his hands around frantically as he told a story. Hale wasn’t there. He didn't know how to feel about that. If it had been anyone else in the prison Odin would have went instead. Hale saved them though. That weighed heavy on Odin’s mind. If Hale wanted Julian for himself he wouldn't have saved the mage. He wouldn't have made a fair fight and spoke of respect. Odin nodded towards the other side of the cafeteria.
“Just go.” He said rolling his eyes as though the answer was obvious and Julian was just an idiot to begin with. It was a terrible behavior to have after he had acted so untrusting of the two, refusing to let Leon speak to anyone on his own. Back when he went to speak to one of the runners Odin had been the one to march head first for the prisoner as he demanded to know what he wanted. Of course it was justified for Julian to feel as though he needed to ask permission. Yet there Odin was acting the opposite. Hale was his friend. That meant Adam was on his good side too. That meant he trusted the two to be alone with Julian for a few minutes. How many? Two? Odin knew he wouldn't let Julian be out of his sight for long. He had seen what can happen within a five minute period plenty of times now. “You got two minutes or I'll rip the hair out your head." Odin snarled in Julian's direction letting the ink mage know how much trouble he'd be in if he didn't make it brief. That's how things had to work in the end. Odin needed to be sure his property was under tight supervision so they didn't float too far from him.
After all, in prison, that's how you drown. tab
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Posted: Sat Jul 01, 2017 10:40 pm
It always felt good how quick inmates caved. Even while he was clearly in the dominant position, there was something lackluster about beating on children. It was satisfying to know how many people you stood above, but the new kids who came in and were quickly fought over like hunks of meat. Hale had never liked fighting those weaker than himself. He hated when it wasn't a fair fight, but that was all anything boiled down to in the end. Prison was about manipulating people, otherwise it would be pure chaos where the craziest ******** would be running the the joint until they became ding dongs, the inmates forced on heavy medications for being too violent. The pattern would rinse and repeat numerous times.
In order to avoid the chaos, or avoid the mentally ill bring insane enough to do dangerous s**t, it always ended with the smart ones lingering near the top. The hierarchy wasn't based off pure brute strength. The inmates who learned to quietly sit and watch, to learn and understand patience. Those were the inmates who made the most friends, had the most followers, and kept control over their peers. When he had first arrived Hale had been that hunk of meat. He knew what it was to look into the face of your assailant, to use a shaky hand to keep your owner content, and he certainly knew what it felt like to lay on the floor in a puddle of your own blood. So he stood there looking down at Logan seeing no one but himself. That right there was the reason Hale kept pushing. The reason he stomped over his friends in the end if it meant keeping his power. Prison friends weren't like friends on the outside, which honestly, Hale couldn't even remember anymore. Prison friends only remained your friend if they could help get you ahead of someone else. The second you were the only one bringing something to the table, you would learn how quickly your sincere friends could drag you to the floor. He knew once he got out he would still bark at people if they went into his blind spot. That's what prison does. It reprograms how you think and how you have relationships. Hale would probably never know what it was like to have proper friends again.
Why me? Logan probably thought. He was probably trying so hard to understand why Hale had pulled him aside instead of any other new inmates. He was probably trying to cling to any thoughts of retaliation. He was probably wondering if he could punch without the prison guard reporting him for the power he had used before. The kid wouldn't even look up at him. He was huddled on the floor trying his hardest to protect himself, and it just looked pathetic. Not even an attempt at keeping his dignity. In a way, that made him a smart boy. Punishments in prison only got worse when you pissed people off. A ghoul like Hale? That's when you began to lose your fingers. Logan's reprogramming had already begun. It didn't matter how long he was in for, he was past a point of no return where he would learn it's better to punch your own mother then turn against your prison family or you would have nothing and nobody to hide behind. He would learn what happened to people like him once he met Cedric, and Logan would see how the other boys were sold off on their wings so often that he would become accustomed to witnessing the trades within a week. Logan would still have his chance to decide what role he wanted to play just like Hale did long ago… But Hale already knew the answer. People rarely surprised you in a place like this.
When Logan finally left his face unguarded, Hale could make out the marks. The red puffy skin swirled against the black waves of bruises made him look like a different person. And his eyes, his mannerisms, didn't remotely seem as stubborn as before. His fight was gone. Bruises like that were a good way to mark someone. The other inmates would understand that someone did this to Logan to get him to cooperate and if they tried to interject they risked having he same punishment. The ghoul had his own signature. The tiniest of marks that most prisoners knew to look for before pestering any inmates who had the piss beat out of them. Some prison alliances were too scary for anyone to get the guts to try and help the piece of prey.
“What's your name, boy?” Hale needed to start with the basics, make sure Logan understood who he answered to. So he would make the boy introduce himself when he was bruised and broken. Not the boy’s broken flesh, but the boy's broken pride. “I'm not here to punish you.” Hale stated, swinging the baton so he could twirl it once before resting it against his shoulder. Just reminding Logan of what he had just gone through, Hale couldn't help it when prison had turned him into such a sadistic man. “Come sit with us today.” Hale hovered closer. He was at an uncomfortable distance as it was, and he only tightened the distance when he reached out to take hold of Logan’s chin. He forced the boy's face close looking him in the eyes. “Then I can finish introducing you to the prison.” Which anyone else would have lost their s**t on if they knew what bullshit Hale could do to them. Logan had no idea how lucky he was that the ghoul was being sincere. He was so lucky Hale had already come up with a number of plans to do with his own psychic mage. Logan was lucky to have a use already predetermined for him.
Hale’s face kept advancing. Closer. It must have looked like a kiss as he suddenly made contact with Logan’s bottom lip. For any person, it might have took a moment before realizing the contact wasn’t with Hale’s lips, but his teeth. Three sharp jagged edges made their way through Logan’s lip, but as long as the boy didn't tear away… Neither would his skin. That was all Hale needed to do in order to claim property as his own. All the prisoners knew you leave someone the ******** alone if they have those three small marks. Within’ a month or two they normally healed up, the scar tissue not big enough to be anything noticeable, but that was what Hale loved about it so much. It scared his prey, putting them in a fit of panic wondering how bad the damage really was. His mark had to be somewhere that was visible at all times, and he was merciful enough to place it in a place where it would heal to be indistinguishable. It was better than the vampires who tore chunks out of their blood bag’s necks. As Hale pulled away looking at the new handiwork, he turned to move in Solomon’s direction. He wouldn’t need the baton anymore. It was time to head back to the cafeteria. ”I’m going to say this once, and only once. If you open your mouth again I’ll bite your lips off. I’ll find a fire mage to smelt them together.” Logan was, of course, expected to follow behind Hale as he walked past Solomon and handed the baton to the male.
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Posted: Sun Jul 02, 2017 3:24 am
86102C
"What's your name, boy?"
Day ******** ridiculous disaster. Logans head was still reeling with just how quickly things had gone off the rails. Things had started off well enough. The armored bus ride over had been mostly quiet, almost completely other first timers like himself, all anxious. He didn't have to be a psychic to feel that. Sure, some assholes had gotten mouthy with him, but he'd had his plan all figured out. It was supposed to be smooth. There wasn't supposed to be some crazy freckled asshat with a guard at his heel beating the s**t out of him with a baton. He'd even kept his head down, just like he was supposed to. And for what?
Day ******** one.
Despite his best efforts, somehow, the psychic found himself curled up in a ball on the ground with a ghoul leaning over him asking him what his goddamn name was while one of his eyes started to blacken. It felt like everything in him was hurting. It was probably just the range of the strikes. His shin, his knee, his arm, his shoulder, his goddamn face. It was more than enough to make him feel like a pulped down mess. He swallowed, making sure that his voice wouldn't quaver or crack when he spoke up again. What choice did he really have but to answer, after all? He still didn't even know what the ******** Freckles wanted.
"...Logan." It came out more solid than he felt, so he had that going for him, at least.
"I'm not here to punish you."
He'd slowly brought his arms completely down from his head by then, although he kept a weary eye on the baton. He just barely managed not to flinch then the ghoul twirled it to rest on his shoulder. God, last thing he needed was to look like even more of a p***y than he already did. He'd be dying of embarrassment if he wasn't still afraid of the possibility of literally dying. For all he knew the ghoul was just playing with his food. Marco, back home, was a ghoul. He taught the psychic most of the Spanish that he knew, and how to play poker. He was a grinner, which, admittedly, had initially made Logan more than a little nervous. But he had been thirteen when they first met, and over the years Marco had taught him pretty much everything he knew about ghouls, dispelled a lot of stupid stereotypes... confirmed some others. It was Marco who told him, yeah, some ghouls would eat people. Some ghouls did. Some ghouls bit off pieces of themselves to chew on when they got so damn hungry. The night after the first time Marco told him that, Logan had set his flat teeth around the second knuckle of his index finger and tried to imagine biting through it. He couldn't. Marco told him that yeah, the government gave ghouls rations, but no ghoul in their right mind felt it was enough. So, what did ghouls in prison do, with presumably even less access to government rations? Logan wasn't a genius, but he wasn't an idiot, either. But, surely, Freckles there wasn't going to gut him in broad daylight in the middle of the hall?
...right?
'Come sit with us today."
That made him blink, mostly because it was so similar to what he'd heard years ago. Then it was Blake standing over him, and he hadn't been beaten to s**t. He'd told his fatass uncle to shut the ******** up, and he did. Blake had gotten a kick out of it and said "Come smoke with us." He'd laughed then. Freckles didn't look like he was going to laugh. But he'd been with Blake and Marco and the rest of their little crew after that. But Blake hadn't hovered so close he could smell him, hadn't grabbed hold of his chin to force him to look up at him the way the ghoul did then. He grimaced as Freckles made him look him in the eye, held him uncomfortably close there and didn't let him move or pull away. "Then I can finish introducing you to prison."
Again, Logan wasn't the brightest, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He had no idea what the ghoul had planned, what he could be thinking or- oh, wait. Skin contact. For a moment, Logan was too afraid to try it, the threat of doubling his sentence sans powers still looming in his head. But it wasn't as if the guard or Freckles would even be aware of him doing it. So he did his best to concentrate on the feeling of the ghouls fingers on his face. Mind reading was something he needed more practice in; you didn't need to read minds to issue telepathic commands to them. But he did his best, trying to hear the ghouls thoughts. Being his first contact with him, it was difficult for Logan to make out any solid, concrete thoughts. But he got lots of impressions. He was most concerned, of course, with what exactly the inmate had in mind when he talked about 'introducing' him. He wasn't so naive as to not know what kinds of s**t went on in prison. He was able to get snippets from his head. Logan was... lucky? There was some kind of intent, but the specifics were blurry, likely because the ghoul wasn't going over the specifics of it in his head at the moment. But even that was reassuring. Someone saying he was lucky was pretty different from someone thinking it. If he was thinking that Logan was lucky, maybe the plans the ghoul had in mind were less than malicious, at least where he was concerned. Say why was he getting so close? Unconsciously, Logan tried to pull back, wrinkling his nose and looking clearly, increasingly, uncomfortable. What the ********? No no, stay back. He almost lost his grip on the ghouls thoughts when he brought his face close enough to touch. It was a good thing he didn't, because otherwise he might have ripped his bottom lip off.
"Ugh-!"
He started to yank back when the ghoul bit his lip, making a sound of mixed pain and disgust. He stopped short partly from pain and partly from fishing out the intent from Hales thoughts. Mark. Brand. A distinguisher of some kind. He wasn't going to literally bite his lip off. He was able to make himself stay still, hissing through his teeth. Blood aside, the whole exchange felt... reeeeally gay. And since he did yank back a bit at first, what ought to have been three small pricks turned into three small scratches, like tiny tally marks just at his lip. Worse than they would have been, had he stayed perfectly still. But not nearly so bad as they would have been had he yanked back like his first instinct told him to. He had the benefit of feeling Hales thoughts about the mark, enough that he knew he didn't need to be too panicked about it. Thank god for small favors, he could at least avoid looking like a fool in that respect. Frowning, he rubbed a finger over the little cuts as the ghoul pulled away. What was his name? He'd felt it in his thoughts... he could roll the feel of it around the back of his tongue, but couldn't place the exact sound. He thumbed at the blood on his lips, cringing at the metallic taste of it.
”I’m going to say this once, and only once. If you open your mouth again I’ll bite your lips off. I’ll find a fire mage to smelt them together.”
"What?!"
Wait. s**t. He closed his mouth. He was sitting up on the floor by then, staring up at the ghoul like the guy lost his damn mind. But he was already moving by then, back towards the guard and the cafeteria. It seemed like he didn't have much choice. Truth be told, Logan didn't actually know what it meant to smelt something. But it sounded a lot like melt, so he went with that. Like hell did he want his mouth melted. He might have taken the threat a lot less seriously - I mean really, biting someones lips off? - If he hadn't felt the guys teeth sinking into his lower lip less than ten seconds ago. The entire encounter had left him visibly shaken (even more visibly battered) so he was inclined to take Hales words at face value. Hale! That was it. The name. Normally he'd be more pleased with himself about that. In any case, the guy had just had a guard watch while he beat the ******** out of him with his baton. If he said he'd bite off his lips and burn them shut, he ******** believed him. Was keeping his mouth closed some kind of ******** up initiation? A test of some kind? Without maintaining skin contact with the ghoul, there was no way for him to know. Wincing, Logan did the only thing he could, and started peeling himself up off of the floor. He winced, grunting as he tried to put weight on his leg. It was the same leg, the left, that had been struck in both the shin and the side of his knee, so putting weight on it hurt like hell. But oh ******** well, tough tits, he'd just have to deal. He took a deep breath, watching Hales back as he moved. He pushed his red hair back and followed. He did everything in his power to make sure the frightened look was out of his eyes before they got back to the cafeteria. He was better at looking pissed than impassive, so he settled on looking pissed. It wasn't difficult, with the pain reverberating through... well. Everything. He moved as best as he could to keep up with the ghoul, wordless, wary of the very clearly outlined threat. Despite his best efforts, he walked with a slight limp behind him through the hall. He was bursting with a hundred questions that he wasn't able to ask. Stupid ******** mouth rule.
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Posted: Tue Jul 04, 2017 8:46 am
 
Tch.
Odin could communicate quite a lot with that sound. It was just a quick exhalation, but it caught and went sharp at the edges, turned consonant and took on what Julian was beginning to think of as a universal tone of displeasure. It was an eloquent sound, as protracted as it was. Taking up the space of a second, and yet broadcasting not just annoyance, but some form of contempt, too. An ambient sort of shame catalyst that made the inkwell's attention fall back to the picked over contents of his own tray and stay there as he waited for the blonde to decide. Tch felt like, I can't believe I have to deal with you. It felt like, I don't really give a s**t. Why do you always bother me? It felt like, I'd be so much better off if I didn't have to babysit your stupid a**. But most of all, it felt like the azurette should already know the answer, and because he didn't, Odin was now having to handle it himself. In moments like these, Julian felt it more keenly: the growing disparity between the person he'd once been, and the property he'd become.
Once, he'd left his family home to pursue what he believed was right. He was told to come back. He was told how to behave and how to dress and what was appropriate. Who his acquaintances should be, who he should marry, where he should work. All the things he needed to do-- needed to be-- to fit in the family portrait. He would never be impressive, but he could avoid being a complete embarrassment if he just followed the path laid down for him, the way so many of his brothers had. And cousins. And aunts. And uncles. They'd never understood. He'd been a disappointment for so long already. What was a little more disdain in exchange for doing something meaningful? Something right. Politely, No, I'm sorry. Over and over and over. But they couldn't bargain with love and approval that Julian had never had in the first place. I need to learn to deal with people. Real people. Not ones that looked at him and saw a networking opportunity, or a corporate rival. He wasn't to be bartered off at some chapel, and he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life surrounded by the works and records of people who were already dead and far beyond helping. Julian wanted to do good. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to start from the bottom, where assistance was needed the most.
All his bigger, stronger brothers had been pushed successfully into their expected places. They lived their lives the way Father wanted. It was only Julian-- the last and the least of John St Jude's children-- who said it. Not just once, but over and over. No, I'm sorry. And, Respectfully, I decline. And, Do what you think is necessary.
But that felt a million lightyears away. Prison had done something that the high-powered patriarch of Julian's family never managed to. Suspicious ex-slaves had never done it, even with all the times he'd been beaten or cut up. Because no matter what, when those things were over, he'd still been free. The walls in this place made everything so many times worse. There was no escape from whatever indignity or violence came raining down. And the old Julian-- the one who'd thought that he would never capitulate, never compromise his morals, no matter what happened-- found that those lines were hazier than he'd thought. What he had with Odin didn't feel like bartering. It wasn't as simple or seedy as a quid pro quo. What had begin almost by accident had turned into.. something. The inkwell's attentiveness wasn't a measure to avoid the werewolf's temper, although it probably looked that way from the outside. It wasn't appeasement. He wanted Odin to be happy, because the blonde was the only reason Julian had even a few moments of peace. It wasn't a trade. He didn't tidy up the cell or re-portion their meals or do.. other things.. because he wanted something given back to him. It was gratitude and an oddly solid trust, things that the older man had earned, whether he knew it or not, when he'd taken in Leon Fenwick. So what Odin told him to do, he'd do, even in a situation like this one where he didn't really want to.
Just go. Like it was simple. Like there was no reason to worry. Like Adam wasn't to be considered a possible threat, even though the reality was anyone here could be, outside of their little trio. Hale had helped them. Had helped Odin. For the old Julian, that would have been enough. Except for Cedric. The azurette had never spoken to the other mage, but even cursory glances in the other male's direction were enough to remind the inkwell how much worse things could be. The ghouls weren't like Odin. Not with how Cedric always looked-- out of it and practically swaying on his feet. The other mage was a pass-around, and that thought made him sick to his stomach for so many reasons. The old Julian would never have ignored that suffering. Whatever had taken his place, though, was learning to accept and allow more and more. Normalizing the cruelties going on all around him. Feeling the flutter of wings at the back of his own fractured skull less and less and less and--
If Hale or Adam had been trying to warn them before, then what happened in the showers could have been avoided. Even if that wasn't the case, the outcome was the same. Hale showed up and everything stopped. And Julian would rather have that happen than the alternative. What if those others had hurt Odin badly, or killed him like they'd threatened to? Would the azurette's moral high horse have been satisfied then? What if they'd done something to Leon? It was a vague, unformed threat in Julian's mind. One that didn't bear thinking about. He already knew the kind of somethings that would be in store for the fairy if they were somehow taken from Odin.
So when the blonde told him to go, he rose slowly, one hand briefly touching the shoulder of the fairy beside him, a wordless changing of the guard. It would seem laughable to anyone else, but at least with the ivorette paying attention to what was happening in the rest of the mess hall-- the things Odin couldn't see without turning around-- there might be some warning if someone approached.
You got two minutes or I'll rip the hair out your head.
Probably no one else in the world would find that comforting. What the werewolf barked at him was a threat of punishment if he wasn't prompt, but what Julian parsed from it was something else. That Odin would be paying attention to how long he was gone. That if he didn't adhere to that short time limit, then the older man would be coming to find him. Absurdly, it made him feel better, and the azurette nodded, moving quietly to skirt along the side of the room. It was a longer route, but one that would take less time for Julian himself than wading between the rows of tables and potentially encountering an outstretched foot or an inconspicuous hand.
All the while, counting in his head. One.. two.. three.. four..
There was the uncomfortable crawling feeling between his shoulder blades that happened now when he knew he was getting too far outside of Odin's line of sight. He knew to expect it every time he left for his prison job in the laundry, but that at least had the benefit of predictability. This was something else, and as he stepped out into the hallway there was the urge to keep looking back over his shoulder. Worse, he'd stalled for a beat by asking his cellmate to approve his little field trip, and Adam didn't appear to have lingered in the corridor. Of course not. Whatever message the ravenette wanted to pass to him, it wasn't going to be discussed in the open, where anybody might overhear.
..Twelve..thirteen..fourteen..
Which left the bathroom.
The inkwell slipped into the little alcove down the hallway, edging into the open space in a way that said he wasn't sure he was supposed to be there. One hand pushed his hair back-- a nervous habit, an unconscious attempt at self-soothing that had chased him into adulthood. He didn't want to be here. He especially didn't want to be here if Adam wasn't actually waiting to speak to him. Maybe the other inmate had already decided Julian didn't get the hint. Or maybe he went to wait somewhere else, and--
But no, he was standing right there by the bank of sinks when the inkwell crept in. For all intents and purposes, the rest of the place seemed empty, but the azurette still kept near the door. Just in case. After a second-- twenty-six.. twenty-seven..-- he brought his eyes upward. Like a person.
"..Odin said I can only be gone two minutes. "
Too bad he was still talking like a thing.
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Posted: Fri Jul 07, 2017 6:37 pm
”... Logan.” The kid answered as best he could. He was like a bug with half it’s legs crushed as it awkwardly flailed around trying to escape before you crushed it to death. Which was fair enough since crushing Logan to death wouldn’t be that difficult at the moment. Just one clean bite to the many delicate places people had dangerous veins that would push out large amounts of blood. Logan would be pale by the time they rushed him to the medical wing. He’d be dead by the next morning.
But no, thoughts like that wouldn’t get Hale anywhere. He didn’t take Logan out here just to kill him. He took the boy out here to teach him. To claim him in one way or another. So as he marked the mage’s lip with his bite and then it was business as usual. Telling the boy he wasn’t to open his mouth as he began to move back to the - "What?!"
Oh no. The poor boy was retarded.
Hale turned on his heel, immediately moving back to Logan smashing the baton against the side of his head. ”I’m sorry did you mishear me?” He stabbed the tip of the baton against Logan’s stomach hard. ”I said I will peel your lips off.” He brought the baton back stabbing at the mage again. ”Then weld them shut.” He smashed the baton one last time against the boy’s skin before turning around like he hadn’t attacked at Logan again. ”Of course, that’s when you open your mouth in front of others.” He glanced over his shoulder at Logan’s direction. ”If you have any questions now, I don’t mind practicing my swing.” Hell, at this rate he’d be able to compete with the pros on a baseball field. Logan volunteering repeatedly to take the role as ball. Hale stepping up to the plate as batter. He was sure the boy couldn’t possibly be that stupid. That he’d had enough for today. Hale wasn’t a man you wanted to play games with, it was better to submit and listen instead of string him along forcing him to beat all the play out of you. This was business. It was important to Hale.
There isn’t much more thought as Hale makes his way back to Solomon. He hands the baton off to his younger brother and turns to wait for Logan to get his bearings and limp behind him like an injured little duckling. ”I have tomorrow off.” Solomon warned Hale.
”That’s fine I won’t need you. Do you know what block he’s on yet?”
”Nah. I can update you once I find out though.”
”That works. His cellmate should know he’s mine if I don’t get a chance to warn them. They’ll know not to touch him.” At least, one could only hope. While most the prison knew what to avoid there were plenty of loners, new prisoners, or transfers who were slow compared to learn of who ran the place and what to look for. Hale was sure Logan would be able to handle whatever new cellmate he would get and not open those set of pearly whites. Hale leaned in close to Solomon whispering something gently into the male’s ear.
”Yeah gotcha’. I’ll have it by next week.”
”Perfect. Let’s go Logan.” Hale finally acknowledged the psychic after having ignored him and spoke about him with the prison guard like he wasn’t even there. Returning to the cafeteria brought eyes. Plenty of inmates glancing up at Hale as he proudly marched to his table with the new inmate. They’d be able to see his work. They’d be able to know who got first picks whenever they had new arrivals. Moments like this were significant in being sure everyone knew you were ahead of the pack. He took a seat at the table and nodded to Adam’s empty seat since the man was missing. ”Take a seat, boy.” Hale then glanced round the table at his prison gang all ready to start their hazing with the kid. ”If any of you see him open his mouth rip his lips off and bash all the teeth out his skull.” He took a bite of the food that had been left behind on his tray. Had he been anyone else, like Adam for instance, plenty of the ghouls would have already picked at his food. Hell, Adam’s was completely empty already. Not that it mattered. As Hale’s cellmate they had plenty money for whatever they needed in commissary. They had their own meals most days, as even ramen seemed more appetizing than most prison meals. If Logan was on Hale’s block he’d invite the kid to join them so he could have a little sneak peek of the advantages if he were to make it through whatever hazing the ghouls left like putting him through.
”Like the eye makeup.” Pinkie stated shoving his hands on the table as he leaned forward and got a closer look at the bruising on Logan’s flesh. ”Careful or ya might start givin’ the wrong signals.” Prisoners were supposed to lose fights. Bitches were always the ones that were beat. Hale's eyes lifted to look towards Odin's table. The werewolf was sitting across from Peter Pan, the two eating alone. Little Blue fell into their trap. He smiled slightly as he turned his gaze back towards ******** trying to get him to speak." tab
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Posted: Sat Jul 08, 2017 1:27 am
86102C
Logan had known that he'd ******** up. He was expecting retaliation for that little slip up. Maybe a smack aside the head or something, like Blake usually did when he said something stupid. Just a little stinging warning, a reprimand. Maybe a full on slap or something if he'd really messed up. Even expecting a blow, however, he couldn't prepare for the baton that came crashing into his skull instead. The world spun rapidly as he collided with the floor - again. But this time he wasn't just dropping to his knees, he was falling. So he landed hard on his back, immediately hissing and clutching his injured skull, eyes screwed shut. The loud 'CRACK!' reverberated through his head as he gritted his teeth. The pain pounded into his head. He could feel it buried in his temples, ringing behind his eyes. He didn't even have time to register exactly how much it hurt before he was gasping as he was jabbed in the gut. He hadn't been curled up this time, so it took him full force, knocking the wind out of him all over again. He'd hardly caught his breath from being knocked in the ribs earlier! It felt like being punched in the gut. Hell, maybe even worse. Tense pain rocked through his guts, and his whole body convulsed when the ghoul jabbed his baton into his gut again. He wheezed, fearful for a moment that he might vomit. He did his best to choke the bile down, but he couldn't even swallow a gulp of air. He couldn't hear what Hale was saying over the ringing in his ears, but that was okay. He got the message loud and clear. No opening his mouth. Not for anything. His whole body could only tense as the final blow caught his previously uninjured shoulder, unable to get enough air to even yelp again. That was probably for the best. He might have opened his mouth again.
It felt like forever that Logan laid there on the ground, unsure of whether or not he'd be able to breathe again. Eventually, his body finally uncoiled, abdomen unclenching to let him draw in a desperate gasp of air. His breath, again, came out incredibly shaky, quivering with pain and shock and fear. One word. He'd gotten his a** kicked a second time for literally one word out of place. By the time the mage was slowly peeling himself up off of the floor, Hales little convo with the guard was wrapping up. Shaky, he pushed himself up, getting his uninjured knee beneath him to slowly push up into a crouch, then wobble up into a stand again, arms wrapped around his injured stomach, head hanging down. He hadn't really been able to catch much of anything that was said, since the loud ringing in between his ears only started to die down once he was on his feet again. He felt like he'd been hit by a car, then. ******** everything was in pain, and he could reel the pain reverberating from the blow to his head all the way down his spine to his tailbone, throbbing. His body was going to be a wreck of bruises in the morning.
'If they knock your teeth in, spit out the blood.'
He forced his spine to straighten out. Made himself look up and straight, not down and away. Gingerly uncurled his arms from his abdomen. There wasn't much coming back from a beating like that. He'd been beaten down, yes, like a b***h. Logan couldn't deny that, not even to himself. But he didn't have to walk like a b***h. He'd keep whatever tiny little scrap of dignity he could. So if he walked with a limp and a black eye and a cracked skull, he'd do it with his back straight and his chin up. It hurt like hell, but not half as bad as his pride did.
"Let's go Logan."
Hell, at that point, Logan was just glad not to be called a b***h, too. That might have been too much for him. So he kept his ******** mouth shut, and he followed. There was never really much choice. No amount of bruised pride could straighten out his leg, however, so despite his best efforts he still walked with a very slight limp as he followed the ghoul back to the cafeteria obediently. Their reception was about as expected, and the young mages cheeks burned at the eyes on him, painted black and blue for everyone to see. It was damn humiliating, and he imagined that was probably part of the point. Everyone and their grandma could see that he'd been beaten seven shades of hell, and now he followed like a whipped dog. He hated it. Hated everything about it. As he followed the ghoul back, he tried his hand at a form of self-hypnosis he'd heard about a while back. He'd tried it a few times before, with varying degrees of success. Apparently it was something anyone could do, but had a higher success rate with psychics and caims. Silently, he just repeated to himself over and over "I won't flinch. I won't be afraid. I won't flinch. I won't be afraid." He still couldn't quite manage looking impassive, so he settled his expression into an angry glower. It was better than letting the fear show through because hoo boy, it was there. His knees were still shaking, from pain or terror, who could say? He couldn't help but grimace when Hale told him to sit, calling him 'boy.' That was a definite step down from being called by his name, but hell, it could be worse. At least he wasn't assigning him some pansy-a** nickname or some s**t. He did as he was told, sinking into the seat and managing not to wince at the way every muscle in his body protested each movement. Of course, being called 'boy' wasn't nearly so bad as hearing the instructions Hale gave to the others at the table. He was really ******** serious. He resisted the urge to stare down at his tray, making himself keep his head up and frown at the others sitting around him instead, appraising the ring of what appeared to be mostly ghouls. The first one was probably the most obnoxious looking ******** he'd yet seen inside the complex. He'd been under the impression that there were rules or some s**t about how you kept your hair, but between the weirdo with the pink head and some dumbass with bright neon blue hair he'd caught a glimpse of earlier, he'd obviously been wrong about that. To a degree, it seemed, his little self-hypnosis had worked well enough, because he didn't draw back or flinch from the loudmouth leaning close to him, despite the fact that he'd just had the everliving ******** beaten out of him not two minutes before. Of course, he couldn't give any reply to the stupid commentary.
”Like the eye makeup." ********, he really was getting a black eye, wasn't he? He couldn't see the way the black bruise was already starting to creep all around his left eye socket, but he could feel how it was starting to swell and sting. He only narrowed his yellow eyes as much as he could, keeping his chin up, eyes a stony glower. Anything was better than looking afraid. ”Careful or ya might start givin’ the wrong signals.”
"Stop trying to get him to speak."
Logan had that, at least. After all, it wasn't as if he could reply. Still, he was aware that, whatever position the ghouls had in mind for him, he was bottom of the totem pole. At least for now. So he'd have to deal with whatever bullshit they all decided to dish out. Still, it couldn't escalate much worse than what he'd already been through, as long as he played nice, right? At the moment, of course, all he could do was stare back at Pinky and scowl.
Unbeknownst to Logan, that was probably for the best.
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Posted: Sat Jul 08, 2017 10:18 am
IF I'M SOMEBODY ELSE, IT NEVER HAPPENED TO ME. IF I'M SOMEBODY ELSE, IT NEVER HAPPENED TO ME_____________________
Adam carefully moved out into the hallway and waited a few moments, his fingers toying with the small box in his hands. Julian would come, the group owed them. Hale told Adam a bit about the interaction he had with the werewolf, but he assured him he would see more just through healing alone. Sometimes Adam got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when Hale said things like that, other times he didn’t mind in the slightest. At times Hale was so familiar to him that adding more memories felt good to Adam. It was right at home learning more about his brothers, no, not his brothers… But Hale’s brothers. Adam knew he wasn’t Hale when Hale was around. He wasn’t delusional. It was easier for Adam to separate what was real and fake when Hale stayed close. He could only imagine how hard it would be once the ghoul was away. Adam was bittersweet about his release which was rapidly approaching.
Adam was as scared as anyone when it was time to leave. His mother couldn’t have afforded their apartment on her own. He didn’t know where she went. He didn’t know if she was mad at him for stealing from hard working people. The caim was ripped away so quickly he didn’t have anytime for anything. No time to help her with planning or a new phone. The woman might have been stuck in her own hell the past two years in homeless shelters. It broke his heart. He remembered how bad it was being in places like that where the two would take turns sleeping so they always had a pair of eyes on their belongings and nobody stole from them.
Adam shifted on his foot as he made his way down the old hallways and into the door leading towards the bathrooms. He wandered in and made his way to the sinks glancing in the mirror. There’s always that shock when he sees his own face instead of somebody else. He’s had so many different faces in his lives that they all get jumbled. He ran his hands through his hair, the same product Hale uses to slick his back staining the strands to keep them in place. With a sigh, the caim turns around leaning against the counter.
"... Odin said I can only be gone two minutes.”
Right on cue, the boy enters letting him know exactly what his master told him. Adam smirks slightly, the smallest form of a chuckle leaving in one gentle exhale. ”He can wait.” Adam moves towards the boy and nods at the small half-pack of cards in his hand, though he doesn’t hold it out for the mage to take, not yet. ”Full moon is coming.” He reminds the ink mage, who is probably one of the most deathly aware of what phase the moon was in at any given week. ”Last month one inmate who shares a cell with a werewolf ended up in the medical wing.” Adam crosses his arms. ”Was only released just last week.” One can only wonder what in the ******** Odin will end up doing to Julian. What the boy had to endure the previous full moon. Surely the boy would know he wanted things to change this time around.
”We don’t want our little mutt doing something he’ll regret, now do we?” He finally held up the deck of cards. ”You’re not to open this. It isn’t for you. But if you want your dog to behave himself, you’ll tell him you got him a gift.” People like Julian listen. If you tell them not to do something, they submissively follow your orders out of fear of what will happen if they break the simple rule. The surprise inside was only for Odin to see, but it was up to Julian if he’d ever receive it. Up to his cellmate if he wanted to deal with the werewolf’s anger and likely upcoming abuse or give the gift in hopes that it would help calm the male’s nerves. Surely Julian wasn’t stupid, the boy would assume there was some type of drug or contraband inside, but as long as he never looked inside he would never have to admit he played a part. He could continue to tell himself over and over that he just gave Odin a deck of cards.
”So you take this and keep it close.” Adam tells him. ”Because heaven knows when you’ll need it next.” Then again, with what was inside it would be a disaster if Julian were to hold it for a very long period of time. Adam glanced at the boy wondering how fast it would decay. Odin would have to be able to smell it eventually, the rotting flesh. He’d hunt it down and get rid of what Julian had tried to hide from him if the ink mage couldn’t bring himself to give it to the werewolf. That wasn’t such a bad outcome. Of course not, Hale knew what he was doing. The worst case scenario was the ink mage getting in trouble for having contraband. Perhaps being blamed for harming someone but it was unlikely they’d put in the time and money for DNA tests to learn what inmate the finger came from. Cedric wasn’t stupid enough to speak out against them anyways. Even if they noticed his missing limb, he’d probably deny or tell them he hadn’t even noticed it. He was hopeless, just like many people in Cedric or Julian’s position. They quietly did what they thought would make their captives proud.
”Now you scurry off before the Big Bad Wolf comes to find you. We don’t want to make him upset this close to his time of the month.” Adam said forcing a friendly smile towards the young mage. They were friends now. Working all towards the same goal. Keeping them safe and keeping Odin sane. "See you around." He said softly, the words hissing out from his lips like a snake.
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Posted: Tue Jul 11, 2017 9:45 pm
There were very few people who laughed in prison. Some were lucky enough that they functioned within a group that worked more like a family, everybody doing their part-- even if it was uncomfortable or demeaning-- to maintain the structure. The lycans seemed that way, at least to the eyes of outsiders. They didn't get involved in things, had numbers enough to keep out of most of the trouble. Protected one another. They could afford to show humor, now and then.
But then there were the other kind. The ones who didn't express mirth so much as broadcast a deeply unsettling amusement, as though they-- and only they-- were privy to choice information. So even before Adam decided to say something Julian didn't agree with whatsoever-- He can wait.-- the ravenette had already managed to make the inkwell intensely uncomfortable. That little chuckle. Julian didn't speak, but then, he didn't cross the room either, the way he would have if he were somewhere else, just having a conversation. The way he would have if he were the old Julian. The person he was now hung in the doorway, tense, wondering how far he'd get if he turned to leave. Wondering if that was allowed.
..thirty-eight..thirty-nine..
Full moon is coming. As soon as the azurette was starting to believe that the situation was already too uncomfortable for him to stay put, the other inmate said those words. Without thinking about it, one of the inkwell's hands cupped the inner elbow of his left arm. It probably looked like simple body language-- the kind of unconscious defensive posture a lot of people took on when they heard something that they didn't want to. Of course, most people probably weren't carefully checking the moon phases on the calendar in the library, and then manipulating ink underneath their skin so that they always had a reminder handy. Adam was already talking about what had happened to the cellmate of another werewolf, like he needed to drive the point home. He didn't. Julian already knew that Odin's temper would be riding high the closer they got to the moon being full. He knew how things could escalate before he even realized it. What had happened before-- what he'd done to the blonde-- hadn't been intentional. But it had happened all the same. And although he knew that it could have been worse, so much worse, if Odin hadn't been as careful with him as he was..
We don’t want our little mutt doing something he’ll regret, now do we?
The mage's brows drew together at that. Obvious disapproval was there right on his face, but he didn't open his mouth. He knew better. And, more than that, he knew that Adam didn't really want a response from him anyway. To him, Julian wasn't a person, only a delivery system. An answering machine. His eyes followed the box when the older man held it up. Cards. Not really, obviously. Anybody could buy a pack of Bicycles out of commissary, so there wasn't any reason to set up a creepy meeting out of the way of everyone else's eyes just to hand a set of them over. What was in it? What was it that was supposed to be for Odin's eyes only? What was supposed to keep the blonde calm as the moon grew more and more round?
Julian knew that the werewolves who couldn't-- or wouldn't-- control themselves as well as Odin usually wound up being dosed with heavy sedatives when they were carted away to the SHU. After, it was like they weren't even there. Unfocused, completely zoned out, they drooled all over themselves, had to be pushed along by guards just to stay pointed in the right direction. It wasn't likely that Adam had access to the exact same thing, but Hotts had suggested something similar, and before he knew well enough to be afraid of the shapeshifter, Julian had even talked back to him about it. He knew that there were dangers. Odin wasn't a tame person. When the moon got big, his temper would be worse. Harder to tiptoe around. And it wasn't just the azurette anymore. There was Leon to worry about. The blonde had already hit him, and that had been bad enough. A close enough call.
But.
If you want your dog to behave himself, you’ll tell him you got him a gift.
That same mentality. How long had Adam been in prison? Not as long as Hotts. Was it something that people just had to learn over time? That same smug inflection, the inherent contempt. It was almost like hearing the old man say it all over again. You wanna show him you’ve got some worth after all, don’t you? Julian had already learned the opposite. Keeping his mouth shut. Keeping his eyes averted. Measuring the distance between himself and others. Gauging moods carefully, trying to avoid causing a storm. But people kept getting the idea that he lived in terror of Odin. They thought that talking down about the werewolf was something that Julian would, for some reason, appreciate or agree with. That was probably how someone like Cedric would feel, if he heard somebody else running their mouth about the ghouls who turned him out. And that was how the block thought it was for Julian, too. Not shared around, sure, but owned. And that meant resentful, didn't it? That was what they thought, because maybe it's how they would feel.
So you take this and keep it close.
What was it? The image that came to mind was the way Odin's arms had been marked when he first arrived. The constant shivering of the man in the bunk below him while Julian tried to stay quiet and out of the way. What else could it be but something cooked up or smuggled in? He didn't want to give Odin something like that. Didn't want to be caught with it on his person, either. But if he didn't take it, what then? What were the repercussions of refusing, here, where he was alone? He didn't get to make a choice either way, because the ravenette put the box into his hand and Julian's fingers closed around it automatically. The thin cardboard didn't have the solidity of a full pack of cards. There was the tiniest bit of give to it, like it wasn't completely full, or maybe the contents had gotten a little soggy.
Now you scurry off before the Big Bad Wolf comes to find you.
Adam didn't seem to get how preferable that would be to staying here, holding a box he wasn't supposed to open, wondering what was in it. Julian had lost count of the seconds already. It was possible that his two minutes were already up. But, mercifully, the ravenette didn't plan on sticking around much longer. With a sibilant farewell, the other man way gone, and the inkwell finally crossed to the toilet stall on legs that felt stiff. He'd been tensed the entire time, and when he finally moved, it was slowly. There were no doors on the cubicles. Just the thin wall partitions. He didn't even know what he meant to do. Piss? Vomit? They both felt like viable options, but--
But what was in the box?
What was Adam-- what was Hale, who was doubtlessly ordering Adam-- trying to get him to give Odin? Drugs? Poison? No-- why help the werewolf one minute just to turn around and kill him the next? That didn't make any sense. It was supposed to calm the blonde down. Mellow him out. What was it? What was it? What was it?
His fingertips fished the folded top of the box free as he glanced back, making sure that the bathroom was still empty. That Adam was still gone. That he was still alone, and not being observed doing the exact thing he'd been told not to do. It was. He was. And he turned back to look, eyes dropping to the contents of the package. He'd expected pills, or powder, or maybe tiny ampules of knockoff bloodbased drugs. Instead, what was wedged into the cardboard sleeve was something wrapped in plastic. Not thick enough to obscure the contents. The livid red of it. The peekaboo white of bone. It was meat. Not just meat, but pieces of someone.
Revulsion crawled up from the pit of his stomach, millipede feet dragging at the inside of his esophagus as his body tried to decide whether he really was going to puke. Where had it come from? Who had it come from? Why the <********> were they trying to have it delivered to Odin? Julian's hands were shivering, his teeth aching from how hard he'd clenched his jaw around the sounds that wanted to come out of him. He couldn't do that. They would know. Adam would know he opened it. And then what? Then what? Then what?
But he couldn't give it to his cellmate either. Whatever the intention was behind it, no matter whether sending raw meat-- raw body parts-- was supposed to be a positive or negative message.. If Odin was caught with it, then what? That seemed the only possible outcome. There was no scenario in Julian's mind that could even begin to paint the bloody package as something the blonde would actually want. His first instinct was to tip the entire box into the toilet and flush it down, but he didn't. No way half a deck of cards would clear the pipes. Even the plastic wrap might be a problem. So he moved automatically, pulling the bits out of the box and feeling his guts roll inside him. Into his throat, as he peeled part of the film away, tipping the pieces into the bowl with little, wet plops of sound. Something about that made him heave, but he recovered, fighting the scant contents of his stomach back down as he quickly footed the handle to flush. Oh God, what if it didn't go down? What if it wouldn't? What if it bobbed back up? Little chunks. Red chunks. Graying skin. Was that a fingernail? Bitten down to a nub. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What if it--
It went down.
He'd been holding his breath, and the shuddering sound of his own inhale was terrifying in the stillness of the empty bathroom. He was out of time. He'd been out of time for a while. Had to be. Had to be, because he'd been trapped here for eternity. But he couldn't take the plastic back with him. So he went to the sink instead. Went to the sink and ran it under the water, until there weren't any more red, sticky spots. The cards. What would he do with the cards? He didn't want to touch them again. Didn't want to have them. But if he didn't. If he got rid of them. They would know. If they saw the cards, later, maybe. What? Maybe they'd think he'd just done it. That he'd listened to exactly what Adam said.
His chest was tight. It felt like everything in it was being gathered in, twisted to a single point. No room for his lungs to expand, no room for his heart to beat. Any second, his stomach would be caught in the spiral, too, and rupture. Liver. Spleen. Intestines. Julian's hands bunched the washed plastic into paper towels. Tossed the mixture into the trash, not pushing it down, but leaving it near the top, hopefully innocuous. He avoided his own face in the mirror. Avoided looking at the now closed box-- just cards inside, now-- that sat on the edge of the sink while he washed his hands and washed his hands and washed his hands and voided it all when he had to pick up the little cardboard package again. He couldn't just carry it back in. Couldn't. But his skin was crawling just touching it.
A deep breath. Slow. Shaking. He wasn't going to cry. He was just going to keep the box shut, and roll it into the waistband of his pants. It would stay right there. It wouldn't get lost. No one would see it. He wouldn't focus on it. Except that when he did that, even with it invisible under the baggy shirt that hung away from his too-thin frame, he could feel it. A small weight, but there. Right up against the wing of his hip. Shifting back and forth with his steps as he moved, one step at a time. Out of the dingy bathroom. Into the hall.
His two minutes were up a long time ago. At least, it felt that way. How long had he been gone? Five minutes? Twenty? A million? It was hard to tell. The inkwell was operating on a dim kind of autopilot that his rational mind would have registered immediately as shock. The only imperative was to get back to his table. Get back to Leon, get back to Odin. Like a child pulling the blanket over their head, so sure that it will keep all the night's monster's at bay. Like Ichabod Crane, trying to outrace the Headless Horseman-- For once you cross that bridge, my friend.. But there was no magic finish line. When he got to the bench, and slid into place-- not in his original seat, beside the ivorette, but opposite him, next to Odin-- Julian was still in prison. Behind him, somewhere, was still a table of ghouls that had tried to FedEx his cellmate choice cuisine from Dr Hannibal Lecter. He couldn't look at them. If he looked at them, they'd know. Adam would know. Hale would know. So he sat. No announcement of his presence. No explanation of what he'd been wanted for or what had been said. Julian became a diminutive statue beside Odin's larger frame, staring across the table at Leon.
Inside, he was screaming.
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