somethinginthedark: (Default)
[personal profile] somethinginthedark posting in [community profile] squad_goals
Issui idly scuffs her foot on the wall of her little cement box. In hindsight? It might actually be kind of funny. She finally tears her way out of a supernatural pseudo-prison and immediately ends up... here. In actual prison. Is it actual prison? Getting dumped right into a heavy duty cell like this doesn't seem very legit, but it's more literally a prison than where she was before. So there's that.

The only thing currently breaking up the monotony of sitting in an overgrown coffin and feeling her hair grow is the daily visit from Warden Creepo with his slop delivery. Delightful. Good stuff, really. Mystery meat: not just for public schools anymore. She eats it anyway, mostly out of habit.

Yeah okay, the other thing that doesn't seem legit? That neck bomb they stuck her with. That's bullshit. Issui rubs at the injection site. It healed almost immediately, but she knows where the needle went in. That's not something you forget. And sure, it probably won't work right on her. But probably isn't good enough when you're gambling on whether your head's gonna explode. So here she stays, at least for now.

She makes them pay for bringing her in at least. She doesn't know for sure how many end up dead, but by the time they wrestle her still enough for the neck jab, they realize they have to cut her hair too. She leaves a trail of lopped off hair and guards struggling to breathe as they drag her to her shitty little cell. When they shove her in, she's got the world's worst pixie cut.

She doesn't know how long she's in there. Days? Weeks? It's hard to tell in the dark when you don't need to sleep much, but sleeping's the only thing to do. Her hair's getting long again, though. When they finally come haul her out into the shitty fluorescent light, they hack it all off again first thing. Rude. She ends up heavily cuffed and shackled too, because Issui is just not a team player.

She notes that they don't threaten her with the bomb, though. Maybe they don't have the authority? That fits with Creepo's yappy dog syndrome. He's a little fish. What's his name again? Greg? Fucking Greg and his two hundred teeth.

Greg and his inane clown posse drag her through a maze of hallways and shove her out into a shitty prison yard. What, is she supposed to stretch her legs? Do a little jogging in her heavy shackles? Yeah sure. Issui shuffle-staggers over to the far wall and leans against it a little awkwardly. There's even almost fresh air out here, how novel. She spots a couple of guys milling around across the yard from her. Issui angles her head so her hair will slide across her face and-- right. It's not long enough for that. Instead of peering out from behind a curtain of hair, she's got like... bangs. Shitty uneven bangs. Great. Thanks, Greg.

Date: 2017-02-22 09:26 pm (UTC)
mementomortis: (whatever)
From: [personal profile] mementomortis
Theo has no idea how long he's been in this hellpit. Weeks, at least. Maybe longer. He's had a hard time keeping track of that. His new cell's roomier than his first, with enough space to stand and move around. But it's also entirely lacking in anything even vaguely resembling natural light. The portholes on his door are always shuttered tight, even behind the thick glass, except for when that prick with too many teeth comes to mock him. He only brings him his daily meal of Loaf about half the time. That feels personal, but it doesn't bother him much. It's not like he wants to eat that shit anyway.

The first cell they shove him into is only barely recognizable as one. It takes a whole posse of guards to shove him into it even with him heavily sedated; they'd barely gotten that fucking killswitch in his neck as it was. By the time they get him bolted into this giant drainage pipe thing, the kind that might be under some fucking bridge, it stinks heavily of burned meat and hair. It stays that way for God knows how long. He spends his time there living increasingly outside of his body. It's too nightmarish and unreal to acknowledge as happening to him. He refuses to eat. Eventually, they take to flooding his cell with water to push him out. He wedges himself against the walls and waits it out every time they try. It's almost like a game, after the first couple attempts. If they want him out of the cell they're going to have to drown him to do it.

They do. And Theo gets a different cell after. A cement box, an upgrade. They try to force feed him all of once. Theo prides himself on how especially uncooperative he is. He gets shoved back into his new cell after, and not even vomiting up the melted surgical tubing can take away that small victory again. He gets weird homesick pangs for Arkham.

Theo's dozing on his cement-block bed when the water comes back on. It's the worst fucking alarm clock. He hears Grigg's voice over the static intercom, and then the cell's filling with water. His day's serving of Loaf floats by his head on a paper plate like some kind of sad demented boat. He gets to claw at the top of his cell for air for a long moment before he gets flushed out the open cell door.

He gets shackled while he's still coughing and choking, spitting out nasty water. They haul him to his feet with a metal collar on the end of a pole like some kind of rabid dog. He rewards them for their troubles and gets a firehouse turned on him for it. Of course. Of fucking course.

He's still sopping wet and steaming by the time they drag out into the prison yard. They release him from the pole-collar with a shove and just... leave him there. The air's fetid and humid in the way swamps always are, but it's outside. There's even other people out here. Lots of guards, couple prisoners. A few military assholes hovering around one of the prisoners. The other one is a woman leaning against the wall, wrapped in chains. She looks like a corpse with a bad haircut. When she moves, he's surprised to see her eyes and mouth aren't sewn shut. But that's dumb.

He awkwardly shuffles over to the corpse woman after a beat. She's tall. Like, really tall. "Hey," He says, squinting up at her then at her myriad restraints. "Didn't like the loaf either, huh?"
Edited Date: 2017-02-22 11:10 pm (UTC)

Date: 2017-02-23 05:49 am (UTC)
mementomortis: (i'm not into it)
From: [personal profile] mementomortis
Theo considers her hair with a thoughtful sort of frown, nodding. "It's really not much of a look," He agrees. "Not that I'm one to judge." It looks a bit like she lost a fight with a lawnmower. He's not sure if he should ask why they cut off all her hair. Spite is likely the reason. It's the prime motivator here, as far as he can tell.

He spares a glance to the other prisoner and the military folks. They're still milling around on the other side of the yard, but definitely watching them. Especially the other prisoner. He looks familiar. Theo can't quite place it, but he's sure he's seen this guy before.

"What did it look like before you got attacked by a pack of toddlers with kitchen shears?" All he can think of is what happened to him as a kid when he tried to cut his own hair. "I'm guessing better than..." His ability to gesture is somewhat impaired by his hands cuffed together, but he manages it all the same.

Date: 2017-02-23 08:25 pm (UTC)
mementomortis: (Default)
From: [personal profile] mementomortis
Theo considers that. Very long black hair... and up close this lady looks even more, well, dead. Ghostly, to be more specific. Bloodless and grey, kind of faded, no signs of decomposition. It's weird but he's from Gotham, weird shit capital of the US as far as he can tell. A scary ghost looking metahuman is no more improbable than the plant lady, he figures.

"So," He starts, tilting his head to the side. "They have to bust you out a sealed well?"

He turns to look at her prompting, as casually as one can manage in such a situation. The one other orange jumpsuit schmuck is definitely strolling their way. It's only then that he realizes this guy doesn't have shackles. He doesn't even have cuffs on. No shackles. Who is this guy? Theo can't shake the feeling he knows this guy still, or knows of him. It's frustrating. He just can't place him. "Do you recognize that guy?" He half-whispers in her direction.

Date: 2017-02-25 05:23 am (UTC)
mementomortis: (Default)
From: [personal profile] mementomortis
There's a ridiculosuly tall dead-looking woman all up on Theo's face. She seems like she's gotten taller somehow. Her restraints rattle ominously almost like punctuation to that question. Theo looks her up and down awkwardly. "Uh... educated guess." What the fuck else do you say to that?

It ends like nothing had ever happened at all. And just in time for Theo's attention to be diverted to the third prisoner. "Guess you didn't cable down there, huh?" He asks in a quiet, sympathetic sort of way. "Just VHS tapes."

Their new friend is squinting at them by the time he actually gets close. He stops a few feet away. He's tall. Still not as tall as the ghost-y lady, though. "So you two have a chance to get acquainted?" He gestures between Theo and... whoever the spooky lady is. Theo only then realizes he hasn't gotten a name yet. "Get friendly?"

The silence that follows is more awkward than tense, and it goes on almost hilariously long. He could respond, or shrug, but instead he just stares up at this dude. Theo watches blankly as a series of expressions pass across his face. "You know, this spooky aesthetic shit isn't helping this be any less creepy."

Date: 2017-02-25 06:55 am (UTC)
floydlawton: (really?)
From: [personal profile] floydlawton
Floyd really doesn't know what to make of these two weirdos. The guards drag the woman out first. She's tall, thin, and ghastly, with a bad haircut Floyd can only imagine was provided by the guards. She's also wrapped in an absurd amount of chains. Like a metal burrito. The tattooed guy is next. Small, angry, skull-faced. And steaming angry. Literally. Floyd feels something akin to a small knife twist. Yeah, there's plenty of idiots with skeleton tattoos back in Gotham, but how she found a straight-up replacement for Chato is fucking beyond him. But she would. She fucking would.

Flag isn't much help, per Waller's orders. He can't confirm one way or another if either of these two are metahumans, predictably. Floyd assumes that's an affirmative. Once the two of them seem to be calmed down some, he makes his way over. Might as well make the introductions before the Voice of God shits all over everyone's day.

There's a tense moment where he's pretty sure shit's gonna go down - lady gets in Skullface's grill. He can feel Flag and his crew tense behind him. The moment passes with no problems, though, and he continues on over to be the welcome wagon.

And now.... this. Skullboy's staring up at him. Zombie lady's sassing him. "It'll do that to ya." He pulls a face up at her and nods. "That how you ended up with all this?" He waves a hand the mass of chains wrapped around her. "Got too cheerful with the guards?"

Floyd pauses a beat. He's getting hot, way too hot even for Louisiana. "Why does it feel like I'm in a dryer?" He blurts out.

"No idea," says Skullface mildly, steam still visibly rising from his orange jumpsuit. Floyd takes a careful step back lest Skullboy microwave him like a sad frozen burrito.


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