Fandom Belle Reve Means "Sweet Dreams" // Suicide Squad RP // RP Thread

[deadly king]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary; Lousiana
Prisoner #10792
[ redacted ]
JUPITER

​

---

Levina’s booming command had the desired effect; nearly every inmate in the cafeteria complied immediately.

Jupiter couldn’t help but smirk at her comment. As if anyone could ever forget. But that smirk faded quickly as Levina continued, deciding that everyone involved in the brawl would attend a group therapy session. Jupiter groaned internally. Therapy sessions in Belle Reve were a joke—just another form of control. Still, they had no choice but to comply. They saw the two men who had approached them before the alarms went off now it felt like an opportunity. If they were already being sent to a therapy session, a little more trouble wouldn't make things worse.

"Mate, I think you picked the wrong day to pull a five-finger discount!" Rodrick yelled over the alarm, pointing behind himself to indicate Riptide and the Neckbreakers closing in.

Jupiter glanced in the direction Rodrick indicated, spotting the two men approaching them with hostile intent. Adrenaline surged through their veins, and they made a split-second decision. The guards were momentarily distracted, dealing with other inmates. Jupiter made their move. They quickly spun around, delivering a swift kick to the first man’s knee, causing him to stumble. The second man reacted quickly, lunging at Jupiter with a fist aimed at their face. Jupiter ducked, avoiding the punch, and countered with a powerful uppercut to the man’s jaw. The first man, recovering from the initial blow, reached out to grab Jupiter, but they were ready. Jupiter twisted, breaking free from his grasp, and landed a solid punch to his ribs. The man grunted in pain, doubling over. Jupiter didn’t give him a chance to recover, delivering a sharp knee to his face, and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The second man, now angrier than before, charged at Jupiter again. This time, Jupiter sidestepped and grabbed his arm, using his momentum to throw him against the wall. The impact was brutal, and the man crumpled to the floor, dazed. The blond managed to catch their breath for a moment, turning their attention to the older man, "Thanks for the heads-up!" they pulled their posture forward, wiping the spilled blood upon the bright orange prison uniform.

"Maybe I shoulda saved you some action," they couldn't help but chuckle before catching sight of approaching guards, shouting orders to get on the floor. With adrenaline still coursing through their veins, Jupiter finally submitted. Resistance was futile at Belle Reve. The guards yanked the young individual back up on their feet, shackling their wrists together.

 

[TobiornotTobi]

​

Rodrick Unger​

Belle Reve Penitentiary ​

​

Rodrick paused his lamentation of missing out on a fight to look up at Levina, an eyebrow cocked. Did he hear that right? He had to attend a therapy session? This godforsaken place had therapists on hand? Rodrick imagined himself on one of those fancy couches while some egghead in glasses jotted notes. Oh boy, where to even begin? The lousy food you wouldn't even leave for the dogs? The hyper-aggressive inmates who explode on a hair trigger? The macaroni and cheese sounds emanating from certain cells, keeping Rodrick up at night? With his luck, though, it would be one of those therapies where you go around in a circle, talking about your past and your feelings and all that other mess. No different than the therapy he got roped into after Uncle Don's death. That lasted about one and a half sessions before he couldn't take the pretentiousness and walked out. What did that pencil pusher know, saying that he was 'suppressing his feelings'? Keeping a stiff upper lip is what it's called. God, she was as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition. The longer Rodrick remained on the ground, amidst the noises of sirens blaring and inmates shouting, the faster he felt his mood returning to the new normal; rock bottom. Once again, his spirits were being constricted and caged. However, they once more burst out of the cage as he watched his newfound ally hop to his feet. Their pursuers were in striking distance, and the blonde figured that they could take them out real quick. Alright, mate, that's what we're doing? Gettin' a quickie in before therapy? Let me just get up and join--Wait, what the bloody hell are they doing?!

Rodrick looked on as his ally single-handedly engaged with the inmates. With each well placed attack landed, Rodrick became more and more disappointed. They weren't saving anything for him! And when the blonde rammed the second inmate into the wall, Rodrick stamped the ground with his fist. That was the exact finishing move he had in mind! As the most likely concussed inmate's body dropped to the ground in a heap, Rodrick was crestfallen. This was his time to shine! It was going to be his chance to let the hunter out of his cage after such a long hiatus! But thanks to this guy, Rodrick was denied his pound of flesh. And then pretty boy had the audacity to quip "Maybe I shoulda saved you some action." Cheeky bugger. Although, credit where credit's due, he knew how to handle himself. He knew how to manage two opponents, dealing a blow strong enough to distract one and taking on the other while they recovered. The hunter was curious about where they got their training from. A topic to bring up during group therapy, he reckoned. In the meantime, Rodrick narrowed his eyes and smiled at them, dissatisfied but not angry.

The guards herded Rodrick and the now cuffed blonde with the other inmates who made up the post-brawl therapy group. There was the Asian duo from the card game. The man looked like had given as good as he got. One thing was for sure, he was quick, attacking and evading like a hornet. The woman reminded Rodrick of a honey badger. Both short in stature, but deadly in a fight. A third Asian woman from another conflict was also joining them. To Rodrick's delight, the rainbow-headed girl was present as well. Definitely needed to get that multi-colored human pinball's story, sounded like it could be a real entertaining one. Then there was Rodrick's fair-haired fight stealer. From above, a newcomer leapt from the railing and landed gracefully before the group. A tall brunette with green eyes presented herself to them, volunteering to join the therapy session. That face looked very, very familiar. Where had he seen her before? It took him a second to put a name to her features, but when the pieces came together, he slowly pointed a finger at her and smiled knowingly.

"Hey, aren't you the Sheila who deep-sixed Wonder Woman?" Rodrick inquired, the answer becoming clearer and clearer by the second. This was her, the warlord of Badger Bay. It was a rowdy day in Belle Reve when the inmates heard the news of Wonderoo's death. The recreational room was filled to the brim with jabbering inmates, most celebrating her demise. "Woulda paid a lotta dosh to see that fight!"

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

Shine

​

Spiritual Comms and off to meet a Pirate...

It was the same as always whence that melody echoed throughout the correctional hallways; uplifting shadow and spirit alike.

A vast and juxtaposing emptiness remained once the alarm ceased blaring its klaxxons. But from the worn and yellowed concrete walkway of the upperdeck above, her voice wafted away, harmonizations filling such a void whist she walked. And as was her namesake, her eyes were Shining, azure and set ablaze like the hearts and choirs of the seraphs.

Glowing eyes flooded the hallway from whence she came, inmates faces frozen and lit by azure. Transixed in reverie, their bodies gently swayed and rocked as melody in their ears that held them enchanted. It was their very own spirits that guided them to find a small eddy of respite. Their spirits continued to guide them up until that very last note tremoloed away from between full lips, gone like the whispers of lovers into the night.

Upon tippy toes now, the small statured, blue-braided guard peered over the railing at the mass of humanity, chaos and everything in between. Externally a nod she bestowed them. Internally a proverbial and literal green light shone bright in its affirmation for all connected to see and feel. It was go time.

<<Head count complete, Captain( Jigajig ). All inmates accounted for. Squad, we live? Fall in.

<<Shine, live.>>
<<Dread Rocket, live.>>
<<Wither, live.>>
<<Lacerations, live.>>
<<Veil, live>>
<<Killtoy, live.>>
<<Xenolith, live>>
<<Jaunter, live>>
<<Deluge, live.>>
<<Pixie, live.>>

As each reached a proper heightened state, their statuses, abilities, emotions and faces rose to her elevated consciousness allowing her to see each one of the squad in living detail. Her internal hub fully lit and complete, she sent that harmonic, yet chilling, wave connecting them and intertwining all their heartbeats all together for the length of a single heartbeat. Each took a breath and continued as they were.

<<Full squad present, Captain Maelstrom,>> over the railing the little blue-braided thing leapt and landed neatly upon the cleared walkway. She nodded once more, this time towards the guard squad lead and gave a thumbs up, <<alright. Rocket, comms are yours.>>

<<Word, girl. We straight here. Go on, Blue. Go grab that slacker pirate. Ask him if he gets paid by the hour or salary to hide his sorry ass from real work.>>

A smile Shine shyly bestowed the squad lead and slowly lowered her chin, big dark eyes peering upward at Dread Rocket. A small giggle then mentally, and with much fondness, she pat each connected guard on the shoulder. Then she was off to get Cyrus, walking eerily faster than her short legs should have taken her.

in the hallways she slowed her pace as a chill ran down her spine. Dark eyes faintly glowing as she spoke into the aether, the copper scent of blood traipsing in the air, "Yeah, I feel it to. But the Winds of Change aren't always for the better..."

Dread Rocket

Order in the midst of chaos in the cafeteria...

<<Aight. This is Dread Rocket. Let's get it together, people. Lacerations, Xenolith and Killtoy, keep those exits barred. And Lace, make sure the Numbie guards are paying attention. Not a single one of them slippin', ya heard?>>

A gigantic tiger nodded and actully spoke, telling the massive tower of rock person and the half-robot, half-gun person to get into position to cover the upper exits. The tiger herself moved with an amoeba of guards and positioned them at the remaining exits.

<<Jaunter, on me. Let's round up the strays and submit them into position. And like the lady and gentleman me n' you are; examples made of the deviants are openly desired, ya heard? Make sure the Numbie guards move in pairs too. Q and the beefhead duo he beefin' with still gots that 'I'm-machismo-incarnate -and-have-somethin' -to-prove' dick measuring look in their eyes. And eyo, J, once we get them wrangled, we find out if they need further 'electrical' persuasion from the cap or if its straight to isolation.>>

The guard with the pink hair stepped spryly over the floored inmates to reconvene with the masked lead guard. As she presided over the others, both his hands fell at his sides as he stood at attention in front of her. One arm came up to his brow and he saluted her. Yeah, he actually saluted her. A quick spin then he was back-stepping, finding his place to the left of his boss' flank.

Awkward silence. The squad lead cleared her throat, defying a hand desperate to facepalm. But she was a pro and continued over the internal comms, <<Wither and Deluge. You pair are to get all those... uhhhhh 'therapy candidates' over to the infirmary wing. Wits, eyo Shine is sending a list of the candidates. Once their sesh is over, get those listed over to Pixie and Veil. We need a 'refitting' for the collars.>>

The masked guard turned, chin titled upwards. A gloved hand pointed at the closest camera, << Pix, girl listen up, you and Veil make sure they in complete stasis first, and V, double check and make sure you extra hard on the shapeshifters in the bunch cuz they slippery af.>>

Wither & Deluge

Rounding up the inmates for therapy...

Not even a heartbeat after their squad lead finished her sentence, all metahuman guards simultaneously directed their attention upon an inmate boldly descending from the 2nd deck. A rather gracefully 2 point landing, then they strode with an easy gait, yet alarmingly in a bee line straight for Maelstrom.

"Yoooooo. Yo, it's Imago! Hey wow. Big fan of the Bug Girl wreckin' shit uuuuup!! And lookin' all seasonal in sexy orange, I must say," the white haired guard, Deluge popped up his eyebrows at the interrupter, face all smiles and eyes all appreciative. Yet perhaaaaaps drifting a bit too much away from her face to check out other places.

"I suppose if it's a prison then anyone not following an order gets the same treatment, right?"

"Ummmm, Imago. Whacha' doin'?" the smiles remained but his eyes held much concern, eyebrows slanted away as he held out a hand in a stopping motion, "Don't. Just stand down. Please. Cuz yo, my sister is psyyyyyyycho--"

The inmate held out both arms, but they made the mistake of continuing their path towards the captain of the guard. A heartbeat later, from across the way the dark haired guard, Wither launched black tendrils made of cold, cold negative energy. They twisted and twisted until finally coalescing into a single charged tentatcle. A direct hit smack dab center of Rachel's collar, instantly sapped the inmate's strength. Nearly simultaneously, jagged pink bolts shot out from the chest of the pink-headed guard, Jaunter. Like an atrophied marionette, Rachel would stand completely still, frozen with arms outstretched but barely a step from where they initially decided to encroach upon the Captain's position.

"That punishment has my interest, so I think it's finally time I involve myself a little. Unless further actions are needed?"

Tsk-tsk'ing loudly, Deluge stepped forward to the inmate, rolling up his sleeves. One hand then comenced wagging a finger of disdain at Rachel, the other made spinning motions at his temple with that other finger, "Seeeee? Toldya. Psyyyycho. Not all there. Dropped On Head As Baby Brain Damage. But J? J's good tho. I mean he bites grapefruits right through the skin but he a good one--"

There was a familiar strained throat clear and instantly he felt that phantom yet familiar stab drive deeply into his back and head; there was no question from where the strained hinting sound and murderous eye-daggers originated.

<<Wits. J. Nicely done. And you? You a bit off? Huh? What you roll up your sleeves for?! Boy, get away from her...!>> A sigh, a shrug he gave then he pulled back like a bad boy whose mother had to pull him away, yanked by an ear.

A gloved hand Dread Rocket held up as if she were coaxing all students in the classroom to follow suit. In a loud and slightly sing-song voice; "Right. Anyone else wanna to volunteer and do something stupid too? But Rachel is nice. She plays nice. So no breaking and no solitary for her. Anyone else who not as nice as Rachel... go on. Try me. No? Good. Jaunter, yo put her with the rest."

The lead guard swivelled then gaze directly at the white haired guard, <<Right. And final order of business: Deluge, no screw ups. Stop your fanboi'ing for fu-->>

<<Dreads. Lady, lady, lady. Boss, puh-leeezus jah-heeeezus, you know I'm a pro-->>

<<Professional interupter?! Boy, shut your mouth! The lead is on comms! They oughta' change your callsign from Deluge to Verbal Diarrhea!! Now zip it and don't screw up!>>

<<Yeah, zip it, Del...! And dude? I reeeally hope it does get caught in your zipper hahahahahah!!>>

<<What? Mi guey gots another tortilla tear on his little burrito hahahahahahah!!>>

<<Lace! Toy! You 2 best secure that shit! All'y''all stop laughing. Stooooop... squad! Stop! You see what you started, Deluge? One more outburst and we goin' straight to Hallows to deal with your insubordiation. That clear? Riiiight... Del, your silence will more than suffice. Wits, can you kick his ass in line?>>

<<Steel toes ready, Dread.>>

<<Aight team. You have your orders. Stay frosty and make a mama wolf proud. Dread Rocket out. >>

The brother and sister guard duo guided the inmates down the hallways as multiple curious other orange jumpsuits watched on. The twins marched side by side at the front, the inmates diectly behind in single file. They were linked together by a thick pulsating tentril of dark energy. Securing the rear were 2 more guards.

"Inmates once we arrive, you will be divided into 2 groups," Wither paused the people-convoy and motioned toward a pair of doors, "once I'm done listing the two groups, you are to file into your respective room, find a seat and park it. Any iota of disruption-- any at all and I will shrivel you up like a raisin. You piss me off, Deluge and I will disintegrate you. We clear? I don't tell you twice."

"Better do as she says... my sister is psyyyyyc--ooof!" a not so sublte elbow cut off the smart remark. But it seemed after a few grumbles, a few scoffs, even some laughs, all in all it appeared as if all would comply.

"So we playin' nicely? Good. Okay, listen up: Ms. Lively ( PlusUltra ), Ms. Hojo( Mirai-chan ), Mr. Park(@youngiiie ), Ms. Calvillo-Holmes(@ ME!!), Jupiter( deadly king ), Ms. Liling( Aviator ), Mr. Unger( TobiornotTobi ). You are Group 1. Possibly get some stragglers but for now that's you. The others whom I did not list off, you are Group 2.

"Alright inmates, enter. Your therapists will be with you shortly."

---

 

[Aviator]

Liling // “Verdigris” // Age 9 // Inmate // Artificial Intelligence // Cat Burglar and Pianist
​

Having opened her eyes for the first time at the same age that she was now—with the physiology of a girl in her late teens—Liling had never been to nursery school. But when she and her four adoptive siblings—a group of young musicians and former circus performers who called themselves the Flutter, after a group of butterflies—were able to scrounge up the rent for a tiny house in the Scottish town of Hamilton, they’d lived only a stone’s throw away from a primary school. Every Monday to Friday at three in the afternoon, like clockwork, an overperky blond woman dressed in a reflective orange vest like she was prepared to dive into a manhole and direct traffic would march at the head of a line of small children, linked together by a safety tether of equally blinding brightness.

And now, with the inmates shackled together by a dark tendril of energy, presumably the same type that had been used to subdue the tall, bespectacled inmate who had volunteered herself for therapy, Liling felt like she was quickly making up for lost times in the gaps of her formal education. “Alwaysalwaysalways look right-left-right before crossing the street, chickies!” the blond woman would chirrup in an almost incomprehensibly thick Scottish accent as the parade of children behind her mined for nose gold.

A hulking Aussie was behind her in line, and as he was forced to trudge along with disproportionately small strides, he kept clipping the heels of her orange high-tops. After one particularly nasty blow that had unearthed her right shoe entirely, so that she was walking atop it more so than in it, Liling was fed up. As if this tendency wasn’t annoying enough on its own, the Aussie was a talker. By turns he’d taunt some of his opponents in the cafeteria fight and indulge Deluge’s endless stream of obsequiousness, relaying some stories from the outback for the young guard to fawn over. It was during one such obnoxious story that Liling, without any warning, slammed on the brakes, coming to a standstill in the middle of the hall. The Aussie choked off a narrative about a rabid kangaroo as he scrambled to avoid bumping into Liling, whose feet were planted in such a way that only deadly force would move her. “Whoops, I think I lost a marble here on the floor somewhere,” she said loudly, calling attention to the Aussie’s near misstep. “Maybe several. Does anyone see my lost marbles? I coulda sworn—okay.” Beneath the, well, withering stare of the guard known as Wither, Liling dropped the charade. The bronze woman’s eyes were cold and hard as distant stars.

Another left turn, and the caravan stopped in a well-lit hallway that dead-ended with a door on either side. Wither announced that the assembled inmates would be splitting off into two groups. Liling wondered if the two groups represented minor mishaps upon society versus hopeless wastes of life doomed to die horrible fucking deaths. Was one therapist’s goal rehabilitation and the other’s the containment of human blight? Then Wither explained the consequences of horseplay, her voice sharp like a blade drawn delicately upon flesh. “Is the shriveling up like a raisin part of the therapy?” Liling muttered to the tall girl with glasses in line in front of her, unable to resist. “She says that ‘I don’t tell you twice’ shite so much that I’d put twenty on her having it tattooed on her nether regions.”

Wither acted tough, but Liling had no respect for guards who strutted around using their powers to control collared inmates and called it badassery. Take the collars off and then we’ll see who comes out on top, Liling thought bitterly. Typically, collars only came off when the inmate was alone and contained in their private cells. Since Liling’s powers were interpersonal in nature, meaning that she couldn’t use them on herself, it had been eighteen months since she’d last cracked open a human’s head and hand-tailored their memory as she saw fit. Such a skill had a variety of applications. Making an old flame who’d burned her forget her entirely. Making the witness of a robbery remember the culprit as someone dramatically different-looking. Without the collar, if Liling so desired, Wither would remember her mother as a purple platypus who’d raised her in nature, where the only communication she’d learned was feral grunts and high-pitched yips. On the flip side, she didn’t mind Deluge half so much as his twin. The bubbly young man had a modest side to him, seemingly aware that the inmates were holed up at the world’s most secure prison because they were the world’s most dangerous players. As such, he was more inclined to treat them with the respect they deserved.

Liling gave Wither a distasteful side-eye as she passed through the door on the right with the rest of her assigned therapy group. One by one, as they entered the therapy room, the dark tether of energy dissolved like smoke from the inmates’ wrists, allowing them freedom of mobility. The room they’d arrived in was bright and cartoonish and colorful in a way that was more reminiscent of a special-needs classroom than a rehabilitative facility for murderers, thieves, and terrorists with supernatural talents. The far wall was papered in sky-blue tissue, and in friendly bubble letters, there was a caption that read “STRONGER WHEN WE BUZZ TOGETHER.” And then, most alarmingly, there were paper bumblebee cut-outs with white heart-shaped wings, forming a colorless pocket where a name was supposed to be written. In rainbow markers, the first name of every inmate in the group had been scrawled on one of the bumblebees. Liling stared with disbelief and dismay at the wall, unable to believe that this was her life.

But how?! she wanted to cry out, if the display hadn’t left her speechless. Is this therapist’s superpower the instantaneous assemblage of inane children’s crafts? Just ten minutes ago we were lying facedown on the cafeteria floor! Once she recovered from her shock, Liling’s eyes swept the rest of the room. On top of a large rug depicting a cartoonish tree on which books grew like apples, an oval of wooden chairs was arranged. The chairs had no armrests, an uncomfortable-looking slatted back, and appeared too small to accommodate the taller half of the inmates. On a larger, padded chair at one head of the oval, a long, white foamy tube sat, resembling the light-up rave sticks one might wield at a club.

“Hiya, honeybees!” twittered a twangy voice that was oversweet and overexcited, as if the speaker were in the grip of a sugar rush. A tall, blond woman in her early-thirties materialized from behind a door. She wore a plum-colored pencil skirt, off-the-shoulder blouse, and pointy teacher’s shoes with heels that looked like they could stab an iguana to death. “My name is Dr. Kimberly Cole, but y’all can call me Missy Kimmy.” With her Deep South accent, she pronounced her name like Kim-buh-lay, and Liling wondered if the conventional pronunciation was incorrect. Missy Kimmy’s scarlet-painted lips stretched wide in a smile, as if she were meeting A-list celebrities and not convicted criminals. “All y’all, let’s take a load off. C’mon now and join my circle!” Oblivious to the fact that it was an oval and not a circle, she spun primly around in her heels and flounced toward the chair with the rave stick. When no one immediately followed her, she turned and smiled brightly with a sweeping gesture, as if they were beholding one of the wonders of the world. “Well now, don’t be shaah!”

Exchanging a grimace with the rainbow-haired girl whom she’d rescued in the cafeteria, Liling reluctantly trailed the group as they took their seats around Missy Kimmy’s reading rug, wondering if it wasn’t too late to take Wither up on her offer of death by shriveling. “So, the main rule of my reading rug is,” Missy Kimmy began as the group was getting settled, “you must possess the Baton of Truth to speak.” And here she held up the rave stick solemnly, which looked rather disappointing and pathetic without any of its flashing colors. “That way we ensure we only have one speaker at a time while everyone else listens, ‘cuz that’s how we show respect for one another.”

Liling, as was her wont, immediately interrupted. “So it’s like the conch shell from Lord of the Flies?” Half of the room stared at her blankly, Missy Kimmy with her doctorate included, and Liling flushed angrily.

“I’m not certain what that’s a reference to,” the high-heeled therapist said uncomfortably, “but as I just said, my darling Liling, you need the Baton of Truth to speak.”

“You don’t know Lord of the Flies? Are you for real?” Liling snorted. “It’s a staple of British literature. Kids typically read it in their third year. Or did they, in a genius new educational trend, wean American kids off of books and replace them with Blue’s Clues?”

“Those kinda accusations are uncalled for, young lady,” Missy Kimmy said in an icy voice. Liling was overjoyed to see that nauseating smile sharpen into a glower.

“In the book the conch shell was a symbol for the fragility of power,” Liling continued, unfazed. “Originally it was used to establish order, but when that failed—” Her words choked off abruptly, as if she’d swallowed saliva. To her horror, when she tried to resume speaking, her jaw was clamped shut, and the only sound that issued from her was an inarticulate yelp.

“As I was saying,” Missy Kimmy continued smoothly, “raise your hand to use the Baton of Truth, and the former speaker will pass it to you when they’ve finished their point. Does everyone understand?” She looked expectantly around the circle, and when no one responded, she exclaimed, “Great! Let’s start with a simple question, then. How y’all doing today? Name one good thing and one bad thing that happened since y’all woke up. Who would like to start us off?”

 

[PlusUltra]

Moving an eye across to the Australian who spoke up, a sombre expression crossed over her features. Wonder Woman was one of her regrets, not that she did it though, but that she had to do it. They did say never meet your Heroes, and the Amazon was always one she had looked up to as a kid, Posters hung around her bedroom and even a brightly coloured lunchbox bearing her face. Still regrets aside she was going to at least attempt to be a bit more sociable than she had been previously.

"She fought me, yes, as for how it went down? I did not fight with honour. She did. The news likely did not include the details out of respect but I didn't leave a mark on her body, nor her on mine. She drowned in her ideals because I did not abandon my own." She was not proud of her actions, and while the inmates may have still been guessing the more knowledgeable of the guards may have been aware of the full reason the cause of death wasn't stated, after all 'Drowned in Spiders' really wasn't something you wanted on the front page news.

Turning her eyes back to the Guards, Rachel remained still with her hands outstretched as she carried out her little gamble, half expecting a surge of electricity for her little stunt and locking her joints in anticipation though she kept her eyes on the guards, regardless. She gives a somewhat nervous half-smile to the flirting of Wither "I am afraid i must politely decline your interest, Conjugal visits are not a privilege Belle-Reeve offers regardless, plus I am sure HR may have issues as well. Maybe security can let you take a turn watching the shower Cameras instead". A moment before the attack came, her eyes had shifted to were the tendrils were about to emerge from but she made no motion to evade even as she followed the path with her eyes.

Her arms however didn't lower when the attack struck, and even withered, she kept the same stance with only a long exhale given as her reaction. "Making an example was expected, Im sure the others will take notice. But I prefer to keep this state for maybe half a dozen decades from now. Rest assured, I have no intention of fighting. Thank you for your speaking on my behalf however". The lack of energy and atrophy was certainly a problem, but she needed to maintain an image she as much as she wanted to collapse, she wasn't about to let that show. She kept her usual gait, head held high as she walked down the hall with the rest of the detained inmates, it was a struggle but she had more than enough experience at not showing weakness that a simple walk was not beyond her regardless of internal exhaustion.

---

As she walked onwards calmly she tilted her head in the direction of Liling "Whose to say? These sort of effects are never pleasant but they are not new, Strangely enough they are actually like a good exfoliant once the effect expires, so maybe an unconventional beauty therapy but effective nonetheless. As for her repeating that phrase? Well the fact you hear it so much naturally does refute its meaning, but regarding her tattoos, i can tell you..." she turns her head with a small smile "You can drop that twenty off when you have time. She doesn't"

Sitting down finally in the Therapy room her eyes locked across onto the far walls text "If i didn't know any better i would think that directed at me. Though I've heard more than enough Bee puns, at least none of them was from me...." she goes silent and lets out a sight putting a hand to her head however as the new blonde enters the room. She idly reaches out a hand, raising it for a moment before taking hold of the Batton before turning to the Doctor "The conch shell is from a Sea-Snail. Its used in the book as a symbol of unity, order and authority, I could get you one but delivery would be slow, Id recommends reading it regardless but id agree with Lilith that the American Public School system is....lacking" One of her parents was a English literature professor so the topic was actually one that brought her a bit more comfort, though there was a clear darkening to her expression at the mention of the school system.

"As for your questions, I guess ill take the napkin first. Good thing...I finished another chapter of one of my books, Bad Thing...The Guard Captains lightning is a nightmare on my hair" She brushes some of the strands out of her face for emphasis while adjusting her glasses, then offers out the stick once more.

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Rodrick Unger​

Belle Reve Penitentiary​

"Mate, Kangaroo Jack had nothin' on this beaut!"​

---

​

Rodrick nodded his head encouragingly as Rachel started to recount her deadly encounter with the Amazonian princess. The hunter inside him yearned for her to go into detail about the fight. He wanted to know all about the experience. The hunt, the battle scars, the crucial discoveries mid-fight that led Rachel to get the upper hand and conquer her opponent! However, his enthusiasm faltered as she instead spoke about other less engaging aspects of the encounter. She didn't leave a single mark on her body? What, did Wonder Woman slip on a banana peel and hit her head? Ideals weren't exactly a weapon Rodrick would use to defeat someone, much less drown them. A look at Rachel's facial expression and her choice of words clearly indicated that the subject wasn't something she took pride in, but Rodrick still wanted to pick her brain. The reason why she was dismissive of what should be her crowning achievement eluded him. If he bagged someone with a reputation like Wonder Woman's, you wouldn't be able to pay him enough money to shut his yap about it.

Before he could pepper the young girl with more questions, something freezing cold wrapped around his wrists, interrupting his thought process and sending shivers throughout his entire body. It was as if he had dunked his hands into a sink full of ice. Looking down revealed a black, wispy tendril made of energy constricting the area right below his hands. The tendril connected him to the girl from the cards table, which lead to the prison guard with the booming voice. After issuing orders on how they should conduct themselves and finishing off with threats should they deviate, the guards known as Wither and Deluge acted as the conductors for the newly-created therapy chain gang. The field trip to the therapy room was conducted in silence, the beeping of mechanisms in the hall and inmates' idle conversations acting as the soundtrack. This excursion was too quiet for Rodrick's taste. It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to socialize. And really talk, not just to decline offers to join the Belle Reve chapter of the Nation of Islam. And so with a clearing of his throat, the blonde-haired man attempted to liven things up.

"'Bout time we got some therapy in here. Lord knows I have some trauma to work through! Ever gotten into a fist fight with a kangaroo? Can those beasties fight!"

He couldn't gauge his fellow inmates' interest in his story, but Deluge in particular was taking an affinity to it. Soon, Rodrick was acting like his lively self again, despite the discomfort of an energy tendril wrapped around his wrists. He had gotten to his favorite part of the story, pantomiming the scene as much as he could within the confines of his mystical shackles.

"...And you'd think that the biggest threat in this hunt would be the roo itself, but junior down in the pouch was swipin' at my bollocks the whole time! So you know what I did? I plucked little joey right outta his mama's pouch..." It was a humorous sight, Rodrick attempting to grapple with thin air while cuffed. "...And had him in a choke hold! But mama roo wasn't havin' it! So I--"

Rodrick was cut off mid-sentence by the girl in front of him decided to make a sudden stop. She bent down and started carrying on about lost marbles. Rodrick wondered what she was talking about, taking note of her British accent. He didn't have a burning hatred for British people, but play-rivalries always made for fun times. After a scathing glare from Wither prompted her to keep moving, Rodrick noticed that one of her shoe was barely clinging onto her foot. Stepping out of his jovial bliss, Rodrick finally discovered the identity of the mystery object he had been stepping on over and over again as he was walking and telling his story.

"Sorry 'bout that." He apologized. But being Rodrick Unger, he just had to make light of the situation, despite the victim of his carelessness' annoyance. "I got big feet. And you know what they say 'bout people with big feet..." He winked to no one in particular and paused for a moment, letting everyone think of the obvious follow-up. "Big hearts!" He finished, chuckling at his own joke.

Eventually, the chain gang reached their destination. As the guards dropped off their human cargo and departed, Rodrick felt the cold feeling of his shackles fading away. He rubbed his wrists, then looked around his new setting. The therapy room's high-spirited imagery and visual choices contrasted drastically with the rest of the prison's dreary corridors and dull colors. Rodrick for one welcomed the change in scenery. Anything beat the depressing labyrinth that was the rest of Belle Reve.

After the blonde woman who was eagerly awaiting the group introduced herself as Missy Kimmy, Rodrick looked around her room some more, whistling in amazement. "They shoulda made you chief architect as well! This joint could use some yellows here and there. Or some blues. Or any color other than grey, honestly." Rodrick noted, walking past the therapist and making first contact with a new foe: undersized furniture. Rodrick studied the wooden chair from multiple angles in an attempt to find the optimal position. After giving up on that, he turned and slowly lowered his behind down. Once again, Rodrick was a comical spectacle to behold, bunched up in his chair with his hands clasped and his elbows on his knees. There was a good chance that if he stood up, the chair would come along for the ride. After some commentary about British literature that went over Rodrick's head and Rachel's status report regarding her book and frizzy hair, Rodrick reached out to claim the Baton of Truth.

"Cheers, mates! The name's Rodrick!" He started, pointing a thumb at himself. "Rodrick Unger, Mr. Unger if I've been a bad boy. One good thing and one bad thing, huh?" Missy Kimmy should've added a limit when she gave the inmates her prompt, because Rodrick was about to turn a simple question into 60 Minutes with Rodrick Unger.

"Well, I managed to get a hit of adrenaline pumpin' through my body for the first time in months thanks to those two," Using the floppy tube, Rodrick pointed at the two inmates who started the commotion earlier. "And I was 'bout ready to get my fight on! I was fixing to break a few noses and toss a few tossers around! Sadly, a certain someone refused to share! Which wasn't very sportin', if I say so myself. Not pointin' fingers, you know who you are. Mind you, I haven't gotten into a tussle since the one that landed me here in the first place." The hunter's eyes lit up and he smiled giddily. "And let me tell you, that was a fight right there! The kind you tell your grandbabies about! Just look at this bit of scarring I got!"

Rodrick decided to add a bit of show and tell into the session, rolling up the sleeve of his right arm and showcasing his burns for all to see. Red blotches of scar tissue lined his bicep to the beginning of his wrist. "You think this is gnarly, shoulda seen what I did to that bloke! I beat the crap outta him..." Rodrick stopped, contemplating for a moment. Perhaps his wording was a bit inappropriate, considering where he was right now. Instead, he doubled down. "Nah, that's not right...I beat the brakes off that wanker! And this wasn't your average bloke! No, this one was shootin' fire from his hands like he was the sun god! Let me start from the beginning here..."

From there, Rodrick retold the memory of his last hunt, taking extra pride in how he had gotten the drop on his quarry, literally. At this point, therapy had become his personal blog. Even Missy Kimmy, with her smile and cheerful disposition, must be hoping someone, anyone, would confiscate the Baton of Truth from this menace to ears and patience everywhere. As he went into colorful detail about how he had given his opponent 'extra compartment space' by stabbing him in his side, he held the Baton of Truth loosely in his hand.

 

[Aviator]

Azrael Emery // “the Conjurer” // Age 28 // Sixth Prince of Castillon // Illusionist
​

The keyring and keycard that Azrael had filched off of Njeri’s unconscious form had proven vital in stowing the lieutenant away in some dark hole where he was unlikely to be found anytime soon. In fact, a key ominously labeled “The Pit” had done all of the work for him. The earthy smell in the air and the steady, damp drip of water insinuated that they were far underground, and after doing a quick survey of the nearby hallways, Azrael found a short set of stairs that disappeared into darkness. A pair of sliding double doors came apart with an airy hiss when he presented the stolen keycard, revealing a tunnel so scarcely lit that he put one hand on the wall and felt his way down the corridor for fear of running into some unknown obstacle. All of the cells were sealed off by a heavy metal door, blocking off views of their inhabitants, and were copiously spaced apart. Two of them yielded when he tested his keycard on them, revealing dark, empty spaces occupied by a sleeping pallet suspended by chains from one wall and a rusty, cracked sink. “The Pit” appeared to be the nickname for solitary confinement.

Azrael returned to the circular chamber in which he’d left Njeri’s body. It wasn’t a long walk to the Pit, but weighed down by two-hundred pounds of deadweight, the journey seemed interminable. Wary of running into any witnesses, he was on high alert, eyes darting, heart jumping in his chest like a stick-poked frog at the slightest of sounds. Once Njeri was safely locked away in the dark cell, having not even stirred throughout the rough transport of being dragged along a concrete floor, Azrael finally straightened up. Pain seared through his lower back, a combined result of an awkward landing on the other side of an interdimensional portal and his scuffle with old Cyrus. The strain of keeping up the lieutenant’s illusory appearance had been noticeable but manageable while transporting Njeri. Azrael was well aware of the effect of concentration on his powers, having experimented thoroughly to discover his limitations when he was ten years old and new to creating sensory hallucinations with his mind. One time while suffering from a mild case of anaphylactic shock induced by a bee sting, he’d successfully pranked his older brother, Chandler, by fooling him into kissing a Doberman Pinscher that he mistook as his girlfriend.

As he strode away from the Pit, he passed through the Reflection Circle—his new nomenclature for the circular chamber with the mirror—to retrieve the bag of bejeweled heirlooms he’d taken with him from New Reynes. Selling them to the highest bidder would be his gateway to starting over lushly in this new world. He carefully piled the numerous weapons Njeri had discarded on top of the necklaces and rings and diadems, chalices and plates and ancient texts, until the bag was full to bursting and the drawstring pulled closed with some coaxing and strategic maneuvering around of items to make space. Azrael wished he’d had the foresight to take Njeri’s belt with its many holsters in addition to the overlong black coat, but he wasn’t going back to the Pit now. He counted himself lucky not to have been caught dragging along an unconscious identical twin of himself the first time. So he slung the heavy drawstring bag over his shoulder and called it a day.

With that, he focused on his objective: escaping the prison without getting caught. Being a lieutenant and not an inmate, that ought to be simple enough. Prison guards typically returned home for the night after their shifts, no? As such, Azrael’s goal was to get through the next few hours undiscovered and cross his fingers that Njeri wasn’t slated for overnight duty. He just needed to be free of this place, and then the rest of this surreal world where they’d unraveled the mysteries of interdimensional travel would be his for the taking. No one would know him. He was a blank slate. With the considerable fortune from the heirlooms at his disposal, he could create a new name and start a new life wherever he wanted, doing whatever he wanted. What did he want to do? What were the various lands of this world like, other than Castillon being replaced with a country called America? Having been seventeenth in line for the throne, Azrael’s whole life of dutiful service to his country and not embarrassing his family in public had been meticulously planned for him since birth. This idea that he could go new places and be a ghost of his own creation without his father’s heavy hand on his shoulder eluded him. Without being obligated to oversee the budgeting of a shithole swamp city. He’d have to give some thought as to what he wanted.

But none of that would matter if he couldn’t pull off this ruse first. Azrael’s mind turned to what he had to do, what he wanted to do, and what he would do to make it happen. Four tunnels led away from the Reflection Circle, and one of them went to the Pit. The remaining three unknown paths looked relatively the same until they turned, so Azrael had no indication of where any of them led. At random, he chose the path opposite of the Pit. As he walked down it, he began to plan. I should hole up in Njeri’s office and wait it out. The less interaction I have, the fewer chances I have to slip up. But that involves me first figuring out where Njeri’s office is, as well as when his shift ends. I will most likely need external guidance to get there, and when I do get there, I will most definitely need a shower and a change of clothes. Azrael cringed a little bit; he often wore his wealth on his person, and the thought of wearing clothes selected and bought by another, likely much poorer man with inferior tastes was off-putting, to say the least. As lieutenant, Njeri ought to carry some authority in this joint… the name of which I’ll have to dig up in some files. Time for me to throw a bit of it around to get where I need to be.

The leather trench coat was slightly big on him, and Azrael tugged at it, righting it. Long and unwieldy with twin rows of silver buttons, it looked like the kind of black slicker a conspicuously undercover detective would wear in a low-budget movie. He pushed his hands into the pockets to see if he would find anything useful and brushed up against a papery edge, along with something cold and small and circular. He pulled them both out. The papery thing was flat and rectangular, like a playing card. But unlike a regular playing card, this one had no suit, and it was all shades of royal purple and champagne gold and bone white. It depicted a heavily armored skeleton sitting atop a pale horse, a lance in his hand, as a silhouetted woman looked on with a chest-clasping pose of horror. At the bottom it read “Death - XIII” in serif capital letters. “That’s cute,” Azrael muttered darkly, turning it over to reveal a featureless purple back.

He looked at the coin, a tarnished gray thing which depicted a bald man’s head on one side, and a square on the back. The top and bottom edges of the coin read “New Mexico” and “2008” respectively. Which was comforting because the current year in Castillon was 2024. So if this coin was produced only a few years before, there was a decent chance that time was measured the same in this divergent universe.

He was just returning the coin and the cheeky Death card to his pocket when there came the sound of footsteps from down the next hall. Azrael’s heart clenched. They were growing louder and they were fast, walking with purpose. Was he about to be swept into an encounter with a coworker? Dammit; he’d hoped to get to Njeri’s office first and do some homework, so that he’d be prepared for his first performance and could hopefully at least match names to faces. But now he was being suddenly thrust into the spotlight. Get it together, Emery, Azrael thought, taking a deep breath. He dearly wished he had a handheld mirror so that he could check his reflection one more time for any miniscule errors in his resemblance to Cyrus Njeri. He would just have to trust that he had it right.

He continued moving down the hallway at a leisurely pace. The slower he went, the more time he would have to assess the situation and change strategies if necessary. He hoped whoever it was would just mind their own business and pass him by, so he resolved not to speak unless spoken to. The footsteps crescendoed, until the corner was rounded by a briskly walking girl with brown skin and blue hair woven into intricate braids. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and she wore a crisp navy-blue uniform. Azrael didn’t look directly at her, but neither did he look away, appearing as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately, she didn’t return the favor. She called his name—well, his stage name—and closed in on him, flouncing right up in front of him so that he would have to quite literally sidestep her to pass. Her eyes were bright, sharp, and bold as bronze. There was no hint of deference, and Azrael quickly gathered that this girl, whoever she was, was not an underling of Njeri’s. She was at least the same rank as him, if not a superior.

Should he play it cold and prim and proper, or familiar and playful? Azrael remembered Njeri’s impertinent remarks to him about how he should use his hips more and quickly decided on playful. Flirtatious, even. It was a gamble, but perhaps not doing so would be out of line with a character bold enough to insinuate involvement with a prince and call him entitled in the same breath. “My, aren’t we looking lovely today,” Azrael crooned, letting his eyes slit like a cat’s in front of a fireplace as he took in her petite, buxom figure. “Is that a new lipstick shade? You’re so distracting it’s almost a crime,” he teased, somehow simultaneously horrified by his own daring yet enjoying himself.

Every HR meeting he’d ever sat through came back to him in a montage, and he knew that he would never get away with this kind of lewd behavior anywhere in the Citadel but in the secret passages that led to his office, only known to him, the servants, and the lovers he discreetly brought there. Maybe that was why he felt strangely compelled to press his luck with this colorful vixen. After all, this was Lieutenant Njeri speaking, not Prince Azrael. If he gets title-nined, that is not my problem, Azrael thought, encouraged. On a whim, he stepped closer, so that only an arm’s-length separated the blue-haired girl and him. He lowered his voice to the whisper of wind through trees that witnessed a midnight tryst. “Perhaps I should lock you up, you naughty thing.” His phony accent still wasn’t accurate to the real Njeri’s—if anything, it made Azrael sound overly nasal and congested, as if he had a bad cold—but he hoped the scandalous quality of his words would distract from it.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

Shi - The Rainbow UNICORN!!

​

To therapy. Yay...

A plume of warm air jettisoned away, out from between pink swollen lips. Man, how she could go for a smoke right about now.

Shi was but a shadow of the brazen girl filled with bravado and bitch during the whole cafeteria hijinks. After zapping and sapping the stragglers that 'dared resist the penultimate and sacred commands of Captain Thundercraps' the rest of the guards had gathered the inmates for 'therapy.'

This was the first she ever heard about therapy for disparate and misfit inmates immediately after causing chaos and partaking in gratuitous violence. The brain shrinker therapists must know some kinda effective means for diffusing pent up rage, frustration and anger in the aftermath of an all out brawl. Maybe but Shi figured that they were just filling quotas. That or 'therapy' was actually experiments, research and data gathering whereby the inmates were less patients and more guinea pigs.

Yes, Shi was becoming rather cynical and dour in the lovely and fantabulous halls of the majestic Belle Reve, but could anyone really blame her? This place sucked afterall.

Take for instance where the guards had placed her to march along in the orange jumpsuit caravan. Right smack dab in the middle of 2 giant testes-rage-induced slabs of meat and muscle. Both of whom hated her.

Right behind her was the annoying kicking and tripping oversized feet of 'Mohawk.' Every so often he'd call out, 'Hey, Rainboooowwww...' in an insufferably sing-song voice and then punt her shoes. 'Delano' as the guards had called him had such a smooth name for such a sleaze ball. He still wasn't over Shi's 'Yo Momma' tactics and to be honest she didn't blame him. Q had taken most of the piss outta 'Delano' and half his hairstyle. Less Mohawk and just Mo-- as of now. The ass-beating not only gave him a haircut but it took him down a few pegs and so he chilled on all the inappropriate harassment and stuck to merely juvenile footsies.

Speaking of Q... the bestial behemoth was in front of her and calling her worse things than just Leprechaun. The words and descriptions he used when spitting his vow to commit bodily violations to her was disgusting to say the least. What was more disgusting was when he slowed down so Shi could get reeeeeally close behind and he let one rip. Oh and, let's be so for real, it sounded as if whatever he ejected out his ass was chunkier than just putrid gas.Ewwwww.

And now it looked as if Delano wasn't done taking an L earlier 2v1 against Q. The rotted cloud of juicy man-stank invaded his nose and so he decided to mouth off in retaliation. And of course, he made the mistake of doubling down on Shi's 'Yo Momma' tactics and used some choice words regarding what he'd to to Q's mommy. And of course, being right in the middle of it all the rainbow-headed thing was yanked towards Q as he turned the rage up to 11 once more.

Well that ended right quick. Big baby blues were blinking in disbelief when she discovered she was still standing and the men opposite her were floored, faces contorted and writing in silent agony. Although covered head to toe in rippling dark energy, clearly they were shrinking, shrivelling up to be more precise. Suddenly several black phantom tendrils burst out of their bodies and snaked madly away, aimed at the guard named Deluge. He did not even attempt to dodge or defend himself, instead, with open arms he drew the midnight tendrils into his body. With each intake, his eyes glowed white hot as if he was charging up.

If it wasn't obvious who dropped the pair of meat mountains, it would be once eyes were lain upon the guard floating halfway up to the ceiling. Withers eyes were alive with pitch streaks running across their surface. Ghostly winds drove her dark hair in all directions, radiating around her head like a cursed sun. Black jagged lines pierced reality through her and drove deep into the downed inmates' wretched skulls.

All other inmates would feel their stomachs drop, a terrible chill running endlessly up and down their spines like a dirge on repeat. Buried negative thoughts were drawn to the surface of the mind like a twister of made of hated repression and welcomed denial. And from those negative thoughts and emotions, all tethered together via dark energy tendrils would hear a voice arising from mayhem and decay; {{Play nice from now on. That goes for all of you. Eff around and find out.

{{I don't tell you twice.}}

As a member of this group and thankfully not the other, Shi breathed a sigh of relief upon stepping through the door. Deluge had resusitated the pair of aggressive meatheads and they were quite groggy but still they both gave 'the eye' to Shi upon revival; as if what they did was all her fault!

But that was behind her hopefully and so it was time to focus on the here and now. Yet that was easier said than done. This place was not what she thought it would be. It was all dec'd up to be more like a bubbly-yay-fun pre-school rather than a meeting room for the ugly drecks of those criminally bent. Even the 'Hiya, all'y'all Honeybees!' therapist, Missy Kimmy, was like a disappointing miscast villain in a bloated budget superhero movie from yesteryear. All this hellhole needed was kids music blaring out over the PA's with the relentlessness of an ice cream truck. The place was exploding with so much colour that if one were to stare at Shi, they'd swear she had no hair since it blended in so nicely into the walls-- choose one. It didn't matter, they all sucked and Shi hated it all sooooooo much because the truth bubbled up all warm and fuzzy to the surface:

Moon Prism would cream her pony panties with joy that this place even existed.

The unicorn would probably even try and squeeze her massive ass into one of those ridiculously child-sized seats. And smack dab in the middle, of course. And right at the front too; all bright eyed and suck-up smiles no doubt. But it wouldn't be too long before Shi wished that she could shift into the rainbow riding-horned magical equine.

Baby blues popped wide, chestnut eyebrows slanted away with much concern. And she literally was biting her tongue to keep quiet. But her mind was whipping away with mixed emotions. Shi was torn.

Dollie had covered her ass back there AND they even shared a knowing glance together in this pre-school for grown ass'd criminals. Who does that except for people who are destined to be bffs right? Right. But then again she didn't want whatever happened to Robo Bee happening to her. Shi also didn't want to lose any cred or rep in front of her peers by getting dummied here but then again... She couldn't just leave Robo Dollie hanging. Could she?

Rachel was the first to take the baton proper. The woman spoke direct and to the point, dry even. But Shi didn't register any of the words she was saying. Instead she was inspecting the lanky woman from head to toe to head again. How Rachel fit that amazon frame in that seat Shi had no idea. But in all honesty, her other thoughts could not help but ooze to the surface of her mind, somewhat turning her eyes a particular shade of green. Ooooohhhhh... look at me! I'm first! Look at me! I need attention! I'm the darling of that asshole guard, coward behind a mask, aaaaaaaaaaand Maelstrom's bitch, Dead Socket!

Rodrick was next to reach for the baton. 'Mr Unger,' to some if he was a bad boy. Shi had this nonplussed look strewn across her tan face as the Aussie droned on and on and on and on. So 'Word Vomitting' was his superpower, eh? What was his supername? 'Ear-Wrecker' or was it just 'Cool-Story-Bro'? But as he continued to assault the patience and pain threshold of the others, glazed over blue eyes neath drooping lids glinted and the little thing perked up in her seat. This dude was beginning to grow on her and for one single reason. He reminded Shi of one of her friends that was oh hella cuter and waaaaaay more entertaining than Rodrick but just as verbose. That friend was the one and the same that influenced Wither to save Shi's bacon several times over now.

'Infernal...' silently mouthed those pink swollen lips.

Shi snatched the baton away from Sir Talks-a-Lot-- Mr. Unger, if you nasty-- faster than a walking-talking doll could snatch away 2 bent cigarettes, "I'll go next."

Oh and yes, the lowered, smokey, whispery voice had returned, "Hey what's good. My name is Shi. At first my good thing I wanted to say was that I figured out a way to use my mind to get outta a losing sitch where my body lacked vs. 2 bigger opponents . But that's not true. Not completely. I was able to do it because of the good thing that happened to me today. Dollie here took a chance on me.

"This place sucks and still she saved my sorry ass."

Blue eyes meandered over to Liling then slid away, staring levelly now into the therapist's eyes, half-lidded, chin tilted up because she saw how cool a man dressed like a bat looked when he did it, "And the bad thing today is that I realized that I can't do anywhere near the same for her. But I can try and take a chance."

A diminutive hand slowly raised the baton, offering it up to any other here. But of course Shi made sure to hold the item of Truth for her final words, "I'm no hero, Missy Kimmy, but Dollie is one to me. So what does it take for her to speak again with the rest of us?"

---

 

[deadly king]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary; Lousiana
Prisoner #10792
[ redacted ]
JUPITER

​

---

Therapy sessions never quite worked on Jupiter, and Lord knew the two times they were sent to Arkham Asylum didn't help nearly as much as everyone claimed it would. What did sitting around and talking about one's feelings achieve? "Unpacking trauma," what trauma? Gray-green eyes scanned the inviting room, noting all the inmates' names on the wall and the recurring bee motif.

Why bees of all things? They weren't a huge collective, quite the opposite! As the so-called 'Stick of Truth' was tossed between inmates, it became crystal clear Miss Kimmy was increasingly overwhelmed by the chaos of personalities. From the Asian woman immediately putting up a fight with her, to Rodrick nearly hogging up the entire session, and Shi who . . . Jupiter wasn't quite sure what to make of her. They had seen many whacky things in their world tours, but she was otherworldly. The only normal one seemed to be -- the one with glasses, who didn't say her name.

As the mercenary glanced around the room, they realized they had only been silent, allowing everyone to speak their mind. Shit, what were the questions again? With so many of Rodrick's words about fighting kangaroos and the fight in the hallway swirling around their head, it was hard to keep track of everything. When Rodrick finally finished, Jupiter rolled their eyes good-naturedly and took the Baton of Truth. "Thanks for the heads-up earlier, Rodrick," they said, shooting him a playful salute. "You’ve got a knack for timing. If this was a sitcom, you’d be the guy bursting in with the perfect one-liner."

They gave the Baton a twirl, feeling its weight in their hand. "My name's Jupiter, but if anyone's got suggestions for a new name, I'm all ears. It's cool and all, but by the time I get outta here, I might be due for some major rebranding," they laughed, half-joking, half-serious. Although a year had only gone by, who knew how different things would be back home -- would there be a home to return to? Shit, who the hell is paying rent for their apartment?

"Uh," the blond pulled their back to the conversation, "One good thing that happened -- I managed to dodge a toothpick to the neck and not end up in the infirmary! Proves I still got it," they grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief, casually omitting the other fight Rodrick was witness to.

"Aaaand, one bad thing, was it?" the rave stick was pressed underneath the side of their chin, and pressed the other end against their arm, allowing anticipation to build. "I didn't enjoy being handcuffed and shoved around, but that happens at least once a day."

The guards at Belle Reve sure knew how to treat their inmates.

"I'd rather be back outside playing cards, but we sure got lucky. We coulda got stuck with kitchen duty instead, and I doubt any of youse know how to cook anything. That would've just pissed everyone else off!" Jupiter's eyes sparkled with mischief, "Picture it: burnt toast, rubbery eggs, and maybe a prison riot over undercooked pasta!"

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

Shine

​

Down here fetching a Pirate...

Down here, the hallways were poorly lit and yet, still she wore sunglasses.

'Hallway' was even too generous a word. Down here concrete was used sparingly and only as struts and beams in areas where safety was necessary. Despite the rot, wooden ones held up in all other areas as a cost-saving measure. Lighting was at a premium too and when it did work, 1 outta every 5 lights was either flickering or just completely dead. It would seem that Belle Reve had become cheap and lazy, neglecting such an important and powerful asset such as the Hermes Wing. But that was far from the truth.

The truth was they had long since abandoned upgrading this volatile place due to safety concerns. The final remnant of a work crew remained, laying there and declaring; ' __ Days Since Last Incident. ' This was the wing where maintainance workers had the most random casualties and missing persons incidents in the entire prison by a landslide.

Jigajig <<Crossing the threshold. ETA 4 min, Captain. Going silent now.>> her transmission to Levina would be garbled but still intelligible. The distortion of realities did much to interfere with the spiritual comms.

A breath she took before taking her next few steps; there was no connection to the world above anymore. Nouvelle was on her own. Incessant distant dripping was the only rival sound to the gravel crunching beneath her feet. Bitter cold here was known to sneak up on a body like a prankster with a loaded bucket of ice water. Such a cold found ways to penetrate even the thickest of insulated coats. One such cold spell kicked up the dirt as it moved. It did not even bother to stealth its way upon her, no, this one charged her like a rhino.

As soon as she noticed she had exhaled small, misty vapour into the chill, Nouvelle ripped the sunglasses off her little brown face and unleashed her immense blue Shine from her eyes. The twisting, spiralling thing was yanked out of its 'phase', lit up in blue light, ceasing its attack mid-pounce. Multiple tendrils shot away from its central mass, expressing its silent horror. Trembling like maggot infested skin, it crawled backwards, shrinking away from her accusing glare.

'Ay puta de madre... I been wondering where you been hiding... We had an agreement. You broke that. Now you are NOT going home...'

Engulfed in azure radiance, the rogue demon froze in place but moments before it could slip back into the recesses of Belle Reve's cesspool of negative thoughts. Bit by bit, tentacle by tentacle the interloper was consumed, there was but little its throes of resistance could do to deny its fate. Shine's ghostly allies pulled and tore at it until it was nothing but a ragged whisper from her mouth, '...You are mine.'

Blue braids swung away as she stretched her neck to the left then right. The sunglasses slid back onto her little brown face. And once more the incessant dripping in the distance was the only rival sound to the crunching of the gravel beneath her feet.

"This is Shine," she whispered into the rockface at the terminal end. Big dark eyes glistened in delight as several runes lit up like molten candle light. From hot white, they melted away into glowing blood red motes before sliding across the ice cold bedrock, spreading out in swirlling patterns until each found its spot in the solid granite. What was once solid shimmered out of existence, and in its place now was a large rippling oval-shaped portal. The diminutive guard slunk her hips on in, crossing over to the other side.

"My, aren’t we looking lovely today,”

Not even a minute in... Nouvelle had no choice but to roll her eyes; this guy just had to start with her already.

"Yeah and I can't tell if the stank down here got worse because of the Pit or because your sorry ass came back,"navy eyebrows pressed downward, scowling but a playful lilt could not be hidden from the corner of her mouth, "Hold still pirate, you can de-stink in a minute."

The sunglasses were removed once more. Blue eyes came alive, blazing like a pair of azure spotlights scanning the 'Jumper' in front of her. "All clear. You didn't catch any 'hitchhikers.' Alright, Cy, cappy wants a recap while your brain is still fresh. Well, what's left of it anyways... hahahahah!"

Is that a new lipstick shade? You’re so distracting it’s almost a crime,”

The scowl held a moment longer. In the awkward silence, a lone eyebrow she raised. There was no sharpened barb in return. Where was Cy's witty repartee and bantering skills at? A nervous laugh escaped her lips but was interrupted with an overexaggerated clearing of the throat. Sunglasses found their home on her face again, then swiftly she turned about face and headed towards the exit, "Si claaaaaro, bruh whateeeeever... you should get locked up tyrna riz me up with those trash lines--"

Perhaps I should lock you up, you naughty thing.”

Perhaps she should have laughed. But instead she stopped dead on the spot. What the hell even was that accent? Was he trying to sound posh and princely? Nouvelle had no idea what he was up to, but this felt... off. Normally the pair would jab back and forth with roasts that would make the Joker blush. But this... tactic of his? It set her senses off. In the wrong way. Perhaps she should have laughed if only to laugh it off, but instead she followed her instinct and wheeled around, little Latina finger pointing accusingly at his face.

"Yeah okay. Enough of that," it would be a lie to say to herself that she didn't enjoy the flattery. But the outta pocket attitude switch from mouthy pirate to lovey-dovey boi was unsettling to say the least. But stillllll... this was Cy. This was her homie. She'd toss him a lifeline to clear it all up. Dark blue eyebrows softened their down trending angle "I'm not on your roster. Because, brotha you just cannot afford alla this, ya feel me...?"

With more sass than necessary, Nouvelle tossed some braids over a shoulder and bumped out a generous hip, chin lowered, dark eyes alluring. A wave of the hand broke her vixen pose and she continued to wave dismissively, "Hahahahahah! Shut up. Just shut up and let's go, 'kay? I'mma go ahead and clear the path of 'rogues.' Can't have anything following us down here. RuneLock the portal for us wouldja?"

A friendly hip check she gave him before bounding away, eerily faster than her little legs looked like they could take her.

---

 

[Jigajig]

Levina
Location : Belle Reve
​

As Levina headed to her office, she felt a ever so slight twinge inside of her skull as a small Green light blinked into vision. Under her helmet she smiled slightly as she felt her mind connected with the other guards thanks to Shine's "Network". Her gaze shifted towards an inmate, Rachel, who was making her way towards Levina. Narrowing her eyes her hand slowly curled into a fist ready to subdue them should they make trouble. However it was not required as Rachel was suddenly taken down by Wither. Nodding her head towards them Levina rose her hand in a mock salute. Turning her head to look at the group of inmates and the guards that were rounding them up she nodded to the crew.

<I shall leave them in your capable hands Dread. Any problems you know where to find me> With that Levina turned heel and made her way to her office, her hands clasped behind her back. Her thoughts then drifted to Cyrus and the report she was expecting from him. She wondered how their operation had gone this time around. Hopefully everything went smoothly. She knew the risks of course but had never actaully done what he did for herself. Well.. not 100% true but that was a different thing all together.

After a few minutes working she finally arrived back at her office. Sitting down behind her desk she sighed, leaning back into her seat. Well that certainly had been eventful.. The Warden would probably want a debrief, but Levina knew better than to just go barging into The Warden's office. If she was even there that is. Where she was, was a complete mystery to Levina currently. Normally she would be keeping a tab on her at all times but for some reason unbeknownst to Levina they were not on her radar. Which meant she was probably dealing with something that would more than likely be classified until Levina needed to know.. So for now she sat back and put her boots on her desk waiting for Cyrus Njeri to make his apperance.

 

[Aviator]

Liling // “Verdigris” // Age 9 // Inmate // Artificial Intelligence // Cat Burglar and Pianist​

At her unexpected speechlessness, fury and defiance and fear buzzed through Liling’s gut like brandy. Or how she imagined the toll that brandy might take on the human body. Not having an actual, physical brain, alcohol had no effect on Liling’s physiology, a fact for which she felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. From everything she’d heard, alcohol was the metaphorical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for some—most—humans who were of age, and for a few who weren’t. They acted distinctly more stupid in the throes of binge drinking, revealing things that no person in their right sober mind ever would, and yet… the freedom seemed enthralling. Well, no one in a society governed by capitalism was ever actually free, in Liling’s expert nine-year-old opinion, but alcohol and drugs seemed the closest thing to severing reality’s tethers of obligation and duty and shame for not being enough. If just because she would never be able to experience it and unlock the mysteries of this new concept for herself, Liling felt robbed and weary, as if a thief had made off with her dreams.

Analia, the oldest member of the Flutter, had always been radiant. But she was especially so when she downed a fraction of a bottle of cognac prior to one of her performances, just to “loosen her pipes,” as she’d liked to say. With her tan skin and her mermaid hair and her rainbow dress and her whiskey voice, she was a force to be reckoned with whenever she stepped up to the mic in the rickety, renovated shotgun house where the Flutter used to perform. And maybe they still did. It was hard to tell what the Flutter got up to anymore, after Liling had methodically erased her existence from each of their memories. They were mistakes from another life. Wished-upon stars of a girl who didn’t have metal for organs and a batshit scientist for a father. In a society where the distinction between man and machines was supposed to be clear, Liling didn’t know if she’d ever belong, but it certainly wasn’t among ex-circus performers turned musicians.

The question, sweet potato, Liling heard the voice of Bryson Penhallow, her creator, in her ears, unbidden. Saw the glint of light off his bald head and his narrow glasses, and that insufferable serpentine smile twist his lips. The smile of a man who knew he had absolute power over another living being. Is whether you actually feel emotions, or if all of your behavior is just calculated to get the desired result you seek. A social advantage. Hmm, he’d muse and regard her skeptically, as if wondering just how much time and capital it would take him to disassemble her hard drive and have another, more talented and more attractive, robot girl take her place. In a way, Liling supposed, her arrival at Belle Reve was a homecoming of sorts. As if she’d arrived full circle. Perhaps, when she’d been born in a cage, in captivity, it was only appropriate that she die in one, too. To expect—let alone to hope for—anything more would be foolishness.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your sob story doesn’t make you special from anyone else here, Liling thought dismissively, coming back to herself. Well, more accurately, the growing cramp in her left leg made her come back to herself. She winced and swore, didn’t have to worry about attracting undue attention because Missy Kimmy’s kindergarten-classroom juju had rendered her mute, and shifted as best she could on the narrow real estate of her chair. The only consolation was that the blond guy directly across the circle from her—the loud-mouthed Aussie who’d stepped on her shoes the whole walk here—was wedged so deeply in his chair that if he stood up, he’d most likely take it with him. Liling laughed at him, shoulders shaking in silent mirth, until he noticed and cut a look at her. She glanced quickly away, schooling her features into impassivity.

Liling was used to feeling detached from the busy doings of humans bustling about her with some kind of arbitrary cause or life purpose, so she observed the conversation that she couldn’t participate in boredly. The idle tappings of her fingertips against her jaw ceased when the tall girl muttered something about the lacking American education system. Just America in general, Liling mentally corrected. You could have stopped there, baby girl, she thought disparagingly, scrutinizing the other girl. There were some others in the room who were youthful-looking, including the rainbow-haired girl. But the tall, bespectacled speaker was the only one, besides Liling herself, who appeared in her teen years. Of course, Liling was technically younger than that, having been created only nine years ago, but she’d never been a baby or a child, either. At least, she’d never been more of a child than her current immature, dysfunctional-adult self qualified as.

The Baton of Truth switched hands. Of course, it switched hands to the person that Liling was least eager to hear from. Well, Rodrick Unger, she thought, scowling disapprovingly, if you were a good boy, you wouldn’t be in here with the rest of us hellions, would you? Does that mean we’re to call you Mr. Unger until the day you’re either let out on parole—fat chance—or you die here? At least the tall teenager had had the sense not to introduce herself by name. Knowing the names of her therapy peers made it feel like Liling was supposed to care about their identities, like they were supposed to be friends. Friends were the last thing Liling wanted in prison. Or anywhere. Friends had fooled her once, and she didn’t get fooled twice.

Liling had crossed her legs on her chair while Unger talked, let her hands rest on her knees, and her eyes drifted shut, ready to enter trance mode. At least a recharge, even if short, would mean some productivity came out of show and tell. Unfortunately, though, just as she was making headway toward a nap, the Baton of Truth was passed yet again. Liling’s head snapped up and she blinked furiously, jolted by the familiar rasp of this new speaker’s voice. Across from her, Missy Kimmy wore an expression of profound weariness, like a boxer who’d collapsed into an armchair after she’d just finished back-to-back gloves-off matches in the ring, clearly at her limit with the previous long-winded speaker. Liling was pleased to see that the overperky therapist’s antics had backfired on her and the suffering was mutual.

It was the short, bronze, rainbow-haired girl who was talking. The one whom Liling recognized from the cafeteria. The one who had looked to Liling to save her from Q’s rival goons, and then gone down to the floor alongside Sebastian and her when Levina had stormed in on the scene. Her name was She? Like the pronoun? Or perhaps Shi, which would have made more sense, even if unconventional. Liling wondered if it was a nickname, a vestige of something old and long and unwieldy. Uncomfortably, Liling found herself locking eyes with Shi as she spoke in that rough voice like the crunch of boots through snow. And then, as if Liling’s current discomfort wasn’t enough, Shi used the nickname that some of the guards had bestowed upon Liling, and nodded across the circle at her. Heads turned toward her like beads on a string.

As Shi painted her as some good Samaritan girl scout, Liling felt heat rising in her cheeks. Not only was the attention unexpected, but being seen as a Care Bear would only make her look weak. It was a blow to her reputation, and she was sure that, sooner or later, some creep would get it in his head to try to make her regret it. It wasn’t enough to publicly thank Liling for intervening earlier today; Shi’s coup-de-grace to end her heartwarming spiel was to call her a hero, with the same sort of mawkish tackiness with which grade school kids stand up in front of class and call their desk jockey fathers their heroes. By this time, Liling’s eyes were slitted, and she was making aggressive eye contact with anyone who dared return her stare, chin tilted up in defiance. To her chagrin, an oil slick of a smile had spread over Unger’s face as he regarded her, as if infinitely amused. Liling glared back, flustered at the sudden attention and angry at Shi for putting her on the spot. No, she didn’t need to speak at show-and-tell. Speaking would only reinforce the idea that she was here, that this was her reality, and directly oppose Liling’s goal to pretend she was anywhere but here.

When Shi finished, Missy Kimmy nodded sagely. And then she began to clap, triggering a broken smattering of applause. Her eyes found Liling’s, and Liling regretted that her punishment hadn’t been anything else. Latrine duty. Solitary confinement. Forcibly and supernaturally vomiting an endless stream of bananas. WhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoinghere, she thought on an anxious loop as she waited for the ovation to cease. Shi, I swear to God I will throw you to the wolves next time rather than save you from them if your speech makes me eat it.

The Baton of Truth was passed once more to a blond boy with an American accent, who commented on how fortunate everyone was not to have been stuck with kitchen duty. Liling wasn’t convinced of that fact. She didn’t eat anyway—couldn’t eat when she didn’t have any biological digestive system—so undercooked pasta and curdled milk wouldn’t have been her problem. Growing tedious of the conversation and unable to go back to sleep, Liling restlessly contorted herself in her chair as if she were a human pretzel. She bent one leg behind her head, and when her hamstring was thoroughly stretched, she switched so that she was quite literally straddling her chair, legs stretched out so that they were almost brushing the inmates on either side of her, and lifted onto her hands and off her seat by a few inches. Her gymnastics attracted a few wary side-eyes, which only made Liling strive for increasingly complicated and obnoxious poses. Gripping the back of the chair for balance with one hand, she bent backward until the soles of her shoes were grazing the top of her head. Lord knew she already needed to wash her hair badly after that cafeteria brawl. You wanna know my good news, Missy Kimmy? I bet you can’t do half these things with your body that I’m doing now, she thought bitterly.

As if her thoughts were a cue to the woman who was their subject, Missy Kimmy collected her rave stick from the American kid who called himself Jupiter. “Those were some wonderful answers, everyone. Thank y’all for sharing, ‘cause I know talking about your feelings ain’t always easy.” She brightened as her gaze fell on Shi, who, in the wake of her selfless endorsement of her peer, had been elevated to the apple of Missy Kimmy’s eye. “I think we can all learn something from Shi over here. Her shoutout to her friend shows that she appreciates the spirit of teamwork, understanding that we accomplish more as a group than any of us can on our own. That’s why we’re a hive, honeybees!” she chirruped. And then, as if they could forget the motto on the wall in a colossal font that even Granny with her twenty-two-hundred vision could see from across the room, she recited dutifully, “Stronger together than apart!”

Her gaze transferred to Liling. “On account of your friend’s goodwill, you shall be allowed to participate in further discussions, Lily darling. If you can control yourself, of course.” She shot Liling a warning glare, cold like a winter wind.

Assuming that the power of speech had been restored to her but not really caring, Liling’s first action with all her faculties was to yawn, nice and wide. At this point she was positioned more vertically than seated in her chair, but inverted so that her hands were supporting the bulk of her weight.

Missy Kimmy’s icy silence stretched, as if she were disapproving of Liling’s antics but determined to ignore them, lest she give Liling the satisfaction of acknowledgment. “Let’s all take a page out of Shi’s book, e’ryone. I want y’all to think about someone you hold dear to you. Someone who’s made sacrifices on your behalf before.” Eyes down in deep contemplation or perhaps in prayer that she would survive this awkward atrocity, Missy Kimmy paused to allow everyone to think. “Now I’d like y’all to take turns telling the group how you’ve learned from this individual’s example, and how their sacrifices have transformed you into a better person. Got that? Great! Who would like to start us off?”

 

[TobiornotTobi]

​

Rodrick Unger​

Belle Reve Penitentiary​

"Oh, Richard..."​

---

"...And that tosser was groanin' and sputterin', talkin' 'bout how 'boo hoo, you have no idea what you're doin'!'" Rodrick said, using a falsetto voice for his combustible combatant's dialogue. "And then I told him, 'I know what I'm doin', givin' you an Outback welcome! Thanks for visiting my country and enjoy your souvenir, ya c--"

Before Rodrick could say the no-no word that yanks abhorred in their country, deft hands confiscated the Baton of Truth from his own. Rodrick pointed his arms out in the direction of the spotlight thief, who happened to be the rainbow pinball from today's scuffle. He then looked to Missy Kimmy, who looked like all the energy had been drained from her batteries. Unfortunately, the therapist decided to spout off some nonsense about 'therapy etiquette' and 'giving everyone a chance to share their experiences'. Oh bloody hell, I guess today's 'interrupt Rodrick day', he grumbled in his head. And nobody had the decency to give the man himself the memo. The blonde inmate threw his hands up before resuming his original stance in the increasingly unbearable wooden chair, hands clasped and elbow sitting on his knees. The fat cats who ran this joint shell out top dollar for amenities like guards who can bend your body like clay and power-neutralizing collars, but draw the line at comfortable furniture? And to add insult to injury, the honey badger who was marching in front him on the way to group therapy was having a laugh at his expense. Or at least, that's what he thought she was doing. It was hard to discern what emotion she was giving off with her lack of a mouth. Upon looking into her eyes and examining her body language, Rodrick could confirm she was indeed finding his discomfort and loss of the baton amusing. Her eyes were opened wider, her eyebrows raised and her shoulders giving off the impression of a hearty laugh. His jade eyes shrunk into slits and he gave her a smile in response, signifying his typical display of annoyance.

The rainbow-haired girl's name was Shi, and her turn with the baton started off well. She spoke of outwitting two bigger opponents in the chaotic mess earlier, Rodrick smiling in anticipation. He loved these kinds of stories, Rodrick himself a common protagonist and victor in his own. But just like every single woman Rodrick had encountered today, he was eventually let down. Because as soon as she finished that first sentence, the direction of her spiel took a hard left turn in the direction of mushygushyville. According to her, Rodrick's heckler across from him was her hero. He recalled his experience spectating the fight, visualizing the duo coming together for the first time. The current class mime had put Shi under her protection, the favor eventually being returned. Advocating for her to get her gabber back was a sweet gesture, sure, but it wasn't the type of stuff that got the Unger blood flowing. But when Shi finished, Rodrick suddenly found himself moved by her anecdote, enough to clap along with Missy Kimmy. Not because the story touched him in any way, but because Rodrick noticed his friend across the circle's newfound discomposure. At this rate, she was well on her way to looking as red as his burn scars. The expression in her eyes reminded him of the cornered prey he encountered in the Outback. As Shi offered the Baton of Truth to any takers, Rodrick stretched his arms out, eager to resume his story. He hadn't even gotten to the fun part where he had to hitch a ride with 'Interpol' so he could get to a hospital and have his burns treated. Now that was an awkward ride. Awkward for the man who just got his fiery ass whooped, that is. As usual, fate was not on Rodrick Unger's side, as the Baton of Truth was passed to the only other blonde male in the room.

Jupiter was his name, and Rodrick could see why as he gassed him up. The older man was about to chuckled at his sitcom comment before catching himself. Woah woah woah, we're not supposed to be feeling this bloke! Rodrick continued to watch him talk, a realization slowly forming in his mind. That smile of his and his wordplay reminded Rodrick of his third oldest brother, Daniel the politician. For a fraction of a second, Rodrick's ever present smile faltered and he grimaced. Family was at the top of the list of subjects he wanted to think about the least. Especially in this hole in the ground, with his prospects of seeing them again being close to none.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, mate," He piped up while Jupiter twirled the Baton of Truth. This earned Rodrick a scathing glare from Missy Kimmy. He put his hands up in submission, then crossed his arms as she turned back to face the speaker. Turns out Jupiter had ambitions of getting out of Belle Reve as well. Whether it was because of a breakthrough in his case or because he was plotting an early release of his own, Rodrick had no idea. Maybe he could actually make fist meet face with one less fighter roaming the halls, hogging all the fun. After Jupiter's turn, Missy Kimmy began laying the praise thick on Shi for speaking up for her buddy. Then began the talk of teamwork, hives and honeybees. Rodrick put a hand to his stomach as it rumbled, the honey talk reminding him of his hunger. After Missy Kimmy's recital of the therapy room's apparent slogan, a crude joke popped into his head. Ultimately, he decided against verbally sharing it. At least not within earshot of her, anyway.

And with the girl, Liling, regaining the use of her mouth, Missy Kimmy introduced the next prompt. Someone who made a great sacrifice on your behalf and how it made you a better person? Rodrick mulled over the question extensively but unearthing nothing of value. There wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell he was bringing up family to any of these people. But then Rodrick remembered someone very near and dear to his heart, who had come to Rodrick in his time of need and made great sacrifices to help him. The hunter cleared his throat.

"I got someone to share. Someone really important to me," He said, uncharacteristically calm. Missy Kimmy regarded this and tentatively passed the Baton of Truth to him. With a pursed smile, he took the baton from her and then slowly inhaled air. After a long exhale, Rodrick began to speak. "This story's from a while back, when I was still in my home country. I had just entered a bit of a rut and was feelin' lower than I ever had in my life. And then, he showed up. Richard. It was like God had sent one of his angels from heaven down to help me. He was a big guy with an even bigger smile."

Rodrick paused and tilted an open hand side to side in a so-so gesture. "Maybe not as big as mine, though, but still," The blonde corrected, closing his eyes and envisioning his old friend. "That smile of his was with me everywhere I went for a long time. He was a kind spirit, that Richard. He helped feed and cloth me. I'm not exaggerating when I say he gave me the clothes off his back! He also taught me patience and made me stronger. Stronger in the only thing I had left in my life, hunting. And that sacrifice, all the resources he gave me..." Rodrick paused again, running his left hand over his beard. "...Feel like they were in vain. Because even with what he gave me, I still ended up here. What I did to Richard was unforgiveable. I wanted what he had so badly. I wanted it like nothing else in this world. So I...I killed him."

As soon as he made his revelation, Rodrick held his head in his hands. This was a side of himself that he never wanted to reveal. But this was a safe space where he could express himself. Gone was his goofball façade, always trying to get a laugh out of others to hide his own pain. He imagined Missy Kimmy looking on, satisfied that a problem child was getting with the program and making a breakthrough.

"Yep..." Rodrick said after a beat, recomposing himself and straightening up. "Best damn crocodile I had in my life! Shoulda seen that magnificent bastard!"

As if it never disappeared, Rodrick was back to his excited self. "I slayed the hell outta him! Fashioned a trap for his lard ass to wander into, and when he was stuck, I nailed him with a harpoon! Right in the noggin!" Rodrick imitated firing a harpoon with his hands. "Ol' Richard fed me, alright! I was eatin' croc meat for weeks after I bagged him! And as for clothing, I got my favorite belt from that hide of his! Oh, and that beautiful smile? I had his head mounted on my wall, so I could get a look at it whenever I wanted!"

Rodrick laughed some more at the fake-out he performed. But one part of his little performance stuck with him, and he slowly stopped laughing as an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. And that sacrifice, all the resources he gave me, feel like they were in vain. Because even with what he gave me, I still ended up here. Now equal parts satisfied and dissatisfied, Rodrick presented the Baton of Truth to the others. "Alright, I had my fun. Who wants next?"

 

[PlusUltra]

Rachel had returned to silence since giving up the stick, calm and still as each other member present spoke but made no motion of her head or eyes to look at them as they did so. The Australian liked to talk, and though the topic was different, it reminded her of her father's old friends. Several dockworkers gathered around sharing stories over beers with great embellishments. Thinking on it more, there was the possibility that the man wasn't only speaking due to liking to talk, but perhaps it was also to put people at ease. potentially hopeful thinking but maybe she should try something too.

"Sorry 'bout that." He apologized. But being Rodrick Unger, he just had to make light of the situation, despite the victim of his carelessness' annoyance. "I got big feet. And you know what they say 'bout people with big feet..." He winked to no one in particular and paused for a moment, letting everyone think of the obvious follow-up. "Big hearts!" He finished, chuckling at his own joke.

"Right, Big feet, and the inverse with Big Cars. Suppose that's what makes clowns so scary for some." The line was delivered with a flat deadpan that perhaps the joke was missed, but she had made her attempt never the less.

Hearing him talk about all the scars to show off had her thoughts wander back to her old friends. If it wasn't for Riley how many of those would be covering her body? Well for starters it would be her old body they were covering but still. Thinking back she tries to recount the various injuries, starting to trace fingers across multiple parts of her body. Gunshots, burns, shrapnel, those broadhead from Madison, more broken bones than she could count though mostly due to rarely acknowledging the breaks until after the chaos, oh right and that blinding from the flashbangs. But it was the moments after all that which made them worth it, the results achieved and going back with her team on another job well done.

It wasn't until the Australian stopped talking that she was brought out from her recollections by Shi's voice. Green eyes turn to meet green. A small smile formed on her lips as she spoke and the familiarity returned. Punching above her weight with mind over body, and friends to support them...It was how she had got to where she did herself after all.

Jupiter gave his own account, followed by Lilling skipping something that didn't go unnoticed. After the Aussie spoke once more she took the stick once more but kept eye contact with him for a few more moments. seemingly seeing something else with his final words.

"Adding Apiculture to Miss Kimmy's growing list of required reading aside...." she turns her head to Jupiter for a moment and makes a point of making eye contact " Could swap the name around to Zeus though I'm fairly certain Miss Lightning Bolt might take exception....hmm no i think Gotham had one of those already. Im sure you have time to think up something, if everything goes right at least....Also for your information, i can cook, It was learned how or subsist on a diet of takeout and fast food."

Turning back to the group she idly spins the baton between each of her fingers. "Ok, so people i have learned from to become a better person. Thats more complicated than you would think...I chose to come here because i am not a better person, so its either i didn't learn from them what i needed to or their friendship as much as i valued it enabled it. Then we have others i learned from whose sacrifices where more Akin to Mr Ungers Crocadile's." She puts up one hand and begins to raise her fingers "Insight, How to look at a bigger picture and supporting me despite knowing full well the path i was going on could lead to her biggest regret repeating itself. Predator, How to fight despite realizing i would likely be taking swings at her during our disagreements, Cerberus, What Loyalty truly meant and opening up, despite doing so meant she had to become vulnerable, Nike, Fashion attempts aside was standing with conviction and stubbornness, despite that it meant i would be just the same butting heads with her....."

She lets out a small sigh before raising the final finger on her hand "Hygieia, How...How not to.... " How not to push to far and take a break? How not to take everything on my own shoulders? She had tried to show her that but its not like she would have come here if she fully learned it. Her smile slowly grows for a moment and letting out a small laugh "How to enjoy powers for more than just a mission objective, despite it meaning she had to let go of her own rules....not the best when you have a Biokinetic flesh sculptor that's been stopping herself from going mad doctor. Still not sure about everything we ended up doing especially when Nike brought that Nazi's liquor stockpile" turning to the therapist once more "Oh right, I don't think underage drinking was actually on my list of charges if you want to add that one on."

Looking to her other hand she raised it up "Could list my own Crocadiles but would be here all day, Emma, L'óng, Furher, Huck, Tides, Tannin, MasterArms, Insurgent, Legacy, Wrym, ...Diana" She sighs before leaning back in her chair slightly.

"In the end, your question? Thats just life than specific isn't it? You learn from everyone you meet, see, hear, know.... even if you don't realize at the time. At least if you subscribe to the whole Tabula Rasa nuture over nature." She blinks and turns to the doctor, face now in a frown "Please tell me you have at least read Great Expectations?" She doesn't break eye contact as she throws the Batton over to Lilling.

 

[Aviator]

Azrael Emery // “the Conjurer” // Age 28 // Sixth Prince of Castillon // Illusionist​

The nastiness of the blue-haired girl’s words was undercut by the smile itching at one corner of her lips, the warmth in her voice like the air before a summer thunderstorm. Azrael exhaled in relief. He had no idea of the relationship between Njeri and this girl, and flirting with her had been a risk that could have backfired immensely. But letting his ignorance to her identity show would have been even more dangerous. Abruptly, the girl whipped off her sunglasses, revealing a blazing pair of blue suns underneath. Azrael blinked, then quickly wrestled his face into nonchalance. Such a mutation must mean that this girl had powers, but if this world was anything like his, there was no telling what they were. On occasion, children in Castillon were born with the inexplicable ability to crumple somebody’s torso, create powerful toxins from within their own bodies, or age at will in either direction. But there was no rhyme or reason to these anomalous births. Scientists had investigated the origin of powered individuals extensively, but there was no hereditary trait or other pattern that linked them.

There was a momentary lapse in their conversation as the bronze girl looked him over with her glowing eyes. At least, that’s what Azrael assumed she was doing; her irises were not visible, so it was hard to tell where she was looking, but her body was angled toward him. As the silence stretched, he wondered what kind of visual enhancements she had, what she saw when she looked at him, and if he should feel violated. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wonder for long, because the girl gave a tight nod and snapped her sunglasses back onto her face.

She said something about hitchhikers that was completely lost on him. Then a realization hit Azrael with the force of a bullet to the skull: Did Cyrus Njeri have powers that he regularly used on the job? Would Azrael be expected to replicate them? From what he knew of the interdimensional ambassador, he’d witnessed nothing out of the ordinary other than an uncanny ability to get on Azrael’s nerves during their meetings, and none of the files he’d been able to pull up on Njeri hinted at any powers. Although it was uncertain whether his traveling between worlds was a product of advanced technology or if the ability was generated from within him. Shit. Azrael’s illusions could dazzle and deceive, but with no way of knowing what Cyrus’s powers—if he had any—looked like, he couldn’t realistically replicate them. It was just another reason that the sooner he got out of this hellhole and back to the real world—whatever that looked like, in this universe—the better. And he would vanish as quickly as he had appeared, because for all intents and purposes he did not exist in this world, except for a few files that Njeri might have drawn up, which could be easily destroyed as soon as Azrael located the right individuals to pay off.

While his mind circled like a kettle of vultures, Azrael maintained the banter with the girl with suns for eyes on autopilot. Clearly it was a mistake that he didn’t give the task his full attention, because as his words became more brazen, her friendliness evaporated like mist in sunlight. There was a dangerous moment where she stopped walking. Her shoulders stiffened into squares. And then she whirled around, marching up to him with a jabbing finger leading the charge. Azrael’s heart stuttered, fearing that he’d crossed a line and his cover might be blown. She growled and spat at him and told him the limits of his finances. And then, peculiarly, her rage seemed to blow over. With a flip of her hair, a bump of her hip against his that almost unbalanced him, and a mysterious comment about rogues and runes and portals, she was prancing away jauntily. Azrael stared in bewilderment. Her moods and movements were so erratic and sharp it felt like watching a film skip through frames.

Her parting words to him had sounded like a request that Azrael’s brain scrambled to decode. Rune… lock… the portal? This alien vernacular felt like they were sometimes speaking two different languages, and it made him anxious. Were runes and portals part of everyday society in this world, to which he’d have to acclimate if he hoped to eke out an existence here? Or was it specific to this top-secret prison that Njeri worked in? Speaking of which, if it was really a prison, where were all of the inmates? Only one or two of the cells—other than the one Njeri was now ensconced inside—were occupied in the Pit, but surely there had to be more than just them on the premises. Unless this was really some hole-in-the-earth black site where only those convicted of crimes that threatened national security were held until information was extracted by methods of questionable integrity and then they inevitably disappeared. Like somewhere you’d have gone if dear Dad had caught on to your plan to kill him and steal his throne, Azrael thought drily to himself.

In the time that he’d been thinking, the girl with the blue braids was now almost a whole hallway ahead of him. But her surreal rate of progress wasn’t the most alarming thing he had to deal with. She’d tasked him with rune-locking the portal, whatever that meant. A portal… like a doorway? Azrael glanced around helplessly, his ears straining to pick something up that he couldn’t see with his eyes. In this cavernous expanse, the low ceiling and narrow walls carried whispers and sighs through the darkness like ghosts. Seeing nothing that resembled a portal, he hesitantly stepped forward, proceeding after her. And then he saw it: An oval-shaped expanse that seemed to have been cut out of the rockwall in too precise a shape for any man-made technology to manage. Inside the oval, the air shimmered like that above a fire, distorting the view on the other side. It shone in the light in some places and appeared wrinkled and pinched in others, as if a plastic-y film had been stretched across its surface. Azrael cautiously approached it, tamping down the impulse to reach his hands out and feel his way forward. The blue-haired girl had passed through it without any resistance. Just like how he and Njeri had sunk through the waters of Lake Josiah and fallen through to another world.

With an effort, Azrael kept his hands at his sides as he walked forward, not sure what to expect as he moved through the portal. There was a fleeting instant of pressure, as if his eardrums were tightening on an ascending plane, and then it was over. When he emerged on the other side, the hallway ahead of him snapped back into clarity, and the way he’d come from was gently swirling with the consistency of liquid quicksilver. The effect was slightly mesmerizing, and Azrael stared for a prolonged moment, verifying that he had not taken any mind-altering drugs since last Thursday and this was not that.

Behind him, he heard an impatient clearing of a throat. Azrael jumped at the sound but did not turn around, lest the guilt and confusion on his face show. Okay, I just have to lock it… How the fuck do I lock it? Panic crawled up his throat. Azrael reminded himself that he did not actually have to close it. He could use his powers just to give the portal the appearance of being closed. But what did that look like? Desperately, he looked at the rock wall surrounding the portal for some kind of clue. The too-perfectly round oval cut into it. An idea rose inside of him. Which he hoped was right, because he was being observed. Azrael hovered his hand just above the space where the air rippled, even though he didn’t need to perform the gesture for the illusion to work; it was just for showmanship. And then he imagined the rock wall filling the oval, blocking it off so that a solid surface formed, cutting off the view of the other side. As if he’d wished it out of existence, the oval disappeared in the space of a blink, forming an unbroken sheet of rock.

Forcing down the fear that threatened to sweep him up, Azrael swallowed and turned around to meet the bronze girl’s gaze, dark-eyed with suspicion. Her arms were crossed and her foot tapped impatiently as she waited for him to join her. He did so, walking briskly but still significantly more slowly than her dead sprint down the corridor. He did not flinch away from her molten gaze. Instead, he met it with a gentle, tired smile as he neared her. “My apologies for taking so long,” he said graciously. “My particular mode of travel leaves me feeling rather disoriented in the minutes immediately after. Not to worry, of course; I’m not too tired to get an earful from Cappy,” he said good-naturedly, invoking the jargon he’d heard her use for their commanding officer earlier. Was Cappy a nickname for the warden whom Njeri represented? Or a subordinate? Thinking it a good strategy to redirect the conversation away from himself and his travels, Azrael said, “How have you been doing today? Same shit, different day? More importantly, has Cappy been having a good day?” He smiled cleverly.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

Shi - The Rainbow UNICORN!!

​

Still in therapy. Still talkin' like Batman...

Shi sighed. It was one of those sighs that raised the shoulders up high and brought them back down even lower to meet the dipping vibe.

The more Shi spoke upliftingly of Liling the more it looked like Liling's mood plumeted. The obvious discomfort, the dagger-filled glares, the palpable anger. All of which were the opposite effect Shi desired by gassing up the Asian looking bot. Blue eyes had broken away from the last aggressive stare from her 'future bff.' In the aftermath of the 'she's a hero' spiel, both Shi and Liling held similar elevated shades and temps high up on their cheeks. The rainbowy headed thing shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tilted her body away from Liling's intensity. One leg crossed over the other, shortly thereafter both hands slid underneath her thighs to find the welcome heat to soothe her cold hands.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Wait wut...?! Blue eyes popped wide as she perked up. Were they really clapping? And was that supposed to be for her? A quick glance told her that yes, it was.

Well, that didn't go as expected but the smile parting her swollen lips hinted that it was well worth it.

The smile continued as the baton travelled on, her chin lightened and thus lifted high, a familiar shine in those eyes finally returning after over 60 days of dulled opacity to cope with her new shitshow life of incarceration. And yes, that was a real laugh when the other blonde made a quip about kitchen duty. But to be honest, Shi had worked restaurants for so long that she'd picked up a thing or three from the cooks and chefs she met and knew along the way.

In fact, her last meal before getting her ass 'tossed in the clink' was a huuuuuuuge feast for all her fam and friends cooked mostly by Shi herself. That moment was pulled from time to time; one of those cherished memories that helped her keep going. They were going to break her body here before they would break her hope.

Speaking of hope, Shi's eyes could not help but slide over back to Robo Dollie-- a small 'O' formed her mouth as she watched Liling defy gravity and do the most extra stretch routine she'd ever seen. Dang but was homegirl ever flexible! Shi marvelled at the final pose, mind racing with wonder and daydreams of Robo Bee during construction. Like what even was her skin made of? Did she bleed oil? Does she feel pain like we do?

A smirk replaced the 'O' at her lips. Blue eyes slid slowly, tracing calf to thigh then pausing to take in a generous helping at the lucious apex connecting her lovely shapely legs. Now I reeeeeally wonder just what does that little--

“I think we can all learn something from Shi over here. Her shoutout to her friend shows that she appreciates the spirit of teamwork, understanding that we accomplish more as a group than any of us can on our own. That’s why we’re a hive, honeybees!”

Shi gave her little perverse head a shake. Then she realized what had just been said about her. Yeah, a self-pleased smile could not be helped. Not especially when Kimmy relented and reverted Liling's mouth in large part due to Shi's 'shes a hero' spiel.

And no it wasn't monkey see monkey do; yawns do illicit others to subconsciously follow suit and yawn too! Regardless, the self-pleased smile fell way to a more apologetic one. Batonless words were prohibited so all she could do was widen her apology and soften her look as she glanced over in Robo Dollie-- check that her name was 'Lily'. Just like a flower. D'awwwwwwww...

Eyes glazed over yet again as the Aussie bust out the single most longest pre-amble about some 'Richie' or another. Not as hot as his air, Shi exhaled and plomped her chin down into a palm. Her other hand lazily twirled a loose pink and yellow strand from her temple.

She could not help but let her mind wander, eyes perusing the actual decor of the place. She wondered how many inmates forced into therapy here were triggered by such saccharine surroundings. She could imagine the damage done once they tried to rage quit the place. She wondered why Belle Reve would allow only a single therapist to be alone with dangerous and possible supervillanous inmates. She wondered what more this so called "Missy Kimmy" could do and if Moon Prism could take her one-on-one. She began to break down a fight scenario situated in this Queen Bee's 'hive' and figured that the unicorn would have to--

I wanted it like nothing else in this world. So I...I killed him."

Needless to say not only Shi would've perked up at that needle scratching offa the record moment. And so needless to say, Shi was now invested into the punchline and laughed heartily along with the Aussie. Immediately she covered her mouth with both hands. Was batonless laughiung even allowed up in here?

That little self-satisfied smile returned once the tall, glasses suck up spoke. Yeah, who is teacher's pet now huh bish?! But as vindicated as she felt, justified or not, Shi could not help but get lost in the girl's vibe. A list of names. A sense of melancholy. Shi could relate. Moon Prism had her own fair share of walks down the hall of shame in her own vigilante career. Whereas Rachel knew the names of those cast aside or even lain to rest, willfully or not the unicorn did not. Unknown names of a dead mother and her unborn child were the path that lead Shi to incarceration. And her undying guilt and self-loathing.

The baton spun into the air as it was tossed. A small tan and tatted up hand reached up out of nowhere and snatched the tossed baton. Yes, it was meant for Liling but Shi needed it. She needed to continue the resusitated wave of choking to death positivity and ride it out in this shit hole. Shi needed it so badly; this place sucked afterall.

"Her name was Ayami. And I loved her with all my heart. She was the only one that ever understood what it was like to be me and how I had to deal with..." Shi's gravelly, hot-coal whispery voice trailed off as she gingerly pressed on that bloody collar, "...with this curse I invited into my life. Ayami told me I was worth living for. And dying for... that beautiful, amazing human being laid down her life for me-- all of us, so we could escape."

Shi ran a hand through her rainbow hair as her chin drooped lower than her gaze. A deep breath, then she levelled her gaze once more, "But the u-- I mean; Me. I avenged her and killed her killer. It's why I'm in here. Welllllll... like other reasons too BUT it'll be okay. My sister is working with my legal team to overturn the verdict. And I get see her soon too! She flying out to see me in a few days!"

A small giggle could not be denied and eaked out within her sigh. The positive wave she was riding again as she took her turn to idly twirl the baton as she held it out for another to take, "And now I have a question, Missy Kimmy; what is this... this 'therapy' supposed to help us with?"

---

 

[Mirai-chan]

Violettin Hojo​

"Tick Tock, It's seven o'clock, don't be lazy." ​

Double fuck. Okay, her luck went from better to not good. She had to go to therapy..... Uuuuggggh, Well it can benefit her interaction-obsessiveness, it's just talking about feelings... That was something this Japanese-American disliked. her brown eyes gazed across the others silently for this somewhat dead yet not dead person who grumbled under her breath possibly saying something incomprehensible in Japanese. Her eyes landed on the others would be attending, Some rainbow-haired woman, a couple of men, and some other women from the same ethnicity as her, Partially. She noted and listened in on their conversations, and slightly adjusted her hair to get those pesky bangs out of her eyes since they were messing with her. Guess as soon as another brawl was beginning to brew it ended as swiftly too, Aw there wasn't gonna be any action. Pity.

She's been silent the whole time listening to others much to anyone and possibly to her dismay, She then let out a small hum as a small cheeky grin. Aw crap, She was back in a good mood and needed attention again, But as she followed the chain gang after she was cuffed much to the dark-haired's dismay, as she silently followed the group. Man, the Aussie could talk, as she heard him talking and talking she was listening pretty well until she started drifting off into her mind again and started humming aimlessly with the idiot smile on her face like usual, she did have a mentality of a teenager or a preteen at times; This was one of the times, here. She nearly bumped into the person in front of her, because of them stopping much to her confusion before the group had to move again. Once they arrived in a room, She reacted very childishly. There was. SO. MUCH. COLORS!!!! She let out a small happy noise as she looked around, This was a place she could get used to, and she liked it.


She drifted in and out of her thoughts, Until hearing them as they each all was talking and somewhat introduced themselves, Rachel, Jupiter, some guy named Mr.Unger, Shi- Oh her hair is pretty, Liling. She kinda listened in half-heartedly and seeing the baton of truth and her guess that was the reason why they was talking to each other and whatnot, and well- Violettin being Violettin an annoying bastard with no regard for others' personal space and their thoughts, and abruptly went and yoinked the Baton from Liling with a quite energetic smile, Besides she hasn't even said anything or has done anything.

"Yoink! Ah! Now I can finally introduce myself, Uh.... Where to staaaart, Well my name could just help!"

Get to the point already, Violettin. "I'm Hojo, Violettin, Pleasure to meet you all! and one thing was I do not start fights, I pretty much end them." She said with quite some spunk. This was uniquely peppered. "Nice to meet you all, And Uhhhhhhhhhh is there anything else I was supposed to say or.... do I give the baton to someone?" She asked her cheerfulness slightly dimming down as she locked eyes with Ki- kim- Kimberly, Jeez She needed to remember that woman's name. This was a real question people.

 

[Aviator]

Liling // “Verdigris” // Age 9 // Inmate // Artificial Intelligence // Cat Burglar and Pianist
​

Throughout Unger’s narrative of the power of friendship, Missy Kimmy’s face was a sight to behold. Initially she frowned in displeasure when the Baton of Truth found its way back to the most loquacious participant’s hands. If Liling had to guess, it was because Unger was the only one who threatened to steal her spotlight and run her show, in addition to taking so long with his stories that the thread of conversation was forgotten. However, the therapist didn’t object when he started talking. As his voice grew increasingly animated, describing the care that this Richard had shown him, Missy Kimmy leaned forward in her seat, her vermillion lips widening in a smile. And then her face fell. At the revelation that Richard was more beast than man, her face scrunched up in befuddlement, but whether it was because of this particular plot twist or because of Unger’s inappropriate idolization of a crocodile was unclear.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” She shook her head, wearing a disbelieving smile that made her look like an outraged Target shopper who was being denied a discount. “Mr. Unger. Rodrick. Let’s back up. This is meant to be a serious activity. I want you to think about someone—a human being—who was formative in your lifelong development. Who inspired you to do good in the world because they did good to you. Not some backwoods pet that you cherished until you decided it was no longer useful to you.” Missy Kimmy’s voice was slow and deliberate and sharp, like drawing a rusted blade. “If you can’t prove yourself mature enough to be here”—In the kindergarten classroom where a giant paper bumblebee watches us talk about our feelings and make macaroni necklaces, Liling thought—“then I shall notify Shine and Janhari that they have one more to escort to the Pit.”

Sensibly, Unger did not argue, as he had already passed on the Baton of Truth, which Liling had come to think of as the BOT. Clearly the rules about needing the BOT in one’s possession to speak did not apply to Missy Kimmy, as the tall girl with glasses was playing with it as she waited for the therapist’s tirade to finish. Liling wasn’t even sure if wielding the BOT would have saved Unger if he’d chosen to argue. Missy Kimmy had interpreted his story as a mockery of everything she and her beehive stood for, and now, despite Liling’s refusal to participate in the therapy session, he was probably on thinner ice than her. At least she hadn’t been threatened with the Pit. In Liling’s first month at Belle Reve, she vividly remembered the rumor of a one-eyed man named Yasin who had been a flesh-picked cage of bones when they’d dredged him up from the Pit, rats having gotten to him before the guards.

Finally, when Missy Kimmy’s rage blew over, Unger wearing an expression that was halfway between an uncomfortable smile and a grimace, she beckoned for the tall teenager to share. As soon as the floor was hers, she aimed a few barbs befitting of her age at both Missy Kimmy and Jupiter. Liling wasn’t sure that riling up the therapist with terrifying physiological powers who was already in a huff was the brightest idea, but she didn’t know the girl and didn’t particularly care about her fate. Indeed, all she cared about in this moment was her form. This time, she sat on her chair facing forward, her legs up on the seat and the soles of her feet touching. She bent forward in a butterfly pose, her thighs never lifting, until she could crisscross her feet behind her neck. Her legs burned with a delicious tension. With her head lower than the rest of her body, blood would have rushed to a human’s face, but not to hers. Sir Penhallow had created her to entertain his house guests optimally, and Liling did not have the limitations of a human dancer. If she was fully charged, she could dance for perhaps two or three days straight before she collapsed.

Meanwhile, the bespectacled girl was rattling off a list of names and attaching accolades to them, in a style reminiscent of an author’s acknowledgments section if those being acknowledged had names that sounded like they’d been ripped from Greek mythology or American brands. What a baddie, Liling thought derisively. She had a drop of liquor from her mum’s teat and now she wants to add drunken barbarism to her record. She was sincerely beginning to regret the Lord of the Flies comment, because the nerdy girl wouldn’t let the subject of books drop. Bleh. Books were so boring. Against her will, Liling had had about two-hundred-million too many manuscripts downloaded into her programming, and she was seriously tempted to see if she could use her own powers on herself to forget half of them.

Liling pulled out of the butterfly stretch, and as she straightened her posture her eyes connected with a pair of cerulean orbs a few seats down. A crimson stain climbed up Shi’s neck as she was caught staring, her gaze traveling the length of Liling’s muscular legs as if wondering what it would feel like to be sandwiched between them. No stranger to being an object of desire, Liling’s mouth slanted to the side and she winked at the rainbow-haired girl. Her smile expanded as Shi abruptly looked away. Shi was trouble, that much was clear, but maybe she didn’t have to be the bad kind. The attention spurring her on, Liling bent one leg horizontally in front of her, and the other up and back behind her, arching her spine until she was gripping the back foot with both hands in a yoga pose known as king pigeon. The chair was small, so the hardest part was keeping her balance amid its limited surface rather than the actual stretch.

Perhaps to save herself from a humiliating staredown with Liling, the girl known as Shi snagged the BOT out of the air when the bookworm tossed it. In spite of her ridiculous voice, her eyes were round and somber. Liling paused in the midst of her stretching routine and looked in her direction. A pang lodged in her chest. This Ayami girl reminded Liling of Analia. Just if the tables had been turned, the cards had been reshuffled, and everyone had been dealt a different ending. But Analia was a snake. She’d betrayed Liling’s trust and left her for the mayor’s boy, all because he took her to dinner at fancy places and bought her amber jewelry that the Flutter could never afford with their measly pooled bank account. And the mayor’s boy, a good Christian son, had taken offense at Liling when he’d found out what an abomination she was to the sacredness of human life.

Scowling at the sour memory, Liling forced herself to refocus on what Shi had to say. Her sister was gonna visit her in a few days? Here? In the ninth ring of hell, where they’d have to kill her before letting her out because she’d seen too much? Good luck with that. Maybe if Liling got close to Shi, her dear sister could see about overturning her charges, too. After all, it wasn’t like Liling was a human who’d been raised by a loving family to discern right from wrong. And because she wasn’t a human, she didn’t have the same right to life and would likely get scrapped in a junkyard before she was set free.

An icy calm settled over the room when Shi, against all expectations, asked the questioner a question. Missy Kimmy was staring at her with uncharacteristic steel, dangerously devoid of emotion as she thought how best to deal with this disruption of social roles. Shi seemed to sink beneath the weight of some terrible attention turning toward her, reaching from the other side of the world like a curse. There was a palpable tension as everyone sensed that something was… wrong. Well, everyone except for one, that one being the young Asian woman to Liling’s immediate left, who had remained silent up until this point. Sensing an opportunity in the silence, she plucked the BOT effortlessly out of Shi’s grasp. Shi offered no resistance, and during her silent staredown with Missy Kimmy, no indication that she’d noticed its absence.

The girl introduced herself as Hojo… something. Violet? Violin? Some bizarre combination of the two? Liling resigned just to think of her as Hojo. Anyway, apparently starting fights was beneath this girl, but not ending them. “How’s the air up there on your high horse?” Liling muttered lowly, her first words since her back-and-forth with Missy Kimmy. Hojo seemed uncertain what to say when she had the BOT, as if she’d spaced out when the last prompt had been issued. She trailed off, and Missy Kimmy came to the rescue.

“Liling, if you have something to say, why don’t you share it with the group?” Missy Kimmy was staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes, her face a collection of taut lines.

Understanding that it was more of a command than a suggestion, Liling found her eyes sliding to Shi. To the only person here who might halfway comprehend what Analia had meant to her. And how, as a result, Analia had hurt her so. Her feud with Liling had broken up the band, but Liling had erased herself from their younger siblings’ memories before it could break up the family. Finley on mandolin. Bristol on fiddle. Siena on guitar, and Lacey Ashby, god bless that child, their miniature vocalist who never forgot a song once she heard it. She remembered the tall girl reminiscing about friends with strange names, and Liling felt a prickle of sorrow. Perhaps she shouldn't have judged her so harshly. Perhaps their situations hadn’t been so different.

With a graceful sweep of her legs, Liling unwound herself from king pigeon pose and sat cross-legged and straight-backed on the chair. When she performed on stage, her fingers moving like painted light upon the keys of a piano, she basked in the attention, in the audience swaying to her beat, sipping their drinks, and calling for more. It was, quite literally, what she’d been made for. This, on the other hand, made her want to shrivel up into herself, as if she could fold herself enough times that she’d vanish into oblivion. Missy Kimmy wasn’t asking her to be vulnerable. She was mandating her.

“I was just complimenting Hojo on her contribution,” Liling said flatly, not wanting to discuss herself. “Ending fights would have been a very useful tool half an hour ago before one fight became two, and bam! All our asses wind up in therapy discussing sunshine and rainbows. Yet I distinctly remember Levina ending the fight.” She side-eyed the girl on her left, arching one brow. If she had such a thirst for blood, it would be Liling’s pleasure to sit back with a bowl of popcorn that she technically couldn’t eat while Hojo and the lightning goddess went head to head.

Missy Kimmy pursed her lips, thin as a thread. She didn’t speak immediately, and perhaps surprisingly, she didn’t reprimand Liling for speaking out of turn. Although she’d invited Liling to speak, the BOT still rested in the more-capable-than-you hands of Hojo, and Liling had half-suspected that it was a trap to punish her for breaking a rule. Then, slowly, Missy Kimmy began to laugh. It was a long, mirthless laugh, dripping with irony.

“To answer your question, Shi, my angel,” Missy Kimmy said, swiveling in her seat to face the rainbow-haired girl. She leaned forward, propping her chin on one hand, her overlong acrylic nails tapping thoughtfully. “This therapy is supposed to show you what lowlife scum-of-the-earth y’all are. No matter how many chances you are given to repent, you will always be fuckups who bring each other down in order to mistakenly advance yourselves.” Missy Kimmy smiled as if she’d complimented them all from the bottom of her heart, and in the pause, no one dared interrupt her. “For reasons unbeknownst to me, the warden needs a few capable inmates to organize into a team. I told her she was crazy if she thinks it can be done with this band of miscreants, but she ordered me to try anyway. Easy for her to say when she’s drinking wine in her office with her Louis Vuitton pumps kicked up. But no. There’s only one language thugs like y’all understand, and it’s violence.”

She clicked her long-nailed fingers together. Without giving her muscles any such command, Liling’s legs unfolded of their own accord, and she was dumped off her chair and onto her feet. She was an acrobat and she never staggered, and yet the suddenness of the momentum made her fling out an arm for balance. Next to her, Hojo was abruptly standing too, and they were facing each other. Then the circle of chairs flew backward, eliciting startled squawks from some of their occupants. A wide open space of colorful carpet was left in the middle. “Liling, Violettin,” Missy Kimmy said in a velvety voice. Liling’s hypothetical blood ran cold. “The girl who likes to start fights and the girl who likes to end them. Both of you shall get what you wish. With no weapons other than your God-given bodies, I order you both to fight while we all spectate. No quarter shall be given. Continue until one of the combatants can go no further, and demonstrate to everyone watching the kinds of savages that Belle Reve breeds.”

 

[Jigajig]

Levina
Location : Belle Reve
​

As Levina reclinded in her seat she lazily drifted her gaze to focus upon the screens she had been viewing earlier. One screen in particular. A camera feed that was showing what was happening within the Therapy room right now. Whilst she could not hear what was going on she could see everything. The therapist, Missy Kimmy, certainly had a.. interesting style on running a session to say the least. Levina leaned forward, raising an eyebrow at the scence unfolding before her. It seemed as if two of the inmates had crossed the line and somehow had managed to piss her off. "Oh boy.." Shaking her head Levina sighed and then turned her attention to a large TV screen monitor that was playing the news.


A faint voice called to her in the back of her mind, notifying that Cyrus was on their way to her office now being escorted there by Shine. She smiled to herself. <"Roger that">

She watched it for a while as she waited, absentmindedly flicking through various news stations. A report about a fire in some random forest on the other side of the globe, a riot in some city, a unexplained explosion at a factory after a strange object was seen in the sky. She frowned as she was just about to flick to another channel, her gaze lingering upon the TV. That one caught her attention. However before she could continue there was a knock upon her door. Turning off the TV she spun around in her chair facing the door. "Enter"

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Rodrick Unger​

Belle Reve Penitentiary​

"Get me off this bloody rollercoaster!"​

---

As the effects of Rodrick's haunting words lingered over the Australian, a certain sound that had been absent in the room pierced the rain cloud over his head. He halted his internal pity party, at least temporarily, to hear it better. Was that laughter he was hearing? More importantly, laughter that didn't belong to him? Ever since the therapy chain gang linked up, Rodrick had been unable to get even a chuckle from his fellow inmates. But his persistence had finally been rewarded, as Shi was sporting an emotion he didn't think she was capable of expressing. Contrary to her colorful hair design, she'd been the gloomiest out of the bunch. Now, her eyes were upturned and the corners of her mouth raised as her lungs exhaled air in a rhythmic pattern that could only be described as laughter. Rodrick's usual good mood sailed back like a boomerang, with a grin shaped like one to boot. It felt good being able to watch his energy spread to other people, it had been way too long. As Rachel reached out to take the baton, Rodrick felt her staring directly at him through his peripheral vision and shifted his eyes to meet her. With a gambler's heart, he refused to quit while he was ahead. "What, not a fan of crocodile tears?" Rodrick inquired cheekily as the baton left his hand. Ha! Good one, Rodrick!

Contrary to his inner monologue, Missy Kimmy had some choice words for him. Initially, his grin grew even wider at her usage of Mr. Unger, the inmate nodding his head and looking around the room. The therapist's chastising took him back to Year 7 in school, during the height of his directionless era. At twelve years old, Rodrick was a delinquent who would do anything for the attention he couldn't get at home. However, Rodrick's blood turned cold when Missy Kimmy threatened to have him thrown into the dreaded Pit. As brave as Rodrick was, the Pit was one thing he didn't mess around with. Being confined to Belle Reve for about a year at this point had given the hunter a loathing of enclosed spaces boarding on claustrophobia. To lose what little breathing space he had would be soul-crushing. Not to mention, he had seen stories about the place unfold in front of his eyes. A particularly uppity inmate earned himself an abnormally long stay in the Pit. When he returned, he wasn't the freshest smelling convicted murderer, and the others let him know. They dubbed him 'Smelly Mike', until he stabbed an unfortunate name-caller 20 times one morning. Now they call him 'Murder Mike', although he still hasn't gotten control of his BO situation, but nobody's calling him out now.

In any case, Missy Kimmy's threat didn't fall on deaf ears, Rodrick scrunching his face to indicate he didn't want a vacation into the hellhole inside the hellhole. After that, it was Rachel's turn to share. And share she did. The teenager used Richard as a way to convey sacrifices gifted unwillingly and through force, going down a list of names. Despite his disinterest in the passive and bookish side of the warlord, Rodrick noted that Richard being used as a concept in therapy was yet another way the reptile sacrificed himself for others. And when Diana was mentioned at the end of the list of crocodiles, Rodrick smiled as he realized Rachel was listing all the blokes she had whacked. Findin' a way to show off your kill count in the middle of therapy? That's what I'm talkin' about. The warlord of Badger Bay was really fluctuating between being the most and least interesting person in the room, and he hoped the pendulum would give it a rest.

After that pleasant surprise, Shi took her turn. Rodrick listened as she talked about a girl named Ayami who put down her life to save her. A more thorough story time was in order, but the inmate moved on from the subject to something a lot more interesting. Did she mention a unicorn? Rodrick glanced at the collar around her neck, gears turning in his head. Was that her thing, unicorn powers? It definitely explained the hair. Then she mentioned a sister and Rodrick had to zone out off principle. Family talk, feelings of longing, yada yada. In the meantime, he remembered when he was first admitted to Belle Reve and had to go through the evaluation process. The blue-haired girl who did the deed determined he didn't need a collar, but a muzzle would work wonders for him.

When the Baton of Truth was ready for a new holder, the other combatant from earlier decided to speak up. Hojo was enthusiastic and started off introducing herself to everyone. Then, like the brightest candle, burned out twice as fast and struggled to find something else to talk about. Afterwards, Missy Kimmy circled back to a question Shi had and started laughing. Rodrick was amazed by her sudden heel turn and her use of colorful language befitting her colorful room. He put a fist to his mouth and surveyed everyone's reactions. His face said it all. Can you believe this?! Looks like Missy Kimmy's goin' mask off! This day was a rollercoaster for sure, and the most engaging one of his stint in Belle Reve by far. What could Missy Kimmy possibly do to top that? Rodrick was at the edge of his seat, figuratively and literally, as the wooden chair was still a burden to sit in. That issue was resolved in the next few seconds when everyone's chairs were mystically pulled away from the center of the room. He was in the middle of readjusting himself when he got yanked, resulting in the 6'0 Australian tumbling backwards in his chair.

From his position stretched out on the ground, legs up in the air, Rodrick heard the latter half of Missy Kimmy's next assignment. "With no weapons other than your God-given bodies, I order you both to fight while we all spectate. No quarter shall be given. Continue until one of the combatants can go no further, and demonstrate to everyone watching the kinds of savages that Belle Reve breeds.” Rodrick beamed like he had the winning numbers in the lottery. This is what he was waiting for. This is what he had been lusting for since Jupiter took his fight from him. Hell, even before that. Time to make fist meet face! But who would his opponent be? If Missy Kimmy was as bloodthirsty as her most recent statement revealed, 10 to 1 odds were that he was gonna have his chance with Jupiter. Rodrick Nimrod Unger, He said to himself as he rolled onto his side and got up, fists at the ready. It's showti--

Every rollercoaster has its ups and downs, and Rodrick's just took a nosedive into hell. The hunter with an itch for combat rose to his feet to see Liling and Hoji in the center of the room. He had been delegated to spectator status, along with the others. His first reaction was to sputter in disbelief at Missy Kimmy's choice of fighters. Then came the anger. Rodrick was a man who rarely got angry. Anger was what started him on the path to incarceration, so he tried to avoid the emotion when he could. But this, this was something he couldn't let slide without reacting. How could he get passed over in favor of those two?! They got their chance earlier, you purple devil! The enraged hunter's gaze moved to the human bendy straw Liling, who despite being more of a nuisance than he had been, got to have the most fun in therapy. I tell a funny story and get threatened with the Pit! She spent the entire session as orange play-doh and she gets to throw hands?! Rodrick arched his back after the fall, his disdain clear for everyone to see.

Then, he turned to Missy Kimmy, who watched with glee as her honeybees prepared to kick off the third brawl today. You're telling me this c--Rodrick picked up his chair and righted it so he could sit down. Goes for the most impressive bloody switch-up I've ever seen and pits two of us in a fight against each other? And then she bloody decides to pick the two who not only participated the least in therapy, but also the shortest bloody people in the entire bloody room?! Impotent rage emanated from Rodrick as he crossed his arms, resigned to his fate. He turned to face the camera in the corner of the ceiling, a look of pure dissatisfaction on his mug. Slower yet, his arms extended to point to the shortie scuffle about to unfold before his disappointed eyes. Can you believe this?

 

[PlusUltra]

Rachel would frown as her throw was intercepted, before shaking her head slightly with a sigh. She honestly was trying the therapy out, something that had been advised by her old partner MANY times, though something that her city-wide crusade had little chance for. It is hard to open up when the number of secrets that need to be kept increases by the day, plus the little caveat psychologists tend to have in their discretion on sharing information outside the sessions.

So as much as her trust in authority figures to screw things up was still there, she saw no harm in sharing with this Miss Kimmy to see if any of it helped. Even if her dislike of the woman on first contact never left her.

Pushing her frustration to the side for now she went back to listening closely to each as they spoke, Shi's mentioning of avenging the killer striking a cord in her memories. Sure Kid Cassandra wasn't killed, but with everything that she was put through there was more than enough at Tides hands worth to avenge for the little girls sake. After all she was one of the reasons she came here in the first place.

But there were a few other details she picked out from the rainbow-haired girls answers as well, like how she referred to Ayami as a human specifically meaning she didn't view herself as such?.

She cast a glance between the next few to speak, though given Llings lack of real answers had to instead try and read them from her own expressions and reactions to what was being said. That was when Miss Kimmy voiced up and finally let the mask drop.

Rachel shook her head slightly at the purpose, her opinion on her dropping away and with it the small amount of trust she was extending. "If you think any of what i did was to advance myself, then you haven't been paying attention, maybe to some of the others as well...though I won't deny the rest...." she stopped however at the mention of a team, her eyes flashing not in surprise but in recognition as if a puzzle piece had locked into place.

Letting out a small laugh she muttered to herself "So that's the reason, I was assuming it would take longer..." though further thoughts on the matter were stopped as all the chairs where thrust backwards, grasping the seat to remain balanced as they moved outwards and the therapist went to start her impromptu fight club in the middle of the therapy room.

"If you want someone to become a real savage, you give them freedom. This prison can breed poor imitations at best unless they were that way when they came in. I could tell you about the man called Tide but i doubt you have much interest in that. "
Standing up from her chair slowly she looked between the two prospective fighters, her eyes in thought before deciding to do something stupid maybe again, but she couldn't stand by and let this happen. Rachel's demeanour changed slightly as the idea formed "The Law is a precise endeavour, but open to interpretation...from a certain point of view, I could call this a god-given body" she gestured across herself top to bottom. "Not for the reason you are likely thinking though, not metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically or any other fancy way. Theologically, Philosophically or Astrologically maybe. Meaning i could loan it to either of the two to gain it by proxy...but i think i have a better idea within your conditions"

Putting her hands in her pockets she goes to walk forward into the middle of the two "After all, there's more than one way for a person to be unable to go further."

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

Shine

​

Onto Captain Maelstrom's Lair...

Little brown hand splayed out before her, foot tapping to a beat only she could hear in her head.

A frown pulled downward upon her fine features. It seemed she deemed her nails just not up to Nouvelle Standard. She tried the blow and buff technique a couple times. Still not up to Standard, but meh, look where she was. Pshhhhh... There was really no one she had to impress down here in Hermes Wing anyways. A shrug concurred, and besides, a bit more lustre never hurt. Suddenly dark eyes popped wide in realization Cyrus wasn't yet there.

Then speak of the devil, the tall, chocolate chunk of pirate stepped through the shimmering portal. Once more a frown formed, pulling the prettiness from her face. A sigh, an exaggerated clearing of the throat; "Aheeeeemmmmm...! Eyo... yo, Pirate! What's wrong witchu? Nyarr! Cy, you look lost at sea. Hahahaha--"

A familiar streak of dark energy lit up her mind cutting off the words in her mouth. The last glimpse she caught of Cyrus was he looking at the portal as if he was a 4th grader trying to solve a quantum physics exam. A bit of a scoff before her dark eyes began to glow and pulse, chasing away shadows from the wall beside her. Suddenly she was transported into the hub in her thoughts.

<<Shine here. I'm still down here in Hermes. Whatchu gots, girl?>>

<<Wither here. I'm sending an updated 'short list' to you. Oh, and another update, Nou-Nou; Missy Kimmy's getting them to 'showdown n' beatdown.' Looks like its the bot, Liling and the ghoul, Violettin.>>

<<Copy that. I just picked up Janhari. Still needs to gets a new ritual to link him to comms but I mean, Jumper boi just arrived. Wait. My gosh, Kim's up to that shit again?! I hate that tactic sooooo much. So degrading, no? Ugh. How about team building not team bruising? Girl, amirite? Never understood how they ever let that woman solo those 'therapy' seshes...>>

<<Welllllll... not my call. What they do behind those doors is above my pay grade. So what's Janhari sayin' about his latest Jump?>>

<<Can't. Waiting to meet up with 'Vina. She'll get the debriefing. But liiiiiike... sooooooo?>>

<<Soooooo what?>>

<<Aren't you gunna ask me how piratey-boi be doin?>>

<<Shine...! Wut?! Naw, naw man. Like why do I even wanna know how he's doing? Like what do I care? Like I know you'll take care of him if something wrong with him-- wait. Nou. Girl what's wrong? Something happen to him? Nouvelle, tell me what's good...!>>

<<Riiiiiight... 'What do you care' huh? Girl puh-leeeeezus. You still hung up on him? Girl I'm telling you he don't swing your way! I mean, i know you wanna get some and fix that punani itch but he aint scratching...! Hahahahaha! Eyo chill. Chiiiiiilllll... For jokes! For jokes! Wits, ya boi's all goods. But! He acting like he some kinda' nobilty tho. I dunno what he been smokin on the Other side but he actin up. Maybe some rando chica backed it up on him over there and he liked it hahahahahah!>>

<<Yo! Yo, Nou! Don't say that! Don't. But for real tho...? Can you find out? Yeah. Find out, 'kay. Find out if some Outsider dirty-assed hoe tryna get slick with him, 'kay?>>

<<I'm telling you, he not gunna reciprocate. So whatchu want me to do, AJ? Verify by 'Scratch and Sniff...?' Hahahahahah!>>

<<Hahahahahaha! Nou-Nou! Girl you nasty! But I mean... you just leave that kinda' verification that to me...>>

<<Ohhhhhhhhh dayaaaam! Playa! Sis up in here be plaaaaaayyyyin!>>

<<Girl, like you know! So some hoe tryna get slick with him? Mista, I will getchu downtown and give you full access tour of 'my slick'! Ya feeeeeel meeeee? Hahahaha-->>

<<Ewwwwww. Just threw up a bit in my mouth. EWW, sis. I can hear you, you know. But really? You hot for that guy? Bruh. Hope Pirate-boi can handle psycho-->>

<<DEL?! My gosh! Ummmmmm... Wither out! WITHER OUT!>>

<<Later! You twins kill me... Hahahahahah! Shine out.>>

The duration of the convo in her mind would last but a heartbeat, perhaps 2. Then the glow would dissipate from her eyes, revealing the big dark ones behind. A blink then she turned to 'Cyrus' arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

A glance over his shoulder showed that he had finally closed the portal with the rockface after all that lolly gagging. But really what was he stalling for? Maybe he really was up to some humpy-dumpy playa ish on the other side? Hmmmm.... She'd have to find out for Wither.

A dark blue eyebrow raised, "You done? Sheesh. Finally..."

“My apologies for taking so long,” he said graciously. “My particular mode of travel leaves me feeling rather disoriented in the minutes immediately after. Not to worry, of course; I’m not too tired to get an earful from Cappy,”

"Okay. Okay...! Enough with the regal, royal, rizz'ler talk. Cy! C'mon now. What's good? You piss off ya wife and kids on the Other side?" she looked him dead in the eyes, trying to gauge his reaction to the accusation of being hitched with some alien woman. Her accusing dark-eyed stare lowered and she inspected his shoulders for any loose strands of hair not of his make, model, nor colour. Shine had serious doubts but still, even closer she paid attention to see if he had any lipstick on his collar that would perhaps be the shade of 'Garden Tool 304.'

Once Nouvelle completed the bff 'silent inquisition' she had to concede with a sigh; Pass. Shine wasnt 100% he didn't want anything to do with the coochie, but still AJ was one of her bffs. And yeeeeah, she would be happy with the results! "Riiiiight. Fine. Fine. Let's start again shall we? And Cy...! Boi, talk regular, okay?"

“How have you been doing today? Same shit, different day? More importantly, has Cappy been having a good day?”

"There we go! Better. But no, yeah things are getting a bit more... feisty out here. Another brawl. Caf again. Cappy even had to intervene so you know how happy she is with that right? Hahahahah! Alright, let's get outta this place." Shine pat his shoulder and motioned with her head for them to continue down the hallway and up the stairwell.

One last glance at the Runelocked solid rock face before she traipsed up the rickety old steel steps, "Leave this witchery behind for the witches, amirite?"

As they walked and talked headed to the captain's office, several other guards greeted 'Cyrus' along the way. Awkward, but none of it seemingly outta place.

"Yeah, so things are progressing. I can't give you the full list and deets of the project until you cleared by Levina. But! I can tell you the good news; both Imago and Moon Prism are on it. Imago is still on good behaviour sooooooo hopefully we gots her to buy into the sortie. But Moon? Yeah I think we lucked out with her, no? We need that unicorn on our side. I don't think it'll help with Kim goin' all last-man-standing treatment on them but still... "

Shine noted that although her fellow guard did seem a bit startled by the attention he got, she did see that he was trying to be chipper and polite.

"That psycho does have her ways of convincing others what's best, amirite? Especially goodie-goodie heroes acting all vigilante with a criminal record, ya feel me, Pirate? You outta anyone would know what it's like to wanna redeem yourself. Aaaaanyways..."

Yeah, he was off, but to Shine that probably meant he had a loooot on his mind. And that meant one hell of a Doozie he was going to tell Levina once they got there!

Ding! "Going up..."

An affirming nod she tossed him then she scurried on into the elevator.

Jigajig <<Captain. Shine here. We almost at your location. I'll send Cyrus in. Just note. I haven't done the ritual to reconnect him to comms but he's a bit... he seem a bit 'disoriented' after this latest Jump. Cuz yeah, Cy don't be acting like himself. Like I think something happened over there. But I'll be here in the hallway just in case. Oh! Xenolith just arrived on scene. So whatever you need, we here, Cappy. Shine out.>>

Upon reaching the office floor, an immense guard made of living granite greeted them with full booming gravelly voice, "Hey! Nou! Sis, might I say; hot as ever! Cy! Buh-rooooooo! Dude where ya been hidin'! You tryna duck that c-note you still owe me? Hahahahahah! Welcome back, welcome back...!"

The giant stone man's hand reverted back to normal. It was brown and large, but still nowhere near as large when it was granite coated. Shine grinned heartily and dapped up Xenolith, "Dames! Boi! What's good? Yeah, I had to yank Pirate's sorry ass outta Hermes. Seemed like he din't wanna leave. Eyo, I think vato here might've made us all a new nephew on the Other side, Tio Damien hahahahah!"

"For real? Dude, I never pegged you for collecting baby mama's! Sooooo... is she hot? Hahahahahah!" Damien/Xenolith pulled back an arm to dap up 'Cyrus.'

There was a butter-thick moment of awkward silence when 'Cyrus' left him hanging.

"Enter"

Damien cleared his throat then forced a laugh before patting 'Cyrus' on the shoulder. "Ahem. Yeah, yeah, okay dude. All good! I get it. It's rough crossing over. But get in there...! Cappy been feelin' Hollows breathin' down her neck so try to at least give some good news okay? Hahahahahah...!"

Both Nouvelle and Damien smiled encouragingly at their friend, walking with him and stopping short of entering. Once Cyrus was in, Damien closed the door behind and both he and Shine walked down aways, parting to man the exits.

But not before she and the Xenolith gave each other 'a look.'

---

 

[Aviator]

Azrael Emery // “the Conjurer” // Age 28 // Sixth Prince of Castillon // Illusionist
​

As they exchanged small talk, Azrael caught the bronze-skinned girl stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, as if he were a book written in a language she didn’t understand but was trying to read anyway. Like she couldn’t make sense of him. Clearly something was off about his masquerade as Cyrus Njeri. The fact that he’d only been interacting with her for five minutes and she’d detected it was far from reassuring. She informed him of a cafeteria brawl—presumably between the inmates, because the alternative was too frightening to consider—with a bored tone, as if they were a dime a dozen. Unsure how to respond to this, Azrael gave a “Hmm,” an ingenious conversation filler. He made a mental note to avoid the cafeteria, because brawls were one thing that work at the Citadel had not prepared him for. A typical day for him was more in the vein of audits and meetings with people who were asking for funding. Very occasionally he had to authorize the use of potentially deadly force in the name of the Royal Prerogative, but never was he one of the combatants.

They ascended a steel staircase that squealed beneath their combined weight. As they passed the first landing, the air was no longer so hot and wet, as if some giant jungle beast had disgorged them. The staircase narrowed, and Azrael was content to let the blue-haired girl ascend ahead of him, as he had no idea where he was going. She readily did, taking two stairs at a time in impatient strides. While he scrambled to keep up, she rattled off a list of names that was absolutely meaningless to Azrael and would have been presumably meaningful to Njeri. A couple of words and phrases stood out to him, namely project, unicorn, and last man standing, but the connection between them evaded him. Azrael’s goal was to be long gone from this prison before they would have to matter to him. For the first time in his life, he truly had no idea where he was going. No classes to excel in. No deadlines to submit financial statements by. No father breathing down his neck and waiting for him to mess up and make an example of him to his twenty siblings—nineteen, really, because Chandler was supposed to be dead. All he knew was where he’d been, and that now he was running from it. Blindly. Because his past was no longer an option to him. His former world was a smoking heap of ruins right now.

They turned into a blissfully air-conditioned corridor furnished with dark paneling and a black-and-white checkerboard floor. Doors lined it on both sides. Most of them were closed, but a few were propped open, and the occupants of these looked up at their passing. Smiling faces and little waves alternated with hastily lowered gazes when Azrael’s—Cyrus’s, really—eyes connected with them. Every time an office worker greeted him, he reciprocated with a polite nod and smile, conveniently leaving their name out. Fortunately, the “witch” he was with moved at a brisk pace that slowed for nothing, warding off any attempts at extended small talk. He was only half-listening to her musings when she directed a question about redeeming himself at Azrael. He had no way of knowing what misdeeds Njeri had committed that were in need of redeeming, but the question was vague enough that he could draw from his ample personal experience. One corner of his mouth curled up at a guilty angle. “Now, why would I do that? I’m not in the habit of pursuing lost causes,” he deadpanned.

The young woman scowled for a split-second, but she quickly hid it behind one of those strained smiles. There was an elevator at the end of the hall, and she hastened toward it, leaving Azrael behind her as if he were a stranger. She knows, he thought, sucking his cheeks in. This girl—whoever she was—seemed awfully close with Njeri. Perhaps too close. Azrael wondered if it was something he’d done or something he hadn’t done that had tipped her off. But then again, she’d rejected his attempts at flirting. Maybe the extent of their relationship really was just friendly coworkers.

The elevator gave several alarming shudders as it hauled them up to a floor marked 12, which Azrael committed to memory. There was a cheery ding! when they arrived, and the metal box stayed shut for a solid ten seconds afterward. It juddered again, this time in a downward direction. Azrael tried to get a grip on his panic, expelling the image of being already trapped inside his coffin as he plunged to his death from his mind. Finally, with a loud grinding noise as if the gates to hell themselves were opening, the elevator doors yielded, allowing them to pass. He shot out of the elevator ahead of the short woman, feeling slightly light-headed and that he’d had his fill of amusement park rides for the next five years.

Immediately he jumped when the wall next to him appeared to shift. It was stone, and yet something seemed to be moving outward at him. Azrael blinked. It wasn’t something but rather someone. The form of a massive six-and-a-half-foot possible human being wore the most over-the-top camouflage Azrael had ever seen, so much so that he’d thought this person was part of the decor. His—Azrael was assuming it was a man based on sheer size—skin was mottled gray in various shades, forming hard corners at the shoulders and hips as if he’d been chiseled out of a cinder block. And then, inexplicably, the block of living stone made noise. He called out to the blue-haired girl, and the floor thundered only slightly as he bounced up to her. For the first time, Azrael learned the name of his companion. New? Like the opposite of old? Moo, like the noise a cow made? Deciding that the second option made less sense just because it was an unflattering comparison, Azrael decided to mentally think of her as New, and would call her such if a situation arose in which he had to refer to her by name. Perhaps she was the new kid on the block at this prison, hence the nickname?

And then, like a trick of the light, the stone man’s striped hand congealed into one color and warmed to a healthy chestnut. His eyes, formerly two baseball-size sockets in his head, were now agleam with a mischievous light as he introduced himself to “Cy.” He spoke so fast and with so much foreign slang that Azrael just let him keep talking, which he seemed happy to do. “Glad to be back,” he finally said, eager to latch onto something that resembled the English he was familiar with. New and the Stone Man exchanged some kind of friendly gesture that seemed halfway between a handshake and a hug. Then they had a laugh at Azrael’s expense, who was left smiling awkwardly at the return of the jargon he did not understand.

“Um…” Azrael fielded uncertainly, for the fact that he did indeed have a baby mama, but no one here could have known that. He drew frantically from some rap lyrics. “Yuh, I do. She got a ass that’ll swallow up a G-string. And up top, like two bee stings.” He felt himself turn red enough to stop traffic. There was a tremulous moment as New and the Stone Man, or Dames, stared at him. And then they burst out laughing. Azrael bordered between hilarity and intense mortification. When they finally collected themselves, gripping each other for support, the man known as Dames pushed toward Azrael and held a hand up high, as if he was winding up to bowl a cricket ball but had frozen mid-motion. Azrael was uncertain whether to prepare himself for a punch, a slap, or some other, magical form of assault, and he involuntarily flinched. Left to improvise, Dames reeled him in close, clapped a hand on his back, and then firmly smacked his ass. Azrael stiffened and did not react immediately. His mind was blank. Mercifully, New shooed Dames away, extricating Azrael from the big man’s grasp.

As New led him down a hallway, his mind was overrun with an image from early adolescence. He and Chandler were just arriving in Genoa, at Nursia Scholastica, their new boarding school and future after their father had cast them away to the European Union as political hostages in a treaty that was meant to end all wars between the empires. As they strode in through the main doors, the hallway reeked of trust funds and noxious perfumes and friends in high places. Students in tailored suits and elegant skirts that brushed the floor yipped to each other in languages the brothers didn’t understand, raising their pale pointed chins in the newcomers’ direction. Wary of the unexpected attention, Azrael had cowered behind his older brother. Chandler held his head high and plowed down the hallway to their assigned lockers, smiling cordially at but never avoiding the gazes of those with whom he made eye contact.

Azrael shook it off, reminding himself that that was no longer his life and never would be again. Perhaps Chandler was dead at this moment. Actually dead, not just from the surfing accident that he and Azrael had staged together so he could escape from under their father’s tyrannical thumb. Perhaps General Zod’s invasion had expanded from Castillon to neighboring empires. To the whole world.

It was a question that he would have to contemplate later. Dames had followed New and him down the hallway with a surprisingly stealthy tread for a man so large. At the very end of the hall, New moved aside as Dames opened a door, which was notably larger and more impressive than its contemporaries. New stood where she was, clearly waiting for Azrael to enter the dragon’s lair first. Cappy’s office, he thought. He reminded himself that he had done this plenty of times before in a different universe, just from the other side of the foreboding mahogany mass that was his desk. Azrael took a breath. Exhaled. And entered without breaking stride, flipping the long dreadlocks that weren’t his over his shoulder.

 

[deadly king]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary; Lousiana
Prisoner #10792
[ redacted ]
JUPITER

​

---

“Liling, Violettin,” Missy Kimmy said in a velvety voice. “The girl who likes to start fights and the girl who likes to end them. Both of you shall get what you wish. With no weapons other than your God-given bodies, I order you both to fight while we all spectate. No quarter shall be given. Continue until one of the combatants can go no further, and demonstrate to everyone watching the kinds of savages that Belle Reve breeds.”

Jupiter's eyes narrowed, a familiar twinge of recognition sparking within them as they lay on the ground, the chair having been swept out from underneath them. Instead of recovering, they stayed put on the floor, stretching out their once-folded leg, studying the scene unfolding. It was almost nostalgic in a twisted way -- this fight, raw and primal, reminded them of the days they'd spent with the League of Assassins.

Back then, this kind of showdown was routine. A test of pure survival, a brute display where only the elite could remain standing. There was no room for weakness, no second chances. Just like here, in Belle Reve, only the strongest survived. But -- Ms. Kimmy wouldn't allow her honeybees to slaughter each other, would she? The woman's open and "kind" demeanor twisted, revealing her true thoughts about each prisoner. "Miscreants," she said, were those that could not be saved and weren't worth the effort.

"Seen this before," Jupiter muttered, speaking to those who would listen. The way the two women moved, every muscle tense preparing for a strike -- it was just like the old days. "Looks like we're in for a good ol' survival of the fittest,"

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of their lips, though there was no joy in it -- just the cold, hard reality of what they knew was coming. Jupiter had been on both ends of this fight -- a snake waiting to sink its poisonous fangs into its prey, and prey petrified hoping for mercy.

Ms. Kimmy's speech about violence being the only language they understood wasn't far off, and that bothered Jupiter far more than they would ever admit. With The League, one's worth only came from triumphed and expertise, meaning everyone was expendable at any moment. It was a miracle Jupiter escaped with all limbs and fingers intact.

"Gotta hand it to her," the mercenary spoke again, their tone with an edge of sarcasm. "Miss Kimmy knows how to throw a team-building exercise. Nothing like some ultraviolence to get the bonding going."

Shifting on the ground, the blond cast a sidelong glance at Rodrick, the one who had been running his mouth nonstop the whole "therapy" session. Would Ms. Kimmy pull the same stunt on him next? What if they were forced to fight each other like some gladiator sideshow? A side course to the main meal of Liling and Violettin's fight? They tilted their head, eyes narrowing as they studied Rodrick, sizing him up like a hunter would their prey. His boisterous, carefree attitude -- it made him seem simple. A man more about bluster than skill, more bark than bite. Jupiter was confident it wouldn't be a challenge if they were ever pitted against him. A flicker of amusement crossed their face at the thought.

'Wouldn't even break a sweat,' they mused. 'Rodrick'd prolly put up a good show for a minute or two, but I'd sure as shit win.'

"Bet she'd have us go at it next," though their tone was more amused than concerned. "I mean, if she's smart it would be the perfect setup." They paused, grin widening as the joke popped back up in their mind. "If it happens, no hard feelings, right? You might get a few good shots in -- if you're lucky -- but let's be real, I'd have you down on the floor 'fore you could even touch me." Jupiter's words came out lighthearted, conjuring the whole scenario as a funny joke with playful banter.