Realistic or Modern - - P R O G E N Y //IC//

[Queen.]

There's a tight regimen to abide by in Orchardwood. You're expected to know this well in advance. Whether you skimmed the pamphlet, crumpled it up to feed to your trashcan, or never had one at all, you need to know this. Stepping out of the metaphorical line will weigh down a guillotine on your unsuspecting neck.

This humble little establishment has been around since the 1940's, birthed in the heart of Plains, Kansas. Right on the, you guessed it, Kansas plains. The only thing less remarkable than the scenery -or lack thereof- is the food. The gate lining the perimeter of Orchardwood is chain-link, but strong and high. It swoops inward at the top like those in prison yards. It's far enough away from the main buildings not to be seen. They don't want it to feel like a prison, too.

The kids will spend most of their day learning discipline by picking produce from the Orchards. It's hours work, and disciplinarians are always on standby in case of slackers. Said disciplinarians come and go, swapping out with new faces enough times to always keep you guessing. There's never a sense of comfort in that aspect. The only face you'll see regularly is that of James Hawthorne, who takes on the position of head regulation master. His stance emanates intimidation, and his voice rattles the surface of your skin. He takes no shit, and it's damn near fun for him to see someone try anything.

The mess hall is where the youths get their breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you don't go, you don't eat. There are no snacks. You can't take any food out of the mess hall. It's their clever way to get you to sit down and hear the daily lectures streaming from the grainy projection image cast on the far west wall. The sound bellows throughout from aged speakers in the roof. There's little disciplinary regulation here aside from the occasional pointed 'shhh' from a jaded lunch lady, so conversation is common.

The sleeping area is strikingly barren, decorated by nothing more than chipping paint and office grey tones. The sheets smell like cheap detergent, and the material is reminiscent of straw. They squeak and squaw with each movement of your body, just wide enough to support one body. The beds are approximately five feet apparent, headboards pressed against the walls so that the middle forms a daunting empty space. The floor is cold under your toes, and going without socks will have you regretting learning to walk. There's one bathroom per sleeping building; one for the boys, and one for the girls. Even breathing a word about exchanging visits among the opposite gender will get you fried.

You're permitted to have an hour and a half to yourself a day. This is generally right after dinner, and before bed time. Around 6:30 to 8. Despite it sounding like a thrust toward freedom, you're still under the delightfully watchful eye of stoic disciplinarians from afar. Obviously, your opportunities for enjoyment are limited. Phones are confiscated, and internet is a thing to be left behind. You can however pick up some books at the dingy little library by the mess hall to read.

If you happen to cross a disciplinarian in a negative way, well, the scary thing is that it's within their each individual powers to select and exercise punishment. Although being given an outline of acceptable action, they don't always listen. And it isn't often reported.

There's a storm shelter near the edge of the orchard, as Kansas is infamous for its frequent plague of tornados. This is the least guarded area. Often, youths slip off to the side of this building to climb atop its roof and relax, the canopy of the nearest tree shielding them completely. Cigarette buds and blunts litter the roof.

Upon entering, your items will be sifted through. You'll be able to select only some outfits for yourself. They confiscate jewelry, electronics, and more obvious things like alcohol, tobacco and drugs. Only mandatory prescriptions can be brought in. You'll have a few minutes to part with your parents and say your goodbyes; if they brought you all the way out here, that is.

The first activity you'll be directed to do is meet in "The Circle". A sphere setup of chairs outside with Hawthorne in the center. He'll be delivering the opening lecture explaining everything you need to know, why you deserve to be here, and how he wants to see your changes.

Good luck.

Orchardwood Conservatoire​

 

[u k i y o]

yuliy volkov

the physically abused

*tw because yuliy's parents aren't nice*

Yuliy sat nervously in the back of the car whilst his parents argued in the front, the two of them near screaming at each other by that point. Honestly, Yuliy didn't remember what it had been that inspired the argument, all he knew was that it had something to do with something or another on the highway an hour or so previously. He wished that his parents would have just let him take the bus like he'd timidly suggested the night before, but they both quickly shut him down. They were afraid that he'd run away again instead of going to the camp like he was supposed to, and honestly, they weren't wrong. Who wouldn't take the chance to run away in his situation? With his duffle bag and suitcase, he'd have everything he needed for awhile, and if he successfully got away, his parents wouldn't try to contact him again until camp was over. By then, he'd be long gone. So, instead of opening that possibility, his parents were driving him. Both of them. Not because it was a long drive and they wanted to switch, but because Yuliy might need 'two pairs of guiding hands to show him his place'. Ever since he'd accidentally shoved his father in a fit of anger, his parents acted like he was a serial killer or something. They had united (something that rarely happened) in their efforts to subdue him, and the end result wasn't pleasant for him.

Yuliy made sure to keep quiet and stay still, lest he draw the attention of one of them. It seemed they were in their own little world, and if the arguing didn't open the possibility of his father crashing the car, Yuliy thought he could have been a lot more relaxed. Luckily, they arrived at Orchardwood fairly shortly, and they'd only swerved out of the way of another car twice. Upon seeing the place, Yuliy decided that it couldn't be that much worse than living with his parents. They hadn't told him much about it, only that it was filled with people like him, and that he'd better learn his lesson or there'd be hell to pay. Overall, it looked rather mundane, besides the jail fence surrounding it like some sort of barrier. Perhaps this was actually a juvie, unlike the camp his parents had said it was? He wouldn't put it past them to lie to him like that. Once they parked, Yuliy quickly got out the car, his father following suit. In an effort to not be near the man for any longer than he had to be, Yuliy rushed to get his belongings from the trunk, almost slamming it in his haste. His mom stayed in the car, but Yuliy didn't glance behind him to say goodbye, knowing that she wouldn't care anyways. She'd probably use the time it took to drop him off as a smoke break if anything.

Right before they entered the building, Yuliy's father pulled him off to the side, where they could have a bit more privacy. It seemed like they were a bit early (which was surprising), but better safe than sorry. He was grabbed by the front of his nightshirt— honestly, he had woken up too early to change into something decent, and all his clothes were baggy enough that no one would notice if he didn't tell them, probably— and his father leered threateningly over him. "This is your last chance boy. You either come out of here on your best behavior, or your mother and I will ensure that we shape you up the old fashioned way. If this doesn't fix you, we'll make sure your past corrections seem like nothing in comparison." He said, emphasizing his words with a shake or two. Yuliy's cheek twinged in pain from the newest bruise he received, courtesy of not waking up early enough. It was nothing that some well placed makeup couldn't fix though. "Understood?"

"Yes sir." Yuliy mumbled reflexively, knowing it was the expected answer.

"Good." His father let him go, shoving him towards the door.

"Off you go then." Yuliy listened, adjusting his rumpled shirt and heading inside the building. He didn't even make it two feet inside the building before he was stopped by one of the staff members, and Yuliy gulped, wondering what it was that he'd done wrong already. Said orderly was middle aged, plain looking, and blond, with her hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head and her features twisted into a rather intimidating scowl. She stood by a table and looked rather bored as she motioned for Yuliy's things, which he did so obligingly. She opened the duffle bag and started rifling through its contents, and Yuliy had to swallow down his protests as she proceeded to pull out all the food he'd snuck when his parents hadn't been looking. It had been hard to do so, and now all of it looked like it was for nothing. He thought that would be the end of things, as it was annoyingly reasonable to confiscate snacks under the threat of bugs, but the orderly didn't stop. She moved onto his suitcase (and wasn't that embarrassing) and began taking out all his makeup, which was actually quite essential if he said so himself. Without it, he'd only have until the end of the day (at best) until all his bruising became noticeable. He wouldn't be able to stop questions from being asked, and they'd have to fade naturally instead of being covered up. It was the worst case scenario for him.

"Um— wait, I kind of need that." He began, to which she just raised her eyebrows at him.

"Trust me, I've had plenty of people tell me that. You'll be fine without it."

"But—"

"You'll get it back at the end of the program if you really want it so badly." Yuliy qwelled his protests, knowing it would get him nowhere. The last thing she pulled out was his phone, and Yuliy whispered a goodbye to all the music he'd no longer be able to listen to. Already, he knew this camp sucked. "Hold your arms out." She demanded, and Yuliy quickly took a step back as she started walking around the table.

"I don't have pockets, everything I have was in my stuff." He said, not wanting to be touched, especially by someone like her. He patted himself down for emphasis, and although she looked at him for a long moment, she eventually relented with a sigh (although she didn't look happy to do so). "You're to head outside to Mr. Hawthorne to wait for the others before beginning your first activity." She said as she zipped his things up, handing them back to him. As he picked them up, Yuliy frowned at the obvious weight difference, but knew that it was most likely all in his head. He slung his duffle bag over his shoulders, grabbed his suitcase, and began heading to another pair of doors that looked like they lead outside. They did, and when he glanced about, he noticed a man seated in the center of a circle of chairs. He looked imposing, and still feeling a bit shaken up from the female orderly rifling through his things without any care for his discomfort, Yuliy knew he wasn't getting ready to go sit near that man alone. Instead, he closed the door as quietly as he could, and stood off to the side, making sure he was out of the eyesight of the orderly (and if he stuck his tongue out in her direction, who was going to know?).

orchardwood

apprehensive

outfit

none yet

coded by natasha.

 

[Delphine]

DeAngelo Evans Washington
x

Did you ever get that ever lasting feeling of dread? The one you can't shake away or ignore, even if you want to? The one that follows you onto the plane, and crawls out and into the car in motherfucking Kansas? Yeah, well that dread's called Samantha. She was DeAngelo's mom's best friend, the one that stuck by her through thick and thin. After his rebellion against his mom, she offered to fly with him and drive him to that hell on Earth to make sure he wasn't going to do anything, since his own mom wanted nothing to do with him. Wasn't that just great? He was stuck on an airplane for god knows how many hours, and in a car ride that felt like eternity, with a woman that he could probably overpower and get away from.. But at this point, did it even matter? He couldn't come back home before the summer was over cause he was sure either his mom or step-dad would call the cops on him, and he was trying to not get arrested this fast.

The car ride was long and painful. De was looking outside the window, arms crossed over his chest, gum in mouth, aggressively chewing out of frustration and anger. It wasn't fair. He was 18, his mother had technically no right to send him to a prison because he finally realized that he wasn't treated fairly by his mother. She never wanted a son, just a daughter, and now that she had her, she had no need for him. So why did she continue to torture him?

As they were approaching a very sombre looking building, the woman scoffed. "De, don't chew that loud, it's disgusting." "You're not my mom, and frankly, it wouldn't matter if you were." The woman just rolled her eyes and continued driving. "I don't understand how your mom put up with you for 18 years. Should've sent you here sooner if it were up to me." She said snarkily, almost laughing at the end of her sentence. He just decided to shut up, it wasn't like getting a headache would help him at the moment.

Samantha pulled in the street leading to the building, and stopped the car in front of the door. "Come on, get your shit out and get out this rental car right this fucking instant." He happily obliged, slamming both his door and the door of the trunk after getting his things out. As soon as he made it on the sidewalk, the woman sped off, leaving a trail of smoke instead of the car. De just sighed heavily. As much as he wanted to convince himself everything was going to be fine, he wasn't convinced. His mother didn't want him, and had to make sure a friend was flying him over instead of showing up in person like a normal person.

He didn't pack much, only having a suitcase and a backpack. He didn't really have a lot of clothes, the only ones he had were the ones he bought himself. He also had some jewellery, mainly earrings and such. He'd made sure to hide them in his suitcase, not wanting them to be seized and possible stolen by the adults there. He valued his items, and didn't want to see them go. With a weary sigh, he picked up his backpack and his suitcase, and headed inside. When he saw the adults working there, all he could think about was despair.

He approached the blond woman working at the table and put both his luggage on the table. She sifted through the items, throwing them back in after she was done. Thankfully, she hadn't found the crevice he used to hide his earrings, and she zipped up both bags before shooing him away from the table. No conversation had been made until that point. "Give me your phone." Her voice was low and coarse, almost as if she'd spoken a thousand cigarettes a day. He exhaled heavily before pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. "If I find that there's a dent on my phone I will sue this place into the ground." She simply hummed and rolled her eyes, putting it away. He'd worked hard for his own phone, and would be very mad if something happened to it. "Now, give me your sunglasses." She said, putting her hand out expectantly. He reluctantly took them off and handed them to her.

"Okay, arms up." She said, walking around the table. He complied, putting his arms up, but not without an annoyed groan. She patted him down, making sure there was nothing else in his pockets, before backing off and walking back around the table. "Ya gonna go through that door, and outside, you'll see a big circle of chairs and a man. Just sit your ass down and listen, you'll be doing a whole lot of that here." She talking to him as if he was a baby, not really capable of understanding, but he clearly wasn't. He grabbed his luggage and walked off to said door, heading outside the building. The outside looked somehow even more depressing than the inside. He looked around to find the man and the circle of chair, and a little bit to the side, he saw a boy, probably a bit younger than him. He looked back at the circle and shrugged, heading for it. What was the worse that could happen, a fight between him and the old man? He found himself a spot to sit and leaned back, crossing his arms.​

 

[erzulie]

Amahle Nkoane

LOCATION

Group Circle

INTERACTIONS

None

MENTIONS

Yuliy, DeAngelo

TAGS

u k i y o , Delphine

OUTFIT

Amahle had been given a week to prepare for her trip, a mere week to soak in the fact that her parents were forcing her to stay at some juvenile correctional facility for her summer vacation. There would be no trip to Italy or Thailand for her. And all because her parents felt as if she didn’t appreciate them or the things that they had done for her. In their eyes she owed them for providing for her, for bringing her into the world. And at one point Amahle believed that, she took it as fact. So she spent her days trying to be the best she could be for them, for an ounce of praise, a smile, or even a simple hug. But no she was only doing what she was supposed to and that deserved no type of praise or sign of approval. Amahle never complained as the weight of their expectations crushed her. She was obedient as she spent countless nights studying for exam after exam advancing through school at an impressive rate. She smiled pretty through the ballet classes, and the etiquette class, and horseback riding lessons, never once uttering a complaint.

But oh, after spending year after year, her entire life of hoping for approval, of parental love, something within her changed. And she no longer sought their approval, instead she turned to attempting to branch out and live how she wanted. To enjoy her teenage years before her parents could take that from her. But her rebellion was dealt with accordingly, just like anytime she dared show an ounce of free will or individuality. Amahle had been kicked out and flown to some unknown correctional facility in Kansas.

Amahle was nothing, if not resourceful. She refused to go in blind, without any knowledge on where she would be sent so she researched and didn’t look over any detail. Amahle had heard stories about places similar to Orchardwood, places far from the eyes of society. She was expecting the worst if she were being honest. Amahle knew her parents and so she knew they would be sending her someone less than luxurious. She could only imagine how things were inside the walls.

Sometimes Amahle hated being right. Upon reaching her destination she couldn’t help but compare it to a jail, it was the only place she could think of that was similar. But she refused to be shaken. Amahle was adamant on getting through this and once she left, she’d finally free herself from her family. Of that she was sure. With that thought she headed inside, her head held high and her face and void of emotion.

Once she entered she was stopped by a staff member, a rather plain looking woman with a bun that looked as if it would give her a headache. Amahle watched silently as she went through her things. The young woman hadn’t brought any jewelry with her, she wasn’t above thinking that they would end up stolen if she had. Seeing as she wore only real diamonds and gold, she knew that someone would try to pawn them off.

Once she was pat down, Amahle had sneered inwardly as the woman touched her, she sauntered over to the area she’d been directed to. Walking through the large double doors Amahle took a moment to look around, peering at the circle of chairs and the people inside with an unimpressed look on her face. Amahle chose one of the chairs directly in front of the old man, carefully placing her bag down and crossing one long leg over the other.

coded by weldherwings.