Spam eggs sausage and spam

[overconfidant]

Arrival

[ It doesn't take long for Akira to register what kind of place he's been tossed to. He hasn't even really gotten settled into the Barge yet, and now this new ship is actually worse. Sure, the sentencing on the sheet is a lot more straightforward than what getting off the Barge entails, but what is that worth surrounded by bars and chains and with every last dreg of power locked down?

Sentencing. Akira smiles but it's more like baring his teeth, sharp with fury. ]

What self-righteous bullshit.


Cell Block Tango - closed to Akechi

[ Akira is incredibly offended but not actually surprised by the prisoner rooms. Apparently his is defaulted to the cell unless whoever his fucking Advocate is changes it. Plus it's attached to their room. The memories are stifling; the cot, the bars. The only saving grace is there's no blue light, no executioner's tools right outside.

He slams the side of his fist against the connecting door. It's aggressive as hell, but still technically knocking. ]


Local teen hates everything

[ He hates this place! A lot! So Akira starts making a problem of himself in pretty short order. Graffiti, bags or ropes with spots frayed to weakness, things broken where they won't cause problems for other Prisoners. Advocates are fair game there, though. Can this get him in trouble?

Probably. But like the Disney movie said, "You're only in trouble if you get caught". A lot of his stealth tricks need powers, but not all of them. Akira's a past master of looking like he's never done anything wrong in his life, for one thing.

And he's looking for whoever else here might be interested in making the Establishment's day a little more terrible. ]

B22: An Unholy Row

[epistemological]

WHO: Jon and you
WHAT: Starving and heartsick, Jon's on the galley and not doing well
WHERE: Oars, Deck, Yard, Cabin
WHEN: early part of August
NOTES: No warnings to begin with other than deep DEEP depression. If you'd like a starter, or to plot for something, feel free to ping me on plurk @ yarnzipan

Jon? Hadn't been well when the ship had been taken. He'd been spending the last few days between being dead and being recently not-dead, which had used up what fear energy he'd had stashed up so when he was brought to the room? He... hadn't been entirely coherent. Or particularly lovely. By the end, he'd been snappish and snarky and he's reasonably certain he hadn't agreed to anything, strictly, but he'd probably said something clever that had allowed him to be brought here and of course it'd been as a prisoner.

One one side, he can feel that his power is gone, that he certainly can't hurt anyone else regardless of how hungry he is, how desperate. Contrary to one might think? He's glad for that.

On the other, however, the list of his crimes looks like the tickertape from an episode of supermarket sweep, his various 'crimes' in dooming the entirety of his world laid out before him in a length of parchment that wrapped around his arms and dropped between them to dip against the floor. The two month 'reprieve' added to the end for his effort in reversing the situation is the crowning cherry on the mixed metaphor of a shit sandwich, and he's not ashamed to say he spent some time, weak and sick and starving, just weeping in his assigned room.

But he had duties at the oar bank, as he was told by one of what he found out to be Advocates, the one who was connected to the room he'd been deposited in. They informed him about the yard, where he'd end up eventually, and that there was, in fact, a tiny selection of reading material that he could enjoy while there.

He'd never much liked detective novels. He put the pieces together too quick to make them satisfying even before he'd become what he was.

He gets a chance to see the deck, to see the stars, and some part of him doesn't even see them so much as he simply needs to be somewhere open, somewhere... almost familiar. He doesn't know... anything. What he's going to do, how he's going to survive this place, if he'll make it through his sentence, even though he'd never dream of refuting it. Especially since it seems like he's lost his chance.

He can never save his world. The worlds connected to it.

He can never make himself safe to live anywhere.

Those doors were closed now. So... maybe this is best.

Which is why it isn't that much of a hardship for him to be stuck in his cabin all the time, regardless of someone able to watch him, regardless of it being more spartan than his old college dorm. Right now, about all he can manage, when he isn't working or reading the same page of a detective novel he found over and over again is stare up into nothing and wonder if this is what Daisy felt like in the coffin.

It's what he deserves.