epidemiology | EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

ASTERION PRISON

The white light is blinding. The weightlessness continues. The air thins into nothingness, though those who breathe won't feel the pain of suffocation -- in fact, they won't feel the need to breathe at all. The sensation continues for what may seem like a second or an eternity; it's impossible to tell.

And then the floor hits you. Or rather, you hit the floor. It's cold and metal and as your vision returns, you'll find you're not alone in this small room, though you're definitely not with anyone you know: standing in front of you is a brawny alien in a black uniform, its many purple eyes staring at you. The alien is flanked by a pair of robots, who take advantage of your dazed state and grasp you in their metal arms to drag you from the room into what appears to be a gigantic prison.

As the robots drag you past cells -- some containing other aliens, some containing humanoids, and some containing your teammates -- you'll catch a glimpse of the outside through a window.

You're in outer space.

If questioned, the guard will only tell you that you've been accused of conspiracy to commit grand theft, and your trial will begin soon. But in the meantime, you'd better get cozy.

YOUR NEW HOME

Asterion Prison is a dreadnought class spaceship with several different cell blocks making up a majority of its innards, with the rest of the space designated for day-to-day running of the ship and living quarters for the guards. Audentes is housed in Block 26, which has six tiers of cells situated in a circle around the main recreational area, out of which juts the Block 26 guard tower.

Each inmate, including Audentes recruits, has a glowing blue symbol emblazoned on their forehead. Though it's not immediately clear what the symbols mean, inmates who have been around longer will explain: it's a record of how many lives you've taken, a way for the guards to know who's the most dangerous. The symbol glows through any kind of attempt at covering it -- whether by makeup, clothing, hair, or something else -- so it's best to learn to deal with it quickly.

Speaking of clothing, whatever recruits were wearing upon their abduction has been replaced by a uniform orange jumpsuit. Similarly, any weapons are no longer present, though those with a special connection to their weapons will feel that they are being held elsewhere on the ship.

Luckily, the guards appear to have overlooked jewelcomms, so Audentes will be able to communicate with each other via magitek (text only is suggested, of course, unless you want to get caught!), though contact with Oska or any other outside ALASTAIR recruit seems to be blocked.

LOCKDOWN

As long as inmates keep to themselves and don't bother the guards, things run pretty smoothly. Two meals a day, five hours of sleep, and all the weights you need to get yourself swole. But on the sixth day in Asterion Prison, all hell breaks loose.

No one knows who started it, but there's suddenly a loud roar from the milling crowd in the recreational area. Most inmates scatter, but some rush in -- to see what's going on or to get a piece of the action themselves, who knows -- and then everything becomes an all-out brawl.

Super strong aliens with various powers fight each other loudly and violently while others cower and run for cover. The old alien ducks behind his chess board just in time to avoid a barbell sailing overhead; a six-armed being shoots lava out of its mouth, which does nothing to the metallic floor but severely burns a group of humanoid toads wielding shivs.

The fight goes on for a few long minutes before correctional officers and their robot guards pour in to try and get things under control. Those who are still around once the officers come in are in threat of being dragged off to solitary, even if they had nothing to do with the brawl, so make yourself scarce unless the idea of sitting in the dark for another six days seems appealing.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to space prison! We hope you'll enjoy your stay. There is a plotting write-up here with extra information about the prison ship, and please note that participation in the symbol directory is mandatory.

If you have any questions about the prison that aren't answered here, please direct them to the Leramzen dossier.

Questions about the game in general should be directed to the FAQ and you may submit mission ideas or player plots at any time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Instinct tells him to fight when he hits the ground, even though the bright light has left him nearly blind--but it's spite that tells him to spit in the general direction of what he thinks (given all of those eyes) is something's face. Luckily, Fugo's aim is off: it lands on the guard's shoulder instead and his insolence only earns him the back of the guard's hand, rather than an early stint in solitary.

Stupid fucker, is what Fugo thinks furiously to himself, while the robots yank him out of the room and into the hall. You're the lucky one.]

[There are still spots in his vision by the time he stumbles into his cell, but the split in his lip has stopped bleeding. His pocket knife and lock picking tools are gone, along with the rest of his clothes, but they've left his magitek and earrings alone. So he at least has something to work with. Fugo's first order of business is to send a message to Giorno, which he does from the bunk; he curls up on his side, facing the wall, and covers his face with a pillow. The last bit isn't entirely for show: he really does need to hide in a relatively dark place for a little while, to give his eyes a chance to recover.]

Asterion Prison. Block 26, Tier 4, Cell 13. Where are you?

[He's got a death grip on his tek bracelet. It's the only thing right now keeping him from going off the rails entirely, his white-knuckled grip on a tacky green charm bracelet that's nothing like his taste.]

[The text gives him one more thing to hold on to. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Trust Fugo to arrive at sensibility quicker. Fugo doesn't freeze or fight as quick as Giorno does. This is why he wanted Fugo back. That, and the fierce grief-fueled voice growling in the back of his head: Mine.]

Block 26, Tier 4, Cell 16. Looks like our lucky day. (◠‿◠✿)

No injuries. Just pissed. You?

Nothing major. Split lip, probably going to have a bruise. I'm more annoyed about my eyes. I'll be seeing spots for a while.

[On the one hand, he's angry that Giorno got caught up in this. On the other, the acid weight of worry in his stomach grows a little lighter knowing that he's more or less fine.]

[There's no further response, not even to say he's on his way. Split lip and bruises and he's up, he's off, he's down the hall and thank god it's just a few steps because anyone who got in his way would be in real trouble--]

[And then there it is: the curve of Fugo's back, pillow over his head. Giorno's shoulders are tense.]

Fugo, [he says, an announcement of his presence so as not to startle, and then he crosses the room to sit on the edge of the cot. Hand on Fugo's shoulder.] Show me.

[Giorno doesn't immediately respond. Fugo's about to send another message, his heart in his throat, when it occurs to him that it's less likely that something happened and more likely that Giorno is making a beeline to where Fugo is. And that's all he really has time to think before he hears the sound of footsteps and then Giorno's voice, calling out to him. Then his cot sinks and there's a familiar hand resting on his shoulder.

It's a stupid risk. Giorno shouldn't have come, not for something as little as a bruised cheek and split lip. That's a fact. But he knows now that, when it comes to his people, Giorno doesn't particularly care about facts and risks.]

You were dropped off first. [Fugo sits up, mind already thinking how to cover Giorno's purposeful journey that should not be. Instead of opening his properly, he squints at Giorno. There's... a mark on his forehead and, honestly, it hurts to look direclty at right now.] You saw me in the hall when they brought me in.

[There's a fresh cut on his lower lip, and a darkening mark that will very soon become a bruise on his cheek. But no other visible injuries. He was honest in his report.]

[It doesn't matter. He doesn't care. He nods anyway, curt and sharp, to show he's heard. It's a fine cover story, the same one he would probably have come up with given another couple of minutes.]

[Right now, all he can see is red leaking in around the cut in Fugo's lip and the mark on his cheek.]

Who?

[His voice is quiet, calm. Gaze steady.]

I won't do anything stupid. I just want to know who.

[Fugo frowns and looks as closely as he can at Giorno's face. He's not sure, exactly, what he's looking for. Some sign that Giorno will-- take care of himself, at least half as well as he wants to take care of the people will follow him.]

The processing guard. [He sighs, then rubs one of his eyes to try and chase a few lingering spots in his vision away.] I don't know if I could pick him out from the rest by looks. I would have to hear his voice again.

All right. Don't worry about it too much. But if you notice him, let me know.

[Giorno knows better than anyone else that there are ways to hurt others that don't leave marks. He isn't going to do anything stupid if he locates the guard who hit Fugo; he's not going to do anything traceable, in particular. He's just going to track him, learn his weak spots, and make his life a living hell for as long as they're in this place.]

[Guards can get paranoid. Fear does weird things to the mind. And Giorno can be cruel when he wants to be.]

[Not to Fugo, though. He reaches out carefully, so carefully, to brush knuckles along Fugo's cheek.]

It would be tactically unwise to heal you at this juncture, but I'm going to do it anyway. Don't strain to look at me. Rest your eyes.

Okay.

[Which he does not say in response to any one thing Giorno asks of him; it's to all of it. He'll try not to worry about it. If he can identify the guard who struck him, he'll point him out to Giorno. And he closes his eyes without argument. This is not a good decision; it's dangerous for Giorno to show these two cards so early. But he knows exactly how much it would kill Giorno to leave him hurt, even though it's such a little thing.

And he trusts him. Personally speaking and as a leader. If Giorno is willing to take the risk, then Fugo is willing to accept it. He has faith in their ability to survive. And, secretly, he's-- relieved by the faint touch to his cheek, though it stings a little when Giorno's curled fingers brush over his bruise-to-be.]

... this sucks. [It's hard. To not apologize for putting Giorno in this position, where he has to just-- give up information. About his abilities and their connection.] But, I'm... glad you're not far. I'd hate it if you were on another level.

I think I'd go crazy if you were far away.

[This isn't an exaggeration. Well, maybe "crazy" isn't the right word; maybe "wild" is better. He remembers the days of searching, after the obsession took hold but before Fugo had been found. He can imagine what losing Fugo would be like now: that, but exponentially more agonizing. He isn't sure he could take it.]

[It's too much to say. He hasn't started healing Fugo yet, distracted by his own thoughts. He looks at Fugo's lip and thinks about touching it. He could get away with it, he thinks. Nobody's here now but them. And he's gotten away with it in the past. And if he thinks about Mista now he's going to think about him busting into this space station like the hero he is, guns blazing, to save them all, and it'll make him cry.]

[His eyes are already stinging. In the luxurious moment bought by Fugo's closed eyes, he doesn't immediately blink them away as gold glimmers faintly around his fingers and Fugo's lip starts to knit.]

I'm not giving away information I wasn't already planning to. I need you to help distribute weapons once we make them and to keep an eye out for all the heroes on this team; our connection was always going to be apparent. Even Gold Experience likely wasn't going to stay a secret. Someone like me will always need to assert himself in a situation like this, and any power is a potential tool. Whispers are acceptable.

I've been ready for this since . . . well. Years. There was always a chance I would end up in prison someday. I have plans for every contingency. What worries me is the possibility of you seeming like a weakness of mine to exploit.

[He stays quiet for a moment, watching the bruises knit.]

If you got hurt because of me, I would have no choice but to retaliate with extreme prejudice. You know my prejudice can be exceptionally extreme. We don't have the luxury of that here. So I have to compartmentalize.

You'll need to lay low. Make yourself as unremarkable as possible. Be a shadow. Don't pick fights with guards, no matter how tempting it is. We are the best chance Audentes has of not getting decimated because of action-hero stupidity.

[Once upon a time, it used to hurt to be healed by Gold Experience; almost as much as the original injury did to begin with. Nowadays, the clearest sign of Giorno's Stand at work is the simple absence of pain. But that's to be expected. Practice makes perfect, and theirs is a bloody business with plenty of opportunities for Giorno to practice.

Fugo listens, quietly, to everything Giorno has to say. Prison is something he has limited experience with. And it's not something he ever thought about for himself, for the simple reason that he never thought he survive long enough to make it through a trial.]

[Giorno's logic is simple, easy to follow, and matter of fact. He can see how, though their starting footing isn't ideal, the way Giorno can work it out to their advantage. A breath he didn't realize he was holding whistles through his teeth; his worries aren't completely abated, but he at least feels better about it.]

I won't be a weakness to you by allowing myself to be goaded into a fight. [Though his eyes are still closed, Fugo's eyebrows gather together to make a stubborn furrow over the bridge of his nose.] I... lost my temper, earlier. It won't happen again. I'll keep a low profile.

[He was pissed, scared, and disoriented. But those are reasons, not excuses. He has to be better. He knows he can. There's always Purple Haze, but the thought of using him in a closed environment-- no. No, that's simply not an acceptable risk.]

I was told there's going to be a trial. [He snorts, unamused, unapologetic, and entirely unimpressed.] "Conspiracy to commit grand theft". Of all the fucking things.

Thank you.

[That's all he says. No asking for further details, or promises, because he knows that Fugo will keep his word. That if taking this step for his own safety isn't enough, he'll do it for the good of Giorno's vision.]

[Instead, the corner of his lip curls up, faintly amused at the irony of it all.]

It was hardly a conspiracy. The implication of such a word is organization.

We were a little more organized than usual.

[Fugo takes the risk of cracking his eyes open, just a little. Unsurprisingly, they're still sensitive; there's nothing unusual about the light levels of the cell he's in, but just these few prickles are enough to sting. But it's worth the risk, to catch that glimpse of one of Giorno's not-so-kind smiles. He blinks slowly, trying to adjust his eyes back to the light, and reaches to touch his cheek, then his lip. It's all whole again, as if nothing happened.]

Thank you, Giogio. It doesn't hurt at all anymore.

[Well. It's a kinder smile after that, albeit tired and bittersweet. His thumb skates along Fugo's cheek for a moment before he collects his hands to himself again, folded neatly in his lap.]

Good. I'm glad.

. . . I hate that I wasn't there to stop it from happening. I hate it when you get hurt.

[Giorno's touch, careful and soft, is strange only in its brevity. He didn't used to feel that way. It used to feel strange when anyone touched him--(because why would anyone want to?)--let alone with such affection or to try and comfort him.

But, now... it's difficult not to lean into it. And not just because he knows it would comfort Giorno. However long they're in this prison... it's going to be difficult, isn't it, for them to keep their distance.]

I know if you were there, you wouldn't have let it happen. [Either Giorno's presence would have calmed him down, or he would have stood between him and the guard.] I'm okay. I've taken worse hits for stupid arguments.

[Back in Napoli, from Narancia and Mista both. But he won't bring their names up here. Not when things are already so shitty, not when Giorno is already struggling to keep his emotions in check.]

[The names don't need to be said; they're implied. But in a way, they're a comfort. Hearing Mista's hurts more, because Mista's out of reach but not dead. Narancia--]

[He can just imagine what Narancia would have already gotten up to in a place like this. How many people would be bleeding. It's heartening, in some awful backwards way. Maybe he should feel terrible about that, but he doesn't. He's got too much to manage to feel terrible at the moment.]

I'm sure whatever you did to him, he deserved.

[There's a twitch of gallows humor to his expression.]

I'm sure he deserved worse. I'd just like you to get away with your retribution with impunity.

[The solution to this problem is not flirting, but that's what's happening now anyway, it seems.]

[On a normal day, Fugo might linger on Narancia; pick and prod at his own hurts, thinking about old memories and wondering how things would be different with Narancia around picking fights and elbowing his way into conversations.]

Oh. I spat at him, because he was being smug, condescending, and wouldn't properly explain what was going on. [Fugo glances down and, feeling sheepish both for the rude (but childish) gesture and Giorno's cheerful support of it, picks a bit at his nails.] I missed his face, though, because I couldn't see very well.

[He sort of regrets not making his mark, but mostly not. Being thrown in solitary wouldn't do either of them any good.]

[It's. Totally inappropriate. And stupid, and just plain absurd. But it happens anyway: Giorno laughs.]

[He shouldn't, but he does, because that's the most Fugo thing he's ever heard. Fugo, mulish and pissed and panicked, spits in the face of a guard who most certainly deserved it and then criticizes himself for missing. It makes Giorno giggle, quick and delighted before he covers his mouth with his hand. Even then, though, a smile lingers around his eyes.]

I'm so glad, [he manages after a moment, speaking through the gaps in his fingers,] that you're here with me. Is that terrible?

[Fugo looks up sharply, eyes wide with surprise and fingers frozen in the act of picking. This isn't the first time he's made Giorno laugh. In fact, Giorno is terribly prone to giggles in his company. Which sometimes bothers him (because he's touchy about being laughed at) but not as much as it should, all things considered.

But. Here? He made Giorno laugh here, enough that he needs to hide behind his hand to keep it in, imprisoned on a ship where the summary of their current knowledge is "we don't know anything"? He's honestly stunned and needs a moment to recover before Giorno's question properly sinks in.]

Well. If you're terrible, that makes two of us. [His hands settle in his lap.] I work better when we're together.

Oh, that's fine then. I don't mind being terrible if we're both terrible.

[It's only after saying this that he recognizes the look on Fugo's face for what it is: astonishment. Oh, that really was an incredibly weird thing to do, wasn't it? Damn.]

[He reaches over and pats Fugo's hand.]

Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I promise I haven't gone crazy, I know this isn't really funny.

No, I'm not startled-- it's just... [He shrugs and then, miraculously, smiles. It's twitchy, nervy, and gone almost as soon as it's there, but it's a smile nonetheless.] I get it. When everything is fucked, sort of funny things become hilarious.

[Fugo smiled. Something like awe flickers onto his face. It really is a miracle.]

. . . Mm, pretty much. It's better than nothing, I suppose.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

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