PRISON CATCH-ALL

[adlantisag]

YOU DONE FUCKED UP NOW.

This is a catch-all for characters who are awaiting execution in Odette's prison and anyone who'd like to visit them. They're all stuck together in Ye Olde Gaol Celle; hopefully you aren't squeamish about sharing a latrine! ...or anything else for that matter. Ew.

It's going to be a long two weeks.

Reminders:
➜ Magic and powers are blocked.
➜ Some Order members are tossed in, too, but (so far) they can't be interacted with.
➜ Visitors are allowed, but interaction will be heavily monitored.
➜ Characters will be fugitives after their escape.

Comments

gilgamesh | open

[babbylon]

[They'd dragged him in kicking and screaming, beat him unconscious, and that's when the fun really began.

Servants weren't just magical. They were magic itself, thus to deprive them of that connection was akin to depriving a man of air; so Gilgamesh awakens to choking and retching and reaching for something that's no longer there. He fights and he bites and he gets pounded on again for his efforts and he stops after that. He's too proud to keep going—or rather he's too weak to, so he claims a corner for himself and falls quiet.

Those who know Gilgamesh will therefore know his behavior as unusual. He says nothing. He moves only to snatch up his food and shove it in his mouth and then returns to staring out at nothingness. Every day, he gets worse. Every day, the rings under his eyes darken and he draws his legs a bit tighter to his chest and he tries not to think of death, even as it gnaws at him.

I will not die here, he vows; this will not be the end.

By the end of their imprisonment, Gilgamesh has become unresponsive. He will answer if hailed, but it's largely like speaking to the walls that surround them, unfulfilling and dreary and a stark reminder of their increasingly imperiled situation. Gilgamesh lives, but only just barely, only just enough to make it through one more night.]

[jumpfesta]

<sub>[ The smell of gaols and the feeling of being cold— isolated— with only freezing air to soothe the burns from previous punishment.. it's all been there done that for Gintoki. He contained his demeanor impressively well, given the familiar kind of setting: a lonely place to face before an execution. It was cruel, wasn't it? It was only by a miracle he was pardoned back home— it was only by a miracle he was alive today and had made promises to the precious people in his life.

Flecks of dirt and blood from who knows what decorated his face— his silvery hair looking more like something empty and ash. Gintoki didn't give in so easily without a fight either, much like when he was imprisoned here before. It's different, though. The last time he was here, he saw Gilgamesh here, but he was on the other side.

As unfamiliar he is with Gilgamesh's being (other than the fact he evidently doesn't poop? what the heck, man) and what kind of powers he does harness in great detail.. he knows he is strong enough to not be here. It would be the perfect opportunity for Gintoki to scoff and jeer at him, but he doesn't. His expression is dull and vacant as ever. Did he feel a sense of hopelessness too? Highly likely.

What the hell happened? Gold is supposed to glitter, but he doesn't see that in this man he had met, bickered with, reconciled with and all around felt indifferent with. It didn't really matter at a time like this. He can tell this is the picturesque visual of a king who has dropped his crown and is trying to put it back up or one that has thrown in the towel all together. Gintoki knew well enough that the latter probably wasn't the situation even if he didn't know Gilgamesh as well.

Gin takes a seat right next to him on the icy floor. He reaches into his yukata and pulls out the issue of JUMP he was given last time he was here. Doesn't that look familiar? ]</sub>

Don't look so pitiful like that. If I'm apparently supposed to answer and belong to some King, don't embarrass me, oi.
_{[ Alright. Gintoki is a bit harsh with his words, as typical, but this is his some weird way of beginning encouragement. Somehow. ]}

[inroad]

[ Masamune doesn't say anything when he finally makes an approach. It may be the first time Gilgamesh even knows he's here, too.

( Who knows when it is or isn't, how many hours or days have passed in this cell? Who knows, they only have a countdown as their way to tell time, right?)

Gilgamesh may not hear anything before he sees something, depending on all circumstances, and what he would see is a fall into his line of vision is a plate offered to him with whatever poor excuse for food they're serving is. It's a few hours since the guards delivered whatever meal this was, so it's not that Gilgamesh has somehow spaced out and forgotten to even be able to rise for the meals offered.

...If he thought that, however, the young Date leader would prefer it over what it really is.

It's too complicated to deal with or think on in his condition; it would be far lost on someone even half as run down as the Servant. So, it's better if it's not said at all. Masamune does come to crouch down after a moment to follow the plate to come into sight without the other needing to make any effort to change his focus i...or total lack thereof). He will hold it out to the other persistently until its taken, even if he has to hold it until the next meal comes around from the guards. He's got all the time in the world—and he can't imagine this does much of anything if anything at all, but he's noticed Gilgamesh at least eats it. If it gives a few seconds of distraction it's good enough to go through the effort to hand it over. ]

[regida]

[ it becomes clear enough that this confinement is different than the last, after the brawl in the square. that they’re going to be here longer, that the imagined crime is of a higher severity.

when the law enforcement had come through the forest, she had been sitting by the fire she had kindled, which in retrospect is probably what drew them to her. by all accounts she should have heard them coming, the crinkling of foliage under boots, the snapping of twigs— but her own thoughts were loud enough to drown them out, and before she had a chance to react there were hands encircling her forearms, pulling her up and away— and the words you can’t do this were barely out of her mouth before she realized that they could.

that she wouldn’t be able to stop them. thinks she wouldn’t have tried, even if her gun hadn’t been taken away from her on her first arrest. she has enough blood on her hands, enough to last a lifetime. many lifetimes over. so she didn’t try to scramble for a rock on the ground to hit the guardsmen with.

did nothing but drag her heels into the dirt as a feeble protest. she had been thrown into the cell with only the ache of a bruise on her upper arm, a reddened manacle around her wrist, and scrapes on her palms from the impact of the cells floor. other’s fare worse, in injuries both, and in imprisonment. while she only marks a spot as hers, is a point of silence within the constrains of the cell, others cope differently. become louder, abrasive, and she watches them wearily. marks when the guards come and leave, the days as they pass.

finds her eyes slipping to a man on the opposite side of the cell, slumped and curled in on himself, as if willing to disappear. it worries her, and she finds herself glancing his way more than once before finally deciding to stand, move towards him with footsteps heavier than necessary so she doesn’t startle him, before sinking down to sit, leaving about a foot of space between them. ] Hey.

You were hurt, when they brought you here. [ understatement, of course. she looks at him sidelong, brings her own knees to her chest, folds her arms atop them. ] Any broken skin runs risk of getting infected.

I can look at your wounds, if you want. Just to make sure they aren’t.

[ she tries to make the words nonchalant, though there is concern underneath them. ]

[adlantisag]

[ The magic block means that, for once, Gilgamesh is in worse shape than Kida when the lot of them get tossed inside. For the first few hours Kida is too filled with adrenaline and rage to back down, and she prowls the length and breadth of the cage like a captive tiger. Gilgamesh goes unnoticed, pushed back under the weight of her anger at their predicament.

It's only on the second day that she starts watching him. He's uncharacteristically quiet, downcast. Between the pages of her books she gives him glances, keeps one eye on his golden hair. He's been divested of his armor, and the bruises on his skin are unusually slow to heal. She's ashamed to say the sight of him still affects her, makes a shiver of disgust--of fear--crawl up her spine.

It would be easy, she thinks, to kill him now. He is weakened, and vulnerable, operating on a paltry fraction of his resources. She's weak herself, but not enough that she couldn't snap a man's neck with enough desire to do so--and she has the desire to do so. She finds nothing to pity. Let him rot.

After three days without a word, her worry begins to fade. It's only after a week, when she wakes to find him curled and immobile, pressed against a wall, that she realizes it has gone.

Death is both familiar to Kida, to have watched the slow, slow decline of her people over the centuries, and achingly distant, to someone who has lived so long. To be faced with it now--she isn't certain how to express what she feels, if she can even pinpoint it at all.

She moves to his side, one hand to his shoulder and the other to his chest; his heart beats faintly. What rises: disappointment or relief? ]

Ishek. [ Atlantean. Her voice low and soft. She switches to Sumerian as she encourages him to straighten. ] Gilgamesh. Rouse yourself.

[ What motivates her to help him? An ancient story she knows, perhaps? The smile of a pale-haired young man she met in the woods, who caught fairy slime with her? Or maybe it's just that it's human nature to despair at the dimming of the sun. ]

[tachiboner]

[Does Muneshige know all of this about Gilgamesh? Not really.

Would it change his response to seeing him like this? Probably not, honestly.

He doesn't make his way straight over; he takes his time, checks in with some of the others. Waits until it's become evident that if this is one of the stages of coping that Gilgamesh is moving through, it's not one he's likely to move through any time soon.

But sooner or later, he drops to sit against the wall nearby.]

Arrogance suited you much better.

[counterattacked]

[This asshole. (Kind of figures he'd make for the most dramatic sight, huh. Even now.)

It's not that he hasn't known Gilgamesh was here. But he'd been content to keep his distance for days. He's not actually all that inclined to care to go out of his way to talk to someone who rubs him the wrong way, not unless he's got a reason. They're all—understandably—pretty preoccupied with the more recent and pressing threat of their circumstances. And to be frank, Gil had proven himself pretty powerful already. Not exactly first on his list of people to check up on in a crisis. So when Gil starts to look a whole lot more like a wilting daisy than the rest of them a whole lot quicker, it's pretty jarring.

He's seen dying men, before. Sick and starving refugees. Gilgamesh has that look about him. And Eren is stubborn, he doesn't like Gil very much. But he doesn't always have to like someone to be angry on their behalf.

(This guy had pointed an arsenal at the city. But as far as Eren knows, he hadn't fired it. He doesn't deserve to die here any more than the rest of them do.)

It's some middling point in the week—before Gil's gone too far but long enough that he's been alarmingly still and silent for alarmingly long stretches of time. Like he's listless and looking at nothing, as if he's already resigned to this. It's not just concerning, it's creepy. Chilling and grating on his nerves in a wrong sort of way. At some point Eren drops down to a crouch in front of him, as if to be sure he's still breathing.]

You awake?

kida | open

[adlantisag]

1. grain and taxes

[ The guards let her have a book. Two, in fact: the first is Millet Cultivation in Chantes and Its Neighbours and the second is Tax Reform in Early Chantean History; it was presumably what they had on-hand, though both tomes are about as dry as you'd imagine. Still, they're better than nothing. Kida hates feeling trapped more than just about anything else, and keeping her mind saddled to a task helps her remain focused, like she's actually accomplishing something, even if it's self-improvement. She tries not to think that it might be for nothing.

When the guards are away, she pulls out a lens a little smaller than her palm, running it over the words: it feeds her the meaning. Considering the length of time it takes her to flip over the page, and the expression of pure concentration on her face, it's clear that 'her best' isn't quite cutting it against these books.

Without the guards close, she's left dependant on her fellows, so it's with some trepidation that she shifts closer to her nearby cellmate, leaning the book towards them. Depending on who it is, she isn't sure if she's about to get mocked. ]

Do you know what this says?

[ Your pick: 'the benefits of soil moisture in millet cultivation' VS 'import-export taxation laws' VS 'other'. ]

2. gnawing

[ They get food, certainly, just not enough. Kida deals poorly with hunger, not because she's never experienced it but rather because she has. It makes her think of home, and nothing makes her more stir-crazy in this place than thinking of Atlantis, of her people. Her people who scavenge each day in the water and the caves, making meals out of what they find. Life continues, but with each passing year hunger becomes a more constant friend. A third of her portions get handed out; she figures she can manage.

But hunger makes for poor sleep and a worse mood, which is how Kida winds up at the front of the jail cell, hands fisted around the bars, teeth bared as she guns down a guard with her gaze. ]

We need more food!

Be glad for what you have! Or do you want even less?

[ Someone had probably better intervene before their rations get cut. ]

3. a song a sixpence

[ There's no 'night' if there's no 'day', though after some time they all begin to follow the same basic pattern of sleep and wakefulness. Kida is half-tucked against another ALASTAIR teammate, their body leaned equally into hers; at this point, bleary and exhausted, after days and days of wallowing in each others' filth, she can't bring herself to care much for propriety. They're all covered in the same blood, dirt, grass stains and whatever else they were dragged in with. ]

Teach me something. A song, from your-- [ she almost says 'your world', but revises herself thinking the guards might be listening in. ] --from where you come from.

[ 'A song' was the first thing to come to mind, but it's nominal only: she'll take a story, a history, anything. It breaks the quiet. ]

4. wildcard

[ Hit me. ]

3

[inroad]

Do I have to actually sing it?

[ he's less energetic in his words than usual, but there's a light bit of humor there in him making the effort to still tease over the request. he's tired and worn down but just falling apart isn't much his style.

neither is waiting, though. ]

Because I don't think that part is such a good idea.

1.

[regida]

[ her head is tipped back against one of the cell’s walls, and her eyes are fixed towards the celing when kida shifts closer to her, and after a second of instinctual tensing she relaxes, lips quirking into something of a smile when the book is tipped her way—because if anything she’s grateful for the distraction. from her thoughts, and counting the cracks in the stone overhead.

she’s no stranger to imprisonment, once in space for months that stretched in a way that made each day feel like two—the walls of her cell seeming to encroach on her as she decorated them with drawings. charcoal scratches of earth. trees. rivers. mountains. until there wasn’t any space left. there she wasn’t clarke griffin daughter of an esteemed council member but only 319 awaiting trial, likely to be floated, rag dolled into space. she wonders if this is the same, if they’re here waiting to be floated. excecuted in some manner befitting their crime of trying to help the people here, but she clears her head of the thought. not because it isn’t valid, but it wouldn’t do any good to announce it, cause a panic.

instead she leans off the wall, towards kida, so she can lean closer to the book, squint at the lines of text in the low light. glances back to kida after a moment : ] Nothing interesting.

[ she regrets the words, as soon as she says them, because sure the book isn’t riveting. but it’s what they have. she takes a breath. starts over. ]

Millet is one of the many seed grasses that can be used as a food source. The grain, similar in nutrient composition to corn, is richer in protein. It’s believed to be one of the first grains harvested by humans for food.

1

[jumpfesta]

_{[ Gintoki is, in fact, the nearest inmate, and it looks he is busying himself with something that seems pressing: something is stuck in between his teeth and it's really bothering him.
Such concentration that could probably counter how tedious Kida was when she was looking at the books she was given. When she approaches him, he looks up at her with a curious and yet sound. ]}

Aaaa?

_{[ You have his attention. ]}

Oi, Kidakenshin-san. I didn't think you'd make it in here—
_{[ Though, then she is off, nattering about some book that looks incredibly boring. Gintoki squints, then points a finger directly on the part about soil moisture. ]}

It says: Suffering by severe hemorrhoids can occur to those who lie about cake in the castle.

_{[ Doesn't he sound a little passive aggressive though? There was no cake in there. Will you ever forgive you now? The answer is yes, he is just being troublesome as usual. ]}

3

[tachiboner]

[He considers.

There are so many ways to answer that request, after all, and so many that might suit the moment, each in their own way. Something soft and comforting to ease the tension. Something light-hearted and happy, because there hasn't been much to smile about.

But what springs to mind first, rather, is an offhand remark he'd heard from Hideyoshi once, about Nobunaga and Atsumori, and once the thought grasps him, it won't let go.

He reaches over, drums his fingers against the back of her hand. It's not perfect; he likes Noh theater well enough, but he's no musician. He's never had to know the rhythm backward and forward and be able to reproduce it flawlessly on demand. But even if Kida knew the piece to notice the odd beat in the wrong place, he's fairly sure she'd be one of the last to care that much.]

To think that a man
has but fifty years to live under heaven.
Surely this world
is nothing but a vain dream.
Living but one life,
is there anything that does not decay?

3. we have that npc thread in the works but this prompt is really.....cute...

[counterattacked]

[It's been long enough now that even the most volatile of them have raged themselves down to longer bouts of tense and tired quiet as they wait for the hammer to fall. And at first, all Kida gets in return for her request is sullen teenaged silence. The hunched shoulders she's folded up against draw up stiff around his ears. His fingernails dig into his palms, his teeth grind together. After all, this is hardly the time for singing, or stories.

But they've got nothing but time, right now. If she waits, he deflates. Exhales sharply, knocks his head back against the wall of the prison and closes his eyes. Her persistence (and her request) will eventually be rewarded with a low humming and a snatch of slow tune. (Too meta? Maybe, but close enough.) He doesn't sing—he doesn't have a knack for it or the artistic touch for it, it's brief and off key enough as it is. He knows most of the the lyrics, though, even if he doesn't immediately offer them up. They're the whole reason the song had stuck with him at all—a slow and mournful thing in one light, a subversive and defiant one in another. Some anthem in the spirit of the Survey Corps. With sorrow and confidence in our hearts we show the will to move on. No one shall be willfully deprived of their life.

Even with the government cracking down on heretical thinking, illegal information...it's only a matter of time before a society trapped behind walls creates and spreads songs about cages. And about escaping them, refusing to accept their fate as it is. So maybe now is the perfect time for it, after all.

It is brief, though. He soon trails off to sheepish silence and then, in a sort of embarrassed-tough-guy way—he probably hasn't engaged in kid stuff like songs in months—]

I only really remember how it ends.

3

[viscontree]

[Julius tilts his head curiously at that. One song in particular comes to mind and it's the melody he heard from Yuno Ashihara. He isn't going to sing it though. That would be embarrassing.]

The song I'm familiar with is titled 'Aria of Light'. A fellow companion of mine used to sing it quite often. [They used famous artists for military campaigns and that's how he knows.]

Are you interested in music? [He isn't in the greatest mood, but even small chatter will help keep his mind off of things.]

4

[grunehexe]

[It has taken time, for Sieglinde to make it to the jailhouse. Both in days for the news to reach her, and in hours for her to make the painful journey on foot. But there was never a question of if she would or not- not after hearing what she had.

Treason. Execution.

Her bedtime stories were of witches burnt at the stake, of half-mad villagers with torches, the tortures victims were subject to in order to force confessions from their lips. It's enough to fill her head with all too real images of what those imprisoned could be facing, and enough for her to think ahead. That she may need to be creative to gain entry, that she may be searched, may be restricted from even giving aid.

- It did take some strong words to gain entry. But as much as she was underestimated in this world, considered only a little girl, she had been the Lord of Wolfsschlucht, the Green Witch. Enough to be accustomed to speaking with authority, to give commands as if simply expecting them to be followed. -Even if the guards had been more amused by it than actually respectful, it's in that role that she made her way towards the holding cell, a guard trailing not far behind.

The Green Witch was powerful, so she held her chin high, face carefully schooled to disguise the pain such an almost normal-seeming stride caused for her, skin slightly pale in a combination of physical strain and fear as she came to a stop before the cell and locked her knees, reaching out to grip at one of the bars to steady herself.

To let her eyes rest on Kida.]

4

[jamminshield]

[The tiniest and saddest visitor soon finds his way to Kida's cell, and he looks at her with a deep worry. His eyes are all red.]

K- Kida?!

Eren Jaeger | ota.

[counterattacked]

[Unsurprisingly, Eren doesn't do well in cages, despite the inordinate amount of time he seems to spend in them.

He yells himself hoarse at the guards, rattles the bars until they threaten to break his fingers and bares his teeth when they talk of execution. It takes the better part of a week before his restless pacing has worn down to a quieter seething thing. Even then, the angry energy is humming just under his skin. An outraged and cornered-animal thing. Indefinite unjust incarceration isn't an option. Execution even less.

a. They take the prisoners out sometimes to question them, then throw them back into the cell when they're done. Once, when it's his turn, he manages to sweep the legs out from under the guard escorting him back to his cell, landing the man flat on his back. Unfortunately, he didn't plan the rest of the escape out very well. Before he gets very far he gets the butt of another guard's pike cracking against his skull, a sharp kick to his gut to wind him. He gets thrown back into the cell after that. Lands hard on the ground and has to take a bit to catch his breath and roll onto his hands and knees. He spits blood when he does. (Is that a tooth? Gross. But it'll grow back. ...At least, it should.)

b. Resisting arrest—and then further incarceration—means being subdued, and that adds up. Split lip and bruised jaw and who knows what else. The real concerning part is that for the first time in a long time, it sticks.

Usually, since Trost, he heals rapidly. Regenerates within a few hours or days, no matter how grave the injury. He doesn't think much of it at first—his odd brand of superpower isn't the most reliable thing in the world, and he's still learning how to handle it. His healing factor has fritzed before, tripped up by something as simple as a lack of focus, an insufficient motivation. It's only when the others start to speak of missing magic (or keel over in the absence of it) that he starts to wonder.

Shifting isn't magic. (Is it?) Would it still work? It's not subtle, there's no way to test it without committing to it. If it doesn't work, it won't change anything. If it does, it could get them out of here. But he runs the risk of injuring or killing anyone unlucky enough to be trapped too close to him when it happens.

The closer they get to their proposed execution, the less willing he is to sit on his potential ace in the hole. He's managed to shift to protect people before. Something partial might even be enough to break through the wall. And at this point he's just got to know for sure. He gets as much distance between himself and the others as he can manage, then lifts a hand and—

—bites down on it, hard enough to break the skin and bleed down his wrist. He has a good reason for this, mostly, but it's probably kind of alarming to see without context. (Is two weeks long enough to crack under pressure?)

c. The trinket ALASTAIR provided him with to contact the network is a plain silver-colored ring, though he doesn't wear it on a finger. Instead, he keeps it strung on a cord around his neck, right beside an old fashioned key that usually sits under his shirt. But right now he's got it out, like he's waiting on it to light to life with a message, or thinking of trying to contact someone. If he is, he hasn't tried, yet. Like he's not sure he wants to, or he's thinking over what to say, lest he squander the chance. They need to be careful about getting caught communicating with the others outside...and discrete has never been his strong suit.

d. Their meals come scarcely and poorly. Little point, after all, in wasting valuable supplies on the soon-to-be-executed. Luckily, few if any of the imprisoned are selfish enough to prioritize their own survival at the cost of their cellmates. At least, Eren sure as hell isn't. Hell, maybe there was once a time he would have been too angry and too spiteful to accept it at all. But he knows now they need to do what they have to to survive long enough to make it out of this. So anyone tired or injured enough to have slept through the coming of the guard will find themselves shaken firmly awake so they can claim their share of the rations. (Today it's a tin cup of water and a beige crust of something that is either stale bread or hard cheese.) Up and at 'em, buddy.]

e. [wildcard option! tl;dr, these are dumb, surprise me or hassle me to write you a custom prompt, whatever makes you happy.]

b

[inroad]

[ this is painful, if only moreso because it's like watching some past version of himself try and try again only to fall each time. ...but, at least, he always gets back up.

And Masamune is accepting of that, that he believes the kid should be allowed to fight and be kicked down and get back up and do it again until he succeeds or has to give in. That's a right any warrior should have, especially one walking the line.

There's only so many people worth watching and keeping an eye on as the days pass, those who become broken down to make sure they're still hanging in there, those still with their wits and thus might loose them. This isn't exactly what he expected to see when he watched the teenager move off away to one corner of the cell. Masamune doesn't flinch or start, however, when he witnesses it, merely watching a moment longer as his jaw locks stiff.

Several more seconds, however, Eren will find himself no longer alone, Masamune beside him and grabbing his arm just below the wrist of the hand he's bitten. The warlord doesn't pull or even verbally reprimand instead looking down at him critically, trying to assess if he's just cracked or if it's something else alltogether. When he does finally speak, it's calm but firm in its suggestion. ]

...Relax.

d

[viscontree]

[Julius wakes up abruptly and then he lets out a yawn. Wow, it's really late. Talk about having a bad day. This sucks a lot. Julius can't believe they're still stuck in a jail cell for two whole weeks. Eren must be having a hard time as well. ]

Eren? I must have overslept. Thank you for waking me up.

[He shakes his head once in an apologetic manner. To be honest, Julius is happy that Eren's still looking out for others even though everything's impossible right now. ]

clarke griffin . ota

[regida]

one.

[ there’s no point to storming up to the front of the cell, grabbing the metal bars with her red raw palms, screaming until her voice cracks, so she doesn’t. resists the urge to as the days pass, stagnate, inch slow towards a conclusion that she doesn’t want to think about. maybe she would get the guards attention, try to reason with them if she thought it would work.

bus she knows it won’t do anything but strip her throat as raw as her hands. the administration here has already proved themselves to be unreasonable, they had arrested her for just being in the vicinity of where the main arrests took place, so to think that they’d listen to her is a fool’s hope. one that she isn’t going to indulge in.

so she sits quietly, observes those around her carefully, those who seem to take imprisonment well— or rather fare better like kida who sits with her lens and her books to some who don’t. become agitated rather than silent, project their frustrations outward only to be forcibly quieted. she sits, thinks about another imprisonment, by the mountain men who had first placed her in a cell with walls a sterile white instead of stone. how she had ripped the iv in her arm out, taken the metal stand the bag was hooked to and smashed through the glass window embedded into the door, stuck her hand through uncaring of the shards digging into her skin, and let herself out. demanded to see her people.

the days pass, and her thoughts don’t make great company, especially as they spiral into the thought of dying here. in chantes, without having made her way back to her people. and it’s that thought that spurs her to finally shift towards her closest cell mate, one that is obviously alastiar, and she glances towards the cell bars to see if she can catch a glimpse of a passing guard, and on deeming the coast clear— ] Should we let the others know we’re here?

[ a beat of silence, as she wonders if it’s a good idea. if the other employees would see it fit to charge the jail as they had the castle. ] We might have to, if we can’t figure a way out of this ourselves.

two.

[ as time passes, she wonders at her presumed incompetence of the guards. if she was too quick in her dismissal of them, if they could listen to reason. or as least be persuaded. they may have been quick to arrest her, but she doubts their intentions are malign. they think they are protecting their own, by keeping them here, and the key to their release is convincing them that they aren’t a threat.

that they can be valuable assets, in bringing peace here, returning the sun.

so when the guards make their rounds, creak open the cell door to bring one of them out for questioning she stands on her own volition. gives a short nod to the guards, one that outwardly conveys respect, before following them out.

and she does try to explain their innocence, only to be met with a steel wall of indifference. tries to explain her own innocence, only to be met with the same. as they lead her back to the cell, the frustration she had been successfully repressing emerges, and once back inside the cell she turns on her heel, and it’s only due to the element of surprise that she’s able fist a hand into the fabric of a guard’s collar, press him against the bars of the cell and grate out listen to me before she is pulled away by the other. has her arm twisted behind her back, and is shoved none-too-gently against the stone wall. shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, and she can feel the bone there shift. the dislodge of it.

once she is significantly subdued, the guards leave, and she uses the stone behind her as a leverage to sink to the ground. only grits her teeth against the throb of her shoulder, and the spasm of muscle.

dislocated, she thinks.

great.

she takes her hand, crosses it over her body, and braces her shoulder. exhales a deep breath, she can reset it herself, but. it would be easier if she had help. she searches the room with her eyes, trying to find someone who looks capable, is on the verge of asking. but decides not to, not just yet. maybe someone would offer to help, on their own.

anyone want to play medical assistant, y/y? ]

b. oops forgot to specify

[inroad]

Gotta give you points for trying to be civil to those bastards. [ maybe from someone else that would be a bit of sarcasm for her attempt to forcefully get them to listen, but he's actually completely serious.

The warlord isn't a healer but he does know how to do these sorts of things. They are basic, necessary skills to be had on a battlefield, especially during an era where there was no such thing as treatment on the frontline. The way she moved to clutch her arm and the hesitation as she glanced around was pretty much a common signal to him that she was looking for hopefully someone who could assist.

Masamune comes to get down on one knee near her so they can talk and tend to it without others being in the way or intruding on the conversation with irrelevant stuff. ]

Think it's dislocated?

Hellboy / open

[hellshaped]

a. IDIOT PRAYER

[Hellboy is accustomed to throwing himself into fights. Broken bones, busted jaw, blood -- none of it ever bothered him. He'd been impaled countless times in his life and never suffered that badly from it, beyond a lot of pain and annoyance. (Except that one time.) So when the cops flooded the woods, he threw himself into the fight to protect people and let them get away. He was bloodied for his trouble, and naturally fought back once they were locked up, too.

Eventually, his rage became tempered by enough blows to the head and broken ribs, and he was thrown unconscious back in the cell. Ordinarily this would not be a big deal, and when Hellboy woke up, he operated under the assumption that it would continue not to be a big deal.

But over the next few minutes, hours, days... he wasn't so sure. His black eye never went down; the gash on his chest never closed up. It was fascinating, morbidly, and he sometimes gingerly prods at a laceration or tender ribs or the big cut over his nose, rubbing the blood between his fingers and frowning.]

b. BROTHER, MY CUP IS EMPTY

[Hellboy usually doesn't need to eat or drink. It's one of the physiological perks of not being exactly human, though it's rare that he actually thinks about it. Food is something he enjoys. Drink is something he enjoys, too, in a way that may be a little too much. But in situations where the survival of others dictates he abstain, he has no problem with doing so.

Hellboy usually doesn't need to eat or drink. Usually. Right now, he definitely needs to just like everybody else; the pain is sharper and more debilitating than the normal physical response of hunger to which he's accustomed. It's awful. He feels weak. He's also going through mild alcohol withdrawal, which is its own fresh and amazing experience. Never again will Hellboy take for granted just how good he's got it, biologically speaking.

Still, he's doing his best to ignore it. Partly habit and partly his own personality, he's giving most of his rations to people who look like they need it. He thrusts a crust of bread or some broth at another inmate.] Here. I don't have a lot of appetite these days.

c. HIDING ALL AWAY

[At night, Hellboy is still being as selfless as he can. It's cold in here, even with the number of bodies cramped inside the single cell. The one thing that hadn't been stripped from him was apparently the natural heat he gave off -- cold never bothered him, his core temperature being higher than an average human's, and now is no different.

He'll let anyone move closer to him for warmth without comment, tail swishing lazily as he sits on the hard floor. Luckily, the lack of proper bathing facilities oughtn't bother his neighbors that much; despite what one may assume, Hellboy doesn't smell like fire or brimstone or sulphur. He smells like dry-roasted peanuts. When he needs to bathe, he just smells even more like peanuts. So please appreciate this warm, peanut-scented furnace for your convenience.

The jailers took away most of his possessions, save the innocuous ALASTAIR-provided band on his wrist. He feels a little lost without the rosary in his pocket to thumb, but he still mutters quietly under his breath without it.]

d. SHE PASSED BY MY WINDOW

[wildcard! whatever you want]

C.

[adlantisag]

[ The guards are getting increasingly heavy-handed with each passing day, and Kida's status as leader of the castle break-in is no secret. They jeer her; their eyes rake over her like hot coals; their hands linger, and she's powerless to stop them in her state. She hates it. Hates them. Hates that her every effort feels futile.

She returns from interrogation with a black eye.

In the dim light of the cell, the door shut behind her, she stands and shakes with rage. Her hands curl into fists, not entirely trusting herself to move without turning right back around and throwing herself at the bars. She breathes in, breathes out. They won't get her, she won't allow it.

Almost without conscious thought, her feet cross the rest of the distance. Maybe it's Hellboy she chooses because he moves so little: he's more like a vast stone than a person, coiled up like he is. She sits down in his shadow, letting his warmth wash over her. Bare feet, bare hands on stone don't keep the cold out. She says nothing. It's a long moment before she manages to swallow her anger long enough to come closer, lean her shoulder against his side.

It's admitting weakness, maybe, but she needs the companionship more than she needs the strength.

In the aching silence, losing sight in one eye, she gropes for his tail. It forms a loose circle around her, so without so much as a by-your-leave she picks it up, wrapping it around her waist as if it were a blanket. It's as warm as the rest of him, fragrant of nuts. ]

Gintoki Sakata | OPEN

[jumpfesta]

_{[ A. ]}

<sub>[ Ah, yes. It wasn't that long ago that Gintoki found himself behind these chilling bars. Before, he hadn't put up much of a fight once he was actually caught— perhaps it was because he felt like he was more guilty of a crime when he caused so much damage during the rioting. But now, he was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time and chaos had abounded. He did what he does oh-so well.. getting involved when he probably shouldn't and now he finds himself in shackles again with his bokuto stripped from him. These cuffs remain on Gintoki even after he is escorted into the cell because, well...

This time, he wasn't going to go so easily. It was really difficult for them to tame him enough to get him to walk calmly down to the cell. He had just severely injured a guard who was rendered unconscious just out in the back— it took about three guards to get him in the cuffs where he would keep this punishment for awhile.
Without much warning, he is writhing again and manages to kick a guard so hard he slams against one of the cells, only to have the shit beaten out of him in a spurt of yelling and cursing coming from both parties. If you were sleeping, this is your wake up call. The creaking door opens to the cell as he is added into the pile with a sealed, black eye and blood pouring from both of his nostrils.

Ignited, red eyes glowered into the guards as they slammed the door shut, keeping his wrists cuffed. His expression was best depicted as a demon who had just risen out of hell— he wanted to tear them apart. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Gintoki spits on the ground then looks over at the nearest in mate: ]</sub>

You have a tissue on you?
_{[ for the blood coming out of his nostrils, right? ]}

[ B. ]

[ A week has gone by since they brought everybody to the jail. Gintoki's silvery sheen wasn't glowing its typical luster— he looked pretty dirty and apathetic (more than usual). His wavy hair was unkempt and covered in soot, even if his battered bruises were gradually healing. He'll find your character who is seated or lying somewhere on the floor, looking cold, and will share his yukata (don't worry, there is a pair of pants and a shirt under it.)

Wordlessly, he unties his belts and drapes the once stark white piece of clothing over your character. ]

Oops jk I meant b

[inroad]

[ since being in here he's rarely sat nevermind lied down. If he slept it was standing up using the support of walls. Things change though and Masamune is now slumped back against the wall, curled up into himself. It's possible he's sleeping or not but either way it's obvious he's cold. It's a strange thing, too, for the Lord of Oshu to be cold in the first place.

What he doesn't realize is it may be obvious to others, so when he feels something draped over him he shifts his head enough to peer up towards the source. ]

...You can't possibly be warm in just that. [ the last thing a kind gesture needs to do is make someone else suffer in the process. ]

masamune date . ota

[inroad]

{A. obligatory blood and violence and injury for the stay. the day before or less prior to their jailbreak happening.}

[ they all have their own ways with dealing with their current situation and all of them seem to resist at one point or another. Isn't it natural, though? Whether for themselves or for others around them, this sort of situation will bring even the most pacifistic into desperation potentially. For someone who isn't used to being overpowered or the one being the prisoner, Masamune actually takes things quite a bit more calmly than most of the others. Maybe it's because he's too busy focusing on the results of the others getting themselves severely injured and thrown around and his responsibility as a leader to his men is rubbing off on his teammates. If they're all suffering at once, no one's really going to be able to help one another. Masamune isn't interested in staying in this place any longer than necessary but he will do everything he can to keep an eye out on everyone who needs an eye kept on them until they get out of this hell-hole.

Sure, sometimes after an interrogation he comes back with bruises and scratches, but all of them do and usually his are relatively harmless because he doesn't does react to them. Masamune knows well enough that resistance is sometimes preferred because it gives absolute excuse to respond with anything they want. There are definitely easier targets to provoke than him in the group and ones that are a lot more satisfying whether they continue to resist. That gets him by mostly in enough shape to just approach two weeks into this insanity, he's still relatively more or less together.

Or, he was until this most recent interrogation trip they all took in turns. When he's dragged back this time, they push him in and he simply slumps back against the cell bars as they close behind him. He ignores any shit from the guards that try to get him to react as usual, but he is clutching tightly at his right wrist with his left hand, head bowed as he's much more interested elsewhere that the guards behind the bars or his teammates further in. Yeah, he's just going to stay against this door despite being yelled at to move away from it. They are completely ignored—at least until one guard is particularly fed up with Masamune's stunt (this guy has been a real ringleader to the Date leader's interrogation this time and there has been a lot of gloats and claims of 'figuring out' what he is pulling). Suddenly Masamune feels an arm through the bars wrap around his neck and yank him back hard against the bars he was just leaning against. And here he thought this was usually a technique used by prisoners on guards, not the other way around. If the guy wasn't bigger and more muscularly built, it'd be a lot easier to get him off, but Masamune also isn't really sure what is being pulled here, either, so Masamune brings both hands up to grab at the guard's arm to try and get loose subconsciously more than anything. What's he going to do, choke him? That's a real threat right there, considering they're all on schedule to be executed.

He really would have preferred the choking to what the guard actually does. Some words accompanying a laugh, something about still being able to move it, afterall, and just faking it, he feels a weight sting and burn and hurt against his right shoulder before he feels whatever it is force its way through skin and sinew, digging and looking to find and damage bone.

That's his breaking point for this jail party they're all still being forced to stick around for.

His left hand drops from clutching at the arm and he grabs the knife just beneath its hilt at the blade that is still not in his shoulder and he yanks at an angle that causes the knife to become free of the guard's grip and his shoulder into his own. Manipulating weapons one-handedly is a specialty—a necessity to his style of fighting. Without hesitating he jerks his left arm back and fully around like a whip from the right side of to the left side of him and slams it up against the bars. In the time it took him to fully swing beginning to end, he's shifting the knife between his fingers and rolling it off his hand to have a full grip on the knife and it pointed outward to slip right through the cell door and it go right into the side of one unlucky guard's head that had moved and ducked enough (for whatever reason, what he was trying to go for, Masamune doesn't care) to be unfortunately the exact target the knife makes contact with.

There is a lot of painful screaming to ensue from the injured guard, and a lot of commotion but the chaos is enough that the guard who had him in a headlock loses the upperhand and Masamune can break from it. He pulls away from the bars and spins, backing up, defensively to stare down the guards on the other side. What a ruckus, but the main guard who had instigated the whole scenario to begin with makes a couple nasty threats—something about paying dearly with that with his life or something, whatever—to which all Masamune does is spit. ] Yeah, and I'm looking forward to taking you to hell with me, you son of a bitch. You won't have a lackey to take a blow for you next time.

[ really, the standoff is only ended by the urgency of the situation and the surprise to the guards that apparently while having figured out the best way to break into him was by trying to cripple his ability to use his swords didn't realize he was proficient to handle a weapon with both hands. While they want to obviously beat the living shit out of him for what just has occurred, it would be a bad idea to attempt to in the chaos of the moment. Masamune knows that and he sinks back further into the shadows of the cell, glaring down the guards, daring them to act. If they want to come him, they're welcome to, but there are a lot of injured rabid dogs in here that would love to sink their teeth into a bunch of temporarily intimidated soldiers due to the chaos. It's the first time the one-eyed dragon has done anything to the bait their captors, but like a dragon, the one instance is downright nasty. The standoff ends with them carrying the injured guard away, who knows and who cares if he dies, to be honest NOT THIS GUY, and Masamune just slowly proceeds to wipe the blood off his left hand on his sleeve and go back to clutching his wrist. The shoulder injury seems nonexistent to him.

He's in a really bad mood now. Shit. ]

{ B anything you like. }

b.

[grunehexe]

[It took some time for the news to reach her- that the location of those "missing" had been found out. That it was the jail. That they were to be tried for treason. That the punishment upon conviction was execution.

What would it be? Beheading? Being burnt at the stake? Raised on the shadowy threat of the witch trials, stories of the rampant murder of her purported ancestors, Sieglinde could picture it all too clearly.

It took more time than she'd like to gather her things. To ascertain the conditions she might be under. To make it to the jailhouse. To convince the guards that she should be allowed through. To listen to their rules.

By the time she makes her way to the holding cell, she's biting fiercely into her bottom lip, face slightly pale and expression stiff from the concentration it took to walk straight and tall without letting winces show through, chin up, fingers stiffly locked at her sides in order to prevent clinging to her skirts.

Not wanting the guards to see that she was afraid, to have it be thought she was anything but strong, even if most everyone in this world, the world outside her village, saw her only as a little girl.

One who came to a stop before the bars close as she could to a familiar figure who had not come "home".]

Date Masamune.

[What could be said?]

anna kushina | visitor on the 26th

[rosing]

[ It's in the late afternoon during a time when nothing happens that something actually does: a soldier not on guard duty walks in, followed behind by Anna, no longer wearing her usual gothic lolita, but a cute dress other children in Odette might have been seen wearing. To the observing eye, she might look a little off, her normally stoic expression a little blank, a result of standing inside a place where the powers and senses she's used to having most of her life being dampened as a result of the barrier.

Her eyes as she sweeps the jail cell, the prisoners and the injuries don't widen, like she's already known the inside despite having never stepped down here before. She doesn't like it here, she doesn't like that her friends are here, but she has to be here, and there is nothing she can do for now. ]

( MASAMUNE )

[ The reason she chose to visit in the first place was the message she had received. Quietly, the guard eyeing her but not too warily because, really, what can a little girl do, Anna walks up to where Masamune is, the smallest frown on her face as she studies him. ]

( JULIUS )

...Julius.

[ Having confirmed with the guard earlier, a sister wishing to give her elder brother one of her precious objectss to keep by his side, she holds out a red marble towards him. ]

( OTA: WILDCARD )

[ And while the guard watching her is distracted, one may observe Anna sneakily hiding a marble or two around. She may also be staring at people's faces like she's trying to make sense of something she can't quite reach...! Feel free to talk to her, request something of her but remember the guard observing her will probably pay attention!! ]

[inroad]

[ how many frowns is he going to have to see from adorable young ladies the next two weeks, oh god. Masamune notices it first as if she might as well be fuming, and it's clear by his sheepish expression he feels like he deserves that expression or worse.

This had just been quite a convenient mess they all found themselves, that's for sure. Still, he says nothing until the guards are preoccupied enough where they won't be suspicious if they both keep a really low profile. The good thing about prison guards is they tend to be mostly the same—and they all get bored on intense watch after even a few moments of nothing happening. The trick is to get the intervals of their alert times identified.

Crouching down, he reaches to grab a bar to support his weight a little better, talking quietly to her. ]

First time we meet face to face and it's this trashy place, of all possibilities... I'll have to make it up to you later.

backdated to dec. 2 this is late and completely non-interactive BUT I'M DOING IT ANYWAY

[troublebusted]

[Chances are that most people aren't going to notice anything happening. There's not even any warning for most of them, though Nico sends texts to Gil ("I don't know if you'll be able to hear it, but you should try to listen. If you know which side is the east side, that might help.") and Gin ("You better listen this time! The east wall."). She doesn't send any more, since she doesn't know the other prisoners personally, and she doesn't reply to any potential responses from the people she did text.

If they listen very, very carefully, they might be able to just barely make out someone singing. It doesn't sound exactly the most musical singing possible, but that's because it is being sung as loudly as possible through a megaphone across the street. It's nearly impossible to make out at first even by straining one's ears, but by about halfway through the song, it's nearly being shouted more than sung. Even half-shouted, it's very hard to hear through the walls of the prison and the background noise of the prison, making it just as likely to not notice it at all, but it might be a little more possible to catch some of the words.]

In those anxious times when courage seems fleeting,
Push yourself beyond your limits and look ahead!
I want to confirm it again and again:
A sign to you for staying by your side!

WONDER SIGN!
A future that leads to warm joys!
I want to feel it together. YOU'RE MY FRIEND!
I'll get going warmly with you. Hurry up!
Let's firmly start an ambitious dream!

[Nico repeats the song three times, trying to be as loud as possible, but it unfortunately never gets any easier to hear - there's limits to how much she can push through the thick walls with her voice - and, by the end of the third round, her voice cracks a couple of times.

Outside, some of the guards are giving her weird looks, so she thanks the few curious onlookers who had gathered...slightly less closely than usual because of that megaphone as though they were the intended recipients of the music and leaves. She has no idea if anyone inside heard her - and really there's a decent chance they wouldn't. She probably should have just gone in as a visitor, but she is too concered with the possibility of getting associated with people accused of treason and ruining her reputation as an idol. She'll just have to hope it worked.]