EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

[futurologists]

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 Speaking of clothing, whatever recruits were wearing upon their abduction has been replaced by a uniform orange jumpsuit.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.

Comments

FOR LUCINA.

[futurologists]

[ The blue-skinned woman that George has been eying suspiciously for the past few days is, conveniently, in the cell next to Lucina's. She keeps to herself, not engaging with the other inmates -- all of whom seem happy to give her a wide berth, something in her bearing speaking to a quiet deadliness.

She has yet to interact with Lucina, though they see each other every day when they leave their cells and when they return for their requisite five hours of sleep.

Today is different, though. Because today, the woman frowns at her wristwatch -- white and gold -- and then looks up to decisively meet Lucina's eyes. They're supposed to be going to the chow hall for morning roll call, but the woman retreats back into her cell instead.

It seems as though she's inviting Lucina to follow. ]

[heritors]

[ Lucina pauses the moment the woman meets her eyes, blinks when the woman walks back inside.

She's spoken to George a few times — he may not be Audentes, but he's still ALASTAIR. Smiles when she hears he's unharmed, notes the way he points out the woman's wristwatch, and represses the aggression in her veins the moment Zymandis is uttered. It's just a speculation, gold-and-white wrist watches aren't exactly uncommon, and in the worst case scenario they're all in the same boat; if ALASTAIR can't reach them, she finds it hard to believe that their enemies can track her down, too.

But it's the nagging sense of what if — they should be going to the morning roll call — that has her act impulsively rather than logically. Her shoulders are straight, head held high, as she visits her neighbor's cell for the first time.

It only takes a moment before she breaks the silence, hovering near the doorway. She's not comfortable enough to keep the caution out of her voice. ] ... What is it?

Hayame | OTA

[kisha]

０１ ↣ 誰にも殺してない武士 ↣ THE WARRIOR WITH NO KILLS

[For a more romantic person, a more creative or philosophical person, to exist and breathe and live out amongst the stars might be a dream, a chance to explore the world beyond or at the very least proof of some future beyond the ground. It might even be the straw that broke the proverbial... horse's back.

But it's too much, for a centaur who has been born and raised in times most would consider medieval, who never dreamed of life in the stars, of other worlds, of any of the insanity that keeps happening ever since she'd been recruited by ALASTAIR.

The infinite blackness she'd seen outside the window, dragged bodily down the halls, haunts her. She can't sleep. She doesn't eat. The guards have to beat and drag her to roll call, and she's likely an infraction away from solitary. But none of that pulls Hayame from her cell, where she can be found lying down in the corner with her back to the door, head down to hide the blue "0" emblazoned on her forehead.]

０２ ↣ 心を決めるのなら ↣ IF YOU ARE RESOLVED

[But her reluctance to go aside, the guards are determined she do so, and though it earns her more bruises in the process, one blossoming newly colored on her cheek, Hayame is at roll call. Her head remains down in shame, gaze distant... but she isn't blind. She can see something of her surroundings.

If the persons beside her seem stable, seem resilient or defiant in the face of their captivity, Hayame says nothing, only standing in sullen silence.

But if they seem depressed, withdrawn, or even more resigned than she does... then she slowly begins to take an interest, eyeing them rather darkly... almost desperately.]

０３ ↣ 食欲減退 ↣ LOSS OF APPETITE

[Just as Hayame is forced to attend roll call, she is also forced to attend one meal a day. She does, hooves scraping weakly on the floor as she makes her way through the line with her tray, receives the slop they call food, and finds a seat and table that is designed for the more large aliens amongst their number.

The tray goes on the table, she lowers her equine half weakly to the ground... but that is the extent of her actions in the mess hall beyond staring at the food in silence, waiting to be allowed to return to her cell.

It has only been a few days, but there's a sharpness to her shoulder blades and withers that wasn't there before, a consequence of how much her body needed to consume to maintain itself, versus the amount she's been feeding it.]

人馬持ち上げ ↣ CENTAUR LIFTING ↣ FOR ODINSON

[kisha]

[The problem with a "0" glowing on your forehead... it tends to advertise the bearer as one of two things. Someone who either was too weak to kill, or one opposed to killing. Either way... it makes one easy pickings. Makes one seem like a fly buzzing about a lion- not something worthy of much respect.

Hayame is neither of these things... but it's making her search for what she needs very, very difficult.]

I am telling you. I merely heard that you may possess-

[The voice comes from a cell not Hayame's own, hushed, before a harsh snarl breaks through the words... the sound of an impact... and a one ton centaur comes flying out of the cell, skidding along the floor until her progress is stopped by a railing.

Breath knocked out of her, it takes a moment for her to recover, inhaling in short, gasping breaths that only flutter weakly in her two chests as prisoners around her scramble out of the way in case whatever sent her flying comes out to finish the job.

Thankfully for them, though, her would-be shiv dealer seems content just to have gotten her out of his cell.]

Odinson / OTA / PM for something more specific

[deemed]

I: Free time

[Odinson looks the part of a inmate. His recently short-cut hair does nothing to hide the M stamped on his forehead, and he's taken to wearing his jumpsuit half off, tied around the waist, which. He spends the first hour or so trying to get out, punching walls and doors futilely, and eventually comes to realise this isn't going to work. After that, he seems to accept it'll take someone else's ingenuity to get them out of there and he settles in. As the days progress, however, he gets more and more tense.]

[ For part of each day, he joins some of the stronger inmates in lifting weights, sparring, and arm-wrestling. You might catch him playing 4D chess (he'll teach anyone who asks to play), or reading something that looks like a romance novel. In their free time, he keeps to himself unless someone else approaches him, but he's engage if anyone wants to talk.]

II: You call this food

[He's late to breakfast today and there aren't many seats. There's one next to you, however-] Is this seat free?

[He sits regardless.] It's impressive how consistently terrible the cook is. Food this bad every day can be no accident. [It's his attempt to make a joke in the face of terrible food.]

III: We didn't start the riot (yes we did)

[At the start, Odinson has is eye out for anyone getting caught up in the riots who shouldn't be there. He has little worry about getting himself hurt, so he can wade into the middle of fights and get out anyone who needs it.]

CLOSED: [... that is, until someone's punch catches him on the nose and calls him a coward to his back, and Odinson has had enough. With a roar, he turns on the man and punches back. It's been a long six days cooped up around a lot of others, and he's kept his temper from boiling over the whole time. Now that he's started, it's hard to stop.]

IV: Hello solitary confinement, my old friend

[Six days later, he seems to have calmed down. There's a scragly beard growing in, and Odinson looks tired as shit, but otherwise he seems stoic as ever. If anyone asks, he'll deny that it was his angry screams and raving you heard in night four of solitary.

He takes a seat in the common area, rubbing his eyes at the light slowly.] By the Norns, I need a drink.

III. closed.

[sentry]

[From an outside perspective it's surely a comical thing when Eight steps between two significantly larger figures. But he does so with no hesitation whatsoever, using a Wall spell to conjure its namesake before the alien can land another punch on Odinson. It fractures upon impact but it holds, at least for the moment]

Isn't the coward the one who attacks from behind?

[It's an awfully incisive thing to say from behind a transparent barrier that's obviously not much for absorbing damage, but he narrows his attention on the hostile presence either way]

Someone like that's hardly worth it.

Sieglinde Sullivan ⚝ OTA

[grunehexe]

01 ⚝ MOUNTING COUNT ⚝ DAY ONE

[Sieglinde had been somewhat hesitant to look in a mirror- to see what symbol might be glowing on the skin there once she'd learned from the other prisoners what it meant. The results of curious questioning, after overhearing an inmate say that "the M's" weren't to be messed with.

She's afraid there will be a terrible symbol there. Afraid that all the people who could die if SuLIN was misused might be written out, more proof of her sins like her bound feet had been before she'd been so impertinent as to rebreak them.

But when she finally finds a mirror, the small square hanging near the entrance to her assigned cell, she's relieved to see a "Π" glowing there in blue. Pi. So... perhaps, three? Which three had counted? Those cultists, in Perdition's Rest, whose movement she had arrested with spells so that Arjuna's arrows could pierce their skulls? The demon in the castle halls, whose attention she'd drawn before Gilgamesh beat it to death? The chimera in Chantes? The plant creatures on Zeta-12?

She has never killed anyone with her own hands... but that didn't make her innocent. She knew that. (Just like she knew the symbol on her forehead could point to a much higher number, if SuLIN was ever abused.)

Three was still too many. But it's enough so that she can hide the few tears it brings to her eyes in a quick swipe of her sleeve, quickly trying to compose herself at the sink.]

02 ⚝ BISHOP TO E3 ⚝ DAY THREE

[If they want to have any chance at getting out of here... they need knowledge. Knowledge was power, she had always believed that... so she begins making her rounds. The number on her forehead at least bought her a tiny scrap of respect, (not because of the actual number, but rather, the contrast between her size and said number), and she managed to ingratiate herself with the old timers by beating a few at chess.

She makes use of the chessboard when they aren't using it, and not just because she likes the game. Where it's set up, it has a good view of the guard tower door used during shift changes, and she might be moving the pieces intermittently, playing a game against herself, but she's actually watching and recording.

And beating herself at chess. Or... winning?]

03 ⚝ WELCOME TO THE RIOT ⚝ DAY SIX

[When the riot starts, Sieglinde is minding her own business. Well, as much as minding her own business was a heated debate with an alien about trading her his book. Fortunately for her, she gets the book. Unfortunately for her, she gets it because an inmate sent flying by another slams into her book trader, and the book lands in her lap when the alien goes flying.

Once people start yelling and brawling, however, there's far more to dodge, and leaning back to avoid someone scrambling to get it on the action tips Sieglinde's chair over, and she falls back... into-]

Oh. Hello.

[Thankfully a member of Audentes.]

03.

[scarletcast]

[ Wryly, ]

We seem to have a knack for trouble.

[ She might add it seems like a witch thing. Wanda looks around them. ]

I hope you are not extremely attached to the book.

Ban | OTA

[perma_banned]

01 - Familiar Digs

Prisons weren't anything new to Ban. He had spent nearly every weekend of his youth in them and learned how to fare when it came to surviving their major problems. One could call him a veteran convict, as unenthusiastically one might have taken to that title normally. At the moment, though, he wasn't regarding it with nostalgia or indifference. He became eagle-eyed the moment he felt himself get dragged through the halls, still weak and dazed from the experience of being plunged into darkness. He knew what to look for and what to remember. He had escaped from prisons before.

What he didn't notice was the emblazoned, glowing blue 'X' on his forehead. When he was tossed in among fellow inmates, he overheard talks of what it meant. He paused, leaning towards a wall to get a better look of his own symbol in the reflection of a metal post. He saw it and tried to recall which one it was. Admittedly, he wasn't even sure for himself. He never counted those things. A few inmates regarded him with sidelong glances, even sneering when he could see their symbol matched his.

One alien, blue-skinned with dulled tusks and tattoos from head to toe, approached Ban and opened his mouth. There may have been a brief thought in his mind that he would size up one of the new inmates and make a short example of him but he dropped to his knees and fell unconscious as he fell within two steps of Ban. Though the alien himself hadn't seen it, a number of the others were quick enough to spot how swiftly Ban had struck him on the chin and turned away, disinterested. They weren't particularly impressed--something that Ban noticed without remarking upon. For a moment, there was a pause and he looked for somewhere to plod down. There was, surprisingly, still some space left that hadn't been claimed in the main hall. He sat and turned to look out of one of the dark windows overhead, humming as pleasantly as one might have when strolling down the street.

02 - X Gon' Give it to Ya'
After spending the morning with weights and exercises that left him a bit more tired than usual, Ban snatched a pack of cards from someone who had gone to the requisitions booth to trade earned cash for a deck of their own. The little toad-like alien seemd startled that he no longer had his cards but couldn't find it in him to say anything since anyone else with a deck of cards was much bigger and meaner looking than he was. Ban hummed, sitting down in front of a fellow member of Audentes without greeting them the normal, polite way--slamming the deck down on a table in front of them regardless of what they were doing. With a sunny smile, he posited-- "Hey, we should play a few hands~!"

And, he already began dealing out cards.

"I mean, we've got the tiiime."

03 - Riot
The moment fighting broke out, Ban's expression lit up and he joined in without hesitation. Superpowered creatures rampaged and he intercepted a bunch of them, punching them out or being punched out by them over and over. Clearly, he was built for a brawl like that, coming out of scrapes with no injuries to speak of each time he rushed in. By the end of it, he was laughing and short of breath, believing he actually managed to make a few friends after pinning the same four or five aliens a few times. Though, there were times in which he had to stop short of punching someone because one of his pals was in the way. Giving pause, he held what looked to be a bipedal crocodile by the front of their prison outfit, ready to punch them. Both Ban and the crocodile looked at their guest in some silence, Ban's hand poised to punch them square in the jaw. Ban broke the silence.

"Hey, watch out--you're in the way."

The crocodile was polite enough to wait.

2

[araigneedusoir]

She'd lost track of how long she'd been sitting where she was, reading and mostly ignoring the presence of everyone else in the room unless they made a choice to actually stop and speak with her. Widowmaker had made fairly decent headway in her current book -- a few others stacked on the table in front of her -- when Ban decided to join her.

The slam of his hand on the table, jarred her, the words blurring together before she looked up to see him there. "Hello to you too," she drawled, slowly shutting the book and dropping it in the chair beside her. Fine, she'd played cards with him once a while back, what was another game.

"Indeed we do, very well."

jesse mccree | ota

[flashbanging]

i. network; text; un: mccree;

Well, hell. Spent my whole life managing to keep clear of the slammer, and now here I am. Reckon a man can't avoid givin' the devil his due forever, huh?


ii. chow hall;

[ McCree stabs at a plate of bland scrambled eggs (at least, he hopes they're eggs; he's praying to the good Lord above that they're eggs) and sighs. He chats to anyone who will listen, often with a mouthful of whatever-this-is dangling from the corner of his mouth. Super charming. ]

This grub ain't nothing to write home about, but really, that's not the real problem.

[ He swallows, and gestures at the blinding orange jumpsuit with his bionic hand. ]

This right here is the issue. It's got no style.

[ A deep sigh. ]

They even took my belt buckle.

iii. riot;

[ McCree's not the kind of man to shy away from a good fight. He's wishing he had any sort of weapon on hand, but he's straight outta luck--the guards took everything he had.

Aside from his bionic arm, of course.

He cracks his neck as some wolf-like thing lopes towards him, teeth bared, claws out. McCree lunges in time with his opponent, grabbing him by the neck with crushing, metal fingers. ]

Down, boy!

[ He laughs at his joke as the wolf-man crumples. ]

Good, right?

[ He thought it was good. ]

ii

[ex_mettacrusher33]

A tragedy. [It's drawn out and thoroughly sarcastic, the owner of said words lounging atop the table instead of in his seat. The guards have gotten used to this, by now - if it's not a violent outburst, they couldn't care less - which is the best for everyone. If he wasn't allowed, how on earth was he meant to show the entire prison how good he still looked?

And he does still look good, in his own estimation.] And I'd speak for yourself. Anything has style if you're beautiful enough. [He's kicking up a leg, showing how he's rolled up his pants up to his thighs. Look at them.]

...have you considered unbuttoning your shirt a tad? If we're all going to wear the same thing, you MUST make it your OWN.

Mettaton | OTA

[ex_mettacrusher33]

i: The Big Dollhouse

[This is fine.

What celebrity DOESN'T have a criminal record? It's practically MANDATORY! Yes, he's in a cell and forced to wear a sad, plain jumpsuit, but who cares? They're in SPACE! They're planning daring escapes!! And he has enough money to buy a harmonica! He's ALWAYS wanted to play a harmonica in a real prison cell!

So the first few days are absolutely delightful! He fits his uniform to his form as best as he can, rolling up the sleeves and pants to show off as much of his beautiful arms and legs as possible. a) He learns his new instrument, playing it in his cell, in the recreational area, in the cafeteria. b) He charms the inmates and especially the guards, one in particular leery and condescending, but intrigued by Mettaton's promises to spend his time writing an explosive tell-all novel about his prison visit. c) He acts like he's practically blind to all the symbols everyone is wearing, instead preferring to lounge on the cafeteria tables and use his magitek to take selfies of himself.

Like he is right now.

Precious memories...]

ii: Rose Tints My World

[Something is very wrong.

He notices it in the middle of the day - he's flirting with an inmate, trying to get information. She sneers, but laughs, asking him if he talks to all the girls this way. He means to be coy, to have a smart remark to further endear himself. He chuckles back, batting his eyelashes, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is "only when they have something I want."

She pours her drink over his head and glares daggers at him until he leaves.

The day continues like that. Every attempt to be smooth or practiced and polished come out cruel and self-centered. He tries again, with another inmate, and doesn't get past his introduction of telling them he only cares about what they know. Another inmate asks if he's really guilty and he answers "yes." The guard he was getting chummy with asks how his novel is coming along, if he's going to look good in it; Mettaton admits he can't even remember the man's name and won't even make the cutting room floor.

They're not so chummy, after that.

Instinctively, he blames it on the prison. It's for the trial. Whatever cruel magic they have is affecting him, but it'll wear off! ...but it doesn't end when the lights go out. It doesn't end the next day, or the next. As the week draws on, Mettaton grows quieter and more withdrawn. He doesn't like leaving his cell. He doesn't like any amount of attention, sitting as far away from any bodies when he's forced into company. As long as this... curse is going on, he can't risk saying something he knows he's going to regret.

He can't lie. Whoever heard of an actor who can't lie?]

iii: Please, Mister Jailer

Well, this is completely expected.

[The riot, he means. At this point, he's too tired dealing with his own problems to muster up his usual energy and excitement about being in the middle of an actual, real-life prison showdown. He sighs and rolls his eyes once the fist start flying, then reaches into his horrid jumpsuit and climbs onto a table.

Mettaton lounges there, stretching out his long limbs. He starts playing the harmonica as the chaos continues to unfold, completely blase.

If anyone comes toward him, they're probably getting a reflexive kick to the face. No hard feelings, now.]

Wildcaaaaard

[slapfight]

[Underneath the table comes a shrill, frustrated voice. Peridot has been trying to crawl away for the past fifteen minutes to no avail, so here she is, hiding and waiting for this to pass and hating everything.

It's... been awhile since she's heard a musical instrument, and it's not Steven's ukulele, but she still somewhat recognizes the notes or a close approximation, and the urge to repeat them as she recognizes them is irresistible... It's soothing, almost. ]

Do-So-Fa-Ti-Do.

[a beat of pause.] That instrument doesn't sound right.

[because it's not a ukulele, Peridot.]

keith | mostly ota

[secondnature]

i: window view | day one: open to everyone

[For someone like Keith, an institutionalized circumstance like this is nothing but oppressive. Having to move in line with everyone else, having to behave, and having to do what's likely right in a situation like this doesn't sit well with him. Part of it is because he doesn't believe they were doing anything wrong. Part of it is because what's right to Keith is likely not right to anyone else. Or maybe it is. It's hard to say.

Having had a glimpse of one of those windows on his way in, he finds himself there before long. Space had always been his goal in becoming a pilot. His path just got stalled on the way there in large part because of the loss of Shiro and therefore any sense of willing to temper himself. He's been gone from space, actual space, for months now.

Which is why he finds himself staring.

If anyone joins him, he glances to them and asks,] Do you think we're in the same system as we were before?

[He doesn't specify what he means by "system."]

ii: escape plans (part one): closed to Lance

[Even if someone hadn't spoken on the network about not trying to escape, Keith would've gone with that idea from the start. Kagari's words do nothing but compel Keith to feel as if they need to get out. It's that defiant side of him. Plus, he feels the need to do the exact opposite of everything that Kagari says, and so far, he feels like he's been justified in that. So, he's good here. The fact that he had wanted an oppressive control over everyone in Woodhurst and is now demanding that they do nothing? It doesn't make sense to Keith. It spurs him into action.

That action begins with Lance. If Shiro were here, it would have begun with Shiro. Keith can't help but think about how his mentor would struggle in this situation. If he were here, he would find a way to help them all. So, he has to act in Shiro's footsteps. It's the only way.

Keith latches on to Lance's arm the moment he saunters in to the recreation area. Of course, Lance probably didn't saunter. He's Lance. But whatever, Keith has his arm and he's pulling him over to a table full of ... books. And useless books at that. They're about romances in the three galaxies and other pointless stuff like that. It goes without saying that Keith has zero interest in these books.]

We need to talk. [He grabs the ugliest book and draws it close so he can pretend to be reading it. Which is a poor act of pretending as he isn't even looking at it.] I have a plan.

["Keith Plan": Defined by the ability to improvise every step of the way until it somehow doesn't fail at the end. Well, most of the time.]

iii: escape plans (part two): open to everyone [days two through five in the mess hall]

[Thanks to the rigid system in place at the jail—and again, this is rigid by Keith's understanding—he finds a way to begin hatching his bigger plan quickly. A part of that includes numbers. According to Lloyd, Audentes has a record of managing to go against the odds by thinking outside the box. To a mind like Keith's, that means they can get the heck out of here. Easily. Right?

Keith knows they need numbers to make this work. They need to be able to fight their way out. Without a weapon, he knows he's not as strong as he could be. It sucks that way. There isn't a whole lot he can do about it. But there are others who probably don't need a weapon. Of course, he doesn't know who all those people are. Well, he'll make it work.

A big part of his plan includes socializing, so he turns up at the side of an Audentes person who's eating at the roll call in the morning. Not one to ... be all that subtle, he says to them in a low voice:] We're getting out of here. Let's talk.

[There are some people who he won't go to, if they've voiced concerns against escaping. But anyone else can be approached by him, even if they've argued or bickered in the past. Keith holds grudges only if there's a pertinent reason to (like the person is outright hurtful in their beliefs or actions). Otherwise, he sees them as a teammate.

And this is time to act as a team. ... Or an impulsive bunch of individuals who are bound to fail at this.]

iv: escape plans (part three): the riot is a great time to act with little information on hand: open to everyone

[So, there is a riot. Keith doesn't see the riot as a riot but an opportunity to act. Without the means to prepare any kind of explosions or any other huge distraction, he sees this as an opportunity to act. Whether he's spoken to someone directly or knows them through the grapevine, he's going to see this as a chance of somehow getting out of cell block 26 and ... to the ship's main bay ... to steal it. Somehow.

How?

He doesn't know.

But he intends to make it happen.

As the chaos rips through, he'll be on the way out, waving anyone from Audentes to join him.

Even if they don't know why.]

[ooc: as an OOC note, any attempt to escape at Keith's side will get them in solitary as well, though there's obviously wiggle room over whether they got caught with Keith.]

v: wildcard

[Keith will also work out in the rec area with the weights, look for opportunities for spars, and take both meals every day in the mess hall. If you'd also like to be his cellmate, that place is still open, so feel free to hit me up through PMs and we can play with that!]

[competing]

[ several things happen at once:

one — lance's wave and greeting to his fellow inmates (both audentes and not) gets cut short, resulting in a flappy sort of hand gesture and a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

two — the urge to respond to keith's "we need to talk" with an "uh oh" rises as quickly as it falls, because

three — he realizes keith probably wouldn't get the joke. and finally

four — the image of keith holding up a romance novel with a cover of a couple entangled in each other's arms in various states of undress is by far one of the best things to ever happen to him, and he will carry this memory to his grave. ]

You know those words don't really sound all that comforting coming from you.

scott mccall | ota

[banded]

i: no kill club

[On the surface, Scott is someone who tries to present himself as even-keel and understanding. That's his best approach to things, and throughout the years, he's done everything in his power to make sure that's true. Not everyone can act as he does, and at times, that inability to be him has forced others into some uncomfortable situations. When it comes to killing people, Scott has ... gotten better about judging others for it. He even understands why someone might do it for him. But no matter what, there is still that bit of judgment that courses through him when he knows someone has killed.

As a result, it makes the first couple days for him a little uncomfortable.

Typically easy to smile, he'll be a little more uncomfortable around others, especially those with higher kill counts (and frankly, anything above ten is extremely high for him). He'll be serious, short, and not quick to talk. And above all else, his eyes will linger on someone's mark on their forehead longer than necessary.

He'll try to save face, but—that's how things are sometimes. Usually, it's like this:

He'll shake his head, frown after a moment, and look in the other direction.] Hey, uh. Sorry. I'm not used to glowing foreheads.

[... Which is blatant lie. A blatant one. Especially since it keeps happening.And since it doesn't happen with those wearing a zero like him.]

ii: book club

[Between a robot attack and visiting a mysterious planet with a bunch of different types of food and cultural beliefs, Scott hasn't had a lot of time to keep up on his reading. It's not that he wants to do homework or misses it, but he doesn't want to fall behind, either. School (and book smarts, for that matter) is the type of thing that he has always had to work at at being good at. It's why the recreation area's small collection of books is something.

By day three, he's finished at least two of the books, but he finds himself deep into a several book series without the third book available. The fourth is there, so he ... doesn't know what to do. Except wonder where the third is, if it was ever there, as he doubts that would be any jail's priority.

But it's worth a shot to ask, right?

Scott leans his chair back a little to catch someone's attention.]

Any chance you've seen the third volume of Interrogations on a Sunless Planet? I dunno what it's called, exactly, but it's obvious that it matches the other two.

[Naturally, his magitek has been helping him read them, but he's into them now.

(And this is a boy who never watches movies or television. Well, at least he can get into some media.)]

iii: the riot (part one)

[During the riot, Scott's number one focus is going to be getting people to safety. While he could probably brawl with the best of them, he doesn't want to end up shirking his duties of Protecting and Saving Everyone, which continues even in a place where he now knows how many people have killed other people even if he doesn't know the circumstances. Scott might be judgmental (intentionally or otherwise), but it doesn't keep him from protecting people. That's always going to be true.

So, it's probably not surprising that he's sweeping behind someone trying to get out of trouble.]

Hey, I've got your back. Are you hurt anywhere?

[Because a little werewolf pain relief might help right now, especially if it'll aid them in getting to safety.]

iv: the riot (part two): a roaring good time

[As the riot goes on, it becomes apparent that some attempt at calming things down before the authorities step in is necessary. While Scott doesn't know if it'll work, he finds himself transforming—sideburns, red eyes, the whole deal—to step into the center of things and let out a long roaring howl. The howl itself is one that echoes through the room, though its reach probably only impacts Stiles the most (as Stiles is in his pack, even as a human).

Just the same, it's ... meant to assert dominance, to try to bring people to their senses, but there's so many people brawling that it probably doesn't work on a grander scale.

He pants when it doesn't, shaking his head.]

Well. I tried.

v: wildcard

[General other stuff. Scott is good for taking pain after the riot, trying to help people out, or just being a pal. I'm open to whatever.]

i!

[heritors]

[ She's not ashamed of the mark — two X's, side by side — though she's not entirely proud of it, either; death was a necessity for her, a mark of victory, another step towards saving the world she loved. Years and years of it, until wielding a sword didn't cause her any of the nightmares she originally started with.

But — she also notices the second glances, the occasional surprise that crosses another inmate's face before they quickly turn away. She knows her number isn't high, not compared to some of the others ( though she'd rather not figure out what exactly the symbol stands for ); yet it's the first time where she's being seen not as royalty or as a soldier, but as a criminal. The thought unsettles her a lot more than it should, even if she tries to put up a neutral mask about all of it.

And that only gets harder around familiar faces — people like Scott, where his gaze bothers her just a little more ( and with the 0 over on his forehead, it makes sense ). So much for a decent second impression — but at least her expression softens, just a touch, hovering just outside of a comfortable conversation distance. ] It's alright.

[ She pauses, before continuing with small turn of her head. ] I can't say I'm used to these, myself. How are you faring? [ A nice, neutral ground, before she tries to explain herself. ]

( ooc. THIS WASN'T WHAT I PLANNED TO TAG INTO, lemme know if you want a riot thing instead >:c also: i realize now that scott's last tag is a pretty good place to end our first thread, if you're cool with that? c: )

peter parker | ota

[webdesigned]

WRITTEN ON YOUR FACE.

( it's... it's funny. it's not as if Peter hasn't blamed himself for Gwen's death since it happened. he can skirt around saying it. he can leap past specifics. Peter can't pretend it didn't happen, but he's successfully managed to put all the memories back — keep them away, for safe-keeping. or, perhaps, just so he can function without the guilt weighing down every step, like it had right after Gwen died. when he'd barely been able to leave his room for weeks.

still, something about the reality of it painted on his head. a simple line, a simple meaning, that he had taken a life. it's confirmation he shouldn't have needed, and yet somehow it made everything heavier once he'd realized what it meant. Maya and Stiles both had tried to convince him that it was his guilt talking, and not actual responsibility. yet there was the proof, written right on his face.

he'd taken a life. just one, but one was enough. he'd killed Gwen Stacy, and no amount of putting the memories back could change that reality.

it keeps him in his cell for most of the first couple of days, arm slung over his forehead even though he can feel the reality burning through the orange of his jumpsuit. still, he's obviously awake, and obviously coherent... he'll probably answer, if someone wanted to talk. )

MESSED UP.

( there's something that usually rings as universal for spider-men, and that's that they seem to have unending stomachs and that they never seem full. they can eat nearly anything, including their aunt's meatloaf, and have no complaint on the matter. turns out, his stomach isn't as forgiving as it used to be, and whenever their daily rations are a majority meat... well, not even a steel-stomached spider can fathom eating it. )

Still hungry? ( he pushes the tray toward a face he finds familiar, though Peter doesn't look them quite in the eye. not that he's ever been particularly great about eye contact, it's just that the | emblazoned on his forehead seems to do the talking for him. )

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY.

( it takes him a few days, but Peter does make it out of his self-induced funk. well, enough to go out and about and function again, anyway. he spends most of his time with the unbearably poor book selection, reading in attempts to keep up with his roommate. they've got a lot of murder mysteries to obsessively talk about at night, so they don't have to talk about anything else.

that's not all, though... he will dedicate himself to a game of chess if anyone wants a go. and if they don't, he'll play himself... and somehow get really incensed if he doesn't win, even though technically he can't lose. ) Can you believe this? ( Peter asks, and he seems serious, even though he's asking for astonishment on a play he performed on himself. someone astute will realize that the supposedly wrong side is a few moves from checkmate, and the ruling factor seems to be a couple pawns, which hits a little too close to home right now. he sighs. ) You wanna give it a go? It's not Monopoly, our friendship should survive it.

WILDCARD.
do none of these work for you? want the spider-man for something else? please feel free to wild me! you can also hit me up at misandry for a personal prompt!

a blend of the first prompt + wildcard??

[offkey]

[ After a couple of days of getting used to this place, and the vast change in clothing (from fancy tux to the worst, itchiest, grossest orange jumpsuit ever), Peter manages to memorize the daily schedule, the meal-times, the free-time, the lights out.

It still freaks him out, hearing the deep echoes of fellow inmates calling out at each other or calling out in their sleep, but it's less scary than it'd been only 48 hours ago. Spiders adapt pretty quickly when they have to, and Peter's definitely no stranger to having to adapt in rapid speed.

He finds himself pulling his jewelcomm out whenever he needs a moment of distraction, and in this particular case, he pulls it out in order to text his other self a message. He can see him from around the edge of the guard tower and he doesn't look all that great, honestly. ]

hey

are you okay?

graham | ota

[dishearten]

CAGED.

( in the end, it turns out being thrown in an intergalactic prison isn't so much different from being held captive by an evil queen in her gothic castle. it certainly feels the same to Graham, even though he's not supposed to feel anything at all. he has yet to suffer anything like the attack in Perdition's Rest, yet he seems to have flitted back to a darker time when it was simply easier to exist inside of himself instead of out.

he's aware of what the symbol on his head means shortly after arrival, doesn't do much to hide it, either. not to say he doesn't feel badly for it, in fact he almost wears his guilt like an armor. Graham hadn't known quite how far he'd slipped following the madness of Regina Mills; now he knows, and now he won't forget.

the huntsman usually can be found in his cell unless a familiar face draws him out of it. he even blends in surprisingly well when he's out of his quarters, lingering on the peripheral so quietly it'd be easy not to realize he's even there. that is not to say he's entirely forgotten, though, proof being another inmate running into him intentionally with a heavy shoulder. a crime easily forgotten, but the huntsman reacts instead, throwing the alien against the wall with no attempt to hide the snarl on his face. )

Attacking the weak to feel strong, are you? ( it's gritted out through tightened teeth, and Graham rattles the alien against the metal wall again for good measure. the guards haven't spotted the altercation yet, but... that's probably not going to keep up for long. )

EMPTY.

( it's lunch time.

that's where most of the inmates are, and it leaves the recreation area rather sparse. Graham actually prefers it that way, choosing to head there when he knows there won't be many to bother him. in the year and longer since he'd joined ALASTAIR, he'd found a handful of pursuits to occupy his head when he didn't like where it cared to travel. none of them were available to him here but exercise, so it narrowed his choices a great deal.

he is more than sweating by the time he gets off the bench, the top half of his jumpsuit hanging forgotten at his waist. when he points at the water across the table, his voice seems etched from disuse when he asks, ) Will you?

( feeling tired and thirsty isn't quite a concern, but Graham tries to keep up with them anyway. if only he'd try to keep up with being hungry. )

ESCAPE.

( when it all gets to be a bit too much, there is one escape Graham was only recently granted that he relies on perhaps a bit too heavily. appearing as a wolf, instead of a man — the X still emblazoned on a dark forehead. he will stretch his capacity to linger in the new form, even practicing sleeping as a wolf.

and he practices communicating with humans, too. when one passes, he makes a mutter of a noise in the back of his throat. not a menacing one, just enough to get attention... though, to be fair, the mark on his forehead was probably menacing enough. if he gets the attention, he pads gently at the book next to him, before tucking a nose under a furry tail and blinking at his company.

the book, if they care to entertain it, is something about a nature walk, and perhaps not the most interesting of titles. it's mostly description of a forest, which can't be that fun to read. that seems to be what the wolf is implying, though. )

WILDCARD.
do these not work for you? want the heartless huntsman somewhere else? feel free to wildcard me, or hit me up at misandry to chat about a personalized starter!

escape!

[heritors]

[ She refuses to let it get to her — even in captivity, she's still a noble. Her shoulders are straight, eyes always straight ahead as she walks; the two X's side by side on her forehead, though in a place like this, it looks like it helps more than it hinders. She's not avoided like some of the M's, but her number is apparently high enough to at least have the rest of the inmates second-guess themselves before talking to her.

Which is fine — that's more time for her to watch the guards, the routes they take, note the layout of the ship. Occasionally catch up to the rest of her teammates, spoken in quiet voices in the more empty areas, during the off hours. Or — in Graham's case — occasionally pass by his cell, giving him a small nod in greeting should he be there, before continuing on.

Until suddenly, it's not a human, but a wolf that greets her. ] Oh— [ She blinks— maybe Graham's cellmate is a wolf ( what a coincidence )? Only between the book, and the mark on the wolf's forehead? ] ... Graham?

[ Okay she's seen people turn into dragons and giant rabbits, a wolf isn't totally out of the question. But still — after more than half a year with ALASTAIR, perspectives change. ]

fiona / open

[cachemoney]

a. the bars are iron.

[This isn't Fiona's first time behind bars, but it's definitely her first time in an actual prison. And a prison in space, for that matter -- she's only been to space once before, and it wasn't actually a pleasant experience either, so that's zero for two.

She's trying very hard to look Tough and Intimidating so these other, more terrifying criminals will leave her alone; standing in the rec area with her arms folded over her chest, she scowls at anyone who passes by, even if it's a friend. Don't take it personally, she probably doesn't mean it.]

b. the walls are stone.

[It's nearly lights-out and Fiona is lingering near the doors separating Block 26 from what she guesses is the corridor judging by how she's seen correctional officers walk (or slither, or crawl, or...) in and out of there. She's not trying to slip out or anything, she's not that dumb, but she is trying to observe and find out exactly how she could slip out. You know, if she wanted to.

Which she does, obviously. Shit sucks in here.

One of the officers approaches, probably at the end of his shift, and Fiona quickly grabs whoever's closest to look like she's engrossed in conversation and not actually casing escape routes.] -- so yeah, anyway, what do you think? Am I the asshole in this situation?

c. all i need me is an old fishbone.

[The riot begins and Fiona is just about at ground zero. She's just elbowed a lizard-looking inmate in the face after it grabbed her, and she turns to defend herself against whoever else might be looking for a fight. She draws her fist back, ready to punch, and notices just a second too late that it's a fellow ALASTAIR recruit.

As she throws the punch, she's already flinching in apology.] Ah --

C.

[trueborn]

Ah.

[ It's only nerve and battle-instinct that keep him from being coldclocked by her, as he braces his hand along the underside of her wrist and pushes up as he ducks down. This is someone he knows, after all! She looks very different without her nice hat, though. He should have expected she could throw a punch -- ]

Miss Hat, it's only me. Do you remember? Are you well?

[ -- one sec, the lizard-looking fellow is getting back up?? which means he's just turned around and planted his heel into its scaly solar plexus, shoving it a good several feet away. ]

-- they took your hat. [ #PRIORITIES ]

wanda maximoff ✶ ota

[scarletcast]

→ mess hall

[ The Π symbol won't wash off or stay hidden — Wanda doesn't bother. She finds a corner to test her abilities on the doors, learning quickly they have no effect on the walls. No point wasting breath, then, this needs a plan she doesn't have, with subtlety she doesn't possess. ]

[ Wanda mingles with the other inmates quietly. She does not avoid the bigger and meaner ones, neither does she seek them out, and she moves out of the way of any brewing conflict — physical or verbal — however small. She must not make an impression. ]

a. [ She sits next to you at a crowded table, ]

Quickly, pretend we have not spoken in a while.

b. [ Or, you're joining her after the crowd has cleared, listening to her mutter in fierce irritation, ]

Useless. They knew nothing.

→ free time

[ Wanda doesn't know enough about the card games (or cheating at them) to do more than watch, and it's hard to keep her mind from constantly drifting. It's refreshingly quieter in this prison when there's not nearly as much filtering in from her senses, but it's eating her up with the restlessness. At least at the research base, there were tests. It filled the time. ]

[ She's not patient by nature, but forces an hour of reading a book before she snaps it closed. ]

Did you want this? I am finished with it.

→ wildcard

[ ooc: prefer something else? hmu ]

DAMIAN.

[scarletcast]

[ He's not the easiest child in the world to catch, but she's gotten lucky. Her tray clatters down next to his, Wanda wearing a deep frown. ]

They have kept even you here?

jason todd. ota, mostly.

[gutpunching]

mess hall.

[They've only been here for a few days. Might as well try making some "friends." Or at least, Jason's managed to encourage some of the older inmates into regaling the table with their greatest hits. Numbers only tell you so much about how the rest of the population compares to their situation. What better way to get the measure of the many and varied dirtbags you're stuck with than to encourage a little bragging? (The H he's wearing seems to be enough that he isn't considered someone to fight against for dominance or remember, but he also doesn't get the degree of hazing that the lowest rungs of the bodycount ladder do. He's fine with slipping through the cracks.)

Those fool enough to fall for it are happy to claim their street cred. The way he'd taken out a whole city block before his capture, the way she'd once cornered a rumored snitch at dinner and melted his eyes out with her acid breath. (Earned me three weeks in solitary, she says proudly, but it was worth it.)

Charming crowd, really. His smile is sharp and well-faked—even if it doesn't completely hide critical way he watches. Even if the details are exaggerated, it's a start. Eventually, the aliens leave, but they'd been loud enough. And since there's an ALASTAIR body still sitting in earshot—]

What d'you think? Gonna weigh in?

[Feel like trading stories of your own? Or something a little more productive?]

rec room.

[Between feeling out the floors they have access to and listening for news on their charge and looking for holes in their security, Jason can, occasionally be found in the rec room. Sitting at the little reading table with his ankles crossed and a book open in front of him.

He's either actually passing the time with some reading, or—when it's convenient—he's doing a good job of pretending while he listens in on some nearby conversations. Watches over the pages as the guards walk by in routines, the prisoners mill around, leaving him be.

While it lasts, anyway. He cants his head over when he feels someone happen nearby, waving his book in their general direction.]

You're in my light, champ.

riot.

[The fight breaks out without much warning. Spreads like wildfire.

Sometime in the thick of it, Jason vaults an overturned table, landing with both boots on the back of a hulking and hissing alien. Slamming the guy facefirst into the ground. A handful of teeth scatter across the floor—the slimy piece of shit was boasting at breakfast the other day about the way he'd murdered his last wife, so Jason doesn't, y'know, feel particularly bad about this—but he'd come dangerously close to crashing down on another ALASTAIR crewmate in the process.]

Whup. [Careful. Almost got you, there. Slimy-and-defanged underneath him seems to be well and truly out, but they won't be out of the fight for long. So—] Are you staying or going?

[It's a prime chance to use the chaos to their advantage, if they can find themselves an angle for it. But there's also, y'know, surviving it.]

post riot. (feel free to move responses to this one to his inbox if you'd rather keep things tidy on the network front.)

[This is what he gets for looking for trouble. Landing in solitary is, predictably, not the most productive use of his time. Nothing to do but sit in the cramped, dark space for hours on end and nurse his bruises for a few days and think.

He is not claustrophobic. That kind of thing would be pretty inconvenient for his profession. Dark, enclosed spaces are really par for the course. (Some worse than others. He tells himself he isn't thinking about it. Like seeing Bruce again hasn't dug it all up.) But the longer he spends in the hotbox, the more it wears on his patience.

More inconvenient is the damper it puts on looking through for progress on springing themselves. It's enterprise as much as distraction that has him pinging his teammates for a lay of the land once a few hours—or days—have passed.

(He'll cast a wideish net. So if you're on conversational enough terms, feel free to assume a ping over the network.)]

Still awake?

(OR as always, if none of these work for you feel free to WILDCARD ME in any of the above locations or TAG IN HERE FOR A CUSTOM STARTER and I'll yolo at you, this is too long already.)

bruce.

[gutpunching]

[All of Audentes takes a while to process through the system. Intake, roll call, room assignments. Mostly, Jason lets the meet-and-greet happen without incident. Listening to mutters from the guards about threat levels and charges and trials.. Mentally mapping out the halls they take and the places where they split off into other unknown corridors on the way to their first roll call. (There, the connection between threat level and their flashy new body art becomes a little more clear, courtesy of the existing residents.) They're in space, expecting to fight their way out without a good handle on where they are and what they're doing is painfully optimistic at best. The best way to do that is to be careful about it.

But there's only so much good behavior one can expect from him at a time. Eventually, as he's getting led out to his cell, he manages to wrest free and takes a swing for the robot guard. Just to see what would happen. (Testing the waters. Pushing his luck. He can't really help it.) The hard-light projection flickers away before he can make contact. His fist passes right through the guard and the unexpected shift in his momentum overbalances him far too suddenly to dodge the immediate rebuke it earns him. (A swift club to the gut, another one to the back of the head.) It ends with his robot entourage hauling him up and throwing him into the nearest cell to be rid of him.

Oof. Could have gone better. He's still blinking stars away by the time the doors slam shut. Stumbles just far enough to bounce off his new roommate before he manages to catch his balance.]

Sakura Kinomoto l Cardcaptor Sakura

[keystaff]

Zero:

[Whomever Sakura is rooming with, or others closer that might be able to tell, her own number in marking her number of kills is zero. Though that is probably hardly surprising given she is so young, let alone that she tends to focus more on defense or supporting others, or healing, than actually outright attacking in the missions for the most part, with Audentes thus far since she started over a year ago now.

Care to inform her or ask how she managed to pull that off after being with Audentes for as long as she has? Or comment on how obvious that is in Sakura's particular case, either way.]

Defenseless:

[It's strange. She's carried the Cards with her for so long now. Being without them, having them confiscated like this, apparently because the guards thought she might gamble with them, not because they are obvious weapons, makes Sakura feel oddly vulnerable. It doesn't stop her absently fiddling with her staff in its necklace form, but even so.]

It feels strange. Not to have my cards....

Lockdown:

[At the sound of the roar, Sakura turns towards the noise, wide-eyed and instantly reaching for her staff. Only, even if she were to activate it, she couldn't really do anything without having her cards with her too.

She's not exactly sure where they might be supposed to hide, if others were trying to avoid the guards once they came to investigate and break up the brawl though. So someone might want to tell her to move, if she wants to avoid getting in trouble too.]

What's going on? H-hey, calm down!

[But she can't exactly use Windy to restrain them from fighting right now. Unfortunately. So all she can do is try persuade them to stop from her own cell, holding to the bars of it.]

defenseless!

[predomination]

Can you still feel them? [Urahara's sitting across from her, observing her toying with her necklace as he picks at his own meal with a dissatisfied expression.] I know Benihime is here, but I can't quite reach her.

koltira deathweaver | ota

[respired]

i. roll call;

[ Koltira's 'M' mark burns on his forehead like a brand, as bright and cold as his glowing eyes. He doesn't make any effort to hide the symbol; he's sure it comes as no surprise to anyone who's spoken to him for more than five seconds. The shame he feels is not fresh--it's the same thrum of guilt as always, neither worsened or ameliorated by the public display. His dark expression has more to do with the situation itself: he is quite literally surrounded, much more so than at the gala. The press of bodies, most of whom are alive, most of whom possess a heart (or hearts) and veins and raw, hot blood--it's difficult to bear. Now, more than ever.

He hunches low in his seat as he ignores the tray of breakfast set before him, hands on his temples, jaw clenched. ]

Keep away from me.


ii. riot;

[ Koltira's just trying to keep his head down. He hangs back from the others, lurking like a hulking shadow in the corner of the rec yard. He doesn't read, lift weights, or play games; none of those distractions suffice, none of them satisfy. Instead, he tries to clear his mind, to block out the invasive, angry thrum of life that pulses constantly around him.

Then the shouting starts. He doesn't know who started it, or why--he only feels the sudden uptick in adrenaline, the hearts racing with anger and excitement and fear. A potent mix. Hard to resist.

Koltira should run from this, he knows. But the violence spreads like wildfire, and in moments everybody's throwing swings. Without Byfrost, Koltira's destructive power is somewhat limited, but poison and ice still burn in his fingertips.

He tries to force himself to move, but before he can, a thick fist comes right for his face. The fist belongs to a big, chimaera-like alien, a guy with rocks on his skin and a scorpion tail. He looks tough, but he starts whimpering as soon as Koltira's got hands around his throat, as soon as plague magic hisses against his still-vulnerable skin. Another inmate approaches them--a slender, lizard-like humanoid--and tries to break them up, shouting, but Koltira extends his other hand and soon the lizard is choking, too; the asphyxiation spell suspends the lizard a few feet above the air, leaving them desperately clawing at their throat, struggling for breath.

If someone doesn't intervene, both of these people are probably going to die. ]

I.

[trueborn]

I can only put so much distance between us, before it makes me callous.

[ Maybe the width of a table is less distance than should be, but that's all that he can give Koltira right now. It's difficult to shout across the mess hall, after all and he is vigilant about use of his magitek, in this place. Seeing this hunched, tense form - it's concerning. They might be strangers, but they are also team. The only reason he sits at the table, is under the pretense of keeping the conversation quiet. ]

Do you need to go to the infirmary? You do not seem -- [ "Well". Which is stupid to say, so he doesn't. ]

stiles ◐ closed / wildcard

[figureitout]

( here be closed starters! if you want one, hit up my plotting comment or poke me over at plurk @ celen and i'll be happy to write one for you! or just wildcard me tbh the yolo life is still very real )

▷ LOKI.

[figureitout]

[ the officers that drag him out of the room the beam transported him into give him a strange look as the first thing Stiles does, upon seeing the prison and realizing just what has happened, is laugh.

well... irony's a bitch, isn't it?

a little later, Stiles makes his way to the rec room, though less for the rec and more for who he's spotted in there. hopefully Loki isn't too invested in browsing the book selection... ]

Satisfied? [ comes the question, quick and light and confident that Loki knows what he's referring to — things that get you thrown in jail are always satisfying, wasn't it... he probably should sound a touch less amused by the fact they actually do get to plan for an actual prison escape. ]

nami ☁ closed / wildcard

[weatherscience]

( here be closed starters! if you want one, hit up my plotting comment or poke me over at plurk @ celen and i'll be happy to write one for you! or just wildcard me tbh the yolo life is eternal )

Arima Kishou | ota!

[prodigism]

Around the prison

[ Arima will obviously be wandering as he is wont to do. He's never been in prison before, well, perhaps a different type of prison. But he was the one who had always captured and thrown others in prison instead. Perhaps this is a sort of karma for him then? Either way his forehead bears the symbol XX which keeps him out of trouble for the most part. Partially because of his symbol and partially due to the fact that he's so quiet as he sits in either the gym area or recreational area alone. He doesn't seem like a man that could kill that many, but the other inmates don't take their chances. ]

Lunch break

[ As per usual he'll be sitting by himself for the most part. Poking and prodding at the food curiously. He's not sure if it's safe to eat but it doesn't look like anyone has been poisoned, yet. Either way he'll turn towards whoever might sit next to him. He'll push some of his plate towards whoever is nearest to him. ] You can have, if you want.

[ He's not exactly hungry right now. ]

Brawl

[ When it occurs Arima knows better than to join in. It's a hard thing to ignore but it wasn't their fight and it wasn't something he wanted to be a part of. So if there's anyone from Audentes caught in the middle of it he'll weave in and other of the fighting to get to them. He'll grab them by the arm and turn towards the area that's mostly safe and secure. ]

Move. Now. [ As the guards start rounding people up. ]

[ofobedience]

[He'd chosen Arima to sit beside, perhaps, for this very reason-- his silence, his relative quiescence. In many ways, it mirrors his own. He hadn't been intending to strike up a conversation, not exactly, but when the older man quite suddenly addresses him, he looks up. Shakes his head.]

Oh, no thank you. Have you tried it? It's really quite unpleasant, hahah.

[twinpeak]

DAY ONE
[ On the first day, Dipper is... managing. The circumstances haven't sank in much yet, nor has the gravity of the situation, but he does go through the motions in a sort of stunned state—after all, it's prison. An honest to god space prison. While he knew those existed somewhere in the great vastness of space, he never thought he'd be seeing one. Especially like... this.

He seems okay, all things considered. Later on when they're free to mingle in the recreation area, though, Dipper spends his time out of the way. Or rather, he's spending some time trying to be one of those hiding the blue glow on his forehead, adjusting his messy bangs in every way possible to no avail. He doesn't care too much that they confiscated his clothes, but did they really have to take his hat, too? ]

Ugh. [ Dipper mutters irritably. ] My forehead is cursed.

[ At least the glow reads '0', but that isn't the bigger problem here. ]

DAY FOUR
[ Around four days in, the dreaded feeling of Not Okay finally begins to sink in.

It's been four days of the same routine, of intimidating alien inmates looming and staring like they might kill him too, of guards herding them around like they're the scum of the earth (or space, he supposes), and Dipper starts to wonder if this is what the rest of his life will be. How long is the rest of his life going to be, anyway? Are they going to execute them or something?

His uncertain future leaves him worried, to say the least, and sometimes, Dipper isn't a kid who can take a bad situation in stride. There's... books to take comfort in, at least—something he's been able to fall back on in the past—but they only manage to distract him for so long. So he's sitting at a table, opens a book, flips a page. Flips back, drums his fingers upon the tabletop, closes the book, opens it again. Flips another page before leaning back in his seat, rubbing his face with a groan, pushes the chair back, changes his mind about moving. Then—no, nevermind, he scoots back again, actually stands up this time, briefly paces around before unceremoniously plopping back down in his chair.

He just keeps going, and it's probably distracting if you're trying to do something at the same table. Or maybe it's just sad to watch. ]

DAY SIX
[ Chaos has a tendency to happen so suddenly. It erupts with little warning, and before he knows it, Dipper is scrambling to get away from the forming brawl.

Not to say he's never decked a guy in the face before, but he has little interest in fighting for the sake of it—not to mention, he knows enough that trying to do as much in prison is really high up there on the list of Incredibly Stupid Things To Do. Besides, he's so much smaller and wimpier than these huge aliens who could crush him with their pinky finger, or whatever they have in lieu of fingers. Needless to say, he out.

And it almost works. Dipper dodges a few flying objects, but a swung fist thrown at random catches him point blank in the face, enough force used to have him falling back into the crowd.

The kid might need some help. ]

WILDCARD
[ If you wanna slam down a new prompt not here, go for it! I'm easy, but also open for plotting via PM or plurk at deltaserver while I try to get my butt SERIOUSLY back in gear into the game ;; ]

Day Four

[littlestguano]

[It's the third time Dipper scoots his chair back and Damian has had it. He stands from his own chair at a nearby table and makes his way over to Dipper, his attempt at reading forgotten. When Dipper goes to sit again, Damian reaches out and catches the older boy's shoulder, not roughly but not gently either.

It's the boy's age that keeps his voice level because as annoying as he's being, he's just a boy (older than Damian perhaps, but presumably without any of Damian's background stuck in an alien prison without any idea of escape) and it makes him hate the aliens that are keeping them here just that much more.]

I don't think reading is helping.

hanzo shimada | ota

[whatshimadayou]

i. prison

[For the most part, Hanzo has been withdrawn and keeping to himself, leaning against the wall and scowling with his eyes closed. Maybe it's his variation on meditating (doubtful), or he's just brooding. Either way, he certainly looks surly as hell.

A tall, lanky and insectoid alien approaches him, spitting out: Yer in my spot.

Hanzo doesn't respond, frowning to himself, ignoring the other prisoner. The alien hisses and reaches out to prod Hanzo with a claw, but the assassin quickly snatches his wrist, finally looking at him.]

Find another one.

[He squeezes, very closely tempted to engage in a fight. Pointless, feeding into his temper he's been working hard to tame -- but he's on edge enough that he's ready to go.

Hard as it is to control a dragon's fury.

Will you stop Hanzo? Or encourage him?]


ii. riot

[Some might refrain from joining the brawl, but for Hanzo it doesn't take much to be involved.

With a snarl, he's ripping through the fight, ducking down and throwing an inmate over his shoulder. Whirling around, he grabs onto a chair and smashes it into someone else. While he seems to move seamlessly through the fight, he is but one man, inevitably.

A four-armed alien grabs Hanzo by the back of his neck, throwing him down onto the floor with a loud THUD. Not giving him time to recover, Hanzo is pinned down by his throat. Hanzo grits his teeth, gripping the other inmate's wrist, for all the good it does him.]


iii. wildcard!

[Consider this an invitation for a wildcard tag, or you can message me at albaaulbath if you'd like a custom thread starter!]

ii

[catphishing]

[Oliver isn't much of a fighter.

Even here he hasn't managed to develop much in that direction, and he's trying to escape the brawl rather than get involved. In fight against most of these inmates he'd go down within moments, and he knows it.

Even so, when he sees someone he knows must be part of his team so helpless he can't turn his back on then. He hesitates, not sure what he should do at first, but he doesn't have much time to act.

Without thinking too much about it Oliver grabs a broken chair, using all his strength to slam it into the back of the attacking alien's head.

He can only hope that it's enough to knock him unconscious and not just piss him off.]

Khada Jhin ■ OTA

[fourscores]

■ I. REC AREA

Prison. The last place Jhin wanted to be, a place he only recently got out of. It was infuriating, to think he might actually have to break out of this place, rather than ensure his release through his skills like he'd done back home. Much as anyone could call his leaving prison back home being released. It's not a life he wants to get reaccustomed with, that's for certain, even though a part of him knows this is where he belongs.

As irritating as the situation is, only one person knows about his past and he plans on keeping it that way. The ΗΗ symbol on his forehead he can easily act his way out of, but a bad temper will not help his act. What he needs is to remain calm, friendly. Maintain the act he's created up to this point. Don't get in trouble with the guards, don't get into fights. Calm and at peace.

As far as prisons went, this one had far less to do, but plenty of time to focus his thoughts. At least no one was trying to cure him. So each day Jhin finds himself off in a corner during their free time, sitting in meditation. Pull up a seat and join him if the stress is getting to you.

■ II. WILDCARD

[If there's something else you wanna do, throw it at me. Feel free to poke me at twasbrillig or PM if you want a closed prompt thingy. Also feel free to action it up, I just tend to default to prose for starters.]

Widowmaker | otaish

[araigneedusoir]

A. Cell accommodations (For Lucy/Nyuu)

[Nothing about any of this was okay, mind still reeling as she struggled to process everything that had happened over the course of so few hours. One moment they were trying to steal the Diamond, the next she was face to face with an alien and then being dragged away by two hulking -- omnics? Robots? -- guards and put here. To say she was trying to avoid a panic attack is putting it lightly.

She'd done well to avoid prison, working with the organization she had. No one could really catch her, any of them for that matter. Yet now she's here, pacing the length of one side of the cell and occasionally stopping to stare at her own reflection. The H mark means something; what is not coming to her.

It takes her a second to register she's not alone anymore, her head turning as she quells the mess still going on in her head.]

I don't believe we've properly met.

B. Rec Room (OTA)

[It was several days before she even bothered to leave her cell, spending nights awake and restless and days even more restless still. This whole thing reminded her too much of flashes of memories she couldn't quite catch, of being held against her will. Of course, last time she hadn't committed an actual crime this time...well it was negotiable.

But as she was never one to stay still too long, she'd wandered from her cell for once, slowly winding her way down to the rec room. It's there someone might find her, settled in a corner with a book at least until she notices someone there. There's a moment where she peers over the edge of her book to make sure it's a team mate before she speaks, a wry smile on her face.]

I never expected this particular outcome.

C. Riot (OTA)

[As soon as it starts, she chooses to leave. The sudden uproar causing her to abandon her previous perusal for a new book as she leans briefly around the shelf to see -- exactly -- what had gone on. At the sight of a mass of bodies and flailing limbs she starts in the opposite direction, annoyance evident on her face.

This really wasn't her thing.]

So much for 'relative' peace and quiet.

D. WILDCARD

[Idk whatever else ya'll wanna do hit me up idk, I'm up for whatever.]

[scarredhorns]

[When she finally awoke after Lucy lost consciousness from the beam, Nyuu had no idea how much time she lost, let alone the reason she was face to face with an intimidating alien. They said she was in for grand theft, which puzzled Nyuu. Having been asleep since Woodhurst, she never had the chance to read the newest mission dossier.

By the time they shove Nyuu into her cell, her eyes are wide like those of a cornered animal, and she was tearing up. She's trembling so badly that her legs look as though they might collapse at any given moment. She doesn't even know that there's an XX symbol on her forehead, but she does hone her eyes in on her company. She's in the middle of staring at the blue skin when the question is asked, and Nyuu jumps. She didn't think the other woman would speak to her after the way she ignored her.

Tentatively, she shakes her head, still quivering, and doesn't even wipe away her tears. Her arms move up to wrap around herself in a hug.]

N-No, we haven't. I-I'm Nyuu.

giorno giovanna | ota

[digiorno]

a. network ; un: harmonia

Anyone who is in need of a weapon, contact me or Fugo (@hemlock) via text. We'll get something to you.

Anyone who is in need of a brush-up on self-defense techniques, contact me.

Anyone who wants protection, contact me privately.

b. recreation ; we just gonna see what we wanna see

[Giorno wakes up in Block 26 with a symbol on his forehead, just like everyone else. It doesn't take him long to figure out what ΔΔΔ means: it's a death count. He actually laughs when he gets it, albeit a little bitterly. Of course it is. They're meant to be penitent, as if that's what a prison's ever meant. Last time he was in prison was to commit a murder, so really, whoever's in charge is barking up a very wrong tree.]

[It becomes clear almost as quickly that there's no way of concealing the mark, so he stops trying. He has a grand (and portentous) total of four bobby pins to his name at this moment, so he just pins his bangs back, displaying his mark without any attempt at obstruction. He can't win that battle, so he's going to focus on the war, which is getting out of here alive.]

[Indeed, it's clear that while he isn't happy to be here, he's settled in for the long haul. Kagari was entirely right when he advised everyone not to be a hero; prison is to be survived and, ideally, escaped from carefully when the time is right, not bravado'd around in. It's probably fallen on deaf ears, but whatever. Giorno has been ready for this since his dream was first formulated. Mafiosos sometimes end up in prison, and even the capo di tutti capi is not always immune.]

[He's calm. He sets himself up, from day one, with a rhythm that keeps him visible above all else. Every day, he spends the hours between noon and five in the afternoon in the recreation area. He sits against the wall, directly across from the door, and he reads. For five hours every day. He's present, he's available, and he's watchful. Because if nothing else, he'll be a steady presence for those who weren't as prepared for this as he was.]

[And by the way: if that happens to be you, if all of this is too much and the walls are pressing in around your ears, or if you're getting it into your head to do something wild and there's a certain restlessness to your movements--there Giorno is at your elbow.]

Careful. What's going on?

c. incident ; 'cause imma need a bad motherfucker like me

[He's easy to find in the mess every morning and evening. Part of it's because he plans to take advantage of food when it's available, thank you very much, but that's not all it is. Visibility is just as important here, and food is a communal, positive thing, a respite from the formless, chaotic boredom of the rest of the day. The more facetime he can put in here, the better.]

[For the most part.]

[There's always someone who has something to say. At least Giorno's ready for the man who looms up behind him during dinner on day four of their little vacation and puts a hand on his shoulder.]

[It's fortunate, probably for both of them, that the man is broader but not much taller than Giorno. It means that when Giorno turns to assess the danger, he doesn't feel even the slightest need to call Fugo, or even Gold Experience in its full form. It also means that, in the midst of the muttered threats and as soon as Giorno sees the sea of people across the room filling in the gaps between the two of them and the guards, he stands up and hits the man's face instead of somewhere softer.]

[The man falls with a grunt. When he moves to stand again, it's with a cut on his cheek and two oddly-regular bruises on either side of that cut, for a total width of perhaps three knuckles. The faint golden light fading away from Giorno's loosening fist catches off the dim twisted metal of, well, something as he slips it back into his pocket. He looks up with a faint smile.]

You fell.

[--which the guards won't be able to contest, because they didn't see it. Giorno sits, confident in the understanding that the man who's intruded on his dinner will walk away--and he does, dazed and reaching up to gingerly touch the blood on his cheek. For his part, Giorno goes back to eating with a slight sigh, poking morosely at the stuff on his plate.]

I know I shouldn't be picky, but this food really isn't my taste.

d. wildcard

[If you'd like a private starter, PM me or get in touch at passiones!]

( closed ) joseph

[digiorno]

[The one benefit of Joseph Joestar being built like a house is that he's not hard to find. As varied as the body types and indeed species of this prison are, Joseph stands head and shoulders above most people.]

[He's also a loud eater. In a way, Giorno's glad to find Joseph in the mess on the first day instead of lifting weights or whatever people like Joseph are expected to do.]

[And speaking of expected: Joseph was doing something interesting earlier. When Giorno did see Joseph in the recreation area, he wasn't lifting weights at all. He was lying on the floor on his back with his eyes closed, whining, a lot, about how there was nothing to do here and he was so bored and his granny would have a fit if she knew--]

[But he only made a fuss when there was someone close enough to hear. Otherwise, he was physically restless but didn't say a word. And that was very interesting indeed.]

Hello, Joseph, [Giorno murmurs, sliding in across the table from Joseph as though he's not got the metaphorical blood of dozens painted on his forehead.] Are you doing all right?

[Read: are you actually a lot smarter than you want everyone here to think? Because that would actually be really great.]

olivia | ota | ΔΔΔ

[winces]

1. celebrity sighting

[ it's sometime during recreation that you might happen upon a rather alarming scene: olivia, her pale pink hair clashing terribly with that bright orange jumpsuit, clutching what appears to be one of the romance novels circulating the prison up to her chest, using it as some form of shield between her and an overly excited inmate who appears to have cornered her against one of the tables. ]

I-I'm sorry, I think you have me mistaken with someone else—

No no, it has to be you! [ one pair of the man's double eyes flicker up to her hair, then to the blue symbol on her forehead. ] You're the Pink Peril! I used to collect all your wanted posters, oh man, can you sign my jumpsuit?

2. the riot act

[ the riot begins and consumes the space like a raging fire, swallowing everything in its path. olivia barely has time to process what is happening before she is suddenly caught up in a crowd of inmates, pushing and screaming and throwing fists. one catches her just behind her head, rattling her brain and disorienting her enough that she stumbles to her hands and knees—

A) down there, she meets you too, and while her vision still swims, she reaches out for a hand or a shoulder or anything. dizzily gasping out: ] A-Are you okay?

[ B ) the fighting only continues to escalate, and with a throbbing in the back of her head all the shouting and chaos only threatens to make it pound that much worse. ]

S..Stop this...

[ her words are barely above a whisper, but it is all the warning the people around her get. another handful of moments pass, before she is suddenly squeezing her eyes shut, hands clutching the sides of her head. like a wave, the people around her suddenly stutter to a stop, fists freezing in mid-air, expressions going slack-jawed then peaceful. a voice cries out from somewhere: ]

What the hell? What's going on?

[ another voice: ] It's her! She's doing it!

[ and another: ] Get her!

3. wildcard

[ feel free to hit me up with another scenario! if you'd like to plot something, you can PM this account or pp me at ellipses! ]

1. - let me know if this is okay!

[ofobedience]

[And he sees it-- her defensive posture, the inmate's animated body language, the fact that she appears to wish to be anywhere but where she is. He hears it too, the words uttered, and though there appears to be nothing of violence in them, he isn't taking any chances.

And so he heads on over, catches the overzealous inmate's attention with a polite tap to the shoulder. When the inmate turns, Giovanni flashes a smile filled with razorblade teeth. The glowing X on his forehead is, of course, clearly discernible. The inmate seems to grow a little pale in the wake of it.]

Excuse me, but would you mind leaving? I'd like to speak with my friend, here.

[Friend. He said friend.

And the inmate seems to take a hint, hurriedly makes his excuses and leaves with a quick backward glance over his shoulder, and once alone, Giovanni smiles wryly. Blonde hair tipping forward to conceal his naked eyes-- they'd very rudely confiscated his glasses upon arrival :{]

The Pink Peril?

[He sounds subtly amused.]