She's gonna think I'm a spy. You are a spy. Not against… Okay, fine. But if you're gonna say it, you have to really do it. You mean… I mean put on that breathing mask, Officer.
* * *
The smell throughout Stillwater was really living up to its name. You could especially tell the locals from the Wardens based on who had the easiest time breathing.
"Broken plumming!" Wardens unnecessarily shouted down the halls. Nice way to say shit everywhere. "Doubling up levels three and four. That means you'll be getting cellmates until situation repaired. No fighting unless you want your sentences extended."
For only the third time since she'd been incarcerated, Vi's cell door slid open, and for the first time, someone else was thrown in. Actually, kicked it: a boot square in the back. He failed to impress at catching himself, though he shot a fair enough glare as the door slid closed. And Vi was left with a stranger.
Male-presenting, coloring various shades of brown, not much taller than her and no broader, but the wiriness was deceptive. She could see from the relationship of his arms to his sides: his limbs didn't dangle, there was strength and deliberation.
The silver lining about growing up in the undercity? You can breathe through just about anything, and yeah, shit's still shit, but one can filter it out a little more. That's a fucking edge. And if you don't think about it? Maybe you don't even smell it at all for a little while.
She almost can't remember life before this endless stretch of days, hundreds upon hundreds - stacked up atop each other they might be high enough to climb the fuck out of this shithole - but they crash down into a jumble of time, little fragments of what came before, a flash of blue braids, a flicker of light, something else that hurts too much to recall so she'll just shake it off, fists against the cell wall quicker than the thoughts can come, quicker than the images - a steady stream of hits until she stops, tensing as the door slides back, someone's unceremoniously kicked through (okay, sure, there's some kind of ceremony in it) and she's standing, fists raised.
"How do you extend forever, anyway? Got some kind of special math for that?"
Forever is what it feels like, and she's got to stay on the offense. (Everyone's a threat. Everyone here's an enemy, yeah?) But it's the wardens she tosses the words at, not the stranger. What he gets, finally, is:
Still sizing him up, that's not exactly the reply she expected, and that's part of why she huffs a bit of a laugh - it's not good humour, not wholly, but it isn't particularly mean. She doesn't lower her fists, not yet - this could still be ...well, it'd be a hell of an elaborate trap, and sure, they're terrible, the Wardens, but they're not usually all that smart. Not a whole lot of long-game planning there, and maybe only a few braincells between them, she thinks.
"I'm looking for a lot of things, but a new roommate? Not on that list."
She'd tell him to get out, but just the idea of it is ridiculous. She doesn't quite let that laugh through, but she does clear her throat to cover it.
"Well, you could tell me to leave, but I'd have to disappoint."
(As if he'd read her mind?—or body language?—or the situation just spoke the same to them both.)
Giving up on his wrist, he bumped his back to the wall and sat on the floor. "Okay. I'm 429. In for theft but, you know, not really. What else do you want?"
Maybe it's because he was able to, you know, pick up what she was putting down? Maybe it's that. Maybe he reminds her of the kind of kids she used to run with, though he's not exactly a kid - they're of an age if she had to guess. Maybe she doesn't want to be reminded, but maybe that's better than beating the shit out of someone who (probably) doesn't deserve it.
A lot of maybes. Few certainties.
"This place is full of disappointments, so..."
She trails off, looking past the bars, and then back to him as he moves. The moment his ass hits the floor, she'll lower her fists, head tilting just a fraction before she shrugs and leans against the wall. Not sitting, not yet.
"...well, 429, I'm 516. Only not really. Name's Vi."
Fuck their numbers. She's graven it into her cheek, and if they don't like it? Well, "fuck them" is always the tune. And she doesn't say what she wants. That's ...nah, not giving that up just yet.
"So what'd you steal? Or not steal. Wrong place at the wrong time, or..."
(A name doesn't define you, not always. Not as if the Undercity isn't rife with aliases, right? What you attach to the name, if you make good on your word - that's what really matters.)
Huh. It takes her a moment, unsure at first if he's trying to catch her with wordplay, but it's not a riddle - it's ...yeah. That's a thing you can steal if you think about it the right way. "So you're a fast talker with fast hands. I can see it, I gue---."
A storm flickering - shadows of memories and a hard-swallow as her breath catches. "Shimmer. You stole it from Silco?" Not letting an answer in, as her thoughts race to fill in the blanks with the worst possible scenario - and one that's familiar enough that it isn't too far of a reach. "How'd you do that and still stay alive? You work for him? Is that why you're in here?"
There was no transition: no process of getting to his feet. He was just sitting, then he was standing. He spat the ground between them. “I do not work for him.” …well, sure, being in here possibly more evidence of that.
“Something from you, now. Who are you to just like that say that name?”
That kind of movement's impressive - she's done her fair share of it, and it's been a long time since she's seen it mirrored like that. He's quick to bristle at the suggestion, too. That's ...something.
"It's a regular revolving door of whoever comes in here to beat the shit out of me, half of which are probably on Silco's payroll, so I make sure to tell 'em to thank their master for me. I spend a lot of time saying 'fuck Silco', and it's never not worth it."
The slow flex of fingers before curling into a fist - but no further movement.
"That enough for you, Doran? Or ...do you want something else?"
He shakes his head, slow and heavy. "That's enough. Sorry."
He doesn't raise his palms to her but they are open where they hang. He shuffles back into the wall. When he speaks, info freely given is a peace offering. "It's Silco's cronies put me here. They wanna know what I did with the shimmer. I told them outright. They don't believe me. I'm in here until I 'tell the truth'. So… y'know. If I can get a better idea than waiting for them to accept it… but spreading the truth is kinda the point."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for Vi
You are a spy.
Not against… Okay, fine. But if you're gonna say it, you have to really do it.
You mean…
I mean put on that breathing mask, Officer.
The smell throughout Stillwater was really living up to its name. You could especially tell the locals from the Wardens based on who had the easiest time breathing.
"Broken plumming!" Wardens unnecessarily shouted down the halls. Nice way to say shit everywhere. "Doubling up levels three and four. That means you'll be getting cellmates until situation repaired. No fighting unless you want your sentences extended."
For only the third time since she'd been incarcerated, Vi's cell door slid open, and for the first time, someone else was thrown in. Actually, kicked it: a boot square in the back. He failed to impress at catching himself, though he shot a fair enough glare as the door slid closed. And Vi was left with a stranger.
Male-presenting, coloring various shades of brown, not much taller than her and no broader, but the wiriness was deceptive. She could see from the relationship of his arms to his sides: his limbs didn't dangle, there was strength and deliberation.
He pushed himself upright and looked at her.
no subject
She almost can't remember life before this endless stretch of days, hundreds upon hundreds - stacked up atop each other they might be high enough to climb the fuck out of this shithole - but they crash down into a jumble of time, little fragments of what came before, a flash of blue braids, a flicker of light, something else that hurts too much to recall so she'll just shake it off, fists against the cell wall quicker than the thoughts can come, quicker than the images - a steady stream of hits until she stops, tensing as the door slides back, someone's unceremoniously kicked through (okay, sure, there's some kind of ceremony in it) and she's standing, fists raised.
"How do you extend forever, anyway? Got some kind of special math for that?"
Forever is what it feels like, and she's got to stay on the offense. (Everyone's a threat. Everyone here's an enemy, yeah?) But it's the wardens she tosses the words at, not the stranger. What he gets, finally, is:
"Who the fuck are you?"
no subject
no subject
"I'm looking for a lot of things, but a new roommate? Not on that list."
She'd tell him to get out, but just the idea of it is ridiculous. She doesn't quite let that laugh through, but she does clear her throat to cover it.
no subject
(As if he'd read her mind?—or body language?—or the situation just spoke the same to them both.)
Giving up on his wrist, he bumped his back to the wall and sat on the floor. "Okay. I'm 429. In for theft but, you know, not really. What else do you want?"
no subject
A lot of maybes. Few certainties.
"This place is full of disappointments, so..."
She trails off, looking past the bars, and then back to him as he moves. The moment his ass hits the floor, she'll lower her fists, head tilting just a fraction before she shrugs and leans against the wall. Not sitting, not yet.
"...well, 429, I'm 516. Only not really. Name's Vi."
Fuck their numbers. She's graven it into her cheek, and if they don't like it? Well, "fuck them" is always the tune. And she doesn't say what she wants. That's ...nah, not giving that up just yet.
"So what'd you steal? Or not steal. Wrong place at the wrong time, or..."
no subject
“You?”
no subject
Huh. It takes her a moment, unsure at first if he's trying to catch her with wordplay, but it's not a riddle - it's ...yeah. That's a thing you can steal if you think about it the right way. "So you're a fast talker with fast hands. I can see it, I gue---."
A storm flickering - shadows of memories and a hard-swallow as her breath catches. "Shimmer. You stole it from Silco?" Not letting an answer in, as her thoughts race to fill in the blanks with the worst possible scenario - and one that's familiar enough that it isn't too far of a reach. "How'd you do that and still stay alive? You work for him? Is that why you're in here?"
no subject
“Something from you, now. Who are you to just like that say that name?”
no subject
"It's a regular revolving door of whoever comes in here to beat the shit out of me, half of which are probably on Silco's payroll, so I make sure to tell 'em to thank their master for me. I spend a lot of time saying 'fuck Silco', and it's never not worth it."
The slow flex of fingers before curling into a fist - but no further movement.
"That enough for you, Doran? Or ...do you want something else?"
no subject
He doesn't raise his palms to her but they are open where they hang. He shuffles back into the wall. When he speaks, info freely given is a peace offering. "It's Silco's cronies put me here. They wanna know what I did with the shimmer. I told them outright. They don't believe me. I'm in here until I 'tell the truth'. So… y'know. If I can get a better idea than waiting for them to accept it… but spreading the truth is kinda the point."