commemeorate (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
commemeorate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2017-10-06 05:42 pm
commemeorate) wrote in bakerstreet2017-10-06 05:42 pm
(no subject)
[ WOKE UP IN JAIL ]
Where are you? Why is your bed so hard? Why is someone peeing right by your head?
Oh right. Because you got pinched last night. Welcome to the slammer, baby.
• Post with your character name/fandom/options preferences.
• Use RNG to pick your possible scenario - or just go with what you'd like most.
• Reply to other people's tags. Use RNG or decide what your part in the whole kerfuffle is.
• Enjoy the confusion.
Reason(s) you're in jail:
1. Indecent Exposure
Nobody wanted to watch you strut around with everything hanging out, and someone called you on it. Hope they gave you a jumpsuit or you're going to be prison eye candy.
2. Drunk and disorderly conduct
"Wassat, occifer? No... I'm not dru-*hic* drunk. I'm unner the legal limit. Wooo!" No, no you're not. You're way over. Sleep it off, buddy.
3. Vandalism
Oh, you naughty thing. You got busted stealing that 'Chickens X-ing' sign. Or was it drawing boobs on the drive-thru clown? Either way, tsk tsk.
4. B&E
Apparently your friend didn't think you kicking in his window to sneak in and leave him a 'present' was as good of an idea as you thought it was. Well, no love for HIM. *hmph*
5. Grand Theft Auto
The car was BEGGING to go for a ride. It called to you with its sireny car-call. And you just had to answer. If it hadn't been for the damn spike belt...
6. Kidnapping
Trust me, there are better ways to get money to pay for your Bieber concert tickets.
7. Murder
Talk about being caught red handed. You got caught red armed. And faced. And front. You're messy.
8. Any/all of the above
Ooooh... You've been REALLY naughty, haven't you? Actually, you kind of scare me.
Relationship of the person tagging:
1. Cohort in Crime.
2. Person coming to bail you out. (or not)
3. Jailer/Warden.
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"Yup," he agrees, completely oblivious to what she thinks he means. "It was pretty boring, to be honest. It was always... you'd go to these huge galas, and literally everyone was just a piece of shit. Richer than god and just rotten perverts and scumbags. If I had it my way I would have just killed them all, but. Not allowed."
He sighs.
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"Dem's da breaks, huh?" She poked. "So," she begins carefully, "have you always had a penchant for killing...people?" Hearing that out loud was fucking crazy. "I guess I mean...is it more like a feeling that's always been there or is it something you just were trained to do and you don't remember anything else?" She might as well asked are you more like one of those trained snipers or are you more like a serial killer that just has to kill people. But the real question was, does she want to know?
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Matthew can't put it into words, because he did not understand it, but someone once said of him that his training and his personality were not separate things within him.
"I think my first was when I was ten."
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It was supposed to be easy to discern who the evil people were. But like everything, people were like watercolors, reds running into blues, mixing with yellows. Absolute evil, like an absolute good...well, it didn't exist.
So she does only what she can, she contextualizes, making people a complex tapestry, but that also blurs right and wrong...
Ezera squeezed her eyes shut when he said that he had been ten. She doesn't want to know. But, yes, she does. She wants to understand.
"Tell me?" She asks a little uncertainly.
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"They start you with animals," he tells her. His voice has no real inflection - he might be explaining how a toaster works. "Mice, cats, dogs. Goats. Primates are next. Chimps. They're pretty close to human. Obviously for telepathics they're useless - dogs don't fucking think like we do. But you can stop their hearts same as anything else.
Took about five years to graduate me to human subjects."
He pauses, thinking back. His memory is not great, but this he can recall flawlessly.
"Tiled walls, tiled floor. Hospital colours - that sort of not-quite-greenish white. One way mirror on the far wall. Fluorescent lights. Heart monitor, electrodes stuck to my skull with that sticky shit they use that gets in your hair. And across form me, restrained in a chair, was a man.
I dunno who he was. It was an Intelligence operation, so I'm guessing it was somebody working for the wrong side."
He stops to grin down at Ezera. "We're the right side, in case you were wondering. The wrong side is whoever isn't the good ol' U.S. of A.
Anyway. 'Concentrate, Matthew. It's just like the monkey, Matthew.' It wasn't, though, and the guy he could tell I wasn't doing whatever I was supposed to be doing. He started hurling insults. And over the intercom it was just more... 'do it, Matthew, you don't want to disappoint us, we'll take away your things, you'll go to the quiet room.'
And all of a sudden it was there. It's like... all of a sudden there's a current in your brain. I dunno, I'm not sure I can explain it. But it's huge, and at that age it was was terrifying.
So I just... reached out with it, and there was this electric feeling. The guy, he made this horrible face, and a minute later his skull exploded."
*heh heh heh *
No, no. I can't hear any more of this. Every time she opened her mouth to say that, nothing came out. Because she actually wanted to hear his story especially since he was willing to tell it. Every time he recounted doing something utterly terrible, the next thing lay it at the feet at these horrible people he was working for--the government. Their government. It felt like someone had grabbed her throat and squeezed.
At one point, she subconsciously lay her hand on her stomach. Squeamish. At another, she covered her mouth. Shock. Horror. Sympathy. Empathy. And it was empathy that would get her into trouble every time.
Ezera was silent for a while, not trusting her voice. She couldn't find it either in the tight squeeze in her throat. She tried to clear it. When she looked up at him, her eyelashes were a bit wet. She swallowed again. And again. "I...I need a moment." She said in a raspy voice, but her words cracked and then the awful thing happened, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him, stopping them cold in the middle of the sidewalk. But worse than that, she sniffled, holding back tears, her words muffled and indistinguishable against his coat.
"Sorry, sorry." She says, not for the hug, but getting mascara on his jacket which she tries to blot out as she steps back. But she's still sniffling. There's a fire hydrant and she uncomfortably leans against it, trying to wipe the tears out of the corner of her eyes with a delicate finger not to smug her liner.
"That's...that's just so sad. I-I-I know you probably don't even see it like that but..." Her face crinkles again, threatening actual tears. At least that doesn't happen. "It's just so terrible and I'm so sorry that happened to you."
Man, does she ever want to be in the privacy of her apartment to just fugly cry. This was completely a fugly cry moment.
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"Uh," he says intelligently.
"Are... you okay? Why are you crying?"
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"I'm crying because I feel sad. And angry. And frustrated. About the things that were done to you. That you had to do. It's not exactly part of a normal upbringing." Ezera really can't get over the matter of choice or lack thereof. She stops from droning on. It's not going to help. She already knows that this isn't quite registering the way someone would expect. So, she sniffles one last time and if it's not confusing enough, she manages a small smile, kinda like how parents do when they're putting on a brave face before they tell you that your cat was jipped out of 8 of its 9 lives when it fell out the 4th story window.
"I'm okay, Matt. Let's keep walking." Well, she looked ok, but she was kinda depressed by all this.
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He walks with her for a while, letting her get herself under control. Eventually he risks a glance at her, nodding when he sees that she isn't weeping any more.
"You don't have to feel bad," he tells her patiently. "You weren't involved."
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His voice punctures her thoughts. And she's coming to also realize that that's such a Matthew thing to say. She takes a slow breath and lets it out at her leisure. "I don't have to be involved to feel bad about what happened to you." She's just as patient now having come to the realization that Matt really didn't quite get emotion the same way others did.
She opens her mouth to say something about empathy and compassion, but she notes how patronizing that would sound. He knows what those things are, she thinks. He just doesn't quite get them.
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"Ezera, I dunno what it is you want me to say. That's how I grew up. It's not good or bad, it just is. It doesn't keep me up at night." Most of it dosn't, anyway, but he's not about to admit to any weaknesses.
"Anyway, that first time... it wasn't bad," he goes on, meaning to reassure her. "I mean, I was scared, sure, but at the same time feeling that power...
That guy was an adult, and he never stood a fucking chance with me. In that moment I realised that I was stronger than him. I was stringer than almost everybody."
A pause.
"Even my father. He had what I had, but he wasn't any good with it. I knew I could be."
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"You don't need to say anything." She weaves her sentence within his, her voice soft enough not to cut him off but to still be heard. "I don't need you to say anything. Iz pressed her lips down. "You grew up without a choice of what you wanted to become. It bother's me, that's all. How would you even know that you want to be doing any of this?"
Oh, man. She takes an even breath. "Your father had your abilities? Where was he in all of this?" She asked curiously. "I mean, when you were abducted along with your sister?" Hell, let's call a spade a spade.
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"He did, but shittier. He was one of the test subjects that got dosed without knowing they were going to. All of their offspring manifested much more strongly." Facts that he's comfortable with - even to this day he takes no small amount of pride in the fact that he was the best.
"They shot him in the head when they took us. If he'd been stronger, he would have done more than just blow up a helicopter, wouldn't he?"
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So his mother and father were killed on that day. This just kept getting better and better. His own response to it makes her cringe a little. "Sometimes it's not about being stronger. But the limit or stretch of our abilities." Dancer's know this. That wasn't the point. "I'm sure that your father did his best considering that he probably knew that it was the only way to protect his family." Talking about fathers' was hard for her. Her face became unreadable.
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"I have no doubt he tried his best. He just wasn't good enough. That's what it comes down to."
He sighs. "Family sucks ass."
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Ezera chuckles and looks up at Matthew. "Sometimes. But I'd do a lot to get mine back." She pressed her lips together and cantered her head to the side. "Anyway. Doesn't matter! The past is passed!" There was a big bright smile on her face. It was slightly too forced. "If you want, you can be my friend three or four times removed. That's almost like family, right? Acquaintances via seven degrees of separation," she jests. "Close enough?" She quizzes, trying to make him laugh.
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He raises an eyebrow at her, smiling a little. "You're so full of shit, Ezera. I like you, though."
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She bursts out laughing. And pulls off looking offended and falsely accused at the same time. Gasp, like...gasp. "What? How am I full of shit?" Who, me?
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He gives her a brief but real smile.
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They passed another block and she realized that they'd be at her place soon. Ezera nonchalantly looked over her shoulder to see whether there was anyone behind them. She's probably paranoid enough for them both.
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"We're not being followed," he stage whispers.
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"Hey, so. You should come to my club sometime. Well, "club" is a bit misleading. It's a modern cabaret in a speakeasy environment." She dug into her purse and brought out a card. "Here's the address."
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He mulls the word 'cabaret' over. Does that mean strippers? It might be rude to ask. He takes her card and nods. "Good cocktails?"
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