ArchivedLogs:Reunion at the Right Place

Reunion at the Right Place
Dramatis Personae Marrow, Masque
In Absentia	2013-05-14 Masque and Marrow, HAVING A SURLY-OFF. WHO WON?
Location Thunderdome
It's a basement, somewhere, that much is clear from the slightly musty-cool feel, the lack of windows, the stark-bare cement decor. What purpose this place originally served is hard to discern; something industrial, judging by the heavy reinforced eyelet hooks still set into the ceiling, now devoid of any loads to bear. Of late the place has been repurposed, though. Around two parallel edges of the room, sturdy cells have been constructed, heavy reinforced metal segmenting off large cage-like cells. The enclosures are largely identical: two sets of bunk beds with pillows, thin sheets, identical grey wool blankets. A pair of large covered bedpans, a bucket usually filled with fresh-ish water. The center of the room is divided in two. One half is large and open, a spacious expanse of cement floor and emptiness. The other half holds long trestle-tables, long benches, both riveted into the cement floor. The ceiling -- of the room, of the cages -- hold very noticeable dark security-camera bubbles. There is one door leading out of here, heavy steel that is securely chained and barred from the outside. To say Marrow is fresh from her first victory would perhaps be an inaccurate term. Far better to say she is ripe with the smell of victory. There is only so much dried blood you can hand rinse out and coupled with her usual sewer stink it's positively delightful. Not that she appears to mind, sitting at one of the trestle-tables with her feet up the spiney sewer knight is poking and picking dirt from under her nails with a thin sliver of bone. "Look. I know it's a cliche..." Comes a familiar voice from behind Marrow, /rolling/ slowly out of a throat rough as sandpaper with glass shards glued on top, before Masque approaches, circling the table in order to find a spot to sit on the other side of it. He's not in the red coat she will have /always/ seen him with, prior to this place. A simple wife beater, /shredded/ at the front, also shows signs of dried blood within its fabric. Albeit likely his own, considering the healing gashes across his chest and one upper arm. Bruises along his face and sides have almost had enough time to heal, leaving behind a yellowish brown hue. Once he sits, ever-present scowl on at least the ugliest side of his face, he throws Marrow a half-lidded gaze. And, through yellowed, crooked teeth, a deadpan, "... But look at what the cat dragged in." Marrow flicks a lump of something out, then wipes the edge of her bone sliver against the table. "I'm on vacation," she notes idly, offering a narrow smile. "Thought perhaps I'd meet some new people. Then stab them... Not that I've had chance for proper bladework just yet, had to resort to /bludgeoning/. Hope no-one had become too fond of 'Vibro'. His brains got all over my good pair of pants." She shrugs. "They catch you in the line up for a beauty pagent?" "They told me I was too fuckin' beautiful." Masque replies without pause, utterly humourlessly, his arms sliding up onto the table to cross lazily. Bony fingers curled around elbows. "They get everyone?" The Morlocks, one would assume. "Or just those stupid enough to go topside and... what /did/ you do." His eyes narrow, head tilting upward just slightly. Judging already, perhaps, regardless of the answer. Marrow shakes her head. "Just a few. Enough I felt obliged to investigate. You know how it is. Duty and shit," she says with a smirk. "What did I do when? To Vibro or to get caught?" The bone sliver appears to serve double duty as a file, for Marrow begins sharpening one of the many boney growths on her forearm. Maybe more than Masque will have ever seen Marrow sporting and pretty much all of them viciously sharp. Masque's head dips, his hunched back being even more obvious without his coat. His eyes, one hanging open slightly more than the other, stay on Marrow's face. Maybe he's already looked her over enough, while creepin' about the place. He grates, "Y'already said you bludgeoned the guy, what do you want, a fucking therapy session?" There's no room for answer. "To /get caught/." "They let you smoke in those? Because if so you'd better go fetch your couch," Marrow asks, gesturing with the sliver towards the cell doors. "I did what the little ragamuffin always says instead of what Callisto taught me." Slipping into a Tatters impersonation she adds "Hey Marrow, you can't just stab people all the time. Blah blah blah." A scowl and a shrug. "Tried to be reasonable with some cops, barely even started on the 'Your moms a whore' jokes too." Another shrug. "But no matter. Got me to the right place." The knowledge that Masque and Tatters are not on the best of terms has been relayed before, clear as day, but he's a lot less /lively/ in his expression of it. In fact, he just sort of stares, boredly, the look of a man who has zero damns to give. "If you got somethin' to smoke, you ain't telling me you're not gonna smoke it either way." But there's something else. Curiosity cropping up in the form of jaw muscles tightening, just for a second. "The 'right place'." Not a question, just an echo of her words. But nevertheless silently inquiring. Marrow winks. The bone sliver flicking in what might be a discreet point at the camera. "Yeah. For my vacation," she answers. "Get out the sewer for a bit. The catering here is better than I expected, although I still don't think it's enough to get a five star rating. When I check out I intend to complain most emphatically." The sliver is flicked sideways as she says emphatically to illustrate the point. "Mayhap I'll tip the bellboy though." There's a deep, deep sigh from Masque as his eyes drop to that bone sliver. He doesn't even bother to look where it's pointed, one of his hands' fingers lifting one by one only to tap-a-tap back down onto his elbow joint again. "Mmmh..." He sniffs, then presses a broad palm to one of his shoulders, pushing it back somewhat experimentally. Whatever may have been wrong with it before, it doesn't seem to bother him now. "Not sure they accept /attitudes/ as tips." "It's called charm Masque darling." Marrow teases, resuming her sharpening. "Looks like you've been in here long enough to check out the cage. They send you up against anyone interesting?" /Charm/. The word hits Masque's mind like a wet sandwich. Splat. Yich. /That/ side of his face wrinkles further in disgust for a moment. "Just one, so far. He was a shape... thing." Eloquence be damned. He lifts his head to let his eyes scan the area again, as if already looking for something else to do. No manners. "Changed into some sort'a..." He gives a shrug, "... ogre?" He stands, already, adding only matter-of-factly, "He's not around now." Marrow hmmmmmmms. "Lot of that going around I expect," she notes blandly. "And I don't see the situation improving anytime soon." Her head tilts. "Whatever past issues we may have. I would be willing to overlook them. At least until this situation is resolved." The response that escapes Masque's mouth is riddled with slow consideration. "Oh, I'm sure you would." Masque glances back to Marrow now, half of his mouth in the semblance of a wry smile. Not a pleasant thing. Not in the least. "Tell you what." He stands, looking Marrow over from top to bottom for a moment, every detail noted as his features slide back into that comfortable partial grimace. "You keep your mouth shut about me, I won't tell anyone about your inability to make rational decisions for yourself." He's wandering off /already/, without waiting for an answer. With just the slightest limp, every other step.