ArchivedLogs:Disarmed

Disarmed
Dramatis Personae Jax, Ryan, Steve
In Absentia	2017-08-11 "A riot? /Just/ for me?"
Location <NYC> Jail - Staten Island
The visitation room is gray and bare like everything else in this prison. Small windows admit wan and watery daylight. Inmates and their families sit at cheap plastic tables with cheap plastic chairs, watched over by bored COs, some of whom are more inclined to enforce the draconian rules on attire and physical affection than others. At least the drink and snack machines work. Steve has been here for a while, occupying a table near the windows and drawing looks both surreptitious and brazen, admiring and disdainful. He wears a blue dress shirt, silver the with small embossed stars, black trousers and Oxfords -- notably sans-shield. Every time he shifts, no matter how carefully, his chair groans quietly under his weight. No chair for Ryan -- not just at the moment, at least. Hovering by the snack machines with quarters rattling inside a clear plastic wallet (chaboy is old /hat/ at jail visits), he's perusing the selection with a critical eye. When he does return to the table it's with a hurtful of Sour Patch Kids, jingling the wallet up and down in his other hand. Done up in Respectability Drag today, his grey button-down has long sleeves, his slacks crisp, hair neatly combed. He drops into a seat beside Steve, sliding one of the bags of candy over. Cheerfully: “Honestly, this is starting to feel homey.” By the time Jax is escorted inside, he's lost his street clothes, looking kind of washed out without makeup in drab green pants and a black tee. His smile is quick enough, bright enough, as he takes a seat opposite the others. “Gosh, y'all, s’been /ages/ what took you?” Steve snorts, accepting the candy with a quiet "Gracias". He stops in the middle (very carefully) ripping the package open when Jax joins them. "Désolé, we had a heck of a time leaving the courthouse. Oddly, I don't think the visitation paperwork actually took all that long, we were in security for a /while/..." He glances sideways at Ryan. "...over distinctly non-security-related questions. How are they treating you so far?" “Had to take the time to prep you a well-balanced meal.” This prompt reply is backed up by the goods, Ryan pushing multiple candy packs toward Jax with an air of beneficence. “Don't listen to Steve, those autographs at least were a matter of national security.” Draped crookedly in his chair, semi-slouched, one arm hooked lazily over its back, there's a dogged casual to his posture; still, the long searching look he gives Jax sells him out. “You already got your new prison ink in mind?” Jax is more than eager to pounce on one of these sugar packets, tearing it open and diving into it hungrily. “Did they confiscate all your contraband? Send you in unarmed and drug free?” Nose crinkling up, he just puffs a laugh at Ryan. “I was thinking on getting your /face/.” His hand taps against his chest. “Right about here. Big heart around it.” The far /less/ important of these questions -- he answers Steve with a shrug. “It's jail. They ain't being jerks. Don't know what more I could ask.” Steve finally gets around to opening his own pack of candy, though he does so far too roughly and half of it spills over his hands and table. He does not appear overly surprised or frustrated by this, mouth twisting to one side in mild displeasure. "They took the shield, anyway, and suggested that they should also confiscate my /body/ as a weapon. I assume it was supposed to be funny." Steve looks -- not terribly amused as he pops a pair of Sour Patch Kids into his mouth. "There's probably going to be rioting in town tonight." "Who doesn't love a good riot in their name?" Ryan twitches in his seat, vaguely discomfited, but the roll of his head is a lazy thing, the crook of his grin casual. "They only think they've disarmed us. As if we don't know how to be dangerous all /kinds/ of ways." One eyebrow lifts, fingers fluttering out toward Jackson. "A month's going to be a long time for you to have your lights turned out, though. Think you'd be safer over at Rikers?" "A riot? /Just/ for me?" Jax's eye widens with exaggerated delight, though more sincere is: "Look after the kids, okay?" He pops another two sour candies into his mouth, sucking on them this time rather than devouring them immediately. "It is a long time. They let me have a doctor, I'll manage. I think staying in with the humans would be a whole different kinda dangerous."