ArchivedLogs:Jailbreak

Jailbreak
(Twice over)
Dramatis Personae Anette, Ion, Isra, Owlet	2017-09-01 "Remind me to kill Akihiro."
Location <???> Prison, somewhere
Cramped and small, this thick-walled concrete room offers very little by way of comfort or privacy. There's a cot on one side with thin grey mattress, thin grey blankets, thin grey pillow. On the other side sits a lidless steel toilet with built-in sink atop it. There's not a whole lot by way of /room/, about six feet by eight feet. No windows to the outside, and a solid heavy steel door rather than bars; a barred window in the door is usually kept shuttered from without, as is the slot in the wall where a shelf protrudes and meals are often slid through. A single wan light in the ceiling provides dim illumination whenever the guards care to turn it on. BZZT. Much like before, the first signs that Ion's nearby are muted -- the /next/, though, come with a cracklepop, a flicker of blue-white in the dim cell. Two people here this time instead of one; Ion bears with him not just the scent of electricity but the scent of blood, and one tall lean gargoyle woman. /He's/ a little restless, jittery-bouncing on the toes of his heavy boots as he arrives. "Yo psst." He's not actually whispering. PSST out loud. Anette groans as she rolls over on her bed, blinking repeatedly as she wakes up, her eyes struggling to bring the two figures into focus. "Ion?" she mumbles, half-confused, slowly sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She resumes blinking as she attempts to identify the second figure. "Isra?" she asks, even more confused. She slowly rises to her feet, having finally returned to Earth. "I guess Dusk told you then?" Her belly protrudes significantly, the very definition of 'due any minute now', and she has to lean back slightly for proper balance. Isra takes somewhat longer now than she usually does to recover from Ion's none-too-gentle mode of rapid transit. Her skin is matte gray, so close a match to her skin-tight tactical outfit that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, though the white gauze bandage peaking out from beneath the collar stands out in stark contrast even in the dim light. She shakes out her wings, mantling them to keep balance as she steps away from Ion and toward Anette. "We had feared that you would refuse to come with us," her voice is very deep and very soft, issuing from the lower vocal chords that usually only supply her with growls and purrs. "Yo you look 'bout to fucking pop, sister. We best get go getting, huh? B she watching the grid but who the damn hell know when they turn it back on on me." As he steps forward one hand curls in around Isra's forearm; the other extends to Anette. "If you coming, anyway. We ain't been sure, huh? But now the time. I come check in on you again after the kid out of you if not." Ion's brows lift, expectant. Anette swallows and nods to Isra. "It's been a...difficult decision," Anette admits, resting a hand on her stomach. She glances to Ion and one half of her mouth curls up just slightly. "You have no idea." She pauses a second, as if thinking it over. Like she hasn't had plenty of time to think it over already. But ultimately, she steps forward and takes Ion's hand. "I'll go." Her voice shakes, like even after all the consideration she's still not sure and fears the worst. Isra only nods once in response, her tail swishing faster. Both of her wings stretch out, massive and dark, one curling around Ion and the other around Anette. It's hard to tell whether she's doing this to give comfort or maintain her balance. Her eyes are luminous green in the dark until she shuts them in preparation for the trip. Ion's hand meets Anette's with a sharp static pop. It's nothing, really, compared to the hard kicking jolt that follows, the jail cell vanishing in place of a painful blackness. It's mercifully brief, at least, though it likely /feels/ longer in the chaotic electric zap of Ion's powers. When the world resolves again it's both quieter and louder. None of the clanking shuffling coughing snoring crying sounds of other prisoners in nearby cells. Just a rustle of wind through trees, crickets chirping, an owl hooting; somewhere distant a crunch of tires over gravel, but it's far off. Here there's only a very soft hum from some overhead wires and Ion's bike parked a short distance away from the road among some bushes. To one side of the narrow road, a large field; to the other, a wide swath of forest, leaves silvery in the moonlight. Anette tenses as Ion does his thing and they find themselves teleported elsewhere. When she feel grass beneath her feet again, Anette opens her eyes. Her hands immediately dart to her stomach as if to ensure it's still there and, upon finding it is, she releases the air she had been holding in a contented sigh. "Thank fucking god," she murmurs, relaxing and standing up straight. Her eyes glance about, taking in their surroundings. "Where are we?" she asks but she barely gets the words out before she suddenly gasps, wincing with her eyes clenched shut, one hand reaching for Ion's shoulder for support and the other cradling her stomach. Isra's wing tightens around Anette, although she herself is not yet all that steady on her feet. "Is that--are you--" Her eyes are quite wide and unblinking, ears pressed back, tail lashing the air hard. When she finally collects her words, it's /Ion/ she asks, her voice startlingly even, "Have you ever assisted in a birth?" "We picking up my /girl/." Ion is indicating his bike with a sweep of hand. "Can't leave her out here where the feds maybe gonna -- shit, yo." His cheeks suck inward, a small crackling in the air around him. "/Good timing/ sure ain't gonna be their mutation, huh?" His brows crease slightly, hand lifting to brace Anette at the small of her back. "I deliver a /shit/ ton of baby." Pause. "A few, anyway." Another beat. "At least one that --" Whatever he was gonna say here, though, he thinks better of it with a sidelong look to Anette. Instead, CONFIDENT: "Definitely." Anette leans back up once it passes, taking slow steady breaths. "I'm fine. It was probably just...Braxton-Hicks." She takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she regains her bearings. "Right. Bike. Yeah, we should..." She's cut off as another contraction this, this time she gives a sharp cry of pain and nearly doubles over, both leaning into Isra's wing and gripping Ion's shoulder. "Shit, this is real. Fuck." She glares up at Ion as he tries to defend his baby birthing skills. "Thank you Dr. Ion." Even exsanguinated, Isra is more than strong enough to ease Anette down to the ground. "This...tends to more or less take care of itself, does it not? Is there anything I should fetch from the bike?" Though her /voice/ remains calm, her tail is whipping the air fast and agitated. "Yo I've watch a crap ton of E.R. we good, hermanos." Ion waves a hand toward the bike. "I got water there huh? Okay you squeeze much as you want. Just breathe, yeah?" A crooked smile. "Hope you weren't too attached to those prison scrubs." Anette allows herself to be lowered to the ground, breathing deeply between contractions as she lays her head down. "Any chance Ion could zap and uh, borrow a doctor from somewhere?" she groans before she's mometarily overtaken by a contraction again, crying out in pain. "At least..." Breath. "...this beats prison medical." Isra rises, steals Ion's keys, and stalks away to the motorcycle on long, loping strides. She returns in a couple of minutes with a jug of water, a pack of wet wipes, and a towel in a large ziplock bag. Kneeling down beside Anette, she cradles the other woman's head and shoulders in one of her wings. "Rather a low bar." "What, like from the prison down the road?" Ion sounds like he'd probably /do/ it, too. Except that Anette is crying out again, and he squeezes at her shoulder. "{Okay. You good, sister.} We gonna ditch these pants, get you more comfy on this towel, yeah? There gonna be a tiny-Anette before you know it. This baby, I think they know what to do." Anette is panting now, thin beads of sweat appearing on her forehead. "Just...just do what you have to," she groans. Now's not the time to be shy, not that she ever was. Another contraction hits, announced by a loud yell and her talons digging into whatever they happen to be holding, she doesn't even notice anymore. "Remind me to kill Akihiro," she breathes out angrily. As soon as Anette agrees to it, Isra extends the thumb claw of her unoccupied wing and slices the flimsy fabric of the thin pants along one out seam, then the other. She slides her the wing under Anette's shoulders as far down as she can to lift the other woman, spreading the towel beneath her. She hardly even flinches when the other woman digs talons into her side. "Oh, I remind you." Ion sounds remarkably cheerful about this. "I bring you lots of congratulation beer too, yeah?" Another squeeze of hand -- kind of wincing, this time, as Anette's talons clamp down. Breath hissing inward, he is quiet past that. Rocking back on his heels to squint -- "I don't see no feathers yet. Bit of a head, though." FROWN. "No horns," he adds seriously. Maybe /just/ a touch disappointed. Anette leans gently into Isra's wing, relaxing a bit while she can. When she realizes, she quickly releases her grip on Isra's side. "Sorry," she murmurs, trying to make herself comfortable. And then it begins, actual labor. Lots of screaming and pushing and despite her best efforts, talons digging into flesh. "Forget beer, congratulations vodka," she gasps as she works on pushing her kid out. Ion's commentary does not go unheard. "Thank fucking god," she groans in response to the lack of horns. One less obstacle to squeeze out. "Do not worry," Isra's voice is doubled, odd and echoey. "You can hold onto me if you need to. The pain is no object." Other than that, she is mostly quiet, through all this. Dabs at Anette's head with a wet wipe periodically, but otherwise just holds her. If she is agitated in the least she gives no further indication, even her unruly tail stilling, braced against the leaf-littered forest floor. "Anything you want," Ion assures Anette. "/Top/ shelf." He stays out of the reach of talons, now, through Anette's further efforts. Occasionally noting the progress (-- "still no horn," helpfully; perhaps more helpfully, "Got a whole top of head though.") He's remarkably still, himself, one hand braced against his knee and repeatedly clenching but no /other/ outward fidgeting. It takes some time -- probably a lot more screaming -- before he's reaching to scoop a hand under the baby's wet head, guide a shoulder and then another -- eventually gently set the whole slippery mess of Infant on the towel. "... think we gonna need some more them wipe. Pero hermana, you made yourself a small thing." Anette is too busy giving birth to respond to Ion's promises. She doesn't respond to much of anything, merely grunting and yelling and trying to push the kid out. Though as Ion describes each bit of the child that comes through, she pushes harder, as if his words are motivation. She pushes the last of the kid out with a final scream, collapsing backwards onto Isra's wing, eyes fluttering with exhaustion, sweat dripping down her face. She almost looks ready to fall asleep right then and there but once she catches her breath, she looks towards Ion. "Let me see her," she whispers softly. Isra passes a handful of wet wipes to Ion and mops Anette's forehead with another. Her wing wraps tighter around the other woman, just for a moment. It is difficult to read her expression, but she seems to be making some effort /not/ to look at the child, though she continues tending to Anette gently enough. "Neither of them will need a doctor, then," it's not a question, really. "Not immediately." "Maybe if we want to get Anette some /good/ drug. But they both in one piece, huh? You did good." Ion's eyes linger on Isra's face a moment, jaw tighetning as he takes the towelettes. He wipes gently at the baby -- still damp but less slimy when he scoots foward to set her gently into Anette's arms. "{Say hello to your mama, baby girl.}" "I will take every drug they've got," Anette agrees, reaching out her arms for her child. She pulls the baby to her chest and smiles softly. "Hi Harley..." she whispers, holding her child like it's the most fragile, delicate thing in the world. "Say hi to Uncle Ion and Aunt Isra," she says, her energy gradually returning, her exhaustion dissappearing, or at least being set to the side. She looks up to her two companions. "I...have no idea what to say. Thank you." Isra holds herself extremely still as Ion delivers the baby into Anette's arms. Her wing still shifts subtly beneath the other woman's weight as she moves, but otherwise she might well be a statue. "Regan can probably take care of the drug front." She considers this a moment. "Really, there are plenty of people quite well equipped to drug you up, but you might want to pay some mind your substances if you intend to breastfeed. Regardless..." The pause here is longer than altogether natural. "...we're not home /yet./"