ArchivedLogs:Marrow Arrives

Marrow Arrives
Dramatis Personae Marrow, Peter
In Absentia	2013-05-10 (Part of Thunderdome.)
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. It's late when Marrow arrives, but really - at this point - who can tell what time it is anymore? All that is known is that it's currently lights out in the Thunderdome; every cell (save one) is dark - and breakfast is quite a ways off. So when she gets shoveled on in - bindings cut with a *snpt* - it's into silent darkness. The darkness doesn't /stay/ silent, though. No sooner has the cage door closed behind her - with a creaking *CLKT* - then does Marrow hear something scuttling... overhead. Moving, /very/ quickly/. Scuttle, scuttle. And then... /CHITTER/. Followed by - hssss. Followed by: "...ohjeez sorry I thought, um. Thought you might be." A pair of eyes are peering at her from the ceiling. The eyes are connected to - what /appears/ to be - a bare-chested boy in dress-slacks. He is - from head to toe - almost /entirely/ clad in a smooth black carapace - skin like /oil/, with a metallic glimmer that barely shows in the dark. "...thought you might be a /guard/." When Marrow's eyes adjust to the darkness, she'll probably make out more details - like a blue, gilled shark-boy laying on one of the bunks on the side, currently sleeping; a bucket of water is next to him - the bunk itself has been soaked. The weird chitter-boy's shirt is currently dangling on the side of the bucket, having been soaked through and used as a rag - apparently to...? Keep sharkboy /damp/? Marrow has so far been the paragon of awkward. The back seats of two cars left in ruins and spines that make moving her dangerous without proper protection. When they finally haul her into the cage the latest shot of drugs is finally wearing off, she lands with a thwump and rolls over. "You call that a fucking beating?" she grates, forcing out her harsh laugh and smiling back up at where she figures the guards must be. "I thought maybe you were trying to help me scratch my back." Sprawling out where she's landed she spits a glob of something before finally taking in her new surroundings. "No, I'm the Easter Bunny. This is just how I like to spend my time when I'm not hiding chocolate eggs." Peter continues to watch her /warily/, particularly post-guard-spitting; Marrow /might/ notice that he's suddenly - moved closer to the boy on the bunk-bed, hovering just above him. "...you -- should be careful," he tells her. "They'll zap you if you -- um. I'm Peter." There's a mild chitter that follows this announcement, before: "...try to be quiet? They'll shock us if -- this is Shane, he's -- it's hard for him to sleep," Peter mentions, tone clearly fretting. "He needs - he has /gills/ and, they're supposed to - he's not supposed to /use/ them on land but he sometimes forgets when he's sleeping." Marrow snorts. "Yeah I know what they'll do," she agrees, rolling onto her side to give the longer bone spikes some room. "They can't do anything without mechanical assistance... A fish called Shane....? He live round East Village?" She rolls her shoulders and something makes a popping sound. "Ahhh that's better. Guess one of them /does/ know how to kick someone while they're down." Suddenly, Peter is in /front/ of Marrow. Just like that - *WHUMP*, crouched over her. He moves /fast/ when he wants to. There's a jagged cut on his left arm; fresh stitches slip through the chitin - barely visible against his midnight skin. He is suddenly /scowling/ down at her, and it is accompanied by a barely-suppressed /chitterhiss/: "No. He lives in the sewers." A finger lifting to his mouth, pressing against them. Shhhh. Do the cameras see it? It /is/ dark, and Peter's skin /does/ match the shadows. But still. His hand is down in the next instant, making a move for her shoulders - /slowly/. "Do you need help getting up?" The scowl is gone. Marrow brings an arm up to meet springing Peter. She's pretty quick for someone who has just been through an extended session of drugs, batons and zapping. Her arm also seems to have acquired a rather sharp looking spike. "A little personal space if you don't mind?" she says with a narrow smile. "Who knows. If it's who I think it is then maybe we met while I was down on the beach working on my tan. You know what it is they've been dosing me with? I need to make a note to add it to my Christmas list this year." Her eyes glance up at the camera, then she frowns. "I'm good here for now. Floors dry, place doesn't smell too bad and I'm guessing it's rat free?" Back-back-back; Peter scuttles back toward where Shane is resting. /Scuttle/. Another click-click-click; it resembles a Predator noise mixed with a cicada chirp. "You have spikes," Peter states, rather numbly, before adding: "NnghIdon'tknow. The rats -- I haven't seen any. They'll feed us. In the morning. Um. Do you need - do you - are you a vegetarian?" There's an edge of hopefulness to this, now. And now, Peter is back to Shane, checking on his gills, as he speaks. There is a moment in which Marrow just stares at Peter. "Holy fuck," she exclaims. "What the hell have they done to you? They hit your head a few too many times?" She rolls her eyes and finally decides to sit up. Slowly. A hand wipes away a bit of the dried blood from her face, although there's nothing underneath to explain where the blood came from. "I live in the damn sewers. I eat whatever isn't going to make me sick and even then I'll take a few risks if food is short. People who are picky go hungry." "I just mean -- um," Peter says, blushing; the faint hint of metallic blue shifts to metallic violet, "would you mind -- they give us food, it's pretty crappy -- the twins they need -- /meat/, protein -- like they aren't /omnivores/, they're just carnivores. If they don't get enough meat, they'll die. So I've been..." He gives a glance back at Marrow. "I'll give you - um - the other stuff. Potatoes, sometimes? Sometimes sweets. Not often but - some of them give us sweets. I'll trade you for..." He draws in a slow breath; releases it with a shuddering sigh. Returning to making sure the gills stay shut. "...is there anything /you/ need to survive? Some of the people here - they have - unusual - medical situations..." Marrow shakes her head. "No deal. Unless you've got a direct hook up to the local dairy," she answers, giving the cage bars an experimental shove. Her spikey arm is held out. "These don't come cheap." Then slowly the bone slides back under her skin, not disappearing but tucked in to form a lump ridge along her forearm. The process does /not/ look comfortable. "They give us smokes? I could maybe spare a little food for those." Peter /slumps/ besides Shane's bunk, just. /Staring/ at his feet. Which are also currently bare, and also currently /black/ as midnight. "...I don't think so," he mopes, before adding: "Maybe. I don't know. I don't -- you'd have to ask. Between fights, maybe. Maybe if you win them. What's your name? I'm Peter," he repeats, shoving his fist into his eye and just /rolling/ it around. He looks... tired. "Marrow," she says, before finally hauling herself to her feet. "Peter... you look like shit. Fights huh? And winning gets me stuff. Interesting, it'll be like old times. Except without the same kinda smell... Say you see a shadowy woman turn up here? Or a little green kid. Fuckers owe me money and they vanished a couple days ago. Thought maybe they'd skipped town but...." She waves her hand around. "Maybe they got invited to visit the zoo instead." Peter's eyes brighten at the mention of shadow woman and green kid, but when Marrow goes on to mention they owe her money - Peter's suddenly on his feet. /Glaring/ at her. "You aren't going to /hurt/ them, are you?" Huff, huff. Like Peter intends to /do/ something about that if the answer is yes. He does kind of look like a pushover though. Standing at her full height with bone spikes jutting out Marrow is considerably bigger than sprawled out on the floor. She glances down at Peter and glares. "I'll hurt /anyone/ if I have to," she retorts, her eyes flicking briefly up. "You already said they make us fight. I don't intend to fight and then /lose/. Hell I can already pretty much guess what'll happen to anyone dumb enough not to win. Say, they tell you what kinda meat you're eating?" "They'll put you in a ring and make you punch somebody until they stop moving," Peter tells her, the increased height - making him take a wary step back, toward Shane's bunk. But, eyes still /narrow/, hands still squeezed into fists. Like the sight of /bone-shards/ doesn't scare him. Actually it probably does, he's just trying not to show it. "But, besides /that/ you aren't - you /shouldn't/ - hurt anyone. We should - we need to all work /together/. Help each other." And theeeeen, ZZZAP. Peter grimaces. Apparently someone's listening, and doesn't like the hippie-talk. He tugs at his collar, and -- ZZZZAP, again. Peter's hands drop at his sides, fists clenched, /bristling/ - not at Marrow, but at the camera. He doesn't address the question of suspicious meats - instead, only adding, ever-so-quietly: "You won't survive on your own in here. You need /friends/." Marrow cocks her head to one side, then shrugs. "Fuck they could have paid up for cable," she complains, taking a step towards Peter and then ducking down. "This ain't gonna make for good viewing for long." The arm bone slides back out again, although not quite as sharp looking this time, and she pokes him. "You dying kid? I'd offer to finish it quickly for you, but they probably want us to keep that shit for in the ring." Peter nnnghs - at the bone-poke - stepping back, but still keeping himself between Marrow and Shane. Apparently not /trusting/ her all that much! "I'm not -- they /shock/ you," he explains, giving the collar a quick, experimental tug -- no zap! -- "if they don't like what you're saying. Or doing. Or anything. And I'm /not/ dying /nobody's/ dying," he informs her, with just a /huff/ of indignation! "...not unless," he soon adds, but. He doesn't /finish/ that thought. "...just, don't -- hurt anyone, okay? Outside of fights I mean. We have to. Nngh. Nox and Anole are here. I know them. They're -- cool, and you shouldn't... hurt them." Then, another ZZZAP, and Peter mumbles, spasming. "...telling me to go to sleep. You can have." ZZZZAP. Peter flails. At the top bunk, wordlessly. Marrow pfffs. "I think I'll crash on the floor," she says, apparantly idly amused by the twitching for now. "I'd only rip the bed to pieces. Not like I've slept on a bed in.... I don't even remember when. Brick floors are good for you anyway, builds character 'n shit." She picks a corner and crouches down in it, keeping most of the longer spikes out the way. "People die all the time 'S the way life goes and by the end of this I'm sure a whole lot more are gonna die." At that she smiles. "Die painfully. Missing lots and lots of pieces."