Logs:Quisling

Quisling
cw: prison guard abuse/implied assault
Dramatis Personae Ansel, Flicker
In Absentia	20 july - 27 july 2019 "I pray for that every day." (Set in the Blackburn Prometheus facility.)
Location Blackburn Research Facility
20 july. rec room. The bruising on Flicker's face has darkened, puffy and swollen and sealing one of his eyes shut. He's otherwise looking neat and -- as presentable as it's possible to look in drab scrubs, cleanshaven, hair neatly combed. Tucked into a corner of the couch, a KJV Bible in his lap that he is focused intently on. "The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles. The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit." Ansel has come up, leaning against the back of the couch just by Flicker's head. Halfway through his over-the-shoulder reading he reaches down and plucks the book from the other man's hand. "You feeling contrite, Allred? Hoping for some last minute salvation?" Flicker doesn't reach for the book when it is taken from him. He doesn't look up, either. He rests his hand on his knee, his eyes briefly closing. "I pray for that every day," he answers quietly. "But not just for me." 21 july. cafeteria. Lunchtime is nearly over, and the cafeteria is less crowded than it was even fifteen minutes ago. Flicker hasn't been here long though, and hasn't gotten far through his plate of mashed potatoes and gravy and peas and carrots. He's plowing slowly through the food, though. A bit unsteadily, his hand kind of shaky, frequently spilling peas back down from his spoon to the plate before they've reached his mouth. There's a heavy crack of a baton against the table. Ansel sweeps his nightstick against the side of the tray, pushing it off and into Flicker's lap. "Get up. Clean that up, lunch is over. Back to your room." Flicker tenses, reaching to try and catch the tray. Too slowly; it just bangs against his hand, topples its contents into his lap. He looks up -- not at the guard but at the other inmates lingering in the room over the last of their meals. He's very slow as he picks the spilled contents of his tray up off his lap, off the bench, starting, carefully, to rise. 23 july. showers. Several of the showers are occupied, steam fogging up the mirrors over the sink. Flicker is clearly not long out of the shower, himself, hair still wet, water glistening in beads against his shoulder. His scrubs shirt is folded neatly on the sink counter nearby; he's already wearing the matching pants. He's slow as he lathers up shaving cream, rubs it carefully onto his wet face. He rinses his hand off, leans forward to swipe a clear window out of the fog on the mirror in front of him. Ansel looks back at Flicker in the newly cleared mirror. His arms folded across his chest, he leans up against a partition of the shower stall Flicker has recently vacated. His eyes just lock on the other man, steady there for a long hard moment. Flicker has been reaching for his razor, but his hand freezes partway there. His eyes lift to the mirror and freeze, too. When he lowers his gaze he doesn't pick up the razor. He just rinses his face off hastily, swipes his shirt from the sink counter and hastens out of the room. 25 july. flicker and jamie's cell. Flicker has been alone in the cell for a good portion of the afternoon. With as long as it's been since he last moved, he could almost be sleeping -- though closer inspection would show that he's been staring at one spot on the wall for a good while. The thin blankets pulled over him aren't doing much to combat the goosebumps that prickle his skin. The CHUNK of the lock on the door is heavy. When it opens, it spills brash laughter from two passing guards into the cell. Ansel isn't one of the laughing ones; he just holds the door open against his boot. "You know this isn't going to last, right? Maybe your criminal friends will come and maybe they won't. But you? Everyone here knows. They're just waiting for the word to off you." Flicker continues staring at the wall as the door opens. His jaw works slowly while Ansel speaks, and gradually he sits up, pulling the blankets around himself. "Will that make you feel better? Once they do? Will it make your job here easier?" Ansel takes a half-step forward, his hand dropping to the baton at his hip. He doesn't move any closer, though, still keeping the door propped against his back foot. "Yeah, actually. Maybe it will. Maybe you don't know shit about what this job is like. Or how much harder you all make it for us." "I'm -- oddly not losing a lot of sleep over that." Flicker tugs the blanket a little bit more snugly around his shoulder. "You could make things really simple for yourself. If you quit working at a torture camp and got any other job than selling out your own people." Behind Ansel the lunch call is sounding; other prisoners being wrangled from their cells or the rec room. Ansel just narrows his eyes, and lets the cell door slam heavily shut as he leaves. 27 july. showers. It's dinnertime, and with most of the floor off eating it's quiet in here. Just one of the shower stalls occupied, the water turned far hotter than is probably necessary. On the bench, Flicker's clothes and towel are folded neatly. Inside, he's kind of slow -- as he often is, working his way through the clumsy process of shampoo and conditioner and soap. The curtain rings scrape as they're pushed aside -- once again by the end of a baton. Standing just shy of the splash radius, Ansel taps the faucet far more heavily toward the hot side. "You think maybe they've forgotten you in here?" A sliver of his teeth show through in a thin smile. Flicker has tensed the moment there is motion outside the curtain. The crack of the baton presses him back into the corner, a sharp hiss pulled in through his teeth as the water grows hotter. He starts to open his mouth -- but then shuts it again tight, lips pressed firmly together and his eyes trained warily on Ansel. "I been watching. Notice they haven't even done shit with you in here." Ansel lets the overheated water run while he talks, his thin smile unchanged. "Practically just a free vacation you're getting. But you want to run your mouth about torture camps --" He only shuts the water off now, as he steps in closer to Flicker, "I'll show you torture."