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♻ 002 | spam
[After a few days, Tiffany checks herself out of the infirmary. They were willing to let her go-- except for her teeth, she's mostly healed up; even her bruises are gone-- and she was starting to feel stir crazy, so out she went.
Except now she doesn't know where to go. She knows there's her cabin, but she doesn't want to spend all her time there-- it looks like a Litchfield prison bunk, so it's not the most comfortable place around. She's new, so she doesn't know the best common areas to hang out in. There are a lot of doors, but most of them are unopenable to her. So she wanders.
Despite her bravado and argumentativeness, the things people have been telling her since she arrived-- that she's dead, that she was chosen to be here, that she's here to make amends-- are getting to her. She doesn't fully believe them, but she can't completely disbelieve them either. If they're right (and what if they are?), everything she thought she knew about God and faith and atonement has been turned on its head. There was that man-- that Catholic-- who'd tried to help her reconcile this with what she believed, but it hadn't worked all that well. She's relatively new to her faith, and without someone spoonfeeding it to her, she's shaky in it. She's used it as both a comfort and a crutch in the past, and now she isn't sure that she has it at all anymore. She doesn't know whether that makes her feel depressed or furious; she doesn't know whether she wants to punch someone or curl up and cry. She isn't ruling out doing both.
Predictably, she finds her way to the chapel. Finding a Bible in the cabinet, she sinks down onto a bench and flips through it aimlessly, barely taking in what she's seeing. She tries the trick of opening to a random passage a couple times, but it only ever seems to be just that-- random. Sadness is the overwhelming emotion here-- sadness, confusion, feeling alone and lost. When a teardrop or two lands on the pages, she doesn't bother to brush them away.
At some point, she also wanders into the dining hall, circling the room and poking around for something to do. It's not time for a meal, but the cafeteria was a popular place to hang out and relax in Litchfield, so she figures it might be the same here. Unfortunately, she's leaning towards anger right now, and she's spoiling for a fight. That's not a good thing, on a prison ship filled with inmates just like her.]
[OOC: Permissions post for this character!]
Except now she doesn't know where to go. She knows there's her cabin, but she doesn't want to spend all her time there-- it looks like a Litchfield prison bunk, so it's not the most comfortable place around. She's new, so she doesn't know the best common areas to hang out in. There are a lot of doors, but most of them are unopenable to her. So she wanders.
Despite her bravado and argumentativeness, the things people have been telling her since she arrived-- that she's dead, that she was chosen to be here, that she's here to make amends-- are getting to her. She doesn't fully believe them, but she can't completely disbelieve them either. If they're right (and what if they are?), everything she thought she knew about God and faith and atonement has been turned on its head. There was that man-- that Catholic-- who'd tried to help her reconcile this with what she believed, but it hadn't worked all that well. She's relatively new to her faith, and without someone spoonfeeding it to her, she's shaky in it. She's used it as both a comfort and a crutch in the past, and now she isn't sure that she has it at all anymore. She doesn't know whether that makes her feel depressed or furious; she doesn't know whether she wants to punch someone or curl up and cry. She isn't ruling out doing both.
Predictably, she finds her way to the chapel. Finding a Bible in the cabinet, she sinks down onto a bench and flips through it aimlessly, barely taking in what she's seeing. She tries the trick of opening to a random passage a couple times, but it only ever seems to be just that-- random. Sadness is the overwhelming emotion here-- sadness, confusion, feeling alone and lost. When a teardrop or two lands on the pages, she doesn't bother to brush them away.
At some point, she also wanders into the dining hall, circling the room and poking around for something to do. It's not time for a meal, but the cafeteria was a popular place to hang out and relax in Litchfield, so she figures it might be the same here. Unfortunately, she's leaning towards anger right now, and she's spoiling for a fight. That's not a good thing, on a prison ship filled with inmates just like her.]
[OOC: Permissions post for this character!]
no subject
[Most of the time she's embarrassed by and tries to hide her teeth, but she bares them now; there's like three left in her ruined gums.]
I'm. Not. Scared. Of. You. You wanna fight just 'cause I asked what you are, then go ahead! But I fight back.
cw for... idek homophobia maybe and general grossness
He grits his teeth and scans her over, glances around. On the bright side, the cafeteria is nearly empty. No one to really break them up if they do get into it, but also no one to see him back off if he does. He looks back to her, down at the sandwich in front of her... and smirks. He reaches across the table, picks it up, and licks the bread, then tosses it back down at her.]
There. Enjoy the AIDS.
cw for... idek homophobia maybe and general grossness
cw for... idek homophobia maybe and general grossness
cw for... idek homophobia maybe and general grossness
I know you trying to intimidate me, but it's not gonna work. It don't matter what you think or say or do.
no subject
[Which is... actually a pretty profound realization for him. Enough that he pulls back a little, blinking, startled by his own words.]
Why you think I give a shit what your dumb ass thinks?
no subject
no subject
[And suddenly, he knows exactly what to do with all his anger. He drops her ruined sandwich to the table and starts collecting his and Ian's again, flashing her a feral smile.]
Yeah -- you better get used to that shit. Might as well be Boystown up in here.
no subject
no subject
Don't you fucking touch me.
no subject
Ow! Don't you fucking touch me!
[She regains her footing and goes for a headbutt to the stomach.]
[OOC: SO this is my first IC fight (but undoubtedly not my last lmao)-- do we alert a warden player/Mickey's warden of what's going down so it can be stopped, or are inmates allowed to scrap as long as they don't kill each other?]
no subject
Fuck you!
[It's not like he wants to fight. Sometimes he enjoys it, but... not her, not a girl. Not right here and now when things have just been getting better lately. And definitely, definitely not about this. As panicked and angry as he is, there's a weary sickness rising in him too. It's been five months since anyone tried to hurt him over Ian, but just when he was really starting to get used to it... Whatever everyone else says about it, is there ever really a time that he's not going to have to be on his guard?]
no subject
{She stumbles back into the table again, harder this time.]
You got some problems to sort out. You got some anger issues.
[Even though she was the one who took it to a physical level. Yeah.]
no subject
[He looks her over and bares his teeth again, that wild grin that's more of a threat than anything else. He's breathing harder than he needs to be for what wasn't actually that much physical activity: he's wearing a bulky coat, but his strength makes it more than clear that he's in shape beneath it. Still, he's panting, face flushed. He sneers at her again and goes to pick up the dropped food.]
Already lost your teeth -- you wanna see what else you can lose? No? So fuck off.
no subject
I lost 'em killing someone, so you better watch yourself.
cw: implied child abuse
[He doesn't want to. He doesn't. But he hadn't wanted to hit his dad back, either, and he had. He hadn't wanted to kill Dean, but he had. For himself? For Ian? Anything goes. For half a second, he imagines just taking her down to the ground right now and smashing her head in too, and for that one half a second it doesn't seem like that bad an idea, because he is so fucking sick of all this. He's so deeply, deeply sick of feeling like he has to watch his back 24/7 because he doesn't like tits.
And he's sick of being afraid, too, so fuck it. She wants to come for him? He has an ex-miltary boyfriend the size of a tree, a house full of weapons, and a werewolf for a warden. He takes a deep breath and smiles again, and this time, it's less desperate and more confident.]
Happy New Year. Go fuck yourself.
[And sandwiches in hand, he storms off to find a better alternative to beating Tiffany-the-new-inmate to death.]