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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!]
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Some of them, yeah. The heavier prisoners--by that I mean the murderers, especially the serial ones; the ones who started wars. They don't like being approached except by people who understand where they're from.
Younger inmates, too, they're like any kid who's drunk on youth, they'll try to push your buttons and test you before they'll listen to anything you say. Age groups definitely stick together.
But we have so many ports and sometimes floods that it gets hard to hold onto hard lines like that. Someone who annoys you one day might be how you stay alive tomorrow.
no subject
[That's pretty surprising, too.]
Thought they'd have their own separate place.
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Mostly they settle in pretty well. They're more adaptable than I would've expected. Maybe the Admiral thinks they'll help soften up some of the older inmates.
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Do you like kids?
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I was usually the youngest, growing up. Got a couple cousins that were younger, though.
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Did you get along with the older ones?
[From what he can tell, older siblings and cousins are kind of a coin toss: either you can hero-worship them and tag along, or you're miserable.]
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[He shrugs with a wan smile. It doesn't matter now, anyway.]
I should go. But if you get bored, there's the arts room. [Which he says with enough familiarity that it's probably clear he spends a lot of time there.]
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[But she stands back, giving him room to exit.]
Uh, where's the arts room?
[She's not really an artistic person, but she might as well check it out.]
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I'll show you. [He smiles, and holds the door open for her.]
Girls with all brothers tend to grow up tougher.
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[Art room, ho!]
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Scars to prove it?
[Which would be a really lame pick-up line, except his tone isn't at all lecherous. Not even vaguely flirty, for that matter. Showing scars is just a Thing from back home: if you have them, then you belong. If you don't, then you'll probably get stabbed.]
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[She makes a vague gesture towards her mouth, but doesn't open it wide enough for him to actually see anything.]
Got some teeth knocked out. That was real recent.