[semi-open] june log;

[hardcase]

WHO: Randall Flagg & You
WHAT: Reconnecting with his followers, bonding with cellmates, jailbird life
WHERE: The dungeons
WHEN: Pre-event and probably all of June

[ closed to lloyd and nadine ]

[ His connection with Nadine is broken, so he can't call her down whenever he wants her. Lloyd, too, is out of his reach. He can do nothing but wait for his bride and his right-hand man to choose to pay him a visit of their own free will.

It's a sort of powerlessness he isn't accustomed to, and isn't fond of. When they come down to the dungeons he perks right up, a big smile on his face. ]

There you are. I was missing you, you know that? My heart's a-longing for you both.

[ Hey, he's in no position not to schmooze right now. If this kind of attentions keeps them coming back, he'll provide it. ]

[ closed to cellmates ]

[ He's got pretty good cellmates, all things considered. None of them have seen him for the vile creature he is yet, none of them are looking to pick a fight with him and play King of the Cell, and sometimes they're even good conversational partners. So, it's only sensible to keep them on his side.

As soon as Nadine and Lloyd leave, he takes the food they've snuck him (mostly fruits and pastries, with a few pieces of chicken) and divides it evenly by four, keeping one portion for himself and giving the rest to his cellmates. ]

That should tide us over for a while.

[ Yes, he could take it all, but that might start a fight and he doubts it would endear him to the others if he stayed in the corner eating his spoils and snapping at anyone who came close to him like some kind of hungry animal. ]

[ cells - open to visitors ]

[ When he's not chatting up his cellmates, Flagg spends most of his time leaning up against the bars, peering at the visitors that come down. He doesn't speak to them unless they stop, he'll just sit there humming something (usually his own rendition of Jailhouse Rock) and eagerly make eye contact whenever he can.

It makes him feel like he's trying to be the most interesting animal at the zoo, hoping that the next tourist will stop in front of his cage and feed him from an overpriced bag of peanuts instead of moving on to the next exhibit.

Luckily, he's not too bothered by dehumanizing experiences. He hasn't been human an over a thousand years at least, so this is all 'been there, done that'.

If someone stops in front of his cell, he'll give them a big smile. ] Howdy.

[ rec yard - open to other prisoners ]

[ Flagg makes sure to check up on anyone he's spoken with here when they get sent to the yard. Though not as valuable as his cellmates, it's still to his benefit that more of them are with him than against him. Eddie Dean's a lost cause, so with him Flagg keeps his distance aside from shooting him a fierce grin every now and then.

With everyone else, though, he'll approach, maybe touch them on the shoulder if he feels like they're close enough for that, and say: ] How're ya holding up?

Comments

yard time yard time

[reignfall]

⟪ Waiting has occupied so many of her waking hours by now, it should no longer impact her at all. Days at court can be filled with waiting: waiting for a plan to come to fruition, waiting for an enemy to make a crucial misstep, waiting to hear news from wars, fronts, council meetings. To have claimed a seat for herself within the latter after her son's coronation has only enforced how heartily sick she has become of biding her time.

Twice as bitter is the cup she drinks from now. Imprisonment knows nothing but an endless thirst for a patience she can scarcely muster.

Flagg finds her in the yard, in a spot she seems to regularly claim for herself, working a piece of fabric likely torn from a blanket into a serviceable ribbon. Her golden hair is long and unbound, and troublesome without the means to have it braided and tied.

From his touch to her shoulder she does not flinch – but the flicker of surprise (then quickly quenched offence) in her eyes when she meets his own merely suggests she has been expecting someone else. ⟫

I have endured more interesting hells. What of you?

[hardcase]

[ He laughs. ] That's a good way to put it.

[ If he spoke about the hells he's endured, he's certain that most of the people in earshot would think him a liar. When he says he's been through hell, he means it quite literally. ]

It could be worse. At least we're not being beaten or put in the stocks for the rabble to jeer at.

[reignfall]

No mutilation and no heads on spikes. What are they waiting for?

⟪ She finishes her work on the ribbon, and there is, for once, a twist of humour in her voice.

Onward, to the braiding of her hair, which she first must comb through with her fingers. ⟫

I would not dally like this without good reason. ⟪ She tilts her head. ⟫ Perhaps that is why we are made to share our cells with others. It is the sort of thing that could solve the problem one by one.

[hardcase]

Hell is other people.

[ A reference to a play he knows damn well Cersei can't have seen, but he chuckles to himself at his joke anyway as he watches her braid her hair. ]

I'm afraid they've done rather poorly, then. I quite like my cellmates. [ He runs his fingers through his own hair, which has gotten a bit messy without a brush. ] But they have my wife upstairs, and I know she misses me terribly.

[reignfall]

⟪ It is a quote she promptly assumes stems from his mind and his mind alone, and by the gods, if it does not ring entirely true. Hell is Stannis Baratheon, Robb Stark, Hell is Robert Baratheon, Hell can be her own father if he puts his mind to it. The Seven-Pointed Star speaks of no more than seven hells, but if she could ask of the septons of old but one thing, it is to count again, and count themselves and their breed among them while they are at it. ⟫

My twin and I share a cell down here, for all the good it does us. ⟪ What would be worse? Separated, with one of them just out of reach, or together like this, unable to make any greater progress at breaking the other out?

No matter how casual she means to sound, her relief seems badly hidden. ⟫

Is she clever, your wife?

[hardcase]

Kind of them to put you together, assuming you get along.

[ He had no siblings of his own - and good riddance, he didn't get along with his parents so he can't imagine getting along with his siblings - but it could be some small comfort to have a familiar face in here. ]

I wouldn't have married her if she wasn't. [ She's pretty, too, but that was just good luck on his part. He'd compromise on pretty but not on clever. Not for his wife. ] She was a teacher in our former life. Her name's Nadine, and she's been down here a few times now.

[reignfall]

Some might say I owe them now. ⟪ She does not count herself among those, but it remains true all the same. There had been no progress made in freeing her brother, much to her frustration, not until they had both been brought to this place. ⟫ We are as close as you would expect of twins.

⟪ And a good deal closer than anyone need know, as far as she is concerned, though subtlety has often failed them.

Now, a female teacher creates an interesting image in her mind – the only women who do any sort of teaching in Westeros are septas, who are, by law, to remain unwed. There have been a number vistors from 'above', and she cannot at once place a Nadine. ⟫

I should like to meet her. She must be quite captivating. ⟪ And blessed with much more freedom of the castle than she can claim for herself. ⟫ I am not quite sure of the punishment a septa would face back home if she were to marry.

thank you for eating this notif, dw

[hardcase]

Nah. You don't owe them anything except some good old-fashioned retribution. [ He whispers the last part with a coy little smile. ] Never had any siblings of my own, so I can only imagine.

[ He's been to places and times where the closest thing to a teacher - usually of a more religious sort - would not be permitted to marry, so the notion isn't foreign to him. He almost wishes Nadine had been a nun so he could maximize the blasphemy factor. ]

She is quite captivating, but the sort of teacher she was had no restrictions on marriage. [ A pause. ] And even if there were, the old world government had crumbled shortly before we wed. A real bad plague, you see. Ninety-nine percent fatal.