semi-open | june

[flauntist]

WHO: wei wuxian & dungeon dwellers
WHAT: pre-event, harassing anyone within earshot
WHERE: dungeons, cell 6
WHEN: leading up to the event and likely after
NOTES: action or prose replies are totally valid, hmu if you wanna plot


▹ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴇʟʟ sɪx
[ it's not so bad here, all things considered. it's indoors, which is an upgrade from his last residence. the bed is actually a bed! better than the stone slab he'd relegated himself to before. the cell itself doesn't really compare to having a whole big cave at his disposal, but the lighting is better and the drafts aren't nearly as bad, so. give a little, get a little.

now privacy is a whole other point of contention, but it's fine. it's great. he's not new to sharing space, anyway. ]

Ahh, who plans these meals? They make so much food all the time.

[ it hadn't taken much to figure out they all got equal portions and he's used to running lean by now. he doesn't know much about the others in his cell, except that at least half of them are still somewhere in their growing stages and growing children need food. more than he does, anyway. even if they're not technically children.

he offers up his dish, still containing the better half of his meal, with an easy smile. ]

Someone do this old man a favour and finish it? It'll just go to waste otherwise.


▹ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
Can't sleep?

[ he's taken to perching near to the bars, watching the comings and goings as they happen around him. partly it's curiosity, he just likes to know, but largely it's to gather as much intel as he can. who moves through the space? who has power, who doesn't, who carries what keys to what doors and who could be leveraged, if necessary, when the time comes? he doesn't even know what that time looks like yet, but it's better to know. to be ready.

he's there now, little more than a shadow. he'll store all the information away without thinking about it: who sleeps when, how deep the sleep, who wakes easily and who ignores it all. as much as he can, from his vantage point, which isn't nearly as good as he'd like it to be.

his fingers itch for paper, for ink, for anything that might give him something. it doesn't matter if he had them, the well of his energy is empty empty empty and he can shrug off the chill that follows him now but he can't help but reach for it anyway. he needs to do something. he can feel the restlessness build even as he drops his voice to little more than a whisper. ]

Don't you know how unwise it is to still be awake? What if a spirit comes and finds you awake? It might decide to keep you company.


▹ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴀɴ ᴡᴀɴɢᴊɪ
I'm sure there are better things for you to be doing.

[ it's not the wisest of his arguments and he regrets it as soon as he says it. he's sure of lan wangji's response before the words have even faded and he waves a hand through the bars to distract him before he can disagree. ]

Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Just trust me. It's fine in here. It's great!

[ that's an obvious lie, even if it's not so bad at the moment, cross-legged on the floor at one of the corners nearest the door so that it would almost be a normal conversation without the bars between them. he takes an unhealthy amount of solace in the knowledge that lan wangji has seen him a lot worse off. that's not to say things won't get worse, but compared to how the gentry might have kept him if he'd turned himself over to them, he's sure he's doing better.

at least one of them is free. he's glad that between them it's lan wangji. ]

If you insist on being here, at least tell me what I've missed back...home.

[ wherever home is now. whatever it is. does he even have one now? ]

Comments

middle of the night

[girl_at_the_window]

[The girl in cell seven is, indeed, awake - pacing barefoot so as to make less noise and avoid waking her cellmates. She looks up sharply when she's addressed, freezing in place. After a moment more, she approaches the bars, crouching down.]

What if a spirit comes and finds me asleep? Seems a worse happening, to me.

Anyroad, do 'ee ken how scarce quiet is in this cell?

[It's true - between Jaime and Eddie, cell seven is a pretty talkative one - but it's not, of course, why she's awake. She just doesn't feel like facing what might come with sleeping. When she's awake, she's got control of her own mind.]

[flauntist]

[ he can't help his smile, softening by degrees even as it makes something go tight in his chest. he's so tired lately, but even that doesn't seem to be enough to keep the sense of wrong from prickling at the nape of his neck. so many young people, here in the cells. and for what? what might they have done? he wants to scoop them all up and deposit them somewhere far away from here, safe and free. ]

A friendly spirit for you, then. A quiet one?

[ he tips closer to the bars, like he might be able to get a better look, fingers tracing aimless shapes of talismans he might be able to use if he could. a light! warmth, maybe. a way out. for now all he's got is words. ]

Maybe a kind one to cover your ears and grant you sleep.

[girl_at_the_window]

I'd sooner no spirits at all, thankee. [She smiles, though - a slightly tired smile, a slightly wary one, but a smile nonetheless. It's a nice thing to say, if an odd one, and he seems harmless enough. And it's nice to have someone to talk to, even in hushed whispers, in these long hours when the thoughts she tries to keep at bay come gnawing at her mind.]

[Maybe a kind spirit wouldn't be so bad, if it would fight them off. But she's never heard of spirits that aren't out for something worse.]

What about 'ee? How come ye ain't asleep?

middle of the night

[baltimores]

[ He's been leaning up against the bars of cell two from the inside, arms dangling outside them, into the slightly more open air of the hallway that connects all of them. It's almost like a semblance of freedom. More importantly, it's just something to do.

Amos hates everything about this, but the nights might be the worst. When everything slows to a crawl, to nothing; all activity stops, the guards to glare at are fewer and further between, nothing but silence. And he's not the biggest fan of being left alone with his thoughts. Not in this environment, not like this, stripped of anything so much as resembling agency. Control. Anything.

So he perks up when he hears another voice. Nope, can't sleep. Thoughts don't usually keep him awake. Here, they're doing just that. It's frustrating. (It's something else; he doesn't know what the emotion is, doesn't care to find out, attach a label, explore it, any of that. He just wants it to go away.)

Playing along — this is much better. Doesn't let him stay in his own head. ]

Then what're you doing awake? [ Spirits aren't real. But if this guy believes in them, then, weird advice to be giving. Still, Amos' tone is soft, conversational. He pauses before adding on, ] Company might be better than this.

[ From a spirit. Or, more realistically, across the bars, from cell six. ]

[flauntist]

[ it's a fair question. he's not totally convinced he's not one of his own spirits anyway. hell, he's not convinced that he's even anywhere real again considering the formless, yawning void of before. he'd fallen and he's been falling and it doesn't feel like he's landed anywhere solid yet. ]

Ahh, you're in luck, then.

[ luck may be a strong word for it. it's abandoned him as well, so he doesn't feel bad invoking its name here. ]

Your own personal spirit, here to protect you from those that might do you harm.

[ are there spirits here? it's hard to tell down here. it doesn't feel nearly as bad as some of the places he's lived, hampered by the weight of its own past. by the spirits, by the anger. ]

Spirits only, of course. I have no promises to make beyond that.

[baltimores]

[ Amos tilts his head at the notion of his own personal spirit. Wouldn't that be something? If there was something out there that was supposed to protect him... well, it's really, really late on that front.

He snorts. ]

Not sure spirits can live up to any promises.

[ His tone's dry. Either spirits aren't real — likely — or they have a hell of a way of going about things. He brings his arms back into his cell, folds them along a horizontal slat on the bars. Doesn't lower his chin onto them; not yet. He's still too awake, alert for that. ]

Not sure they can protect, either. [ A beat. ] Or if they're doing a good job, considering we're here to begin with.

[ Here being Thorne, much less Thorne's dungeons. If this is what protection is supposed to look like, he's not following. ]

Cell six

[ezra_of_lothal]

[Ezra appreciates the gesture really, but there's two other people who look pretty young in the cell, so he doesn't feel great about jumping at the offer. He gives the oldest looking of their little group a shaky smile.]

I'm pretty used to going without. Or...I was. If you're sure...maybe we could split it up?