abraxaslogs | Semi-Open Log

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Semi-Open Log

Who: Nadine and various prisoners
What: Visiting the dungeons
Where: The dungeons
When: Post-festival

Nadine is no stranger to the dungeons by now. Besides her frequent visits to Flagg, there are other prisoners down here she's befriended. Who are still imprisoned.

Apparently some are more threatening a threat than others.

And of course there are still plenty of others she hasn't met at all. It's important to know the other people brought here, to take their measure and determine who might be useful. It doesn't look like Thorne is about to let her husband out any time soon, and that's a problem that will need to be dealt with. She knows (casually, at least) a number of those considered welcomed guests, but many of the poor souls stuck down here are still a mystery.

So after she's checked in with Flagg, she turns her attention to the other prisoners, offering a smile or casual greeting through the bars. She's armed with cookies and a friendly demeanor, standing out in the gloom of the dungeon with her white hair and silk tunic.

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Amos has seen her around. She comes down frequently, always to another cell. Much as he wouldn't usually be interested, it's impossible not to train his ears on the sounds of conversation, especially when there's nothing else going on around here.

He recognizes Flagg's voice when she talks to him. He'd said he knew people who had been welcomed. So. Guess she's one of them.

And now she's looking at him. Huh. He tilts his head at her, expression empty but for a faint hint of curiosity.

"You're down here a lot." No question to it, no why, just a comment. Amos' eyes flick down to the cookies for a second, back up to her eyes. Can't remember the last time he'd had one of those. Shit, might've been before he left Earth the first time. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want one, but it's also not something to dwell on.

... At the same time, she's clearly friendly with someone else locked up. Who might be planning something. So. Shit. Who knows.

"My husband's down here."

Nadine nods towards Flagg's cell, where she'd just recently been. "And I've made friends with a couple of the other 'prisoners'." The quotes are clear in her voice. Either they're all prisoners, or none of them are, there's no arbitrary distinction between who's locked up and who isn't. Not to Nadine.

This one...she doesn't know. She draws closer to the bars, offering a smile. There's no fear of anyone down here - what could she possibly have to fear from anyone? She's outside the bars and besides that...Flagg isn't far.

"Want a cookie? I took them from upstairs, no one seems to care if I bring food down here. I'm Nadine."

Eponine's seen Nadine, of course. She's watched enviously from her corner of the cell as she's paid her visits to Flagg, and given him bits of food, meat and pastries and little biscuits. Eponine's been lucky: Flagg's been all too happy to share with her, but the physical food doesn't feed her longing for someone to talk to.
In the gloom of the dungeons, where everyone is dirty and irritable, Nadine looks almost ethereal, like a faerie or an angel or something else that has no right amongst the thieves and murderers that surely haunt the cells. Eponine hungers for her attention, attracted, as a magpie to something shiny, to Nadine's beauty. But Nadine's never noticed her, and why should she pay attention to the little goblin in the corner of Flagg's cage?

But today's different. Perhaps she's noticed Eponine's hair ribbon, recognising the tattered ribbon as the one she gave Susan? Or perhaps Eponine glanced up just at the right time? But today's different because Nadine is looking past Flagg and calling to the young woman sat hunched on her bed.

Eponine's face lights up as she stumbles forward to the bars.
"Me, Mam'zelle? You will say hello to me? Really?"
She's unsure of herself and she hates herself for it. She shifts from foot to foot, her nervous energy fizzing from her.
"I didn't think you even saw me sat on the bed when you came to speak with the M'sieur just there. But you did, oh you did. Even just for a minute, it is so lovely, you know?"

"Randall does get a lot of my attention," Nadine agrees with a smile. "He's my husband, so that's pretty understandable."

But she has noticed the young woman who shares his cell, even if her focus has been Flagg himself. Of course he's her priority, she loves him and he's stuck locked down here and none of her efforts have changed that. And she has tried, advocating as best she can on his behalf.

She...doesn't exactly question why she was refused. Flagg isn't a frightened teenage girl, he's an ancient dark power shaped like a man. But still. It frustrates her that they remain separated like this, the longer it goes on the more of a physical ache it becomes.

But she isn't going to focus on that right now. The girl looks...anxious, in a way that Nadine can relate to.

"My name's Nadine. What's yours?"

"'Ponine, Ma'am. Well, Eponine." She speaks quickly, perhaps too quickly, in her rush to keep Nadine's attention.
"Your name is beautiful, you know? Like you, Miss. Ma'am. I half thought you were an angel with us demons down here, but then, how can it be so?" Eponine smiles, embarrassed.

"Are you really his wife? Ma'am, you look too good for him. Too good, like a proper lady what should be sewing or that. Though M'sieur is as good as you. You know, he shares all your foods with us? He is a good man, your husband."

Nadine quickly loses count of how many things are wrong with Eponine's summation of both her and her husband, but she keeps most of them to herself. Besides, by a certain standard, Flagg is considered a good man. His people think he is.

"I promise, I'm not a 'proper lady'. I'm a school teacher - or I was. And I'm really Randall's wife, we were married right before we ended up here. I'm glad he shares. Have you had enough? I have cookies..."

And this looks like a young lady who could use a cookie or two.

"A teacher, Ma'am?" Eponine looks up to meet Nadine's eyes. "Me, I've never been to school. My Pa taught me figures and that and my Ma taught me to read a bit, and I can write." She adds the last with shy pride.

"I might look the rat now, but I weren't always so. Except, there were no books and that. But I could have been a student if I'd've studied, you know? I'm not so stupid as I look." She sighs wistfully. Perhaps, had she been to school, life would have been different. Perhaps she wouldn't have ended up on the streets. Perhaps Marius would have loved her. But what's the point in perhapses?

"What's a cookie, Ma'am?" But she's already reaching through the bars for one.

"It's a kind of sweet. Here." She offers one out, not phased by the fact Eponine doesn't know what a cookie is. She's already met a man who didn't know what lemonade was.

"And that's pretty impressive, you know. A lot of kids who don't have access to school never learn to read and write. Don't worry about it, nobody down here is looking their best. It's not your fault. I promise my husband isn't normally as scruffy as he looks right now, either."

There's no judgement here. Nadine has seen more than enough young people in less than ideal circumstances, she knows how it is.

Eponine takes the cookie, and holds it to her nose. She inhales deeply, laughing as a crumb goes up her nose.

"You know, I used to sit outside a shop what smelled like this sometimes. Not to beg or nothing, just to rest. It makes you tired, you see, when there ain't nothing to eat for days. It feels like your legs to jelly and your head isn't quite on your body. And always, I liked to sit outside the bakery. Ma'am, it were pure awful and divine in one."

She licks the cookie, closing her eyes in delight. "It tastes like what it smells of. I used to imagine it, but it's different when it's in your mouth, no?"

She chuckles. "I ain't a young person, Ma'am. I feel as old as the hills. I don't know how old I am. Except I told the guard I were fourteen. I don't think he believed me, but it got me released in Paris so it is worth a try, no?"

"Kids who grow up rough grow up fast." And it's obvious, even from this brief conversation, that Eponine grew up rough. "It's normal to feel older than you are, but you're still a young person. Older than fourteen, but not near as old as me."

At almost forty, Nadine's definition of 'young' is a bit broad.

"So is that where you're from, Paris?" She wasn't about to assume, she's learned better by now, but since Eponine mentioned it... "And you don't have to call me 'ma'am', you can call me Nadine."

"I don't know how old I am. There's no birthday, no Christmas. I asked once, and Azelma cried and cried, but it were my arse that ended up the sorer for it." She shakes her head. "I tried to keep track at first but..." she shrugs. "I don't even remember when it is now, you know?"

She nibbles the cookie and lets the crumbs melt on her tongue.

"I were born in Montfermiel, Nadine. But when we lost the inn my Pa had, we were to Paris. You know it? I have lived all over Paris."

"I know of it, but I've never been. I haven't traveled much." She'd spent most of her life in New Hampshire, only leaving within the last two years.

"I've heard it's beautiful, though. Lots of art and architecture, and a lot of creative types. Artists and writers and poets. And that the food's really fancy. French food's supposed to be really good, but I've never really had it. Unless sandwiches on croissants count."

Probably not.

"I'm from the United States - a little town, not a big city."

Eponine shrugs awkwardly. "In the winter, it's cold and wet. The ditches fill with rain and everywhere to sleep is puddles and cold. In the summer, you fry with the heat and there is nowhere to cool, only the Seine, and it can suck you in if you go too close."

She looks down, embarrassed. Eponine knows nothing of art or writing or poetry. She doesn't even know what a croissant is, or fancy French food. She scuffs her foot on the dusty floor.
"I think if you have money, Madame, Paris might be as glorious as you make it sound," she eventually says, quietly. "Me, I don't know such a place. I hate Paris. But my brother, he knows some actors. He can sometimes get me a ticket to watch from the floor or the sides."

But what's to be done? Her cookie suddenly tastes bitter, of lost dreams, of what-might-have-beens, of regret. Eponine tucks the remainder into her pocket. She probably won't eat it. It's embarrassing to admit just how needy she is.

"The United States? America? That is a long way from Paris. I've seen the boats, Ma'am, coming in. I always thought of running to there... perhaps if I hadn't come here. Now that my Pa will have me dead, I would've come."

He blinks. Whatever he'd been expecting, husband hadn't been on the list. Guess that explains that, then.

Doesn't explain how this place could get things so wrong, so fucked up, that they'd somehow manage to take husband and wife, apparently only want one of them, and... apparently she was the one. Can't help but wonder what that actually means, what's special about her. He peers up at her, expression a little more open as she continues, makes her disdain for the prisoner designation known.

He doesn't know her husband that well. Not really. Just seen him out on the yard on occasion, heard his singing in the mines, knows he's someone who might be an ally through this. But if they share philosophies, and she's been welcomed...

Amos gets up, movement casual, and rests his forearms along the bars separating them, easy enough to stick his hands through them. "Sure," he says. There's probably no harm in it. It's not like a whole lot else can happen to him down here, and besides. Either this is a hell of a long con, or, potential ally. And, something nice along the way. Something that'll make him feel a bit more like a person again, maybe.

Shit, he's gotta get out of here. This isn't great.

"I'm Amos," he says, taking the offered cookie. And, god. The food here hasn't been bad — it's all naturally grown, and after decades of soy and vats it's been a revelation on its own — but something to break up the monotony. Jesus, it's good. He chews thoughtfully, savouring for a moment, swallows. "Husband, huh? So they only wanted one of you?"

"Apparently so. Figure it'd be a package deal, but...." Nadine shrugs. "I don't know. I don't understand Thorne's priorities and they aren't exactly explaining them to me."

If they needed help...Flagg was in a much better position to do so. Just...unlikely to. She doesn't consider herself any more likely to, and what help can she offer anyway? It'd take years, likely, to learn the local magic well enough to do anything useful with it.

She wonders why Amos is here. What great 'threat' does he pose to the kingdom of Thorne? He looks like he'd fit right in with her roommates upstairs.

"I'd say if they're desperate enough they have to kidnap people from other dimensions, they probably ought to just take what they get. But supposedly you're all threats - except for the people they said were threats and then decided okay, maybe not."

There's a teenaged girl who's sharing a cell with Amos, who listened in on their conversation. The next day, she's poked her arms out of the bars of her cell door, leaning on them, hands dangling down. Today it's her turn to chat!

"Are those for us?" she asks, eying the cookies hungrily. One meal a day is really not enough.

So she's just in the dark as he is. He's heard bits and pieces of that; that those who were welcomed don't really know anything, either.

At least they're free, though. Don't have to sleep behind bars, be hauled off to do prison labour, any of that; hell, they get cookies. Amos takes another bite, chews thoughtfully. He could be resentful, but he and Nadine might actually be on the same side, for as much as there are sides to this whole thing. So. He won't hold anything against her. Not like it's her fault.

"You know, might have even actually helped them," he says after a moment. It's what Holden would have done. And Holden's not here. He's kind of left floating, aimless, without a tether. It's not great, not for him. Eventually that little voice he attempts to make into a conscience is going to go quiet, and. Well. "Locking people up seems like a great way to turn them into threats, though."

They want him to be a threat; sure, he can be a threat.

"They are." Nadine approaches with an easy smile. "No one's stopped me yet, and I figure nobody down here's getting anything exciting to eat..."

The least she can do is bring small sweets like cookies and whatnot. Especially considering how many people down here are in the category Nadine would consider kids. That still doesn't sit right with her.

"I'm pretty sure everywhere's better if you have money. And I know what it's like to have to fend for yourself - different situation, but...where I come from, there was a disease that wiped out most people. All of a sudden there weren't shops or bakers or anything like that, no one to grow food or butcher it or sell it. Spent plenty of nights cold and hungry and sleeping under a tree."

It sucks.

"America's not as great as people make it out to be. But hey...I don't know how long Thorne's going to be keeping people down here, but I'll bring you some more food next time I come down, too. I know it's not much, but...I remember what a big deal the little stuff meant to me, when I was in a rough place."

The little comforts suddenly became very big comforts. And the gnawing loneliness, the desperation for affection and attention...Nadine understands it. She's felt it herself, plenty of times.

"And I'm not really inclined to help the people who have my husband locked up." And won't let him out - even if a part of her entirely understands why. It isn't as though reason and better judgement factor into many of Nadine's decisions regarding Flagg.

She leans against the bars, eyes scanning the various cells thoughtfully.

"But it's not like we've been here that long, so I guess we'll see what happens. They do seem to be loosening up some restrictions - they let some prisoners out, and we can leave the castle now. There's a town."

Things are starting to shift, but not enough to tell her much or give any deeper insight into the situation.

"You've slept under a tree?" Eponine glances up to meet Nadine's eyes before looking away again, bashful. "It's one of my favourites, you know? There, or in the flowers. I used to walk miles for the priest's garden. He were so stupid he thought me a ghost or an angel, but no. I told him I were the devil's daughter, but still he let me sleep on his grass."

She curls her fingers tight about the bars, her face lighting with a smile as she imagines Nadine on the streets. It's not her laughing at Nadine, but more finding a kinship that she hadn't imagined could exist between them.
"You look too beautiful to have done such though, Nadine. You look as though all your life you have been pampered and preened and never seen such a day in your life. I don't care about food, honest. There is more here than I have had in a long time, and a roof and even a bed all to me. It is nice here, Ma'am..." Eponine hesitates. "But will you visit me?"

She reaches to touch her grimy fingers to Nadine's hair. "You are so lovely, you know? You look like an angel."

"I promise, I've never been pampered in my entire life. I was an orphan, I spent most of my childhood bouncing from one family that didn't want me to another, and in and out of church run children's homes. That didn't have much money or time for all the kids there." Nadine shakes her head, hoping to dissuade Eponine of any ideas that she's well off or had grown up easy.

"I was in foster care or church care until I got too old, and then I was out on my own with pretty much nothing. I just got lucky and got into college so I could be a teacher. And I'm really no angel." She gestures to her white hair. "I think this was a trauma reaction to being pulled here or something."

She...doesn't exactly remember. The night before being pulled out of the well here is hazy, like a dream. Half-memories and sensations and vague impressions. But when she was able to take stock of herself here, her hair was white.

"Well, I think you look like an angel," Eponine replies firmly. She's not going to be persuaded away from the idea any time soon. "Like a statue, mayhaps, what has had its wings broken and now you are brought to life for us down here."

She grins again. "Maybe it were the nuns what made you so good? I hate church, me. Always when I am made to go, I must wear my Pa's old shoes to be allowed in, and what good are they when they are so big and the laces hold up my skirt, and the toes are gone so my feet squelch and slide in them?"

Eponine at least catches herself before telling Nadine about Cosette. Maybe orphans all turn out to be angels with loving husbands and men to fall in love with them? Maybe she would have been better off without her folk?

She licks her lips nervously. "Will you - and Ma'am, you might say no to me - Ma'am, will you teach me? Proper, I mean? I know numbers and letters and that, but... I showed a man once. A proper student. He didn't laugh but he had such a look in his eyes. I don't know how to call it. Sad, and maybe as you'd tell a stupid child when they try and it is wrong? Just so with Azelma, you know, when I am patient with her? I hate it. Ma'am, will you teach me so they don't again?"

Pity. She means pity. Her stomach curls even at the thought of it, and when Marius had looked at her writing and then back at her - writing she was so proud of - she'd wanted to just die on the spot.

Jolie stretches her hand out in the direction of the cookies. Gimme gimme, Nadine. She's beyond niceties, these days. "Please?" Well, not entirely beyond niceties. She was raised well. "We get one meal a day and it's the same every day. I am so hungry."

Okay, yeah, they're on the same side. He doesn't know Flagg that well, but pretty sure he's not happy about being in prison, either, so, common goal. And when he'd said he knew people who had been welcomed, he really meant it, apparently.

Amos finishes off the cookie, leans against the cell bars properly now, letting his forearms dangle outside, off to the side from Nadine. Trying to keep as casual a posture as possible, like maybe that'll make him actually feel somewhat relaxed, forget about the ever-growing anxiety of being locked away, stripped of anything so much as resembling agency. Not really sure if it's working.

"Huh. Guess that explains where some of them went." He'd noticed their numbers had decreased by at least a little; probably better than them being executed or some shit. And yet he's still here, so it doesn't really mean anything to him. Pretty sure the only thing that's gonna get him out is someone dying, whether it's him or a whole lot of other people.

Trying not to think about that right now, especially not when he's got new company. Potentially very beneficial company. "Town makes sense. They took us up north to make us mine for them," he says. She probably already knows since her husband was there, too. It's the kind of thing you'd mention to a partner, he figures. "World's gotta be more than just this shit. The town as stuffy and self-important as this place?"

He probably could have tried to escape when they were off in the mines, but there wouldn't be anywhere to escape to, is the thing. At least, not as far as he knows. But if there's a town here, there's probably a whole lot more, so... some kind of destination might be possible. He figures any of that out, maybe he can go from there. Or at least not be here anymore.

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