INTRO LOG #2

[abraxasmods]

Intro Log #2

It has been two months now since the initial group of summonings first took place. Castle Thorne, or at least the part above ground, is buzzing with a vibrant air of hope following the 'success' at the Singularity. Eager smiles and excited chattering are to be found in nearly every corner of the castle and surrounding town. The honored guests may find grateful looks turned their way more often than not. A new and brighter day seems to be dawning on the kingdom.

In the dungeons it's a different story entirely. The mood is somber and uneasy. The prisoner taken for trial has yet to return, and no word has come regarding her or her fate. There has been no mention of any further trials as of yet and guards seem to have little patience for unruly behavior or even conversation. Some seem to not even look at or acknowledge the prisoners at all.

[ Feel free to continue threads from the TDM here or start your own! As cell and room assignments will be short-lived due to this month's event, you're free to assume whichever cellmates and roommates you like instead of officially signing up as long as there are ICly no more than four people in a cell or room at once. ]

Comments

amos burton | the expanse | lovers arcana

[baltimores]

> dungeons
(cw for some light suicidal ideation)

[ The dungeons feel like poison.

It's a combination of things: having his agency once again stripped away, at the whims of someone — doesn't matter who — with more power; the Horizon and his own subconscious' reminding him of what he's lost by being here, of what it felt like to be back home, on the Roci, with people he trusts. There are some people he likes here, sure, but they aren't his people. He has nobody to follow. That usually results in something bad happening, but it's also getting to the point where he's about to stop caring, lump in his throat not abiding, muscles tensed, silent and looking like he's about ready to murder anyone who looks at him the wrong way because, well, he is.

There's nobody around to tell him not to, just bars and powerful magic he doesn't understand to dissuade him, but this is a man very close to a breaking point, and his breaking points have never been pretty.

For the most part anybody in, around, or approaching his cell will find a man sitting on his bunk, eerily still like he's not really there, body tensed, just waiting for a chance to do. Who knows what, really, but he wouldn't be surprised if it ended with his dead body. As long as he can take out others on his way there, he's fine with that. ]


> rec yard

[ The novelty of fresh air means nothing to him now — probably both a sign of how long he's been grounded, as well as how little he cares, given his current circumstances.

Said circumstances have given him at least some direction, though: sometimes it's laps along the wall encasing them; most of the time he's at the weights, rhythmically lifting them. They aren't heavy enough for him anymore, he finds — too accustomed to 1 g again, too accustomed to working with the limited set day in, day out for months. But still, he keeps at them. He can't build, but at least he can maintain, and Amos has no intention of getting sloppy with his physicality now. Not when he can tell something in him's about to break.

At some point, though, he does have to take a break, sitting on the crude bench, staring out at the rest of the yard with unseeing eyes, too in his own head before he gets back at it again. ]


> wildcard

[ If we've already got CR going, feel free to hit me with whatever; he'll be receptive, just give him a minute or two. If not, arii#6412 or cadiai for some light plotting. ]

Rec yard

[gardienne]

I’ve been watching you, you know?

[Eponine shifts herself slowly up from the wall where she’s been slumped, bored. She’s been watching Amos, it’s true. In fairness, she’s been watching everybody. But he’s the one with the wild look in his eyes, that look that says anything could happen. It’s dangerous and thrilling and oddly comfortingly desperate. It’s a look she’s seen in Montparnasse, in Claquesous and her Pa. it draws her more than kindness and pity. She doesn’t care either, if he tells her to go, because her ears are deaf to it. She comes to sit on the bench next to him.]


Why do you do it, over and over? Hold the - the…? The things? Are you not bored? Are you not sick of this, Sir?

[baltimores]

[ Her words don't even register with him at first, the sound of her voice like a different tone of static in his ears. Everything's just background until there's a threat — or an excuse.

It's her movement that clues him in, taking in her approach through his peripheral vision. He's hunched over slightly, hands hanging limp between his legs, elbows resting on splayed knees. There's a sheen of sweat over his skin. Amos turns his head as she asks her questions, words breaking through this time as he gives her a once-over. She's smaller. Not to mention a fellow prisoner. So, not a threat. Alright. ]

No, I'm pretty fuckin' sick of this. [ His voice is rough; more of a growl, really. He means more prison life in general, but sure. Mediocre weights aren't really cutting it on their own either, are they. ] But not like there's anything else to do.

[gardienne]

So do nothing, M'sieur.

[Eponine's filled her days with nothingness, staring off into the distance, looking at her knees, plotting what she will do when -
no. Don't think about escape.]

Or do something useful. You ain't done nothing useful yet, Sir, and you are a brute of a man. Even me, what is a stick, I have achieved more than you here. I escaped. I, at least, tasted freedom. What have you done, Sir?

[baltimores]

[ He stares at her blankly. Do nothing? He's already been doing plenty of nothing—

Kind of feels like a punch to the gut when she accuses him of doing nothing useful. Which is kind of funny, really. Hard to take offence to something true. He's a brute, and he's useless. Sounds about right. He's known sticks like her — Naomi, Clarissa — and both would be better at taking charge, if they were somewhere like this. If he doesn't have someone to follow then... yeah. Useless brute.

Still, not like she's done anything actually useful herself. Futile's more like it, and isn't that what he's been feeling since they got back from the Horizon, got thrown back in the dungeons. ​]

What'd that taste of freedom get you? Didn't you get thrown in solitary for that? No thanks.

[ He picks up the dumbbell he'd left at his feet, starts doing curls again, but the more he thinks about it, she's got a point. It's not doing any good. Not really. He's just prolonging the inevitable.

Amos sighs. His voice is flat; no self-pitying going on here, just facts. ]

Nothing for me to do here. Just hope I can take a bunch of them out before they get me is all.

Dungeon

[moremilkplz]

{[That trip, or dream or whatever it was that happened, was exacptly what Homelander needed. The warm feelings of home, of winning and the sensation of triumph. If he believed in omens, that - that would be it.

Another way this place was showing him that he would succeed. The Singularity would stay under Thornean control and Homelander would be the one to ensure it. All he really needs is a team and a plan. That should be easy, right?

In a place like this, with well-wishers and smiles where ever he turns and despite the fact that his room had harbored a traitor, the mages seemed to know that Homelander had nothing to do with it.

Life was good.

Which is why he's down in the dungeons again, fingers trailing over the prison bars as he hums to himself.]

Well, well-- [the smile turns shark-like] you're still here.

[baltimores]

[ That smarmy voice gets his attention. Amos turns his head to look at Homelander, eyes flat, nostrils flaring at a sharper inhale than he'd meant. He doesn't get up. His fists clench a little tighter than they already were before relaxing slightly. ]

And you still keep coming down here.

[ This fucking guy— he's as good a candidate to kill right now as any. Not because it has to be done, which, shit, there's still a little part of him that knows that's a bad sign. That part of him is almost thankful for the bars that will keep them separated. The rest of him is. Well. Fucked, probably. ]

[moremilkplz]

[Homelander's smile grows impossibly larger as he leans against the bars. The metal feels cool through the thin shirt he's been provided with. But he's not worried, the Singularity showed him- one day, he will get his uniform back. He will carry this backwards and old fashioned country out of the mire and in to a much brighter future.]

I had to keep an eye on you.

[He punctuates the 'you' with pointing a finger straight at Amos.] You've been a bad boy.

[baltimores]

[ Amos stays where he is, glaring at Homelander. Yeah. Sure. Keep an eye on him while he's locked up and unable to do anything. Like this is anything more than a taunt.

And one he's falling for, god damn it. Shit's really that bad, huh. ]

Have I.

[ His voice is flat; just because he's thinking of going on a rampage doesn't mean he's actually done anything. And there's no way for this guy to know what he's thinking. So it's probably just nothing.

Doesn't feel like nothing. Amos gets up, slow; doesn't make his way over to the bars, but curls his lip back in the beginnings of a snarl. ]

Easy to talk shit, out there. What're you? Their little pet?

Dungeons

[nadine_he_loves]

[Tempting as it is to just hole up in her room, curtains drawn around her bed to ignore the world, Nadine resists. Wearing the white dress and hat Ronan had procured for her, she takes her little basket down to the dungeons as she'd done before the field trip to the Horizon.

What else can she do? Routine is important. It keeps the mind focused and that's exactly what she needs right now. Even if it may force her to actually acknowledge things that had happened in that strange not-place.

Speaking of...she remembers it all, but some experiences stick out stronger and clearer than others. Like the quiet 'afternoon' spent with Amos in that strange park she'd conjured. It's uncomfortable, in a way, to know so much about a person she technically doesn't know that much about. And to have shared so much of herself...]

Hey.

[She approaches his cell with tired steps, holding up a baked sweet roll of some kind.]

Hospitality cart's here. Only without the cart part.

[baltimores]

[ He blinks at the sound of her voice. Turns his head, slow, to look at her, recognition — too much recognition, really — dawning on his features before he shuts it right back down. ]

Not hungry.

[ His voice comes out quiet, soft. It's not a rejection so much as it's the truth. Amos hesitates for a moment, then gets up, movements stiff, and makes his way towards the bars that separate them. He doesn't reach out for the gift — just stands there, making eye contact, trying to conflate whatever the fuck they talked about in that not-place with who they are here, now.

He likes her, he thinks. Remembers liking her before. Their discussion over protecting those not-kids should add to it, but it's awkward now. He's done it before, talked about his past without explicitly saying it was past, but in all previous iterations he knew that's what he was doing. He didn't there. It's a whole new layer of vulnerability, and he doesn't know Nadine well enough to trust her with it.

But she also hasn't done anything wrong, hence. Whatever this is.

At least it's drained the fight out of him for the moment. His shoulders fall. He cocks his head. ]

The hat's new.

[ It's a much more innocuous topic than their last one, at least. ]

[nadine_he_loves]

Oh...yeah.

[Nadine sighs a little, eyes shifting upwards in the direction of her head covering.]

I came back with a little present from the Horizon.

[She lifts the hat enough to show the bases of the small, pearly horns that grew at some point during their out-of-body experience. The hat is lifted only briefly, just enough for Amos to see, before it's settled back into place.]

Look, just...take this for later, okay?

[She holds out the sweet roll again, her expression more firm. Even if he doesn't want it now, that doesn't mean he won't later.]

[baltimores]

[ He stares at what he can see of her horns, eyes narrowed slightly, lips parted like he's got something to say. He doesn't. Doesn't take his eyes off of the spot where they were as she lowers the hat, either, as though he can see through it.

It's... not that disarming. Not any more than anything else here, at least. Okay. So now she has horns for some reason.

Flicks his eyes down to the sweet roll. He still doesn't want it, but if she's going to insist immediately after showing him something she apparently doesn't want to be seen. Okay. Kind of falls into the least he could do category. Amos wordlessly reaches out, takes it through the bars, just holds it down at his side.

This is plenty awkward. He sighs. ]

How much do you remember from in... there.

[ He remembers everything, but he also didn't come back with anything, so maybe he'll luck out. Kind of doubts it, though. ]

rec yard

[aquaveiled]

[ Himeka enjoys her time in the rec yard, not because she's actively using the materials provided, but just because she's out. Using the time to run around, stretch her legs, breathe air that isn't filtered through cell bars is an appreciative change.

She has been wondering of late maybe she should start using some of the equipment. It can't be too hard, can it? She's never had issues staying in shape before given her proclivity to always be on the move and literally battling the forces of creation and destruction. (That does tend to keep you fighting fit.) But spending most of her days pacing her cell with sub-par food has definitely taken it's toll...

Maybe she should "bulk up".

So she watches how the other inmates are doing it, not so naive in her own abilities that she could pick up dumbbells the size of her head and wing it. But she does a double take when she realizes that someone looks very familiar. ]

Amos?

[ Yes, that has to be him. She straightens from her seat and waves. ]

Amos!

[baltimores]

[ He's lost in his own world at first, but a voice he thinks he recognizes cuts through.

Except he definitely does not recognize the short lizard girl waving at him. Amos stares, baffled enough to be drawn out of his mind's depths, eyes narrowed and head tilted as though that'll suddenly make it obvious as to who she is.

She seems to know who he is, though. He tries to go through a mental catalogue of everyone he's met here — and there certainly aren't many he has, so it shouldn't be too hard, but—

He blinks, sitting up straight. Not here, but someone exactly as unabashedly chipper in a cold, black approximation of space. That's where he recognizes that voice from. It has to be. So... ]

Era?

[aquaveiled]

[ She just keeps on waving like he should recognize her--and he does, after a minute. Yet each second that ticks by she has to wonder if she was mistaken, after all that passed--

--Era.

Ah, yes. Of course, how silly of her to forget that...tiny detail of looking like someone else. (Or...more herself than before? She doesn't like thinking about it.)

With a nod, Himeka hops off of the bench, walking up to greet Amos in person. In addition to the change in hair color, addition of pale scales, horns, and tail, Himeka also stands a good eight inches shorter than she had been in Horizon.

She feels tall, though, and that should be what counts. ]

My name is Himeka out here. But my friends call me "Hime".

[ Amos, though... ]

Is your name still "Amos"?

[baltimores]

[ She's practically an alien, as far as he's concerned. Nothing like any alien he knows of — and considering where he's from, that's very, very good — but an alien, nevertheless. Kinda like seeing someone who hadn't grown up in 1 g for the first time, except way weirder. Doesn't know what the tail could possibly be for.

Anyway. He still looks exactly the same here as he had in there, so no wonder she recognized him. Amos blinks at her, the way she's gone from nearly his height to much, much shorter. Not that being short is a reflection of someone's worth or skill, just, it makes things a lot different as far as eye contact goes.

He stays seated. ]

Yup.

[ Different names, huh. He's really glad he identified as Amos in the Horizon; that it was that identity — that name — that stuck to him. His birth name never did anything for him; Amos gave him a chance at life. Better to be known by just that.

This presents a conundrum for him, though; normally he's good to just call people. Whatever comes to mind, really. He'd just as soon as stick with Era, or go with Scales or Spike or something. He's never been presented with multiple options before, let alone from someone who he isn't sure is a friend or not, if that could even apply to him out here. Not like they know each other. And like being Amos is better for him, maybe being Himeka is better for her.

So. Only thing to do with his confusion is to ask, really. ]

What should I call you?

Dungeon

[mytearsaremine]

Sitting on her own bunk in the same cell, Jolie stretches out one sandalled foot to nudge his knee. He's been even grouchier than usual-- which she... gets. She really does. She won't give up, but she sees the appeal a little bit.

"Amos. Hey. Talk to me. Unless you want me to start singing again."

[baltimores]

It takes a moment for her voice to register. It isn't that he's been tuning her out on purpose, but it's really easy to do when the words, the singing don't stop. When his mind is very much somewhere else.

When she's the last person he wants to end up hurting, knows there's a chance any incoming recklessness on his part might be thrown back at her.

Still, at the nudge, he turns to look at her. The new appendages he... really doesn't know what to make of. Back to eye contact. And her words break through the static, and he sighs.

"Not a whole lot to talk about." And then he considers. And. Probably needs an add-on, so, "Please don't start singing."

jebus where did this notif go

[mytearsaremine]

"Sure there's stuff to talk about. You can tell me more about where you grew up. Or why you wound up in space where they made you pay for your air. Or we could go off into the singularity space and play tag." Because she knows how to do that. It doesn't help their problems here, to let their brains go play somewhere else, and it's probably just running away and hiding a little bit-- but that's better than zoning out doing nothing with your brain, right?

Doing something is always better than doing nothing, as far as she's concerned. Even if the something is kind of stupid, sometimes. "But I won't sing anymore. For a while, anyway. I'm trying to annoy the guards, anyway, not you."

[baltimores]

Amos shrugs. He grew up in a shithole, and talking about it isn't something he's inclined to do. Ever, really. He might make an exception for her, but. Shit. He doesn't know.

Space is easier, except then it's just a reminder of the freedom they'd briefly had before ending up back here. Not even just free in a physical sense, of escaping these walls — but free from his memories, his past, the why of how he came to be the way he is.

Except then she suggests going back, and—

"You've been back there?"

He blinks, confusion written across his features. Hadn't known that was even an option. And like hell if he knows how to do it himself. He's— fuck, he's bad at a lot of things, of course his only chance at anything resembling freedom again would be out of reach for him, too.

Clenches his jaw for a second. Unclenches it. It's not her fault.

"Thanks," he huffs after a moment. There should be good humour in his voice but, shit. Who knows if he'll ever be in a position to get that back.

dungeons;

[jealousbitch]

[ Lloyd is no stranger to being in the dungeons, but somewhere along the line, it stopped being about everybody else in there and became solely about his people. He had to make sure Flagg and Julie had what they needed, and she needed a lot of extra attention. Only problem is she's not in the cell she was in before. If the guards ever played musical cells with the prisoners, he'd never paid attention. It's when he's peering into the other cells that he spots the familiar figure.

It takes him a moment, but he remembers that floating space in the Horizon and that warm hand on his shoulder. A damn shame that he'd made a fool of himself. ]

Uh-- hey.

[ He gets close enough to wrap his hands around the bars, looking in. A smarter person would leave well enough alone and not bother the guy he showed his ass to, but the fact of the matter is that Lloyd isn't a smarter man. He'll poke the bear, even if it's not in his best interest. He can't stop that stupid feeling of butterflies that shows up unbidden, either. Bodies are fuckin' stupid. ]

[baltimores]

[ At first, Amos doesn't move. It'd be a reasonable assumption to think that he hadn't heard Lloyd at all, sitting there unnaturally still, staring out at the wall. But then, with a slow blink, he turns his head in time to see Lloyd approach, as up close and personal as he can get here, and he. Just keeps staring, really.

He remembers— he remembers being contentedly alone, he remembers a yelp in a space where sound shouldn't carry, he remembers a flailing butterfly and calming him down and feeling content and warm with his hand on his shoulder, companionship, hoping to succeeding in balancing out nervous energy and—

It's different here, isn't it. ]

Hey.

[ And yet Lloyd is still close. And still carrying some of that nervous energy. And Amos' is— he'd been at peace there, floating in nothingness, or at least as close as he could get to it; here, it's the opposite. He is a bear, and poking him will probably result in something bloody.

And Lloyd probably doesn't deserve that. Not if he's the same person here as he was there. And so far, all signs point to yes.

Amos stays still a moment longer before getting up, movements stiff, almost inorganic, like he's not really a person, but here he's got gravity to weigh him back down. He approaches the bars, but keeps his hands at his sides. There's no reason to stabilize Lloyd here. Not like he doesn't have solid ground to stand on. (Not like Amos needs any stabilizing, himself, even though he very much does — but when you're ready to self-destruct, it's not like you're actively seeking stability.) ]

Fewer colours out here, huh.

[ Lloyd's outfit. Or the gas clouds dusted across parts of his domain being replaced with drab prison walls. Either or, really. ]

[jealousbitch]

[ Lloyd watches him intently as he gets up off the worn bunk, tracking the tense, jerky movements until Amos stands in front of him on the other side of the bars. He shifts his feet but doesn't move away. The dungeon always feels heavy, but this is something different entirely. Maybe it's just fake muscle memory, remembering how they were able to just float there. It didn't really happen, just kinda in their minds. Like a really vivid dream.

Doesn't mean it didn't feel real.

Lloyd clicks his tongue in distaste, his expression sour. ]

I miss havin' my own clothes. Feels like I'm just wearing a fancy pillowcase.

[ Yes, his tunic is much nicer than the clothes the prisoners are forced to wear, but he's been dying for some loud colors and patterns since he got here. ]

[baltimores]

[ He glances down when Lloyd shifts his feet, standing his ground without really doing it. Not sure what to make of that.

At least he isn't running away, though. Not sure why, but Amos is grateful for it. It's probably stupid. ]

Looks a lot more comfortable than this shit. [ He'll always take function over niceties, but Amos would also prefer, you know, to wear something that actually feels nice. Not a sack, and definitely not a sack that reminds him he's still in prison. Has been for months. Probably only has one way out, at this rate.

Still, he gets the sentiment. Can't begrudge that. ] They don't let you pick out whatever you want?