hangin' out at superjail

[sibyllant]

WHO: ~*OPEN*~
WHERE: superjail
WHEN: W...ednesday. or Thursday.
WARNINGS: probably none, will update if necessary
SUMMARY: Babs takes a look at the prison and chats up the locals.
FORMAT: Quickpara or whatever you feel comfortable with!

Comments

ITT: I BULLSHIT STUFF ABOUT RIFUL'S CELL THAT MAKES NO SENSE FOR ANY PRISON EVER

[pullingyourlegs]

On the cot in one cell, a small girl lies prone on her back, her single leg stretched out. She appears to be sleeping; of course, since this is Riful, she's slept through much of the last few weeks and she's hardly drowsy now, but she thinks it may be beneficial to give the police the impression that she's constantly in a stupor. Their eye on her is probing enough as it is.

Although Barbara's chair is almost silent, Riful is both observant and hyper-aware, so she does notice that something's coming, and turns her head toward the window, which basically amounts to a giant bulletproof wall of glass across from the wall her cot's set up against. It would be more tolerable, really, if they'd given her a room with nothing but walls; the fact that she can see out of her prison makes it all the more infuriating that, thanks to her lack of strength and the force fields, she really can't escape it. She barely raises her head; her expectations aren't high, and she's certainly not about to sit up if it's another guard, or someone pushing a trolley. Still, it makes for a break in the monotony of her day. If it is a day and not a night--she's lost track of the time entirely, of course, after so much artificial light.

Arkham totally has cells just like that. ... of course, Arkham is broken out of 24/7 but sshhh.

[sibyllant]

Despite having done her reading and being fully aware of who Riful is and what she's done, the sight of the small, nearly limbless girl is palpably disheartening. Barbara wheels close and touches the glass, which is less of a sentimental gesture than a desire to gauge the composition and thickness, and makes another note in her laptop, keys clicking quietly.

After a moment she raises her eyes and says casually, "Hello, Ms. Riful. Tired today?"

/killer croc

[pullingyourlegs]

The respectful touch doesn't escape her, but it grates all the same. She shouldn't be only Ms. Riful, after all; it's not enough. It is what she is within the boundaries of this room, not what she was and remains to be. She is the Abyssal One of the West, and even the smallest displays of respect, geared toward placating her as they are, have begun to make her seethe.

She doesn't indicate any of this, naturally, and murmurs, "What?" flailing her one remaining leg about and disturbing her blanket in the process. Finally, she opens both eyes fully and looks at the visitor.

It's interesting, very interesting! This woman is clearly not here to guard or to clean, and there's something about her manner that pleases Riful even in her state of agitation. She doesn't suppose she'll be able to stand at all, if she's in that chair--so in that respect she's useless to her--but there are hints of character to her that she finds very intriguing! Her expression is just as aware as her voice is when she talks again.

"Somewhat, yes. But I'm feeling very awake right now!"