1/22 - Jackson (Sort of), Jean, Polaris, Vincent
1/22/2008
Logfile from Jubilee.
The amphetamines in Jackson's system don't allow him to be still for very long, and yet, in his cell, Jackson has ceased pacing. He is, instead, dancing, a waltz around his small cell, unbothered by the lack of music. The lack of dancing partner doesn't impede him, either, for his mutation has called one to life for him, the most recent in a long succession of illusionary friends keeping him company in his cell. This one that Jackson waltzes with is familiar: tall, broad, muscular, dark-haired and blue-eyed; if Jackson's illusions could speak, this one would speak in a distinctly Russian accent. Illusion-Piotr looks far healthier than Jackson; the younger mutant is pale, damp with sweat, wild-eyed, his normally graceful movements jittery. But he dances, regardless. Around them, there are other people: friends, enemies, family. Some are fuzzy and half-formed, some stay only a short while. Others become more distinct, and linger. The most recent one to take shape from the light around him is the last familiar face he saw, earlier in the operating room.
This time, she has a full head of hair, though it sticks out in wild tufts like exaggerated bed head. She stretches her arms above her head and laces her fingers atop, flattening some of the hair back down. A belly ring winks at Jax from her navel, exposed by the action in the shirt tank top and hip-draping exercise pants. She starts to yodel. Surprisingly well.
Jackson stops in his dancing, and illusion-Piotr fuzzes, fades off into the mishmash of light and colour that plays in the cell. He stares at Jubilee, bemused, for a while before telling her, somewhat nervously, "You can't /do/ that here. Someone will hear you."
Jubilee bounces out of the circumference and goes to stomp around in the puddle of fading Piotr, playing in the dissipating light with outstretched hands. "Hear who? There's no one around for miles an' miles!"
"They're invisible!" Jackson objects, chasing after Jubilee apprehensively and holding one finger to his lips. "They're invisible and they're always watching." Her bouncing energy does bring a slight smile to his lips, though his eyes dart to the door. "They don't like happiness. I think they're allergic."
Jubilee dances back out of reach and jumps up onto his cot. She bounces in place, her insubstantial form making no impression on the furniture. "Allergic? Like, they swell up and their heads bust?" Her arms pinwheel as she tries to gain more air.
This idea makes Jackson grin broadly. "That would be nice. Maybe I should send you to 'em. Kill them with hyper." He cringes immediately afterwords, glancing worriedly to the door again. "I think they'd make /our/ heads bust first, though. -- You shouldn't be here. It's not safe, you know. This place don't suit you at all."
"Ha!" Jubilee hops down from the cot and bounces close to tap his shoulders with light-borne hands. "Like it suits you. Not 'nough glitter!" She drops back and her hand dissolves into a cloud of sparkles that she puffs out her cheeks and blows upon, scattering it around the room. She tips the stump of her arm back to her face and looks sadly at it. "Oops."
"Not enough sugar, for you!" Jackson's eyes light happily at the cloud of glitter, which settles around the room to coat its surfaces liberally. He frowns, though, when he looks back to Jubilee. Frowns /sternly/. "You should be /careful/. We're going to get found some day, you know, and nobody'll be happy if you're just a pile of glitter by then."
"Found, found, found, found--" Jubilee singsongs the word and spins in place, her handless arm swinging above her head. The chant segues into "Sugar, sugar, sugar--" and a pair of pixie sticks appear in her hand. That's right. Much better. Except she can't tear the package open with just one hand. She uses her teeth.
"Sugar!" Jackson's hands clap together happily, just once. "But if you eat too much you'll explode." The glitter around the room sparkles. "Maybe if you explode /hard/ enough it'll blow everything open and we can get out."
The look hallucination Jubilee gives him is uncannily realistic, touched with bemusement and exasperation, and totally confident. "Sugar'd never make /me/ explode. I can /totally/ handle it." She tips her head back and pours the contents of the tubes into her mouth. As soon as the tiny crystals hit her tongue though, something goes wrong. She seems to start to shrivel, her trademark hyperactivity kicking into overdrive, wrinkling and compressing her from the inside out.
"/Jubes/!" Jackson is quite horrified. He scurries over to where his illusionary friend is shrivelling, watching the process, aghast, but powerless to stop it. "Oh no. Oh, no." He sinks to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, and glares at the door of his cell. "You're /stealing/ her give her /back/," he says, accusingly, to unseen captors, but the door stays quite closed. He looks back at where Jubilee is shrivelling. "I'm sorry," he says sadly, "I told you they didn't like happiness."
Smaller and smaller she goes until she disappears with a faint pop and the tinkle of a sugar crystal hitting the floor.
Jackson has a haluucination.
1/22/08
The scenery hasn't changed much, though the timbre of the mind has. Jubilee sprawls across her cot on her stomach, and traces a winding, vaguely geometric pattern on a piece of paper while her mind wanders--not very far. Pierced by hope, the undercurrents of her mind are still sluggish and murky, but she is awake this time. More or less.
Jean is more restrained in her approach today, better rested, better medicated, and without having gone on a fruitless search for unfamiliar minds. The phrase of the day, it appears, is 'energy conservation'. Thus, it's a little tickle of thought that first reaches out to Jubilee, condensing itself in a sprinkling of orange sparks into a little ball of consciousness that is Jean Grey. << Jubilee? >> she questions.
Jubilee almost cries aloud in reaction, catching herself before doing more than jumping and dropping the pencil. She simulates a hand cramp for the cameras and slowly reaches for the pencil that had rolled between her and the pad of paper. << Here, >> she answers back, carefully forming the word in her mind as if afraid she might dislodge the contact.
<< Oh, -good-. I was worried, after the other day, >> Jean admits, and a moment's mother hen concern tickles feathers against Jubilee's mind. << How are they treating you? We're trying to get the NYPD pointed at medical supply outlets because they have warrents and we don't, but it's slow going. >> Update on the outside situation delivered with a burst of information-pulse behind it that mingles together faces and voices and plans other than just Jean's, she stops, carefully settles herself again, and notes that << Tim wants you to know that he's worried and wants you all home safe. Logan keeps saying something about 'streamers' with an undertone of entrails. >>
Jubilee's mind curdles questions at that statement because like hell is her memory going to be any better than her players. She lays the reclaimed pencil down against the paper and folds her arms across her pillow. She lays her head down and turns her face to the wall, effectively hiding any stray expressions that might give her away. << Come get us, >> she begs in response to the information pulse. << Please, Jeannie. They're... It's not safe. They're /doin'/ things to us. Testin' and hurtin' and makin' people /do/ things to each other. >>
<< We're coming as fast as we can. >> Jean promises, a mental handclasp reaching out and taking firm hold of Jubilee, before there's a flash of wryness. << We'd already be there, if Cerebro wasn't being flakey. But hold on, >> she promises. << And... tell me about the tests. Are there any specific drugs or equipment you've noticed? >> she asks, the drive for energy conservation bleeding away in favour of wrapping Jubilee's mind in a protective hug. << Any logos or company names we could use to narrow things down? >>
<< Don't know 'bout the names. They've given us sedatives and pain stuff, at least. >> Jubilee curls into the contact, her grip better than the previous time, but still bearing unmistakable signs of glucose depletion, among other things. << They wear white lab coats and those funny pj things they wear at hospitals. Used sticky monitor things on Jax. Lotsa equipment. Clear walls. >>
<< Clear... like glass, or something else? >> Jean wonders, seizing on this bit of fact and curling around it protectively 'lest it be snatched away.
<< More like plastic. Thick. When they wanna talk to ya, or watch. The pain meds make me sick? >> she offers hopefully.
<< That just means they're like half the pain meds out there -- I and a bucket speak from experience, >> Jean notes, with a moment's warmth and a further mental hug. << The 'glass', though... that's -got- to have limited numbers of manufacturers. Good eye. >> she praises, presence fading out just a bit as thought and analysis take over the available brainspace. There's a whirl and a faint flash of pain echoed back across the link as her concentration falters, and she quickly returns her full attention to the business at hand. << Do you ever hear any names, for the doctors? >>
<< They don't 'xactly introduce themselves. Least not ta me. >> Jubilee retorts sullenly, withdrawing slightly from the ricochet pain blast. << Every where is bland. No colors. >>
<< All right, so they're not idiots, >> Jean grants, with a soft mental snort. << How about the others? >> she asks. << How are they doing? >> Although the question is general, the faces of Jeremy and the Jamies Madrox lurk behind the words.
<< Haven't seen Jeremy. Not talkin' much either. Jams is... >> Jubilee flashes an image of Jamie and his fingerless hand waving.
Jean's mind recoils from that image, and for a few long seconds all that drifts across the link is something dark and vengeful and backlit with flames and profanity.
Speaking of dark and vengeful and profane... << Rogue? Didja find her? Did they get her? >>
<< Got her. >> Jean confirms, and as speech returns the flames subside. << Scott went out and picked her up as soon as I told. >>
Relief rolls off Jubilee and washes away half-formed images of a Fingerless Rogue, or worse.
<< Jamie Prime and Monet are at the school too, >> Jean relays, a little less distinct than she's begun, the orange sparks starting to fade out and scatter at the edges. << If you get to see Jamie... would he like to know that, do you think? >>
<< He wanted me ta tell Monet-- something. I dunno. That he was thinkin' 'bout her. If I got out, >> she adds as a caveat. << I tried ta hint 'bout you, but he didn't catch on. It's hard. >> Not supporting the bulk of the exchange, Jubilee is faring better on the energy commitment scale.
A faint laugh echoes across the link, growing wispy but still real, if wry. << We should come up with a secret code... but I might be a few days before I can contact you again, >> she warns. << I can manage it once, but more than that... And I need to try and find Jeremy, if you can't get to him. >>
<< He's not far, >> Jubilee says, trying to project understanding and confidence, and not the faint sense of reproach, but the muddle of her emotions leaves the task of picking and detangling difficult.
<< I don't want you putting yourself at risk just to make contact. >> is Jean's explanation, gone whispier still. << Look after yourself. Please. >>
Jubilee returns a wordless, bitter laugh and follows it with a suddenly clinging, << I love you, Jeannie. >> Maybe some of Jamie's morbid regrets have clung to her as well. << Tell 'em all. >>
<< You'll tell them yourself. >> Jean answers, before, with a final burst of mental energy, she clings back, and then is gone.
Contact #2
1/22/2008
Logfile from Jubilee.
=MS= Cell Block Two
Jubilee is yodeling. Not exactly as such, but singing without paying attention to the words, so that half of them are 'la la's, and the other half don't /quite/ follow the general tune. Which is pretty generic anyway. She's also pacing the perimeter of her cell, hitting each of the four walls as she passes.
Over in her cell, Lori winces. Today, she's doodling something, sitting cross-legged on her bed, but she breaks off from that now, frowning at Jubilee's noise. "You wanna pick an actual song?" she says with what's trying to be amusement rather than annoyance.
Over in his, Vincent is flat on his back on his cot with his pillow mashed down over his head with his good arm. Maybe he's trying to kill himself, Chief Bromden style.
Jubilee crosses her eyes and goes silent long enough to stick out her tongue. WHile her movements suggest too much pent up energy, the speed at which she's moving indicates otherwise. "Got somethin' in mind?" she flips back, flopping onto her cot at the last. "Hey, hey...." Pause. "~We're the monkies.~"
"Oh my god," Vincent muffles up into his pillow. "Kill me."
Polaris starts singing Carrie Underwood. With nowhere the volume, but at least she can carry a tune. "What'd they give you?" she inquires, after about a verse.
"Um... nothin'. That I know of. ~People say we monkey arouuuuun'.~" Jubilee skips songs mid stream. "~A whole new wooooorld~ They've left me alone all day."
Vincent rolls over onto his stomach, and drags the pillow up and around to pull it down over the back of his head instead. The change in position doesn't help.
"I guess it's good someone's cheerful," Lori grumbles. She starts erasing part of her doodle.
"Not cheerful. /Bored/," Jubilee corrects. "But that's ok!" This is apparently said to the cameras. Just in case they thought she was complaining. "I would kill for a rubber ball."
Even though the singing has stopped, the pillow-smothering goes on for several more seconds, until Vincent sits up and flings it hard against the wall for no apparent reason. Ploomf. His hand goes to his head, and almost as quickly, he's on his feet, pacing.
"I think me and whoever's on the other side of you would kill for you not to have one, thanks, Jubilee," Lori says. "I wish they'd give us books."
Jubilee sighs loudly. "Hey. V. Would you let me have a rubber ball?"
"No." The answer is deadpan and immediate.
"V. Vincent? He over there?" Lori sits up a little straighter. "He okay?"
"Why not?" Jubilee calls back to Vincent before her attention is distracted by Lori. "Yeah. The bald detective. Hey," and back to Vincent. "You okay?"
A sharp turn is taken mid-step, and Vincent throws his shoulder into the door with all his weight behind it. To little effect, though it does bang a bit on its hinges.
"Um," Jubilee calls back to Polaris. "I don't know. I think he's hittin' somethin'."
"Tell him to stop being a fucking brat and have they done anything to him lately?" Lori says, and then bites off her annoyance. "Sorry. You don't have to be messenger. It's just--you don't hear from someone for a while in this place--"
"Hey, V. Lori says ta stop being a fuckin' brat and have they done anythin' to you lately?" Jubilee has no qualms about playing messenger tonight.
Another bang, more subdued, and Vincent leans into the door, which -- obviously -- hasn't moved. "Dave asked me out on a date. I told him no."
"You okay too?" Lori checks. "I assumed from the singing you were, but--"
"I bet he was cute. All the cute ones are gay," Jubilee says mournfully, then falls off her cot to cross the small cell to the other wall. "Yeah. 'm okay, guess. V says Dave asked him out on a date an' he told him ta fuck off."
"Fucker," Lori says. "He tried to kill me and Vincent gets /asked out/. I ask you. Fucking unfair." The joke comes off a little raggedly, but not bad.
"Maybe if he washed his hair." Neck tensed to press his brow hard into the door, Vincent's shoulders sag, and he stays where he is.
"I bet he likes you. That's what Jeannie always said when boys would be butt munches around us girls." Jubilee listens to Vincent's caveat and grins.
Polaris misses her beat to keep joking, and then scrabbles after it. "Well, you know with my killer new haircut..."
"Maybe that's why I keep gettin' called jail bait. I need ta go all the way. With my hair. Vincent'd go all the way with him if he'd wash his hair," Jubilee relays.
Vincent chuckles weakly to himself, but otherwise falls silent again.
"If he does, tell him to trade it for cigarettes. I want one too. Or whiskey." Lori closes her eyes. "God, do I want some whiskey." She's sounding less joking now.
"I want somethin' sweet. Oh, man... I want a milkshake. Cookies 'n' Cr-- no, wait. Mint chocolate chip." She makes a sound like she's slurping back drool.
"Or vodka." Lori has a theme. "A whole bottle so I could get smashed."
"Is vodka good?" Yes, let's ask the bartender!
"It's pretty tasteless. It's better with other stuff, but it's good enough on its own." She smiles slightly, and taps her pencil eraser on her notebook. "You underage?"
"Why does everyone think that?" Jubilee asks in mock exasperation. "I turned legit couple months ago. Just haven't found anythin' I really like. Most stuff's bitter as hell."
"Probably because you act like a twelve-year-old," Vincent contributes helpfully into the flat of the door.
"Oh. Well, then I can actually recommend things to you. You might like a vodka tonic. With one of the citrus vodkas, maybe." Lori perks up a little with something she can concentrate on. "What mixed drinks have you tried?"
"How'd you know? You haven't been twelve since the Middle Ages," Jubilee barks back at Vincent, then turns to try and answer Lori. "Um... Rum 'n' coke. Somethin' bright blue. Usually I just drink whatever Ro puts in front o' me. Oh! I /don't/ like tequila."
"Wine?" Lori prompts. "Or hard cider?"
"More like /nineteen-eighty/, you little shit." Temper well on its way to heating up again, Vincent kicks at the door again before turning to repace the six or seven feet he has to pace.
"Eh. Cider's not too bad. If it fizzes some. Oh! I like hard lemonade!" Jubilee glances over her shoulder at Vincent's wall and makes a face. "He's in a bad mood. I mean, a bad mood worse'n a /this/ place bad mood."
"You might be a Zima girl, then." Lori might--be smirking a little, as a fan of the harder stuff, but of course she can't be seen. "Tell him to be glad you don't have a rubber ball instead."
"Sounds like a sci-fi slash pairing," Jubilee says before turning around to yell back at the other wall. "Jus' be glad I don't have a rubber ball." She is very obliging.
"They come in a bunch of different flavors," Lori explains. "And Smirnoff Ice and shit." Her lips twist. "Ask Vincent what his favorite flavor is. I'm sure that's all he drinks."
"Trust me, I'm very glad. Exceptionally glad." His thrown pillow from earlier is automatically stooped for and tossed back onto the cot as he turns back for the door.
"Hey, V. Lori wants ta know what flavor Zima you drink?" Jubilee turns to flatten her shoulders against Lori's wall, bracing herself at a bit of an angle.
"What the fuck is Zima?" Still pacing, Vincent's voice comes from a different angle through the wall every time he speaks. No position that he can find seems likely to bring on an increase in patience, either.
"She says she's sure it's all you drink," Jubilee adds with a dreamy wave.
"Probabily queer beer," Vincent speculates on his own, muffling a curse into a hoarse cough before he reaches the door again. When his voice recovers, it's to say something along the lines of, "--cram a bottle of it up her ass..."
"Hey, Lori. He wants to cram somethin' up yer ass. Bet he likes ya too..." Jubilee slides down to sit at the base of the wall, flopping her legs out in front of her.
Polaris uncrosses her legs but keeps doodling. "Kinky. Only if he'll let me return the favor."
Jubilee half-snickers. "I think I'm too young ta be participatin' in this conversation. She wants to return the favor, V."
"What?" Briefly confused, Vincent stops pacing long enough to rest his hands on his hips. "/No/."
"Hey, you said you were of age. You lying to me?" Lori manages a rough laugh.
"Aw, c'mon. It's gotta be better than jus' /sittin'/ here," Jubilee calls out, then tilts her head back to reply to Lori. "I think m' grandma'd be too young for this conversation."
"Getting a bottle crammed up my ass?" Vincent's voice doesn't quite crack, but it nearly gets there, and he turns again.
"I dunno. I've known some kinky grandmas in my time. Vincent's just afraid of how much fun he'd have."
"I've seen Lori. She's cute!" Jubilee protests. "Oh, but I forgot 'bout Dave. Maybe we could talk /him/ inta doin' it," she continues, rambling without really even paying attention to her words. "Lori thinks you'd like it too much."
Vincent is blushing by the time he manages to stammer out a flustered, "Fuck you!"
"Thanks," Lori says, to the comment about her cuteness. "You're not so bad yourself. If I didn't already have a girlfriend--" The cadence is clearly lightly teasing.
Jubilee blinks and looks around the room blearily. "Hey! How'd /I/ get dragged into this?!" This to Vincent. Lori, on the other hand earns a laugh. "Back up buddies?"
Vincent goes back to muttering, now about finding a way to hang himself with his sheets. He's probably not serious. ...Probably.
"Sure." Lori laughs. "If there wasn't a wall between us at the moment--"
"We could take V on," Jubilee supplies.
"Excellent idea," Lori decides.
"I'm not in this conversation anymore," Vincent informs Jubilee. "La la la la."
"Now he's singing. Does that mean I get my ball?"
"What's he singing? Anything good?"
"Sounds like the Smurf's song," Jubilee decides.
"If we get out of here alive, I may kill you," Vincent informs Jubilee in a half-hearted aside. He's gone back to staring at the door.
"Make sure to remember 'bout the lividity," said target answers.
Polaris blinks. "The what?"
"Lividity. It's when blood like pools in your butt after you die." Jubilee is so informative.
"God," says Vincent, whose black eyes /roll/ full force before he finally sinks back down into a seat on the edge of his cot.
"I don't think we quite need to plan the perfect crime in /here/," Lori says.
"Tell that to Vincent." Jubilee slowly climbs back to her feet and pads over to her cot as well.
"Well, I would if they'd let me talk to him, but I guess he's off recess." Lori sighs, and some of the laughter drains from her voice.
Jubilee pulls her pillow to her chest and sinks down on her side. "Dave probably got mad cause he said no." It's a lame attempt at humor, but it's the best she can muster.
Polaris says, "Yeah," Lori says, and then slips back into silence again.""
"Yeah," Lori says, and then slips back into silence again.
They talk about nothing at all.