By the time you hear the siren, it's already too late

[scooby_rebel]

Faith wasn't really much for arts and crafts, but she'd found some sewing supplies and 'borrowed' a needle and thread. She'd seen the women do this a thousand times in murder rehab and the time and boredom had finally gotten to her. Well, that and the fact that she needed something new. She didn't do well with paradise

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[movieofourlife]

In the grand scheme of things, Wendy's about as up for fucking around with art supplies as she it to inflict a traumatic brain injury -- on herself. Doesn't change the fact that when she walks into the re room, intent on getting a few more books so gruesome they'll turn your stomach and then some (most cause they're all true), she has to stop. Admire what the chick is apparently doing, failing or not.

Some moxy has to be involved, even if she ultimate decides that yeah, that shit is fucked, and when it all gets done, she's going to someone who can at least fake professional. Most of the time.

"Project for the fucking year?" she comments, and then keeps going, heading towards the shelf, because answers, don't bother her too much.

[scooby_rebel]

Faith looked up and gave her a lazy smile, still winding. "Your sister would kick your motherfuckin' ass if she heard yu talk like that, kid," she chuckled. "When the hell did you get here, Dawnie?"

[movieofourlife]

Running fingers over the books on the shelf, Wendy lets out one single very cold laugh. "No she wouldn't, cause she doesn't exist," she states, seeing nothing of shining interest and kicks the shelf slightly. "I got here about three fucking months ago. Ho-lee."

[scooby_rebel]

"You're not still sprung about that Key shit, are you?" she asked, wondering if three months in this shithole was really long enough to turn her into...well, she sounded like Faith.

[little_moons]

"Look at that," I say with a lazy smirk, perching myself on the arm of a nearby armchair, "Fucking arts and crafts day over in county correctional."

[scooby_rebel]

"Hey man, have some fuckin' respect," she shot back. He words were tough, but she was smiling anyway. "It was state correctional. Fuckin' big time."

[little_moons]

"'xcuse me," I snort, sliding down into the chair, a careless spill of limb in all direction, "My mistake. So you're reliving the good old days, I got it."

[scooby_rebel]

"Oh, yeah. Good old days," she snorted. "Your lucky shanks aren't til next week, my man."

[sly_magus]

Raistlin had become fascinated by the shelf. It was enchanted somehow. This was proof that magic did exist in some form, or had once existed in some form, on Tabula Rasa and this meant that it wasn't all hopeless. He had learned something from his failed experiment and he was ready to start trying to figure out whatever limits this place might have. He would be in control again, it would only take time.

He almost didn't notice the woman sitting at the table as he made his way to the bookshelf it was only after he picked a book and was heading to sit down in one of the chairs that he glanced her way. "What are you doing?" His tone may have been slightly incredulous, but then it was a lot of the time.

[scooby_rebel]

Faith raised her eyes, but not her head. Her stare could have cut right through him, then she returned her attention to the needle.

"Making a tat needle," she replied, too busy to care about lying.

[sly_magus]

Raistlin may or may not have been impressed by her stare. If he was it didn't show on his face.

"A tat needle?" It annoyed him that he had to ask, because he had once been used to knowing so much more than everyone else around him. Fizban probably would have found this good for him, some humility. He found it annoying and painful.

[scooby_rebel]

Faith sighed and set the pencil-needle down and twisted so he could see her tattoo on her bicep.

"A tattoo needle. Where the hell are you from, yo?"

[fights4britain]

"What's it gonna be." Trevor hissed lightly, slipping up behind the American cunt and leaning over her shoulder, nearly artful in his ability to get close without the slightest physcial contact, and dark eyes investigating the set up with keen interest. He'd seen enough of these, or ones just like them. In dententional centers, in basements and lofts, even back in the toiltes at the local pool halls.

"Whaaat's it gonna beeee," he said again, sing song in that sugary false cheer he was so fond of.

[scooby_rebel]

Faith looked up at him and quirked a smile. How fuckin' weird...she was sort of glad to see him.

"A work of fuckin' art," she chuckled. "It's gonna be tight."

[fights4britain]

"Abstract or contemporary?" He asked dryly, moving around so he could properly inspect the set up with a sharp eye and a glimmer of appreciation. If there was one thing he could appreciate it was body decoration, something he could always rely on and actually find some enjoyment out of. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it was more than anything else he had.

He sat and stared at her hands for a few moments as she worked, and then uttered an emotionless, "Where?"

[scooby_rebel]

She shrugged, never taking her eyes off the thread. "Dunno. Maybe on my stomach. Cover up that scar." One of them, anyhow.

[thefbiagent]

He leaned against the doorframe, smiling crookedly. "You know, there are probably better ways to do that." Although, he couldn't think of a better way to get inked on the island. The needle seemed to be unused (especially for this use), and the ink was, well, ink. Frankly, the doctors milling around seemed antsy enough to be excited if she got an infection or something. He cocked his head down at her. "What and where?"

[scooby_rebel]

Faith looked up, her whole face solemn as she wound the thread. "Dunno yet," she shrugged. "Something I can draw someplace I can reach, probably."

[thefbiagent]

"Someplace you can reach." He shrugged, sitting at her elbow and watching her work. "You're pretty damn flexible."

[scooby_rebel]

She chuckled softly and her smile was nothing but smug. "You'd know, man."