returnjourneylogs | this is the part where prison is more or less dave and busters

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this is the part where prison is more or less dave and busters

Passengers: Everyone who wants to come see what the weird vending machine is about for the first time it is open to them! This is an open mingle/party style log.
Location: "a corner," the location of the Commissary
Date: February 1 - 7 on year one of our cool and sexy journey
Summary: 14 space idiots squint at the ATM that can supposedly make elk meat and clown shoes for them
Warnings: Will add as needed! I'm 90% sure someone's going to ask for drugs or blades, just as a weather forecast

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That stare turns back to Alex, wide-eyed.

"Why... would you need a weapon?"

Grace briefly considers the distance between herself and the nearest exit.

Okay, that brought a full out chuckle-laugh, and Alex smiled. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't have a reason to, we're out in the open, and you're a warden. I'm smart enough to know that it would be a stupid-ass thing to do, whether I have a weapon or not." Trying to be reassuring...sort of.

"Having a weapon for self-defense would be very useful, just in case. This is, technically, a prison in some ways." Stated entirely reasonably.

Ah. Well. Still, it raises further questions.

"Everyone seems so ready to be attacked all the time. I thought..." We all know what YOU thought, Grace, it was all over the network and a ton of people made fun of you for it. "Anyway. Nobody should be attacking anybody else, if we do our jobs right."

And she takes that seriously, at least.

"Maybe in a perfect world, nobody will. But you've gotta be prepared for the reality. And the practical. Some people react to trauma or triggers with violence. Some like it just for fun. Some it's used as a coping mechanism."

Alex looked her over, assessing and studying. Clinical, dispassionate but not dehumanizing. "Gotta name?" A pause. "I'm Alex."

"I'm Grace," and an awkward pause where an ordinary person would shake hands, but that's not a thing Grace does.

Here is about when he would feel it-- that nausea-inducing feeling of wrongness that rolls off of her in waves. The fight-or-flight instinct, bone-deep, screaming run as fast as you can, something is hunting you. She can't help it. She doesn't get a choice. But there it is.

"Coping is fine, but... we have to focus on what's productive, if we're going to get anyone back home." She looks perfectly ordinary. Nervous, too-thin on her frame, but ordinary. "And it's what we're here for, to get all of you back home."

Fear is...something he hasn't felt in a while. So he blinks, maybe stands up a little straighter. Trying to figure out the source, before blue eyes land back on her. Huh--was she really the cause of that? Why?

"Again, you'll have to find people who actually want the help."

"You'd think more people would be doing whatever they could to get home," she mumbles, hugging her arms. "I get the instinct to question everything, but why's it so hard to just try?"

Nothing about her has changed at all, but that feeling keeps building. Like someone is watching.

Now that Alex has identified that yes, that was a growing sense of fear, he's more analyzing and less feeling it. There is definitely something odd about her, unsettling. She's not a predator, even if it feels like something is watching him--he'd know that feeling. And the more he analyzes, the less it's true 'fear' and more just being uncomfortable.

Hmmm.

"Because generally the people who are inmates here have a whole fuckton of issues, trust included."

"Sure..." She peers at the big vending machine one more time.

"How's this thing giving out weapons supposed to help with that? I wonder."

"I mean, for starters--that seems to be on a very specific menu. One that Inmates probably don't have access to." There's a bit of sarcasm there, please ignore it. "For another, who knows? Shits and giggles?" With a shrug.

Grace leans into the screen-- she had spent so much time scrutinizing the offerings, she hadn't even noticed the clear label delineating the difference between what's available for inmates and what's available for Wardens. Of course they weren't about to give weaponry to inmates. Great job, Grace.

"...I promise I'm usually better at paying attention to what I read," she groans, briefly burying her face in her hands from embarrassment. "It's literally my job, I'm a proofreader, how did I miss that, I'm so dumb!"

"Also melodramatic." Alex pointed out helpfully, thoroughly amused by the situation. "Not exactly inspiring faith here in your capability for helping us reform." Nor was he bothering to hide his amusement.

"Sorry..." She mumbles into her hands before letting them drop from her face with a sigh. "I really am trying, this is just... it's a lot. I don't have to tell you, I know, just... for everybody. Wardens too."

"I know. I've seen the warden orientation video." Alex murmured, still amused. "Deep breath, Grace. I might just be trying to get under your skin." He'd throw her a bone...

"Turns out you don't have to try very hard, huh?" Grace POUTS, which she only does because at least this time, the teasing has been gentle. Unlike her last network post. "We're all in this boat together. I should at least be better at trying to keep it from rocking so much."

"Be glad I'm only trolling you then." Alex pointed out reasonably, shifting his stance a bit while keeping his hands in his pockets. "Why'd you choose to accept the warden offer?"

Grace has thought about how much to tell people about her reason for being here. Stage 1: Deflect.

"Everybody needs something," She offers a little shrug. "And I thought, this is something I can do. And I really do want to help. The impulse not to believe me, or anybody here, is understandable, but I wish there was some easy way of proving it to the inmates at large, you know? Like a lie detector, or something."

"Those can be faked and hacked." Alex pointed out. "How old are you?" She looked young, maybe late teens? Hard to tell.

"I turn 24 in October. Why?" A wry little smile crosses her face. "Because I'm too young to do my job and nobody's gonna take me seriously? I promise you I've already told myself all that stuff. Doesn't change much."

Alex shrugged and inclined his head her way. She said it, not him. "Also that you seem kind of naïve. All bright-eyed and believing in the best of everything and all that crap."

Grace huffs, mildly frustrated. "Why does everyone think that it's such a detriment to genuinely want to help? I know it's going to be hard. And I know people are going to try to take advantage of whatever kindness they get. I've been hurt before. I get it. But it's not going to change who I am. I'm not going to give up just because everybody underestimates me."

Hmmph. She hugs her arms to her chest. Guess that was kind of a button-push, there.

It was clearly a button push and Alex wasn't sorry at all. "Don't expect me to be supportive and be all 'You clearly know who you are and that's a strength' or anything." He shrugged. "Expect to get hurt again while here. Expect that kindness to get taken advantage of. That's how you'll survive probably."

Quiet again for a few moments, before he huffed to himself. "Far as I can tell, so far this place is better than actual prison though. In people, not just surroundings."

Grace peers back at Alex. "Were you in prison before you came here?"

She's never been, herself. But she's helped put a lot of people there.

"Nope." He had memories of it though--some of the people he'd consumed. It was how he had a LOT of skills and knowledge (and memories) that he probably shouldn't. "I came here from flying a nuke out to the ocean so Manhattan wouldn't get blown up."

Her eyes widen-- kind of a feat, since they're already notably huge and dark. The effect is slightly unsettling.

"Wow. That definitely didn't happen where I'm from. Thank you?"

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lessandmorethanhuman - 2022-02-05 07:58 (UTC) - Expand

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