#3

[rank1]

Passengers: Travis, Claire, Lucifer
Location: Solitary
Date: Feb 13
Summary: Lucifer and Claire talk to Travis after this whole fuckin heist thing.
Warnings: None yet.



At this point, Travis is getting real used to being restrained. And fuck it, what's a room compared to being cuffed to anything, even if it's turning out to be a much longer affair? He's not slamming his wrists against metal every time he tries to move. He has a bed, which is more than he could say about the cafeteria. It's technically a private room, which means he's out of the dorms.

All of that feels like shitty bargaining. It makes his guts roil.

The place feels cold and sterile, and it's still an eight foot box no matter how he slices it. He runs out of shit to look at after pacing it a few times. He tries running the sink to see if he can overflow the cell, and the water just flows out through the grated floor. Nothing is removable; any screw he can reach is impossibly tight against his stubby fingernails. He doesn't have his communicator. His stomach is gurgling.

But he might as well keep busy. He shucks off his jacket, draping it over the bed, and gets down on the floor to do push-ups. The grate is miserable under his palms but whatever: more incentive to get through a hundred and be done with it. He takes up most of the floor space.

He's counting off eighty, eighty-one when he hears the buzz of the door being unlocked.

Comments

[dealwiththe]

What a mess. A warden overpowered by inmates, an escape???? attempt? And just generally a clusterfuck. And, ironically, judging by the look on Claire's face, he might be the one who has to play good cop to her bad cop.

"Hello, Travis," he says as they step into the room. Unafraid, of course, as Travis knows exactly what will happen if he tries to attack Lucifer - nothing but being once again handcuffed to the nearest piece of bolted-down furniture. "Ready to tell us what the plan was? If there even was a plan..."

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire's fairly certain that this Travis has been here half the amount of time as some inmates and has caused enough trouble to cover the lot of them. Her arms are firmly crossed over her chest as she follows alongside Lucifer (for fuck's sake) and fixes Travis with a look of disdain.

"And I'm sure this was your idea."

[rank1]

Travis contemplates continuing his push-ups. One rep later, he realizes there's not enough space to continue unless he wants to kiss Lucifer's damn shoes every time he lowers himself down, and adding Claire just makes it even worse.

So he sighs and sits back on his heels, eyes narrowed behind his yellow aviators. He's not sure if he's ready for another fight, so he just stays where he is. He's fucking tired, man.

"Jeez," he says, hands on his knees. "Coming in hot. Bring a guy some dinner first, I can't think about this shit on an empty stomach."

[dealwiththe]

"He means it's more difficult for him to come up with some sort of wild lie on an empty stomach," Lucifer says with a faint scoff. "So you might as well just tell the truth, and while you're at it, where'd you get that shiv you tried to attack me with?"

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire wonders if he's likely to snitch--Travis seems like someone to not even bother with a shiv when he has fists, but maybe she'll be pleasantly surprised. As if such a sensation were possible with current company.

"Dinner after. Answers first."

[rank1]

Travis sighs, perhaps melodramatically, and he hangs his head for a moment. These guys are like real cops all of a sudden. Fuck.

"The plan doesn't even fucking matter," he replies. "I wasn't gonna get off that planet. It was just miles and miles of blue grass and shitty beaches."

[dealwiththe]

Spending five years or so working side-by-side with a cop means Lucifer has participated in his fair share of interrogations.

Claire mostly just gives off the air of a mother, which - fair play. They can be pretty scary, too.

"If it doesn't matter, then it shouldn't matter for you to tell us what it was," he says bluntly. "To hurt the locals? Take their stuff?"

To be fair, he's no stranger to a half-baked plan. It wouldn't surprise him much if there really wasn't one, besides "steal ATV, cause chaos until caught".

[nineteenfortyfive]

"Regardless of intent, you've now got a history of attacking people. You're beyond being handcuffed to a table."

She motions to the cell.

"I hope you realize how much trouble that lands you in."

[rank1]

For an instant he's still looking at the floor, mind caught up on other things ––dinner, certainly, but the inevitability of all of this, too –– and then that tweaks him. The anger flares again.

"I'm perfectly fucking aware," he shoots back at Claire, and he gets to his feet. There's menace in the way he postures himself, but he doesn't advance. He doesn't raise his voice, but it's easy to spit out: "The fuck do you take me for, anyway, some fuckhead who just wants to massacre random people? A kleptomaniac? That's stupid. The most insulting fucking thing I've ever heard."

[dealwiththe]

Lucifer doesn't move, doesn't change his stance at all - but of course, he is on high alert. He's relatively certain that Doctor Claire is capable of handling herself - he's no knight in shining armor, ready to jump to rescue a damsel in distress when she's clearly neither a blushing damsel nor is she distressed.

He's just prepared to step in front of her, should Travis make a serious move to attack.

"I'm happy to keep insulting you," he says easily. "Personally, I've got all the time in the world, quite literally. If I get peckish, I can step out, have a bite, come back. As many insults as you can stand, really. And maybe a few more. Or you can explain why your plan was less stupid than a few overgrown children beating up on someone they outnumbered and going for a pointlessly short-lived joy ride."

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire doesn't move aside from setting her feet a bit wider apart. Ready to move, if need be, but she's fairly certain Lucifer isn't here to see her get attacked.

(Maybe she can stand to be nicer to him after this!)

"Fuckhead is a good word," she replies back evenly to Travis, frown ever-deepening. "You talk to us like we're fools, but here you are, assassin, causing trouble left and right and you have the nerve to feel insulted? Please."

[rank1]

"I am insulted," Travis says, loud. "I AM an assassin, I don't raze villages for fun."

He wants a fight but he wants a fight that'll last longer than ten seconds, and that sure as fuck isn't this one. He gives a little aggravated flap of his arms instead, teeth momentarily grit.

"So fuck you, and fuck 'causing trouble.' I was out for a good time, and I got it. That enough of a plan for you? Bitch."

[dealwiththe]

So, there really was no plan. Typical. Travis's words are crude, and simple, and the last thing out of his mouth is no different. But it has an effect on Lucifer.

One moment, he's standing casually by the side of the Doctor, and the next, he's striding to the inmate, one hand grabbing at the collar of his shirt, slamming him decidedly into the wall. Hard enough to bruise, but not seriously injure. His eyes flash red.

"Language, Mister Touchdown. There's a lady present. Now, the knife. Who gave it to you."

[nineteenfortyfive]

It's almost worse when someone's motivations are fun. Claire was right to be worried about this one in particular.

Lucifer's sudden show of force makes Claire jump, but she's not upset to see it. She readjusts her crossed arms and waits to see if Travis has enough intelligence to save his own ass.

[rank1]

Travis braces himself the minute Lucifer moves, and he knows from experience he is screwed, so he just takes it, wrapping his hands around Lucifer's wrists to brace himself. Endure, he tells himself. Just like getting slammed on the floor of his Master's dojo.

(But fuck, man, this shirt is limited edition. They always get ripped or bloodstained or whatever eventually, but it still stings.)

"What, she can't fight her own battles?" he hisses. "You think I'm too stupid to get my own knife?"

[dealwiththe]

"I think -" He gives Travis a shake, to emphasize his point - "that the knife was made from parts of a cleaning bot. You haven't been pulling them apart like wings off a butterfly, but someone has. Who?"

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire does think he's too stupid to get his own knife. Her face says it, but talking to Travis is not one of her favorite activities. Especially after he calls her a bitch.

"Giving a name might shorten his time in here." She's talking to Lucifer, clearly.

[rank1]

Travis grits his teeth through being rattled. Wow, regular bunch of torturers. A part of him likes it anyway —— who doesn’t like pushback, a challenge? Fuck it, he’s justified this way.

“Don’t snitches get stitches?” He almost laughs, but his face his stubborn. “Come on, it’s in every fucking prison movie ever.”

[dealwiththe]

“Considering what you just called the woman in charge of the stitching, I’d be far more concerned about what will happen if you don’t snitch,” Lucifer points out. “Have you ever seen a wound fester? Doctor Claire, I’m sure you have.”

[nineteenfortyfive]

"I have. But he could just be afraid of whoever handed him the weapon. That might be why he's so reluctant to admit anything."

No, she doubts it, but she's making an attempt to bait him. Why not try?

[rank1]

“It’s a matter of pride,” Travis spits back. “You wanna talk about the ATV, ask whatever you want, I’m an open book, but fuck the knife. Not if it means you threaten him with this shit next.”

Slamming him into walls, threatening no dinner, threatening no medical attention —- no, Travis digs his heels in there. He’s a sick bastard but he has pride, damnit.

[dealwiththe]

And just like that, Lucifer releases his grip on Travis. It's sudden, and Lucifer steps back from him, letting him drop like a puppet with its strings cut. He casually adjusts his cuffs, though they don't really need it. He's not rumpled at all.

"You haven't been threatened with anything," he says - truthfully! It's an old, old trick that he falls back into easily. Suggesting bad things, without actually saying that he'll do anything bad. "Nor will your unnamed accomplice. There aren't that many inmates here - we'll figure out who it is, regardless of what you tell us here and now. The only difference is, not cooperating with us means you'll be in here longer, driving yourself mad with boredom."

Which, again, true. Of course, in a couple of hours they can send in another warden - maybe William, or someone who might have a more positive rapport with Travis, to be sympathetic, bend his ear, get the information out that way. It makes no difference to Lucifer.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Him doesn't even narrow it down much.

"Pride? An assassin worried about pride?" She almost laughs.

[rank1]

Travis gets his feet under him in time to not land on his ass, and he's quick to straighten up. Fuck these guys. They wanna make him crazy, he'll go fucking crazy. He'll do a thousand fucking push-ups, run on empty. Who gives a shit. (He does, actually, he's fucking hungry.)

He gives his shirt a tug back into place, eyes drifting to Claire.

"Yeah, pride," Travis replies, dead serious. "It's not a game to me."

And then to Lucifer:

"Why do you care about some stupid knife anyway? It's not like it did anything to you."

[dealwiththe]

"I care about the safety of everyone on this ship," Lucifer says, simply, honestly. Even knowing that Travis almost certainly won't believe him - even Claire might not believe him. He's used to people not believing what he says, in general.

"Doctor Claire, is there anything else you'd like to ask? Otherwise, I think we're done here for the moment."

[nineteenfortyfive]

"I think he's told us enough." Lucifer. She's... going to have a weird time calling someone that.

"Some time alone will suit him."

[rank1]

"Alright, Turner and Hooch, get going," Travis gripes, and with sharp gesture towards the door, he sits his ass down on his bed.

Don't think of hamburgers. Don't think of tacos. Don't think of pizza, definitely don't think of pizza. He doesn't even like pizza anymore, but here he is, thinking of pizza.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, slouching forward with his elbows on his knees.

[dealwiththe]

As soon as the door is shut and locked behind them, Lucifer scoffs faintly.

“Starksy and Hutch is a much better comparison,” he gripes.