barewicked | 1

[Video clicks on, to reveal a skinny young man in his mid twenties. His eyes are wide and darting, and he wears an expression of deep concentration, right up until he realises he's broadcasting. Then, he becomes animated:]

Yo! I got some words for your Admiral here! I know I'm not dead, and I would remember if I'd been nicked, so you got no right hauling me in, man, no right!

[He keeps glancing off screen as he says this, as if he's expecting someone to enter his cabin at any time.]

Look, this isn't even my yard, all right? I was staying with a mate - a couple of mates, actually - so you've just gone and jacked their place out from under them, haven't you? Nicked right off with it and stuck it on your stupid boat! So where are they going to live, eh? You just made two innocent people homeless, mate, so who's the villain now?

[He puts one hand on his hip, apparently waiting for an answer. He manages to go about thirty seconds before giving an unhappy huff and putting his hand on his stomach.]

Bare starving as well. It's a fucking joke, this is.

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Another new inmate, huh?

[She sounds far too "been there, done that" than she has any right to be, considering she was the new inmate just a few months ago.]

He's your Admiral now, too. But it ain't bad here at all, actually; in fact, it's pretty damn great.

I'm not his, and he's not mine. We ain't nothing to each other.

And you need to get out more if you think there's anything great about this.

He's in charge here and you're an inmate, is what I'm saying.

Why wouldn't it be great? We get whatever we want.

Who told you that you'd died?

[He very clearly has.]

Yeah, no kiddin', right? They don't even bother to read you your rights round here. Probably 'cause we don't really have any.

[There's a wry, world-weary edge to Lloyd's commiseration. He's more or less reached an acceptance of his situation, fucked up as it is.]

It is what it is, buddy, and the Admiral isn't real likely to lend you an ear. The food ain't bad, though, so you don't got to worry about going hungry -- I can show you to the dining hall if you want.

I didn't remember my first death either. It's disconcerting.

The room is just a replica, but I can ask it be changed to your own, if you want.

Were you in mortal danger before you arrived?

Where'd you live before you came here? You really think you're better off living in one big building for the rest of your life?

[Building, ship, whatever.]

The street food in Camden is great. Falling in love with a new bar is great. Leaving the house? Pretty fucking great.

Being locked in prison for the rest of time? Not great.

I lived in a prison. A regular prison, not like this one. And we got a bar here you can fall in love with.

This is a good place if you give it a chance, and you don't have to stay forever.

No one had to tell me. I did my homework, didn't I?

[He scrounged through past posts to figure out where the hell he was.]

Now you? You're dead, mate. No one's going to take any issue with anyone saying that, but they can't just go saying it about anyone!

It's proper shite, mate. I've never played so nice with the filth in my life as I have been these last few months, and look where it gets you?

[His stomach gives an unhappy growl, at that, and a hopeful little light seems to creep into his eyes.]

I suppose it couldn't hurt to get the lay of the land off someone. Where should I meet you?

I ain't had my first death! I'm telling you, I'd remember!

[Although he's sounding increasingly less certain of this as the debate goes on...]

How do you know if it's just a replica? It's not like there's any way to check...

I'll leave it though. My mates have better furniture than me anyway...

No, I was having a kip before I arrived.

Well, my cabin originally looked like part of a house that had, in reality, been abandoned for fifteen years by the time I arrived, but it looked exactly like the day I left.

Oh my giddy aunt.

So I ain't imagining this, right?

[New guy is in fact your clone, right?]

[Some of the guy's slang is going over Lloyd's head -- he hadn't known any English people before he died, and the ones he's spoken to here didn't have this particular vernacular -- but he's getting the gist of things. It's hard not to, when the didn't-do-nothing song and dance is such an old and respected prison tradition, and one that Lloyd has personally partaken in from time to time. Just not lately, not here. Seems pretty redundant to stick to those old routines in the afterlife.]

Tough luck, huh? Wish I could tell you that keepin' to the boyscout path will earn you the ticket out of here, but I don't think that's how it works 'round here.

What's the number on your door?

Edited 2015-03-20 15:37 (UTC)

Hm. I am not sure, then. I assume you did not make a deal with the Admiral?

What, you expect me to just fall in love with the bar here just because it's here? I've got some standards you know...

[Or so he says. But yeah, you kind of got his attention by mentioning the bar.]

I'm just telling you we got one. Can't be too picky in a prison, right?

But it's a good bar; it has everything and it's all free.

Not so far as I can tell, Tiff.

Don't you say a word.

[She grins and mimes zipping her lips, then cuts the feed.]

Not anyone, no.

What's the last thing you do remember?

What do you mean it's all free? What's the catch?

There ain't one. Want me to prove it to you? I'll prove it to you.

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