11: Spam: Let’s say we had a disagreement.

[omar]

[Open spam]

[Omar's been content to lay low for his first month or so back. Get his bearings, learn the new lay of the land, find out who the new players are, where to draw his new lines. Now that he has a fairly good idea of where things -- and people -- are, how they're going, he relaxes a little bit on all the surveillance. He stops lurking in hallways and corners and making little notes about things.

Which doesn't mean he stays in his cabin. In fact, he's almost never there. He's fallen right back into old habits: he sleeps in common rooms or empty cabins more often than in his own, sometimes even in the back of the library, if such a place really exists. He doesn't make a routine out of anything, except that after the incident in the chapel he swings by there once every Sunday to check in on things. He never actually goes inside -- just looks the place over and leaves again. He can be found, in short, loitering just about anywhere and at just about any time, looking for all the world like he's lazing on a stoop in the summer.]

[Spam for Dark Mousy]

[...except. Now that Omar's got this new warden, he can't sit completely still. With Barge ennui nipping at his heels, it was getting on time for him to start something, but being paired with Chris gives him a good boost of incentive. If he's going to play a little anyway, he might as well pay Chris back for all the disrespect in the process.

And anyway, it's fun. He turns up at Dark's door early Wednesday morning, knocking lightly. When it opens, he's standing there with what does, in fact, appear to be a newspaper. Omar flashes a broad grin: found you.]

Home delivery.

[Spam for Jimmy Darmody]

[And then another visit, one he's been planning for a while. He waits in the corridor outside Jimmy's cabin, still before breakfast, positioned so that the door hides him when it swings open. As soon as Jimmy steps away from it, Omar slips smoothly up behind him, pressing something solid into the small of his back.]

'Eyo -- you ever do anything for April Fool's Day?

Comments

[mistconduct]

[Chris, fresh out of the infirmary with his jaw healed up at last, is stalking around looking for his temporary inmate. He finds Omar after a fair bit of walking, and tails after him, awkwardly trailing along about twenty feet or so behind him, almost like he's not sure what to do with the guy]


Uhh. Hey. Hey, Omar. Wait up a sec, okay?

[omar]

[That's fine with him. Continue to not know what to do, Chris. Omar walks on, neither speeding up nor slowing down, like he doesn't even notice his warden behind him.]

[mistconduct]

Dude, I said wait.

[Huffing, Chris runs to keep up with him]

Jesus, don't you speak English?

[omar]

[More big fat nothing.]

[mistconduct]

Oh my fucking god. Stop, you asshole!

[Are you prepared, Omar? Are you fucking prepared?

Because Chris - little, 140-pound Chris with the iron legs and the hurt jaw and the stupid whiny voice - is going to tackle you around the waist from behind]

[apaintingdarkly]

[ He knows something is up when there's an actual knock at the door. Nobody knocks on his door. Nobody has anything to do with him, because they're all a bunch of assholes.

He opens the door just enough to see who's there. The sight of Omar actually makes him smile, though he doesn't open the door any wider. ]

Now that's dedication. You're not half bad.

[omar]

[His grin widens, head cocking slightly.]

Don't believe in halves, boo. Omar don't do things halfway.

[apaintingdarkly]

So you found me. What now?

[omar]

[He purses his lips like he's considering this for a moment. Then, he drops the hand holding the newspaper -- casually, almost lazily -- to show the other hand holding the pistol behind it.]

I was thinking you might invite me in.

[apaintingdarkly]

[ He glances down at the weapon, his smile never wavering. The only change in his expression is an air of cat-like superiority, as though nothing could possibly ruffle his fur.

There is one other change, too: the black wings which unfold seemingly from nowhere behind him. With the hand obscured by the door he takes a feather and activates a rudimentary magic barrier between the two of them. Just in case. ]

That's not a very polite way to ask.

[doomed_copper]

[Louise is strolling about on the deck, wondering if she'd ever get used to the dark view of space, the only illumination being stars and galaxies. She'd managed to get out and meet several new people, but the man holding up the wall as she passes by was most definitely a new arrival. At least--judging by the fact that she'd not seen him before. Then again, the relaxed way in which he carried himself suggested he was more than comfortable with his surroundings, his general demeanour seemingly confident. So, she approaches.]

Enjoying the silence, are you?

[omar]

[He takes a quick moment to glance her over, but he doesn't seem fazed by her approach. She doesn't know him, but he does know her, or at least the basics: Gardiner, 5-7, warden. Temporary warden to his latest quarry, in fact, he's pretty sure.

Or, in the real shorthand in his brain: nice white lady. Okay.]

I suppose. Get an awful lot of it up here.

[doomed_copper]

Is that more appealing than what's down below? The silence, that is, as opposed to the clatter and kaffeeclatsching going on.

[omar]

[He considers this.]

Depend on which down below and which kind of clatter you mean.

[doomed_copper]

Okay, how about you define what those terms mean to you?

[She folds her arms and waits.]

[thelastbullet]

[Even with all the shitty ports and the getting-his-shoulder-broken-by-random-violent-friends, Jimmy's been letting his guard down. Back home he wouldn't even hear a knock on the door without going for his weapon. These days, though, he doesn't even have ammunition for the weapon he has, and there's no one trying to kill him just for running his business.

He got soft, and he's starkly reminded of that when he walks out that morning. He tenses up immediately when he feels something press against his back, hears a voice that's so much like Chalky's except for the accent.]

You gonna gimme a letter to pass on to the next fool?

[omar]

[It's a moment broken only by the fact that Omar had been expecting a yes or no answer, and this is a reference he doesn't get. He pauses, wrinkling his nose.]

Naw. I was mostly gonna see if you had anything worth my time in this here cabin of yours.

[thelastbullet]

[Once he gets over the initial shock, it's surprising how easy it is to slip back into this kind of thing. He rolls his good shoulder, flexes his fingers.]

That your idea of a prank, Mr. Little? [He feels the steel of his trench knife, warm against his ankle. Somehow he doubts Omar will make it that easy for him to get to it.]

[omar]

[He chuckles softly.]

Well, I can't say it ain't fun for me.

[He shifts the gun in his grip slightly, just enough for Jimmy to feel the muzzle move against his back. Just enough to let him know that, yes, it is really a gun.]

Ain't no trickery in it, though. Just good, old-fashioned robbery.

[thelastbullet]

[Shit. With his arm in the sling, he's limited in what he can do. He licks his lips, looks at the tips of his shoes.]

Think an inmate's got a lot going on in his cabin? Pegged you for a smart fella, going for a warden.

[versusnurture]

[She runs into him in the early morning on the deck, when she's hung half-over the rails watching the stars go by, her own thoughts chasing their tails in circles around her head. He catches her eye easily, her memory of the Shearing marked by his presence and his face inextricable from the memories of the world coming to pieces. She wants to know more about him, pick him apart and put him back together.]

[The instinct hasn't led her well in the past. So when she turns around to give him a piercing look, she finds herself shrinking a little despite herself.]

You're wandering early.

cw: shitty thoughts about suicide

[omar]

[Omar's stopped to watch her in turn, attention caught by what might be stargazing or suicide. When she turns, it's... not relief that he feels, exactly. He doesn't know her well enough for that. Maybe the next closest thing he can achieve. Interest, or even approval: suicide, by his view, is a weakness, and she doesn't seem weak to him.]

So are you, little shrike.

[versusnurture]

I'm used to it.

[She shrugs, turning more fully to face him.]

They kept us on a pretty strict schedule in the nuthouse. I'd feel weird getting up later than seven.

[omar]

They did the same back in Jessup, but...

[He shrugs. It's not about the prison schedule, for him. He flashes a bit of a smirk.]

Dunno. I ain't never been all that predictable when left to my own devices.

[versusnurture]

It's good to be less than predictable.

[She gives a half-shrug herself. If she were feeling more dramatic she'd say something like that way they can't learn your habits, but she isn't, so she doesn't. Anyway, who's the them in this situation? The wardens? Half of them are her friends. This place is stupidly complicated. Although getting less so.]