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]

[omar]

[Omar is actually completely prepared for that. He's been expecting something like it. He lurches forward under the weight, but catches himself on his front leg. In the one swift movement that follows, he twists around, grabs Chris by the arms, and pitches him over his shoulder and to the ground.

He puts a boot on his chest -- not hard enough to hurt or even to be a serious threat, but enough that Chris definitely knows there is a boot on his chest -- and glares down at him.]

Boy, this ain't ever gonna end the way you want it to.

[mistconduct]

[Ahp! Up and over! Chris sails easily over Omar's shoulder and hits the ground, coughing, the wind knocked out of him. He glances up at Omar, gesticulating with his hands]


Finally! Is that what it takes to get you to listen to me?

[omar]

You mistaking looking and listening. You got nothing to say needs listening to but one thing.

[Omar removes the boot, though he makes no move to help Chris up. He starts walking again.]

[mistconduct]

[Chris sets his palms on the floor and pushes himself back up to his feet]

Dude, would you wait? Fuckface, I'm trying to talk to you! I'm your warden, you could stand to give me a little respect!

[omar]

Respect?

[Omar stops, though he doesn't turn around.]

You need to have yourself a little conversation with the dictionary and find out what that word means.

[mistconduct]

It means you're supposed to listen to what I'm telling you, asshole! God. C'mon, we're only together for a month, I wanna make a good impression. Turn around.

[omar]

[He doesn't, but an irritated, quizzical note enters his voice.]

Make a good impression on who?

[mistconduct]

On you, dumbass. My natural prowess and awesome wardening skills are your bread and butter.

[omar]

[Yeah, he's had enough. He starts walking again, hands in his pockets.]

You want a sign of respect, warden, you best believe it's that that flapping jaw of yours ain't already need to be sewed shut again. I'm making no promises it'll stay that way if you don't wise up quick.

[mistconduct]

[Huffing, Chris runs to catch up to Omar, sidling along next to him]

Would you at least call me Chris? I call you Omar.

C'mon. Where're you headed? We'll go together.

[omar]

[Smooth as silk, Omar is suddenly standing in front of him, blocking his way. He's on the taller side, and somewhat stocky, but there's something more to it than that, some inherent ability to loom. When Omar blocks someone's way, there might as well be a brick wall there.

Now that he's actually facing Chris, his expression is more or less still, except for a sneer curling at the corner of his lip, but his eyes flash dark.]

You call me a whole lotta names I don't care to repeat.

[mistconduct]

[Startled by the sudden switchup, Chris finds himself unexpectedly intimidated. His eyes wide, he holds up his hands and backs up a bit]

Dude. Jesus. Tone it down a notch, I'm sorry. I'm just messing with you, all right?

[omar]

[That's better. Omar likes intimidated. He follows Chris as he backs up, giving him not an inch of extra space.]

You know what they call Omar Little back down on Earth? The King of West Baltimore.

[mistconduct]

[Chris backs up until his back is up against the wall, giving a nervous grin]

Yeah? My dad used to be don of New York. You could say you and me are related.

[omar]

[Omar rests a hand against the wall by Chris' head and leans in a little, showing his teeth in a shark-like grin.]

You think? Cousin?

[mistconduct]

Something like that.


..Dude. Personal space.

[omar]

[Not only does he ignore the complaint, but he leans in a little closer still, till they're practically within kissing distance of each other. His voice goes silky soft.]

Now, I makes it a rule not to hurt any wardens, but that don't mean I can't cause all kinds of badness for you. You still wanna have a good month, I'd rethink some of these words you using.

[mistconduct]

I'm not gonna let you threaten me, man. I'm the one in charge.

[Yeah, even Chris knows he looks nowhere near in charge]

I'll call you by your name if you call me by mine.

[omar]

[He smirks a little, shaking his head.]

You wanna be the man in charge, but you don't want me to use the title you here with?

Holy crap, apologies about the lateness

[mistconduct]

I hate that title. Anyway, I didn't come here with that title. I graduated into the system.