| Her Satanic Majesty's Request |
[13 Nov 2007|07:20pm] |
Something wasn’t right.
Not that being locked up in a cell for a crime she didn’t commit was the picture of all that was right and holy with the world, but Samantha knew enough about due process to know she should’ve at least seen a lawyer by now. Two months in this cell and no lawyer. Not even so much as a pretentious-looking fucker from the DA’s office coming by to scold her for the naughty, naughty thing she did and to give her that dreaded first court date.
No, Samantha had been pretty much left in this jail cell to stew. And probably rot; other inmates were slowly catching wind that an officer of the law was among them, and the catcalls and other manners of abuse were evident; it was all the Slayer could do the day before not to rip the arm off an inmate she helped put away last year for trying to suffocate his four-year-old son to death.
After all, he was the one who tried sneaking up on Samantha with a pipe.
Huddled up in the corner of the cell, an open Bible ignored on the floor, Sam just stared. Her eyes faced the cold, grey wall, but she saw nothing. Her senses didn’t work the way they used to, her mental faculties drained from the endless stay in this literal prison. She wanted out, she wanted to see her son.
But more than anything, Samantha wanted to find whoever put her in here and show them what darkness truly was.
( Hell has come to Las Vegas )
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| The Lowest Blow |
[13 Nov 2007|10:13pm] |
Three days went by, to the best of Rhiannon’s knowledge. The warehouse was pitch black at night, allowing her to see no farther than her hands, if she put her face up to them. But in the morning, light poured through cracks around the boarded windows, and as the sun shifted across in the sky, that light crawled the length of the room. All the way to the bodies in the corner.
She was grateful it wasn’t the dead of summer. Even so, flies found a way inside. They buzzed near her ears and landed on the lacerations on her arms and legs. It seemed pointless to keep shaking them off, but Rhiannon couldn’t stand the sensation of their tiny legs and wings.
She was cold half the day. She was hungry and thirsty all of it. The Slayer wished for a lot of things. At the top of her list were shackle keys, water, plumbing, deep sleep, and to rewind time and send that text to Whistler.
Deanna came around often. Each time they traded taunts. At first it culminated in physical violence, but the last time, there was only the one thing, the worst thing. A bite. It was inevitable that she’d do it and bleed the Slayer half-dry. It was just as likely that Rhiannon, in her limited range of movement ,would fight it so hard she hurt herself in the process. The metal brackets around her wrists and ankles rubbed her skin away. She suspected that one of her thumbs was broken from trying to slip the metal over her hand.
Rhiannon took what pride she could out of getting a small shot off at the vampire. She had managed to pry a piece of floorboard up and she stuck it into Deanna after her fangs made contact. It didn’t hit the heart. She didn’t actually know what it hit. Probably the shoulder. All she knew was that she woke up later, presumably after passing out, and Deanna had gone.
Now there were footsteps again, two pairs of feet in high heels.
Rhiannon pulled herself up. “How’s the splinter?”
[Thread: Open to Deanna and Celine]
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