Who: Jamie and open!
Where: The Brig, unless someone drags him out from it.
Summary: A reaction to Billy's repodding and Zetta's subsequent announcement.
Warnings: General unhappiness warnings. Possibly a bit of sulking and a reluctance to do things.

( This wasn't how it was supposed to go )

The Shodan incident had left more than a foul memory, in fact, it was so bad that the details were hazy.

But he knew he'd gone rogue, and he knew that he caused a lot of damage... and hurt people he cared about. There was no excuse, this was were he belonged. That however didn't make it any more depressing. He'd missed the new crew members, and he would miss much of the going ons but Splicer was used to being alone...

He had his team back after all, even if they were back at home. For now, he'd simply sit there, slumped against the cell wall and think of the thing's he'd done.

Man... this is the shit that the other Spectres got killed for... way to lose it cowboy...

She thought her life would be different by now, but she's a prisoner again. Voluntary, she guesses, which makes it a little bit different than the first time. At least she can blink on her own this time. Not that she's using her body to do much good.

Ironically, she almost always looked better when she was a more total prisoner. Without her makeup and hair clips and changes of clothes to arrange herself into some approximation of health, without even a mirror to confirm her suspicions, she looks a wreck. Dark circles line her reddened eyes; her hair is unbrushed and falls in tangled clumps over her face; chapped, bloodied lips and fingernails bitten down to the flesh speak to her uneasy transition back into captivity.

Eva's given up all attempts to look 'okay'. She ripped a man's face open with her bare fingers. She's been a long road away from 'okay' for a while now, but she spent too long mistaking her anger and stubbornness for strength and resilience to recognize it. She's wised up now.

She really wants a drink right now. Instead she has some books - selected poems by Pablo Neruda and an anthology of poetry by women poets in the Andes - and a pillow and blanket. She's curled up on the cot with the former book in her hand, but drifting in and out of sleep. Her breath comes lazy and heavy as she alternately reads, dreams, and watches the door to the brig with heavy-lidded eyes, looking for nothing.

The Precinct had been hopping of late with people needing to be sent to the Brig. Dean hated how short handed they were between people getting re-podded and the mission taking a good chunk of the crew. Left the rest of them with a skeleton group and a lot of newcomers thanks to the recent podpop. He was still struggling with going over notes and reports from previous attacks. Trying to put together as much information as he could and catalog it all. If he got it right, it'll be a great help for any future incidents and at least give other Security a starting off point of where to go.

Plus it gave him a chance to bury his troubled emotions into something, but he was clearly running himself ragged of late. He hadn't been at the house much, mostly sleeping fitfully at his desk the few times he slept. Plus meals been mostly of liquid content though he was avoiding the tavern for the most part for personal reasons.

He just hoped some of the new members could lend a hand or two.

(!NOTE: This is available for people in the brig to thread as well)

Hellboy woke up in a cell, groggy and feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. After groaning to himself, disoriented, for a minute or two, he finally regained his senses and looked around. His weapons and relics were gone. (So were the grenades).

So was Liz.

Dammit.

"Liz?"

Struggling weakly to get on his feet, he took a few shaky steps and pounded against the door with his stone fist, to no avail. Though it appeared to be made of normal metal bars, a forcefield rippled in front of it when he tried to punch it.

Double dammit.

"Liz!"

He pounded against the wall next, then another wall. Then he launched into one hell of a temper tantrum, and starting pounding against the wall just to make himself feel better. It didn't really work out that well.

In the end, the noise he was making just gave him a head ache.

Huffing out each breath raggedly, he collapsed against the wall and slid down to the floor, where he sat still.

His twins were gone, and now who the hell knew what these tentacle-controlling freaks had done to Liz. He could only hope that she was imprisoned like he was--and at the very least, he knew his lady love could take care of herself.

"Hang in there, babe."

Somehow one of them would get free and they'd figure this place out together--and beat down whoever they had to, to find out what had happened to their babies.

Time passed in it's steady, unstoppable, marching beat. One step after the other, like the dripping of a leaking water pump or the slow melting wax of a candle.

Shadows flickered and danced along the walls of her cell as she gazed intently at the flickering of the flame in her palm. She had been lapsing in and out of silence these days in between stretches of talking to herself or arguing with unseen specters. The flame was keeping her thoughts focused. It came so naturally to her it was like breathing.

But the flame was orange. A hideous, imperfect orange.

It made her nauseous just to think about how far she'd fallen. Perfect blue flames of the purest hottest fury had been so easy for her even as a child and yet now she couldn't manage it no matter how hard she tried.

Eyes narrowed the dancing flame reflected perfectly in her glassy eyes. How long had these four walls been her entire world. Too long entirely too long.

But soon...yes soon her time would come. She could feel it coming. The winds of change.

Nothing will ever change for you Azula. Not while your heart is so full of darkness. Her mother's voice warned her.

But Azula wouldn't listen, after all wouldn't that make her mad?

The proud princess lay broken on the floor of her cell, the constant chatter in her mind all piling up to a barely intelligible roar.
( [TL:DR: Azula is a crazy pile of crazy with crazysauce] )

In the back of her cell Azula slumped against the wall. Between the pale exhausted look on her face and the empty eyes gazing at the transparent wall of her cell she looked dead to the world.

She knew something was wrong with her. That much was painfully clear no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. But she wasn't crazy! No. Never. Not the Princess of the Fire Nation, not the rightful heir to the throne.

She was just...sick. Yes. She had caught something. Like when a fever got too strong or when one drank too much wine.

No, she had been infected! That had to be it. That's when things began to go downhill. Mai must have had some kind of poison on her knives, or maybe the servants back at the palace...

The palace was gone. That's what everyone kept telling her. The fire nation, the world was gone.

Her father was gone...

She hadn't seen her father since he left to complete his destiny and take over the world. Only through what Zuko and the Doctors had told her did she know his fate. A war criminal.

His powers stripped...just a man now.

She still could create fire for now. But what if the Avatar tried to take it from her like he had her father?

What else could they take?

Images flashing through her mind. Medications, procedures. Those unsettling tentacles that belonged to the voice in her head, the world around her. "Stacy" How dare she speak in such a kind an loving voice? Azula knew better. Azula knew what sort of damage love could bring.

What was the voice plotting to do to her while it spoke so sweetly? Her mind? Not if she had any say! And why shouldn't she!? She is Princess Azula! From Birth her destiny was perfection and greatness. The heavens above had sent to the planet the perfect girl, born to the man destined to rule the world.

...or so they'd thought.

But he was gone, they were gone the world was gone! Azula too...must be gone.

Yes, that made more sense didn't it? Azula had died...no was killed. MURDERED! Murdered by those so called "Doctors" that had promised they wouldn't hurt her. That they only wanted to help her! Zuko probably gave them the order! Kill her so he wouldn't have to worry anymore about the only loyal family their Father had left.

Father...

These thoughts and more swirled about in her fractured mind but her body never moved, barely blinked. You couldn't even really tell she was breathing.

This was all that was left, of the Proud Princess Azula.

Merlin was no stranger to being thrown into cells. Uther had thrown him in there on several occasions. Arthur had every now and then too. And on the plus side, this was much nicer than Camelot's cells.

Still, he felt anxious. He didn't understand how there was apparently nothing wrong with his magic, but there was with taking Iniss out of Tom. He didn't know how things worked here. He didn't know what punishments he might get. He didn't even know how long it would take.

He just hoped that Tom was okay.

[[ooc: this is for characters who need to talk to Merlin regarding yeerk stuff. Please PM/IM/email me if you have someone who wants to talk to him]]

Wanda had recently been released by GLaDOS. It had taken a while to get her bearings again, especially after witnessing Punishment (GLaDOS had been considerate enough to display it on a monitor while she was running mazes). That would need to be dealt with but right now she was more concerned with the welfare of another crew member. One she had hoped would come to his senses on his own without outside interference. Her hopes had been misplaced. Not altogether unexpected, considering his predecessor's great skill in sulking.

Wanda entered the precinct, made her way to the brig, and folded her arms. She, and others, had tried being polite. It was time to take off the gloves.

"Get out."

It was pretty late on the ship, and Dean had crashed out in a chair near the brig that was holding his brother. Any advice to go find a real bed was ignored because he's the big brother and he knows better. Also while Sam was stuck here with Schmuz still in his head, he just wanted to keep a close eye. Make sure there were no problems. The puppy Bobby was currently curled up near the bars of Sam's cell, also asleep.

Sometimes Dean twitched and whimpered a little in his sleep as some of his dreams were less than restful.

The brig. Tossed there for starting a fight with the two pricks that couldn't mind their own damned business. It irritated Mei-Xing, but there wasn't much to be done about it. So she made up her mind to irritate her jailers by not being bothered about it at all.

She started off her mornings with a nice stretch, coupled with some minor exercises. Sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, even squats and lunges were used. After that, she'd spend her day either meditating, reading a book or watching a movie from the data storage unit in her head, or stepping out into the astral realm and futzing about the ship that way. Having so many people with no idea how her magic worked or what she could do with it came in handy, it seemed.

At this time, Mei-Xing is at the tail end of her morning work-out, just fooling around by this point. She stands on her head, then lifts herself up, her entire body weight on her hands. Slowly, she pushes herself up just a bit further, resting on her fingers. Carefully, as if unsure if she could do it, she lifts her left arm from the ground, holding it to the side. She lowers herself slowly, touching her nose to the ground, and then straightens her arm again.

Just because she was a mage was no excuse for her to be out of shape, after all.

Somehow, Sam wasn't surprised to find himself in the brig when all was said and done. Whatever else, Schmuz was an escaped prisoner and he'd been sentenced. He still had to serve that, even if he was in Sam's head. Of course, he was under no delusions that Schmuz was the only reason for it, given the history of the ship and possessed (or formerly so) Sam Winchesters.

On the other hand, it wasn't like Schmuz was really saying anything, either. After Rhiow had taken them to the pod caverns and he'd seen the damage the one bomb had done, the Yeerk had pretty much stopped talking to him. Knowledge that one of the heroes on the ship had died trying to disarm it hadn't exactly made him talkative, either.

He sighed, leaning back on the bed and looking at the ceiling. "I never thought I would miss the Greek chorus, you know."

Jonas had not moved since he had been brought to the brig. Or had he brought himself there? He could not recall. Funny, one would think that he would remember that. Amazing what guilt and grief could do to a mind, even one encoded into computer chips.

He had murdered someone. Straight up murdered someone. He had not meant for Kawalsky to die as well, but all the "I did not mean to" in the slowly-shrinking multiverse could not bring him back.

And, to add to his sin, he had murdered someone in Cassie's memory. She would not have wanted that, would not have approved, but he had done it anyway. What sort of memorial for a hero was that? For the girl he loved?

No kind of memorial at all.

His lips parted just the tiniest bit, allowing a single accusatory word to slip out.

"[Monster.]"

(OOC notes: This might be kind of complicated, so I apologize if I mess something up: Basically, the middle section, for Visiting Hours, is open to anyone and everyone who wants to tag in: The first section is a flashback for Tsukasa, Nanashi, Rei, and Security, while the third is for Tsukasa and Nanashi to snark on one another. And now, with all that out of the way: Let's...Go On!)

Nighttime aboard Stacy: Folks, for the most part, snug as a bug in their beds. Except for a few, of course; like one Tsukasa Kadoya. He was up, taking some nighttime photos, enjoying the darkness. He browsed the city, taking pictures of things that seemed interesting. In a city, though, one can find many interesting things if one looks around. This is a tale of such an instance of looking around.

"Freedom is from within."
—Frank Lloyd Wright

Haku's body was a strong one, a mix of corded, snakelike speed and the flexible, boneless way of the cat. It was no surprise when, after weeks of hammering and twisting and clawing the bars had grown bent and bowed outward in a comfortable arc. The snake that fed within him had grown stronger on Haku's waning power with the passing weeks. The Kami slept now, tired, weary, unable to do more than exhaustively watch as his own body snarled and snapped, straining against confinement in a way that wrung mortar from between the stones and sent dust trickling out of the roof above in little dry waterfalls.

The waters bleed and the ocean runs dry, but nothing is infinite.

The demon was impatient— soon enough Haku would die in truth, but it wanted out now. It wanted free. Coil and strike, like a goat ramming the bars and they shuddered and groaned under the pressure, firm coils leaning the dragon's whole self against their weakened strength from the inside.

Ping! Pop! Clang!

The rivets anchoring the bars to the wall finally failed and with the cage opened, the fouled river leapt out with a howl of unholy glee, paying no heed to the way scaled scraped and fell against the narrow walls of the precinct. Flimsy wooden doors met with their exact weight in firewood and the beast surged into the street with a clumsiness that was wholly un-Haku. It leapt, and found purchase in the air, then faltered and met the side of a building with a thump. The second try was more successful

Daimon Hellstrom visited Haku, or rather the creature inhabiting Haku, once more. This time for a more thorough examination. Although unannounced, it was likely that Daimon's arrival was still felt.

Or at least his footsteps could be heard. Stealthy this one was not.

Grif is in the brig.

He's not a happy guy right now, but then again he's in the brig. The cot isn't comfortable but he's lying out on it on principle, boots up on the wall because the space is a tad narrow for him. Grif still has his armor, but he's been disarmed and his omnicomm has been confiscated. His comm ring is on one of the fingers on his right hand (he finds it creepy how it adjusted over his gauntlet) and honestly he feels pretty lucky. Nobody tried to superglue it to his forehead.

So for now, Grif is about as bored as he is physically capable of being and in fairly grumpy spirits as he lies on his back, hands folded on his chest, and tries to decide what the ceiling is made out of.

The brig was little more than a cage to hold him, steel-reinforced walls no less steady in the squat room. Haku was coiled like a snake in his cell, exuding hatred at the wall directly across from his view through the bars. Hus bulk mostly filled the cell, shoving the cot helter-skelter against one wall as he fumed. Some fool must have charmed the bars, to keep him in.

His mind was a haze of darkness and roiling, directionless anger; he'd happily snap at anyone who was brave or foolish enough to place themselves before him. They might have won the battle, but this last fragment of Nightmare was well-entrenched, feeling from the essence of a river-god's power, and though it was not a limitless source, it was one that would not readily run dry.

Sounds like a good time for a visit, eh?

(( OOC: So, Haku got thrown in a cage while the crew figured out what to do. If anyone is willing to work on his issue, I say go for it! Plotz can happen! If you like please contact me on AIM at pearlyunicorn1 ))