Crazy People


boxer_icon.gif vinnie_icon.gif

Scene Title Crazy People
Synopsis Moab seems to have a surplus of them.
Date February 21, 2009

Moab Federal Penitentiary

No telling what time it is, all that is known is that it's lights out and it seems like it's been that way for a while now; which means most everyone is sleeping except for the night shift guards and a few inmates. The walls and the doors are thick so they block out most of the sounds from these well-built cells to retain certain dangerous inmates.

However, some sound does manage to work it's way through the ventilation system from near by cells. More specifically, the sound of a grown man, one with a heavy English accent is a bit disturbing as the man seems to be suffering from a nightmare or something.

The ramblings of a war veteran in his sleep as he has a dream about being back in the action go something like; "It's an ambush; It's an ambush!" The clarity of his voice almost makes it seem like he's awake,"We're under a hail storm here, sarge! There's no way we can make it to your position! Die you fuckin' scum! Argh, orf, urgle, emmph." All is clear except for that last part being muffled as the man assumingly turns his head over on his pillow.

Vinnie suddenly awakens sitting upright instantly yelling out,"Kill them all!" Vinnie groans, reaching up to rub the side of his head. He let's out a saddened sigh. Oh, the fragile mind of those put through hell and back.

It is hard to sleep when you have had the architectural misfortune of being placed in a cell whose ventilation system's next stop is in a loud crazy person's cell. Boxer hasn't made much of an effort to ignore his way through it, rather, he's been up and about, too naturally nocturnal to be upset by the interruption of his usual guard-enforced sleep schedule. He's damp with sweat, bristled hair lank and flat in the wake of god knows how many push ups, crunches, and dips off the side of his cement stool. Counting is not a strong point of his.

He lost track a lot.

Successfully worn out and still cramping in all manner of improbable places thanks to his earlier tasering, he's seated on the floor next to the vent, muscled arms wrapped slack around the bend of his knees at his chest. It feels like morning might be on its way, soon. Hard to tell without windows or a watch. His 20th or so round of, "Row, row, row your boat," falls a little flat about its midsection when Vinnie's ramblings come to an abrupt end. Brows tilted, the Russian turns his head to eye the vent mistrustfully. "Hello? Still alive?"

There seems to be silence for a long time before some scuffling noises and a vocal response is heard, it seems a little closer now,"Does it matter?"

Vinnie sighs, a strike of a match and suddenly a little smoke ventilates through from the other side. "Let me guess. Another sleepless night?" Vinnie chuckles a little maniacally at that.

"I suppose not." Boxer tips his head back against the wall to peer up at the ceiling, little more than a blur of dark grey against various other shades of grey in the absence of light. "I sleep, sometimes. When it is quiet. Never when it is not." If there is accusation there, it's mild.

"Ah, well pardon me for interruptin your beauty sleep, queenie," That's an insult straight from the UK and his English heritage really shines through. Vinnie takes another drag from his rolled tobacco joint and exhales; again, some of the health hazardous smoke filters through the vents or at the very least the smell if one can tell in a place like this as most inmates tend to turn to smoking, especially if they see no hope of ever getting out of a place like this.

"I will sleep when I am dead. Also, tomorrow night, and the night after that as long as I am not reliving nightmares with your limey behind." Ok, so. Maybe there's some resentment there, Boxer's own accent made all the more gruff by the metal it has to bounce hollowly off of before it reaches Vinnie's ears.

Another seemingly long moment of silence despite the huffing and puffing of that cancer stick. Then Vinnie scoffs and chuckles, it might almost seem like a friendly tone from the british man as he says,"Vinnie. Tis a pleasure."

"I am Boxer." His nostrils flare against the oily stink Vinnie's homemade smoke leaves hanging in his sinuses, and he cups a hand up over his nose and mouth, "Pleased to meet you," muffled accordingly.

"Boxer." Vinnie says, taking another drag from his hand rolled joint before he continues on to say,"So why you in the shithole?" Vinnie chuckles and retorts,"Other than the obvious being Evolved."

"In New York someone tried to kill me so I killed them back. Made people very unhappy." Probably a given in the case of murder in general, but in this case people were more unhappy than usual, and so more inclined to tattle and point fingers and send his crazy rat whispering ass to prison. Boxer sighs there, hand dropped so that he can tip his face down against the folded brace of his arms. "What about you, hm?"

"Pretty much the same, except they only tried to kill me after I tried to kill them." Vinnie chuckles heartily, obviously finding joy somewhere in that statement assumingly. "Broke out once, back again for another go. Wonder if they plan on expediting me anytime soon."

"I think I will be here a long time, but there will be no execution. Concrete walls and bad food forever." Boxer doesn't sound terribly upset about it, all things considered. Matter-of-fact, maybe, while he casts light eyes over the rigid stack of his cot. "It is nice that they keep us in solitary. Nicer than other places I have been."

"No way in hell they going to keep me in here, not forever; they'd have to kill me first." Vinnie responds to Boxer's first comment. Then he sighs and leans against the wall — it seems that raunchy smell from his cigarette has ceased for the time being. "I s'pose it's fine in it's right, but I'd still rather be out there in the end."

"If you ask nicely, maybe they will." They seem the type to be accommodating about that sort of thing, if nothing else. Head lifted enough to rest his unshaven chin upon his arm where the bridge of his nose pressed before, Boxer glances to the place where a window existed in the wall of his regular cell, only to find nothing. "Things to do, people to see? I would have liked to get married. Now I have the time but no women."

Vinnie chuckles jokingly again,"Bah, there'd be nothin better than to have a bird at a home frying me up a large, juicy rare steak." Vinnie pushes off the floor and stands to his feet, looking around the cell the best he can in the dark. "And you're right about that, plenty of time here to dwell if nothing else."

"I do not like the televisions. I am not an animal, you know? It does not seem 'constitutional' to only see guards. Other prisoners." He makes no mention of his distaste for the injections. Maybe that's a given. He rubs his thumb over the scarring as he speaks, anyway, expression oddly uncomfortable in the shadows pooled thick in his cell. "Otherwise it is not so bad."

"Well, I suppose we won't be talkin much about that Doctor show then." Vinnie scoffs,"Television, it's none sense. It's a government conspiracy to cover up their follies through the media if nothing else." Vinnie shrugs his shoulders,"No television and no books by a fireplace for me. I'd rather be out there makin' my own story, ya know?"

There is a silence on Boxer's end of things. Puzzled or thoughtful or annoyed, it's impossible to tell via the absence of sound alone. For the camera's unblinking record of the conversation, however, the furrow in Robert's brow suggests some definite muddlement. "What?" Government conspiracy? Muddlement hardens into skepticism, and he gives the grate a sidelong look. "I enjoy television, but not these ones. Everybody here is crazy. You are all crazy people."

Vinnie laughs heartily at that comment by Boxer. The screech and squeak of metal, assumingly as Vinnie lays down on his bed, which happens to be the only furniture in this room besides the toilet and notably the camera. "Are you sure it's everyone else that is crazy and not you that is the crazy one?" Vinnie tries a little philosophical debate though it really doesn't seem to suit the British brute.

"I already know that I am crazy. Everyone says so. But this is the first time I have been cooped up in a prison full of you." Definitely you, rather than 'us.' So Boxer knows that he is crazy, but apparently does not deign to classify himself as the same amount of crazy that most of the people he has met so far seem to be. "Three or four, okay. Everybody? Then you have problems. Maybe it is the shots. I don't know."

Vinnie's bed makes metal squeaky sounds again as he rolls to face the vent while remaining lying in the bed; his head propped up onto an arm and his pillow. "I won't argue with you. I am one crazy bastard." He says confidently,"And I wouldn't hesitate to gut you or anyone else like a fish if they ever crossed me."

"You sound like one crazy bastard," Boxer agrees without argument, spine curled away from the wall to further his hunch, face tipped down until its shadowed out of easy view of Big Brother. "I could go for a pizza."

"When we get out of here, buddy. I'll buy you one; as long as you buy the drinks because I'm dying for a beer." He smirks at that and rolls over to his back. His arms folded beneath his head as he stares blankly up at the ceiling.

"Ho-kay." No money is no problem when this is likely never going to happen anyway. Following Vinnie's example, Boxer finally unfolds himself up off the floor, knuckles braced down on the way to slinging himself over onto the woefully insufficient padding that is to be his bed for the remainder of the night.

"Well, despite lack of being able to sleep, I think I'm just going to lay here in silence for a while." Vinnie responds to Boxer from his neighboring cell. "I'll look forward to future conversations." Cause well, that's about all they're going to get.

"Whatever you wish, Captain Crazy. I am only here for the night, though. Another new boy tried to piss on everyone in the yard." Hands lax at his sides, Robert considers the ceiling at a hazy distance, staring more into space than anything. "Perhaps next time I misbehave we will talk."

Vinnie scoffs,"Perhaps so." And then he falls silent respectfully.

February 21st: Good Luck

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…
Who's Side Are You On?

February 21st: Eye For An I
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