The New Girl In Town


alexander_icon.gif boxer_icon.gif helena_icon.gif jessica_icon.gif lucrezia_icon.gif

Scene Title The New Girl In Town
Synopsis The newest arrival at Moab is a familiar face.
Date March 15, 2009

Moab Federal Penitentiary - Yard

Al….still doesn't remember. Helena's thus a recent acquaintance, instead of an old friend. But she's kind to him, nonetheless, and that is in short supply here. Anywhere, for that matter. So he's always glad to see her in the yard, to sit and talk while she tells him what she daresof what he should remember, and he occasionally tells some story about Iraq, or growing up in Georgia. Because there's nothing left of his years in the NYPD, or as an Evolved terrorist. His hair's growing out a little from that severe buzz, though it's fairly short. "So, yeah, I never did get to Cairo," he says, wryly. "Someday, I wanna see Egypt," He glances around at the red mountains that encircle them. "You know, I never been west of the Mississippi before this, I realize."

Helena is sporting some accessories today. Of course, the bandages wrapped around her ribs one can't see, but she's got strip bandaids on one side of her temple, near her eye where Tabitha raked her, and fading black and blue mark on her jaw. However, she's been left alone these past few days, for which she's been profoundly grateful. Every now and again, as Al tells a story, she finishes it, because she's heard it before, which helps to cement the certainty of their connection. She's sitting at the bench even now, fingers curled into the chain link as she listens to Alex, nodding in gentle encouragement.

Jessica wanders over fencewards towards Helena. Alex, she doesn't know…well, not by name. She's seen him before. She makes a mental note before approaching the shorter blonde, and looks over towards the two. "Hey. Private party, or can anybody join?" she asks, looking from one to the other.

Alexander looks over at Jessica. Another face he should remember, from that disastrous raid on the Company….and doesn't. Helena gets a questioning look. "Up to her," he says, quietly. "Whatcha say, Blondie?" This last to Hel, rather than Jessica. He's risen to his feet, reflexively.

"Alex, this is Niki…?" For some reason Helena's introduction ends with a questioning air. After all, she knows there's three of them in there now.

The taller blonde smiles back. "Actually, Jessica." She clarifies. Belying the tag on her uniform. "Nice to meet you. I'd shake, but I don't see that happening with the fence."

"Alexander," Al says, offering a shy, sidelong smile. "Yeah," In lieu of a shake, he puts his palm to the wire of the fence.

Helena puts her own hand down off the chain links, and looks up at Jessica, shading her eyes with her hand. "Thank you for helping me, the other day. I don't know what that woman's problem is, it's not like I'm trying to battle for school-yard dominance and steal everyone's lunch money." It's clear from her tone she thinks the whole queen of the prison thing is retarded. "I hope you didn't get into too much trouble."

Jessica reaches out to press her palm to the wire to match Alexander's. "Good seeing you again." And she looks back to Helena, with a wry smile. "Pecking order. The less people have, the more they cling to it. That means that in here, when everything's been taken from us, people like that are going to cling to their positions…or perceived positions. Your refusal to fall in line is seen as someone trying to take something else from her." Jessica actually understands prison psychology.

While there isn't truly sufficient population teeming within the slab walls of Moab to make much of a commotion when 'fresh meat' enters the yard, there is a noted increase in the volume and frequency of conversations being had on the women's side of the fence when a tall, fair-skinned, dark-haired woman joins them in squinting against the midday sun. Lucrezia earns her fair share of stares as she proceeds through the gaggle of girls that linger near the entrance with a slow but confident stride. While she might otherwise be inclined to cling to what shadow there is to be found against the building, she opts instead to throw herself boldly into the center of the yard and stand by herself in the sun with eyes closed and face lifted skyward. She's basking.

Again? Al doesn't say the word so much as mouth it, and the look he gives Jessica is intensely blank. She doesn't just not ring bells, she's not even in the church, so far as he's concerned. Lucrezia's appearance is equally lacking in recognition - the stare he gives the raven-haired woman is purely that of a man who's been without feminine contact for way, way too long.

Helena turns to see what all the fuss is about, and furrows her brow. Her expression grows into something akin to disbelief, and she looks back at Alex's hungry expression and back at Lucrezia. "Jessica, keep an eye out, please?" she begs, even as she rises, and starts walking toward the brunette, trying as hard as she can to school the disbelief out of her face.
Jessica looks over to the newly arrived brunette when Helena calls attention to her, and frowns at the request. "Sure." Of course, she's not sure what she's supposed to be keeping an eye out FOR…Alex, Helena, or the brunette. So she leans against the fence, trying her best to do all three. "So…" she looks to Alexander, making conversation as she watches. "Who from your bunch is over on that side?"

Everything is so quiet… even in the middle of a bustling prison yard full of jabberjawing menaces to society… for Lucrezia, things haven't been this quiet for years. Decades. It's entirely disconcerting that she's been left with only her own thoughts to crowd up her otherwise infested brain. She's so distracted by the abject absence of a thousand other impulses that she doesn't seem to notice Helena's approach until the young blonde is very nearly right on top of her (not literally, Al, sorry). Instead of issuing any sort of salutation, Lucrezia just casts an appraising look at Helena that comes complete with silent recognition.

The redhead's pallid blue eyes cut back to Jessica, and he blinks. And then there's a slow flush creeping up from the collar of his jumpsuit. "I honestly don't know," he confesses. "I don't remember much. Brain-damaged from interrogation, or so I'm told," His tone is utterly matter of fact.

"How did you get here?" Helena asks softly. "You're not an American citizen." Nonetheless, Lucrezia's presence is oddly welcome. Her eyes gently flick left and right, and her voice comes, so soft that it's barely a whisper, "He's - he's alright?"

Jessica frowns. "Wonderful." she states, as she looks back to Alexander. "That's all we need. Mentalists poking around in our heads and screwing things up worse. We need to find a way to get out of here, and fast."

Boxer is here. He usually is, in some capacity. Some days maybe less so than others. He spends a lot of time meandering around the perimeter. Still more time staring blankly at nothing. Sometimes he performs both of these activities together at the same time and the brave and the bored are inspired to flick things at him to see how long it takes him to notice.

Today, though, he is reasonably present enough to be coming up on Alexander's back, bristle-brush hair unintentionally molded into a sort of faux-hawk from how he slept on it. Rather than introduce himself or otherwise say hello, he just lingers quiet and awkward behind the younger man's shoulder, clear eyes focused past him. On Jessica.

"You don't think they really care about a detail like that, do you— scusa, what was your name again?" Oh God, does Lucrezia have crazy, brain-damaged amnesia, too?! The brunette reaches out to very delicately tuck a lock of Helena's hair back behind one of the younger woman's ears before she goes on to add. "Abbastanza bene, carina. Looking for you…" Nope. No amnesia here. Just slightly arrogant Italian ego compelling her to act aloof and intimate all at the same time. And now you know where he gets it from.

"Helena." Not that her name isn't printed right on her prison fashion. Though of course, Lucrezia rocks that prison orange way better. Helena nods, almost trembling a little in her anxiety, and she gestures with her chin in the direction of those by the fence seperating men from women. There's no way to miss that shock of red hair, and she murmurs lowly, "He won't remember you. They've been interogating him. It's messed him up."

"Last thing I remember is an IED, six years ago," Al says, laconically, still eyeing Lucrezia, try as he might not to stare at her. Boxer gets a token wave. "I don't think I gave 'em anything, but I don't know. Telepathy was never my trick."

Jessica is busy playing watchwoman. She spots Boxer, but Al's wave to him disarms him as a possible threat. Helena seems to be having pleasant conversation with Lucrezia. But then she spots another brunette, deeper in on the women's side. Someone who might be looking for payback after the other day. She looks back to Alexander. "Sorry, Al. Got to go." And with that, she moves off to intercept, vanishing into the women's crowd.

First to the wave, then back to the side of Alexander's head, somehow in an infinite green field of dull-eyed indifference, Boxer's gaze manages a flicker of sideways skepticism. He does not wave back, but he does not plow him face first into the fence either, so. Maybe he is not a threat! Jessica's retreat draws his attention back to her, then on to Helena, and from Helena to Lucrezia. "You are popular for crazy people."

Dark eyes bounce their unassisted and pitifully plain human gaze up and over Helena's pretty blonde head until it comes to rest on the redhead and his Russian companion standing just on the other side of the fence that separates the women from the boys. "Is that what they do to you here?" Lucrezia inquires in a voice loud enough to be overheard. Yet, even as she asks, she's begun to swagger over to the other inmates in question, making her orange jumpsuit look just as stylish as if she'd bought it at Gucci and merely left the matching pumps and handbag inside her cell. "Ciao, cucciolo mio…"

Helena follows along, frowning a little as she retakes her seat by the fence, eyes looking between Alex and Lucrezia, and oh look, Boxer. Helena keeps her mouth shut, watching the beginnings of this interaction sidelong and keeping an eye out for any unexpected disruptions or prying eyes.

Alexander blushes, unable to help himself. But he doesn't back away, just favors Lucrezia with that oddly shy smile, the one so rare to those who know him only from PARIAH and Phoenix. "Ma'am," he says, quietly.

"I think sometimes they let us out to play at the same time for torture." Voice low, for Alexander's ears only, Boxer watches the approach of Helena and Lucrezia without much outward change in expression. His face is hollow and slack, eyes distant and demeanor on the slow side. He looks as if he has been here for a while, pale and tired, though he's solid enough against the chilly wind. Accustomed to it. He does not blush, but he fails to do much of anything else either. "Also, to overhear you talking of secret escape plans. Hello fine ladies!"

Lucrezia's expression appears serene but there's a certain sharpness to her features — the razor's edge of her eyes, the pointed pinch of her lips — that belies a sly demeanor instead of unspoken innocence or naivete hidden somewhere just beneath the surface of her skin. No, she's a creature of guile and artifice; too old for that other stuff anymore. The ex-actress turns her head in order to regard her brand new blonde buddy behind bars and says sweetly, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Helena lets out a soft sigh, and ignoring Boxer says, "Alex, this is Lucrezia." The set of her mouth turns slightly wry as she adds, "The Italian bird." As in, the same Italian bird she knew him to be involved in when last she knew of a relationship he was having. Boxer is then finally favored with a confused look - she hasn't been making any secret escape plans, if anything, she's been trying to convince Jessica to wait.

"I know, right?" Al says, in a pained aside to Boxer, before the women come close. "Pleased to meet you, Lucrezia," It's really sort of frightening - he apparently has not an inkling of memory of their past encounters, by the way he all but bridles when Luc comes close. He looks blankly at Helena, then asks, "What part of Italy are you from?"

"I am Boxer." Unphased by lack of introduction as far as he is concerned, Boxer provides it for himself. "I am Blushing Boy's brother. He does not remember because someone is invading their minds." Fingers curled lax through chain link, Box leans some of his weight forward into the fence and tips his head a little aside to regard Alex from a different angle, rather as if measuring the massive improbability of his lie. "He was adopted."

The addendum to her introduction earns a pitched brow in retort but Lucrezia doesn't bother to question it audibly. She's gone back to wearing her appraiser's gaze and slowly slides her eyes over every available inch of the two men stood in opposition on the other side of the fence. "I am Sicilian," she says with lips curled more in favor of one side of her mouth than the other, as if she half expected such a thing to be obvious due to her accent. Not that they rightly should; they're not Italian.

Boxer's bemused introduction earns him just the slightest shadow of a smile from the 'Italian bird' and she replies with both brows piqued, "Oh, I see. Well, I think we both know who got the better genes, neh?"

Helena just clams up. Between Boxer - who calls her crazy and seems all about poking his big Russian nose, and Lucrezia, who somehow manages to make her Club Fed rags into haute couture, Helena doesn't have much to offer. She contents herself with keeping an eye out for the crazy bitch who assaulted her the other day, instead.

Italian bird…..hey, wait. Al shoots a shocked look at Helena, brows heading for his hairline. She and I? He shakes his head in denial. Clearly, someone's hallucinating that part of his past. "What got you in here?" he asks, as his gaze drifts back to Lucrezia. His expression isn't quite adoring. Boxer gets an annoyed glance. "He keeps saying that, but he's no kin to me."

Brows lifted, Boxer starts to answer…only to ease into a chuckle instead. He manages to keep his eyes up above neck level — at least at close quarters, which is an achievement for him maybe, but one made easier by the distraction of tormenting Alexander. "Don't worry, Al," his accent trips over the cutoff syllable, dragging it out awkwardly while he loses a hand from the fence to clap it over the other man's shoulder, "we are family. I love you, even though you are ginger."

"That is very touching." Quite literally. Lucrezia leaves the immediate proximity of the fence but only after share an extended sort of awkward stare with Alexander and his newfound (long lost?) Russian brother. When she turns, she makes a vague gesture to Helena, as if bidding her come closer even as the older woman is walking away. "You and I should speak later. We have things to discuss." That almost sounds just a little bit… ominous… but she's gone — slinking back over for the precious shelter provided by the shadows that hug the side of their mutual boarding house — before any real sort of reply or reaction might be delivered.

Helena's brow arches. "I'll bet." she mutters, but hasn't the heart to be really disdainful. She looks back at Alexander. "Nothing, huh?" she asks. "I mean, you don't remember her? I'm sorry."

Al's eyes are guileless, clear to the depths. "Not a whit. If you're messing with me, then that's likely the cruelest thing you've ever done. 'cause I don't believe for a minute she'd look at me twice. And you say I was involved with her? How'd that even work?" He wonders, looking from Boxer to Helena, unhappily.

"I know her face, I think." So goes Boxer's conversation with himself while he watches Lucrezia's retreat, brows tilted at an unabashedly appreciative angle. "I do not know from where. She is a good-looking woman. Maybe a model arrested for crimes against fashion."

"I haven't lied to you yet." Helena points out to Al, "And I've verified facts about your life only you would know unless you told me." She looks back over at Boxer, hesitates, and then admits, "She's an actress. Lucrezia Bennati."
"How did I meet her?" Al wonders, looking past her as if in search of Lucrezia.

Boxer's brows level at that. A famous rapper, now an actress. His eyes wander back to the prison hulking up out of the dirt at the other end of the yard, and for a blessed minute or two, he goes on to be quietly unsettled instead of talking.

"I don't know specifics." Helena says. Her voice is pitched quiet and not meant to carry, but since Boxer's in hand-to-shoulder proximity to Alex, he may hear himself some, anyway. "She's related to someone you and I both know." There's a faint pause. "Someone you were in love with, at one time. I don't know why you took up with Lucrezia though, or she with you."

"I do not like this place," Boxer decides at the end of his silence, right hand dropped away from the fence so that he can give Alex and Helena a disapproving look, as if they are somehow part of the problem just by being there. Then he moves off, back to tracking his way along the fence line in search of interestingly shaped clods of red dirt.

"No? I thought it was supposed to be a spa and we're all expected to enjoy ourselves." Helena mutters under her breath. But they're calling folks back in, and she turns to Alex as she rises. "I'll talk to you soon." she promises, and makes way to head for the others.

March 15th: With a Capital "T"

Previously in this storyline…
Welcome Home

Next in this storyline…
Sons of Scotland

March 15th: Twisted Sister
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