Participants:
| Scene Title | The What Ifs And Other Questions |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Myn and Mon have a late night discussion. The girls are a little antsy. |
| Date | November 16, 2010 |
Nondescript cell. Lots of concrete.
It's hard to tell what time of day it is. There isn't much variety in regard to the meals. But there is a longer gap between two of them, and for the eight hours when the lights are turned off, it can only be assumed that is dark outside as well. It's a time meant for sleeping, but it's possibly because of this dictation that Mynama Barros-Nunes lies awake on her cot, her thin hands clasped at her collarbone.
The silence is deafening. It's been what feels like hours since someone further down the hall made any sort of noise that carried.
So it is with some hesitation that Mynama turns her head, her eyes long since having adjusted to the darkness. Still, she can't see across to Monica's bunk well enough to know if the other girl is awake or not.
"Psst," she whispers in a hiss. "You asleep?"
Monica hasn't been sleeping well. Between a natural sleep cycle that tends to keep her up late and the stress and worry about being in prison and… well, not knowing if any of her friends actually survived the eighth… it's led to a lot of sleepless nights (and days) for the mimic. Plus, she doesn't like being negated. It sucks.
But it's all good news for Mynama, as when she whispers to get Monica's attention, there's some stirring on the other cot in the cell. "Not really," she whispers back, letting out a resigned sigh. "What's up, hun?"
"If you could like…bend metal with your brain, or bust through concrete…"
Mynama's voice is only a little bit shakey, but the effect is emphasized by her whisper. "If you could do that, you'd've gotten us out by now, right?" It's an honest enough question. With all the philosophical 'beat them at their own game' talk that Monica was spouting the other day, it would make sense that she wouldn't want to sit tight rather than take action.
It's an idea that has Mynama crawling inside her skin.
"If I could do either of those, we wouldn't have gotten here in the first place. But yes." Oh to have Niki's ability. Or D.L.'s. Oh, D.L.'s would be nice right about now. "But seein' how I can't, and even if I could, they're negating us anyway, we're stuck using brains, not brawn. I know it's frustratin', Myn. We won't be in here forever, though. I promise."
Mynama purses her lips together, and though there is no audible component to the expression, her frustration is more than palpable. She sighs, turning her head back to stare up at the ceiling, as black as it may be. "I don't know why they bothered to do it to me," she mutters. "I mean, they know from my card I haven't manifested yet, and if what that chick from the park says is true, I might not for like…years."
But it would be oh-so-helpful if she could do whatever she can do now rather than later.
"Because. It might be years, it might be tomorrow. And if you manifested the ability to bust through concrete, all their efforts would be for nothin'," Monica says with a chuckle. The mirth is very thin, though. "It's frustratin' for me, too. If I could just get a hold of somebody. I know people who can move through walls, punch through — or yell through — concrete and a guy who bends metal. Although, he's a little off kilter, if you ask me." Her hand does a little so-so gesture, but for her own benefit, given the dark around them. "But something'll open up, Myn. I mean, there are ways. It's just… actin' without a plan's not smart." And usually it's Richard who does the planning, unfortunately.
"How's this for a plan," Mynama says with another sigh, stretching her arms up above her head. "Kick ass. Get out of here. Then do cartwheels in the sun." Sure, it's lacking a lot of detail, such as the how's and where's, but it's good enough. "You've never just, thought on your feet? Acted with your gut? 'Cause I've got a feeling if you didn't, I'd be having this conversation with someone else."
"Oh no, I do that all the time. But see how it ends with me in jail? Or with more broken bones than I'd like to think about," Monica adds with a mutter. "Kick whose ass? And once I'd kicked ass… which way is out? Are we underground? How many guards are there? Do the ones we see even have the keys to the cells? I mean, there's a million unanswered questions that could make a rush for freedom… a very short rush."
"I guess."
The admittance comes in that typical teenager tone of reluctant submission. "But it would be pretty cool if we could." And also pretty likely that they've thought of that, hence the negation, the concrete, and all the cloak-and-dagger in getting them here in the first place.
"So when we do get out…what are you going to do first? Same things you've done before? Eat a hotdog from a greasy stand?" Because clearly Monica has done this loads of times, right?
"It would be cool, you're right. And maybe we'll get our chance. We'll see." Monica is quiet for a little bit, even after the question is voiced. Thinking it over, maybe.
"First? I suppose… I'll try to find out what happened to my friends on the eighth. Call my family and let them know I'm not dead. See if I can keep my job with whatever this stint looks like on my record…" It isn't glamorous, but it is honest, at least.
"I mean, very first, Monica," Mynama clarifies, turning on her cot to lie on her side, her eyes narrowing against the dark. "Before you do anything else. You don't want to eat real food? Or even take a nap in your own bed? Or roll around in a pile of leaves or anything?"
Monica sits up a little bit, the shift being heard more than seen, "That is the very first." She sounds a little confused that the girl felt the need to clarify. "Bed and food and all that'll be around after I make sure people made it through. I got these friends… they're just… they get into trouble, is all."
"Must be really good friends." There's that teenager voice again. "You're lucky, you know?" she adds after a moment. "Oscar's probably glad I'm gone. And you know what? I don't fucking care. If something happened to him? The worst that they could do to me is ship me back home - home home. And then it's just two years until I'm an adult."
Monica is quiet there in the darkness for a long moment. If the lights were on, there would be some hint to what's going on in her head, but as it stands, it's left a mystery.
"It gets easier," she notes eventually. "It gets better from the teen years. Two years, not too long. Then you can go do your own thing."
"Mm," is the noncommittal sound that comes from Mynama's cot. After another moment, there's more rustling of body against mattress, and Mynama's back is turned to her cellmate. "If you say so," she mutters.
Another few minutes go by before Mynama speaks again, and when she does, her whisper has lost it's somber tone.
"Hey. Wanna play like, twenty questions or something?"