Jezebel: Upcoming Scenes

[kittydesade]

She was going to prison, no doubt about that. The only question had been, where. Eventually she had wound up at some penitentiary city or another. Somewhere gray with bars, it didn’t matter where.

Fantine started at the gates. Big, steel, surgically clean. She was marched in with a line of other people whose faces and sexes were indeterminate. Their clothes were a riot of color but for some reason, for whatever reason their faces didn’t matter. After a while she just stared at the ground, since nothing she looked at but their clothes seemed to have any importance. And she’d already memorized the outfits of the ten people before and behind her.

A voice called her name, also faceless and sexless. She stepped through the gates and into a blast of cold air, walking across a courtyard that just seemed to extend further and further the more she walked into it. And then, suddenly, she was in the door and through the other side. It was a white room with gray square pillars, she saw that much. There was a desk at the far end, and two men who shouted at her that her toes belonged on the other side of the white line painted onto the floor. They itemized and took her belongings, including her underpants. They put them in a box and locked them into a bank vault with a door as thick as her waist.

The next room was a bathroom. Gray steel and white tile all over the place. Cold water hit her like a fist to the stomach, fountaining out of a thick fire hose. She screamed a little as it hit her, trying to curl up and protect her chest. It didn’t work, and her breath started to come fast and labored as her body tightened from the shock. Her eyes squinted open again as she started to trip, automatically trying to see enough to catch and keep herself from falling. The water was bloody as it ran down the drain. She couldn’t figure out where she was cut.

They picked her up next in a giant crane and dropped her into a vat of delousing powder. It got everywhere: her eyes, her mouth, up her nose. Burning her skin, stinging her scalp. It all fell out a hole in the bottom, and she tumbled out shortly after into a pile of powder, blind.

She was lying on a slab. The door, tunnel, whatever she had tumbled out of at the end had put her on a slab, and the delousing powder was gone. She was still blind, though; had she been permanently scarred by it? Fantine realized suddenly that she was about to find out. The familiar hum and whine of the medical scanners was coming closer. Hands that tasted of latex and sterility forced themselves into her mouth, putting a gag down her throat, restraints on her arms and legs. Her eyes were pried open, but she still couldn’t see. And yet in her reflection she saw eyes as black as Riddick’s, but without the mirror shine.

They passed the scanners over her and then they started in. Every measurement that could possibly be taken was done. Inside and out, they probed and poked her for signs of illness, for reactions, for reasons she didn’t know and wasn’t willing to guess at. All through it the only thing she could hear was the humming, the whining, the slow and steady beep of machines that recorded all of her vital functions. There was a background surruss of voices, but she had no idea what they were saying. The small part of survival instinct left to her told her in Riddick’s voice that she didn’t want to know. If she could just close her eyes it would all be over, but the tiny metal clamps still held them open.

The buzzing started. She felt the touch of the tattoo needle just above her knee. It didn’t even hurt, although she could feel the blood pooling underneath her. She could feel the numbers they were marking into her skin: 655321. The tattoo needle moved just as it was about to score her most sensitive places. It carved the same number high between her breasts. Marked for everyone to read.

The slab tilted upwards until her face was pressed ever so lightly against a panel of glass. The lights came on, and suddenly she could see again even if she had to squint to do so. Her body was still restrained, the gag was still in place although it couldn’t be seen from the outside. Her ears felt plugged with wax.

“Now this…”

Footsteps echoed down the hall and stopped where she was imprisoned. Someone touched a button and the glass panel receded upwards, sending her collapsing to her knees.

“This is unusual. You see here we have a creature out of its element, unwilling to be restrained to its customary place. An anomaly, but not an uncontrollable one. We are currently studying the central nervous system to see if there has been a malfunction…”

Fantine had gotten to her feet and was going to walk away. There weren’t any restraints, no holds on her, she could walk away except that when she stood completely the area on which her feet were placed lit up. Glass paneling came down, neatly bisecting her into ten slices, ten slides. She felt them touching her, fingers on the slides of her brain, one hand running over her chest as though to make sure it really was there.

“Fascinating. It doesn’t seem to be in any way outwardly different, yet…”

She was in pieces. In slices, like so much sandwich meat. The terror came rushing back in surges, spilling into her. She wanted to open her mouth to scream, but her lips were on one slide, her tongue in two pieces, her vocal cords split between two panes of glass. Her lungs moved frantically from three different places, and she could feel every moment of it. No sound came from the glass, and the dispassionate voices went on and on.






And then she woke.

As if by instinct Fantine didn’t move. She was trapped between the wall and the man next to her, a big man, arm thrown over her waist and weighing her down. Fear coursed down her body in rivers of sweat. She could smell it all over herself. She could also smell something else.

Riddick.

It was Riddick in the bed with her. It was Riddick’s arm over her waist, Riddick’s hot, soft breath on the side of her face. She blinked a couple times just to make sure she could see, then looked sideways. She could see a couple of spots where he’d missed with the shiv the last time he’d shaved. When he spoke she almost screamed.

“For the last time, I don’t want any bananas in the damn sandwich. No bananas. You put bananas in that sandwich and I’ll shoot you with this fucking fork.”

The words were in English but they didn’t make any sense when strung together. And then she realized he was still fast asleep. She’d never slept with him, ever. They’d always dozed off but then crept out of each other’s bunks after sex. Never stayed through true sleep. His voice was completely clear but his eyes were closed, his body relaxed. He talked as though he could have had a perfectly coherent conversation, but he surely didn’t know what he was saying.

“What do you mean I can’t fire you? You’re a fucking fork.”

No, he didn’t know what he was saying. It was almost enough to make her smile.

She wondered why he was staying now. Her mind could conjure up memories of the last twenty four hours but they were distant, like a tri-d program she might have watched in childhood. She was aware that he had tucked her into bed (Whose bed? His bed? Hers?) but she didn’t know why he’d stayed. She resented him a little for that, for being condescending and treating her like a child. He never had before. It was part of what she liked about him.

Fantine St. Germain was not made to be tucked in like a child. Even as a child she hadn’t needed it. But now she was pathetically grateful for Riddick’s presence even as she resented it. The furnace-like heat of his body wrapped around her ice-cold shockiness. The safety of his familiar scent at her back, knowing that he was between her and the door. Knowing that anyone who walked by on the other side couldn’t see her, it made her feel safe. She had never had to feel safe before.

The nightmare still shook electricity through her veins; she wasn’t going to get back to sleep anytime soon. Rather than stare at the ceiling that was too gray for her tastes she turned towards Riddick, tucking her head under his chin. He woke up, of course, with a jerky movement that knocked his forearm against the side of her head as he reached for a shiv out of instinct.

“Riddick.” She didn’t know what else to do but lie perfectly still, in case he did grab something sharp.

“Fantine.” His voice was still gravelly from sleep. More gravelly than usual. He blinked, sending little lights dancing over his eyes. For a second she was hypnotized by the different ways the shine reflected the light as he moved his head. “Are you…”

She pressed in close, trying to hide between his body and the blankets. “What are you doing here?” It came out muffled.

“Doctor’s orders.” He slipped his other arm underneath her, wrapping her up tight. It felt good. “He said you shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Fuck that,” she said, but there wasn’t any conviction in her tone. Even Riddick’s voice hadn’t been as rock steady as it usually was. She could feel that something had snapped inside her, although she didn’t know what it was. And she was afraid that it showed in her voice. “Doc’s just worrying.”

“Fantine…” Riddick said, and then stopped. She still had her face snuggled up to his chest, and all of a sudden she wanted to see his eyes. She wanted to see his silver shining eyes, nothing less would reassure her. She wriggled around, resisting as he tried to pull her closer until he finally let her up, and then she tilted her head back to stare at him. His lower lip was pushed out slightly, an expression that served for concern on the normally un-softened face.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No, seriously.” She tried to wriggle her way out of his arms, felt panic swim over her at the very idea, and stopped. Her voice, when she could speak again, was weak and thready. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re not even in the same system as fine.”

With her arms around his waist she could pull back a little and not suffer the paralyzing fear. It was all good as long as she could touch him. And there were still questions she wanted answered. “Why are you still here, anyway?”

“Doc’s orders. Would you cross the Doc when he’s in a bad mood?” He was trying to make a joke out of it, and his mouth was smiling, but there was still a tightness to the cadence of his words that wasn’t going to go away any time soon. Even in the dark she could read him, especially his voice and the way his arms were still so tense.

“Probably not. I didn’t think you’d … you’re not exactly the type to obey orders.” She remembered something. “Forks?”

“What?”

“You were talking about forks in your sleep. Something about not putting bananas in your sandwich or you were going to fire a fork at someone?” He had to be blushing, even if she couldn’t see it between his naturally dark skin and the lack of light in the cell. “What caliber was that fork, anyway?”

“Shaddup.” It was relaxing to them both, at least.

She pressed her cheek to his chest again, satisfied that it really was him. “You speak almost like an Aquiline,” she murmured, remembering something that had been intriguing her for a long time. “Where did you learn that?”

He was quiet for a little while, and she concentrated on the even puffs of his breath against her skin so she wouldn’t have to listen to the sounds of the prison. Sensory input was slowly starting to return for more than just the immediate vicinity. She could see a little further again, hear a little further. The only problem was there wasn’t anything nearby she wanted to see or hear. Nothing further than the cell doors. Outside of her and Riddick she just didn’t want the world to exist.

When he spoke again she’d almost forgotten the question. “I learned it in school,” he said, although she had the feeling that wasn’t the whole story. “Believe it or not. I did go to school, for a little while.”

She actually chuckled a little bit at that. “Until you got bored and ran off to make your own fun, I’d bet.”

“Something like that.”

More silence again. They’d exhausted all potential topics of conversation, and neither of them knew what to say. It felt odd, being so vulnerable, so afraid. Especially in the presence of the one person who she would never have wanted to show fear to. There was something deeply shameful about being afraid in front of Riddick. In front of anyone, but especially in front of Riddick. She didn’t want him to see her like this, and she couldn’t pull away. He made it safe. He was part of her, part of her world that could still hold her up. He was safe to trust and to hide behind. But the fact that she was hiding behind him must have said to him that she wasn’t what he thought she was. She wasn’t what he thought she was, what she had been convincing him she was. The thought latched into her brain like a lamprey and wouldn’t let go.

He was falling asleep again. Dozing, she recognized the rhythm and the slight twitch of uncoiling muscles from all their previous nights together. But still falling asleep. Eventually she was able to sleep as well. At least until the nightmares came back.





Riddick needed out of this prison. He needed out of this hellhole, this confinement, this goddamn rat's warren with too many places a person could hide and jump out at someone else with a shiv and cut their throat in the darkness. The DNA results weren’t back yet, and they wouldn’t even list all the offenders. He wanted them dead. He wanted every last person who’d been in that room dead.

She was safe for now, at least. Doc had her in the infirmary, would keep her until he could come and collect her and take her to bed. And she was starting to talk again, although she still barely seemed as though she saw anyone else in the room. Disturbing.

Equally disturbing were the Doc’s words of earlier, reinforced after he’d finally crawled out of the shower with her dragging along behind him. Had he really seen these effects and behaviors before, and never recognized them? Rape was one of the staples of prison life, like bad food and callous guards and the nightly pit fights he’d enjoyed watching up until a few days ago. But it had never really touched him. He’d made enough of a reputation the first day by killing the first person who’d tried to push him around, just beat the man into a bloody pulp. The second one got a shiv in the belly; he was still alive, although he had a shitbag permanently attached to his hip. One after another, they’d gotten the message before it had ever come down to trying to get Richard B. Riddick up against a wall.

He surrounded himself with people who were just as mean as he was, or so different that the normal rules didn’t apply. Doc was an example of the latter, Lawson and Fantine examples of the former. At least she had been, until she’d been revealed as a woman taking on a man’s world on their terms. Men didn’t tolerate that kind of thing. He’d known that, he’d known it instinctively, and he’d still let her go through with it. Now he was starting to think he should have just stopped her after her first melee pit fight.

She wouldn’t have tolerated it. He knew that now, and he’d probably known it then. But she was damn lucky she hadn’t been outed and raped right there in the opening melee. The second day – his mind raced, trying to figure out the whys and wherefores of everything – the second day she had been labeled as his. They’d both even laughed about it at the time. Nicole, trying to piss a circle around what she thought was hers. And he’d walked in and completely upset her plans, but he was preferable, Fantine had said. He knew better than to try and claim her for his own.

It didn’t matter. Nicole had spread the word in a day: Fantine belongs to Riddick, hands off. And as cold and troublesome a bitch as she could be, Nicole had been useful in that respect. She’d kept the predators from circling with just the rumors of territory. For a while. Until Fantine had been outed and then it was open season on the freak. The one person to challenge custom and culture.

“You broke the rules…” Even Riddick acknowledged it, although he thought the rules were bullshit at the best of times. Not just the Slam’s rules, anyone’s rules. The only rule that mattered was survival. But here, survival meant following the rules or not getting caught. And she had gotten caught. “You broke the goddam rules!”

His fist made a loud, hollow noise as it slammed against the canteen wall.

Riddick stood there for a long time before he finally went in. Keyes and Lawson were there, as he’d known they would be. It was breakfast time, or as close to it as it ever got. He’d lost track of how many hours he’d been awake.

“Hey, there you are. We didn’t see you after…” It didn’t take too many steps forward for Lawson to see the stony lack of expression on the bigger man’s face. “What?”

“She’s in the infirmary.” They rarely used her name when she wasn’t there. Only one woman so important, so comfortable they took her for granted. “She got wolfpacked in the canteen.”

Of both the other men’s reactions, it was Keyes who surprised Riddick the most. First the flush of anger, and then the pallid whiteness of fear and recognition. Lawson only stared at him in shock, with which Riddick was all too familiar. It had been impossible for him to believe, too, and he’d seen it.

“No…” Lawson shook his head. “You can’t…”

“I was there, Lawson. I saw it. I had to get her to the Doc…”

“She couldn’t…”

“Of course she could…” Keyes, little Joey Keyes, spoke up. His voice was more forceful than they’d ever heard, and bitter, and very hard. “Of course she could. All they needed was a reason. Enough bodies will get to anyone if they want you bad enough.”

Both men stared at him.




Haven't finished this scene yet. Of course Joey knows. Joey's been there. Of all of them, Joey's been a victim. But he's not going to tell the other men that. I don't even think he's going to tell her.