midpointsaloon | Welcome To Your Life (Jailbreak Mingle)

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Welcome To Your Life (Jailbreak Mingle)

You find yourself in jail. An old-fashioned, dusty jail: three cells wide, six foot to a side and below ground level, judging from the tiny barred window half a foot from the ceiling, that looks out onto a flat expanse. Shimmering heat waves are already starting to form, the sun already burning hot, but your cell is comfortably cool and dry.

And empty. The only things in your cell are a sturdy plank bench, chained to the wall like a hammock, a solid-looking pillow and a hairy blanket sitting thereon. Any items you might have had on your person are sitting on the wall opposite your cell, nearly four feet away from the iron bars holding you: propped up on wooden shelves, hanging from thick metal hooks, or sitting on the floor if the item is particularly large.

Outside the occasional jangle of leather and metal, and the occasional chuffing breigh suggests that there must be horses outside, but otherwise the area is silent. Before too long, though, there's the sound of footsteps and jangling keys echoing from upstairs, getting louder and clearer as someone makes their way down to you...

I. Sooey Jail

The view from the windows drops off quite suddenly, about a mile past the bare scrubland bushes and occasional screeching roadrunner. In the distance, a plume of smoke is the only sign of a freight train rushing along its tracks, until the faint echo of its whistle hits the ear. While Inara Serra will likely be entirely unimpressed by the lacking cell, Daylight vis Lornlit will find it's far too small for him. Bucky Barnes is near silent as he dismounts outside.

II. Southern Point

The walls of the cells here are distinctly discoloured to nearly five feet high, an ugly brown with black mold growing in the cracks around the benches and corners of the room. The air is musty and damp, in sharp contrast to the hot, dry wind that blows in through the windows. Quicksword Irene will find her ever-present claymore on the wrong side of the bars, but Hajime Aikawa has company behind his - Ryo has come along, too. The sound of Fuwa tying his horse up is interrupted by a sharp yelp of annoyance.

III. Mountain Hole

The windows are cast in shade in these morning hours, which makes the cells distinctly cooler than the glimpses of clear blue sky and rolling heat waves suggest. Fully grown trees with needle-like leaves are visible outside, and the keen might just hear the echo of a chugging train. Taako will no doubt find the scene familiar; Yoda as well, if less sandy than some oft complained about; Jiro Azuma is undoubtedly the most confused here. Rocket and Groot can be heard outside, approaching and bickering.

IV. Dead Man's Doorstep

The higher the sun rises, the warmer it gets in the cells; even before midday it's unspeakably stuffy, and the hot breeze carries light waves of sand into the cells. The sound of ropes creaking, gentle and intermittent, under the strain of something heavy echoes through the cells, adding a disconcerting background noise to the already alarming context. Jo Harvelle will find sand in her hair; Sara Lance finds it everywhere else. Outside, Misty Day and Sam Wilson tie their horses together, and brace for their new teammates.

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[Finally the owner of the footsteps comes down, holding the guessed-at key ring. It's a broad, long-haired man in dusty jeans, combat boots, and a cowboy hat-- with a metal arm. There's a rifle slung over one shoulder.

They meet Inara's eyes briefly before focusing down on the lock to her cell. Just a fleeting moment of eye contact, that's all they ever really do, anyway. They haven't even looked in the other cell yet.]

I'll let you out. Sorry about all this.

[The wall of aloofness that Inara had created to defend herself dissolves almost immediately. There's not a single thing about this man that's what she'd expected in this situation in looks, words or actions. She takes a step backward.]

Why?

[Still looking at the lock, as they flip through the keys to find the right one-- they know, after all this time, which keys go to which locks in each of the jails-- they roll their shoulders a little in an almost shrug.]

Because you just got roped into a terrible situation. And you were clearly afraid.

[And they're gonna have more bad news for her, over the next half hour or so. Once they get the next cell open, too.]

[Oh, that's irritating.]

I'm not afraid of you.

[Inara could believe that she’d been brought to some kind of off the books prison far from the city, but this person does not look like a prison guard. There's something about the way he moves, and the way he only briefly met her eyes, that reminds her of River. Not the safest situation to be in right now.]

Why are you here?

That's good. Because you're on my team this round.

[Though next round, she might not be so lucky, and being a little afraid might be a good idea. The comparison to River probably isn't that far off: fucking with people's brains to make them better killers appears to be a universal theme.]

I'm here to let you out and explain the situation. Get you to town. So we can start the mission.

[They unlock the cell door, then pull it open with a creak.]

[She doesn't move.]

If we’re on the same team, why aren't you in a cell, too?

I'm not new. Only new people get to start off in cells. Or people who died in the last round.

[Soldat steps back pointedly, giving her space, expression calmly neutral beneath the hat.]

I've been here for years.

[It’s the mention of dying that stops her up short - the situation with Salvation had been different, a rescue even, but Kaylee had told her a bit about what had happened to her and Luke in Mayfield. She's definitely not back in Alliance space, but she might not be on Verdana anymore, either.

She's still trying to hide her fear, but Soldat can likely see the tension she can't keep out of her limbs.]

What sort of mission is worth dying for in this place?

None of them. But it happens, anyway. Better to die clean than get punished for not cooperating.

[Yeah, they can tell she's tense. It's not hard to believe, anyway: this is a scary situation she just got dropped in. And Soldat doesn't normally do this very well, anyway. They haven't had to do a new person besides Sam in at least a year.]

The missions are anything from rob a bank to blow up a train, to stopping those things from happening. We're set against another team each time.

Blow up a train-

[Inara almost laughs in disbelief. Somehow, though, that isn't the most pressing question.]

Set against each other by whom? Why?

[This is so many words. They're not used to talking this much. Even with Misty and Sam, they understand and give them space, time. Soldat gives her a kind of helpless look.]

Can I explain it all. After our other teammate wakes up?

[They look over at the far cell finally, and.

Stop. Stare.

Because they know that robot. Who isn't awake yet. Jesus Christ how is this even happening. First Misty, then Sam, now Daylight? ... Daylight with different colors and no lantern?

Even with as subtle as Soldat's expressions usually are, Inarra can clearly read shock, hope, and dismay on their face. When words come out a moment later, they're choppy:]

We should. Go upstairs. Until he wakes up.

[That pile of garbage in the other cell is a person? Is he okay? The questions are still building up in her head - along with a headache and some rising panic at what's increasingly looking like an even worse situation than she'd imagined - but Inara’s worked with enough trauma survivors to recognize that she's been pushing too hard. This person is not her enemy, at least not right now.]

Of course. I'll get my things.

[The only things they'd taken from her were a couple of particularly sharp hairpins and her knife in its concealed sheath, so she’ll be quick about it.]

[It's so nice having somebody who actually understands things like that. Soldat tears their gaze away from Daylight's weird-colored form, and starts up the stairs up once Inara seems to have herself put back together.

The room above is smaller than the ones below, and consists of a single chair at a single big desk with a folder of papers on it, barred windows at each side, one door, and a variety of boxes and shelves with clothing, weaponry, and various other standard supplies waiting to be rifled through.

Soldat taps the folder on the desk, the pushed it Inara's way.]

[Inara is putting the finishing touches on a slightly more elaborate braided hairstyle when she reaches the top of the stairs. There's no evidence visible that she picked up the knife.

She approaches the folder with a professional interest - not that this is anything like it but starting out with a dossier kind of feels like her old job - only to recoil upon actually reading it. She shoves the folder in the other direction as if that actually makes a difference and walks across the room to check out the boxes.]

[Soldat sighs a little at her expression. It's not like they don't understand. Their first few rounds were terrible, until they just kind of gave up.]

I know. If it makes you feel better. We aren't supposed to hurt her. And she's probably expecting it, so we're not actually going to. You know. Scare her.

What am I supposed to do with that?

[They're both victims in this, so she tries to keep the anger out of her voice, but this really is crazy.]

I don't know how to - I'm an accountant!

It's a game. A challenge. For someone's entertainment. You don't have to be good at it.

[Soldat shakes their head, a sliver of attention on the cells below, listening for Daylight. They leave the file where it is, going to collect a heavier jacket and a small pistol for her.]

I've done it enough times, anyway. I'll show you both what to do.

What sort of punishment can be worse than dying for someone's entertainment?

[Inara has died before, just once, at the hands of a woman who had smiled and chatted with her while feeding her enough poison to kill an elephant. It's an experience she's not looking forward to repeating.]

[Soldat's died before too. ... loads of times. They'll at least have that in common. Kind of.]

Dying's over quick. Punishment lasts hours. Days, sometimes. Not that you know how long it is. It just kind of keeps happening. It's pretty awful. Generally us players just call it bad jail.

[A nod at the stairs down.]

This is just normal jail.

[The thought of what kind of punishment might last days is so horrifying that for now, she doesn't address it.]

Why do they lock us up like that? So we won't go wandering into the desert?

Aesthetic.

[It comes out bone dry. Then, less bitterly, they add,]

Also, yes, because otherwise new people will all run off without getting instruction. Without getting collected by one of the other players. Here.

[They offer her a suede jacket and a broad-brimmed hat.]

Against sunburn.

Thank you.

[She pulls on the jacket and holds the hat in both hands. There's a long pause afterward, and she seems to be searching his face for evidence of something. When she speaks, it's very quiet.]

Are we real?

[That... is not an easy question. Especially for Soldat, who has wrestled with personhood for a long time, and also was basically a magical clone created from lingering lifeforce after dying, last new world they woke up in.

So after a pause where they look firmly at her shoulder instead of her face, they say quietly,]

I don't know how we'd know that. If we weren't. I wasn't real before I came here. Am I real now? Are you? I don't know. Feels real, though.

[Yeah, it was kind of stupid to imagine that it would be that simple.]

It would be nice to think that there's a real me back where I came from, and no one's worried.

[Also complicating the situation: multi-universe theory. Sam has already told them that his version of Soldat is alive and, if not well, at least aiming towards it, and reunited with Steve. So there may well be a pretty lady somewhere whose friends aren't worried.

Not likely anyone worried in Soldat's universe. Not after they killed Steve. S Soldat can say, after a moment of working past an unexpected lump in the throat,]

I hope so, too. For you. I'm sure you've got plenty of friends to worry.

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