deadliestviper | 039 VOICE LIST FIFTEEN

[Filtered to Inmates]
So this hellhole is finally dying, and the wardens are losing their seat of power. They're talking about the futility of attempting to overthrow the sadistic dictator who pats their asses for tearing apart the innocent. They expect us to fear death and to cower before them and beg to be saved from what they can't protect themselves from.

This is not the time to rely on wardens. They have more to lose than we do; all we have are our lives, and those are forfeit anyway.

I'm not going to give up fighting. I'm going to keep killing them until I'm dead and this fucking boat is as lifeless as I am. They don't deserve our surrender, not now -- we have nothing to gain from giving in to them, and everything to lose.

Resist them. Don't listen to their lies.

Kill your warden.

If your morality won't allow for it, mine will.

[Filtered to Wardens]
I'm ready. Which one of you fuckers wants to go next?

(OOC: So Beatrix is an inmate and affected, obviously. She's very very close to graduation and probably would be there already if she didn't hate the idea and fight against it. Wardens, she's likely to attack you and do her best to torture/murder you BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT; inmates, she's likely to try to protect you with everything she's got because YOU ALSO DESERVE IT.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[That is what Dean wanted to save? She all but leaps on Anya, forcing the knife into the corner of her jaw to pop it out of joint. She doesn't care what he does now, he has to see the futility in what he's doing, and all that matters is teaching the piece of human shit on the table exactly what she is.

Besides, he's not going to kill her. It wouldn't be self-defense, it wouldn't even be defense of anyone who deserved to be saved. It would be outright murder because he wanted her to die, and nothing separates him from her if he chooses that action.]

[A few years ago, when they were both younger, what Anya says may have shocked him enough to get a visible reaction; he would have been hurt, and because everything back then transmitted instantly into anger, he would have been angry. He's calmer overall, now, and it's not exactly a surprise, not for this place and its wardens, he's certainly been called soft before. He's been called that by Anya, too, though not with this kind of venom, not with her blood pooling under her and him trying to help her.

He's just shocked enough - and the anger, that hasn't gone anywhere, but rather tempered and settled - that Beatrix gets the jump on him even with his position between them. It's terrible timing, overriding his attempt to answer, joke, stay calm and diffuse the hurt - also, apparently, still present - and instead dumping adrenaline on top of his temper.

He knows. He knows he's soft. He's trying, goddammit. Bea lunges and there's the flash of the knife and Dean doesn't even think about it, he just lashes out for her hand, knocking it from Anya's face and down into her shoulder instead. He snarls, wordless and guttural, and throws himself at Beatrix, his own razor flashing in his hand for any part of her he can reach.

Maybe he won't kill her, but he will certainly make someone feel something.]

I said back the fuck off!

[It's what she wanted: to force Dean into a corner, to force him to choose between killing a fellow inmate, an attacker whose anger is - in Anya's view - wholly justified, and walking away from the torture of a helpless (not innocent, but now, in this moment, helpless) victim. But he's still just stalling, still trying to find a way through, moment by moment, still hurting almost as much as he helps. But moment to moment, if you never look over the edge at the awful spiral of extrapolated time, doing the best he can.

It's heroic and stupid and pointless; she is afraid and frustrated and she hurts, adrenaline and frantic, futile endorphins sanding the keen edges off her thoughts. The sharp plunge in her shoulder is almost a relief, a distraction from the more sensitive nerves of her mangled hand.]

I hate you.

[Gasped, but she'd scream it if she could, no calculated contempt now, just a raw, half-hysterical tantrum. Her remaining eye isn't looking at Bea.]

I hate you I hate you I hate you!

[The razor slices through the back of her wrist, blood welling up from the gash, and the deceptive delicacy of the weapon means she doesn't even notice the pain for a few seconds, figures the blood on her hands is from Anya. When the sting from the cut kicks in she's already ripped the knife back out and fisted her hand around it, slamming her fist into Anya's mouth, aiming for a target half a foot behind her teeth.

Then there's singeing pain across her back from another slash and she growls, throwing her weight forward onto the girl in order to kick back hard against him.]

And I said, only if you finish her off.

[The ragged pain in her voice rakes across Dean's resolve, tearing and ripping where no knife can reach, far more effectively. Stone cold sober, he'd roll his eyes and swallow it back down; now, though, it rouses him to a fever pitch of anger, white hot and powerful, too powerful to ignore.]

Stop! [Bea's foot connects and takes the breath from him before he can follow up, but he's taken his fair share of beatings, too; it doesn't faze him, and he abandons the razor to try for a hold on her neck, using his greater height and weight to keep himself in close.

The demons around him now wield all manner of sophisticated weaponry, but Dean has ever and always been first and foremost a bruiser, a brawler. He'll pry her off Anya forcefully if he can, even still dragging in painful breaths, his temper gone so high that his face has frozen itself out.]

[Beatrix's focus isn't on him. She's aiming for Anya's mouth, punching repeatedly with hands as patient and heavy as sledgehammers. She's waiting for the sound of bone breaking, the low gurgle of blood bubbling down her throat and into her lungs. But more than that -

Before she can shatter her jaw Dean wrenches an arm around her neck and pulls her back, and though she stabs the knife back into Anya's shoulder and holds tight to it as he drags her away, she doesn't resist.]

Fine! Fine. The cunt's all yours.

Just remember, the next time she tortures you, that it didn't have to be you in pain.

[If he wants her so badly, let him have her. At least she's stopped Anya's mouth for awhile, and given the rotten sadist a taste of what she deserved.

She's got three of the girl's front teeth held in her fist.]

[I hate you I hate you I hate you

Dean has run out of patience, and when Bea comes away with him, he doesn't just drag her off. He digs his fingers into her shoulder, forearm across her throat, and throws her away despite the shout of pain it brings out of him.

He doesn't really care how she lands. He's not a nice person. He's not that soft.]

Shut your crazy-ass mouth! You're fucking insane. [He snaps the order, voice cold enough to burn, and then rounds on Anya.

This time he doesn't ask her anything, and he doesn't reach for her good hand. He closes his grip on the nearest part of her and hauls her unceremoniously - efficiently, not carefully - so that most of her weight is on his shoulders.]

Come on.

[It's not either of the endings she wanted, but it's also over. A high-stakes gamble, the explosive result of opportunity combined with her growing fear that whatever new shape the barge takes won't have as much patience for Dean's obstinacy as she usually does. She knew, she knew it probably wouldn't be so easy, but she had to try it. And she thinks, for all that he didn't break, Dean cracked a little further. The breath of hesitation, the raw careless anger in his eyes, in his hands.

She doesn't try to say anything, doesn't try to keep quiet either, doesn't fight him at all now, just leans on him where he puts her and stumbles where he leads her. She trusts him. If she's right, she's fine, and if she's wrong, she wins. More or less.]

039 VOICE LIST FIFTEEN

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