Harold 'Mad Harry' Starks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likeshowbusiness) wrote2020-11-08 09:56 am
likeshowbusiness) wrote2020-11-08 09:56 am
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"Mm."
Harry watches him for a moment, then taps out a cigarette and lights up.
"So what do you plan on doing about this, eh, Mr Shelby? Afraid I can't promise it won't happen a second time - that's not entirely my own decision."
If Nux gets in his face again he's going to get nutted again. Law of physics.
Harry watches him for a moment, then taps out a cigarette and lights up.
"So what do you plan on doing about this, eh, Mr Shelby? Afraid I can't promise it won't happen a second time - that's not entirely my own decision."
If Nux gets in his face again he's going to get nutted again. Law of physics.
"I'm going to ask my inmate what he wants to do, because it's not me that got his bloody face beaten in."
Despite the heat of his words he still seems calm enough- and he is, when it comes down to it. Harry's a prick, but Nux does provoke people when he's in a mood.
"And I'm going to watch you more than I did before. Does that disappoint you?"
Despite the heat of his words he still seems calm enough- and he is, when it comes down to it. Harry's a prick, but Nux does provoke people when he's in a mood.
"And I'm going to watch you more than I did before. Does that disappoint you?"
"Not in the least, warden."
Though asking the victim for their opinion on sentencing is a novel outcome as far as he's concerned.
"Good." He nods, satisfied- and he will ask Nux, when he's feeling better, when he's less likely to be riled up, still.
"I'll be sure to let you know, then."
"I'll be sure to let you know, then."
Water under the bridge. Sure you'll understand a Jewish kid in the Forties didn't appreciate waking up in a cell for no bloody reason.
nobody appreciates waking up in a cell for no bloody reason, but especially not a kid who doesn't know whats going on yea
[The historical implications are, sadly, lost on her; she's aware of what happened to the Jews during the forties, but not aware enough to pick up on a vague reference to it.]
you do ok for the rest of it?
[The historical implications are, sadly, lost on her; she's aware of what happened to the Jews during the forties, but not aware enough to pick up on a vague reference to it.]
you do ok for the rest of it?
[The combination of feeling like he's having his turn of phrase mocked, and the idea that she or anybody else living in a civilised country just doesn't know what he was afraid of during a time period still within living memory, is enough that he doesn't bother replying.]
[He doesn't strictly remember that he liked talking about this in the first place, but.]
Go on.
[It's tied up with their months-ago discussion about wardens and inmates, in her mind; it's a conversation she's been mentally returning to a lot.]
Me and this guy Lark are making a list of things that should be changed. One of us'll probably ask the whole Barge sometime, but I been asking some people if they got any ideas first. You got any ideas? Things that should be different? Stuff wardens could maybe use deals to force the Admiral to do.
Me and this guy Lark are making a list of things that should be changed. One of us'll probably ask the whole Barge sometime, but I been asking some people if they got any ideas first. You got any ideas? Things that should be different? Stuff wardens could maybe use deals to force the Admiral to do.
Yeah, we've had the pleasure. Can a warden's deal force the Admiral to do anything?
Yeah. Frankly? If he won't send me home, then I don't give a fuck about anything else he does or doesn't do.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. The bombs weren't supposed to work. There weren't supposed to be people caught in the fires. He wasn't supposed to walk into the infirmary - looking for Mickey, who he still hasn't tracked down - to find Tiffany. Laid out on a table and going slowly cold.
No, this is way, way over his head. He feels that tight, pressing, claustrophobic panic squeezing his chest. He can't go back to his room. Isn't sure if he wants to confess his part in this disaster or hide as long as he's able.
One thing or another lands him at Harry's door, wide-eyed and anxious, still wearing his costume. He knocks rapidly, soot-streaked and breathing hard.
No, this is way, way over his head. He feels that tight, pressing, claustrophobic panic squeezing his chest. He can't go back to his room. Isn't sure if he wants to confess his part in this disaster or hide as long as he's able.
One thing or another lands him at Harry's door, wide-eyed and anxious, still wearing his costume. He knocks rapidly, soot-streaked and breathing hard.
Harry stuck his head out when he heard the explosion, and feels slightly put out to have been left out of the fun - though his experience of firebombing isn't great. He just puts himself back in his cabin to wait out the chaos.
Later he hears the knocking, and he's not unpleasantly surprised to see the white-haired boy there.
"Pietro," he murmurs, and puts a steady hand on his shoulder to guide him in. "What's happened, eh?"
Later he hears the knocking, and he's not unpleasantly surprised to see the white-haired boy there.
"Pietro," he murmurs, and puts a steady hand on his shoulder to guide him in. "What's happened, eh?"
Even under the soot and singed fabric (and under the week-old bruising around his eyes and nose, courtesy of Nux), Pietro looks like hell. And a bit like he's about to throw up.
"Tiffany's dead." That's the main thing buzzing in his skull right now. He can't shake the image of her body from his mind.
"Tiffany's dead." That's the main thing buzzing in his skull right now. He can't shake the image of her body from his mind.
Harry shepherds him into his room, shutting the door, and then sits him down carefully but firmly at the end of his bed; he sits down next to him, hand still on his shoulder.
"It won't last, you know how it works 'round here. Do you know what happened, son?"
Pietro lets himself be guided, glad for the privacy. The flimsy barrier between them and what's going on outside.
"I know, I know, but- this wasn't supposed to go like this. I can't even find Mickey, I- I don't know how it got this bad."
Tiffany hadn't even looked burnt or... exploded. If she hadn't been near the explosives, what had happened?
"I know, I know, but- this wasn't supposed to go like this. I can't even find Mickey, I- I don't know how it got this bad."
Tiffany hadn't even looked burnt or... exploded. If she hadn't been near the explosives, what had happened?
Ah. So it's not just shock; it's guilt.
"You and some mates put together the bombs for a laugh, did you?" he asks gently. "'Fraid you might have picked the wrong crowd for a bit of controlled chaos."
"That's not what- look, it was Tolansky organizing things. He's not exactly known for competence. I figured we were gonna take out some wiring, get caught, and I'd make sure no one roughed him up too much for being a dipshit!"
He runs both hands through his hair, sucking in his breath through his teeth. "Not... nobody was supposed to get hurt, let alone killed."
He runs both hands through his hair, sucking in his breath through his teeth. "Not... nobody was supposed to get hurt, let alone killed."
"Hey. Pietro, don't you panic, alright? It's done. You ain't gonna take it back now."
He rubs his back, between his shoulders.
"Deep breaths. Slow it down."
Pietro squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force his brain to stop buzzing, his heart to stop pounding. Panic is a good word for it. He goes over that edge so easily. He knows it makes him sick and miserable, but he just isn't good at slowing down.
Anyone else would be hyperventilating. Pietro isn't in danger of passing out, but he still doesn't look comfortable. "I don't know what to do."
So he came here. It... made sense in his head.
Anyone else would be hyperventilating. Pietro isn't in danger of passing out, but he still doesn't look comfortable. "I don't know what to do."
So he came here. It... made sense in his head.
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