[log] THE BUNKERERERENING [closed]

[phaseshifter]

Characters: Angel, Handsome Jack and Rhys (plus Dumpy)
Location: Building 43 (square I9)
Date: Morning 62 onwards
Summary: Norfinbury's greatest hero Handsome Jack selflessly protects his beloved daughter from the dangers of Norfinbury by shutting her in a basement with no way of contacting the outside world. Oh, and Rhys is there too, he guesses. Whatever.
Warnings: Self-harm! Abuse! Kidnapping! Threats of violence! Handsome Jack!


Wow Louise did a log with an unnecessary cut WHO'D HAVE THUNK IT

Gonna put up starter/s in the comments because this could last for a while

BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS

Comments

morning 62;

[phaseshifter]

[ EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE AND NOTHING IS OKAY.

It started innocently enough. Team Headports hadn't been thrilled when Jack had stumbled on them the evening before, but he'd been surprisingly chill about everything. Friendly, almost. Even their cooing over Dumpy had been tolerated gracefully, with Jack claiming that he'd just split off from Clayton and would be able to lead them to him after they'd all got some sleep. He'd even managed to keep up the act for a whole half hour the next morning before deciding that lying was for suckers, and threatening murder was by far a better option.

Plus, you know. This way, he gets to poke Rhys with his knife and make him yelp like a girl. Shit's hilarious.

It's a thoroughly miserable pair of Hyperbabbies who eventually find themselves herded into an unfamiliar building. They've had their tablets taken from them, they're still suffering from metal-bits-exposed-to-the-cold-itis, and the current situation is seeming pretty much impossible to escape from. Dumpy's screams have never been more appropriate.

As they're ushered/knife-prodded into the house, Angel immediately starts attempting to see if she can spot anything that could be used as a potential weapon. There doesn't seem to be anything, but... she does have that little can of mace in her bag. Maybe she and Rhys can distract Jack long enough for her to get hold of it? ]

This - this is where you wanted us, right? Now what?

[headjacked]

[ You know, things had been looking up. Even with the return of the flesh and blood Jack. The sort-of-saunas were thawing him out. He got some actual sleep. His arm was finally responsive. They had been reunited with Dumpy.

Good times.

Uuuuuuntil the knife came out, immediately restoring the status quo. Rhys didn't know it was possible to miss the wrench, but miss it he did.

By the time they're forced into their new shelter, he's stopped with the yelping. Frustration outweighing the fright. He spins around once he crosses the threshold and holds his cybernetic palm between himself and the blade that's been prodding at him. ]

Yeah, now what? You know, we had hot water at the other house. This kind of feels like a downgrade!

[youarethebandits]

[Things have been going pretty great, as far as Jack's concerned. He's finally got Angel back in check, he gets to poke a guy with a knife, life's good. And the best part, of course, is that now he's going to have some actual control over things again. A basement's hardly ideal, but it beats just letting Angel roam around and endanger herself.

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the metal palm getting in the way of his pokeage, but takes it as an opportunity to use the knife for gesturing in the basement door's direction.]

Sure, hot water's nice, but you know how it is. You can't always get what you want.

Get in there, both of you.

night 63;

[headjacked]

[ By the time night rolls around, Rhys is bone-tired. As a result, he's stopped any serious attempt to free himself and/or Angel. He'd like to be the hero, he really would, but here he is on the floor again. Snuffling and snotting into it out of frustration and shame and like ten other emotions.

(Quietly. Some dignity is being retained.)

Speaking of dignity, the gags are gone, at least. That's... something. It's too bad it hurts to talk.

But just... laying there in silence? Kind of sucks. Rhys wipes his face on the ground and coughs to clear his throat. ]

...Angel?

[phaseshifter]

[ Angel doesn't think lying there in silence sucks. Largely because she's trying really hard not to think anything at all. Thinking just leads to her getting upset or angry, and those kinds of emotions haven't exactly been serving her well so far.

Still. She isn't about to freeze out Rhys if he wants to talk. It's her fault he's here in the first place. ]

Yeah?

[ It's quite possibly the most tired and resigned word to ever come out of her mouth. ]

[headjacked]

[ Rhys realizes that he didn't actually have an actual topic in mind. He just wants to hear someone whose name is not Handsome freaking Jack.

The silence hangs for a few more seconds. Then: ]

What are we gonna do?

[ The end of the sentence breaks into a short series of more coughing. ]

Don't - don't say 'Iunno', please.

early evening 64 - A CHALLENGER APPEARS

[dr_unconscious]

[So Jack might not have planned to lead Angel and Rhys to Clayton, but Clayton's gone and done all the legwork for him in the end! How convenient, right?]

[He suspects nothing. Having spent the better part of his day rummaging frantically through the house full of clowns next door, and the entire day yesterday nearly tearing apart two others, he's frazzled but still optimistic. Chances are good that they've passed him and are headed north, he thinks. There are others waiting. Someone will find them. He'll get a message tonight, no doubt, saying that they've been safely recovered and he can relax. Wouldn't that be nice?]

[Because Clayton definitely isn't relaxed.]

[He approaches this house the same as he's been approaching the others while traveling alone: Cautiously and with some weird, unshakable feeling that he's about to get jumped. He's noticed it a lot more now that he doesn't have someone else checking the blind corners for him, and it's unsettling, but easy enough to write off as a case of shot nerves. This is fine. Besides, he's not so far gone that he doesn't think to be polite.]

[Clayton knocks firmly on the front door. Then, slowly, he opens it a crack, very carefully glancing through to scan as much of the landing as he can. He clears his throat.]

...Hello?

[youarethebandits]

[Jack has been expecting this. He's been telling people where he is, after all - which is probably a really bad idea, but he's never really enjoyed outright lying and people would have found out eventually anyway.

All he has to do now is keep whoever shows up away from the basement. Easy peasy.

Or it should be easy, at least. For some reason, he's been feeling increasingly paranoid the last couple of days, and he can't quite shake the feeling that anyone who shows up is only going to screw things up. They'll find out, and they'll free Angel and Rhys, and then his daughter and his AI copy will be free to do whatever they want again. Unacceptable.

As such, Jack's even more frazzled and on edge than usual when he steps into the room to greet Clayton.]

Sup.

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton nearly hits his head on the doorframe with how violently he starts.]

Lord almighty. [He recovers with a breathy laugh, one hand gingerly pushing open the door, the other gripping the front of his jacket over his heart. Friendly greeting. Everything's fine.] 'Bout scared the livin' daylights outta me...sorry, ah--

[He turns back after closing the door behind him and his eyes linger, maybe just a little bit too long, on the scar over Jack's face. Clayton doesn't recognize him--he's sure he would know a face like that--but the voice and context give him enough to extrapolate from.]

--Sorry. Jack, right? Didn't know you'd still be around.

early/mid 65? PRE RESCUE K GOOD;

[phaseshifter]

[ GREETINGS FROM SCENIC SHITTY BASEMENT. WELCOME TO DAY THREE.

As far as coping-with-hellbasement goes, Angel has been holding it together pretty well so far. She's used to confinement and solitude (albeit in better conditions than this), and she's honestly finding it pretty depressing that she's readjusted to this kind of life again so quickly. All she's missing is a Vault key plugged into her head and a planet's worth of Eridium coursing through her veins.

Not that she'd be able to process the Eridium now, would she? She's not a Siren any more. It'd kill her at best, or turn her into something obscenely awful at worst. Angel remembers the recordings of Jack's experiments with slag, the screams of pain and the twisted abominations that resulted from it, and shudders with nausea.

She also tries very hard not to think about Beckett speculating that there might be traces of Eridium left in her blood. Or what that would mean for her. Staring at her hands doesn't help: now that the thought has entered her head her flesh seems to twist and contort in front of her eyes, bubbling up in angry blisters around the sickly glow of her tattoos--

No.

Angel closes her eyes, counts to ten, and when she opens them again everything is fine. Fine. Except for the bit where she's locked in a basement with Rhys and Doctor Epps, anyway. Relatively fine.

Time to stretch her legs a little. Angel hops shakily to her feet and begins pacing the length of the basement. Maybe if she keeps moving, her mind will play fewer tricks on her? Plus, it's a good opportunity to check up on her basementpals without. You know. Bothering them. ]

[headjacked]

[ It started off small. Little flickers of blue out of the corner of his eye that disappeared whenever he tried to focus on them. Jack messing with him? Likely. Not worth mentioning to Angel and especially not the Doc.

Except Jack denied it. And he looked as earnest as a hologram of Handsome Jack could look, getting increasingly exasperated with the accusations. Rhys paralleled with mounting frustration.

Rhys woke up on the 65th day with whispers in his head and a body that felt like lead. And he was immediately, thoroughly convinced that it was him, and god, he was angry. And terrified. The longer Jack was in his brain, the more he could control, so it stood to reason that it was him. All of him. Slowly taking over in a more permanent sense.

By the time night settles in, he's done negotiating. He feels heavy, so so so heavy. He's examining his cybernetic arm with a quiet intensity, tucked in a corner again, when Jack appears and tries for reason.

"Are we done freaking out yet, Rhysie?" This gets no response other than a fierce, irritated jerk in the opposite direction, which just pisses Jack off. Even more. "I am talking to you -- "

He jerks the cyber arm. This is a mistake.

Rhys suddenly jumps to his feet as soon as Angel draws near, shouting at... nothing. Seemingly. ]

I knew it!

[phaseshifter]

Whoa!

[ Welp. Angel flinches, skittering back a couple of steps before re-approaching with slightly more caution. She's pretty sure Rhys isn't yelling at her, so that only really leaves one option.

Unless he's, like. Yelling at Dr. Epps in the wrong direction? Eh. ]

Rhys?

[ She touches his arm with a glowy hand, peering around to look at his face. ]

What's wrong?

aftermath threads go here nerds; night 65;

[phaseshifter]

[ After the basement crew have been rescued, everyone retreats to the building next to Basementhouse for the night. That building happens to be Clownhouse, sure, but anyone with complaints can eat a butt. Several butts. "Everyone" does include Handsome Jack, by the by - distinctly the worse for wear and now with his hands tied behind his back with a necktie. JUSTICE.

There's your setting you assholes now write your own toplevels I'm not ur mom ]

ota;

[phaseshifter]

[ Unlike her basementpals (tm), Angel seems to have made it through her ordeal unscathed. No cuts, no scrapes, no bruises - her clothes are a little smudged with blood here and there, but it's pretty obvious that none of it is her own. Considering that she's been held against her will for several days, she looks... well. Fine. And that's exactly what she insists she is as she fusses over rescuers and rescued alike, offering soothing words and hugs wherever applicable.

Really.

She's fine.

Just ignore that weird faraway dead look she gets when she thinks nobody's looking, okay? ]

[lacecase]

[Ginger truly, honestly has no idea what she's supposed to be doing with herself here. She hadn't really played any help in the rescue whatsoever, other than stay out of the way (which is a pretty helpful thing if you consider her network posts), she has no medical experience to use to assist anyone, and she doesn't even know the people that Clayton got kidnapped trying to rescue froma kidnapping. Or the kidnapper. It's kind of awkward all around for everyone involved.

Not that that's going to stop her from trying to make friendly conversation. She just doesn't really know what good a positive attitude is going to do anyone right now. Seeing Angel standing by herself and looking...pretty much empty inside, Ginger can't stop herself from approaching.]

Excuse me...I don't think we've met yet? I'm Ginger. Ah...I know 'are you alright' is probably a silly question, but...

[She wrings her hands, flustered.]

Is there anything I can do? Anything you need? Or...would you like someone to talk to?

[bookofnope]

[All things considered, it is entirely possible that this is not how Beckett wants his first face to face meeting with Angel to go. After all, he did very recently try to kill her father, and succeeded in considerably injuring him. And she did just spend several days imprisoned in a basement with companions that do not appear to have done particularly well for themselves. He certainly doesn't mean to fuss, but the effects ought to be fairly obvious.

And there is him, tense and brittle from the violent loss of control, and showing its signs. Just as when he'd drank from Rydia, the taste of human blood had called back the old Beast Marks. The gloves hide his clawed hands, but without the glasses, his eyes show their freakish red glow. Not the most comforting sight. In fact he wouldn't blame her for responding with a scream, a blow, or both.

But he means to leave tomorrow, and he will not leave before he sees her, whether and how she holds on. He finds a quiet moment when Angel is not preoccupied by fussing, in a quiet place where he won't corner her, where she can dart off if she wants to, and approaches carefully, announcing his presence with a soft throat-clearing.]

... did Clayton give you the hat?

ota

[youarethebandits]

[Jack is, indeed, in pretty bad shape. At least he has calmed down significantly, though - in fact, he's so quiet that it makes for an almost disturbing contrast to the way he was fighting and screaming before. Being in a different house has helped with the cabin fever, but there's more to it than that. He seems to be thinking very hard about something.]

[phaseshifter]

[ She shouldn't speak to him. She doesn't especially want to speak to him. She's pretty sure that it'll take all of five minutes for someone to notice that she's in his general vicinity, and then they'll steer her away to do something else.

Perhaps that's part of why she does it. Angel picks up her water bottle and heads straight for Jack, sitting beside him and very deliberately avoiding any kind of eye contact. ]

I have water, if you're thirsty.

[ She's pretty sure "I'm not going to untie you, though" goes without saying. ]

[headjacked]

[ Rhys has taken the first opportunity to untangle himself from his blanket burrito and head to the bathroom. There was a lot of waiting around for Clayton and Angel to go fuss elsewhere for five seconds, and a little pretending to be asleep, but goddammit, he needs some independence.

It's only on the way back that he notices Jack, and it's only because he nearly trips over him.

He should really just... go back to the couch now. Not say anything. But he lingers, and finally -- ]

Do you have anything to say to me?

[dr_unconscious]

[It's not immediately after they get in the house--Jack is stable enough that he can manage himself--but inevitably during the course of the evening, Clayton makes his rounds. He moves stiffly and seems to very deeply resent the idea of trying to sit on the floor, but it has to be done. He handles it.]

[After all the requisite groaning and shifting around is over with, Clayton settles down enough to fix Jack with as flat a look as he can manage. It doesn't last long; he's too concerned, and the raise of his brows gives it away.]

Jack? How're we feelin'?

[dr_unconscious]

[1 - State of the Rhys - keep this to one thread pls]

[Ideally, as soon as things calmed down upstairs and everyone was safely out of the basement, Clayton would have sat himself and Rhys down and refused to do anything else until they were both fit to travel. Perhaps it's his own little nagging starts of cabin fever telling him that it would be better if they all at least move next door. It's a quick trip, everyone is very unhappy and eager to leave, and honestly he starts to feel immediately better once they get out of the house anyways. It's kind of unsettling.]

[But Clayton doesn't think about that too much. What he thinks about is getting Rhys to the house with the clowns as quickly and carefully as possible, and then once they're safely inside, getting him stable is top priority. He's got Rhys from one side, holding him up under his good arm, though surely he's acquired someone to help carry him all this way because Clayton isn't walking too well either. He steers the party immediately towards the living room.]

Couch--on the couch, easy does it. Any blankets 'r clothes y'all can spare, gonna need 'em.

[2 - Proper Doctor Mingling - OTA]

[Once Rhys is taken care of well enough for Clayton to feel like he can relax a little bit, he takes the opportunity and does absolutely no relaxing with it. Clayton's looking pretty rough himself; he's covered in blood, a good amount of which is his own, most of it still caked to his face and in his beard from the large gash spanning his cheek and swelling his eye, which looks alarming but is not nearly as inconveniencing as his broken arm. He's just barely able to pace the living room a few times at a stiff amble before the adrenaline wears off and forces him to the armchair across from the couch. This is fine. At least he can still look after Rhys from here.]

[But he's not so preoccupied that he doesn't think to patch up himself--he just can't, not on his own. Instead, he commandeers whoever happens to be passing through the room to check on things. Lucky you!]

Hey. [Clayton's voice is hoarse and his face is pale, more sheepish than pained, though certainly a mix of both.] Can I...get you t' help me with somethin'? Please?

2

[lacecase]

[Luckily Clayton isn't really sidelining Ginger. She's been hoping for a chance to check in on him, she's been so worried! He looked terrible but he was so busy with Rhys and she knew she'd only be distracting and had nothing to help with and no way to contribute, she did what she'd been doing: hanging back.]

Yes, of course! [Her answer comes without hesitation. She doesn't even think about the fact that medical stuff really grosses her out because let's face it, the bae needs help. She'd have her hands on him already if he didn't look like a single touch would cause him further agony. Instead, she puts her hands over her heart, her eyes wide with earnest concern.] Anything, what can I do?

ota; middle of the night

[headjacked]

[ Rhys has been stabilized and sleeping for quite awhile now, tucked in several layers of assorted makeshift blanketry. Every breath still sounds awful and pained, but he's out of that basement and reasonably warm-ish. So. Improvement.

Late into the night, he tosses and turns as much as his battered body will allow -- not much, but enough to be noticeable -- and suddenly shoots up halfway. ]

STOP THE WIENER TALK!

[ Ladies and gentlemen, this is why you do not damage highly sensitive brain implants. His egg is seriously scrambled. Thinky thoughts ungood.

Not that he can really focus on that, because ow shit owwww his ribs are throbbing and burning and so is his shoulder blade. Cue whimpering and dropping down onto the couch again. ]

ota; both of these are after clayton's urgent medical threads

[starsandtights]

[1 - CAKE]

[Once everyone who needs it has been patched up as well as possible, Steve waffles around a bit before deciding there are enough people keeping an eye on Jack that he can safely do his usual search. Steve grabs a nylon wig cap (might make his head very slightly warmer? or he could... strain things? who knows); poking around in the kitchen, he finds a nice mug (clown-themed, of course), and then. Cake. Just sort of. Sitting on the counter. A slice of cake. Devil's food cake, with chocolate icing.

...What.

This... has to be a trick. How is there cake. Why is there cake. Nobody is exactly around to be baking things, even if you could find a functioning oven. Or any oven.

Steve inspects the cake. He smells the cake. It looks... fresh? It smells amazing. He pokes the cake with a finger. Feels like cake.

He spends a good long while staring at the suspicious cake. Then, with a feeling of impending doom, he breaks off a tiny piece, and eats it.

It... tastes fine? It tastes incredible, really. He waits for several long minutes, thoroughly expecting to find out that he's just poisoned himself.

...Nothing happens.

Well, holy crap.

Steve decides not to look a gift-cake in the mouth. He digs in his pack for his plate and fork and slides the cake onto the plate. He takes another couple of bites and oh my God, wow, chocolate cake, so good. It's been an upsetting day but Steve has cake now and everything is great.

Steve wanders around the house with his slice of cake, holding the plate and fork out to people.]

So, this is weird, but I found chocolate cake and as far as I can tell it isn't poisoned? Do you want a couple of bites? [He offers up a small "You're probably feeling like shit but cake makes everything better?" smile.]

[2 - Much later. Possibly most people are sleeping, even.]

[Steve parks himself near Jack and makes himself comfortable, preparing for a night of no sleep. Hope you weren't planning on trying to slip your bindings and cause mischief, Jack. Captain America's got his eye on you.]

OTA; caution, may bite

[bookofnope]

[It is only the absolute certainty of death by exposure if he can't find other shelter that persuades Beckett to remain in the same house with the rest of the group after Angel, Rhys and Clayton are all safe and settled.

Others are milling about and fussing. Beckett isn't. He claims a corner of the dining room - the place where other people are least likely to sleep - and settles in it like a silent, vaguely menacing shadow. Not only because his eyes now glow a beastly red, thanks to his taste of blood during the fight, but also because the frustrated tension of a caged animal all but radiates off him in waves. He does not like losing control in anger or violence, and he has lost it spectacularly while confronting Jack. He wants to come to terms with that alone. And instead he is stuck here with a babbling, bothered crowd. Again.

He tries to close his eyes, curl up against the wall in his blanket, and go to sleep as early as possible. But any unlucky passers-by who come too near the bundle of irate vampire still get a baleful look at best, and an actual growl at worst.]

Is personal space not a concept in your world?