Issue #70

[mistconduct]

Fuck me, we're four days into March and the port messed up my goddamn March Madness spread!

Fuck it, fine. Obviously since I can't watch college basketball on the Barge, we make our own entertainment here.

Bets are currently open to be placed on all inmates. It's $5 to play, 5 spots for $20. First inmate you picked to graduate gets paid out.

All unpaired inmates are wild cards - if you bet on them and they're first to graduate, you win a date with Loki in addition to the whole kit and caboodle.

Here's some sample odds I've got running;

Mickey - 2:1
The Emperor - 2:1
Abigail - 3:1
Cass - 3:1
Mira - 5:1
Tig - 10:1
Jax - 10:1
Touko - 20:1
Sylvanas - 25:1
Jerry - 25:1
Dean - 40:1
Arthas - 50:1

...Hey, does anyone else feel like utter crap?

Comments

private

[fireincarnate]

Maybe you should come up to the infirmary. If nothing else, Cambridge can get a look at how it connects.

private

[fridgetothefire]

Maybe.

[She doesn't...want to. Which is probably also a thing she should talk about with Cambridge, but if it fades, she won't have to worry about it.]

private

[fireincarnate]

[Her brow furrows. She doesn't want to be pushy, but - ]

How do you feel, otherwise? Is anything else...different?

private

[fridgetothefire]

[She makes a noise, the distorted hybrid of a giggle and a cackle and a gurgle, a wriggling choking mean-mirthful thing, then claps her hand on her mouth for a moment, looking less like she's trying to muffle herself than like she's trying to swallow bile, to stop something escaping.

Her throat works, gulping several times, and she drags a slow breath through her nose.]

I'm a little. Askew. I spent a long time in the library.

[It's fine, she's fine. She can handle it.]

private

[fireincarnate]

[That laugh chills her to the bone; it reminds her of Dark Phoenix' cruel, gleeful cackle.]

Anya -

[She almost asks to have a look, but no, she can't right now. She can't muster the delicacy she would need.]

I...really think you should go. At least if nothing changes by tomorrow.

private

[fridgetothefire]

You want to come look? You've got a higher scanning resolution than he does, I imagine.

private

[fireincarnate]

I'm - I'd like to, but... [She reaches up, and the light brush of her fingers at her temple is enough to make her wince.] I don't think I can be a fine instrument, right now. [And that's really not a risk she wants to take.]

private

[fridgetothefire]

[She bites her lip.]

Come anyway. I want to try something.

private

[fireincarnate]

[She hesitates, but only for a moment.] All right. [Anya may be - compromised, right now, but there are very few people Jean trusts more.] I'm - I'll be there soon.

private

[fridgetothefire]

[She pulls Jean in to the window seat, has a felt-tip pen behind one ear, eyes big and dark and somber.]

Tell me how you're hurting.

private

[fireincarnate]

[She lets herself be pulled, but moves gingerly; she doesn't want to rock a leaky boat. Still, her legs curl under her, and as she leans back it's almost like relaxing.]

My whole head is throbbing. Trying to - focus too much makes it worse.

private

[fridgetothefire]

[She tilts Jean's head, facing sideways away from her, tucks her hair back behind her ear, hands warm and brisk and confident. She takes the pen, draws a careful calligraphic rune against Jean's temple, no specific command but a vague influence, a gift given by a book that bruised with a God's dangerous heart pressed between its pages, a whisper in the language of other heavens for soothing.]