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]

[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.]