"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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The noises had been accompanied by the harsh, shrill register of metal rambling and rattling. Tina had remained cautious, her muscles only barely primed to move. Before a number of faces sketched from unknown stock and source appeared. An athletic body with thin, silky jawline was shouting. First at nothing in particular, then at her. She felt the rough-hewn body of her nameless weapon press into the flesh of her thigh tightly. She then felt it relax. Her steps were small, ankle to foot, they didn't carry her far before another face poked out of one of the cells she had yet to check. A soft, all Americana sort of face carved into a heart around the base of her hairline. Two cells left unknown.

"H-Hello...?"

Tina's sidelong glance was infinitesimal. Could have been measured by the smallest increments on a stopwatch.

She marched briskly, the floor continued to squeak beneath her sneakers. Their age betrayed, shoelaces peeling and fraying into the ether. The noises were still loud, but the syllables seemed to more clearly define themselves into approximations of human speech. Phonetically. 'Re', 'ruh', so on and so forth. Tina felt the weight of her collar shift slightly, smooth bore metal pressing straight into the flat contour of bone and tendon. When she breathed in that moment she could feel the collar rise and fall. Then it was gone, and she was at Barry's side.

Wordlessly she waited as he rubbed his hands together. It was an oddly picturesque scene and sound, the slight matchstick etch of palm on palm.
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Imprimatura · Solitary Confinement