Half Pint
Ezekiel
PatientBean
Mao Mao
Retired
Cyberlad
Qia
Festive
mickilennial
AndyCThe pen was beautiful, and the box no lesser. It had golden trim, and the box was adorned with a clear 'Montblanc' label. It was something called a 'Meisterstück Le Grand Rollerball'.
"Don't worry. It's not going to be your only present..." Their father had said. Craig didn't even try to hide his relief.
"...But this is important too."
It was Craig's eighteenth birthday, and both David and he were together, watching his father breakdown the reasons behind this exorbitant, yet somewhat dull, gift. Maddie and Charlie were elsewhere, causing mayhem and being wrangled and pursued by their mother, as is so often the case in a house with four kids.
"Now I know that we're stepping deeper and deeper into the 21st Century. And I know this is going to seem more outdated with every year that passes. But as you get closer to what you want to do in life..."
Craig had wanted to be an architect. Football had distracted somewhat and in many cases interfered with his grades, he intended to take a brief stint at Community College to shore them up, before hopefully transferring over to Stanford where, by then, he could hopefully rejoin his brother. David had joked and suggested he could take the Andrew Luck route and try and go there as QB whilst working for his degree, but both knew he wasn't a natural enough student to make the time work. That was one thing David had always had over him.
"...you're going to realise that people are still going to long for the personal. So I want you to have this. And when you write your cover sheets, your letters, and any correspondence that gets attached to your plans. I always want you to sign it with this."
"Dad... you can scan and auto-print signatures now." Came the response, underlining the difference in eras.
"I know you can. But in a time where so much can be impersonal. This will have more weight. This will show the person behind the plans. It's part of the point of a signature in the first place. It isn't just a rubber stamp brand. Constant. Unchanging. Every one is it's own unique marking, yet still distinguishable as being from the same hand. That's not a bad message to send for an architect, is it..?"
Their father wouldn't know how right he was. Within just a few years Chat GPT could pump out those cover letters and most correspondence with a series of simple prompts. Signatures could still be re-produced on mass with auto-scans, and even design programs could virtually take the personal out of plans, if you really wanted to.
David remembered seeing the pen in its box. It was beautiful in its construction, and showed care in its creation. The card came with a number which showed the batch number.
Even the device that allowed for the personal came out in a production line.
"It's important. The personal. This is what's going to hold us all together." His father had said.
David's mind ran wild. It was a scorching hot day, but fortunately the air conditioning of the bus mainly held.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the box with the pen. His brother's pen.
His father had intended to give him one of his own when he turned eighteen, but neither he, nor Craig, nor their mother ever saw that day.
They'd had a quiet day on that day, he and Maddie and Charlie. Went to San Francisco Zoo. Had a day out. He'd tried to keep the day a secret because it would have been another day family should have come together, and would have again been another reminder of what they'd lost - as if that didn't drift in and out of their minds on a constant basis.
Now it was his brother's pen, given to him by his father - and let's face it, probably bought for him by their mother.
In a way it did still bind them.
He put the pen and its box back.
"Remember the pen." He thought. "Always, remember the pen."
"One day at a time, and always remember the pen."
He was the last of the three to board, the other two girls at the front presumably had all lived in San Francisco proper as well.
When the bus came to a stop outside the Courthouse and picked up someone from holding, he barely blinked. He'd expected as much. In fact he was surprised it was only one, from what he knew of the Program. But he also knew there was no use running from it. Best way to pass by it, is to pass through it.
They left the courthouse, and for a few moments the music once again managed to hit his ears. It was soft, an earworm, and relentless. A few hours later it would stil be going through a lot of their minds for reasons they couldn't understand, because it had spent far too long rattling around in the passengers' subconscious.
David's mind turned to how the coming days would potentially be. He wasn't scared. Not anymore. Afterall high school had been enough like a prison for him already, and he'd had to go through that without the ability to defend himself. Sure, Craig had helped where he could, but even he couldn't have his back with every minute. Social pressures often dragged him away, even when he tried to make the effort to bring David with him - and in all honesty, a lot of the time, David didn't want to tag along in the first place. Often he just went with to support his bigger brother - even if he'd have done just fine without him.
There would be no Craig here. But he had something else going for him now. Something which would always be there.
The bus had stopped, David had barely noticed, and on stepped two girls. David didn't pay them any mind, until the second, a red headed girl in sunglasses, decided to slide into the seat immediately behind him. She had the look of one of the many girls from the morning after one of the parties Craig would ocasionally drag him out to that were generally for the football team. Deep hangover. A waft of bubblegum vapour and vanilla scent rose, and his seat back rocked as she slumped down into the seat.
"Are you kidding me? You have the whole bus..." David thought to himself.
The bus smoothly went on, and David's mind tried to travel back to the task at hand. The probable procedures. Plans going forward. Just get through smoothly, cleanly, quickly and out the otherside. Think of the pen. Everything just--
"Why did you sit there? I mean... there's four people here on the whole entire bus. Four of us."
More people had gotten on the bus, but that fell beyond his notice.
"You could tell her off. Except you can't, because that's even ruder than her sitting there in the first place."
"It also doesn't exactly set the best tone. You're going to have to deal with these people. Maybe you could turn around and give her a look-- no, you've left that too long now. She'll just look at you right back and wonder what your problem is."
"But why did-- Ugh. Just ignore it. Move on. It's no big deal."
More bubblegum vapour rose from over his left shoulder. And the hard rock sounds weren't being entirely contained by her headphones.
He exhaled and returned to his thoughts. Through this, out the other side. Don't start shit. If shit finds you, polite but firm. If provoked, finish it. Your personality's your first armour in places like this. Be friendly, affab-- "Great, now your neck is itchy."
David sat more upright, turning his head slightly at the discomfort.
"Well, just scratch your neck. Nobody said you can't scratch your neck."
"Yeah, but its weird now. I feel like I'm being watched. Am I being watched? What if she thinks it's weird that I'm scratching my neck. Or that it has something to do with her sitting there..?"
"It has to do with your neck being itchy..."
"..."
"WHY DID SHE HAVE TO SIT THERE?!?"
He exhaled slowly and fully, and set his mind back on how he was going to get through the coming days.
It'll be fine. Take care of your stuff, but don't grow too attached. If someone fucks with it, or you, firm, but not overly-aggressive. Being seen as some kind of loose-thread whackjob is just as dangerous as being seen as the weak one. If anyone offers you drug shit, say no, but politely. Don't borrow shit off of ANYONE. That's how most prison fights start right there, and let's face it this isn't too different. Property, drugs, debt, over-aggression. Control those four things and-- Holy fucking shit! What the fuck was that!
Suddenly, the whole bus had lurched to the side David was sitting on. He hadn't noticed, but a large stone boy had boarded and sat somewhere behind him on his side of the bus.
--control those four things, and let's face it, that's mostly controlling yourself, and you'll avoid most fights and issues. Don't fuck up the status quo order of the complex. If there's a line, hold your place. If there's chances to call people, mail, don't screw with people's families and the things they're missing. Hup--wings. Wings..? 'K. Whatever, fair enough. She's got wings. --Don't mess with people's families and what they missing.
"And most of all."
"Most of all..."
"Don't tell 'em shit about yours and what you're missing."
The bus broke free from the airport and turned back onto the highway. In the background he could both hear the occasional gentle tones of Journey coming through the overhead speaker, with an intermittent break of harder rock running wild from the headphones of the girl seated behind him.
"Who sits right behind someone on a bus when the whole damn bus is free? What kind of person does that?"
"Still itchy."
At least the plumes of bubblegum scenting, whatever that was, had stopped wafting over the top.
The bus stopped at the old Historic Ferry Building. As a local he knew it wasn't their stop, and if there were any doubts, that thought was punctuated emphatically by the girl at the front.
An otter boarded the bus. Shook itself off and wandered down the aisle to find a seat like it was 8 o'clock and it was headed off to work.
The bus smoothly pulled away and went on towards their actual stop for the ferry to Alcatraz.
David kept rolling through everything to remember, things he'd read up on, precautions to take, surviving life in a facility... It took a little while for him to realise the bus had stopped and people had started to get off.
He put his hand to his pocket and made sure the pen was still securely there, and stood up. Letting the last of the other passengers who had been standing onger to pass him by, then he looked down and saw.
The red-headed girl in the row behind him. She was fast asleep. Looked comfortably so, as well.
"How long had she--"
David smiled and chuckled at himself, over how he'd been driving himself crazy for-- far too long. And bent down to gently wake her up, when a loud bark came from the back of the bus.
"Hey! Keep your distance! Leave the bus now!"
In stunned reaction, he raised both his hands in innocence like he'd just been caught. His eyes wide as a deer's in the headlights, he looked at the officer, slowly backing away as he walked to the front of the bus. "Just keep walking. Head down, and get out. This is how things turn bad. Don't turn back. Forget it. She's not your problem. Just get off the bus." When he got to the door he turned back and checked on what he'd left in his wake. The guard was helping the girl to her feet as she woke. David stepped off the bus and joined the others.
The ferry was already boarding kids for the first trip across, by the time he joined the group. They'd boarded a massive stone kid first, and situated him right in the middle of the boat to best maximise weight distribution. Smart. They then surrounded him with enough kids to ease pressure off the space they'd have for the second trip, whilst not putting too much of a weight burden on the historically restored Warden Johnston for the first.
David watched as the first batch of kids made their way across the bay to Alcatraz Island. Hot day, the water actually looked pretty nice. He wondered how many of the kids were thinking of some fantasy situation where they make this daring escape, swimming back over the bay through the famous cold chop. If that was their thought process, it absolutely was a fantasy. Anyone with any knowledge of the place knew how treacherous those waters would be.
He also knew he'd never have to if he really wanted to. The guard towers... if they had people in them, they only had radios. Strictly Non-lethal under the words of their own Director Rowell, not that he'd ever met the man. But with his power, David could basically make himself a staircase over the wall and down the other side, then basically roll out the force carpet for himself for a leisurely stroll across the Bay. He wasn't the only one, if the girl so chose she could likely use those wings and peace out in a moment.
But it wasn't the initial escape that would be the issue. They'd find you, they'd track you down, your record would be marked with the escape attempt, they'd put you on a watchlist for those to be held in closer scrutiny. All of which were absolutely contrary to what David wanted. He wanted in and out, with as little imprint as possible.
The boat had returned, and they all boarded. David sat in the middle. There were a lot of newcomers to the city, let them bask in the sights and sounds, as the Golden Gate Bridge overlooked their new home. He'd seen it already, beautiful as it was. It was a crowded ferry trip, let them all get in each other's space. He smiled as he watched some of them pointing and soaking it all in. Would this be the last they'd just get to be kids for a while?
The ferry docked on the other side and the kids, disembarked. Once again, David rested his hand on his hip to check his pocket, making sure nothing jostled its way out in the boatride.
They were led through gates and into an area for security screening. They all started surrendering objects, or having objects forcibly surrendered. The more belligerent were only subjected to worse treatment, patted down, frisked. David placed the pen box on the table in front of the security officer.
"I suppose it's best to leave stuff like this here, right? Likely to get stolen in there. You'll have pens and stuff on the inside that can be used anyway, right? I take it there's paperwork."
The security officer confirmed. And sealed the pen box in a bag, labelled with his name. David stood to the side and raised his arms in compliance. He was subjected to a minor, routine pat down, as he looked back at the rag-tag group of kids getting more and more battered and abused in the frisk.
After being patted down, David quietly intermingled with the group of kids who had successfully passed the screening process. Before too long, this was completed, and the group of program attendees were led down a long corridor to a basketball court. David made sure he secured his place well towards the middle, in the non-conspicuous depths of the line.
They were all assembled up in a row, and awaiting some kind of greeting. The question of who exactly was soon answered by the sharp clacking of fine leather shoes walking in an orderly gait towards the group of youths.
It was Director Rowell. He could put a face to the name, now.
Virgil Rowell was a dark-skinned gentleman, with a firm upright stance who clearly took a sense of pride in his appearance. He maintained neat dress and a pair of simple, thin glasses hung from his ears. The sides of his hair had started to gray, but did nothing to diminsh the stature of the man.
Much like his dress, he spoke crisply and neatly. Keeping it brief, he outlined the basic order and greeted them to the faility.
The large stone boy decided to see how far he could push the boundaries, as children do, and served up some sass to test the waters of response...
And then Hell broke loose.
A gaunt figure amongst them had torn off a feather from the girl with wings and was brandishing it like a-- well, there was no 'like' about it. It had become a weapon in the boy's hands. The girl objected, rearing back. The boy welcomed the violence-- Another boy moved. A girl started to disappear-- Pepperspray--
David had heard his mother talk about when she was much younger, how she'd frequent the protest circuit. For the environment, gay rights, numerous causes. David had never expected he'd find himself remembering any of that as relevant. But now he found his eyes burning from trace amounts of the airborne mist. He refrained from touching or rubbing his eyes, despite the burn. As his mother had mentioned, it only spreads the burn and makes it worse. He stepped back from the scene twice, and raising his arms, laced both his hands behind his head in compliance.
There'd be time to rinse the irritant out later. It burned, but he half squinted through the pain to try to keep an eye on everything that was happening.
The Director's bark emphatically ventilated the atmosphere. It sounded foreign, not because of an accent... but as if raising his voice was an unnatural event.
He dismissed the guard who had fired off the pepperspray, and quickly looked to regain a sense of orderly control over the situation.
This time he unloaded a longer speech, it contained a plea for understanding and empathy and further underlined the sense of community that this place was to be.
He'd been here five minutes, and for everything he'd thought of, planned for and considered, five minutes in and he was already faced with the worst possible circumstance. The one he feared most, because it was the one you couldn't plan for. The random anarchy of a near-riot fight situation breaking out.
"Welcome to fucking Alcatraz indeed..."
"Don't worry. It's not going to be your only present..." Their father had said. Craig didn't even try to hide his relief.
"...But this is important too."
It was Craig's eighteenth birthday, and both David and he were together, watching his father breakdown the reasons behind this exorbitant, yet somewhat dull, gift. Maddie and Charlie were elsewhere, causing mayhem and being wrangled and pursued by their mother, as is so often the case in a house with four kids.
"Now I know that we're stepping deeper and deeper into the 21st Century. And I know this is going to seem more outdated with every year that passes. But as you get closer to what you want to do in life..."
Craig had wanted to be an architect. Football had distracted somewhat and in many cases interfered with his grades, he intended to take a brief stint at Community College to shore them up, before hopefully transferring over to Stanford where, by then, he could hopefully rejoin his brother. David had joked and suggested he could take the Andrew Luck route and try and go there as QB whilst working for his degree, but both knew he wasn't a natural enough student to make the time work. That was one thing David had always had over him.
"...you're going to realise that people are still going to long for the personal. So I want you to have this. And when you write your cover sheets, your letters, and any correspondence that gets attached to your plans. I always want you to sign it with this."
"Dad... you can scan and auto-print signatures now." Came the response, underlining the difference in eras.
"I know you can. But in a time where so much can be impersonal. This will have more weight. This will show the person behind the plans. It's part of the point of a signature in the first place. It isn't just a rubber stamp brand. Constant. Unchanging. Every one is it's own unique marking, yet still distinguishable as being from the same hand. That's not a bad message to send for an architect, is it..?"
Their father wouldn't know how right he was. Within just a few years Chat GPT could pump out those cover letters and most correspondence with a series of simple prompts. Signatures could still be re-produced on mass with auto-scans, and even design programs could virtually take the personal out of plans, if you really wanted to.
David remembered seeing the pen in its box. It was beautiful in its construction, and showed care in its creation. The card came with a number which showed the batch number.
Even the device that allowed for the personal came out in a production line.
"It's important. The personal. This is what's going to hold us all together." His father had said.
- - -
David's mind ran wild. It was a scorching hot day, but fortunately the air conditioning of the bus mainly held.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the box with the pen. His brother's pen.
His father had intended to give him one of his own when he turned eighteen, but neither he, nor Craig, nor their mother ever saw that day.
They'd had a quiet day on that day, he and Maddie and Charlie. Went to San Francisco Zoo. Had a day out. He'd tried to keep the day a secret because it would have been another day family should have come together, and would have again been another reminder of what they'd lost - as if that didn't drift in and out of their minds on a constant basis.
Now it was his brother's pen, given to him by his father - and let's face it, probably bought for him by their mother.
In a way it did still bind them.
He put the pen and its box back.
"Remember the pen." He thought. "Always, remember the pen."
"One day at a time, and always remember the pen."
He was the last of the three to board, the other two girls at the front presumably had all lived in San Francisco proper as well.
When the bus came to a stop outside the Courthouse and picked up someone from holding, he barely blinked. He'd expected as much. In fact he was surprised it was only one, from what he knew of the Program. But he also knew there was no use running from it. Best way to pass by it, is to pass through it.
They left the courthouse, and for a few moments the music once again managed to hit his ears. It was soft, an earworm, and relentless. A few hours later it would stil be going through a lot of their minds for reasons they couldn't understand, because it had spent far too long rattling around in the passengers' subconscious.
David's mind turned to how the coming days would potentially be. He wasn't scared. Not anymore. Afterall high school had been enough like a prison for him already, and he'd had to go through that without the ability to defend himself. Sure, Craig had helped where he could, but even he couldn't have his back with every minute. Social pressures often dragged him away, even when he tried to make the effort to bring David with him - and in all honesty, a lot of the time, David didn't want to tag along in the first place. Often he just went with to support his bigger brother - even if he'd have done just fine without him.
There would be no Craig here. But he had something else going for him now. Something which would always be there.
The bus had stopped, David had barely noticed, and on stepped two girls. David didn't pay them any mind, until the second, a red headed girl in sunglasses, decided to slide into the seat immediately behind him. She had the look of one of the many girls from the morning after one of the parties Craig would ocasionally drag him out to that were generally for the football team. Deep hangover. A waft of bubblegum vapour and vanilla scent rose, and his seat back rocked as she slumped down into the seat.
"Are you kidding me? You have the whole bus..." David thought to himself.
The bus smoothly went on, and David's mind tried to travel back to the task at hand. The probable procedures. Plans going forward. Just get through smoothly, cleanly, quickly and out the otherside. Think of the pen. Everything just--
"Why did you sit there? I mean... there's four people here on the whole entire bus. Four of us."
More people had gotten on the bus, but that fell beyond his notice.
"You could tell her off. Except you can't, because that's even ruder than her sitting there in the first place."
"It also doesn't exactly set the best tone. You're going to have to deal with these people. Maybe you could turn around and give her a look-- no, you've left that too long now. She'll just look at you right back and wonder what your problem is."
"But why did-- Ugh. Just ignore it. Move on. It's no big deal."
More bubblegum vapour rose from over his left shoulder. And the hard rock sounds weren't being entirely contained by her headphones.
He exhaled and returned to his thoughts. Through this, out the other side. Don't start shit. If shit finds you, polite but firm. If provoked, finish it. Your personality's your first armour in places like this. Be friendly, affab-- "Great, now your neck is itchy."
David sat more upright, turning his head slightly at the discomfort.
"Well, just scratch your neck. Nobody said you can't scratch your neck."
"Yeah, but its weird now. I feel like I'm being watched. Am I being watched? What if she thinks it's weird that I'm scratching my neck. Or that it has something to do with her sitting there..?"
"It has to do with your neck being itchy..."
"..."
"WHY DID SHE HAVE TO SIT THERE?!?"
He exhaled slowly and fully, and set his mind back on how he was going to get through the coming days.
It'll be fine. Take care of your stuff, but don't grow too attached. If someone fucks with it, or you, firm, but not overly-aggressive. Being seen as some kind of loose-thread whackjob is just as dangerous as being seen as the weak one. If anyone offers you drug shit, say no, but politely. Don't borrow shit off of ANYONE. That's how most prison fights start right there, and let's face it this isn't too different. Property, drugs, debt, over-aggression. Control those four things and-- Holy fucking shit! What the fuck was that!
Suddenly, the whole bus had lurched to the side David was sitting on. He hadn't noticed, but a large stone boy had boarded and sat somewhere behind him on his side of the bus.
--control those four things, and let's face it, that's mostly controlling yourself, and you'll avoid most fights and issues. Don't fuck up the status quo order of the complex. If there's a line, hold your place. If there's chances to call people, mail, don't screw with people's families and the things they're missing. Hup--wings. Wings..? 'K. Whatever, fair enough. She's got wings. --Don't mess with people's families and what they missing.
"And most of all."
"Most of all..."
"Don't tell 'em shit about yours and what you're missing."
The bus broke free from the airport and turned back onto the highway. In the background he could both hear the occasional gentle tones of Journey coming through the overhead speaker, with an intermittent break of harder rock running wild from the headphones of the girl seated behind him.
"Who sits right behind someone on a bus when the whole damn bus is free? What kind of person does that?"
"Still itchy."
At least the plumes of bubblegum scenting, whatever that was, had stopped wafting over the top.
The bus stopped at the old Historic Ferry Building. As a local he knew it wasn't their stop, and if there were any doubts, that thought was punctuated emphatically by the girl at the front.
An otter boarded the bus. Shook itself off and wandered down the aisle to find a seat like it was 8 o'clock and it was headed off to work.
The bus smoothly pulled away and went on towards their actual stop for the ferry to Alcatraz.
David kept rolling through everything to remember, things he'd read up on, precautions to take, surviving life in a facility... It took a little while for him to realise the bus had stopped and people had started to get off.
He put his hand to his pocket and made sure the pen was still securely there, and stood up. Letting the last of the other passengers who had been standing onger to pass him by, then he looked down and saw.
The red-headed girl in the row behind him. She was fast asleep. Looked comfortably so, as well.
"How long had she--"
David smiled and chuckled at himself, over how he'd been driving himself crazy for-- far too long. And bent down to gently wake her up, when a loud bark came from the back of the bus.
"Hey! Keep your distance! Leave the bus now!"
In stunned reaction, he raised both his hands in innocence like he'd just been caught. His eyes wide as a deer's in the headlights, he looked at the officer, slowly backing away as he walked to the front of the bus. "Just keep walking. Head down, and get out. This is how things turn bad. Don't turn back. Forget it. She's not your problem. Just get off the bus." When he got to the door he turned back and checked on what he'd left in his wake. The guard was helping the girl to her feet as she woke. David stepped off the bus and joined the others.
The ferry was already boarding kids for the first trip across, by the time he joined the group. They'd boarded a massive stone kid first, and situated him right in the middle of the boat to best maximise weight distribution. Smart. They then surrounded him with enough kids to ease pressure off the space they'd have for the second trip, whilst not putting too much of a weight burden on the historically restored Warden Johnston for the first.
David watched as the first batch of kids made their way across the bay to Alcatraz Island. Hot day, the water actually looked pretty nice. He wondered how many of the kids were thinking of some fantasy situation where they make this daring escape, swimming back over the bay through the famous cold chop. If that was their thought process, it absolutely was a fantasy. Anyone with any knowledge of the place knew how treacherous those waters would be.
He also knew he'd never have to if he really wanted to. The guard towers... if they had people in them, they only had radios. Strictly Non-lethal under the words of their own Director Rowell, not that he'd ever met the man. But with his power, David could basically make himself a staircase over the wall and down the other side, then basically roll out the force carpet for himself for a leisurely stroll across the Bay. He wasn't the only one, if the girl so chose she could likely use those wings and peace out in a moment.
But it wasn't the initial escape that would be the issue. They'd find you, they'd track you down, your record would be marked with the escape attempt, they'd put you on a watchlist for those to be held in closer scrutiny. All of which were absolutely contrary to what David wanted. He wanted in and out, with as little imprint as possible.
The boat had returned, and they all boarded. David sat in the middle. There were a lot of newcomers to the city, let them bask in the sights and sounds, as the Golden Gate Bridge overlooked their new home. He'd seen it already, beautiful as it was. It was a crowded ferry trip, let them all get in each other's space. He smiled as he watched some of them pointing and soaking it all in. Would this be the last they'd just get to be kids for a while?
The ferry docked on the other side and the kids, disembarked. Once again, David rested his hand on his hip to check his pocket, making sure nothing jostled its way out in the boatride.
They were led through gates and into an area for security screening. They all started surrendering objects, or having objects forcibly surrendered. The more belligerent were only subjected to worse treatment, patted down, frisked. David placed the pen box on the table in front of the security officer.
"I suppose it's best to leave stuff like this here, right? Likely to get stolen in there. You'll have pens and stuff on the inside that can be used anyway, right? I take it there's paperwork."
The security officer confirmed. And sealed the pen box in a bag, labelled with his name. David stood to the side and raised his arms in compliance. He was subjected to a minor, routine pat down, as he looked back at the rag-tag group of kids getting more and more battered and abused in the frisk.
After being patted down, David quietly intermingled with the group of kids who had successfully passed the screening process. Before too long, this was completed, and the group of program attendees were led down a long corridor to a basketball court. David made sure he secured his place well towards the middle, in the non-conspicuous depths of the line.
They were all assembled up in a row, and awaiting some kind of greeting. The question of who exactly was soon answered by the sharp clacking of fine leather shoes walking in an orderly gait towards the group of youths.
It was Director Rowell. He could put a face to the name, now.
Virgil Rowell was a dark-skinned gentleman, with a firm upright stance who clearly took a sense of pride in his appearance. He maintained neat dress and a pair of simple, thin glasses hung from his ears. The sides of his hair had started to gray, but did nothing to diminsh the stature of the man.
Much like his dress, he spoke crisply and neatly. Keeping it brief, he outlined the basic order and greeted them to the faility.
The large stone boy decided to see how far he could push the boundaries, as children do, and served up some sass to test the waters of response...
And then Hell broke loose.
A gaunt figure amongst them had torn off a feather from the girl with wings and was brandishing it like a-- well, there was no 'like' about it. It had become a weapon in the boy's hands. The girl objected, rearing back. The boy welcomed the violence-- Another boy moved. A girl started to disappear-- Pepperspray--
David had heard his mother talk about when she was much younger, how she'd frequent the protest circuit. For the environment, gay rights, numerous causes. David had never expected he'd find himself remembering any of that as relevant. But now he found his eyes burning from trace amounts of the airborne mist. He refrained from touching or rubbing his eyes, despite the burn. As his mother had mentioned, it only spreads the burn and makes it worse. He stepped back from the scene twice, and raising his arms, laced both his hands behind his head in compliance.
There'd be time to rinse the irritant out later. It burned, but he half squinted through the pain to try to keep an eye on everything that was happening.
The Director's bark emphatically ventilated the atmosphere. It sounded foreign, not because of an accent... but as if raising his voice was an unnatural event.
He dismissed the guard who had fired off the pepperspray, and quickly looked to regain a sense of orderly control over the situation.
This time he unloaded a longer speech, it contained a plea for understanding and empathy and further underlined the sense of community that this place was to be.
He'd been here five minutes, and for everything he'd thought of, planned for and considered, five minutes in and he was already faced with the worst possible circumstance. The one he feared most, because it was the one you couldn't plan for. The random anarchy of a near-riot fight situation breaking out.
"Welcome to fucking Alcatraz indeed..."
