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psl: supermax
The lights in the cell block had a bad habit of flickering. There was no electrical reason for it; the prison had a dedicated power station that could power an entire city, or multiple small towns. They needed a lot of power to keep the containment grids in each cell running, to prevent the prisoners from escaping or from fucking with the guards.
Rumor had it that the lights were programmed to flicker as a form of psychological manipulation. Keep everyone on the back foot, make sure nobody felt truly at ease here. Why would they need to be at ease? They were in prison, and unlike normal prisons, everyone here was here for good reason. Freaks. Monsters. Paranatural beings who couldn't help but cause trouble for everyone.
From the outside, it just looked like a building. A plain, old, uninteresting building with no markings on the outside and a barbed wire fence around it. It was one of few structures on a little island off the coast of Washington, always obscured from view by a dense fog. There was an old radio tower on the island too, and a dock. Prisoners would arrive at the dock, be escorted into the building, and ride an elevator down to the prison proper underground.
Rumor had it that the lights were programmed to flicker as a form of psychological manipulation. Keep everyone on the back foot, make sure nobody felt truly at ease here. Why would they need to be at ease? They were in prison, and unlike normal prisons, everyone here was here for good reason. Freaks. Monsters. Paranatural beings who couldn't help but cause trouble for everyone.
From the outside, it just looked like a building. A plain, old, uninteresting building with no markings on the outside and a barbed wire fence around it. It was one of few structures on a little island off the coast of Washington, always obscured from view by a dense fog. There was an old radio tower on the island too, and a dock. Prisoners would arrive at the dock, be escorted into the building, and ride an elevator down to the prison proper underground.
it begins
The skull was surrounded by a viscous green liquid--or maybe it was smoke--that always seemed to be in motion. Like a self-stirring coffee mug in slow-motion. Or the contents of a blender. A whirlpool of green glow, at the center of which floated one inhabitant of this cell.
The skull was free of any lingering flesh or skin or eyeballs or hair, clean but not bleached. The bottle was cold to the touch and sometimes developed a layer of frost over the outside. The jaw of the skull floated beneath the maxilla, bobbling as if in speech.
Because the skull was talking.
"...SO THEN PETER O'TOOLE SNEAKS OUT OF THE CLOSET AND THROWS THE BOOMERANG TO DISRUPT THE LASERS AROUND THE STATUE, WHICH SETS OFF THE ALARM FOR A THIRD TIME, AND AT THAT POINT THE FRENCHY GUARD CAPTAIN HAS HAD ENOUGH AND DECIDES TO SWITCH OFF THE SECURITY SYSTEM. THEN, WHEN O'TOOLE AND HEPBURN STEAL THE STATUE, O'TOOLE REPLACES IT ON THE PEDESTAL WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE THAT THE DRUNK FRENCHY LEFT IN THE FIRE BUCKET. WHEN THE GUARDS NOTICE THE BOTTLE, THEY TURN THE ALARM BACK ON AND START RUNNING AROUND LIKE HEADLESS CHICKENS UNTIL THE CAPTAIN TELLS THE DRUNK FRENCHY TO GET THE BOTTLE OUT OF THERE, AND WHEN HE GRABS THE BOTTLE THE ALARM GOES OFF AGAIN!"
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"If I wanted to see the movie I'd have fucking seen it," Max groans at the ceiling-- because he is lying flat on his back, his legs against the wall in an L-shape, because sitting like this is at least as interesting as banging his head against it.
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“WELL. NOW YOU DON’T HAVE TO. I WOULD SEE IT AGAIN, IF ONLY TO HEAR THE ABSOLUTELY OBNOXIOUS WAY THE FRENCH POLICE SIRENS OVERLAP WITH THE ALARM FROM THE SECURITY SYSTEM. IT’S AN AUDITORY NIGHTMARE! ALSO, THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN O’TOOLE AND HEPBURN IS ONLY BELIEVABLE BECAUSE OF THEIR STAR STATUS, BUT THAT COULD BE SAID OF MANY CHARACTERS IN ROMCOMS, EH?”
It was unlikely that either of them would see any films ever again, the skull thought. A movie night would require the existence of a common area where the prisoners were allowed to fraternize, which was not safe with a bunch of paranatural freaks.
The skull wiggled in its jar.
“SO WHERE YA FROM? WHADDYA IN FOR?”
PAST TENSE
"Killed a guy," he said in a prideful, brushed-off way; you know, just normal things that people do, but only the especially tough and mean ones.
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That someone was just having a little internal tantrum, felt in the air around them, but he mastered himself to grumble "he was important," at the ceiling.
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A bubble popped inside the jar.
"OH YEAH? HOW'D YA DO IT? WAS IT QUICK? OR SLOOOOOOW?"
The thing couldn't form expressions on its skeletal visage, but it sounded too gleeful to not be grinning. Gory details were its favorite.
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"What about you? What'd you do, or is this just your fuckin' house?"
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"YOU'RE FUNNY! YOU REALLY THINK I GOT ARRESTED? LOOK AT ME. WHERE WOULD THE CUFFS GO?"
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"You some kind of fuckin vampire lord? Or like," he paused a moment, falling silent to hunt for a likely explanation, "I dunno, you were such a film snob somebody cursed you about it?"
Ehhh,
"you don't even have any eyeballs."
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The Skull lolled back as if belly laughing with the belly it no longer possessed, and when it tipped back upright two big bubbles of ectoplasm settled into its eye sockets. The bubbles rolled in place, two pupils emerging from the far side of them which should not have been possible, what with how bubbles are see-through, but there they were. Skull's eyes rolled into focus and stared out at Max, unblinking and cartoonishly glowing.
"I AM CURSED, BUT NOT FOR THAT. PROBABLY. TRUTH IS I CAN'T REMEMBER THE WHY OR THE HOW, BUT I'VE BEEN HERE FOR...I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG. YOU THERE! BOY! WHAT YEAR IS IT?"
coughs dust
In his concentration on the wall, Max nearly missed the show-- it was the flickering light from the newly-formed eyeballs that finally caught his eye, and he rolled onto his side with a grimace, impressed and disgusted.
"[the year of our lord whatever]," he said flatly, taking on a contemplative look, "how'd you do that?"
vacuums it up
"OH, I DUNNO, JUST BY THINKING REAL HARD ABOUT IT OR SOMETHING. I'VE HAD SO LONG TO PRACTICE IT THAT I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO NOT KNOW HOW. I'D SAY IT'S MUSCLE MEMORY BUT YOU KNOW. HAVEN'T GOT ANY OF THOSE ANYMORE."
It leaned forward until its forehead clunked against the thick greenish glass.
"YOU GOT ANY PARTY TRICKS YOU LIKE TO DO? ANY HIDDEN TALENTS? CAN YOU FOLD YOUR TONGUE INTO A CLOVER?"
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"I can make people do what I want," he said sulkily. Present company excluded, obviously.
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The Skull's eyes rolled to one side, pointing towards the door to the cell. Footsteps in the corridor outside. A slight scuffing of a boot on the metal walkway, the jingling of keys.
Three rapid booming knocks sounded from the other side of the door before a hatch at ankle level slid open to admit a serving tray.
"Dinner time," The guard said, and muttered some kind of insult at the same moment he slammed the hatch shut. The food on the tray looked...mostly edible.
"OOOH, LOOKS WORSE THAN USUAL."