Never Put Baby In The Corner...[Open] Nov 8, 2012 15:58:26 GMT -5
Post by rat on Nov 8, 2012 15:58:26 GMT -5
"Ever wondered what it's like to be crazy? To get locked up in a padded room, arms tied down in a restraining coat, poked like a broken lab experiment?"
The light swayed back and forth; waiting quietly in solitary, back to the wall, head lowered - yet his eyes, they were upright, staring. He was everything they didn't expect him to be. The expected a brawler - but he was far more brutal than that. They expected an idiot, with no sense of tactics or ethic in a bust up - but he shamed them on that. They had expected there to be limits and fears - but there was no stopping him.
"I have. See, being considered crazy, it's a treacherous thing. You can't run from it - you can't hide from it. So what do you do? Well, you don't do any of that, and that's for damn well sure. You use it; you embrace it. Pretty soon, maybe you are mad? But it doesn't matter. You learn of new ways to think."
Dinner time; apparently. It really wasn't any kind of a meal that they carted in; slop and a poor excuse for edible substance. It was only a meal if it wasn't later thrown up again; not that the guards cared. Arkham had been expected to be some kind of place where the criminally crazy were kept, but in some sense of humane understanding. What a horrible mix-up that was.
The heavy door swung open, and as the guard entered, he restrained a smirk. This had to seem as far from unusual as possible. They had to be made to think it was just normal and routine; then he had them. Trystan had waited, watching them quietly, learning about their patterns and means of approach; how they worked. They thought he was one of those types - just quiet and angry. They were halfway right. But he wasn't just quiet and angry.
"See, you learn a new way of thinking, a new way of looking at and interpreting the world. You see the way the lights flash, and you learn different ways of putting them in a position you want to force them in. Everyone's trying to be the shark in 'ere. They have bigger things to prove. They have to be the big dog. Me? I wanna be the smarter animal, the one they don't expect to bite. With the sharks, they know they're gonna get got, so they slide just out of arm's length. With the rat? They don't know they have you corned."
The usual; spit, talk shit, throw the stuff around - try and spoil his day. But Stone had it checked. Every day, the so called guard and matron, all rolled into one though far from sweet or caring, would hoist a bag of whatever he kept in with him. Probably filled to the brim with pictures of the female inmates, no-doubt naked after he was done with his sadistic games. He'd drop the bag to the side while he put the tray down, and had his little taunting session, turn to grab, and then leave.
Not today, though. As he turned, Stone was up, and he charged, putting his shoulder into the guard's stomach, keeping the momentum up until his head smashed against the side of the door - a solid impact, of course, causing plenty of bloodsplatter and whiplash. Guardy was out cold.
"Well, not until it's a little too late."
Now came the hard part; getting his hands free - they were wrapped behind his back in the straight jacket; held by clips and ties at the end. He never had a surface to undo them, he'd have to turn with his back to the door, while they undid and redid the straps through a handsized gap. It meant he couldn't ever get every one undone, and they had him restrained when access was required.
Not today, though. With the door open, he had something to rub those fuckers against and unclasp. Difficult and uncomfortable, but now it was done, and with that handled, he rolled the guard back into the cell, before shutting the door behind him. Leave him where he lay, it was time to have some fun. Free in the asylum, he was going to make use of this unscheduled fun time.