14865/One Swam Under the Cuckoo's Nest.

One Swam Under the Cuckoo's Nest.
Date of Scene:	07 May 2023
Location:	The Raft: Romper Room
Synopsis:	Leslie has to endure a little group therapy about The Raft. Sometimes the inside of a Cell isn't the worst thing.
Cast of Characters:	Mary McPherran, Leslie Willis

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Mary McPherran has posed:
Mandatory therapy time about The Raft. Groans from fellow Cell-mates when they hear it's time. Particularly from those that have had longer stays within the prison, their combined eye-rolling from-the-stomach unenthusiam had issued forth like a pack of Beagles hearing a passing fire engine.

Those of the fabulous five that are available are now to have their turn to be welcomed into Dr. Fran's behavioural therapy wing. The room is cheerful in the way that circuses try to be. Colours are loud, there are few hard edges, and lots of friendly curves. A circle of chairs that look half-melted and glossy are positioned in a circle, with another table at the center bearing a number of pens, paint brushes, glue, paper plates and other odds and ends.

Miss Fran, is already inside the room ready to welcome her guests. She's a middle-aged caucasian woman from another era: perm in effect, shoulder-pads accentuating, wearing a dress of sunflowers beneath her mandatory white jacket. She's wearing green rimmed glasses without prescription lenses. "Tip-tap, pitter-pat...come on in girls. Let's make like a Doobee and buzz right in. Please come in! Call me Miss Fran."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie's all about groaning and snarking and not taking therapy seriously. What're they going to do, tase her for making too many sarcastic jerk off motions?

And that, today, is why Leslie is seated on a mass produced plastic chair like an elementary school student with her wrists cuffed behind her back, poking through the hole in the back of the chair. She's scowling, glowering, generally looking like she'd be /wickedly awesomely/ grouchy looking if she had any eyeliner or something.

"I swear to god, do you guys have /child/ prisoners here? That's messed up. That's super messed up. And like, if you don't... why? What the hell is with the colors? Why do you have this place decked out like we're _supposed_ to huff the glue? That's not cool either. Huffing glue is like, for shop class Miss Fran."

There's another long pause, "Also, fuck you and your stupid goddamn bus. You were trying to kill those kids or something."

Leslie might not realize Miss Fran and Miss Frizzle are in fact not the same person. And that one of them is a cartoon.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Miss Fran clasps her hands before her, looking like she's so pleased to have everyone here for an ice cream social. She waddles over towards Leslie, and pulls a small magnifying glass from one of her coat pockets. It also doesn't have any sort of shaped glass within it, so would be useless to magnify anything. It does have buttons built into the handle though. "Oh no actual children here, goodness no. Although, it ~could~ be said that there's a little girl, or boy, inside of us. A poor malnourished thing that likes to...Oooooooo ~act out~ when it needs a nap, has been denied love, hasn't been hugged..." she muses with glossy lips.

Mary is in attendance, and the chair she settles in makes warning sounds as her weight is lowered into it. Her eyes roll back into her head and her lips press together tightly. Embarassed by the agony of the chair bearing her weight and the terrible school-themed aesthetics bringing up cruddy memories. "Please tell me we don't have to ride the bus." she groans, wincing and trying to make her caboose more comfortable, hands bound, as others take their chairs with a mixture of gloomy expressions.

Miss Fran crouches down next to Leslie to speak woman-to-woman. Her voice lowers but still tries to maintin cheer. "Now then. We have activities planned, and if you promise to behave...I'll allow those cuffs off while we're in this room. What do you say Ms. Willis? I don't mind you expressing yourself, just not...physically or...Mmm...Yes."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie's eyebrows shoot up... drop down... eyes narrow, shoulders hunch up, her knees lift, tip-toes on the floor, coiling like a spring as Miss Fran reaches into her pocket and pulls out... what? What the fuuuuuu-? Ohshit. Buttons. Buttons are bad. Buttons /do things/. And she's in real legit Superduper Max Superpower Prison. Oh god. This is so going to be terrible and bad and-. "Lady, I don't do crime because my parents didn't hug me, I do crime because A) I'm awesome and B) Capitalism is a rigged system, and C) We're all just being controlled by a shadowy group of powerful industrialists and manipulators who formed a cabal in the 1800s."

Eyes dart around and then Leslie's poking her tongue out to point it at Mary as her chair groans as she settles down.

"LOOK! Look at her! Wow, she's tall and broad and like, you know she doesn't get enough hugs because you'd need arms like a fuckin' albatross's wingspan to hug her good! You should give her a hug right now!" She pauses for a moment, "Wait, like I'll get to cut out those little people chains from construction paper or whatever? Sure, okay, whatever."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Miss Fran seems like a bit of a fuddy-duddy, but she's no fool. She doesn't hang around Leslie's immediate proximity for long. She takes quite a few steps away so that it's just the circle of half a dozen chairs facing the central round table. She offers a dimpled smile to Leslie's offering. Her fellow inmates stare, sets of eyes sporting pupils contract and expand, those without widen. The Cons, almost all, laugh and smile, rocking in their chairs. Comments from the peanut gallery chase her words like puppies at one's heels. "Yeah! It's all rigged!" "I got TOO many hugs!" "I'm awesome!" "You're NOT."

"I would not say no to a doobie right now." Mary murmurs and estimates she's get her legs stretched just enough to get some relief while her bottom is poised on her chair. She eyes Leslie with a grin, taking some serious enjoyment of how she runs her mouth.

Miss Fran raises a hand to cover her mouth because she thinks it's all just peachy. She waves a hand. "Alright...alright, we're all going to be on our best behaviour. Inside all of us is someone wanting to be the best they can be. We're all doo-bee's." She points to the ceiling and the cheerful, oppressive, glaring and glowing sun pulses with energy. "Mister Sun has powerful rays that'll keep bad powers away temporarily while we work on our projects."

With press of the button on her faux magnifying glass, she raises it to one eye and peers through it at each of the inmates. "Now I see Leslie...Mary...Justine...Veronica...and Katerina too! What are we gonna do? We're going to take our construction paper plates and popsickle sticks, and we're going to take the markers and paste, and we're going to construct a face. Something we can hold up, and it's the face of the girl inside that wants to let out all the things inside they need to say. Just as our dear Leslie has started doing!"

The manacles loosen from wrists to free hands.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie flexes her fingers slowly, rolling her wrists as her arms stretch out in front of her, fingers curling and straightening, spreading, restoring circulation as she sighs out and rolls her eyes. Prison therapy? Even worse than her high school detention days. Guhhhh. GUHHHH she says.

Well, doesn't say, but she manages a solid aura of pure 'GUHHH' radiating off her.

Leslie works her mouth slowly, silently, eyes widening, eyebrows popping up. Oh my god. This is going to... be.... fine. Just fine. This is gonna be okay. It's not the worst part of prison.

Not that she's trying to check if the markers are those scented kind that can give you a crippling migraine if you huff them too much. Those blueberry ones are dangerous. "Sooo... Veronica huh? You gonna draw Betty?"