Owner	Pose
Mary McPherran	The sound of the mass-lift helicopter is the sound of a gigantic angry metal bee. The drone as oppressive as the weather outside. The criminals being Uber'd to their new home are accompanied by an honour guard in both the lashing rain outside, and the heavily armed guards inside. There are no windows to enjoy for those shackled, manacled, gagged and bagged. They are only allowed the pleasure of each other's company...with contagion-level precautions so no one can holds hands if they're prone to get airsick, or pass more than a hint of bad breath. Measures for each of the individuals for this prisoner transfer as highly tailored with the best that tax payer monies can buy. The Raft doesn't run at a deficit. It is the black hole of the ocean, swallowing lives and funds. A guard strides the middle causeway inbetween the prisoners, a nullifer of some small talent, their presence like a charlie horse that gets worse via proximity to those blessed and cursed. The cocksure look on their face, from what shows past their helmet, is practically cartoonish in confidence. "Ladies...Tonight's dinner is salt water, jellyfish, with a side order of no hope, and a dessert of my thumbs in your eyes if you look sideways at me..." The windshield up ahead shows strobing lightning, like a Rammstein live show was being held in the clouds. No lyrics other than the grumbling of the thunder. Chatter in the cockpit indicates that there won't be enough time for the striding shit-heel to mention what the inflight movie will be. A businesslike tone from the co-pilot confirms it. "Send Codes. Azazel flight, 5 G's. Confirm signal."
Crystal Frost	Crystal Frost is one of these unfortunates. Shackled and covered toes to neck in the ugly orange jumpsuit, plus cuffs that cover all of her hands and a clear mask covering her face. Any place where skin contact could happen is covered. Shielded. When the screw turns his back, she sneers, muttering to herself. "Christ, my nose itches." She peers forwards as the lightning flashes, looking back to the others on this chartered flight. She can't help but smirk. "This is like my third time in here, how 'bout you?" It's the royal you.
Mary McPherran	Mary isn't air sick, but she looks like she'd like to puke over someone's boots. She's wearing so many limiters, similar to her companions, they could almost be a costume choice, apart from that prison jumpsuit: Neck, wrists, biceps, thighs and ankles. She's like a comic artist had a fetish for metal rings and blinking lights. Whenever she shifts on her seat, one of the bands' lights will glow brightly and immediately start compensating. She growls. "Y-yeah! My nose itches too!....Fffffffu..." She flinches, and gets dosed with another lovely dollop of something to passify her concerns. "Not my...flurrst..."
June Moone	The nullifer works on everyone, but June. Her powers aren't powers. They're mystical in origin and, therefore, require a very specific set of, arguably, inhumane criteria to keep her from lashing out with the kind of aborrant violence that would turn the entire world, if not reality itself, on its collective ear. A binding is placed around her wrists. It glows faintly, but the purpose isn't to keep her from using her hands... it's to keep her from feeling anything. The magical runes absorb all sensation that touches her and displaces it. While the one around her eyes keeps her blind. Light bending and curling to keep the woman, June Moon, from seeing anything. And lastly is the collar around her neck. Various incantations embued upon it so that any sound at all is completely displaced. June Moon. A scientist. An innocent woman except for happenstance. Sits completely devoid of anything, but the very basic sensory input. This is the Raft.
Leslie Willis	This is not how Leslie saw her day going. Then again, more often than not, she doesn't really have any vision of how her day's going to go unless there's a big movie release she's super psyched for. She really didn't expect to be caught by Metropolis PD, like, how'd they even know she was going to hide out at her old high school? Jeeze. But hey, she broke out! Juiced up on a ton of electricity, it was all good. Until she had a tussle with that blonde do-gooder Supergirl. Everyone thinks she's so great even though she phishing scams people for giftcards on Instagram and acts like it _wasn't really her_. But that Supergirl's not all bad, and she's totally going to guest star on her podcast. Leslie's just got to get out of prison first. The living lightning bolt has a collar around her neck, thick metal, high tech doohickeys on it... probably some kind of dampener. It's sure dampening her style as she tries to tug at her cuffs to adjust her sleeves. This jumpsuit sucks. It'd be cool without sleeves. And worst of all, Leslie recognizes that woman. That quiet creepy woman. Oh please oh please let June be someone else's cellmate. Leslie likes her jaw where it is. "so like... what's dinner? Can we elect for like, jello? You can't mess up jello."
Lisa Molinari	Juvenile Hall was nothing like this. It's a lot to take in, really. She'd be more interested in taking it in, more interested in drawing inspiration from her plight in order to make more art... but Lisa Molinari's torment was less about what she was restrained by. It's more about what she /wasn't/ wearing. Like the other 'minimum' security threats, she wears that shock collar. Hands bound and encased behind her back. What she doesn't wear, though, is Tiboro's Coat. The reason for her budding fame. The reason she's been able to do more than just a normal girl could. She wanted it back, because without it? She /was/ just a normal girl again. Even without the nullifier making their presence known She might not be able to launch herself at the patrolling guard. But what she can do is spit, and that she does. It's a futile move. One that results in a 'warning' shock that sends jolts through her body and a brief scream through the air, before silence. Raging, raging silence.
Mary McPherran	The aircraft banks, tilting the world on its axis. An answering pinging signal dings annoyingly at the hull and a smaller cousin chirps from the pilot's compartment. The Nullifier Guard offers his smirk to all the prisoners as he walks the line. "Let's see...We got Frosty the snowkaren...Boy are you in for a surprise this visit. Gonna be sweatin to the oldies all day, all night long I hear." he clucks his tongue, gesturing with over-done emphasis as he goes, like he was on stage. "And we've got Snu-Snu...Oof, smile more girl. Welcome to the worst Woodstock morning after of your life." "Awwww, and even Helen Keller. Guess my wit is wasted on her. Life's tough, you little witch." "Volt dolt! Don't worry, plenty of jello for girls who got a mouth like that. Easier to digest I hear after an accident." Pulling back from applying that unpleasant shock to Lisa, the guard's smirk is back from the ugly sneer. Spit languidly seeping down his cheek. "Poncho. You just earned some special time later." He raises his voice as the aircraft banks again, making him reach up to grasp a secure handhold as a landing is attempted on a small round landing pad emerging from the tortured and raging ocean. The aircraft drops precipitously, a handshake of codes and signals and a booming klaxon becomes louder...and louder...challenging the storm. There's a firm settling as touchdown is achieved and blinding lights fix the vehicle in numerous spotlight pools.
Crystal Frost	"God, can't you screws get any more creative? Guess they don't pick you for your wit," Crystal sasses. Then she sniffs indignamtly, looking around again as the descent happens. First, Titania gets a wince of sympathy at her bindings. Leslie just a shake of her head, because she knows how loony she is. Lisa gets a nod, for her spirit. June though, June is likely glad she can't see the look of abject pity in the mercenary's face. Pity tinged with a little fear. She's aware of the Enchantress. She knows how god damn scary she is. So while June gets the pity, Crysyal is also, disgustingly to herself, glad for the bindings. She hates it. "Just put me in my cell, I'm ready for a nap." Her snark is a little weaker than it was a moment ago.
Mary McPherran	Mary tilts in her seat, her head coming to rest against a reinforced bulkhead. A muscle in her cheek spasms and she drools a bit as well. A acidic scent, like burbling bile, froths at the back of her throat. Her movements sluggish and not as coordinated while her body tries to counteract the concoction in her system. An eye goes bloodshot and she rolls it in its socket to whomever is speaking.
June Moone	June can only barely hear the barbs thrown at her. The quiet sobbing of her perdicament is only slightly lessened by the fact that it means Enchantress can't hurt nayone. She can shoulder this burden of losing all her freedom if it means people are protected against the evil inside her. It doesn't stop the gentle jerk of her shoulders or the bow of her head. Inside her, however, the ancient evil is MOLTEN with rage. Every reflective surface. Her Eldritch presence can be seen... but with no links to the materail word within reach, all she can do is stare in absolute fury at the treatment of her mortal vessel. Muted cries of deep born fury twist the dark figures green/black lips, harmless without any fetter to the world... Her black eyes jerk side to side with the quirk of her head, and jerking crack of her jaw. Searching... Something. She's found something. Someone. And then she vanishes from the window oposite to where June sits, bound, in mystical restraints.
Leslie Willis	Leslie keeps her breathing slow. Steady. Face impassive in the... well, face of the guard's remarks. Calm. Controlled. Steady breathing. But she is going to stomp a hole to China directly through that man's junk on her way out of the Raft. No electricity, no murder, she is just going to kick him in the dick. A lot. So much that someone is definitely going to review the footage and go 'Why'd she kick him in the dick so much?'. And that' enough to keep her breathing slow, steady. Calm. So calm. It's not like abusive prison guards cause prisoners to form maladjusted social maps and encourage recidivism. That'd mean this giant super prison they're going to is just some sort of cruel, depressing crucible to forge better criminals. But no one would overlook how sending a bunch of superpowered, damaged people to incarceration to learn to become better criminals would propagate the vicious cycle. Really smart people are paid by the government to study that stuff.
Lisa Molinari	"Coat." Lisa corrects through gritted teeth, bracing herself as if she expects another shock for talking back. Defiance. She may be the least... experienced, of the ladies here, but it also means she doesn't have the smarts of experience to know when to keep her mouth shut. It'd do her better if she did. Beyond that, though, she keeps quiet for the moment. Glancing around at the others, now. People she's heard of. People she admires. She's one of them, now! At least for this one flight. There's a part of her that feels good about that. ...the rest of her, though, is watching and waiting for the next time to strike. Moral indignation felt good, but it wasn't getting her any closer to her coat. It probably got her further away from it. ...not to mention, y'know, freedom. Because that's probably important too.
Mary McPherran	Things happen in rapid succession. The engines are already cutting out and the sounds of booted feet tramping and running to secure the aircraft to the raft. The pilots raise their hands from their consoles, in clear view of the spotlights that put everything into sharp relief. The klaxon changes from a ~Wuppa-wuppa wuppa-wuppa~ to single repeating howls that must be murder for anyone without ear protection.     The antagonistic Guard checks his stun rod, pats down his other means of force, lethal and non and moves to a series of controls, inserting keys to give permission for a voluntary breaching of the cargo doors from the exterior and then stands ready with rod and truncheon. "Give us a reason Ladies. Please give me a reason. Make this go smooth, maybe I put in a good word. Make it rough...wake up to bad, wake to worse, or fuck it, not at all. Save the taxpayers some money and do something really dumb. The cargo door gives a massive bang, bolts pneumatically unlocking and sliding like blades being sharpened. A rush of salty air surges into the cabin and fully armoured guards hustle in to flank each prisoner. They gesticulate to walk down the cargo ramp door and into the Courtyard where there is a platoon of soldiers waiting to greet them. In notable attendance may be the stern looking fellow wearing a General's uniform, and a shorter but stolid woman that looks like she sends people on suicide missions regularly. They share a quiet word under an overhand that protects from the worst of the weather and sea water that drains from the Raft's superstructure. The guards usher, prod, and shove prisoners from their seats, and their wishes made plain that the guests, new and returning, should muster in the pouring rain in that blinding spotlight before everyone. There are so many guns pointed, with such destructive calibre and fatal promise, at not only those that may emerge, but the aircraft as well. To those with an eye for armaments, they look like they'd be better suited mounted to warships. Barrels that spin lazily, ready to cycle up and spit out flechettes. Flamethrowers that gurgle menacingly, buboe-backed tanks on the backs of troopers, small arms and assault weapons to name a few. Such a welcoming party.
Crystal Frost	Unceremoniously marched off the craft and into driving rain. Crystal mutters, "God, it's always fucking raining here." She spares glances for her fellows, giving the barest sympathetic flicker to Livewire. Water's no good for her. Despite her usual bravado and sass, she stays quiet. She's seen these people before. She's seen those guns shred someone to so much meat and gore in an instant. She wants to live to get out of here. Making a scene won't help. She gives Lisa a look, one borne of compassion and experience. It says 'Keep your cool, kid.'
Mary McPherran	Mary reluctantly gets to her feet, thighs shaking as she's made to bear the sense of too much weight on wobbly feet. She does the prison-yard shuffle, hampered as her ankles are by the restraints. She sucks in a strand of spit and ducks to avoid braining herself on a bulkhead. She swings her head to take in the shorter guards by her sides that are there to escort her to this very special prom. "I don't know where I left my coat..." she murmers, slurring, getting confused by what's been said, but she notes the other jumpsuits of the same colour. The uniformity means she's part of a group, so she thinks she should stick with them. "Is it naptime?"
Leslie Willis	Leslie huffs, grumbles mildly. Mostly she's... actually really very sullen and withdrawn. Or, at least, she's playing at it. Her eyes dart around as the aircraft door opens. She groans as the group is slowly moved out and... "Goddamn! I think they don't like us, gals. Like _personal_ like or something." Those bright eyes dart and sweep and glance around... that is a lot of... not electrical guns. Oh. Jeeze. Well, time to stay in line and obey the guards' orders. At least until there's not enough guns pointing at her to make her feel like maybe, just maybe there are _too many_ guns in the world if this many can be aimed squarely at her precious self. At least with the inhibitor collar, Leslie's... well, however close to 'Just a lady' as she can get. The droplets don't sizzle on her, she doesn't spark or crackle... which sucks. Because what she does do is get wet and cold. "DICKS! DIIIIICKS!! WHY NOT BUILD A COVERED WALKWAY YOU ABSOLUTE DIIIIIIIICKS?!" She's fine.
June Moone	June doesn't move and has to be man handled out of her seat. Pushed forward, stumbling a step. All the guns in the world wouldn't do them any good if not for the buffering spells, but the Enchantress is away, now. Leaving only a slight woman who is easily moved with shoving hands and unable to hear anything but words spoken right into her ears. Anything further away than a few feet is blurry. There's a reason they have done this to her. June, while terrified and terribly molified by this, is comfortable with her completely accepting of her fate. What little is her loss of freedom compared to what the evil can do? Leslie has seen it... and that was only a taste. No, this is for the best. It doesn't shackle her fear nearly as much as it shakles her freedom, however.
Lisa Molinari	It'd be, perhaps, the ultimate form of performance art to rebel, here. To go down like Bonnie Parker in a hail of gun--and other--fire. If Lisa could just get her hands free. Two hands might not be as good as six, but they had gotten her out of a number of jams in the past... ...but this wasn't anything like those times. She's had guns pointed at her before, but that was when she could also create the forcefield to stop their bullets. Now she only had flesh to try and stop them. That wouldn't work. She spots the look offered by Crystal. Eyes of experience and wisdom. Fingers curl into tight fists, but head bows slightly as she trudges with the line of women out into the rain. ...besides. Something about this place suggested that an epic act like Parker's would get smothered, rather than recorded in the history books. Leslie's outburst tugs at Lisa's lips, though. The slightest of satisfied smirks and a mumbled, "Preach on, sister." as she marches along.
Mary McPherran	That Guard who has potentially earned themselves the promise of Leslie's foot hammering into their crotch, follows the motley crew from the vehicle and onto the landing pad. He tries to adopt a look of superiority, but the amount of barrels pointed at the prisoners is just a little too much for his liking. A lot of collateral damage could come anyone's way this close. Maybe he's thinking along the same lines as Frost is. Flopping fish flutter their scales, scattered amongst the current raised airlock, gasping futilely for breath. Some have been crushed underfoot boots. Some have very strange looking predatory jellyfish dissolving them into digestible goo. The alarm bleats for a final time, the air horn sputtering into silence, leaving behind tinnitus and diminishing echoes as the sounds carry themselves off along the dark waves. The sound of rotating gatling guns is the new background noise. The lights dim slightly, and the deluge of rain slackens perceptively, though probably a fluke of timing. Maybe. There's a shout, and an order, and people part to allow the General to come forward to address the newest prisoners. He looks like he's composed almost entirely of starch. His steely eyes have ~seen~ things. And yet, he's giving each and everyone one of the new arrivals a very, very serious look. Beneath his grey moustache, his lips press tightly together and he clasps his wrist behind his back as he stands straighter, if such is even possible. "Crystal Frost, AKA Killer Frost. Mary McPherran, AKA Titania. June Moone, AKA Enchantress. Leslie Willis, AKA Livewire. Lisa Molinari, AKA Coat of Arms." There's a lengthy pause, in which he takes a moment to turns and glance towards the woman he spoke with earlier beneath the overhang. He turns back. "Welcome to The Raft. Some of you have enjoyed your stay here before. A word of advice...is to assume nothing. Serve your time. Behave." He sends some pointed looks to some of the prisoners in particular...though for very...very different reasons. He's been briefed. They might as all be standing on the same powderkeg after all. From behind the General a tall oblong shape rises. Monolithic and artifical, the suggestion of something massive. As a matter of timing, it's quite the thing. A tower or a bridge of a submarine, perhaps a bloody Sentinel dripping with kelp like some Cthulhu monster. A lone hound-dog bray of a warhorn issues from it, and the sound dies away like the klaxxon before. The General continues. "No sunlight. No parole. No visitors. Take one last breath of unfiltered air. Welcome to The Raft."
Crystal Frost	Crystal doesn't even bother to sneer at the General. It's not worth it. No, she's just imagining coming upon him alone and free. Catching him unawares and giving him the best, and last, kiss of his life as she pulls every last joule of heat from his body. Then she pushes him over to shatter into a billion pieces. She comes back to reality, forcing her burgeoning smile away before it can take hold. She looks to each of the others in her company, even June who can't see her. She tries to project a sense of solidarity. Of 'We'll get through this and make them pay for it.' She's just not so sure herself.
Lisa Molinari	The General? He's earned points from Lisa. For one, he recognized the artist for her work. For a change, it's not the work she does with a paintbrush that went noticed, which means she's moving up in the world. In another world. For two? He spoke her name... /among theirs./ In the eyes of the law, she's one of them. A made woman. The only thing better would bet that same recognition coming from the ladies around her. This moment will inspire art. A new mural to celebrate her ascent among the legends, perhaps -- or better, a new triptych, celebrating their arrival, endurance, and return to society. This is why, in this moment, there's not anger. There's not defiance. There's a manic smile creeping across her lips. "Welcome to the Raft." she echoes, almost absently.
Mary McPherran	Mary stands with the others. The cold water is at least bracing, and helps dilute a little of numbness inside. Streaking her hair flat against her face. She's quite certain that the five of them have been penalized all together, and that makes them special in a way. Old past feelings of bullying, being ridiculed and pointed at, they feel like appropriate parallels to the right now. All five of them are in the spotlight and people are telling them what kind of hell they get to enjoy from now on. It's an effort not to clench her fists. She makes a sound in her throat like a grist mill's wheel being pushed.