Owner	Pose
Mary McPherran	The fab five have since been disgorged by the aircraft onto the Raft, and then brought down into the depths of the prison. One at a time and under guard. That was quite recently. Since then, individual rooms have been prepared. Cells bearing specific countermeasures, which would be a real shame if someone accidentally messed up. But it seems like someone on duty is paying attention and got the correct paperwork. Killer Frost's cell isn't comfortable. The only saving grace is that she's able to be released from some of the restraints that were so necessary during the flight in. But inside the cell is a cold, cold environment. Refrigerated, the primary concern is making it a dry well. Whomever is the genius bastard in charge of outfitting these things, they got the memo. The room the CubeCell is kept in is dark, perhaps indicating night time outside. There's snoring coming from one of the half dozen other cells that share this closed section. Frequently they'll rotate the cells, ensuring their only viewing areas are ~away~ from seeing other prisoners. The scheduled rotation is random, and perhaps upsetting, but not permanent. There's always an annoying basketball buzzer noise just before. The overhead lights come on, and there's the buzzer again, cutting through the hiss of filtered air into your cell. Cutting through the strange squeals and creaks of the refridgerated air contesting with the metal and plexiglass. Making things want to condense, constract, exist in an artificial environment.
Crystal Frost	The good part is that Crystal is not uncomfortable in the cold, at least not at this level. She has nothing to work with, no ambient heat to steal to cause trouble, but she's at least more or less comfortable. Currently, she's stretched out on her crappy little bed, one foot flat on the mattress and her other leg hooked up over her knee, foot bouncing idly. She can't sleep, but that's normal even outside of prison. She's always had trouble sleeping, her mind is just too busy for it. Thinking about work, or hiding from work, or even occasionally normal people problems. The buzzer comes, and she sighs, wondering if she's going to be the one shifted this time. She stops bouncing her foot, glancing over to the door with a look of tired annoyance. "Fantastic," she mutters.
Mary McPherran	Mary is snoring, audibly, but that's cut off abruptly when the buzzer goes off and it looks like the day-cycle is about to begin. She's been feeling more and more exhausted the longer she's made to wear the limiters, like that sapping of her strength is reminding her body that it's quite a lot when it can't rely on how life was before. She comes away with a stretch, and her hands and feet immediately come into contact with at least one dimension of the cube, reminding her of being trapped in a relatively small space. One size fits all though not all operate the same. She lets out a long groan as she is reminded where they are. "FfffffffUCK!" There's the sound of boots and security personnel, lightly armed, come to do a visual headcount on the Cells. A hilarious measure considering all the things in place. All the cells rotate on their axis and face inwards like a circle of transparent GameCubes holding council. "Lucky day, lucky daaaaaay." comes the chipper tone of a middle-aged woman with jarhead buzz and shoulderpads you could deflect railgun rounds off of. Oh wait, those are muscles. Gym is life. She's trailed by two juniors, all wearing monochromatic attire that marks them as prison guards. She surveys the prisoners, her gaze passing over occupants until she sees Crystal, whom she marches over towards. "Ice Pop, you look well rested. As part of your detention plan, you are expected to take part in chores, duties, crap jobs and other mundane activities in an order to rehabilitate your chilly ass. Do you understand?"
Crystal Frost	The snoring never really helps with sleep, but Crystal is a trooper, a survivor. She's been here before and probably will be again. She'll sleep when she's dead. She winces inwardly as her neighbor clangs into the walls of her cell, pity and compassion for Titania's plight twisting her heart. Poor girl is too big to be cooped up in this can. She swings to a sitting position with a sigh as the headcount begins, elbows on her knees as she looks towards the door. She swears when she's singled out. "Ice Pop. Never heard that one before," she mumbles to herself. She looks at the swole lead guard and just sighs, shaking her head. "Whatever. It's not like I have a choice in the matter. Just tell me what to do and it'll get done." Good behavior goes a long way in here. Makes the guards look at you less, let their guard down. Easier to catch them in a mistake.
Mary McPherran	The Guard taps at the glass. Not to get a further response, but just be one of those people who are always doing that to aquariums and other displays. She's probably the type that keeps pressing elevator buttons like it'll bring them faster. "Goodness gracious." With a signal, she gestures at the door to the cell. "Alright, open 'er up. Let's get her and...yeah...that one. She's looking a little squirrelly over there. Yeah, that one." Mary's cell is indicated, and she's almost on her feet by the time the other guards go to flank the door. There's the sounds of things safeties getting the amber light, bolts sliding and differences in pressure and the doors yawn up and away. Mary puts a palm to one ear as she feels her eardrums pop, groaning as she ducks down and then walks out of her cell. "With me girls." She indicates with a beckoning finger. "That's a good response Frost. Maybe I'll get you a little treat if you keep that up."
Crystal Frost	Crystal says nothing further as she's let out, drawing a deep breath as she hits the relatively balmy air outside of her cell. She almost shivers with it, not really realizing how much she missed even the normal warmth of a place fit for most humans to inhabit. She doesn't really have the time to luxuriate in it, looking over as Mary's set loose. She gives the other inmate an encouraging little smile, as if to say 'We'll get through this.' She says absolutely nothing to The Guard's mention of a treat. Unless that treat is these inhibitors off, she's not interested at all. Still, she follows obediantly, if not dutifully. She's here because she has no choice. She's doing this because you can't refuse here and if you tried, well, you're either dead or wish you were.
Mary McPherran	Mary's eye peers out from the hair that hangs over her face. To be let out, she's got her wrists cuffed. But there's no such measures on Frost apart from the inhibitor keeping her deadly power at bay. Mary's posture seems to swell with that look she receives. That smile warms gives her some small reassurance, adding on from their early choppy transportation from parts unknown. She asks absently, "We gonna get breakfast?" To which she receives the answer from their Guard, "No." The small procession is lead from that chamber into an airlock, and then further into another corridor. There's a dull pulse of power, the sound of it vibrating as it provides a shielded conduit between one section and presumably the next. More hatches than a Get Smart intro. Briefly, there is a power flicker, and everyone has to take five while it stabilizes. There's some tension from the Guards. Cameras situated at each hatch, which their femme Guard has to fully face and depress a commlink at her collar. The group passes by a few people coming the other way, and there's curt nods between guards. After the next corridor, there's a junction that leads off two other ways. Just as the door closes, there's another group already filing in. Prisoners coming the other way and passing through. This gives their middle-aged jailor consternation. "Hey Charlie...you running a little late with your gaggle of geese." A gathering of six prison-garbed fellas mill about as the Guards go to have a tete-a-tete, leaving the groups of prisoners to eyeball each other across the room. All six of them are near identical and leering. Symbols on their temples indicate a notable difference, in the shape of geometric outlines.
Crystal Frost	Solidarity among the prisoners, rather than the infighting over perks and privileges, is the key to winning this game. Build each other up, make friends and keep the fighting to a minimum. Otherwise this place will eat you. Crystal has started this process. If she can get the big girl on her side, that's another pillar. Another set of eyes and hands to help survive this place. As their guard leads them through, the mercenary does her best to put the route to memory. It might be useful later. The power flicker makes her tense and wary, but everything remains fine. This time. More movement, and the two are met by the six. Crystal, for her part, leers right back at them. Sometimes you have to posture against aggression. Powerless, it's the best she's got.
Mary McPherran	The two sets of prisoners are allowed a longer lingering moment to face off with each other, while their Security escorts have words. Across from Killer Frost and Titania are a group of chained and notably similar male prisoners, clones or replicants with symbols on their foreheads to possibly denote who is who. while their Security escort have words. The Security personnel are keeping their voices low, but the acoustics of the junction tend to play kick-ball with their words, and audible. "No, not a chance." the middle-aged female Guard shakes her head, fanning her fingers and swiping her hands like she's pulling open a set of drapes. "Screw that. They haven't even been here that long. Give him some of yours, you've got plenty." "You know they give him carte blanche." This from the male security Guard in charge of the clones. "You know how it works around here. Rehabilitation...Reduction..." "...Yeah, yeah, and Recycle when that fails. I know the three goddamn R's. These two haven't even had a chance at the first two." The Male guard starts digging into his pocket, pulling out a small chit, laminated and bearing a simple seal, a badge of office or at least symbol of authority. "Oh put it away." The female Guard casts a hooded gaze towards Frost and Mary. There's an actual modicum of sympathy. "This is bullshit. They're due for custodial, not turned into custard." The male guard shrugs, not as troubled. "The normie they've got in the Chair, the one they came in with? Save your sympathy for her." "Shut up, Barry." she huffs and raises and hand to rub her face. "I'm filing a complaint." "Go ahead, maybe the paperwork will be redunant. Maybe they'll be fine, and like you said, they're pretty new so maybe they'll be frisky enough. But whatever makes you feel better, go ahead and give yourself a papercut. It'll wind up in the same waste bin as the other stuff, and just as flammable." The female Guard marches over towards the male prisoners, on her way adopting a professionally stoney face, raising her voice to address Frost and Mary. "Duty change. Male Inmates on me." Barry, the security guard, marches on up and gestures towards a different door that leads out of the junction. He tilts his head and speaks into his commlink. "Duty change, open causeway to subsection on authority of S.A.S. Ajax. Delivery from the henhouse."
Crystal Frost	Things are going on. The guards are fighting with each other. It's low key, designed as an actual conversation, but they're fighting. Crystal can tell this as easily as she can feel the shivs secreted up her sleeves. She keeps her face blank, forcing a defeated and deflated expression on her face. Be docile. Be agreeable. Get through this. Even if all she wants to do is stab. Especially if that's all she wants to do. Pale eyes flicker between the male guards and the woman, trying to puzzle out exactly what's going on up there. Nothing good. It seems the guys are already up to Recycle, which is ... Bad. Really bad. She shifts a little, the point of the shivs up her sleeves poking into her arm, the pain a reminder that she's still alive and, well, armed. Until they find them, anyway. Then she's hosed, but they haven't yet. Hopefully they won't.
Mary McPherran	Mary doesn't have Frost's Poker face. However, she's observant, and she's taking cues from the shorter woman. She's caught less of the conversation, perhaps due to her focus of staring down the similar looking inmates. It's rare to run into them, and she's curious as to whether they're treated as severely. She mutters under her breath to Frost, "The vibe of this place is worse than the last time I was here. Listen, I was supposed to have a meet up with some broker in here, someone that was supposed to have some Codes. We're supposed to meet him while cleaning out th-" She has to break off as Barry approaches and shepards them off instead of the male inmates. "Fuck sakes." There is chatter from the Guard's commlink after access is granted and an elevator ushers Frost and Mary down into deeper levels of the Raft. The floors they pass are hinted at in the translucent glass of the sliding doors before them. This place is big, this place is deep. Pressure asserts itself on the eardrums as more floors pass, some of which appear to be nothing more than a void of murky ocean or pitch-black decommisioned levels. Down, down, down... "You girls like to gamble? I tend to flip a coins for things. You believe in fate?" Barry comments, a hand going into his pocket, rummaging for something. "Now, there's two doors down there. One on the left, and one on the right. I don't care which one you take, I'm just doing my job. None of this is my fault or my responsibility. That's something my colleague, the one who handed you off to me, will find out after a few more Tours here. Broads shouldn't never have been assigned here. Hardened criminals, monsters, freaks, like yourselves...I mean, what's useful about having you sit in a circle, sharing your feelings and using sock puppets? I'm ~saving~ you all that wasted time, in a way. This is how you get more years slashed off your sentence, well, sometimes. Or at least earn you some favours. Get me?"
Crystal Frost	Crystal is doing her best poker face. She's been here, and around in general, to have developed a pretty good one. Unless she's really mad. Right now, she's just suspicious and hoping she doesn't get searched until it's too late for them to do anything but take a, well, call it like it is, sharpened knitting needle through the eye. She does listen to Mary, though, eyes flickering towards her sidelong. She just nods once, keeping her mouth shut. A broker with Codes. Useful. She'd be gone already if it wasn't for this inhibitor. Out of all of their little squad, the mostly catatonic June is the scariest. Still, they don't call her Killer Frost for no reason. Her expression doesn't change as Barry approaches, save a little hardening of her mouth, and the fact that her eyes seem to grow just a little more pale. That might be a trick of the light, though. Her ears popping from pressure changes isn't helping her mood, though. Especially the quantity, and how the heavier pressure almost makes her stomach queasy. She lets the misogyny roll over here. It's standard shit. Stupid, macho, toxic shit that's everywhere. She's just not in a position to show him the error of his ways. "The therapy is helping. I want to do less crimes," she says, managing to keep the boiling sarcasm from her voice. "Whatever. I'll take the door on the left. Maybe there's a new car in there, or a dinette set. Maybe a motorcycle if I'm lucky." There's the sass.
Mary McPherran	Barry's mouth quirks, offering a snort at any mention of effective rehabilitation, exposing more his personal bias and ignorance. This is a dude that's got everything well ingrained in his tiny head. He follows up that snort with a small grimey chuckle. "Good. That's half my quota." He ushers both Crystal and Mary out of the elevator and gestures towards the left hatch, mumuring into his commlink. "Dr. Wyndham, your Door-dash is here." The response to that is an icey reply in his ear for him alone. It tamps down on his jockularity, dropping the temperature of the room so to speak. "Hang on." Mary grates, and she walks on up to turn and face Barry, getting in his face. "Where she goes I go." Barry juts his jaw and brandishes his truncheon, gesturing to the right. "No no, you get the right, Princess Fiona. A good enough chore for you, all brawn and no brains. Frostie gets to factory test the new car, you get to polish the dinette set." he says cryptically. "Get going, down those hallways, the door will be open at the other end. And hey, smile more." he says in his best douche-bag tone. "I gotta check on your pal, volt-dolt, I hear she's being a handful, so hurry it up."
Crystal Frost	Something is making her incredibly suspicious about all of this. Crystal looks at Mary as Barry ushers them along to the fork in the path. She reaches her hands up, bound as they are, and rests them on the much bigger woman's arm. "Hey. I'll be fine, and so will you. We got this. Don't let them win." She looks up at Mary, her face not showing any of the gut-wrenching worry she's feeling. None of this is good. None of this is right. Something awful is about to happen. "Survive. Just ... Survive." She spares Barry one more withering glance before she just marches down the hall towards the door that's waiting for you. "DoorDash. What the fuck," she mutters to herself as her footsteps ring through the metal hallway. Her pace is sedate and unhurried, but not exactly dawdling. She's going as slow as she can without getting consequences for it, though she has a sinking feeling. Consequences are through that door.
Mary McPherran	Mary looks down into Crystal's face. The strand of red hair almost covers an eye, having come loose from the sloppy ponytail she's afforded herself. There's a moment there, where in this deep down terrible place, that she grasps for. It's not unlike a time when she was younger, lesser, before the big change offered by the masked Villain that transformed her. She feels like she's back in high school, although she never benefitted from a kind word like this. And certainly not from a woman with a kill-count that should have Barry far more tight lipped. Mary's mouth twists from anger and anxiety to something with more self resolve. It feels extremely unfair to have to have Barry just right there, because she'd like to reciprocate with something that sounds smart and savvy. Though maybe there's something visible on her face, fleeting, of the inner struggle to be a good friend back. This place sucks. Mary twitche and nonetheless tries to return the gesture and the words, "You got it. Right. Piece of cake." She turns to shuffle down the right-hand passage, shoulders less slumped, and casts a look back to Frost. "Piece of cake Boss!" she offers again, louder, and the door closes behind her with a resounding and secure sound. Barry baps his truncheon in the palm of his hand and then slides it into the clasp at his belt. There's a bunch of self-important adjusting of his waist. Big man on campus. He's heard to yammer into his commlink before he's gone, "Yeah yeah, Jake, be there soon."