END GAME: THE COUNTDOWN STARTS

[sailmods]

[the prisoners wake up on cold, hard floors.

the lights are bright, glaring, a sterile cell with sterile bars facing a sterile hall. the prisoners with you, across from you, and no one else. no rocking of a ship in waves, nothing. just the prisoner and their prison.

time passes, one assumes. the rhythmic click of Friday’s heels down the hall. it’s almost like the ticking of a clock.]

Comments

[takethatnature]

Wilson grabs onto Maxwell like the one solid rock between himself and the maw of a hurricane. Hope you weren't using those ribs.

"I thought we were about to get squished!" His hair's in disarray and there's a scrape on his chin.

[freedomsuitsme]

"It wouldn't be the first time. Come on, let's grab a few of these bars and see if we can do something with them. We can panic later."

[takethatnature]

"I can multitask!" Wilson's too rattled for the dry deadpan delivery he's aiming for; he sounds a little hysterical.

He lets go of Maxwell to pick up some more bars and the Flan braid slithers out of his hands. "I hate these pocketless prison outfits," he grumbles as he reaches to grab it. Is he sublimating his fear into irritation at something trivial? Absolutely.

[freedomsuitsme]

"I don't think the lack of pockets are the only problem, pal. Seems this world doesn't let people carry much of anything."