Post by Band on Dec 8, 2023 18:25:43 GMT -5
Prison wasn’t so bad. Not for Band, at least. The Ice Pit may have been the worst place on the planet, but the Namekian was tough, and his cell wasn’t too deep in the hollows of the ice given the nature of his crimes. It was likely only by virtue of having fought with the Shield of Arcose himself that he’d ended up here instead of some place a little nicer. Really, he felt worse for the poor public defender he’d been assigned at trial, who had probably been the most stressed person he’d ever met.
Things were pretty alright otherwise. Band, who seldom touched solid food, had little to complain about in the way of meals. His cot was little more than a buffer between his back and the frame, but large enough to accommodate his height given all the different sorts they had to house. Guards and prisoners alike had their violent streaks, but Band had come to treat such instances like a game, where all he needed to do was wait a little to hit ‘em back. He was pretty good at it. So except for one thing, prison really wasn’t so bad.
This morning, the tall purple Namekian occupied himself with shadow boxing in his cell. A few dents and cracks in the wall let one know that he wasn’t the most careful with it, but otherwise the place wasn’t in terrible disarray. Band himself looked about the same he had for months, if with an updated wardrobe. Piercings now adorned his long, pointed ears and he’d done what he could to customize the prisoner’s uniform he’d been given, most prominently ripping off those terribly stuffy sleeves. Eventually the staff had stopped wasting time switching them out for new ones come laundry day. Just as he was beginning to exert himself, a loud rapping at the metal door made Band flinch.
“C’mon Namekian, time’s up,” A voice called from the other side. Rubbing his ear, the Namekian in question sauntered over and lowered his face to peer through the wicket, grinning wide at the tired eyes he saw on the other side.
“Quincy, ol’ boy! I know there ain’t much knockin’ about up in that head of yours, but this is my cell, I can be in here pretty much all I want.”
Rather than any sort of reaction, the gold-skinned alien simply swung the door open, forcing Band to step back. Though instead of imposing himself in as the prisoner expected, Quincy swiftly stood back to make room. “I said come on. You’re getting released, and the Emperor himself will be overseeing it.”
A beat passed, Band slowly digesting what he’d just been told. Was his sentence up? The time had been getting away from him of late. Just why would his old pal — and the new emperor, as he couldn't help but hear — want to bother with it though?
“Huh... Right then, gimme a tick to put on my eyeliner.”
Things were pretty alright otherwise. Band, who seldom touched solid food, had little to complain about in the way of meals. His cot was little more than a buffer between his back and the frame, but large enough to accommodate his height given all the different sorts they had to house. Guards and prisoners alike had their violent streaks, but Band had come to treat such instances like a game, where all he needed to do was wait a little to hit ‘em back. He was pretty good at it. So except for one thing, prison really wasn’t so bad.
This morning, the tall purple Namekian occupied himself with shadow boxing in his cell. A few dents and cracks in the wall let one know that he wasn’t the most careful with it, but otherwise the place wasn’t in terrible disarray. Band himself looked about the same he had for months, if with an updated wardrobe. Piercings now adorned his long, pointed ears and he’d done what he could to customize the prisoner’s uniform he’d been given, most prominently ripping off those terribly stuffy sleeves. Eventually the staff had stopped wasting time switching them out for new ones come laundry day. Just as he was beginning to exert himself, a loud rapping at the metal door made Band flinch.
“C’mon Namekian, time’s up,” A voice called from the other side. Rubbing his ear, the Namekian in question sauntered over and lowered his face to peer through the wicket, grinning wide at the tired eyes he saw on the other side.
“Quincy, ol’ boy! I know there ain’t much knockin’ about up in that head of yours, but this is my cell, I can be in here pretty much all I want.”
Rather than any sort of reaction, the gold-skinned alien simply swung the door open, forcing Band to step back. Though instead of imposing himself in as the prisoner expected, Quincy swiftly stood back to make room. “I said come on. You’re getting released, and the Emperor himself will be overseeing it.”
A beat passed, Band slowly digesting what he’d just been told. Was his sentence up? The time had been getting away from him of late. Just why would his old pal — and the new emperor, as he couldn't help but hear — want to bother with it though?
“Huh... Right then, gimme a tick to put on my eyeliner.”
Thread PL: 24,000
WC: 512
WC: 512