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Brat Camp: Turn-About Ranch

Utah

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a part of Brat Camp: Turn-About Ranch, by tornadofan2.

None

tornadofan2 holds sovereignty over Utah, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

547 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://wiki.fornits.com/index.php?title=turn-about_ranch http://www.bratcamps.com/turnabout.asp

Setting

Default Location for Brat Camp: Turn-About Ranch
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Utah

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Utah is a part of Brat Camp: Turn-About Ranch.

8 Characters Here

Jack Jackson [11] ...well, it's better than fuckin' jail. Kinda. Wait, what's that about a goddamn horse?
Baby Stewart [10] "You cannot change those who do not wish to do so."
Harlem Faye [10] "You want to know what's wrong with me? People like you".
Serenity Calvert [9] "Horses? Pah! You gotta be kiddin' me".
Mike Stinster [9] ''Why should I change my behavior?''
Alison Keegan [8] "If I did nothing wrong, I wouldn't do anything."
Gage Rogers [8] "I was perfectly content with my life, I don't see why I have to change."
Matvei Markovich [7] "Oh dear, horses? I never was fond of them."

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Character Portrait: Mike Stinster
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Mike had told his parents not to worry and that he'd be back soon. He had boarded the plain, and together with the others from Brat Camp, arrived at the airport in Utah. A car had brought them to Stage one, Roundy Ranch where he had seen already that there were little to no comforts. He narrowed his eyes as they gathered around the fire that had been made by the people working there and sat down on a wooden bench. Mike wasn't going to like this at all, he knew that much already.

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Gage narrowed his eyes in a similar fashion to the way Mike had.

"Well, isn't this just fucking great," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he slowly followed Mike. His blue eyes examined the other boy thouroughly and he decided it wouldn't hurt to try talking. "Hey...I'm Gage."

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"Shujo mu hen sei gan do... bonno mu jin sei gan dan... ho mon mu ryo sei gan gaku... butsu do mu jo sei gan jo... Shujo mu hen sei gan do... bonno mu jin sei gan dan... ho mon mu ryo sei gan gaku... butsu do mu jo sei gan jo..."

Jack figured she was probably butchering every damn word of the Shigu Seigan Mon-- accent like that, shit, she butchered half the shit she said in English too-- and she probably hadn't remembered it entirely correctly, but at this point she'd run outta fucks to give. Her fists clenched and unclenched, the soles of her boots thudded along the thin wooden floor of the dingy little cabin as she paced along it, murmuring the sutra under her breath in hopes, however narrow, that it would give her the calm and strength she sure as hell knew she'd need to get through this shit.

Fuckin' hell, who'm I kiddin'? Sutras? She'd need enough goddamn alcohol to put down an elephant and enough cigarettes to give Glasgow in its entirety fucking lung cancer to get through this shit. Goddammit, everything had been working out perfectly! She felt herself beginning to lose control again as her hands rose up and clutched her head, futilely seeking to assuage the migraine that lay therein, or perhaps the chaotic frenzy of thoughts, rage, and distress that had brought it about. "Everythin' was-- workin'-- jus'... fine!" she growled through her clenched teeth, her long, inked fingers pulling furiously at the skin of her face. Everything had been just goddamn peachy-- she coulda made it outta Glasgow, she'd been plannin' to, just get the fuck outta the place and go somewhere else-- wait 'til they finally forgot her, find some god-awful shithole of an apartment to live in, and life would go the fuck on. Fuck, maybe she coulda even found a spot'a work or such, make a 'lil cash for smokes and booze and whatever little else was left could go for books and for incense and rosary beads and music and whatnot. Woulda been the good life.

Fuckin' A, she'd actually tricked herself into thinkin' that would ever fuckin' happen. Then reality, flamin' fuckstick that it was, decided to put the foot down on that little fantasy, in the form of the goddamn law pigs. The agonising rage in her head began to pulsate and swell at the thought, her vision seemed to narrow into a haze, the flurry of noise, voices and grinding and the scraping of metal against metal and high-pitched, torturous scratching noises like fingernails on chalk, her head felt like it was going to implode from the sheer hatred and rage. "All their fault!" she ground out vehemently, as the voices, interloping and overlapping in their mad flood, their rush to deliver their unwanted messages to her, reached a feverish pitch. "Why couldn't they leave me the fuck alone?! Why did they have to ruin everything again?! How come they never do their fuckin' jobs 'til it's my head on the choppin' block?! It's--always that-- way!"

You should never have let go. You should have held on until the life was strangled out of him, the fucking pig, til his blood was frozen in his veins and his heart--

You should have just run while you could. Get away, get free, keep going. You should never have let the violence overcome you. It's only ever hurt--

You should never have run in the first place--


"Enough!" she snarled furiously, no longer capable of maintaining composition with the voices and the scratching and the grinding and the agony and the-- the everything, goddammit. She'd been trying to keep her voice down, but she couldn't fuckin' do it anymore. Everything was getting to her. Her fingernails raked at her face, down across the scar that jutted down one side, and wished she could open up another scar, one right down the middle, down to the skull and through it, let all the voices and the noises and the torment outta her head once and for all.

But hey, always look on the bright side, eh? She attempted to force composure upon herself as she strove with all her mental might to untangle the rage, turn her mind elsewhere. Jack'd figured in prison, 'least she'd get a couple good meals every day and sort of a bed to sleep in. That was fine livin' right there, that was. But the whole 'prison uniform, menial labour, do what we tell you and obey the law'... yeah, fuck that shit. When they'd told her the alternative was goin' to some place to raise a goddamn horse, there was about a quarter second's pause before she answered, fuck yeah, the fuckin' horse. She figured she'd name it Douche Canoe, feed the damn thing a couple times, go through the bullshit motions, and then she'd be home fuckin' free, baby, free to go wherever the hell she wanted, and you could be damn sure it wouldn't be Scotland.

Turned out they'd forgotten to mention a thing or two. Like how there'd be other people. Or how they wouldn't let her bring her music, or her books, or even a goddamn koans pocket book so she could recite some of the koans she hadn't learnt by heart yet to pass the time and maybe get a hold of herself. Or how they'd given her a goddamn uniform that was, in principle, no different from the ones in prison. "I woulda taken menial labour over this," she growled in a low, hoarse rasp, as the frenzy within began at last to abate to its usual, ever-present chaos. At least it woulda been somethin' to do.

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Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Exeric followed closely behind two others that had entered 'Brat Camp', or whatever it was called. She didn't like it one bit, since it didn't at all look like camp. To her it looked more like prison. They were obviously making themselves comfortable, so Exeric took a seat on the other side of the fire, her deep brown eyes fixed on Mike, then at Gage as he introduced himself to Mike.

She thought she'd just plop herself in the conversation to save her seeming anti-social. "Hey. The name's Serenity, but you can call me Exeric" She said, her voice coming out much more quiet than she'd wanted. Exeric palmed her forehead and sighed. She cleared her throat. "Uh, I mean, I-.. Ah, whatever". She gave up. Being all 'meet and greet' with others wasn't something she was great at. Infact, she was pretty terrible.

Her eyes scanned the area. She snorted. 'What a dump..'

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Character Portrait: Harlem Faye
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Harlem took a seat by the fire, observing the other people sitting around him. They looked like a bunch of freaks. Sure as hell, they'd be just as screwed up as him; or worse.
He didn't understand why he'd been sent to this godawful place; he'd never hurt anybody in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Oh sure, he may have hurt his poor mother for being such a miserable piece of shit, or burdened his old man for being a dead-end loser. Yeah, yeah. Drugs are bad and you shouldn't abuse alcohol. Whatever. Did his mother not think she'd hurt him by abandoning him with that abusive asshole who, for biological reasons only, he called his father so she could go off and live her wonderful little life off in the big city?
Probably the worst of all this was he was informed he would not be allowed to have music. No music? What kind of evil is it to deny somebody one of the few beautiful things in life? Not to mention, he was still in the agonizing wrath of withdrawals... He kept twitching like a mother-fucker and his mood was exceptionally irritable. God, he felt like he was being cut up from the inside out, and he couldn't even have a smoke to help him deal with it.
He was over-thinking his suicide attempt now. He really wished he had been more successful, now. If he had, he would not be in this horrid situation. Then again, if he hadn't done it, maybe he wouldn't be here either. It was kind of the last straw for his parents. Nah, he no doubt would of ended up here anyway, otherwise jail. Or the morgue.
He pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them close to his body, trying to make himself invisible. He really wanted to get away from here. He really wanted a fix. He'd had difficulties sleeping since his last hit, which was four days ago, and his legs ached like crazy. He heard somewhere that these symptoms would disperse after five or six days, but he didn't think he could last that long. He wondered if there was a way to get some smuggled in here. Was he even allowed visitors? How the hell long would he have to stay here anyway? He rocked back and fourth slowly, burying his face against his knees.
"God, let this be over with", he muttered to himself.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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#, as written by Leon21
Matvei Markovich


Well, this was pleasant. Not. Matvei pursed his lips, looking around the small camp. Now, why had he chosen this place over jail? Jail certainly seemed like a far nicer alternative. At least you have fairly decent rooms there. The wooden cabins did not seem to be very nice. There were probably spiders and all sorts of other pests living in them. With his luck, he'd probably get bitten by a black widow on his first night here. And, at least in jail there were people who were fun to manipulate. Judging by the teens who were already gathered there, Matvei decided he'd be lucky if some of them were able to form coherent sentences, much less pose any sort of challenge to manipulate.

"Can you please take off these handcuffs, love?" he murmured, speaking just loud enough for the probation officer standing behind him to hear. He still wasn't sure why that man was here anyways. It wasn't like either of them were enjoying being here, after all. Did they not trust him?

The handcuffs and probation officer immediately answered that question.

Matvei tilted his head slightly as he heard only a grunt from the officer in reply. Standing at 6'3", he was a couple of inches taller than the officer. Then again, Matvei was usually a couple inches taller than just about everyone, something which he liked. "Really, hun, the grunts aren't that flattering. At least try to form decent sentences. I know you're intelligent enough to do that. Now, darling, please take these handcuffs off. It's not like I can get away if you do. The security here would probably have me lying on the ground with a bullet in my leg if I so much as glanced at the exit. Besides, these handcuffs are becoming rather embarrassing. They don't suit me."

There was a satisfying click as the officer unlocked the cuffs, taking them off of Matvei's wrists. He brought his arms to the front of his body, stretching his shoulders and rubbing his wrists, his lips curling into a slight smile at the corners.

"Thank you, love," he chirruped, giving the officer a peck on the cheek. He couldn't help but laugh at the blush that appeared on the officer's face. "What, did they forget to warn you about my habits?" he said. The officer did not reply, and instead shoved him forward, clearly deciding that they were walking too slowly.

"What charming manners you have," Matvei muttered angrily, his pleasant facade suddenly gone. He stalked forwards, heading towards the circle of cabins. Arriving there, there was an exchange of paperwork between a man standing there and his officer, and then a stack of clothing was shoved into his arms along with a gruff command to get changed in one of the cabins and then enter the circle. "Good grief, these are hideous. Did the concept of fashion sense not reach this place or something?"

The glares he got were enough to shut him up. "Fine, fine, I'll go change."

A few minutes later, when he walked out of the cabin, his officer had disappeared. The man who had been standing by the cabin pushed him over to the circle. Matvei stumbled slightly, shooting a glare back at the man once he regained his balance. "I can understand English, you know. You didn't have to push me," he muttered under his breath in Russian, his mother tongue.

There were already a few people sitting in the circle by the time he got there. He sat down on one of the stones, scanning the small group. "Well, hello," he started amiably. "Do we all want to introduce ourselves, perhaps? I'm Matvei Markovich. I apologize for my hideous clothing; normally I would be wearing something that flattered my appearance much more. They just don't have much fashion sense here, it seems. Who are you guys? Why are you here?"

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Character Portrait: Baby Stewart
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The silver SUV rolled down the dusty, rocky road. Every bump made Baby even sicker to her stomach. She latched a hand to her mouth to keep the bile from escaping and regrettably swallowed it. The burn of stomach acid stuck to the back of her throat like a leach to a warm-blooded creature. She shuddered, absolutely disgusted. She should have just spit it out at the driver her parents had hired. Rich bastards. Maybe then it would distract him enough for her to make way and flee the vehicle. She may be burdened with slight injuries but that would not compare to the mental trauma she knew she was about to face.
The brakes lightly cried out as the vehicle halted in front of the gate. Was she seriously being forced to walk the rest of the way? It looked like at least half of a mile before she would reach the small dot that she assumed was the cabin in the distance where her and the other campers would be residing in.
"Get out." The driver ordered and the blonde's eyebrows knit together and her nose scrunched in absolute displeasure. Who was he to be ordering him around.
"Are the wankers paying you to be nasty to me as well? Tell them that if they decide to bell me to skip out on it. Beastly git." She added the insult towards the driver, her southern British accent reigning pure. The driver removed his sunglasses, his eyebrows mirroring hers. She closed the door hard as the male began, "Why you-" But she did not hear anything else, she could only see his lips moving as he seemed to be screaming towards her, a finger jabbed out in her direction. She smiled brightly and gave him a little goodbye by wiggling her fingers towards him. "Ta ta. Arse."
The smiled dropped immediately when she had turned to face the awaiting camp before her. A very professional looking guard stood at the gate's edge, his hands clasped firmly in front of him. Sunglasses adorned his eyes but she figured that his expression looked just as his posture did; serious beyond belief.
"God, another brute for Baby." She muttered, walking up. He did not say a word but followed closely behind her as she headed towards her destination.
She glanced behind her, watching him under squinted eyes. Her eyes slid back towards the ground. Her feet became much more interesting. He did not try to strike up any sort of conversation and she was quite thankful for that.
Before she knew it, she had reached the camp. There were a few other teens that had already arrived and she gave a light chuckle at the idea of her being the last to arrive.
Would've been here much sooner if it weren't for blasted git. She thought, her lip pulling up to show a look that wasn't pleasant on the pretty girls face. If she had been an animal it would have looked as though she were snarling.
A camp associate handed her a uniform consisting of a red hoodie and khaki's. She was more than glad for the top but she absolutely loathed khaki's.
"Do these at least come in skinnies?" She asked hopefully. The camp associate politely smiled and shook her head.
Great. I am going to be so out of my element here.
She was directed towards the cabin so that she could change in privacy. Once she had closed the door behind her she turned around quickly and began slamming her head into the door. Quickly following after as she had started to take her shirt off, the same camp counselor opened the door, her breath quickened.
"Is everything okay in here?" She asked in a too chipper voice for Baby's liking.
"Bloody hell. Can't you see I'm changing, you blooming idiot?" She said after adjusting her shirt to cover her body. Her heart was pounding but not at the idea of getting in trouble or even being seen naked. She couldn't care less about that, but it was the thought of someone seeing the plethora of scars that decorated her hips. Although that wasn't the only place, the long sleeved shirt she had come in was covering much of her recent and older damaged skin.
The woman seemed to be holding her tongue for now seeing as how they hadn't even begun and closed the door softly.
"Shite." Baby shook her head and started changing again. She pulled the hoodie over her head and pulled her multi-colored hair out from being trapped and pressed against her now neck that was now lightly doused with perspiration.
She opened up the door and went towards the other gathered campers. They seemed to all be introducing themselves at this point so maybe she had yet to miss much. Not like she cared, however.
The blonde took her own seat and her mind began racing. She was absolutely dying for a cigarette. The hunger for her vice was clawing at her throat at the already damaged interior from before. But even more than her desire for a cigarette was her aching for a little glass. She'd thankfully snuck a nail full in before the car ride had begun, but now the high was completely gone due to her tolerance. She cursed herself for such a tease. Coming down in a shit hole like this was not a fun combination in the slightest.
She shrugged farther into the hoodie, pulling herself deeper into it wishing that she could hide from everything that surrounded her.
"If you fancy my name, it is Baby." She threw out, but figured that no one would care to hear from the overly pierced and tatted up "emo" girl.

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(Since, it seems not clear enough yet. There is ONE wooden cabin, which is large enough to house them all. The students will gather around the camp fire when they arrive, sleep in the rooms, girls and boys separated, without a mattress and only a blanket. The next morning, they will be introduced to the stone circles. Clear?)

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Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Alison Keegan

She had assumed that this 'Roundy Round-Up Wackadoo Ranch,' or whatever it was called, would be miserable, boring, and smell like horse shit. Well, it seemed that she had been completely right.
After being sent on a plane all the way over to America, she had been brought by some taxi driver - obviously, her parents couldn't be assed to ask her rich relatives to drive her there, or they were too ashamed of her to - to the ranch, whilst he looked at her as if she had just told him that all she wanted for Christmas was a pair of crocks. So, not very pleasing.

When she walked into the wooden cabin, there were a few people - or delinquents - sitting on wooden benches by a camp fire. One of them, a male with a Russian accent, was speaking; "-we all want to introduce ourselves, perhaps? I'm Matvei Markovich. I apologize for my hideous clothing; normally I would be wearing something that flattered my appearance much more. They just don't have much fashion sense here, it seems. Who are you guys? Why are you here?"

"We're here because we're just some delinquent shits that need to be bored out of their minds in order to learn the goodness of being kind," she said from where she had been leaning against the door frame. She began to walk towards the camp fire as she continued, "Alison Keegan at your service." She looked down at her joke for an outfit, which she had changed into at the airport, and had to agree with him.

He had a tall and willowy build, with long, almost white hair that hung in curls around his pale head, this almost making him look like a female. His icy cold blue eyes looked like they could stare into your soul. Allie narrowed her eyes slightly as she tried to read him up. She sat down between this Russian guy, Mattie, or whatever his name was, and the blonde one that had just began to speak, "If you fancy my name, it is Baby."

Allie had to admit, she almost laughed at that one. Baby? Wow, her parents were very creative. We just had a baby, what will we call it? I know - Baby! She was assuming that it was just a nickname she had given herself. Allie furrowed her eyebrows slightly as she took in yet another person to share the ranch with. This girl was taller than Allie, though that wasn't saying much. She had thick, blonde hair that fell down past her shoulders, with a pink and purple streak through it. Allie decided she was probably one of those partying, drinking, smoking scene/emo girls. What was the difference between scene and emo, anyway? Was it that scene people were happy, and emo were sad or something? Allie had no idea.

The next person was also female, with a slender build and brunette hair. She was quite tan, too. Allie hadn't any idea why she was here - she looked like all those prissy cheerleaders in her old school. Though, then again, Allie probably didn't look liken someone that was probably insane.

Next was a guy with ruffled brown hair, who looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks due to his hollowed out cheek bones, and the fact that his ribs were showing through his clothing. She decided that he probably had an abusive home of some sort, as they either didn't feed him or he ran away from home, according to his appearance, though he may be anorexic, possibly.

Next was a very masculine female, someone who Allie immediately decided that she didn't want to mess with, even if she had made a habit of it. She looked like some sort of stone statue, rigid in place, and even sitting down Allie could see she would loom over her. There were tons of reasons why she could be here, none of them good.
Then again, Allie was basing this all off their appearances, following stereotypes, so she couldn't be sure.

A guy next, with black hair in a sort of emo style, as Allie liked to call it. Another tall one, too, probably ten or so inches taller than Allie. At least he didn't look very muscular, he looked more withdrawn, someone who preferred his own company.

The final person in their 'rebel squad' as Allie had decided to name them was also a male, with dark brown hair. She didn't like how he seemed to already be comfortable around the rest of the group - as did some of the other members of their little squad. Though maybe that as just jealousy, ever since she was little, Allie had always felt uncomfortable around strangers, even if she did hide it under a carefree persona.

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Gage glanced around slowly, flicking his ebony locks out of his face. He tried to crack his knuckles loud enough so that it would be heard by those close enough to him. He wanted to make it clear right away that he wasn't weak because, from the way the other males looked, they could put up a fight. But he would still be better...besides, he had been fighting for two years now and the others looked like they hadn't even lifted a finger before. He pulled his right knee up against his chest and wrapped his arms around it, resting his chin on top of it as his blue eyes examined the others.

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Two people was already two too many for Jack, but to expect that her day would do her the favour of just staying at 'this fucking sucks' would be like expecting a crocodile to sit by politely and wait its turn while you dangled a piece of juicy meat in front of it. So Jack knew she shouldn'ta been surprised when the day went from 'this fucking sucks' to 'this fucking blows ass' when more and more people began to filter into the room... and then, fuck all, they started talking.

It was some chick first decided that this was some sorta friendly 'lil circle and they were all just gonna be best fuckin' buddies or some shit, so she decided it was right about a good time to introduce herself like anyone gave a fuck, for chrissakes. She said it real quiet-like, though, so all Jack caught was 'Serenity', which struck Jack as one hell of a goddamn retarded name. Too long, sounded dumb, and... fuckin' A, it was one of them new age names where folks were namin' their kids words that weren't even names, like Chance, or Serenity, or fuckin' Hope or some bullshit like that. What happened to real goddamn names, ones that had some fuckin' backbone? Names like John, or Mark, or... or, you know, Jack. Names that sounded like they belonged to someone you didn't wanna mess with. Namin' your kid Serenity? C'mon, you were just askin' for the kid to get a fist in their face.

Now, Jack'd been hopin' the whole introductory thing would be a passin' fad that started and ended with this Serenity chick, but fortune bore no such favour for her. Just about a second after the quiet chick tossed her name up into the air to fall on ears that sorely lacked shits to give, some other chick wandered into the cabin, lookin' like some sor... Wait, wait, what the fu-- is that... is that a fuckin' dude? Jack gawked. This was... she actually couldn't tell for a sec. Shit, she shoulda been a goddamn expert at this-- people took her for a dude often enough and she didn't mind that, but this guy... and yes, it was a guy, she'd ascertained that now, even though he looked like some kinda pixie with a skin'n'bones build and lovely locks of angelic hair-- and mind you, Jack mentioned 'lovely locks of angelic hair' as ironically as possible, because that there is a phrase that shouldn't never apply to a dude, or anybody with any goddamn sense.

Wonder how angelic he'll look with his nose smashed into his face and his eyes bleeding and his teeth pulverised and his face battered into a disgusting mess, see just how pretty this bitch looks then, eh, I bet he manicures and pedicures and all that bullshit every morning and he cries if he breaks a fuckin' nail, his type makes me fuckin' sick, I wanna beat his nasty mug in and gah, no, fucking-- no, shut up, goddammit-- I thought we agreed we-- I said I wasn't going to fuck this up-- I'm not gonna get outta here if you keep distracting me with your inane bullshit--

"I apologize for my hideous clothing," the pixie was sayin' as Jack tuned back into reality. "Normally I would be wearing something that flattered my appearance much more. They just don't have much fashion sense here, it seems."

"Jesus fuckin christ," Jack exhaled sharply and pressed her face to the palm of her hand for a moment. "Okay, maybe you were right," she admitted into the muffling palm of her hand. "This is a crock'a shit. Who walks into this shithole and then starts bitching about fashion? Christ. And they call me a lunatic." She lifted her face from her hand, hoping she'd look up and everyone here would be replaced by big, tall, muscly motherfuckers named John and Joe and non-bullshit names like that so that Jack would not have to suffer this immense torment any longer.

It seemed fate had glimpsed this wish, and then decided "Hehehehe, fuck that, how 'bout a scene chick?" You know, because Jack got on so well with the fucks. She could tell from the hair and the piercings and the ridiculous make-up and the general... everything about her. Goddamn Jack hated the fuckin' scenesters. Bastardised her beloved music and then dressed all up in their skinny jeans and their retarded hair and their shit-ton'a make up cause they were so desperate to please their boyfriends or whatever and their piercings and their tattoos 'cause they were so tough 'cause they had more metal stuck on their face than they did in spirit. No. She decided right then and there. I shall not give in. She puffed out her chest proudly and stubbornly. She would not lose her temper on account of the scene chick, or the pixie dude, or any of 'em. She was gonna stay well the fuck away. She was not gonna let them fuck up her chance. She wasn't gonna say a damn word to a single one of e--

"If you fancy my name, it is Baby."

"Baby?" Jack wheeled around to face the scenester. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," she spouted viciously at the girl-- Scottish accent muddled it up some, but she liked to think the sentiment got through, and speaking of Scottish-- "And a fuckin' Angie to boot." Her glare turned from one of impulse, from one of surprise (she hadn't expected to be seized so suddenly by the ridiculousness of it all), to one of disgust as she noted the English accent only all too clearly. "s'cause of you fuckers that I'm even 'ere. I oughta teach ya yer fuckin' place right here and now!"

But alas. If there was to be any place-teachin', it wouldn't be on Jack's part. She shut up just as suddenly as she'd fired off, and her irritation turned inwards. What happened to staying the fuck away?

"Shut the fuck up, you cheeky little shit," Jack ground out through her teeth, her hands returning to claw at her head, running through the wiry bristles of her hair as she began to pace once more. "Fuck-- fuck-- fuck-- why am I here, I shoulda chosen jail over this bullshit, there ain't no Baby's or Serenity's or pixies in jail, ain't no horses, ain't no English pigs, but I fuckin' came 'ere to raise a goddamn horse, when I coulda... no, wait. I got this. I don't need to let any of it get to me. Just deal with it for a 'lil while, with all the babies and the horses and the English fucks, I can do that, can't I?" Her voice had dropped to a low murmur.

You can't do that! Come now. I know you well enough, you were my responsibility. You can't operate in any semblance of normal society-- you tried and it got you here, and if you really think you'll be able to master yourself enough to get back out there...

"Yeah well, you're fuckin' dead," Jack retorted, and that shut that fucker up damn nicely. "And anyway," she declared stubbornly, in an inaudible murmur that may as well have been silent. "You fuckin' gave up. I refuse."

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Serenity watched everybody introduce themselves, then her attention got sucked from them and dumped on the girl who seemed to be rambling to herself about names and whatever else had pissed her off. 'Right.. Because that's exactly what we need right now; a bunch of crazy people shoved into a camp together'. She hated everything about this camp, it made her want to dive into a deep pit and stay there forever.

On the bright side, as far as she could tell, there was only one person that would annoy her to such an extent that she had to act on her anger, and that was Jack, the chick who thought she was all tough because she was a pyscho with a dude's name. "You want to go to jail so bad? Then go. 'S not like we're all desperate to keep you here" She mumbled, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the night.

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Gage was trying hard to stay calm. But it was hard to do so with all of these bastards rambling on about their lives. It was Jack and then Serenity's mumble (which he didn't even make out) that drove him over the edge.

"Oh my God!" he yelled. "Why doesn't everyone just fucking shut up?! No one gives a damn about you personal lives!" He rolled his eyes and growled something under his breath, shaking his head. "No one wants to be here, okay? I'd rather be at home getting higher that the fucking Empire State Building..."

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Harlem raised his head at the sound of an angry voice. The...female... that was speaking was anything but attractive. 'Man, that is one big bitch' he mused to himself. He didn't want to seem like a wimp or nothing, but he would certainly try avoiding a fight with that one. Not that fighting was generally his thing, but he'd be especially fervent about not pissing off her. Then again, wasn't it just a week or so ago he'd been attempting to kill himself? Well here's the opportunity! Bam. Suicide. Right there.
He looked around at all the other people who had since joined around the fire. Yep, sure enough, they were a bunch of weirdos. Like the overly-masculine looking female with the horrible accent if that wasn't enough.
Some blonde chick... wait, no, dude. He faintly recalled somebody complaining about fashion and figured it must be that guy. He didn't really think it was right, that guy looking so damn pretty. No guy should look that damn pretty, and what was he, a fucking elf? What could such a pretty little guy like that possibly done wrong to end up in a place like this?
Some scene chick with the world's stupidest name... Scene kids. They had to be some of the most vain people on earth. This chick sure didn't look like she had much substance to her.
The other two girls looked pretty harmless. What the hell could girls like that do that would result in them being sent here? From what he had gathered, this place was pretty hardcore. What, petty theft? Skipping school? He couldn't imagine it being worse then that, and those things didn't seem bad enough to be sent here about.
There was some emo kid and another guy. In his eyes, the only one who looked like they really belonged in this place was that butch-as-fuck chick. Yeah, he didn't think she belonged anywhere else other then jail...or an asylum. Somewhere with bars.
Harlem's body was still in agony. He wondered how long it would take for something to happen. Was he just meant to sit here all day, watching weirdos interact? What was the lesson he was meant to learning? If this was all he had to do, well, it was pretty shit but he'd imagined it to be a bit more brutal.
Maybe he could sneak off round about now. Nah, some of those guards who'd brought the others in were still hanging about. Man, he just wanted a fix and then he could deal with this shit, maybe. Even just a smoke and this pointlessness would be a bit more bearable.
"What the fuck is even happening here?" he said, growing impatient. He doubted much of a response from the weirdos around him. If he didn't know, chances are they wouldn't either.
His breathing was getting more intense as his craving peaked. His agitation was making his head throb. He stood up impulsively, scanning his surroundings for escape, and not finding a solution, kicked the seat he had been sitting on. Spontaneity can be very stupid. His foot and ankle suffered for his rash actions but the pain just made him angrier. He sad back down, gripping his hair, near-on tearing it out. This was sheer torture, and pointless torture at that. He didn't even see no fucking horses.

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"Hell if I know," growled Gage. He sighed and looked over at Harlem, recognizing the boy's withdrawal symptoms. His hasn't been as rough. Then again, he had only done drugs for a few months. He bit his lip softly. "You okay man?" He sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. "...I find introductions to be tacky but, I'm Gage. And you are...?"

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Baby had shut her eyes, her fingers slowly circling her temples in a massaging way. She had already gotten a headache. If these people weren't giving her one already, she was suffering from the lack of meth and tobacco in her system. The other teens around her did not seem all too much for her to handle, but her eyes flew open when she was addressed by a masculine tone across the way from her.
"Baby? You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," The voice rang out.
The blonde girl sighed half-heartedly. "It's not like I picked the bloody shite." She said, rolling her eyes. She wondered where the lesbian, male resembling girl got off. She was just reeking of problems, but she did not bother Baby in the slightest. No one did. And if the brute of a girl were planning to break her neck she would stand her ground and welcome whatever would come.
I fuckin' hate my name. She growled inside her head. She recalled once when she had just gotten off of the bus from school - when she was still allowed there, that is - and had been heading home when another group of kids her age had pushed her down. The lead male had stuck his own thumb in his mouth and began sucking on it dramatically.
"Wah! Wah!" He had mocked. "The little slag is going to run home to her mummy like that Baby that she is." Quickly following, they had begun to jump the small girl leaving her to limp home with a black eye, a puffy cheek, a cracked rib, and a twisted ankle from trying to be dragged.
Her mother had hurried over to her with a warm towel and had begun dabbing her eye with it. "Just brilliant, Baby. What have you gotten yourself into this time?" She had complained.
"It's not my fault!" Baby defended. "It was those tosser's that caused this." Her mother had brought her palm in to swing on her already swollen face.
"Where on Earth did you learn such foul language as that? You're really going to the dogs, babe." Her mother had turned away and began to complain to her father, 'That ankle biter of a daughter of yours is really something.'
Baby was so furious she had grabbed a fork and had surged it into her mother's waist. "Piss of, ya tallop! It's your blooming fault for naming me this disgrace!"
Her mother had been pregnant at the time and she had done damages to her uterus causing her mother to miscarriage. She had been only fourteen at the time.
Baby pulled herself out of her memories. From what she could tell by the judgmental looks she was receiving she was already being judge by her appearance. Probably being called, scene or emo or whatever the kids called it these days. She could not stand labels, but that was all people were good for was placing a certain title to a certain way people were or how they dressed or what they liked.
Baby scowled and pulled the red hood up over her head, repeating the motion of pulling the sleeves past the palms of her hands.
Everyone was getting so acquainted with one another. A male that had previously been screaming for everyone to put a sock in it was now greeting another. Pretty bipolar in my opinion. She thought to herself. Another male that was only sitting two people from her had kicked over his own perch and now seemed to be in pain. The blonde merely looked at him. She felt bad. He seemed to be suffering in his head worse than she was. At least she could slightly control her impulses. Even though every fiber of her being was pushing her to find the nearest sharp object and jab it into the buff girl's eye.
She stayed quiet, though resting her chin on her curled up fingers, her arms resting on her knees that were brought as close to her as possible.
She would have given anyone the clothes on her back for a few squares. Alas, she doubted that they even allowed anyone else into the camp that was not there to be tortured and forced to care for giant dogs with hooves.
She looked past the other 'campers' and observed the cabin, taking in every aspect, as well as anything that could turn into a make-shift weapon if need be. There was a possibility, though, that they had 'round the clock room surveillance to keep sure that there was no one up 'past their bedtime'. But if she studied their usual routines, maybe she could figure something out.
After sizing up the room she looked around the group again and shook her head, but the movement would have hardly been noticeable to the human eye it was such a small action. She had a feeling that not even one person would go out of their way to care about anything that she had to say at all. The only people that somewhat seemed like her was the spazzing guy and the other dude who also had a few piercings of his own. Maybe the girl with the more of a bronze hair color who had just recently entered, but other than that...

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Gage, however, quickly picked up on this movement. Two years in a fighting ring had trained him to notice even the slightest of flinches. He looked over at the girl and eyed her, trying to judge her personality type from her appearance. Damn, what was her name again...? It was a really weird one. Buffy? No, that didn't sound right. Binky? That seemed too weird, even for his standards. It suddenly came to him- Baby. Gage fought back a light laugh, shocked that it was even legal to name your kid "Baby".

Realizing he was basically staring at her, Gage quickly looked down at his knees, still hugging them against his chest.

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Harlem looked to the emo looking guy who had spoken to him. "Look, man, I don't mean to be rude, but unless you can get me a fix, or get me out of here, I don't give a fuck who you are". Maybe it was rude. He wasn't usually like this, it was just these fucking withdrawals. Well, okay, at no point in his life would he be happy to be here, would he find it fine and dandy to be forced to participate in this weird horse shit. And sure, he actually doubted he would even acknowledge any of this people if they were anywhere else, but normally he would be at least a little more approachable. Certainly wouldn't be kicking chairs, that's for sure.
He smirked at the scene chick with the absurdly stupid name's crude response. Well, fuck. The chick's around here certainly couldn't be described as 'ladies', by any means.
His hands still pulled at his hair. This was one of life's funny things. In this situation, when his head was throbbing like mad to the point he would gladly die to have it over with, all he could do was rip at his hair. It was basically automatic, and yet, it seem just about the most stupid thing one could do to attempt nursing such an ailment.
He really wished he had his music. Music made everything much better. Being able to drown out this lot's useless jibber-jabber would be a good start. It was doing his head in. I mean, seriously, couldn't his folks wait until he'd kicked the h. before they shipped him off here? Couldn't they at least give him somewhere a little more homely to be while he got clean?
Yeah. That was probably his fault. His dad had been very lenient (especially for such a fuckhead of a man) and allowed Harlem to get off the stuff before sending him here, even though he'd nearly offed himself on it. But you know, he couldn't resist the weightless, sweet temptation of heroin when it only required him jumping from his window and walking a block to get it. Yeah, after the second time he did it, he ruined his chances of a peaceful comedown.
But come on. This should be illegal. You can't just deprive somebody of something which has basically become the bane of their existence, can you?
He needed to stop thinking about it, needed to distract himself, but he was in absolutely no mood to engage in idle chatter with an all manner of delinquents.
Maybe they were all just in here like him, for drug use. Nah. The others didn't seem to be writhing in knots or sweating from the inside out. What, then? He wouldn't put violence past the butch chick.
Harlem was going to make sure he was away from that chick by at least 5 meters at all times. Even that didn't seem enough. Nothing like a overbuilt, foul-mouthed, psychotic dyke to scare the suicide out of a suicidal person. Harlem's new middle name was optimistic! Okay, well, not quite... Not even close.

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Gage nodded slowly, chuckling a bit.

"Damn, somebody's in a rotten mood," he remarked, rolling his eyes. Despite how anti-social he usually was, this silence was bugging him and he wanted nothing more than to to have someone speak with him. Then again, judging by the other's appearances, he didn't know if he really wanted to talk to them. All of them were a bit freaky looking compared to him, and he got enough shit from his step-mom saying how weird he looked.

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Serenity watched the group with a harsh glare, her fingers curling themselves around the edges of her shirt. A nervous habit. They really weren't the most social bunch. Despite her violence issues, she really wasn't that aggressive towards others. It was only when they annoyed her that she would 'unleash her wrath', as he mother called it. Every little curse or dig, every little flinch and movement made her tighten her grip on her shirt. It was kind of like being surrounded by a bunch of loonies.. Actually, it was exactly like being around a bunch of loonies.

They were communicating alright, but it wasn't exactly pleasant for anyone. Such a shame. It was already a sucky experience to have been sent to the stupid camp, and no one was making it better by arguing. They could atleast make it better for themselves and get along for just a short amount of time.

Serenity bit onto her bottom lip in frustration, listening to every little comment. It wouldn't be easy, but she thought she might as well have given herself the role of peace-keeper among the group, regardless of how much of a hard task it seemed to be at that time.

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Mike sat silently, staring at the fire before him. He heard the others talk, but did not attempt to make contact with them. No, he would certainly not. He would behave, and go home and go back to who he was and what he was doing at home. That be just so much more better, and yet, he realized why his parents had send him here. He had been destructive, expelled and run into trouble with the police. His parents had said this would be better, and he would learn how to behave. And they had hoped he would return anew, and now old. Mike had to see about that just yet.

He looked up from the fire as someone walked in. An old looking guy, friendly looking, but he was sure the man would be the biggest problem around here. And then the man spoke.

''Right, boys and girls,'' the man spoke as he clapped his hands together and looked at them, ''I am Brandy, and I shall explain the rules and make sure you'll follow them. Within a few minutes, you'll be stripped from every juwelry, piercings included. We'll wash your hair and bring it back to its natural colour. If you don't agree on it and won't remove them, it will have consequences. From tomorrow on, you'll be ordered to stay in a stone circle, make your own breakfast and dinner, above your self-made fire. You may not talked unless you are asked something, and you may not leave the stone circle unless asked to. But tonight, you may just sleep. We have no mattresses, so you'll be handed a blanket and that's all you'll have. I don't want to hear any complaining, swearing, there will be no drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes. Again, no talking unless asked to from tomorrow on. Now, if I call your name, you will follow me and remove every juwelry and anything that can harm me, or one of the staff.''

Mike looked back at the fire and nodded simply.

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Serenity watched the man walk up and her entire body tensed. She listened to him explain, and once he was done she released a short huff of frustration. It was at times like this that she was glad she wasn't into body piercings or hair dying. However, it would not be so easy for the others. She assumed that the scene girl would most likely put up a fight. It would be funny to see that.

She did, however, have a small black bracelet her little brother had given her. Serenity loved her brother more than anything, and when she recieved the gift she loved it. "Might I ask what happens to the jewellry when you take it?" She asked, "I mean, you don't throw it away, do you?". If the answer was yes, she would definatly show some resistance. If they promised to keep it safe, she'd hand it off with only a slight hesitation.

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(Also, check the ooc often, important things may be posted there. Also, you must wait for four posts after your post before you can post again, otherwise I will wake up and find thousand posts... Thank you all!)

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Baby watched the two guys go back and forth, a light chuckle ringing from her vocal chords at Harlem's reply. But the smile on her face fell short. She could use a fix too. It was driving her insane. Especially the lack of tar in her lungs. When she breathed into her mouth she could still taste the after-smoke on her breath and it was a tease to say the least. If only she had not started so young, maybe then she would not be as addicted as she was.
She was near growling in frustration when the door ajared and a man who addressed himself as 'Brandy' began pipping off about what they were about to be going through. She listened, but kept her gaze on the fire in front of her, her eyes following the flames that licked around the edges of the wood.
Her neck snapped to look at the man, her face had a 'are you kidding me?' way about it. They seriously had to take her piercings from her? It was all she had left. Not to mention they were going to strip her bangs of the pink and purple, leaving her with her natural bleach blonde hair. That did not bother her very much, especially not compared to the idea of ridding her body of all jewelry. She would feel so naked without it all. She had enough holes in her body that you would not be able to count them all on both hands, so it would be a longer process than anyone else would have had to go through.
She doubted that Javier Bardem over there would even have any jewelry to hand over. On the thought of the girl, Baby was reminded of a character that she had once read about in a book series. It had been about the Gods and Goddesses in mythology and their kids that took place at a camp and the adventures they had. The girl she compared her to was named Clarice and she was a child of Ares.
Baby would have laughed if it weren't for the boss figure that loomed over the group. She had a feeling he would punish her for not making noise when she was told she could.
She sighed and began unscrewing one of the balls on her tongue bar. She reconnected them and began making a small pile of them in her right fist. She figured that most of them would have expected her to be the last one to be willing to give in to letting someone have her piercings, that she would have thrown a fit over it all. Sure, she was not in the slightest bit happy about it, but she was not about to see what punishment meant if she was already being forced to cook her own meals (probably over a fire) and was left with merely a blanket and her arm to rest her head on. Besides, she had obtained most of the piercings over two years ago, so they would not be closing up. However her nose was a different story. Even though it had been the first piercing she had received, if she were going to be here over a few weeks, she would have to get it repierced.
She was removing one of her gauges when Serenity asked if they would be getting them back before they went home. Baby immediately stopped taking out her piercings and gave a hard look towards the guy that had been forcing her to do away with them in the first place.
She had already assumed that they weren't going to be allowed to have any alcoholic or tobacco products, but did he know what he could do to someone by making them quit cold turkey like that? Was he aware that someone who had been smoking since they were eleven and that consumed ten cigarettes nearly everyday could possibly have an arrhythmia? Yes, that would be rare, but not to mention all of the other side effects of not having that or her precious angel dust would be keeping her awake with the jitters every single night, then again, her lack of methamphetamines might make her sleep for two days straight. Although she had not been using as long as she had been smoking, it was probable that the hard drug would surpass her withdrawal from smoking. But she was going to be one anxious bitch, that was for damn sure.
He had just finished speaking and she rolled her eyes, looking back down at the fire pit again. This felt like grade school. "Okay children, when I call your name alphabetically please come up to my desk and give me my present for teacher appreciation day." She scowled as she stared down the rising smoke above her.
This was just getting better and better.

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Now see, Jack was kinda compelled to agree with stoner dude over here, the kid who'd spontaneously started screechin' about everyone shutting the fuck up, which was always a plan Jack was one hundred ten per cent on board with, and then started yarnin' about gettin' higher than the imperial some shit or other. Then again, said stoner kid, fresh off screamin' at everyone for talkin', turned around and started talkin', so there was that. But hey, he had the right idea. If nobody said nothin', it vastly decreased Jack's chances of losing her temper and fucking up and gettin' sent back to Scotland for more jail time than she cared to serve. So it was to her benefit if everyone shut the fuck up, herself included-- meant it'd be easier to keep herself under control and whatnot. That, and if she meditated, and said some sutras, and maybe even mulled over some koans in her head to keep herself occupied, shit would go right for once. I can do that, she reminded herself. And to underline it, she began to murmur the Song Of Zazen-- an old sutra, meant to be sung, but fuck all if she was about to do that. She simply spoke the words, under her breath, low and soft, and tried to clear her mind of anything more than the chaos she'd lived with for as long as she could remember.

It didn't serve to quiet the frenzy much-- that was impossible as long as she was surrounded by people as she was, with so much on her mind and so much encouraging her to give everything the proverbial finger and just fuck everything up for herself. But it was... it calmed her. A bit. Didn't realise it, though, not until things began to change in the world around her. Which was to say, someone else entered the room, and said someone was probably not one of the prisoners here, not unless old geezers off their meds counted as troubled teenagers. She did not stop reciting the Song. Couldn't. If she held onto this tenuous piece of calm for just a little while, when she was alone, she could meditate, and that tenuous piece of calm would become a stream of quiet and peace, however momentary, however fleeting, washing away the voices and the grating and the hate and anger and sorrow, for just a little while, just until they came flooding back down.

But to do that, she needed to hold on. For just a while.

"Right, boys and girls," the old coot decided to underscore his words by clapping his hands loudly and really fucking irritatingly. "I am Brandy," the fuckwit continued all self-assured and authoritative. "And I shall explain the rules and make sure you'll follow them--" I can do this-- "--Within a few minutes, you'll be stripped from every jewelry, piercings included--" Wait, then they're gonna take away the-- "We'll wash your hair and bring it back to its natural colour." Okay, that I don't give a fuck about, but they're gonna take away my-- "If you don't agree on it and won't remove them, it will have consequences. From tomorrow on, you'll be ordered to stay in a stone circle, make your own breakfast and dinner, above your self-made fire." In other words, it's pretty much what I've been doing this whole time-- "You may not talked unless you are asked something, and you may not leave the stone circle unless asked to." Fuckin' sweet, that works for me. "But tonight, you may just sleep. We have no mattresses, so you'll be handed a blanket and that's all you'll have." Wait, I get a fuckin' blanket? Man, this ain't as bad as I thought. "I don't want to hear any complaining, swearing, there will be no drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes. Again, no talking unless asked to from tomorrow on. Now, if I call your name, you will follow me and remove every jewelry and anything that can harm me, or one of the staff.''

Throughout it all, Jack was doing that which she, quite frankly, was not much one for-- multitasking, that was. But she knew the Song of Zazen by heart, she'd muttered it along enough times that she had most of the words down and even knew what most of them meant in actual English, so she caught most of what he said. Most of it didn't apply to her-- the hair colour and piercings and whatnot-- and most of the rest didn't bug her-- blanket and a fire? That there was a fuckin' upgrade-- but the bit about jewelry... They better not try and take it away from me...

Someone mighta been called up before her, but it was about that moment that the old fuck called out something to the tune of "Jackson!" Whelp, unless there was another Jackson skulkin' round 'ere (and if there was by god there would be a fight to the death and Jack would reclaim her rightful name for herself) that was her, so she strode right on up to the coot, right until she was right in front of him glaring down at him.

"No hair colour," she said tersely, pointing self-explanatorily up at her head. "No need to wash. Also--" She reached down into the collar of the shirt she'd been provided with-- a bit tight at the shoulders, but fuck it, it worked-- and from it withdrew what to the untrained eye looked to be naught but a necklace of less-than-pristine wooden beads, thick spheres hanging on a sturdy thread-- nenju beads. She looked down at them, and then back up to the aforementioned coot. "For my, uh... religion?" Sounded like it? Shit, was Buddhism even really a religion? It didn't involve prayin' and it didn't involve givin' yourself up to some nonexistent fucker in the sky, and weren't those all the prerequisites of a reli-- fuck, no, stay on topic. Also, Buddhism is totally not a religion, what the fuck am I on abou-- no, no, stop. She kept a tight hold of the beads as she returned the man's glance, and shrugged. "They help."