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a punishment it was. [break][break]

not a pleasant one, mind. thankfully, it looked as though the wardens were true to their word - although her accursed curiosity bites at her, asking what the harsher option was. twisted curiosity should be a sin - one that she'll drink regardless of its label. she, like many others, are brought down to the same hellhole. the same hellhole could make anyone vomit from the putrid stench. [break][break]

then she's met with blood and guts and gore. [break][break]

it doesn't bother her, unlike some of the other prisoners here. it's now where she can properly see the stature of the other prisoners - namely being able to recognize Eris Halla immediately. it's not the blood nor the flesh nor the rot and spoil that makes her stomach turn - it's the fact that these people are ruthless enough to drag children into their idea of repentance. it's watching a child take another familiar man, Isaac Merlo , over her shoulders to carry him.[break][break]

the second one she recognizes is the voice of Cillian Quinn ; distant to the past, in a time in her rocket days, but a voice that instinctively brings a shiver up her spine regardless. she's only grateful that she's changed too much to no longer be recognized (but the voice that followed the stinging residue of a gunshot to the leg still lingers; she hasn't forgotten). [break][break]

the third is howard slayte - as he's pulled down into the slop and curses the demons that put them there. she recognizes a last one; illeana reyes . a friend, and someone she genuinely didn't think she'd see in this hell. the screams, the yelling, it all blends together: and marisol can't bring herself to lift finger to do more than what she's supposed to do as friends are tied to the ground, and expected to clean. [break][break]

what are you doing, marisol?[break][break]

the mask is suffocating, her body is heavy. now, her heart is numb and the adrenaline, she knows, will run out. though the chains coil around her body like thorns and the stench threatens to rot her lungs, she takes a deep breath of the rotting pastries and blood and much in the dirt. it's disgusting. it reminds her of the lab, of the hospital, of father--[break][break]

of home. [break][break]

she watches as people break, or are pushed one by one. a beast is released on the floor, foul as it rushes to the closest prisoner. screams follow as people run to get to work. screams follow as those in the DUMMY ward are chained to the ground. the masked nurse, with all her disillusioned "freedom" moves closer towards illeana reyes and howard slayte , seeming to be someone only trying to help their ward with the work. [break][break]

"illie?" she asks, just to confirm; the white hair is unmistakable. she and marisol have been on enough outings and enough escapades to not recognize her voice. when the beast's footsteps echo in the halls, she's quick to drop closer to the ground. she's swift with her hands as she begins to gather the gunk that surrounds the woman chained to the ground.[break][break]

she's used to this, after all. marisol is quick with her hands and quick with her feet when she can pick up pieces of mush with bare hands, carrying them against her stomach. the sights don't scare her, nor does the texture. [break][break]

just like childhood. [break][break]

all while she tries to avoid the gaze of the monster; she's trying to do her own share, as well. two seemed to be busy distracting the beast, one is only still recovering from surgery, and one is her friend, chained to the ground in filth. the ones who can't move will be the first targets, so it's risky to stand by the ones that hit the ground. [break][break]

she knows. [break][break]

but the better part of her, who stares at a child, a patient, and a friend, can't stomach the thought of self-preservation. [break][break]

how hypocritical.

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i'm standing on the ashes of who i used to be

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there's a limit. [break][break]

a limit to how audacious one can be. despite his questioning, he still speaks to her in roundabout ways - it's clear to her that he knows more, yet he runs circles like she's an unaware babe. if he wasn't interested in an actual conversation, she wasn't keen on the idea of being mocked when he beats around the bush. [break][break]

"mm.. tall tale." is all she says in response to his kyurem explanation. though the story of the three dragons isn't too familiar, even she knows of the legend - and the recent developments - regarding the large ice dragon. its awakening devastated many; she was one of the nurses and doctors who had to ferry many others to the hospitals. she was the one who had to watch dying eyes in hospice. [break][break]

she'd rather not think about it. [break][break]

his attempt to grab the pill bottle is successful - not that she tried to avoid his hand to begin with. "one pill every evening. take it with food. symptoms might include drowsiness, dizziness, or occasional confusion." she didn't bother to label it. if he was smart, he'd be able to take care of himself. if not, she had ways to remedy an overdose. it wouldn't be fatal, anyways. he won't die. probably. "if you experience anything other than that, come see me immediately." she hums "unless you'd like to be questioned by other doctors."[break][break]

her gaze falls back to his arm, which still recovers from the fresh stitches. "finally, bed rest. my blissey has healed some of it, but you still need plenty of rest for the muscle to recover." at the mention of the pink pokemon, she lets out a soft chime and hum of pride. [break][break]

"anymore questions?"

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"corpse disposal." [break][break]

if he really wanted to be short and sweet about it, that is. he was asking what she did, and there's no way she can lace something so crude and savage as something flowery - that'd be deluding the both of them. the nurse leans back into her office chair, shifting one leg to sit atop of the other while her fingers move to the desk for a clipboard. [break][break]

she tugs the pen strung with a thread, tied to the metal clamp, and lightly taps the head against a blank paper. she parts her lips, as though she was about to continue, but bites the words back to replace them with something else. "i'm also a doctor. a surgeon, more specifically." if it wasn't already obvious by the operating table, lined with sterilized tools and stench of disinfectant lingering in the room. [break][break]

dual-toned eyes glance over to a casing, lined with veils and beakers. the filled ones are carefully placed behind a glass plane, a gentle light illuminating them as an unknown liquid lays suspended. "... and to a degree, pharmacist and scientist." she could strike out scientist, but she won't. this is the closest she'll get to it, even if none of her titles are officially recognized by the league. that's alright - she has the resume to back up her skills. [break][break]

her body leans forward, pen gently tapping against the clipboard. her eyes fall back to the man sitting on a chair that's arguably too small for him. [break][break]

"you'll have access to a body dump, a doctor and a chemical-slash-drug supplier."

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"i get--" a second yawn, and she narrows her eyes briefly as it settles ".. plenty of rest." [break][break]

it's a lie, of course. one that is very crudely crafted, without the intention to hide anything. rather, she wears a smile while setting the containers and bags of food out on the table. they press against each other into another hum, opening the still warm food up to properly air them out in the apartment. [break][break]

"yes, and fatigue will age us both by ten years." she chuckles, finishing up with the bags and neatly folding the reusable ones - and crumpling up the plastic ones. she joins him in the kitchen, tugging a cabinet at the bottom to shove the handful of plastic bags into a holder screwed to the inside of the wooden door. [break][break]

"besides," she starts, lightly tapping at the dark circles beneath her eyes "concealer does wonders." and men are usually none the wiser. [break][break]

a brow quirks when she glances to him going through the drawers, a smile stifled as she kicks the door closed with the side of her slipper. "i'm surprised you remember where everything is." it's been a little while, after all, and she doesn't recall him dropping by her place too many times. it was always the other way around.

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odd. [break][break]

it's funny, but she isn't laughing. to a degree, she should have expected this sort of punishment under the watchful eye of the enemy territory. she doesn't understand what lapse in judgement clouded her ability to think straight - especially considering the circumstances. she already established that this wasn't a dream, didn't she? it's such a shame that it's so uncanny, and the last time she slept, the dream was so vivid and realistic. [break][break]

realism just makes it harder to differentiate it as a delusion. [break][break]

unlike some of her other culprits, marisol doesn't scream nor fight the pull as the shard and piece of mochi are forced from her body. rather, her eyes gaze upwards to the tera crystals. when the brief glare is given, her eyes turn back down to the void beneath her. there's little she can see outside the mask, but the vantage point from above. [break][break]

observe, marisol, and take in everything as quickly as you can.[break][break]

even while the other pokemon flashed by the screen - and she knows that her pokemon is next. was it cruel for her to disregard them, for only a moment, for the sake of being able to capture as much information in the ward? how many guards were there in the weakling one? were there blind spots? how many tera crystals were above? [break][break]

call her heartless when a familiar sylveon shows on the screen. [break][break]

she knows what's coming next, but it doesn't cushion the sting. [break][break]

especially not when she sees the image of her beloved pokemon on the screen. there's a spark in her dead eyes, and her limp body is on the verge of struggling as the air leaves her lungs. she wants to scream, and to cry, because her beloved sylveon did no wrong (the monster was her, but they know this is the best way to punish one). [break][break]

crushing echoes throughout the chamber, and though the megalopans' cackle and laugh at their suffering, the nurse's dead eyes only grow colder. it's now when she realizes she's been thrust from one hell from another, and these monsters get off from the wails of despair. they're trying to break them, trample them and rule with an iron fist. they want to batter the rebellion out of the strong. [break][break]

maybe that's why she's the weakling. [break][break]

she's dropped unceremoniously, but there's no shock after her SYLVEON's perceived demise. she'd argue that her mind has never been clearer. [break][break]

a "dilemma" is posed to the prisoners, punished and spared alike. now, after witnessing a punishment, they want to put the wards against one another? funny, because this isn't a game - and yet so many people are eager in her ward to vote to trust the other ward. were they hoping that the other ward would also trust, and it would lessen the punishment on both? "hah." she can barely laugh, weakly, as she picks herself off the ground. [break][break]

if they wanted to survive, they should forsake them. it's obvious that this is what the prison wardens wanted. [break][break]

this entire prison should be forsaken.[break][break]

Remiel Calcifet gives such a lovely speech, and marisol narrows her eyes. she wants to FORSAKE the other ward, however after hearing so many vote to trust.. perhaps that isn't such a good idea. [break][break]

"i'll trust them." it's short, sweet, and so lacking in sincerity.

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to be desensitized is a curse and a blessing. [break][break]

the brutal scene brings out screams of fear, disgust and horror. to a degree, she's grateful that she's so used to the guts and gore that it doesn't so much make her flinch. yet, on the other hand, marisol is only a human. it doesn't make her brows furrow any less when she realizes just how serious the situation has become. the rattling of the bars and the cries of fellow inmates remind her that this, indeed, was no dream. [break][break]

she has to serve them for her survival, like she had so many years ago under rocket - under her father. her lips curls inwards, staring at the mochi left between the bars of the ward. she doesn't like this idea, and would prefer to take this mochi to analyze at the lab - such a shame that this isn't the right time. so she holds one in her hand and snaps it in half, pocketing the other one and taking a bite of the other. it's pleasant. [break][break]

though you could label it poison and she'd have to eat it anyways. [break][break]

if they want her to eat her fill, then she will. she'll need what strength after waking up disorientated, and she slides some over to Mimi Hirose as she tries to gather herself. "eat," the nurse encourages, sending a half-lidded glare towards the prison guards. they don't need to watch them while they ate.[break][break]

pulled like a lamb to the slaughter, she is immediately brought to work. there are no faces she can recognize - they're all obscured by masks. at some point, all the physiques look the same. everyone is a faceless human. it's so morbidly funny to her, watching the prison strip them of their own identity. strip them of their identity, then offer said self as a reward. [break][break]

but it's nothing new. [break][break]

a crate of work is given to her, and if there's anything marisol knows how to do, it's to hang her head low and do the work she was assigned. so she works, despite physical activity not being her forte. she tries to be quick, sacrificing precision for efficiency - using this excuse to slip larger chips of crystals and ore into a pocket. they're small enough, still, for her to make an excuse that they fell in. [break][break]

she should be trying to survive. [break][break]

her curiosity needs to be sated.

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did she strike a nerve? shame. [break][break]

though she can't quite say she likes the feeling of being patronized. she never has; call it a pet peeve when she's used to the climate of hospitality. it hasn't even been five minutes since he's woken up, and less than twenty since she's finished the last stitch, and he has the gall to be audacious? he was either confident or foolish (and both lead to the same outcome). [break][break]

the dusknoir leaves her side to pick up a few other bits of solid ice on the floor, collecting them both to clean and for his trainer's own agenda. were it not for her focus on counting, a glare with the similar chill would have found its way to him. "it isn't." she shrugs her lips, pausing her fingers at the last bits of pills. [break][break]

gloved fingers pluck and drop each pill into an orange container, crudely labelled in doctor writing "PAINKILLERS". "it was simply an observation and a casual comment, slayte." her voice turns to a hum, pleasant in tune with a buzz of irritation underneath. the last pill falls in with the rest, and the cap is screwed on with a firm 'click!'.[break][break]

"why would the ice from your frostbite glow red?" she hums, finally moving from her desk to gently and idly rattle the pills in the confines of their semi-clear container. "perhaps i've been studying too heavily, lately." when she arrives to the bed once again, still while wearing a smile, she tilts her head inquisitively. she doesn't like the feeling of being quizzed or taunted, but she'll entertain him. she'll humor him and play to the tune.[break][break]

just this once. [break][break]

"the glow almost reminded me of dynite ore."

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