Sinn'ous could step in, but he won’t. To do so now would play his hand, and he isn’t ready to reveal himself yet. It’s not the right time. And besides, it will help win favour from his prey, the more untoward others act towards the boy, the higher it will paint Sinn'ous on the list of trust when he does step in.
Either way, Reni—the fake chivalrous bastard that he is—steps in andsaves the day.
In turn, Sinn'ous has to battle his inner voice demanding he barge up the stairs, grab Reni by his smug face and bash his head against the rails until it’s nothing but a mangled soup.
Keep it together.
The loud obnoxious voices rising and falling from every direction are a backdrop he struggles to zone out of. He’s never liked crowds, they’re too close, too lively, too tempting. He’s never massacred a crowd, and the darker edges of his fleeting impulse controlare tempting with their eager whispers for him to try it. He has to remind himself he isn’t eager to spend more years behind bars. Freedom is a delicacy he will not jeopardise on an impulsive whim.
His lips flatten and he slides deeper into the shadows, skirting the edges of the general populationto exit their Wing. He isn’t in the least bit hungry, yet he finds himself seated in the cafeteria waiting for a certain prey to walk in. In his absence of mental function his mind skips over the objective to collect a meal tray, but before he can decide if he actually wants to get up to grab one, his prey shuffles in. Right alongside Reni.
His jaw ticks and his fingers tighten into fists. The level of self-control he exerts to stay in his seat is remarkable. They could study it to teach self-help classes.
The boy ignores him the entire meal. Sinn'ous’s eyes are locked on him the whole time and not once does he glance his way. It’s infuriating.
When the group stands and drifts to the doors by the kitchen, Sinn'ous’s interest flares.
The boy doesn’t follow, he stays at the table, eyes blank and unfocused.
But of course, Reni kills the mood, walking back and touching what he should not be touching. Ruffling his hand through the boy’s hair. Sinn'ous can do nothing but imagine how good it would sound to meticulously break each of those fingers.
They weave through other inmates to the group waiting by the doors and leave the cafeteria together.
He’s tempted to follow but that would be overzealous even for him.
Besides, he has somewhere else he needs to be
~~~
B-Wing,home to the racistsand the nobodies. The Whytesgang resides here and that makes it the area other Wings avoid like the plague. No one wants to be near the swastika wearing, racial slurring rejects. Everyone else in B-Wing is basically invisible, an outcast brought on by the mutual dislike of the Whytes—the prison’s most despised gang.
Whereas the prison fears Sinn'ous—not only because of what they think they know he’s capable of, but by who is backing him on the outside. Theyhatethe Whytes.
If a vote was cast on who the prison wanted gone more it might be closer to a sixty-forty, leaning in Sinn'ous’s favour. After his plans are seen through it might just bump him up into the grudgingly accepted category.
Which brings him to his reasons for willinglyentering B-Wing.
The cell situated in the central region is dripping in bald, badly tattooed men, snarling and frothing at the mouth in their uneducatedstance on skin pigmentation.
Sinn'ous on the other hand will kill you no matter your melaninlevels. He’s an equality enthusiast like that, equal opportunities for all in his long list of sacrifices.
Near impossible to differentiate one from the other, the only real tell of who is running the gang is the arrogant way their leader, Todd, carries himself. To add to the fact that he is lying back in a bunk as if he thinks himself king.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s shown up on my side of Sandstone. You lost white boy? Or finally seen where the truth lies, and you want to grovel and join in. You here to help us kill all the blacks?”
Sinn'ous never understood the need to single out someone based on their pigmentation. He kills anyone. He’s not picky, a warm body that bleeds is a warm body that bleeds.
“I have a job I need some of your people to carry out.”
“Yeah? Got a rodent problem? Fucking cockroaches stinking up the whole place. Needs a good exterminator to clean this whole place.” He snickers, a grading noise made worse when the rest of his gang echoes it. “Whole place needs a colour change, kill anyone who don’t fit. Too dark in here as is.”
Inwardly levelling his temper to suppress his want to sacrifice their leader,and the entire gang standing way too close at Sinn'ous’s back. A place he loathes anyone being. He flattens his expression and spits out the reason he came here.
“The new inmate, I want you to put the fear of—”forgive me Satan,“—god into him. Rough him up some. Send a message.”
Gross, that word puts a foul taste in his mouth. He congratulates himself for not puking from that offensive word. An utterance he wants to bleach his mouth over. Perhaps a whole bleach bath to wash off its entire existence?
It does the deed however, if the way Todd’shand goes to the cross crudely tattooed on his neck is any indication. Thick black ink that could very well be drawn on by a marker pen.
