Jasper Marcelo will be released, and Sinn'ous will be keeping him.
All that’s left is to nut out the logistics of this, and how he is going to keep a grip on Izz once the boy is out in the world. It’s something he can plan out in his cell tonight, because he just knows he will not be sleeping until some type of plan is at least half formed. Even if it’s not quite tangible. He can mesh out everything else once the bones of the plan are in place.
“So.” Rogers’s presence drifts into his space, pulling up on him in a way an unwanted fly does, and falls into step at Sinn'ous’s side. “I heard you permanently claimed Jasper. This means you’re not going to put him under?”
News travels fast, apparently. He’d have given it a day or two to spread to the guards. Or at least until the next shower. Matvey must be running his mouth hard.
“Where’d you hear that?” He is generally curious, and not sure what the answeris. Although it would have to be Matvey,it’s hard to imagine he’d grow the balls to circulate this rumour, especially when Sinn'ous would know exactly who did it. Seeing as only the three of them were in that cell, and the guard who opened the doors to the Wing didn’t hang around to see who went in to get inked.
“Thomson. He said Jasper flashed him a tattoo on his storm out of laundry. A tattoo with a very distinct name.”
So a guard’s been gossiping, unsurprising. What is surprising is how fast Izz took to being claimed. It’s a better outcome than Sinn'ous could have hoped for. More than he expected, which was bordering on the lines of regret and heated frustration, once the fear of the attack wore off.
This though. This he can use.
This he can manipulate to his own gain.
Sinn'ous stops short, studying Rogers. “He did. Did he.” This time it’s not a question, it’s an internal pondering voiced aloud.
Rogers furrows an inquisitive brow, slowly nodding while trying to read Sinn'ous. He won’t succeed. Sinn'ous flattens his expression and tucks his emotions behind a stone-cold exterior.
The smirk, however, slips past his walls and he doesn’t even try to stuff it away. “Praise Satan.” He states, and Rogers wisely makes no remark.
He abandons Rogers at the junction of interlocking corridors, and slips back into A-Wing. The likes of which are beginning to stir to the recently released inmates. Doors are opening to allow everyone to escape their cells and crowd the cafeteria to the beginnings of a new day.
Walking against the crowd is simple when they part for him. A ripped seam splitting to clear his path. Waryglances get thrown his way, cautious words whispered. It’s the same as usual, treated by caged wolves like an anomaly.
The stairs he climbs two at a time. And because he can, he stops at the top of them, leaning back against the railing to forma blockade. He isn’t physically preventing anyone from leaving, but no one tries to walk around him either. They all hover at a stretched distance, spacing themselves far enough away to get a good head start should he choose to attack them. Not that it will help, if he wanted them dead, they would be dead. Should he choose to do so, distance would not stop him.
A very angry-looking Izz comes storming down the platform. It’s enough to make you beam. The under-surface rage cracking the usually controlled featuresof his boy. Until it’s gone, cleaned away by a feral grin. And as much as the grin is stunning, he finds himself missing the shimmering anger breeding life into those bright green eyes.
He wants it back.
Izz halts in front of Sinn'ous. And the anger stays gone.
Can’t have that now can we.
“Morning,” Sinn'ous breaks the silence, offering an appropriate greeting. Rolling off the rails to stand at his full height, toweringover the boy.
“Good morning.” Izz boldly leans into Sinn'ous’s space, chest to chest with him. “Thank you for the sandwich.”
Sinn'ous disregards Izz’s words. It’s not a big deal, he took a sandwich from a guard to leave for Izz to find, same as all the other treats he’s left. His mind is already honed into the desire to see an up-close glimpseat that rage, to drink in the gasoline which had beenfuelling those green irises. So he does what anyone would do in his situation, he brings up the cause of the anger. “You left the laundry room early. Made quite the scene,” he tilts his head when the boy’s eyes spark, not quite the hatred of before, but getting fucking close. He runs his eyes down Izz’s body, catching every tightening twitch of muscle. Eating in the visible reactions.
Izz’s brows furrow into a new emotion. More unsettled than angry. Not the cocktail Sinn'ous had been aiming to stir but it’s fascinating all the same.
“You heard about that?” The boy’s eyes change, a swirl of mistrust and embarrassment, the dusting of a flush on his cheeks also checks with the emotion of embarrassment.
Why is he embarrassed over his anger?
However, a larger concern is this mistrust he can see, it’s not what he wanted when he brought this up. He needs to squash this. And fast.
“Your storm-out is the talk of the prison. You showed a guard my mark to get out of work.” He mixes his words into a telling amusement, softening his facial features to portray a more laid-back approachable demeanour. Something trustful, open, and honest.
“I suppose I did. I hadn’t thought about it at the time. I just didn’t want the guard in my business. I was pissed,” Izz shrugs, rocking back on his heelsnervously.
There is something the boy is leaving out, something he is holding back, and Sinn'ous wants to know what it is. Instead of outright demanding this, he raises a brow. Giving Izz the illusion of having a choice. If the boy fails to bite the bait he will resort to other methods to get what he wants. But in order to sink his claws into Izz he has to manipulate a sense of security and trust.
If they think they have a say, and call the shots, they are more likely to do what you want while believing it’s their idea.
