Once the time is right he will need to tell Izz all about Satan. The sacrifices. The worshipping. It will no longer be some morbid curiosity he stumbled upon as a kid, Izz will see that it’s so much more. That it is life itself.
Metal grating over metal screams, and a tray slides over concrete into the cell. Under the dim cell lights he can tell it’s a well dished out meal. There is nothing half hazardly slopped on, or looking weeks old.
The hatch opens, and CO Joel Williams peeks in. “Food.” His voice is every bit on the door of retirement as his body is.
Then he’s gone, leaving the hatch open. His footfalls scuffing all the way down the narrow corridor of The Hole. Until they’re gone, and the sound of a door shutting echoes.
All that can be seen through the hatch is the closed hatch in the door across the corridor, and its bright artificial light. He can hear muffled sobbing from one of the cells. And half sentences that are more a spew of incoherent words than anything else, from another cell.
He’s just finished his meal when his cell door opens, and Rogers is standing in the open hole it created. His hands hanging loose by his side. “You ready to leave?”
Sinn'ous stands and walks to him, it’s answer in itself. And Rogers moves from his path to let him step into the corridor. They walk together in silence to the solitary showers. Where Sinn'ous slips into a stall and strips bare.
Tossing his soiled clothes onto the floor, where Rogers collects them to ditch in a large linen cart against the wall. A fresh set of prison greys is folded on a bench by the door.
He scrubs his body down, lathering the faint scented soap over every inch of skin. All the while Rogers sits by the door, feet stretched out in front of him, arms crossed in a lazy way, not a defensive posture.
Once done Sinn'ous’s feet wetly slop over to Rogers, water dripping from every groove of rigid muscle. He takes a towel, drying off before he goes about dressing.
~~~
He’s been in gen pop for an hour, give or take, wandering the corridors trying to find Izz. He could ask someone, but he isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. And it’s not as though Izz willbe hard to find. He’s already ruled out their Wing, the cafeteria, and the showers. So the next stop is the Rec-Room. And if that proves to be unsuccessful, the yard.
The Rec-Room is stuffed to the point of near overflow by inmates of all criminal classes. Noise polluting the air, smell invading his senses. His eyes roam over all the bodies as they still in their activities and conversations lull. A hushed silence blankets everyone, the slow realisation of danger entering their mix.
And through it all, everything fades to a blur, his eyes automatically locking on the one person in the room that holds any importance. And Izz’s rapt gaze is already on him.
Nervousness glows from his boy. Pale features pulled into a grimace that he isn’t able to disguise. The fear there, the actual fear. It does something to Sinn'ous. Has his palms sweating for a reason he can’t fathom.
He sets it all aside and strides over to the table Izz’s sitting at with Reni’s clique. Vision tunnelling until all that he can see is green eyes wide, and fear stricken.
It’s at this time things snap into motion, and the other faceless men gathered around the table, huddled by a card game of some sort, swivel in their chairs to face him.
Sinn'ous stops directly behind Zidie’s chair. The hyper-active man with the unfortunate tattoo of a frosted cupcake on his face, and blond hair also frosted in blue dye.
He makes a point of standing right behind Zidie’s chair to trap the inmate at the table. Standing at his back, he can look right at Izz on the tables opposite side. Cutting Zidie out of the equation.
And while he has the intention of shackling Zidie to the spot, the rest of the table can disperse. He hammers in this point by running his cold gaze over them. They take a hint, and the table clears out. Rushing to depart. And leaving Izz to Sinn'ous’s whims.
Zidie hunches in on himself, trying to shrink away and go unnoticed. It doesn’t work. And he will remain here so that this conversation will not spiral. By the look in Izz’s eyes, Sinn'ous can tell his boy would flee without the air of safety that Zidie provides. The fake,‘I won’t harm you in front of witnesses.’
Deep down he knows he brought this on by showing his hand too soon. Attacking Vince hadn’t been part of the plan, but it’s done. Now he has to salvage the wreckage.
“You alright. You look a little pale,” Sinn'ous opens the conversation with concern disguised as a question of wellbeing. He knows he’ll get an answer, his boy is predictable in that way.
His arms fold over his chest on their own. And he digs his fingers into his arms to stabilise himself.
“No—yes. I mean. . .” His boy’s eyes frantically flicker over Sinn'ous’s face, searching for something there that he hopes Izz finds, and deciphers as trusting. “I was worried you were angry at me. You stormed out pretty fast.”
This is what he hadn’t wanted. He’ll need to tread carefully to mend what his display in C-Wing had caused.
“I wasn’t annoyed at you. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Sinn'ous states, his tone neutral, and factual.
“You sure?” Izz’s voice wavers, a little sceptical. “‘Cause you still seem tense.”
You have no idea.
His body is a live wire, and restraining himself is a fight that the pricks of pain from his blunt nails discreetly digging into his arms help to corral into a manageable pile of disaster.
