| Oct 7, 2014 3:30:30 GMT -5 |
Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2014 3:30:30 GMT -5
{tags@Hammy} {words#751} {notes}
i just want to see them fall
i just want to see them fall
Oh how terribly wrong he had been.
Weeds had been a hell, being ushered around like a toddler to and fro between the various mundane and pointless classes. The hallways made him more nervous than he would care to admit with guards subtle glances worrisome. All the while he was on edge, desperately seeking any opening that would allow him to slip away permanently. He had allowed hours slip by while attempting to learn patrol routes and places to hide away. It was hopeful at first, human error had to occur someplace in such a large institution that would give him a leg up on getting free. Yet as each and every day passed he had to give up, it was simply going nowhere. He could simper all he liked but there was hardly a way that they would be daft enough to leave him by himself for even a few moments.
The idea of a heroic escape wasn't original, and they were already so many steps ahead of him with years upon years of experience in dealing with troublesome mutants. Even if he could fly, a guard would be sure to shoot him down before he even got a few centimeters too high for their comfort.
Even with the endless humiliation of smiling away and pretending to soak up like a sponge all they wanted to teach him, even with the rotten taste in his mouth playing a nice submissive mutant to make it easier upon himself, and even with the fear that he wished he could deny experiencing it was plain that he had misjudged just how deep the rabbit hole was.
Weeds had been kindergarten where he had been coddled, Underground was a factory. The ones that didn't fit were tossed, and no matter how much he smiled and bent over in an attempt to gain a guard's favor there was no difference in how he was treated. Honestly he was confused and with how they assumed the brainwashed mutants would adjust to such treatment, sure there were always that were more open about their opposition but... There were mutants that knew nothing about the world other than what they were taught at Weeds, where they learned to be everything humans wanted from a pet. How would they so suddenly adjust to such a difference in treatment?
Even a mutant listed as hardly a threat like himself had precautions taken for transportation between cells. His hands were cuffed behind his back, the cold metal painfully tight around his wrists and biting into his skin. The guard gripped the scruff of his neck and hurried him along, thrusting him out when they rounded corners so that he tripped over his own feet in a hurried attempt to keep up with the stern woman's brisk strides.
Their walk was silent save for Westley's labored breathing from straining to keep up, the teen knowing not to speak up after his initial attempt that earned him a nasty slap. His cheek still stung a little too, the muscles on the guard weren't there for show and he had little doubt that his avoidance of dating athletic girls was a smart decision in secondary school. They were pretty and all, but there'd be hell to pay if he was caught playing around with someone else.
The woman paused in front of the cells, pulling him to a stop and roughly shoving him up against the bars as she fumbled to get her keys and unlock the door. Wes just awkwardly watched her out of his peripherals and rolled his eyes, not looking all too impressed with her little show but playing along all the same. He liked getting fed,and there was no point in antagonizing her if he had nothing to gain even if it was so horridly tempting to just mouth off and call her a man in passing as some sort of subtle insult about her lack of femininity. Russian women, ha.
Wes was unceremoniously shoved into the cell with the door slammed behind him, leaning back against the bars so the woman could unlock the cuffs and leave him in peace. Little notice was taken of his cellmate for the moment, the teen instead making a beeline for his bed and dropping onto it face first with a rather frustrated groan as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists. He wanted books, yarn, anything really rather than just mindlessly lounging around and smelling his arse.
Weeds had been a hell, being ushered around like a toddler to and fro between the various mundane and pointless classes. The hallways made him more nervous than he would care to admit with guards subtle glances worrisome. All the while he was on edge, desperately seeking any opening that would allow him to slip away permanently. He had allowed hours slip by while attempting to learn patrol routes and places to hide away. It was hopeful at first, human error had to occur someplace in such a large institution that would give him a leg up on getting free. Yet as each and every day passed he had to give up, it was simply going nowhere. He could simper all he liked but there was hardly a way that they would be daft enough to leave him by himself for even a few moments.
The idea of a heroic escape wasn't original, and they were already so many steps ahead of him with years upon years of experience in dealing with troublesome mutants. Even if he could fly, a guard would be sure to shoot him down before he even got a few centimeters too high for their comfort.
Even with the endless humiliation of smiling away and pretending to soak up like a sponge all they wanted to teach him, even with the rotten taste in his mouth playing a nice submissive mutant to make it easier upon himself, and even with the fear that he wished he could deny experiencing it was plain that he had misjudged just how deep the rabbit hole was.
Weeds had been kindergarten where he had been coddled, Underground was a factory. The ones that didn't fit were tossed, and no matter how much he smiled and bent over in an attempt to gain a guard's favor there was no difference in how he was treated. Honestly he was confused and with how they assumed the brainwashed mutants would adjust to such treatment, sure there were always that were more open about their opposition but... There were mutants that knew nothing about the world other than what they were taught at Weeds, where they learned to be everything humans wanted from a pet. How would they so suddenly adjust to such a difference in treatment?
Even a mutant listed as hardly a threat like himself had precautions taken for transportation between cells. His hands were cuffed behind his back, the cold metal painfully tight around his wrists and biting into his skin. The guard gripped the scruff of his neck and hurried him along, thrusting him out when they rounded corners so that he tripped over his own feet in a hurried attempt to keep up with the stern woman's brisk strides.
Their walk was silent save for Westley's labored breathing from straining to keep up, the teen knowing not to speak up after his initial attempt that earned him a nasty slap. His cheek still stung a little too, the muscles on the guard weren't there for show and he had little doubt that his avoidance of dating athletic girls was a smart decision in secondary school. They were pretty and all, but there'd be hell to pay if he was caught playing around with someone else.
The woman paused in front of the cells, pulling him to a stop and roughly shoving him up against the bars as she fumbled to get her keys and unlock the door. Wes just awkwardly watched her out of his peripherals and rolled his eyes, not looking all too impressed with her little show but playing along all the same. He liked getting fed,and there was no point in antagonizing her if he had nothing to gain even if it was so horridly tempting to just mouth off and call her a man in passing as some sort of subtle insult about her lack of femininity. Russian women, ha.
Wes was unceremoniously shoved into the cell with the door slammed behind him, leaning back against the bars so the woman could unlock the cuffs and leave him in peace. Little notice was taken of his cellmate for the moment, the teen instead making a beeline for his bed and dropping onto it face first with a rather frustrated groan as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists. He wanted books, yarn, anything really rather than just mindlessly lounging around and smelling his arse.
MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE
