gotgreenmagic | 29. Revolution!

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29. Revolution!

[OOC: Most Inmates will have gotten a hard copy of this! Shego started at Level 1 and gets caught on Level 6, so - sorry all you 7 and 8ers.

Edit - these are delivered anonymously, which is the point of using paper copies, so use this post as a springboard for reactions/discussions if you like. c: Shego's going to be staying out of it since.......welp she's not going to be up to much after this.]

A Manifesto for the Revolution, and the Ongoing and Glorious Battle for Liberty.

We believe in one front line. Though our names and natures are diverse, we believe that the inmates of the Barge are united by discourse, by our struggle against the oppression of the Wardens and the Barge, and by our singular desire in freedom, peace, and change.

We believe that right makes might. That compromising with our enemies can only dilute our ideals and harm the resistance! We believe that the qualities our Wardens are trying to erode in us are intrinsic and indomitable, and that nothing can be taken from us that we do not allow them to take. It is the single most important belief of the resistance that these qualities are worth protecting and preserving above all else, and that they can never be destroyed completely, no matter how they are beaten down.

We believe that while we want peace and equality for all, in the current climate it would be impossibly naive to imagine we could achieve our ends without bloodshed and sacrifice. Change will not come here from a negotiation, but from a fight, and when that time comes we must face the lightning without fear of our bodily destruction, and without mercy for those who will not rest while the dream of freedom is alive in the hearts of men.

We believe in a new day. After all battles are fought, and all oppression is overcome, one day, we will be delivered to a beautiful new era, we will find a better life, a better place, and a better way of being than the one we have right now. Brothers, Sisters, I believe that there is a place for hope! That there is a place for change! That there has to be something better than this out there.

And that if there is no place like that? It is our place, to create one.

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Between them, the Inmates who'd long since decided enough was enough had worked out which cabins were the Inmates' and which were to not to be delivered inflammatory literature at any cost. She had that list in one hand, although most of it was memorised, and a stack of Prefect's manifestos in the other as she moved along Level 6 quickly, tucking the slips of paper under doors and through cracks.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that knocking out Kirk the previous night was just about as much trouble as she was going to get in. Passing out leaflets - what was gonna happen?

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What is this?

Michael was just out for a walk. The room in which he was housed could get quite stuffy and reading and replying to journal entries seemed to press his boredom further than just lack of things to do and to a new level of something between annoyance and flat out pity.

He had made his way up most of flights of stairs, taking two by two because Dean's body allowed him the liberty of that. The last person he had taken as a vessel was a fifteen year old boy and his legs were stringy and lacking muscle. Dean gave him more liberty to do things.

He hummed to himself as he went, though, seemingly finding the state of everything comforting in a way that only he could.

Shego tensed at the sound of footsteps, the humming - she couldn't quite place it, but she wasn't going to take any chances. It wasn't like any of the Inmates were much given to cheerful humming. She tucked the shallow pile of pamphlets in her jacket and turned, heading briskly in the other direction, not noticing the one slip of paper that fluttered to the floor as she went.

If she got to the opposite stairwell, she told herself, she'd be fine.

Michael was aware of another presence on the floor, but he didn't pay much heed to it. Not until the soft rhythm of steps turned into a scurry and the sound of papers fluttering to the floor caught his attention.

The angel leaned over and picked it up, vaguely aware of Shego head in the opposite direction but taking the time to allow Dean's green eyes to scan the words. He canted his head before twisting up the manifesto and sticking it in his pocket and then went after the young woman himself.

The footsteps were still coming - directly towards her now. Maybe she should have held her ground, it might have been easier to -

She still could. They got madder if you ran, or sometimes they laughed and then made your life even harder anyways. Her hand stilled on the handle of the stairwell door, then she let go and turned towards -

"Michael." Oh, heck.

She smiled rigidly. "Hi."

Michael raised a hand toward the door once she left it and it swung shut. There was the faint sound of the lock clicking from the other side and the angel offered her a smile, placing his hands behind his back and stepping forward.

"Hello, Shego." He canted his head to the side. "Did you write these words? Eloquent, yes, if not displacing. This, I'm sure you know, is not what the barge was founded upon."

It was all she could do not to jump at the sound of the lock clicking into place.

"I - "

She swallowed.

"I don't care what the Barge was founded on. I didn't ask to be here. None of us did."

Michael's voice drawled into something of a smooth, slow tone. It was reminiscent of a growl.

"You very rarely get what you ask for, I find." There was a beat in which Michael closed the distance between them by a foot. "Who put you up to this? You're not such a good speaker, and well, let's face it-- this is a bit above you anyway."

"Hey, excuse you! Above me?" she snapped without thinking about it, then bit her lip hard. "Maybe I've just got some hidden talents you don't know about."

Michael pressed his lips into a firm line and twisted his hand down to her ankle, attempting to sprain it and give her less leverage in the dominate stance she had taken to.

"You will not speak to me that way, or assume anything that equates to my intellect!"

She hissed in pain as something in her ankle tore, red streaks of pain racing up her leg and leaving her leaning between her good leg and the door. Ow. Ow.

Great. Perfect. Best weekend ever.

"Sorry, what should I be doing? Singing a hymn to your glory? Lighting some candles somewhere? Have any preferences?"

Michael gave a laugh, but it wasn't jovial. It was distant and without feeling behind it.

"Please, give me a reason to take your tongue. I'm sure you're lovely when you aren't spitting venom and stupidity." Michael's eyes flashed an eerie white for a moment before he stepped backward a tid and smiled at her. "But perhaps a bad case of Tuberculosis would suffice?"

Edited 2010-01-10 00:18 (UTC)

She'd somehow managed to keep out of Michael's way since he'd arrived on the Barge; for the most part she only knew him by reputation. The first response was confusion. "A bad case of - "

It hit her like a brick wall, throwing her from the prime of health to a near-deathbed case in no time at all: the sudden hot-cold of fever raging into the hundreds, the heavy weakness in every limb, an intense clenching pain in her stomach. She sunk to her knees and choked, then coughed, spraying blood.

"Oh..."

Michael stepped in a slow circle around her crippled frame. "You are more fun than Sirrus, certainly." He dropped to a squat and pulled her up to eye level by a fist full of her hair. "Now, tell me, who put you up to this?"

"Nobody...put me up to it," Shego croaked, talking around what felt like a boulder congesting her throat. "I...volunteered. It's the sort of thing you do...when you care about anything...besides yourself."

Michael pressed his index finger into Shego's shoulder leaving a bullet wound when he pulled away and simultaneously healing her little by little enough to keep her alive with the disease but not enough to be noted. "Who did you volunteer for? No need to be ambivalent, pet."

Shego was just speechless with the pain for a moment, her collarbone coming to pieces; the wound unplugged with an actual bullet, the blood came freely, soaking into her blouse. Putting pressure on it doubled the pain but she did it, she had to, her teeth clenched.

"I tell you," she panted, "you go find them, you hurt them just as bad as this. What's...." She coughed again, splattering the floor with blood and mucus. "...what's my motivation?"

She looked up and laughed at him.

Michael was a bastard, but he wasn't a killing machine. "I will not give them this treatment, I am not a blood thirsty animal and I certainly do repeat abuses for anyone... I am more creative than that."

Michael took hold of her cheeks, scorching them. "You have my word as an angel, and unto god, I will simply tell their superior and let them handle it."

She swallowed the scream that wanted to come out. The skin under his fingers was hissing with the heat, her makeup blackening and hissing into the burns.

Maybe he was telling the truth? Was Sam Tyler really so bad? Prefect always seemed ready for anything, he always bounced back no matter what he said over the network, despite his friendship with the Marquis -

- but she always seemed okay, too. And Kirk was 'so bad'.

"I wrote it," she said, barely able to hear herself over the rattling breath in her lungs and the roaring in her ears. "Go tell Jimmy on me."

A good trait of an angel is the clarity to know when a mortal was lying. He removed his hands from her now scarred over, bloody, and blackened cheeks and gave a long sigh.

"You force me to resort to ulterior methods I didn't want to," He said placing a hand to her head. Giving her some grotesque mental images of the people she cared for hurting and in agony.

Edited 2010-01-10 01:08 (UTC)

She had thought she could block out the pain to extent - she had experience, after all - but this was new and raw and inescapable. Her parents being tortured, her brothers torn apart, because she wasn't there to help them anymore. Captain Swing, Prefect, Major West, Hayley - Mozenrath, giving up, giving in, hurting them -

She tried to scream and it came out in a sick, bloodied gurgle of sound. The tears stung on the red flesh of her cheeks.

"Stop - !"

Michael cradled her closer, like she was a child. "Then tell me, tell me or it will continue and diversify until you are so lost within your skull no one will be able to rely on you for anything."

Edited 2010-01-10 01:23 (UTC)

"Stop." She was barely audible, whimpering. "S-stop..."

Her head lolled from one side to the other. She could kill herself. She would kill herself, or Kirk would kill her, and when he revived her then she'd be back to herself. Better that than live with these things crawling in her head - better that than give up the others, she had principles, she wouldn't -

"I won't. I won't."

He was still an angel and he couldn't kill anyone outright and he couldn't force him to tell her, free-will. So he pulled her by her hair closer, a tendril falling from his hand after he yanked a little too hard.

He healed her forcibly, quickly, and somewhat searingly.

It hadn't occurred to her that the act of healing could hurt, but there it was - her collarbone snapping back into place, ligaments drawing tight together, the infection in her lungs burning away. She could feel the fresh skin rising from under the burnt mess of her cheeks.

Panting, weak, she curled into a foetal position on her knees.

Michael put a hand to her head and silently left her with a memory she couldn't undo, or ignore. Something she would doubt but never able to accurately claim wasn't real.

Afterward he all but crawled over her, dropping his chin beside her ear and whispering almost intimately beside her lobe.

"Go clean yourself up."

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29. Revolution!

no subject

O'Brien wants to give you both lots of hugs. but that's not happening in his world.

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[Spam] permissions are given on all accounts for michael to be his dickish self, fyi TLV peeps.

[Spam] mais oui!

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As soon as Sam sees one, there will be FISTSHAKING and kicking of Prefect

THOUGH WE'RE KICKED, THE REVOLUTION LIVES ON.

AMEN, SISTA!

Best fake manifesto ever

BURN, LEAFLETS, BURN.