Thread: El Cereso Prison (Steel Butterfly & Adam)

Joanne tried to maintain some sense of dignity while she followed after down the corridor, now even more aware of her nakedness then before. The complete lack of clothing had been disturbing enough when she was thrown in her cell last night but now, being surrounded by multiple other inmates and no longer having the protective cover of darkness, it was especially taunting. Said darkness might not have offered her much in terms of protection the night before - nor had the fact that there had been but one other inmate - but even the more subtle leers were enough to make her quite self-conscious about her naked form. There was also a stinging irony to the whole situation - the man whose presence was clearly shielding her from the other inmates, preventing them from showing her more than the occasional distant appreciation - belonged to the cartel without which she would not have been here in the first place. Despite the fact that all of this felt like yet another example of the horrid power-shift, Joanne managed to keep her eyes focused on the man in front of her rather than lowering her gaze in shame. Of course, her cheeks glowed slightly as they passed inmate after inmate, their hungry stares not having gone unnoticed by the still quite wary female. The sudden scream caused her to inhale sharply - the research-journalist oddly enough having little to no personal experience with such up-close violence, despite the fact that she had been catching up quite well ever since her arrival in Mexico. Much to her own distaste, she found that her lips curled up in a smile, an eerie sense of satisfaction spreading throughout her still aching body. Such satisfaction was not to last however, something which Joanne found herself partially grateful for. The man who had raped and nearly killed her in the process might be little more than a beast, it was painstakingly clear that the man was mad. While it seemed like a suitable punishment to have a murderer being haunted by the loss of life he caused, Joanne was still experiencing mixed feelings over the treatment to which he was subjected at this very moment. I was surprised to find myself alive this morning, the woman stated, keeping her voice surprisingly straight despite the myriad of emotions which were triggered upon being faced with the grim outlook of having to spent yet another night with Eduardo in the same cell. She was well-aware of her extremely slim chances of surviving yet another night. And not pleasantly surprised per se. The latter comment was added in a rather dry manner even though she meant every word of it. Her fingers lingered near the dark bruises around her neck for a moment, loathe to touch them in the same manner as her mind was loathe to even go near the other... Infractions on her body. The man's intentions were clear, his talk as smooth as his surprisingly well-maintained appearance. Joanne had felt invisible shivers run down her back at the mentioning of yet another man maintaining a 'smooth system', reminding her very much of the man behind the desk. While she did not know mister Fuentes, there was anger swelling inside her when Joaquin sang his praises to a person who seemed to have quite a bit in common with the warden. Even his referral to her as a 'special delivery' did little to ease her nerves but then again, it had been made quite clear to her that this environment had not been chosen with regard to her sensibilities. Quite the opposite even and the former research journalist was well aware that she had only just begun to see the grim outlines of what awaited her here. Nonetheless, Joanne could not help but to wonder about quite a few things and rather than asking for the price of his protection, some stubborn part of her asked something else - which, given the earlier venom she had almost spat upon hearing about the prison owner - was actually quite a show of self-restraint. Still, why have you not... Taken care of El Estrangulador yourselves yet? Surely mister Fuentes would agree with you? Joanne realized what she was saying, what she was asking why have you not killed this man, removed this threat to your system, yet? Surely, it was not because they lacked the manpower or strength - like the gurgling scream had proven already. And somehow, this slick man - while not seeming to belong in prison - did not seem to be type to eschew violence or even murder. The faint smile which had been lacking in any sort of warmth spread ever so slightly when Joanne quietly added Unless mister Fuentes was the one to place me in the cell with this man after his ten years of solitude, of course. There was no sarcasm in her voice, no dripping venom as she posed this hypothesis to the dark-haired man. It was simply a statement made by a woman who had been shocked by what she had witnessed and now found herself trying to make sense of it like the research-journalist she no longer was. Old habits died hard. Even here, in a place where everything else seemed to die with a surprising ease..