Thread: El Cereso Prison (Steel Butterfly & Adam)

Joanne squinted against the bright light, her ears still ringing with the sharp sound which now echoed in her muddled mind. The first thing which struck her, was a rather obvious one. Or perhaps not so obvious, given the things she last remembered She was not dead. This important yet grim realization was not met with an unwavering sense of joy however. Instead, it was accompanied by pain. Pain was blossoming throughout her humiliated form in all its aching forms. It ranged from the sourness of most of her tender flesh a dull pain drumming throughout the various darker spots underneath her sometimes swollen skin to the more sharper pains whenever she tried to move, filth and fluids of a nature of which she preferred not to dwell too long - staining her inner thighs and upper legs. Even the scents which now clung to her tired form seemed to conspire in this their foul smell vigorously assaulting her still dazed senses. The rest of her environment did little to ease the growing worry in her mind, its filth and decay not providing her with any distractions. Any thought which would take her slowly waking mind away from what had happened last night. Away from that terrifying realization She had been raped. Raped. Her body violated in ways she preferred not to dwell upon, but of which her body provided her with an ample supply of reminders. Joanna's eyes rested upon the sleeping figure near her, his peaceful slumber almost an affront to the violent intrusions he had subjected her to. A part of her wished to wake him up, scream at him and make him pay for what he had done. But her frail body already had trouble just sitting up, pains flaring up and drumming in both familiar and seemingly odd places as she tried to adjust herself to the cold prison floor. That, and those thrice-cursed tears were stinging in her eyes again. But she would not cry, Joanne stubbornly decided, pushing away her tears the moment she forced her green eyes away from him. It was then that she noticed the two figures. Or perhaps she had noticed them already but her blurred and muddled mind had refused to deal with their presence up until now. Perhaps it had been the calm voice a stark contrast to the cacophony of shouts and laughter beyond the pair. Joanne did not know but she instinctively cringed when she heard the giant speak. Girl out. Hit boy. She did not wish to be forced to drift off into darkness yet again - tempting as the empty slumber might be to both her violated body and shocked mind. But the darkness did not come. Not even after the momentary weightlessness, air streaking past her naked form. More pain, blossoming throughout her already hurt body when she impacted with the floor. Pain, and not the benevolent darkness. Moaning softly, the woman stared at the shoes, finding herself oddly intrigued with their perfect and shiny appearance. Her body refused to respond at first, not willing to leave the cold certainty of the floor in exchange for yet another chance at pain. But the hand, outstretched and like the shoes, devoid of any stains, triggered something within the woman. What it was, she did not know, but it allowed Joanne to lift her own arm and place her own, smaller hand, into hers as she accepted his help and found herself upon her feet once more. Her body was still shaking from the rather physical impact with the floor when the impact of the man's words hit her. Joaquin Cortez, concejal of Jos Cruz Fuentes. The latter being the brother of Vicente Carrillo Fuentes. The leader of the Juarez cartel, the very cartel she had been trying to expose, but had failed to. Instead, she stood here, outside the prison cell in which she most likely would spent the rest of her life. Naked and covered with bruises and filth alike, facing one of the councilmen of the Juaraz cartel who looked every bit as unfazed and unblemished as she imagined their leader to be - or whomever was behind her incarceration. Joanne struggled to think what he would want from her. That was, her half-conscious experiences from the past few days and most notably those from last night, provided her with quite some inspiration for things which he might want for her but this man seemed awfully polite instead. Which, of course, did little to ease her anxiety. If anything, it did the complete opposite. Still, her green eyes did not waver for so much as a moment when his gaze caught hers. Which was not to say that there was no fear in her eyes - for the guarded look in those fierce orbs betrayed at least a hint of fear, the name sparking recognition in her momentarily widened eyes. She sought for words, wondering what it was he expected from her, what she was to say to him in return. He knew her name, she only knew his' after he had given it to her. That little bit had already established the power-relation between them. Aside from the fact that she had been thrown at his feet in the most literal way possible. Ah. It was all that she managed - and even that simple sound hurt her parched throat, sending shivers of pain down her bruised neck. She, the research-journalist who had interviewed countless criminals and other people of ill-repute now found herself at a loss for words. It was not a very promising start. Her already severely injured pride would not put up with it, demanding something more. Thus, her feeble mind struggled anew and finally she managed an actual string of words. A question even Are all of the new prisoners welcomed by the esteemed Juarez concejal himself? Her voice was almost completely devoid of any venom - which given the position this man claimed - as much as her genuine interest in the answer to this question. Still, as she continued to look the man straight in the eyes, stubbornly ignoring her own nakedness, Joanne doubted she truly wished to hear the answer to said question.