Onboard the Free Joker... [For Joe]
Jun. 19th, 2012 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
For one and a half Galactic Standard months following Basco's visit to his bedroom, Joe was confined exclusively to his quarters. Food was provided him once daily, though occasionally the meal would arrive late or not at all. Sometimes the following day would bring two meals, or one extra-large one; sometimes, not. He was not allowed even into the hallway to reach the lavatory; Sally had simply tossed a bucket at his head after bandaging him up from Basco's abuse, and the rest had been left to him to figure out for himself.
Sally was his jailer and only contact; for six weeks, Joe was kept in complete isolation, save for the interludes, every few days, in which Sally ventured into his room to remove the chamberpot-bucket and place a new one in. Leaving the room for exercise was out of the question, and any attempt to communicate with Sally went exactly nowhere, slowly, accompanied by banana peels.
Six weeks after Basco nearly killed him on his bed, on an otherwise unexemplary day, things changed. Joe woke to the sound of his door's deadbolt sliding back. But the door didn't swing open, and after a few moments of silence, a sour smell began to emanate from the hallway outside. A slight shift in the light under the door, around the edges of the locking flap through which his meals had been provided, drew Joe's attention. The light was obstructed somewhat; something lay on the floor outside the room. And the something was bleeding - a dark puddle was slowly increasing in dimension, creeping into the room through the scant space under its door.
Sally was his jailer and only contact; for six weeks, Joe was kept in complete isolation, save for the interludes, every few days, in which Sally ventured into his room to remove the chamberpot-bucket and place a new one in. Leaving the room for exercise was out of the question, and any attempt to communicate with Sally went exactly nowhere, slowly, accompanied by banana peels.
Six weeks after Basco nearly killed him on his bed, on an otherwise unexemplary day, things changed. Joe woke to the sound of his door's deadbolt sliding back. But the door didn't swing open, and after a few moments of silence, a sour smell began to emanate from the hallway outside. A slight shift in the light under the door, around the edges of the locking flap through which his meals had been provided, drew Joe's attention. The light was obstructed somewhat; something lay on the floor outside the room. And the something was bleeding - a dark puddle was slowly increasing in dimension, creeping into the room through the scant space under its door.