Imprisoned [[CW: for those unfamiliar with the canon, Susan's story leans heavily on underage sex, sexual assault, and pregnancy, as well as various other violence. I'll also be playing her as no longer pregnant, so if you have any triggers around miscarriage, might be best to avoid.]]
[ I | Jailhouse Blues ] [She didn't fight too hard, when they brought her in. It's hard to find it in herself to fight, after the day she's had - and, if she's honest, hard to know whether to be afraid. What is there to be afraid of, after all? She's died once already, and for all she didn't know what to expect after the fact - Hell, the Clearing, some dark and endless peace - it seems somehow correct that what was actually waiting for her was, apparently, more of the same. Judging eyes, locked doors, and the sharp and grinding edge of uncertainty.]
[She sits very still in the corner for some time, a slim girl of sixteen whose downturned face is obscured by the thick fall of her long blonde hair, and whose hand rests lightly on her belly. She sits and worries at her lip, and stares at her sandalled feet, and mourns what was and is and might have been. Wonders what's become of Roland, of his friends. What's become of her. What any of this means. She may shed a few tears, if you watch a while.]
[But Susan Delgado is, before all else and despite her sometime flights of fancy, an eminently practical girl. Sitting and mourning and wondering won't do shit to help her situation. She's been imprisoned thrice now today, and she has no intention of leaving it that way - least of all not when she's also died once, and has no idea if the people here plan the same for her.]
[She stands, still quiet, and moves to the bars at the window, gripping the iron in both hands and beginning, slow and methodical, to test the strength of the cement that holds them. After a few minutes of this, she turns, looking at one of her cellmates.]
Will'ee give me a hand with this? Cement's cracked, I think. With the two of us, could be we can work it loose.
[ II | The Sign ] [It takes her a while to see what's on the back of her tunic. She didn't look too close when it was given to her, and... well, it's on her back. It's only once she realises everyone else has a sigul that she looks for her own. By now, it's been almost a day.]
[When she does look, tucking her arms inside her tunic so she can twist it around without giving everyone an eyeful, she stares at it for a long, long moment. Then she starts to laugh.]
[She laughs and laughs until the laughing turns to crying, and then, reaching one hand up through the neck of the tunic, she wipes her eyes and glares at anyone who might happen to be staring.]
If ye've summat to say, say it. Only don't look at me so.
Gods, what a fucking joke!
[ III | Recreation ] [Recreation is a joke, to a girl used to open skies and hard work. The courtyard is small and crowded, there's nothing of any use to do, and she's yet to see anyone she knows to talk to. Still, it beats pacing and testing the walls of her confinement (which, despite her early hope, have turned out to be thoroughly past breaching), and - as she has to scold herself once in a while - it sure as hell beats being ash in the wind. Where there's life, as her da used to tell her, there's hope. And, as her aunt used to tell her, quit whinging, Miss So-Young-And-Pretty, you don't know you're born.]
[Besides, the very confinement of the courtyard reminds her of what use it can be. All this time, and she's still got no idea where, really, she is. She wasn't paying a great deal of attention when they brought her to the castle, and if she is ever getting out of here, that's gonna be a problem.]
[Which is why she's sidling up to you now, arms folded, looking as though she doesn't expect much from this interaction but prepared to try anyway.]
You came here not too long past, aye? Same as the rest of us?
[ IV | Visits ] [Susan is restless. Patience never was her greatest strength, and the not knowing is eating away at her. The stillness is killing her. Too many questions, too many uncertainties, and no answers to be found.]
[All of which means that when someone new comes into the dungeons, someone different, she's one of the first to come looking. She leans her forehead against the bars, gripping them with hands worn raw by her attempts at digging out the cement, and watches anyone who passes with burning curiosity. At times, she whistles through her teeth, hoping to draw attention.]
Susan Delgado | Dark Tower | The Lovers
[[CW: for those unfamiliar with the canon, Susan's story leans heavily on underage sex, sexual assault, and pregnancy, as well as various other violence. I'll also be playing her as no longer pregnant, so if you have any triggers around miscarriage, might be best to avoid.]]
[ I | Jailhouse Blues ]
[She didn't fight too hard, when they brought her in. It's hard to find it in herself to fight, after the day she's had - and, if she's honest, hard to know whether to be afraid. What is there to be afraid of, after all? She's died once already, and for all she didn't know what to expect after the fact - Hell, the Clearing, some dark and endless peace - it seems somehow correct that what was actually waiting for her was, apparently, more of the same. Judging eyes, locked doors, and the sharp and grinding edge of uncertainty.]
[She sits very still in the corner for some time, a slim girl of sixteen whose downturned face is obscured by the thick fall of her long blonde hair, and whose hand rests lightly on her belly. She sits and worries at her lip, and stares at her sandalled feet, and mourns what was and is and might have been. Wonders what's become of Roland, of his friends. What's become of her. What any of this means. She may shed a few tears, if you watch a while.]
[But Susan Delgado is, before all else and despite her sometime flights of fancy, an eminently practical girl. Sitting and mourning and wondering won't do shit to help her situation. She's been imprisoned thrice now today, and she has no intention of leaving it that way - least of all not when she's also died once, and has no idea if the people here plan the same for her.]
[She stands, still quiet, and moves to the bars at the window, gripping the iron in both hands and beginning, slow and methodical, to test the strength of the cement that holds them. After a few minutes of this, she turns, looking at one of her cellmates.]
Will'ee give me a hand with this? Cement's cracked, I think. With the two of us, could be we can work it loose.
[ II | The Sign ]
[It takes her a while to see what's on the back of her tunic. She didn't look too close when it was given to her, and... well, it's on her back. It's only once she realises everyone else has a sigul that she looks for her own. By now, it's been almost a day.]
[When she does look, tucking her arms inside her tunic so she can twist it around without giving everyone an eyeful, she stares at it for a long, long moment. Then she starts to laugh.]
[She laughs and laughs until the laughing turns to crying, and then, reaching one hand up through the neck of the tunic, she wipes her eyes and glares at anyone who might happen to be staring.]
If ye've summat to say, say it. Only don't look at me so.
Gods, what a fucking joke!
[ III | Recreation ]
[Recreation is a joke, to a girl used to open skies and hard work. The courtyard is small and crowded, there's nothing of any use to do, and she's yet to see anyone she knows to talk to. Still, it beats pacing and testing the walls of her confinement (which, despite her early hope, have turned out to be thoroughly past breaching), and - as she has to scold herself once in a while - it sure as hell beats being ash in the wind. Where there's life, as her da used to tell her, there's hope. And, as her aunt used to tell her, quit whinging, Miss So-Young-And-Pretty, you don't know you're born.]
[Besides, the very confinement of the courtyard reminds her of what use it can be. All this time, and she's still got no idea where, really, she is. She wasn't paying a great deal of attention when they brought her to the castle, and if she is ever getting out of here, that's gonna be a problem.]
[Which is why she's sidling up to you now, arms folded, looking as though she doesn't expect much from this interaction but prepared to try anyway.]
You came here not too long past, aye? Same as the rest of us?
[ IV | Visits ]
[Susan is restless. Patience never was her greatest strength, and the not knowing is eating away at her. The stillness is killing her. Too many questions, too many uncertainties, and no answers to be found.]
[All of which means that when someone new comes into the dungeons, someone different, she's one of the first to come looking. She leans her forehead against the bars, gripping them with hands worn raw by her attempts at digging out the cement, and watches anyone who passes with burning curiosity. At times, she whistles through her teeth, hoping to draw attention.]