Steel Spine, Broken Spirit

Issy was on her to grab food for the station when she came to the open door. Pausing she looked at Mia. “Holy shit. You remodeling in here?” She questioned with wide eyes.

Mia resisted the urge to snark as best she could. “Yep. I was going for a post-twister sort of feel. Organized chaos with a sense of what the fuck happened? What do you think?”

Gripping the last of the sheets, rising to his feet slowly as he grimaced. “Just.. a bit. Not really, actually, no.” John admitted, half tossing the unsorted papers back onto the pile of other shit that seemingly felt unsorted. “No lollipops in people’s hairs today, huh?” He added a bit more kindly, offering a small smile.

“I mean, if it would help you feel better, I am sure I can oblige.” Amused, grateful for a distraction, she shrugged. “Here, you missed this one.” Bending, she retrieved and then placed it in the pile.

Most mornings spent as always, running. Releasing endorphins, all that other spewed shit that people said, but Raya could not understand. All she knew was running made her feel a sliver of free, something close to it. She was not about to let it go. Catching the tone, the door open, Raya turned, and stood far enough not to alert the woman, or worse, herself. “Are you alright?”

Mia didn’t exactly feel like stepping into the office quiet yet, so she continued to survey the damage while sending a quick message to her insurance agent. They would go over the damage when he could get his head out of his ass. “Yeah.. it’ll be alright.” It didn’t occur to Mia that the question had been towards herself, not the office.

Cara downed her third shot and took a sip of her beer. “Really good tequila, and really efficient bartenders,” she noted as the empty disappeared and another shot was placed before her. “What keeps you coming back?”

“This is definitely my kind of bar”

     Chuck just wanted to go home, change her waitress uniform for boxers and an old New Orleans Saints shirt and pass out in front of the TV. However her plans are momentarily put on the back burner as a drunk decides to get all up in her space. ‘Sugar, you goin’ move now? I got places to be.’ He just leered closer, breath so strong it could peel paint and a grip on her wrist that made her bones ache. ‘If you don’t let me go right now I’m goin’ to have to hurt you, sugar. And this be my work uniform, I don’t want to have to clean blood off of it.’ 

Mia watched the exchange in silence for a hot second before recognizing the man as a former client she’d deliberately lost the case on. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the message about sobriety for six months and she let out a cheerful whistle in greeting while she approached. “Hey there, gorgeous,” she greeted the woman and turned her attention to the drunk. “Maybe you should do what she wants with a healthy tip, huh? I heard the judge is out for head’s lately.” That had him scurrying away and she sighed, slipped a couple double-digit bills on the waitresses tray. “Sorry about him. I should’ve gotten him jail time.”

The day had been a little draining for John. Having spent most of the night in the office, attempting a breakthrough of cancer cells to virtually slow and diminish their development through the production of white blood cells, he was officially wiped. Almost dragging his feet by that point, and a quick four hour nap on his desk, face down in a pile of papers, John assumed the best thing to do was find food. And a lot of it. Entering the nearest restaurant, he sat down at the nearby table, setting his work down to finish, or at least attempt too, before heading home for the day. Bumping the table slightly, some papers filtering off as he grumbled. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He muttered, crouching to pick the up.

Mia arched a brow from her own table, her own files here and there on the surface. “Having fun there, sugar?”

Evan gave her a wry smile. “Like I said, I’m fine.” He was just a little tired, probably from whatever Kitty had done to jumpstart his body again. He was sore too, feeling like he had been hit by a truck and had an elephant sit on his chest and stomp on him a little bit. But so far, the doctors hadn’t come back saying there was anything physically wrong with him. They were just worried about the strain on his heart, and organs. They wanted to make sure everything was working properly.

His smile softened. “That’s-that’s sweet.” A thought entered his head, and he sat up, worried. “You weren’t here already, right? Bruce is okay?” he would feel like shit if he had just pouted at her and she had come to tell him that something had happened to her son. 

Feeling slightly at a loss for what exactly would be the best action, Mia hesitated. She didn’t particularly believe his claims, given her protective maternal nature, but she kept that to herself, watching him with the care of a wary cat. “How many times have you had to say that?” Mia joked lightly, fighting the urge to come closer, to blubber. She was scared and hurting already, but he didn’t need to see that—it wasn’t because of him anyway.

His immediate concern for her son, though, certainly weakened her just enough that she moved to his bedside. Hesitantly, hands in her pockets, but she did. Progress. “He’s fine. A little belchy because he practically inhaled eggs, but he’s fine.” Her smile softened, kind as often she was not, and she gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, urging him back to the bed. “Please lay back, I just came to see if you’re alright. Okay?”

Maggie: I'll try to get to him before Joslyn attempts popping all the bubble wrap with him still encased in it.

Maggie: Apologize again and I'll kick your butt when you get back. Since we're on the topic... how's everything going?

Mia: I mean, if it entertains both of them, that’s less damage to your place?

Mia: I’m heading home now, but not so great. The appeals board is corrupt, I’m filing suits to get them removed and decisions reversed. They’re letting him out. The stupid use your Gandalf blooper you idiot sorry speak to text bastards.

Summary: After receiving word from a cautious warden, Mia Conroe drives alone to Louisiana with her son in trusted care. Her ex-husband, Thomas LaRue, is vying and very close to appealing his sentence due to good behavior (and greased palms) for an early release with probation.

Mia has no intention of letting the man who abused, raped, and broke her over seven years walk free. At least, not without making sure his life would forever be a horrible hell.

NOTE: Mia is not in Hollow Grove and will not return until Saturday, July 22nd. This prose explains why and her return.

The warden greeted her the moment she stepped outside of her car. Perhaps it was a respect for her situation, for her career. Maybe—and she figured on it—he was a fifty-five year old man who had been married since twenty-one but had a weakness for exotic features, legs, and a confident look to a woman, loyal and unshakeable as his love was for the ever-sociable Mrs. Wallerpike. Still, he looked her in the eyes, shook her hand firmly, and walked side-by-side into the prison.

Warden Jimmy Wallerpike had been warden of the prison for ten years, a firm and fair hand, never once having a dust of corruption to his name. He was truly, deeply a good man and gave her a hug akin to something from a beloved uncle. Considering how often he had consoled her during multiple appeals, the initial court hearings and trials, although with no intention except helping a scared woman, it was a warranted position.