twenty questions {inquisition} || mouse & quinn
[So... they put him in a box.]
[They put him. In a goddamn box.]
[He was definitely expecting this, but that doesnāt make it suck any less. Itās not like heās claustrophobic or anything, not exactly, but being locked up is the surest way Mouse can think of to drive him slowly, steadily, unavoidably batshit crazy.]
[Heās got his back against the cold wall, and heās trying to focus on whatās outside---specifically, bouncing his awareness through each of the Lost Boys, wherever the hell they are. Theyāre all varying shades of nervous, angry, frightened---but thereās a reassurance that no matter where they are, he can at least have some kind of tether to them. That if something goes really wrong, heāll know. He hasnāt done this, to this extent, in a while. When they first arrived and got split into separate houses, he did it all night, every night.]
[And itās familiar, horrible as that might seem. He sits with his eyes closed and switches from Trig, to Olly, to Skates, to the Pup, and then cycles through over and again and again, and it keeps him from checking anyone nearer. Lakeās in the next cell over, or maybe one more---heās not sure how far he can sense him, now, but either way, itās close enough to be awful. Lakeās a goddamn mess right now, and thatās---thatās not something he can think about. He did once, until he realized there was dampness on his cheek and then he quickly backtracked to Skates. To Olly. To the Pup. To Trig. Skates. Olly. Pup. Trig.]
[Like a meditation, sort of. The worst kind, but itās working for a while. Until they bring in Orson... and then two more Empaths, Benji and that Delma bloke, Kip. All told, not the most lively bunch. And now, Mouse isnāt going to be able to dwell on shitty situations and terrible feelings. So... fuck. What now, if not brooding?]
[He rubs his neck, feels under the collar of his jacket where a fresh bruise sits. Sorry, Lake---definitely not what you were hoping thisādĀ be for, but desperate times. He presses his fingertips into itĀ until thereās enough physical discomfort to clear his head of the garbage fire of bad feelings that was raging there. If heās going to be locked in a cell with two other Empaths, heās not going to make it worse for all of them. After a long moment, he realizes heāll need a distraction. In the dark cell, not much comes to mind. He clears his throat.] Right. So, lads. Twenty questions, then? [His tone is so chipper it basically cuts through the stress of the atmosphere like a chainsaw, which was what he was going for. He claps his hands, forcing eagerness.] Wait, no---better, Truth or Dare. Iāll go first, anā I choose Dare. [...as if thatās not what he always chooses.]
[Before anyone can take him up on his brilliant idea, however, the door to the cell opens. A security guard with a face chiseled from the grouchiest of granite looms in. And lo and behold, itās Mouseās name he calls. That canāt possibly be good...]
[...but least itāll get him out of here. Even if itās to be taken out to the gallows or something, heāll be out of this room, he thinks, and gets to his feet with a too-wide grin to the others.] Ah, sorry. Next time.
[He gives the guard a cheerful nod as he passes him, and claps him on the shoulder.] Well, onwards to glory we go, then. Whatās your name, mate?