2023-05-03 MM: Home Like No Place Is There
Home, Like Noplace Is there
Storyteller: Elyse
Location: United States Penitentiary, Victorville
Date and Time: May 3, 2023 11:30 am
Summary: Clem goes to visit her father in prison and is shocked at what she finds.
Mood Music: In Framing - The Hotelier
Jamie did the driving up to the USP Victorville, Clem relegated to the co driver's seat without even asking if she could drive. The old Toyota Trueno AE86 in White with a few rust splotches clealy had seen better days but it worked reliable enough, and the AC was working. Since the drive was long, some three hours, Jamie made sure to leave before the crack of dawn to get to the allocated time slot, and as much as the two might have wanted the radio to run, Jamie was adamant to only play an old meditation tape when not coaching Clem. "Easy there... We have one hour with your father, but there are rules in place. A lot of them. They want to search us first, and no touching - or at least minimal. They will record everything we say, even if I am legal aid: I am not your father's lawyer, I am yours. So please, do your father the favor and try to stay calm. If you want me to stop somewhere on the way to power out, we can do that at the last resting spot before the prison."
Clem is surprisingly cleaned up, when Jamie sees her next. She's cut her hair into a messy boyish cut down to her uncolored roots, clearly not done professionally, but it looks cleanish and the ruddy brown boyish look suits her. She's wearing a blue work shirt, repping blue collar apparently, and tight black jeans with a few punky patches on them, because she's not gonna totally hide herself. She did all of this unprompted, because despite being a fuck-authority street punk, she's not stupid. She knows she's going to a prison. She knows they are going to immediately feel her rage. She wants to give them as few excuses as possible for the mistrust that will come naturally to them. She rides shotgun without complaint - she can't drive, whatever - and seems surprisingly focused. Or, y'know, unsurprisingly. A few days ago she thought her dad was dead. Today she's going to see him for the first time in five years. She has a lot on her mind keeping her on the path. She listens attentively to Jamie's instructions but doesn't say a lot; she's up in her head. Staring out the window a lot as the hills roll by. "Don't worry, I got this," she replies, surprisingly calmly. She may or may not 'got this.' She occasionally takes out a piece of white paper with a handwritten letter on it, that Jamie would probably have chance to clock as being from her father, signed at the bottom. She doesn't share its contents. "Just as a heads up, I'm gonna hug my dad before we leave," she says adamantly, "They can rob me of a lot of thing but they can't rob me of that."
The road to Victorville is long for the Garou. There are a lot of highways to take before getting onto the 15. The freeway is unavoidable once they pass between Verdemont. They started early enough in the morning that it shouldn't affect their times getting to the prison. Once they hit the freeway outside of Los Angeles headed northeast, the air is a little drier, the air quality drops substantially due to fires in the mountains. It's already hot up here.
The freeway is as it usually is, people largely ignoring laws and drifting back and forth between lanes with no real thought to anyone else on the road. They pass a logging truck, twenty massive trees chopped down to be delivered to a sawmill to make boards to put up new little carbon copy houses in the suburbs.
Seeing the logging truck with its immense stack of ancient trees on its back, makes Clem's fists ball up, her jaw quivering in rage. There's a pause. It's not until after the truck is in the rearview that the ahroun bangs her fist on the side of the door. "FUCK," she shouts, absolutely obliterating any of the calm the meditation tape might've engendered. She seethes for a long moment, saying nothing, just staring ahead. Trying to center herself.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Intelligence + Meditation vs. 6 -> 0 successes. (6 1)
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Wits + Meditation vs. 6 -> 2 successes. (10 6)
Jamie doesn't speed, trying to keep the surroundings as steady as possible while the bacdrop changes. But even then, there's no way to stop trucking. "Clem... Do you need a break?" The question comes in time for the last parking lot after that encounter with the heavy transport, making a little gesture to the drive off. "We have... some minutes to spare, and I prefer to have you not on the edge. But I really apprechiate your warning about the hug, maybe I can make them agree for that much, even if they want to do a deep cavity search of your dad right after. Want a break or the tape?"
The tape is slotted anyway. A slightly scratchy, constant sound of wind and insects starts from the old speakers an eldery man speaking, talking about how everything is from earth and how earth gives life. It's like someone had asked an old Zen Monk to guide a meditation, a reminder of the beauty of it, how the earth shares with all. It's not the best meditation tape, but often heard, or so the scratching hints.
(Evens, more frustrating things happen, odds, road smoothes out).
+DD10> Elyse rolls 1 D10's: 3
Perhaps Gaia or Luna or someone else has heard the need for calm, because the freeways are a little less frustrating as they pull off the 15 on the exit for highway 18 leading towards the prison. Now on a backroad headed past Mojave Heights, the traffic thins considerably. The roads are a little better, and Clem watches a tumbleweed blowing along the sands as they pass by the dust.
"No!" Clem snaps at the offer to stop, almost snarling, upper lip quivering and showing teeth, but she quickly catches herself, "Ugh, sorry Jamie. No, let's just get there, I'm fine," she says more evenly, though it's not hard to see the roiling behind her eyes. She is, in her way, doing an admirable job of trying to keep her shit together, but there's... a lot, fucking with her emotions right now. "I don't want to be late. I don't want him waiting, thinking maybe I won't come." She leans against the door, rests her temple against the glass, and stares out the window. She doesn't know how she's supposed to feel, she's got good reasons to be sad, furious, scared, happy, you name it. It's moody teen shit, but with werewolves and adults. What a vibe. For what it's worth, the switch of the tape does seem to help, as does the fortuitous traffic situation. She focuses on the terrain. Despite California's best efforts, it is at least mostly still expanses of nature out this way, and Clem seems to calm down, slowly, as they finish their drive.
Turning in onto the USP's parking lot, Jamie makes sure to park with an empty lot left and right, turning to Clem before opening the door. "We're here. You can do this. If there's anything you don't want them to get their hands on or read, put it in the glove box, ok?"
The Instruction is so simple, but the prison guards want to search them anyway, so taking things you don't want them to touch is the best reinforcement. In a careful motion, Jamie checks the pockets of the suit, just to make sure not to take any item that could be considered dangerous. "I am ready when you are. I'll be right behind you."
Clem made this easy for herself by just... not bringing much. She has a wallet with her state ID and literally nothing else in it. She has the letter she brought with her, and an old passport, which both stay in an envelope in the glovebox. Other than that, she's clean. "Alright then," she says wit a nod, taking a deep breath. "I can do it, it's fine. Just gotta keep my shit together." Walking a high-rage werewolf through a max security prison where the guards could decide to cancel the visitation for basically any reason with no recourse. Jamie's got his work cut out for him. "Have I thanked you recently?" Clem says with a quick laugh as they traverse the parking lot together, "Even if this goes tits-up, I wouldn't have gotten this far without you, I'll try to find some way to pay you back." She seems sincere. Clem might have a loose take on rules and authority, but absent rules and authority, being honest and responsible with your debts is the remaining path to good community, and Clem's all about that.
Jamie nods and offers Clem a short grip of the hand. "Then let's do this. But this is my job after all, keeping you out of those places as much as possibe." Guiding the bundle of rage through the process, Jamie tries the best to make sure to calm the guards as much as possible where they can be made to calm with gestures and acts. In a rather atypical fashion, the tie is handed to the guards even, as that could be turned into a weapon against the lawyer.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Subterfuge vs. 7 -> 2 successes. (10 10 2 2)
Through the doors of Victorville USP the guards immediately lock onto to Clem as a possible threat. There are a couple guards and people in the waiting room. She doesn't immediately cause a panic, necessarily, but the visitors -- except for one steely-eyed gang member -- all shift their seats and idly move to the corners of the room, as if they've just seen a bomb walk through the doors.
"Prisoner intake happens in the rear of the building," one of the guards barks at Jamie. "And we don't take women at this facility. Unless she's some kinda tranny," he laughs and one of the other guards joins in. But the laughter is short-lived. "What are you, a fuckin' moron?"
The woman behind the desk, who until Clem and Jamie walked in seemed bored and listless, looks on edge, but her edge is directed towards the guards, not Clem. Honestly, it probably takes an enormous amount of willpower to put up with this shit day in and day out.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Willpower vs. 6 -> 2 successes. (10 8 7 4 3 1)
Clem seems prepared for an uncomfortable entrance, but she also isn't about to walk in like wilting violet to try to take the edge off. She strides in, head held high, a lopsided little grin on her lips that turns rueful as the guards start to talk to them. She looks for all the world like she's about to snap something back, but no doubt to Jamie's relief, she bites her tongue and just mutters "Fukkin' hell," under her breath, just barely audible to the lawyer. She stuffs her hands into her tight pockets and waits, making eye contact with the guard who threw that slur at her, holding it just long enough to demonstrate that she's not afraid of him. And then pats her back pocket for her wallet, uses it as an excuse to break eye contact, and slides it out. "Ain't the system grand," she murmurs, faux-cheerful.
"We're not here for intake but for a scheduled prisoner visit," Jamie responds, handing a copy of the cover letter to the guard snapping at them while making sure the walk to the desk clerk isn't interrupted too much. "And now please let me file the things with the desk." There's at least two more in the lawyer's clothes, one getting handed to the woman, this time the whole bundle.
"Special Visitation for Michael Maybury from C-tract. This is his Daughter, and I am her Lawyer. As you'll see, all the files are here."
The guards look at both of them and take a step back subconsciously as they pass through towards the desk. The guard Clem makes eye contact with turns his gaze down and stares at the floor. But he's certainly fuming. The two of them fall into talking among themselves about a basketball game they recently saw.
The woman at the window looks at the both of them and nods, taking the documentation from the lawyer. She glances over it, finds a stamp and smacks it over a few of the pages. "Looks to be in order." The desk clerk is a Black woman in a nice blouse, probably in her late thirties. She's still optimistic enough to dress up for work, but her eyes look empty and sad.
She gestures towards the doors near the guards, "Michael Maybury," she makes a face. "Well," she looks towards Clem, "Hope you're not much like your daddy." Then she moves to stand to her feet and hangs a 'Gone to Lunch' sign on the window, heading into the bowels of the reception area and out of sight.
"All right, c'mon. Time for a search. Now we can make this quick and have it done here, or we can take you into private rooms, your choice," the younger, and more heavyweight guard by the heavy, windowless metal doors says. The other one, the one that made eye-contact with Clem, is thinner and has a goatee that makes him look like a B-movie villain.
Clem keeps quiet as Jamie does all the lawyer stuff that he gets paid handsomely in thank-yous to do. Just stands nearby, hands in her pockets, trying her best to not look threatening without cowing to the authoritarian vibe. It's a very delicate balance. The look Clem gives the clerk lady reads pretty clearly as a dry 'et tu, Brute?' but once again she manages to bite her tongue. She hates how much power everyone in this place has over her, but she has to acknowledge it or risk losing access to her dad. Maybe permanently. "Yeah I think I'd like to have my lawyer present for any search, so whatever, let's just get it over with," Clem responds to the heavier of the guards. She figures they're less likely to be weird and shitty about it if Jamie is present, and making sure they don't overstep their bounds is really for their own safety, in a way.
Jamie makes the search easy for the guards, taking off the jacket and showing that only another copy of the paperwork was in the inner pocket before stretching the arms some in an almost-T-pose. "I know. No pens, no pencils, no belts, no shoelaces, no items that could harm somebody, nothing in the pockets. Not my first rodeo, Sir."
There's a clear attempt to try not to agitate the heavyset guard, offering cooperation with them so to get the chance to ask for that one thing Clem wanted to do in the end.
Clem is without a belt or shoelaces - she's wearing slip-on sneakers at the moment - and aside from wallet, is completely absent of pocket materials. The jeans are Theresa's and freshly washed, the shirt is from a second hand store. Simple, easy. Other than the half kilo of cocaine she's smuggling into the prison in her butt. (Just kidding) She assumes the T pose and gives the guard who approaches a tiny crooked grin. God she wants to say something, but she settles for being maximally unperturbed.
Jamie had prepared, given the chance, and not taken heat. Not Jamie's first Rodeo. Driver's license and ID, Bar number and a credit card.
The guards move to pat down Jamie first, the thinner one with the goatee doing the honors. He brushes his hands over Jamie's pockets, then over the lawyer's chest, then down Jamie's legs. The lawyer does, indeed, know the score, and is relatively nonthreatening. He takes Jamie's ID, bar identification card, and notes it, nods, and passes it over to the other guard, who puts it into a lockbox. Jamie is passed through without incident.
It takes a bit for the guard to get close to Clem. He does the most cursory job possible, as if he's afraid to touch or -- or maybe he's disgusted to touch her. Either way, the Curse does its work on the guy. He takes Clem's wallet out and hands it to the other guard quickly, who puts it into the lockbox. "No personal items allowed. We will escort you to C-block," he says in a stern voice, turning his attention to Jamie, who is the one who's likely easier to intimidate.
The heavyset guard presses a button on the side of the door and it buzzes. Another guard behind the door unlocks it and allows them in.
The first hallway is just a featureless blank hall with no facilities or doors on either side. They make their way to another gate of steel bars, unlock it and allow the two through. Taking a left from here, they head past a collection of windows that look out at a hot, dusty blacktop where a large number of inmates are playing basketball, lifting weights, or otherwise hanging around with each other. Like any prison, the groups are fairly segregated by race. It's early afternoon, and a group of mostly Black men are doing dhuhr prayers, likely Nation of Islam.
The guards continue and pass two more doors before they enter a wing marked 'C.' This is deep in the prison, and another path is marked for 'Secure Housing Unit,' which they pass by. One of the trustees stares at Clem, holding his mop in front of him defensively as they pass by.
The cursory pat-down is a mental note for Clem, filed away for potential future use. If they're always uncomfortable enough to take it easy, maybe she can use that later. You never know. These are just the kinds of details you pick up on and remember when you're permanently on the other side of the law. But it goes without a hitch, and the first major hurdle is passed. Clem allows herself a little exhale of breath as they make their way down that first hallway, realizing that she'd been tensing up the entire time she'd been in the reception area. Just waiting for something to go awry. So far so good. She gives Jamie a sidelong grin, eyes brightening for the first time since he picked her up back in the bawn. As if to say, 'See? Told ya.' The defensive trustee gets a friendly grin, in spite of his reaction to her. She's done prison before. Well. Juvi. She knows how it is, enough for it all to feel familiar in its way.
Jamie gives Clem a stern look at the trustee's act, but then nods at the little grin. Though they are following the guard along as they wind the way through the building. No personal items, and they bring them down to the bowls, that's high security to max security. VERY much careful territory.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Alertness vs. 6 -> 1 success. (10 7 5 2 1)
+ROLL/+DICE> Jamie: Perception + Alertness vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (10 10 7 6 1)
Stopping in front of another metal door, this one being a steel, windowless thing with a keycard, the heavyset guard scans his keycard. After a moment, the door buzzes and a guard on the other side pushes the door open.
Jamie is able to hear the thin, goatee'd guard behind them speaking into a walkie-talkie quietly, "We have two to see Maybury." There's a garbled response that's hard to hear. "Yeah, I know there'll be a problem with the AB. Just get him out and to a visitor's cell. ETA is five minutes."
Clem is able to hear her surname, and then 'visitor's cell,' but little else.
After a few more moments of walking, they pass by a set of doors that lead to cellblocks. There are windows that look into the cellblocks. No natural light in either of them, it seems. Just that washed out white fluorescent lighting. The men in the max unit are not allowed out in the yard, and are mostly sitting around watching television, playing dominoes, or speaking to one another in the common areas. The guards hold up for a moment, then continue to a set of small rooms about fifty yards past the cellblock doors.
"Here we are. You'll be *monitored.* If we see you move your hands across the table at all, you'll be escorted out. We don't need any notes passed back or forth, got it?"
+ROLL/+DICE> Jamie: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 1 success. (6 4 4 4 2)
Listening to the radio chatter, Clem leans to one side to ask of Jamie, "What's AB mean?" If the guards think there's going to be a problem with her visit, she wants to know the context. Other than that, she just continues along, following the guard what is, for Clem, a maddeningly slow pace. She walks almost everywhere in LA, which means she has a traveler's gait, walking for speed and efficiency. This fucker is not in a rush, and Clem looks unaccustomed to the shorter steps he's forcing her to take, despite being much smaller in stature than the man. She gets a glimpse of what her father's life must be like in maximum security, momentarily grateful for the slower pace so she can look into the cell block. It doesn't look.. nice. But at least it doesn't look like hell in there either. She shrugs when she gets Instructed about contact, and nods. "Definitely, I'll keep my hands to myself. No problem," she says without a great deal of conviction. Not like she has anything she needs to hand off anyway.
Jamie waits for the guards to leave them alone in the room. "AB might be the Brotherhood. Not like good, but Aryan Brootherhood. White supremacist Neonazi prison gang. Might not be many, compared to other gangs, but they are radical and kill a lot." Jamie explains in hushed tone, sighing some hefore adding. "They're home in California, you can spot them by nazi insignia on the skin."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 1 success. (9 7 4 1)
Clem looks pained when Jamie says Aryan Brotherhood, waving for him to stop explaining. "Yeah no I know about the Brotherhood," she says with a sigh, "I just thought they were talking about some kind of prison process thing. I wonder what they've got to do with my dad." She frowns. "He better not've jumped in with them, that'd be... fucking disappointing."
A few minutes pass. Then a few more. The two of them sit behind the table; it's colder in this room than the rest of the prison due to a giant air duct overhead. They typically keep prisons cold for the same reason hospitals are cold, to prevent the spread of warm-weather bacteria. The heavyset guard stands nearby, whistling to himself. He occasionally glances at the two, then looks over at the door.
Finally the door opens and the guard brings Clem's dad in. At first glance, he *is* bald, but it seems like he's just gone that way, he hasn't shaved his head. It's trimmed close at the sides, above his ears and looping around in a crown-shape. He's more muscular than she remembers, but also smaller than she remembers. He's in handcuffs, hands behind his back as he's walked into the room.
Seeing Clem, he looks back at the guard and says, "I didn't know you were takin' me here to see her, what the fuck. You coulda told me."
"Shut the fuck up, 27749," the goateed guard says in a mock cheerful voice.
Michael Maybury grumbles and does quiet down. One of his hands is uncuffed and he's led to sit down across from Jamie and Clem, then his hand is cuffed to the table.
The goateed guard says, "You have thirty minutes," and then leaves the room.
Michael Maybury looks across the table at Clem and sighs, dropping his eyes. He stretches his neck out quickly in a pose indicative of what she's seen before by kinfolk approaching Garou. He can likely feel her Rage. It's all subconscious, a reaction that comes through before he can speak to her.
"Clem, you shouldn't've come here," are the first words her father says to her since she lost him.
When Clem sees her father, it's a bit like seeing a ghost. She wouldn't admit to assuming her father was dead, but deep down she'd already processed that grief over the course of the last few years, when he never came to visit. When he wasn't there when she got out. Those thoughts race through her brain, a cacophony of younger versions of herself screaming "WHERE WERE YOU" in the back of her brain, a thousand times, at a thousand different hard moments scattered through her memory of being alone, alone, alone. The emotion is plain on her face, she doesn't hide it very well, her eyes are glassy, her expression tight, cheeks reddening perceptibly in the harsh light. She doesn't say anything, just watches him, eyes never leaving, until the man she knew is sitting across from her. "Don't tell me what to fucking do," Clem's anger comes in a ragged whisper crackling with emotion like a live wire, a whisper that somehow still cuts like a circular saw through the small room, "Figured I'd save you the trouble of wondering if *I* was even still alive. Not that you ever bothered to check in on me." She had no idea what she was going to say to her father when she saw him. She wants to hug him, desperately. She wants to get him out of here. But she's also fucking *angry.* And that's what comes first.
"We'll see..." Jamie answered to Clem at the note about her knowing the AB and the danger of her father having joined them - or probably having an eye out on him, waiting with the Garou.
As finally the orange clad Michael arrives, Jamie sorts out the seat a moment, almost silently watching the two's exchange. One hand is resting on the cold steel table's surface, an offer to Clem to grab as she couldn't touch her father.
"Mister Maybury, it wasn't easy to get these thirty minutes. A week ago, your daughter believed you dead or missing, not knowing where you were since the day she lost you from sight."
"I mean, I was here, Clementine," Michael says in a quiet voice. He looks up towards the guard, then leans forward, resting his free hand on the table to tap at it. There is a little stick-and-poke tattoo that's new that's coming out of his left sleeve. He shakes his arm to drop his sleeve down and puts his hand underneath the table.
He levels a glance at Jamie. It's a colder gaze than Clem might remember. He seems sober, almost entirely so. But cold, calculating. Prison isn't a nice place and often demands things of people they wouldn't otherwise do. "Noted," he says in the same cold, calculating tone to the lawyer. "I'll make the most of the time, then, so as to not waste yours."
"Clementine," Michael says, turning back to her. Interestingly, his accent slips back into the more lazy drawl. "It's important that you find this," he sets his jaw and bites back his initial words, then says, "guy," in a very deliberate tone, "named Jimmy Lewis. He has something for you, from me and your mama. I wrote you a letter." A pause. "But I s'pose most of it's moot by now," choice of words? "But there's some of your mama's jewelry, an' the music box we usedta have when you were little. But if you remember my ol' friend Ham? He's got some family shit in there too that he'd like to have, I'd bet. Last I heard he's up in San Fran."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 4 successes. (9 8 7 6 4)
+ROLL/+DICE> Jamie: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 1 success. (7 6 5 2 1)
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Streetwise vs. 7 -> 3 successes. (9 9 7 4 4)
Clem glances down at Jamie's hand when she sees it, and though she just pats it as if to say 'thanks, but I'm good,' sharing a look with him, the moment of empathy from the kinfolk does sprinkle some cooling water over the coals burning inside her. She nods her head as Jamie explains what she in her moment of fire didn't lay out explicitly. She thinks her father will get it, one way or the other. She takes in a deep breath, lets out that steam a little, but worries on the fingers of one hand with the other, on the tabletop, making a stressball out of her joints. They crackle and pop here and there, as she flexes and tugs on them. But her father's response doesn't help.
"I was in Nidorf for *months* before you even got... tangled up in that shit!" Clem manages to cut herself off before saying anything specific. She actually seems a little taken aback when he suddenly code-switches and immediately launches into business. She considers calling him on it, but instead just lets that reality settle into its uncomfortable shape as her eyes gradually take in the tattoos. Maybe Jamie sees the moment her heart breaks, even if he doesn't notice the tats, and maybe he notices how something cold is left behind in its wake. She takes in a deep breath, and shakes her head. "I talked to Bobby. I know what happened. I got your letter. And the rest," she says evenly. Her disappointment is in her voice. She looks into her dad's eyes with a plaintive look. "Just shut up for a second. Aryan Brotherhood? Are you fucking serious?" she asks, with just the tiniest inkling of hope pleading in her eyes.
It's not Jamie's job to talk to Clem's father, it was to keep Clem out of trouble. And for the moment, that meant watching silently, giving them a chance to talk it out. The initial words just were to try to set stage a little, tell him that it wasn't a regular visit, but that it also might be his only chance to talk to his daughter for long. And to set expectations - because they had 30 minutes, of which maybe 25 were left. Let the two talk.
"Nidorf isn't a bad place to be after bein' stuck in Skid Row for most of your life. And I *did* try to reach out, but couldn't get through." This does seem true or authentic. Michael glances over at the lawyer, so he notably *does not* see when Clem's heart breaks. Instead, when he looks back to his daughter, she has that disappointment in her voice.
It's then that the guard cuts in. "Honey," he says to Clem, somehow acquiring some more courage, "your daddy *is* the Brotherhood in here." He laughs at that.
Michael glances at the guard which shuts him up quick, then looks back to Clem. "Clementine, before you judge me, I did what I had to do. Besides, I wouldn't be in here if it weren't for those spics that done me up for that murder. I didn't fuckin' kill Buraj," he says in a fuming tone. "So, maybe I found a way to get back at them. You know, the Vagos had a deal with the AB in here before I got established. Now they don't. Fuck 'em. The last Vago that got sent here ended up in an accident."
The guard clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Terrible tragedy."
"Yes, it was," Michael says, leveling his gaze at the guard, before turning it back to Clem. "Clementine," he says, his voice suddenly tired. "I don't know why you're here or what you wanted me to say. Or what you expected of me. But if you were just worried about whether I was still alive, I am."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 2 successes. (7 6 5 2)
+ROLL/+DICE> Jamie: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (9 8 7 5 4)
Clem listens to this, the truth dawning on her like an ice shelf collapsing into the ocean. Her expression is chilled, suddenly hard. She looks at the guard, with hard eyes, and says, in a the even, steady voice of someone for whom killing a guard in the middle of a prison might just be a Tuesday. "Get the fuck out."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Intimidation vs. 4 -> 0 successes. (8 4 3 1 1)
+LOSE/+BURN> Clem burns 1 Willpower.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Intimidation vs. 5 -> 2 successes. (7 5 4 4 2)
Sensing that the guard isn't getting the message, Clem raises her voice to a near shout; "GET THE FUCK OUT."
There's a moment where the guard looks at the smaller woman and scoffs, glancing at Michael. It's clear that he takes some strength from having the big guy here. When she raises her voice, he takes a few steps back and unlocks the door, getting out of the room as quickly as possible.
"Look at you," Michael says in a musing tone. "Your mama and I never thought we'd breed true, but here you are. Big and tough, ordering around the menials. We could probably use you doing something for us on the outside. Jimmy and Bobby are still alive, after all."
Jamie flinches at the sudden use of Rage to threaten the guard out, taking a step up and moving closer to the door to check the window out so there is a chance for them to not be surprised by the guards. "Whatever that was, I doubt he's going to give us extra time for that."
Clem leans back in her chair and stares at her dad, not even watching the prison guard leave. She can smell his fear. It excites a part of her brain, the part of her brain that makes her want to give chase. "It's fine," she says to Jamie as the lawyer worries, "I don't think we'll be needing a ton of time." She draws herself up straight in her chair. "Your skinhead gang doesn't mean shit to me," she tells her father coldly. It's a bad feeling, when you realize you regret missing someone. It's this corruption that crawls through your memories, distorting them. She finally leans in, folding her hands on the table, and for the first time, it's business for Clem. "When I was in Nidorf, the skinheads tried very hard to recruit me. I thought they were pathetic." There's a slick edge to that last word. She thinks he's pathetic too, and she wants him to know it. "But you could only refuse for so long before one of them tries to send a message. One of your skinhead prospects shivved me in the showers one day. Put me in the infirmary." She slams her fist on the metal table, it bangs loudly in the confined room.
"You know what I did? Did I join their ranks because I had to? Did I tuck my fucking tail between my legs?" Clem asks her father in a sharp, dangerous tone, "Naw, the second I got out I put that skinhead cunt in intensive care. Broke her friend's nose too. I half expected to die in there, while you were out making shitty life choices - you always were good at those, huh dad? But that didn't happen. The cowards left me the fuck alone." She pauses. "You're a coward, and I see now that you've always been a coward." She shakes her head, a mix of deep pain and disappointment. "God fucking dammit dad, how the fuck did you fall so low? How did you forget how to be a fucking person? Don't you remember all of the people in Skid Row who looked out for me when you were fucking around failing to hold down a job? They weren't fucking WHITE dad!"
+LOSE/+BURN> Clem burns 1 Willpower.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Leadership vs. 7 -> -1 success (Botch!). (6 4 1)
Michael sits there and takes all of it. He watches his daughter as she speaks to him in that tone that any kinfolk would know is on the edge, especially for an Ahroun whose Rage is even higher than it has any right to be. Clem briefly feels the weight of Mammoth in her mind; the Totem is reaching out to attempt to still her against violence. She hears a mournful trumpeting and gets the impression that punishment might be justified, but unwise given the circumstances. He did not give her his strength to kill her own kin, as reprehensible as they may be.
The words aren't taken in a completely disaffected way, but they don't have the added effect that Clem might expect from the Ancestor Spirit's gift. He looks down at his hands in his lap, then shakes his head. "I do want you to know that I'm sorry that you went through that," and he means it, based on his tone. No tricks there. "But I'm... where I am, Clementine." He pauses, then looks over at Jamie, then to Clem.
"Maybe in another life things would've been better. I'm safer in here than I was out there. I wish that I'd been in the car instead of your mama, and maybe your life woulda turned out better. I'm sorry for that. Truly." He takes a deep breath, centering himself. "You should get going before that fuckin' hayseed finds his balls and comes back with other guards."
Jamie nods to Clem and Michael, once more scannong out the little window to the hallway. "If you want to do what you said earlier.... now is the chance." There's no mention of what Clem had mentioned, to the lawyer, but the voice does have a tiny bit of urgency, to not give the guards extra reason to either torment them or Michael, even if he had abandonned some of what he onece might have stood for.
She tried, she fucking tried. When Clem realizes that her words are slipping through his fingers, tears start to roll down Clem's cheeks, though her expression is furious, not sad. Angry tears, burning hot on her cheeks. The comment about her mom cuts particularly deep, and she balls up a trembling fist. But she lets the emotion level out, and rubs her nose with the back of her knuckles, a quick and angry gesture. And then she nods, a curt nod, brisk. "Yeah," she agrees, though she is hazy on which part she agrees with. "Yeah."
Clem pushes herself to her feet, looks at Jamie with red eyes and sweat beading around her hairline despite the room's chilled temperature. The heat of anger is its own little space heater at times. "Yeah I think we're past that." She starts to turn, but stops, and looks back at her dad. "I don't think we're going to see each other again," she says in a cool murmur, "So if there's something you want to tell me about Frank before I go, now's your chance." No hug. Pretense of family is left to die on that cold metal visitation table. Instead... just... Sept business.
"They did something weird with him, Atlas did. He's not like the others, not the traditional type that you might have," Michael looks at Clem's hands, "fought, I guess," he says this with some surprise, still a little shocked that his daughter Changed, most likely. "They gave him something extra, and he can turn it on and off at will. Unless you have a gang behind you, don't fuck with him. And even if you do, don't fuck with him unless you want a few of your friends to die. He had some connections to the cops in Los Angeles back when the raid happened and was trying to find the," he thins his lips, "you know."
"Anyway, they weren't successful. Frank is trying to set up some more nuclear shit up near Seattle, I heard. Well, Atlas via Frank. He's more than just some executive, he's a one-man army. Just steer clear, let Ham and Cheese take care of him. If he's still alive, he's got some good folks in his set." A pause.
"One last thing," he says quickly, "go to the alley near the Flowers District. There's a brick that you can dislodge. It has your initials carved into it. I left some of your mama's stuff there for you."
Clem listens to her father talk about Frank in much the same way that Shit-Kicker had, watching her father smoothly move past his family collapsing in front of him like it's just not that big a deal. "I'll keep that in mind," is her response, filing a few notes away in her brain. But in most ways, it feels like info to pass on to the Sept Alpha. And then turns to go with Jamie, holding up with her back turned as her father tells her about the brick. She doesn't look back at him, she just lowers her head a little. There's a pause. "Yeah I'll find it," she says in a cool tone. She doesn't thank him. And then she nods to Jamie and slips out to be greeted by probably disgruntled guards.
There's a flinch on Jamie's face as it becomes apparent that there's a final divorce, pretty much an exclusion from the Family. Ptetty much last words exchanged. Giving Clem just enough time to do her goodbyes, Jamie eventually rats the door, before testing if it was locked as it should. "We're done here."
