Lunchtime on the rock - all characters - Day 1

His eyes flicked between Marty and Fred, watching the two men engage in the little fantasy game of theirs, 'i-bet-we-could-take'm', and snorted softly. "All things in cycle, so turns the wheel." He half-muttered it to himself, a habit he had never truly tried to rid himself of. He had been through much, in his time - but when the brothers were involved, it only got more and more... interesting. After all this time, still seeking barfights...

He returned his eyes to the much more dire matter before him, the plate of... he refused to call it food. Nourishment, barely. Slop, perhaps. Not food. Food had a soul; it had flavor, and substance, and layer upon layer of meaning. Food could give a man courage, or strengthen his resolve; it could comfort him, or warm him to the bone.

Food is what you fed to humans. Slop is what the rest of us animals get.

He leaned his head down, one hand hanging over his plate, spoon listlessly clutched between his fingers. Slop it may be, but even slop kept you alive, and he had no idea the next time the guards' would sling him back down in the hole for some infraction or another.

Deciding on his mashed potatoes, he scooped up near half the pile in a heavy spoonful, and dollop'd it onto Bugeye's plate. Payment. Perhaps more than anyone else on this godforsaken rock, Marselle valued the kind of news that Bugeye could bring.

He returned his spoon to his pea... let's call it soup, his arms resting on the table to encircle his now-diminished repast, guarding it instinctively against further intrusion.

Marty moved his tray and nodded at Bugeye. He had no intention of having his puddles get tossed to the floor either. "Go for it." He held his spoon in a manner that he could stab if he needed to, in case some big fat bastard decided he needed more pea cream. His left arm wrapped around the pathetic excuse for a plastic tray protecting it from the other two sides. Wouldn't be no flankin' action on this meal. He looked at his brother and nodded, was he seen him eying the shotguns. "Yeah, me too." Granted, his brother would be a better shot with it, but Marty was no slouch, and there had to be some heavy weapons here on The Rock somewhere.

Watching the lazy guards on the top walkway looking down at us, I silently figured my odds if I got my hands on one of those shotguns. After the last year and a half, what passed as food became routine. Close your eyes and swallow. It reminded me of taking spoonfuls of nasty tasting medicine when I was a kid. Yuck. As soon as Bugeye even acts like he's sitting down I move my tray. No way am I going without because it gets knocked on the floor.

After a quick nod at Marty and Marselle, I add my own sarcasm. "This should be good."

Everyone is enjoying lunch....as much as it can be enjoyed. Mashed potato that feels watered down even if it may not be, thick green slop that are allegedly peas but trying to find a definable pea is problematic, and a thick brown salty soup that allegedly contains a few scraps of meat. Lunch on the Rock. Wonderful. Its only saving grace was that contained enough nutrition to see you through to the next meal.

This was a quiet day on the Rock. No rumours had been flying about who was due to get knifed. "Ole Jack" who'd been in the prison for 25 years passed his parole review. Everyone was keeping it quiet on purpose. No-one wanted for his sentence to be added to. He'd served enough time for manslaughter.

The guards even looked comfortable wandering back and forth on the gantry overlooking the inmates dining area. The occasional chuckle could be heard as they stopped and chewed the fat with one another rather than closely surveying the hall. Their shotguns were pointed towards the ceiling as the guards relaxed, cradling them in their arms.

The tables were solid, made of metal, bolted to the ground, it would be doubtful anyone could lift them from the ground even if they weren't. The seats were welded to the frame of the table. Everyones food tray made of flimsy plastic (and if you drop your dinner...you don't get another chance) and the cutlery was blunt, made of metal and counted.

As the scene commences, you've all been talking at the table about anything and everything. From the line in the dining queue, Bugeye spots an empty spot at the table and slowly makes his way over to the empty spot. He's limping a little showing an injury on his right leg.

"Awright...you gents mind if I sit 'ere then?" without waiting for approval he sits down. He's done so before without any problems and his stories are the stuff of legend in the Rock. He might not be very personable, but his stories are entertaining in a place with little entertainment.