"So you would save yourself in the process? Who else is innocent? Is it just me and you? Sorry for all of the questions... I just don't understand" she looked away as Marth got yelled at. Darcy pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the small cot in the corner. "From experience, how bad are these cots?" She looked over toward the guard at the door.

Rusty sighed. "I can't help but want to. I'm selfish. There are a couple people that I think have been wrongly charged, but my opinion is dirt worthless. And no one understands, so join the club." He smiled sadly, no real smile hidden behind it. At her question he glanced over. "Not as bad as most. Compared to a hard wood floor, good. Compared to a memory foam mattress- I have no idea. Never slept on one." He snorted slightly.

+Hes never slept on a memory foam mattress either?+ Darcy stared at the cot before sitting down. She didn't answer. She just sat in silence. First night. In a quiet... cold... deserted feeling place. She curled up on the cot with the rough blanket-type thing covering her. She was still cold. She tried to shrug it off but it was hard. +think warm thoughts+ but the only warmth that came was the faint memory of her mother. She didn't even know her name or how she died- heck even WHEN she died. Darcy's eyebrows shot up. She could still be alive for all she knows. She shook her head. No. She wouldn't let her get caught up in her mother again. Not after her father. She could trust people. Anyone.

Rusty waited a second, but since the short rather one sided conversation was all but over, he went back to his normal spot until his shift ended. When it did he checked out with the captain, then got to sleep- but only in another cell. No special bed. No nothing. He was still treated like a prisoner. The new cell he was in was near Darcy's, except the door was rusted open. Ironic, since his Nickname was Rusty. He sat down on the cot with a sigh, then laid down and stared up at the ceiling, his head at the very top and his feet almost hanging off. It was uncomfortable, but at this point? It was home.

Darcy curled as best she could and closed her eyes. Songs flooded through it. That was the most home she could have. Her songs. Her father had abused her for singing, and it was even worse when he was drunk or high. Darcy shutttered at the thought. Her father was the one that should've been in the cell, eating glop and crying himself to sleep, not her. She pulled herself from the cot and sat in a corner. Somehow it was warmer than the cot. She curled up and pulled the blanket over her and cried. Cried for herself. For her friends that she didn't have. For her family that she never knew. She her future husband that she'd probably never get. Her mother rotting six feet under. She stifled the cried in the blanket before finally falling asleep

Rusty didn't fall asleep for hours, and as he was drifting off he heard faint sobbing from two cells over. Somehow knowing it was Darcy, his stared at the ceiling with sad eyes. +If I had one wish and one wish only, I'd get her out. She doesn't deserve this. She'll break in here. I've already numbed myself to it+ he thought, closing his eyes and drifting off. Early in the morning, before the sun rose, less than 4 hours later, he awoke and pushed himself to his feet with a slight muffled sigh of sleepiness. Rusty walked towards the locker room where his clothes he was instructed to wear were, and then his mind numbing days would resume.

Darcy woke a few times during the night to the rustle of cots and snoring of men. She couldn't sleep. She just couldn't. She peered at her wrists through the darkness. A few hours ago, there were bracelets on her wrists, but now they were going to be shackled instead of covered in bracelets. She had gotten in the car to go see her grandmother, not to kidnap a random kid. She had escaped her fathers rule to be free, not be stuffed in another dungeon. She would be trapped forever, never to see what it was like to be free. This would be put on her record even if she never did anything wrong. She would never be able to get her dream job and would die a poor person with probably no spouse or children.

Rusty pulled on the clothing he had been instructed to where. Same clothing every day. Same looks. Same everything. After 3 years it was getting really boring. He raked his hands through his hair a couple times before pulling the hat down low over his eyes again and walking to the captain. He was now officially on the job. Rusty leaned up against the wall, obviously still rather exhausted, but wasn't he every day? He hunched his shoulders slightly and looked sort of like a bedraggled duck as he started watching the the ground. There was nothing going on this early- no cells were open and everyone was too busy to cause a scene.

Darcy was used to the lack of sleep. She never got sleep, but for some reason the floor was oddly comfortable and gave her more sleep than she used to get in a week. When she heard rustling and slight grunts from guards and prisoners, she pulled herself up and walked to the bars. Her expression was that of a puppy as she looked around. So it wasn't a dream. She was actually stuck here. Great.

Rusty rubbed his hands over his face to wake himself up, wincing as pain shocked his jaw. He glanced at a jagged, broken mirror in the wall to see a large purple and blue bruise had formed. That guy had gotten him good. He half huffed half sighed, pacing back and forth as he waited for the breakfast bell to ring. He was quite hungry at the moment, having not eaten lunch or dinner.