Choi Jun He (sparks_flying) wrote in rrinitiative, @ 2012-09-08 19:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | day four, jun-he |
Better Than Bars
Characters: Jun-he
Setting: Cafeteria, Bedroom #1 (1030AM)
There was a strange familiarity in the white walls and blinding lights of the facility elevators as his blindfold was removed. Jun-he made a face of distaste at the fabric having been on him at all and took a slight glance back. There was a long pause in the six-foot Korean man as he gathered his placing and fixed his slightly frayed hair, running his right fingers through the black strands of long hair at his front. He was somewhat presentable now, and unhappily stared at the opening silver doors.
Emerging, he took grip of the strap of his black gym bag across his body and rose an eyebrow with a strong inhale of breath. He seemed to have been released in to the wilds of the facility cafeteria, giving him a strong sense of another place and another time. It was seemingly empty for the time being and he was rather grateful for that.Clad in grey sweatpants and a slightly lighter grey shaded t-shirt with "STATE PENITENTIARY" written on it, the smooth skinned man wandered his way out from the cafeteria, managing to avoid running in to anyone at all (which he was rather thankful for at present).
In his left palm Jun-he revealed the key marked with his destination upon it. There was an eerie feeling in the ghostly hall way that while he was for the moment alone he was under complete observation. "Big Broda is watching you," he murmured to himself, his obvious accent glimmering its first appearance as he glanced upwards, noticing a discreet camera above. He shot a devious, child-like big smile at it and threw a peace sign, knuckles outwards, in its general direction as he passed.
After passing the kitchen he was swiftly at his doorstep. It would be nice to have a home that felt a little more appealing than the rusty bars of his previous address. At least the new residence came with no twig boy roommate this time.
Actually, he kind of missed Taylor, even if he never had much to say. Or perhaps it was just the idea of not having to sit around and chat all day that he missed.
As he entered the small room quarters, pulling the key out from the door, he felt another wave of familiarity come over him. It was not entirely too small, but the tight space was more than normal to what he had grown up in. He sighed in relief of being anywhere other than prison. Although it was and always be a prison, it had much nicer decorating.
With one swift movement, he walked a few paces towards the fresh bed and unloaded the bag off his shoulder, placing it on top of the crisp blankets. While he appreciated the enormous generosity of the "state penitentiary" giving him something to wear during the transfer, the dreadful taste they had nearly disturbed the man. If they were brave enough to use orange, one might think that they could come up with something more tasteful than the awful grey on grey. He quickly lifted the shirt up and slid it over his head. His back muscles moved in an orchestra of assigned jobs, working with his tightly built arms. The ink on his skin shadowed in the light.
While he fixed and folded the shirt properly in the dim yellow light of the lamp at his bed side, Jun-he stretched his neck to both sides and began to appreciate the shirt in many new ways. Maybe it would be all too ironic to wear it from time to time, or just self amusing.
He cranked his shoulders once after placing the shirt down and proceeded to unzip the top of the bag. A grin emerged from his lips as he noticed the old, half empty pack of Arirang cigarettes, his choice favorite back in Korea. He picked the pack up, rather appreciative that the Americans kept them in good care all this time, even if they were no doubt stale by now. Under small nostalgia he opened the pack, pulling out a single cigarette and the cheap American lighter he had bought shortly before being arrested and lit the end of the stale tobacco.
A slow, savoring inhale lit his body up like fireworks. It was a disgusting habit but the way he had lived his life these twenty-six years demanded a certain repertoire. He was not a heavy smoker but it was enough to keep him chained to the nicotine leash. A fair trade, he thought, for all they did for him in prison.
Without an ashtray, Jun-he moved from the main room towards what he assumed was the private bathroom. He flicked the switch by the doorway, the strong white light piercing his eyes. "Haaan beyok hae," he said moving in front of the mirror above the sink, stretching the word out in a way to sound out if it felt right. Happiness was definitely not what he was feeling, but having a bath in constant, free use was definitely helping.
He took another, long inhale of the cigarette as he watched himself before the mirror. Parting his lips, he exhaled slowly, using his free hand to run his first two fingers along the long scar upon the right half of his neck. He would never be worlds apart from who he was, what he had done, and where he was. The walls and scenery could change, but he would always be in a prison.