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Summary: While in the camps, Darrell is baffled by Hosea's cheerful attitude.
Date: June 15, 2020.
Log Title: Already Free
Rating: R
Salem Center - Mutant Camp
//Off in the distance, the crumbling remains of a school in ruins is stark contrast to the brilliance that once represented Xaviers dream. Now converted into a mutant camp, the surrounding area offers a humbling experience for those familiar with the grounds original purpose. Now best described as an open-air prison yard, tall walls, robot guards, and automated defenses keep depowered mutants inand yet-to-be-caught fugitives out. Oppression is heavy in the air. The sound of laughter and innocent screams replaced with something darker: A non-stop orchestral movement of roving Sentinels, anguished cries, and the shuffling of mutant feet to and from any of the many residential buildings, work sites, or sparse mess halls. //
Rain isn't kind in the mutant camp. It wakes up the smell of filth even more. But rain is what has come. Still, the brutal pushing of the guards doesn't stop. There are weapons to be made for the sentinels, and those persecuted are the ones forced to build them. The workhouse is hot in the month of June, sweat filling the air and an impossible humidity suffocates each breath. Still, Hosea works. Because of his size, he is elected to carry the heavy boxes of ammunition from the assembly line to the crates.
Jesse may have his plan, but Hosea has been working on a plan of his own. Not to escape, but to sabotage the weapons. Word has spread quietly but surely, given the African's influence with so many.
Seeing Jesse has brought a bit of new life to Darrell, he's no longer the internally dead man he was after his brother died, but he's still not the same man he used to be. Also reunion sex can do wonders for your outlook on life as him and Jesse always had an odd relationship. Today Darrell's been put on cooking duty, which always sucks cause the guards get these meals that smell great with lots of meat and then he's lucky to get a decent portion of the 'mutant gruel' as it's come to be called. Since breakfast is over, Darrell has a bit of time before lunch and is just standing out in the rain, letting it wash over him like a welcoming shower.
There is a grunt as the doors to the warehouse are opened nearby, and Hosea emerges shirtless, dragging a pallet on a hand operated forklift. His body is covered by scars, many of them from a time before the sentinels. Gunshot wounds, burn scars, and old knife slashes cover his dark muscles, still strong from the intense labor, though he's not nearly as strong as he would be if he was well fed. He pulls the hand truck out, and toward Darrell's direction as he heads for the truck, kept at the edge of camp to prevent creative stow-aways. "Hello, brother," he takes the time to grunt out in his deep voice. His smile isn't strong, given the effort he's putting forth at the moment, but there's the same underlying cheer in his voice.
Darrell is still in the jean jacket and faded Led Zeppelin shirt, he doesn't really have other clothes so right now the chance to get clean, dispite the smells the rain brings up, is welcoming to him. He looks over at the voice and eyes Hosea cautiously. "Sorry dude, I'm not your brother, just Darrell." He's not the type of guy to really like to be called 'brother' by strangers. He hesitates for a moment and sighs, damn conscience and damn physical labor. After all these years, he still hates to work. "Need a hand?" He grumbles.
Hosea does stop long enough to smile toward Darrell. "It would be a great blessing to me," he says, and adjusts his grip on the forklift to give Darrell space to get a decent hold. The African's dred locks hang down, rather droopy in the rain. "Thank you, Darrell."
Darrell can't help but roll his eyes at Hosea and his 'blessing' comment but he grabs a hold and helps. He's fairly skinny but he is a bit stronger than he looks. "You know what would be a great blessing to me? Weed….a huge bag of weed. I haven't smoked in years and I miss it." Darrell was always the pothead and even after going all these years without it, he misses it. "Can I ask you something?"
Hosea doesn't challenge the wish for weed, everybody wants something here. He pulls hard against the hand truck, and he nods. "Of course," he says, "You may ask me anyting." His hand holds fast, though the wet rain makes the metal slippery a little.
Darrell is having a bit of trouble seeing with the water in his face and the mud doesn't making pulling it any easier due to lack of traction. "How the hell do you stay so damn cheery. We're at a fucking death camp and you mange to smile. Seriously, if I don't get out of here soon…." He trails off as he doesn't know what'd he do if he didn't get out soon.
Hosea uses his free arm to wipe the rain from his own face, his own feet slipping despite his strength. "We are at a death camp," he says. "Dat is true. But we are all dying anyway, yes?" He pulls again, trying to force the truck over a stubborn rock. "I am not happy because I am heah, I am happy because I am free," he explains. Of course, that might not sound like a lot of sense, either. After all, they are in a fucking death camp.
"You're fucking crazy dude." Darrell says in disbelief. "Fucking off your rocker. Free? This is not free. We're caged in here, force to do their work. If your idea of free is lugging these asshats equipment then you're fucked in the head. Royally fucked in the head. Free is being able to go out side of the cage and listening to any music you want, free is being able to vote, free is being able to throw a beerpong party that'll run till 5am. This…is not free. We don't have any choice in what happens to us here."
The African is silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, it's a few seconds, but he does answer. "I am not free from dis place," he says calmly, but labored due to the strain. "I am free because I was once just like dah people who do dis to us now. I could not help but be angry, and to hate. I was a prisoner, though no one could stand against me in battle." He takes a moment for that concept to sink in before continuing. "I could go where I liked, but no place could take me away from my heart." He gestures around at the camp. "Dere are many people heah who are prisoners," he tells Darrell. "But not all of dem are the mutants trapped heah. Look at dah guards. Ha! Look at dah Ahab! They are just as much a prisonah as you," he says, pointing back at the other man. "This camp has walls, you can see what keeps you from leaving. Dah walls of the heart cannot be seen, but they still keep you from leaving."
