tread!

[.hunter‡‡]

shepherd is my god, i shall not rest.
shepherd makes me lie down in dead soil,
and drowns me in turbulent waters;
shepherd damns my soul.
shepherd leads me in paths of wickedness
for the sake of shepherd's wrath.

queensland, australia. one after another, federal prisons had grown tired of him. he was a handful of trouble; of fights, of rebellion. it seemed that once every prison from l.a. to new york, canada to mexico, had exhausted their resources to cope with him, they decided that one simple government could not keep him in check. so they had sent him to this place, some kind of collaboration between the nations of the world. it was one of many, they told him, places of its kind, where the scum of the earth were sent to rot far away from society.
he could name a few people who deserved to be here just as much, if not more than, he did. he wasn't the only one who had ever killed someone. he wasn't the only one responsible for the death of a fellow human being. it was unjust. it was twisted. it was fucked up. and one way or another, he thought as the transport van pulled up to the prison building in the city in the middle of the desert, he would find a way out, and he would bring those responsible for his being here to justice. to his own justice.

even though i walk atop the
mountain of the light of life,
i fear all evil;
for you are with me;
your fang and your claw -
they torture me.

the guards shoved him into the building roughly. he couldn't do much with his hands and his feet cuffed, but he could wait. if he was good at anything, it was biding his time. he put on a perfect appearance--a criminal who knew he was getting what he deserved, but still didn't regret it--when he entered the prison lobby. that wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the entire truth, either. regardless, he wanted to throw off whichever sorry fuck had the misfortune of being assigned to him here.
he was parked in front of the lobby window as a guard explained who he was to the front desk. soon, he was fingerprinted, photographed, and otherwise violated in the procedures of check-in. once he had received an i.d. with his photo and information on it, he was forced to wait again in the lobby, this time for his new guard. hunter surveyed the facility as he stood by, eager for fresh meat. it was too bad that the man assigned to him had already been informed of his two-faced, violent behavior.

you prepare a casket before me
in the presence of my companions;
you anoint my head with blood;
my cup relinquishes.
surely evil and cruelty shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and i shall be caged in the house of shepherd
my whole life long.

[&Ismirshalen]

The steady thud of wood on floor echoed throughout the vacant, meticulously scrubbed hallway. It was the equivalent of a clock ticking, and there was one of those on the wall, also. The combination of ticking and thudding was slowly magnifying in a corner of Ismirshalen's brain. He could tell that in a few minutes, life was going to get rather ugly. But his impending headache wasn’t the only reason for this; he had a new piece of trash to babysit. His lower lip jutted out in a pouty expression as he thought of the possibilities of the nature of his quarry. Would this one be a silent angel, a real gift from the gods? You're dreaming, he thought to himself. No, this one would be as rotten and ungrateful as any other brute with the tag High Risk. Besides, there was no use in speculating, because he had already been informed that this one was a real bastard. But then again, who the hell wasn't around this place?

As the tall British man rounded the corner, he wondered if maybe he should consider a new line of work. The thing in front of him looked as though he had come straight from a rock band… and dropped into a gutter on the way over. What was wrong with kids these days, where they felt that dressing in shit was the shit? It was appalling. An outrage.

Ismirshalen limped over to the criminal, whom he noted was nearly as tall as himself, and pursed his lips into a sneer. This didn’t look like it was going to be fun. The kid was an alpha male, and something in his eyes didn't sit too well with the guard. It was a look that a cat gave a mouse. He certainly didn’t fancy himself to be a rodent. The infant ache in his head pounded its fists against his skull. He wished he was back home with his butler, and a cup of coffee at his fingertips.

"I hope you received a proper welcome," Ismirshalen said, sarcasm oozing out of his voice. He tipped his hat to the prisoner, and while it was usually taken as a polite gesture, this time it was meant to offend. "I'm here to lead you to your suite."

[.hunter‡‡]

it became apparent quickly that hunter was ill-prepared for whatever this place could serve up and dish out to him, because his straight face gave way to a slight gape when the other man approached him. they couldn't be serious. this man was barely taller than him and no stronger looking. as he looked over the brit, his gaze rested for a few seconds on his gimp leg. this man who limped and walked while leaned halfway onto a cane expected to be able to restrain him? he seemed to be young as well, no older than thirty, but that leg...

the rest of him didn't do much for his masculinity, either. to hunter, this guy might as well have walked right out of an old black and white movie set in the victorian era. was he supposed to be scared of him? of his ability to keep him under control?

he spoke and acted like he was victorian, too. that accent and that vocabulary were like acid to hunter's ears. there was no way this guy was serious. in response to the dip of his hat, hunter straightened up and scoffed, chomping shut his gaping mouth. he appeared to have no intentions to respond to the other man's words. rather, he glared the guy up and down, cleared his throat, and proceeded to spit on the poor schmuck's shoe.

finally, hunter's amber eyes raised and met the opposition's. he spoke evenly, deep and monotonous. "oh, yeah? i can't fuckin' wait."

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen was secretly satisfied with the stupefied look that had come over the criminal's face upon his arrival. Clearly the kid had been expecting some sort of monstrosity puffed up with 'roids, a shaved head, and an under bite. However, his pleasure was quickly smothered, as to his great distaste a considerable amount of saliva was launched onto the tip of his shoe in response to his impudent introduction. His nose wrinkled momentarily as he thought of all the harmful bacteria that was possibly writhing around inside the gelatinous glob, but otherwise he managed not to hint that he had been bothered. Later, of course, his shoe was going to be polished ruthlessly until he had convinced himself it was sanitized.

The Brit was confidently able to return the kid's glare with his own contemptuous gaze, and he was not fazed by the almost mechanic way in which he was spoken to. He'd dealt with plenty of bad boys like this before. Most of them, in his opinion, were not all that intelligent. At this moment the thing of utmost concern to him right now was obtaining painkiller for the ache in his skull. And, of course, coming into contact with a dose of caffeine. The prisoner's voice might put him to sleep if things continued on in this manner.

"Indeed, sir, right this way," Ismirshalen replied in a flippant tone, a fake smile gracing his features. "I'm sure you'll find it quite comfortable." And small, he added to himself. Oh, not to mention, your neighbors make quite a racket at night. Good luck trying to get some sleep. With the hand not gripping his cane, he gave the prisoner a rough shove in the direction of his new home, then proceeded to follow after him. "By the way, I suppose I forgot to introduce myself. I'm your guard. My job is to keep you company for the duration of your stay. Which, might I add, could be quite a long time."

[.hunter‡‡]

hunter had a points system. he kept tabs on just about everyone, and he never forgot anyone's count. so far, this guy had about ten points. five for the shove, and five more because he just didn't like him. if the brit thought he could get away with pushing him around, he was sadly mistaken, and quite unaware that hunter gave points back thrice their worth.

for now, he would have to control his temper, although being herded like a sheep flared an intense anger in him. as long as he was a good boy now, he would get his chance for revenge later, and that would make it all the more sweet.

as he walked, he purposely shuffled his feet so as to bother his newfound foe with the rattling of the cuffs. in truth, it annoyed him, too, but he didn't mind suffering as long as it caused someone else's suffering as well. the redhead glanced over his shoulder at the taller man once they had covered some hall and jeered in reply, "way to make yourself look like a douchebag. what's your name, asshat?"

yeah, he would be here a long time--for the rest of his life, if the criminal justice system had its way. but this prick didn't need to rub that information in his face, and if hunter could help it, not a good portion of that time would be spent with mr. tea and crumpets. already he was devising ways to get rid of him. a particularly appealing idea was fucking up his other leg, undoubtedly to the point where he would never walk again.

he himself halted abruptly, steadying himself in case the brit walked into him, which he hoped he would. anything to annoy the guy. of course, he did have a reason for stopping, besides making a scene.

"maybe it's just me, but it doesn't make a whole lot of sense that i'm the one leading if you're the one who knows where the hell we're goin'," he informed the guard with a sneer.

[&Ismirshalen]

With the prisoner in front of him, Ismirshalen could allow all of his pent-up distaste to flavor his face. That was one of the reasons that he had the kid walking in front of him. The other was a bit more reasonable. He didn’t want to give the guy any room to do something… stupid. Yes, that was it.

"I don't think I need to worry about my own appearance while in the company of one such as yourself," he said cheerfully, fingering one of his luscious black curls behind his ears. "As for my name, you may refer to me as Mr. Linnaeus. And simply because we are on the subject, even though I really don't care, what might your name be? I'll take a guess at Ginger." His sarcasm was especially fueled by the throbbing nuisance in his head; it seemed that the more pain that was laden upon him, the more snobbish he became. The addition of rattling chains only made matters worse. He swore the git was doing it just to annoy him. Of course, he would have been even more enraged if instead the boy had thought it funny to speed up his pace so that he could not keep up with him. Aside from the fact that he didn’t enjoy the scraping of metal on metal, he did like that he could move at a leisurely pace. It was less damaging to his ego.

The guard gritted his teeth together as he forced himself to a stop behind the obnoxious lump. However, the criminal's remark had left him feeling slightly amused. "Well, my dear boy, I'll just tell you when to make a turn, and you won't have to spend any time guessing," he answered in a placating tone. "Turn to your left, and then go right on marching until you reach the end of the hall. And if you have any trouble comprehending what I just said, I can make it very clear." The last statement was a threat, because he did not wish to be smart-mouthed again. If he was, then he'd show the kid the secondary use of his cane.

[.hunter‡‡]

in reaction to the tea-sip's name, hunter wrinkled his nose and stated boldly, "yeah, i like 'asshat' better." he had to hold back an intense flare of anger at asshat's next remark. hunter couldn't stand his natural hair color and had always dyed it black, but it had grown out since his arrest almost a year ago.

"it's hunter. but you can call me 'mr. shepherd,'" he spat in a mocking voice, starting to move in the direction asshat had pointed him towards. he added lowly, "and i don't march."

typically, he would go right on torturing the poor man, but right now he was busy taking in his surroundings. he heard the faint yells of prisoners in other hallways, and didn't have much of a clue where the closed doors of this one led. only large double doors opened to workers cleaning a rather messy cafeteria revealed any sense of human life besides the guards posted every so often.

at the end of the hall asshat directed him to were two doors--one of a stairwell and one of an elevator. with a subtle smirk, hunter guessed which one gimpy wanted to take. in truth, for now he just wanted to get to the cell he would be inhabiting here. he was told it was a solitary cell, which thrilled him. he didn't have to share with a bunch of low-lifes, plus he got to keep some of his stuff in the cell with him as long as he didn't misbehave.

as he waited for asshat to make a move, he shifted his weight to one leg, surprisingly relaxed considering he was in his own clothes again. he had quickly grown tired of the orange prison suit he had always been forced to wear and felt great back in blue jeans and a black tank top. it was a shame he had to wear only his vans or chucks, though, since they considered his combat boots to be too dangerous, or something like that.

[&Ismirshalen]

"I myself like the name Ginger better," Ismirshalen snapped in reply, sensing that it irked the criminal perhaps more than the name 'asshat' annoyed himself. In fact, he'd gotten called many such names before by the other criminals in this place, but they didn’t bother him very much compared to his birth name. Of course he had to admit that this nickname was a bit more creative compared to the others.

When they made it to the two doors, the guard prodded Ginger's back with his cane in the direction of the elevator. He wasn’t going to attempt climbing the stairs because of some notion that he had to prove himself to this piece of trash. Aside from that, the elevator was faster and would shorten the length of time it took for him to get this guy into a cell. Despite the fact that he obviously had the upper hand, he would feel much better once the kid was safely separated from him behind immovable bars. He didn’t want to chance having his nose broken, or in a worst case scenario, being confined to a wheelchair.

Once they were in the elevator Ismirshalen made sure that he was standing behind Ginger, and a couple paces away from him. The elevator was not stiflingly small, but at the same time it was not large enough as to where he felt he was safe. He leaned heavily on his cane and listened to the steady rumble as they ascended upward. Not long after, a ding announced that they had reached their destination, and the guard prodded his quarry out of the elevator with his cane and in the direction of his cell. It didn’t take long for them to reach it.

"Now, march on into that cell, Ginger," Ismirshalen demanded, not sounding quite as polite as before. He waited next to the door, leaning heavily on his cane.

Across the hall, almost directly opposite from the cell Ismirshalen stood at, an androgynous form sat crouched on the floor of her cell with her bony fingers wrapped tightly around the bars of the door. Her eyes had been fixed on a speck on the floor outside her cell, her lips moving as though she were muttering to herself, but the guard's words had apparently snapped her out of her reverie. She abruptly snapped into a standing position, shouting giddily, "KICK HIM IN THE BALLS! TAKE HIS CANE AND STICK IT THROUGH AN EYE! RUN FOR IT, DUDE!" Apparently this message was intended for the new arrival.