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Jun. 25th, 2006 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
river_meimeiFact: A guard's first priority is to keep everyone outside the cell safe. A guard's second priority is to keep the person in the cell safe.
(Fact: 'Safe' is a difficult term to quantify.)
Fact: River Tam, aided by her brother Simon, has in the past broken free from a highly secure Alliance facility, broken free from federal custody, and allegedly murdered multiple people. In none of these instances was she armed beforehand.
Fact: It is neither medically advisable nor procedurally sound to keep a prisoner under constant sedation for an indefinite length of time.
River throws up until her stomach is empty, and then dry-retches. Then she curls up, groggy and aching and trying not to shake, and waits for the sedative to wear off. She's still groggy when the door slams open, spilling too-bright light into the room, and five guards enter as she flinches back with a cry.
They're professional: the two that take hold of her handcuffed arms, the two that watch, the one that uncaps the syringe. Competant, and impersonal. No cruelty.
No kindness. Not when she cringes back; not when she draws herself upright and forces her face to a semblance of blank dignity; not when the needle goes into her vein and her dignity crumbles into silent tears. But no cruelty.
"She is to be treated at all times as armed and dangerous," a tall bronze-skinned woman says, staring at and through River. "No exceptions." --She never spoke a word.
They're right, in a way, River knows, because she could, she could--
(She won't.)
None of them meet her eyes.
There's no immediate effect. The guards leave, and River slumps onto her cot again and squeezes her eyes closed. Her fingers twist, working at the air, fretful and rapid.
Gradually, her fingers slow. Her shoulders slump.
Her arms are limp on the bed, now, and her head is heavy, though her eyes are open. The grogginess is gone.
Muscle relaxants, after all, are different from sedatives.
And time passes.
It's a while later that she starts weeping again, sobbing brokenly into her pillow.
And it's a while after that -- she's still crying -- when her teary eyes snap to the doorway, an instant before faint sounds become audible from the corridor outside.
(Fact: 'Safe' is a difficult term to quantify.)
Fact: River Tam, aided by her brother Simon, has in the past broken free from a highly secure Alliance facility, broken free from federal custody, and allegedly murdered multiple people. In none of these instances was she armed beforehand.
Fact: It is neither medically advisable nor procedurally sound to keep a prisoner under constant sedation for an indefinite length of time.
River throws up until her stomach is empty, and then dry-retches. Then she curls up, groggy and aching and trying not to shake, and waits for the sedative to wear off. She's still groggy when the door slams open, spilling too-bright light into the room, and five guards enter as she flinches back with a cry.
They're professional: the two that take hold of her handcuffed arms, the two that watch, the one that uncaps the syringe. Competant, and impersonal. No cruelty.
No kindness. Not when she cringes back; not when she draws herself upright and forces her face to a semblance of blank dignity; not when the needle goes into her vein and her dignity crumbles into silent tears. But no cruelty.
"She is to be treated at all times as armed and dangerous," a tall bronze-skinned woman says, staring at and through River. "No exceptions." --She never spoke a word.
They're right, in a way, River knows, because she could, she could--
(She won't.)
None of them meet her eyes.
There's no immediate effect. The guards leave, and River slumps onto her cot again and squeezes her eyes closed. Her fingers twist, working at the air, fretful and rapid.
Gradually, her fingers slow. Her shoulders slump.
Her arms are limp on the bed, now, and her head is heavy, though her eyes are open. The grogginess is gone.
Muscle relaxants, after all, are different from sedatives.
And time passes.
It's a while later that she starts weeping again, sobbing brokenly into her pillow.
And it's a while after that -- she's still crying -- when her teary eyes snap to the doorway, an instant before faint sounds become audible from the corridor outside.
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Date: 2006-06-26 02:42 am (UTC)There are three sets of footfalls accompanying the voice (two cadenced, one sliding and dragging). Simon's voice is slurred, but the tone comes through clearly enough: helpless fury.
"...'f you'd listen -- idiots, all o' you -- 's isn't --"
The cell door slides open and Simon's voice gets briefly louder, and is then cut off by a shove that sends him staggering into the room, his hands spread to keep his balance.
He's woefully off-balance, and not just from the shove. His vest and the collar of his shirt hang open; his hair is falling into his eyes, which are glazed and slightly more dilated than they should be.
The guards say nothing. The door hisses shut, and locks almost silently.
Simon runs one shaking hand over his face.
"...River?"
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