Promotion Ceremony [IAO]

[Sicila O'Dair]

Of all of the many, many possible events and circumstances that could happen during the average day as the Warden of Furiae Correctional Facility, level promotions really were the worst. The very idea of them left a bitter taste in Sicila's mouth; to make matters worse, her alarm clock apparently had been enchanted by someone sadistic and learned during the course of her time at the facility her events schedule, for that morning after it had woken her its usual chirrups of "Don't forget to brush your teeth!" and "An apple a day keeps the Healer away!" it screamed, "Events Today: You have Level Promotions!"

Which reminded her, she would need to purchase a new alarm clock as the old one had met some untimely and unfortunate accident involving her wand and fourteen hexes.

The corridors were mostly empty as the Warden glided through them, cold fury written into every inch of her body. As it was toward the end of the supper meal, most of the inmates would be either finishing eating or already in their common rooms. She was counting on a lack of audience for this event.

Her black robes swished around her as she rounded the final corridor and entered the hall. Several inmates rose, most didn't notice; for once that was fine with her, and she flicked a brief and appraising glance over those remaining.

Ministry influence. That was what this was all about, and it disgusted her. Even with things beginning to return to normal, administrative buracracy required occasional status reports to be owled back to civilization, and in those reports she was required to include such things as advances and demotions and injuries and deaths. It was enough to make her spit with rage; someone tell her, the Warden, how she was to run her own facility? Rest assured that as soon as she can wrangle it, the nicety of occasionally receiving a promotion based off of length of incarceration and no bad behavior is a tradition that Sicila O'Dair will be halting, and fast.

Her lip curled, and she unfurled a roll of parchment. She stated flatly with no particular emphasis, not bothering to raise her voice or even check that the relevant inmates were even present for the announcement, "Attention.

"The following inmates are promoted to the next level based on merit and improved behavior," the witch began, reading exactly from the parchment. "Inmate 0002, you are promoted to Level Seven. Inmate 0003, you are promoted to Level Three. Inmate 0004, you are promoted to Level Three. Inmate 0005, you are promoted to Level Two. Inmate 0008, you are promoted to Level Three." At this she smirked slightly; the twins had been somehow split up on this. Strange! "Inmate 0011, you are promoted to Level Two.

"Inmate 0002," Sicila added, her eyes dull. This part killed her a little bit inside. "You have entered your probationary period. With no further bad conduct, we will begin the process of your release."

Sicila O'Dair was finished, and she turned to leave.

[Fallon Pollock]

Fallon was feeling particularly whiney. There was no discernable reason for this, except for the fact that, clearly, judging by the gray walls and the lack of light and the bleeding guy over there, she was still locked up in this place. She had learned quickly that she was not the type of witch who did well while locked up. This, she believed, was because at her very core – her soft, squishy, rainbow colored core where fairies frolicked in dew-filled meadows of lilies – she had a spirit that could not be contained. When under pressure, the contents of her core started to rot a bit, and when things rot they smell, and people who smell bad just don’t attract positive energy. Her poor core was rotten! Oh woe is Fallon!

She was sitting across from Harper in the dining hall, picking at her plate with a puss on her face. Unlike Fallon, Harper’s core was never rainbow colored and it was always just a bit musty, so things hadn’t changed much for her. Actually, she was almost happy at Furiae – almost. She’d probably be a lot happier if Fallon hadn’t decided that shoes were optional and then plopped down to complain about everything in front of her.

“I hate eating this. There is nothing valuable about eating this. This is just so bad, Harper, and I can’t eat it and I won’t!” she complained, despite the fact that her twin was less than interested. She’d already eaten all she wanted and was waiting for Fallon to calm down from her hissy fit and shove everything in her mouth, as usual. Fallon’s bare toes just brushed the floor as she sat swinging them, sighing profoundly every few moments as though she was dealing with something very stressful indeed. She was, maybe – but it wasn’t the food. She was just finding it difficult to be optimistic in a place that was so colorless.

Fallon was the first to notice when the Warden entered the room, and she jumped to her feet as though they’d just brushed against hot coals. She still had a bit of a hero worship thing going on where the Warden was concerned – all she wanted to do was sit down and draw her being menacing and powerful and ultimately very cool in a way that was both true and false at the same time. It just seemed so meta. Harper, however, did not stand. She just looked up, seemingly bored, smacking a hand against her forehead as she watched Fallon jump to attention like a poorly trained puppy. With a loud sigh she put her head down on the table. Fallon sat, but the muscles in her neck were straining as she leaned forward, her attention on the Warden.

She was listening for her number, which she’d memorized well by now. She stuck her thumb in her mouth nervously, realized what she’d done, and flipped her hand so that she was sucking only on the nail. Right now, in her whiney mood, home sounded very nice. A new level would just mean a step closer to home. She didn’t know where home was now, but she wanted to be there. Really, she just wanted to be not here.

And then… the Warden didn’t say her number. Was that right? She looked concerned at first, and wondered if maybe she’d forgotten it. She was 0009, wasn’t she? She looked to Harper, and then looked back at the Warden pleadingly, but she didn’t say anything more. Fallon reached a hand back and touched her neck, as though feeling the spot where she was marked would tell her something. It didn’t, which made what she realized permanent -Harper got a promotion, but she didn’t. She clenched her teeth together and bid the stupid empty feeling in her chest to dissipate, but it was there like a presence. She could feel the tears teasing at the corners of her eyes. Her disappointment was obvious.

“But I didn’t even do anything!” she pleaded, turning to her sister desperately, the sound of crying in her voice despite the absence of tears. “That’s not fair! Why do you get an extra level? Harper? What did I do?” She didn’t realize she was shouting because she was quite tied up in the drama of her life - which was nothing new for Harper, who looked at her and shrugged helplessly, wondering herself why she deserved a promotion at all. It wasn’t that Fallon had done something, she knew. She wasn’t getting punished – she just wasn’t getting rewarded.

“Just relax, Fal,” she coaxed, trying to get her sister to, at the very least, quiet down a bit. She wasn’t impassioned enough to scream at her, which would have been her normal first reaction had they been at home.

“No!” Fallon shouted back, springing up from her seat. “I don’t have to do anything, Harper, and I don’t want to hear you telling me what to do just because you’re a higher level than me! Just shut up, okay? And I don’t want to eat this, so you can’t make me!”

“Okay,” Harper said lamely, with a shrug. Fallon was crying now, and was only embarrassing herself by carrying on like she was. She crossed her arms over her chest, and Harper was sure any minute now she was going to start stomping her feet and throwing herself on the ground like a toddler.

“We’re in a fight, by the way,” Fallon hissed at her between her teeth. She moved to the other end of the table, putting a significant gap between Harper and herself.

“Okay, then. Have fun,” Harper remarked, though when she stood up to leave, Fallon followed, sniffling the whole way, her whole thumb stuck in her mouth as she shuffled, bare feet sliding against the icy floor.

[Corrigan Livingstone]

"Inmate 0011," the Warden was saying, "You are promoted to Level Two."

"Alright, l-level two again!" Corrigan turned and exchanged high fives with a boy seated beside him, all laughs and grins as the dining hall relaxed with the Warden's departure and filled again with chatter and angry accusations.

His friend elbowed him, teasing, "Right, that's your third time on it too, huh?"

"No, fourth now," said somebody else with a mouth full of potatoes.

Corrigan snickered. "N-now ah-ah-ah-settle down, b-boys. Things will b-be right here in just a f-few days, I'm sure it's ah-all a big m-mistake and they'll have it ah-all sorted out sooner or l-later. I'll be back t-to Level One in n-no time."

The sixteen year old relaxed in his chair with a practiced ease then, tipping it backward with a foot so he rocked on the back two legs, an arm dangling and the other holding an empty spoon. He waved this lazily in the general direction of the doorway, saying, "Y-you'll see."

Corrigan Livingstone was a youth rather well-known for his ability to receive level promotions just as fast as he lost them. It was generally speculated, in fact, that the Warden included him in her promotions list every month just so she'd have something to take away later that day. He never seemed bothered about the idea that he was virtually guarenteed a spot in Azkaban within the next two years; if anything, the whole thing rather bolstered the lanky youth's spirits.

A commotion suddenly formed at the table in front of him as a girl sprang furiously to her feet, screaming at what appeared to be her double. "No! I don’t have to do anything, Harper, and I don’t want to hear you telling me what to do just because you’re a higher level than me! Just shut up, okay? And I don’t want to eat this, so you can’t make me!”

Huh!

Siezing the opportunity, one of Corrigan's friends swiped the remaining bread roll from his plate while he wasn't looking and ate it.

"A-alright, I appear t-to be done then," Corrigan eyed the now-empty plate briefly and then stood, still looking after the girls. Some people just couldn't handle the pressure.