Justin Hammer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
therealgenius) wrote2012-05-17 02:05 pm
therealgenius) wrote2012-05-17 02:05 pm
& chernaya
There were no more hammer jokes in Justin Hammer's life.
He'd gotten his own little set up, of course, as much as a prisoner could have. His own private cell with a mattress exactly three inches thicker than the usual given, a desk where he had a computer set up, and a small television bolted up in the right hand corner were his constant companions. In a cruel twist of fate, the monitoring software used on his computer had been donated so graciously by Stark Industries, and it was still hard to get over it every time he turned it on. Just a little logo of the man who'd ruined his life since he could remember, sitting on the bottom corner near the volume and connection. Just sitting there, a constant reminder of how he'd gotten locked up in the first place.
In the early weeks, he'd ignored the computer for days at a time due to that little logo, but he'd eventually come to accept it. Accept as he'd accepted the basic channels instead of extra packages, though the DVR was top notch; he'd watched all of the Die Hard movies multiple times, thanks to a few channels that seemed to play them constantly. He'd come to appreciate basic cable television by the beginning of his second month, and entering the first day of month three, he couldn't understand how he'd gone so many nights watching only HBO instead of paying attention to Michael Scott and the rest of the Scranton crew on NBC.
He didn't get visitors. It just didn't happen. It was fine, really, but by now he was tired of constant loneliness. The guards brought him his meals, coffee and ice cream, and he had an hour to sit around outside by himself and absorb some sun. That was about it outside of entertainment and the few books he'd managed to have sent in, books he'd never read but had always been interested in.
He was sitting cross-legged on his little bed, flipping the calender as he counted the days he'd been in. He was just about to X out the current one when his cell door opened for no reason he could think of. There waited a guard with the regular set of shackles; as much as mankind liked to think they'd come so far in the ways of humanity, the normal set of "cuffs" proved it wrong every time he saw them.
He didn't say anything past telling him to get up, and the billionaire obliged. Cuffs were placed on his wrist, run through a leather belt that barely managed to hang onto him, run down between his legs, and hooked to a set of cuffs on his ankles. He was given shoelaces to bend down and put in, which served the purpose of making him capable of walking as normally as anyone could in such a get-up.
He asked twice where he was going, but there was nothing besides tight-lipped men in uniform around him. When he was taken outside, he caught a glance of the rest of the population in the yard, who seemed to stop dead in their tracks to watch him. They knew there was a billionaire housed there, but none had ever seen him before.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he arrived at a little area with four trailers on one side and four on the other. Conjugal trailers, he realized, but had no idea why he was here. He didn't have anyone like that in his life, and he certainly hadn't ordered a prostitute. Maybe someone had? If it meant getting some alone time, he wasn't so opposed to it, but if she was a talky, bubbly airhead...
Up the few stairs and into the sparse area where a kitchen generally stood, he looked around but couldn't see much—a wall separated the "foyer" from what he assumed was a mere bedroom. Cuffs and chains were taken off, the guard left, and the door was shut, leaving him to stand in confusion and rub his wrists.
He was pale, thin, a bit gangly, and had no idea who was on the other side of the wall. He said nothing, instead noting the speaker in the corner that should have served to keep the prison informed if they needed to break in, the speaker that wasn't even on. That was strange. Still, he persevered and walked through the area where a door could have fit, only to stop dead in his tracks at who he saw.
Who he was alone with.
no subject
He still didn't impress her. If anything, his being in prison only served to make her disrespect him more, considering he had an easier time of it in jail than most criminals, and that was likely because of his money. She hadn't been happy about the assignment, but she also didn't truly have a choice in the matter. So she'd rented the trailer, dressed in her uniform (complete with all weapons; she wasn't going to let Justin get the upper hand if she could help it), and sat on the bed, waiting for him to arrive. Her arms were folded, feet planted firmly on the floor, and she nodded to the only chair nearby.
"Have a seat, Mister Hammer. This won't take long."
no subject
Tempted to back off and push the little PA by the door, he does take a step back. It's obvious, his uncertainty, his rising sense of panic, his alarm. She'd broken his glasses and left him in a frenzied, fearful state before. He had that now, though. He had his sight. He had that much. He could see everything perfectly with them.
And those eyes never leave her on the bed as he crosses to the chair, hand running over the back of it before he obliges and sits, fingers interlaced and hands resting on his knees. It's impossible for him to meet her gaze just yet, and so he opts to look down slightly and to the side, as though the edge of the bed is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
He doesn't say anything. What was there to say that wouldn't get him in trouble?
no subject
She watches him as he sits, and then stands, crossing her arms. Her usual methods wouldn't work on this one-- not right away, at least, and not in their usual form. Justin was too smart to underestimate her, and it was plain by the fear and trepidation that he was quite literally radiating that he wasn't. Natasha was quite aware that she held all the cards; she intends to keep it that way.
"I have some questions for you, and I've been instructed to get answers by any means necessary."
no subject
He doesn't look up at her until she verbalizes the why of him being there. The how, the what, the who, it didn't take a genius like Justin Hammer to figure out. The why, though, that was the question. And now the answer was, what? She was going to question him...what else was there left to ask? What more was there to say?
"All right," he says after a moment, voice hoarse and slightly cracked. Not with fear, but with disuse. Not that she didn't scare the shit out of him, but she hadn't quite gotten to that point yet. "Okay, yeah. Sure."