R. J. Sofer

I'm allowing a lock to be installed on the walk-in fridge and possibly the pantry. I know a lot of people are going to piss and moan, so I'm going to compromise here:

I'm going to try and see to it that all wardens have a key.

I know it's not ideal, but this is a prison and we have a finite supply of food. Leaving it open to all and sundry has run us down to the bottom of the proverbial barrel this month. Common courtesy went out the fucking window.



What I'd also appreciate is a list, for inventory purposes, of what food you or your inmates are taking from the kitchen between meals.

I need all kitchen shifts to come to the dining hall and help me. I found a couple of those tribble things. We gotta clean them out before they get into the fridge.


[By a couple, of course, he means "a miniature horde" - where the food is, so shall be tribbles.]

What's the matter with you people? It's an island. I can point out at least twenty of you that have said something about wanting to lie on a beach for a while. Why are you bitching? Smell some fucking roses.

Sure, it could go badly. Everyone could wind up dead or injured, or running for their lives, but let me just say: you people asked for it.

Make the best of it.

I'm bringing marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers. S'mores are only for people who are enjoying their vacation.

Okay, boys and girls. Everyone remember how I said we need to be careful with supplies in the kitchen?

Five dozen eggs were stolen yesterday. I thought maybe I miscounted, but I checked this morning and it happened again.

We're missing ten dozen eggs.

I don't know what the fuck to say.

I mean, this is ten dozen eggs. Someone stole one hundred and twenty fucking eggs.

I don't know what the fuck you're planning on doing with that many eggs, but if I find out who did it, I will break my pipe off in your ass unless you've got a very good reason.

It's not even the problem with having so little respect for the people around you, you know what I'm saying? There is nothing good that someone could possibly do with ten dozen eggs.

Let me ask this: do I need to start locking the kitchen between meals?

I don't mind people baking their own brownies once in a while, or taking a few apples, but if it's only halfway through November and we're down to our last bag of sugar, there's a fucking problem, you know what I'm saying?

For the rest of the month, if you want a snack, take leftovers from one of the meals or ASK one of the kitchen staff before raiding the pantry.

Also, the kitchen staff is not there to do your fucking dishes. We have more than one hundred people to serve during meals; we do not have time to clean up after some fuck who just left everything all over the counters.

I know all of you think you have free access to the kitchen, but we only have a finite amount of supplies and time. Show a little fucking consideration.

[Private to Morgan]

I told the kid about Rose.

Want some company?

Listen, I've got this favor to ask.

JD's been having sex with a couple of men here, and, you know I don't give a fuck what he does, but I'm sitting here looking at how this kid behaves and I have to say, I'm thinking a lot of this isn't about attraction. I think he's trying to get some approval, you know what I mean?

Libby could probably explain it better.

I don't mean it like that. I mean, you know, as a psychologist.

So this is the favor. Henry and Billy are a pretty healthy couple, considering the fact that they're a pair of inmates, you know? I'm thinking maybe you can encourage them to hang around JD, maybe set a good example for a decent relationship. Mentor him a little, be nice to him.

I'd ask Henry myself to do it, but this takes a little more tact than I can manage right now. This kid acts like your average rebellious teenager one minute, and a kicked puppy the next.

I don't know if the kid's gay or just experimenting, but this whole thing with Iago threw up a shitstorm that I have to deal with, and I'm telling you: I do not want to have a facts of life talk with a seventeen year old kid who can work explosives but can't socialize his way out of a wet paper bag.

Here they are. Fill them out, return them to me, I'll file them.

If you don't want me to read it, I have some of those big yellow envelopes with the sticky tape sealer on the flap. You can seal it up and have it back next time unopened; I'll have a stack in the dining hall. Write your name on the front of the envelope.

Remember last year how everyone bitched about paperwork, privacy, and being forced to conform?

THIS IS OPTIONAL.

You're not that interesting, anyway.

Please write legibly and answer honestly.

Do not copy from other people, and make sure you have the right form.

( Warden Self-Evaluation Form )

---------------------------------------------------------------------


( Inmate Self-Evaluation Form )

[OOC: Just uh...reply with them here if you do one, I guess? If your character doesn't want it seen by Rube, mark it "Confidential" and he'll sort it into the "In an Envelope" pile.]

[Public to all but JD]

I'm moving Jason Dean to the dinner shift to make desserts. Try to compliment the man.

Also, if any of you wardens around his age - Jessica, Tony, Claire, maybe there are others, I dunno - could spend some time with him, I'd be much obliged. He needs some healthy friendships.

Since we're all talking, here: Do any of you need to place your inmates on a work detail? A few more inmates on kitchen staff and we can start rotating shifts; I'm sure my guys would like to only work every other day.

And speaking of inmates, what do you all say we do those self-evaluations I tried to get up and running last year? You know, the ones people endlessly bitched about? We could do them quarterly instead of monthly, or annually. Maybe bi-annually. I dunno. I could send them out again. You let me know.

( Long Ramble-y Letter to Morgan in Which Rube Makes Little Sense but is Trying to Apologize. Uh, and failing. )

Are you hurt?

I am going to say this one time:

You are not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. You may not like what the Marquis is doing, but it is none of your fucking business.

Iago is not to be in your room for any reason until he is off restriction. You are not to undermine his warden anymore. If you want to be a pretentious fuck, keep it to yourself.

Do you understand me?

My hands itch. God damn it. Never doing that again.

Morgan, no rum. You're in the infirmary for a reason.

And I've got an inmate, now? Jason Dean.

That wouldn't be JD, would it? The perpetually late fuck-up?

Sometimes I think you all are the stupidest fucks to ever share air with me.

Someone tells you "don't put blood on the mirrors", which is a good warning, and what do you do? You ignore them and put blood on the mirrors. A bunch of people tell you not to do it? You fucking put blood on the mirrors anyway.

And then people wind up in the infirmary because that blood has to come from somewhere.

Like we don't have enough problems with nightmares and hallucinations, you want to exacerbate the problem? Exacerbation is not what you want to be doing right now, you fucks. You want to be doing the opposite.

Maybe if I tell you NOT to throw yourselves over the side, you'll do it and spare us all a headache or two in the future.

Fuck, now I forgot what I wanted to say.

The point is...

The point is, I want to know if Henry's okay. Henry, you okay?

You got a minute?

Some fuck put that clingy wrap stuff on my toilet seat. Now, I'm all for a good prank every now and then - even if they're ineffective because some of us check these things first - but you, sir or ma'am, are a grade-A fuck.

If I find anything else missing from my kitchen, so help me I will rain down torment on you that will make this place look like the Garden of fucking Eden.

My kitchen is not a grocery store. You can't go in there and take whatever the fuck you want.

And if I ever catch someone fucking with my room - and I do mean my bathroom, too - I will personally throw you over the side.

West, you see Morgan anywhere? I was looking to talk to her, but the way things are going, I'm starting to think she might be in one of those books people've been talking about.

Claire, I haven't heard from you.

Morgan, Claire, West?

You all okay?

I'm still me.

Everyone remember yesterday, when I asked for volunteers for the kitchen staff? Remember when I said I needed five people on each shift? Remember when I asked the wardens to give a guy a fucking break and assign your inmates to do some cooking?

( Staff Schedule )

Does anyone else see a problem, here? Don't make me start assigning you fucks myself.


[Added Later]

Thank you. Glad you all came to your senses.

West, did you have something to do with putting that girl in the infirmary?

Okay, I need some inmate volunteers for kitchen duty. If you want to eat, that is.

Five people on each shift, please. Wardens, give 'em an extra nudge.

You let me know your name, when you can work, and what you can cook.




[OOC: I yanked the previous post because I didn't know wardens weren't supposed to work the kitchens. So, let's try this shit again.]

Mason, you stupid fuck, you'd better not have been the Mason that guy's talking about. There better be some other Mason on board, who was stealing from people.

I've got this feeling, though, that it was you, because you're that much of a fuck-up.

It was you, wasn't it?

Jesus, I don't believe you sometimes. You come aboard here to be a warden, and you've got this great opportunity, so what do you do? You abuse your position and the trust of everyone else by stealing shit. Are you out of your fucking mind?

I hope they bust you down to inmate, you stupid fuck, because if they don't, I'm going to shove my foot up your ass.

West, did you die or something? You're never this quiet.

Mind if I come over?

[Private to West]

If you need something, you know where I am. I think you're far enough along to not need a nanny.


[Private to Morgan]

You want to talk some?

Morgan? Wade? West? Claire?

Are you okay?

Someone tell me what the fuck is going on here.

Wade, I'd be much obliged if you'd stay in your room and lock your door. There's been an incident.

We don't need help.

You don't waste any fuckin' time, do you, Admiral? Ten minutes to settle into my room and I've got an inmate. Must be hard up for wardens, I suppose.

...


I'm looking for one Wade Wilson, inmate and all-around complete stranger.

We can meet tomorrow morning for breakfast, bright and early. Eggs, bacon, the works.

Unless Ralph's still in the kitchen, in which case it'll be garlic.

Have to say, it's good to be back in a familiar place. Guess I should extend some thanks to the Admiral for the new...

...for the new...

...

Who the fuck's been writing in my journal?

Charlie, how do you feel about fun?



Claire, George: perfect vacation for the two of you.



Morgan, you know, Disney World has pi-

I can't finish that sentence without laughing.

What the fu

...I think I may need some help, here.

Anyone here having something interesting happen with their-

Morgan, Rayne, Reid, I dunno, one of you: could someone be a dear and bring me a weapon of some kind? A gun? Maybe a crossbow?

Some holy water might work, here, but I'm not going to bet my life on it.

[OOC: So, since the flood, Rube has been, as you all know, very quiet. He hasn't been coming to meals (no, he's not starving himself).
Today, however, he got up at the buttcrack of whatever passes for dawn on this ship...and left post-its for some people. It's entirely up to you if you want to do what the post-it says, or to respond to it, or steal it off someone's door. ;)
He will show up for breakfast today, if anyone wants a word with him.]


[On Claire's Door]

Breakfast:
Blueberry pancakes with whipped cream.
Drink some pop w/ it.



[On Morgan's Door]

Are you okay?



[On Charlie's Door]

(1) good deed by 12:00 tonight.
Even little one.



[On Ralph's Door]

Kitchen's yours for dinner.
Please make hotdogs one night.


[On West's Door, all words underlined heavily]

Morgan is trying.



[On George's Door]

SEE ME.

To...

To the admiral.

My name is Rube Thomas. I am forty-seven. I have a wife, Lucy Annie, and two children, Thomas Junior and Ro- Margaret.

I am a policeman from Englewood, New Jersey.

I'm not a criminal. I'm a good Catholic. A good one. I go every Sunday, say my confessionals. I've never even so much as looked at another woman or...or anything.

I don't know what I'm doing here.

I think...I may be going off my rails, if you know what I'm...I'm saying. I keep having these thoughts, like memories, and they're of me, but the memories aren't mine.

My name is Thomas. Thomas.

Not Rube.

Admiral,

[Scribble] this fuc[scribble] I will personally if you [scribble] fucking cop and I will [scribble] not be [scribble] and Charlie can [scribble].

I go out [scribble] hour and fucking think [scribble] everything [scribble] come back to find [scribble].

I [scribble] inmate you can fuck with [scribble].

You, sir, can [LARGE scribble that probably says something very nasty about the Admiral, his parentage, and where he can stick his barge.]

SEND ME HOME.


((OOC: For clarity, Rube has made an entry, but the words are scribbled and pretty darn incoherent, if not completely scratched out. There are also ink splotches throughout the entry (as in, someone may potentially be using a fountain pen and jabbing a LITTLE TOO HARD).))

...

((OOC: Also for clarity, Rube has become the police officer who shot and killed him during his bank robbery attempt in the 1920s. No, it's not the guy from Green Mile...Swear. *shifty eyes*))

I need a shortwave radio and microphone for the Warden Communication system. Not one of those newfangled ones with all the buttons and switches and the graphs and numbers. Just a dial or two will do. Maybe a telegraph key.

And could I get a little music over my radio? Some golden oldies, you know what I mean?

Who was in my kitchen?

My room is one thing; you don't fuck with the FOOD.

Ralph, check everything before you use it tonight. Some shit switched the salt and sugar.



OOC: In response to this.

[Private to Charlie]

I've apparently been gone for...oh, a month, two months, who knows?

I only thought it was an hour, but who the fuck am I to argue with the time-space continuum?

Anyway, high time we had a sit down, don't you think? I'm going to take a shot in the dark, you know, totally off-the-wall guess, and say that I need to be updated on your progress.


[Filtered to Wardens]

Anything I should know? Inmates to watch out for, wardens who may be not quite doing their jobs?


[Public]

Yes, I have apparently been gone for months. I'm willing to accept that there are things I can't understand where this great big multi-universe is concerned.

No, I didn't know I was gone for that long. Hence, my complete befuddlement when I came back and found Ralph had taken over the fucking kitchen. And if ever there was a weasel in the henhouse, he's it, ladies and gentlemen.

More to the point: If this happens again, stay the fuck out of my room.

...


Has someone been in my room?


Charlie, you better not have been in my room, my friend.

Georgie Lass needs to get drunk and laid.

Volunteers?

Sam needs a lesson or two on how to party. I'll be damned if he isn't the biggest ass around.

We need volunteers for the belly shots. George, Morgan? Any takers? Come on, ladies! Party's not a party without the gals.

Pub time, ladies.

Rayne, you takin' me up on that offer or what? I don't have all fuckin' day.


OOC: Rube is the responsible father-figure. I figure Opposit!Rube is the irresponsible, womanizing, non-father figure. Agreed? Agreed! :D

...I feel dirty. D:

Filtered

My daughter, Rose, asked me this question when she was six - real young, you know what I'm saying? Still real young. She asked me why people get married.

I told her, you know, two people that love each so much, they want to spend the rest lives together. She told me she'd marry me when she grew up.

There's this age when kids - little ones, like Rosie - make these promises, and you can only laugh, because it's the kind of promise that rips your heart right out of you. You know they don't understand, and it's a silly promise, but it hurts so damn bad because you know there's going to be this man, who will never be good enough for your little girl, who comes along and makes her forget all those silly promises, and takes your kid away from you.

And, you know, she's not a kid anymore, she's this grown woman, getting gussied up in a wedding gown and smiling the way you smiled when you married her mother.

Not too long after that conversation I had with my daughter, I died.

I don't know anything about her after that. Did she get married? She have any kids? Did he make her happy every day of her life, or did he walk out one day with a gun in his pocket, thinking he had one more chance to make her life better, and never come back?


I read somewhere - I don't know, some book long gone from my bookshelves. by now - that women marry men like their fathers.

I hope Rose didn't.

Claire, I changed my mind.

I think it's a good idea for all of us to stay together. I suggest we all gather in the dining hall.

All of us. I want a head count of all inmates and wardens not in Cellblock 0.

If we're all in agreement, we should start treating this as a serious emergency and act accordingly.

I'm not saying anything else over the journals.