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@seekandxdestroy
There’s nothing for you to know. Just make sure you’re away from Cell Block A. I’m tired of everyone not taking us seriously. Vincent and I are changing that.
Sure thing, sweetheart. Tell you what -- [Atticus pulls his ring of keys out of his pocket and picks off two keys, handing them to Nikolaus.] I'll do you one better. The gold one is for Block A. The silver is for the basement. Anyone asks about it, tell them it was Landon Monroe.
Undisturbed access to the basement. Along with access to metal scraps and the plumbing on the old building. I’m looking for something in particular.
Let me in on the secret, Eklund. I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into beforehand.
I need a favor.
Well, well, well. You're lucky I like you, Eklund. And by that, I mean you're lucky I know this will come back favorably for me. What do you want?
Everyone has projects these days, Atticus. You know what that means? These projects don’t get started. They sit and simmer at the bottom of the pot - waiting for someone to give it a push.
I need more than just me to kick it off, Dexter. That's why I'm coming to you. I can offer you anything you want. I know're in a bad spot with your father. You've been trying to get at him for a while now. Bless Dominic's sweet little heart, but he's got a moral compass that just doesn't sit right with folks like us. He won't give you what you need. I will.
Enough. [He mutters, his head tilting to watch the other.] Those who come to see me don’t come out of the kindness of their heart. What do you want, Cole?
Please, call me Atticus. [He smiles and leans against the door of Dexter's cell.] I have a project in mind. I'd like for you to be a part of it. It would put you at an advantage, above all the other inmates. Above Nevermore, even, if we do it right.
Always, darling. You’re welcome. I’d offer you a place to sit, but as you see. I don’t have much.
No need for that. I anticipate leaving here shortly, actually. -- I'm not going to underestimate you here, kid. How much do you know about me?
ATTICUS COLE // 43 // GUARD // TAKEN
While Atticus had parents, they were never around. He was raised primarily by himself and some of the older kids on the block, who took him under their wing. Atticus quickly grew to respect the others and became an important part of their little group. As time progressed, so did they as people. Atticus got involved in drugs by the age of twelve, and by sixteen, he was one of the most promiscuous boys in town. He had a very tainted reputation. Not that anyone expected any less from him; his mother and father weren’t exactly examples of a good moral foundation, either.
At seventeen, Atticus moved from the small town, saying goodbye to the friends he had gained. He couldn’t be cooped up there forever and needed a place to start new. So he moved to LA, where everyone was vain and beautiful and overly obsessed with their material belongings. It was the perfect place for someone like Atticus, who could live in his own little bubble of self-loathing and have no one care about it. By the time Atticus was twenty, he got bored with the same shit, different day routine and knew that if he didn’t fix it soon, he would blow his goddamn brains out.
So he took a prostitute home. He kept her there for days, forcing every vile sexual fantasy he’d ever had on her. He mutilated her body, humiliated her, and kept her alive long enough for him to be satisfied with his life for a while longer. When she died, she was no longer recognizable. Atticus cut her body apart and dropped the separate pieces across LA for the police to find. That was twenty-three years ago, and to this day, the police have yet to track it back to him. Or any of his other murders, for that matter.
Once Atticus found a way to relieve his pent up aggression, he stuck to it. Hundreds of boys and girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five wound up dead and scattered across all of California during Atticus’s twenty-three year murder spree. And still, no one suspected him. No one even noticed him. And that was just the way he liked it – how he was so invisible to the public eye, but on the inside, he was the devil. He was fucking evil, and he loved it.
It wasn’t long before Atticus figured he could act on his sadistic tendencies far more often in an area where it was expected of him to be in control. Having heard good things about Alcatraz, he completed a training program and applied. Dominic, impressed by his strength and demand for respect, hired him on the spot. The two remain close friends, and it’s not very hard to see why.
PERSONALITY
Though he seems to be a psychopath, Atticus is far from it. His emotions are a mess. He’s always angry and resentful, and none of it makes any sense to him. When it gets bad enough, he will seek out whoever seems like a likely target and take all of his frustrations out on them. He has no problem leaving scars and bruises, and less of a problem with killing. Whether or not Atticus is the most feared guard in Alcatraz doesn’t matter to him. What matters is that he gets what he wants and when he wants it. His abuse isn’t limited to just beating, however. He’s also been known to taunt and humiliate anyone he sees fit, just because he enjoys poking at already gaping wounds.
His moods may seem erratic, but there’s two things that everyone must know about Atticus: He’s constantly angry. All the time. Every decision he makes is focused around his anger and how he wants to relieve it at that point in time. Secondly – he may hate the world, but he hates himself more than anything.
The withdrawal will be worth it. Just let me know when you need something, and I’ll keep my eyes open like you said. Anything else before I walk off into the sunset and start preparing for these withdrawals?
No. Go away.
If you don’t need something, get the fuck out.
Fortunately for the both of us, I do need something. Miss me, Dexter?
Can you take my medication and make sure Alistair gets them instead? It would be great not to have to deal with him at full strength and capacity. But you have yourself a deal regardless, Atticus. Besides, that cum dumpster couldn’t do anything for you anyway. He doesn’t have the balls.
You're crossing a line that you shouldn't be crossing, inmate. Keep in mind that you just asked me for a favor and haven't proven to me that you're worth it. I'm not giving you another one until I see how you deserve the first one. Also try to remember that he needs an actual diagnosis from a doctor before he can even get medicine. That's not my area. Not even Dominic can determine when someone needs medicine. It's a doctor. Only thing I can do is say that you aren't supposed to get them anymore. -- Which, by the way, I hope you're a fan of severe withdrawal.
What kind of errands are we talking about here? [he smirks, looking over the man.] Oh come on, you know I’m up for it. I need help with serious shit, not some punk ass ‘customizing my uniform’ bullshit. This is survival and I take my survival seriously. What kind of errands, Atticus?
They change based on what I need -- and based on what you need. It's an ongoing thing, kid. I'll let you know what I need when I'm ready for it. For now, just keep your eyes open. Watch everyone at all times. I'll go ahead and get you off your medicine, but you start stabbing me in the back, kid, I'll overdose you on it.
Fine then. How about you name your price, and we’ll start from there.
I need an errand boy, and it's a toss up between you and that skinny fuck who likes sucking dick so much we may as well stick a sign to his forehead that says Cum Dumpster. This means that you scratch my back, I scratch yours. But the moment you punk out and start acting like a bitch, I'll fuck you. With my knife. In all different sorts of angles. So there it is -- all laid out on the table for you. You gonna take the deal, or do I have to talk to Princess Cum Dumpster and make it easier for him to wear glitter in prison?
I—… [he furrowed his brow, not expecting it to be that easy.] Really? Just like that? I, uh, thank you? No.. Nothing else. Well, unless you could help Lucien have me in his cell and not in the mental ward?
You know what I really fucking hate? When you morons start just blabbing bullshit to me like I give two cunts what the fuck you want. No -- not really. What the fuck makes you think I owe you a goddamn thing? You never did a damn thing for me, and unless you plan on starting now, we have nothing to talk about.
He was expecting the guard to retaliate, so Felix wasn’t exactly surprised to find himself suddenly pushed back against the door. ”I pushed your hand, that’s hardly assaulting you.” The inmate retorted, unable to help a small snort as he watched the guard closely. Felix huffed out a little breath, wetting his lips and shaking his head. ”You really think I’m gonna tell you that?”
Atticus tapped the butt of his pen against the pad in his hand, eyebrows raised expectantly. When the inmate insisted that he hadn't assaulted him, and suggested that he wouldn't divulge his name, Atticus scoffed. "Of course," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you what -- I'll find your name. And when I do, I'll find you again. I'll drag your ass to whatever dark corner no one will be able to find your rotting corpse in, and I'll throw myself a grand Welcome Home party. How hard can it be?" He already knew what job the inmate had. Atticus closed and pocketed the pad of paper, signalling to the other that it was too late to go back on his word now. "Let your imagination run on that one, kid. I'll be back." With that, he turned on his heel and began making his way back down the hall.
I want to be off my meds. I need to be on top of my game with Alistar back around.
I'll do what I can, princess. Anything else?
The amusement he’d been feeling from before immediately turned to annoyance when the guard pushed over the bucket. Watching with a faint scowl as the dirty water made its way across the floor, Felix tightened his hand on the broom handle so that he didn’t punch the guard like he wanted to.
Felix narrowed his eyes as his cheek was patted roughly, reaching out a hand to shove the other man’s hand away from him. ”Hey, hands off, asshole.”
The very second the inmate moved Atticus's hand away, the guard pushed him roughly back into the door that he had been leaning against. "Assaulting an officer is a hefty charge here in Alcatraz," he said, trying to fight off the flaring hot anger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and a pen. "Refusal to do job," he said, speaking as he wrote. "Physical and verbal assault of an officer ..." His eyes flickered back up toward the inmate, and he chuckled before finishing off his report. "And looking like a general douchebag. What's your name, inmate?"
Yeah? What the fuck do you want?
