A new cell and new face (Tag:Megara)

Cillian woke up. Light...why is it so bright...wh..what?... He opened his eyes. His view fell on his new room. Beds? This wasn't his old cell. He slowly stood up. Walking around his view fell on his new cellmate. A girl. Not much older than twenty. She was a very pretty woman. What would be her name? Cillian decide to inspect his room futher. He opened the bathroom door. Wow. Had he won the competition? This cell was way better than his old one. And his cellmate was a woman. Nah he could not have won. Cillian walked back. Atleast he did not have to put up with Gaston anymore. And a nice bed would do good to his muscles. His view fell again on the female. She was very skinny. But had very nice features. 22? 24? Around that age. He sat at the table. Going through his hair.

Meg woke up, pulling herself into an upright position and yawned. As her vision became less blurred, she noticed this wasn't her cell. Sure, it was almost identical, but she could tell the difference. Her eyes fell onto a man, sitting across the cell. Her cellmate. She recognized him after noteing a few of his features. The older gentleman..he was the one fighting that asian man. She swung her legs around to the side of the bed. "Good morning...um, I'm Megara. Megara Jessabelle Rose. But you can call me Meg." The room felt sort of akward to her, but she managed a friendly smile.

Cillian smiled at the female. "Nice to meet you Megara. I am Cillian Norewood. " She seemed. Uncomfortable. "No need to be afraid. " he assured her. He wondered what her crime had been. Cillian decided not to ask. She seemed very uncomfortable.
And she might see it as rude. She was a very pretty lady. One of the prettiest in here. Though she had to eat something. She was very skinny.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Norewood." Meg relaxed a little as she got used to her environment. He seemed nice. She wondered what he could have done to be in here, but decided not to bother. Probably wouldn't be polite. She had to admit, he was very handsome, strong shoulders and nice features. Her eyes continued to scan the room as she ran her fingers through her hair.

Cillian was glad when the atmosphere felt better. "Your name sounds very royal. Not many people have a third name. Where are you from? If you have no problem telling me." he was very interested into the girl. Not just because she was appealing to the eye. But because she looked very young. Gaston had killed his own parents. But she looked like she did not kill them. She looked young. Everybody here was young. Something he noticed.

(OOC: Not many people have a middle name? o.o My whole family (just about) have middle names o.o)

(OOC: XD In my country it is very uncommon xD

Meg was caught off guard by Cillian's question. "Oh, I'm from Brooklyn, but my family originated in Greece. What about you? Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?" She crossed her legs, while trying to stay polite.

Cillian smiled. "I take no offence in that. I come from everywhere. Our family travled allot. So I cannot really remenber where I am from. Maybe I come from Greece aswell." He said slightly joking. Giving the woman a amused smirk. "I do remember Greece was very pretty. I also really liked the Arabic countries. Do You speak any Greek? Or any other language besides English?" He asked again. Sitting a little bit more comfortable.

(OOC: I am really sorry that my replies take so long >.<)

Meg couldn't help but laugh. She was beginning to feel comfortable with this man. He didn't seem like a bad person at all. "I speak a little bit of Greek. When I was a child, I spoke it fluently but it's been years since I've had a chance to use it. So I guess you could say I've lost my touch." Stabs of pain came to her heart when she remembered her parents, but she quickly covered it up with a smile and a soft laugh. "Do you speak any other languages, Mr. Norewood?"

(OOC: No worries I've been on my mobile all day, and I have class in a few hours, so it may be a while before I respond.)

Dimitri Donahue wrote:

(OOC: Not many people have a middle name? o.o My whole family (just about) have middle names o.o)

((OOC: In total I have 7 names xD))

Cillian was glad she was laughing. Atleast the uncomfortable was gone. She was not bad. Not at all. "I have picked up some words here and there. But if it is Arabic, Greek , Spanish or Italian I wouldn't know." He joked laughing gently. He did indeed know some words. If new subjects came in and did not speak English. You had to do something. So learning how to speak their language would help when they had to learn English. Not to mention business. In a multinational business you had to understand different languages. "And call me Cillian. When I am sixty you can call me mister." He smirked.

Meg smiled. "Of course, Cillian." She sat in a more comfortable position and ran her fingers through her hair once again. It had gotten tangled in her sleep and it made her uncomfortable. She was unsure of what to talk about now, so she asked the only thing that came to mind. "What was your other cell like? Mine was identical to this one, so it seems."

He smiled. Nodding. He stood up. "the soft bed you are sitting on. I did not have a bed. Cold floor was my bed." he walked towards the bathroom door. Opening it. "no door to the bathroom. No bathtub. And my cellmate had not much shame either. The celldoor.. Had bars." he said as he walked towards the bed. Sitting down. Though not close to her. Making sure she was comfortable. "We even had a third cellmate. But he had been long gone. A skeleton. And I think even something else that was dead...A kitten...I am not so sure. So this is for me... luxery." he said with a somewhat sad smile.

Meg eye's followed Cillian as he walked around the cell. She could picture every detail as he explained his old cell; the skeleton, the cold floor, and even the little kitten. Her body stiffened when she saw him approaching her, but relaxed when he sat a fair distance away. She laughed and stared down at the floor and placed her hands on the sides of the bed. "Sounds a lot like the last 17 years of my life..."

Cillian did not mind the old cell too much. It was more his cellmate he had his troubles with. When Megara spoke of living like that for the past seventeen years he raised his eyebrow. He couldn't help but pity her. "I am sorry to hear that. Can I ask why?" maybe she wasn't comfortable telling. "If you don't want to tell it is okay." Cillian assured her. He wanted her to feel comfortable and not forced to tell.

Meg managed a laugh and continued to stare at the ground. "I lost my parents when I was six years old. I grew up on the streets, sleeping wherever it wasn't wet or occupied by another person. It's a lifestyle that definately stays with you, I can tell you that." She looked up at him and smiled, only showing a hint of pain in her eyes. Knowing that there were cells like the streets in this prison, she only feared what her nightmares would do to her then.

Her laugh made him worried. She was trying to laugh it away. When he heard she had lost her parenrs he could only feel more pitty for her. He had heard many stories like that. And it surprised him that she was this well mannered. Seeing she lived on the street all her life. Six when she lost her parents. Seventeen years on the street. That made..23. So she was 23. Very young. He than remembered Gaston. "My old Cellmate..he killed his own parents." Cillian was unsure if he should have said that. But he was very curious for her reaction.

Meg flung her gaze back to Cillian and her back became straight. "Oh, no no no, I didn't kill my parents, if that's what you are implying. I couldn't even imagine someone doing that. How cruel." Her voice died off slowly as she realized how quickly she responded...she definately over-reacted, but it was too late to take it back. She flicked her eyes back to the floor, embarrased by her reaction.

Cillian was slightly surprised by her sudden reaction. But it interested him that she jumped into defending herself so quickly. Though it made him laugh. "No need to worry I wasn't thinking that. To be honest I cannot see you do that either." He said with a gentle smile. Laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There is no need to be afraid. Or feel ashamed you said something around me." He said as he removed his hand. "There is a private bathroom. If you feel uncomfortable around me you can always lock me in the bathroom." He joked.

Meg couldn't help but smile at his joke. "Sorry..I guess I'm still a bit jumpy." She quietly cleared her throat and continued. "Did..did your cellmate ever tell you why he killed his parents?" She didn't know why she had asked, but maybe he had a good reason. Otherwise, he could have just been some sick serial killer that needed some fun. She cringed at the thought.

He shook his head. "They deserved it in his eyes." cillian did not know why. " Let me warn you for him. His name is Gaston. He is unpredictable. And I doubt he will care for your wellbeing. " He said as he gave Megara a look. "I would be disgusted if he raped you or any woman inhere." though he feared that would be the case soon enough..Meg reminded him.of someone from his past somehow...

Meg looked at Cillian in surprise. This Gaston fellow really did not sound friendly...if she would be roomed with him, she wasn't so certain she could fight him off. She prayed Odette hadn't been stuck with him in this swap. "I could probably fight him off. I may not be that big of a girl, but I know my way around a fight." Just think like that..positive.

"I am glad to hear that." He really was. "To be honest I would be disappointed if you couldn't after seventeen years living on the street." He joked again. Looking around.
"Even if this room is better than my old one. I doubt we won the competition." he said with a smirk.

"Oh, I know we didn't. My last cellmate, Odette, she won the wet t-shirt contest. I helped her vote for her brother to be her cellmate. I just hope she isn't with some creeper..." Meg scooted back on the bed and leaned against the wall. The position made her more vulnerable, but she felt Cillian could be trusted. If he couldn't be, he sure was doing a good job at hiding it.