"hope that won't affect your stitching job."

Cracking jokes and smiling. Even if he’d only been here half as long as some of the others, that was still pretty good. Gwendolyn gave a tight little smile upwards. She accompanied this facial expression by lifting a filled syringe up next to her face, from one of the pockets of her white lab coat. He was all cleaned up, or as good as he was going to get for the moment. Now came the fun part. “See this? This is a local anesthetic. It’s going to take away your pain while I run a needle in and out of a couple of these cuts. It should work for about an hour. If you’ve got one of those annoying metabolism mutations and this thing will only work on you for about thirty seconds, now would be the time to mention it.” Contrary to popular mutant opinion, it was not cool and stoic to let the anesthetics wear off, then start complaining.

((ooc: Watch my hand-waving over any and all real medical knowledge continue! *wave, wave*))

"Yes, that was me. I'm afraid - Well, it's just that... it makes it hard for me to control my powers, it makes me edgy. There-there's consequences, if I lose control... it won't be pretty."

Jeminai smiled. “Yes well that would be the reason why you are here right?” She started playing the dumb blond card. Letting out a little giggle. “I mean. The infirmary. Not the camps of course.” I mean what perfectly sound person with a perfectly working body would cut in front of those he actually needed medical attention.

Pig!

She scooped up the clip bored and motioned for him to follow her to an exam room. “I’ll need you to turn your head and cough, then tell me on a scale of 1 to 10 how much that hurt.” She suddenly stopped giving herself a smack to her own head with the heal of her hand. “Oh wait. That’s the thing we tell the guards who come in with that mysterious rash.”

Down the hall a male voice could be heard shrieking “*Cough!* Ten! *Choke* Ten! It’s a Ten!”…. James?

“Well we’ll figure out something for you. Come on.” Jwminai said as she let her chin drop and her steal blue eyes travel up. Looking more sheepish.

"Yes well that will be the reason you're here right?" She giggled. Mathew had to stop himself from raising his eyebrow - maybe he'd overestimated her.

"I mean. The infirmary. Not the camp of course." Something flickered in her eyes as she looked at him, but he disregarded it. He'd find out more soon, he presumed. For the moment, he was rather dissapointed - he thought that he'd finally found an intelligent mind in this place.
She picked up the clipboard, yet again foiling Mathew's attempts to read it, then she beckoned for him to follow.

"I'll need you to turn your head and cough, then tell me on a scale of 1 to 10 how much that hurt."

He smiled sweetly, not betraying the fact that he want' really sure what coffing had to do with his collar, nor his power.

"Oh wait," she said, "that's the thing we tell the guards who come in with that mysterious rash." She said airily.

Mathew supressed a sneer. Guards with a rash - he knew one thing, when the time came for him to escape those guards were going to get more than a rash.
He heard a male voice float over to him, counting. He closed his eyes briefly and composed himself.

"Well we'll figure out something for you. Come on." She said.
He noticed that her eyes travelled up his body. He kept his expression carefully neutral - she showed all the signs of a slut. Probably some upper class girl, who'd studied at medical schoola and had a psychological tendency towards dirty things - ergo, she fancied the pants off mutants. Well, he thought. She could pick a worse mutant, couldn't she? He smirked to himself.
However, he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her.
He followed her a little way into an examination room and he hopped up onto the metallic bed, letting his legs dangle. His hands were in his lap - if it had been the other nurse, he'd had leant back and raised his chin, sporting a slight smirk... but he just wasn't sure what this one wanted.
He settled with the humble, salt-of-the-earth guy he'd first shown her. That way, he could shift into another frame of mind pretty quick if she proved easy to influence. The first and most obvious thing, he thought, was to find out as much about her as he could.

"So," he said, watching her as she went about her business, "where are you from?"

“See this? This is a local anesthetic. It’s going to take away your pain while I run a needle in and out of a couple of these cuts. It should work for about an hour. If you’ve got one of those annoying metabolism mutations and this thing will only work on you for about thirty seconds, now would be the time to mention it.”

Haddix shook his head. "Nope, full hour for me," he said. He glanced up at the clock in the room they were in. It'd only been a few minutes. He was hoping it would have taken a little longer, that way he'd be able to shirk some of the bullshit jobs they had him doing around here. On the bright side, if the doctor kept up at this pace, he'd at least get to grab some lunch before hitting the fields again. Perhaps he'd be able to finagle some down time here in the Infirmary while the numbness wore off. One look at the guards on the other side of the door told him otherwise, however. He let out a sigh. It could always be worse. He could be out there slaving away at this very moment. For that, at least, he was thankful. "So..." His eyes traveled from the work being done on his hands up to the doctor's furrowed brow. He couldn't tell if it was from concentrating on the stitching or just the thought of working on him. "I'll...shut up, now." He said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, letting her work in peace.

Jeminai stopped the sudden urge to start skipping down the hall. After all. She was supposed to be acting like a medical professional. A medical professional with an airy attitude, but a medical professional nonetheless. She was pretty sure that would be one of her first lessons in med school. No skipping down the hall.

First thing this mutant might notice, if he would notice anything about exam rooms was that this wasn’t an exam room set up for mutants. It was one of the few reserved for the guards. The mutants only had curtains to provide them with privacy, This room actually was graced with a door.

"So, where are you from?"

Jeminai let out one of her infamous giggles again. “Oh, somewhere that snows a lot and has a really big name I can never remember. You?” She let the door shut, dropped the clip bored on the counter, just behind the extra big box of rubber gloves, Oh those could be fun to play with, then took her seat on the rolling chair. Legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap.

“What exactly was it you wanted done with your Collar?” AKA What makes you think you’re so special.

He looked around subtly, taking in his surroundings. This was pretty nifty - if he'd had to take the camps at face value he'd have said that the examination rooms would have been a little less... well equiped.

"Oh, somewhere that snows a lot and has a really big name I can never remember. You?" She said dissmisively.

His ears perked up. She couldn't be for real, surely? considering he'd only been in America a very short time, he couldn't even judge her accent. Hm... maybe the staff were told not to get too close to the mutants. Actually, that would make sense. He thought about her question - as if he was going to answer that! If he ever escaped from this place he'd want somewhere he could go where nobody knew about.

He looked at the floor as his brain filtered through all the name-places he knew. "Bristol." He lied smoothly, looking up and maintaing eye contact.
He spotted a box of rubber gloves next to her and a little thrill went through him - his breath caught in his throat and he started his ritual of breathing slooowly and rythmically. Mathew was a fan of rubber and leather, though that was a side of himself he tried to keep locked up with the rest. Nevertheless, he couldn't help himself thinking about how weirdly sexy those rubber gloves were...
He shook his head and blinked, clearing his mind. Keep it straight!

"What exactly was it you wanted done with this collar?" She asked, one leg crossed over the other.
He thought about how best to explain, how best to argue his point.

"Well first off, my name's Mathew," he said, bringing his legs up on the bed and sitting cross-legged. That position suggested being comfortable and trusting, familiarity. Psychological warfare. "The thing is," he looked down and tried to look like he was struggling for words. "The thing is, I can't really stop my ability from coming through. It's linked with my emotions, with my feelings. It happens automatically. Now I know you're thinking, Why is he not being shocked now, then? But that's because I only have control over the.. passionate emotions, like confusion and anger. So when I feel that way - so does everyone else. There is no on-off switch. I'm learning to control it a little now... but this collar scares me. It shreds any control I have to tatters."
He paused for a little while for dramatic effect. He had to play this character perfectly - therefore, plently of pauses and word-searches were necessary.

"I - I guess what I'm trying to say is," he began again, seeming for all the world like a perfectly aggreable, the-world's-a-nice place kind of guy, "that I'm really hoping for something which gives me a little leeway?"
He debated telling her about what happened last night, during the escape. How close he'd come... but he didn't want to think about that right now. He could work on that thought when he had this collar sorted out.
He appraised the nurse anew. He'd need someone on the inside in here - he'd need someone who could carry out his needs, an official person. His eyes narrowed slightly... yes, that was a good idea. A very good idea.
Okay, Nursie. Welcome to slavery.

"Do you think you could help me out?" He asked, the paradigm of innocence.

"Bristol."

Oh paaalease. Jeminai could probably look up where he was really from based on the blood sample all of the camp residences had given upon arrival. So Jemmy smiled and nodded with her head bobbing as he continued his story. Almost looking like one of those dolls you would put in the back window of a car.

"Well first off, my name's Mathew,"

Oh good. More ways she could look things up. Even though he hadn’t given her a last name, she could check the M names at the camp and just scan for his face. Saved her a good 30 seconds. How curdious.

"The thing is,

She noted him looking down. Oh and a nice touch. Giving a bit more sincere attitude that he hadn’t given the guard out front.

"The thing is, I can't really stop my ability from coming through. It's linked with my emotions, with my feelings. It happens automatically. Now I know you're thinking, Why is he not being shocked now, then? But that's because I only have control over the.. passionate emotions, like confusion and anger. So when I feel that way - so does everyone else. There is no on-off switch. I'm learning to control it a little now... but this collar scares me. It shreds any control I have to tatters."

Jeminai carefully tucked that information away in her head. This changed slightly the way she was going to deal with him, however she was still intending on teaching him a lesson. A lesson he should have learned on his first night at the camps. No help is free, and it is best not to single yourself out. Jeminai had to suppress an evil grin about that last thought.

"I - I guess what I'm trying to say is, that I'm really hoping for something which gives me a little leeway?"

Jeminai smiled and nodded again with her perfectly spiky haired head. Standing she took out one of the papers on her clip board. “I have just the thing for you then.” The paper was actually directions as to what not to do with the collars. For instance don’t stick paper clips in the clasp because you will get shocked, don’t lick conductors on the inside because you will get shocked, don’t misbehave while sitting in water because you will get zapped harder.

Brainless stuff like that. Jeminai turned the page to the back and scribbled something before handing the front side to him with a smile. “There that should do it. Just follow those directions. You might find what I wrote on the back interesting.”

’Get bent and deal with it!’ was written in tine scrolled letters at the top of the page on the back of the paper.

As Mathew was explaining he was watching her closely, checking for her reactions. She was perfectly composed, perfectly relaxed. That could mean that she was either sincere or she was consciously controlling it. Didn't him much.
She seemed to pause before speaking, as if considering something. He straightened up slightly, anticipating her answer. She took a sheet of paper from the board and readied it.

"I have just the thing for you then." She said simply and matter-of-fact.
His heart skipped a beat - the relief flooded through him in torrents, and he couldn't supress the smile which crept across his face. The smile, at least, was genuine.
He leant forward and watched her hopefully. She was writing something on the paper, her face contemplative. He was mentally hurrying her... stupid woman, didn't she know he wasn't used to waiting? But really, he had to admit that whatever moral fibre was left in him was grateful. A tiny glimmer of humanity glittered like a star in his mind, and he actually felt like thanking her. For real!

“There that should do it. Just follow those directions. You might find what I wrote on the back interesting.”

He leapt up and lunged for the paper, snatching it hastily. He looked into her eyes for a time, a huge grin on face. Too easy, just too easy... he wondered what else he could get her to do for him in the future.
He mentally sighed... fortune favours the brave! Now he had an ally and was collar free to boot. He couldn't be happier.
He flipped the paper over and studied the writing with a gratified smile. A single eyebrow moved and peaked like the subtle eruption of a tiny volcano... his grin faded.

On the paper, it read :’Get bent and deal with it!’

He read it twice, just to make sure. His mind snapped to the mental connection at the speed of light.
When he raised his head to look at the nurse, his nostrils were flared and his face flushed. He started hyperventilating immediately, though he desperately tried to regulate his breathing.

She played me for a fool. Stupid bitch, she thinks she can play ME for an idiot.

The breath caught in his throat for a while and started breathing through his nose, sharp shallow breaths. His eyes were slanted and held pure malice...
Then the anger started seeping out. He held it down as hard as he could, struggling with every ounce of strength he had, but it was like boiling water rising up his throat, as if his insides were on fire!

Stop it. Shit, stop it now...

He started to panic. His back was rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. He started to see red, and he just wanted to tear her head from her neck, watch the blood gush from the arteries...

Stop it! Please, stop it... calm down....

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, every muscle taughtening and becomign rigid -

Stop it stop it stop it stop it.......!!!!

The power built up and felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside, starting in his chest then rushing down his arms to his fingers, downs his legs to his toes... it filled his very being to the brim, little bits seeping out where there was overspill..
The collar released a little warning shock. He had to hold back tears - blood was running from his fists whre his nails were digging into his palms.

Then he exploded.

He screamed and fell to the floor, his entire body became stiff as a board, his back arching off the floor as if his chest were being pulled upwards by a sting. He started to convulse, shaking and shuddering, then he taughtened again as another gush escaped. His screams must have been heard throughout the infirmary.
The collar kicked in and, once again, it sent wave after wave of deadly energy through him until his mind shut off from the pain.

Jeminai kept her act going till she was sure he knew exactly what she had written on that paper. My and had he read her beautiful writing twice? She must have been playing a better part then she thought.

His eyes came back to hers, and my, my, my. Were his nostrils flaring? Oh that was a good look for him. Better then the charming fool a second ago. More truthful if you asked Jemmy. Jeminai’s smile spread to a grin that creased the sides of her cheeks.

“Bet you thought you had it made. Well I’ve got a news flash for you.” There was a warning buzz on whatshismuttyname’s collar and Jeminai slowly felt her own attitude change. Her own eyes darted to the side where the big box of rubber gloves sat. She took out two pair. So that two could go on each hand. She didn’t want to touch this creature with skin, what made the people who made those stupid gloves think that just one thin layer was enough? Well that was a new thought….

Glaring sideways at the young man, she snapped the two pairs of gloves over her hands as he received the first shocks. Causing her glaring grin to spread. Oh now that felt good to watch!

“We don’t turn down the collars for an 8 year old who’s only power, we know of, is that she glows according to her mood. You come walking in here like you own the place and waist good honest people’s time.” She grabbed her wallet as she spoke now. Then knelt next to him in her spiked high heals. One foot pushed his chest down to hold him still while she shoved that wallet in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue. That’s right, care for him while pissing him off. Fun, fun, fun, and shockingly satisfying.

Then she grabbed his chin so that she could hold his head still. Make him look her in the eye. “You make a spectacle of your self here, and there are consequences. Mutants warring collars is the law.” She shoved him in the process of pushing herself away from him as she let herself step away. Secretly relieved she no longer had to touch him. Then again she was having second thoughts on having helped him in the first place.

She let him get shocked for a few more second, enjoying the scene. Smiling at the results. Then she took out her phone and dialed a number for the control room. Taking her time with each number. “Hey Frank.” Jeminai spoke to a person on the other line. “Yeah I know, it has been a long time…... Yeah we should do dinner again….. Of course I like Italian….” A free expensive meal was a free expensive meal. “Ok. Monday at 6 pm sounds great….. Yeah?....” Jemmy grinned. “Yeah?....” She smiled at the freak on the floor as he experienced his difficulties. “Oh yeah, can you be a doll and disable the collar…” Jeminai squinted at the number on the freak’s collar (Makes up random number) “3342 for two minutes. We have a mutant who’s having difficulty with his abilities…. No,no… Leave is so the controls on the remote still work. Just the controls that shock when a collar is used…. Thanks bro, You too.”

(Just for plot wise so your character doesn't get completely knocked out yet.)

Mathew couldn't see a thing - everything was blurry, completely out of focus. He couldn't even mus the energy to move a hand, or roll his eyes - his mouth hung slack and a little streak of drool ran down his cheek.
All he knew was that the pain was gone. The pain was gone! It was a struggle to string a coherent thought together, in his relief and weakness. His head swam and he felt sick, the scene he saw before his eyes not level or constistence.. just a mass of swimming shapes, moving around haphazardly.
He heard the woman speaking, but he couldn't make out the words - he only barely remembered her heel digging into his chest, an inconsequential pain compared to the shocks, and she'd spoken to him. He remembered the sticky, artificial feel of her hands on his chin, and how it had left a static tingle when it left his face.
What had she said to him? Something about little girls, something about owning the place... somehow he got the gist of what she was trying to say even though he didn't remember the exact words. It was in the tone of her voice, and he'd never forget that now - that heel in his chest, the hand roughly gripping his chin, the push... and now she'd finished talking, and it was during this conversation that the pain had stopped.
Mathew found it hard to breath, hard to exist at all. He felt just like a deadweight, a nothingness in human shape - he was too weak even to muster a care in the world.
There was something in the back of his mind which said,

Get up, you pathetic weakling,

But he couldn't. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak.. he couldn't even hear properly. He only knew that he'd been wronged, that he'd been made a fool of... all he could really do at the minute was recuperate himself, gather his senses. After, maybe. After he was strong enough to even stand, then he'd think about what was happening to him... but for the moment, he couldn't concieve of anything else other than just.... just lying here, doing nothing... just healing.. He retched and his head came forward, and so much puke came spilling forth form his mouth, but he couldn't raise his head; it was all he could do to turn to the side so that it poured form his mouth to form a slick, ghastly pool on the examination room's floor.

"So... I'll...shut up, now."

Gwendolyn smirked. “Oh, don’t shut your trap on my account.” She tied off a stitch, then paused to reload her needle. “Have you noticed how hard it is to have a normal conversation in this place? Everyone’s either a trauma victim or a narcissist who get off on making trauma victims.” She took a moment to flick her head towards the screaming guard named James. “Witness Exhibit A over there.” A scream rent the air. Gwendolyn's head snapped towards the sound in concern for a moment, until she realized it was coming from one of the guard's exam rooms. Ah. Another rash victim. Great--and she meant that in as non-sarcastic a way as she meant anything. "And Exhibit B, apparently."

Clearing the sound from her ears and her mind with a small shake of her head, she went back to stitching shut the worst of his cuts. Some of them weren’t terrible... others were. All of them made her want to walk out of here, slap someone, and ask them what they’d been thinking. Since they obviously hadn’t been able to wrap their minds around the concept of ‘gloves’, she didn’t think she’d get too far trying that. Unfortunately.

“On that note: what are your hobbies? Where did you work before all this? What’s your great aunt Lucy like? Go ahead, talk.” If she didn’t hear the words ‘mutant’ or ‘human’ for the next five minutes, it would be like having liquid Heaven dripped into her ear canals. As a sort of startled after-note, she tagged on: “Oh, right. And what’s your name?” She didn’t offer her own. She had a nametag, and he seemed to have a brain.

Jeminai smirked as she watched him on the floor. The freak was coming to and seemed to have gone slack. Seemed he’d dropped her wallet. No thank you either for her shoving the thing in his mouth. How insulting.

Jeminai shook her head as she watched him come up slightly then retched. Then let out whatever was in his stomach. “If I were you, I’d start learning meditation. Or something to control that temper of yours.”

As she spoke she walked over to the sink, a bucket was pulled from under the counter and a sponge. He made a mess he’d have to clean it up. Wasn’t like they paid the janitorial staff around here. Those were just other mutants.

“You have less then two minutes before your collar reactivates. Maybe less, and I’m not planning on asking them to turn the electrocution off again.”

She filled the bucket half way with water. Then shoved the bucket next to Mathew, dropping the sponge just in front of his nose. “You need to clean up your mess.”

His hearing was just about coming back... he could make out the overall shapes of sounds, and his mind fitted them in the appropriate boxes.

“If I were you, I’d start learning meditation. Or something to control that temper of yours.” She said as Mathew groaned and shifted on the floor. He saw her shadow drift across his face and heard footsteps - her heels made a sharp clacking as they hit the floor.
He just about moved a hand, bringing it up to his face clumsily to wipe at his mouth. He rolled onto his side, still dizzy and hazy - but his senses, and his bearings, were fast returning.

“You have less then two minutes before your collar reactivates. Maybe less, and I’m not planning on asking them to turn the electrocution off again.”

Fever managed to look up at her. His eyes felt like they'd been pickled. She dropped a bucket next to him and a sponge appeared in front of his face, hitting the floor with soft scratching sound.
Weakly, he sneered up and at her - his upper lip drew back and revealed so many white level teeth, like a string of pearls; they were also a covered a little in vomit, though at the moment the aesthetics of his appearance was not his chief concern.
He tried to form words, to throw some sort of curse, but he couldn't quite muster the effort. She'd get payback for this. She'd learn, soon enough.
He eyed the bucket and knew what the logical thing to do would be - using all his might, he rolled onto his front and pushed himself from the floor with his hands, but the left one slipped in the puke and he crashed back to the floor with a bang - his teeth jarred and he flinched, but forced himself to try again. He managed to bring his knees under him and he steadied himslef for a few seconds. He looked back up at the nurse - she wore a cruel, sadistic expression on her face which elicited mixed feelings from him. If that were him in that position, what would he do? But that didn't make a but of difference - this didn't happen to Mathew. People just did not do this to him, at least not without suffering after.
He reached out an unsteady hand and picked up the sponge, then dipped it into the bucket. The water was so hot that he almost couldn't bear it, but he forced his hand in and never took his eyes off the woman. He felt like a fool. For one of the few times in his short life, he felt like a fool and a clown, performing for her.
He began to scrub the floor, his stomach still uneasy, and if looks could have killed she'd be stone cold dead on the floor. He debated killing her now - odds were he was a little stronger, a little younger. He was fit, too... but he couldn't kill her now, no matter how much he wanted to. He didn't think he could kill her full stop, if he was honest with himself - he'd never killed a person before, but his power had made him want to do it plenty of times. Uncontrollable bouts of fervour could do that to a man...
Nevertheless, he couldn't wrap his hands around her neck now. He'd be killed for certain, because she'd certainly scream, and he'd be knocked out beforehand anyway because it just wouldn't be possible to slaughter the woman without any trace of anger...

Shit! He thought, shocked. What was he talking about? Killing another human being, for real? He looked away from her, wide eyed, and concentrated on cleaning up the mess. Sure, his power did make him want to hurt people sometimes, and sure, sometimes he felt like killing people just like everyone did... but to actually plan it out in his head, and coldly appraise his reasons for being unable to do so - that was scary.
He cleared his throat an dared not look at her again, for fear of what his mind would think up next. Just get it done - he'd get her back, in one way or another.
Still slightly shaken from the shock and the potency of his own macabre scheme, he wondered if there might be something in what she'd said about meditation.

Jeminai watched Mathew struggle to get up at first. The way he acted when he first came in, She had no doubt that he was used to people answering his every whim. She wondered if this was even the first work he was ever asked to do.

She held his ’if looks could kill’ stare. At first standing even on her feet, until he started working. Then she leaned back and crossed her ankles as she leaned against the counter. Crossing her arms. She looked down her wrinkled nose at Mathew, the freak.

“Durring your stay here you will do as you are told. Unless you’re in need of medical attention I will not see you here again.” Jeminai began, taking on the strict school teacher personality. “Should your powers kick in, on purpose or not, you will be shocked till unconchis or however long it takes for that part of your brain to stop using your abilities. You are not special, and there for, will not receive special treatment. Those who have been singled out in such a way, end up in our grave yard.”

She paused in her speech, to grab one of those little 4 ounce paper cups at her right. He was doing the work she told him to so she granted him one comfort. A comfort she wasn’t afraid to take away just as fast. The tiny cup was filled with cold water and she handed it to him. “Rinse your mouth.”

He kept his eyes down and scrubbed at the floor, feeling degraded and pitiful. This was disgusting - not just the fact that he'd been sick, and was now having to clean it up... it was also how weak he felt, subjected to anything. The realisation dawned on him that this was what life had in store for him; after all, what could he do about it? He could scream and rant, kick and stamp his feet like a child. He was only eighteen - he was sure nobody would think that odd, for someone so young to be impetuous. However, the truth was Mathew wasn't that guy. He wasn't a spoilt brat - therefore he'd not act like one. He saw the irony in his situation, of course; how many times had he wished he could be normal, his own person? How many times had he dreamed that he could have a normal life and not be under constant threat of insanity, cautious of a power he'd never asked for and had never really wanted? Plenty of times, he knew that. But now, here and without the benefit of his abilities, he was more or less normal. The funny thing was that he wasn't sure if he liked it! Was this what happened to normal people, they were made fools of and kicked while they were down?

“Durring your stay here you will do as you are told. Unless you’re in need of medical attention I will not see you here again." He heard her say, her voice now superior and condescending. “Should your powers kick in, on purpose or not, you will be shocked till unconchis or however long it takes for that part of your brain to stop using your abilities. You are not special, and there for, will not receive special treatment. Those who have been singled out in such a way, end up in our grave yard.”

He didn't answer, but carried on scrubbing the floor, dipping the sponge back into the hot water occasionaly and feeling grateful at least for the fact that it had cooled a little.
He didn't like this. Without his collar, he could have had her on her knees. He could have her writhing like a scalded snake, gnashing and ripping at her own face. He could send her insane, or drive her body into such a flux that her heart went pop. Death from apoplexy was well within his abilities.. he knew that, he'd killed animals before, just to test the theory. If only he didn't have this collar, hell, he could turn this camp into a massacre ground.
The problem was, the collar was on and it was there to stay.
He sensed movement and looked up, his eyes meeting a paper cup. He could see the shadow of the water in it, it was that thin.

"Rinse your mouth." She said. If he didn't know any better he'd have sworn that there was an iota of compassion in that sentence, but he wasn't going to fall for that again. Never again, not in this camp. He felt abused, scrubbing this floor. Abused that she'd fooled him, too, so obviously not taken in by his pretty display.
Raising a curious eyebrow, he reached out, eyeing the glass. He took it gently, not meeting her eyes... the water was cool, he could feel it through the paper.
He put the cup to his lips and took the water into his mouth, then proceeded to swirl and swish it around, keeping his eyes on the bucket - the water in it was disgusting and discoloured from the vomit.
His eyes darted to the door, then back to the bucket.
He had to be good. He had to survive this. He was going to beg, and play dead, and fetch the paper. It was his only option... he was going to be a real good boy for now, then he'd right all wrongs as soon as he was able. Behave, Mathew. Behave.

Yeah, right.

He looked up and spat the water into her face, unable to stop himself. He wasn't a maid. He wasn't anybody's clown. He wasn't letting anyone treat him like this!
He darted up and slipped again, falling to the floor, but he scrambled and made for the door.

Stupid! He thought, cursing himself, stupid idiot...

But it was too late now. He'd done it; now he just had to get out of here and change tack... maybe subservience would serve his purposes after all. However, they'd be on his terms. Mathew never had, and never would, be anybody's lapdog - he'd pretend to be a slave. But if anyone tried to make a fool of him again, he'd do worse than spit water in their face and be damned the consequences.