(Hey Fever, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Transporter two but the evil gun slinging girl on there is probably the closest, you’ll find to what Jemmy looks like.)

Jeminai was confident again. Probably too confident as she leaned back against the counter. Her face had smooth skin even for someone in their twenties, except for the fact her nose was wrinkling. But her nose was only wrinkling because of the stench of the stomach bile on the floor and the face she was in the same room with one of them.

She was satisfied with what work was being done right up until he spit her kindness back in her face. Literally. She was just standing when the spit came flying back at her. Her face turned attempting to avoid the on slot. Unfortunately she took most of the crap in the cheek. Her upper lip immediately pulled up in disgust and she wiped away at her eye before any of the crud could drip in.

Mean while Mathew was scrambling for the door. Just as he was getting up from hitting the ground, Jeminai pulled out her remote that activated his collar and hit the button. Causing it to shock him again.

Was almost to the door! He didnt' think about the guards outside, he just wanted to get away from the nurse...
Freedom was drawing ever closer. He reached out a hand - Almost there!

He let out a surprised yelp as his body went rigid yet again, his head thrown back with force of the shock. His momentum didn't stop - he carried on, sliding across the floor yet unable to shield himself.
He hit his goal with a resounding bang, sliding down the face of the door limply, shuddering as the electricity passed through him.
He lay on the floor, looking at nothing, the very thoughts knocked from his mind.
An observer might say that he looked almost comical, if the sheer seriousness of his situation was not know. His eyes were wired and manic, his face flushed and rather ruddy. His hair, though relatively short, was a mass of seperate, distinct little hairs which stood out and wavered delicately.
He looked like he'd stuck his tongue in a plug socket.

Jeminai wiped her face off with a cloth at the sink. Then rinsing it out, and using it to start scrubbing away at her cheek. Spitting at the moisture around her mouth. Mathew had hit the door and she let go of the button when he hit the ground. Wasn’t her job to kill the mutant in mates. Well, It wasn’t her job to kill the mutant inhabitants on perpose.

“I’d say you have less then 30 seconds left to get yourself under control before your collar is turned back on.” Jeminai reminded him. “Maybe I should mention I’m not really a nurse, unless you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

When the collar stopped, he composed himself for a time and thought about his situation. He didn't bother trying to get up - he jus took some deep breaths and opened his eyes. He felt trapped. He felt like a fly who'd flittered around, straight into the spider's web.

“I’d say you have less then 30 seconds left to get yourself under control before your collar is turned back on. Maybe I should mention I’m not really a nurse, unless you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. A stupid fly. A very stupid fly indeed. He remembered what he'd thought this morning, before he'd arrived at the infirmary. Yes, he'd expected harsh treatment, hadn't he. He'd seen that from the other men, those who'd been here longer - bruised, beaten.
He wasn't going to be that man. Okay, so he'd tried asserting his dominance. He'd tried being himself... he knew now that Himself wasn't someone fit for this camp.
He altered his voice, making it soft, conceding.

"Okay," he said calmly, fully aware that she obviosly had control of the collar, "so what happens now?"
He wanted to know. He wanted to know what she wanted, why she'd bother pretending she was a nurse to get him into this room alone. Perhaps she was just a sadist. Perhaps she wasn't. The only wasy to find out was to ask.. but Mathew was good at two things. Being sneaky, and being sneakier. If it really did come down to him smiling and playing nice, that's what he'd do. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all... sure, he was used to greasing his way into the good graces of the powerful, of those more successful than him. Even as a much younger child, he'd been the one infiltrating the 'cool' groups - usually proceeding to destroy them from the inside. He'd since learned that there really wasn't any such thing as cool, or at least in his opinion. But playing the chimney sweep with an inferior? With a lowly... whatever she really was? This would be a test for him, certainly. Not becuase he found it hard to lie, but because he didn't know if his pride would let him do it... however, there was a certain wisdom in accepting his inferior status for the moment, and embracing it. Isn't that what the really clever people did in movies? Yes, that was it. They convinced people of their meagreness, then struck like a cobra when others were least expecting it.
He made a mental decision.
He shifted and lifted his torso, turning to lean on an elbow. He looked her straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, forcing the words out. It felt like he was regurgitating a cactus, "I've learned my place. I won't underestimate you again."

"Okay, so what happens now?"

Jeminai’s thin lips were pressed together so that they stuck out a little. Her head held in a ‘give me one reason, freak’ tilt. “First you will breath, then you will clean up your mess so that none of your room mates don’t have to.” Jeminai was being fair. This freak came in looking for trouble and causing trouble for his cell mates.

“After that we both go about our business. You listen to those pushing you about and keep your head down! You might just last a few more weeks before you’re put in the ground.” In her stern and disgusting way, even Jeminai had grown tired of the death count. Even letting herself grow close in the spectator watching the character on a soap opera way. But still close. So she was interfering with her daily soap’ story lines.

Suddenly Jeminai whipped across the back of her ear. Gahh! How did that bile spit get back there! As she did more was asked.

"I'm sorry, ma'am,"

Ha! Ma’am. Jeminai’s nose wrinkled ferther and her lip curled for an instant. Ma’am. An old lady name of respect. Respect but old nonetheless.

”I've learned my place. I won't underestimate you again."

Riiiiiiggghht. She didn’t take him as someone who was that smart. “Get scrubbing.”

He studied her for a little longer, still on the floor, before getting up. His head swam again, and he staggered a little, but he persevered and made his way back to the bucket.
He sneered. It was pointless pretending to be a nice guy now. So long as he did as he was told, he got the feeling she didn't really care if he wasn't exactly Mr. Congeniality.
The water in the bucket was putrid. He got back down on his knees and his hand hovered over the opening - he was having a mental battle with himself.

Just do it. Humble-pie doesn't taste that bad, surely.

He plunged his hand into the bucket and closed his eyes, frowning slightly. The water had little bits floating about in it, and for the life of him he couldn't work out what they were; they looked a little too colourful to have originated from the camp cuisine.
Nevertheless, he ignored them and pulled the sponge out of the bucket. He went on to start scrubbing the floor, keeping his eyes down and his temper in check. He'd heard the expression, "I wish I didn't get out of bed today.". He'd never quite understood that before, but now it seemed to be phrase-of-the-day. It seemed like days ago that he'd jumped from his bed, and he remembered the little ache he'd felt when he'd climbed down from the bunk. He remembered last night, writhing around on the bed. If he'd known, then, what he'd be doing today.. part of him felt sick. If he'd known that he'd be treated like a criminal anyway he'd never have laughed along with the sick guards. He'd never have bothered showing that pathetic nurse attention - in fact, if he'd known any of this he'd never have left England.
As he was scrubbing the floor, dipping the sponge in the bucket occasionally, he thought about what he'd heard. Who were these X-Men? Who were the other groups? He breathed in and began to speak.

"I've heard that there are groups in America," he said carefully, picking his words as if picking pasta from a boiling pot, "groups of... mutants."
He carried on dipping, scrubbing, dipping, scrubbing.

"I just wondered, are the camps not worried that these groups will take exception to mutants being subject to the govornments... hospitality?"
He hoped and prayed. If these X-Men were so great, perhaps they'd be breaking the rest of them out soon. Would they do that? Would they break the law? He wondered if he'd got it wrong... he also wondered if they weren't already planning some break-out.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here in the first place. The Asian boy looked around the hallway as he looked at the letter on his hand. It was a letter of conscription, though it was printed there as a letter of “Recommendation” from the relevant authority. He put it into the pocket under his white coat. He looked around as the people all ignored him. The identity card he clipped on the pocket of the white long coat they gave him did its work after all, since some of the large bulky guys with large guns merely scanned at his name tag and went away without interrogating him.

After heaving another sigh, he continued to walk aimlessly inside the walkway, absorbed in his own thoughts as he ignored the yelling, screaming from the camps not far away. He was supposed to go to the infirmary, but he thought it would be better to familiarize himself with his new surroundings first. But it was definitely a bad idea.

“Hey shorty, where’re ya goin? You’re not allowed here.” A loud voice boomed from behind. He turned around and wasn’t surprised to find a man in his army uniform looking down at him. The man scanned at the young Asian, his I.D., and then the grey metallic bracelet on his right wrist. Unfortunately, the sleeve couldn’t cover it even if he had tried to pull it over.

“So a mutie eh? Watch where you goin’ kid. Not everyone here tolerates your kind even if you’re a volunteer.” My kind? Aren’t we from the same species? And what did he meant by ‘volunteer’? He nodded and affirmed at the soldier’s remarks even though he couldn’t understand half of it.

“Sir, I’m a bit lost. Can you show me the way to the infirmary?” He asked as politely as possible. He felt the scorn from several mutants passing by, escorted by soldiers with weapons. He could see the fury in their eyes, their anger. He looked away as one of the soldiers knocked the end of his rifle at the mutant, yelling him to move quicker.

“Kid, see that door over there? That’s the infirmary.” The man pointed at a door not far away, but Colyn was clearly going to the opposite direction. He nodded and mumbled a ‘thank you’ and quickly made his escape. If mere stares could kill, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had died a thousand times over. To some mutants, voluntarily register is an act of surrender, an act that is not allowed by the mutant kind, for it was an act that showed weakness.

But for someone who has no way out…

He smiled bitterly as he approached the infirmary. He knocked on the door three times, and then he turned the door knob, pushed it over.

"I just wondered, are the camps not worried that these groups will take exception to mutants being subject to the governments... hospitality?"

He remained stun and silent as he stood beyond the doorway. He quickly absorbed the information that he had just gained. There are still mutants out there, organized, and they’re not registered. Who, he had no idea unfortunately.

He took a deep breath, took the letters and such from under his coat, and completed his entrance with the best smile he could muster, though he knew they would look… strange.

“Reporting for duty, ma’am. I am a volunteer and I was told to work in the infirmary. Here are the papers from the office.” He tried to finish the phrase as quick as possible.

(OOC - Okay, Colyn, I'm not sure if you've walked in on me and Jemmy so I'm just going to presume you have because you called her ma'am... lol BTW, Fever has made that mistake before.... let me know if you're not in our room and I'll delete this thread.)

Mathew looked up sharply as someone came through door. It was an asian guy, young.. skinny little thing, short. His hair was black and spiky with white highlights.

“Reporting for duty, ma’am. I am a volunteer and I was told to work in the infirmary. Here are the papers from the office.” He said in a rush, the words tumbling out like a vocal landslide.
Mathew sneered at him and wished the boy dead - how dare he walk in and see him like this, on the floor and scrubbing like a maid?
Nevertheless, he carried on scrubbing and composed his features and treated the newcomer to a sweet, honest smile, waving subtly with the sponge and hoping the the awful woman in the room wouldn't warn his fresh victim.

"Hello," Mathew said kindly, "welcome to the camps!"

He grinned a big, honest, 'genuine' smile.

(Hey Colyn. Just for the record, so far, Jeminai and Mathew are in an exam room separate from the rest of the infirmary. Gwendolyn and pit are in a different area.)

That water he was scrubbing with was getting grosser and grosser. Jeminai let her self suffer as long as she could with the sight of the stuff only for the fact that she knew she wasn’t the one who had to put her hand in the gunk. He did. Despite the discomfort of the smell there was comfort in the fact that he was getting the worst of it.

Finally she couldn’t stand the smell any longer and when he brought the spong out again to scrub the floor, Jeminai emptied the bucket and refreshed the water. This time adding two cap fulls of bleach to the contents and set the bucket back down. Hmmm He might have to scrub the sink too after this. Jemmy added that to the list in her head of things to have him do.

"I just wondered, are the camps not worried that these groups will take exception to mutants being subject to the governments... hospitality?"

“Of course there are concerns about that, but any mutant going against the laws that the government has set, has their work set out for them. Whether they are in a group or not.”

Someone new walked in. Jeminai scanned him for a collar or cuff and found one on his right arm. Good another mutated freak to join the party.

“Reporting for duty, ma’am. I am a volunteer and I was told to work in the infirmary. Here are the papers from the office.”

Jeminai took the paper work and scanned over it. “I’m not a nurse and will probably loose this before I get back to the right office.” She pushed the door open and pointed down the hall where Gwendolyn was sewing up another mutant’s injuries. “She would be down the hall in the mutants exam room. If you can’t find her just yell out her name. I’m sure someone will look up.”

Mathew glared at the woman as she turned her back on him to speak with the new recruit. He hated bleach. Didn't she know it was dangerous to use, without gloves? His eyes darted back to the box of rubber ones on the desk, but he wasn't going to risk another push on that remote of hers.
As he wiped up the last of the puke, he realised that her wallet was still on the floor. He looked back at her. She was pointing him in a new direction.
His hand darted out and he retrieved the little leather thing, flipping it open quickly.
Hm.. strange name. ?? so that's her natural colour? Must be, it 's there on her licence picture. She has the cheek to think I'm a freak... he absorbed all the knowledge he could from the case and placed it back on the floor, exactly where it had been, before she finished speaking with the new guy. Didn't hurt to be armed with a little knowledge, after all. It's better the Devil you know.
He plopped the sponge in the bucket and waited for her to return, planning on more questions.

(Thanks for telling me, Werecat)

The woman took the paper work and scanned over it as he stood there anxiously. “I’m not a nurse and will probably loose this before I get back to the right office.” Dang. He whispered in his mind. She pushed the door open and pointed down the hall. “She would be down the hall in the mutants exam room. If you can’t find her just yell out her name. I’m sure someone will look up.”

“Um, thank you ma’am.” He answered to her and trying hard to ignore the fact that there was another man on the floor with a wallet. “I’ll be sure to find her. Her name is Gwendolyn, correct? At least that was written in the small pieces of parchments. He hastily took the paperwork back from her and walked towards where his officer was supposed to be.

As soon as he reached another section of giant camp, he looked around nervously to try to find Gwendolyn. He had no idea how she looked like though, but it would be impolite to just scream out, especially when there were still a few people around.

After standing like a statue for a moment, he gave up on waiting. I'm so going to get punished by this...

"Excuse me, do you know where Miss Gwendolyn is?" He asked the first person he saw.

[OOC: The first person can be anyone...]

Haddix was glad to hear someone who wasn't so pessimistic for once. He wasn't decidedly optimistic about it, but there was nothing that pitching a bitch about any of the current situation could do about it. It wasn't exactly like the people running this camp would read a petition for better food or new mattresses.

“Oh, right. And what’s your name?”

His head picked up a bit. Last time he'd been asked that question was when he was signing up for a fight, and that was 4 months ago. "Alan Haddix. I'd shake your hand, but..." he let his voice trail off. idiot. that was a lame joke. He looked around the room, his mind wandering. He'd heard the whispers around the camp. Secret conversations of daring rescues. So far, he hadn't seen anything to back it up. Was yesterday's attempt the best they could do? he thought. He was surprised to see so many mutants in the same place all at once, let alone to hear about all sorts of secret organizations. The "X-Men", the "Order", He sure hoped that these secrets held sway; the life of Alan Haddix hadn't been much before coming to the camp, but it sure as hell was better than what he'd experienced for the last month.

The blonde woman looked at him, looked carefully at his ID and finally pointed to another direction. He nodded and whispered a thank you as he walked away towards his destination. He took a deep breath as another scene entered his view. A woman with long brown hair stood beside her patient, wait, woman?

The woman stood about as tall as him, probably a bit taller though. Her black hair flowed down her shoulder effortlessly, and she looked back at the nurse who pointed him there, she nodded with affirmation before she returned to her work. That was Gwendolyn, his superior and officer that he would be reporting to from now on.

“At least she looked Asian.” He joked, trying to calm himself down and reduce the tension. The last time he felt this waswhen he was giving a presentation back in high school. High school seemed to be so… far away now.

He approached her, overhearing a few words from the patient beside her. He couldn’t quite catch the whole phrase but at least the name entered his ear. Alan Haddix. That name didn’t ring a bell. As soon as he entered talking distance with the doc. He managed to catch a glimpse of her name tag. She was right. He smiled to her and took out the paperwork from his coat once again. They were getting wrinkled.

“Miss Gwendolyn, I am a volunteer and I was told to work in the infirmary. Here are the paperwork and the working permit.” He handed her the papers. “I know I am supposed to arrive earlier but I got a bit lost since this is my first time here. I apologize for that.”

Alan's head perked up at the sound of the man's voice. "Volunteer? Who the fuck would volunteer at a place like this?" He resisted the urge to run his hands over his scalp and instead ran his tongue over his teeth and gums and raised an eyebrow. There was something about the man. It was something Haddix had seen in scores of fighters. He'd seen it in the most seasoned of boxers who aren't sure what they're up against the first time they see a tough guy with a Marilyn Monroe tattoo on his chest. He'd seen it in every kid who stepped into a cage against him. At one time, he'd even seen it in his own eyes, before his first ever match.

He's nervous.

Maybe it was his time in the camps. Maybe it was his time away from home. He wasn't sure. The voice in his head didn't sound at all like his own. He figured it wasn't anyone else; the collars were supposed to help with that. nah, he thought in a voice that sounded much more like his own, must be the time put in here that's getting to me.

"Volunteer? Who the fuck would volunteer at a place like this?" He stepped back as he heard the… comment made by the man. He could only smile bitterly as he took a deep breath to calm himself further down. The man was impulsive, but he could understand though. He wouldn’t want to come to this kind of place if he weren’t forced to. He’d seen what those machines they called Stalkers could do. Messing up right now would mean…

“Volunteering is just window dressing. I’ve been… ‘recommended’ if you know what I mean.” He replied him with a dry voice but his eyes were looking somewhere… the floor. “Things outside were no longer as they used to, I’m afraid. Mutants have to deal with the enforcers at every turn to just survive.”

Yes. Things definitely took a bad turn but I must stand my ground if I were to ever see her again.

He let out a sigh and recomposed himself. He wasn’t quite… alright these past few weeks. Things he had been pretty much ignoring had caught up with him.