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Who: Judas Iscariot, open
What: After talking with Kurt about Christian rituals (specifically Communion), he needs to sing to release his aaaaaaangst.
When: Saturday evening, a couple hours after dinner.
Where: The dining hall
Warnings: Singing, angsting, Judas things.

Judas had spent a good portion of his day in his room, writing in his journal, replying to others. Sexby hadn't given him a job aboard the ship and as such had time on his hands. It had been a few hours since his discussion with Kurt about Communion and the Apostle found that he had become only more and more agitated as time passed. Ever since the beginning of Lent, he'd had the Christian rituals and occasions pushed on him more and more; his past and his crime coming up more and more during conversation. He wanted to talk with his warden, to ask Sexby if he would be forced to attend Confession for his resolution of graduating by Easter, if he would need to convert to a religion he didn't believe in to be considered redeemed. But, instead of addressing the issue, the Apostle decided to vent his frustrations another way. He quietly looked around the dining hall as he made his way in, glad that it seemed deserted for now.

"Is anyone here?" he asked cautiously, his voice echoing around the empty space.

When no answer arrived back, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him. He picked a little at the gauze wrapped around his arms, trying to keep his anxiety down as he looked to the door as he moved silently into the room. With one last precautionary look around, he began his song, ( "Prayer for the Dying" by Seal)

"Fearless people,
Careless needle.
Harsh words spoken,
And lives are broken.
Forceful ageing,
Help me I'm fading.
Heaven's waiting,
It's time to move on.
Crossing that bridge,
With lessons I've learned.
Playing with fire,
And not getting burned.
I may not know what you're going through.
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
Life carries on... it goes on.
Just say die,
And that would be pessimistic.
In your mind,
We can walk across water.
Please don't cry,
It's just a prayer for the dying.
I just don't know what's got into me.
Been crossin' that bridge,
With lessons I've learned.
Playing with fire,
And not getting burned.
I may not know what you're going through,
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
There is a light through that window
Hold on say yes, while people say no
Life carries on
Ohh!
It goes on....oh-ee-oh, whoa-ee-oh ho oh...
I'm crossing that bridge,
With lessons I've learned....
I'm playing with fire,
And not getting burned....
I may not know what you're going through.
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
There is a light through that window.
Hold on say yes, while people say no
Cause life carries on....oh-ee-oh, whoa-ee-oh ho on...
It goes on....oh-ee-on,
It goes on.
Whoa.
Whoa.
Life carries on.
When nothing else matters.
When nothing else matters.
I just don't know what's got into me.
It's just a prayer for the dying.
For the dying."

With a sigh of relief, he sank down into the nearest chair and buried one hand in his hair.

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McCoy stepped in near the end of the song, brow raising. The voice was familiar alright, though not a recent familiarity. It had been a long time since he heard Judas sing, something he probably should have been thankful for but found himself more concerned over than anything. The suicide attempt had only strengthened that feeling.

He let Judas finish, standing by the door and watching him plop down to one of the chairs before walking in himself.

"Back to old habits I see." He said as he approached, one eyebrow still lifted in Judas's direction.

Judas hadn't heard McCoy coming in and, as such, jumped when he heard the sound of his neighbor's voice. He quickly swiveled around in his seat to face the doctor, a little stunned at the sight of the man. He hadn't really wanted or expected anyone to be here with him in the dining hall.

"Doctor," he stated quietly in greeting, his blue eyes still bright with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

He was tempted to go try somewhere else, to find some other place to sing and release his emotions.

"What do you think kid, I need to eat too." McCoy answered. "Though the lot of you like to cause enough trouble that I'm to busy to bother with a normal schedule half the time." He huffed slightly.

The kid didn't look too pleased, or at least he looked a little surprised, enough for McCoy to shake his head. "Don't go getting yourself worked up either, as irritating as the constant performances were it's good to hear you singing again instead of causing trouble." Or trying to kill himself. McCoy wasn't sure he should address that, more tact than he usually showed for people.

Judas looked a little puzzled at McCoy's words but a slight smile pulled at the edge of his mouth as he regarded his neighbor. It had taken some working up, but he'd finally told his warden that he needed to sing. He was out of cigarettes and the addiction of a few weeks had waned just as quickly as it had arrived. Singing is what helped to soothe him, to allow him to vent frustration he felt toward his situation on the Barge.

"I won't stop you from eating," he stated quickly with that same slight smile. "or cause any trouble."

The Apostle shifted so he sat more squarely at the table where he usually sat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Good man." McCoy answered, glancing at the kitchens before belatedly looking back to Judas. "Don't mind some company, would you?" He asked. Hell, why not, it was better than sitting and eating alone with his own thoughts.

Judas shifted and watched McCoy a little, confused as to why the doctor would want him for company but nodded as he replied, "I wouldn't mind."

Now that he thought about it, he didn't want to be alone anyway with his thoughts. There was too much wondering about his warden and what redeeming himself would entail, especially with so many different interpretations of good on the Barge. The Puritan was patient beyond measure but, as Judas had seen, not everyone else did.

"I'll be here." he motioned toward the kitchen.

McCoy nodded and went to get his food, returning a few moments later with a light huff as he sat down. "Still with the sandwiches I see. If I wasn't sure my inmate would try to poison us all I'd send him down here to help out." He said, picking up his glass.

He glanced back at Judas, pausing a moment before speaking. "How's your neck?"

Judas shifted again at the mention of his neck, as he'd mostly been avoiding the subject around most people. It wasn't something to discuss with other people. But, he figured the doctor was doing so from a medical standpoint.

"Less sore, the marks on my neck have faded," he replied as he watched McCoy pick up his glass. "Are we supposed to work here in the kitchen? Inmates?"

McCoy glanced at his neck, nodding with what he saw. He did notice the shifting and took a drink from his glass, letting the subject drop for his warden to pick up, or someone more suited at least. It wasn't like Judas looked like he was going downhill, if anything the singing made his seem a little more himself.

"From what I gather it's a job for the inmates alone." He answered. "I know Rube's in charge of it, guess he figures that inmates are the ones who need something productive to do."

Judas looked up at McCoy from where he sat across from him. Sexby hadn't mentioned any jobs yet but what the doctor said made sense to him. There was, after all, the saying that idle hands were the devil's hands. But, while he wasn't quite alright with being unproductive, he didn't want to work in the kitchen with the technology he'd only seen in passing. That could mean disaster on several levels.

"Where else are inmates supposed to work?" he asked quietly with a little curiosity in his voice.

McCoy sat back, expression thoughtful. "Custodial duties from what I understand, one or two work in Security and we have about four working as support care in the Infirmary." He answered. "Other than that I couldn't say. Not enough people work around here if you ask me, and idle hands are the devil's playground."

Judas nodded as he leaned forward on his right hand, feeling a little less uncomfortable about talking with his neighbor, as McCoy had been nothing but helpful and grumpy since they became neighbors in the first place. The Apostle considered thanking him for in some fashion one day.

"I see more posts about being bored than I do about doing anything useful," he agreed as he regarded the doctor. "Do inmates work in the Infirmary?"

"Sometimes it's like being on a ship full a children." McCoy said dryly. He had gotten over the fact he had conversations with Judas Iscariot a while ago, as hard fought a battle as that had been. The fact the kid (calling Judas of the Bible a kid, even he could see the irony in that) was actually decent conversation compared to some of the nutcases around was more a pleasant surprise since day one.

"A few. Lewis and Aleera are two of them, mostly take care of the smaller duties- cleaning up, dealing with non medical patient requests. We teach them basic first aid if they don't know any, and during some of the disasters they'll be allowed to dress wounds if we need the hands.

Judas couldn't help the slight smile that spread across his face at the mention of the Barge being full of children. His warden, Sexby, had accused him of such a thing prior but the Apostle's attempts to get the Puritan's attention in the past had been mostly unsuccessful. Despite his talk of not wanting to attract attention to himself, he thrived on the attention of others, on people noticing details about his behavior and drawing conclusions from those rather than him needing to outright say anything.

"Do you have to be able to write in English?" the Apostle asked curiously, as he had little experience in said practice; his handwriting was atrocious in Hebrew, much more in English.

McCoy considered this, running his hand over his jaw. "The wardens usually take care of inventory, Martha's in charge of the files as a whole. It wouldn't be necessary to be able to write, though you'd have to be sure to make note of what you use from the gauze and general supplies and tell someone who can write it down. Same for anything you notice that should be noted on a patient's file."

He raised his brow at Judas. "I take it you're interested in a job there kid? You'd have to talk to that Warden of yours but I'd be willing to take you. You have a better record than that damned Aleera for one." He grumbled, picking up his drink. "Constant headache with half of them, makes you wonder how some of these people know their head from their ass."

Judas nodded, a spark of pride rising in his chest at McCoy's words. At least with his small group of friends, honesty and loyalty had little value but were two virtues that the Apostle particularly subscribed to. While Sexby acknowledged these from time to time, it felt wonderful to hear that same recognition from someone who didn't have to talk to him for whatever reason.

"Thank you," his smile widened as he sat up a little straighter. "I could ask Sexby about it. He hasn't assigned me to anything and... having something to do would be nice."

McCoy waved a hand at the thanks, though if he were a less generally grumpy man the smiling might have been contagious. "I'll need him to vouch for you but considering you're one of the few sensible ones around here I doubt it'll be much of a problem. You'll need some basic training in first aid when we get you started too, Peter usually takes care of the inmates there. You don't have a problem with any of the Infirmary workers I should know about, do you?"

Judas's smile faded some from his face at the mention of Infirmary workers he had a problem with. He doubted there were few who didn't know of his outright hate for most women and, especially, Dr. Martha Jones. He was still very much convinced that she had tried to kill him with her mystical 'Tylenol.' But, Sexby had encouraged the Apostle to apologize to her at some point for his abhorrent behavior following her torture and death. Perhaps this could help him reach graduation if he saw her more every day. If nothing else, it would give him plenty of opportunity to make said apology, even if his opinions didn't change.

"I'm working on that," he replied quietly. "with my warden. I have issues with Martha."

McCoy's brow rose at that. "Martha?" He found it hard that anyone could hate Martha, the woman was a damned saint when it came to patience. He had seen a little of Judas's contempt for the fairer sex but it was still a bit of a surprise. He made a mental note to talk to Martha about it as he shrugged. "Are you going to cause problems with her if you have a shift together?" He asked blatantly.

Judas shook his head as while his own personal biases were his own and, if nothing else, being around Sexby had helped him to keep those opinions a little more quiet as long as he didn't become intoxicated. Unless she provoked him, the Apostle had little plans to mention her gender at all especially since McCoy was taking a chance on him.

"No, I won't cause problems," he replied, affirming his point even further.

McCoy eyed him but nodded, resting his elbows on the table. "Good, because that's not something I can abide by. Even if it weren't Martha, who is a damned good doctor, we have enough fighting out here without bringing it in there." He said. "I'll talk to Martha too. Something tells me she'll agree, damn patient woman that one."

Judas nodded again before repeating, "I won't cause problems." He regarded the doctor seriously, as the Apostle needed something to do on the Barge that he could find some joy in. This night had been the first time he had sang in a long while and even then he didn't feel completely relieved.

"Good man." McCoy said. "You'll have a swift kick in the ass coming your way if you do." He continued, accent strengthening a bit despite himself. "After losing Shinzon we could use a good worker, and the last thing any of us need is more drama." They had far too much of it in the past months. McCoy still couldn't get the mirror verse out of his head.

He shifted, picking up his glass again. That was an avenue none of them needed to go down. "What were you singing?" He asked. He had a feeling it wasn't Judas's preferred topic of conversation but he couldn't help but be curious where the kid got his material from.

Judas frowned a little at the threat, as violence didn't sit well with the Apostle even if there were an explanation for it. He'd seen his share of it in an occupied Israel and since arriving on the Barge, he'd been even more exposed to it, which made keeping to his non-violent principles more and more difficult every day. But, at the doctor's change of subject, Judas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He honestly hadn't meant for anyone to hear him singing as the song was meant for Jesus. It was the first he'd honestly thought of his former friend in the past few weeks.

"I've been collecting sheet music I find in the library," he explained, a little nervous as it certainly sounded like he'd been stealing it. "The song was 'Prayer for the Dying' by Seal."

He didn't know who Seal was but didn't particularly care; what mattered were the lyrics.

Edited 2010-02-26 19:43 (UTC)

Brian heard him singing as he was strolling by, and decided to duck in. He wondered if this had been the man he'd spoken to about singing before.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said softly, dropping into the seat across from Judas with a lightly playful smile.

Judas frowned over at Brian, uncertain what to think of the boy's arrival. He hadn't been expecting anyone to be around to hear him, much less someone he'd talked to about singing in the first place.

"I'm finished," he stated seriously, picking at the edge of his sleeve.

"I've found that one is never finished singing," he said seriously, resting his head on his hand as he regarded Judas.

Judas watched Brian closely for a few minutes, tried to interpret what the boy meant. But the Apostle hated cryptic sayings and as such couldn't help a raise of his eyebrow.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, hoping for a straight answer.

"Well.. if there's music in your heart, you can't help but sing." A beat. "Even if no one can hear you."

Judas picked at the sleeve of his duster, a little put off by Brian's words.

"I don't want anyone to hear me," he attempted to explain.

"Why not?" he asked. It was clear he didn't understand even the concept of keeping music to yourself.

"It wasn't meant for other people," he half-explained, but didn't want to get into the details of the matter. He'd meant the song for Jesus and for no one else's ears.

Brian frowned, leaning towards Judas a bit. "That's awfully selfish of you."

Judas looked puzzled at Brian, unsure of just how 'selfish' it was when he didn't want to disrupt others with his ballads. He knew how much he'd irritated his neighbor the first few months he'd been here on the Barge.

"I'm courteous," he replied, eyebrows furrowed.

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I'm so sorry, I sort of lost the notif in a flood of other notifs :<

Tooootally fine. I've been ignoring most of my tags all day. Hrrrr.

lol, one of those days huh?

Hahahaha, oh yeah.

I hope it gets better man~

Thank you~

np~

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Sorry, this one escaped my inbox. DD:

quite alright, lovey <3

<3!