It's difficult to concentrate, not when he has that chain pulled tight around his neck - Todd takes the opportunity to be temporarily malicious, holding taut so that Jesse can't breathe, can barely see straight. His mouth opens in gasps, his fingers scrabbling at the chain around his neck, and Todd holds it just about up and until the red drains entirely from his face, when black's starting to edge itself around the edges of his vision and --
Jesse falls onto all fours with a sharp and ragged inhale, his nails curling against the ground, which hurts with so many of them missing from their beds but it's instinctive, it's terrified. He's scared to invoke Todd's sadistic side, do something against the rules and get himself worse than he has now. But Todd stands tall and steps forward, through Finch - he's just a memory, just a memory - and it's that one flaw in the system that has Jesse suddenly and desperately grasping his hand onto Finch's hand.
In an instant, they've flicked over again, blue edging at the sides of his vision as the drift bleeds through to another location, another memory, maybe.
It's a church.
Tall, vaulted ceilings, beautiful stained glass lying against the walls, rows of pews and a stage at the front, empty, with a podium and a few instruments set up on the platform. Christian rock music or some shit. Jesse's sitting very quietly on one of the pews, his arms folded on the wood in front of him. His fingers are bandaged, a bleed over from the last memory, as well as the purpling bruise around his neck, but they're out of that cage. Out of Todd's grasp. Sort of. He still seems to be grasping onto some of it in his mind, judging by the wounds.
He sits there quietly, staring up at the giant cross at the front of the room. He doesn't say a word.
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Jesse falls onto all fours with a sharp and ragged inhale, his nails curling against the ground, which hurts with so many of them missing from their beds but it's instinctive, it's terrified. He's scared to invoke Todd's sadistic side, do something against the rules and get himself worse than he has now. But Todd stands tall and steps forward, through Finch - he's just a memory, just a memory - and it's that one flaw in the system that has Jesse suddenly and desperately grasping his hand onto Finch's hand.
In an instant, they've flicked over again, blue edging at the sides of his vision as the drift bleeds through to another location, another memory, maybe.
It's a church.
Tall, vaulted ceilings, beautiful stained glass lying against the walls, rows of pews and a stage at the front, empty, with a podium and a few instruments set up on the platform. Christian rock music or some shit. Jesse's sitting very quietly on one of the pews, his arms folded on the wood in front of him. His fingers are bandaged, a bleed over from the last memory, as well as the purpling bruise around his neck, but they're out of that cage. Out of Todd's grasp. Sort of. He still seems to be grasping onto some of it in his mind, judging by the wounds.
He sits there quietly, staring up at the giant cross at the front of the room. He doesn't say a word.