Locked up tight.

O-Ren pushed up the sleeve of her kimono and rubbed gingerly at one of the sites of injection, watching the bruise disappear for a moment or two, only to return with a slight sting. She couldn't find a bit of anger in herself about that. Part of her deeply wished that they had brought her down by bullet or blade instead.

The gaping ache inside should have an outer counterpart, she thought.

She couldn't bring herself to be grateful for the amount of forgiveness she'd been shown, nor angered by those who would not. Falling upon her sword had occurred to her as a neat and tidy end to all this, but she knew very well how it would upset Angua. And Dean and Ryan for that matter. They were likely the only ones, though.

A world where three people cared about her was preferable to the world where no one did. O-Ren decided she might like being imprisoned. Everyone knew how dangerous she was now, and there was a lot of peace and quiet. She could wear all the kimono she'd found in the clothing box, and the bits she'd recovered from her first self, and look out the window.

Amends would have to be made eventually, and she supposed it wasn't out of the question that someone might ask her to do the honorable thing. She would consider it, for their sake.

There was a sound at the door, and O-Ren looked up, hoping that it might be tea.