#yv; don't wanna be free

[theauthorlives]

@wisteriagrcve liked the starter call!

-

The room dedicated to the prison library was quiet, as it ought to be.

That is, at least, until there was a loud groan followed by the sound of a head lightly thumping against a table.

"Kittyyyy," Yancy lamented with his face against the wood, "This reading essay thing is so boring. Why's you making me do this?" There was a sigh as he turned his head to the side to face her. "Ain't there something easier to do? Something with pictures?"

[theauthorlives]

Henrik might be a 'square' by definition, but that didn't make him bad company for Yancy. He liked Henrik, especially since Henrik valued him as a person rather than looking down on him like some of the other volunteers and external staff - they never meant to, but it was hard to miss when it happened.

Yancy gave a playful shrug, as though he was only realising what Henrik meant. However, it came at the cost of him not actually being able to stall for time any further. A sigh escaped his lips as he slumped against the ladder frame.

"I dunno, Doc. It's like... Yeah, I've had chances but..." A second sigh slipped out as he adjusted his position again. This time, he pulled one leg up so he could rest his chin against his knee. He was stalling again, but it was more like a struggle to word what was in his head.

"When I do it, I only sees the bad things. Them things youse don't wanna see. And it's like... I don't know how I is meant to feel good 'bout any of... That. I know last time youse told me that I - that wasn't broken. I remember, and I made sure to tell myself that." He wasn't sure whether any of this answered the question. "But it's hard when..." Once more, he hesitated as he tapped his finger against his knee. "When youse has been... You know. Forgettable."

In Happy Trails, he was aware that he had a small group that cared for him, but it was still not enough to overrule his upbringing.

henrik humored minor banter as much as he could , especially with this position . most that were mentally unwell and within cell walls didn't necessarily WANT to talk about their problems with some 40-something , square , nobody they've never met . fair enough . yet , yancy more often than not was willing to talk . let it be the mundane or the extreme , with a little bit of prodding he would open up about things he possibly never had before with another person . the trust did not go unnoticed with a man such as henrik , not with his occupation . the brunet was patient in the moment , but knew they would have to dig deeper once their session officially started .

" absolutely , v'ould much raz'her have SOME entertainment z'han none . could easily been driven mad in a place like z'his v'ithout somes'hing to pass the time . " a soft chuckle emits from closed lips , pen tapping rhythmically against the clipboard as he listened over the rather short answer he was provided . henrik can't help but smile , something a bit toothy and lopsided . it was a valiant effort truly , almost had the doctor there if not for his time weathered wit . " z'hat's not v'hat i mean , yancy . i know you cannot explore beyond these confines physically , sorry if i didn't make my question clear . " his tone holds no malice , icy eyes noting the clock's time . five minutes until their hour started .

" allow me to rev'ord myself , " those eyes come back to yancy's face , a pale finger pressing his glasses snug to the bridge of his nose . " have you had any chances to look inside yourself and s'hink over z'he topics v'e discussed ? have you come to any sort of peace or understanding v'ith the feelings you've buried over z'he years ? "

[theauthorlives]

@intoshards - Yancy is literally asking for an ass kicking with this attitude I stg

-

Any logical person would know to be careful. Dark was not someone to be messed with. This was a being with 'DANGER' almost written in clear red-and-blue imprints around him. Any logical person would have seen the sharp glare, heard the ominous tone, and backed off - maybe adding an apology for going too far. Why would any logical person feel like they could stand toe-to-toe with a creature with claws and a weapon for a tail?

The simple answer was this: Yancy was not a logical person.

If anything, he was peeved at Dark. He didn't see the warning signs. Rather, he felt he was being confronted by someone oozing authority and lauding over how much better she was than him, just like everyone else. It wasn't something that was delegated to 'human' or 'not-entirely-human'. Apparently, it was a universal trait when it came to interacting with an incarcerated person.

(Plus, the lack of a proper hair brushing really took away from the scariness in Yancy's eyes.)

He took a moment to mockingly look around the cell as though he had only realised for the first time where he was.

"Youse is kidding me! Is that what I did to get in here? I thought it was my rampant tax evasion." Sarcasm dripping from his voice, he turned to look Dark in the eye. "Don't see how my circumstances change what I said. How does me being a murderer make it any less true that youse walks 'round with a stick up youse's ass and a need to be validated and praised?"

[theauthorlives]

@stageplayhero liked the starter call!

-

Yancy decided to pay Mark a visit during rec time. Ever since his partner left, Mark kept to himself. If Yancy knew anything about self-imposed isolation, it was that it wasn't good in the long-term. Company of some sort helped the mind. When he arrived, he discovered the other prisoner writing in a notebook. Naturally, this was swiped so Yancy could see if it was anything interesting.

He hopped onto the bottom bunk as he flipped through the pages. "Hey, so. Youse is some sorta... Actor, right? Wouldn't that mean youse would have a whole shitton of cash? Why was youse stealing that box thing? Trying to get ideas for some sorta movie?"

[theauthorlives]

@starsadored liked the starter call!

-

Yancy had been finishing up his shift mopping the floors when he was approached by the Warden. Ordinarily, that was never a good sign. In the moments leading up to the Warden opening his mouth, Yancy's mind ran at a hundred miles an hour as he frantically tried to think about what could have possibly landed him in trouble, but there was nothing. How could there be? He was keeping out of trouble! He was trying to get to things on time! He had even walked away instead of throwing fists on two separate occasions. Two!

Firm hands slapped his shoulders, and Yancy had to suppress a wince.

"Congratulations, Yancy! You've been picked!"

The greaser's panic dissolved into confusion. "F-for what?"

"For the nationwide penpal project! Happy Trails and a buncha other incarceration facilities have teamed up with schools right around th' country to encourage kids of all ages to get back into writing! An' you've been chosen as one of the participants!"

"Warden? Not to sound ungrateful or nothing, but I, uh, my reading an' writing's pretty shitty."

"Both of which are skills you'll need once you start looking into your future, son. Now," another slap on the shoulders annunciated this, "Off ya go back to th' cell. A letter writin' kit and the details of who you're writing to are all there waiting for ya."

Yancy sighed. There was no point trying to argue with the Warden once he had an idea to set in motion. A letter would have to be written.

-

to Cassie, i was told you is going to be my penpal for some sort of writing thing.

Yeesh. Already, Yancy felt awkward writing this. At least he could keep it short-ish. The letter would be checked by prison officials to make sure everything was above board, given the intended recipient, and all he could do was hope none of them would make comments on this later.

my names yancy. im an inmate in happy trails pennete pennyte prison down in texas. pretty far from illinois, right? whats it like there? i was from ohio but i had never been out of the state til i came here. texas aint worth the hype. its really hot. where we are is a place that dont get a lot of wind so you have to hope the shade wont be too hot neither.

Yancy paused, squinting at the information sheet left with the writing pack. There was a section provided for suggested topics to ask about. It might be a good way to finish the letter.

do you got a favorite subject? i liked music. dont feel you gotta write back straight away or nothing. its ok if you is busy. yancy.

Once the letter was sealed and addressed, he put it in the designated posting area. Who knows? Maybe the kid would think all this was a ridiculous concept and would never write back. That would be great!

[theauthorlives]

What was it about this scene? Why didn't it simply fade to black once the main character left? How was there a world that was able to function - and still make sense despite the vague setting? None of these questions were something that ever crossed Yancy's mind since, as far as he was concerned, this world was real.

He scoffed in amusement at Mark's answer. "It's a lesson all of us gotta learn at some point. You gives the impression that you ain't used to meeting people like us who's in prison. Least one punch ain't that bad. Once youse is checked that you got no concussion or anything bad, youse'll be able to get back to youse's cell."

The off-hand insult hit Mark hard, it seemed. He stated his case as a brag, and Yancy couldn't help but slowly raise an eyebrow and gesture around them. "Youse got in, yeah, but getting out's the hard part. But hey, it ain't gonna be that bad. Assuming you didn't do more shit, then that'd be... 'bout five months? Ain't too bad, really." He hummed, tilting his head to one side, then the other.

"Oh shit, really?" The revelation of the box's goal made Yancy whistle. "Must've been one of them things youse can sell for real cash. Didn't feel all that heavy to me." If anything, it felt empty. Must have been some weird historical thing. Mark's question, however, made Yancy shrug and give a smile that was a clear 'you got me' signal.

"What can I say? They seemed like they had something special out there that they's wanted to get back to. But, uh, what 'bout you? You okay with they's, ehh, ditching you?" Yancy might have thought Mark weird but... It was awkward when he thought about it. "Youse didn't have no sorta spat or nothing?"

Punch first, ask questions later? That certainly sounds accurate, but… it feels as though it could also imply more backstory to an extra than Mark has come to expect. Perhaps it isn’t so strange. The narratives do appear to take on a life of their own, occasionally.

The fact that Yancy is here, not following the script, speaks enough to that fact.

What is he supposed to do? The viewer must have hit an ending already, enough time has passed. He could get up and walk out if he so chose. Cut. End scene.

And yet, this has never happened. It’s curious.

So he groans in pain, and gingerly touches his face. “Yeah. If I’d had known that, I wouldn’t have stood so close.” To Jimmy, or the wall, who’s to say? “And who are you calling stupid? Could a stupid person have broken into a high security museum?” Ignoring the whole getting caught part — which wasn’t his fault, he’ll have you know!

The viewer made it out. How would his character react? With relief, that his partner in crime got their freedom? Or with betrayal, that they had left him behind? Maybe the emotional value is worth the performance. Mark relaxes with a soft exhale, leaning back into the pillow. “I… good. And yeah. That box was going to change our lives.” Free as a bird, huh? It’s clear to anyone who knows the storyline who helped the viewer escape, but he squints at Yancy in appraisal. “Did you…?”

[theauthorlives]

Monologue - Father's Day

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The grumbling from the greaser was reminiscent of musical timing as the bounces from the small ball hit the wall, the floor, and landed back in his hand.

It was Visitation Day, and Yancy had intended to spend the free time in his cell, armed with just a tennis ball that one of the guards had snuck in for him to borrow today. He sat on the bottom bunk and, after pushing the small table aside, had a clear aim of the wall opposite him. A half-hearted throw was more than enough to hit the wall, yet still provide enough momentum to give a bounce high enough for him to catch it.

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

By right, the tennis ball was contraband, but the older staff knew that today was an exception:

Visitation Day fell on Father's Day.

It happened every year. For many prisoners, it was the one day they looked forward to most in the summer. Fathers were permitted to have a longer time with their kids, and they were brought out to the main rec yard that was specially decorated for families to spend time together. It was a positive aspect of the rehabilitation process, Warden Murder-Slaughter had once explained. If a father could see the life he was missing out on, it would give him motivation to work toward parole and making a better life for himself.

(Of course, he also insisted the same on Mother's Day, although that fell on the second Sunday of May.)

Yancy was not the only prisoner in Happy Trails with a difficult family life. However, he was the only one presently incarcerated for murdering his parents. Not only that, this was the only day that he needed the extra eye on him.

Mother's Day was fine. He could make a passing gesture to mark the day and then bury his head in other tasks for the rest of the day.

But Father's Day...? That was always a difficult one, even from childhood.

--

--

"Now then, class. How is everyone doing with their Father's Day cards?"

A cacophony of excited chattering rose up in the room as all the 8 year olds tried to get their teacher's attention. Using a design on the board as inspiration, they were all encouraged to draw them and their dad or male guardian doing something they enjoy together. Some children drew sport scenes, others drew people playing video games, others even drew them walking a dog together.

One child still had an empty page, and this caught the teacher's attention. She walked over and gently tapped the child on the shoulder.

"You struggling to come up with ideas?" Her voice was soft as she crouched down to the boy's eye level.

"Mmm... Yeah..." He didn't lift his head to look at her. Instead, he was focused on arranging his colouring pencils into shapes.

"Well... What have you and your father done lately?" The teacher knew it was going to be a difficult answer. This child in particular had been uncomfortable with the topic of Father's Day, but nothing was on his record about a bad family life. If anything, the principal's only comment was that the father was particularly stern about his son's so-called laziness.

(The teacher wanted to argue that the boy did genuinely struggle in some areas, but she was in no position to overrule either her boss or the child's parents.)

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Don't do anything at home."

Ordinarily, the teacher would try to prompt further suggestions from her students, but she couldn't shake her hunch that this would be a bad idea. "Well, why don't you write 'Happy Father's Day' in bubble writing?"

It wasn't an ideal solution, but he couldn't go home empty-handed.

-

The house was buzzing with activity as the whole family arrived for Father's Day. Only the little boy and his older sister still lived at home, and the older two had moved out for lives of their own. They all sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and chatting about recent happenings.

The youngest sat on the bottom step, holding the hand-drawn card tightly with both small hands. Nerves had crinkled the page, and panic in trying to fix it only resulted in a small tear on the back. He didn't want to do this, but his teacher had said it had been so nice that anyone would like it.

And if she meant that, well... Maybe his dad would like it.

"Hey... Pa?"

He had shuffled into the room, wincing when everyone turned around to look at him. having five adults and teenagers giving you their full attention was nothing short of terrifying. But he had made it this far, he couldn't back down now. "Happy Father's Day. I made you this." The card was presented with both hands.

Sure, it wasn't as pretty as the cards that were bought, but there was still time put into it. There was no present either, but his mother never asked if he wanted to go to the store to buy anything.

(He was eight years old. It wasn't like he had a lot of money to his name.)

Silence.

His father skimmed the card and placed it on the table in the span of ten seconds.

"Is that everything?" A monotonous question broke the awkward silence. Yancy peered up, wide-eyed, at his father.

"I-I, uh, I don't have anything else -"

"Good. Go back to your room."

"Yes, pa."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, in the hope that someone would comment on his card.

"He did a good job with that card. The colouring's getting better." The sound of the sister closest in age could be heard.

"He forgot the apostrophe in 'Father's'."

Ah. Of course the only comment his father would make was finding the flaws. He didn't know why he bothered waiting to hear. Disheartened, he trudged back upstairs and climbed into bed. What else was worth doing today after that?

--

--

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The rhythm had increased. He was throwing the tennis ball faster. Every year as a child, he had tried to do something that he father might actually like. It was never good enough. At least his mother could lie and pretend she liked the art project he had to make in school.

"One, two and - and..."

He caught the ball, and his grip tightened on it. The urge to fling it at full strength and break something nearly consumed him, but he managed to pull himself back at the last moment.

"Fuck."

The tennis ball dropped on the drop as he fell back into the bottom bunk. He couldn't stick being alone today, but there was no one he felt comfortable spending the time with.

"Fuck this..."

[theauthorlives]

A package arrived for Yancy. Unsuspecting and small, but the brown and slightly stained packaging meant it had come from a great distance … and it could only be assumed what distance from.

Underneath the packaging was a box, unsurprisingly. Said box had a note tacked to it —

Hopefully this arrives in time. Postal services here never seem to be reliable in their reliability. Hopefully this can settle the debate … the big part, at least. The smaller package is only for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, songbird. ~ Illinois

As promised, proof for the gang to see Illinois’ undoubted profession as an ‘adventuring type’ — a set of geodes, a couple of old coins, and what must be a small fossil set into a rock; all of which were pieces from one of his most recent expeditions.

As promised in the note, there was a smaller item, wrapped in cloth and tied with a string. Untying the string and unfolding the fabric revealed a stone tied to a string — a necklace, carrying a smooth piece of yellow jasper, masterfully intertwined with the string itself.

[ @scriptedstories ! ]

@scriptedstories (A continuation from here)

-

It was a surprise for Yancy to be handed a package during the morning mail run. Immediately, all members swarmed over to take a nosy peek over his shoulder. Yancy didn't have friends on the outside. Who was this from??

"Would youse all fuck off for a sec? It's probably from Illinois to prove he's a proper adventure guy." Thankfully, the order had the others return to their seats, but all eyes were still on him as he revealed the box and the note on top. Before anyone else could see it, he snatched it away so he knew what exactly to expect.

At the very least, it had seemingly arrived on time, and Yancy was glad he was able to hold a neutral expression at the Valentine's message paired with the 'songbird' nickname that Illinois kept using.

"Hey, Yance?" Bam-Bam waved a hand in front of the greaser's face, bringing him back to the present. "Is it all good?"

"Oh, it's good alright," Yancy grinned as he opened the box. Like magpies, the various gang members snatched up different items to examine and talk about. Nothing looked fake. The crystals in the geodes sparkled under the heavy-duty canteen lights, the coins clinked together when rattled, and the fossil had a proper weight and rocky texture to it. How on earth did one man get a hold of these?

So caught up in the mystery was everyone, they had neglected to spot the discreetly wrapped item at the very bottom that almost blended in with the base of the box. But Yancy had spotted it, and he quickly pulled it out while everyone was distracted. As a precaution, he moved the box as well to try and hide the little cloth bundle so he could try and open it without the nosy parkers butting their way in.

It was a necklace. The rope was heavy quality and was knotted in a way to allow the length to be adjusted without untying anything. He recognised the gemstone as yellow jasper. Wasn't that the same kind that he and Illinois had spotted at one point when trying to reunite the prisoner with the rest of the road-cleaning squad? He had vague recollections of mentioning that he preferred earthen colours and... Somehow Illinois had remembered that.

Jewellery... A nickname... A Valentine's Day message... Surely Illinois wasn't - nah. It was likely that flashy "I'm better than you" act at its finest. Yancy couldn't let this get under his skin, otherwise he'd be mocked relentlessly by Illinois if they ever crossed paths again.

In the meantime, the personal gift was carefully wrapped up and hidden in his trouser pocket before he began quizzing his friends on whether they believed him now.

[theauthorlives]

‘hey Yancy! i’m so sorry i haven’t came by recently… traveling is a bit unreliable right now.’ Oliver signed, the phone cradled in the hollow of his shoulder. He grins. ‘how’s the jailhouse treating you?’

@oliver-ashcroft-documents

-

"Crashing Wallop Lackadaisy -" Oh no, Yancy had to resort to using the full name in a scolding voice and a wagging finger, "- I thought I told you that youse don't gotta be here every month for the visitation slot. That ain't fair on no one. Youse got a lotta living to catch up on, remember?"

Of course Oliver would remember. Not everyone was in prison because they landed in it through a weird thing. The mess was sorted out and Oliver was sent on his merry way. Which was important! Innocent people didn't belong in prison. But a question was asked, and the greaser would answer.

"Y'know. Same shit, different day. I's been looking at some of them music courses they's is running. I got this ukulele, see, but I ain't that good at playing it. I figure someone oughta know how it works, right? Can't be that hard if you asks me." He could play a few melodies by ear, but the chords were proving too tricky a challenge.

"But that ain't important right now. What has you been up to out there? Youse is looking great, though that hair of youse's needs a proper combing. I thought you knew better than to let birds nest in it." He was teasing, of course, if one went by the way he rested his free hand on the top of his head to mimic a bird's beak popping out.

[theauthorlives]

-

With his head almost upside down, Yancy’s hair had slipped out of its loose combed-back style and cascaded in curls. Added to the smile, the cellie looked like a different person compared to the one seen by most the prisoners.

“Country? Y’know... That makes a lotta sense. Youse do got that chilled out vibe you hear them country singers has.” Without the trademark outfit, the telltale clues were absent that would help others reach that conclusion by themselves. “I did hear BamBam say something about you being able to play some sorta music. I’ll have to try and keep an eye out for that. Don’t know many country songs, so might be a chance to learn some new tunes, y’know?”

It took a lot of restraint to ask if Illinois can sing. Yancy was sure he could, but maybe it would be worth it to wait. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Illinois would have a nice singing voice. 

It's quiet in the cell. Yancy is lying on the top bunk, hands behind his head as he hums lightly to himself. The music stops abruptly, and soon Yancy is lying on his side to peer down at his cellie. "Hey, Jones? What sorta music is you into?" (theauthorlives)

‘Jones’ glances up from his book when he hears the mattress above him creak, and he’s soon met with the gaze of his cellmate. He smiles, and tucks the power he’s been using as a bookmark between the pages, gently closing it and letting it lay against his chest, hands folded over it.

“ I dabble in my fair share of different types, ” he admits, tapping fingertips against the soft paper back of his book. “ But I tend to have a soft spot for country music. It suits my guitar playing rather well. ” And there was plenty of old-fashioned romance to be found among them.

[theauthorlives]

Early morning dances , at dawn caresses with his lover from last night's undresses . A love like faith with the twists and writhes but still having the advances to find each other again through the masses . Unable to let this year's day of love pass him .

❝ Would you be my Valentine ? ❞

You know he loves you more than life , a pulsing and wet love sliced with a knife kind of affection he does onto you .

❝ Please , stay in my arms until dusk light . ❞

To Yancy Happy Valentine's Day

@splitsuit

-

The morning light was beginning to slip through the small window. A conjugal visit had been successfully arranged, leading to Dark and Yancy having a night without worrying about guards finding them in the cell, or without Yancy having to be dragged away for morning duties. For today, they were alone in a quiet wing in the prison, and what a luxury that was.

The prisoner was stirred to waking by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Lying on Dark's chest, the pair were somewhat tangled in the sheets after a night dedicated to making up for lost time. Bleary eyed, he lifted his head to look at the older man. Without the gel holding the it in position, his hair tumbled forward in gentle curls, like it so often did a lifetime ago, when the world was kinder and life seemed fair.

The question was asked with a murmur, and yet... Yancy still felt the smallest spike of fear. Was this another dream? No. He could feel Dark's hand loosely resting on his back, and he could feel the chest below him rise and fall softly. He wasn't prepared for this. In fact, he had forgotten the date entirely. It didn't mean he would refuse, of course. It was something he had wanted to hear for several long, lonely years.

"There ain't nothing I'd want more, handsome. I'd love to be youse's Valentine, if youse will be my Valentine too."

Yancy's love was fragile, like a butterly's wing. Years of doubt and damaged self-confidence meant he could lose his footing if he wasn't careful. But for you, he steeled his nerves. He gave himself grounding to set things right and make things as close to what it used to be as possible.

"You're not gonna get rid of me too easily. No guard's gonna be able to take me out when I's earned this time." He trailed off, pushing himself up just enough to meet the entity's lips in a soft, longing kiss. "I'm all yours today."

[theauthorlives]

“What happened? Are you hurt?” (For Yancy :3c)

Protective Starters (Accepting :D )

@xshatteredreflectionsx

-

Morgan had been dragged to the Chow Hall by Bam-Bam. While they were on their rec time, Yancy had been working. Yet, for some reason he was sitting on one of the benches, ice pack on his head as two guards finished an impromptu check-up. He looked as though he had been in a scuffle. Strange, considering his promise to do everything possible to get to the parole board.

Yancy didn't answer at first. Instead, he slumped across the table with a low groan once the staff had moved away.

"Feel so fuckin' dizzy, Snapshot..." It was a somewhat muffled response as he was refusing to lift his head. "Two dipshits started fighting... Got knocked back by 'em... Hit metal door..." Bam-Bam leaned over and quietly added that the greaser had blacked out for a second and assumed it must have been a rough collision.

[theauthorlives]

Morgan had been in the room when all this happened, when Yancy spoke before he thought. He always knew to keep things to himself when angry, but he nearly always forgot when he needed to act on it. A glance noticed them writing something, only to crumple the page. He wouldn’t lift it, but he had a hunch of what it would be about.

“The past ain’t somethin’ to be trifled with. I’m Yancy, an’ that’s that.”

...

“You know, if your last name has so many bad memories tied to it, then perhaps...”

They have to stop themself there. No, no that’s being too presumptuous. Too desperate. You’re being too clingy. You’ll chase him away.

The words are crossed out and the paper crumbled just for good measure.

[theauthorlives]

@starringroleasthehero - Continued from here

-

The perk about being in prison for as long as Yancy has been is knowing when someone sticks out at a glance. Everyone is dressed the same. It’s impossible to tell the rich from the rags when everyone has been stripped of every material possession. Yet one of the newest prisoners had an air about him. One of those ‘holier-than-thou’ individuals that was begging to get an ass kicking. Yancy wasn’t a man who would throw himself in danger for a stranger, but he could try and give a snippet of advice.

(Assuming this man would even listen to him in the first place. )

“I’ll be blunt. It’s good that youse got your guards up like that. At the same time, you don’t want to make enemies out of everyone. You gotta find that middle ground, yeah?” Yancy dug his hands into his pockets with a light shrug. “Don’t matter who you was. In here, it’s a new start, so none of that shit outside matter. You could be anything at all out there, and it matter none in here. But if you don’t got no one in youse’s corner, then... It’ll be tough. Prison life ain’t always a walk in the park.” A life that Yancy has learned to enjoy? Absolutely! But that didn’t make it complete paradise for someone new.

[theauthorlives]

@notjustabeast - as discussed

-

There had been rumours flying around the prison about a new inmate. While that in itself wasn’t cause of gossip, it was the manner in which they were being held. From what Yancy and his gang could gather, it was a woman who did something so dangerous that she had to wear some kind of handcuffs.

She was the topic of conversation. Why was she here instead of a max security system? She clearly had a routine like the rest of them, albeit on her own, so she wasn’t confined to the Solitary Housing Unit. Bam-Bam guessed that it was murder. Yancy gestured to himself as proof that it likely wasn’t that simple. Then Tiny piped up that she could be in danger from someone already incarcerated, or something that meant she needed to be kept away from the main group in case anything happened. After that, Shithole Hank tilted his cup to the others and suggested that she might simply be someone that needs to be kept alone to follow particular routines. It wouldn’t be the first time the prison made particular accommodations.

With no further conclusions, the group eventually had to admit there wasn’t an obvious answer... Unless someone could sneak past the guards and talk to her.

This became a personal mission of Yancy’s. Stubborn as a mule, he wanted to know why she was being treated different. If Tiny was right, then the newbie needed to know she had someone in her corner should things turn sour. It was why, after a few days, he made it his mission to sneak past the guards on duty to get into the little library. The schedule had it closed at this time, but Sparkles McGee (who worked shifts there) had noticed a change to accommodate the mysterious prisoner. Now that he was inside, and the guards were still on the corridor, all he needed to do was find her...

[theauthorlives]

Hello~ called a voice as they step in through a portal.

@boyakishantrio

"What in the shit -?!"

Yancy, who had been sitting on the only chair in the small cell, scrambled out of it the moment a portal appeared on the back wall. That was definitely not a normal thing to happen?? He threw a glance behind him. The heavy, metal cell door was locked, so it wasn't like there was anywhere Yancy could go even if he wanted to. At least he had a makeshift knife in his pocket if things went wrong.

"Uh... hi? Don't think youse meant to, uh, voodoo youse's way into a prison?"