Set dedicated to me and @rocknroll-stoneroses
PRISON BREAK BESTIES!!
So here's how I imagine us to be like in the Prison Break universe
(FYI, idea totally stolen from your set :P http://www.polyvore.com/im_breaking_out/set?id=118410099&lid=3496668)
Prison Break taught me to be open minded about the stereotype 'prisoner' - aka it doesn't excist.
Lincoln Burrows is there under false accusations of murdering the president's brother
His brother Michael Scofield is serving five years for 'armed robbery' to break his brother out
John Abruzzi is the cunning mafia boss who cares deeply for his family despite being bad
Fernando Sucre robbed a shop to buy his girlfriend an engagement ring whilst he was broke
AND EVEN C-NOTE (kinda reminds me of maja? Always speaking her mind and saying EXACTLY what's happening whether it gets her/C Note in trouble or not :D) is an ex-military soldier serving time because of things outside of his control BUT HE'S STILL AN AMAZING CHARACTER and one of my all-time favourite too :D
So in the Prison Break universe, we could be inmates for things outside of our control too and we wouldn't be bad :D
Anyway, how I imagine us:
ME: prison sweetheart (if such a thing is possible), always nice to everyone but can put on a tough facade when confronted with the tough guys. On good basis with gang members although I'm not in a gang myself. Serving time for (I DUNNO) having witnessed an armed robbery and having no courage to interfere, therefore the court treated me as accomplice. Rumours that I might be having an affair with a guard (OH MY) but where's the proof of that? ;D
John Abruzzi's honey yo.
Known for the Mediterranean looks, unusually polished and groomed for being an inmate. Not that good at staying out of trouble when talking to other inmates - I have several female opponents watching my every step. Hard-working in PI and trusted by guards to take care of things manually.
YOU: Outspoken and confident, quirky style and easily recognizable among the crowds of inmates. You have your own crowd (not a gang) of inmates watching your back, and you've even found a way to scrape up a profit by mingling in illegal underground prison market so you have some political sway over how things are done among prisoners.
Gift of the gab when wiggling out of a tight spot with both gangsters and security ;D
Lincoln's sweetheart. It's a long-distance relationship thing.
Recognizable for your bows and morphing hair colour ;D
KELLY OSBORNE IS YOUR SOUL MATE I SWEAR!!
I wanna be yours - arctic monkeys
Owing someone a debt wasn't a good thing ever, much less when I was living behind bars.
But what choice did I have? I was already serving time for a relatively petty crime, it's not like I had as much right to be tough like others.
It was perhaps that very pettiness which put me in Peter Feracci's debt.
I had slept in, ok.
Yeah, that's right.
I had overslept the general wakeup call as a result of my late-night over-thinking insomnia and whilst still in bed I didn't really give a damn whether I got in trouble or not, what would come would come.
Only I chickened out when I realized how dire the consequences would be for skipping out on kitchen duty, so what else could I do but beg the kitchen supervisor Feracci into pretending I had been there all morning serving chicken soup into trays?
He agreed, but at a cost.
To be fair, I thought he was just being cheeky as I had used the classic flirty approach when asking him for the favour.
Instead, he was sticking to his word when he came over to my cell Wednesday, smuggling a packet of chips under his shirt.
"I need you to keep hold of this," he stated quietly, removing the packet whilst glancing around suspiciously.
Feracci was part of the Italian mafia, which was a widely-known fact throughout prison.
The Italian part was what made me be on good terms with them in theory.
But in practice, the mafia part was what really stood out like a sore thumb in moments like this as I peeked inside the crisps bag to notice the sweet-smelling greenery at the bottom.
I felt my palms break out in a cold sweat.
"You sure?" I babbled, my eyes wide as pans.
Possession of hashish, when discovered, could land you an extra five years in prison.
Not something I particularly wanted.
But what choice did I have?
"Make sure no one knows," He said from the side of his mouth, his eyes fixed on a guard not too far away.
He then turned to me, fixing me with a violent gaze. "And you sell it out, I WILL find out."
Since I never traded with prisoners, I didn't think any profit would be worth it anyway.
I nodded eagerly and fixed my signature smile which this once didn't feel as flexible on my lips as usual.
"You lookin' a little pale there, pal."
I turned by head feebly to the side to smile at Joseph Donovik.
In his late thirties and high in prison authority, we had a somewhat flirty relationship despite me wearing orange and him navy.
Not someone I could trust with with help, but definitely a useful ally when playfully reminding angry prisoners who I was friends with. Fine, I took a little advantage in my physical appearance, but so what? It certainly won me attention with male security.
"I'm fine." For the last half-hour, I'd been guarding the packet of crisps I'd been hiding inside my pillowcase like some security dog.
My knees were definitely shaky, so I'd taken to sitting down on the floor with my back pressed against the wall, barring the entrance to my and my roommate's cell door with my orange-clad legs.
"You sure?" Donovick insisted, relaxing into a more comfortable - but domineering- pose just outside my cell. His arms folded over his barrel chest and his legs spread so his body could claim more space.
I went for the deadpan stress-guaranteed solution: "yup, just my monthly cramps boss. Stomach's killing me. Feel like I can kill someone."
He made a hasty retreat. "Alright, just make sure you don't." And he quickly left.
A week later, Feracci came to pick up his pricey and highly illegal belongings.
By then, I was paranoid about being found out.
I shifted anxiously on my feet and stared at security as the American-Italian checked the amount of marihuana.
Finally, he rolled the packet closed. "You did a good job, bella mia."
I turned to him with no hesitation. "We are even and I owe you nothing more."
The pent-up frustration of a paranoid week made my voice determined and clear, more so than I'd been in here for a while.
I left no space for discussion or compromises.
Feracci nodded. "Eye for eye. You've proved yourself now."
And he'd proved himself too, I had half expected him to plant the drug on me before giving security the head's up, just because of satisfaction and entertainment.
But you didn't mess with the Italian Mafia, and the Italian Mafia didn't mess with you.
The gangster nodded at me once more, and left quickly and neatly, returning to his domain.
I wasn't expecting any other visits from mobsters as I had my ground rule of staying clear of mob servitude.
Still, they found me.
It was free hour in Gen-Pop (general population) and I was on the first floor on my way to the stairs to the second, when someone grabbed me and shoved me hard.
I was spun around and my back pressed roughly against the hard bars of an open cell.
I huffed as the breath was bribed out of my lungs.
And even more so when I recognized the man which had pinned me.
Mafia boss John Abruzzi.
The word that instinctively left my mouth was the silly and bright:
Ugh. What a square.
He looked down at me from his steep height and considered my words whilst I considered how I was going to die and what for.
Bad rumours surrounded him since before he came to prison, he was behind bars because he had executed two men - and many more no one knew about. In prison his methods of maintaining power were ruthless, mostly consisting removing fingers and toes and even any accessories which came in pairs - be it eyes or ears.
So much for steering away from the bad guys.
But still, 'hi'!?
Abruzzi didn't really smile back at me, not that I had expected him to. "You must be the Corveli girl I've been hearing about."
He had a noticeable drawl and a strange pronunciation I couldn't quite place, but he definitely sounded like a casually threatening redneck mob boss.
Just for the giggles, in some parallel universe I would have liked to say 'nope, not me' just to see how he'd react to having slammed the wrong girl against the wall, but as it was I didn't like pain.
"Yeah I'm Corveli alright," I nodded, keeping to the basics so not to commit any more awkward introduction atrocities. "But mostly I go by my name."
He considered me for a long moment which made my toes curl with nervousness. He had a no-bullsh.it gaze that cut straight to the chase, and his eyes were an unusual shape and a bright blue colour.
"Valentina," I finally supplied helpfully, although he hadn't asked. I just felt like the confession fit the conversation.
Behind him, I noticed a serious and interested Feracci. I didn't know whether he had snitched on me although he didn't seem like the type, but what concerned me the most was how I was conversation topic to the mafia.
Not a situation I ever thought I'd be in.
"Valentina," He agreed, perfectly shaping the Italian name which I had offered with my British-and-accidentally-American accent,
Had he heard about me before?
I attempted a bright smile, eager when the corners of his eyes creased with tiny laugh lines. He wasn't even smiling openly but I sensed approval to my exuberant optimism.
"I trust that you know my name already?"
Not that I was going to admit it.
I coyly made a big show of hesitating.
"John Abruzzi." He supplied seriously.
At that, I allowed my eyes to grow bigger with so-called realization. "Oh, nice!" God bless my acting abilities.
He nodded, apparently believing me. "I hear you're a hard worker."
"I do try." I admitted playfully, battling my urge to add 'sir'.
"I need hardworking people in our PI. You interested in joining?"
This time I couldn't help myself.