A week had passed. A miserable, miserable week. Yancy could hear his fellow prisoners out in the prisonyard the entire time he spent in that dark cell...their voices carried throughout the empty cells whenever they went out. He could hear their toes tapping along to the beat, rehearsing his numbers for hours on end, daily. He could hear little mistakes, just the smallest ones, and they made him smile.
"Oh, Bam Bam, that's a C on that beat, buddy!" He said softly to himself one day while holed up in the corner. It was broken with tears, and it hurt his heart, but it still made him happy. It took his mind off the dark gray walls, the cold iron bars, and the small desk in the corner that had his scratch marks in it. One for every day—he never fought here (until recently), never smoked around the guards or the other prisoners, treated everyone like his family... It was still their favorite place to throw him. After a few days out, they'd find some excuse. Some lie for the Warden to smile at.
"Well, a little birdie told me that Yancy cut in front of Jimmy at the cafeteria!"
He would smile this gruesome smile and play along. Play along while Yancy cried that they lied.
"Why, the nerve of him!" He would sneer. "I thought better of you, son. Solitary for a day!"
His words often hurt Yancy worse than the hard pats on the back as he was sent back to that cell.
It had still been a week since he had met Y/N. Since they fought him, him of all people, and won. Since they rejected a part of the prison family, and desired a part in society.
Not that Yancy could truly blame them, though. He would hear wonders about musicals and shows in New York City, the majesty of them all, from the snippets of radio he'd catch from the offices. He would hear advertisements for those nice sweaters, the kinds you'd see in the windows of high-end stores and on the covers of thick catalogues. They'd be nice to have in the winter, especially if he was in here.
Yeah, prison life is great, though. Right?
A week since Y/N. It had really gone slow, hadn't it?Was he...missing them? No! Well...maybe. He didn't know. It was the third Saturday of the month, though. Tomorrow...would be Sunday. It would be their chance. Would they take it?
"Why would they do that, for me?" Yancy thought. "Nah. Too much trouble."
Boy, was he wrong.
Yancy decided to take another of several naps to pass the time. Everyone wondered why he was so energetic in the evening, and this is why. When your sleep schedule's wack, you tend not to be asleep when everyone else is.
He was woken up hours later by a rap on the cell lock.
"Yancy!"
One of the guards, an older, emotional one with a gruff voice, was tapping on the metal latch to wake the prisoner from a not-so-peaceful sleep. "Murder-Slaughter says you can come out now, Yancy." Out of all the guards, this one seemed to be his favorite. He liked asking about the rehearsals and listening to accompaniments being made. "You got any new songs?"
Yancy stepped out into the bright lights of the hall and squinted at him with a smile. "Youse know it! Only a few, though. Gotta save some for later!" Once he got into the recreation room, he was met with cheers.
"Yancy's back!" One criminal cheered. Others patted him on the back and ruffled his un-gelled hair with care.
His smile was wide and there was a spring back in his step. He made sure to travel to each and every one of his cell mates, hear about their weeks and progresses, their good and bad days. "How 'ave youses been? Bam Bam, youse workin' on that C note?"
No one ever seemed to ask how he was after days of isolation. But, he didn't seem to care. After all, who would care about a person like him?
One prisoner, though, shyly tapped Yancy's tattooed forearm. He whipped around to face them, curious to see who would be so shy around him. "Oh, heya, Sparkles! There, uh, somethin' wrong?"
"Well, you remember that prisoner that beat you up last week?"
Yancy grew still, and his face fell into a sad sort of trance at the thought. "...yeah. Why?"
Jimmy the Pickle, another of Yancy's top performers, decided to cut in. "We seen 'em while we was rehearsing. They was nearby, gettin' out of their car and such, and goin' in to the offices. Tiny says she saw 'em talkin' to that real sad guard."
Yancy was still. "What would theys want with him?" He thought to himself.
"I'm sure it's nothin'," he reassured his mates. "Maybe theys just looked like that individual, Jim."
"But they beat you up, Yancy! Wouldn't you be scared if they came back?"
"I ain't scared of nothin'," he muttered as he backed against the wall. "Nothin'."
Sorry for the short one. Next ones pretty long tho — Cap
