Jail House Rock


godfrey_icon.gif odessa2_icon.gif

Scene Title Jail House Rock
Synopsis One prisoner rattles the cage of another.
Date May 11, 2020

Rikers Island

“The warden threw a party in the county jail.”

It wasn’t the prettiest piano, in fact, it was down right ugly. Like those old timey pianos you find in salons of the old west. Seemed appropriate for Riker’s Island. The cliques and gangs that formed among the populace wasn’t far from from the outlaw gangs of the time.

“The prison band was there and they began to wail.”

When one is locked up for bad behavior, you can’t be picky over what you’ve been given. Godfrey had avoided the piano for a time. A man needed to have standards after all. Eventually, though, he found the siren’s call to be irresistible. He desperately missed the baby grand in his apartment back at Yamagato, it had been how he relaxed after a particularly long day. It was something he never really explained to anyone, playing the piano was something far more cathartic.

“The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing.”

Today had been particularly rough. Being a pretty boy among the populace means people saw you as a pushover, which he mostly certainly was not. However, when one wished to be released on good behavior…. You don't attempt to put people in their place. One, literally, rolls with the punches.

This was one of those days, a fresh bruise blossoming along the left side of his face.

“You should've heard those knocked out jail-”


Lighting quick Godfrey’s hands come off the piano keys like he’d been bit by the dull and scuffed ivory teeth. “Bloody hell.” His hands drop to rest in his lap with a heavy sigh, “I have truly landed in my worst nightmare.”

Godfrey Wells isn’t the only one who’s been lured by the siren’s song of the piano. There is one other prisoner within the walls of Rikers Island that understands — truly understands — the healing power of music. How it can soothe a person’s soul.

While he plays, and sings, that one such prisoner comes dancing toward the piano. From behind, so he doesn’t see the approach. Each short hit of the keys sees her hips twisting one way, then the other.

The sour note on the piano sees her stumbling in to his peripheral vision, having lost the rhythm in such a way that she can’t maintain her momentum. “Oof,” she murmurs. “Yeah, that C-sharp is rough.” Like she knows very well.

The navy and white jumpsuit would identify her as a member of the prison’s feminine population if her voice hadn’t given her away before he got a proper look at her. And when he does, she’s a striking figure. If she wore something that flattered her shape, she’d be beautiful. If she had a make-up kit, she’d be stunning. But it’s her wavy-curled hair - blonde at the roots and copper at the ends that are teasing at the thought of brushing her slender shoulders - that cause her to stand out the most in his memory.

Odessa Price is hard to miss, after all.

One of the most infamous prisoners currently housed on Rikers Island, Odessa’s earned herself a reputation similar to Godfrey’s. Like him, she’s angling for good behavior. The bruise on her jaw is far more faded than his by this point, but it isn’t her first, and it’s not likely to be her last. Even if she hadn’t directly hurt people here (and she almost certainly has some of them), the organizations she represents via her continued existence are reason enough.

Between this and what are apparently frequent headaches, Price spends a lot of time in the infirmary (and sometimes in solitary) for her own safety.

“You play beautifully, though. Garbage instrument notwithstanding.” Odessa offers Godfrey a smile that speaks of confidence, but paired with a look in her eyes that betrays hesitation. Is he going to be the next person to try and lay her out?

After all, history says they were on opposing sides, regardless of what the current reality might be.

The sudden appearance of someone in his personal space, has Godfrey’s back stiffening. Seeing who, doesn’t really make him relax much more. Even given her appearance, Godfrey knows better than to judge a book by it’s cover. Still he is no heathen and gives a polite dip of his head to her.

“Miss Price,” Godfrey offers in a cautious greeting.

The man brushes hands over his jumpsuit as if the piano was contaminated, eyeing it suspiciously. “And thank you,” Godfrey adds, with a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “I rather miss my own. It’s quite lovely and probably a molten pile of slag by now.” He can picture Marlowe’s rage at his duplicitous nature. “But yes, if I had a true piano, I’d knock everyone’s panties off.”

Reaching out Godfrey presses the sour note again with a grimace. “But this… It’s not even passable, it’s just outright offensive.” He lets out a frustrated sigh and shuts the cover again.

“You know, I wasn’t raised in basements and cages, kidnapped and passed around from secret organization to terrorist cell to secret organization to billion dollar corporation to government facility to work on every clandestine and illegal mad scientific and medical experiment in this fucking country since the day I was born,” Odessa begins, laying out her entire argument before getting to the point, “just to be called Miss.

She closes her eyes for a moment, pushing down whatever misguided annoyance it is she feels about the continued misaddress (this one is merely one more straw heaped upon the back of the camel), and smiles pleasantly.

Doctor Price, if you please.” Not that she strictly speaking ever obtained an actually legally recognized medical degree. If it was good enough for SESA and PISEC, however… Well then, perhaps she’s earned this.

Then, she sweeps Godfrey up and down shamelessly. Like recognizes like. “I’ll call you whatever you like.”

Odessa Price constantly thanks whatever higher power there may be for the return of her beautiful face and the restored ability to wink at people. That was so much harder with the eye patch.

If they had a true piano, that would really be something. “You and me both. There wouldn’t be a dry pair of knickers in the house.” What a lamentation. Odessa presses her hand over her chest and sighs.

There is a subtle shifting of Godfrey’s body to lean away from the ranting woman, though amusement starts to seep into his smile. And he is amused by her, even if there is a thread of anxiety being near her like that.

Doctor Odessa Price. Yes, I remember you calling yourself that while in the employ of Mr. Monroe.” What did he say? With a certain grace to Godfrey as he slides off the bench, keeping it between them. “So a self appointed title is it?” Hands spread a bit helplessly. “Pardon my rudeness, but I noticed that you neglected to mention a school in that rather long, informative rant.”

His hands come around to hold off her anger if he can, Godfrey felt a bit of a thrill poking the bear like that. “But far be it for me to deny you such a deserved honor.” Not that he really believes it deserved. “So Doctor it is. I mean, you stitched up a few of my enforcers when we did a job for Monroe… what was it? Ten or so years ago?” His head tilts a bit to see if recognition dawns or if he was still just a faceless unknown.

The amusement and whimsy drains away from her as he begins to tease her. She’d expected some of it, but it becomes needling. It pokes into an association that wasn’t previously a matter of public record. That’s what sees the blood draining from her face. The hand against her chest slowly curls into a loose fist, like she might like to be clutching at a necklace right now, rather than considering punching him in his exceedingly smug face.

He’s rattled her. This time, when she looks him over, it’s with an entirely new sort of appreciation. It’s hard to see through time, such as it is, such as her connection to it was, and recall a face. Even one as handsome as his. One corner of her mouth ticks upward slightly at that stray thought. But that period of her life is viewed through a morphine haze.

“Eleven,” she corrects, even though it falls under the umbrella of or so. It isn’t that she can recall him, but she knows when it would have had to have been.

Odessa tilts her head, two-toned curls brushing against her shoulder now as she studies his face. This is a new complication. If he brings her previous association to light, that’s something new they can try her for. It ruins her chances of parole if she has new charges. Even knowing his name, she can’t place him in her past. Can’t decide how he should be categorized in the ever-growing list of threats to her continued existence.

Dark brows lift then in unspoken question. Let him interpret or decide what the question actually is.

There is a soft ‘ohhh’ from the Shedda agent as he watches her reaction, brows lifting slightly because this was rather interesting. In fact, Odessa can practically feel him weighing his options before settling on…

“That was then and this is now.”

Godfrey breaks into a pleasant and self-assured smile, hands coming together in a clap. “Speaking of such, I must say - Doc-tor - that I have heard of your exploits since. Quite the spectacle that trial was.” A quick shift from one shady past to another. One can only wonder about his game. “Bravo on not hanging, you truly have some powerful people in your corner, because I saw people hang for far less.” That is he definitely impressed by.

“Respect,” Godfrey says, pressing a dramatic hand to his orange clad chest and giving a small stiff bow.

Odessa is still very still while Godfrey continues his own assessment. Even when he suggests it’s all water under the bridge, she barely dares to breathe. He must be quite pleased with himself to have shut her up quite so simply. To have shut down the borderline aggressive sweetness she’s been showing since before his arrival.

“I always thought they were your people, to be honest.” She hasn’t been able to pinpoint exactly who her benefactor actually is. Who is so invested in keeping her alive. But there’s some inklings. And after her visit from Adam himself…

Eyes downcast a moment, then returning to his face, Odessa shakes her head. “What do you want, Mister Wells?” Every man has a price. She’s inviting him to name his.

“Want?” Godfrey asks, sounding mildly put off. Brows furrow in mock confusion. “Want? Why… I want nothing, Doctor. Not really. I’m just establishing that I know quite a bit about you.” Is there a threat there? Hard to tell. “You and I come from two very different sides of the proverbial track.”

Taking a step around the piano bench, Godfrey offers her a knowing smile, “And while we both have hopes of getting out of here, I also know that both of us have made some interesting enemies. Me, my Shedda brethren. You…” Godfrey motions to Odessa, “Well, just about everyone.” A little harsh probably, but she didn’t seem to him to stick to just one side, not really.

Godfrey’s smile falls a little as he admits, “Okay, maybe I could use one thing. I couldn’t help noticing that neither of us really have a friend here. So…” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, like he has no other recourse, ”I’m proposing a truce. I won’t shank you, you won’t shank me and warn each other of if we get wind of anything.” A brows tips up. “Maybe we can avoid ruining what god blessed us with,” he says motioning to his own face and focusing on his own bruise.

“Oh, I think the divide between us is much more narrow than you realize.” His points are fair, of course. Her reputation for never picking just one side is practically legendary at this point. She doesn’t land on one side of the tracks or the other, she stands squarely on the ties.

And one day, that train is going to come barreling toward her.

When he finally gets around to what it is he might want from her, her own smile starts to return. Odessa Price is woefully short on allies, and she knows an advantageous relationship when she sees it. She could do much worse than Godfrey Wells.

“Oh,” she intones softly, as if surprised by his last comment. A look of innocence on her face, save for the gleam in her eyes. “Do you think I’m pretty, Godfrey?” The smile slants into a grin and she holds one hand out toward him, as if to offer to shake on this proposed truce. Her palm, however, is parallel to the floor, rather than perpendicular.

There is a wicked smile and a calculating look in his eyes as he takes her hand. “Indeed, Doctor,” Godfrey offers in reply. Bending at the waist with a hand behind his back, he acts the good gentleman, brushes lips against her knuckles. Sealing a deal that would give them each an ally for the time they were stuck in that hellhole. “I imagine more so with a proper hairdresser who knows what they're doing.”

Formalities out of the way, Godfrey releases her hand and gives a satisfied sigh. “Well, now that’s done…” he turns back towards the piano and plants hands on his hips. “Who do we talk to so that we can get this poor victim of neglect tuned.” He shakes his head slowly. “Such a travesty.”

Odessa’s eyes half-lid with pleasure as she watches Godfrey bend to kiss the ring, as it were. Her grin has softened by the time he straightens up again and turns back to the piano. She steps forward so she can stand side by side with him, appraising. So, this can be their first united front.

Slyly, she angles a glance to her new ally out of the corner of her eye, one brow lifted with a smirk. “I’ve got a guy…”

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