GENERAL NOTES→ Rachel thinks about how she got to this place while laying in her holding cell.
“I’m going to murder him.”
Rachel thought back to that day. The day Quinn let it slip what her plan was and implicated Rachel in the process. Had you asked Rachel before, she would have told you she would follow Quinn to the ends of the earth. But she didn’t think that she would have to follow her to prison. She never thought she’d end up here on her own, let alone for something that her girlfriend did. For murder. Cold blooded, calculated murder.
She could still remember what they were doing the night before everything had happened. They were sitting on the couch and watching Funny Girl. Again. But to be fair, Rachel had an audition coming up for the role of Franny soon. She had to do research. They had ice cream and were cuddled up on the couch, Quinn making fun of her when she caught her mouthing the lines.
Honestly, she hadn’t thought anything when Quinn asked her to get rat poison. They lived in New York. They had rats. It was normal. Sure, Rachel hadn’t seen any rats herself but she figured Quinn had and was just keeping it from her so she wouldn’t freak out.
The day that Quinn was arrested, Rachel remembered clinging to her, tears tumbling down her face as she screamed and yelled. There was no way her Quinn had a reason to be arrested. Her sweet sweet Quinn. There was no way. It was all very dramatic like she always expected it would be had something like this happened. She stood by her belief that Quinn had been wrongfully arrested. Even when she was brought to court as an accessory to murder.
Even as they showed her the crime scene photos and the evidence that led up to Quinn.
Her belief faltered a little but maybe she was framed. But then...then she was told that Quinn pleaded guilty. Finally admitting to it. And her whole world crumbled.
Everything she had believed in for the past years came tumbling down around her. The woman that she had built her life around since that night in Central Park when she realized that she was in love with this crazy girl was a murderer.
Rachel didn’t really have time to process anything other than confusion. It had all happened in a rush. Quinn’s arrest, her own arrest. The trial...then prison. Now, laying on the bed with her face buried in an unfamiliar pillow, strange eyes on her from across the room, was the first time she had been given a chance to think...and to be honest, she really didn’t want to. Thinking about it hurt too much. Maybe she could just lay here for her sentence.
GENERAL NOTES→ Rachel and Quinn first arrive at Litchfield. Rachel is confused and upset while Quinn just wants to comfort her. But Rachel is unwilling to be coddled by the woman she no longer knows.
Quinn:
Quinn was falling apart. Literally falling apart. Her throat hurt, her stomach was upset, and she felt like she had the flu. She had been this way since the trial, her highly publicized trial - white suburban college student goes off the deep end. She thought she had everything under control, the way she liked it - Quinn in control - but she was sadly mistaken. At 23-years-old, Quinn could face up to life in prison, or worse. She didn’t want to think about worse.
See it all started when she was seven. She wanted to take ballet lessons. Stupid ballet lessons. Just the thought of ballet dancing left bile in her mouth. He did the unthinkable. He ruined Quinn’s life, so she had to ruin his.
She didn’t mean to take Rachel down with her. She had thought she’d gotten away with it. Murder. Who knew Quinn was even capable of that? The girl that everyone usually walked all over was capable of murder.
In her orange prison uniform, she sat handcuffed next to Rachel. Quinn thought it was strange that they’d send the two of them to the same prison, but whatever. At least prison would be more bearable with her girlfriend by her side. Was that selfish?
"I’m sorry," Quinn croaked, tears dotting her eyes. She refused to let them fall, she didn’t want to be seen as weak.
All of a sudden Quinn felt self-conscious, as others began to pile into the van. She was the only one with handcuffs. She once again was set apart from the crowd, even in prison.
"I can’t wait till they take these stupid things off of me," she whispered, hanging her head in shame.
Rachel:
Three years of hard work down the drain. Three years of auditions and callbacks and rejection (lots of rejection) and finally acceptance. Success. The first step on the way to stardom. Co-starring in an off-Broadway with hopes of moving to Broadway. It was so close, Rachel could practically feel the expensive congratulatory glass of champagne roll over her tongue and the heat of the spotlight on her skin. But instead, she was here. In a van that smelled vaguely of corn chips and something else she didn’t want to identify, her girlfriend handcuffed at her side.
Murderer girlfriend.
The reminder sent a wave of sickness to Rachel’s stomach and she looked out the dirty window of the van. How had this happened? How could she ever be convicted as an accessory to murder?
Probably because she had trusted Quinn. Trusted her to a fault. Quinn told her her intentions, but Rachel didn’t believe her. Didn’t even blink an eye. Instead she accidentally provided the murder weapon and now she was stuck in prison. Prison! The one place she never ever thought she would be.
Orange had never been Rachel’s color. She was able to pull off a lot of things but not orange. She picked at the uncomfortable fabric of her new daily outfit and frowned. She looked back out the window and caught a glimpse of something that looked like her father’s car in the adjacent parking lot, separated by a fence topped with barbed wire.
The sickness in her stomach only grew and tears gripped at her throat. She had let them down. She was stuck in prison and would probably be forced to take some minimum wage blue collar job when she got out. Her dreams were gone before they even began. Her chin quivered, tears falling as soon as Quinn opened her mouth. Sure. She was sorry. Lot of good that did them now.
Rachel was about to turn and snap back at Quinn about ruining her life when the van door opened again and other women began piling into it. Rachel kept her eyes trained out the window, hugging herself and wiping away her tears as subtly as she could.
Quinn:
Quinn couldn’t understand how she felt so alone, even with her best friend - her lover - by her side. But she felt completely in solitude. She wondered if it was always going to be like this.
As the van rattled on, making it’s way to an isolated building, Quinn wondered how her life got to this point? She stared out the window, watching the pale scenery pass her by.
She retraced the steps she took on that ominous day. She was wired, maybe a bit too wired, her brain racy. She had straight out told Rachel what she was going to do, it seemed like a good idea at the time. How could she drag her beautiful Rachel into this mess? How could she just go and kill someone like that? Where were her Christian morals? Where was her love for all of mankind?
He wasn’t a man though. He wasn’t even an animal. He was evil. He was pure evil and Quinn’s gut twisted at the thought of him.
Was she that evil now too? Why couldn’t she have just forgiven him? Was she obligated to? It was no use now, he was dead, and Quinn was in prison.
The van stopped and Quinn chewed her lip, watching Rachel look out the window. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved to be on Broadway. Rachel was a star. Her shining star. This was all so wrong.
Rachel:
As the van inched closer to their destination, Rachel felt her hope slowly ebb away. This was it. She was going to prison. For...she couldn’t even think of how long it would be right now or she would surely burst into tears. Big, sobbing tears. She didn’t belong here! She wasn’t a criminal! She felt guilty if a parking meter ran out a minute before she got to the car!! Or if she accidentally tipped a cab driver less than she should have! Rachel didn’t belong with these murderers and drug dealers. She was supposed to be on the stage right now.
What was even worse was that some part of her just wanted to lean over towards Quinn and let her hold her as Rachel cried into her neck like she had done after all those botched auditions. But she was the reason that Rachel was even in this mess and the last thing she wanted was to be in her arms. Just thinking that Quinn had murdered someone in cold blood sent a chill through her.
The van began to empty and Rachel followed the girl in front of her out of it. She hugged the small bag of belongings she was allowed and tried to avoid eye contact with the other inmates. Cigarettes. She should have cigarettes to barter with. Maybe her fathers would bring her some when they visited. Where they allowed to visit? When? How often? Could they bring her things?
All the questions rushed through her head and she felt panic begin to rise in her chest. Her eyes grew large in fear and she looked around as if trying to communicate her fear to someone around her but to no avail. She caught the eye of another woman in front of her and Rachel’s eyes quickly fell to the ground once more.
Quinn:
Quinn got out of the van, her hands still shackled together. An officer followed her, carrying her things. She thought that was nice of her, considering she was in prison for murder. She thought she caught her name, Fischer maybe? She wondered if she knew about Quinn’s story.
The jurors had pinned all the blame on Quinn, despite hearing about her rape at seven. The plaintiff had twisted Quinn’s words, making Quinn sound crazy in court. Maybe Quinn was crazy. They used her traits of borderline personality disorder against her, which she was pretty sure was discrimination and illegal, but I guess when you murder a man it doesn’t matter.
The worst part was, Rachel hadn’t been in court for any of those days. Quinn was pretty sure Rachel’s dads were keeping her away from the news, too, so Quinn felt helpless. Her girlfriend just didn’t understand. She didn’t know. She didn’t know the pain Quinn felt, or why she had terrible nightmares at night - the shakes. She would surely have these nightmares in prison, but she doubted Rachel would want to comfort her.
Were they even still girlfriends?
Quinn began to panic. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she whispered under her breath. She met eyes with Rachel, biting back tears. All she wanted to do was run into Rachel’s arms.
She would tell Rachel the truth, if it was the last thing she did.
Rachel:
They were ushered into the building, led by one of the other inmates like some sort of welcoming committee. Rachel did her best to keep her eyes down, not even taking in anything the other inmate was saying. Her feet stayed on the plain white (not to mention uncomfortable) shoes she had been given when they took away the clothes she had worn to court.
Rachel felt eyes on her and heard jeering from some of the other women that she did her best to ignore, but her tears were hard to hide at this point. They were led to a...well, what she supposed was a cell with four bunk beds. Rachel immediately fell into the first one she saw and buried her face in the flat pillow that smelled too strongly of bleach and let her tears begin to fall freely. If there were other people talking to her, she wasn’t aware of it. The only thing she was aware of was the undeniable sickness in her stomach and fear in her chest. She had only been there a few minutes and she was already breaking down. How could she ever survive the years she had been sentenced?
Quinn:
Quinn could care less about the smack being thrown at her, or the crude remarks about her blonde hair - she’d heard them all before. She even didn’t mind how some of the inmates recognized her from the news and whispered murderer under their breaths, or judged her for her shackles. She was a murderer in shackles.
However, Quinn couldn’t stand the remarks being thrown at Rachel. Her jaw clenched when she heard these women - these criminals - making remarks to her beautiful, beloved Rachel. She wanted to knock them all out, if Quinn was being perfectly honest with herself. She had a bit of rage…
She caught a look at Rachel’s face - she wasn’t cute upset the way she usually got, when her bottom lip stuck out because Quinn wouldn’t watch Funny Girl with her for the millionth time. Rachel was damaged. This had wrecked her. Quinn had wrecked her… and that wrecked Quinn.
She sucked in a deep steady breath, as her hands were finally unchained from each other. She took her belongings, placing them on the top bunk above Rachel.
"Babe," Quinn reached out, rubbing Rachel’s arm. "Please don’t cry, it’s going to be okay," Quinn lied. She didn’t believe it and she knew Rachel didn’t either.
Rachel:
It killed Rachel that her first response to Quinn’s hand on her arm was to lean into it. Lean into it and maybe even pull Quinn on the bed with her to bury her head in the blonde’s neck. But then everything from the past couple of months came rushing back and she pulled away from her (ex?) girlfriend.
“I just want to be alone, Quinn,” Rachel muttered into her pillow, voice choked with tears. Just the thought that those were the hands that killed a man made her shiver. She still didn’t know what could drive Quinn to such a thing. She knew her girlfriend could have a temper but never to this point. This was calculated murder.
How could her sweet Quinn be capable of this? The girl who would bring her tea and soup when she was sick and even watch the same musicals with her multiple times (in a row) even though she didn’t like them. This was the girl who was shy to hold her hand for the first time and cuddled into her in the morning when Rachel had to leave for rehearsal. If anything, Rachel just needed to think. Maybe there was something present she hadn’t seen because she was blinded by love for the girl.
“I just...I want to be alone, please,” Rachel whispered.
Quinn:
"Okay," Quinn sighed. She had to respect Rachel’s wishes, she couldn’t push her. She knew Rachel very well and knew that if she pushed her, she’d lose her forever.
She squeezed Rachel one last time, gentle and lovingly, before walking away. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to get air. She wondered if she was even allowed to get air in here. In prison. She was in freaking prison.
As Quinn walked through the corridors, she bumped into all different sorts of people, hollering at her and calling her names. She wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t cry. She deserved this. She killed a man.
Quinn shuffled around in circles. She couldn’t find a door leading outside, but she had just passed a crazy looking woman with crazy looking eyes for the sixth time. Quinn could swear she felt the woman undressing her with her crazy looking eyes, which made her sort of uncomfortable, so she made a quick right turn that lead her to the media room.
Inside there was a small, fuzzy television set on. It played Toddlers and Tiaras, which had always left a rotten feeling in Quinn’s stomach - sexualizing little girls like that. She started to look for a remote, but no luck. She sat down in an empty seat, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, or the TV screen.
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OOC
Name: Essie
Age: 21
Timezone: Pacific Daylight Time
Activity Level: 7 or 8 of 10.
Prior RP Experience: I roleplayed from middle school through my freshman year of college, then slowed down and when athletics started up. I quit playing lacrosse sophomore year, and took a break from roleplaying as well. I just finished my second watch of the show and I feel weirdly moved by it, though, and I’m pulling myself from my roleplay hiatus in honor of its brilliance. I’ve yet to roleplay on Tumblr, though, I’ve only written for forum roleplays. I can’t imagine the platform transfer will be very difficult, I’m a quick learner and tags keep things nice and tidy.
Character Desired: Alex Vause.
Any Changes?: No, thank you.
Work Assignment: Laundry.
Housing Assignment: Suburbia.
Bio: Alex started her extraordinary drug trafficking ring like all business start: small. She began slinging small sacks of dope to friends who were looking for a quick connect. Soon, though, her friends slipped into the lucid world of constantly chasing their high; the small sacks became ever-growing rocks folded into tinfoil packets and exchanged between fast fingers at the living room table, on a street corner, hidden in the shadows of a bar.
She took the minimal amount of business knowledge gained from her mother’s persistent advice offered while growing up, observed those she purchased her quantities from for a few months, and learned from their expertise. She chose to cut off her small-time customers and shrunk her immediate social circle considerably; instead of slinging sacks herself, she sold her own quantities to her few established connects, who took the place from which she’d been recently self-promoted.
A few years and a couple thousand business deals later Alex’s ring has again expanded, along with her brilliance of all things involving the moving of massive quantities of heroin. She meets Piper in a bar and we’ve all watched some of the magnificence unfold, but I’d like to play around with some of the Alex-Piper flashbacks because I imagine they could be fantastic.
Another ten years later Alex receives a warrant for her arrest, involving one specific incident with, of all goddamn people, Piper, woman who tore her heart out and trampled it as she walked out the door. In a flurry of both infuriation and desperation, Alex names her ex-lover in addition to the few others involved in order to minimize her own sentence. She tries to ignore the tugging hope that Piper will end up confined to the concrete semi-cages of Litchfield Correctional Center for Women as well, and that maybe she’ll finally get an explanation after all these years of gaping, painful silence.
Para Sample: Her head tilted against the cream cinderblock, Alex's thoughts were shocked still from the lightning of Nicki’s confident touch.
"Oh, shit." The sudden change in tone of Nicki’s voice pushed through Alex's frazzled senses, but it sounded as though her best interests included keeping her eyes closed and remaining in her murky mindset.
Then the shrill of Piper’s begging voice cleaved through her fog- "Alex."
“Get out. Get the fuck out!” Alex’s eyes snapped open to see Piper over the wall of her half-cell, the bitch’s feelings of terrified rejection bleeding from her face. It reminded her of the way she herself felt when Piper walked out on her before, ten years ago.
“Ale-” she started.
“Fuck no, Piper. You already made your decision.” She glared into Piper’s pleading eyes, hoping her own displayed the cold, spiteful feelings she felt staring down the woman she hated the most. Alex stared as her left the room, all but cradling herself and her wounded psyche from Suburbia back to the Ghetto, or wherever the hell else she was en-route to cower in.
“Shit, Vause, you don’t mess around,” said Nicki.
Alex shoved Nicki’s gift back into her hands. “Fuck her. But you should probably take that to Morello, and just leave your damn face on it. She’ll find it endearing and entertaining, and maybe she’ll get another present, too.”
“Yeah, if you think so, too,” Nicki nodded as she stood from Alex’s tiny bed frame with Morello’s collage, and ran a hand through her lion’s mane. “You lemme know if you need anything, Vause, girl. I got you.”
Alex nodded as Nicki left, appreciative of her ability to pick up on her desires to be left alone, despite the circumstances. Her insides still burned from Nicki's passion, but lust was quickly being consumed by anger.
How much longer will I have to deal with her shit?
A few hours later that evening…
The commotion began with the tinny voice echoing through the chapel from the guards’ radios.
“Attention, we have a Code Red, assistance needed on the back porch.”
Blue shirts exchanged panicked glances while inmates looked at each other curious and questioning. A rustling stampede from outside the chapel doors and then suddenly the scream of the emergency alarm starts to oppose the choir’s boisterous final round of O Come All Ye Faithful.
The blaring alarm signaled the inmates to lay face down on the floor, and mixed with the amplified scuffling of actresses and singers onstage dropping to their stomachs on the hay-strewn stage. The women in the audience attempted to fill the aisles as they lay, while those in the center of the chapel rows resorted to lying in the foot places.
Alex lay next to Nicki in the maroon-carpeted aisle, their heads facing each other, eyes locked. “Damn, and Pennsatucky thought sweet baby Jesus would be pissed when her fucking woodshop nightmare destroyed the place. Just wait ‘til she starts on about the interruption of the reenactment of His holy birth,” Nicki joked, causing laughter to arise from those lying nearby.
A few blue shirts in the back received word over their radios to join the party on the patio, and as they left, desperate shrieks pierced through the few opened chapel doors. A woman’s shrill treble, a voice Alex recognized, and how could she not? Just a few hours ago, desperate at her cinderblock wall.
“Alex.”
Her eyes widened further than their usual magnified glasses-size.
Fucking Piper.
Anything else?: I’m fascinated by the Alex-Piper-Larry triangle, and I’d really enjoy playing around with that, including flashback scenes, if we’re doing those. That might get confusing, though, now that I think about it. I don’t know, it’s just a fantastically terrible set of circumstances that I’d love to explore.
