Chapter Text
You had the measure of her the very first time you locked eyes in the yard. This woman was Caesar of Litchfield. Of course, you’d heard stories from old-timers when you were still up the hill at Camp - those rare women who had got magically lucky or sucked the right dick to go from Max to Min. You’d been skeptical of their tales but seeing Carol Denning in the flesh, now you were really starting to understand.
The lollipop in her mouth pressed further into her cheek as she turned to one of her lackeys, never breaking eye contact with you. The smirk that settled on her face when her girl scurried off at her command sent a chill down your spine.
Finally she turned away as she made her way back inside, nodding to that hardass CO Hellman on the way. She had everyone and everything in this prison wrapped around her little finger.
“Hey, cookie! You still in there, amiga?” Your cellmate, Mendez, had been good to you these past couple of days. She was pointing out her friend and some useful contacts across the blocks before you’d become distracted by a set of piercing blue eyes set behind almost comically large 80’s frames.
“Sorry - you were saying about the pint-sized D-block dyke by the cage?” she regarded you with a careful stare.
“Yeah, and you better keep yourself far away from Denning and her bitches if you want to get anywhere near Daddy. She’s got the oxy game on lock. You might think Badison’s top dog in here, but word is Carol’s not happy with how she’s been handling business. Bitch is a time bomb ready to go off. You want a little something to take the edge off life in Max? You’re better getting a message to Papi over there,” she pointed with a tilt of her head and slipped her hands into her jacket pockets, lowering her voice “Between you and me, D-block’s had better shit for a month or so - I guess it all depends on who’s bringing it in.”
“Oxy’s not really my thing but thanks for the tip, Mendez. You know where to get a pack of Camels and a light, however, and I’ll be your best friend.” Mendez nodded pensively in reply.
“I’ll see what I can rustle up, pretty girl.” and with that she turned and walked away.
You leant back against the coarse brick wall and let your eyes wander around the yard again. After a minute or so, you noticed Hellman press his walkie-talkie to his ear and glance over at you. He started briskly stalking over to you, muttering his reply into the radio and stopped abruptly in front of you, his broad shadow encasing you and blocking you from view of the other inmates.
“Yard hour’s up, inmate. You’ve got packing to do.” He began walking towards the doors and you slowly pushed yourself off the wall to follow him. He turned around about 6 feet ahead of you and raised his voice so the whole yard of women could hear, “Did I fucking stutter, Benson? C-block. Pick up the pace. Now.” You bent your head over and tried to ignore the whispers coming from every corner of the cage they called outdoors.
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Half an hour since Hellman prodded you back to C-block and issued you a new cell number. Laying on your freshly-made top bunk, you desperately tried to drown out the barrage of stories running through your head. Who told the warden you’d been getting pills into camp? Was Vause trying to get back at you for taking over her smuggling pipeline? Or did your meth head bunkie finally gain the power of intelligent speech and snitch on your operation to get her quiet piss-stinking cell back? You hadn’t had time to think since being frogmarched down the hill for no apparent reason but this sudden new environment was getting you antsy. The whole cell switch was highly suspicious.
You were just catching the last bit of a hangnail when you heard the hustle and bustle of the majority of C-block returning from their full yard time. You considered wandering out of the cell to catch up with Mendez and see if she had any ideas about your new cellie but thought better of it as a shadow crept by the doorframe. You sat up in your bunk and drew your knees up to hide your nervous nail-picking.
“Benson. No bunkie of mine is going to sit in my cell twiddling her thumbs when I’m about to initiate a bridge tournament in the common area. Up and out, girlie.”
Your new roommate. Carol Motherfucking Denning.