Phoenix Wright: Godot/Daryan, PG-13
Title: The Gant Panopticon Chapter 2
Fandom: Phoenix Wright
Rating: PG-13
Characters: This chapter: Godot, Daryan, Jake, Redd White, Matt
Spoilers: GS3 and Apollo Justice
Warnings: for Daryan's mouth, assault and White being creepy
Summary: Written for the kink meme prompt AU where no-one gets the death sentence. Damon Gant basically controls all the other prisoners, backed up by people like Furio Tigre. Prisoners like Godot or Daryan who tell him to fuck himself get picked on and goaded into fighting for his amusement. The prettier inmates, like Matt or Kristoph, become Gant's bitches. Daryan learns first hand that inside, luxuries are rare while asshats aren't.
Chapter 2
It was a strange feeling for Daryan, led by a guard to take a shower early the next morning. He’d never been fussy, exactly about luxury, but he definitely was used to something other than this; to something less sterile with a lot less routine. Here in prison, you showered according to schedule. At least there was a small cubicle with a toilet attached to the cells. Daryan could deal with showering when told, but he sure as hell couldn’t shit on command.
Daryan was let into the communal showers and he was surprised at how relieved he was to apparently be the first and only one there at the time. He hadn’t really been worried about what might happen in the showers; not really; not consciously. But, he supposed, stories that circulated through society conditioned you to be apprehensive about this kind of situation.
Leaving the guard at the door, and with one slightly suspicious look back, Daryan deposited his towel and entered the shower. Stepping under the spray, poor excuse for one as it was, the warmth and the sensation of grime washing away made Daryan feel a better immediately. Carefully, he washed days’ worth of old, coloured and clear hair spray out of his hair. Really, the stuff could be such a bitch.
Daryan was just washing the last suds out of his now long and freely-flowing hair when he heard voices from where the shower room opened up behind him. Two men turned the corner and Daryan watched them enter as he fought the urge to cover himself.
“What do we have here?” one of them drawled smoothly, and Daryan raised an eyebrow at the obviously bad, purple dye-job that was just about still visible at the tips of the man’s hair. “Ah, fresh meat. How perfectly fantabulous.”
Daryan scowled. He couldn’t quite agree with the “fantabulousness” of his being here. Besides, he was not “fresh meat”. Nonetheless, he nodded and managed a stiff smirk.
“And such a dazzmagorical celebrity as well. Daryan Crescend!” the man exclaimed and took a few steps closer. “I am honoured to meet you. I am Redd White.”
Daryan narrowed his eyes for just a moment at this Redd White and, in his mind, decided that something had fried this guy’s brain, or at least the part of it that was responsible for forming sensible words.
“Yeah, pleased to meet you,” Daryan said, disinterestedly and the only reason he even tried to not sound too forced was because he was standing in a shower with two entirely stark naked strangers; men, no less.
The second stranger gave a “hrumpf” and began grousing something unintelligible before stomping off towards the end of the showers. Daryan raised an eyebrow at the odd behaviour and looked at White.
“Ah, that’s The Tiger,” the older man explained at Daryan’s questioning glance. “Ignore him. You’ll prefer him not to speak.”
One glance towards The Tiger and Daryan nodded, albeit with a sceptically raised eyebrow. Ignore him? The man was friggen’ huge and so tanned he was practically red.
“Yeah, ok. Whatever, man,” Daryan mumbled, still slightly distracted. “I’ll see you around then.”
Daryan was just about to step past White when the other man grabbed his wrist in a grip tighter than one would ever have imagined from his sophisticated, if a little outlandish, speech.
“Not so fast, rock star,” White admonished, his tone of voice still so pleasant it made Daryan’s skin crawl.
“Why such a hurry? We’re not done yet.”
“Didn’t think there was anything we had to do,” Daryan deadpanned, shaking himself free from the other man’s grip. His freedom didn’t last long, however, because White pulled him back and, grabbing a good fist full of Daryan’s hair, used the control he then had to push Daryan against the wall none too gently.
“What the fuck?” Daryan yelled angrily, ready to turn and kick that bastard in the balls, but when he did turn the tug on his long hair actually hurt.
“Fuck you,” Daryan snarled, causing his captor to laugh.
“Ah, ah, no. Not yet, my prettiferocious boy. I happen to know someone who will want first dips in that. Put you to good use, maybe. I’m sure you have many talents.”
White forced Daryan’s head back by his hair and under any other circumstances Daryan would have kicked the shit out of the man just about then, but he was a little too shocked by the hot, wet tongue that suddenly ran the length of his neck.
Daryan shuddered in disgust and resisted the urge to gag at that bastard’s insinuations. Now Daryan began struggling in earnest, finally scrambling free. He glared at White for a second before snatching up his personal belongings.
“Fuck no, man,” Daryan spat, his voice rough with anger. “I’ll pass.”
In all this he couldn’t believe that what had just happened had gone on with another guy in the room and a guard outside. “The Tiger” hadn’t even so much as looked their way as White had practically molested Daryan and the former detective had a good idea that that was probably nothing unusual here.
Ready to flee the showers for the relative safety of the locker room and then his cell, Daryan almost ran straight into another young man who had just entered the shower.
“Sorry,” Daryan muttered, correcting his course.
“No sweat,” the other inmate said, smiling; warmly, even. Daryan couldn’t honestly say that he wasn’t surprised by that and could say even less that he trusted it.
“Already messing with the new guy?” the young man asked, addressing White. “You should be careful with that.”
Turning back to Daryan, the man stuck out his hand. “I’m Matt,” he said.
They shook hands briefly.
“Daryan,” was Daryan’s curt introduction. Even though that Matt guy seemed ok, he had no intention of hanging around any longer. The way Daryan was feeling right now, he could do with another shower; not this one, though.
*
Once Daryan had been let back into his cell, his eyes immediately fell on Godot who was lying back on his bed, visor gone. His eyes seemed to be staring upwards at nothing in particular. Daryan wasn’t sure, but he reckoned the man couldn’t see much without that high-tech thing. What surprised Daryan more, though, was that Godot’s hair seemed to be damp.
“I didn’t see you in the showers,” Daryan said, making to climb up onto his bed.
“There’s another set at the other end of the corridor,” came Jakes voice from somewhere across, even before Godot could answer.
“Ah,” Daryan supplied lamely and his coherence was somewhat hindered by his resentment that they hadn’t sent him to the same showers as Godot. He had the feeling that he probably would have come away far cleaner that way.
“You sound disappointed,” Godot drawled from below, smirk audible in his voice. “That intent on seeing me naked?”
Daryan’s eyes actually widened and he practically spluttered: “Hell, no.”
He began running his hands through his still damp hair, trying to work out some of the kinks. No, he really, really, wasn’t disappointed about not seeing Godot naked. It would just have been nice to… have had an ally back there.
*
Godot couldn’t help but chuckle at Daryan’s spit-fire denial. Youthful brashness, so intent on keeping up that one, carefully crafted facade; it was refreshing, though Godot knew of masks.
Again, his ears picked up the movements from the bed above and a small thump that indicated that Daryan had just leapt from his bed to the floor to now pace the cell restlessly. Then he started cursing; the boy had some creative language there, Godot had to hand him that.
“What’s up, cub?” Godot asked, turning his head towards where he could see the dim outline of Daryan moving.
“No hairspray,” came the reply. It wasn’t one Godot had expected.
“You won’t be needing that in here,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, I will. Believe me, I will if I’m supposed to not kill anyone in here.”
That got Godot’s attention. Not the words, no; but the agitation in them.
“I think he’s right, Diego.” That was Jake calling over. “Look at him.”
Godot huffed a slightly weary sigh and reached for his visor. He clicked it into place across his eyes and sat up to take a good look at Daryan.
The bright orange prison-issue jumpsuit was the same as it had been and would be for the next few years. However, Daryan’s hair was an entirely different matter. Daryan’s head-cock was gone and it had been replaced by almost waist-length, somewhat unruly black hair; a lot of it, at that. In itself, that seemed a little inconvenient, but not necessarily a problem. The intriguing thing, though, was the change it had brought about. Oh, Daryan sure was still there, all pent-up energy, radiating frustration from those shrewd blue eyes. But what had been a cool, stylish hair-do before, was now a long, if slightly damp and wild, luscious mane. Godot couldn’t quite stop himself from thinking that it made his cell-mate look shades more alluring and he even entertained the tiny notion that he wouldn’t mind running his hands through all that. Purely out of curiosity, of course; sensory curiosity. After all, losing one’s sight required that kind of alternative.
“Did something happen in the shower?” Godot asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He was practically certain that Daryan had run into some trouble, but, well, there was no reason to spook the deer any further.
“No,” Daryan bit out and turned his back on Godot. He had the feeling that had they been anywhere else, Daryan would have walked out on him right about now. Well, no such luck here.
“Hm,” Godot mused before asking: “Who did you meet?”
Daryan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Redd White, The Tiger and Matt.”
Godot stiffened slightly, especially at the mention of Redd White. Well, with that combination he figured he had a good hunch of what had Daryan so out of sorts.
Godot wasn’t a man to jump to conclusions. No, he rather relied on what he knew and what he’d seen; on his experience. His mind was a hell of a lot sharper, still, than a lot of people gave him credit for. And what he knew was that this combination of men was dangerous.
He’d seen it before.
It wasn’t a secret to anyone that Damon Gant held a vice grip of control over this prison. Not, initially over those who ran it, but over the prisoners themselves. And that was what had the guards and higher-ups wetting their panties. A whole prison full of criminals of all calibres? That wasn’t something you wanted to be up against if it came down to it.
Within Gant’s little empire there were a few apparent ranks. His henchmen, the brawny and brainless, and his harem; and he wished that “harem” was loosely termed, but it wasn’t. Gant knew how to make the pretty boys his; the pervert lacked all class. Now, White was, so to speak, Gant’s left hand man, with von Karma being his right. The Tiger generally made sure everyone around Gant kept in line. And Matt Engarde? Well, Godot supposed the boy counted as pretty. He really didn’t want to think about which category Daryan would be classed as, should Gant manage to “recruit” him.
Contemplating this, while gazing at Daryan who was resolutely staring out of the tiny window, Godot felt something small, something strange flare up inside himself. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt a lot like that thing they called “drive”.
“Well,” Godot began, “why don’t you quit sulking and come and sit here. It’s time for a lesson in politics while we do something with that pretty hair of yours.”
Godot smirked when Daryan looked at him with a clear “you’re shittin’ me”-look, but he remained unfazed.
“Hey, Jake? You been keeping up with your insurance?” Godot asked, looking over his shoulder and briefly meeting Marshall’s amused expression.
“Sure thing, amigo,” Jake replied. He turned and scrabbled at something that Godot could not see and a moment later something flat and shiny came skidding through between the cell bars.
Godot waved his thanks as he stopped the harmonica with his foot. He picked it up and turned to Daryan.
“Jam session?”
A/N: Reviews are love. :)
Fandom: Phoenix Wright
Rating: PG-13
Characters: This chapter: Godot, Daryan, Jake, Redd White, Matt
Spoilers: GS3 and Apollo Justice
Warnings: for Daryan's mouth, assault and White being creepy
Summary: Written for the kink meme prompt AU where no-one gets the death sentence. Damon Gant basically controls all the other prisoners, backed up by people like Furio Tigre. Prisoners like Godot or Daryan who tell him to fuck himself get picked on and goaded into fighting for his amusement. The prettier inmates, like Matt or Kristoph, become Gant's bitches. Daryan learns first hand that inside, luxuries are rare while asshats aren't.
Chapter 2
It was a strange feeling for Daryan, led by a guard to take a shower early the next morning. He’d never been fussy, exactly about luxury, but he definitely was used to something other than this; to something less sterile with a lot less routine. Here in prison, you showered according to schedule. At least there was a small cubicle with a toilet attached to the cells. Daryan could deal with showering when told, but he sure as hell couldn’t shit on command.
Daryan was let into the communal showers and he was surprised at how relieved he was to apparently be the first and only one there at the time. He hadn’t really been worried about what might happen in the showers; not really; not consciously. But, he supposed, stories that circulated through society conditioned you to be apprehensive about this kind of situation.
Leaving the guard at the door, and with one slightly suspicious look back, Daryan deposited his towel and entered the shower. Stepping under the spray, poor excuse for one as it was, the warmth and the sensation of grime washing away made Daryan feel a better immediately. Carefully, he washed days’ worth of old, coloured and clear hair spray out of his hair. Really, the stuff could be such a bitch.
Daryan was just washing the last suds out of his now long and freely-flowing hair when he heard voices from where the shower room opened up behind him. Two men turned the corner and Daryan watched them enter as he fought the urge to cover himself.
“What do we have here?” one of them drawled smoothly, and Daryan raised an eyebrow at the obviously bad, purple dye-job that was just about still visible at the tips of the man’s hair. “Ah, fresh meat. How perfectly fantabulous.”
Daryan scowled. He couldn’t quite agree with the “fantabulousness” of his being here. Besides, he was not “fresh meat”. Nonetheless, he nodded and managed a stiff smirk.
“And such a dazzmagorical celebrity as well. Daryan Crescend!” the man exclaimed and took a few steps closer. “I am honoured to meet you. I am Redd White.”
Daryan narrowed his eyes for just a moment at this Redd White and, in his mind, decided that something had fried this guy’s brain, or at least the part of it that was responsible for forming sensible words.
“Yeah, pleased to meet you,” Daryan said, disinterestedly and the only reason he even tried to not sound too forced was because he was standing in a shower with two entirely stark naked strangers; men, no less.
The second stranger gave a “hrumpf” and began grousing something unintelligible before stomping off towards the end of the showers. Daryan raised an eyebrow at the odd behaviour and looked at White.
“Ah, that’s The Tiger,” the older man explained at Daryan’s questioning glance. “Ignore him. You’ll prefer him not to speak.”
One glance towards The Tiger and Daryan nodded, albeit with a sceptically raised eyebrow. Ignore him? The man was friggen’ huge and so tanned he was practically red.
“Yeah, ok. Whatever, man,” Daryan mumbled, still slightly distracted. “I’ll see you around then.”
Daryan was just about to step past White when the other man grabbed his wrist in a grip tighter than one would ever have imagined from his sophisticated, if a little outlandish, speech.
“Not so fast, rock star,” White admonished, his tone of voice still so pleasant it made Daryan’s skin crawl.
“Why such a hurry? We’re not done yet.”
“Didn’t think there was anything we had to do,” Daryan deadpanned, shaking himself free from the other man’s grip. His freedom didn’t last long, however, because White pulled him back and, grabbing a good fist full of Daryan’s hair, used the control he then had to push Daryan against the wall none too gently.
“What the fuck?” Daryan yelled angrily, ready to turn and kick that bastard in the balls, but when he did turn the tug on his long hair actually hurt.
“Fuck you,” Daryan snarled, causing his captor to laugh.
“Ah, ah, no. Not yet, my prettiferocious boy. I happen to know someone who will want first dips in that. Put you to good use, maybe. I’m sure you have many talents.”
White forced Daryan’s head back by his hair and under any other circumstances Daryan would have kicked the shit out of the man just about then, but he was a little too shocked by the hot, wet tongue that suddenly ran the length of his neck.
Daryan shuddered in disgust and resisted the urge to gag at that bastard’s insinuations. Now Daryan began struggling in earnest, finally scrambling free. He glared at White for a second before snatching up his personal belongings.
“Fuck no, man,” Daryan spat, his voice rough with anger. “I’ll pass.”
In all this he couldn’t believe that what had just happened had gone on with another guy in the room and a guard outside. “The Tiger” hadn’t even so much as looked their way as White had practically molested Daryan and the former detective had a good idea that that was probably nothing unusual here.
Ready to flee the showers for the relative safety of the locker room and then his cell, Daryan almost ran straight into another young man who had just entered the shower.
“Sorry,” Daryan muttered, correcting his course.
“No sweat,” the other inmate said, smiling; warmly, even. Daryan couldn’t honestly say that he wasn’t surprised by that and could say even less that he trusted it.
“Already messing with the new guy?” the young man asked, addressing White. “You should be careful with that.”
Turning back to Daryan, the man stuck out his hand. “I’m Matt,” he said.
They shook hands briefly.
“Daryan,” was Daryan’s curt introduction. Even though that Matt guy seemed ok, he had no intention of hanging around any longer. The way Daryan was feeling right now, he could do with another shower; not this one, though.
*
Once Daryan had been let back into his cell, his eyes immediately fell on Godot who was lying back on his bed, visor gone. His eyes seemed to be staring upwards at nothing in particular. Daryan wasn’t sure, but he reckoned the man couldn’t see much without that high-tech thing. What surprised Daryan more, though, was that Godot’s hair seemed to be damp.
“I didn’t see you in the showers,” Daryan said, making to climb up onto his bed.
“There’s another set at the other end of the corridor,” came Jakes voice from somewhere across, even before Godot could answer.
“Ah,” Daryan supplied lamely and his coherence was somewhat hindered by his resentment that they hadn’t sent him to the same showers as Godot. He had the feeling that he probably would have come away far cleaner that way.
“You sound disappointed,” Godot drawled from below, smirk audible in his voice. “That intent on seeing me naked?”
Daryan’s eyes actually widened and he practically spluttered: “Hell, no.”
He began running his hands through his still damp hair, trying to work out some of the kinks. No, he really, really, wasn’t disappointed about not seeing Godot naked. It would just have been nice to… have had an ally back there.
*
Godot couldn’t help but chuckle at Daryan’s spit-fire denial. Youthful brashness, so intent on keeping up that one, carefully crafted facade; it was refreshing, though Godot knew of masks.
Again, his ears picked up the movements from the bed above and a small thump that indicated that Daryan had just leapt from his bed to the floor to now pace the cell restlessly. Then he started cursing; the boy had some creative language there, Godot had to hand him that.
“What’s up, cub?” Godot asked, turning his head towards where he could see the dim outline of Daryan moving.
“No hairspray,” came the reply. It wasn’t one Godot had expected.
“You won’t be needing that in here,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, I will. Believe me, I will if I’m supposed to not kill anyone in here.”
That got Godot’s attention. Not the words, no; but the agitation in them.
“I think he’s right, Diego.” That was Jake calling over. “Look at him.”
Godot huffed a slightly weary sigh and reached for his visor. He clicked it into place across his eyes and sat up to take a good look at Daryan.
The bright orange prison-issue jumpsuit was the same as it had been and would be for the next few years. However, Daryan’s hair was an entirely different matter. Daryan’s head-cock was gone and it had been replaced by almost waist-length, somewhat unruly black hair; a lot of it, at that. In itself, that seemed a little inconvenient, but not necessarily a problem. The intriguing thing, though, was the change it had brought about. Oh, Daryan sure was still there, all pent-up energy, radiating frustration from those shrewd blue eyes. But what had been a cool, stylish hair-do before, was now a long, if slightly damp and wild, luscious mane. Godot couldn’t quite stop himself from thinking that it made his cell-mate look shades more alluring and he even entertained the tiny notion that he wouldn’t mind running his hands through all that. Purely out of curiosity, of course; sensory curiosity. After all, losing one’s sight required that kind of alternative.
“Did something happen in the shower?” Godot asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He was practically certain that Daryan had run into some trouble, but, well, there was no reason to spook the deer any further.
“No,” Daryan bit out and turned his back on Godot. He had the feeling that had they been anywhere else, Daryan would have walked out on him right about now. Well, no such luck here.
“Hm,” Godot mused before asking: “Who did you meet?”
Daryan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Redd White, The Tiger and Matt.”
Godot stiffened slightly, especially at the mention of Redd White. Well, with that combination he figured he had a good hunch of what had Daryan so out of sorts.
Godot wasn’t a man to jump to conclusions. No, he rather relied on what he knew and what he’d seen; on his experience. His mind was a hell of a lot sharper, still, than a lot of people gave him credit for. And what he knew was that this combination of men was dangerous.
He’d seen it before.
It wasn’t a secret to anyone that Damon Gant held a vice grip of control over this prison. Not, initially over those who ran it, but over the prisoners themselves. And that was what had the guards and higher-ups wetting their panties. A whole prison full of criminals of all calibres? That wasn’t something you wanted to be up against if it came down to it.
Within Gant’s little empire there were a few apparent ranks. His henchmen, the brawny and brainless, and his harem; and he wished that “harem” was loosely termed, but it wasn’t. Gant knew how to make the pretty boys his; the pervert lacked all class. Now, White was, so to speak, Gant’s left hand man, with von Karma being his right. The Tiger generally made sure everyone around Gant kept in line. And Matt Engarde? Well, Godot supposed the boy counted as pretty. He really didn’t want to think about which category Daryan would be classed as, should Gant manage to “recruit” him.
Contemplating this, while gazing at Daryan who was resolutely staring out of the tiny window, Godot felt something small, something strange flare up inside himself. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt a lot like that thing they called “drive”.
“Well,” Godot began, “why don’t you quit sulking and come and sit here. It’s time for a lesson in politics while we do something with that pretty hair of yours.”
Godot smirked when Daryan looked at him with a clear “you’re shittin’ me”-look, but he remained unfazed.
“Hey, Jake? You been keeping up with your insurance?” Godot asked, looking over his shoulder and briefly meeting Marshall’s amused expression.
“Sure thing, amigo,” Jake replied. He turned and scrabbled at something that Godot could not see and a moment later something flat and shiny came skidding through between the cell bars.
Godot waved his thanks as he stopped the harmonica with his foot. He picked it up and turned to Daryan.
“Jam session?”
A/N: Reviews are love. :)