Chapter Text
For a doll who has been taught how to be perfect his whole life, Nolan never seemed to understand how to read a fucking room whenever it came to take good opportunities.
At least, his friends expected him to know better than this.
He wasn’t a bad guy. Although many people would tell you he learned things the hard way, Nolan was not considered an instigating guy by anyone. Not even the people who bullied him his whole life would tell you he ever did something to defend himself against them. So, the news of him being imprisoned should be, to say at least, surprising, especially to his friends. But they weren’t. Shortly after posting a guide on how to rob a bank, Nolan received an email that could be considered threatening. It was then, too, when he finally realized that his editors were silent about this part of the magazine for a reason.
What could I possibly be going to jail for?, he thought, I mean, yeah, what I did was not ethical and is considered illegal, but when has the doll-being ever been perfect?
However, he deep down knew those news were something he expected as he wrote “Well, the first thing to have to do is…” on that piece of paper. He not only had three times to edit this article, but he also had a whole company that was against this idea. But who can stop their own leader? The answer is, no one. Not even his close friend, Babo, could ever try to change his mind. When Nolan wanted something, he would get his way through the idea, using every material he had to accomplish that.
Now, Nolan is no idiot. He was naive enough to make the mistake he just did, sure, but jail was not something he was afraid of. He saw on TV that most dolls never faced anything that could kill them. In fact, the worst thing they had was the washing machine he experienced many times—years ago.
But there are certain things he still thinks about, like his friends’ company. Nolan lived in a small house, with Moxy, his best friend. She was the most affected one when the news came home. He noticed right away something was wrong by the way she was coming towards him, her eyes telling him “What did you do to us?” If you asked him what hit him the most when he shared the news with his friends, he would tell you how Moxy isolated herself after their little reunion.
There were still some things he wanted to tell his friends—why he did that, what was he thinking, what were his plans. But the process was not the only fast thing, his court case also happened in the blink of an eye. He never even said goodbye.
So, after being translated to his “new home” over the course of one week, his life took a 180-degree turn. No matter how mentally prepared he was, the realization almost killed him. And no one was there for him. While being placed in his new cell, he noticed nobody there respected him, not even as a doll being. They treated him like he was a dog, something that was worth breaking apart.
So this is really it, huh?, he pondered, This really is my new life. Not only do I now have to share a cell, but the cell will probably smell awful.
The place was not horrible. It was spacious, you could tell there weren't enough cleaning janitors, but at the end of the day, he, at least, wouldn't die of infections. His eyes wandered around the place, noticing that there was an artificial courtyard, which looked like a method of torture rather than a pleasant walk. There was a food court nearby, very close to this courtyard, which not only made it more disgusting but also terrifying as well. However, whoever did that at least had the decency to separate the cells from the food, and Nolan was quickly taken to the second floor, next to a blue-haired guard.
No words were shared. However, Nolan felt that silence was the only thing he needed at that moment. Just the thought of this being his new life made him feel dizzy because what the fuck? It was just a fucking article, it's not like anyone took magazines seriously. Unfortunately, excuses like that were useless in court, and as much as he wanted to, he had the right to have a decent lawyer who wouldn't let him talk to save his ass. None of that worked. A petty part of him thinks he could have avoided jail time if he had spoken up for himself. Freedom of speech, huh?
As his thoughts consumed him, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder, and, like the mature man that he is, he ignored it because he was offended that no one would treat him gently. Quickly the situation escalated, and the guard yelled at him, losing all patience. Why is everyone so mean to me?
“You'll be sharing a cell with someone else,” was all the guard muttered, reaching for something among his keys.
“There's no other option?” The one with the two-colored hair whined. “It's just that... I'm claustrophobic.” To this, he received only a judging look, which made him want to throw himself off the fifth floor.
*
After shoving him into his cell, the guard finally had the audacity to talk to him like nothing happened, almost like what he did was part of his routine. “The other recluse is in the bathroom right now. Feel free to accommodate yourself in your new home,” the prison officer abruptly stopped, like he was considering something, “just be careful and avoid fighting, or we’ll use force.”
“Is there anything else I need to know?” Nolan asks, nonchalant, bored, trying not to sound scared, because he wasn’t. Nolan Wilder was anything but a coward, and he will make sure everyone there knows that.
The guard just arched an eyebrow, a lazy smirk tugging on his lips before leaving him without an answer. ‘ Michael’ Nolan was able to read on his tag. You sure are an attractive officer.
Soon after their conversation, the doll found himself observing his cell, looking for a sign that someone did share a cell with him, and that he wasn’t being isolated for showing his audience how to rob a bank without the police noticing or intervening.
I should’ve written how not to get caught by the government after robbing a bank and making an article about it, he brushed it off, laughing at his own joke.
He leans forward on a bed after noticing something was there. Carefully, he scanned it, taking his sweet time trying to decode what it was from a distance. It was blonde hair, and considering they were in a jail where hygiene wasn't part of the protocol, it was well taken care of. Smooth, soft, smells good. It was like touching heaven's gates for the first time after living in hell for an eternity. He rapidly got distracted by this new finding, forgetting everyone else and where he was. This inmate, at least, was clean, right?
“Well, what do we have here on this peaceful afternoon?” He hears, after feeling footsteps coming from afar. However, he did not expect to hear that so soon. Suddenly, all of his boldness leaves his body, as a cold shiver makes its way to his spinal cord. He now misses the peace he had twenty minutes before—a peace that was taken away by this cocky, melodious voice.
This can’t be, he thinks way too loud for his taste, while slowly turning around to face him, I know that horrible voice.
“ Lou.”
*