Cell Block B, Clark County State Penitentiary, Unknown Location, Unknown State...
Dark brown eyes opened to the all too familiar surroundings of a prison cell that a seemingly preoccupied man with messy black hair and dark tanned skin found himself taking note of as he looked about the place. He seemed to be a bit out of his element for a few moments before the sound of bars opening had gotten his undivided attention. He'd been lean and tall given how much his legs had reached passed his bunk as he rolled out of it and stepped out onto the dull gray floor beneath him. He turned his attention to the new arrival who had been someone he slightly recognized. Beside him had been something of a pencil sketch that he'd taken the time to touch up before handing it to the new arrival, who had been his cellmate, a short stalky-built man with light brown skin and equally brown eyes. He had very slick black hair and smiled the moment he saw the drawing.
The shorter man had been wearing a men's tank top shirt, formerly white with county blue slacks which matched the same slacks and shirt his cellmate and other inmates had worn in this place. The shorter man had also been covered in a good deal of intimidating tattoos and quite a few scars in his line of work but he'd been particularly fond of his current cellmate and accepted the newly sketched drawing happily.
"For your daughter." said the rather flat but baritone voice of the taller man who had drawn the sketch.
The shorter prisoner nodded as he met the eyes of the sorrowful-looking man who treated him to a sad excuse for a sad smile before he moved toward the iron bars where a guard had been patiently waiting for him. Just as the taller man moved to step out of the cell, the shorter man with the drawing placed a comforting hand on the exiting man's shoulder.
"Take care of yourself," he said in a meaningful tone with his dark eyes on the verge of sentimental tears despite his surroundings and relatively formidable appearance.
"No promises." replied the taller man before stepping out of his cell and onto the long and winding path where the other numerous rows and stacks of cells had been visible.
It was the last time he'd ever have to see this place, the rancid stench of sweat, piss, and stale air had been a part of his daily routine ever since he'd awoken behind bars. They had told him he'd been given time due to an assault charge of some sort but he wasn't very good for recollection. His cellmate had informed him that he'd been transferred to his block following rumors that he'd been brutally beaten every day since his initial arrival, speculation had persisted that he'd pissed someone off on the outside to the point of the guards and inmates alike having it in for him for the right price.
The strange wave of violence that followed him cultivated in him landing in the infirmary more often than not, his latest trip after a five-on-one brawl in the shower had seen him nearly dying and hitting his head on the ground erasing much of his recollection of things and contributing to a strange talent for painting and expressing emotions via multicolor paints. He barely recalled the events of his life that led him to be incarcerated and even less about people having it in for him from outside.
The doctors in the infirmary had given him the news that he didn't have much time to live when he awoke from a three-month coma following his latest round of assault. The attacks had stopped once word spread that he'd been dying, the risk of getting extra time just to take on a sick man with a tumor of sorts had not been appealing for most prisoners no matter the pay. He had not even recalled why they'd been after him to begin with.
The taller man, known at the time of his arrival as Dorian Loren Quiller, had been a doctor of sorts in the past and whispers abound that he'd lost everything in the wake of his only daughter turning up dead following a high school house party gone array. Upon hearing his diagnosis and knowing all too well his tragic story, even the guards and the warden had begun to soften when it came to Dorian's imprisonment.
He had not been any trouble, a right good boy following the coma and the diagnosis, spending most of his time reading or in the newly acquired therapeutic art class. He had a good deal of haunting nightmares but never could make sense of them. The beating had changed him drastically, he never reacted to much of anything no matter the onset of emotion, and largely spent his time shuffling about like a lost little boy than an inmate.
His artistic talent and boyish nature made him a favorite of a few older and more violent prisoners on the block who had liked when Dorian did drawings for them and their children on the outside. They found him to be quite talented for a dying man although he had little to nothing to say about his tragic condition. He didn't get many visitors but he had not been looking for any keeping busy the last five years with his artwork and book reading.
He'd been informed that he was married and that his wife, had occasionally kept tabs on him despite not venturing to the prison. He rarely got calls due to his actions before nearly being killed, no friends to speak of and his only child had been long dead before his sentencing.
"I'm gonna miss you Quiller." said the guard that had been escorting Dorian on his way to collect his property and clothes before he'd been officially released following the decree of the warden and the parole board.
"That's nice to hear, given the company you keep," said Dorian with something of a sad smile, it had been more for the guard's benefit, as he had not had much to smile about. "You hear from the Mrs?"
Dorian shook his head.
"No, and I don't expect she'll be expecting me, but it's okay I guess I'll surprise her when I get home." replied the rather optimistic man as he moved to head into the personal artifacts room to collect his things and change into his previous attire.
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Collection Station, Clark County State Penitentiary, Unknown Location, Unknown State...
Dorian found the attire he'd not seen since his arrest five years prior a bit odd as he shuffled into it discarding his prison clothes as he slipped back on his watch and golden wedding band. He had not seen it in quite some time but seemed alright with the fit as he finished getting dressed and collecting his items. Finally Dorian Quiller walked through the doors of the exit and out into the blazing hot sun for the first time in five long years, the dust and red-orange glow a welcome and slightly tragic sight as he began to move away from the large prison that had been structured behind him.
He had no ride but he wasn't one to want to linger where he wasn't welcome.