A/N - I did this in one go, so don't judge too harshly.
Figured it'd be some fluffy character crap to bide the time, because sooner or later I'm going to have to write the inevitable (you can probably guess what I'm talking about)...
Anyways, here's chapter 14!
Berdie's first drama class was the main topic of conversation that evening. As she poked her food around the tray, Mali listened to the hushed whispers recapping Vause and Chapman's intense improv.
"I don't think the fruit was a fruit, y'know what I mean?" Morello said, waving her fork. "Think it was a meta for somethin' else."
Gina narrowed her eyes at her. "You mean a metaphor for something else?"
"That's what I said. A meta… For something bad."
The conversation descended into a hopeless argument as to what the correct term was, with Morello firmly standing her ground ("A 'metaphor for' don't sound right, though!"). With an exasperated sigh, Gina gave up and stormed out of the cafeteria.
"You should come tomorrow," Morello said, shifting the focus onto Mali.
"No. No way," She replied resolutely. Mali had decided long ago - specifically when she tripped over her Shepherd's robe and forgot her lines in the second-grade Nativity play - that theatre of any kind wasn't her cup of tea.
"Come on, it's just a bit of fun," Sister Ingalls persuaded.
"No."
Morello puckered her lips, thinking of a different approach. At that moment Chapman chose to make an entrance, giving her the idea she needed.
Resting her head on her hand, she spoke in as nonchalant a tone as she could muster. "Who knows? Maybe there'll be another episode between those two…"
Mali's ears pricked up and her eyes darted from Chapman to Morello. You will not give in that easy. She told herself, though knew it was futile. Who could resist a bit of real drama?
"Fine."
By the time they arrived, most of the other inmates were already seated. The tables had been pushed aside to make room for more chairs, which all faced an empty space which served as a stage. Morello led them to a pair of seats close to the back and they sat, watching the final stragglers come through the doorway and into the class.
Berdie clapped her hands to call for quiet, and the noise died down like a radio dial being turned.
"Welcome back, welcome back!" She said enthusiastically. "Great to see some new faces here, too. I think we'll start with a warm-up game this time…I need everyone to get into a circle," there was a mumble of sound as feet shuffled across the floor into position. Berdie stepped into the centre and slowly turned, addressing the whole group. "This is very simple. Word association. It's all about concentration… For example, if I said 'cat', the person next to me might say 'dog'. You get me?" A scattering of nods answered her question. "Good, let's start," she said as she rejoined the circle.
"Pear."
"Apple."
"Red?" Black Cindy said doubtfully, though was given an encouraging nod from Berdie.
"Russian."
"Communism."
"Oppression."
"Prison."
"Litchfield."
"Shit."
A ripple of laughter coursed through the circle. Now it was Mali's turn. Everybody was watching. How the hell did they think so fast? She thought as she searched her mind for something, anything. "Crap."
"Fuck."
"Cunt."
Well then.
The game had quickly descended into plain and simple profanity, with the inmates' words getting progressively more vulgar.
"Motherfuckin' Dickwad."
"That's two words, dumbass!"
"Never said it had to be one word!"
"It's Word association."
Berdie chose to step in, preventing the game from escalating even more, stopping the warm-up before things caught fire. "Okay, okay, think that's enough… How about we continue with the improvisations?"
The circle broke apart as the inmates returned to their seats. "Alright, Suzanne, you can be one of them…" She scanned over the room for another volunteer. As her eyes met Mali's, the inmate dropped her gaze to the floor and hoped the counsellor didn't notice.
"How about our latest addition?" Berdie said, smiling.
Oh God, no.
Mali felt herself being pushed out of her seat by an eager Morello, who nodded enthusiastically.
She watched her feet as she ambled to the front; partly to avoid the stares, and partly to ensure she didn't trip again.
"A bank!"
That was their location, apparently. Mali was stiff as a board as Berdie called "Action".
Crazyeyes cleared her throat and strolled forward.
"Good morning. I'd like to cash in some money," she said theatrically, one hand on her hip, the other pinching a fake note. Mali stood, deadpan, completely at a loss as to what to do next.
"What happens next?" Berdie prompted.
Mali stared at her, before shifting her focus to the invisible note. "Okay," she said bluntly, unceremoniously taking the money and dropping her hand to her side.
Suddenly, Crazyeyes lunged forward and smacked her hands together, extending her index fingers to mimic a gun. "Give me a thousand dollars now!" She yelled, her eyes widening in menace.
Mali looked down at the sea of faces in front of her, turning slowly back around to look at the 'gun'. Her face remained emotionless, unable to be immersed in the role.
She drew her hand back up from her side, fist clenched as if holding something. "Here."
That's it, scene's over. She thought, but Berdie pushed for more empathy, desperately wanting Mali to embrace the character. "You're being robbed. You're at gunpoint. How do you feel? What do you say?"
"It's not a real gun, though," Mali began to argue, though was cut off by the counsellor.
"In-Character! In-Character!"
Mali's blank stare fell back on the gun. "Your gun is fake."
Laughter murmured through their audience, who found the young inmate's literal interpretation of Berdie's instructions rather amusing.
They're laughing at you, Mali. She thought alarmingly. Though maybe not…
Perhaps they were laughing at the scene she had created. Crazyeyes wasn't expecting that: She looked like a hurt child, her bottom lip pouting and brow furrowed, pulled out of her fantasy.
The contrast between the two characters (though unintentional) was clear. The older inmate was bursting with energy and theatrics, whilst Mali simply stood there, effortlessly pissing on her parade.
"Roll with it, ladies!" Berdie called out, urging for the scene to progress. "Embrace the situation!"
Fuckin' embrace it. Mali echoed in her head. She had control to turn the scene into whatever the hell she wanted.
Crazyeyes was still dazed, as if trying to comprehend what was happening. Before she had time to react however, the younger inmate had raised a hand, creating her own gun. Face expressionless, she raised her eyebrows and flicked her wrist. "Boom."
"Plot twist!" Someone shouted and the class erupted with exaggerated gasps mingled with laughter as Crazyeyes dutifully collapsed to the floor.
Fin.
Mali shuffled back to her seat impassively and fell into it with a sigh.
"And the Oscar goes to…" Morello teased, poking her in the ribs. Mali shot her a glare and folded her arms. "Come on, Mali. You had fun."
The younger inmate's pokerface cracked as she reluctantly broke into a small smile.
"Maybe a lil' bit."
Disappointingly, the class had no prison-lover dramas this time around. As they filtered out of the Rec Room, Mali tried to make sense of the couple's dynamic.
"Wait, so they was once together… Then they broke up?" She confirmed, walking with Morello towards the cafeteria.
"Yeah. An' Chapman's in here because of Vause."
"I thought Vause was in cuz of Chapman?" Mali was sure that's what Morello had said a couple nights ago in Red's cube.
"I am."
None other than Vause herself had joined them. Mali's eyes widened, a nosy rabbit caught in the headlights. How much did she hear..?
"Oh, hey," Morello greeted her casually. "Mali, Vause. Vause, Mali. She doesn't get what's goin' on between you an' Chapman."
Way to throw me under the bus there…
Vause scoffed, shaking her head. "Yeah, uh. It's complicated."
"Everythin' always is, ain't it?" Morello mused. "What did ya' think of Mali's lil' scene back there?"
Oh my god, stop talking. The younger inmate thought miserably. She wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle just to avoid any more awkward small talk.
"I'd probably shoot her in the face too if I could," Vause smirked. Whilst she didn't much enjoy going down the path of discussing her performance, Mali realised they were limited in other topics of conversation.
How much time you got?
Did you see Judy King last night?
...What's the deal with you and Chapman, and why the hell is it so fantastically fucked up?
At least Morello had diverted them from that particularly delicate subject.
"-An' her gun represents America…" The two inmates were now over-analyzing every single aspect, simply because there was nothing better to do.
Resigned to her fate, Mali shoved her hands in her pockets and stared at the laces of her boots, wondering as they walked whether it was possible to make a noose out of the laces.