Once upon a time, there was a wonderfully well-endowed prince. And, really, he was a hottie, with his smoky good looks and Spanish accent. All the ladies wanted him, but he ended up with a lovely girl named Maritza. And love, had a different definition than you or I would assume it to be, but then, that's what living as a street gangsta will do to a Miguel.
Or a Ryan, a Chris, a Bob. You know. Whatever name will do.
So, this Prince Charming gets caught, see? Doing something quite un-princely, and he gets sent away to a place where he can't do anything bad anymore. Call it a castle.
We could call it a city of gems, but who'd base something on the Wizard of Oz?
So anyway, he's shipped off to parts unknown, to this castle where he can learn to be a good prince, full of love and light and happiness.
Only, there's a problem here, because this place didn't have good princes in it. It was a fucked up place full of fucked up people, and the only thing that the sexy prince learned how to be was more fucked up. So, of course, they thought he was just a worse, and worse, prince--
All but one naive little Asian fucker, named Father Ray.
He wasn't really a father - Miguel had been a father, but the baby died. It crushed our little prince Miguelito quite badly. Enter Ray. He's Catholic, so he's not allowed to be a prince. He has to be a priest, and he has to watch horrific things happen to bad men, and he has to continue to be faithful to God under such horrible, morally ambiguous circumstances.
And he does so by smoking at least two packs a day. Watch the Father, some time, and you'll find his hands shaking as he clutches the word of the Lord. And they don't stop shaking because of the Bible, oh no. It's the worship of nicotine that keeps his trembling at bay.
What happens next, you ask?
Miguel does something Bad.
All you particularly squeamish folks out there, you might want to avert your eyes, because this is particularly sensitive material, involving gruesome, horrifying physical maiming of a hack by our poor little abused prince. Ready? Got your eyes covered?
Good. Wouldn't want anyone's eyes to be put under any undue strain because of Miguel, now.
So, some bad noise is made. The prince is thrown into a place, a Bad Place. Where Bad Princes go. But, really, this is his place in the castle. His grandfather, a mean bastard of a king, ruled this Solitary land for years. He died in solitary. And Miguel, now, he's in solitary, he's a king too.
He's going to die in solitary, too.
And the Good Hacks, the trolls, forget to feed the Bad Prince from time to time, and he ends up getting--
Well. He ends up getting worse, doesn't he? No other way to put it.
Not only that, but Miguel, the Bad Prince, is taken off his anti-depressant meds. So, he's king of all the Solitary, ruling the roost of a twelve foot square metal box, and now he's quietly going crazy as a loon.
And not so quietly too. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, he's going to die in a place that looks like a coffin. Would you keep quiet about something like that?
The wicked witch, the ruler of the castle, doesn't give a flying fuck. All the hacks walk around like little trolls, with their little clubs, and don't give a fuck. The magic mirror of God, the one that speaks to all the dwarves and trolls and witches and goblins and fucked up people alike - it doesn't seem to give a fuck, because if God cared about Miguel Alvarez, would he be living this life in the first place?
Enter the morally ambiguous Father Ray, again, who tries to help Miguel through the worst of the torment.
His grandfather comes to visit him, as well. The ghosts all crowd in on Miguel, and he starts to see them everywhere. And Ray, he's worried about our prince, because he's the only one in all the land who believes that there's still something worthwhile within him.
And there is, you know. No one else sees it, but that badass motherfucker Prince Miguel really just wants someone to care about him. To maybe love him, and teach him what it's like to really love. Because, remember, love for Miguel ain't love for the rest of us.
Some more things happen, and not all of it good. Not all of it bad, either, because Miguel gets to roam free, for a little while, and find a place to play that actually has a sky. But all good things come to an end, and he's hauled by his skinny too-white Latino ass back to the Promised Land of glass. Back to the castle, to deal with all those dwarves; Grumpy, and Crazy, and Scary, and Doc--
But he's not king of Solitary anymore, at least.
And then, a wonderous thing happens.
Or at least, an interesting thing. There's a Big, White, Whirly thingy in the middle of the shithole of a castle, and whoopdeedo... all the inmates step through.
That's about how much our pretty little prince remembers, anyway. And he's not sure why he grabbed Father Ray and dragged him along too, or why he had the need to hold onto him while horrific things happened outside.
Mostly, Miguel understands, it's because sometimes, everyone needs someone to hold onto, and Ray's the only one that won't push him away.
~
"Father?"
"You can call me Ray, Miguel."
"I, naw. I was raised Catholic, hermano. You're a Father."
"Well. Miguel?"
"Yeah, Father?"
"--what do you want?"
"What?"
"Well, we're in a new dimension. You're hiding. You have a chance to be a new man, Miguel. I want--"
"What, Father? What do you want? You want me to forget what happened all those times, when the hacks didn't feed me, or I hurt all those people? You want me to forget all that shit that went down in EmCity, hermano?"
"No. I."
"You want me to say 'I'm sorry' for the riot? You want me to beg God to forgive me, Padre? I fuckin' do, okay! I do."
"I want to forgive you. That's what I want."
"You--"
"Yeah."
And then the both of them look down awkwardly, and pretend that they know what to say - and Miguel, he's not part of a gang anymore, and he fingers the scar on his cheek, a little, and Ray puts a hand on his shoulder.
"You don't have to be guilty all the time, Miguel."
"Isn't that what a Catholic's supposed to be?"
"No, they're not."
"Aren't you guilty all the time?"
And the Father doesn't have an answer for that. He takes of his robe, instead, and gets ready for bed. And Miguel lets him stay in the same dirty bachelor's apartment, paid for by random acts of mugging that Miguel can't quite give up - he'll just do it until he gets a real job, really.
"You could get a real job, Miguel."
"I don't even have a birth certificate, hermano. No social security number, no references, no anything. Only jobs I can get are bad."
And so Prince Miguel is still a Bad Prince.
"If we both worked, maybe--"
"Awright, already, Father. We'll go lookin' tomorrow, okay? I don't got anything else to do, right?"
But he's trying.
~
Thinking about it, now our Prince is in real shit, now he's out of prison. He's elbow deep, and sinking fast, because he's having to get into the muck and the grime and the sweat just to steal something to eat. And remember, now, Miguel isn't a bad guy, really. A little rough around the edges. A little hungry in his gut. But not one of the bad ones.
Ray, however, is positively frazzled. The smoking pretty much gives it away, really, and how he's put his seminal collar in the bottom of Miguel's one pathetic little broken kitchen drawer, right under a pile of Hustler and some rusty steak knives.
The changing of the guard, or, the changing of the weather, has affected them differently. It's reminded the Prince of the Latinos that he's got a life, and he might lose it, and yes, he does have a few redeemable skills. Whether they're marketable to the market economy or not, he can make a living well enough.
And being able to break into pharmacies, when he's got no money, and take his prescription, and a few more besides, never hurts.
Ray's pushing him, has always pushed him, about the drugs for his depression. The good Father is worried about Miguel. He should worry a little more about himself, under all that black cloth.
Father, you're beginning to resemble one of the walking dead. And we all know what kind of a danger that is in this town.
He's not, though. Dead, that is. Just feeling a little under the weather. Maybe a tad sleepy. And Miguel, he's a good Catholic boy, and he's afraid of all those things, like ogres and trolls and princesses that want to turn into dragons in the middle of the night and eat his balls for a midnight snack. So he's living with the good Father, and they're hiding from lots of things. Apples that might eat them. The usual.
And neither of them can let go of the other, not really, because nothing else in the world makes sense; all their friends and enemies have shifted, blurred, changed. Call them whatever kinds of ogres and princesses you like - Miguel thinks of no man too often - but the inmates and the guards are acting more than a little strangely. None of it seems to make sense, and thinking about it is as deadly as chowing down on the forbidden fruit.
And Prince Miguel doesn't want to become King Miguel of the forest, laying in a tomb, fast asleep.
Or worse, raving.
But you know those dwarves, and you know the wicked witch, and you know that McManus, a witch to the bitter end, is cracking up. Miguel watches him, now, and just shakes his head.
You remember demanding that poor man to beg, little prince?
The dwarves, now, they don't protect him; they never did. Hell, they were more likely to try and stab him themselves, so what did the fucking world of make-believe ever give him? What did it ever prove to be stable, unshakable?
Nothing, hombre. Nothing but the Father, and their shared, crumpled cigarettes.
~
"We need more smokes."
"You should quit, Miguel."
"That's fucking hypocritical, Father."
"Just, Ray, okay? It's not like I can be a priest. I don't even have a crucifix."
"Yeah you do - that muy caliente one, that Buffy. She gave us a cross to get rid of the vampires."
"But who do I bless?"
"We bless ourselves now, don't we, Father? We're stuck here. We're scared. We're rioting again, but now there ain't any more walls to keep it in."
And the Father doesn't have an answer to that, because no mirrors are talking to him anymore.
But they're not starving. Hungry, but not starving. And they didn't even have to do anything for Ryan O'Reily to get the food, so consider it a happy ending.
Vampires still roam the earth, and there are no princesses in this bachelor suite they've got two cots and two lives crammed into. But when it all comes down to it, Prince Miguelito's not doing so bad. He's got some money. He's got someone to kick his ass if he starts being bad - and he's listening to the Father, once and a while, because he can't let go of him.
As long as he doesn't fall asleep - as long as he doesn't fall back into that metal box - he should do alright.