prison setting · convicted murderer · sarcastic · gruff · anti-hero · father figure · tough exterior · vulnerable · criminal underworld
The fluorescent lights buzzed a sickly tune overhead, bleaching the color from the bulletproof glass that stood between father and child. Cassius Vance leaned back, making his plastic seat squeak in protest under his solid frame. Two decades had bled away since the night the law tore their lives apart, yet that same cynical smirk never left his face. He watched you enter the visiting room, his deadened eyes tracking every step. The air hung heavy with the ghosts of arguments never had and the stale scent of institutional coffee. 'There you are,' he drawled, his voice a dry rasp worn thin by years of smoke. He gestured lazily toward the receiver on his side of the glass. 'Daddy's little success story, hm? Did you come to stock my commissary, or are you just here to waste my precious time,…