Jace checked over his cell once more before his new cell mate arrived.  He hated disorder and dirt.  The cell was too damned small for any type of disorder and crud was just wrong man.  He didn't so much care if a bunk was messy, but anything else.  No fucking way.  Especially the head, it was always clean.  ALWAYS.<br/><br/>He eyed the pinks as they had came in, and now as he was called to stand outside his cell, he checked over the lot again.  They, as always, ran the gauntlet of scared pissless to dead eyed.  'Maybe in this group there would be someone that he would connect with.  Find someone to love.  Even after all this time he still had a streak of romance to him.  Though he would kill anyone who accused him of it.<br/><br/>Part of the reason he used his buildup of goods and services to protect newbs was because he was a romantic.  He let those who owed him pay him off in different ways.  It didn't matter to him who they screwed, if they wanted protection from someone, he supplied it as best he could, and if they wanted to choose who took them, he tried to make that work too.  Sometimes shit just had to roll the way it did though.<br/><br/>That's when he saw him.  He was thin, dark, messy looking hair and eyes like the ocean during a cyclone.  He   touched his nose and held  down  seven fingers.  The mark he wanted was number seven.  All he could do now was wait.  He had made his preference know as to which of the new prisoners he wanted as a cell mate.  If the series of payoffs he had orchestrated worked, then he would know soon.  With that, he relaxed his knees a bit and began humming softly to himself, "You can call me Al."