Post by forumfish on May 21, 2009 22:25:00 GMT -5
Author: CelleDuSoleil
Ep. 101
Michael: *BANG!*
Judge: Plea?
Michael: No contest.
Veronica: ... the hell?!
Michael: Shush.
Judge: Jail time.
Michael: *smirk*
Bellick: Smart-ass.
Michael: Ass.
Sucre: P-A-S-H-I-O-N?
Michael: E-S-C-A-P-E.
Pope: Why?
Michael: Oops.
Abruzzi: Quack?
Michael: DB?
Westmoreland: Not DB.
Michael: That is the question.
Sara: Tingly?
Michael: Uhm ...
C-Note: Pug-what?
Michael: PUGNAc.
Linc: ... and that’s your plan?
Michael: Don’t worry -- I brought a cheat-sheet.
Ep. 102
Linc: Talk plan fast, Michael, before I give in to the urge to smack you upside the head.
Michael: Well, frankly, it would be more effective if everyone wasn’t all pre-occupied with picking teams for this riot thing.
Linc: It’s a race riot, dorkface -- not dodgeball! We are not, repeat not, in high school. Though you do blend in here ‘bout as well as you did there, so I can see the confusion.
Michael: I beg your pardon -- I happen to be totally integrated into the populace.
T-Bag: What’s a nah-ce young man lah-k you doin’ in a place lah-k this?
Michael: Beginning to think I should have incorporated homo homini lupus est into my tattoo.
T-Bag: Are you callin’ me a homo?
Michael: I wouldn’t dream of it.
T-Bag: *yoink bolt* Wrong team!
C-Note: *yoink PUGNAc* Wrong team!
Gen Pop: *riot*
Michael: What is wrong with you people!?
Pope: I don’t care who started it -- you’re all grounded!
T-Bag: I’ll get you, mah prih-tty!
C-Note: My bad -- here’s your anti-candy.
Sara: Sadly, you’re definitely diabetic.
Michael: Shweet!
Abruzzi’s Thugs: *yoink*
Abruzzi: Wrong attitude, Fish. Fibonacci, or your little piggies get it.
Michael: I only regret that I have but ten toes to give for my--
Abruzzi’s Thug: *sni--*
Ep. 103
Abruzzi’s Thug: *--ip!*
Bellick: They were magical mystery garden shears.
Sara: Imagine that.
Sucre: I wanna hold your hand, mami, and your-- erm, hello, Mrs. Delgado.
T-Bag: Happiness is a warm serrated blade.
Linc: I’m a real nowhere man.
Pope: My advice: keep looking.
Kellerman: Stop looking, Ms. Donovan, everybody’s got something to hide except me and my superior.
Veronica: And I should just let it be, is that it?
Kellerman: Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.
Abruzzi: All you need is thugs.
T-Bag: Cry, baby, cr--
Abruzzi: *Whack!* Alright, Fish, you’ve gotta ticket to ride.
Sucre: I don’t care -- half-assed escape plans can’t buy me love!
Haywire: I am the Walrus.
Michael: Oh, it’s gonna be a hard day’s night.
Ep. 104
Michael: So, breaking out (hypothetically speaking, of course): For/Against/Other? Discuss.
Haywire: Now that’s just crazy ta-- whoa! Your tattoo just spoke to me!
Michael: No, it didn’t.
Michael’s tattoo: No, I didn’t.
Haywire: Did, too!
Michael’s tattoo: Did not!
Haywire: Did.
Michael’s tattoo: Not.
Haywire: Did.
Michael’s tattoo: Not.
Haywire: Not.
Michael’s tattoo: Di-- dammit!
Haywire: A-ha! But what does it mean?
Michael: It doesn’t mean anything.
Michael’s tattoo: S’right. I’m just a completely meaningless pseudo-gothic depiction of devil-slaying-the-angel/angel-slaying-the-devil opposing central tableaux with exodus margin illuminations and random symbology.
Reynolds: *Chop!* Squeaky-clean engineer type suddenly up and “robs” a bank and gets himself incarcerated with his soon-to-be executed brother. Of course this means something!
Hale: Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?
Reynolds: There are no coincidences when it comes to brothers -- or sisters for that matter. Get rid of him. Chop-chop, gentlemen, the clock is ticking.
Maricruz: My biological clock is ticking, ticking, ticking!
Sucre: But, baby--
Maricruz: Arg! Tick-tock, Fernando!
Abruzzi: Fish, you and I are on a deadline now. You gonna whack the whack-job soon or what?
Michael: No, John, because I need you right now to get me some weed killer and, later, for the plane.
Sucre: I want back on the team!
Michael: What a coincidence -- I want you back, too. I just need to take care of Complication: 0x011E, first.
Haywire: Tell me what it means!
Michael: *Slam!* Guard!
Michael’s tattoo: Boo.
Haywire: Aah!
Michael’s tattoo: Heh, what a goof. Head okay? Haven’t lost any higher reasoning functions?
Michael: Don’t be ridiculous.
Sara: Cut the cute crap before it gets you killed.
Michael: Au contraire, physician fair -- bet you one future dinner date that I will outlive my stay between these walls.
Sara: No.
Michael: Lunch.
Sara: Nope.
Michael: Coffee.
Sara: Hmmmm-no.
Michael: A Tic Tac?
Sucre: Duuuuuuude!
Michael: Sweet.
Kellerman: Mwaaahaaahaa! The White House Family Planner strikes again.
Ep. 105
Kellerman: The federal government cordially requests Michael Scofield’s presence elsewhere.
Pope: I cordially decline.
Kellerman: Blackmail it is then.
Michael: John, co-escapees. Co-escapees, John Abruzzi. I’m sure we’ll all get al--
Linc: Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My baby brother loses so much as another cuticle because of you and I’ll yank what’s left of your brain out your right nostril. Capiche?
Abruzzi: Capito.
Michael: Capital. Here’s how we’ll proceed: I will inform you of the next step of my meticulously detailed Plan in the most minimalist and opaque terms known to humankind, John will attempt to veil his feelings of impotency with crude intimidation tactics -- which I will stare down -- and Sucre will ask a plethora of quaintly obvious questions -- which I will only partially answer. Linc will privately second-guess my every move. After at least one of you has declared me insane, you will all do as I have instructed because you really don’t have much of a choice. Now, I need to determine whether it’ll be English, Fitz or Percy. Engage.
Abruzzi: I’ll tell you which one to take out, Fish. *invade personal space*
Sucre: You don’t have the escape street planned out? How are you gonna figure it out?
Linc: We’ll talk later.
Michael: I just need 5 minutes on the roof.
Sucre: You’re loco.
Michael: Good job everyone. Exactly as per Plan.
Pope: You’re being transferred.
Michael: What!? Don’tlookatthesink! You can’t.
Pope: Actually, I can. Why shouldn’t I?
Michael: I need to be near my brother, Linc “The Sink” Burrows, until he’s unjustly executed. Why should you?
Pope: Oh. Not my decision, really. Bureaucratic furniture-moving nonsense. Sorry.
Michael: How do I block the DOC from Feng Shui-ing me out of here?
Westmoreland: Fight paperwork with paperwork, grasshopper.
Kellerman: Why is Scofield not elsewhere already?
Pope: Gosh, no can do -- he suffers from chronic frater incarceratus and needs to remain at Fox River. He filed the paperwork and now it’ll have to be reviewed ... in a few months. Pesky bureaucracy.
Kellerman: You mean like this here file detailing your terminal filius nullius?
Michael: *climb* *scamper*
Sirens: *wail!*
Michael: *grin*
Bellick: *snarl*
Pope: Heel, Brad. Mr. Scofield is no longer our problem.
Michael: *meltdown*
Bellick: *grin*
Pope’s conscience: A-hem.
Pope: Take him back to his cell -- he’s not going anywhere.
Reynolds: That’s it, no more Ms. Subtle-Lady -- just off Burrows!
Ep. 106
Michael: Count is interfering with my busy escape schedule -- it must be stopped.
Sucre: I have ... wait for it ... an Idea.
Michael: Does it involve you singing again?
Sucre: If you want, but I was thinkin’ more along the lines of you turning off the A/C to rile-up Gen Pop and get us a lockdown.
Michael: Oblique. Thermodynamic. I like it.
Sara: Record-setting heat.
Michael: Getting hotter by the moment.
Sara: With the not-being-as-cool-as-it-should-be.
Michael: And the hotness.
Sara: One might even say “the hot-osity”.
Michael: One might if one knew what we were talking about.
Sara: No idea. Bye-eee.
T-Bag: Ladies and gents, I have ree-t’rned! Let the may-hem com-men-sate cuz, whooo-ee, is it ev’r hawt in hee-re and Uncle T-Bag needs a dee-stract-tion.
Geary: Lockdown!
Michael: I need you for this -- hang this sheet and let’s go.
Sucre: What? No. I, uhm, can’t. That sheet’s got holes in it and this weird stain and I don’t wanna be the wife!
Michael: Fine, I hereby pronounce you not-the-wife.
Sucre: Boo-rah!
Michael: Now hang the sheet.
Bellick: Step aside, dickheads, and watch how a real pro single-handedly defuses this minor disturbance with professional tact and elegance.
T-Bag: Chugga-chugga chugga-chugga whoo-whoo!
Gen Pop: *riot*
COs: *flee*
T-Bag: Hey, Bellick, what’s sca-ree-er than a room full of an-gry cons? ... One wah-ly con with a key!
Bob: Don’t worry, that wing’s locked at both ends.
Linc: Lock. Key. *sigh* CHARGE!
Sucre: What if your math is off?
Michael: Then we get completely incinerated in approximately 2.37 seconds after we’ve breached the wall.
Sucre: Oh.
Michael: Never. Question. My. L33t. Math. Sk1llz.
T-Bag: What T-Bag wants T-Bag gets, and li’l badge, T-Bag wants-- *gasp*
Abruzzi: Problema.
Sucre: Your Idea: not so hot.
Michael: My Idea?
T-Bag: We do indeedy have a problem with our escape stra-teh-gery -- Bob hee-re’s seen the hole.
Michael: Our escape?
Abruzzi: Dead men tell no tales.
T-Bag: Do you really bel-lee-ve, ev’n fo’ a mo-m’nt, that dah-ing would be een-nough to shut me up? Now, Bob, on the other hand ...
Michael: No one dies. The escape continues. The Plan does not change.
Sara: Into every generation a prison doctor is born. She alone will stand against the social inequity and inner demons, yet she will not be too proud to occasionally ask for HELP!
Michael: Change of Plan -- I’m going to sickbay. Sucre take over.
T-Bag: Whaaa?
Abruzzi: Welcome to the team -- here are your incomprehensible instructions.
Ep. 107
Sara: HEEEEEELP!
Michael: *yoink* S’okay, that was my Amazing Disappearing Doctor Trick -- for my next trick, I’m going to get you out of this hellhole.
Sara: And after that?
Michael: ... Just follow the good intentions.
Sucre: Stay. And no more dragging half-dead things into my cell.
T-Bag: Meee-ow. Hiss.
Turk: Note my green leather bracelet-thing and prepare to die.
Linc: Duly noted. Note my shiny metal bracelet-thing and *THWACK!*
T-Bag: You do know what they say ‘bout a prom dress, don’tcha?
Bob: No, but I do know what they say about the poor schmuck who, in a life and death situation, waves around a picture of his loved ones back home.
Michael: ... and Thailand is all about the awesome noodles, and then there’s Panam--
Sara: Michael, as much as I appreciate your adorably inept attempt to soothe my nerves with a really intense round of Anywhere But Here, I’m more interested in why, exactly, you are here. And, also, how.
Michael: Urm ... less talking, more scampering!
Abruzzi: Ah, do you smell that sweet sweet fragrance?
Sucre: Sweaty mobster? Old sewage?
Abruzzi: Imminent freedom.
Michael: Ta-da.
Sara: What about you?
Michael: Me felon. You doctor.
Sara: Right. I’ll make us properly designatory name ta--SHARPSHOOTERS!
Michael: CONVICTS!
Sara: *flee!*
Michael: *evade!*
Linc: Where the hell have you been -- I’ve been worried sick!
Michael: Oh, here and there and certainly not dodging murderous convicts and sharpshooters and categorically not re-prioritizing you in any way whatsoever I LOVE YOU, LINC!
Linc: Yeah, I love you, too. Please let go so I can breathe.
Michael: *sniff* Why are you covered in blood?
Linc: Oh, this and that.
Michael: Alright, everyone out of my cell in an orderly manner. No hitting. No biting. No killing.
T-Bag: Sorry, wha’ was that last part?
Ep. 108
Michael: Long story short, we need to get into that storage room ...
T-Bag: Now, Ah wa--
Abuzzi: Do you hear something?
T-Bag: You can’t igno--
Sucre: Oh, look at that, recess is over.
Michael: ... but first we have to get all those guards out of the room ...
Sucre: I have -- hold on, I need to get some matches -- I have an Idea: rubber cement meet coffee pot meet Westmoreland meet guards’ breakroom coffee maker meet *foom!*
Michael: ... which means I need to find the cat -- hello, cat ...
Marilyn: Meow.
Michael: ... and return her to DB Coop-- “Westmoreland” ...
Westmoreland: I’m not DB Cooper and I’m not risking my potential far-future parole plans for your riskier -- although, I’ll grant you, far more exciting -- near-future parole plans. Sorry.
Michael: ... store emotion(panic) in compartment delta-9-beta ...
Linc: Papa’s comin’, LJ!
Michael: ... restrain brother ...
Breakroom: *FOOM!*
Michael: ... take nanosecond to emotion(relief) unplanned good fortune before inevitable next complication ...
T-Bag: Lah-lah-LAH! Doh: an accident -- an acciden’ly discovered hole, Ray:a death-ray glare at Meee: no longer bein’ ignoooor’d, Fah: the long long way weee’ll ruuuuuun, Soh--
Abruzzi: Sign him up, boss -- he’s with us.
Michael: ... now, we widen the drain enough to lower ourselves into the pipe below ...
T-Bag: That’s quah-t the plan you’ve made fo’ us, prih--
Linc: Shut. Up.
Ep. 109
Seth: Help.
T-Bag: *leer* *leerity-leer-leer*
Michael’s conscience: Uhm ...
Michael: I know, I know, but we stick to The Plan.
Michael’s tattoo: I feel dirty.
Michael: I know.
Seth: Urk.
Michael: I could have done something!
Linc: Yeah, you’re a horrible, horrible person for not coming in here to break me out and move jailbait out of T-Bag’s way.
Michael: I am!
Linc: Michael, get a grip. You’re my hero. Can we focus on me now?
Tweener: Yo, y’all!
T-Bag: *leeeeeeeeer*
Dr. Brighton: ... so Michael is basically a pathologically altruistic creative genius.
Sara: Hot-- I mean: hmmmmm, interesting. I can honestly say that the situation makes even less sense now than before I consulted you.
Dr. Brighton: Complete bafflement is a natural part of the process. You just need to find the key.
Sara: In the interest of the patient ... that is, treating the patient, doctor.
Dr. Brighton: Of course. Doctor.
T-Bag: Tweeeeeee-nuh. Oo-ooooh, Tweeeeeeeeeeee-nuuuuh.
Michael’s tattoo: I vote he dies.
Michael’s conscience: What was that, tattoo? I’m sorry, but between the toxic pervert’s melodious crooning and the poor kid’s paralyzing terror, I can’t hear a thing. Just stick it in the Other compartment and I promise to look at it never.
T-Bag: Mmmm, tai--
Michael: *Thwack!*
T-Bag: Ree-sah-tal tahme. BA--
Michael: Start with “If I Keep My Mouth Shut, I Might Just Get Out of Here” -- it’s a classic. You can follow it up with my personal favorite -- “He Who Makes The Plan, Calls the Shots”.
T-Bag: ...
Michael’s tattoo: S’right.
Michael’s conscience: Beeee-yotch.
Ep. 110
Abruzzi: I’m gonna say somethin’ crazy to you, Fish.
Michael: Don’t let my cool, impenetrable demeanor fool you, John -- I’m prepared to be shocked and amazed on the inside.
Abruzzi: Fibonacci.
Michael: Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen ... You see how you sum up the previous two numbers in the sequence to get the next? Just like: we escape plus we get on your plane equals you get Fibonacci.
Abruzzi: But this isn’t about revenge anymore! This is about freedom and rainbows and kittens! None of which can happen if I don’t give Philly Fibonacci and get us that room back before they find the hole.
Michael: Shockingly and amazingly, you are making sense. Make the call -- I talk only to him.
Abruzzi: But--
Michael: Twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine ...
Philly: Fibonacci, kid, or pain.
Michael: Oh, golly, no! I’ll tell you everything! Picture it: Illinois, 2005. A young engineer hatches a truly idiot-proof plot to “rob” a bank, but before he does so, he takes out some insurance in the form of the location of one mob prosecution witness--
Philly: Big pain, kid.
Michael: He’s in Canada. 144 Entrapment Court, Tout-à-fait-un-piège Bay, Ontario. Please don’t hurt anyone.
Abruzzi: Ha! Told ya I still got it.
C-Note: Who’s that smooth Darwinist with all the chips? C-Note! Can ya dig it?
Michael: No, I cannot, in fact, “dig it” and I find your interpretation of the theory of evolution to be shallow and jejune. Whatever, welcome to the team -- with any luck (like that’ll happen), you and T-Bag will karmically cancel each other out.
Ep. 111
C-Note: I’m rubber, you’re glue -- whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.
T-Bag: Ah know you ah-re bu’ wha’ am Ah?
Abruzzi: Idiots. Both of yous. Shut it.
C-Note: Labor abuse!
T-Bag: Ah am bein’ ohp-press’d!
Abruzzi: Start a union.
Sara: ... and now we’re breathing in ... and out ... and in ... and out ... and in ... and out ... and ... uhm ... sorry, where were we?
Michael: Out? No! In. Definitely in.
Linc: Conju-what?
Nika: Is there anything else I can do? Anything?
Michael: No, thanks, I’m good.
Nika: Yes, I know, but you are still in jail.
Bellick: Let’s see: I’ve insinuated that your wife’s a sleeper while you’re naked and experiencing the business end -- *snort* “end” -- of a latex glove. Does it get anymore humiliating than this?
Michael: You tell me, boss.
Sucre: All part of The Plan? Frankly, bro, I would have preferred some juicy details about your love life cuz, lemme tell you, me and Mari--
Michael: Sorry to disappoint.
Sara: Forget to mention a little detail?
Michael: Sa--
Sara: That’s Doctor Tancredi to you, Mister I’m-Married-And-Completely-Failed-To-Mention-It-While-Undergoing-Completely-Legitimate-Medical-Care.
Michael: *sigh*
Linc: What’s with the look?
Michael: I’ve got good news and bad news.
Linc: “Good” news?
Michael: Westmoreland is in.
Linc: Cool. And the normal news?
Michael: Someone’s got to go.
Linc: I vote T-Bag.
Ep. 112
Linc: One too many, how’re we--
C-Note: I’m gonna pretend for a moment the solution isn’t really obvious. Labor abuse!
Sucre: Yeah! Wait, did you say “labor”?
Abruzzi: It is a really tough decis--
Sucre, C-Note & Westmoreland: T-Bag.
T-Bag: Ah smell con-sp’rah-cy.
Michael, Linc, Abruzzi, Sucre, C-Note & Westmoreland: ...
T-Bag: Mo’ so than u-s’al.
Bellick: Credit card. Green card. Stripper. Neener.
Sara: Leave.
Michael: Nika. And me. It was just businessthatdidn’tcomeoutright.
Sara: What. Ever.
Abruzzi’s Thugs: Oops.
Abruzzi’s conscience: ... and then I said: “No, you can’t do that to another human being even with a really small tuna!” but would you listen to me? N--
Abruzzi: Jesus?
Abruzzi’s conscience: Uhm ... yeah-- erm, yes! Repent for thine sins, John! Repent fully and ye may be forgiven and, incidentally, be able to sleep again.
Abruzzi: Yes, Lord!
T-Bag: Ayh-men. *Slash!*
Abruzzi: *Gurgle*
Abruzzi’s conscience: Yeah, him? Ye shoulda smoteth.
Linc: *Thwack*
Michael: We leave tonight!
Westmoreland: Michael, we have a problem.
Michael: ....
Westmoreland: More so than usual.
Ep. 113
C-Note: All aboard, Fish, or this train’s leavin’ without you.
T-Bag: Chugga-chugga chugga-chugga whoo wh--urk!
Blue Steel: NEGATIVE.
C-Note: What’re you gonna do -- scuttle your own escape plan?
Blue Steel: PROCESSING. STANDBY.
Sucre: Can we talk about this?
Michael: Can I stop you?
Sucre: I need to be outta here, bro, and so do you cuz if they find that hole and link it back to you, you are gonna be in here forever. Look, I get that you can’t leave your brother in here to die like that. I mean: frying all strapped in. Can you think of a worse way to g--
Michael: Razor.
Sucre: Wha--
Michael: *Slice*
Sucre: ... but I promise to never mention it ever again.
Michael: Thank you. Goodbye.
Sara: Bye?
Michael: Have you ever wondered about--
Sara: How it would have been if you weren’t married and constantly lying and in jail for armed robbery -- which, by the way, still makes no sense -- and how it would have been magical? ... No, I really haven’t thought about it.
Michael: Oh, good. Me neither.
T-Bag: So what’s the big plan, prih-tty?
Michael: Hammer.
C-Note: Wha--
Michael: *Whack!*
Bellick: That’s it -- you’re all staying in here until this mess is dry.
C-Note: No!
Bellick: All night if you have to.
C-Note: Oh, darn.
Linc: *Blarg!*
Sara: It’s food poisoning. You’re going need to stay here for the night.
Linc: Oh, poot.
Sara: I could stay--
Linc: No, no, that’s fine! Thank you. Goodbye.
Michael: ... the pipe.
T-Bag: Wha--
Blue Steel: SYSTEM ERROR. ABORT.
Ep. 114
T-Bag: You ah-re gonna make mah freed’m happen, prih-tty, or Mister Stabby hee’re gonna make some new close pers’nal ahc-quay-t’nces.
Michael: Oh, whatever, Tangential-Baggage.
Westmoreland: We gotta move!
Michael: Oh, what--
Westmoreland: NOW!
Team Escarpara: *Scamper!*
T-Bag: Ah am gonna collect!
Sucre: I am gonna open up a can of righteous sidekick whoop-ass on your ass if I don’t see it walkin’ away. Right. Now.
Westmoreland: At least it’ll be quick. Any problems with that chair and it takes a whole three weeks to ... Oh. You’re welcome.
Michael: I’m going in.
Sucre: What?! But it’s the middle of the day, and there’re guards everywhere and ... I’ll just be hanging that sheet, now.
Rat: Squeak!
Sara: Do you have any questions about uhm ... y’know?
Linc: What do you call that feeling of constantly being reminded that you’re gonna die?
Sara: Paperwork.
Linc: Thought so. Will you look after my brother when I’m ... y’know?
Sara: What do you call that feeling of simultaneous horror and delight?
Linc: Yesterday.
Tweener: Squeak!
Bellick: Paperwork’s for girl thingies! Fix that chair.
Electrical system: *zzzzzz-ZZZZZZZZZ-.......-ZZZZZZZZZZ-zzzz*
Michael: *whimper*
Gov. Tancredi: Sara, I can’t be both tough on crime and a bleeding-heart clemency granter just because of a faint whiff of plausibility about Burrow’s innocence.
Sara: Yeah, the voters might get confused. Thanks for being fair and balanced, Mister Governor.
Michael: There’s still hope.
Linc: Nope.
Veronica: The judge denied our motion.
Gov. Tancredi: Psych! Carry on.
Linc: Told ya.
Ep. 115
Pope: I’m so sor--
Michael: Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna need an immediate situation report, some paper and a mirror. Dismissed. Veronica, an exact timeline of the near future, please.
Veronica: On it.
Michael: And Linc ...
Linc: ...
Michael: ... just breathe or blink or something.
Linc: ... I saw Dad.
Michael: That’s nice.
C-Note: Wait, why’re you changing the plan, man?
Michael: It’s called “adaptation”, Darwin. Here’s how we’ll proceed: 1) you will all ask a series of stupendously short-sighted questions which I will 2) answer through a montage of infuriatingly understated, yet dramatic, gestures designed to maximize fear and frustration. 3) I will seemingly experience a nigh perverse delight as you externalize the aforementioned fear and frustration that I, in fact, cannot. 4) You will declare my Plan inadequate. 5) You will follow it.
Sucre: I have an Idea. It involves my cousin and a donkey, but I will say no more.
Michael: Thank you.
Sucre: You memorized the way, right?
Michael: Sure. *Scamper* *Subterfuge* *Snoop* *Sizzle* *SCREAM!*
Sara: Michael, it’s Sara. How are you feeling?
Michael: Super.
Bellick: First, we’re gonna get Rockford to find the frying pan ...
Sucre: Who with the what?
Bellick: ... and after the bitchin’ car chase, we’ll sic Mike Hammer on yo--
Pope: Alright, that’s enough, Captain, I’ll take it from here.
Sucre: What’s the damage, bro?
Michael’s tattoo: Not. Talking. To. You.
Michael: Shi--
Ep. 116
[WARNING: The following performance contains hazardous levels of dramatic irony, figurative anvils and Greek tragedy. Viewer discretion is advised.]
Veronica: ... shouldn’t you get that?
Michael: No, he’ll leave a message. It’s not as if it’s ever life or death with him -- he just thinks it is. Where were we?
Veronica: Oedipus Rex--
Michael: -- the Prologue. I’ll call thee a chariot.
Linc: Your fraternal faith in me is really heartwarming. I. Didn’t. Do. It.
Michael: Spare me.
Linc: That’s the idea. Get lost.
Veronica: Oh, no, you din’t!
Michael: Okay: a) this has nothing to do with me, b) I trusted him and he betrayed that trust, and c)--
Veronica: --the loan that landed him in prison paid for your education.
Linc: Oh, no, she din’t.
Michael: I am unworthy.
Linc: Shut up.
Michael: But we can fix th--
Linc: Let. It. Go. Get on with your life --- it’ll make all this worth it. It’s just fate, Mike.
Michael: “Fate”?! That’s as ridiculous as saying that you are where you are because your name is vaguely reminiscent of an assassinated president and deep, confined places, and I am where I am because mine is even more vaguely reminiscent of an archangel and wide, open spaces ... because I’m pretty sure that’s just a coincidence.
Linc: Right. They’re moving me to this Fox River pla-- what?
Michael: ... nothing. I can come visit you at Fate River?
Linc: Fox River.
Michael: Right.
Michael’s tattoo: What am I? Where am I? Why am I? And who the heck are you?
Blue Steel: ALPHA PROTOCOL INITIALIZED.
Ep. 117
Michael: *Meltdown*
C-Note: It’s all on you now, papi.
Sucre: No, no, no, no, no and no -- I just put up the sheet and provide the comic relief. Insanely dangerous and complicated, yet infuriatingly understated, acts are not in my job description.
T-Bag: Yo’ the on-lay one wi’ the mah-gic head.
C-Note: Yeah, so grow a pair and think of something.
Sucre: Think think think ... what was it that Mama always said? “Just act natural, ‘Nando, and be yourself ... and, if at all possible, make the evil pervertido suffer.”
T-Bag: No, no, no, no, no and n--
Sucre: But you’re the only one with the magic--
T-Bag: Fah-ne! But no one hee-ars ‘bout this. Ev-ah.
Sucre: I don’t gossip ... Thank you, Mama.
Linc: Michael? Man, do not make me be the positive one cuz we both know I suck at it.
Michael: ...
Linc: OK, uhm: 1) you’re not gonna snap cuz that’s what they want you to do, 2) you’re gonna think of--
Michael: *Snap*
Bellick: What have we got here?
Sucre: Please, boss, my girl, she just wanted me to know she was thinking of me!
Bellick: Awww, ain’t that sweet *sniiiiif*.
Sucre: Tee-he--I mean: ¡Oh, Dios, not the delicates of mi amore! ¡My cojones are as the shriveled anchovies!
Bellick: Boot him in the SHU.
Sucre: Bwa-- ahem: ¡Oh, mercy!
Bellick: Heh, “boot”. Mama Bellick didn’t raise no fool.
Linc: Sucre?
Sucre: Linc? Where’s Michael?
Linc: Good question. Badge!
Michael: .................................
Sara: *whimper*
Michael: ...............................
Blue Steel: REBOOTING FROM LAST KNOWN GOOD CONFIGURATION.
Ep. 118
Michael: Hey, roomie, remember me?
Haywire: ...
Michael’s tattoo: Dude! Dude, you are never gonna guess what Hotcakes here did to me! ... Dude?
Haywire: Who are you again?
Michael: *sigh*
Michael’s tattoo: This is all your fault.
Geary: Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?
Bellick: Please, I have standards, but I’m thinkin’ we should auction this bijou little cell with a view.
T-Bag: Gents, we got us a pro-bl’m.
C-Note: I think not. Observe how much my peeps respect me.
Trumpets: *THWAP!*
T-Bag: Now, tha’ was jus’ ray-c’st.
Westmoreland: We’re gonna need to pull together on this.
C-Note: We got us a problem.
Haywire: I remember ...
Michael: Excellent.
Haywire: ... that you stole my toothpaste!
Michael’s tattoo: He does that, but let’s talk about me now.
Haywire: Oooo, the Path! There were demons pointing ... the angel lost his wing ... no, they were hula hoops leading Smurfs by the hand ...
Michael’s tattoo: This can officially not get any wackier.
Jesùs: Deal, White-Out.
T-Bag: Well, Ah neh-vah.
C-Note: I’ll see your ethnic slur and raise you a personal remark about your finances.
T-Bag: And yo’ mama.
Haywire: I also remember ... THAT YOU SET ME UP!
Michael’s tattoo: He does that, too.
Michael: But, if you trust me, I’ll get you out of here.
Michael’s tattoo: But, mostly, he does that, so hand over my missing part.
T-Bag: How is it tha’ we still got us a pro-bl’m?
Manche: My cousin, Linc and me had an Idea.
C-Note: Because we suck, Blanche, that’s how.
Michael: ... and that’s how I got the burn.
Pope: *WRATH*
Michael: All according to Plan. Good work.
Westmoreland: We try.
Ep. 119
Kellerman: Hey, while I have you here, you wanna hear a story ‘bout my dog?
Linc: Mmnf--
Kellerman: It’s got it all: love, loyalty, cancer and death. You’ll love it.
Aldo: *THWACK*
C-Note: Everything set? No more surprises?
Michael: No more surprises.
Sara: What do you want from me, Michael?
Michael: Uhm ...
Michael’s tattoo: Psst! It begins with K ... The other one. Idiot.
Michael’s conscience: ... and then in fifth gra-- finally. Did you get the k--Oh. Surprise, surprise. Hey, don’t blame me, I was cross-referencing past transgressions with pi to 69 decimal places as per instructions -- that was all you, Romeo.
Aldo: It’s all One Big Conspiracy!
Linc: Oh, pul-eeze.
Sucre: How’d it go?
Michael: Diversionary tactics were very effective. Very.
Sucre: And the key?
Michael: The what?
Nika: The key.
Michael: Oh, right. Thanks.
Nika: I am sure you and your key will be very happy together. Buh-bye.
Katie: Here they are!
Michael: Lost something?
Sara: Only for a moment.
Ep. 120
T-Bag: Ah got fah-ve words fo’ y’all: dawgs, bou-quay o’ bon-bons and poh-leece.
Abruzzi: Amen, Theodore.
C-Note: We’re doomed.
Michael: Relax, we leave in three days.
Westmoreland: We gotta go NOW!
Michael: Or now’s good, too. Get thee something fragrant and some peroxide.
Sucre: What about the key? And Linc?
Michael: I will attempt a tactic hitherto untried.
Sara: I want The Truth!
Michael: I’m breaking my brother out.
Sara: Okay, shut-up. Turns out I don’t actually want The Truth that badly.
Michael: Linc’s just the victim of One Big Conspiracy and I need your help to save him.
Sara: Oh, pul-eeze! Does that really work on anyone?
Michael: Could I see my brother, please?
Pope: Sure!
Linc: Mike, give it up. Save yourself. It’s all One Big Conspiracy -- they won’t let me escape cuz of Dad.
Michael: Maybe I can train an ant to pick the lock on your chains.
Linc: Are you even listening to me?
Michael: Why are you bleeding?
Pope: ... so the Taj Mahal is positively drenched in symbo-
Taj Mahal: *Collapse!*
Michael: I’m breaking my brother out and you’re going to help me.
Ep. 121
Pope: How long have you been planning this?
Michael: There will hopefully be a time when I can tell you that particular epic and there may even be mirth. Probably not in our general vicinity, but someone somewhere will be laughing. I’m really sorry about this. *Thwack!*
Trumpets: Where’s your little cuz C-Note?
Abruzzi: Why must you be the herald of discord? You would be awèd and amazèd at what we can accomplish together if we set aside our petty differences and embrace each other as brothers.
Trumpets: Leaving now.
Michael: Everyone proceed through the confined passages in calm and non-homicidal manner.
Bellick: AAAAAr--mnh!
Team Escarpara: *Gloat!*
Sirens: *WAIL!*
Team Escarpara: *FREAK-OUT!*
Michael: It’s just the fire alarm I set off.
Team Escarpara: *Glare*
Michael: Now, everyone proceed up and try to seem crazy.
Katie: Sara?
Sara: Anon, good nurse!
CO: Will ya look at the wheels on this on--eep.
Michael: Release my brother.
CO: Whatever you say, boss.
Michael: Hey, Linc.
Linc: Yo, bro.
Haywire: Boo!
Linc: Yes, well done. You’re in.
Michael: We’re almost there.
Westmoreland: *Expire*
Sirens: *WAAAAIIIILLL!*
Manche: Oomph!
Team Escarpara: *ESCAPE!*
Ep. 122
Fox River: *BROKEN!*
Bellick: Git me my shotgun!
Dogs: Woof!
Team Escarpara: *Scurry!*
Veronica: Nick? Thank you so much. Nothing is more important than finding Terrence Steadman.
Nick’s Answering Machine: Hi, this is Nick. I can’t come to the phone right now ...
Team Escarpara: *Bolt!*
Shady Conspirator #1: This is of the utmost importance.
Shady Conspirator #2: Absolutely paramount.
Team Escarpara: *Hurtle!*
Katie: Uhm, Sara ... and Scofield ...
Pope: She has a Taj Mahal too?
Team Escarpara: *Gallop!*
Reynolds: Nothing could possibly be more important than the presidency.
Kellerman: Ha ha.
Team Escarpara: *Dash!*
Sara: ,
Team Escarpara: *Sprint!*
Veronica: A-HA!
Team Escarpara: *Fl-*
Sucre: Now what?
Michael: Guess.
Team Escarpara: *Flee!*
Ep. 101
Michael: *BANG!*
Judge: Plea?
Michael: No contest.
Veronica: ... the hell?!
Michael: Shush.
Judge: Jail time.
Michael: *smirk*
Bellick: Smart-ass.
Michael: Ass.
Sucre: P-A-S-H-I-O-N?
Michael: E-S-C-A-P-E.
Pope: Why?
Michael: Oops.
Abruzzi: Quack?
Michael: DB?
Westmoreland: Not DB.
Michael: That is the question.
Sara: Tingly?
Michael: Uhm ...
C-Note: Pug-what?
Michael: PUGNAc.
Linc: ... and that’s your plan?
Michael: Don’t worry -- I brought a cheat-sheet.
Ep. 102
Linc: Talk plan fast, Michael, before I give in to the urge to smack you upside the head.
Michael: Well, frankly, it would be more effective if everyone wasn’t all pre-occupied with picking teams for this riot thing.
Linc: It’s a race riot, dorkface -- not dodgeball! We are not, repeat not, in high school. Though you do blend in here ‘bout as well as you did there, so I can see the confusion.
Michael: I beg your pardon -- I happen to be totally integrated into the populace.
T-Bag: What’s a nah-ce young man lah-k you doin’ in a place lah-k this?
Michael: Beginning to think I should have incorporated homo homini lupus est into my tattoo.
T-Bag: Are you callin’ me a homo?
Michael: I wouldn’t dream of it.
T-Bag: *yoink bolt* Wrong team!
C-Note: *yoink PUGNAc* Wrong team!
Gen Pop: *riot*
Michael: What is wrong with you people!?
Pope: I don’t care who started it -- you’re all grounded!
T-Bag: I’ll get you, mah prih-tty!
C-Note: My bad -- here’s your anti-candy.
Sara: Sadly, you’re definitely diabetic.
Michael: Shweet!
Abruzzi’s Thugs: *yoink*
Abruzzi: Wrong attitude, Fish. Fibonacci, or your little piggies get it.
Michael: I only regret that I have but ten toes to give for my--
Abruzzi’s Thug: *sni--*
Ep. 103
Abruzzi’s Thug: *--ip!*
Bellick: They were magical mystery garden shears.
Sara: Imagine that.
Sucre: I wanna hold your hand, mami, and your-- erm, hello, Mrs. Delgado.
T-Bag: Happiness is a warm serrated blade.
Linc: I’m a real nowhere man.
Pope: My advice: keep looking.
Kellerman: Stop looking, Ms. Donovan, everybody’s got something to hide except me and my superior.
Veronica: And I should just let it be, is that it?
Kellerman: Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.
Abruzzi: All you need is thugs.
T-Bag: Cry, baby, cr--
Abruzzi: *Whack!* Alright, Fish, you’ve gotta ticket to ride.
Sucre: I don’t care -- half-assed escape plans can’t buy me love!
Haywire: I am the Walrus.
Michael: Oh, it’s gonna be a hard day’s night.
Ep. 104
Michael: So, breaking out (hypothetically speaking, of course): For/Against/Other? Discuss.
Haywire: Now that’s just crazy ta-- whoa! Your tattoo just spoke to me!
Michael: No, it didn’t.
Michael’s tattoo: No, I didn’t.
Haywire: Did, too!
Michael’s tattoo: Did not!
Haywire: Did.
Michael’s tattoo: Not.
Haywire: Did.
Michael’s tattoo: Not.
Haywire: Not.
Michael’s tattoo: Di-- dammit!
Haywire: A-ha! But what does it mean?
Michael: It doesn’t mean anything.
Michael’s tattoo: S’right. I’m just a completely meaningless pseudo-gothic depiction of devil-slaying-the-angel/angel-slaying-the-devil opposing central tableaux with exodus margin illuminations and random symbology.
Reynolds: *Chop!* Squeaky-clean engineer type suddenly up and “robs” a bank and gets himself incarcerated with his soon-to-be executed brother. Of course this means something!
Hale: Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?
Reynolds: There are no coincidences when it comes to brothers -- or sisters for that matter. Get rid of him. Chop-chop, gentlemen, the clock is ticking.
Maricruz: My biological clock is ticking, ticking, ticking!
Sucre: But, baby--
Maricruz: Arg! Tick-tock, Fernando!
Abruzzi: Fish, you and I are on a deadline now. You gonna whack the whack-job soon or what?
Michael: No, John, because I need you right now to get me some weed killer and, later, for the plane.
Sucre: I want back on the team!
Michael: What a coincidence -- I want you back, too. I just need to take care of Complication: 0x011E, first.
Haywire: Tell me what it means!
Michael: *Slam!* Guard!
Michael’s tattoo: Boo.
Haywire: Aah!
Michael’s tattoo: Heh, what a goof. Head okay? Haven’t lost any higher reasoning functions?
Michael: Don’t be ridiculous.
Sara: Cut the cute crap before it gets you killed.
Michael: Au contraire, physician fair -- bet you one future dinner date that I will outlive my stay between these walls.
Sara: No.
Michael: Lunch.
Sara: Nope.
Michael: Coffee.
Sara: Hmmmm-no.
Michael: A Tic Tac?
Sucre: Duuuuuuude!
Michael: Sweet.
Kellerman: Mwaaahaaahaa! The White House Family Planner strikes again.
Ep. 105
Kellerman: The federal government cordially requests Michael Scofield’s presence elsewhere.
Pope: I cordially decline.
Kellerman: Blackmail it is then.
Michael: John, co-escapees. Co-escapees, John Abruzzi. I’m sure we’ll all get al--
Linc: Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My baby brother loses so much as another cuticle because of you and I’ll yank what’s left of your brain out your right nostril. Capiche?
Abruzzi: Capito.
Michael: Capital. Here’s how we’ll proceed: I will inform you of the next step of my meticulously detailed Plan in the most minimalist and opaque terms known to humankind, John will attempt to veil his feelings of impotency with crude intimidation tactics -- which I will stare down -- and Sucre will ask a plethora of quaintly obvious questions -- which I will only partially answer. Linc will privately second-guess my every move. After at least one of you has declared me insane, you will all do as I have instructed because you really don’t have much of a choice. Now, I need to determine whether it’ll be English, Fitz or Percy. Engage.
Abruzzi: I’ll tell you which one to take out, Fish. *invade personal space*
Sucre: You don’t have the escape street planned out? How are you gonna figure it out?
Linc: We’ll talk later.
Michael: I just need 5 minutes on the roof.
Sucre: You’re loco.
Michael: Good job everyone. Exactly as per Plan.
Pope: You’re being transferred.
Michael: What!? Don’tlookatthesink! You can’t.
Pope: Actually, I can. Why shouldn’t I?
Michael: I need to be near my brother, Linc “The Sink” Burrows, until he’s unjustly executed. Why should you?
Pope: Oh. Not my decision, really. Bureaucratic furniture-moving nonsense. Sorry.
Michael: How do I block the DOC from Feng Shui-ing me out of here?
Westmoreland: Fight paperwork with paperwork, grasshopper.
Kellerman: Why is Scofield not elsewhere already?
Pope: Gosh, no can do -- he suffers from chronic frater incarceratus and needs to remain at Fox River. He filed the paperwork and now it’ll have to be reviewed ... in a few months. Pesky bureaucracy.
Kellerman: You mean like this here file detailing your terminal filius nullius?
Michael: *climb* *scamper*
Sirens: *wail!*
Michael: *grin*
Bellick: *snarl*
Pope: Heel, Brad. Mr. Scofield is no longer our problem.
Michael: *meltdown*
Bellick: *grin*
Pope’s conscience: A-hem.
Pope: Take him back to his cell -- he’s not going anywhere.
Reynolds: That’s it, no more Ms. Subtle-Lady -- just off Burrows!
Ep. 106
Michael: Count is interfering with my busy escape schedule -- it must be stopped.
Sucre: I have ... wait for it ... an Idea.
Michael: Does it involve you singing again?
Sucre: If you want, but I was thinkin’ more along the lines of you turning off the A/C to rile-up Gen Pop and get us a lockdown.
Michael: Oblique. Thermodynamic. I like it.
Sara: Record-setting heat.
Michael: Getting hotter by the moment.
Sara: With the not-being-as-cool-as-it-should-be.
Michael: And the hotness.
Sara: One might even say “the hot-osity”.
Michael: One might if one knew what we were talking about.
Sara: No idea. Bye-eee.
T-Bag: Ladies and gents, I have ree-t’rned! Let the may-hem com-men-sate cuz, whooo-ee, is it ev’r hawt in hee-re and Uncle T-Bag needs a dee-stract-tion.
Geary: Lockdown!
Michael: I need you for this -- hang this sheet and let’s go.
Sucre: What? No. I, uhm, can’t. That sheet’s got holes in it and this weird stain and I don’t wanna be the wife!
Michael: Fine, I hereby pronounce you not-the-wife.
Sucre: Boo-rah!
Michael: Now hang the sheet.
Bellick: Step aside, dickheads, and watch how a real pro single-handedly defuses this minor disturbance with professional tact and elegance.
T-Bag: Chugga-chugga chugga-chugga whoo-whoo!
Gen Pop: *riot*
COs: *flee*
T-Bag: Hey, Bellick, what’s sca-ree-er than a room full of an-gry cons? ... One wah-ly con with a key!
Bob: Don’t worry, that wing’s locked at both ends.
Linc: Lock. Key. *sigh* CHARGE!
Sucre: What if your math is off?
Michael: Then we get completely incinerated in approximately 2.37 seconds after we’ve breached the wall.
Sucre: Oh.
Michael: Never. Question. My. L33t. Math. Sk1llz.
T-Bag: What T-Bag wants T-Bag gets, and li’l badge, T-Bag wants-- *gasp*
Abruzzi: Problema.
Sucre: Your Idea: not so hot.
Michael: My Idea?
T-Bag: We do indeedy have a problem with our escape stra-teh-gery -- Bob hee-re’s seen the hole.
Michael: Our escape?
Abruzzi: Dead men tell no tales.
T-Bag: Do you really bel-lee-ve, ev’n fo’ a mo-m’nt, that dah-ing would be een-nough to shut me up? Now, Bob, on the other hand ...
Michael: No one dies. The escape continues. The Plan does not change.
Sara: Into every generation a prison doctor is born. She alone will stand against the social inequity and inner demons, yet she will not be too proud to occasionally ask for HELP!
Michael: Change of Plan -- I’m going to sickbay. Sucre take over.
T-Bag: Whaaa?
Abruzzi: Welcome to the team -- here are your incomprehensible instructions.
Ep. 107
Sara: HEEEEEELP!
Michael: *yoink* S’okay, that was my Amazing Disappearing Doctor Trick -- for my next trick, I’m going to get you out of this hellhole.
Sara: And after that?
Michael: ... Just follow the good intentions.
Sucre: Stay. And no more dragging half-dead things into my cell.
T-Bag: Meee-ow. Hiss.
Turk: Note my green leather bracelet-thing and prepare to die.
Linc: Duly noted. Note my shiny metal bracelet-thing and *THWACK!*
T-Bag: You do know what they say ‘bout a prom dress, don’tcha?
Bob: No, but I do know what they say about the poor schmuck who, in a life and death situation, waves around a picture of his loved ones back home.
Michael: ... and Thailand is all about the awesome noodles, and then there’s Panam--
Sara: Michael, as much as I appreciate your adorably inept attempt to soothe my nerves with a really intense round of Anywhere But Here, I’m more interested in why, exactly, you are here. And, also, how.
Michael: Urm ... less talking, more scampering!
Abruzzi: Ah, do you smell that sweet sweet fragrance?
Sucre: Sweaty mobster? Old sewage?
Abruzzi: Imminent freedom.
Michael: Ta-da.
Sara: What about you?
Michael: Me felon. You doctor.
Sara: Right. I’ll make us properly designatory name ta--SHARPSHOOTERS!
Michael: CONVICTS!
Sara: *flee!*
Michael: *evade!*
Linc: Where the hell have you been -- I’ve been worried sick!
Michael: Oh, here and there and certainly not dodging murderous convicts and sharpshooters and categorically not re-prioritizing you in any way whatsoever I LOVE YOU, LINC!
Linc: Yeah, I love you, too. Please let go so I can breathe.
Michael: *sniff* Why are you covered in blood?
Linc: Oh, this and that.
Michael: Alright, everyone out of my cell in an orderly manner. No hitting. No biting. No killing.
T-Bag: Sorry, wha’ was that last part?
Ep. 108
Michael: Long story short, we need to get into that storage room ...
T-Bag: Now, Ah wa--
Abuzzi: Do you hear something?
T-Bag: You can’t igno--
Sucre: Oh, look at that, recess is over.
Michael: ... but first we have to get all those guards out of the room ...
Sucre: I have -- hold on, I need to get some matches -- I have an Idea: rubber cement meet coffee pot meet Westmoreland meet guards’ breakroom coffee maker meet *foom!*
Michael: ... which means I need to find the cat -- hello, cat ...
Marilyn: Meow.
Michael: ... and return her to DB Coop-- “Westmoreland” ...
Westmoreland: I’m not DB Cooper and I’m not risking my potential far-future parole plans for your riskier -- although, I’ll grant you, far more exciting -- near-future parole plans. Sorry.
Michael: ... store emotion(panic) in compartment delta-9-beta ...
Linc: Papa’s comin’, LJ!
Michael: ... restrain brother ...
Breakroom: *FOOM!*
Michael: ... take nanosecond to emotion(relief) unplanned good fortune before inevitable next complication ...
T-Bag: Lah-lah-LAH! Doh: an accident -- an acciden’ly discovered hole, Ray:a death-ray glare at Meee: no longer bein’ ignoooor’d, Fah: the long long way weee’ll ruuuuuun, Soh--
Abruzzi: Sign him up, boss -- he’s with us.
Michael: ... now, we widen the drain enough to lower ourselves into the pipe below ...
T-Bag: That’s quah-t the plan you’ve made fo’ us, prih--
Linc: Shut. Up.
Ep. 109
Seth: Help.
T-Bag: *leer* *leerity-leer-leer*
Michael’s conscience: Uhm ...
Michael: I know, I know, but we stick to The Plan.
Michael’s tattoo: I feel dirty.
Michael: I know.
Seth: Urk.
Michael: I could have done something!
Linc: Yeah, you’re a horrible, horrible person for not coming in here to break me out and move jailbait out of T-Bag’s way.
Michael: I am!
Linc: Michael, get a grip. You’re my hero. Can we focus on me now?
Tweener: Yo, y’all!
T-Bag: *leeeeeeeeer*
Dr. Brighton: ... so Michael is basically a pathologically altruistic creative genius.
Sara: Hot-- I mean: hmmmmm, interesting. I can honestly say that the situation makes even less sense now than before I consulted you.
Dr. Brighton: Complete bafflement is a natural part of the process. You just need to find the key.
Sara: In the interest of the patient ... that is, treating the patient, doctor.
Dr. Brighton: Of course. Doctor.
T-Bag: Tweeeeeee-nuh. Oo-ooooh, Tweeeeeeeeeeee-nuuuuh.
Michael’s tattoo: I vote he dies.
Michael’s conscience: What was that, tattoo? I’m sorry, but between the toxic pervert’s melodious crooning and the poor kid’s paralyzing terror, I can’t hear a thing. Just stick it in the Other compartment and I promise to look at it never.
T-Bag: Mmmm, tai--
Michael: *Thwack!*
T-Bag: Ree-sah-tal tahme. BA--
Michael: Start with “If I Keep My Mouth Shut, I Might Just Get Out of Here” -- it’s a classic. You can follow it up with my personal favorite -- “He Who Makes The Plan, Calls the Shots”.
T-Bag: ...
Michael’s tattoo: S’right.
Michael’s conscience: Beeee-yotch.
Ep. 110
Abruzzi: I’m gonna say somethin’ crazy to you, Fish.
Michael: Don’t let my cool, impenetrable demeanor fool you, John -- I’m prepared to be shocked and amazed on the inside.
Abruzzi: Fibonacci.
Michael: Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen ... You see how you sum up the previous two numbers in the sequence to get the next? Just like: we escape plus we get on your plane equals you get Fibonacci.
Abruzzi: But this isn’t about revenge anymore! This is about freedom and rainbows and kittens! None of which can happen if I don’t give Philly Fibonacci and get us that room back before they find the hole.
Michael: Shockingly and amazingly, you are making sense. Make the call -- I talk only to him.
Abruzzi: But--
Michael: Twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine ...
Philly: Fibonacci, kid, or pain.
Michael: Oh, golly, no! I’ll tell you everything! Picture it: Illinois, 2005. A young engineer hatches a truly idiot-proof plot to “rob” a bank, but before he does so, he takes out some insurance in the form of the location of one mob prosecution witness--
Philly: Big pain, kid.
Michael: He’s in Canada. 144 Entrapment Court, Tout-à-fait-un-piège Bay, Ontario. Please don’t hurt anyone.
Abruzzi: Ha! Told ya I still got it.
C-Note: Who’s that smooth Darwinist with all the chips? C-Note! Can ya dig it?
Michael: No, I cannot, in fact, “dig it” and I find your interpretation of the theory of evolution to be shallow and jejune. Whatever, welcome to the team -- with any luck (like that’ll happen), you and T-Bag will karmically cancel each other out.
Ep. 111
C-Note: I’m rubber, you’re glue -- whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.
T-Bag: Ah know you ah-re bu’ wha’ am Ah?
Abruzzi: Idiots. Both of yous. Shut it.
C-Note: Labor abuse!
T-Bag: Ah am bein’ ohp-press’d!
Abruzzi: Start a union.
Sara: ... and now we’re breathing in ... and out ... and in ... and out ... and in ... and out ... and ... uhm ... sorry, where were we?
Michael: Out? No! In. Definitely in.
Linc: Conju-what?
Nika: Is there anything else I can do? Anything?
Michael: No, thanks, I’m good.
Nika: Yes, I know, but you are still in jail.
Bellick: Let’s see: I’ve insinuated that your wife’s a sleeper while you’re naked and experiencing the business end -- *snort* “end” -- of a latex glove. Does it get anymore humiliating than this?
Michael: You tell me, boss.
Sucre: All part of The Plan? Frankly, bro, I would have preferred some juicy details about your love life cuz, lemme tell you, me and Mari--
Michael: Sorry to disappoint.
Sara: Forget to mention a little detail?
Michael: Sa--
Sara: That’s Doctor Tancredi to you, Mister I’m-Married-And-Completely-Failed-To-Mention-It-While-Undergoing-Completely-Legitimate-Medical-Care.
Michael: *sigh*
Linc: What’s with the look?
Michael: I’ve got good news and bad news.
Linc: “Good” news?
Michael: Westmoreland is in.
Linc: Cool. And the normal news?
Michael: Someone’s got to go.
Linc: I vote T-Bag.
Ep. 112
Linc: One too many, how’re we--
C-Note: I’m gonna pretend for a moment the solution isn’t really obvious. Labor abuse!
Sucre: Yeah! Wait, did you say “labor”?
Abruzzi: It is a really tough decis--
Sucre, C-Note & Westmoreland: T-Bag.
T-Bag: Ah smell con-sp’rah-cy.
Michael, Linc, Abruzzi, Sucre, C-Note & Westmoreland: ...
T-Bag: Mo’ so than u-s’al.
Bellick: Credit card. Green card. Stripper. Neener.
Sara: Leave.
Michael: Nika. And me. It was just businessthatdidn’tcomeoutright.
Sara: What. Ever.
Abruzzi’s Thugs: Oops.
Abruzzi’s conscience: ... and then I said: “No, you can’t do that to another human being even with a really small tuna!” but would you listen to me? N--
Abruzzi: Jesus?
Abruzzi’s conscience: Uhm ... yeah-- erm, yes! Repent for thine sins, John! Repent fully and ye may be forgiven and, incidentally, be able to sleep again.
Abruzzi: Yes, Lord!
T-Bag: Ayh-men. *Slash!*
Abruzzi: *Gurgle*
Abruzzi’s conscience: Yeah, him? Ye shoulda smoteth.
Linc: *Thwack*
Michael: We leave tonight!
Westmoreland: Michael, we have a problem.
Michael: ....
Westmoreland: More so than usual.
Ep. 113
C-Note: All aboard, Fish, or this train’s leavin’ without you.
T-Bag: Chugga-chugga chugga-chugga whoo wh--urk!
Blue Steel: NEGATIVE.
C-Note: What’re you gonna do -- scuttle your own escape plan?
Blue Steel: PROCESSING. STANDBY.
Sucre: Can we talk about this?
Michael: Can I stop you?
Sucre: I need to be outta here, bro, and so do you cuz if they find that hole and link it back to you, you are gonna be in here forever. Look, I get that you can’t leave your brother in here to die like that. I mean: frying all strapped in. Can you think of a worse way to g--
Michael: Razor.
Sucre: Wha--
Michael: *Slice*
Sucre: ... but I promise to never mention it ever again.
Michael: Thank you. Goodbye.
Sara: Bye?
Michael: Have you ever wondered about--
Sara: How it would have been if you weren’t married and constantly lying and in jail for armed robbery -- which, by the way, still makes no sense -- and how it would have been magical? ... No, I really haven’t thought about it.
Michael: Oh, good. Me neither.
T-Bag: So what’s the big plan, prih-tty?
Michael: Hammer.
C-Note: Wha--
Michael: *Whack!*
Bellick: That’s it -- you’re all staying in here until this mess is dry.
C-Note: No!
Bellick: All night if you have to.
C-Note: Oh, darn.
Linc: *Blarg!*
Sara: It’s food poisoning. You’re going need to stay here for the night.
Linc: Oh, poot.
Sara: I could stay--
Linc: No, no, that’s fine! Thank you. Goodbye.
Michael: ... the pipe.
T-Bag: Wha--
Blue Steel: SYSTEM ERROR. ABORT.
Ep. 114
T-Bag: You ah-re gonna make mah freed’m happen, prih-tty, or Mister Stabby hee’re gonna make some new close pers’nal ahc-quay-t’nces.
Michael: Oh, whatever, Tangential-Baggage.
Westmoreland: We gotta move!
Michael: Oh, what--
Westmoreland: NOW!
Team Escarpara: *Scamper!*
T-Bag: Ah am gonna collect!
Sucre: I am gonna open up a can of righteous sidekick whoop-ass on your ass if I don’t see it walkin’ away. Right. Now.
Westmoreland: At least it’ll be quick. Any problems with that chair and it takes a whole three weeks to ... Oh. You’re welcome.
Michael: I’m going in.
Sucre: What?! But it’s the middle of the day, and there’re guards everywhere and ... I’ll just be hanging that sheet, now.
Rat: Squeak!
Sara: Do you have any questions about uhm ... y’know?
Linc: What do you call that feeling of constantly being reminded that you’re gonna die?
Sara: Paperwork.
Linc: Thought so. Will you look after my brother when I’m ... y’know?
Sara: What do you call that feeling of simultaneous horror and delight?
Linc: Yesterday.
Tweener: Squeak!
Bellick: Paperwork’s for girl thingies! Fix that chair.
Electrical system: *zzzzzz-ZZZZZZZZZ-.......-ZZZZZZZZZZ-zzzz*
Michael: *whimper*
Gov. Tancredi: Sara, I can’t be both tough on crime and a bleeding-heart clemency granter just because of a faint whiff of plausibility about Burrow’s innocence.
Sara: Yeah, the voters might get confused. Thanks for being fair and balanced, Mister Governor.
Michael: There’s still hope.
Linc: Nope.
Veronica: The judge denied our motion.
Gov. Tancredi: Psych! Carry on.
Linc: Told ya.
Ep. 115
Pope: I’m so sor--
Michael: Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna need an immediate situation report, some paper and a mirror. Dismissed. Veronica, an exact timeline of the near future, please.
Veronica: On it.
Michael: And Linc ...
Linc: ...
Michael: ... just breathe or blink or something.
Linc: ... I saw Dad.
Michael: That’s nice.
C-Note: Wait, why’re you changing the plan, man?
Michael: It’s called “adaptation”, Darwin. Here’s how we’ll proceed: 1) you will all ask a series of stupendously short-sighted questions which I will 2) answer through a montage of infuriatingly understated, yet dramatic, gestures designed to maximize fear and frustration. 3) I will seemingly experience a nigh perverse delight as you externalize the aforementioned fear and frustration that I, in fact, cannot. 4) You will declare my Plan inadequate. 5) You will follow it.
Sucre: I have an Idea. It involves my cousin and a donkey, but I will say no more.
Michael: Thank you.
Sucre: You memorized the way, right?
Michael: Sure. *Scamper* *Subterfuge* *Snoop* *Sizzle* *SCREAM!*
Sara: Michael, it’s Sara. How are you feeling?
Michael: Super.
Bellick: First, we’re gonna get Rockford to find the frying pan ...
Sucre: Who with the what?
Bellick: ... and after the bitchin’ car chase, we’ll sic Mike Hammer on yo--
Pope: Alright, that’s enough, Captain, I’ll take it from here.
Sucre: What’s the damage, bro?
Michael’s tattoo: Not. Talking. To. You.
Michael: Shi--
Ep. 116
[WARNING: The following performance contains hazardous levels of dramatic irony, figurative anvils and Greek tragedy. Viewer discretion is advised.]
Veronica: ... shouldn’t you get that?
Michael: No, he’ll leave a message. It’s not as if it’s ever life or death with him -- he just thinks it is. Where were we?
Veronica: Oedipus Rex--
Michael: -- the Prologue. I’ll call thee a chariot.
Linc: Your fraternal faith in me is really heartwarming. I. Didn’t. Do. It.
Michael: Spare me.
Linc: That’s the idea. Get lost.
Veronica: Oh, no, you din’t!
Michael: Okay: a) this has nothing to do with me, b) I trusted him and he betrayed that trust, and c)--
Veronica: --the loan that landed him in prison paid for your education.
Linc: Oh, no, she din’t.
Michael: I am unworthy.
Linc: Shut up.
Michael: But we can fix th--
Linc: Let. It. Go. Get on with your life --- it’ll make all this worth it. It’s just fate, Mike.
Michael: “Fate”?! That’s as ridiculous as saying that you are where you are because your name is vaguely reminiscent of an assassinated president and deep, confined places, and I am where I am because mine is even more vaguely reminiscent of an archangel and wide, open spaces ... because I’m pretty sure that’s just a coincidence.
Linc: Right. They’re moving me to this Fox River pla-- what?
Michael: ... nothing. I can come visit you at Fate River?
Linc: Fox River.
Michael: Right.
Michael’s tattoo: What am I? Where am I? Why am I? And who the heck are you?
Blue Steel: ALPHA PROTOCOL INITIALIZED.
Ep. 117
Michael: *Meltdown*
C-Note: It’s all on you now, papi.
Sucre: No, no, no, no, no and no -- I just put up the sheet and provide the comic relief. Insanely dangerous and complicated, yet infuriatingly understated, acts are not in my job description.
T-Bag: Yo’ the on-lay one wi’ the mah-gic head.
C-Note: Yeah, so grow a pair and think of something.
Sucre: Think think think ... what was it that Mama always said? “Just act natural, ‘Nando, and be yourself ... and, if at all possible, make the evil pervertido suffer.”
T-Bag: No, no, no, no, no and n--
Sucre: But you’re the only one with the magic--
T-Bag: Fah-ne! But no one hee-ars ‘bout this. Ev-ah.
Sucre: I don’t gossip ... Thank you, Mama.
Linc: Michael? Man, do not make me be the positive one cuz we both know I suck at it.
Michael: ...
Linc: OK, uhm: 1) you’re not gonna snap cuz that’s what they want you to do, 2) you’re gonna think of--
Michael: *Snap*
Bellick: What have we got here?
Sucre: Please, boss, my girl, she just wanted me to know she was thinking of me!
Bellick: Awww, ain’t that sweet *sniiiiif*.
Sucre: Tee-he--I mean: ¡Oh, Dios, not the delicates of mi amore! ¡My cojones are as the shriveled anchovies!
Bellick: Boot him in the SHU.
Sucre: Bwa-- ahem: ¡Oh, mercy!
Bellick: Heh, “boot”. Mama Bellick didn’t raise no fool.
Linc: Sucre?
Sucre: Linc? Where’s Michael?
Linc: Good question. Badge!
Michael: .................................
Sara: *whimper*
Michael: ...............................
Blue Steel: REBOOTING FROM LAST KNOWN GOOD CONFIGURATION.
Ep. 118
Michael: Hey, roomie, remember me?
Haywire: ...
Michael’s tattoo: Dude! Dude, you are never gonna guess what Hotcakes here did to me! ... Dude?
Haywire: Who are you again?
Michael: *sigh*
Michael’s tattoo: This is all your fault.
Geary: Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?
Bellick: Please, I have standards, but I’m thinkin’ we should auction this bijou little cell with a view.
T-Bag: Gents, we got us a pro-bl’m.
C-Note: I think not. Observe how much my peeps respect me.
Trumpets: *THWAP!*
T-Bag: Now, tha’ was jus’ ray-c’st.
Westmoreland: We’re gonna need to pull together on this.
C-Note: We got us a problem.
Haywire: I remember ...
Michael: Excellent.
Haywire: ... that you stole my toothpaste!
Michael’s tattoo: He does that, but let’s talk about me now.
Haywire: Oooo, the Path! There were demons pointing ... the angel lost his wing ... no, they were hula hoops leading Smurfs by the hand ...
Michael’s tattoo: This can officially not get any wackier.
Jesùs: Deal, White-Out.
T-Bag: Well, Ah neh-vah.
C-Note: I’ll see your ethnic slur and raise you a personal remark about your finances.
T-Bag: And yo’ mama.
Haywire: I also remember ... THAT YOU SET ME UP!
Michael’s tattoo: He does that, too.
Michael: But, if you trust me, I’ll get you out of here.
Michael’s tattoo: But, mostly, he does that, so hand over my missing part.
T-Bag: How is it tha’ we still got us a pro-bl’m?
Manche: My cousin, Linc and me had an Idea.
C-Note: Because we suck, Blanche, that’s how.
Michael: ... and that’s how I got the burn.
Pope: *WRATH*
Michael: All according to Plan. Good work.
Westmoreland: We try.
Ep. 119
Kellerman: Hey, while I have you here, you wanna hear a story ‘bout my dog?
Linc: Mmnf--
Kellerman: It’s got it all: love, loyalty, cancer and death. You’ll love it.
Aldo: *THWACK*
C-Note: Everything set? No more surprises?
Michael: No more surprises.
Sara: What do you want from me, Michael?
Michael: Uhm ...
Michael’s tattoo: Psst! It begins with K ... The other one. Idiot.
Michael’s conscience: ... and then in fifth gra-- finally. Did you get the k--Oh. Surprise, surprise. Hey, don’t blame me, I was cross-referencing past transgressions with pi to 69 decimal places as per instructions -- that was all you, Romeo.
Aldo: It’s all One Big Conspiracy!
Linc: Oh, pul-eeze.
Sucre: How’d it go?
Michael: Diversionary tactics were very effective. Very.
Sucre: And the key?
Michael: The what?
Nika: The key.
Michael: Oh, right. Thanks.
Nika: I am sure you and your key will be very happy together. Buh-bye.
Katie: Here they are!
Michael: Lost something?
Sara: Only for a moment.
Ep. 120
T-Bag: Ah got fah-ve words fo’ y’all: dawgs, bou-quay o’ bon-bons and poh-leece.
Abruzzi: Amen, Theodore.
C-Note: We’re doomed.
Michael: Relax, we leave in three days.
Westmoreland: We gotta go NOW!
Michael: Or now’s good, too. Get thee something fragrant and some peroxide.
Sucre: What about the key? And Linc?
Michael: I will attempt a tactic hitherto untried.
Sara: I want The Truth!
Michael: I’m breaking my brother out.
Sara: Okay, shut-up. Turns out I don’t actually want The Truth that badly.
Michael: Linc’s just the victim of One Big Conspiracy and I need your help to save him.
Sara: Oh, pul-eeze! Does that really work on anyone?
Michael: Could I see my brother, please?
Pope: Sure!
Linc: Mike, give it up. Save yourself. It’s all One Big Conspiracy -- they won’t let me escape cuz of Dad.
Michael: Maybe I can train an ant to pick the lock on your chains.
Linc: Are you even listening to me?
Michael: Why are you bleeding?
Pope: ... so the Taj Mahal is positively drenched in symbo-
Taj Mahal: *Collapse!*
Michael: I’m breaking my brother out and you’re going to help me.
Ep. 121
Pope: How long have you been planning this?
Michael: There will hopefully be a time when I can tell you that particular epic and there may even be mirth. Probably not in our general vicinity, but someone somewhere will be laughing. I’m really sorry about this. *Thwack!*
Trumpets: Where’s your little cuz C-Note?
Abruzzi: Why must you be the herald of discord? You would be awèd and amazèd at what we can accomplish together if we set aside our petty differences and embrace each other as brothers.
Trumpets: Leaving now.
Michael: Everyone proceed through the confined passages in calm and non-homicidal manner.
Bellick: AAAAAr--mnh!
Team Escarpara: *Gloat!*
Sirens: *WAIL!*
Team Escarpara: *FREAK-OUT!*
Michael: It’s just the fire alarm I set off.
Team Escarpara: *Glare*
Michael: Now, everyone proceed up and try to seem crazy.
Katie: Sara?
Sara: Anon, good nurse!
CO: Will ya look at the wheels on this on--eep.
Michael: Release my brother.
CO: Whatever you say, boss.
Michael: Hey, Linc.
Linc: Yo, bro.
Haywire: Boo!
Linc: Yes, well done. You’re in.
Michael: We’re almost there.
Westmoreland: *Expire*
Sirens: *WAAAAIIIILLL!*
Manche: Oomph!
Team Escarpara: *ESCAPE!*
Ep. 122
Fox River: *BROKEN!*
Bellick: Git me my shotgun!
Dogs: Woof!
Team Escarpara: *Scurry!*
Veronica: Nick? Thank you so much. Nothing is more important than finding Terrence Steadman.
Nick’s Answering Machine: Hi, this is Nick. I can’t come to the phone right now ...
Team Escarpara: *Bolt!*
Shady Conspirator #1: This is of the utmost importance.
Shady Conspirator #2: Absolutely paramount.
Team Escarpara: *Hurtle!*
Katie: Uhm, Sara ... and Scofield ...
Pope: She has a Taj Mahal too?
Team Escarpara: *Gallop!*
Reynolds: Nothing could possibly be more important than the presidency.
Kellerman: Ha ha.
Team Escarpara: *Dash!*
Sara: ,
Team Escarpara: *Sprint!*
Veronica: A-HA!
Team Escarpara: *Fl-*
Sucre: Now what?
Michael: Guess.
Team Escarpara: *Flee!*
