Cold steel. It's the feel of restriction, of futile struggle. It's around my wrists and barring my access to freedom. It cuts the shafts of sunlight into pale ribbons that lie uselessly across the concrete floor.
All this for a little public disturbance? Give me a break. They should be out there catching real criminals.
Clang Clang Clangety Clang.
Some cop running their night stick across the bars. Trying to scare us. It works. Someone is already crying.
She stops outside my cell, looks over her mirrored shades at me. I smile sweetly. Fuck her, she doesn't scare me. Her short blonde hair is swept back, gelled into submission and she's impeccably uniformed, not a stitch out of place. From the tip of her shiny boots to the cap set at a precise angle on her head, she's efficient, cool. She looks more like she just materialised out of thin air than spent her morning breaking up a protest.
They've taken away my shoe laces, in case I construct a daring ladder and squeeze through the tiny spaces between iron bars to freedom, so my shoes have fallen off. My jeans dangle over my socked feet as they hang from the top bunk and I return her gaze. Can't help but notice the sleek muscles in her arm, extending from under her short summer shirt as she runs the stick across the bars.
As she stares at me, I raise my middle finger and scratch my nose. We're inside, but there's now a bird in the cell. She arches a brow and unlocks the door, keys jangling efficiently in the lock.
She points to the floor. "Down here girlie. Now." I smile. It's fun looking down at her from my perch. It's all a game, I'll make bail shortly anyhow. During my hesitation, she takes a step further into the cell and drops her shades from the bridge of her nose and nestles them in her shirtfront.
It's impossible not to notice how tight that thing is, pulled taut across her ample chest. Am I staring? I don't know. I sure as hell am grinning though.
Next thing, she reaches up, takes me by the upper arm and yanks me off the bed. I almost fall, my hands cuffed behind my back aren't helping the balance situation. She's holding me pretty securely though, and she keeps me on my feet.
"Now that wasn't polite, girl" she says, like I'm a kid or something! To make matters worse, now that she's got me off the bed she's easily got almost a foot in height on me too.
"Pity it isn't illegal to be impolite!" I reply triumphantly, looking up at her. She's smiling back down at me with some pretty startling green eyes and there's an expression in them that sends chills through me.
"Pretty mouthy, aren't you" she observes, then pulls me around and starts leading me out of the cell. On the way down the hall I see the others, looking miserable in their cells. They definitely need a morale boost. "Down with war, fur, and other assorted things!" I cry.
There's an outburst of giggles and the officer dammed near cuts me dead with a look.
Then we're going down in an elevator, and into a windowless room containing just a desk and a couple of chairs. Jesus. Must be a slow crime day.
"Sit down" she orders, pushing me into a chair, then goes over to the closed circuit camera and pulls the leads out of the wall. Oh fuck.
She walks back over to me, smiling slowly, placing her hands on the table across from me, her smile taking on a predatory sort of manner.
"I always enjoy dealing with mouthy little girls" she says. I can't help but roll my eyes.. pahhleease... then CRAACKK, she slaps me clean across the face, eliciting a loud yelp.
"Time to learn some manners, girl"
Well now she's pissing me off. Who the hell does she think she is? What the hell is going on behind those bright green eyes?
