Post by "Tuvlan" on May 4, 2015 19:20:58 GMT -5
Disclaimer: This was written on a whim, based on some Cbox shenanigans. I do not know if this would or would not be an accurate portrayal of Freya. Also, I apologize for the implied fan service. PG-13.
Freya grumbled as the guards forcibly pressed her through the hallways, past the cells. It wasn't her fault that her lawyer was an asswipe. It wasn't her fault that all the evidence was incriminating. She was fucking innocent, goddammit! She shut her eyes closed as the hazing jeers began the moment that she had started walking.
"WOOHOO! FRESH MEAT!"
"COME ON O'ER HERE, HUNNY, I GOTCHU SOME GOOD!"
"LOOK AT DAT FRESH MEAT WALKING!"
The guard at her back dismissing them with a well practiced, "Yeah, yeah, shut yer traps." They continued walking through the jail for what felt like an eternity. She tried looking back at the guard, playing to a sympathetic note.
"You don't have to push me, y'know, I'll walk, you lead---"
*DOOF*
With a smack upside the head, the guard began pushing her even harder.
"Keep movin', meat. No funny business, head forward."
'Fuckin' bitch,' Freya mentally groused, nonetheless walking with a bit more spring to her step. She just wanted to get in her cell, throw her face into the fucking pillow, and cry. How the fuck did this happen? She didn't deserve to be in here. But then again, her and several hundred other inmates were probably screaming that as the old song and dance for decades now. Miserably, she complied, before they finally came to a stop. The guard tapped her on the shoulder.
"Yo, Sheryl, this'uns your new cellmate. Be nice this time, okay?"
'Sheryl?'
Expecting a laugh or anything, Freya peered into the cell. They were all the way at the end of the West Wing of the jail, right up against the wall. This would have to be one of the least most patrolled parts of the whole infrastructure.---when she saw a shadow. It seemed to look up from above the covers, but the light in this cell was dim.
Suddenly, Freya felt herself being pushed up against the cell, her cuffed hands held behind her as the cell was unlocked and she was shoved in.
"Alright, inmate. Hands together through the cell. You and your inmate have thirty minutes to get to know each other before morning exercises."
Freya looked up and quickly groused up. The figure was staring at her from underneath her covers still, but Freya still couldn't see a fucking face. She did not like this prison, did not like the way this was playing out, and she didn't even belong in here. Complying with the guard, she still plead.
"O-Oh come on! At least put me in a cell where I can see the bitch's face. Why didn't you tell her to stand up front and cen---"
The cuffs quickly came off and were snapped up. With dread in her eyes, she looked up at the guard who was... giving her a shit-eating smirk with red lipsticked lips.
"Enjoy, meat," the guard laughed quietly, before walking off.
Silence.
And then rustling from the top bunk.
"Oh Goddammit," Freya breathed, before the covers went over her head.
She felt herself being slammed, headfirst into the lower bunk, her arms curtailed and held in a sharp vice with long fingers behind her. This fucker was strong. Panic at the suddenness was muffled as the cover's cloth was shoved into her mouth. She tried biting at the pushing fingers, but the fabric was nasty and too thick. She could feel herself being turned over before a impressive set of hips straddled on her stomach, dexterous feet bound up behind her ankles and thighs keeping them locked. A rippling of her cellmates stomach pressed against her and Freya felt a firm set of abs press down into her.
"Time to get to the bottom of this," her cellmate finally replied.
"Oaaah... Fuff mehh!" she cringed.
"Hm. Debatable. For now we are simply acquainting ourselves, cellmate," replied a very eloquent, but slightly husky, ethnic voice. African? Kenyan? African-British?---The cover came off her eyes. She was greeted with the prettiest brown eyes and a slight pecan-shaped face. Dark machiato skin, and long, black dreaded hair that wrapped around gracefully and dripped down onto Freya's face. Soft.
'Cellmate is kinda hot. At least if it happens---'
"Let's be clear. I am in charge, you follow my lead. You do well, you get rewarded. You do poorly, you get punished. If you try to defy me, I will not be able to guarantee your safety. Do you understand?"
Freya, with no recourse and her mouth still bound could only nod. This lady was quick, strong, and at least a head taller than her...
"Let's see what we have to work with," the black woman finally cooed, but she was no less rough. Her fingers were re-appropriated to spread open Freya's eye lids, letting her peer into her eyes, nodding and muttering to herself. She massaged her fingers to the side of her head, inspecting her hair, feeling out the biceps. The strange woman gave off a few satisfied grunts, as Freya proceeded to turn cold under the surgical touch. But finally...
"Excellent, you appear to be healthy. Then let's begin your initiation," the woman finally smiled, and a crack through the eloquence finally seemed break through as those long, sinewy fingers reached down, between Freya's legs. Freya's eyes widened open, and immediately began squirming, but the other hand around Freya's throat tightened instantaneously, those dark, golden eyes boring into her, silently commanding her to cease.
Silently, Freya braced herself, closing her eyes---
---When she felt something fitted on her head.
'The fuck?'
...And then a flat piece of glass pressed over her left eye.
The weight of the woman disappeared, letting Freya sit up. She popped off the... hat. IT was a dark brown bowler hat. And was she looking through a monocle? With a questioning face, Freya stared up at her inmate who had turned around, picking up what appeared to be a long, dark blue scarf, wrapping it around her neck, along with what looked like a classical pipe. She heard bubbly noises as the woman turned around. Eyeing Freya with a mischievous, knowing smile.
"I am Sheryl. Sherlocka Homies.
"And you have just become my assistant."
Freya grumbled as the guards forcibly pressed her through the hallways, past the cells. It wasn't her fault that her lawyer was an asswipe. It wasn't her fault that all the evidence was incriminating. She was fucking innocent, goddammit! She shut her eyes closed as the hazing jeers began the moment that she had started walking.
"WOOHOO! FRESH MEAT!"
"COME ON O'ER HERE, HUNNY, I GOTCHU SOME GOOD!"
"LOOK AT DAT FRESH MEAT WALKING!"
The guard at her back dismissing them with a well practiced, "Yeah, yeah, shut yer traps." They continued walking through the jail for what felt like an eternity. She tried looking back at the guard, playing to a sympathetic note.
"You don't have to push me, y'know, I'll walk, you lead---"
*DOOF*
With a smack upside the head, the guard began pushing her even harder.
"Keep movin', meat. No funny business, head forward."
'Fuckin' bitch,' Freya mentally groused, nonetheless walking with a bit more spring to her step. She just wanted to get in her cell, throw her face into the fucking pillow, and cry. How the fuck did this happen? She didn't deserve to be in here. But then again, her and several hundred other inmates were probably screaming that as the old song and dance for decades now. Miserably, she complied, before they finally came to a stop. The guard tapped her on the shoulder.
"Yo, Sheryl, this'uns your new cellmate. Be nice this time, okay?"
'Sheryl?'
Expecting a laugh or anything, Freya peered into the cell. They were all the way at the end of the West Wing of the jail, right up against the wall. This would have to be one of the least most patrolled parts of the whole infrastructure.---when she saw a shadow. It seemed to look up from above the covers, but the light in this cell was dim.
Suddenly, Freya felt herself being pushed up against the cell, her cuffed hands held behind her as the cell was unlocked and she was shoved in.
"Alright, inmate. Hands together through the cell. You and your inmate have thirty minutes to get to know each other before morning exercises."
Freya looked up and quickly groused up. The figure was staring at her from underneath her covers still, but Freya still couldn't see a fucking face. She did not like this prison, did not like the way this was playing out, and she didn't even belong in here. Complying with the guard, she still plead.
"O-Oh come on! At least put me in a cell where I can see the bitch's face. Why didn't you tell her to stand up front and cen---"
The cuffs quickly came off and were snapped up. With dread in her eyes, she looked up at the guard who was... giving her a shit-eating smirk with red lipsticked lips.
"Enjoy, meat," the guard laughed quietly, before walking off.
Silence.
And then rustling from the top bunk.
"Oh Goddammit," Freya breathed, before the covers went over her head.
She felt herself being slammed, headfirst into the lower bunk, her arms curtailed and held in a sharp vice with long fingers behind her. This fucker was strong. Panic at the suddenness was muffled as the cover's cloth was shoved into her mouth. She tried biting at the pushing fingers, but the fabric was nasty and too thick. She could feel herself being turned over before a impressive set of hips straddled on her stomach, dexterous feet bound up behind her ankles and thighs keeping them locked. A rippling of her cellmates stomach pressed against her and Freya felt a firm set of abs press down into her.
"Time to get to the bottom of this," her cellmate finally replied.
"Oaaah... Fuff mehh!" she cringed.
"Hm. Debatable. For now we are simply acquainting ourselves, cellmate," replied a very eloquent, but slightly husky, ethnic voice. African? Kenyan? African-British?---The cover came off her eyes. She was greeted with the prettiest brown eyes and a slight pecan-shaped face. Dark machiato skin, and long, black dreaded hair that wrapped around gracefully and dripped down onto Freya's face. Soft.
'Cellmate is kinda hot. At least if it happens---'
"Let's be clear. I am in charge, you follow my lead. You do well, you get rewarded. You do poorly, you get punished. If you try to defy me, I will not be able to guarantee your safety. Do you understand?"
Freya, with no recourse and her mouth still bound could only nod. This lady was quick, strong, and at least a head taller than her...
"Let's see what we have to work with," the black woman finally cooed, but she was no less rough. Her fingers were re-appropriated to spread open Freya's eye lids, letting her peer into her eyes, nodding and muttering to herself. She massaged her fingers to the side of her head, inspecting her hair, feeling out the biceps. The strange woman gave off a few satisfied grunts, as Freya proceeded to turn cold under the surgical touch. But finally...
"Excellent, you appear to be healthy. Then let's begin your initiation," the woman finally smiled, and a crack through the eloquence finally seemed break through as those long, sinewy fingers reached down, between Freya's legs. Freya's eyes widened open, and immediately began squirming, but the other hand around Freya's throat tightened instantaneously, those dark, golden eyes boring into her, silently commanding her to cease.
Silently, Freya braced herself, closing her eyes---
---When she felt something fitted on her head.
'The fuck?'
...And then a flat piece of glass pressed over her left eye.
The weight of the woman disappeared, letting Freya sit up. She popped off the... hat. IT was a dark brown bowler hat. And was she looking through a monocle? With a questioning face, Freya stared up at her inmate who had turned around, picking up what appeared to be a long, dark blue scarf, wrapping it around her neck, along with what looked like a classical pipe. She heard bubbly noises as the woman turned around. Eyeing Freya with a mischievous, knowing smile.
"I am Sheryl. Sherlocka Homies.
"And you have just become my assistant."
