Faith (faith5x5) wrote in fashion__victim,

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Freaky dude in the yard

"Prisoner 430019 coming out."

I'm standing in front of the gates as they open up for me, the familiar itch of I-hate-how-I'm-just-a-number-and-not-a-person making me twitch some in the harsh sunlight when it hits home... right in my fuckin' eyes. Being stuck in a dark cell all day kinda gives a chick an allergy to the sun, you know?

The guards all perk up at my arrival, my slayer hearing honing in on the click of their fingers as they cock their rifles. Man, what a bunch of losers. Do they really think a little bullet is gonna stop me if I really wanna throw some static in this battlefield just waiting to happen? Fat chance, assholes. I'd wipe the floor with these guys. The second I make a move, you know the entire prison'll riot. See, I've got a rep here as the toughest bitch to ever walk cell block D. Sure, I don't exert my power often, it's part of that whole doing good instead of bad routine, but if I did, they'd all fall in line like a bunch of ready-made toy soldiers.

"Hey, get a move on!" the same guard that called out my number hollers at my still unmoving form.

I just look up at him and flash a deadly smile. They get wicked twitchy when it looks like I'm planning something. Whenever I get introspective, they get ready to fire. A girl can't get much think time in without it being assumed I'm hatching a break out plan or a riot. Good behavior or no, I got the history of a Hannibal, and they ain't gonna let a few good deeds get in the way of them seeing me as nothing but an animal.

"Sorry," I say in a tone that clearly says `kiss my ass`. "Sun's bright today. You think you could lend me your shades?"

He crosses his arms firmly over his chest, assuming a typical I've got a stick up my blue suited ass stance, and shakes his head at me with a scowl planted firm on his lips. "Listen, I got better things to do than argue with a prisoner. Now get a move on!"

"Or else you'll what?" I can't help but retort. Even good girls got their limits. I can't pass up a smart-ass remark when it's just dying to slip past my tongue like this. Guy gives me another glare and fixes his hand on his gun. I just roll my eyes. Like he could do any damage on me just 'cause I ain't Speedy Gonzales when it comes to walking from my cell to the yard.

"Whatever," I wave him off. "I'm moving."

I make a mental check of the yard as I go. There's a hoop where chicks play a game of b-ball not suitable for the NBA. Foul play is encouraged and welcomed in this court. If you ain't smacking a bitch up, you're not playing the game right. Gotta admit, I kinda dig their way of play. It reminds me of when I was a kid in Boston.

I used to tag along with the big boys and try to get a little play in with them. Being small had it's ups and downs. My shots always got blocked but I was a pro at sneaking between people to steal the ball from 'em. I was fast on my feet and an accomplished thief by age 12. I might not have been all star, but at least they let me play. It beat holding back my Ma's hair when she was puking her guts out the morning after a hard night of drinking and fucking.

A few Chyna wannabes are pumping iron over in the work out area. Most of these chicks are big Amazon types with the motto `the bigger the better`. They scare the shit out of the smaller girls, but not me. They're just your run-of-the-mill big bertha types, the kind that always think they can throwdown with me.

Man, were they ever in for a rude awakening. They mostly leeave me alone now, but every now and then, an ego will need inflating and since I'm the top dog, they'll go at it with me in hopes of becoming the new reigning queen of fist. They got determination, I'll give 'em that. But I won't touch on what I think of their IQs. Just Ddesn't seem right for me to call others on their brain power when I'm Einstein myself, you know? I've done my share of stupid things. I'm just now wising up.

I'm still weighing my options when I get this tugging feeling in my stomach. Kinda crampy in a way, though I know there's no reason why I should be feeling that way. Maybe I got a bad share of prison slop this morning. The further I walk into the yard, the stronger it seems to get. Huh? I try backing up for a second, and it automatically lessens. I'm about to say this is bogus when I catch sight of another guard chillin' it in the yard near the fence.

Tyrone Ketcher's a big black dude, looks like he came straight out of the Congo with the wild look he's got in his eyes. I don't know why, but the guy creeps me out big time. My stomach always starts doin' flip flops when he's around. He's always staring at me like he could just eat me up, literally. It's not a sexual thing, I get that from the other guards. Well, the ones who don't think I'd bite their dicks off before I gave them orgasms.

Like I said, I got a bad rep as a sadistic bitch. It's not exactly an attractive quality. A few don't seem to mind, though, they're always tryin' to catch sight of me in the showers or when I'm changing. They're lucky I get kicks out of their peepshows. I gotta make sure I still got it, you know?

Anyway, back to Ty. He's got these piercing green eyes, ones that burn into me no matter how far away I am. It's like he senses there's something different about me. He don't look at the other girls like that. It seriously wigs me out sometimes. Does he know I'm a slayer? Maybe the Council's got an insider to check up on me, make sure I'm behaving myself like the good neutered slayer I gotta be when I'm in the slammer. He's got some major power vibes coming off of him, too. As much as he loves to have staring contests, he ain't big on the touchy feely.

In fact, the closest we've ever been to each other is about 20 feet during a false alarm. One day a stove spazzed during dinnertime and set the kitchen on fire. We all got evacuated to the yard and that's when I knew there was something not quite normal about the dude. What it is, I don't know. I just know that the guy bugs me.

Not much I can do about the sitch either. I mean, what can I do? Call up Soul Boy and tell him I don't like one of the boys in blue so he oughta try to get him fired or me transferred to another prison? Fuck no! Angel would tell me to suck it up and deal. It's just another bump on the road to redemption. I gotta deal with people I don't like 'cause not everybody's out to be my best friend for life. Yea, I got the memo on that one, big guy. Angel's the only friend I've got in this world.

"Hey Faith, you wanna play poker with us?" one of the new girls asks me.

Trina's an average sized girl. A little chubby and annoying, but she's got a nice vibe to her. Two weeks ago one of the Amazon chicks tried to rape her in the shower. I got there just in time to save her from a bad time. Ended up getting a major beating from the guards for fighting, but that was nothing compared to the broken fingers I gave the other girl. Can't screw with your fingers stuck in plaster, you know?

All I came out with were a few baton shaped bruises on my back. Trina thought I was her fucking savior and now I'm like a god in her eyes. Girl hangs off me like a puppy. I don't mind it much. If she's on my watch, I know she ain't gettin' into trouble.

"Poker?" my eyes light up at the idea. "I'm your girl. Better start counting your losses now, girlfriend. I'm a shark."

She just laughs and says something about how she might not look like a gambler, but she's spent a lot of time in Vegas so she knows the drill. I almost forgot her home state was Nevada. How she ended up in LA I still don't know. I'm not one for gossip.

I cast one more look over in Tyrone's direction. He's still staring at me with those freaky eyes of his. Even in the 85 degree weather, I shiver. Trina makes an impatient sound and soon I find my hand in hers and I'm being dragged off to the picnic benches where we've got it set up like our own private Vegas. Maybe all the gambling for a new pack of smokes will take my mind off the guy. I'm running low and could use a back up supply.
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