by Jen (dragonriderjenner at yahoo.com)
Ok, ok. I know that I still have to write my other story,
but this one's been plaguing me. Whenever I try to focus on my first
story, this one keeps popping out at me. Like my other story, it has
strong cussing, so beware. Anyways, I'll try to write it as fast as I
can to get it out of my system so I can write my other story.
Now, on with the flying circus!
Lestrade strained against the leather straps that kept her
confined to the bed. Her violet eyes narrowed in frustration beneath a
blindfold and her elegant lips spat out foul curses as she struggled
to free herself. One minute she was lurking in the darkness of the
alleyway, and the next she was strapped tightly to a bed, blindfolded,
but not gagged. Her fingers curled in towards her wrists, barely
brushing the leather straps. Her fingers groped for some kind of
buckle, but only found a massively complicated knot. In a normal
situation, a knot wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but, unlike any normal
situation that she had been in, this knot wasn’t even part of the
"Damn bastards! Toying with me. . . I’ll slit their damn
throats!" she hissed, her fingers digging through the knot. Within
minutes, she had unraveled the knot and sliced open her finger on the
tack that was so deviously hidden in the mess of string. "ARGH!
BASTARDS! THAT ####ING HURT! . . .shit." Lestrade fumbled for a bit
with the tack, trying to cut the leather that bound her wrist, but
instead, ended up almost slicing her wrist open.
Taking deep breaths to calm her frayed nerves, she pressed her
bleeding finger to the bedspread, trying to staunch the already
slowing flow of blood.
Fragments of ideas danced in her mind. Occasionally, several
would join together, but would again part to swirl in the vortex of
anger, frustration, and forced calm that was her mind. Hoping for
inspiration, she thought back to the beginning of her day.
It had started like any other, with her damn alarm clock
dragging her kicking and screaming from the faery tale land of her
dreams. Like every other morning, she stood and stretched and read the
quote that she had taped to her wall. In her opinion, it was the most
beautiful quote she had ever heard. She lived by it. She slept by it.
She ate by it. And it didn’t even have anything to do with any of that
crap. It read, "It is my sense of humor that drags me kicking and
screaming through my shitty life."
Luckily, she was at work and in the office before Old Granny
Greyson had a chance to scream her head off. She managed to bask in
seven minutes of beautiful silence until the Old Granny started
screaming. He was obviously in a good mood, since he usually waited
only three minutes.
Not twenty minutes later, she was riding home to get changed
into some decent street clothes. Apparently, Granny wanted her to do a
bit of undercover work.
She would be investigating an abandoned industrial warehouse
down by the pier. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t irk her, but since there
were SO GODDAMN MANY ABANDONED WAREHOUSES, it would take her all day
and tomorrow to search them properly.
And so, she found herself standing in front of a decrepit old
warehouse that had a very shiny lock on the front. With a perverse
grin, she blasted away repeatedly at the very shiny lock on the door
with her ionizer on the highest setting. (Her fellow inspectors liked
to call it ‘flash fried’.) When it was a lump of slag on the ground,
she wound down the setting to ‘medium well’ and entered, her steps
What happened next was rather stereotypical, so a detailed
description will not be included.
Lestrade walked in, heard a sound and chased fleeing footsteps
into an alleyway, where she was K.O.’d by an ionizer.
And then she woke up here.
What a wonderful world.
On to part 2!
Back to part 2
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