Damsel 102 (a sequel) (F/F)
Posted: Thu May 31, 2018 10:15 pm
Securely fastened to a steel bolt in the wall I had finally given up trying to make myself comfortable in favor of simply trying to relieve my, not inconsiderable boredom. I found that if I concentrated hard enough I could just about forget that my wrists were currently tethered, high above my head and that my new church shoes were maintaining only tenuous contact with the hard, stone floor. Sadly this (Herculean) display of mindfulness was unable to entirely shut out the distant sounds of music and laughter as the party continued in the nearby school hall, the well heeled patrons blissfully unaware of my plight.
Rescue seemed a very long way away.
Sitting at the opposite end of my cell (in its former life, a sports equipment locker) perched, uneasily on a weightlifting bench, was a young, heavy set rugby player, her ample frame stuffed into an ill fitting tuxedo, the seams of the jacket straining under the pressure of her considerable girth. She looked, it’s fair to say, like a wall with hair.
I watched helplessly as the beast studied the contents of my handbag.
“If I’d known you liked it that much, I would’ve simply told you where I’d gotten it.” I remarked flippantly.
After rummaging through the purse for a bit she pulled out the dictaphone and all at once I felt the color drain from my face.
Without the tape, I had no story.
“If I decide to play this, will I find anything interesting on it?” The She-hulk asked, holding the recorder up to her ear.
“Not unless you consider my report on the school chess tournament particularly thrilling,” I replied.
“Maybe I do,” she said slyly with an inscrutable grin
“Hey, you want it? Take it, it’s yours,” I bluffed. “But I’ll need it back by the end of the week, or my
editor will have kittens!.”
“And we can’t have that, can we now? So-” She said studying my student ID “Sammatha, What would a pretty little reporter like you be doing in a place like this,..?”
“You think I’m pretty?” I replied coquettishly
The feeling was most assuredly not mutual.
She smilled, flashing a grin like a shark studying the seafood menu.
I swallowed something cold and jagged.
“So, would you care to enlighten us as to why you were caught trespassing on school property?”
“Maybe I was just really early for class?” I suggested
“Possibly? But you seem to be wearing the wrong color school tie,..”
Damn and blast! Why hadn’t I changed clothes before going snooping?
It seems that Attention to Detail was simply not a club in my bag.
Going back into the purse one last time, her hand found my battered cell phone (containing all of my case notes) It looked like a child's toy in her giant, ham sized fist.
I needed a distraction, and quickly.
This situation called for a combination of charm, wit and (if necessary) low cunning.
“Excuse me, guard,..” I began warmly,..
“Yes?” She said, not bothering to look up from my phone.
“I wish to register a complaint”
“Duly noted” Came the flat reply “Now keep your voice down”
“Sorry” I found myself apologizing “Wait. Don't you want to learn the nature of my grievance?”
“Not especially”
Not to be deterred I pressed on “Whatever happened to the expression ‘the customer is always right?’”
“As I recall, you’re not the one who signs my checks,..” she said curtly “So, much as I love bantering with you I’ve got work to do,..”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re using my phone to play candy crush” I pointed out happily
“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” She groaned, finally looking up.
“I hear that a lot. But then I’m a journalist, it’s my job to ask questions”
“That’s funny, I thought it was your job to get captured and tied up” She quipped.
“Very droll. I see you’re a fan of my work. Would you like me to sign something,..? Although you might need to untie me first,..”
“No dice I’m afraid. After all, I wouldn't be much use as a guard if I simply let all everyone go now would I?”
“Fair point” I conceded
It was (surprisingly) hard to disagree with this line of argument.
“Now will you please be quiet?!” She pleaded, eager to return to her game/ work.
However, as a reporter and a respected member of Her Majesties free press,.. well the school paper,.. I was not going to allow myself to be silenced.
“Listen you overdressed gorilla” my voice becoming stern and noticeably louder, “you don’t intimidate me,..”
“I won’t ask you again,..” She snarled through gritted teeth “For the love of Xena. Shut. The. Hell. UP!”
“I intend to do no such thing, in fact maybe I should start singing,.. Tell me, are you familiar with the musical Urinetown,..?”
I had just begun my set with a spirited rendition of “Snuff that girl” when my guard let out a defeated sigh before beginning the slow, laborious process of hauling her enormous bulk into a standing position.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,..” She said as she began searching the utility closet.
For as long as I could remember I had been gripped by the thrilling adventures of Nancy Drew and had eagerly and diligently prepared myself for the day in which I might get the chance to be a real damsel in distress like my literary hero.
I had diligently studied knots and techniques, practiced my escapology skills by tying myself up, and spent time thinking of all the clever things I would say (or, in the case of a gag, mumble incoherently) to my captors if I ever happened to find myself in such a situation.
Which makes it all the more disappointing that the only thing I managed to say before a strip of thick black tape was plastered over my lips was a muffled “You’ll never-”
“There!” She said with a satisfied grin “That’s much better”
Silently I fumed. I had been an amateur detective for almost six months now and this was already the ninth time I found myself taken hostage. My ambition to be the World's Greatest detective remained tantalizingly out of reach,..
Rescue seemed a very long way away.
Sitting at the opposite end of my cell (in its former life, a sports equipment locker) perched, uneasily on a weightlifting bench, was a young, heavy set rugby player, her ample frame stuffed into an ill fitting tuxedo, the seams of the jacket straining under the pressure of her considerable girth. She looked, it’s fair to say, like a wall with hair.
I watched helplessly as the beast studied the contents of my handbag.
“If I’d known you liked it that much, I would’ve simply told you where I’d gotten it.” I remarked flippantly.
After rummaging through the purse for a bit she pulled out the dictaphone and all at once I felt the color drain from my face.
Without the tape, I had no story.
“If I decide to play this, will I find anything interesting on it?” The She-hulk asked, holding the recorder up to her ear.
“Not unless you consider my report on the school chess tournament particularly thrilling,” I replied.
“Maybe I do,” she said slyly with an inscrutable grin
“Hey, you want it? Take it, it’s yours,” I bluffed. “But I’ll need it back by the end of the week, or my
editor will have kittens!.”
“And we can’t have that, can we now? So-” She said studying my student ID “Sammatha, What would a pretty little reporter like you be doing in a place like this,..?”
“You think I’m pretty?” I replied coquettishly
The feeling was most assuredly not mutual.
She smilled, flashing a grin like a shark studying the seafood menu.
I swallowed something cold and jagged.
“So, would you care to enlighten us as to why you were caught trespassing on school property?”
“Maybe I was just really early for class?” I suggested
“Possibly? But you seem to be wearing the wrong color school tie,..”
Damn and blast! Why hadn’t I changed clothes before going snooping?
It seems that Attention to Detail was simply not a club in my bag.
Going back into the purse one last time, her hand found my battered cell phone (containing all of my case notes) It looked like a child's toy in her giant, ham sized fist.
I needed a distraction, and quickly.
This situation called for a combination of charm, wit and (if necessary) low cunning.
“Excuse me, guard,..” I began warmly,..
“Yes?” She said, not bothering to look up from my phone.
“I wish to register a complaint”
“Duly noted” Came the flat reply “Now keep your voice down”
“Sorry” I found myself apologizing “Wait. Don't you want to learn the nature of my grievance?”
“Not especially”
Not to be deterred I pressed on “Whatever happened to the expression ‘the customer is always right?’”
“As I recall, you’re not the one who signs my checks,..” she said curtly “So, much as I love bantering with you I’ve got work to do,..”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re using my phone to play candy crush” I pointed out happily
“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” She groaned, finally looking up.
“I hear that a lot. But then I’m a journalist, it’s my job to ask questions”
“That’s funny, I thought it was your job to get captured and tied up” She quipped.
“Very droll. I see you’re a fan of my work. Would you like me to sign something,..? Although you might need to untie me first,..”
“No dice I’m afraid. After all, I wouldn't be much use as a guard if I simply let all everyone go now would I?”
“Fair point” I conceded
It was (surprisingly) hard to disagree with this line of argument.
“Now will you please be quiet?!” She pleaded, eager to return to her game/ work.
However, as a reporter and a respected member of Her Majesties free press,.. well the school paper,.. I was not going to allow myself to be silenced.
“Listen you overdressed gorilla” my voice becoming stern and noticeably louder, “you don’t intimidate me,..”
“I won’t ask you again,..” She snarled through gritted teeth “For the love of Xena. Shut. The. Hell. UP!”
“I intend to do no such thing, in fact maybe I should start singing,.. Tell me, are you familiar with the musical Urinetown,..?”
I had just begun my set with a spirited rendition of “Snuff that girl” when my guard let out a defeated sigh before beginning the slow, laborious process of hauling her enormous bulk into a standing position.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,..” She said as she began searching the utility closet.
For as long as I could remember I had been gripped by the thrilling adventures of Nancy Drew and had eagerly and diligently prepared myself for the day in which I might get the chance to be a real damsel in distress like my literary hero.
I had diligently studied knots and techniques, practiced my escapology skills by tying myself up, and spent time thinking of all the clever things I would say (or, in the case of a gag, mumble incoherently) to my captors if I ever happened to find myself in such a situation.
Which makes it all the more disappointing that the only thing I managed to say before a strip of thick black tape was plastered over my lips was a muffled “You’ll never-”
“There!” She said with a satisfied grin “That’s much better”
Silently I fumed. I had been an amateur detective for almost six months now and this was already the ninth time I found myself taken hostage. My ambition to be the World's Greatest detective remained tantalizingly out of reach,..
