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[indent][indent]The guards sure had enjoyed poking her. Squirm. [i]Poke.[/i] Kick her feet out to count how many times she could lift her legs against the restraints. [i]Poke.[/i] Push the hair from her eyes. [i]Poke.[/i] Push the hair into her eyes, because by this point she was confused at what they wanted. [i]Poke.[/i] Belch a little too loud from the rotten swill they called food. [i]Poke.[/i] “That one ain’t even my fault! If anythin’ it’s yours, and your disgustin’ mannish food.” [i]Even harder poke.[/i] It inevitably boiled down to her counting the wooden slats that formed their rolling, bobbing prison. She’d been in the middle of it when Fenks had split open like an overcooked sausage. Honestly, at least the stink was gone. Oh wait, the mannish ones were still there. 

Migi didn’t want to admit that the rocking of the carriage was somewhat comforting. It reminded her of her time out at sea. Even them piled in together was reminiscent of her time laying low until they could seize a vessel—papers in one hand and a torch in the other. What she wouldn’t give to light something on fire.

She was on slat [i]one-hundred and forty-two[/i] when the carriage came to a stop, and they were hurried out of it. Migi groused at not being able to finish the one task she’d been allowed to perform unmolested. She fidgeted as they were surrounded and stared at like they were a group of humorless jesters. She fought the urge to turn invisible. It wouldn’t change anything, and the guards sure as the blade could get trigger happy with their crossbows. So, she just stood as their eyes deftly swooped over the top of her head as if she was interesting as a tree stump.

Then the keys went into the mud, and there was the rumble of the cart moving on along with the plodding of feet and hooves. Migi’s eyes narrowed as she watched them fade into the mist. She half expected them to double back around and stab them all in the back for humor’s sake. No. They were on their own. She turned her attention back to her new “crew.” Migi’s lips twisted in disgust as they started to unlock and peel their manacles off. She’d been better off with landbound catfish flopping around breathlessly than this lot. Well, maybe the dwarf was worth his weight—which was saying a bit considering his build. And then there was the medium-mannish one. Not the one with the scar that was in the latest fashion, but the other one. He might be useful.

Migi grabbed the ring of keys from the human woman and unlocked her shackles. She then slid her hand through the keyring and let it balance on her wrist. If she slid the keys between her fingers, they could be used as pulverizing beaters. More so, she might be able to shackle up some of these idiots if they felt handsy later on. She was aware that one of their compatriots hadn’t unshackled himself, and she would allow him to. But she’d make it known that the keys were hers afterward. They could have her manacles. Unless they planned on imprisoning mannish children—they were of no use to her as anything but a burden. 

She snorted as the one with the scar asked if they had all gotten here in the same fashion. “[i]Earned the ire of[/i]?” Migi laughed. “He’s tryin’ to figure out if any of you are acquainted with wipin’ the ass of a fancy boy because his is feelin’ slimy.

“The name is Princess Macaroon Petunia. Pleasure to meet yah all.” She gave a fake curtsey to join that fake name. “I say we forgo all makin’ ourselves wooden fuck sticks like the fancy boy over here and get off the blade-damned road. We’re all wearin’ thin ass clothes, that the rain is really makin’ sure get stuck in our craws, with no weapons to speak of. I mean you all have mannish meaty mits, but that won’t matter to bandits.” 

She rolled her shoulders a bit, her muscles feeling like knotted chords. “But if yah don’t want tah, you can always stand out here with your dick in your hands,” she said, cupping her palms in a very visual fashion. “So the bandits know where to find your jewels.”
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