[center][h2]Prison, Interrupted[/h2][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2KDIbF6.jpg[/img]
[/center]


The cuffs done bit ‘er again.  Soldier give ‘er a smirk as he snapped ‘em on tight.  “No more dolls for you, missy,” he whispered in ‘er ear.    Well, leastways that little prank worked, fer what it’s worth.  

She seen them new Anabaptists git hauled up out tha belly hatch bay.  All like the rest, raggedy scarecrows gone gaunt in filthy togs what used tah be their Sunday finest.  One by one, they’s scanned by a couple soldiers, each man jack of ‘em pingin’ positive by the chip still stuck in their shoulder.  [i]”Dead to rights,”[/i] Abby conjured as that detective fella went on an’ on about how Yuri an’ tha crew was all gon’ be in orange jumpsuits afore sundown.  

She read a couple books about life in a grey bar hotel.  Weren’t none too kindly, she recollected, ‘specially if you’s a young woman.  “Do yourself a favor,” the old convict, Bergitta, done told Maggie, the heroine in [i]Behind The Iron Door.[/i]  “Find a way to earn solitary.  Make ‘em think you’re crazy.  Young bits of pretty get raped by everyone…guards, inmates, even folk like shepherds and wardens.  Make’em scared.”

She pondered that, jest how she’d go  ‘bout scarin’ them as held guns, when deliverance come on tha wings of an angel.  Tha angel herself could claim tha title without no fuss.  Abby already knowed Quill Cassidy’s ‘bout tha pertiest woman she ever did see.  But now, watchin’ her take on guards an’ wavin ‘ papers tah make that detective fella’s face go red, Abby seen somethin’ altogether diff’rent in how she handled ‘em.  [i]”Like she’s a queen,”[/i] the girl conjured as she searched the four corners of ‘er brainpan for the word.  [i]”Regal.  That’s it.  Regal.”[/i]