Two Jailbirds Fly the Coop
Warden Evelyn Sterling had run the Blackridge Correctional Facility with an iron fist for a decade. She was known for her icy demeanor, her strict adherence to protocol, and her impeccable taste in business suits. Currently, however, the only thing impeccable about her situation was the knot-work binding her wrists to the arms of her mahogany office chair.
Evelyn, a striking woman of forty-nine with her usually severe bun now unraveled and cascading over her shoulders, sat fuming. Stripped down to her black lace bra, panties, and sheer black pantyhose, she struggled against the ropes binding her ankles to the chair legs. A thick cloth gag cut off her tirade, leaving her to make muffled, furious noises deep in her throat.
Beside her, Officer Miller was in a similar predicament. The young guard was wide-eyed, tied firmly to a visitor’s chair in her matching undergarments, her face turning a shade of crimson that clashed with the situation.
On the floor, like molted skins, lay two bright orange inmate jumpsuits.
Standing by the heavy oak door were the former owners of those jumpsuits. Roxy "The Fox" Vane stood tall, checking her reflection in the glass of a framed diploma. She smoothed the lapels of Evelyn’s charcoal grey blazer, which, annoyingly, fit her perfectly. She adjusted the silk scarf around her neck and picked up Evelyn's briefcase.
"You know," Roxy drawled, turning to the fuming Director with a wicked grin. "I always said the fabric in these joints was too scratchy. This Italian wool, though? Much better for my complexion."
Next to her, Trixie "The Hammer" O’Neil was busy buttoning up Officer Miller’s uniform shirt. She tugged the brim of the guard’s cap low over her eyes and twirled a set of keys on her finger—keys that opened every gate between this office and the parking lot.
Roxy placed a hand on the doorknob, looking back at the two women bound in the center of the room. Evelyn’s eyes were practically shooting sparks.
"Appreciate the wardrobe upgrade, Warden," Roxy said, winking. "Don't wait up."
Trixie chuckled, patting the holster on her hip. "And you’ve been a big help too, Officer. We'll be sure to leave a good review."
With a final, malicious grin, the two impostors stepped out into the hallway. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving the real Warden and Officer alone with the discarded orange jumpsuits and the muffled sound of their own rage.
The jailbirds hadn't just flown the coop; they’d stolen the feathers on their way out.
as a photostory: (unfortunately i couldn't recreate the characters, just the setting)
