Katina Choovanski

Katchoo had been all but abducted from the radio station by, of all things, aggressively attacking holiday baked goods. Well, not attacking exactly, but the small army of fruitcakes had been in no way about to leave her alone, and now she got to add "frogmarched through the streets away from the radio station by a horde of that Christmas gift nobody wants" to her list of bizarre life experiences.

She got away from the fruitcakes eventually, but now she was holed up in what you could generously call a small cramped cave, fending them off with a long stick, hoping they'd just go the hell away soon. Emphasis on hoping; little bastards were persistent, and she was freezing.

By the time they finally did give up, or just disappear (frikkin' Fandom), she was so horribly cramped it took a long time to extricate herself from her hiding place, a long time to work out the cramps so she could actually walk, and a lot of creative swearing all through the process. And she had to work in -- according to the time on her watch when she checked it in the flickering firelight of her Zippo -- six hours.

Fan-frikkin'-tastic.

[OOC: Establishy. Mwahahaha.]

Yeah. Nothing could possibly have gone wrong there, clearly. Having handcuffs bite into her wrists while she sat in a crappy, half-broken plastic chair at a Baltimore PD station? Nothing wrong there. Nothing at all. Not even when she sat around for hours on end watching greasy shirtless guys scream incoherently while they got hustled through to other cells.

Nothing wrong at all. Riiiiiiight. Getting arrested had totally been in her plans.

The cop who'd booked her for drunk and disorderly had been friendly, even asking if anyone had gotten her any food; that had only pissed Katchoo off further, and she'd been stubborn and silent through all his earnest chattering attempts to make small talk. She hadn't answered when he asked about her "unusual" name, hadn't said anything when he'd noted she was from Chicago, which was where his sister happened to live.

He'd gotten a barely-audible grunted "Yes" out of her when asking if she'd ever been charged with a felony before, but in response to his request for further details she'd just snarled, "Look it up!"

Which led straight to the fact that god, the bunk in this cell frikkin' reeked, and whenever the hell Arthur got back, Katchoo wasn't looking forward to the look she expected to see on his face. ( Like possibly now; there were footsteps approaching her cell, and Katchoo shot a sullen glare toward the bars. (With a warning for sleazy unwelcome advances and violence.) )

[OOC: As before, NFB and NFI for distance, OOC totally okay. Adapted, with some dialogue taken, from Strangers in Paradise Volume 1, issue 3, "Busted!" Preplayed with the inimitable bitch_prince and the transcendent thatsamilkshake and someone needs to take thesaurus.com away from me.]