Author's Note: My first attempt at an OITNB fic, so I'd love to know what you think!
This is set shortly after the events of season 5 and will contain major spoilers right through to the finale. I know there's already been a lot of speculation about what happens next, who the main characters will be for the next season, and where they will end up. Instead of trying to come up with the most likely scenario, I've just gone for the most convenient in order to still feature a lot of familiar faces (more will feature than just those tagged) and so, we're back at a rebuilt/refurbished Litchfield. I guess instead of thinking of this as an attempt at season 6, it's more like 5B ...
With that said, the first part's just a shorter kinda set-up for what lies ahead and to gauge interest. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Monday Monday
1. Managing Expectations
"Just so I'm real clear on this … You expect me to cut through whatever psychological trauma the last few months may have inflicted, to say nothing of decades of neglect of underlying issues, in one day?"
Natalie Figueroa smiled tightly at the woman sat across the desk from her. The younger, fresher-faced, fuller-lipped woman, she reluctantly noted, as her own lips threatened to curl from a fake smile into a full-blown snarl. But only in the split second before any shred of open hostility was quickly smothered like an illicit orgasm.
She knew better than to appear threatened, god forbid. And, if nothing else, there were few things more unattractive than resentment shrouded in jealousy.
Besides, now that she was back calling the shots, she would be keeping everyone else right where they belonged. Inmates, guards, do-gooder counsellors … It didn't matter. There was room for all of them, pinned firmly under the heel of her glossy Louboutin shoe.
Oh, she would remain the consummate professional. For now. All she had to do was make sure the only green eyes in the room were those clear, kohl-rimmed, and gazing back at her expectantly.
There would be time enough to play hardball.
"One day a week," she corrected, in a bright tone that brooked no argument. "Mondays to be specific. Start the week off on the right foot, so to speak. Now, we'll be offering an initial six-week trial period-"
"But, Ms Figueroa, that just isn't enough time to even …"
A scathing look was enough for the half-assed protest attempt to trail off, although the newly instated warden was not at all liking the look she was getting back. It seemed bemused at best, when frankly she'd been hoping for … cowed.
"Look, let's not buy into a narrative of negativity here," she said, smile still frozen in place, although trying to stay just shy of icy. It didn't serve to overplay your hand this early in the game. A little aloof patronising couldn't hurt though. It was best to show who's boss right from the get-go. "I don't know what you're used to, but this is a prison, Miss Ford. We're not here to stroke the hair of these women and tell them: 'There, there.'"
"Of course not," came the easy response, complete with infuriating shrug. "Just to keep a lid on any mental health concerns that may escalate into, oh say, another uncontrollable riot situation where people end up dead, for example. And you wouldn't want that. I mean, one's unfortunate. Two could start to look … sloppy."
Fig's eyes narrowed dangerously. Was this bitch, in her enviably skinny grey jeans, actually biting back against her authority when she was barely in the door? She was going to have enough on her plate with a demoted Caputo acting like a grudge-harbouring little girl without some wannabe shrink making life difficult as well.
But, just as quick as it had flickered into view, that glimmer of something that might have been hidden steel was gone like it had never even been there.
"Hey, I get it though," the blonde said, as seemingly warm and open as ever. It probably would have proved disarming to anyone else, but only served to heighten the suspicions of her reluctant new boss.
And sure enough, brushing a stray lock of that stylishly rumpled ponytail back from her face, she somehow hit nought to sixty in the heartbeat that followed.
"Resources are always scarce and we all have to learn to cut our cloth to suit, right? So, Mondays it is. And I was thinking maybe I could get a head start today, talk to the corrections officers, race through a few preliminary assessments, work out the priority cases, and we could start that six-week stretch fresh next week? I'll report back at the end of the day. Thanks for your time, Natalie. I can call you Natalie, right?"
"Uh, sure …"
"Dallas. No, don't worry, I'm sure I'll find my own way around. Catch you later."
"Lat-"
Litchfield Penitentiary's newest counsellor was already hustling her tight little backside out the door.
Dallas Ford.
What the fuck was that anyway, her porn star name?
To be continued ...
Next time, word about the new counsellor hits the halls of Litchfield - and the staff room.