A script I'm currently working on is eluding me, so I wrote the following to try and work around it.
"Ayyyy?" Abigail gritted her teeth. Why couldn't her father ever, not once, manage her full name? She was simply a sound, a noise emitted from between filthy lips when he needed to refer to her. The screech of her first initial was his calling-cry when he wanted her, or a whine when she wasn't good enough. "Coming, Father." She picked up the tray, heavy with ale and meat, curling her...Read On