Post by Fells on Nov 2, 2008 12:49:41 GMT -5
Day three.
The stockades were never silent. If it wasn't the shouting of prisoners, it was guards calling to one another. "Reynolds!" This call came from the fresh guard sauntering down the hall. His voice was clearer than the others; he wasn't bothering to wear his helmet. "Sarge wants to see you 'fore you leave for the day." The guard he was replacing grumbled and shoved away from the wall near Fells's cell, shuffling off toward the stairs. His spot was quickly taken by the somewhat grizzled helmless man. He took in the whole cell block in a single glance, and shifted his casual stance enough to show he was ready to draw at a moment's notice.
She eyed him appraisingly from the back of her cell, where she was propped up against the wall, gangly legs splayed out in frot of her. "So tha's Reyolds, huh!" she called from the corner.
His gaze - nearly a glare - turned to her without a movement of his head. Like the cell block, she was taken in and sized up. "Yeah. That's Reynolds. What's it to you?"
"Welp," she drawled, pushing herself to her feet, "I couldn' git word one outta him." She grinned and wobbled where she stood. "An' tha's six, outta you! So, m'already doin' better." Fells propped herself against the wall and shook a leg. She grimaced. "Pins an' needles, hate it when this happens..."
"Seven." He smirked. "And don't sit so much if you hate it."
Her grin grew. He was talking. "Well I don' gots much else to do." Fells supported herself against the wall, hobbling on a half-numb foot. The chains binding her wrists together clanked heavily. "How d'ya keep from goin' bibbeldy, doin' allis?"
"Who says I do?" The smirk grew, approaching a grin. "I'm standin' here talking to Screamer after all. That don't really bode well for me."
A frown crossed her face. "Don' tell me tha's what they's callin' me."
"Sure is. You earned it." It had already looked like he was relaxed. By the way he sank back against the wall, clearly he hadn't been. "Surprised you got the voice to talk today."
"Oh I can set up hollerin' 'gain if'n I need ta. D'ya wanna see?" She pointed out towards the low hallways, head tilted and questioning in mock innocence. "I can give a bitty dem'stration?"
"Prefer you didn't. I got a long shift, and I'd like to be able to hear afterward." He shrugged. "So you don't like Screamer."
"Noooo, 'cause I was hollerin'. Now, y'wanna see me scream, y'git my husban' down here." Fells trailed behind the bars slowly, as though perhaps he might shy away or find another post should she get too near. The lanky thing behind the bars definitely wasn't the picture of a Guard killer. "Git him talkin' on loa. Then y'might hear me screamin'."
"The hell's a loa?" He looked her over as she approached, but made no move. "You're Drachmas, right? Trust me, I've spent -years- wishing I could get your husband down here."
"Didn' ya hear? He done got pardoned." She leaned lazily on the bars, grinning from ear to ear. If she missed him so badly that it hurt, she didn't show it; unless you noticed the strain around her eyes, maybe that little bit of ache when she talked about him. "Clearlike, Laz ain't the one what needs t'fret over bein' tossed in here, seems."
"Don't make me wish it any less." He snorted. "Pardon's a crock. How much did he pay to get let off the hook like that?"
"Hey, now, we done did that by yer ruttin' books! Took us ferever, too. He's a free man, far's the law'a Storm -- " Her chains rattled against the bars when she tried to put a hand through. Fells regarded them crossly. "Don' see him in here all trussed up, Nether..."
"Damn shame, that." He seemed to draw a degree of amusement from her predicament. "We'll have to stick with the next best thing then, won't we?"
She grinned at him wryly. If she pulled one arm in, the the chain would reach just enough for... Fells offered one hand through the bars. She managed a full foot. "Been called a damn lotta things afore. Next-best t'him? Tha's new. M'Fells. Not Screamer."
He snickered. "Fells? That's an even stupider name. Just makes you sound clumsy. Shoulda stuck with Screamer." He didn't, notably, take her hand. He wasn't stupid, after all. He eyed it lazily, and then returned to scanning the nearby cells. "And I figure if you're here, at least he's twisting somewhere."
Her smile faltered just a hair. Her eyes dropped to the offered hand, and she flexed it momentarily before withdrawing it. "...oh, likely," she conceded. "He can' even make dinner 'thout me, y'know. 'cosia's gonna be fed magicked sweet rolls 'till the tick I git outta here."
"And who's 'cosia, your dog?" There was another brief bout of relaxation when she withdrew her hand.
"She's my daughter." Fells clanked a wrist shackle on the bars. Stupid metal. "An' m'name ain't dim! I like it."
The eyes scanned her again. Brown, just like hers. "You got a daughter? Didn't know your kind cared for kids."
Fells turned and leaned against the bars, twisting her head about to reply. "I gots a kind, now?"
"Yep." He almost didn't bother continuing. "Criminals. Riders." The last was practically spat.
She cocked her head against the bar. "Y'know, we ain't 'xactly all'a the same."
"Ain't seen any proof of that." He snarled a little. "Seen a lotta dead men, though. You gonna get demoted 'cause you didn't manage to off Brom?"
"Off? Off whosit? Demoted, whatsit..." She turned fully, peering at the scowling man curiously. "Wassat the one guard fella's name?"
"Yeah. Sergeant Adius Brom. Still his name, thank you very much." He took a pause for another scan. None of them could afford to lose focus down here. "You sound surprised he had one."
"Well, I kinda..." Fells trailed between the bars, quiet except for the manacles. "I didn'...know him, so..."
"So you didn't care. Just another body." He did spit then. "If I sound surprised your type cares about kids, it's cause I seen a damn lotta widows and orphans your people've caused."
Fells stared at him silently for a bit. "Truly?" she finally ventured. "'cosia was a orphan. Lordaeron."
He nodded somberly. The thought of Lordaeron seemed to chill his ire a bit. "Yeah, truly. Seems like every time we got one of you in here, few kids end up losin' a mom or dad. Or both. Two kids lost both, last time." He recounted in his head, just to be sure. "Just one with that paladin in the Vault, but that's 'cause they don't tend to put women in there." He grinned somewhat menacingly. "At least this time, they were smart enough to put only unmarried troops between here and the exit."
"...in case they come t'bust me out."
"In case, -ha-." His eye swept the empty wing again, lingering on the door into the Stocks proper. Maybe he should put his helmet on after all. "Nether, I hope it's my shift when they come."
"They won'." Fells gripped the bars, bringing her face close. "They won', I'll make sure'a it! When're my visits? When can I talk t'folk?"
"You -had- a visit. And outside of hours, too. Ponce'll probably be back again tonight."
She grinned then. "He ain't a ponce. He's m'priest."
"He's a punk and a ponce." There was the snarl again. "Little git couldn't handle the pressure, drank himself outta the army. Fancy liar now, all -holy-."
"That ain't how I see it. He ain't a liar."
"Your word don't exactly mean much here." He spat again, as though to demonstrate precisely how little he thought of her. "Man's so full of crap he'd feed generations of dung beetles. Gets all these special priviledges 'cause he's a Rose, but I know better. Seen him with your kind plenty. He can't fool all of us."
Her jaw set, and for long moments it was an obvious struggle for her to contain the outburst that threatened. When she could finally speak, it was through gritted teeth. "Why don' y'wear yer helm."
"Because it's full of grenades," he answered simply."
That was definitely not the answer she'd expected. "What, truly?"
"Yep." He didn't move to show her. "Figure I can tackle two or three, blow us all sky-high."
Fells moved herself three bars down, pulling herself up on tiptoe. "Can I see?"
She was gettng awfully close. Much closer, and a good shield bash would move her back all right... "Why?"
"Well I ain't never saw a helmet full'a grenades afore." She paused, then cocked a sheepish half-grin. "I'll keep m'hands 'hind m'back? M'already locked up, y'know. I can' grab fer 'em." It only occurred to her in hindsight that he may be worried.
He chewed his tongue for a moment, then tilted the helm at his hip just enough for her to look inside. Sure enough, in the bottom sat no fewer than five nasty messes of fel iron and powder. "When they blow inside the helm," he offered, "makes for extra shrapnel, too."
Fells peered at them in quiet horror, head cocked to the side. That one was for Laurus, and that one was for Elyle, and that one was for Tarquin, and that one was probably for Delion because Delion was stupid... "I...ain't never heard'a a helm bein' used fer shrapnel afore the fact, ser."
He grinned. "I like to think outside the box. I'm a creative guy." They were actually all for Elyle. Two orphans on that elf's account. No more.
"Ayeh, seems." If they came down here and didn't die, she'd kill the whole lot for setting foot in this place. "Issat what they call ya? Like Screamer?"
"No. They call me Corporal. Or John, if they're not scared of me." The grin grew as he shifted his helm back into position. "Most call me Corporal."
And she could see why. Fells grinned lightly. "Welp, I'd shake yer hand, but."
"But you'd only have one after. At least you could get the one of the manacles off that way." If only he was joking.
She didn't doubt for a moment that he was anything but serious. "I think it's nice t'meetcha, John."
He snickered. "I think if you think that, you're crazier'n I am. And you've only been down here two days."
"Ayeh, but now I ain't goin' bibbeldy from folk not talkin' t'me."
"Then what -does- make you crazy as you are?" He reached over and tapped the bars, rattling his gauntlet between them. "You're awful young and scrawny to be a murderer."
"I git that a lot," she quipped before catching herself. Fells stepped aside, putting a few extra bars' thicknesses between herself and that fist. "Not that I did nothin'."
A wise choice, considering the force with which it slammed the bars upon her denial. "'Course. Perfectly normal reaction for an innocent person, goin' after a guard with a broken bottle."
She lept back with a yelp. "Hey, they done came after me! 'course I got flighty!"
"You got a funny sense of 'flighty,' girl. You 'flighty' a lot?" He stepped to the bars, slamming his fist into them again. "Said your girl's from Lordaeron, but you didn't say her folks got Scourged. Did you get 'flighty' with them too?"
"Awha -- no!" Fells stepped back into the safety of her cell hastily. "No, damn! They done got plagued! I were bare a gal when it happen't!"
He nodded obnoxiously, as though he believed her oh so very not at all. "I'm sure you felt just so bad for the poor dear. So -considerate-, takin' her in to your family like that. I'm sure she's -so damn proud- of you."
"She don' know," Fells protested. "She's home! With Laz!"
"Oh yes, Lord Drachmas. I'm sure he's great with kids." He was eating this up like candy. See what she got for calling him John? "Hope she finds out soon."
No, he wouldn't tell her. Surely. It was fine. Laurus had promised to be sweet. "Yer not wed. Littles?"
"If I had kids, and wasn't wed, do you think they'd be putting me on death run?" He finally stepped away from the bars, retaking his place against the wall. "And if I -did- have kids, do you think I'd be telling -you-?"
"Welp, seems y'wanna be on..." Blink. "Death run? C'mon now, damn. Seems y'wanna be onnis run, so I don' know. Yer the one what says folk git addled, bein' down here all on their lonesome." That meant the bars were safe again. She still approached slowly. "Y'gots littles?"
"No." He was just as 'relaxed' as ever now. "Do wanna be here, yeah. But then, I'm not -afraid- to die." He shook the helm, and the grenades scraped on the metal. "Damn near excited to, if I can do some good with it."
"Now how'sit," she drawled curiously, "that you killin' my folk is doin' some good, but I try an' defend m'self, an' tha's awful?"
"Because -you're- the criminal here." Those bars were about to become very not safe again. "Because you're the murderer, the theif, the one who takes from others and doesn't give a shit about the good of the innocent. Like all your 'folk'. You're the one who thinks killing is defense against the law, who judges and executes without giving your victims a fair trial. Your kid mighta walked out of this with both parents just fine, if you hadn't tried to make another kid an orphan."
"I weren' tryin' t'make 'nother little a orphan!" Unwisely Fells held her ground. Temper rose in her cheeks, splotchy and red. "An' soon's I'm outta here she'll have us both 'gain!"
He laughed. "Oh, right! 'cause Brom's kid woulda still had his mom, yeah, that's FAIR!" He cackled. "Oh, but when you get out of here, you better -hope- your girl doesn't see. You better -pray- she doesn't watch you hang!"
"I ain't gonna hang!" Fells slammed a manacle against the bar vehemently.
"You're gonna hang!" he crowed gleefully. "You went for a top ranked Ironforge NCO! You're a dead woman walking!" To him, this was clearly very funny.
Fells swallowed, and gave one last defiant slam of her irons against the bars before turning away. Maybe she could sleep. Maybe she could ignore him. Or ignore it all.
She'd have to wait until his cackling died down. It was a good few minutes. Some days, he really did love this job.
"Y'sound like Laz," she grumbled over her shoulder.
Silence for a moment. "...Shut up."
"When're y'on my watch 'gain, John?" The cot was little more than canvas stretched over a frame, with more canvas to cover with. Still, she could probably at lease sleep some.
"Three more hours today. Then again tomorrow."
Three hours today in which she could at lease be marginally sure she was safe, then. "Mmn, good."
He glared at her back. "Enjoy your sleep, Fails."
"Fells," she corrected into the wall.
"Fails."
She rolled to frown at him. It was distinctly unsettling to be trying to sleep in front of someone strange. He was probably going to be standing there judging her the entire time, too. "M'name's Fells."
Boy was he. "Ain't your legal name. So I'll call you what I want, Fells." He wasn't looking at her anymore, at least.
"So. It's still m'name, John. I ain't callin' ya Johnnie or none'at." ..though...
"And to -you-, my name's Corporal. Or Sir. Show me respect, and you'll get it back."
"If'n I was bein' disrespectful, ya'd know it." She pulled the thin blanket up to her chin (which left her feet bare, not that she took her boots off). "Can y'holler when y'leave?"
That caught him off guard. "Sure. Why?"
"Jest like t'know when y'leave."
He shrugged. "All right."
With that, she rolled over, turning her back on him. Her little sigh was silent, and one of ever so slight relief. At least he'd talked.
The stockades were never silent. If it wasn't the shouting of prisoners, it was guards calling to one another. "Reynolds!" This call came from the fresh guard sauntering down the hall. His voice was clearer than the others; he wasn't bothering to wear his helmet. "Sarge wants to see you 'fore you leave for the day." The guard he was replacing grumbled and shoved away from the wall near Fells's cell, shuffling off toward the stairs. His spot was quickly taken by the somewhat grizzled helmless man. He took in the whole cell block in a single glance, and shifted his casual stance enough to show he was ready to draw at a moment's notice.
She eyed him appraisingly from the back of her cell, where she was propped up against the wall, gangly legs splayed out in frot of her. "So tha's Reyolds, huh!" she called from the corner.
His gaze - nearly a glare - turned to her without a movement of his head. Like the cell block, she was taken in and sized up. "Yeah. That's Reynolds. What's it to you?"
"Welp," she drawled, pushing herself to her feet, "I couldn' git word one outta him." She grinned and wobbled where she stood. "An' tha's six, outta you! So, m'already doin' better." Fells propped herself against the wall and shook a leg. She grimaced. "Pins an' needles, hate it when this happens..."
"Seven." He smirked. "And don't sit so much if you hate it."
Her grin grew. He was talking. "Well I don' gots much else to do." Fells supported herself against the wall, hobbling on a half-numb foot. The chains binding her wrists together clanked heavily. "How d'ya keep from goin' bibbeldy, doin' allis?"
"Who says I do?" The smirk grew, approaching a grin. "I'm standin' here talking to Screamer after all. That don't really bode well for me."
A frown crossed her face. "Don' tell me tha's what they's callin' me."
"Sure is. You earned it." It had already looked like he was relaxed. By the way he sank back against the wall, clearly he hadn't been. "Surprised you got the voice to talk today."
"Oh I can set up hollerin' 'gain if'n I need ta. D'ya wanna see?" She pointed out towards the low hallways, head tilted and questioning in mock innocence. "I can give a bitty dem'stration?"
"Prefer you didn't. I got a long shift, and I'd like to be able to hear afterward." He shrugged. "So you don't like Screamer."
"Noooo, 'cause I was hollerin'. Now, y'wanna see me scream, y'git my husban' down here." Fells trailed behind the bars slowly, as though perhaps he might shy away or find another post should she get too near. The lanky thing behind the bars definitely wasn't the picture of a Guard killer. "Git him talkin' on loa. Then y'might hear me screamin'."
"The hell's a loa?" He looked her over as she approached, but made no move. "You're Drachmas, right? Trust me, I've spent -years- wishing I could get your husband down here."
"Didn' ya hear? He done got pardoned." She leaned lazily on the bars, grinning from ear to ear. If she missed him so badly that it hurt, she didn't show it; unless you noticed the strain around her eyes, maybe that little bit of ache when she talked about him. "Clearlike, Laz ain't the one what needs t'fret over bein' tossed in here, seems."
"Don't make me wish it any less." He snorted. "Pardon's a crock. How much did he pay to get let off the hook like that?"
"Hey, now, we done did that by yer ruttin' books! Took us ferever, too. He's a free man, far's the law'a Storm -- " Her chains rattled against the bars when she tried to put a hand through. Fells regarded them crossly. "Don' see him in here all trussed up, Nether..."
"Damn shame, that." He seemed to draw a degree of amusement from her predicament. "We'll have to stick with the next best thing then, won't we?"
She grinned at him wryly. If she pulled one arm in, the the chain would reach just enough for... Fells offered one hand through the bars. She managed a full foot. "Been called a damn lotta things afore. Next-best t'him? Tha's new. M'Fells. Not Screamer."
He snickered. "Fells? That's an even stupider name. Just makes you sound clumsy. Shoulda stuck with Screamer." He didn't, notably, take her hand. He wasn't stupid, after all. He eyed it lazily, and then returned to scanning the nearby cells. "And I figure if you're here, at least he's twisting somewhere."
Her smile faltered just a hair. Her eyes dropped to the offered hand, and she flexed it momentarily before withdrawing it. "...oh, likely," she conceded. "He can' even make dinner 'thout me, y'know. 'cosia's gonna be fed magicked sweet rolls 'till the tick I git outta here."
"And who's 'cosia, your dog?" There was another brief bout of relaxation when she withdrew her hand.
"She's my daughter." Fells clanked a wrist shackle on the bars. Stupid metal. "An' m'name ain't dim! I like it."
The eyes scanned her again. Brown, just like hers. "You got a daughter? Didn't know your kind cared for kids."
Fells turned and leaned against the bars, twisting her head about to reply. "I gots a kind, now?"
"Yep." He almost didn't bother continuing. "Criminals. Riders." The last was practically spat.
She cocked her head against the bar. "Y'know, we ain't 'xactly all'a the same."
"Ain't seen any proof of that." He snarled a little. "Seen a lotta dead men, though. You gonna get demoted 'cause you didn't manage to off Brom?"
"Off? Off whosit? Demoted, whatsit..." She turned fully, peering at the scowling man curiously. "Wassat the one guard fella's name?"
"Yeah. Sergeant Adius Brom. Still his name, thank you very much." He took a pause for another scan. None of them could afford to lose focus down here. "You sound surprised he had one."
"Well, I kinda..." Fells trailed between the bars, quiet except for the manacles. "I didn'...know him, so..."
"So you didn't care. Just another body." He did spit then. "If I sound surprised your type cares about kids, it's cause I seen a damn lotta widows and orphans your people've caused."
Fells stared at him silently for a bit. "Truly?" she finally ventured. "'cosia was a orphan. Lordaeron."
He nodded somberly. The thought of Lordaeron seemed to chill his ire a bit. "Yeah, truly. Seems like every time we got one of you in here, few kids end up losin' a mom or dad. Or both. Two kids lost both, last time." He recounted in his head, just to be sure. "Just one with that paladin in the Vault, but that's 'cause they don't tend to put women in there." He grinned somewhat menacingly. "At least this time, they were smart enough to put only unmarried troops between here and the exit."
"...in case they come t'bust me out."
"In case, -ha-." His eye swept the empty wing again, lingering on the door into the Stocks proper. Maybe he should put his helmet on after all. "Nether, I hope it's my shift when they come."
"They won'." Fells gripped the bars, bringing her face close. "They won', I'll make sure'a it! When're my visits? When can I talk t'folk?"
"You -had- a visit. And outside of hours, too. Ponce'll probably be back again tonight."
She grinned then. "He ain't a ponce. He's m'priest."
"He's a punk and a ponce." There was the snarl again. "Little git couldn't handle the pressure, drank himself outta the army. Fancy liar now, all -holy-."
"That ain't how I see it. He ain't a liar."
"Your word don't exactly mean much here." He spat again, as though to demonstrate precisely how little he thought of her. "Man's so full of crap he'd feed generations of dung beetles. Gets all these special priviledges 'cause he's a Rose, but I know better. Seen him with your kind plenty. He can't fool all of us."
Her jaw set, and for long moments it was an obvious struggle for her to contain the outburst that threatened. When she could finally speak, it was through gritted teeth. "Why don' y'wear yer helm."
"Because it's full of grenades," he answered simply."
That was definitely not the answer she'd expected. "What, truly?"
"Yep." He didn't move to show her. "Figure I can tackle two or three, blow us all sky-high."
Fells moved herself three bars down, pulling herself up on tiptoe. "Can I see?"
She was gettng awfully close. Much closer, and a good shield bash would move her back all right... "Why?"
"Well I ain't never saw a helmet full'a grenades afore." She paused, then cocked a sheepish half-grin. "I'll keep m'hands 'hind m'back? M'already locked up, y'know. I can' grab fer 'em." It only occurred to her in hindsight that he may be worried.
He chewed his tongue for a moment, then tilted the helm at his hip just enough for her to look inside. Sure enough, in the bottom sat no fewer than five nasty messes of fel iron and powder. "When they blow inside the helm," he offered, "makes for extra shrapnel, too."
Fells peered at them in quiet horror, head cocked to the side. That one was for Laurus, and that one was for Elyle, and that one was for Tarquin, and that one was probably for Delion because Delion was stupid... "I...ain't never heard'a a helm bein' used fer shrapnel afore the fact, ser."
He grinned. "I like to think outside the box. I'm a creative guy." They were actually all for Elyle. Two orphans on that elf's account. No more.
"Ayeh, seems." If they came down here and didn't die, she'd kill the whole lot for setting foot in this place. "Issat what they call ya? Like Screamer?"
"No. They call me Corporal. Or John, if they're not scared of me." The grin grew as he shifted his helm back into position. "Most call me Corporal."
And she could see why. Fells grinned lightly. "Welp, I'd shake yer hand, but."
"But you'd only have one after. At least you could get the one of the manacles off that way." If only he was joking.
She didn't doubt for a moment that he was anything but serious. "I think it's nice t'meetcha, John."
He snickered. "I think if you think that, you're crazier'n I am. And you've only been down here two days."
"Ayeh, but now I ain't goin' bibbeldy from folk not talkin' t'me."
"Then what -does- make you crazy as you are?" He reached over and tapped the bars, rattling his gauntlet between them. "You're awful young and scrawny to be a murderer."
"I git that a lot," she quipped before catching herself. Fells stepped aside, putting a few extra bars' thicknesses between herself and that fist. "Not that I did nothin'."
A wise choice, considering the force with which it slammed the bars upon her denial. "'Course. Perfectly normal reaction for an innocent person, goin' after a guard with a broken bottle."
She lept back with a yelp. "Hey, they done came after me! 'course I got flighty!"
"You got a funny sense of 'flighty,' girl. You 'flighty' a lot?" He stepped to the bars, slamming his fist into them again. "Said your girl's from Lordaeron, but you didn't say her folks got Scourged. Did you get 'flighty' with them too?"
"Awha -- no!" Fells stepped back into the safety of her cell hastily. "No, damn! They done got plagued! I were bare a gal when it happen't!"
He nodded obnoxiously, as though he believed her oh so very not at all. "I'm sure you felt just so bad for the poor dear. So -considerate-, takin' her in to your family like that. I'm sure she's -so damn proud- of you."
"She don' know," Fells protested. "She's home! With Laz!"
"Oh yes, Lord Drachmas. I'm sure he's great with kids." He was eating this up like candy. See what she got for calling him John? "Hope she finds out soon."
No, he wouldn't tell her. Surely. It was fine. Laurus had promised to be sweet. "Yer not wed. Littles?"
"If I had kids, and wasn't wed, do you think they'd be putting me on death run?" He finally stepped away from the bars, retaking his place against the wall. "And if I -did- have kids, do you think I'd be telling -you-?"
"Welp, seems y'wanna be on..." Blink. "Death run? C'mon now, damn. Seems y'wanna be onnis run, so I don' know. Yer the one what says folk git addled, bein' down here all on their lonesome." That meant the bars were safe again. She still approached slowly. "Y'gots littles?"
"No." He was just as 'relaxed' as ever now. "Do wanna be here, yeah. But then, I'm not -afraid- to die." He shook the helm, and the grenades scraped on the metal. "Damn near excited to, if I can do some good with it."
"Now how'sit," she drawled curiously, "that you killin' my folk is doin' some good, but I try an' defend m'self, an' tha's awful?"
"Because -you're- the criminal here." Those bars were about to become very not safe again. "Because you're the murderer, the theif, the one who takes from others and doesn't give a shit about the good of the innocent. Like all your 'folk'. You're the one who thinks killing is defense against the law, who judges and executes without giving your victims a fair trial. Your kid mighta walked out of this with both parents just fine, if you hadn't tried to make another kid an orphan."
"I weren' tryin' t'make 'nother little a orphan!" Unwisely Fells held her ground. Temper rose in her cheeks, splotchy and red. "An' soon's I'm outta here she'll have us both 'gain!"
He laughed. "Oh, right! 'cause Brom's kid woulda still had his mom, yeah, that's FAIR!" He cackled. "Oh, but when you get out of here, you better -hope- your girl doesn't see. You better -pray- she doesn't watch you hang!"
"I ain't gonna hang!" Fells slammed a manacle against the bar vehemently.
"You're gonna hang!" he crowed gleefully. "You went for a top ranked Ironforge NCO! You're a dead woman walking!" To him, this was clearly very funny.
Fells swallowed, and gave one last defiant slam of her irons against the bars before turning away. Maybe she could sleep. Maybe she could ignore him. Or ignore it all.
She'd have to wait until his cackling died down. It was a good few minutes. Some days, he really did love this job.
"Y'sound like Laz," she grumbled over her shoulder.
Silence for a moment. "...Shut up."
"When're y'on my watch 'gain, John?" The cot was little more than canvas stretched over a frame, with more canvas to cover with. Still, she could probably at lease sleep some.
"Three more hours today. Then again tomorrow."
Three hours today in which she could at lease be marginally sure she was safe, then. "Mmn, good."
He glared at her back. "Enjoy your sleep, Fails."
"Fells," she corrected into the wall.
"Fails."
She rolled to frown at him. It was distinctly unsettling to be trying to sleep in front of someone strange. He was probably going to be standing there judging her the entire time, too. "M'name's Fells."
Boy was he. "Ain't your legal name. So I'll call you what I want, Fells." He wasn't looking at her anymore, at least.
"So. It's still m'name, John. I ain't callin' ya Johnnie or none'at." ..though...
"And to -you-, my name's Corporal. Or Sir. Show me respect, and you'll get it back."
"If'n I was bein' disrespectful, ya'd know it." She pulled the thin blanket up to her chin (which left her feet bare, not that she took her boots off). "Can y'holler when y'leave?"
That caught him off guard. "Sure. Why?"
"Jest like t'know when y'leave."
He shrugged. "All right."
With that, she rolled over, turning her back on him. Her little sigh was silent, and one of ever so slight relief. At least he'd talked.
