Vacation

[Khalika]

sits, indian style in the center most point of her cell, arms rest casually upon knees fingers curled, and nails lay against the floor surface. Her eyes closed a twisted lock of hair or a dozen fall about the edges of her copper toned features. the Gypsy peaceful for once, a deep mediatation, her breathing even, a calmed center she is not known for.

she fought little the second time Lt. Kilborn suggested this visit to the gaol, mostly for it seemed the easiest way to avoid other things and people who she would have most likly killed just to be away from. so it was in her and their best interest for her to take this little vacation, and it was only a week. and the accomidation were good enough, as far as prisons go. So her she sat in her her nightly ritual. the four hours before dawn she would sit in total silence still in thought and contemplation. It was a needed ritual to keep her center, to keep the burning fire in her heart at bay. the window behind her allows in stripes of moon light blocked partially by a figure who stands before it cloaked in black its face hidden. It had stood their since her arrival, unmoving and unmovable. it may have lead to a touch of trouble had she not spoke with the figure to explain she was not a permenent capture merely a "guest" of the guards. The figure you see was a guard itself. though it guarded her in another way...It sole purpose to keep her safe and from harm. A difficult task, and one she wished she could relieve him from. but she knew well enough of the Vertix ways to know nothing would hault or deter him from his sworn duty. she was R'il, Leader would be the closest translation, it wasn't something she asked for...but her father was the last R'il and he placed her name upon the scroll as his replacement...

three others would be lurking nearby, hidden from sight but always with eyes upon the Gaol, another reason why in the end she did not fight the encarsaration. not having no real dislike for the soldiers she didn't want to see them needlessly slaughtered, and more so she will never have another vertix death on her hands...not if she can in anyway avoid it.

So yes she sits, hidden away for the last week. No visitors, which was for the best she wasn't into conversation anyways. Left her own thoughts, the bottle she had arrived with long gone. Her throat dry in need for something with a stronger taste then water, it had been seven days by her count and soon by morning she figured she would be released upon the world once more. A glee filled thought indeed. but one cannot be on vacation forever.. Can they?

[Tyralor]

It was drizzling outside on this particular occassion. A continuous trail of liquid that ensured that most people would spend a most uncomfortable night this time 'round. It happened of course. Few enough individuals were rich enough to completely prevent the water from leaking in a few locations. The gaol, certainly didn't qualify for that.

A stream of thick, brown coloured fluid landed with a soft splot in vincinity of Khalika's form. Sergeant Otis was once again making his wounds, and giving the woman a once over, while the huge gob of tobacco that seemed endless wound its way through his cheeks. The scent of the pungent odour no doubt slowly began to permeate her cell.

"Ouse'upo't'e umtin'es'sal eh?" He questioned casually with a smirk on his lips, before wrinkling his nose somewhat.

"Uns'y'oo'y'ell'et-ur?"

[Khalika]

the water trickle bothers her not...its constant fall doesn't even hazard a flinch from her form, even as the cool dirty water ricoquets off the cold stone floor to spray against the area where the cuff of her sleeve and her wrist meet. that too does not garnish a moment of discomfort, or movement at all. Though when the lovely Sergeant Otis arrives on que, in all his swarmy glory. She can see through the vail of curl that hides for the most part her eyes, the way he looks at her...though no facial distruption is offered to show any feelings she may have on that or his choice of cheap smelling tobacco, which soon filtersher cell.

But then he speaks....and she as usual does not respond, partially because she has no living clue what the blook has to say, and for the simple matter that she cares not to converseve with him....and so there she sits still calm, and with little care. Little care for the cold stone beneath her, little care for the bars before her and to her sides. little care for the unpleasant smells that teather to and fro from the cells themselves and the man before her...Dawn is soon approaching an hour maybe less, and hopefuly with its arrival her company will soon depart. for his mere presence to her at least is more then enough torture..