Fox Bound

[Treadwell]

Chains.

Chains hurt.

Chains do nasty things like clamp down on wrists too hard.

The Fox had ended up practically turning himself in after a nice chase.

Now, why did he do that? He'd hoped to plant a seed in the head of the Constable who took him in--that lightning-throwing, earth-moving wench--about Treadwell and Treadwell's past and Treadwell's possible present and future.

Maybe it worked.

But out in the streets?

= = = = =

"Ten an' a half at ni' an' 'ere's the newwwwwws! Counc'lor Tread'ell hit inna head wi'a rock! 'e's inna 'osp'tal, 'e is, an' th' bad guy's in the jaaaaail! More on'is t'morrer maaaaaaaarnin'!"

[ShadowRose]

The gentle resonance of hard heels on cold, lifeless stone indicated to the Fox that he indeed gained himself a visitor; one who would be stopped quite suddenly by the cell guards posted just beyond.

"I wish to see the prisoner.." the female voice came floating by, beyond the corner and out of sight.

"No one's gettin' through 'ere without Constable Karie's say-so. 'ow, move along, miss." spoke one of the guards.

"You -will- let me pass, gentle sir. And you will let me pass. Now." came the return response, words marked with an odd reflection of sound that lined the very real intonation of a female's voice.

"I--uh.. I be guessin' it ain't no harm lettin' ye through, miss."

"I knew you'd see it my way, my lord."

The fox would hear nothing nor see anything as his cell was particularly dark and cold. No footsteps or breathing betrayed her presence and, only when a candle was lit, flooding the dark space with dim light, did the fox see a petite woman sitting atop a stool in front of his cell.

"I hear you have information about Treadwell. Tell me about him, my foxy friend. Tell me all you know.."

[Treadwell]

Eyes blink and squint in the glowing candlelight.

"Who's asking? I know a lot about old Allie Treadwell, more than most, more than, I'd think, that fat cousin of his he works with! Who's asking?"

A narrowing of eyes.

"You're no Constable."

[ShadowRose]

To most, the slow spreading of coral-accented lips was truly customary for the seemingly-young mercenary; a woman who had been seen with Treadwell on occasion and recently as of late. To the Fox, however, the cold indication of amusement could be passed off as ultimately chilling.

"No, dear Fox, I am no Constable. But near enough. What do you know of our friend Councilor Treadwell, hm? I am most curious."

[Treadwell]

"Near enough! I'd dare think I've been a thief longer than you've been alive, woman!"

A chuckle.

"Aloisius Horatio Treadwell. . . where to begin, eh? You might as well find a seat. This is going to take a while. Family history, place of birth, what he did early on, the crook he became in Westenford, the crook he likely is here. . . . All that toymaking of his is a sham, a show. It HAS to be! The fat slug would've had me killed twenty years ago for my doing a job for him. He's ruthless!"

[ShadowRose]

The woman almost grinned, setting the candle aflame beside in essence to keep their small space lit.. if not for comfort of light itself. It was her job to keep her informants comfortable, with a feeling of safety while they spilt all they knew. And, it would be no different for the Fox.

"I'm listening." she said, adding on, ".. we have all the time in the world."

[Treadwell]

"And as I said earlier, you're no constable. Why should I tell you anything? Are you looking to, mmmmm, get terribly close to him, perhaps?"

[ShadowRose]

Her pretty face fell expressionless, the thick, dark lace of lashes brushing against high-set cheek bones.. like chocolate spilled across cream.

"That, my foxy friend, is none of your concern. I just wish to know of him. Can't a girl wonder? Or are you afraid you may make evident how much of a liability you truly are?"

Perhaps, even then, though voice was light and sweet, there was within a quiet threat.

[Treadwell]

"The only reason a woman asks *anything* about Allie Treadwell is to stalk him, murder him, or fall hopelessly *for* him because he's a fat, filthy rich pig with probably less than a dozen years under his belt. Which one are youuuu, hmm?"

The Fox grins and chuckles in the darkness.

[ShadowRose]

The woman leaned forward, placing her elbow on knee and balancing her fair chin on the backs of delicate fingers. Finally, she had come into full view. Alessandra Demarest was an earthen beauty; brown silken curls cascading off dainty shoulders, doe-brown eyes glittering with mischief and amusement, and coral-stained lips always carrying a joyous smile.

Her brown eyes were cold, and lips an even line of distaste. No, this was not the Alessandra most were accustomed to. This was a very annoyed mercenary.

"Which one am I?" she narrowed her eyes, ".. your worst nightmare."

Her next words carried a tone grave, and compelled her conversational partner to answer.

"Tell me, sir Fox, all you know about Aloisius Horatio Treadwell.. Let me go as far to say, that your life depends on it."

[Treadwell]

Damn, woman, if I haven't heard THAT before. . . .

A sturdy shake of the salt-and-peppered, ruddy-haired head. Something was amiss, here. Even after being in a cell for a bit after being chased and having lightning bolts fired near his arse, he could tell that much. His response is short, sharp, and snappy.

"Get your bloomin' arse away from my cell before I have the guards shove it through some cell door poles long-ways!"

Then, after a clearing of his throat?

"OUT!"

[ShadowRose]

Alessandra allowed the slow chill of a wide smile to caress her lips. Oh, and what a startling thing it was. Her only word in response weighing in deep, "Fine."

The woman rose from her seated position on the stool in front of his cell, never glancing toward him as she rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight.

From beyond, he could hear her words; intonations wrapped in that same tone that compelled others to do her bidding.

"Kill the prisoner. He tried to escape."

"Yes, my lady." said the pair of guards in unison.

And the Fox could hear armor-clad footsteps approaching..

[Treadwell]

Damn, damn, double damn! Well, Fox, you've gotten out of worse. . . and as much as you hate to think it, you have to warn Treadwell he's got one mean hussy coming after him!

Enter armored guards; one unlocks the door and enters toward the Fox, sword being drawn awkwardly, a twinge off-balance, the result of his clearly being fogged up in the head by womenly wiles. The other stands in the doorway itself, watching blankly.

As the sword blade comes down, the Fox lunges forward, drawing the chains at his arms tight--and hearing them shatter with a smash of steel on rusted steel! The sword-swinging guard is shoved down to his backside, and--

Sword goes up, being grabbed and swung out in a slash before it would hit the ground--

A very human "Urk!" fills the hall--

Body starts to slump--

Sword is wrenched loose--

And with a slam of foot to knee and a lunge, Reynard Volpone starts at a full clip down the hall, jerking himself to the left and making for the nearest set of stairs. . . .

[ShadowRose]

And within the darkness, Alessandra watched the Fox sprint down the hall. The mercenary was simply too graceful, and too -resourceful- to cleaning up a mess herself. She'd wait, and plot...

[Treadwell]

Down the steps in a lunge, a jump, the thump of feet to floor, and past the last lone guard and into the night the Fox rushes, feet pounding as he weaves his way out of the jail and into the darkness. Whether more men give chase or not is irrelevant. The guard's sword is tossed away, and the cloak-and-silks wearing rogue disappears down one side street, then another, making for his one safe hideout in Myrken Wood. . . minus rapier, daggers, lockpicks, rope and grapple, and, at this rate, good common sense.

Fox Unbound.