Night 50: M111-M120 Hallway

[sanguinario]

So, her roommate was nice. A nice, ordinary girl... with memories of a serial killer. Nothing to worry about but switching that girl's memory with Bella's face. Absolutely nothing to worry about

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Re: M111

[scavengerbird]

It was not his friends who had delivered him here, and whoever his captors may be, they of course were not going to be very keen on the idea of him being properly equipped. He might stab someone in a fit of self-defense. Perhaps their intentions were not malicious (he was alive, was he not?), but there were dark thoughts at the edge of his mind. They were threatening to come in and play out terrible possibilities of how he came to be moved in his sleep with no sign of the Grey Warden. But he did not need to think on them now. He would not move faster for imagining his companions captured, tortured or dead. He already knew it was a realistic possibility, and he could address that when he found out exactly what their fate was. There was no point in mourning the living.

But these people, they had made him soft. He liked them. Well, if not like, then at the very least he didn't particularly want them dead. It was only one or two of them whom he worried for now, which he supposed was better than having taken the lot of them into his metaphorical bosom to treasure and protect. Still, it was a good thing he would never need to return to the Crows, one way or another. They'd find his newly relaxed demeanor very unbecoming of an assassin.

The room revealed much about his circumstances as he quietly tore it apart, and yet it told him nothing. One by one, he opened drawers and laid out their contents. The closet had more of the same clothes he had on, but he gladly traded his slippers for a pair of boots. (He took a moment to miss the fine one he had been given by the Warden; they could not easily be replaced.) Stripping the bed revealed nothing of interest, but the objects he had found in the drawers were very interesting. Bizarre, even. A pack of pointed shafts, an empty book and a metal club. However, he could not refuse anything that looked as though it might break bone or pierce skin. Something about being kidnapped and relieved of his weapons sat poorly with him.

Even in the darkness, the room was white from ceiling to floor. It bothered him. Perhaps it was supposed to give him impressions of purity and comfort, but instead it made Zevran feel oppressed. Chantries had that effect on him as well, but this was no chantry.

As satisfied as he could be in the flimsy clothes, Zevran was left with nothing else to do but venture outside. There, he would find his companions or he would not. It was simple, or it should have been. Zevran had taken a halthy handful of the small shafts, and gripped one of them as he slowly opened the door. A quick jab to the neck, and any opponent would be sufficiently crippled. The short metal club would work as a nice backup. It made him feel a little more sure of himself as he crept out into the long hallway. The architecture was unusual, but in the end, it was nothing more than a series of doors. Stranger than the aesthetics was the number of people, simply wandering about, conversing. It seemed that the strange clothes he wore were a sort of uniform, and no one paid him much mind. He slid the makeshift weapon back into his pocket, and adopted more casual posture.

Re: M111

[scavengerbird]

[To here.]