#cranialupi

On one side; dumb nerd boys who think the other hates their guts.

On the other side; dumb nerd girls [well, okay, they’re not really NERDS] who think the other hates their guts.

@cranialupi

Part of her had hoped that her workload would ease with the success in retaking Ala Mhigo, but a greater part of her had known better. Since the Alliance had retaken the city and driven the Empire back, she’d been busier than ever.

Today brought her a new task. The Castrum had been abuzz with all sorts of talk about the prisoners the Alliance had brought back from the city. Marlowe only heard bits and pieces, as she was usually quite heavily embroiled in her work. Most of the rumors pertained to the former captain of the Skulls, as they’d been called. The woman seemed to have the soldiers spooked worse than even she had. 

But even Marlowe knew about some of the things she had done.

After a number of complaints from twitchy guards about Fordola’s cell, it fell to Marlowe to check it and perform any necessary repairs. No one else wanted to. No one else would.

With her tools and her most winning scowl, she made her way into the prison block past all the guards and down winding halls to Fordola’s cell far within. 

After a brief word with the warden, she was allowed into the hall to do her work. The door shut behind her with a harsh and resounding clang, leaving only silence. Locked in for now, as much as she disliked it. The man on the other side likely felt a great deal better than she did. 

Marlowe paused a moment and cleared her throat. It wasn’t often she really dealt with anyone directly in her work--let alone a dangerous prisoner of war. 

“...Maintenance,” she said plainly as she approached the bars. The silence hung for a moment, and she didn’t much like it. “Had complaints about rattling bars...” she muttered. “If y’don’t mind keepin’ back, I ain’t gonna be here an’ botherin’ ya none longer than I gotta,” she sighed.

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t a little unsettled, but there was nothing to do about it except get her work done and get on with the rest of her jobs. Still, she couldn’t help but glance at the woman in the cell and furrow her brow.

Younger than she’d expected, not quite the demon that the men described. Then again, neither was she. Soldiers frightened easily, as it would turn out. But looks were only part of it. Perhaps a chat would tell her more--it would be better than this uncomfortable silence.

                                    growling suggestion sentences | @cranialupi