đ for a starter where our muses meet when my muse is captured/imprisoned (could be Artair, but also could be someone like Olivier in jail with him for reasons :3)
Send đ for a starter where our muses meet when my muse is captured/imprisoned // @townofcadence
This wouldnât be the first nor the last time Butch would be apprehended by a familiar pirate army; he had a habit of thieving from the captains treasure room, afterall. Even nowadays when Bonnaccorsoâs ship would peek over the horizon of the ocean, he knew he had hit the jackpot. He would much rather steal an item worth a hefty sum that would last him a good while than sell his soul to some capitalistic nightmare, especially these days, and so thatâs exactly how he finds himself in the brig.
Itâs set up is cold but homy, fit with a large plank that hangs against the back wall like a shelf, held up by heavy chains on either side. A small round table sits in the middle of the cell, two chairs on either side and a deck of old and yellowed playing cards splayed across the rotting wood. The demon blooded cowboy sits at said table, picking through the cards casually and placing one down every now and again as he awaits his opportunity fate. Loose fitting shackles bind one of his ankles to a nearby wall.
The sound of the captains grunts heaving their newest prisoner down the hall reach his ears, barking out scratchy laughs and threats that echo all the way down the hall. They sure are loud. He perks up some and prepares himself to make an escape as they come into view and take to unlocking his cell. All he needed to do was slip out of his boot. He would come back for it later!
âbut not before he notices the face of a familiar jolly man he had met some time ago; the very same one who had so kindly bought that antique coin off of him he had claimed was worth next to nothing. The sight of the man gives him pause, enough to prevent him from making a run for it when the larger man is shoved into the cell with him. He too, is put in shackles, these bounding his wrists to the table instead. Letâs just say they ran out of ankle chains and they werenât exactly the brightest. A few insults and globs of spit flying their way later, the cell door is slammed shut and locked tight once more. The pirates cackles fade away along with their boot falls soon enough and Butch is left to look up at the man with a curious smile. Heâs rather unalarmed given his circumstance.
âWell, Iâll be a hog in a hen house! Whatâre they puttinâ yall away fer!?â
