The Escape (Serese and AeroFlyBoy)

[AeroFlyBoy]

Garreth Malceron had grown accustomed to the horrid smells. Unwashed bodies, human excrement, and even the decay of death and infected wounds. But tonight the smells seemed more intense, likely because he was straining all of his senses. His eyes strained in the dim light cast by the moon, filtered through the tiny, barred window set high in the wall. He was surveying his fellows, and from what he could make out, they were all asleep. He strained his ears as well. The sounds they were making helped him to determine their state, but more importantly, he was listening for a certain, specific sound. Footsteps from outside the door. Heavy ones would indicate guards, and those were the ones he hoped not to hear. Light ones though, those were the ones for which he listened with great anticipation. Those would belong to her.

Of course, there were many reasons he might not ever hear those steps. It was dangerous, what those steps meant. She could be caught before she ever reached the cell. Or, she could change her mind. She owed him nothing, they were both aware of that, but he pushed those thoughts away. Despair was weakness, he learned that in the months spent fighting in what they called "the pit", and, if she did come, there would be no room for weakness.

He needed to shift his weight. As he did, the manacles that shackled him to the wall, and the chain attached to them rattled more than he hoped. He heard a stir come from one of other men. He settled back into stillness and waited, and not another sound came from that direction. He let out a breath that he wasn't even aware that he was holding, and he continued to wait.

 

[Serese]

She flitted into view like a phantom from an old story- her light footsteps heralding her approach, as he’d thought. She paused at the far end of the corridor, moonlight filtering in behind her. She was clad in dark clothes, of course. A crude facsimile of stealth from one who had never had occasion to be actually stealthy in their entire life. One of her many luxuries, no doubt. She wore a black cloak, but clearly hadn’t thought that the embroidery of silver thread might catch the light. Her dress, too, perhaps she thought was simple, a dark blue. But she hadn’t thought to take off her silver necklace, nor remove the large disk earrings which glinted even in the guttering torch-light of these dreary chambers.

To see her, long-legged and slender, one might think her graceful, but her approach was anything but. She scurried furtively along, peering around corners, hesitating every few steps to listen, before pressing on. A sharp head movement, as somewhere outside some heavy footsteps clumped by. The sudden motion caused the hood to fall from her head, and she hurriedly pulled it back up.

Finally, after an agonizingly haphazard approach, she came to a stop outside his cell. She peered at his fellow prisoner, then looked to him, frowning, then mouthing something. Though in the dark her lips were impossible to read.

Wincing, she opened the door as slowly as she could, the iron gate opening with a slight creak even with her desperately cautious movements. She stood, rooted to the spot, looking at his compatriot in terror. When he didn’t stir, she approached.

“Sorry I’m late.” she whispered. “I had to bribe another guard. There was a double duty tonight.” her hands where shaking as she tried to undo his shackles, her breathing rapid and sharp with fear. But there was a resolve in her eyes. A determination that belied the nervousness that the rest of her movements exhibited.

 

[AeroFlyBoy]

As she finally came into sight, emerging from the shadows of the darkened corridor outside, he had to suppress another deadly emotion. The opposite of despair, having too much hope could prove equally fatal if one let it cloud their mind in such circumstances. He pushed it down, the same way he had pushed down despair in the past. He controlled his breathing, inhaling and exhaling in calm, deep breaths as he watched her unlock the door. His controlled demeanor kept him from flinching when it creaked open.

He did not answer her when she spoke, instead focusing on steadying his hands as she worked on the manacles. He took the time to examine her. It was no wonder her hands shook as she worked the iron restraints, clearly an undertaking like this was not something she had ever done before. He knew that though, she had made no claims as such when they had planned this weeks ago. He remembered that night like it was yesterday.

Nights like that one took place once a month. They always knew beforehand that it would be one of those nights, as slaves would be sent in to clean the cells, scrub the floors and lay down fresh bedding. The men too were washed, given access to the only bath house beneath "the pit" under the watchful eye of the guards. Then they would come. Women from around the city. Not the poor, they lacked the coin to pay for this, that the women considered a debaucherous luxury. Instead, it was the well off, the women of high society, that would be stalking the corridors that night, coming to fulfill their most carnal desires with the most hardened men. They already knew who they wanted, they had been watching, from the safety of the elevated seats, as the objects of their secret desires battled on the sandy ground below in a weekly spectacle. They came to be ravaged in way they never could by their husbands and lovers, usually men who had grown physically soft in positions of power.

He knew she was different in the first moments she stepped into his cell that night. Normally, the women would wear their most seductive clothes, putting their sultry features on open display. She had remained conservative though. Her garb still marked her of high society, but it was not a surprise when she spoke to him instead of groping him like so many had before. She needed a way out of the city in secret she revealed, although she kept her motives from him. Along with that way out, she needed protection, and that was why she was here. She kept the conversation short, and left him with many questions. Why could she not buy protection with her money? Why did she need so badly to flee? What she did not leave a question about, was her plan. She would come in the night, and she would have keys. She would know the guard's movements, and a place in the city to hide until things died down, should the plan go awry. She also had a plan for how she would contact him further, as the time grew near for the escape.

That part proved true. Whispers from the slave who brought them food in the evenings. "Madam says five more sunrises" and "Madam says things are going as planned."

All of that led to here and now, and he was snapped back to the present by two distinct feelings. The first was the iron manacles releasing their grip on his wrists. Just as they did though, the second feeling hit him, hair raising on the back of his neck to warn him of impending danger. He pushed her roughly away from him, back toward the door of the cell just in time as his cellmate emerged from the darkness. Garreth stumbled forward as well and the man's chains snapped rigid with a loud clank, hitting their limit. Garreth spun to face Vigtolo, a monster of a man, illuminated in the shaft of moonlight.

"Garreth you SCUM! You would escape, and leave me here to ROT!?" the man growled, his barrel chest making his words resonate not just in the cell, but in the corridor outside. His muscles surged as he yanked viciously at his chains again.

"After all we've been through in there!?" the man added before turning his burning gaze on her.

"High society BITCH!" he exclaimed. "Open these chains!" he spat, then yanked hard on them again, holding forth his manacled wrists.