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Jan. 14th, 2021 12:33 pmIt was only four years ago that Slaine had been in the prisoner's position, chained by the arms to the ceiling and stripped to the waist in order to feel the sting of Lord Cruhteo's whip. Slaine found concentrating on the interrogation difficult as each crack brought his mind back to those frantic days of shifting loyalties. Lord Cruhteo had always hated Slaine, a Terran stain on his pristine Martian castle that he was duty-bound to tolerate. But they both served the Princess, which Slaine had proved back then beyond a doubt with his own blood and sweat dripping to the floor.
Lord Cruhteo had not gotten anything useful out of the prisoner for some time now regardless, but he was a stubborn man who would not back down without cause. When Slaine had been here four years ago, Lord Saazbaum had intervened with a distraction that kept Cruhteo from beating Slaine half to death. It would be up to him to do the same.
"Lord Cruhteo," Slaine intoned. "The Counts will be convening in half an hour. Shall I deal with the prisoner?"
Lord Cruhteo barely looked ruffled after laboring with the whip, but he was proud and would present nothing less than an impeccable appearance to the other counts. The Count's eyes barely glanced over Slaine as he set the whip aside and re-adjusted his gloves. Slaine wondered if Lord Cruhteo recognized the irony of the situation, but he doubted it. The Count's blunt nature lacked the subtly for both humour (to Slaine's detriment) and cunning (to his benefit, the reason Slaine could work with Cruhteo despite their enmity towards one another).
"Do so, Sir Troyard. Ensure he is well enough to be coherent tomorrow."
And the Count left, leaving Slaine the highest ranking person in the room with two guards who both eyed him resentfully. Slaine ignored the looks and turned to leave himself. "Return the prisoner to his cell without further damage."
***
Slaine had specifically sent the prisoner to his cell rather than trusting him to the medical suite. He was well-acquainted with Martian prejudice to non-Martians, nurtured in the cold, sterile walls of Cruhteo's castle by Cruhteo's own zealous insistence on Martian superiority. The Martians had had to claw their existence out of a poisonous, unforgiving planet and cold black void of space, and it gave their hard-won strength a bitter edge toward those sheltered under a protective atmosphere.
So Slaine would deal with the prisoner himself. He stood outside the cell now with an armful of medical supplies and rations, and let himself in without knocking.
"I'm here to see to your wounds." Doubtless this wouldn't be of much comfort to the prisoner. Slaine had stood impassively through his interrogation; Years of managing Cruhteo's moods had made Slaine a master of managing his expression and tone to be without affect.
Lord Cruhteo had not gotten anything useful out of the prisoner for some time now regardless, but he was a stubborn man who would not back down without cause. When Slaine had been here four years ago, Lord Saazbaum had intervened with a distraction that kept Cruhteo from beating Slaine half to death. It would be up to him to do the same.
"Lord Cruhteo," Slaine intoned. "The Counts will be convening in half an hour. Shall I deal with the prisoner?"
Lord Cruhteo barely looked ruffled after laboring with the whip, but he was proud and would present nothing less than an impeccable appearance to the other counts. The Count's eyes barely glanced over Slaine as he set the whip aside and re-adjusted his gloves. Slaine wondered if Lord Cruhteo recognized the irony of the situation, but he doubted it. The Count's blunt nature lacked the subtly for both humour (to Slaine's detriment) and cunning (to his benefit, the reason Slaine could work with Cruhteo despite their enmity towards one another).
"Do so, Sir Troyard. Ensure he is well enough to be coherent tomorrow."
And the Count left, leaving Slaine the highest ranking person in the room with two guards who both eyed him resentfully. Slaine ignored the looks and turned to leave himself. "Return the prisoner to his cell without further damage."
Slaine had specifically sent the prisoner to his cell rather than trusting him to the medical suite. He was well-acquainted with Martian prejudice to non-Martians, nurtured in the cold, sterile walls of Cruhteo's castle by Cruhteo's own zealous insistence on Martian superiority. The Martians had had to claw their existence out of a poisonous, unforgiving planet and cold black void of space, and it gave their hard-won strength a bitter edge toward those sheltered under a protective atmosphere.
So Slaine would deal with the prisoner himself. He stood outside the cell now with an armful of medical supplies and rations, and let himself in without knocking.
"I'm here to see to your wounds." Doubtless this wouldn't be of much comfort to the prisoner. Slaine had stood impassively through his interrogation; Years of managing Cruhteo's moods had made Slaine a master of managing his expression and tone to be without affect.
