jeriendhal | Captive of the Red Vixen, Part Five

Wrote this bit at work, because I'm still stumped at how to start the next bit on my novel.

After she had left, Rolas spent some time pacing the length of the cell. Eight long paces in length, five in width. Poking his head into one of the bedrooms revealed a sparse chamber with a twin bed, a wardrobe filled more orange jumpsuits and humanoid underclothes for both sexes, and a picture frame on the wall pre-loaded with a variety of innocuous landscapes. An inner door led to a bathroom that was, if not sybaritic, at least better than average for a liner, never mind a pirate ship, with running water to complement the sonic shower and prepackaged toiletries.

Suddenly aware of the combat fear-sweat clinging to his body, he stripped out of his jumpsuit, stuffed it into a laundry bin and stepped into the shower, letting the ultrasonic waves shake him clean until his teeth began to ache. He grabbed a clean pair of shorts and another jumpsuit, dressed, then sat on the edge of the toilet, thinking. His mind kept whirling around the inevitable scene that would occur when the Red Vixen’s ransom demand reached his family.

It’s going to kill them. By the Holy Den Mother, what sin had they committed to be so confronted with disaster at every turn? It was small comfort that his crew, well most of his crew, had been granted mercy. All they could do was return to their hated home, spreading the word and despair to their community.

TBC