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jeriendhalGeorgia Update: She doesn't have pneumonia, just a nasty viral infection. So it's time for sleep and fluids, though she did manage to eat some dinner.
Rolas awoke to a familiar and very welcome smell wafting in from somewhere in the vicinity of his cell door. He opened sleep encrusted eyes, as various aches in his body starting to demand his attention, from the still mild twinge on his snout, to his shoulders, to just a generalized feeling that moving was too horrible a thought to bear.
“Good morning, Leftenant,” Captain Rufus called out from across the way. Rolas rolled away from the wall, reluctantly sat up and gave his superior a very vague salute. Sitting on the floor of his cell was a very full looking tray of scrambled eggs, breakfast meats and a cup of tea with milk and sugar on the side. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
“Gladly, sir.” He grabbed the tray and sat back on his bunk, looking at it with a moment's suspicion before noting the empty twin in the captain's cell. In between bites of omelet he asked, “How long was I out?”
“It's been about an hour since I woke up, I think. How long we were sleeping in is anyone's guess. Major Softpaw's subordinate looked like she'd had a good night's rest, and we'd gotten here at sunrise, so call it mid-afternoon by now. Maybe.”
“Why not serve us luncheon then? Messing with our time sense?” He swallowed down his tea greedily, after dumping three sugars into it.
“You're quick, Leftenant. You'll go far in this male's Air Corps.”
“Thank you, sir. So how's the daring escape plan coming along?”
“Well I'm working on suborning the beautiful sidekick. Turns out Lt. Swiftfoot is originally from the Mother Country. She moved to Gerwart when she was a cub.”
“That's good.”
Rufus shrugged. “And is apparently completely loyal.”
“Damn.” Rolas finished the last of the sausage and lay his tray down by the feed slot on the floor. Then he turned his attention to the sink/toliet combination in the cell's back corner. The captain turned his back as he did took care of necessities, and then he concentrated on trying to wash some of the salt from his ocean dip out of his face fur.
He'd just dipped his muzzle into the sink when the hallway door was unlocked and opened, admitting Major Softpaw, accompanied by two guards. She marched up to Rolas' cell, the peculiar leather footgear that Gerwart soldiers favored clicking on the concrete floor, and stated, “Prisoner Beta, approach me.”
“Bugger off.” Rolas rubbed his face, keeping his back to her and tail up high in insult.
“Prisoner Beta, I told you to approach!”
“Leave my leftenant alone,” Captain Rufus said to her.
“Your leftenant needs to learn proper obedience.” Softpaw snapped her riding crop against her thigh. “I vill give you von last chance, Prisoner Beta. Approach me!”
Rolas turned slowly, folding his arms over his bare chest. “Make me, Major.”
“As you vish.” She barked an order to the guards, who unlocked the cell and rushed in. Rolas’ fist hit the first one in the snout, knocking him back against the bars. The second one’s rubber coated truncheon caught him on the elbow as he blocked a strike to his solar plexus, sending shooting pain up his forearm. Then the first guard regained his footing and they both tackled him, pushing him face down and cuffing his arms behind his back, then sitting across his back and cuffing his forelegs before he could get a decent kick in. They hauled him back up to his knees, one of grabbing his ears and forcing his head back as the major entered the cell.
“Very foolish, Prisoner Beta,” she purred, her riding crop stroking his chest fur. “And after I had such a nize breakfast delivered to you as well.”
“Go fragg yourself,” Rolas growled. “If you think I’m going to just meekly follow you, you’re wrong.”
“Let him go!” Captain Rufus shouted, clutching the bars of his cell. The major ignored him, unlocking Rolas' collar from the wall chain and clipping on a leash she pulled from her belt.
“Sorry, I haff an interrogation to conduct.”
TBC
Rolas awoke to a familiar and very welcome smell wafting in from somewhere in the vicinity of his cell door. He opened sleep encrusted eyes, as various aches in his body starting to demand his attention, from the still mild twinge on his snout, to his shoulders, to just a generalized feeling that moving was too horrible a thought to bear.
“Good morning, Leftenant,” Captain Rufus called out from across the way. Rolas rolled away from the wall, reluctantly sat up and gave his superior a very vague salute. Sitting on the floor of his cell was a very full looking tray of scrambled eggs, breakfast meats and a cup of tea with milk and sugar on the side. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
“Gladly, sir.” He grabbed the tray and sat back on his bunk, looking at it with a moment's suspicion before noting the empty twin in the captain's cell. In between bites of omelet he asked, “How long was I out?”
“It's been about an hour since I woke up, I think. How long we were sleeping in is anyone's guess. Major Softpaw's subordinate looked like she'd had a good night's rest, and we'd gotten here at sunrise, so call it mid-afternoon by now. Maybe.”
“Why not serve us luncheon then? Messing with our time sense?” He swallowed down his tea greedily, after dumping three sugars into it.
“You're quick, Leftenant. You'll go far in this male's Air Corps.”
“Thank you, sir. So how's the daring escape plan coming along?”
“Well I'm working on suborning the beautiful sidekick. Turns out Lt. Swiftfoot is originally from the Mother Country. She moved to Gerwart when she was a cub.”
“That's good.”
Rufus shrugged. “And is apparently completely loyal.”
“Damn.” Rolas finished the last of the sausage and lay his tray down by the feed slot on the floor. Then he turned his attention to the sink/toliet combination in the cell's back corner. The captain turned his back as he did took care of necessities, and then he concentrated on trying to wash some of the salt from his ocean dip out of his face fur.
He'd just dipped his muzzle into the sink when the hallway door was unlocked and opened, admitting Major Softpaw, accompanied by two guards. She marched up to Rolas' cell, the peculiar leather footgear that Gerwart soldiers favored clicking on the concrete floor, and stated, “Prisoner Beta, approach me.”
“Bugger off.” Rolas rubbed his face, keeping his back to her and tail up high in insult.
“Prisoner Beta, I told you to approach!”
“Leave my leftenant alone,” Captain Rufus said to her.
“Your leftenant needs to learn proper obedience.” Softpaw snapped her riding crop against her thigh. “I vill give you von last chance, Prisoner Beta. Approach me!”
Rolas turned slowly, folding his arms over his bare chest. “Make me, Major.”
“As you vish.” She barked an order to the guards, who unlocked the cell and rushed in. Rolas’ fist hit the first one in the snout, knocking him back against the bars. The second one’s rubber coated truncheon caught him on the elbow as he blocked a strike to his solar plexus, sending shooting pain up his forearm. Then the first guard regained his footing and they both tackled him, pushing him face down and cuffing his arms behind his back, then sitting across his back and cuffing his forelegs before he could get a decent kick in. They hauled him back up to his knees, one of grabbing his ears and forcing his head back as the major entered the cell.
“Very foolish, Prisoner Beta,” she purred, her riding crop stroking his chest fur. “And after I had such a nize breakfast delivered to you as well.”
“Go fragg yourself,” Rolas growled. “If you think I’m going to just meekly follow you, you’re wrong.”
“Let him go!” Captain Rufus shouted, clutching the bars of his cell. The major ignored him, unlocking Rolas' collar from the wall chain and clipping on a leash she pulled from her belt.
“Sorry, I haff an interrogation to conduct.”
TBC
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Date: 2010-06-24 08:44 am (UTC)