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jeriendhalSomebody is having a better time that Rolas. Sorta...
Rufus paced back and forth in his cell, the heavy chain leash tugging at his collar, occasionally giving a worried glance at his leftenant, who was still asleep in his cell and snoring loudly. Whatever had been done to the poor male had apparently exhausted him, thought Rufus was glad that there were no visible wounds on his body.
His stomach grumbled and he did his best to ignore it. He’d eaten his breakfast an hour before Rolas had been taken away, and it had been at least six hours since he’d been brought back. He wasn’t sure whether their captors had simply forgotten to feed them or were denying them food to break them. They’ll have to do better than that, he thought grimly.
The door to the cell block opened, admitting Lt. Swiftfoot, accompanied by the same pair of guards that had dragged Rolas off. Rufus came to a parade rest in the center of his cell and stared at her coldly as she approached. “My turn now, I suppose?”
“Very good, herr Captain,” she replied, her Gerwart accent back in place. “Now, if you vould do me the favor of coming a bit closer.
He looked at the two guards and Swiftfoot, then to Rolas. His leftenant’s brief struggle hadn’t been very successful, and Rufus had no illusions as to whether he could match the other male’s fighting prowess. Besides, if he could avoid an initial injury, it might give him the endurance to resist whatever Swiftfoot had in mind for me. “Very well,” he said, stepping towards the cell door, as closely as his leash allowed.
“Please grip the bars.” Rufus held his arms out. His leash was just long enough to allow him to grab hold of the bars if he stretched out his arms, but not far enough to give him a chance to pick the locks, not that he had any potential tools on him. The guards stepped forward and used handcuffs to secure his wrists to the cell bars, only then unlocking the door to shackle his forelegs. Then they wrapped a wide leather belt around his hips, snugging it tight and locking the buckle, then releasing one cuff at a time from the bars to then attach to the rings of the belt, holding his wrists to his sides. Only then did they attach Swiftfoot’s leash to his collar, and unlock him from the wall. He shuffled out, leg chain dragging across the concrete, as she gave it a gentle tug, glaring at her.
“What exactly do you imagine I’m going to do?” he asked.
“I do apologize, Captain,” she purred. “But after your leftenant’s performance, you can hardly blame us for being cautious.” She pulled him along through the INTERROGATION door, down a plain concrete hallway, the two guards flanking him, their paws on his elbows.
At the very end she unlocked an unmarked door and pulled him inside. It was an office, quite plush, appointed with wood paneling on the walls, a deep red carpet that tickled his bare footpads, and a large wooden desk with bookcases lining the wall behind it. A smaller circular table with a pair of chairs was off to one side, a covered tray sitting atop it.
Rufus was pulled over to one of the chairs by the guards and forced to sit down. They pushed his elbows back through the wooden slats forming the chair’s back, then ran a wooden rod between his elbows and the chair, clipping a short chain from the rod to the back of his collar. He was now effectively pinned to the chair, forced to sit straight up, his helplessness augmented when his leg shackles were clipped to a ring on the floor.
“Thank you, that vill be all,” Swiftfoot told the guards. They exited and she locked the door behind them, then she sauntered over to the table and sat down opposite to him. “Comfy?” she asked, her accent switching back to her Mother Country drawl.
“I assume you’re trying to be funny,” he replied.
“Not at all, given that you may be sitting there quite a while.”
“All right then, the answer is no. I can sit like this for quite a while, but I’m hungry, I need a proper bath and I want to know what the fragg your superior did to my leftenant.”
“Your leftenant Rolas is being interrogated personally by the Major. I’m not sure you understand what a privilege that is.”
“Yes, I can just see people lining up to experience it,” he said irritably. The smile she gave him in return was disconcerting to say the least. Surely not… He shook the thought out of his head. “Anyway, you won’t get anything from him or me beyond what’s required by the Treaty of Nations.”
“All right, we’ll start with that then.” She pulled a notepad and fountain pen from the inner pocket of her uniform jacket and flipped the former open. “What’s your rank, name and identification number?”
“Captain Lord Ru Ofanius Brushtail, 115-451.”
She scribbled the information down. “And what airship squadron were you assigned to?”
He frowned, clockwork arm ticking over as he pulled against his restraints. “You know perfectly well I'm not going to answer that.”
She ignored him and continued, “And what was the precise nature of the mission you were conducting when you were shot down?”
“I can't answer that either.”
“What base did you launch from?”
“I'm not answering.”
“Favorite scoopball team?”
“I'm not...” He stared at her. “What sane vixen gives a damn about scoopball? You don't even play it in Gerwart.”
She grinned. “Some of us here follow it. Besides, there's something amusing about a few thousand males in a stadium getting simultaneously drunk while they cheer their team on.”
He made disgusted noise. “It's a commoner sport.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the famous Mother Country social stratification. We're much more sensible here in Gerwart. We're all commoners here. Anyone can rise up to a position in industry or parliament if they're willing to apply themselves.”
“And what sense does that make? Farmer Lords are trained from birth to rule and lead. Having things run by a bunch of unschooled amateurs is an insane way to run things.”
Swiftfoot rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to argue politics on an empty stomach.” She removed the cover from the tray, revealing two full plates of kin goose breast with vegetables on the side. She set one plate in front of Rufus and the other for herself, digging in eagerly. After a chewing a few bites she looked at him and said sweetly, “You aren't eating your dinner. I thought you said you were hungry?”
He tugged at the cuffs pinning his wrists to the waist belt. “It's a little hard for me to reach my utensils.”
“Oh, poor dear. I'd free one of your wrists, but the Major would have my ears and tail for letting you loose.”
“I suppose I'll have to go hungry then.”
“Nonsense. You're my guest. I'll just have to take care of you.” She stood up from her seat and walked around the table, to start cutting his meat for him. While she was turned away from him at this task, her tail brushed against his bare chest. The touch of fur against fur caused him to draw in a sharp, surprised breath.
“Mind what you're...” She turned around, pressing a bite of goose into his mouth with a fork, muffling his protest. He swallowed down hard, almost choking. “I”m not a bloody cubling... here now!” This time his protest was interrupted by finding himself with a lapful of vixen as Swftfoot settled herself sidesaddle across his thighs.
“Sorry, what was that?” Her free arm wrapped itself around his neck as she fed him another bite, her body leaning hard against his, her weight pressing down against his crotch.
He swallowed again, his nose suddenly filled with a mix of kin goose spices and the warm scent of Swiftfoot as her body pressed him back down against the chair. She wriggled a bit to make herself more comfortable, and he felt his pants grow suddenly quite tight as she rubbed against him.
“I think your major... wouldn't care much for this either,” he said, swallowing. She fed him another bite, and he tried to concentrate on chewing in the hopes the rest of him would grow more interested in the meal rather than the touch of her gloved fingers as she stroked his bare chest.
“My major gives me a very wide latitude when it comes to getting information. She's a very accommodating leader.” She blew a breath into his ear, making it twitch back involuntarily, and said in a soft tone, “Now, about your mission. Anything you'd like to tell me?”
“No... I really... don't think so.”
“Pity.” He bit down on a disappointed groan as she suddenly stood up, relieving the pressure against his crotch, and unlocked the door.
“Take the prisoner back to his cell,” she told them. As they released him from the chair and hauled him to his feet. “Perhaps you'll reconsider tell me what I want to know, Captain Brushtail. I can make it very rewarding to you if you do,” she said.
He swallowed, putting a look of indignation on his face. “I'm not interested in that kind of reward.” Her laugh followed him as the guards pulled out into the hallway.
Alas, Rolas was wide awake when they brought him back to his cell. Normally he would have been glad, but at that particular moment he would have cheerfully killed for some private time.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked, after the guards had left.
“I'd rather not talk about it,” he replied, sitting on his paws.
TBC
Rufus paced back and forth in his cell, the heavy chain leash tugging at his collar, occasionally giving a worried glance at his leftenant, who was still asleep in his cell and snoring loudly. Whatever had been done to the poor male had apparently exhausted him, thought Rufus was glad that there were no visible wounds on his body.
His stomach grumbled and he did his best to ignore it. He’d eaten his breakfast an hour before Rolas had been taken away, and it had been at least six hours since he’d been brought back. He wasn’t sure whether their captors had simply forgotten to feed them or were denying them food to break them. They’ll have to do better than that, he thought grimly.
The door to the cell block opened, admitting Lt. Swiftfoot, accompanied by the same pair of guards that had dragged Rolas off. Rufus came to a parade rest in the center of his cell and stared at her coldly as she approached. “My turn now, I suppose?”
“Very good, herr Captain,” she replied, her Gerwart accent back in place. “Now, if you vould do me the favor of coming a bit closer.
He looked at the two guards and Swiftfoot, then to Rolas. His leftenant’s brief struggle hadn’t been very successful, and Rufus had no illusions as to whether he could match the other male’s fighting prowess. Besides, if he could avoid an initial injury, it might give him the endurance to resist whatever Swiftfoot had in mind for me. “Very well,” he said, stepping towards the cell door, as closely as his leash allowed.
“Please grip the bars.” Rufus held his arms out. His leash was just long enough to allow him to grab hold of the bars if he stretched out his arms, but not far enough to give him a chance to pick the locks, not that he had any potential tools on him. The guards stepped forward and used handcuffs to secure his wrists to the cell bars, only then unlocking the door to shackle his forelegs. Then they wrapped a wide leather belt around his hips, snugging it tight and locking the buckle, then releasing one cuff at a time from the bars to then attach to the rings of the belt, holding his wrists to his sides. Only then did they attach Swiftfoot’s leash to his collar, and unlock him from the wall. He shuffled out, leg chain dragging across the concrete, as she gave it a gentle tug, glaring at her.
“What exactly do you imagine I’m going to do?” he asked.
“I do apologize, Captain,” she purred. “But after your leftenant’s performance, you can hardly blame us for being cautious.” She pulled him along through the INTERROGATION door, down a plain concrete hallway, the two guards flanking him, their paws on his elbows.
At the very end she unlocked an unmarked door and pulled him inside. It was an office, quite plush, appointed with wood paneling on the walls, a deep red carpet that tickled his bare footpads, and a large wooden desk with bookcases lining the wall behind it. A smaller circular table with a pair of chairs was off to one side, a covered tray sitting atop it.
Rufus was pulled over to one of the chairs by the guards and forced to sit down. They pushed his elbows back through the wooden slats forming the chair’s back, then ran a wooden rod between his elbows and the chair, clipping a short chain from the rod to the back of his collar. He was now effectively pinned to the chair, forced to sit straight up, his helplessness augmented when his leg shackles were clipped to a ring on the floor.
“Thank you, that vill be all,” Swiftfoot told the guards. They exited and she locked the door behind them, then she sauntered over to the table and sat down opposite to him. “Comfy?” she asked, her accent switching back to her Mother Country drawl.
“I assume you’re trying to be funny,” he replied.
“Not at all, given that you may be sitting there quite a while.”
“All right then, the answer is no. I can sit like this for quite a while, but I’m hungry, I need a proper bath and I want to know what the fragg your superior did to my leftenant.”
“Your leftenant Rolas is being interrogated personally by the Major. I’m not sure you understand what a privilege that is.”
“Yes, I can just see people lining up to experience it,” he said irritably. The smile she gave him in return was disconcerting to say the least. Surely not… He shook the thought out of his head. “Anyway, you won’t get anything from him or me beyond what’s required by the Treaty of Nations.”
“All right, we’ll start with that then.” She pulled a notepad and fountain pen from the inner pocket of her uniform jacket and flipped the former open. “What’s your rank, name and identification number?”
“Captain Lord Ru Ofanius Brushtail, 115-451.”
She scribbled the information down. “And what airship squadron were you assigned to?”
He frowned, clockwork arm ticking over as he pulled against his restraints. “You know perfectly well I'm not going to answer that.”
She ignored him and continued, “And what was the precise nature of the mission you were conducting when you were shot down?”
“I can't answer that either.”
“What base did you launch from?”
“I'm not answering.”
“Favorite scoopball team?”
“I'm not...” He stared at her. “What sane vixen gives a damn about scoopball? You don't even play it in Gerwart.”
She grinned. “Some of us here follow it. Besides, there's something amusing about a few thousand males in a stadium getting simultaneously drunk while they cheer their team on.”
He made disgusted noise. “It's a commoner sport.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the famous Mother Country social stratification. We're much more sensible here in Gerwart. We're all commoners here. Anyone can rise up to a position in industry or parliament if they're willing to apply themselves.”
“And what sense does that make? Farmer Lords are trained from birth to rule and lead. Having things run by a bunch of unschooled amateurs is an insane way to run things.”
Swiftfoot rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to argue politics on an empty stomach.” She removed the cover from the tray, revealing two full plates of kin goose breast with vegetables on the side. She set one plate in front of Rufus and the other for herself, digging in eagerly. After a chewing a few bites she looked at him and said sweetly, “You aren't eating your dinner. I thought you said you were hungry?”
He tugged at the cuffs pinning his wrists to the waist belt. “It's a little hard for me to reach my utensils.”
“Oh, poor dear. I'd free one of your wrists, but the Major would have my ears and tail for letting you loose.”
“I suppose I'll have to go hungry then.”
“Nonsense. You're my guest. I'll just have to take care of you.” She stood up from her seat and walked around the table, to start cutting his meat for him. While she was turned away from him at this task, her tail brushed against his bare chest. The touch of fur against fur caused him to draw in a sharp, surprised breath.
“Mind what you're...” She turned around, pressing a bite of goose into his mouth with a fork, muffling his protest. He swallowed down hard, almost choking. “I”m not a bloody cubling... here now!” This time his protest was interrupted by finding himself with a lapful of vixen as Swftfoot settled herself sidesaddle across his thighs.
“Sorry, what was that?” Her free arm wrapped itself around his neck as she fed him another bite, her body leaning hard against his, her weight pressing down against his crotch.
He swallowed again, his nose suddenly filled with a mix of kin goose spices and the warm scent of Swiftfoot as her body pressed him back down against the chair. She wriggled a bit to make herself more comfortable, and he felt his pants grow suddenly quite tight as she rubbed against him.
“I think your major... wouldn't care much for this either,” he said, swallowing. She fed him another bite, and he tried to concentrate on chewing in the hopes the rest of him would grow more interested in the meal rather than the touch of her gloved fingers as she stroked his bare chest.
“My major gives me a very wide latitude when it comes to getting information. She's a very accommodating leader.” She blew a breath into his ear, making it twitch back involuntarily, and said in a soft tone, “Now, about your mission. Anything you'd like to tell me?”
“No... I really... don't think so.”
“Pity.” He bit down on a disappointed groan as she suddenly stood up, relieving the pressure against his crotch, and unlocked the door.
“Take the prisoner back to his cell,” she told them. As they released him from the chair and hauled him to his feet. “Perhaps you'll reconsider tell me what I want to know, Captain Brushtail. I can make it very rewarding to you if you do,” she said.
He swallowed, putting a look of indignation on his face. “I'm not interested in that kind of reward.” Her laugh followed him as the guards pulled out into the hallway.
Alas, Rolas was wide awake when they brought him back to his cell. Normally he would have been glad, but at that particular moment he would have cheerfully killed for some private time.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked, after the guards had left.
“I'd rather not talk about it,” he replied, sitting on his paws.
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-30 11:51 am (UTC)Gives a whole new meaning to 'Ve haf vays of makink you talk.'
no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 08:00 am (UTC)One thing though: "herr Captain" should be with a capital H "Herr Captain" - you wouldn't write mister Captain or mr. Captain, would you? (and usually all nouns start with a capital letter in German...)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 01:28 pm (UTC)