09-21-2016, 08:37 PM
Ratione did not appreciate the eyes on him right then. Three of the five men in the box he now stood in stared at him, like some kind of object on display.
“’ey git freakier every year, don ‘ay?” One of them spat out, his accent butchering his words.
Ratione narrowed his brow, focusing on the man who made the comment. His hair was long, he was missing teeth, and he looked like someone who had been chewed up by the world before being spat out. “Excuse me?” He spat back, stepping forward and towering over the prisoner.
The man put his hands up, inching away from the prime. “Meant nothin’ by it, sir. Just an observation.” He put on a mischievous grin.
“Oh.” Ratione’s demeanor changed almost automatically, his stance calming and his expression turning to worry. “I apologize. I mistook your words for insult.” He gave the man a small nod.
All three of the prisoners that had been watching him widened their eyes in shock, looking at each other and wondering if the non-human was serious. “You mocking me, bud?”
“Mocking?”
“’At’s what I sed.”
“I do not know what that means.”
“Yeah, yer mockin’ me.” The man put his finger into the prime’s chest, gaining a burst of overconfidence all of a sudden. The prime’s eyes fell on where the appendage was making contact with his bare chest. “Listin ‘ere, prime, ya may be new ‘ere but there’s a way o’ showin’ resp-EAAGGH!”
Ratione had the man’s finger in his own hand, twisting up and around while staring down his assailant. “Do not touch me.”
“Fuckin’ let meh go mate!”
“Do not touch me then.”
“Fine ah won’t fuck wit ya just let me go!” The Furtumin complied, releasing the prisoner, who quickly squished himself against the other side of the cell as quickly as possible. “Fuckin’ crazy ass…” He began to mumble all sorts of insults under his breath. The other two men kept their distance from the prime.
Ratione decided that he had made a good enough point, and opted to sit in a corner of the cell opposite the man he had just dealt with. Gently he set his weight down into the floor, crossing his legs as he did so, and putting his eyes to the floor so he could stare at something that was not moving and think about things for a bit.
Stranger things still. What is this tongue I am speaking? Why do I know it so well? The Novan scratched his thin hair. Why do I suddenly have all these ideas in my head I’ve never had before? Concepts and images and words. What are these even?
“If we got him drilled on protocol and standards, we could use him.” Galfa commented to Rholand as he leaned his back against the front desk, the both of them observing how the new prime “communicated” with his fellow cellmates. “Looks like he’s already trained in martial arts, at least in some form or another.”
“He must have been something like a knight, way he walks, way he holds himself. Something high-ranking at the least.” Rholand added. “He’s cocky. Thinks people will just listen to him.”
“He’s done a fine job listening to me and the others so far… what gave you that idea?”
“I can just tell. He holds himself like he’s trying to be taller than everyone else. Bigger. Meaner.” Rholand finished writing something in his little black book of records. “Trying to let everyone know ‘hey, I’m top dog around here.’”
“Becoming the jailhouse warden has changed you, Rholand.” Galfa scoffed. “You never were so… direct back then.”
“No, it’s called getting old Galfa.” The guard slapped his book shut, holding up a wrinkly finger to the captain. “And I remember when you were a stiff little bastard, back in basic. Couldn’t think of something for yourself to save your life unless your commander gave you an order to do so.”
Galfa held his hands up in surrender. “Point taken. I’m gonna turn in for today, go and give the missus a big hug, see my kid for the first time this month.”
“Stop pulling all the shifts and sleeping at the guardhouse then. You’ve done your time, Galfa. Everyone here knows that. No one would say a thing if you said no for once.”
“I know, Rholand. It’s not them, it’s me.” Without another word the captain beckoned his men, and the squad left the building. Rholand leaned on his desk, gazing at the door for a long moment. Eventually, he found his stool, and decided to use the brick wall as a pillow for a cat nap.
“’ey git freakier every year, don ‘ay?” One of them spat out, his accent butchering his words.
Ratione narrowed his brow, focusing on the man who made the comment. His hair was long, he was missing teeth, and he looked like someone who had been chewed up by the world before being spat out. “Excuse me?” He spat back, stepping forward and towering over the prisoner.
The man put his hands up, inching away from the prime. “Meant nothin’ by it, sir. Just an observation.” He put on a mischievous grin.
“Oh.” Ratione’s demeanor changed almost automatically, his stance calming and his expression turning to worry. “I apologize. I mistook your words for insult.” He gave the man a small nod.
All three of the prisoners that had been watching him widened their eyes in shock, looking at each other and wondering if the non-human was serious. “You mocking me, bud?”
“Mocking?”
“’At’s what I sed.”
“I do not know what that means.”
“Yeah, yer mockin’ me.” The man put his finger into the prime’s chest, gaining a burst of overconfidence all of a sudden. The prime’s eyes fell on where the appendage was making contact with his bare chest. “Listin ‘ere, prime, ya may be new ‘ere but there’s a way o’ showin’ resp-EAAGGH!”
Ratione had the man’s finger in his own hand, twisting up and around while staring down his assailant. “Do not touch me.”
“Fuckin’ let meh go mate!”
“Do not touch me then.”
“Fine ah won’t fuck wit ya just let me go!” The Furtumin complied, releasing the prisoner, who quickly squished himself against the other side of the cell as quickly as possible. “Fuckin’ crazy ass…” He began to mumble all sorts of insults under his breath. The other two men kept their distance from the prime.
Ratione decided that he had made a good enough point, and opted to sit in a corner of the cell opposite the man he had just dealt with. Gently he set his weight down into the floor, crossing his legs as he did so, and putting his eyes to the floor so he could stare at something that was not moving and think about things for a bit.
Stranger things still. What is this tongue I am speaking? Why do I know it so well? The Novan scratched his thin hair. Why do I suddenly have all these ideas in my head I’ve never had before? Concepts and images and words. What are these even?
***
“If we got him drilled on protocol and standards, we could use him.” Galfa commented to Rholand as he leaned his back against the front desk, the both of them observing how the new prime “communicated” with his fellow cellmates. “Looks like he’s already trained in martial arts, at least in some form or another.”
“He must have been something like a knight, way he walks, way he holds himself. Something high-ranking at the least.” Rholand added. “He’s cocky. Thinks people will just listen to him.”
“He’s done a fine job listening to me and the others so far… what gave you that idea?”
“I can just tell. He holds himself like he’s trying to be taller than everyone else. Bigger. Meaner.” Rholand finished writing something in his little black book of records. “Trying to let everyone know ‘hey, I’m top dog around here.’”
“Becoming the jailhouse warden has changed you, Rholand.” Galfa scoffed. “You never were so… direct back then.”
“No, it’s called getting old Galfa.” The guard slapped his book shut, holding up a wrinkly finger to the captain. “And I remember when you were a stiff little bastard, back in basic. Couldn’t think of something for yourself to save your life unless your commander gave you an order to do so.”
Galfa held his hands up in surrender. “Point taken. I’m gonna turn in for today, go and give the missus a big hug, see my kid for the first time this month.”
“Stop pulling all the shifts and sleeping at the guardhouse then. You’ve done your time, Galfa. Everyone here knows that. No one would say a thing if you said no for once.”
“I know, Rholand. It’s not them, it’s me.” Without another word the captain beckoned his men, and the squad left the building. Rholand leaned on his desk, gazing at the door for a long moment. Eventually, he found his stool, and decided to use the brick wall as a pillow for a cat nap.
"Our fear is our weapon."