[Setting] The Long Tongueclaw of Justice (Quillfeather)

[Kevana]

Gier, Dreamsong
The Fourth District Police Department, Gaol, and Courthouse

These large, low-slung buildings are a buzzing hive of activity all hours of the day and night as police officers of varying species check in between patrols, arrive in for their shifts and hang out for a cuppa and pastry while taking a break from paperwork. A large brass clock tower atop the courthouse strikes the hour, sending birds and the occasional gargoyle fluttering away from the roof in slow-witted surprise.

In these brightly-lit, well-protected walls, miscreants are brought to trial, wronged innocents plead for justice; at one window, lovers seek marriage certificates, while at another, opposite the room, grieving relatives seek the wills of the newly perished. Birth, Life, and Death clash at every turn, and the surroundings show signs of long use--cigarillo smoke, burnt coffee, spilled ink and a hint of unsavory body odor have long ago seeped into the stones of this place, and the furniture is worn and sagging.

The Fourth District is not normally a place one comes without reason. From under their guard helmets, coppicemen's eyes seem to study you, asking silently, "What's your reason, stranger, for being here?'

...Well?

---

This is a place for Quillfeather participants, and anyone else who wants to join, to kick around characters and experiment with ideas.

[Kevana]

All he had was an empty purse, a pounding head, and a tin cup.

The first and second were useless, but the third, Carjhal was using to great benefit. It made a lovely rattling noise as he clanked it across the bars of his cell; slowly, then faster. It was almost like the tempo his master had used in a chant to invoke the element of water, he thought idly.

Carj had seen the inside of holding cells all across Dreamsong in the past months. This one hardly rated, in his expert opinion.

"Lemme out. Lemme out. Lemme out."

He grinned from his wooden bench inside the temporary holding cell at the back of the large police station's main room. Surely someone would come along he could play with.

[Sparrow]

"Here he is, boss. Wouldn't come without a fight, but... he's just a kid. Didn't give us too much trouble."

Like hell I didn't! The young chimaera's childlike, piping voice squeaked in anger as his captors smirked. One burly officer grasped the cub roughly by the scruff of the neck, while another scowled and pressed a bloodied bandage to the back of his hand.

"Found him stowed away on th' cargo zeppelin from Lassenbhurg this morning. Tried to hijack it, the pilot said, just as they were coming in to land."

That's not true! I only wanted to fly it! I wasn't going to steal anything-- I'm training to be a pilot! This was only partially true-- young Vincent loved flying and did indeed want to become an airship pilot, but he was also trying to escape. The cargo vessel had some rather tempting goods aboard that might have fetched a nice price. He could have taken some and gotten away from Lassenbhurg, and indeed out of Dreamsong, even, and far away from his cruel master...

"Take him in the back, I'll deal with him later. He can keep that damn lizard-man company. Will you SHUT UP already?!?" With a few extra kicks and curses, the officers drag Vincent back to an adjacent holding cell. Vincent attempts to shift to humanoid form and slip away, but to no avail; the officers had seen this trick before. They only grab tighter and fling him in the cell, locking the bars. The chimaera quickly shifts back to beast form, bares his teeth and snarls, frightened and angry, as he swipes his paws futilely between the bars.

Let me out of here! You just wait! Just wait, I'll get out! I have friends who'll come and get me! You just see! You'll see... His voice fades as the seriousness of his situation begins to sink in. He had nobody. No family, no friends could get him out of here. Even Kaos, bent on torturing him as he was, probably couldn't be concerned with finding his escaped slave. What was one more orphaned brat? Slowly, the grubby scarlet-and-gold cub lays down defeated on his front paws, his bright green eyes filling up with tears. Then he sees the silisk in the adjacent cell and watches him warily. What was he doing in jail? Didn't silisks always work hard and were too obedient to get in any real trouble? Then again, he didn't know very much about the silisk people. He'd never spoken to one. He continues watching Carjhal silently, his eyes wide, too nervous and worried about his own fate to speak.

[Kevana]

Carjhal laughed throatily and leaned up against the heavy bars, folding his powerful arms across his chest. His venom-green scalehide gleamed a poisonous emerald as he eyed the dragoncat, tongue flicking out.

He was still somewhere halfway between stinking drunk and a very unhappy sobriety. His face still bore wet scratch marks from the streetfight he'd gotten into, the same one that had landed him in this place only an hour before.

"'ere, whatter you doing here? Thought I told you never t'come 'here," he puffed at the chimaera, whom he had never seen before in his life.

He could start a fight as easily in here as he could outside, after all.

[Sparrow]

B-but I-- I ain't never been here before... Vincent's throat goes dry as Carjhal seems to threaten him. All the young chimaera's cunning words and quick wit seem to have abandoned him at this moment. But he does not retreat further into the cell, he only remains rooted to the spot, unsure what to do. He stares at the fresh scratch marks on the silisk's face and wonders how that happened.

[Kevana]

The mud-black eyes scrunched. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO!" the insensible silisk screamed, throwing his tin cup to the floor with a violence that smashed in its side in a wide dent. He staggered back from the bars as the officer on duty returned and scowled at him, hand on his nightclub. "That's enough! Keep it down, prisoner, before I drag you back to solitary!"

The sentient lizardman crumpled to the floor, chest heaving, as the world spun. After a moment, he began singing a strange song in a low, rhythmic voice. Satisfied for the moment, the officer glared at both prisoners and left them again.

When he was gone, Carjhal opened one eye and fixed it on Vincent, but did not move from his hunched-over crouch. His tail twitched erratically.

Fear trickled into his heart.

[Sparrow]

Vincent screeched in terror as Carjhal shouted at him, this time scurrying back into a dark corner of the cell. He never thought he'd be glad to be inside a cage, but in this case, it seemed to offer some necessary protection. Trembling, Vincent remained in the corner until he heard the officer reprimand the silisk, then the sound of slow, rhythmic singing. The chimaera tilts his head, his large batlike ears twitching curiously in spite of his fear. There was something oddly comforting, and yet strange about that unfamiliar song. He sees that Carjhal is still watching him, and, doing his best to hide his own fear, Vincent pipes up very quietly:

That's a nice song.

[Kevana]

"'s a ritual," Carj snarled, teeth bared. His shoulders flexed underneath their thin leather covering.

Then, the aggression that had appeared from nowhere disappeared with equal speed, as some small switch flicked in Carjhal's mind. The silisk sprawled across the uncomfortable cell, leaning his back against the wall.

"'s magic," he informed the chimaera, in much the same tone as one might say "water is wet."

He returned to his singing.

[Sparrow]

Magic? Vincent considers this. I thought s--- He quickly stops, realizing that a statement like "I thought silisks couldn't do magic" might make Carjhal angry again. I thought so, 's very interesting. Can you do magic... to get us out of here? Vincent slowly pads out of the corner a few paces-- just a few-- and peers curiously at the lizardman.

[Kevana]

That brought a halt to the singing. He turned, incredulously, to Vincent, blinking in confusion.

"Silisk can't do magic."

Tension gathered in the corners of his wide, crocodilian mouth. "But I could get outta here. If I wanted to." His tone seemed to dare the young chimaera to contradict his words.

[Sparrow]

Oh. Vincent stares at the floor for a moment, tracing a nonexistent pattern in the stone with one claw. His attention is drawn to the featureless ceiling and walls of the prison, looking for any way out. I want to get out of here, too. For want of something, anything to do, he puts both front paws on the wall of his cell and tries to climb it, clinging to the rough stones. He doesn't get very far, and slumps down tiredly to the floor again. I could fly out, if there was a window. But how would you get out?

[Dyssomniac Research]

Carj shrugged. "Start a fight. They try to settle you down, take you to a different cage. You fight them, kill them, and leave," he said, as if the idea of killing, or even the idea of killing quite so many officers as swarmed this particular station, would be simple as breathing.

He stretched out his arms, spread-eagling himself against the wall, and looked up at nothing. "No reason to leave. No reason to stay," he hissed softly.

[Fade]

"You sound so sure you could take them all..."
The female voice was smooth as a glacial stream, and about as warm, as it filtered over from the cell next to Carjhal and Vincent. Since they shared a common wall, none of the occupants could see the others, without leaning out between the bars.
"I do hope you won't be causing too much trouble, as I don't intend to stay in this... place much longer." Clearly she believed it well beneath her station to be stuck in such dank, dirty, and thoroughly uncivilized conditions.
The woman in question sat on her own bench with legs tucked beneath it, hands crossed primly while her eyes looked over the cell once again in distaste. The only indication of her annoyance, aside from the tone of her voice, was that the tip her lengthy, scaled tail twitched and curled beneath ample silk skirts.
She was a silthr, and apparently one of good means. Or at least, good taste in clothing.

[Dyssomniac Research]

Carj exhaled at the sound of the voice, his long tongue flickering in and out, scenting the air.

"I'll do what I wish, half-breed," he murmured lazily. "Unless you wish to try and stop me. That would be more interesting than sitting here."

[Fade]

Her tail slowly curled into a tight knot, but otherwise she did nothing. Such comments were common, after all.
"How would you suggest I go about trying such a thing, boy?" She replied with her usual attitude, cool indifference. Young people today, they had no sense of manners. "If I were able to walk through the bars and over to your little cage, I could just as easily have left by now."
Not that she hasn't thought about trying it before, but any attempt to squeeze through the bars would certainly dirty her clothing... And it had already suffered as much when she'd run down the road after that snotty-nosed little thief.

[Jennabob]

Darda walked obligingly along, herded by a pair of nervous officers. He offered them no trouble, but escorting a large leupak was enough to make anyone nervous. Never mind one that had been arrested for causing a messy carriage accident outside.

Darda had been quite proud of that one.

He waited until the door was firmly shut and locked before throwing himself against it, slavering and snapping. The bars groaned under his weight as the officers scuttled off, avoiding the reach of his tongueclaw. Pulling back, he gave the bars one last rattle for good measure. This was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Sticking his tongueclaw out once more, he waved to the person in the next cell. Hadn't it been one of those slither things? Or was it silthr? Darda didn't really care, and was in a good mood at the moment.

"What the hell are you in for?"

[Akmalla]

"Hate to interrupt your soul-searching, but if you'd kindly keep it to a dull roar, I might be able to sleep. This place echoes something horribly, you know." The voice, oozing venom, came from the cell beside Darda's, within view of both the silthr and silisk prisoners: it's dulcet tones issued from the mouth of a worse-for-wear chimaera, the massive beast manacled harshly to the wall about three feet from the floor by it's forepaws, clearly starved for food. He hated to admit it, but he would gladly take any manner of painful wounds just to escape to eat a meal again, but his stubborn attitude kept him from voicing his complaint.

His obvious emaciation was a sickening token of good will- he was thin enough to prevent the manacles from cutting into his flesh- but his tail and feet were discolored and throbbing, his wings scraped the chipped wall painfully. In short, Caille Deft was not in the best of moods, though he was almost always cynical and sarcastic. As for what had warranted such treatment... well, he didn't like to boast of it. One did what one needed to survive in these overcrowded streets; his status as a Sorilian refugee hadn't helped his case any.

[Fade]

"For giving an impudent little brat what he deserved," she replied, reaching beneath the scarf draped about her head to tug free the hairpin that kept her bright red locks restrained.
The hairpin itself was as long as her hand, decorated with several bright enamels, and with a vicious point on the end. It was part of a pair, but the other had been confiscated by the police, much to the slithr's dismay. It wasn't as though she planned to use it on anyone else today.
After contemplating it for a moment, she twisted her hair back into a knot and replaced the pin.
"I suppose I should do you the courtesy of asking the same..."
Leupaks were never her favourite people to deal with, though she did consider them to be people; they had krus, just like everyone else. They simply didn't have much to do with her form of business.
Chimaera, on the other hand, comprised a good deal of it. She looked over the man in the next cell with slightly pursed lips, not from disgust so much as contemplation. Clearly he was without means, since no one wealthy would ever end up in such deplorable conditions... A refugee, then, from the home continent.
The origins of the little thief as well, but one should know better than to paint everyone with the same colours.
"If we are to be speaking, we might as well offer our names," she made a gesture to the area at large, her voice slightly lower, as per the man's request, "I am Lamiya Siovan."

[Jennabob]

"Iiiii'm Darda thankyouforasking!" Darda howled in the older chimaera's general direction. He grinned. There was a great echo in this place. Ears ringing, he settled on his belly, chuckling to himself. It took a moment to process that Lamiya had asked him a question.

"Eh? Huh. Me. Some bloody posh human in a bloody posh carriage trying to steal my customers. Had to chase him off. Police didn't like that, called it property damage when the horse broke free. Harassment. Then they went and harassed me, me, a suppressed minority. Hope they rot."

This last was delivered in a vicious rasp. Darda wasn't happy anymore, and feeling more like himself. He glanced sidelong at the cell door, knowing it probably wouldn't hold up if he tried it in earnest. He could help the rotting process along quite well, he knew, but attacking officers on their turf would be nigh suicidal.

"I'm stupid, not stupid," he muttered to himself.

[Kevana]

Carj appeared to have dropped off into a drunken stupor, head nodding to his chest. But he was not too out of it to overhear the comments flying around him.

"You're all a bunch of whiny kooks," he laughed. "Wouldn't last five minutes in Liasse. Scalecats would've sold you all off by now and you'd be emptying some pallid little elf's pisspot."

He rolled over, presenting his back to anyone who cared to stare at it.

[Akmalla]

Caille grit his teeth, hoisting his body upwards before letting it drop again with a clank of metal. These lot weren't particularly good listeners, were they? Then again, now that a way had been presented for him to enter the conversation... "I'm Caille Deft. Nice t'meet you Lame-ya." Directing his withering glare to the back of the silisk, he added, "Not all of us scalebeasts are merciless slavers, but then, if that's true, then all silisk are dumb-as-dirt country folk."

He raised a brow, listening to Darda's dark mumbling in the cell beside him. "None of us are stupid, dreambeastie. As far as I could hear- which is quite well, in this place- all of our crimes should have been non-events, except for myself and possibly that venomous young snake," here he looked towards the dainty form of Lamiya, "just because we disturbed their precious city's peace, they shove us in here." He spat, and thrashed about in his manacles: he knew it was in vain, but the mention of Darda's distaste towards the stuffiness of the Dremish people had got his blood pounding painfully once again.

[Sparrow]

((I hope I can get into this again! My apologies for ignoring this roleplay so long. ._.;; ))

The little thief Vincent listens nervously to the stories of each newcomer, turning slowly in circles to stave off boredom. No one seemed to be paying him much attention at the moment, which suited him fine. In spite of his fear, the little chimaera couldn't help but sniff at Carj's use of the word "scalecat"-- even though, he had to admit, the silisk was quite right. Lassen chimaera had no trouble selling, or buying, one of their own. How well he knew... Vincent barely remembered what it was like to be Luxi, living in the Sorilian caverns underground, scratching out a living where he could. He had only known a life of the lost refugee, captured, sold, tormented by that crazed surgeon in Lassenbhurg... he suddenly notices the emaciated Caille. He stares at the Sorilian with a mixture of fascination and horror. In one of the few words of native Kaelic he remembers, he mutters:

<Damn!>

But he quickly regains his tongue and speaks louder in Logos again, glancing sidlelong at the other prisoners giving their names:

I don't see why everyone's so anxious to give your name. Could get ya in trouble. And might be a fake one f'rall we know. But... I'm Vincent. He looks back at Caille with a flicker of hope in his eyes.

The Trade Empire'll have something to say about us bein' in here, won't they? But... can't you shapeshift, Mr. Deft, sir? You might get out of the chains, then. S'what I would do.

[Akmalla]

The cub's comment drew a derisive laugh from Caille. "It would be that easy, wouldn't it, if this prison weren't the fortress it is." He spat on the ground with what was left of the moisture in his mouth. "I don't nearly have as much energy as I need to make the change," here his voice became bitter, "and even then, the cell is barred and locked. If I remained conscious, my muscle couldn't do the job, human or no."

He had caught the glimmer in the pup's eye, and felt somehow responsible for his liberation as a fellow refugee. That similarity between Vincent and his own self demanded action. "Ask the crazy lizard, kid. Sounds like she wants out bad enough. Or does anyone else have a plan?" The challenge, a last minute product of his futile thoughts of escape, echoed in the hall, for any of the others to answer.

[Sparrow]

Vincent's ears droop a bit as he hears Caille's plight. Not enough energy even to shift? Unthinkable... a plan, yes, that's what was needed. But what? He looks at Carj's turned back, desperately trying to gather his cunning.

Yeah... we gotta get out.

[Fade]

"I do not appreciate such language," sniffed Lamiya, a speck of irritation climbing into her voice as she addressed the chained Chimaera, "Assuming that I did have a plan, for anyone to get out, why should I give it to someone who can't even address a lady?"
She did, in fact, have a plan to get herself out; it was simply to wait until the guard returned with her paperwork. But the unpleasant company in this place was making her scales crawl, and if that man didn't come back soon, she'd take matters into her own hands...
Why should she help any of these people? There was no benefit for her, she had everything she needed... Though perhaps a new skirt would be nice; this disgusting floor was dirtying the one she had on.