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There's a soft rapping at your door, it's early but not overly so. The morning sun is reasonably up and comfortably warm through the windows, despite the fact that rain still seems to be pouring down outside.
Corian answers the door rather than calling for you to come in. Maybe she's
been awake for a while, or maybe she's had some sort of stimulant-related
help, as she looks quite alert. "Good morning," she greets, with a smile.
"Did you sleep well?"
Tarrant is looking rather alert as well, and exceedingly cheerful despite the
fact that he is quite damp. The long trailing marks of water on his jacket
would imply he's been outside. As would the paper sack he proffers with a
flourish, "Breakfast? I swung by the nifty place with the bagels and the
knish."
Corian ushers you into the room, looking more pleased at the mention of food.
"Did you happen to get cream cheese as well?" she inquires, looking a bit
hopeful.
Reaching into the pocket of his dedampened jacket Tarrant proffers several
small containers of said sacred and glorious substance. The containers are of
the variety found at places like Dunkin Donuts. "I did indeed, considering
your enamorment of the substance, it seemed a good idea." He's still
grinning, altogether too cheerful for this time of the morning. He's not
normally a morning person, but today seems to be an exception. "And napkins,
lots of them."
Corian perches lightly on a chair near a table. She assumes that both are in
the room, of course. Waving you to another chair, she observes, expression
somewhat amused, "Napkins are essential, yes. You seem to be in good humor
this morning."
Tarrant settles into the indicated chair. He places the containers on the table
as well as the bag, offering it to you with a nod. "It's a good morning. I've
been working along a lot lately, it's nice to have someone else to torment."
His tone is all innocence, as if he were of course enturely -incapable- of
torment.
Corian's smile doesn't fade, but she does pause a beat before opening the bag,
as if debating just what sort of torment may be inside. Cream cheese without
bagels is torment indeed, and she knows you too well to buy that innocent
tone. "I am not certain I can say that I am glad to provide a target for
torment, but I -am- glad to be here."
Tarrant offers a smile by way of reply that is so innocent that Nicholas Cage
would look like a serial killer in comparison. He nods, allowing some
amusement to intrude on the innocence. "I think my evil can somehow be
contained." Of course there are bagels in there. Good ones even. "I set up an
appointment at the embassy through the folks back home. We're expected now,
and they'll be ready for us in a bit."
Corian takes out a bagel with a quick smile, separating it deftly and reaching
for some of the cream cheese. "I should not delay in dining, then. Have you
eaten as well?" As far as the spreading of the cream cheese goes, here we
have a difficulty. She peers into the bag once more. Perhaps a knife will
magically appear, so that she need not go through the indignity of using her
fingers for the cream cheese application. Having it on the bagel is crucial,
after all.
Tarrant shakes his head to the last question amiably, "Nah, I snagged a knish for me though, it's beneath the bagels." He pauses, as if realizing the absence of a knife. One doesn't magically appear in the bag however, but in his hand. No, it's not magic, he just pulled it out of ... well someplace. It's not exactly designed for spreading cream cheese, but probably for killing things. He offers it hilt first and politely.
Corian doesn't even blink, but takes the knife with a murmured thankyou,
offering the bag back to you as she opens the first little cream cheese
packet. She really can't help but look somewhat amused at this particular use
of the knife, though she keeps her comments to herself, instead saying, "You
are most resourceful, then, though I expected nothing less. Thank you for the
meal."
Tarrant accepts the bag, rummaging in the bottom for a paper wrapped pastry. "No, see if I'd been resourceful I'd've remembered to snag one of the little spreadery-thingy things they keep -with- the cream cheese. Still, that's clean, and a far better maiden use for it than any other I could envision." There's another brightly flashed grin, Tarrant's in a really good mood today.
Corian chuckles quietly as she makes good use of the knife, as well as all of
the containers of cream cheese. Yes, she really, really likes the stuff.
Taking up a napkin, she takes care to wipe off the excess cream cheese before
returning the knife to you, hilt-first as it was offered. "Resourcefulness
and remembering are not necessarily the same. You were able to offer an
alternative, after all."
Tarrant accepts the knife, settling aside his breakfast a moment to retuck it into its springloaded sheath. Well, -that's- why he always wears long sleeves. Of course you probably knew that after all, the whole deal of being old friends, still, it's fun to randomly point out. Settling it into its housing he lifts his knish again, snagging a bite. Potato-y cheese-y smells waft about. He nods, "But had you been anybody else but you, I'd have been at a loss. In the dining hall on Linnae, I could hardly go about handing around knives. I seem a poor enough paper pusher as it is."
Corian points out, after much chewing and a blissful smile completes a bite or
two of her bagel, "In the dining hall on Linnae, you would not have the
difficulty, as there are utensils available. But the point is moot, as I am
noone but myself, so I am not surprised by the presence of a knife." Then, of
course, she samples the bagel some more, clearly more than pleased with its
taste.
"Knives are useful things. I lost my last in the great and glorious conquest of
a luggage daemon that did not wish to cede me my bag. The strap was hung on a
torn bit. I managed to cut the strap free, but the torn bit of metal damaged
the blade badly." This tale is told in between bites as Tarrant munches his
breakfast into oblivion. A knish is a small thing after all. "So I kicked the
daemon and informed it that its parents were unmarried at the time of its
conception."
Corian does not pause in her eating, though her expression and the tilt of her head show that she is in fact listening, and not losing herself in the rapture of a cream cheese high. "Did it mind?" she inquires, making use of a napkin to save a wayward bit of cream cheese. "One would not think that luggage daemons held their own personal legitimacy in high priority."
Tarrant dusts his hands off on a napkin, chuckling quietly. "It prolly didn't
give a flying flip, but -I- felt better. I wandered off smug in the knowledge
that I had given it what for, and it continued to dispense luggage. All's
well with the universe."
Corian inclines her head, neatly polishing off the last of the bagel, then
wiping off her fingers on her napkin. "With the exception of your knife. But
your replacement seems to suit, yes?" She absently folds her napkin then
tucks it into the bag.
"It seems to, ayuh." Tarrant tilts his watch, glancing at the numbers a moment. His neat brows edge together a bit as he computes to local time. "We had probably best be on our way, time to play nice and sort through diplomacy."
Corian gets to her feet and reaches for her jacket, settling it about her in a
smooth motion that speaks of frequent repetition. After a moment's pause and
a glance out the window, she settles the hood over her head as well,
twitching the leather so that it falls just so. "The language is lovely, at
least," she observes.
Tarrant echoes the process of standing, although the only coat he wears is the
short cloth one he's worn all along. Moving to the door he tugs it open,
standing back graciously. "I'm glad you think so, I'm afraid it's a bit of a
muddle to me. I have enough to acquire breakfast and basic directions, but
beyond that I'm hopelessly lost. As it was, explaining to the concierge I was
looking for bagels was adventure enough."
Corian murmurs a quiet thankyou as she precedes you out the door. "You could
have gotten me," she suggests. "I am even capable of being outside in the
-rain- without melting." Matter of fact, she's -more- likely to be outside in
the rain, as she enjoys wet weather. She murmurs a phrase in the local lingo,
likely something about bagels and their use as frisbees, then shakes her
head, the movement discernable mostly as a shifting in the leather of her
hood.
Tarrant pads along, a half step to your left. Reaching the elevator he presses
the call button, "I didn't know if you were awake, figured it'd be kind to
let you sleep in as much as possible, seeing as you're going to be the one
doing the hard part today."
Corian's hands slip into her pockets as she waits for the elevator to ping.
"The thought is most appreciated, though I have been awake for some time. I
did not wish to sleep overlong," she adds, a hint of amused sheepishness
touching her tone. "This will not be overly difficult, though," she adds,
stepping into the elevator as the doors open.
Ping!
Tarrant follows you into the elevator, choosing the button for the lobby. "I'm
right glad of that. Easy's good, it's been too long a week for anything else.
Especially with me hauling you out of your comfortable place and all for
this."
Ping!
Corian shakes her head at that. "I do not mind being hauled out of my
comfortable place," she reassures, with a quick smile. "If nothing else, this
will provide a respite from the dilemma of translating the script in that
temple. Perhaps a brief change of focus will allow me to see that which I am
missing, there."
Tarrant steps from the elevator as it opens smoothly onto the lobby. As he
crosses towards the doors his boots and spurs ring in soft but distinctive
footsteps across the stone floor. "That's a mystery in-very-deed," he agrees.
"I only got to take a brief look the once, and just the outside, but it's
amazing." He pauses, once again gesturing for you to preceed him through the
revolving door. This way you can't see his displeased look when he follows
and gets wet again.
Corian of course heads through the revolving door, a hint of a spring to her step. She's doing something exciting, it's raining, she had a bagel with lots of cream cheese in the very recent past, she's in good company. All's right with the world. "Amazing," she agrees. "Fascinating. But it is a puzzlement, as I am unable to correlate the language with anything I have found. Yet." She almost drops back her hood, but then apparently decides that the rain is coming down somewhat too hard for that. "Where are we going, then?"
Tarrant tucks his hands into his pockets, good cheer somewhat dampened by the
rain, but not dimmed. He gestures with a nod to a spiraling palace towering
over the nearby palace. "There. It's about six blocks, shall we just hoof it?
Or would you rather utilize various language skills to aCquire the attention
of a cab?"
Corian considers the distance, though she doesn't stop walking. "If we have the time, I believe I would prefer to walk, if that suits you. It's such a beautiful day, after all." No, she's not being sarcastic.
And to his hidden dismay, Tarrant knows that. He's something less of a duck obviously, although a good deal of that has to do with the fact he's not dressed for the weather. None of that dismay is allowed out however and he simply grins and nods. "We've time, and the distance is short." He does not however bring himself to agree on the beauty of the day, instead setting off on the road side of the walk. "And it gives us time to admire the architecture of the building." Also known as casing the joint.
Corian's amused smile is audible, though her expression is mostly hidden by her hood. "Ah, yes. Architecture is, after all, always to be admired." She doesn't pause in her walking, though she does in fact take a look at the actual architecture for a moment, head tipping up briefly. Wiping a bit of the rain from her face, she observes, "It really is interesting, the curve of the spiral. It seems like rather an old building, too." All the better to have hidden passageways and such, and ways to be Macgyveresque.
"Twelve centuries," Tarrant affirms. How does he know that? Perhaps because
it's his job to know stuff like that, being a crafty and clever assassin and
all. Or maybe an extensive and impressive mission briefing. But more likely
because it was mentioned in the tourist guide the concierge gave him. He
ambles amiably, far too pleased with having company to let even the drenching
he's getting bother him. "And probably suitably impressive inside. The
monarchy here's quite fond of pomp and ritual."
Corian's sigh is quiet, but still likely audible over the rain. "Pomp and ritual," she repeats. "Had I known that, I would have attempted to look somewhat more ostentatious." She chuckles then, with another of those barely-perceptible headshakes. "It will be interesting to speak with them, then. Pomp and ritual, and... overawareness of rank often necessitates care in speaking, especially for those such as we, who are so obviously inferior." And, yes, her tone definitely holds a note of irony at that last.
Tarrant is looking rather less ostentatious than normal in jeans and soaked jacket, although the spurs are still festive enough. He shakes his head lightly, "No need in getting all fancied up for this, strictly under the table and all." The latter gets a wry grin as he turns, heading up a wider street that heads to the massive palace itself. "We can be inferior if they like, as long as all this gets signed." He glances towards the building, tugging his collar up tighter to his neck. "And if it's dry in there."
Corian casts a look of sympathy towards you. She doesn't say anything about how
you should prepare for wet weather, or anything else even remotely mom-like,
instead saying only, "The architecture there does not look especially
conducive to the absence of ceilings. Unless their culture favors indoor
fountains or waterfalls, I hazard a guess that it will be dry. And we will be
there soon."
Tarrant didn't have an opportunity to even pack other clothes, let alone a raincoat. See, he's only resourceful when it comes to the consumption of cream cheese. He nods, looking amused, "I'd be willing to go with your guess under the circumstances." Tugging a silver-chased card from one pocket, he offers it to the gate guard as the spiraling iron gate is approached.
Corian pauses so that she's a step behind you, though still to one side. Offering the guard a pleasant "Bom dia," she casts a thoughtful glance about the area, hands slowly pulled from her pockets to rest at her side.
Tarrant accepts the card as it's returned, stepping back and to your left,
taking up the position of a servant, or perhaps hired help of some kind. His
relative bedraggled state adds to the effect of course, as does the fact that
he keeps his eyes politely down and does not of course speak to the guard.
For an impromptu guise it seems to function well enough, and the guard wave
the pair of you on through with a respectful nod for you and the greeting in
reply, although there's a touch of wryness to it, as he doesn't seem to be
big on rain either. Yeesh, wussy men.
Tarrant accepts the card as it's returned, stepping back and to your left,
taking up the position of a servant, or perhaps hired help of some kind. His
relative bedraggled state adds to the effect of course, as does the fact that
he keeps his eyes politely down and does not of course speak to the guard.
For an impromptu guise it seems to function well enough, and the guard wave
the pair of you on through with a respectful nod for you and the greeting in
reply, although there's a touch of wryness to it, as he doesn't seem to be
big on rain either. Yeesh, wussy men.
Tarrant does not break newly chosen character enough to even brush water from
his jacket as he enters. He does however return the glance with a very brief
nod of his head, indicating a brightly dressed majordomo proceding in your
direction. In the local language the Majordomo speaks, "Welcome, I am glad to
see you have arrived." He regards you both a moment, "The weather is still
poor? May I escort you to the conference room?" So Tarrant will stop dripping
on his polished floor.
Corian inclines her head, hands unlacing. One hand is pressed to her chest and
she makes a brief bow, barely more than a nod. "I am glad to arrive. Poor is
relative, of course, but it still rains." Her hands are returned to their
former position, and she nods once more. "An escort would be most
appreciated, yes." Of course, she reponds in the local language. She even
gets the nasal dipthongs.
The majordomo returns the bow with a local courtesy, athough his is deeper
signifying his lower station in this case. He turns, although not
pre-emptorialy, and heads through the polished hall towards a smaller one to
one side.
Tarrant just stands, hands locked behind his back, properly servile. Even his
spurs are mute.
Corian glides behind the majordomo, pace stately though still quick enough to
keep up with him. She doesn't even glance at you, now, apparently expecting
you to follow like the good servant you are portraying. Her passage through
the hallway is near-soundless, only the soft zwip of the friction between her
pands and the long jacket making much of a sound.
And of course Tarrant does. Even with his eyes cast downwards, he still has a fair amount of visual field and when you step forward he is behind you, keeping always the appropriate distance and demeanor. The trail leads through a mass of corridors, a near maze. At last a door is reached. The Majordomo just indicates it. Tarrant steps forward to open it, as would seem to be expected, as the Majordomo nods. "May your business be fruitful."
Corian inclines her head, replying briefly to the majordomo before stepping
into the conference room. "I am sure that it will be. Many thanks for your
assistance." Then, of course, she goes into the room, gaze flicking over you
as she passes, though she doesn't speak.
Tarrant slips in around the door after you, following behind. Several
individuals are seated around the table as you enter. As the door snicks shut
behind the two of you there's a loud -shoonk- noise and the door bolts home.
A suddenly there's a flurry of activity as two rather large individuals
attempt to snag you both.
Corian is, of course, taken by surprise, so it takes a startled moment or two
before she fights back--though she does so to the best of her admittedly
limited abilities. She's unarmed, and not particularly strong, but she's
nimble and flexible, and decidedly stubborn. Of course, she's also smaller
than either of the rather large individuals, so it likely doesn't take all
-that- much for one of them to subdue her.
Tarrant is of course having none of this. Like an eel he's out of his captor's grip, one spurred heel driven back into a shin and the knife in his other hand. There's a problem, there's a lot more of these goons from wherever they came from and pretty shortly he's got a full scale conflict on his hands. It takes four of them, but at last he's disarmed and beaten down to the floor. One of the large men ends up kneeling on Tarrant's legs and forcing his hands behind his back. Cuffs of plasticine and chain are clipped on, although the weight does not come off Tarrant's hands. One of the men still seated says in the local language, "Search them both. And then search them again with a scanner. And then get someone -else- to scan them both."
Corian draws herself upright. Apparently having decided that resistance is
futile, she doesn't struggle against her captor's grip, though she's clearly
far less than docile, as is suggested by the coldness of her tone and the
steel of her gray eyes. "What is the meaning of this?" She's speaking in
Standard, of course. No need to let the bad guys know that she speaks the
local lingo, if they don't already know this. She endures the search, jaw
setting for a moment but otherwise attempting to pretend that the oversized
goon doing the searching doesn't exist.
Tarrant's spurs are snapped off, then the knife at his wrist, then both knives in his boots, the one from the sheath at his neck, as well as the tangler/bolter from a crossdraw inside holster. The contents of his pockets are confiscated as well, wallet, even his watch. These folks aren't taking chances. Tarrant's given up on struggling as well. Except when the watch is hijacked, at that he all but snaps a bone trying to get at his captors.
One older man climbs up from his seat at the table, keeping a decent arm's
length back. "We were warned," he says in heavily accented Standard. Great,
that's an explanation. He returns to the local lingo, "Take them to the cell.
Stun them if need be."
Corian regards the older man for a moment. "By whom?" she inquires, managing not to react to his final statement. 'Cell', after all, is not a happy word. She doesn't move as the thug relieves her of her pocketwatch, a pen, then the pair of necklaces that she wears--the leaf, and the carved lotus. The thug gets a killing look, but she doesn't say anything more, and moves along agreeably enough as she is taken to the cell. She doesn't relish being stunned, either. She wouldn't even if she did eat hot dogs.
It is perhaps no surprise that Corian is not answered. Tarrant's captor slides off of the smaller man, pressing a stun-pistol to Tarrant's head. In perfect standard with an accent that's not -even- local he threatens, "One false move and I'll fire this. It's on full stun...you -might- survive without brain damage, or you might end up a veggie. And when I'm done with you I'll hit the pretty little bit with it too, so you'd best behave."
If looks could kill, Tarrant's captor would be vapor, but otherwise Tarrant cooperates as he is hauled to his feet and half-shoved through another door. There are several more corridors and then a single cell hoves into sight. The snrly man who speaks such nice standard growls, "We shouldn't put them together." Another just shrugs and replies, "Only cell they got."
Corian barely catches her stumble as she is shoved neatly into the cell. The
fact that the wall is there to break her fall likely helps somewhat. The thug
who did the shoving gets a dirty look, but she doesn't say anything, instead
repeating to the back of the small cell.
Tarrant is tossed in after, without use of his hands to catch himself he hits
the floor, sliding just a bit. The door is slammed shut, it's a solid piece
rather than a wall of bars, the lighting is blindingly white. The cell's
furniture is straight out of a bad prison film. A bunk, a sink, a toilet
facility. The floor is poured concrete with a rigid floor drain, and the
walls are plascrete.
Corian moves to your side, concern warring with furious outrage in her eyes. "Are you all right?" she inquires quietly, folding herself to sit on the concrete floor next to you. There's a brief glance about the cell, and a not-quite-clear murmur about people who get their inspiration from bad holos.
Tarrant just stays where he was thrown for a beat or two, catching a breath. Then he twists and turns like an overturned turtle a moment to sit upright despite the awkward position of his bound hands. "Fine, hopping mad though. Those were techmecs by all that's holy, this was a set up." Hi, welcome to obvious. Tarrant's still a bit woozy however from the beating, so perhaps he can be forgiven. "Huge favor? Right boot, heel, where the spurs were clipped in on the left side. There's a scrap of wire tucked into the leather."
Corian seems quite calm, now, though a look at her eyes would make it rather evident that her calm is a facade. (Facade, facade, facade, facade, facade.) She nods, leaning to reach for the boot heel and deftly removing the wire. "See? You're resourceful, van'chela, as I said." She gestures towards your bound hands. "If you will allow me, I will see what I can do about those, perhaps?" Her tone is even calm. She really is good at feigning serenity.
Tarrant looks decidedly grateful for your offer, shifting forward gingerly so as to allow you better access to the cuffs. As tight as they're locked onto his hands, it'd probably be impossible for him to manage the feat himself. "I'd apreciate that Corian, can't get out of here with em on." Getting out of here is of course assumed. Then guilt floods into the grateful relief, "I'm so sorry about this, believe me, please, I did not know..."
Corian sits cross-legged behind you, though not so much that she blocks her view of your hands, and the cuffs there. Gently investigating the locking mechanism, she says quietly, voice even, "I know you were unaware of this, Tarrant." There are a few moments of silence, then she adds, "If I did not believe that, I would not be doing this." Naturally, it takes her longer to pick the lock than it would take you, but she does manage it eventually.
But by no means as long as it would take Tarrant with his hands bound. Carefully rubbing circulation back into them he nods gratefully, "Muchly appreciated." Fingers are flexed, returning blood flow to them. He still looks exceptionally guilty however, "Just so sorry 'bout all this." Swamped with guilt he may be, but it does not keep Tarrant from using the bench to haul himself tottering up to his feet. He moves to the door, examining it.
Corian gets to her feet as well. "You did nothing for which you should
apologize, Tarrant," she replies, trailing unobtrusively behind you. You
know, just in case you don't quite manage to keep to your feet. "You should
sit down a moment," she suggests.
Tarrant finishes the cursory exam of the door and then leans against it, as if
listening through it. It's less than co-incidental that by doing so he is
resting the bulk of his weight against said door. "Just a moment," he agrees
with exceptional reluctance. "And then we leave."
Corian manages not to sound like she's humoring a small child as she says, "And
then we will leave, yes." She offers you the bit of wire, casting a
thoughtful look at the door. She doesn't ask how the leaving will be
accomplished just yet, figuring that you need a moment or two to get back to
yourself.
Tarrant takes the two steps back to sink onto the bunk after accepting the
wire, elbows sunk on knees. He regards the ceiling somewhat awkwardly from
his position. "The lights..."
Corian steps back to regard the lights, hands slipping gently into the pockets
of her jacket. After a moment, she moves to stand on the bed, the better to
investigate the lights. "I do believe that our captors watched the -good- bad
holos, in which the good guys eventually escape from the badly-decorated
cell," she observes. She pushes gently at the paneled light nearest her, and
it edges upwards. Peering down at you, her expression is just a bit puzzled.
"This seems too easy."
Tarrant's lowered brows and thoughtful expression would seem to indicate he agrees with your assessment. He doesn't however climb to join you in the investigation, instead quietly questioning, "Is the housing inset maybe? Sometimes they shield with plasteel on the other side of the light. Still better for us, but not as easy as just a lighting panel."
Corian balances on tiptoe to get a bit more leverage. She shoves a bit harder
at the light, then nods as its motion is halted. "Plassteel," she agress. "Or
some form of shield is present." Her expression is faintly humorous as she
folds to sit crosslegged on the bunk. "We will have somewhat more of a
challenge, then."
Straightening up with care, Tarrant clambers up onto the bunk, prodding to investigate the light. "Stand back over by the door?" His tone is quiet.
Corian slides down from the bunk and gets to her feet, moving silently to the
door. Her gaze is on you, anger by now so completely hidden that even her
eyes do not reflect it. That, or she's put it aside, as the need to escape is
greater than the need to dwell on revenge.
Tarrant carefully eases off his jacket, moving slowly as he does so. Wrapping
one sleeve of it over his hand he smashes through the bulb assembly and the
fixture control. Of course this leaves the room pitch black, but there's a
sound of rummaging and then a wrenching sound. Thankfully it's not too loud.
"Got it," is Tarrant's comment in the blackness, although his voice appears
to be at normal standing level rather than up high now. "We've an opening,
come on back over to the bench and I'll give you a leg up. Feels like a
largeish space up there."
Corian moves over to you, one hand lifted to eye-level and held before her so
that she doesn't accidentally run into without warning. As long as she
-knows- she's going to run into you, that's just fine. And, in fact, that's
exactly what she does, though she doesn't really hit very hard. It's more
like a nudge. "Ah," she says, a faint amount of humor in her voice. "There
you are."
Tarrant brings his hands to your shoulders, chuckling softly. With gentle
pressure he indicates the direction of the bunk. "Yeah, right here. Be
careful, what's left of the light is directly to your left." His own words
are tinged with humor as well despite their directional nature. Funny, he
wasn't shaking earlier, but does it seem that his hands tremble ever so
slightly as they're settled on your shoulders?
Corian hesitates for a moment, then moves to climb onto the bunk with a
murmured thankyou, careful to avoid the rest of the light. "I do not suppose
your briefing involved the architectural structure of our location?" Her tone
suggests that she really doesn't think she's going to get an affirmative, but
she might as well ask.
"I'm afraid not," Tarrant's reply is apologetic as it is drawled quietly into the pitch blackness. "Playing this one by ear I'm afraid, Corian." He clambers onto the bunk after you, carefully half kneeling at your feet with a muttered hiss. After a pause he speaks again "Okay, just lift your right foot a bit and set it into my hands. I'll give you a leg up into the opening."
Corian peers towards the sound of your voice, but, no, she can't really manage
to see you, as it's still pitch-dark. "We have played it by ear before," she
observes, carefully lifting her foot. "And we have managed well." That is to
say, we're both still alive. She moves her foot with care, settling it into
your hand after a moment.
"We have at that, we have indeed." The quiet words are almost disembodied in the silence, but they are overlaid with fondness, guilt, and just a hint of oregano. Err, amusement, not oregano." Tarrant makes sure his hands are well placed, "On my count, then hands on my shoulders and push up. You're looking for a single bar, it should be right above you. One, two, three..."
And, miraculously, it works as it should. Corian finds the bar with relative ease, latching on to it and, after a moment, starting to lever herself into the space. Well, she's certainly not bored. She's also not talking, as that requires that she think, and all her thought is focused on getting herself into the space in question. She should exercise more.
Tarrant scrambles to his feet, reaching to provide assistance if necessary,
although there's little help he can offer. Panting, he asks softly between
breaths, "You okay?"
It takes a moment, but Corian does reply. "I am doing well under the circumstances, yes." Her voice is light. "And you?" Gee, she even keeps her manners while in the midst of breaking out of a cell.
"Fine," There's silence a moment and then the slap of hands on metal as Tarrant attempts to jump and catch the bar. He doesn't manage to do more than hit it with his fingertips however and there's a quiet crumple as he lands on feet and hands. It's nice that humanity is equipped with natural shock absorbers.
There's a sound or two that might indicate movement, and then a voice sounds
from above. ("Noah! I want you to build an ark!" No... not really.) "Let me
give you a hand up. Perhaps two hands would offer better leverage." Yes, it's
Corian, not some random deity.
"Good plan," Tarrant says as he picks himself off the floor. Clambering back
onto the bunk he fumbles a hand into the darkness in the general direction of
your voice.
Corian's hands are somewhat lower than the happy metal bar, as she is atop the
ceiling, which is also below said bar. After a moment of aimless waving, it's
likely safe to say that the hands connect. "I do hope that's you, Tarrant,"
she says lightly.
"If it's not," Tarrant replies, sounding amused as he clasps your hand firmly,
"I hope whoever it is has a map to get out of here. On three, one, two,
three..." And with the last number me makes another leap. This time, aided by
your hand, he's able to get the other locked onto the bar. One booted foot
gropes up and slides into the open ceiling cavity. Fumbling he struggles to
use this leverage to haul the rest of himself in.
Corian is quick enough to get out of the way of the booted foot. Good thing, as
getting kicked might make her less polite. She assists in the levering and
hauling as best she may, considering the darkness and her reticence to knock
you -back- to the ground. That would be bad.
Tarrant manages to make it into the cavity at last, slumping flat in the low
clearance. He pauses to attempt to catch his breath. It seems to have run
quite a ways, but in the end he manages. "Thanks Corian. Well, shall we see
what we have to work with now?"
Corian nods, though of course you can't see it. "See, perhaps, is not the best
of words, but, yes, we should discover our situation to the best of our
abilities."
Soft shuffling sounds ensue as Tarrant, once again wearing his jacket, begins to rummage. He whistles very softly, almost not a sound at all. "It appears we have hit the jackpot, m'lady. Some kind of tunnel I think..." His words are almost lost in echoes and the bare audibility with which he speaks them.
Corian doesn't say any of a number of random thoughts, one of which is how
she's really glad she was tossed into a cell in an -old- structure, one that
would actually have tunnels. "I suppose we follow the tunnel, then?" she
suggests, voice quiet as well. "At the very least, it is preferable, in my
opinion, to remaining here."
Fumble rummage, "Yeah, I think so." Tarrant agrees, "A bit of a close fit, but
neither of us are huge, should work. And it looks like we can pull this
behind behind us sort of. Not block ourselves off, but at least cover our
tracks briefly."
Corian has to stop learning that nodding in pitch-black isn't going to cut it.
It takes her a moment to realize this. "Any bit of time helps, yes, in this
situation. Do you need a hand in moving it?"
"Please," From the hint of desperate request to that word, it's guessable that
Tarrant is attempting to move it alone and finding himself unequal to the
task. "If we can just get it to the side a bit, then we can just head further
down and away from the cell area."
Corian, after a bit of fumbling in the dark, moves to snag part of it, so she
can help move. "How badly did they injure you?" she inquires, voice level and
still quiet enough not to carry.
Slowly the heavy sheet of steel shifts. It's pretty danged massive, and the
track it resides in is warped with age. "Just beat up a bit is all. Nothing's
bleeding, I'm okay. You all right?" Tarrant finally shifts back from the
panel, "That's far as it'll go like as not."
Corian takes a moment to rub her hands against her pants, the soft sound barely audible and conceivably kind of puzzling. "I have a few bruises, but nothing serious. They did not hit me, you see." See? Resistance -is- futile. You don't resist, then you just punch out a light afterwards.
Tarrant is not going to be assimilated though. He really isn't big on assimilation. The hours are awful and the pay is peanuts. "And a damned good thing for them they didn't..." Those words are low and dangerous as he begins to edge his way through the exceptionally narrow tunnel.
Corian is an exceptionally narrow person, and so has much less difficulty with
the tunnel. See? This is why she doesn't eat her Wheaties. "They didn't," she
repeats, manner a bit soothing. "And we're on our way out of here, so we can
find out what happened." Corian's voice sounds a bit grim at that last. She's
definitely not a happy camper, imagine that.
Soft scrapings occur as Tarrant pulls himself through. He is considerably
larger than you, but not particularly widely built either, and so apart from
some tears in his jacket he manages to traverse the spaces without too much
difficulty. He's pretty quiet as he does so, as this is quite an effort for
him. "Out or wherever this leads. If we can get our gear, my passcards and
all, I think we can get offworld easily enough."
Corian follows. Matter of fact, that can be implied in subsequent poses. And she still follows without all that many problems, as she's still skinny. "We will get out eventually," she says, sounding quite certain of that fact. After a brief pause, and a rustle as she untangles her sleeve from something, she inquires, "Do you think they will be waiting at the hotel?"
Tarrant shifts around a corner, following some sort of internal compass. Great,
trusting a guy's sense of direction is usually bad. Not to mention one that
probably wasn't paying strict attention to where the cell was, seeing as he'd
just been beatem. "Waiting at the hotel? I don't know, it depends on how good
their access was. We were signed in with full Alliance secuirty and fake IDs.
They could canvass on physical appearance, but it'd take a while, even
assuming they thought to check for a hotel."
Corian doesn't seem to be objecting to the internal-compass-following. She
doesn't really know where we are either, after all. "That makes sense," she
says finally. "So once we get out--" Again, it's not even considered that
getting out will not happen, "--then we need only reach the hotel. But," she
adds. "Is there any additional information we can garner while we are here? I
would like to know who was responsible for this."
"I honestly don't know," Tarrant pauses a moment, catching his breath and
considering a turning. "First priority when a job goes bad is to get out. The
hows and whys can be sorted later. Mine is not to reason why and all that...
If the information can be happened upon, that's all to the better. B'right
now my priority's to get you out of here in one piece. I said this'd be
nothing...Didn't realize it'd blow up. Didn't think it -could-. These people
-need- this treaty."
Corian's voice is quiet, of course. "Tarrant, there is no way you could know
this would happen. I do not blame you for it, and you should attempt not to
blame yourself as well. We will get out of this and get home. We have managed
in worse situations, after all." Not very many, but there had to have been
some at some point. Of course, one of them was the one that made her quit the
business, but she's not going to mention that.
Tarrant decides upon the lefthand aperture, squirming into it with a very soft expletive. He's not normally given to abusing language. "We'll get out of it, yeah. We're the pros, they ain't. It's simple as that."
Corian nods her agreement, edging into the tunnel as well. She doesn't swear,
though, of course--or, at least, not that can be heard. Of course, she's
also, as has been demonstrated, smaller. "It is only a question of time," she
says tranquilly. Then she pauses, and reaches to grab your ankle. "Listen."
It's barely an exhalation.
Tarrant freezes, although it's a relaxed freeze, a sudden limp cessation of all
movement so as not to interfere with any possible sounds occuring. There's a
pause and he at last murmurs, "What to?"
Corian shakes her head. "I thought--I must have imagined it. My apologies."
There's just the faintest edge of frustration to her tone, though it's
clearly directed at herself, rather than at you. See, she doesn't really
-like- being stuck in a pitch-dark tunnel, especially if she's starting to
jump at shadows. Only... is she jumping at shadows? (As it's pitch-dark,
there really -aren't- any shadows.)
And the walls came tumbling down. This place must be Jericho. Any reply Tarrant might have made is lost in the sudden onslaught of dust and gravel. This re-settling of earth is brief, and does not choke off the tunnel entirely, but it certainly does a number on making it all but impassable at the moment.
Corian makes the very odd, muffled sound that passes for her sneezes. "Maybe,"
she says slowly. "Perhaps that is what I heard." There's a very quiet sigh,
and then she inquires, "Are you all right?"
Tarrant goes into a fit of coughing, for all that he tries desperately to stifle it for the noise factor. There's a soft shuffling sound and then his quiet reply, "Yeah, a bit stuck though. Howbout you?"
After a pause, a shifting of rock is followed hard upon by a muffled sound of
startlement and displeasure. "I do not believe," Corian says, "That I should
have done that. I think that 'stuck' is a good word. The tunnel behind us is
blocked as well."
"Y'okay though? Beyond th'stuck bit?" Tarrant shifts somewhat, "Ahead's not too
bad, but not passable. Lotsa' digging."
"I would not mind a bit of a break," Corian says slowly, "If you think that we
have time for that, before we begin digging."
"A break'd be good." There's a pause before Tarrant asks, "What's hurt?"
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
There's a slower, more controlled-sounding shifting of rocks, if such can be
called controlled, before Corian answers. "Something landed on my shoulder.
Give me a moment, and it will be better."
"Need some help?" How Tarrant intends to manage to get turned around is really a good question, but somehow or another he's giving it a shot.
Corian says quietly, "I believe I can manage, but thank you." There's a quiet hiss, quickly cut off, then Corian reiterates, "Yes, I can manage."
There's a quick series of pops and cracks and other shifting and unhappy
noises, and Tarrant's voice is suddenly far closer. "Y'sure? I can help,
honest. Y'bleeding?"
Corian's voice is tired, but still holds a hint of humor. And if that humor is
a bit forced, well, that's only understandable. Maybe she'll say yes when you
offer dinner as a bribe, now. "It is difficult to tell in the dark, Tarrant.
Perhaps."
"Lemme check then Corian, everything s'okay, just relax..." Tarrant's tone is
perhaps meant to be soothing, and it might manage to be more so were it not
so halting. Somehow he manages to bring a gentle hand to your shoulder, his
touch feather light. Murmuring something quietly he shifts back again, and
more rummaging ensues. He then attempts to clear some debris from your back,
working slowly and carefully. His jacket, which must have been the rummaging
of getting it off, is tucked over you somehow. "A break's good. It's bleeding
just a bit, but it should stop if you just let it be a bit. May be broken, I
can't tell. A break won't help that any, but you're not really gonna be able
to crawl with a broken shoulder now anymore than after rest, so it can't hurt
any."
Corian murmurs something about different meanings of the same word. "Van'chela," she adds, "I believe that I was the one who suggested a rest, yes? You will not hear an argument from me on that score. I am perfectly content to take a break, especially if you will do the same."
"No argument here either," Tarrant settles down in the tunnel, breathing
raggedly as he attempts to catch his breath in the dust choked space. "S'a
good stopping place for now. Some rest."
Corian's sigh holds just a hint of relief. A bit more careful shifting, and
she's in a seated position, rather than in that of one who is about to
continue crawling through a tunnel, and leaning against the side of the
tunnel. "Rest sounds like an excellent idea. Just a bit. Then we can keep
going, and get out of here."
Tarrant remains sprawled as he is for a while, as the tunnel is too cramped for
him to sit up where he is, he'd have to be pretty much squished up against
you to do so. And this is easier as well. He rests his head on crossed arms.
"Just'a bit. Yep. A good plan. Brilliant lady."
It really shouldn't be any wonder that Corian sounds as tired as she does,
considering the past twenty-four hours or so. "Then we can get out, home,
away." Funny, finding out who did this suddenly isn't quite so important as
getting where something hard will not fall on her. And yet, she still wants
to go back to the Complex, foolish woman. "I'm not brilliant, though," she
adds, voice blurred with exhaustion and taking on a hint of the Kashidian
accent that almost never shows itself in her speech. "Thank you, very nice
compliment, but it is untrue." Her tone suggests that she's going to say
more, but she doesn't. Maybe she fell asleep, maybe she just lost her train
of thought.
Perhaps it is less than gentlemanly, and probably altogether unchivalrous, but
Tarrant unfolds one arm, instead resting on one side and the bare tunnel.
Reaching out the now free hand he rests it lightly atop your knee, proof that
there is someone else here in the darkness as well. "Not untrue," he murmurs
softly, sounding just as gone.
As long as you don't bite her feet, Corian doesn't really seem to mind any
so-called unchivalrous acts. Matter of fact, she even reaches to cover your
hand with her own, after a near-palpable pause. "If you don't mind, maybe we
could discuss my brilliance, or lack thereof, after a little sleep?
Ordinarily, I would not suggest it, considering the situation, but you sound
as tired as I feel."
Tarrant's murmured reply is so heavily accented and halting that it's barely distinguishable, even with your linguistic skills it's only possible to pick up a word here and there, "Sounds ... plan. Sleep. Brilliant -and- smart..." And with that he's literally out cold, knocked for a loop on the tunnel floor.
Corian doesn't take much longer to fall asleep, perhaps all of three seconds. If there were any lights, she would be out like one. There had better not be any more falling rocks, as she's not going to hear them, this time.