Post by Magda on Mar 14, 2013 17:29:19 GMT -5
It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week. One of many that populated a long year, in a string of long years that made up one of many long decades. The city never slept. It never slowed down. Never stopped. There was always something on, some kind of war, or battle, or conflict. Downtime was a gratefully appreciated respite, and she got it any way she could. For the past ten years Magda had taken to meditating. At first the pursuit had begun as a way to control the necklace Strike had given her, to understand the magic that lay within it. But as she continued to meditate she found that it gave her a chance to think, to clear her head and see things in perspective, if only for ten minutes a day.
Tonight her moment of peace came when she decided to visit Strike in his cell. Magda had first suggested the Manor as a holding place simply because it was the only secure location she knew of. Indeed, neither Crystal nor Jerome, nor Oriana knew of the hidden bunker in the Manor grounds, probably more secure than this prison was. But Magda had brought him here if only to satisfy those who tried to endlessly criticise her. Though it was true that should Strike escape her manor would be first on the hit list, many seemed to forget that her home was not simply full of civilians. It was an armed force, too.
Magda shouldered open the double doors and glanced down the hallway to where the bars of Strike’s cell were visible.
“How is he today?” she murmured to the guards who stood at either side of the doors.
“Same as ever,” one responded.
Magda nodded, hitched the wicker basket a little further up on her wrist. “I’ll watch him from here. You can have a break.”
The guards nodded and left the hallway without protest. They had probably been standing in the same spot for hours already and her takeover was probably just as appreciated as her downtime from the rest of the city was.
Magda approached the cell, her echoing footsteps tapping a steady rhythm as she walked. She stopped outside the barred door, and peered into the cell.
“Hey Strikey,” she said, after a sigh. “Brought you a present.” She held up the parcel, a handled wicker basket with a plaid linen cloth over the top with the edges tucked in. “I don’t know what they’re feeding you in here but I don’t suppose the humans have got the werewolf diet down pat. ‘Specially not the feral variation.”
Tonight her moment of peace came when she decided to visit Strike in his cell. Magda had first suggested the Manor as a holding place simply because it was the only secure location she knew of. Indeed, neither Crystal nor Jerome, nor Oriana knew of the hidden bunker in the Manor grounds, probably more secure than this prison was. But Magda had brought him here if only to satisfy those who tried to endlessly criticise her. Though it was true that should Strike escape her manor would be first on the hit list, many seemed to forget that her home was not simply full of civilians. It was an armed force, too.
Magda shouldered open the double doors and glanced down the hallway to where the bars of Strike’s cell were visible.
“How is he today?” she murmured to the guards who stood at either side of the doors.
“Same as ever,” one responded.
Magda nodded, hitched the wicker basket a little further up on her wrist. “I’ll watch him from here. You can have a break.”
The guards nodded and left the hallway without protest. They had probably been standing in the same spot for hours already and her takeover was probably just as appreciated as her downtime from the rest of the city was.
Magda approached the cell, her echoing footsteps tapping a steady rhythm as she walked. She stopped outside the barred door, and peered into the cell.
“Hey Strikey,” she said, after a sigh. “Brought you a present.” She held up the parcel, a handled wicker basket with a plaid linen cloth over the top with the edges tucked in. “I don’t know what they’re feeding you in here but I don’t suppose the humans have got the werewolf diet down pat. ‘Specially not the feral variation.”