Lincs
Writer of Things
Foster
He watched the others closely after finishing his tale. To his mild surprise, the only one to introduce herself was the one he had considered dangerous - Nyrea, she called herself. As she moved close to him and helped him to his feet, he noticed she was an elf, or had some elf blood, judging by her ears. She offered him a tiny smile, which he returned, feeling a small jolt of warmth run through him. He couldn't decide if that made her more, or less, dangerous than before. He resolved to keep a... close eye on her. Yes, a close eye. That's all.
Whatever was going to happen next was interrupted by the loud arrival of several more guards, the one in the front obviously of some higher station. Foster turned to regard him carefully, noting how confidently he held himself. Also a dangerous individual. Strangely, he didn't level threats of fraudulent charges or anything else at the others, or try to extort money or favors from them. No, his sole purpose seemed to be to taunt Nyrea, and it seemed to work. She retreated slightly as he moved closer to the cell, bumping against Foster's chest. To his own surprise, Foster didn't shrink back from this, allowing the contact to linger awhile as he listened to the man's words. Blue Raven? What's that? And just who are these people I've entangled myself with? The man also mentioned 'friends' before he left; Foster didn't like the sound of that one bit.
After the guards took their leave again, Foster found that all sense of his usual flippancy had drained away, and food had become the last thing on his mind. Whatever had transpired to get him in this cell, these people needed help. You always do this, a small voice inside of him said. You always want to play the hero. And when has that ever worked out well for you? Or for the people you try to help. Right in front of him, Nyrea looked ghastly, trembling violently and turned to look at the others with pale, bloodless features. She whispered something raggedly about breaking out.
"Breaking out it is, then." Foster echoed her, his voice carrying with it a hard edge that hadn't been there before. He rested a hand lightly on her upper arm. "Are you alright?" He asked in a lower, softer voice.
One of the others had spoken up, the older-looking man. "Raptor? That thing was your pet?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, in any case, it's probably still out there." He jerked a thumb towards the back wall. "Maybe it... er, maybe Karry can get us some help."
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