Post by Tamis Raynor on Mar 20, 2008 20:33:59 GMT -5
01 July 2008
Time: ???
Splat…. Splat… Splat.
From somewhere in the depths of the cell, water budded on the cold ceiling and then plummeted mercilessly below with a loud echoing splash against the foul flooring. Exactly five seconds later, just enough time for the ears to readjust to the first splash, another fell. As it had not for two hours straight and as it would for days, if not weeks, to come. Dementors were no longer used at Azkaban, or at least not as widely used. A cold mist that had nothing to do with the unheated stone drifted thinly though the small slit in the cell door. There was at least one wandering around. But dementors were not the only tactics that could be used against prisoners. Raynor had been an auror. She knew. There was no running water in Azkaban… or pipes, yet the water dripped and at perfect intervals.
Ignoring it, the petite woman leaned against the wall in her simple black and white striped robes, trying not to think about how long it had been since said wall had been cleaned – or if it ever had been cleaned. But concentrating on the wall was better than pondering over the sanitary conditions of the floor.
She did not know how much time has past since she had been thrown into one of the cells. It was high security, she knew that much at least. Near the top of the tall, stark, seemingly door-less parallelogram. Was it night? Morning? Afternoon? In the endless dank dark of the cell it was impossible to tell. She let out a slow deep breath, its frosty white the only clue that the black surrounding her was just a lack of light and the not the color of this cold hell. Hours. At the most she had only been here a few hours, and the place was already getting to her. She had lasted over a month before, and now only needed to last a month more.
She huffed a laugh. Oh yes, she “owned” a month for threatening the Minister of Magic against taking away her subject so many months ago. Thrown into a prison for dark wizards because she had warned them against something that made it easy for the Deva to take over her school. Her reward? She was given a position she managed to accomplish by the skin of her teeth, and then, when she had finished the first round in the spot, they threw her into Azkaban. Corrion had made it clear that Raynor could have bought her way out of it, and Tamis could have clearly afforded it, but her pride would not allow it. Though, in hindsight, this was not going to help.
Nor had not informing anyone that did not know already help either. Especially not Alfonz Jedynak, though why she felt compelled to have informed him irked her. The man had enough problems of his own, and, by his papers at Hogwarts had left the school anyhow for the summer. Hopefully, he never would. Her dignity had been tarnished enough as it was.
The sound of rubble shifting somewhere on the other side of the six by six foot windowless cell caught the Headmistress’ ears and she let out another white breathed sigh. She did not believe she was alone, but nor was she that desperate for company yet to call whoever her fellow prisoner was out of whatever corner s/he had taken refuge in. More than anything, she was afraid of who it might be, or rather, who the person might be now. Tamis had been here mere hours. And she at least had held onto the hope of being able to lead.
Who knew how long her companion had been and how much damage had been done?
Time: ???
Splat…. Splat… Splat.
From somewhere in the depths of the cell, water budded on the cold ceiling and then plummeted mercilessly below with a loud echoing splash against the foul flooring. Exactly five seconds later, just enough time for the ears to readjust to the first splash, another fell. As it had not for two hours straight and as it would for days, if not weeks, to come. Dementors were no longer used at Azkaban, or at least not as widely used. A cold mist that had nothing to do with the unheated stone drifted thinly though the small slit in the cell door. There was at least one wandering around. But dementors were not the only tactics that could be used against prisoners. Raynor had been an auror. She knew. There was no running water in Azkaban… or pipes, yet the water dripped and at perfect intervals.
Ignoring it, the petite woman leaned against the wall in her simple black and white striped robes, trying not to think about how long it had been since said wall had been cleaned – or if it ever had been cleaned. But concentrating on the wall was better than pondering over the sanitary conditions of the floor.
She did not know how much time has past since she had been thrown into one of the cells. It was high security, she knew that much at least. Near the top of the tall, stark, seemingly door-less parallelogram. Was it night? Morning? Afternoon? In the endless dank dark of the cell it was impossible to tell. She let out a slow deep breath, its frosty white the only clue that the black surrounding her was just a lack of light and the not the color of this cold hell. Hours. At the most she had only been here a few hours, and the place was already getting to her. She had lasted over a month before, and now only needed to last a month more.
She huffed a laugh. Oh yes, she “owned” a month for threatening the Minister of Magic against taking away her subject so many months ago. Thrown into a prison for dark wizards because she had warned them against something that made it easy for the Deva to take over her school. Her reward? She was given a position she managed to accomplish by the skin of her teeth, and then, when she had finished the first round in the spot, they threw her into Azkaban. Corrion had made it clear that Raynor could have bought her way out of it, and Tamis could have clearly afforded it, but her pride would not allow it. Though, in hindsight, this was not going to help.
Nor had not informing anyone that did not know already help either. Especially not Alfonz Jedynak, though why she felt compelled to have informed him irked her. The man had enough problems of his own, and, by his papers at Hogwarts had left the school anyhow for the summer. Hopefully, he never would. Her dignity had been tarnished enough as it was.
The sound of rubble shifting somewhere on the other side of the six by six foot windowless cell caught the Headmistress’ ears and she let out another white breathed sigh. She did not believe she was alone, but nor was she that desperate for company yet to call whoever her fellow prisoner was out of whatever corner s/he had taken refuge in. More than anything, she was afraid of who it might be, or rather, who the person might be now. Tamis had been here mere hours. And she at least had held onto the hope of being able to lead.
Who knew how long her companion had been and how much damage had been done?