Willow's morning starts with a very light touch on her belly. It feels like a wadded up bit of Zolk. There isn't any light to see who or what may be applying it though.
Willow's blink a few times, then open fully. "Who is there?" she asks, already now quite awake due to the nervous sort of reaction that comes from being touched in the dark!
"It is only me," Mr. Bright notes as he lightly caresses Willow's hide with the Zolk. "Our fingers are not the most gentle of appendages, so I am testing Zolk on you. How does it feel?"
"Soft," Willow comments as she tries to see this Aeonian. "Why are you testing that?" she inquires, "Would you not know what it feels like?"
"Have you ever tried to tickle yourself?" Mr. Bright asks. "I am trying to titillate you," he explains.. as he moves the fabric to brush the mare's nipples.
That causes Willow in inhale sharply. "Why?" she inquires as she tries to squirm away from that touch, and that it makes hher nipples rather hard pretty quickly. "What is your interest in me? Being rare notwithstanding, of course."
"I'm curious about many things," the Aeonian says. At least it's obvious where he is, since he must be sitting on the edge of the mattress. He probably can't tell the reaction it's had on her's nipples in the dark (and since she's a black mare in the dark). "Sensitive there?" he asks.
"Of course I am. All women are," Willow replies. What she doesn't say is that she isn't surprised such a jerk wouldn't know as he's likely never been close to a woman before!
"Fascinating," Mr. Bright says, and starts brushing Willow's throat and the near side of her jaw.
Willow pulls her head away from the touch. No hissing from that, but having him touch her just feels icky in general. "You can stop any time," she says.
"You don't seem very cooperative this morning," Mr. Bright says. "I suppose you don't like me."
"You are keeping me captive in a very crummy room. Of course I do not like you," Willow remarks a bit dryly.
"Do you like Mr. Sackcloth or Mr. Blue?" the stallion asks, and stops trying to stroke Willow's face with the Zolk. Instead he starts brushing it between her legs.
"I do not really know them. They have not been cruel to me so far, so I do not dislike them," Willow says then ends up gasping from that zolk caressing over the sensitive bits down there.
"Have I been cruel?" Mr. Bright asks, as he keeps up the caressing. "You're the only other unicorn I've met. It's caused me to realize that I might be lonely."
This makes Willow squirm and even squeak here and there. "You're keeping me a prisoner. That isn't exactly kind," she points out.
"I don't know what to do with you yet," Mr. Bright notes. "I don't have the means to take you somewhere else at the moment." While his hand keeps up the Zolken teasing, he leans down and tries to nuzzle Willow's cheek.
Willow doesn't pull away, though she doesn't like it. "You could simply let me go," she points out as she looks straight up. That teasing is causing her legs to twitch and pull at their bindings ... and the zolk is probably getting a bit damp at this rate.
"Go where?" Mr. Bright says. "You are safest where you are," he claims. "You can be protected in here." When she doesn't pull away, the man tries to nuzzle her neck next.
"Go home, back to Sylvania. I am not some pet to be kept," Willow points out, still not moving away from that nuzzling. "I am a lady."
"How would you get home?" Mr. Bright asks, and tries lipping at a breast. "Is time a factor?" he follows with.
Willow ends up hissing again at that lipping, and can feel things beading up already from the stimulation. "Not particularly, no," she has to admit. And I would get home by ship, then train, of course."
"The nearest port is.. some time away," Bright says, and starts licking. Lightly at first, but soon hard enough to push the breast around.
"So? The distance isn't that important," Willow claims as she squirms around even more now. "I am not your slave," she insists.
"No, you don't perform labor on command," Mr. Bright says, and finally lets up with the Zolk.. because he's climbing on top of Willow now. And a moment later, he's inside. "You are an anomaly here," he admits, and tries to actually kiss Willow.
The penetration makes the unicorn cry out in surprise, and it feels far better than it should. She's so surprised she doesn't have time to dodge the kiss, and therefore gets, well, kissed! This makes her gasp out around his lips in further surprise and reflexively arch up.
This time, Mr. Bright is very methodical. He tries different speeds and depths, squeezing, kissing or licking various places as well as he tries to determine exactly what Willow likes best.
Willow makes all sorts of sounds, from gasps, to whinnies, to arching and crying out as the stallion tries out different things. Since he's compatible with her, it feels all the better, even though she doesn't want it to. It doesn't help that being restrained is also turning her on, curse it.
At some point, Mr. Bright loses his concentrating, and gives over to pure mating instinct. Willow can tell because he makes noises, and there's always a brief pause in activity after each one, as if he were surprised. Eventually this comes to a head, and stallion lets out a whinny of his own.
Which makes Willow arch and join in! Something about a stallion rutting her makes her peak not long after he does in a rush of all-too-good feeling. This is not what she'd want, really, as she doesn't want to give this man anything, but she can't fight her own current biology.
Mr. Bright keeps nuzzling and kissing Willow, and certainly isn't ready to pull out yet.
"I still do not belong to you," Willow insists, voice quiet, at Mr. Bright nuzzles on her neck. "What is it you want from me?"
"Your company," the Aeonian replies, "The study will.. it should have been near completion, but then they surprised us." He gently rocks his hips while talking.
"What study?" Willow inquires, curious. That gentle rocking is making her squirm about a bit more.
"Hmm," Mr. Bright answers, realizing he may have said too much. "When it is over, we can leave," he notes, and tries to distract Willow with a bit more than just rocking his hips.
Willow grumbles as he won't answer that question! But, she doesn't push it; she lets him ride her out and enjoy it (and enjoys it a bit herself). "Are they trying to study the Yodh?" she wonders.
It does a bit much just to mess with a single fruit company. The new burst of activity jostles Willow's breasts, which are slightly uncomfortable now.
This makes Willow grumble, but she's used to chest pain thanks to Nicora, so doesn't mention it to Mr. Bright; she doesn't want him to get any other ideas!
As his passion rebuilds (slowly, which isn't a surprise for an Aeonian), Mr. Bright does squeeze things in his hands though while trying to wuffle Willow's ears.
The squeezing does make her cry out, and it also might make Mr. Bright wet! Her ears also flick all about as he messes with them with his breath. "I thought they were all supposed to be frigid!" she wonders, and blames her own physiology for somehow making his actually respond!
The man does notice the dampness though, which gives Willow's ears a reprieve.. and the suckling is a bit of relief to the soreness. But it also seems to have an effect on Aeonians. The more milk he drinks, the more vigorous he becomes.
"Aw crap! I forgot it did that!" Willow thinks as she cries out more, whinnies, and squirms like mad underneath him! "Now he'll never let me leave!"
It takes an hour before exhaustion puts an end to the party though. Mr. Bright moans in pain when he's reached his limit. "I need to rest," he laments. "I think I pushed too far."
"Are you sure you are Aeonian?" Willow inquires, grateful he's wearing out! He also seems t have forgotten about doing anything to her horn, which is a plus.
"Have you been with others?" Mr. Bright asks. "Is this why we are solitary?"
"Well, no," Willow admits.
"There does not seem to be much literature on the subject," the man notes. "Perhaps I should document our interactions. Did you enjoy this?"
"I did not dislike it," is all Willow is willing to offer. "I would like it more if you let me go..."
"I will consider releasing your restraints," Mr. Bright says, "if you promise on your horn that you will not attempt to escape or injure anyone."
"I will think about it," Willow grudgingly answers. She actually figures remaining restrained might encourage people to say more to her than if she were more ambulatory. Restrained means she is no threat, and they won't be as guarded.
"I'll send Mr. Sackcloth by to clean and feed you," Mr. Bright says as he finally pulls out, and then nearly falls over in the dark trying to stand up. In a few minutes, Willow is on her own again.
"And ... drippy down below again. Wheee," Willow thinks and things come out. Still, so far this hasn't been that bad and she's learned some things; namely they're studying something. What, though, is a good question. She also hopes that sterility of Aeonians stays in effect even now, with her odd status. Otherwise things might get weird.
The door opens, and there is light! Mr. Sackcloth sets the lantern down on the table, along with a bowl with a wooden spoon sticking out of it. He closes the door, and the bolt can be heard sliding into place on the outside. "Good morning," he greets Willow.
"Is it morning?" Willow asks as she eyes that spoon, fearing the worst, then realizing it is probably just for food. "Time to feed and clean the pony, is it?"
"Both at the same time," the Rhian says, and starts to undo Willow's bindings. "You can feed yourself while I clean you up, just don't kick me or break the bowl over my head. We don't have many bowls."
"Deal," Willow says and lets the stallion unbind her before she tries to sit up. She of course has to leave her legs spread in a rather undignified manner. She doesn't whack the stallion, instead she picks up the bowl, the spoon, then ... carefully tastes the contents.
It's full of boiled oats. It doesn't have much flavor, alas, but it definitely benefits from having big teeth to grind it down, even though it's been softened by boiling. Mr. Sackcloth takes a rag and a bottle from his back pockets, and wets the former with the contents of the latter. There's an actual soap smell to it.
It's bland, but that's better than disgusting ... so the Mare eats it slowly while watching the stallion. "So, what is this group studying?" she inquires, seeing if he'll say anything. "And what is to happen to me?"
"What makes you think we are studying something?" Sackcloth asks as he washes Willow's privates. "I thought we were pirates."
"Random thoughts," Willow claims as she's washed (and squirms a little). She has to pause in her meal now and then due to the distraction too. "So, what about me?" she asks again. "What is to happen?"
"I have not heard anything," the Rhian notes. "Mr. Bright seemed rather out of sorts just now. He normally very.. in sorts." He loops up to wink at Willow.
Willow laughs a little at that and covers her mouth. "I have that effect on men," she claims.
"You have a nice laugh," Sackcloth says, standing back up. "Did you sleep well?" he asks, and examines Willow's wrists while she eats.
"As well as i could in such accommodations. Not much worse than a ship on rough seas, though," Willow claims as she lets him check her wrists.
"No chafing that I can see, which is good," the horse notes. "Hopefully the restraints won't be required for too much longer. But I do not know Mr. Bright's plans yet. Would you like some water? We don't have tea. Well.. not very palatable tea. I can't bring you hot water yet."
"Water would be appreciated," Willow agrees as she rubs her own wrists a bit absently. "You're not going to remove my hands or anything, are you, which is why they wouldn't be required, right?" She knows that's highly unlikely, but it's the sort of thing a scared lady might ask.
Sackcloth actually pauses to blink at that notion while unslinging the water-skin from his shoulder. "Of course not!" he insists... but there's a brief moment of uncertainty before he does. "I'm sure you just need to be convinced not to cause mischief is all."
He then hands over the water-skin.
Willow eyes the stallion oddly, then accepts the waterskin. She tilts it back and daintily drinks from it for a while. When she stops, she caps the waterskin and offers it back.
The horse takes it and slings it back over his shoulder. "Would you like me to leave the lantern?" he asks. "Is there anything that would make you more comfortable.. within reason?"
"Leaving the lantern is fine," Willow offers, just before she lays down on the bed and stretches out to put her arms legs back in restraint position. "And I assume I must be re-secured?"
"Yes, sorry," the Rhian notes, and straps the restraints back on. "Can't open the door without them still," he notes.
"I figured," Willow remarks rather dryly. "I'll see you later."
The lamp is left on the table as Sackcloth takes the bowl and spoon back out. There's clearly someone outside who operates the door, since it opens when the Rhian approaches and closes behind him.
"Well, this is an odd group," Willow thinks, feeling a lit better now that she's clean. She shifts a bit, getting comfortable as she can on the bed, then practices just meditating and sensing about herself to pass the time.
There's definitely a guard on the door. A day after the raid, it's possible that everyone is now within the hideout. There are a few men tending to the Rakhtors, but the rest are deeper in the complex - which also helps to map the place out a bit. There is a concentration of people gathered closely together that aren't moving much, but don't seem to be asleep. There are a few people that are resting, but it doesn't seem as if the place operates on shifts like an airship.
At least none of the actual pirates are harassing her, small mercies. She tries to focus on the larger gathered group to try and figure out who they might be, or what they might be doing, based on mood.
They're all in the same mood, but it's difficult to tell what it is. It seems both relaxed and anxious at the same time. Other clusters of more mobile sorts don't have the shared-mood, but about half of them seem to harbor some degree of anxiety. One of the non-anxious ones may be approaching along the hall outside. The door guard's anxiety seems to rise as it approaches.
"Crap, new visitor. Probably one of the violent ones or something judging by the guard's reactions," Willow thinks as she reflexively spreads her fingers and flicks her tail briefly. She withdraws her senses and focuses on just herself again and takes a few deep breaths. "Now, who is coming?" she wonders.
This is confirmed when Willow hears the loud, raspy voice of Mr. Stitch outside the door. "Open it up, Cottonmouth," the raider demands. "And don't think of snitching, or you'll have a set of stitches, eh?"
"Aw dagh ... this one again," Willow thinks, eyes narrowing as she glares a bit at the door.
It's possible that Mr. Cottonmouth says something, but it's too quiet for Willow to hear through the door. "Still ain't got that tongue workin' yet, eh?" Mr. Stitch rasps. "Be a shame if it had to be fixed again. But yer a long way from the doc, yeah?" There's a pause, and then the sound of the bar being lifted so the door can be opened.
This makes Willow blink. Tongue not working? Is he serious? Willow glares at the door, as if willing it to not open. Her fingers twitch nervously now; she knows this one is violent and cruel.
The door swings open and Mr. Stitch swaggers in. A frightened feline face looks in through the doorway.. one with stripes. A tiger Khatta, possibly, from the size. The view is soon obstructed by the big Vartan though. "I hear yer open fer business, Miss Black," the Vartan says, and leers at her. "I kinda like the look o' you all tied up."
"I am not open for you," Willow says, curtly. "I heard what you said to the cat out there too, so I know you're probably not supposed to be in here. I doubt Mr. Bright would be particularly kind to you if he knew."
"That ponce isn't my boss," the raider claims. "I don't gotta listen to him, and what's he gonna do anyway? He's just here to make his charts and funny factor'in." The bird sits rather heavily on the edge of Willow's mattress.
"He's an Aeonian, he'll have connections. I am sure he could do quite horrible things to you," Willow points out. "And if he's not your boss, who is, hmm?"
"Not him, that's who," Stitch claims, and gives one of Willow's breasts a squeeze. Given the relative insensitivity of Vartan hands, he's probably doing more to show that he can. "It's my crew that takes all the risk, so only fair I get some reward, eh?"
This makes Willow wince; that hurts after all. She squirms, trying to pull that breast free. "Go bed one of your rhaktors, they're more of your intellectual level," she huffs, trying to sound indignant. Right now though, she's actually a bit scared and worried..
Showing discomfort just makes him pinch a little harder. "Well, they bite pretty hard," the man claims. "But I don't think you bite much, and I've been bit by the worst, heh," he says, and runs his thumb in a throat-slitting gesture across his own throat, where his scar is probably hiding under the feathers.
"We're more dangerous than you can imagine with that tiny mind of yours," Willow claims as she tries to pull away again. "What is it you want? To gloat? Feel strong?"
"I want to have some fun," the bird claims, "without getting my tail feathers singed by uppity bats and their crazy gods. Airships don't fight o'course. So boring, 'cept when you barricaded yerself in the cabin."
This makes Willow laugh. "Afraid of the bats' Gods', are you? You should be. I've heard stories about them, and they've even got a demi-god running around now. I'd watch your butt or he just might come for you," she retorts to the Vartan. "And a gentleman wouldn't have broken down the door to a lady's room."
"A lady wouldn't have caused so much trouble and just opened the door," Stitch growls, which sounds even more gravelly due to his throat injury. "And threatening me makes you more attractive," he claims. "No little shrinking flower or whatever. Maybe because yer ancient. But I bet you ain't all dried up yet." He leans in close, and asks, "So.. you frilly types secretly lust after the big rough guys, don'tcha?"
This makes Willow snort in his face. "I was alive during the Necromancer wars, and even before. You're not scary, you're a little boy playing with toys," the Aeonian claims huffily. "And I am not a toy. So ... run along."
At that remark, the Vartan swings over and straddles Willow. He's heavy. He then grabs her arms below her bound wrists, immobilizing them further. "I ain't into toys," Stitch rasps. "And you can't scare me much, already been dead for a bit."
"Oh, I could scare you," Willow thinks, but she says, trying to sound indifferent to the situation, "Dear boy, there are far scarier things than death. I was there when they imprisoned the necromancers in the Well of Souls. Do you know they are probably still screaming in agony, even today? They are bound in perpetual decay and regeneration for their crimes. Or worse, you could be one of us; we do not age, we do not die; our memories just fade and ebb with time as we outlive all around us, for all eternity. We cannot wither, we cannot change. We cannot end. That is a far harsher and cruel thing to be, than to simply die." The Unicorn then rolls her shoulders a little and says, "But, have your fun if you must."
"Oh, you sort can die," Mr. Stitch claims. "You just don't age. That just means you'll end in violence, by your own hand if not someone else's!" He has to let go of Willow's arms to undo his belt. "And you ain't all nobs and softies. I looked stuff up, when I met Mr. Bright. He's got a library here, y'know. Your men used to be warriors! Some still are. But most.. you just went soft over time."
"The white ones, perhaps. But not me," Willow claims and rolls her eyes. She ponders ... using the shadow on him while he's doing stuff ... to learn about him, and clone him later if need be.
Mr. Stitch gets his pants off, and the shorter fur of his equine half shows scars more clearly. He's had a lot of them, and they were almost all stitched close. None near his weapon of choice, however, though it looks like someone may have tried to hamstring him at one point. He doesn't try for an subtly, of course.. and just barges in. Like a true raider: why mess with the doorknob when you can just kick the whole thing in.
And of course he's larger, so he pushes her limits and it hurts! This causes Willow to growl out between clenched teeth and arch up! Her eyes water a bit too as things stretch to ... accommodate him. "Gah, bastard!" she thinks as her fingers spread and play. If she makes it through without bleeding, she'll be surprised, honestly. But ... she'll also try to sneak the shadow into him to ken him ... up through his weapon. Granted this might make him lust for other unicorns later ... but they're rare enough he'd be unlikely to ever see another mare!
The grimace makes the man grin, of course, and he grabs onto Willow's arms again - doesn't matter if she's strapped to the wall, he's going to restrain her himself! And then he starts to really drive the point home by.. driving his point home. At least there's something between Willow's head and the wall, even if the headboard is still wood.
And her horn, unfortunately! She has to make sure that doesn't bang into anything either! IT hurts, so it's hard to focus ... and it takes a bit before she can try to do the hidden kenning up through Mr. Happy. An odd way to ken someone, and it'll feel good to him, dagh take it, but she needs to start learning about them all, and who she could impersonate. Her forearms tense tight when he grips on them and then she looks him in the eyes, her own furious.
The kenning does have an effect on him, in that he starts going at it a bit harder. Things start bobbing about on Willow's chest, as if the building neck strain wasn't enough already. But she starts to get a feel for the man - and he wasn't kidding about being dead for awhile. The wound to his throat really was deep, but the scar tissue that would be there if it had somehow healed naturally is absent. He was healed with magic, and Willow can tell it was pretty rough: his resistance to Life Magic is effectively nil, and Vartans are supposedly abnormally high in magic resistance!
"Who healed this guy, and why? No Vartan would have agreed to it!" Willow thinks, finding this more and more curious, and confusing. Did this happen recently? Was it a punishment? Still, she keeps kenning him, even through the painful pounding. She'll only draw back the shadow once she thinks she knows enough to, well, duplicate him if she needed to!
While it's clearly making Mr. Stitch happy, it also gives Willow something to focus on other than her discomfort. It also gives her an odd echo - she hasn't done this will someone was having sex with her before, so she gets some feedback about the Vartan's sensations of being inside of her. So.. a bit like being inside of herself.
"Geh, he's really getting off on this too," Willow thinks in disgust! What a horrible person! She holds it until she cannot stand it anymore and withdraws the shadow; hoping she now knows enough about him.
There were a few other things that seemed off. Willow is fairly certain his brain has been tampered with somehow, but only insofar as there is a lingering impression of Life Magic. Which isn't used for brain-washing or mind-control.
"Brain changes too? What the heck? Who worked on these people?" Willow wonders and shivers involuntarily. The idea of someone rooting about in her head is disturbing to say the least. Now she just closes her eyes and tries to ride this out and survive this horrid beast!
All of the kenning has at least sped up the inevitable, as Mr. Stitch lets out a loud squawk. It takes a few minutes for him to really finish though. "Aaah, I actually felt that," he rasps.. which seems like an odd thing to note.
"Felt? Do you not normally?" Willow has to ask after she gasps some pained breaths and then glare up at her rapist. It is odd if he normally doesn't.
"Been awhile," Stitch says, and grunts a bit as he sits up, letting go of Willow's arms. "S'pose to feel everything keener from near-death, but that ain't the way of it, and not just for me."
"Or maybe you're just incapable of doing it right and need an exceptional partner to make up for it,/" Willow mutters as she glares at him. The comment about not feeling better from near death, and not just him him ... is curious.
"Well.. this was unexpected," the Vartan says, finally able to pull out without pulling. "I owe you one, so long as you don't raise a fuss," he says, seeming a little confused.
Willow just ... glares at him, while spread-legged and leaking Vartan ... goo. "Just leave me in peace," she asks.
"I'll be back," Mr. Stitch promises.. or politely threatens? He gets his pants on and heads out.. since the door's been open the whole time. Mr. Cottonmouth looks in again. He doesn't say anything, but looks apologetic before closing and barring the door.
"I think I broke him. That is unexpected," Willow thinks, then sighs. Sticky down below again. Still, could be worse; she is at least unharmed. This gets odder, the raiders may all be .... modified to serve in this pirates army. But, by who? Some of the old mages from Babel?
It isn't very long before the door opens again, and Mr. Sackcloth arrives with a cleaning kit and an unhappy expression. "Are you injured?" he asks straightaway.
"I'm intact," Willow says and sighs. "The only injury is my pride from that brute."
"I'll need to check," the Rhian says, and starts wiping down the sticky parts. "Are you tender?"
"A little, but it isn't bad," Willow explains. "Are you expecting me to be injured regularly?"
"I'm not expecting you to be injured at all," Mr. Sackcloth notes. "But Vartans have sharp talons and beaks, and.. well, you aren't frail but you aren't as robust as a Vartan." Once he's sure nothing is torn or bleeding down below, and checks over the rest of her. "Did he hit you or anything? Bruising is hard to see on black pelts."
"No, he didn't hit me. Surprising, really," Willow admits. "Thank you for your concern."
The man is thorough, and seems to be testing places to see if Willow winces, rather than take her at her word (probably since patients never tell the whole truth, or aren't aware they've actually been hurt). This inevitably leads to having her breasts squeezed.
Willow winces a little at the squeezing oh her breasts, but that's really the only place that hurts a bit. "What happened to the cat's tongue, the one guarding the door," she asks while she is examined.
"It was bitten off," Sackcloth says distractedly. He keeps feeling around the edges of Willow's breasts, asking, "Does this hurt, where they connect to your chest?" It doesn't, it's more the gland area that aches.
"No, it's the squishy part that hurts, not where it connects," Willow explains after a bit more wincing. "Bitten off by who?"
"Himself," Sackcloth notes, still not really paying close attention to the conversation - which is working to Willow's benefit at least. A few more prods and a squeeze cause milk to flow. "Aha.. does this happen often?" he asks.
"Why would he do that?" Willow has to ask. "And yes, that does. It is normal for me," she tries to explain. "It will stop in a bit."
"Do you actually need to be milked?" the Rhian asks in surprise. "I doubt he did it deliberately. I think he was hit under the jaw at a bad moment."
"Sometimes yes, I need to be milked," Willow admits, and this times sounds embarrassed by it.
"Hmm," Mr. Sackcloth notes, then dips down and suckles while kneading. It's unlikely they get milk down here, unless there's a bunch of rughrats in a pen. But there are carnivores, so that may be the case.
"This is humiliating," Willow grumbles as she is suckled on. "I'm not some sort of milk-sow." She doesn't try to stop him, but ... geh, it's embarrassing.
"Does it feel better though?" Mr. Sackcloth asks after a bit more sucking.
"Well, yes," the unicorn has to concede. Nothing is odder than feeling like you have stretched bags on your chest.
The Rhian keeps it up, switching from breast to breast, until things seem to abate some, even if it does leave things a bit perky.
Willow ends up staring up at the ceiling and just ... trying to ignore it all! "I seem to always have desirable fluids, whatever the form," she laments in her own mind.
After a few licks from a broad tongue, Mr. Sackcloth asks, "All better?"
Willow pauses to take stock of how she feels. "Yes, it is better. Thank you," she says. She's still looking at the ceiling.
The Rhian reaches over to start unstrapping Willow's wrists.
"Why are you unstrapping my wrists?" Willow inquires. This worries her.
"I'm in here with you, and the door is barred," the horse notes, but pauses. "Don't you want to stretch your limbs a bit?"
"Yes. I was concerned something else was going to happen," Willow admits as she relaxes a little.
"What were you worried was going to happen?" Sackcloth asks once Willow's wrists are freed, and goes to work on her ankles. "You can't lie in bed all the time, you'll get sores."
"I don't know. Something odd is going on here. You people are not ... right," Willow explains as she sits up once her legs are free. SShe then stands up on shakey legs and stretches upwards for a bit, tail flicking.
"As opposed to all the other abductors you've encountered?" the man asks, grinning at the stretching and flicking as he sits on the bed.
"I have lived a very long time; this isn't the first abduction. It is, however, the oddest," Willow notes as she now paces about to get muscles moving and blood flowing
"What makes it odd?" the man asks, sounding genuinely curious. "I'm uncertain how these things are supposed to go."
"Something is wrong with Mr. Stitch," Willow explains, "He is ... off, mentally. "He has also been exposed to much magic, which is unheard of for a Vartan. I can sense it. Then there is you, who is being kind. Then the two that cannot speak, the Jupani and the Khattah outside."
"Mr. Cottonmouth can speak, he just has difficulty and speaks very quietly," Mr. Sackcloth claims. "Mr. Blue is capable of speech, I believe. He just doesn't talk. Brain trauma is not unheard of in animal handlers and raiders. They are dangerous professions." He doesn't comment on the magic claim though.
"This isn't so simple. Something is just off about this whole place. It's not even a unified group," Willow explains as she walks and gestures with hands and tail. "Also, you're a good spy. I assume you were sent in to see what you could get out of me? The kind jailor play?"
"That would make sense if I had someone to report to, I suppose," Mr. Sackcloth says. "I am just friendly by nature. My kind are not known for being canny.. or particularly intelligent. I'm guessing you've met enough others to not fall into the stereotype though. But you should also ask yourself: what would I gain by selling you out, if I am spying on you?"
"Any number of things. More freedom. Total freedom. Money. A new position. Greater rank," Willow ticks off on her fingers. "I'm an ambassador, I'm supposed to look for underlying meanings in negotiations and the like; so I never take anything at face value, but instead decide several possible intentions, and weight them accordingly as I learn more about the person I'm talking to, until I make sure I know their true intention."
"That sounds terrible," Mr. Sackcloth notes. "It sounds like you can't trust anyone if you're always looking for some hidden agenda. I like to think I have a good bedside manner. Here.." he says, and pats his knee.. as if offering a seat to the mare.
"In international politics, you cannot. Often you cannot even trust your family," Willow laments, "But that is hardly an issue for me; no family." She looks long and hard at the stallion, then shrugs a little and sits down on his knee.
The bigger man puts an arm around Willow's shoulders, and just holds her, even moving his head enough that she can rest hers against his shoulder if she wants.. without fear of poking anything.
Willow does so, and just rests, letting her eyes close. She also tries to feel his aura, to try and guess if he is being honest, or hiding anything from her.
Mr. Sackcloth's aura just seems very soothing, as if he isn't being bothered by anything at the moment - or he's focused on just being warm and friendly. "This usually relaxes people," he explains.
"Not being raped and beaten does tend to be a little relaxing, yes," Willow notes a bit dryly. "I assume eventually they'll try to kill me. Mr. Bright doesn't know what to do with me, and ultimately I am a liability."
"Hmm, I don't know if you're a liability," Sackcloth says, and rubs Willow's opposite shoulder. "I'm sure Mr. Bright will keep you as safe and happy as possible, when he has time to think about it. He's always a bit reclusive after a raid.. you in that sense you've upset his habit."
"Is he in charge of this entire group? That Vartan said he was not," Willow notes as she glances up and over a bit. "If not, who is in charge?"
"That.. would depend on your definition of 'in charge'," Sackcloth waffles. "Which is different than the person who plans things out.. or the person who executes them.. or the supporters like myself. I have my duties, which are independent of Mr. Bright or Mr. Stitch."
"Not helpful," Willow admits with a frown. "There is surely one person at the center of it all."
"Most certainly, there is.. but he is not here," Mr. Sackcloth offers. "Unless he is here and nobody has told me yet. When he visits, it is always unannounced."
"What is this person like, then?" Willow asks.
"Hmmm," the horse muses. "Very generous in a very selfish manner," he says, which probably doesn't clarify much. "Many here were his patients."
"It is a doctor?" Willow asks and feels oddly ill, from her somewhat recent experiences. "What species?"
"I really should not say more on the matter," Sackcloth says, looking uncomfortable - and his aura showing a big spike in anxiety.
Willow looks at the Rhian long and hard, then gets up. "Fine," she says. "I'd like to rest now. Do you need to re-secure me, or am I free to move in the cell now?"
"I still have to secure you before the door can be opened," Sackcloth says apologetically, and gets up so Willow can lie back down.
Willow sighs and flops back down on the cot, and assumes the position; arms above her head and legs down and spread.
The Rhian silently straps the mare back down again. "I'll see you again when dinner is ready," he says, and heads out. The lantern is still left behind.
"Another doctor. Just ... lovely," Willow thinks grimly. "Maybe I should just kill everyone here and be done with it. There are enough here that I could release many from the dagger, after all, and none would ever suspect me of being that dangerous. The last thing I want to deal with is another doctor."