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The interrogation room is small, made of stone, and circular. A table is pushed up against the wall, and a chair sits in the middle of the room. In another corner, two guards, dressed in heavy furs and faces painted white hold a person, arms bound behind their backs, under a tub of sloshing water.
Clarke's screams at muffled in the freezing cold water, she kicks out at the guard on her left and manages to land a hit with a crack. The guard grunts, their face scrunches up in a cringe but despite the throbbing pain they feel coursing up their leg they keep a firm hold on Clarke's elbow and shoulder. In retaliation to the kick, the other guard thwacks Clarke in the back of the head with a large meaty fist, once, twice and then yanks her head from the water by her matted and tangled blond hair.
While she can Clarke coughs up the little water still in her throat and sucks in air like it's the last time she might ever get a chance. She shakes what water logged hair she can from her face, revealing a large bruise that is mostly purple but fades to a nasty green and encompasses the entirety of her left face, the right is swollen, and cut up.
The guard jerks her roughly by the collar then sneers "You're not looking so pretty Wanheda, tell us where the Commander is and we will let you go."
Clarke despite looking the worse for wear and in no position to try and hold an kind of power, gives him a glare that sends a chill straight to the core of his bones like the winter in the north never had. It's a foolish action to take and Clarke is sure she will pay handsomely for it, but she takes pleasure for the brief second that fear flashes across the mans face before disappearing again.
The Guard growls and then with his force alone shoves Clarke by the neck back under the ice cold water, and through clenched teeth he hisses, "I do not fear death Wanheda, you have no power here."
Clarke thrashes again, and fights to break the fierce grip on the back of her neck, faintly she can hear the mans crackle of laughter as she struggles. suddenly through the sloshing of water and laughter a voice, female and soft calls out from behind them,"That's enough Liam"
Liam, the guard who forced Clarke back into the water, looks up and then upon recognizing the scarred brunette as Ontari, Liam grunts a sound of displeasure and jerks Clarke back up from the water, who immediately begins to sputter and cough up water again.
With eyes sharp the brunette glances over Clarke bruised and sopping wet form before turning back to the large brute holding her, "Your help is no longer needed, the Queen has decided someone else will oversee the rest of this session."
Liam sneers, and throws Clarke into the other guards arms both unprepared for the sudden motion and both sent stumbling back into the wall behind them. The guard quickly catches himself and Clarke body to tired and beat up to hold her own wait sags into his hold. Liam before stalking over to Ontari, only stopping when the only remain space between them is a hairsbreadth of length between them,"Yeah, is that so, and who just might that be?"
Ontari stares coldly into Liam's eyes, than tilts her head a silent challenge extended, "Queen Nia herself," and without taking her eyes from Liam's white painted and scarred face, she waves her hand towards the other guard and says, "Get her ready for the Queens audience."
With the last of her strength Clarke lifts her head and green and brown meet, "We want Wanheda to look her best for the Queen."
Then just as suddenly as she had come Ontari disappears through the door way. Liam turns to the other guard a frown set on his face.
"Well, if it isn't your lucky day, Wanheda." He grabs her roughly by the shoulder and drags her towards the chair in the center before shoving her into it, "Now let's see if we can't make you pretty for our Queen, hm"
After that Clarke is left in the room for what feels like ages. Her wrist are raw and bloodied from attempting to break free from the bonds her wrist have been place in behind the chair she was forced in. One of her eyes has been sealed shut by the dried up blood that had pooled around it. Every breath is painful and a reminder of the plethora of injuries that litter her body just out of sight, wound and cuts received from sessions previous.
When the door creaks open Clarke snaps her head up, and the glare that her eye sends at the person that steps through is almost like second nature.
Queen Nia smirks, "Wanheda it is a pleasure to meet you again," Clarke still defiant til the end snorts, and bites back the pained whimper that wants to escape. She tries to track the tall woman's movement around the room but soon looses vision of Nia as she disappears out of sight just behind her position, but like a phantom she can still feel her presence hovering, just waiting at any moment to strike. Clarke tenses despite the pain it causes and doesn't relax until she has the queen in her line of sight again.
Nia is slow and patient as she walks around the chair until she is front of Clarke once again, then grasping Clarke's chin, which results in a sharp inhalation of pain from the blonde, forces her head up until their eyes meet.
"So tell me Wanheda where. is. the. commander."