Chapter Text
Thump -- Thump
The sounds echoed through the cold stone hallways of Northwatch Keep, causing a stir among every ragged prisoner trying to catch even the smallest wink of sleep before being dragged back to the interrogator.
None dared speak up, though. The Thalmor didn’t tolerate chatter among their prisoners. It was a shock in an of itself that the soldier on duty hadn’t kicked the cell in and beaten the woman to death with her own little toy.
However, with each pass of footfalls on the cobblestone, there was a lengthy pause outside of the fresh meat’s cell, as if something had the guard interested. Reality evidently returned to the mer, though, and the footsteps resumed their monotonous rhythm, accompanied only by the screams of whatever poor soul fell victim to the interrogator--and that thump, thump, thump , which never seemed to end.
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Thump -- Thump
Galina watched the small, rubber ball bounce from mossy wall, to filthy floor, and back to her wrapped hand, only to repeat the process again. Simply put, she was bored out of her mind, and had she been kept restrained, she was certain she’d have died of boredom long before the interrogator could get to her. Even now, her only source of entertainment was the small, bouncy object in her palm.
Nonetheless, the young Nord’s razor focus did not tear her away from reality entirely. She became acutely aware of the intermittent pausing of the guard’s footsteps, just as they grew the loudest. Despite her curiosity, she kept her eyes away from the cell door--not that there was much luck of her catching a glimpse of her little ‘admirer’ either way. The darkness was suffocating.
It was only when the dull thudding of the bouncy ball stopped amusing that she started berating herself, “You’re smarter than this, Galina. You’ve talked your way into manor parties, you’ve cut down enough Altmer to string a half a soul together, why’d you freeze up ?! You idiot. Look where you’ve got us now, some dark, musty cell throwing a toy at a wall.”
She was inclined to continue, but the prolonged presence of the patrolling guard set her on alert. As if suddenly protective of the little rubber sphere she’d so passionately despised, she caught it for one last time and stilled, looking up at the cell door and, for the first time, allowing torchlight to illuminate her face.
Though the northern blood of the Nords ran warm in her veins, Galina’s features betrayed her birthright. Were it not for her cornflower-blue eyes and honey-blonde hair, one could be forgiven for mistaking her sharp, angular features for an--albeit deathly pale--Imperial. In the uncomfortable humidity brought on by a combination of the numerous fires crackling to ward off the colds of the Sea of Ghosts and the sweat of the other prisoners, her short-cropped hair stuck to her forehead.
The guard in question, the one who seemed so infatuated by her, stared through the bars, his features well-lit and easily discernable through the light of his torch. What she saw, though, surprised her. He was young; were he not an Altmer, Galina would have guessed only twenty-five. His features were clean, save only for the scruffy ‘beard’ that he maintained, which could be put to shame even by a Breton. Unmistakably new, his eyes lacked the cold indifference and cruelty that most seasoned Thalmor harbored behind their gazes. One could say he even looked...curious.
It took almost a minute for anyone to speak, and when the silence was finally broken, it was the Altmer who spoke first--in a blatant attempt to sound and look intimidating, “What is that you are holding, human?” His face contorted into a halfhearted sneer, which looked rather amusing, “and -what- is that ruckus you are stirring with it?”
Galina had to hold back a laugh at his expression, something she had become quite adept at, “This?” She held up the ball, which fit near-perfectly in her black-wrapped hand. “It is a bouncing ball.” Once again, her disconnect from her own race reared its head, her accent clean and crisp, akin to that often heard in High Rock.
The guard seemed to be battling several emotions, all of which showed on his face; curiosity, confusion, and force. “A...bouncing ball? Wh-what, is it constructed from...from rat feces and mud?” He seemed to be struggling immensely to come up with insults. Why not have some fun with him.
“I...don’t think I want to tell you,” Galina’s tone was almost insufferably smug, “I think you’ll have to ask nicely.”
Almost as if he wasn’t expecting this, the Altmer responded after a splutter, “We...how dare you insult a glorious uh...Altmer! And a Thalmor nonetheless! I command you to tell me what the ball is made of!”
“Ask nicely,” came the response.
“I will n--”
“Ask. Nicely.” Galina cut him off before he could demand anything else.
“I...uh…”
“Nicely.”
“Fine. Fine. Human...er, filthy human, what is that ball made of? P...please?”
She’d been holding back a laugh the whole time he spoke, and was finally forced to let it out--albeit in a muted manner. It was not long before she got herself under control. “It is made of rubber.”
“Rubber? What is a...rubber?” Now more than ever, the guard seemed confused.
“Rubber...comes from rubber trees, very simple.”
“Rubber trees?! Hah! Preposterous! Why, I have never heard such a blatant lie in all my time on Tamriel! Rubber trees...hmph.”
“You Altmer sure must be an absolute riot at galas.”
“We do not riot.”
“That is not what I--”
“Silence! We do not riot. Do you understand?”
“I don’t think you g--”
“Do we riot?”
“No, you do not riot.” Galina resolved to simply answer his question with a resigned roll of her eyes.
“Now. Give me the ball.” The demand surprised her and she blinked rapidly, her trimmed eyelashes fluttering prettily. If she didn’t think otherwise, she could’ve sworn she noted a little red tint in the guard’s cheeks. “Give you the ball? Are you mad?”
“Give me the ball or I will...I will tell my superior that you made up rubber trees.”
“I didn’t make up rubber trees.”
“Oh just...give me the ball or I will get the interrogator!”
That was a threat she simply couldn’t ignore. Better to bide her time, at the very least. She tossed the ball right through the cell doors, where it bounced off of the mer’s face, setting off an ensuing chase somewhere down the end of the cell block.
Even as she lay her head down to sleep, she could still hear him scrambling around, trying to catch the ball.
Thump -- Thump