The clink of the doors closing several levels up didn't even resgister in the Heir Apparent to Sir Duke Caden, Thrice in Line for The Royal Line of the Rivveton Isles, The Lady Mona Haridliney Jiinksuii of Tortalin. A simple light blue dress long stained by the muck and murk of the dungens was most of her cover, and the small cell she had barely accomadated her 5' 5" height. She sat curled slightly in the corner, playing with the shackles that stopped her from healing the bruises that riddled her body, amd stopped her from attacking any living creature in sight in rage. Black hair had been pulled in a tight braid, and it was probably the only thing that looked in order on her.
She had been locked up for shape-shifting and using a simple healing spell, caught soon after she had run away from the nice mn who had sheiled her for a bit. Of course, they didn't know about him. They never would. Her war-horse was out their somewhere, and the shackles stopped her from finding him and calling him to her. He was fine, but it was she she was worrid about. Nobody knew that she was Royaltiy, and if they did, they'd just send her back. So she didn't say anything, just accepted the fate that kept her locked in the cell of horror with rats, slugs, and more horrifing creatures that you wouldn't want to think of.
The sounds of a fight outside her door finally caught her attetion, and dark blue eyes, almost black, flicked upwards. They were the only bright thing in her still and somber face, but they were hard and icy, covered by hatred for the guards. She edged closer to the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of the man, before the older guard, who had a bloody nose because of the man, turned on her in anger, slapping her in the face with the blunt scabbaord of his sword. Blood coursed down the inside of her mouth, and she growled at him, feral as a wolf. Their eyes caught and held, and he lost first, looking down and marching off with his partner.
She slumped after he left, for that force of will took much out of her. Her eye's came closed, and she reached a hand up to rub her temple, letting the other one flop next to it uselessly. Biting her cheek closed in an effort to stop it from bleeding, she finally looked up to see him spit out picks. He looked up, and she caught his eye, ice dark blue meeting liquid brown. She lifted an eyebrow at him, examining the picks at the same time. She knew how to use them, but how to get them from him? A closer look was given to him this time. He was older then her 17 years, and his black hair was ratty, though it looked thick and full. He was rather handsome, and she caught herself eyeing him in a way that she probably shouldn't have been.
Giving a shake of her head, she saw him now looking at the person next to her, some person she couldn't see. Looking at him again, he had changed positions, and was looking at them both. 'I can get you out of here if you help me.' He said it quietly enough that only they could hear it, and she did a double take, shocked. But she was listening. After all, she didn't feel like dieing quite yet. "How so? You got the picks, and their ain't nothing I can offer you, sept my body, and you can't have it." Yet... She had shifted her posture so that she leaned against the wall in a straight backed bored position, with the two strips of green hair framing her face, and her eye's closed, waiting for him to speak.
