** Hey! This is my first Ascension thingy! Read and review - I also accept PMs! Hey, and please tell me if there's any ideas for this story that you have - that would be soooo cool beans!
They don't really resemble birds much.
I'm staring at one now. To be honest, I'm not that bothered about whether I appear rude or not; at this stage, I'm quite happy to be so. But he doesn't really look like a bird. He looks kind of sad – well, at least he looks sullen with only his green eyes visible.
Sighing, I collapse backward on the damp stone floor. Sure it hurts, but considering the fact that I am now biting myself to occupy the miserly hours, it isn't much. Arms sprawled at careless angles above my head, I look up into the mouldy ceiling. Guess what I see?
No, it's not my hero, not my prince charming come to rescue me on the back of his palomino horse. I've given up on my fantasy blondie now. I was crushing on this daydream for all of two months, but he's been taking such a bloody long time to save me that I've given up on him – yep, you heard me right, we're over.
I see some slime. Khaki drippy gunge that hangs lankly off a misshapen beam, jutting at an irregular angle from the walls. Oh my gosh, shock horror! Not the slime of doom!
Being a prisoner sucks. Especially when your imprisoner is an Eagle. Like I said, where did the name come from? I've been accustomed to them for three and a half months now, and I ain't seen no wings on 'em.
Should I describe myself to you? Well, I'm not sure where to begin. It's been quite some time since I looked in the mirror, so I may have aged dramatically, acquired facial hair or something depressing like that.
I suppose I'm still a girl. I'm still seventeen. I'm still Ann Riven, the beautiful, daring and unshakeable Ann Riven. That's what my boyfriend last said to me. Two years back before he ditched me for some hippie called Aida.
The bah-humbug Eagle is still here, taking a suspiciously long time to refill my water, tighten the knots on my ankles and wrists and top up my rations for today: bread, potatoes and some kind of stringy crap for meat. More carefully, I look at him. His view is downcast to my ankles where he's doing up the precise knots again. I look more intensely at his fingers; shaking, bloodless and fixing the rope rather forlornly.
"Done my wrists yet?" I say sarcastically to him. Instantly, he flinches at his addressing and tumbles backwards into a column.
Lets just say, I haven't laughed like this in a long time. I feel sad when I stop laughing at the Eagle, because he's verily knocked out.
"Oi!" I call, irritated, over to him, "I need some food, you know! What do you take me for, some kind of stick insect? I'll have you know that I'm a goat right now!"
Nope. No response. Out cooooold – no, out freezing would be a better word to use.
Brilliant. If an Eagle comes in now, they'll probably think that I whacked his lights out; next thing I'll be in chains.
I didn't want to do this. It'll wake him up if I do, and then I won't get chained up, but he'll see me doing it and will probably snitch to another Chicken (Eagle, sorry!) and I'll get less food, most likely. But that's better than chains!
Levering myself up on my elbows, I then wriggled forwards on my belly as far as I can go. And come out of the ropes entirely.
You're probably gaping; if I can escape, then why don't I? Well, it's because outside there's a guard with twenty-five blades arranged neatly down the inside of his armour. So maybe I shouldn't try get most of my ribs cracked.
I can escape because they always use the wrong knots. If you twist your feet ninety degrees left twice, ninety degrees right twice, pump your legs up and down like pistons an then curve the balls of your feet at a particular angles, they loosen up enough for you to get out. You do the same thing for your wrists too, only with your arms instead of your legs, duh.
Anyway, here I am, moving towards this unconscious Eagle. And what do I do?
I slap him hard on the face. Thrice.
