From opposite sides of the make shift prison, two figures jerked to attention as the metal doors were thrown open. A small commotion followed in the door's wake. Two guards with a smaller figure, hooded head bowed to their chest and hands bound behind their back, struggled at the entry way. Though slightly built and restrained, the hooded individual dragged their heels hard along the ground, searching for anything to slow their passage into the prison, all the while squirming and struggling with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. Both guards huffed, their red faces and labored breathing suggesting that the struggle had been an ongoing affair.
Murphy glanced toward Bellamy; both faces registered confusion and apprehension at this new development. This hooded stranger was undoubtedly a grounder, dressed in a tunic, heavy boots, and leggings clearly fashioned from animal hides and scavenged materials. When the guards had managed to drag their new companion to the center of the metal cell, they unceremoniously dumped the hooded grounder to the floor with a force that left no doubt that they were glad to be rid of the burden. While one guard caught his breath off to the side, hands placed upon his hips for support, the other, an infamously cruel man named Anderson, crouched beside the prison's newest addition. With a yank, Anderson pulled the hood off the grounder's head.
A long brown braid tumbled from the confines of the hood, landing halfway down the back of the grounder as she awkwardly sat upon her left hip, her body held up by Anderson's grip. Grey-blue eyes, stormy in both color and depth, stared at Anderson in an unnervingly even way. Her face was thin and elfish, sharply angled and fine boned, contrasting somewhat from the typical rough, thick look the former Ark dwellers had come to associate with grounders. Under a layer of blood and dirt two thick vertical lines of blue ink were visible, running from the peak of her right cheek bone and down her neck, disappearing into her tunic's collar. Even with her face smudged with grim, she was breathtaking.
"She's not bad for a grounder, do ya think?" Anderson glanced over at his partner, a quiet man named Adams. Adams gave the grounder girl a quick once over to humor Anderson and shrugged his shoulders in response, clearly wanting to leave.
"Bet she'd look better without all this shit on her face." Anderson licked a thumb and made to swipe it along the girl's cheek. Curling her lips back in a snarl, the grounder's face was instantly transformed into that of a predator, white teeth flashing as they attempted to close around the flesh of the guard's outreached thumb. Quicker then would seem possible for a man of his size, Anderson's hand snaked behind the girl's head, coiled in her braid, and sharply yanked her head in the opposite direction.
Face tight with anger, Anderson clenched his jaw and muttered under his breath "Savage bitch". Releasing the hand that had until that point been clenched around the girl's shoulder, he made as if to strike her across the face. At the last moment he seemed to think better of it and instead landed a hard blow square in her chest. He smiled as he released her braid from his fist, letting her land on her side as she struggled to catch her breath. "Wouldn't want to damage that pretty face, would we?" Anderson asked in a tone that dripped mock sympathy.
"Fuck off, dick!" came a sharp voice along the side of the prison. Jerking his head up at the sudden noise, sick smile still smeared across his face, Anderson seemed to suddenly remember the two other occupants of the prison. Murphy sat as far forward on his metal bench as his bound hands would allow. He had been the source of the defiant cry. The other boy, Bellamy, sat tense as well, his face alarmed and angered. Murphy glanced at Adams, forgotten through the ordeal, and made an appeal to him. "She's just a girl. Make him stop." Adams, unmoved by the boy, became suddenly interested by a metal panel that hung precariously from the wall next to him. Instead, Anderson turned his attention on the youth. Standing over him he sneered menacingly, "I don't take my orders from criminals, boy". Where he had shown restraint with the girl he made no such effort with Murphy, landing a hard blow to his face that made his teeth ring together forcefully.
From the entry way Adams cleared his throat. "Anderson", he uttered simply. Having gotten his partner's attention, the quiet guard gestured toward the door with his head, presumably mindful of their other duties. Anderson looked back down at Murphy, satisfied with the blow he had dealt him. Turning on his heel, he sent a glance toward the girl. While the guard had been distracted with Murphy, the grounder had struggled into a sitting position and was using a support beam that ran through the center of the metal prison to maintain her balance with her hands still bound behind her. Her expression was blank, steely, following Anderson as he moved to the door of the prison. With a wink aimed at the girl, he closed the door behind him and slid the lock into place. Though she appeared unresponsive to Anderson's parting gesture, Murphy didn't miss the way her hands clenched into fists behind her back and stayed that way until well after the sounds of the guard's retreating footsteps had faded away.
Murphy's protest had been uncharacteristic of him. Altruism wasn't a high priority on his to do list. And look what it got me, he thought grimly, the pain in his cheek a dull, throbbing ache where Anderson had struck him. Settling back on his metal bench, he glanced away from the grounder girl, feigning disinterest in her presence. Bellamy, silent during the exchange with the guards, chose to speak up then.
"Hey. Hey you. Are you alright?" His words were met with silence. "Hey, any English?" And again the room remained quiet. Bellamy was as surprised by his sudden interest in the girl as Murphy had been. Both had known the violence of the grounders and harbored little compassion for them. But where Murphy had no explanation for his interest in the girl, Bellamy suspected he himself was moved by the way her petite figure conveyed a sense of youthfulness that reminded him of Octavia.
The grounder girl closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the support beam, her arms still uncomfortably bound behind her. Though Bellamy and Murphy had been restrained to opposite sides of the room they had at least been fortune enough to have their arms left in front of their bodies. The two boys once again exchanged a glance. English was generally spoken between grounder warriors, something the girl seemed too fine boned and small to be. It was likely that she didn't understand them, something the Ark council might not take into consideration. Resigned to silence, neither boy pushed any further.
The guards returned for her in the morning.