Of Smoke and Stardust [[COMPLETE]]]

CHAPTER 4- PARKER

        Parker's cell was bare, like everyone else's. A springy metal bed with a flat, dull, mattress in one corner, a bucket for water—when they got it—a plastic mirror, and a toilet—if you could even call the pot that—were the only furnishings. The standard pillow, blanket, sheets and a grey rough spun pair of pants and shirt sat on the mattress in a heap. He had 'the privilege' of owning a few ripped paperback books one of the guards threw at him when he asked for toilet paper, that he kept tucked under his bed frame. The perks of being a prizefighter, he thought grimly.

        "How'd it go?" Ax asked from the neighboring cell.

        Parker signed and flopped onto his mattress, leaning his back against the bars of the cell. The cool metal felt nice against the scratches. He was still a bit out of breath, air coming in sharp puffs from his bloody mouth. They usually gave them water after a fight, but he was rushed out so quickly it seemed that they 'accidently' forgot.

         "They stuck me with one of the newbies. Had to pull his arm out of its socket to put on a good show, then they suddenly stopped the fight and pulled us out." He paused, chewing on the inside of his lip in thought. Parker eyed the form in the cell two over from his own. The kid he fought in the arena's brother. He hadn't moved from the fetal position since he'd arrived. "Something's going on upside." He finished, looking back to Ax.

        Ax looked up from puncturing his hand with a small needle. "What happened?"

        "Dunno. Was in the middle of the fight, and suddenly the guards were there, pulling us back under and evacuating the audience."

        "That bad, huh?" Ax sat up, interested. "Heard anything? What they looking for? Maybe some crazy activist hid a bomb or something."

        Parker shook his head. "Nothing. My guess is someone's coming they don't want knowing about this..." He motioned around the cells with a flick of his hand.

        Ax nodded, going back to his needle work. "Maybe the boss is paying a visit."

        "Has he visited before?" Parker hadn't been in the arena as long as Ax had, but through the two years he had been there, there was never a lock down like what just happened.

        "Yes." Ax said, his voice rough.  "But they never shut down a fight like that."

        With nothing else to do, they sat in silence. They'd have to wait to find out anything about the evacuation. Hopefully the place wouldn't be blown up, or everyone killed to keep the secret." I think he could survive." Parker finally said, feeling restless in silence. "The new kid." He clarified.

        Ax grunted, leaning on the opposite side of the bars. "You always think that. Then you get all pissy when they're killed off a week later." He absently plucked at his hand with an inked needle. A new tattoo was forming around the thumb side of the back of his hand. Swirls and sharp edges merged in a wicked design.

        Parker watched his friend's hand work, mesmerized. Ax had done a whole shoulder and half an arm for him. It took a month and it was sore when he was getting beat in the arena, but it was worth it. Ax's tattoo work was more than art; it was like he saw what was inside you, and painted it on the outside in cryptic symbols and flaring swirls. It was rare for an inmate to have access to a 'weapon', even if the needle was shorter than his pinky finger. He'd had the needle and ink since before Parker got there. Living in Mallowmont for over five years, it wasn't a surprise that Ax had made some connections.

        When Ax had first met Parker, Ax had looked him over once, and then punched him in the face, breaking his nose, and causing his eyes to swell up for days. It wasn't until later that Parker found out there had been a group of slave buyers looking for pretty, young boys for a rich new client. Parker owed him more than his life for that.