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ORINS FOOTFALLS LAND HEAVILY ON THE GROUND, CRIMSON PRINTS LEFT IN HIS WAKE. The metal door to Yvonne's chamber groaned loudly in protest of its own weight as it swung. The blue light from within the room died as a sliver on the floor before the hatch slammed, and the guard standing outside━━with the flash of a coarse smile, exposing crooked and yellowing teeth━━ensured the lock snapped in place. Orin repressed a grimace at the sight but allowed the scowl he wore too often to disfigure his face, his upper lip curling, gaze harsh. The guard didn't acknowledge it, turning forward as the man passed him by.
The blue chamber was constructed in a secluded sector underneath the docks where the air is stale and hypoxia-inducing. The interior of the cell itself aside, the halls were grimy with years of neglect and lack of use, moss crawling up the cracked walls, large chunks of brick laying on the ground. The floors were no better than the walls nor the ceiling, stray stalactites funneling to a point from the corroding stone and dripping almost luminous substances. If not for it's otherwise rectangular build, one might assume they were standing within a twisting cave. A cave that began to resemble a hallway the further you adventure from the blue cell.
Orin rounded a corner, the walkway opening to a wider path where a steep staircase jutted from the wall, and the corridor stretched onwards. From behind him the guard, Evi, shouted, "You're tracking again!" Orin ignored him in favor of pushing up to steps two at a time, the stone slabs slanting beneath his feet. Blood will dry, the prints will chip. Evi would forget he'd even left them in a matter of time. He simply wanted something to complain about. It was annoying.
Waiting at the top of the staircase were two more goons, their backs turned to the steps, looming on the landing like giants. Orin knew the one leaning against the wall━━Blaine━━his shoulders hunched forward and head hanging low, smoke curling over his head from where a cigarette was pinched between his lips. The smell invaded his nostrils with an uncomfortable burn that had a cough rising in his throat.
His heavy footfalls caught the attention of the man standing opposite of Blaine. He turned his big head with slow movements, revealing a set of dull, swollen eyes and cheeks that bulged like he was a squirrel shoving nuts into his mouth. His hair was cropped short, like Blaine's, but graying at his temples accompanied with a receding hairline. And now that the man was facing him Orin was sure that he'd never seen the guy in his entire life. He had a disgustingly smug face that one didn't easily forget even if you hoped to bell and back that you would.
As his eyes met that of the newcomers, Orin tightened his grip on the knife strapped to his waist, the sheathed blade silently slapping against his outer thigh. The older man followed the movement of his hand, cautious. Acting like he had every right to be wary of Orin when it was the other way around. At the top of the stairs he paused for the briefest of seconds, his fingers flexing around the hilt, before grabbing hold of Blaines forearm with his free hand. Keeping his eyes on the thug to his left, Orin gave a harsh tug forward, pulling the taller man after him. Blaine made a noise of complaint at the back of his throat but didn't pull away. Smoke billowed out from between his parted lips.
