Lanisen is seated against the wall, closer to the door than the two cots, staring at the extremely interesting wall opposite. He looks, to put it simply, bored out of his mind. He raises his head at the noises outside the cell and gets quickly to his feet.
Tyren nods to the guard as he passes into the cell, expression stoic as usual.
Lanisen backs away, stepping into the cubby between the bed and the table, and bows. He doesn’t look directly at Tyren. His eyes fall on the bread.
Tyren directs the guard to give the two prisoners their rations, again, business as usual by now.
Lanisen takes his ration, murmuring a subdued thanks. He pauses a moment, biting his lower lip hard. “Sir–” he starts, keeping his head bowed. “Um– could– could I have a blanket, if it’s… It’s startin’ to get cold, is all.”
Loc shivers and turns over on his cot, dozing lightly.
Lanisen, glancing at his cellmate, amends, “Maybe two, if it ain’t too much to ask?”
Tyren glances briefly between the two prisoners, and replies simply, “I shall see what can be done.”
Loc turns over again, bringing his hands to his arms to rub. “When’d it get so cool out…” He murmurs, still half asleep.
Lanisen’s expression briefly flickers with alarm. He nods a thanks to Tyren, keeping his head respectfully bowed, and turns toward Loc. He hesitates, then ventures out of the little shelter to set Loc’s ration down next to him on the cot. “Hey. Food.”
Tyren simply nods once in return.
Loc grunts, sitting up and taking his ration. “Thanks.” He rubs his arms again and glances towards their ‘visitor’. He bows from the waist. “Sir Tyren.”
Tyren nods again, slipping back into his usual silence.
Loc takes a small piece off his bread, nibbling on it. “How is the woman?”
Tyren says, “She continues to await judgment herself.”
Loc looks up at Tyren. “Yes but is she well?”
Lanisen retreats farther into the small cell, going quiet again and studying the floor.
Tyren says, “‘Well’ is rather a relative term, though she has been treated no differently than the two of you.”
Loc frowns slightly. “Then she is not ill?”
Loc says, “And she is comfortable?”
Tyren says, “She has not taken ill as far as I know, and she has what you have here. Take what definition of ‘comfort’ you will from that.”
Loc looks appeased by this. “That man you had down here before–the one you captured. His name was Myrd. He bricked her and Lanny here,” he nods to his cellmate, “Up behind a wall in a cave. Barely gave them anything to eat or decent drink. They both got real sick. She was recovering at the inn when we were moved.”
Lanisen’s face goes startled-slack and vulnerable at this. He shifts uncomfortably and looks at the door.
Tyren’s carefully veiled expression cracks slightly as he arches a brow at this. “I see. Rest assured that is not the case this time, as it is not for your cellmate here.”
Loc shifts, looking at his bread. “She’s… stubborn. She won’t ask for anything… but–” He grunts. “I know I’m the last person you’d think would… worry about one of his own–or care–” He looks at Tyren. “But I do. I care a lot for people I’m attached to.”
Tyren says, “I am surprised by perhaps less than you might expect. You are human as well, after all.”
Lanisen tucks his bread into his pocket and rubs his elbow.